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Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland By: Abigail Stanley Hanna |
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By Abigail Stanley Hanna.
"There comes a voice that awakes my soul;
It is the voice of years that are gone,
They roll before me with all their deeds." 1857.
Preface These pages were not written for public inspection; but to beguile the
weary hours of indisposition, and present a record of thoughts and
sentiments to the eyes of my children, after my lips are sealed in
death. By the recommendation of friends, I have decided to submit them to the
public. From a criticising public I should shrink; but to a sympathizing
public I would appeal, trusting the holy mantle of charity will be
flung over my errors, and my motives appreciated. I would take this opportunity to tender my hearty and sincere thanks
to my patrons, who have aided me in this enterprise, not only by their
subscriptions, but by their words of sympathy and encouragement, which
have fallen like sunshine upon my gloomy pathway, warming my desolate
heart, and leaving a sweet fragrance upon the memory, which shall live
on and on, through the long ages of eternity; for beautifully and
emphatically has Mrs. Childs said, "Goodness and beauty live forever," Perhaps I should apologise for the pensive strain in which I have
written, but it has been in shady places, when the body was suffering
from disease, and I felt almost too weak to breathe. Dear reader, did
you ever feel that you were dying? that there was but a step between
you and death? How natural, at such a time, and in such a place, to
contemplate the circumstances connected with the deaths of dear,
departed friends. Hoping this may lead some thoughtless one to reflection, I submit it
to the investigation of a generous public. But if I fail in this, shall I have written in vain? O, no; it is but
a fulfilment in part of the great mission, "do with all thy might
what thy hand findeth to do." If we have but one small talent we are
commanded to put it upon usury, "that the Lord may receive his own
when he cometh." Some pieces were contributions from the pen of a loved sister, whose
sentiments and principles are in unison with my own, and so they flow
on together, in one common channel. Those designated by a star () in
the Index, are from her pen. On page 141, near the bottom, the paragraph which now reads, "You did
not expect me to be found alone now, did you?" should read, "You did
not expect to find me alive now," &c. On page 272, in the 11th line from the top, in the word "rugg'd," the
letter e should be substituted for the apostrophe. These errors escaped attention in reading the proof, before it went to
press. When autumn winds are round us sighing,
When pale flowers are 'round us dying,
It pain and pleasure to us gives,
To gather up the wither'd leaves. The year so tasteful flung her flow'rs
In garlands gay, o'er sylvan bow'rs;
But where they hung: so brief
Now only hangs the wither'd leaf. Dear reader, thus to thee I come,
With tresses blossom'd for the tomb;
And offer what the season gives,
My faded flow'rs my WITHERED LEAVES. A. S. H.
Index
Shadows of the Past Reminiscences; The Old Homestead
The Old House
The Old School House
The Grave Yard Midnight Scenes, or, Pictures of Human Life
Picture No. 2
Picture No. 3
Picture No. 4 The History of a Household Lines written during convalescence from Brain Fever The Angel Cousin Lines written at the close of the year 1842 Lines written on the New Year 1843 The Unhappy Marriage On the year 1852 Consumption To Mrs. A.B. An Evening in our Village Contemplations in a Grave Yard A Scene on the Kennebec River To Miss H. B Lines written in an Album A Long Night in the Eighteenth Century On Hearing a Bird Sing, Dec. 19, 1826 Variety Henriette Clinton The Child On the Death of Ellen A. B The Order of Nature The Seasons Dedication of an Album To Mrs. S. on the Death of her infant To Mrs... Continue reading book >>
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