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BY GARDNER & BARROW.
TIIE GEORGIA MIRROR,
Is published every Saturday, in Florence,
jtewart county, Ga. at THREE DODLARS a
year, if paid in advance, or FOUR DOLLARS,
it not paid until the end of the year.
Advertisements will be conspicuously inserted
at One Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, and
50 cents for each subsequent insertion. Nothing
under 15 lines will be considered less than a
square. A deduction w ill be made lor yearly ad
vertisements.
All advertisements handed in for publication
without v limitation, will be published till forbid,
and charged accordingly.
S lies of Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad
ministrators and Guardians, are required by law
to be advertised in a public Gazette, sixty days
previous to the day of sale.
The sale of Personal property must be adver
tise 1 in like manner forty days.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate
nl n*t be published forty days.
Notice that application will he made to the
Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Ne
proes, must be published weekly lor four months.
All Letters on business must be i*os
i>a!o to insure attention.
JOB PRINTING.
(CONNECTED with the office of the MIR-
J ROR, is a splendid assortment of
\nd we are enabled to exeute all kind of Job work,
in the neatest manner and at the shortest uoticc.
of every description will constantly be kept on
luitd, such as
INDICTMENTS,
DE C L A R A T ION S,
EDBPCENAS,
JURY SUMMONSES,
EXECUTIONS.
(’()ST E XECUTIONS.
SHERIFF’S BILLS OF SALE,
do DEEDS,
L\N'D DEEDS,
JUS. SUMMONSES,
do EXECUTIONS,
MORTGAGES,
do GUARDIANSHIP.
L ET. ADM l NIST RATION,
do TESTAME NT AR Y,
And a great many others for Justices, of the
Peace. Administrators, Executors. Ac.
JERAIGAA.
VSALE of lots in this town will take place on
Tuesday the 16th of October next.
Terms—One fourth cash, the balance in three
annual instalments.
This town is beautifully situated on a high bluff
j of the river Chattahoochee, in the county of Bar
bour, Alabama, about one mile below the mouth of
ilatchechubbee, and from twenty-five to thirty
miles below Columbus. It possesses local advan
tages inferior to no place upon the river. The
bluff on which it stands is a continuation of the
ridge, dividing the waters of the Ilatchechubbee
and Cowagkee creeks, affording the most eligible
location for an excellent road into the interior of
Barbour, Russell and Macon, by which the pro
duct of ths rich and fertile cotton lands of those
counties can be easily conveyed to market. The
road from Columbus to Florence and Irwiuton,
"ill pass through this town. Situated below the
■Snake Shoalsand Woolfolk’s bar. which are the
principal obstructions in the river, it can be ap
proached without difficulty by steam boats at al
most all seasons of the year. Indisputable titles
"ill be given to purchasers. For the proprietors,
JAMES E. GLENN, Agent.
N. B. The cash payment may be made by a
good paper, well indorsed, payable GO days, at
anv Bank in Columbus.
Aug. 1G 21 ts
LANDS FOITSALE.
The subscriber offers for sale the fol
•>,r “ lowing valuable lots of Land, lying in
a rich and prosperous part of the State,
—V | ou very liberal and accommodating
terms.
Ne. 91 in 7tli district, Randolph.
190 in 10th „ do
127 in 10th „ do
276 in' sth „ do
149 in 2d „ Stewart.
117 in 18th „ do
149 in 29th „ Sumter.
215 in 29th do
32 in 2d „ _ Muscogee.
% in 6th „ do
34 in 17tli „ Sumter.
For further information apply at the office of
the Mirror, or to the subscriber, in Appling, Co
lumbia county, Ga. WM. GLOVER.
August 11* 20 5t
VALUABLE LANDS
FOR SALE.
The Subscriber offers for sale a vai
uable TRACT OF LAND whereon
he now lives, lying in Stewart county,
■JL 11 _ one mile and a half from I lorcnce,
containing 1,000 acres, of which there is between
200 and 300 acres in cultivation. On the premi
*es there are comfortable houses, a good GIN
HOUSE, superior GIN and GEAR. Also, a
cIRST RATE SAW MILL, which has only
i n operation about six months; surrounded
uy an inexhaustible quantity of pine timber, near
Be veral towns, situated on the Chattahoochee riv
er-. The land is rich and level. I have good
spring water, and a healthy and beautiful situa
tion for a residence. Any person wishing to pur
chase will call and view the premises.
