The funeral services were performed in a solemn and impressive manner.  The coffin was then opened, and one by one we approached to take the last fond look of its frail tenant.  Oh, could it be that that form, so cold and motionless, clad in the white habiliments of the grave, was that of the once lovely and fascinating Annie Howard?  Were those lips that were wont to entrance with their melody forever sealed in death?  Would those eyes never again beam with the light of affection, or kindle with the glow of enthusiasm?  Oh, how forcibly were we reminded that “passing away” is written upon all things here below, and that the fairest forms that walk the earth, in all the pride of beauty, must go down to the dark, cold grave, to be food for the loathesome worm.  With slow and faltering steps, and with tear-suffused eyes, we followed the remains to the narrow house, appointed for all the living; and then mournfully returned to our homes, to muse upon the uncertainty, and the perishable nature of all earthly joys.

Annie Howard was one of my earliest and dearest friends, and thinking that, perhaps, her history might be interesting to some who may chance to peruse these pages, I have endeavored, although but imperfectly, to give a brief sketch of her life.

She was the only child of wealthy and highly respectable parents.  Possessed of refined and cultivated minds, they were anxious that their daughter should be educated in all the more solid branches, which would render her a useful member of society, as well as the lighter graces and accomplishments which, too often, in the present day, supercede the cultivation of the mind.  Endowed with a brilliant intellect, she excelled in whatever she attempted, and the fond anticipations of her friends were more than realized.  The acquirement of literature was to her a source of exquisite delight.  Her thirsty soul drank at the fountain of knowledge, with as much avidity as the weary traveller slakes his thirst at the fountain of cool waters, that bubbles up in the midst of the sandy desert.  Her inquiring mind was never weary of exploring the deep mysteries of science or poring over the pages of ancient lore.  Music, painting and poetry seemed to form the etherial essence of her mind.  She played with exquisite skill and taste, and sang with surpassing sweetness and melody.

Her brilliant powers of mind, the beauty of her person, her graceful, winning manners, the sweetness of her disposition, and the unaffected goodness of her heart, rendered her a universal favorite in the circle in which she moved.

Yet, was she ever modest and unassuming.  She was far from that vain haughtiness that is the common characteristic of narrow and superficial minds, and which, too often, displays itself in persons of cultivated intellect, where there is not a corresponding goodness of heart.  It seemed to be her aim to render those with whom she associated, pleased with themselves rather than to impress upon them a sense of her own superiority.  This trait in her character had in it nothing allied to sycophancy, which quickly disgusts persons of sense and refinement; neither did it originate merely in the desire to please, but had its source in an inherent principle of her nature, which prompted her to seek to promote the happiness of others.