A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHof theLIFE AND CHARACTERofJOSEPH CHARLESS, IN A SERIES OF LETTERS TO HIS GRANDCHILDREN. 

Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoeverthings are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things arelovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Phil. , chap. 4, verse 8. 

SAINT LOUIS:A. F. COX, PRINTER, OFFICE OF THE MISSOURI PRESBYTERIAN. 

1869. 

Letter One

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

We are reminded daily of the uncertainty of human life: for theyoung and the old, the gay and the grave, the good and the wicked, aresubject to death. Young people do not realize this, but it isnevertheless true, and before you are old enough, my children, tounderstand and lay to heart all that your mother would tell you of herdearly beloved father, she may be asleep with grandma, close beside himin Bellefontaine. An earthly inheritance is highly esteemed among men. For this reason great efforts are made by them to lay up treasures fortheir children. They know not, however, who shall gather them, for“riches take to themselves wings and fly away. ” But a good man leavethan inheritance to his children, and to his children’s children, whichis as stable as the throne of the Most High. Like the stream thatgathers strength from every rivulet, and grows deeper, and broader, andmore majestic, until the myriads of crystal drops are received into thebosom of the mighty deep, so likewise is the legacy of a good man. Itdescends to his child by birthright, and through the rich mercy of acovenant-keeping God, widens and extends its life-giving power, flowingon and on, as rivers of water, into the boundless ocean of God’s love. 

Your grandfather, my beloved children, was a great man. Not as awarrior, nor as a statesman, nor in any sense which is simply of theearth, earthy. But he was great by being the possessor of a rarecombination of moral worth and Christian excellence, which made him ablessing to his race. In other words, he was great because he wastruly good. In the midst of his days of usefulness he was cut off fromthe land of the living. His precious remains rest quietly in the freshmade grave; his immortal spirit has winged its flight to the mansionsof the blessed, for “blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for theyrest from their labors, and their works do follow them. ”

While endeavoring, in much weakness, to put together for your perusal suchfacts as may present to your minds a faithful likeness of the noble manfrom whom you have descended, I sincerely pray that you may be stimulated, by the grace of God, to follow him even as he followed Christ. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

BELMONT, January 7, 1860

Letter Two

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

If you will look in your mother’s Bible, you will find that yourgrandfather, JOSEPH CHARLESS, was born in Lexington, Kentucky, on the17th of January, 1804; that his father, whose name was also JosephCharless, was born July 16th, 1772, in Westmeath, Ireland, being theonly son of Captain Edward Charles, whose father, (or paternalancestor, John Charles), was born in Wales and emigrated to Ireland inthe year 1663. 

Your great-grandfather, Jos. Charles, fled from his native country toFrance, in consequence of his having been implicated in the Rebellion of1795, “at the head of which figured the young and nobleEmmet, who fell a sacrifice for loving too well his enslaved country. ”After remaining a short time in France, he sailed for the United Statesof America, where he arrived in 1796, landing at the city of New York. Upon his arrival in the United States he added an s to his name tosecure the Irish pronunciation of Charles, which makes it two syllablesinstead of one, as pronounced by us. 

He settled in Philadelphia, and being a printer by trade, hesecured a situation with Matthew Carey, “who, at that time, did thelargest publishing business in the Quaker City. ” He often boasted ofhaving printed the first quarto edition of the Bible that was everissued in the United States. In 1798 he married Mrs. Sarah McCloud, awidow (with one child), whose maiden name was Jorden. 

Sarah Jorden was born January 28, 1771, near Wilmington, Delaware. During the American Revolution her parents, with theirfamily, were driven by the Hessians from their home in Delaware, andresided subsequently in Philadelphia. 

In the year 1800 Mr. And Mrs. Charless removed from Philadelphiato Lexington, Kentucky; to Louisville in 1806, and to St. Louis in1808. In July of that year Mr. Charless founded the “MissouriGazette, ” now known as the “Missouri Republican, ” of which he waseditor and sole proprietor for many years. This is the first newspaperof which St. Louis can boast, and I am told it still has the largestcirculation of any paper west of the Alleghany Mountains. 

As regards the character of your great-grandfather, he was anoble specimen of the Irish gentleman-–impulsive-warm-heartedness beinghis most characteristic trait. He was polite and hospitable, hiscountenance cheerful, his conversation sprightly and humorous. Sweetis the memory of the times when his children and friends gatheredaround his plentiful board. Often have we seen him entering hisgateway, followed by the mendicant, who would soon return thitherliterally laden down with provisions from his well-stored larder. Hiswife was no less hospitable, not less charitable and kind to the poor, but more cautious. She was of the utilitarian school, and could notbear to see anything go to waste, or anything unworthily bestowed. Notso easily touched with the appearance of sorrow as her husband was, butalways ready to relieve the wants of those she knew to be destitute, she would herself administer to the sick with a full heart and agenerous hand. But she had a natural aversion to indolence, and wouldnot give a penny to any she esteemed so, lest it should tend toincrease this unmeritorious propensity. She was herself exceedinglyindustrious, and took great delight in making her family comfortable, and, in fact, supplying the wants of every living thing about her, evento the cat and the dog. “She layeth her hands to the spindle, and herhands hold the distaff. She riseth also while it is yet dark, andgiveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. ”

Both possessed honorable pride, and were plain, unpretendingpeople, making no claim to an aristocratic ancestry, but, after a longlife spent in a growing city of considerable size, they died, leavingmany to speak their praises, and not one, that I have ever heard of, tosay aught against them. He departed this life at the age of sixty-two, having enjoyed robust health until within two weeks of his death. Hiswidow was “gathered as a shock of corn, fully ripe, into the garner ofthe Lord, ” at the advanced age of eight-one. 