JOSEFH RfcESE.
July 28 18 cots
%® 9&, | i, £ •_* 2 • -A 3 W ' 1 ii
From the Sunday School Hymn Book.
THE LORD’S PRAYER.
God as our Father we proclaim.
The Heavens are thine abode ;
All hallowed be thy holy name,
Thou generous, kind and good.
Thy kingdom, as the noon-day sun,
Wide o’er the world be given ;
Thy will in all the earth be done,
As it is done in heaven.
And while permitted here to live,
Our daily bread bestow;
And all our trespasses forgive,
As we forgiveness show.
Lead us not into trials, which
Thy servants cannot bear;
But send delivering grace to each,
As evils do appear.
Thine is the kingdom full of love,
And joy and righteousness;
And thine the power which from above
Brings everlasting bliss.
Thine shall the glory also be,
While endless years endure;
And we will sing sweet hymns to thee,
Both now and evermore.
From the Philadelphia Courier.
The Wife.
Or, Annette I Vallington.
BY MRS. C. DURAUS,
Author of “the Eagle's nest," tyc. fyc.
When children of the different sex are reared
togetiier, they are unconscious of leeliugs that
may be awakened at future periods,—innocent
ignorant of the passions that time infuses into the
human bosom. Such was the case with 1' ran
cis Montague and Emma Howard. I bey had
been children together, played together, and
shared each other’s joys and sorrows. Neither
were sensible ot the love that slumbered in their
hearts, till the feeling of jealousy was aroused in
Francis by the attentions ot Heury Wallington.—
The discovery was made too late: Emma had be
come the betrothed of Henry Wallington. Henry
was a young man, possessing the most fascinating
manners and appearance. He arrived in the vil
lage of Clapham, where, as a stranger, he received
every attention which hospitality could ofler, and
which iuduced him to settle there.
There is a certain speciousness of manners that
will captivate, dazzle, and mislead the strongest
minds,—nav, entwine, itself arouud the heaits ot
its associates sooner than the most intrinsic woith.
Mr. Howard was a man of the world, aware ot
the deceits that are daily practised : he felt that
there was something about Henry that lie did not
altogether like ; lie feared he was not suited tor
domestic life,—but rather than thwart one wish
of his daughter's, he gave his consent to their
union, but sighed to think that she had not bes
towed her affection on Francis Montague.
It was a cold December night. A social party
were gathered round the cheerful fireside of 3lr.
Howard; happy faces seemed lighted up "itli
smiles; one only seemed to feel distress—F ran
ds—-the loved companion of Emma’s infant days;
he felt as if he had lost all that life made dear.—
Mr. Howard gazed upon his daughter with de
light, while his spirts sank when lie reflected that
the next day he must leave his happy home (or
some time. At the distance of several hundred
miles he had purchased land, which he was going to
view. The journey thither was lonely.
•‘I shall feel much anxiety,” he said, “till I get
through the forest of Sherwood; it is very dreary,
and should >t be known that 1 have a large sum ot
money about me, I may be attacked.
“Suppose I were to accompany you ?” said Hen
ry “it would afford me the greatest pleasure.”
“No,” replied Mr. Howard, “there is a Provi
dence above to protects all; therefore .I am un
grateful, and perhaps wicked to submit to this
depression. Assist me with your prayers, and
supplicate forgiveness for my weakness.”
Alter the orist us of the assembled party had
been sent up to the pure Throne of Grace, the
innocent hilarity of the evening returned, and
concluded as it had commenced.
Eai-ly on the following morning, Mr. Howard
set out on his journey, accompanied by the pray
ers of his w’ife and daughter. At the close ot the
second day he reached the middle of the forest
of Sherwood, which he had so much dreaded ; lie
had hoped to have got through it before evening,
but the day had been stormy, and the ram had
fallen in such torrents, that he had been forced
to seek shelter occasionally in the woody reces
ses. The thunder now began to roar most fear
fully,—the earth trembled,—and the forked light
nine darted with fearful play its serpent brilliancy
around, while its flashes discovered to linn the
ruins of some ancient building. I rail as the
shelter promised to be, he was glad to have reach
ed it; and fastening his horse to a part of the
broken wall, he proceeded to explore the place,—
lie had not gone far, when he perceived at the
end of along gallery, w hat seemed a lemale form;
another flash assured him it w’as no mockery.---
She flew towards him, exclaiming, in a solt and
gentle voice— , , - , T
“Oh, happiness! so fearfully looked for! 1
feared you would not have come—and that would
have been a sad disappointment to poor Annette.
