to her the secret recesses of
hearts, which, to a less careless observer, would have been veiled in
impenetrable coldness and reserve.

In early life she had given her heart to the Saviour, and had
consecrated herself to the service of God; and she sought to follow
the example of the meek and lowly Jesus.

The poor, the sick, and the sorrowful, were objects of her peculiar
care and attention. Many a poor, crushed and broken-hearted being,
borne down by poverty and affliction, was made glad by her sympathy
and kindness. She possessed that sweet, graceful way of offering a
benefit which rendered a favor from her doubly acceptable. Among the
gentlemen of her acquaintance, there were many who, fascinated by the
charms both of her mind and person, sought to win her heart, but of
all her numerous admirers, there was but one whose affection was
reciprocated, and that one was well worthy the love and confidence of
such a being as Annie Howard. He possessed those noble qualities of
heart and mind which command the admiration of the great and good, and
which render man, in the true sense of the term, the noblest work of
God. Gifted with strong powers of mind, which had been disciplined
by a thorough education, possessing principles of the strictest
integrity, and an elegant and prepossessing exterior, he was beloved
and esteemed by all who knew him. He was a physician, and had the
reputation of being a skilful practitioner. He had resided in the same
village with Annie some two or three years, and being of congenial
dispositions, and thrown much into each others' society, a strong
attachment had sprung up between them, which was sanctioned by the
friends of both parties.

But brilliant intellect, beauty of person, sweetness of disposition,
goodness of heart, nor love of friends could save her from death's
relentless dart. In her case, the words of the poet Wordsworth were
verrified,

"The good die first,
And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust
Burn to the socket."

Ere nineteen summers had passed over her head, consumption had
fastened upon her vitals. At first the symptoms were so slight that
her friends felt little alarm, but soon the hollow cough, which sounds
so much like a funeral knell, the unnatural brilliancy of the eye, the
hectic glow upon the cheek, and the short, labored breathing, told but
too plainly that death was not to be cheated of his prey. It has been
said that death loves a shining ma