From an obituary notice of her I will quote the following lines:“Mrs. Sarah Charless was an exemplary Christian, and was one of themost zealous and untiring in her exertions to build up the PresbyterianChurch established in this city under the pastoral care of the Rev. Salmon Giddings. Eminently charitable in her disposition, and everwilling to alleviate the evils of others, she endeared to her all uponwhom the hand of misfortune hung heavily. Well was it said of her byone of the most eminent men of our State–-the Hon. Edward Bates–-thatshe was a woman upon whom the young man, far from friends and home, could always rely. ”

Of a family of eight children, viz: Robert McCloud, Edward, John, Joseph, Anne, Eliza, Chapman, and Sarah Charless, Joseph alonewas left in this pilgrimage word to mourn for his mother. ElizaWahrendorff, daughter of Anne Charless Wahrendorff, and LizzieCharless, your own dear mother, were the only grandchildren left tomingle their tears with his. Great was the void caused in our smallfamily circle when this excellent woman, this aged Christian, thisrevered and much loved parent was laid in the silent tomb. It is sweetnow to think about her love of flowers, and how often she would say, when they commenced shooting up in early spring, that they reminded herof the resurrection morning. May you, my dear mother, realize theblessedness of this truth–-when Jesus shall bid his redeemed ones risefrom the cold ground which has so long shrouded them-–and come forth, more beautiful than the hyacinth, to bloom forever on the borders ofthe river of life! And may you, my sweet children, have a pleasant andhappy childhood, loving all that is lovely and hating all this is evil, that you may grow up to be good men and women; and in old age, whenmemory fails, may you, like her, rejoice and revel again amid theinnocent scenes of early life, looking through them up to that gloriousworld above us, where the “inhabitant shall no more say he is sick, ” orshall feel the infirmities of age. 

Affectionately, 	GRANDMA. 

Letter Three

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

You, Charless and Louis, often say to me, “Grandma, tell me aboutwhen you were a little girl, ” and many a little story have I told you. But now I am going to tell you about “Grandpa, ” when he was a littleboy. 

That dear, good grandpa, who looked young to grandma, but wholooked so old to you, with his pretty, glossy grey hair, was once alittle boy, just like you are. He had a dear mamma, too, who tenderlyloved him, but she used to punish him when he was naughty, and kiss himwhen he was good, just as your mamma does to you. He was a veryobstinate little fellow, though, and generally submitted to a good dealof punishment before he would confess his fault and beg forforgiveness. His mamma would sometimes tie him to the bed-post, but hewould pull against the string until his arm would almost bleed, andfrequently he would free himself by gnawing the cord in two. But hewas a good-humored little boy for all that, and “mischievous as a housepig, ” his mother used to say. Once she locked him up, for some naughtytrick, in a room where there were a number of nice fresh made cheeses, arranged around for the purpose of drying, and said to him, “Staythere, Joe, until you mean to be good, and then I will let you out. ”He very soon knocked at the door, calling out, “Mamma, mamma, I’ll begood now, ” and his mamma thought “my little son is conquered very soonthis time; he is certainly improving. ” She opened the door, but what, do you suppose, was her dismay, when she found that the “little rogue”had bit a mouthful out of every cheese!

When he was a small child he strayed off from the house, awaydown to the spring, and, stooping down to see the pretty clear water, fell in, and came near being drowned. Oh, how his poor mother did cry, when her sweet little boy was brought to her so pale, and almostlifeless. But she rubbed him and warmed him until he came to, and wasas well as ever; and his mamma thought “surely such an accident willnever again happen to my dear little son. ” But when he grew to be alarger boy, some time after his parents had removed from Kentucky toSt. Louis, he went one day with some boys to have a swimming match inthe Mississippi river. Most boys like to swim or wade in the water, and sometimes are so eager for the sport that they forget, or give noheed to the expressed commands of their parents; and many a boy haslost his life by breaking the fifth commandment, which says, “Honor thyfather and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which theLord thy God giveth thee. ” Many a boy who, had he lived, might havebecome a good and noble-hearted man, doing much good in the world, hasthus early been summoned suddenly and unprepared before the judgmentbar of God, simply for having forgotten, in a moment of pleasurableexcitement, to honor his parents by a strict obedience to theircommands. But, thanks to our Heavenly Father, this was not the casewith little Joseph Charless, for, although he was drawn by the currentof the terrible Mississippi into a whirling eddy, he was saved fromsuch a dreadful doom. A good, brave boy, who was larger than he, and abetter swimmer, rushed into the whirl and pulled him out to the shore. Poor little fellow! he was almost gone, for he was insensible, and itwas some time before he breathed freely again. He was carried home–-tothat dear home which came so near being made desolate-–and withdeep penitence did he confess his fault and beg for pardon. His lastthoughts when he was drowning (as he thought) were, “I have disobeyedmy mother! It will break my poor mother’s heart!”