You know not the joyful emotion the few words
gave me contained in the letter I received from
vou this morning, the first I received for six
months. Oh! how each little letter traced by
the hand we love brings to the eye the foim
itself. Why are you so silent ? Ah ingrate that
I am! I forget the storm; and in my own selfish
joy forget how much yon have, suffered in it—
Come to uiy desolate, lonely dwelling, which has
FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1838.
been rendered endurable only by the recollection
of your having placed me there. Come, —tlio
storm that rages without will form a strong con
trast to the peace that will dwell within our breasts,
and the solace of a fond wife will banish even the
remembrance of our poverty. Iu thy smile, I’ll
bury all my sorrows.*’
Mr. Howard felt a pang of regret at being obli
ged to undeceive her delusion that it was not her
husband. He apologized for having been the in
nocent cause of exciting hopes of happiness that
might not be realized, and begged of her to give
him a shelter for the night.
“Willingly,” said she, with a sigh; “'tis but an
humble one, and will require philosophy and re
signation to banish feelings of dreariness.”
She led the way through the long gallery, till
they reached oue of the wings of the buildings, a
turretted tower. It consisted of two apartments,
the only ones which time had spared, so as to be
habitable. Annette stirred up the embers, and
putting on some kindling, soon made a cheering
blaze; its light presented to Mr. Howard the
handsome form and features of his hostess.
She was very young; her dark eyes were of that
languishing softness that would induce a belief
that she w'as of Italian birth; and her dark hair
fell in rich clusters of curls over a forehead of
brilliant whiteness. Her whole appearence and
manners scr’***! to render her situation a complete
mystery. From the antique form of the few ar
ticles of furniture that were strewed about, they
had belonged to the castle ere it had been left to
decay, and had been collected and once been ar
ranged with the greatest taste and care. She
placed before him dried fruit, wine, home-made
bread, anil some venison.
“This is all I can offer,” she saul; “I go but
twice a year to the village, which is twelve miles
off. When you wish to repose, you will find a
bed in that apartment; ’tis but straw, but the
weary body feels not the want of feathered dow’n.
Farewell! Peace to your slumbers, —I must to
my watch. / cannot rest: anxiety aud expecta
tion hold their empire over my mind, till exciting
hopes have worked upon me in a train aud w ild con
fusion has mingled all the trains and feelings ot
mv soul into one dark chaos banishing all thought
but the task ”
There was a wildness in her eye that alarmed
Mr. Howard as she hurried off, to again encoun
ter the merciless storm.
After Mr. Howard had partaken of his simple
fare, which tasted better to him than the choicest
viands h id done at other Vines, he retired to the be I
Annette had prepared for him. Scarce had lie
thrown himself on it, when he fell into a sound
sleep from which he was gradually awoke by voi
ces in the outward apartment. The female voice
he recognized as Annette’s and the mans (whom
she addressed ashusband) seemed to be familiar to
him. “Surely I should know that voice,” thought
lie; “but no,-—it cannot be.” The tenor ol the
conversation was such as to dissuade him from
the thought, as the following words struck upon
his ear: “What wouldst thou live in poverty, and
be the sport of a scoffing world?” “No! by all
that’s villainous, I’d rather rob the prey drained
from the passing traveller by the brigand’s dagger,
than endure its pitying degradation, which would
crush me to the earth.”
Annette’s pious answer to these fiendish senti
ments lent a calm to the excited feelings of the
listener, elicited by the harrowing dialogue:
“Why should we mingle in the world, when in
retirement we may live in innocence and peace,
and laugh at passion’s dark deformities, which
only render its votaries slaves of the most abject
passions. Let us pray that contentment may
dwell in our hearts, and never be destroyed by
guilt.” .
The murmured reply of the man was too indis
tinct to be understood, but was followed by a
scream from Annette.
Mr. Howard rushed into the room, and found
her on the floor. Before he had time to look
round him, the man discharged a pistol at him,
and befell insensible by her side.
