MISS SIMMONDS' STORY.
The fifteenth of September found me again installed in my position as
teacher in my school at Mill Town. I still continued to board in the
family of Parson Northwood. I retained all my former pupils, with the
addition of several new ones.
Miss Simmonds had often invited me to pay her a visit in her home at
Littleton, but I had as yet found no convenient opportunity for so
doing. One Friday evening I decided to pay the long promised visit, and
remain over the Sabbath with Miss Simmonds. She seemed very glad to see
me, and gave me a friendly welcome to her humble home. But, humble as it
was, it presented a picture of neatness and cozy comfort. After tea, and
when her light household duties had all been carefully performed, we
seated ourselves by a cheerful fire in her little sitting-room, and
prepared to spend the long evening in social conversation. I had always
been very fond of the company of Miss Simmonds. Her conversational
powers were very good, and she was sufficiently well informed to render
her a very agreeable companion. As the night closed in, one of those
violent storms of wind and rain came on, which are so frequent in the
Eastern States during the month of November. The beating of the storm
without caused our warm and well-lighted room to seem all the more
cheerful. As the evening advanced I observed that Miss Simmonds grew
thoughtful; and, although she endeavored to be social, it was evident
that her mind was occupied by something else than the subject of
conversation. After a short silence, she addressed me suddenly,
saying,--
"I feel inclined, Clara, to relate a story to you, which at least has
the merit of truth; for it is a chapter from my own life."
I gladly assented to listen to her story, for since I first met Miss
Simmonds I had entertained an idea that there was something of romance
attached to her life.
"Thirty years ago," began Miss Simmonds, "I was not the faded,
care-worn woman which you now see before you. I was born in this
village. My parents were poor but industrious people. They were blessed
with two children, myself, and a brother, who was two years younger than
I; but, ere he reached the age of ten, we were called to lay him in the
grave, leaving me the sole comfort and joy of my bereaved parents. They
had very much loved my little brother; and, when death claimed him, all
the love which he would have shared with me, had he lived, was lavished
upon me. There is little in my childhood and youth worthy of notice, as
we occupied an humble sphere in life. I suppose you will hardly credit
me, Clara, when I tell you that, at the age of sixteen I was called
beautiful. It was something to which I had given but little thought; but
the ear of youth is ever open to flattery, and I must confess that my
vanity was flattered by being called beautiful by the residents of the
then small village of Littleton.
"When I was about eighteen years of age," continued Miss Simmonds, "a
young lawyer, by the name of Almont, opened an office in this village,
for the practice of his profession. He came among us suddenly, and he
informed those with whom he first made acquaintance, that he had
formerly resided in Massachusetts. Many wondered at his locating himself
here, as the village was then but small, and offered few inducements to
professional men.
"He was very affable and pleasing in his address, and soon made the
acquaintance of many of the young people of the village, and we soon
found him to be a very agreeable addition to our pic-nic excursions and
other parties for pleasure and amusement. He paid marked attention to me
from the time when we first became acquainted; and, to shorten my story,
after an acquaintance of six months, he asked me to become his wife. I
am now an old woman, Clara, and need not blush to tell you that I had
learned to love him with a deep affection, and I yielded a willing
assent, provided that my parents approved. True, I had no knowledge of
his connections or former life; but since his residence in our village,
his conduct had been irreproachable, and he was fast gaining the respect
and confidence of all who knew him. There was something very attractive
in his personal appearance; he seemed to have seen much of the world,
for so young a man, for he spoke in a familiar manner of many distant
scenes and places. When he sought my hand in marriage, my parents did
not object. He was gaining quite a lucrative practice both in Littleton
and adjacent places, and he declared his intention of making Littleton
his permanent home. Doubtless, this influenced my parents to favor his
suit, as the thought of my settling in my native village was very
pleasing to them. He was very much flattered by society, and I was all
the more pleased to find myself the object of his choice. When our
engagement became known, I had good reason for believing myself to be
envied by many of my female acquaintances. Neither they nor I were aware
how soon their envy was to be turned to pity. An early day was appointed
for our marriage, and my poor parents exerted themselves to give me a
suitable wedding outfit. About this time, Mr. Almont had business which
obliged him to leave Littleton for a short time. When he bade me adieu I
felt a foreboding of evil; and, after he had gone, I experienced a
depression of spirits, for which I could not account. But, when he had
been a week absent, and I received from him a cheerful letter, informing
me of his return in a few days, I strove to banish my sad thoughts and
busied myself in preparing my wedding outfit. Going one day to the Post
Office, with the expectation of finding there a letter from Mr. Almont,
I received this instead."