Children have a great deal of curiosity, and perhaps you willask, “how did grandma know so much about grandpa when he was a littleboy? Was she a little girl then, and did she live in St. Louis, too?”No, my children, when my parents moved to St. Louis I was a young ladyand grandpa was a young gentleman. We soon became acquainted, however, and after awhile we were married, and then I took a strange fancy tolearn all about him from the time he was a little baby in his mother’sarms; and when I ventured to ask his mother a few questions about him, I found it pleased her so much that I was encouraged to ask many more. And now it seems to me I have known grandpa always, and was with himwhen he used to go with his mamma and little brothers and sisters intothe country, with a company of the neighbors, all in little Frenchcarts, to gather strawberries and blackberries, which grew in abundancein Lucas Place, Chouteau avenue, and all about, where now are elegantmansions and paved streets. It was then a prairie, with clumps oftrees here and there, springs of water and sweet wild flowers. 

He told me himself about his frolics with the French boys (manyof whom were his earliest and truest friends), how they used to havematch-eating pancake parties, in the day of the pancake festival in theCatholic Church; and about his youthful gallantries, and howdesperately in love he was once with a very smart, pretty creole girl, and how the discovery of “a hole in her stocking” drove the little godof love from his breast. 

But these anecdotes and incidents were, perhaps, more interestingto his wife than they will be to you. Well, then, I will tell you anIndian story, for I have never known a boy yet that did not like tohear about the Indians. You know the poor things are now nearlyexterminated from the face of the earth. In the early history of St. Louis, I find that they lived not far off, having pitched their wigwamsonly a little farther to the west, for the white man, in intruding upontheir hunting grounds, had driven them, with the elk, the deer and thebuffalo, still farther from the Atlantic coast, which they once claimedas their own rightful property. These poor savages, however, wouldoften come into the town to see “the white-faced children of the GreatSpirit;” to buy their beads and other fine things to dress up in; andthat they might show them how fierce they looked, their faces streakedwith every variety of paint, and their hair all shaved off excepting alittle bunch on the top of their heads which they reserved as afastening for their feathers and other head ornaments, of which theywere very fond. But, I dare say, if you have never seen Indians, youhave seen their pictures. It was real sport for the boys to see themdance, and listen to their wild songs and savage yells. 

But to my story. There was an old Indian who was a great thief. He was seen alone, generally, prowling about the town, peeping throughthe fences into the yards, watching out for chickens, or anything hecould shoot with his arrow, or slip under his blanket. Little JosephCharless had watched this famous old Indian thief, and determined topunish him for his wickedness. To accomplish this purpose, he armedhimself with plenty of dried squashes, which he kept in the garret ofhis father’s house, near to the gable window, that fronted on thestreet. He watched his opportunity, and one day, as the Indian passedby, he threw a squash down upon the old fellow’s head. Soon after hepeeped out to see if it had struck him, when whiz went the arrow, justgrazing his face and sticking tight and firm into the window beam abovehis head! This fright cured him of “playing tricks upon travelers, ” atleast for awhile. 

You see now, my dear children, from what I have told you, that“grandpa” was just such a boy as you are–-fond of fun and frolic, andof playing tricks. 

I have said nothing of his love of school and books. But I thinkhe was about as fond of both as boys usually are. When a little boy hewas sent to the village school, and after he became large enough towork, he was put to work in his father’s printing office. By the timehe became a pretty good printer, a school of a higher grade than anySt. Louis had yet afforded was opened in the country, and his fathergladly availed himself of this opportunity to continue the education ofhis son. He was a pupil in this school for some time, after which hecommenced the study of the law, agreeably to his father’s wishes, underthe supervision of Francis Spalding, who was at that time an eminentlawyer in St. Louis. After having read law awhile, he was sent tocomplete his legal education at the Transylvania University, Kentucky. 

While in the printing office he and another boy received aterrible flogging one day for laughing at a poor, unfortunate man, whohad a very bad impediment in his speech, which being accompanied, withludicrous gestures and grimaces, was more than their youthfulrisibility could withstand. They made a manly, but vain attempt tosuppress a roar of laughter, which only gathered strength from beingdammed up, and at last burst over all bounds. I never could forgivehis father for whipping the poor boys so severely for what they couldnot avoid. He was too just and generous a man, however, to have beenso unmerciful, if his better feelings and his better judgment had notbeen warped by a burst of passion. 