*****
The opening of the year did not bring Mr.
Howard’s return as was expected. Henry bad
been called awav’on business, which added to
Emma’s gloom chi the day her father departed.—
She and Mrs. Howard began to feel much
anxiety, when Francis offered to go in search ot
Mr. H., which tender she with many thanks ac
cepted. .
After two weeks of fruitless search, r rancis re
turned. He informed them that he had been to
every place where Mr. 11. was to have stopped,
but could gain no intelligence of him; but in a
neglected building he had found i poor dumb fe
male. Knowing their compassions,he had brought
her to them for protection. Mrs. Howard, whose
heart was always open to the distress ot others,
and whose religion was found on the great princi
ple. “Do unto others as you would they should
do unto you,” w r as happy to take charge of her.
“Poor heart-bruised wanderer! what must thou
have suffered to have brought thee to such a state ?”
said she, as Francis led in a lovely but emaciated fe
male, who, from her appearance, might be about 20
years of age. The poor creature had not tasted food
for some davs; her senses seemed to have aban
doned her,* as she silently and listlessly looked
round her, while the tears of sympathy, sorrow
and regret fell from the eyes of Mrs. Howard aud
Emma, when they reflected on their own misfor
tunes and the miseries of this world.
“She has no doubt,” said Francis, “been torn
from her friends; if we can by any means find a
a clue to them, their kindness may be the cause
of restoring her to reason, and she may then give
some evidence that may lead us to discover Mr.
Every attention was paid by Mrs. Howard and
Emma to the poor girl. In a tew weeks Heury
returned. His attention to Mrs. 11. were such,
that upbraided herself for ever having felt the least
repugnance to him.
Poor Francis continued a desponding visiter,
but not a hopeless lover. Like the poor ship
wrecked mariner, he grasped at every broken
i spar that floats upon the tumultuous ocean, with
out a sail iu sight, and the suu sinking to repose,
leaving him to bullet with the element, with hope
alone tobuov him up. Day alter day did Henry
importune Emma to fix some jieriod for their mar
riage.
“Nay,” said the fair girl, her eyes glistening
with tears as she thought of her father, “you sure
ly would not have our marriage vows be breathed
unheared through sighs and tears? No, Heury,
let them reach the Throne of Grace, where they
are to be registered, enwreathed with smiles, and
let no weeping echoes intercept their passage
thither. Let but a few mouths more pass by,
and then we will think of it.”
“I see,” said Henry, with petulance, “you would
wait to see if fortune would not change ere you
bind yourself to abeggar.”
“Oh, unkind being!” replied Emma, “to think
so meanly of me. Think of my poor mother:
I am now the liuk that binds her to life ; how
would it grieve her at this time for me to leave
her, when she must require my solace? I en
treat you, urge me no further.”
He was about urging her further, when Elmi
ra’s voice was heard singing the following stanzas:
Take back the hateful ring, nor, oh! let weeping
angels view it,
Your vows were false! your heart untrue, and oh !
too well you knew it.
“What strain is that ?” said he.
“’Tis only our poor forlorn one; she often sings
that plaintive sketch. Alas ! it is the only one
that reminds us that reason ever had a residence
in that lair form. Have you not seen her ?” con
tinued Emma. “She is a most interesting crea
ture. Even in madness her affection endears her
to us.”
Henry seemed greatly agitated; after a few
more words, and promising to see her in the eve
ning, he took his departure; he had been gone
but a short time when Francis was announced.
“1 come,” said he, “on a subject that I fear
may not prove an agreeable one, and may lay me
open to suspicion. I fear your approaching union
will not prove one of happiness.”
“Forshame!” exclaimed Emma, “your jealous
feelings urge you to injustice.” r
“No,’’said Francis, “it is natjealousy! I have
weighed well each circumstance; love or jealousy
have no share iu the feelings by w hich I would
guard you from danger. Friendship’s bond iu
early days lias entwined so strong a chain around
out hearts, it has bound me to you so that death
itself could not destroy it; for even then I'll watch
aud guard your memory from assailing foes that
wouid insult it; had you ere been wedded to pol
lution iu the form of Ilemy Wallington!”
“Francis, 1 must not, will not hear such lan
guage; when you learn to respect my friends, 1
will be pleased with that friendship of which you
boast,” w as the hurried reply of Emma.