As she spoke, Miss Simmonds unfolded a letter, which I had observed her
take from a drawer before commencing her story. It read thus:--
"Boston, June 4th, 18--.
"To Miss Priscilla Simmonds:
Although you are, personally, a stranger to me, I nevertheless take the
liberty of addressing you. By the merest chance I learned your name and
residence, also, that you are shortly to be united in marriage to Mr.
George Almont, a lawyer from the city of Boston.
"I felt it an imperative duty, before that event shall take place, to
inform you that I am the wedded wife of the same George Almont, whom you
are about to marry. He came to Boston about five years since, having, as
he said, just completed his studies in the city of New York. He opened
an office in this city for the practice of his profession; and, as his
external appearance was pleasing, he soon gained an entrance into good
society. I need not inform you that he was likely to make a favorable
impression upon the mind of a young lady just entering society. He rose
rapidly in his profession; and although my parents were wealthy, when
they saw how deeply I was attached to him, they did not object to my
receiving his addresses, as he bid fair to rise to a position of wealth
and influence. It is needless, as well as painful, for me to dwell upon
the subject. Two years after he first came to Boston we were married. We
soon removed to our own dwelling, which was a wedding gift to me, from
my father. For a time he treated me with the utmost kindness and
affection. But you may believe me, Miss Simmonds, when I inform you that
he has been a dissipated, unprincipled man from his youth. His seemingly
correct habits had merely been put on, for the purpose of gaining him an
entrance into respectable society. When he began to treat me with
indifference and neglect, for a long time I bore it in silence; but I
was at length forced to acquaint my parents of the matter. My father
soon took measures to ascertain what manner of life he had led while
pursuing his studies in New York; and the information he gained was very
discreditable to Mr. Almont. But my parents advised me, as we were
married, to try if, by kindness, I could not reclaim him from his evil
ways. I willingly followed their advice, for I still loved him; but, I
suppose the restraint which for a time he had imposed upon himself made
him all the more reckless when he returned to his evil courses. He soon
seemed to lose all respect for me as well as for himself; and his
conduct became so vicious that my father recalled me to his home, and
forbade Mr. Almont from ever again entering his dwelling. I could, I
presume, have obtained a divorce from him with little difficulty, but I
shrank from the publicity attached to such a course. I still reside with
my father and mother. Mr. Almont left Boston soon after I returned to my
parents. We heard nothing of him for some time; but we lately heard from
a reliable source that he was residing in Littleton, in New Hampshire,
and also of his approaching marriage. Nothing but a sense of duty would
have induced me to make this communication to you. I would save another
young life from being shadowed by the same cloud which has darkened
mine. Should you doubt the truth of what I have written, you can easily
satisfy yourself, by either visiting this city in person, or causing any
of your relatives so to do. Enclosed you will find the street and number
of my residence. I sincerely hope you will receive this communication in
the spirit in which it is written, and that is, one of kindness, and a
desire to save you from the sorrows which I have experienced.
"Yours truly,
"Malvina Almont."
Miss Simmonds continued,--
"You may be able to imagine, but I cannot describe the effect produced
upon my mind by the perusal of this letter. I felt stupefied and
bewildered. How I reached my home I could never tell. I entered the
house just as my father and mother were sitting down to their noon-day
meal. As soon as my mother caught sight of me she enquired of me what
was the matter? I suppose the agony of my mind was depicted upon my
countenance. Without a word, I placed the letter in her hand, which,
after perusing, she handed to my father. The natural temper of my father
was rash and impulsive, and the contents of that letter exasperated him
beyond control. He used many bitter words, and threatened dire vengeance
upon young Almont, should he ever again enter our dwelling. My mother
begged of him to desist, saying that if he were indeed guilty, as the
letter proved him to be, his sin would certainly bring its own
punishment. When we had succeeded in quieting the anger of my father, we
were able to converse upon the matter in a calm and rational manner. We
finally decided that my father should read the letter to Mr. Almont upon
his return, and see what effect it would produce upon him. Three days
later he came. He entered our dwelling and accosted us with his usual
bland and smiling manner. In a short time, my father turned and
said,--'During your absence, Mr. Almont, my daughter has received a most
unaccountable letter which I wish to read to you, hoping you may be able
to explain it.' The paleness which overspread his countenance on hearing
my father's words put to flight the hope I had cherished that he would
be able to prove the letter a falsehood. Without any further remark, my
father read the letter to him, word for word. As he concluded he
said,--'And now, Mr. Almont, unless you are prepared to prove the
information contained in this letter to be untrue, I wish you
immediately to leave my dwelling, and, if you take my advice, you will
also leave this village, for I cannot abide the sight of a wretch such
as this letter proves you to be, and your silence be as testimony to its
truth. Begone! I say, from the humble, but, heretofore, happy home,
which your baseness has darkened by sorrow.' As my father uttered these
words, he stamped with his foot, and pointed to the door. Without a
word, Mr. Almont left the house, and on the day following, we learned
that he had left Littleton, and gone no one knew whither. Many surmises
arose concerning his sudden departure, for it was well known that we
were engaged to be married, but no one had any knowledge of the facts of
the matter. When the wonder had subsided, which any unusual event
occasions in a small village, the subject was suffered to rest. I felt
stricken as by a sudden blow. I felt no interest in life, but I
endeavored, when in the presence of my parents, to assume a cheerfulness
which was far from being the real state of my mind.