The following is from the pen of his old friend and playmate, Mr. N. P. , of St. Louis:

“You ask me to state what I know of the early character of yourlate husband. This I proceed to do. In his boyhood there were not thesame temptations in St. Louis to irregularity of habits and vice thatassail the young men of the present day. I do not think I err when Isay that Joseph Charless was a good boy-–kind, tractable, obedient tohis parents, and giving them no further solicitude than such as everyparent may well feel when watching the progress of a son to manhood. He had no bad habits. As a boy, there was nothing dishonorable abouthim, and he had quite as few frailties, or weaknesses, as attach to anyof us. In the sports and amusements of that day he stood well with hisfellows, and was well received in ever society. Of course, from what Ihave said, you will infer that he was of an amiable disposition, exhibiting less of heated temper than most of us. Not quick ininviting a quarrel, but, being in, defending himself resolutely andmanfully. I do not think he was the favorite of his parents at thatday. Edward was. John, another brother, was passionate and hard togovern, but he was the only one of the family who had these qualitiesin a marked degree. 

“I think Joseph gave as little cause for anxiety to his parentsand friends as any boy could possibly do. He has been taken from us, and I have written in a more public manner (as editor of ‘TheRepublican’) my estimate of his character in all the relations oflife, ” &c. , &c. 

At the age of twelve years, his brother John, who was two yearsolder than himself, was taken sick and died. This was the first greatsorrow that your dear grandfather ever knew. I have often heard himspeak of it, but never without a shade passing over his countenance, denoting that time could not efface the recollection of that painfulevent. Oh, how his loving young heart must have swelled withunutterable grief when his playmate brother lay in his coffin, so stilland cold, his hands clasped upon his breast, with cheeks so pale, andhis bright blue eyes dimmed and closed! But grandpa still had brothersand sisters left, and a kind father and mother. The world which lookedso dark, soon became a pleasant world to him again; the flowers lookedpretty and the air was fresh, and he was again seen sporting andromping. But at night, when he knelt down to pray, and his thoughtswent up to Heaven, he would think of his brother, and, weeping, torelieve his little, aching heart, he would go to bed, feeling lonelyand sad. 

Did you ever think what a blessing it is to go to sleep, my dearlittle children? What pleasant dreams; and how gay and bright themorning appears after a good night’s rest upon a comfortable bed. Anddo you ever think how good God is to have given you a praying mother, when so many little children have never heard of God or Heaven?Grandpa had a Christian mother, too, and she taught him to pray. Shetold him all about the great God who made Heaven and earth, and allthings, and about his SON JESUS, who came into the world as a littlechild; that, though rich, he became poor, and was laid in a manger. This blessed Jesus is your friend. He can hear, and he can answer yourprayers, and knows all you think and feel, all that you say and do. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

BELMONT, January, 1860. 

Letter Four

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

Twelve months have elapsed since I first made an attempt, bywriting, to make you acquainted with your beloved grandfather, whodeparted this life on the 4th of June, 1859. 

I am still a mourner-–such an one as I hope, as I earnestlypray, none of you may ever be. My poor heart is desolate! I have nohome in this world, and I long for Heaven. I would gladly lay me downin the grave, but God knows what is best for me, and He does all thingswell. Then to my task, for I have a portrait to make-–a portrait foryou to look at, to imitate, to love, and to reverence. Not a likenessof the external man: you have that to perfection-–so perfect that afriend, who knew him well, remarked, upon looking at it, that theartist must have been inspired. But to show the inner life and thedaily walk of that dear man who, for twenty-seven years, six months andtwenty-seven days, was the sharer of my joys and sorrows, and the propof my earthly existence, is a more delicate task. In a few words Icould sum up his life and character, for there was nothingextraordinary in it, excepting extraordinary goodness; but, then, howcould my dear children, from a few abstract ideas thrown hastilytogether, see the path he trod, in all its windings, compare it withthat of others, and with their own, and learn the lessons it teaches?I do not mean by “extraordinary goodness” that your grandfather had nofaults-–that he never did wrong-–for then, you know, he would havebeen an angel, not a man. 

With these preliminaries, I shall endeavor, in much weakness, toset him before you in such a light that you will not fail to see andunderstand him, and to feel, too, the sweet influences of a presencethat always brought with it happiness and peace. 

On the 8th of May, 1830, my father, Captain Peter Blow, arrived atSt. Louis with his family, consisting of my mother, my two sisters, myfour brothers, and myself. We landed at the wharf of our future homeon the steamer Atlantic. This being the finest boat that had everreached this distant western city, the Captain, who was evidently proudof it, proposed to give to the good citizens of this goodly city of tenthousand inhabitants a select pleasure-party on board of her, that, with music, dancing and feasting, they might, to the best advantage, appreciate its dimensions, its comforts and elegancies. My sisters andself having accepted the cordial invitation of the Captain, who hadtreated us with great kindness and consideration while passengers onhis boat, and, attended by our father and a gentleman whom we hadformerly known, and who had been residing in the city for a few months, made our appearance for the first time in St. Louis society. Ourmother, who was a perfect pattern of propriety, advised us to equipourselves in our nicest street dresses, and, being strangers, not toparticipate at all in the dance. Consequently, we were there in theposition of “lookers-on in Vienna. ” We made good use of our eyes, andkept time to the music in our hearts, but used our feet only inpromenading. During the evening I observed several ladies with muchinterest, but was greatly attracted with but one gentleman, whom Ifirst noticed sitting opposite to us, leaning back in his chair. Therewas a calm serenity overspreading his handsome features, which wore ajoyousness of expression that was irresistible. I pointed him out toour escort, and inquired who he was. He could not tell me; still Icould not but observe him. He waltzed once with the belle of theevening (a Miss Selby). My eyes followed them; and I see your deargrandfather now, just as he looked then. He was about the medium size–-five feet nine inches high, and well proportioned; his complexionrather fair, hair dark. His beard was closely shaved, but showed, fromthe soft, penciled tints about his mouth and chin, that it was likewiseblack. His eyes were grey. With considerable gaiety of disposition, he evinced a gentleness, a suavity, and a modest grace of deportment, which I have never seen surpassed, if equaled. 