Francis, in a firm voice, proceeded—“l have
denied all hope myself, aud have cast aside all
selfish views; so sincere is my friendship that I
incurred your displeasure rather than risk that
you should encounter everlasting misery. This
is a mysterious advertisement; I have brought
it to you that you may make inquiries before you
act precipitately,” saying which he handed her a
paper from which she read the following :
If any person can give information respecting
Henry Wallington, they will be handsomely re
warded. Said Henry \Vallington is five feet elev
en inches high, dark eyes, black hair, high fore
head, handsome face and person; a scar ou his
left ear, his manners are very insinuating aud
bland.
“It is very strange indeed,” said Lmma; still
this does not imply crime."
“No,” said he, as he was departing, “but there
are enemies who will destroy his reputation-, lor
your sake I would guard his; I would not pain
you for the world; no blush need rise to check
so pure a feeling as exists in my bosom ; I know
you to be an affianced bride, and in that knowledge
every other passion sinks, save friendship.”
The evening came, and Emma anxiously waited
for Henry’s expected visit; but she was doomed
to be dsiappointed. At night as she sunk on her
pillow, tears fell, the cause of which she could
scarce divine. She thought of her father and
mother’s former happiness, and asked heiselt it
such would be her lot? She feared not Henry’s
petulence and violence, but he has met with mis
fortunes—thought the unhappy girl—which have
caused his irritability. Then, her mother! to
leave her! what in a strange land can compensate
for the disinterested affection of a parent! is there
a substitute ou earth ? No ! a husband s kind
ness may soften the misfortunes aud soothe the
rugged path of life hut nothing can obliteiate the
feelings and uflcctions of early days, in a woman s
breast” Who can forget the look of fond mother
that has watched and prayed to heaven in the
midnight hour, to assuage each pain her infant
felt, the remembrance of such tender scenes must
dwell on the mind till it becomes a chaos.
While these reflections intruded on her imagi
nation. she wished that she had not been betrothed,
yet honour, and, she still hoped, love, forbade
recal; one step to dishonour leads to another—
Had ilenry of late been as anxious for her father's
return? had not his ardour for it abated, while
Francis’s increased? She did not wish to think
so, but thoughts would rush in to haunt her
mind, and torture her with the image of perjured
vows. Such reflections took possession, till dis
turbed slumbers relieved her from them. In the
morning, as she was watching Elmira (as they
called the poor wild girl,) weave some flowers into a
coronet—a*note was handed to her, when she
read as follows:
Dear EfcMA—l must apologize for my ab
sence; yet why should 1 ? Absence is the best boon
the poor can bestow; therefore I need uo other;
wealth lights up each face with smiles, and ptoves
a mirror for all around. I have much to say, but
will not be able to see you before to to-morrow.
Yours, for ever pledged,
H. Walungtoß.
As she was perusing the note, Ehnira stole be
hind her to place the coronet ou Emma’s head-
Vol. I. — N©. 24.
j her eye glanced on the note, she seized it with
phreuzy, her eyes wandered round the room, and
she gave oue loud scream; reason seemed to re
turn to its bewildered seat, but in the struggle life
ebbed aud flowed; one fainting fit succeeded to
another, till at last her constitution triumphed,
and she sunk into a deep slumber.
Consternation so completely overw helmed Em
ma, that as soon as Elmira aw oke from a sleep that
seemed to have shed a calm over her distractions,
she ictired till she could recover herself. Mrs.
Howard watched all day, aud was preparing to re
tire for the night, when she was informed that a
person wished to speak to her immediately. On
going into the drawing room, she perceived a
man wrapped in a large Spanish cloak; she re
treated in alarm at his appearance, when he
turned round and she beheld the welcome face of
Mr. Howard. As soon as Mrs. Howard’s joyful
feelings were sufficiently trunquilized, he related
his adventures in the ruins; and that he was borne
oil' from there to the sea during the time that he
was insensible, from a wound he received from
some unknown hand, hut of whom he had his
suspicion; the villain, after robbing him, had put
him on board a vessel that took him to America,
where he was landed on a part of the coast twelve
miles from any dwelling. His sufferings had
been great, but they were all forgotten iu the hap
piness he felt at being once more in his own home.
