Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1868-12-19
A COMMON STORY.
nr ]. WILLIAMS, D. D. LID, BISHOP OF cosSEcrrcr

1t was the evening of dreary, gusty,
sleety November day. ! stood at the
window of my study, looking up long
stretch OF valley closed by Il range OF
lofty hills. The sleety mist was sweep
ing down the valley, blotting ont much
OF beauty on which my eyes had often
rested with delight. | had Looked on 1t
in the freshness of the springtide, in the
luxuriant wealth of its summer tullness,
in the pomp of its autumnal garniture,
and now-what a change had come
over it,
Was it an emblem of all human life?
In one sense, yes; in another sense, no.
Not every evening of every lite is like
that day. Not over every lite come
those mists and clouds. And yet how
often does the clear morning end in the
darkencd evening!
AS l stood watching the fading light
OF the closing day. and, turning to my
evenings work, | found myself called to
outdoor duty, and summoned to the
bedside O: the dying.
Not long walk brought me to an
humble dwelling in distant portion of
the town. The damp and moss-grown
walls were sadly suggestive of illness
and decay. The steaming ground and
misty air struck a chill to the spirit as
well as to the physical frame; and the
whole impression WAS one OF forlorn
desolation.
On entering l found a delicate and
refined-looking woman clearly in the
latest Stage OF consumption. Her whole
appearance was out of keeping with the
scenes and things about her. She seemed
like delicate wait cast on some rough
and desolate coast-like what one sees
after shipwreck, when the rich treasures
of a costly cargo are left unheeded
among rocky cliffs and on sandy
beach.
Scattered about were evidences of
better days-some little remnants of
furniture-One or two silver cups given
to children on some happy baptIsmal
day (were the children living or were
they dead?)-some little relics and SOU
venirs of time not forgotten, but Lut
aside out of memory, and kept away.
There was picture OH the wall-a book
or two on the rough table-a clasped
and lettered bible Oh the pillow. W hat
strange and mingled contrast it WAS
the lingering token of an ended sum-
mer-the present witness. OF a coming
winter.
The sufferer fingered long. Days
wore on-some dark, Some bright; but
each, at its close, bringing the poor wo-
man still nearer to her end. One day,
when little temporary strength haG
been gained, she reused herself enough
to tell the story of her llfe-sad enough
and simple enough, and yet not without
that lesson and that moral which the
humblcst life conveys.
She was born in old England, amid
the wales Of Devon, neither in the hum
bier nor yet the higher walks of life,
tenderly if not deicatel y reared, and
trained for 4 life of love aud duty.
Early married, aud early deprived OF
parental sympathy and care, she found
herself bound to d selt-indulgent plea
sure seeker, who soon sank TO u degraded
sot. When fortune and friends were
gone, emigration, as usual, followed;
then despair, poverty, and ut last the
poor man died. But he was never, she
said, cruel to her.
She was left with two children, who
had found temporary shelter i'll IN or
phan's home, and were now she knew
not where, having never known Il moth
er's loye and care, within the time that
memory covered it. 1t was as touching
as it was trying to hear this poor moth
er, with a yearning love, speak of those
whom she had long lost In this world,
and who had long ago forgotten her.
Want stared her in the face. No
means were in her hands; no employ
mant presented itself; she knew only
the humblest among the humble. One
wretched possibility might give her
bread-a lie of sin-a hopeless death.
What terrible dilemma! And yet the
wel[nurtured aud well-cared for remem-
Der it is just the dilemma i'll which
thousands find themselves with the grip
ing hand of poverty at their throats,
1t is the most awful issue that Satan
ever seizes. God, i'll his mercy, defend
those OH whom it comes!
But relief, or what seemed to be re-
lief, came. Another marriage was pro-
posed. The man was rough, but he
seemed kind and honest. There was no
love- There could be none Her own
heart was utterly crushed, it was almost
past all feeling. 1t was not death, per-
haps, but it was, at least, paralysis. If
this marriage could not bring happiness,
it might bring security, and possibly
rest. 1t at least would draw her back
from the fearful abyss yawning before
the tempted soul.
Alas! the hope of any thing like rest
or peace was soon dispelled. Thorough
ness was real. The honesty was only
mask, not over well-worn, that covered
a thoroughly seltih and cruel nature.
He was a gambler and a prize-fghter,
with not one rcdeeming quality OF gen.
And, not to dwell on details of long
years of suffering and crushing sorrow,
day came at last when suffering and
sorrow reached its climax. Passion was
over with brutal nature, safety and
WEAKNESS had come, cruelty had worn
IL