In a few weeks Mr. Charless sought an introduction to us, andfrom that time he became a constant visitor at our house, and infifteen months from our first acquaintance, he declared himself asuitor for my hand and heart, promising to use the best efforts of hislife to make me happy. 

I could tell you a good many incidents of our early acquaintance–-of our pleasure-rides in pleasant weather, in gig or on horseback, and of our merry sleigh-rides in winter. Delightful recollectionscrowd upon me, and, if I were given to novel-writing, I could weavethem into a very pretty little love-story; but then I would have tomake myself the heroine. There was a little Scotch song, however, thathe used to sing to me, and as it will afford me a sweet, sad pleasureto recall it, I will do so, at least as much of it as I can recollect:

“Come over the heather, we’ll trip thegitherAll in the morning early;With heart and hand I’ll by thee stand, For in truth I lo’e thee dearly, There’s mony a lass I lo’e fu’ well, And mony that lo’e me dearly, But there’s ne’er a lass beside thysel’I e’er could lo’e sincerely, Come over the heather, we’ll trip thegither, All in the morning early;With heart and hand I’ll by thee stand, For in truth I lo’e thee dearly. ”

I have before me now the first letter I ever received from him, expressing what he had several times in vain attempted to speak. Foralthough he was at no loss for thoughts, or words in which to clothethem, in ordinary conversation, yet, whenever he felt a desire to openhis heart to me on the subject of his love, he became so much agitatedthat he had not the courage to venture, and finally wrote and sent methe following letter:

After a brief and simple introduction, he says: "That I love, youis but a faint expression of my feelings, and should I be so happy asto have that feeling reciprocated by you, I pledge you the best effortsof my life to promote your happiness. Nature, I fear, has wrought mein her rougher mould, and unfitted me to appear to advantage in anundertaking like this, in which so much delicacy of sentiment seems tobe required in these, our days of refinement. Such as I am-–and I haveendeavored to appear without any false coloring--I offer myself acandidate for your affections, for your love. You have known me longenough to find out my faults--for none are without them--and todiscover what virtues I may have (if any), and, from these, to form ajust estimate of my character. 

"I feel that my future happiness, in a great measure, depends onyour answer. But suspense to me is the greatest source of unhappiness. Naturally impatient and sanguine, I cannot rest until the result isknown. May I hope that my offer will be favorably received, and thathereafter I may subscribe myself, as now, Your devoted, JOS. CHARLESS, Jr. ”

If this seems like a "love-letter" to you, my dear children, itdoes not to me, for it does not embody half of the love and devotionwhich I ever received from my husband, from the time we stood at thehymenial altar, until, in his last, faint whisper, while he gazed withunutterable tenderness, he said, "I--love--you!"

But I must try to forget, while I am writing to you, my dearchildren, that I am bereaved. I must not let my sorrows give a coloringto every page, for I know how natural it is to the young to delight inpleasant things, and to flee from that which is gloomy; and, besides, Icannot leave a faithful impression upon your minds of what he was, unless I enter into the spirit of the past, when our sweet home wasfull of joy, and gladness. 

And why should I not be joyous again? Have I not dear childrento love me, and is not my dear husband alive, and shall I not see himagain? Is not God still good, and has he ever tried me more than I amable to bear? Was he not with me in the deep waters? "I know that invery faithfulness Thou hast afflicted me. "

Then let me cease my murmurings; or, rather, let me check myyearnings for what I can never have again--a faithful, loving heart, to bear with me my sorrows, and a strong arm to lean upon. Yes, thereis a strong arm upon which I can lean. May I have faith to make use ofit! There is a "Friend who sticketh closer than a brother, " to whom Ican unburden my heart. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

BELMONT, January, 1861. 

Letter Five

My DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

We were married on the 8th of November, 1831. No costlyarrangements were made for the occasion. The death of my sweet motherhaving occurred a few months previous would alone have preventeddisplay and revelry; but, besides this sad event, my father had becomegreatly reduced in circumstances, and could afford no betterpreparations for the wedding of his child than such as could be made athome. Evergreens, provided by my little brothers, and festooned withflowers by my sisters, set off to great advantage the transparent whitecurtains, and gave a look of freshness and gaiety to our neat, butplain parlor; and the cake, with its plain icing, showed more than theconfectioner's skill in its whiteness and flavor. 