As Emma had fallen alseep, her lather contented
himself with viewing the features ot his child,
rather than disturb her till morning, when Mrs.
Howard alluded to the engagement their daughter
was under to Henry, it appeared to give him much
uneasiness; “I cannot divest myself of a strange
feeling 1 have towards that man.” said he, “and a
resemblance of his voice to that ot the woman’s
lluoLona, du.uiu atUl freshly Oil UIV Car.”
Before retiring for the night, Mrs. Howard, re
quested liim to accompany her to see her patient.
She was surprised on going into the rooni to see
the window open—she went to the bed—Elmira
had fled ! In the morning, Mrs. Howard being
anxious to communicate the joyful tidings to her
daughter, entered the chamber; all was still; she
called her—no answer was returned! she went to
the bed, and on the pillow, instead of her child's
smiling features, she beheld a letter directed to
her; she opened it and read as follows:
Dear Mother—The vows you sanctioned, I
am about to pledge, for the secrecy and haste I have
to ask your forgiveness. Only one thing could
urge my leaving you, which is the hope of seeing
my father. Henry has discovered where he is,
and Igo to meet him. I hope ere long we will all
meet.
Your affectionate daughter,
Emma.
Surprise and horror overpowered her on read
ing the letter. She listened to hear if her sen
ses deceived her. No joint! laugh resounded
there! no plaintive strain came murmuring by!
there stood her harp, uo hand to touch its strings;
its chords were silent, no fingers there to waken
them into melody, but yet they seemed to say
“forget me not.” Her paiutings lay upon
the table in loose disorder, as expecting her
to return; each inanimate object Seemed to
speak, farewell. A boquet, which she had
plucked the day before, lay upon the table, its
leaves were beginning to fade, emblem of the
being fled. One only flower remained unchanged
a small “forget-me-not.” The stillness of death
pervaded all things. At length her presence of
mind returned, and she has tened to her husband,
to impart to him the villainy to which their child
had fallen a victim. They lost no time in discov
ering which way they had (led, and ere the sun
was one hour high, the distressed parents were in
hopes of beholding their daughter.
in the midst of a cluster of trees was erected
the village church, around whose Gothic windows
twined in rich festoons, nature's beauteous deco
rations—-its walls, dumb w itnesses ot many a tale
of joy and sorrow’s doom, were covered o’er with
moss. At the altar stood the venerable minister.
As Henry led the trembling girl up the aisle, her
agitation overcame her, so that she at last sunk
senseless into hi 6 arms.
“Have you none to help you, son ?” inquired
the reverend father. “Here, place the lady on
the cushion, and fetch some water from the font.”
Heury did as he was desired, aud had the pleas
ure to see Emma open her eyes, upon which he.
requested the good father to proceed.
“But have you uo witnesses ?” inquired- the
priest.
“ Yes!” said a voice, ere Henry bad time to rc
ply.
A dreadful pause intervened. Emma looked
up and beheld Elmira at her side. Heury stood
horror struck—his speech forsook liim—cold
drops stood upon his brow—his knees bent under
liim.
“What ails you ?” inquired the priest, “shall
we proceed ?”
“Hold! hold !” said Mr. Howard, as be enter
ed the aisle, “save my child! save her!” In a
moment his child was in his arms, and by her siffe
he beheld, to his astonishment, the maniac girl.
“Yes’tis she! It is Annette! Is there none to
secure that fiend?” said he, as Ilenry made his
escape.
‘Oh spare him! spare him!’ said Annette,falling ou
her knees, “he is my husband ! let him escape; I will
watch him; he shall do no further harm hurt [him
not, arid 1 will bless you, pray for you! I saved
your life— save mine, for if he dies, I die too. My
brain has been on fire; I saw the gulf of perdi
tion before him—l wept—l prayed—mv prayers
were heard, lor he is no murderer, and I can
now go down to my grave in peace, so that he dies
not ou the scaffold.”
Mr. Howard felt too grateful for his daughter’s
escape to inflict misery on Annette. The joyful
party returned to their home, where they were
soon joined by Francis, who added to the joy of
the domestic circle.
Poor Annette, without a home, paused before
the church, as its closing portals shut her out,
she knelt, and prayed, and as her voice ascended
to heayeit, the name of husband, mingled wfth.