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Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland by Abigail Stanley Hanna
page 3 of 371 (00%)
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.


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