The circle of Mr. Charless' own immediate family, and a fewfriends he wished to invite, with some of our own, composed thecompany. And, since I am dealing in minutiae, I will tell you how thebride was dressed. She wore a plain, white satin dress, (made byherself), trimmed about the waist and sleeves with crape-lisse, whichgave a becoming softness to the complexion of the arms and neck, whichwere bare. A simple wreath of white flowers entwined in her black hair, without veil, laces or ornaments, (save the pearls which were themarriage gift of her betrothed), completed her toilet. The graceful andtalented Dr. Potts (Mr. Then) performed the marriage ceremony, saying, "what God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. "

My father, who had always been in comfortable circumstances, had, however, never been rich; and, notwithstanding he had been called toencounter many untoward events in life, we had never known what it wasto want, until we came to St. Louis. This last move, which was fraughtwith brilliant hopes, in a monetary point of view, proved mostdisastrous, and, in a few short months, his little all of earthly goodswas gone, and his faithful, loving help-meet laid away to sleep in thecold earth, and he, himself, declining in health, depressed anddiscouraged. 

Our new home was a sad place, and it was joyous, too; for younghearts were there throbbing with pleasurable emotions, which sorrow anddisappointment, though they checked, could not destroy. And youngheads were there, big with the future; and Hope, which could not be hidby the darkness that surrounded us, sat enthroned as a queen, everpointing us to the beautiful castle in the distant mist, and by herreflex influence coloring even the dreary present with her rainbow-tints. 

A few days after our marriage we were received, as members of thefamily, at the house of my husband's parents. Upon our arrival there, we found the house brilliantly illuminated, for "Joseph was coming homewith his bride, " and the old people must have a grand reception!Everybody came that evening, and everybody called on the brideafterwards. Next morning, however, some of the realities of lifecommenced. We were late to breakfast, and, to my dismay, the breakfastwas over. I glanced at my husband, who seemed a little embarrassed. Buta cordial greeting from his mother, who was busy in the adjoining room"ridding up, " and an affectionate kiss from his sister (Mrs. Wahrendorff), who immediately advanced upon our entrance into the room, made things a little more pleasant. We sat down together, and alone. Hot batter-cakes, etc. , which were covered up near the fire, were soonplaced upon the table, by the servant, and our plain, old-fashionedmother (who was no woman for nonsense) very unceremoniously told me to"pour out the coffee. " What a downfall for a bride!

But this was not all. Upon my return to my room, after thedeparture of Mr. Charless to the store, I found that it was just as wehad left it, and not cleaned and put in order, as I supposed it wouldhave been. Mrs. Wahrendorff followed me, and offered (smiling) toassist me in making my bed, which I courteously accepted; and, findingthat I was to be my own chamber-maid, I asked for a broom, which shesent to me. How long I had had that broom in hand I do not remember, but, while standing in the middle of the room, leaning on its handle, absorbed in rather disagreeable reflections, (all of which I might havebeen saved if I had known then, as I do now, that no disrespect wasintended by these stranger relations), I happened to look out of thewindow, down into the street, when what should I see but the upliftedcountenance of my husband, beaming with happiness and joy. Our eyesmet, and, in a few moments, he entered the apartment, which had beenvery prettily fitted up, expressly for us. There was a shade ofmortification on his whole-souled face, mingled with a playful humor, as he said: "Has mother put you to work already?" A kind embrace, with"I must make some other arrangement, dear--this will not do"--broughtme to my senses, and I insisted (without prevailing, however), uponconforming to his mother's wishes in all things. "I had beenaccustomed to do house-work (much to the credit of my sensible mother, who, although a Virginian, taught her daughters self-reliance and manyuseful lessons in house-wifery), but I only felt strange, and a littlehome-sick; I would soon get over that, however. " A few crystal tearsfell, not mixed with sorrow; for how could sorrow find a place for suchtrifles in a heart so conscious of having just obtained a treasure, ina noble and devoted husband?

The next event of consequence that will aid in developing to yourminds the character and disposition of your revered grandfather, occurred a few weeks after the circumstances related above. Mr. Edward Charless, who was married and settled a few squares from us, sent one evening an invitation to his brother to come over and make oneof a card-party-–to be sure to come, for they could not do withouthim. He went. Upon his return, about twelve o'clock, he found mestill up, waiting for him. He saw I felt badly. Not an unpleasant wordpassed between us, and nothing was said about it afterwards, that Irecollect. Again his brother sent a similar message--"one wanting ina game of whist. " He promptly replied, (very good-humoredly), "tellyour master I am a married man now, and cannot come. He will have tolook out for some one else to fill that chair. " And if my husband everspent half a dozen evenings from me in his life--except when attendingto business of importance, or when necessarily separated--I do not nowremember it. His pleasures were with his heart, and that was with hisfamily. 

Not long after this, news came that his half-brother (RobertMcCloud) was in a declining state of health. His mother expressed adesire to have him brought home. Joseph immediately offered to go forhim, and in a few days he took leave of me for the first time; left inhis sister's (Mrs. Kerr's) carriage, with two good horses and a carefuldriver. And it was fortunate that he was so well equipped, for it wasa hard trip, at best, for a poor invalid who was a good many milesdistant. He returned in a few weeks with his emaciated brother, wholingered a few months, and died. 

