and were about pushing off when among some driftwood which lay not far from the shore, they thought they descried a female’s garment floating on the water.  The spot was soon reached, and to their horror they discovered the body of a young girl, which, from its appearance, must have been in the water some time.  They had heard the story of Julia, and readily concluded that the bloated, disfigured form before them must have been she.  Taking her to the nearest dwelling, they dispatched a messenger for Mr. Middleton, who, now that his worst fears were confirmed, seemed paralyzed with the shock.

“Oh, I cannot go!” said he, “I cannot.  Is there no one to do it for me?”

Dr. Lacey, who chanced to be present, said, “For your sake, sir, and for Fanny’s, I will go.”

“God bless you, George!” answered Mr. Middleton, and in a few moments Dr. Lacey departed.

With a thrill of horror he looked upon the swollen, discolored face, round which the long black hair clung, matted and slimy from being so long saturated with water, and thought that this was once the beautiful Julia, though now so fearfully changed that no one could possibly have recognized her.  Owing to the state which the body was in, Dr. Lacey thought proper to produce a coffin before removing her home; consequently it was nearly ten o’clock the following morning ere the little procession slowly entered the yard, from which, with wonderful forethought, Mr. Middleton had ordered to be removed some half dozen carts, corn cribs, etc.  Fanny was pressing forward to look at her unfortunate sister, when Dr. Lacey, gently but firmly, led her away, saying, “No, Fanny, you must not see her.  The sight would haunt you for months and years.”  Then, as her tears fell fast, he strove in various way to divert her mind from Julia’s untimely end.

About noon a middle-aged man came to the house and asked permission to see the body.  His request was granted, but he almost immediately turned away from the coffin, saying, by way of explanation, “I am the father of the maniac girl who some time since escaped from Lexington, and I thought perhaps this might be my daughter; but it is not, and even if it were I could not recognize her.”

On Mr. Middleton’s farm, and not far from the house, was a small yard which had been enclosed as a burial place for the family.  On this spot Fanny had expended much time and labor.  Roses and honeysuckles ever bloomed there for a season, while the dark evergreen and weeping willow waved their branches and beckoned the passer-by to rest beneath their shadow.  In one corner was a tall forest maple, where Julia and Fanny often had played, and where Fanny once, when dangerously ill in childhood, had asked to be laid.  As yet no mound had rendered that spot dearer for the sake of the lost one who slept there, but now in the scarcely frozen ground the ringing of the spade was heard; shovelful after shovelful of earth was thrown up, and into that cold, damp grave, as the sun was setting, they lowered the remains of Julia, who once little thought that she first of all would break the turf of the family graveyard.