The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards’ well known hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following communication: “Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I have passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are all failing.” “With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the landlord hesitated, as if perplexed.” “‘Edwards! Edwards!’ said he; ‘there is but one person of that name that I know of in all the village; but he can’t be brother to such a lady as you.’” “‘Perhaps you have not been here long,’ I said.” “‘O yes, ma’am, nearly fifteen years,’ he answered.” “‘And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?’” “‘Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,’ answered the landlord.” “I did not tell him that was my brother’s name, but with a trembling heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of whom he spoke.” “There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord’s voice, as he told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the last hut on the right hand. ‘But I advise you not to go,’ he continued, ‘for I’m sure there must be some mistake.’” I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned to me, all the time saying to myself, ‘It cannot be—there surely must be some mistake,’ and yet impelled irresistibly to go on.