During this winter my own dear father declined rapidly, and nohopes were entertained of his recovery. This state of things passedheavily upon me. It was painful enough to know that he, too, had todie soon. But what was to become of my dear sisters, and our brothers--all of whom were younger than ourselves? The eldest, who was aboutsixteen years old, and our second brother (two years younger), had justcommenced business as store-boys--one in a dry-goods store; the other, my father had placed under the care of my husband. Mr. Charless had, but a few years previous to this time, become a partner of his fatherin the drug business, (having abandoned the profession of the law, asit was not at all suited to his taste, and, perhaps, not to histalents), and, as he had frankly told me, immediately after ourengagement, he was a new beginner in the world, and poor; under suchcircumstances I could not hope that it would be in his power to doanything for my father's helpless family. Tears, scalding tears, nightly chafed my cheeks, and it was only when emotions were too strongto be suppressed that I would sob out in my agony sufficiently loud toawake my husband from sound repose; for, through the day, I alwayscontrolled myself, and waited at night until deep sleep had fallen uponhim before I would give vent to my burdened heart. At such times hewould sympathize with me, and speak words of encouragement and comfort:not embracing promises, however, for he was not a man to make promises, unless he felt at least some assurance of an ability to perform themthem. True, to his heart's core, he could not, even under theexcitement of the moment, awaken hopes, perhaps to be blasted. And, young and warm-hearted as he was, so alive to the sufferings of others, I wonder now, when I think of it, that sympathy such as his, and lovesuch as his, had not overbalanced his better judgment, and induced him, in such trying circumstances, to promise any and everything to soothethe troubled soul of one he loved better than himself. 

He weighed matters. He planned, and thought of every expedient. As respectful as he ever had been to his parents, and tenderly as heloved them--fearful as he was of any step which they might notcordially approve--a new and nobler feeling was struggling in hisbreast; for a sorrowing one, whom he had promised to love and cherish, looked up to him as her only solace; and, while a thousand conflictingemotions forbade her utterances and requests, he divined all, and, folding me tenderly to his breast, said, emphatically: "Charlotte, yoursisters and your brothers are mine. " Sweet words, that acted "like oilpoured upon the troubled waters. " And has he not proved himselffaithful to that declaration? Has he not been to us, in our destituteorphanage, more than a husband and a brother? Did a father ever bearmore patiently with the foibles and imperfections of his children? Wasa father ever less selfish than he has been? Has not his loving armembraced us all?

But, my children, I forgot I was writing to you, and I havealready written a long letter--so, will conclude with the injunction:If you want to be happy--if you want to make others happy--if you wantto be truly noble, make this dear grandsire your model. 

It was truly said of him by his pastor, Rev. S. B. McPheeters, that "Mr. Charless was a man of unusual loveliness of character, irrespective of his religious principles. By nature frank andgenerous, full of kindly emotions and noble impulses, if he hadremained a man of the world, he would have been one of those who oftenput true Christians to the blush, by his deeds of benevolence and actsof humanity. "

As regards his devotion to me and mine, I would say, there arebut few brothers-in-law, and they hard-hearted, and regardless of theworld's opinion, who could have refused to be the friend and brother ofa helpless family, thus left in the midst of strangers. But how oftendo you see men so steadfast, so disinterested and devoted through life?Where is the man to be found that would not have murmured--that wouldnot, at some time, have let an impatient word drop, showing that hefelt the burden of the care and responsibility brought on him bymarrying, and thus, at least, have wounded the wife of his bosom?Where is the man to be found, that, under such circumstances, hassecured to himself the devoted love, and the unbounded confidence andadmiration of a proud-spirited family, such as mine are? Many, indeed, must have been his virtues, clear and sound his judgment, upright andpure his daily walk and conversation, cheerful and confiding hisdemeanor. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

BELMONT, January, 1861. 

Letter Six

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

In my previous letters I have endeavored, with the best lights Ihave, to show you the circumstances and surroundings of yourgrandfather’s early life, by giving you a sketch of his parentage, associations, youthful characteristics, etc. 

But now, I am entering upon a new era. He is a married man-–hasleft the paternal roof, and is forming new associations. The romanceof the vine-covered cottage, with the girl of his heart-–which, asfortune smiled, should gradually grow into the stately mansion, withnone to share or distract the peculiar joys of early married life, whenall is couleur de rose-–were not for him. Life is too earnest forromance; for high and holy responsibilities, in the dispensations of anall-wise Providence, he has to meet and to discharge. He is young andinexperienced, but here are boys, bound to him by a new, but tendertie, just entering the most dangerous period of life, without theirnatural guides; here are girls, unused to the hard usages ofmisfortune, suddenly deprived of all “save innocence and Heaven, ” andhe is their only earthly protector and friend. 

Our parents were both of English descent, and Virginians bybirth. They were married young, and settled upon the hereditary estateof my mother, which consisted of a well-improved Virginia plantation. There they lived, with nothing to interrupt the quiet and ease of theirexistence, excepting the war of 1812-13, between the United States andEngland, when my father had to shoulder the musket, as captain of avolunteer company, and leave his family, to fight for his country. This was the only eventful period of their lives, until my fatherbecame fired with the Western Fever, that about that time (the year1818) began to rage, and which resulted in the purchase and settlementof a cotton plantation in North Alabama. Alabama was then the Eldoradoof the far West, and I well remember the disappointment I felt, uponour arrival there, at not seeing “money growing upon trees, ” and “goodold apple brandy flowing from their trunks!”

