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Hanna, Abigail Stanley

"Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland"

Day after day she
had performed her journey, and was winning public confidence in her
safety and expedition.
Notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, many sought a passage,
desirous of reaching the distant city to spend the coming thanksgiving
with absent friends. The wind sighed in low, fitful murmurs as it
bore the fleecy snow flakes upon its airy pinions, and flung them
unceremoniously into the face of the passing traveler, thus warning
him of a fiercely coming storm.
The officers hesitated, as the ominous sea swell came surging on, and
the dashing waves moaning upon the winding shore, seemed shrieking a
sad requiem over the departed.
But finally the urgency of the passengers was so great, that they
concluded to put forth upon the waste of waters and brave the fury of
the midnight storm.
The bell gave its usual signal, and as its stifled sounds were borne
upon the ear by the howling winds, they sounded like a death knell.
There were hurrying vehicles, and the busy tread of active feet, and
the motley group were all on board, and many sorrowing friends stood
upon the shore, breathing a tearful farewell, to the dear ones who
were going from them.
The man of God was there; he had committed his interests to the "God
of the winds and the waves," and his heart was at peace.
The gay and thoughtless were there, who heeded not that "human life is
a vapor, that passeth soon away."
The second bell rang, and the sound fell with that leaden weight upon
many hearts, that so often comes upon us, when we are called to part
from some dearly loved objects, and we feel that it may be an eternal
separation.


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