Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland

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.