Smoot's treatment of her sister. She loaned him nearly all her
money and he never paid it back; he wanted the rest, but she
refused to let him have it; he then declined to take her with him
across the plains. She told her griefs to my wife Rachel, and
Rachel brought about the marriage between her and myself.

Mrs. Armstrong told Rachel that I was the first man on earth to
bring the gospel to her, and she had always had a great regard
for me, but I appeared to treat her coldly. Rachel told her that
I always spoke kindly of her, and the reason I had not been more
friendly was because I thought she wanted to become a member of
Brother Smoot's family; that she had heard me speak of her in
terms of praise many times.

Finally she came to my house and I asked her, in the presence of
my wives, to become a member of my family. My wives advised me to
be sealed to her, and, as the matter was agreeable all round, I
was. Brigham sealed her and the Young girls to me. She was a
true, affectionate woman. My whole family respected her. She was
forty-eight years of age when she was sealed to me, and remained
a true wife until her death.

In matters of this kind I tried to act from principle and not
from passion. Yet I do not pretend to say that all such acts wore
directed by principle, for I know they were not. I am not blind
to my own faults. I have been a proud man, and in my younger days
I thought I was perfection. In those days, too, I expected
perfection in all women. I know now that I was foolish in looking
for that in anybody. I have, for slight offenses, turned away
good-meaning young women who had been sealed to me; refused to
hear their excuses, and sent them away heartbroken.

In this I did wrong. I have regretted the same in sorrow many
years. Two of the young women so used still keep warm hearts for
me, notwithstanding my conduct toward them. They were young and
in the prime of life when I sent them from me. They have since
married again, and are the mothers of families. They frequently
send letters to comfort me in my troubles and afflictions, but
their kind remembrances serve only to add to my self-reproach for
my cruel treatment of them in past years. I banished them from me
for lesser offenses than I myself had been guilty of.

Should my story ever fall into the hands of Emeline Woolsey or
Polly Ann Workman, I wish them to know that, with my last breath,
I asked God to pardon me for the wrong I did them, when I d