"To a few and tried friends only did we make known the real truth of
the circumstances attending the departure of Mr. Almont from Littleton.
Time passed on. Those who knew my sorrows respected them, and the name
of George Almont ceased to be mentioned among our acquaintances. But it
was something which I could never cease to remember. I had loved George
Almont as one of my nature can love but once in her life, and, when I
learned that I had been deceived in regard to his true character, the
knowledge was very bitter to me. I loved him still--not as he really
was, but I still loved the memory of what I had supposed him to be, when
I gave him my affection. There are few lessons in life more bitter to
either man or woman than to find themselves deceived by one to whom they
have given their best affections. For a time I yielded to a bitter and
desponding spirit. I excluded myself from all society, and brooded in
solitude over my sorrow. I so far yielded to this unhealthy tone of mind
that I gave up attending church, and I caused my parents much grief and
anxiety by the sullen and apathetic state of mind in which I indulged.
"During the winter which succeeded the events of which I have spoken,
there was a series of special meetings held in the Congregational Church
in this village. A general interest was manifested in the subjects of
religion by both old and young. Many of those who had been my former
companions were hopefully converted. I had formerly been of a gay and
lively disposition, fond of dress and amusement. The subject of religion
was one to which I had scarcely ever given a thought. The world and its
pleasures occupied my whole heart, and, when the world disappointed me,
I knew not where to turn for comfort. True, I had, from a child,
attended to the outward forms of religion, but my heart was untouched
and I now see that it required a great earthly sorrow to turn my
thoughts heavenward. I at first refused to attend the meetings of which
I have spoken, though often strongly urged to do so, but, one evening,
my parents so strongly urged me to accompany them to hear an aged
minister from another State that I at length consented to go. It is a
matter of thankfulness to me this day that I attended that meeting. As I
have said, the minister was an old man, his hair was white as snow.
There was something remarkably pleasant and venerable in his appearance.
No one who heard his voice and gazed upon his mild countenance, could
doubt that they listened to a good man. During the first prayer, on that
evening, my heart became softened and subdued, and when he gave out his
text, from Matthew xi. chap., 28, and two following verses, I listened
to him with rapt attention. It seemed almost that he understood my
individual case. In the course of his sermon, he said:--'I presume there
are few in this congregation who have not some burden of sorrow which
they would gladly have removed. Shall I tell you how you may be released
from this burden? Kneel humbly at the foot of the Cross; and while you
pray for the forgiveness of your past sins, make a firm resolve, in the
strength of the Lord, that your future life shall be given to His
service; if you do this with sincerity, you shall surely find rest unto
your souls. You need have no fears that you will be rejected, for hath
not the Saviour said:--Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast
out. You may, this very night, exchange your burden of sin and sorrow
for the yoke which is easy and the burden which is light.'
"I have," said Miss Simmonds, "a distinct recollection of the look and
manner of that aged man as he uttered these words, and it is a matter of
heartfelt thankfulness to me the day that ever I heard his voice; for he
it was who first guided my wandering feet into the paths of peace. When
I returned to my home the words of that good man followed me. I thought
much on the words of his text. Surely, thought I, if all are invited to
come to the Saviour, I must be included in the number. Why may I not go
now? With these thoughts in my mind, I kneeled in prayer. I prayed
earnestly for the pardon of my sins and resolved, from that moment, to
begin a new life. Before rising from my knees I experienced a sense of
pardoning love, and I was happy.
"It was now that I became sensible of the wrong I had been guilty of,
in allowing my sorrow to cause me to neglect my duties, for there is no
one in any station of life but has claims of duty. I again engaged
actively in the duties of life, with a feeling of thankfulness that I
was privileged to cheer the declining years of my parents. Year after
year passed away. I still remained with my father and mother; and I felt
no wish to leave them, although I had more than one opportunity for so
doing. My mother died at the age of sixty-five. I nursed her tenderly
through a long and painful illness, and closed her eyes in death. My
father and I were now left alone in our home. He was several years older
than my mother. The infirmities of age were coming fast upon him."