From this period commenced our misfortunes, which, althoughtrying to my parents, were, by dint of energy and perseverance, readilyovercome, at least so as to enable them to support and educate theirgrowing family-–securing the comforts of life, with some of itsluxuries–-until, very naturally, aiming at more than this, my fatheragain made a sacrifice of much, with the hope of gaining the more, byremoving to St. Louis-–the result of which I have already told you. 

My father was honest, frank, social, communicative, andconfiding. He possessed an unbounded confidence in his species, believing every man a gentleman who seemed to be one, or was by othersesteemed as such, and, in transactions with them, considered their“word as good as their bond. ” From which, as soon as the old andwell-tried associations of his native State were dissolved, he sufferedmany pecuniary losses. He was passionate, but not revengeful; gay andanimated, but subject to occasional reactions, when he became muchdepressed. He was a high-toned, honorable gentleman, very neat andexact in his personal appearance, but entirely free from pretension. 

My mother was orphaned in infancy, and brought up by her grand-parents–-Mr. And Mrs. Etheldred Taylor. She was proud of herancestry. I can see and hear her now, when, under circumstances whereher pride was touched, she would say, “Daughter, remember that pure andrich blood flows in your veins-–the best in the land. If your motherhad to live in a hollowed stump, she would be what she is; no outwardcircumstances could lower or elevate her one iota;” and she would raiseher proud head with the air of an unrighteously dethroned queen. This, I may say, was mother’s great, if not her only fault. She was a pure, lovely, estimable woman; quick and sensitive, but, as a friend, a wife, and mother, she was unexceptionable. Like the Grecian matron, herchildren were her jewels. 

Her education would have been considered limited for these days, yet she was a woman of fine sense and quick intellect. She possessedgreat delicacy of feeling, an inflexible will, an unusual energy (for awoman) in carrying out what she esteemed right, and an uncontrollableaversion to whatever was mean or cowardly. The training of theirchildren devolved mostly up her, my father finding enough out of doors, in business or pleasure, to occupy him. And faithful she was inteaching them the practical lessons of industry and economy; faithfulin dealing with their faults. The only one never checked was pride. This she appealed to as a stimulant to every other virtue; for virtueshe esteemed it-–and virtue it is, in its proper place, and underproper control. 

My parents were brought up in the Episcopal church-–with a formof godliness, without the substance. But the sufferings and death ofmy eldest sister, who had become a true convert to the religion ofJesus Christ, in the Methodist church, and who died rejoicing in thehope of everlasting life, so impressed my mother that she, too, soughtand found the “one thing needful”-–which happy change, although ittook place late in life, was long enough to evince to her children thegenuineness of her faith, and the power of the Gospel in making the“proud in spirit” meek and lowly at the feet of Jesus. She united withthe Presbyterian church a few years before her death; and now, as Ilook back at the days of my childhood and youth, and call to mind allthe pleasant and sweet things which memory cherishes, there is nothingso refreshing as the piety of my mother, and that of the dear sister, who, like a pioneer, went before to show us the "straight and narrowpath” through the rugged scenes of this sinful world. Like an oasis inthe desert of life, it lives, fresh and green, and ever and anondirects my vision above the storm and tempest to the pure and brightrealms of the redeemed. 

With this short sketch of the life and character of my parents, from which you can form an idea of the peculiar characteristics anddispositions of their children, who now have become so intimatelyassociated with your grandfather, I will proceed to say, that, afterthe death of my father, which occurred in June, just eleven monthsafter that of my mother, he at once became our loving and beloved head. We took an affectionate leave of his dear parents, and removed into ourown "rented house;" and that you may be enabled to place us there, Iwill describe our two best rooms, which were separated by a folding-door, and used as parlor and dining rooms. They were neatly furnished, with nice ingrain carpets, cane-bottom chairs, an extension diningtable, and very pretty, straw-colored Venetian window-blinds, trimmedwith dark blue cords and tassels. A mahogany work-stand--the onlyarticle ordered from "the east, " because it was a gift for hiswife--was placed in the parlor, for it was too pretty to stay up stairs, (perhaps the emptiness of the parlor made me think so). 

Now, my dear children, you may laugh, and, perhaps, feel ashamedthat your grandparents should have started in life with so little, andthat so plain, especially if you hear others boasting of the wealth andgrandeur of theirs. But, when I tell you that after awhile we had anice sofa, (bought at auction, because it was cheap), and that atanother time a small side-board was provided, in like manner, by thatdear grandpa, who always did the best he could; and when I tell youthat "grandma" was so happy, and so well satisfied; that nobody'shouse--not even those furnished in the most expensive manner, withthe richest carpets, the most massive and elegant furniture, mirroredand draped in costly brocatelle--looked half so sweet and pretty toher; when you know, my dear children, and understand, that those peoplewho have so far deteriorated, by false teaching, and the glitter of theworld, as to esteem such things more highly than the far richertreasures of the heart, which alone can garnish a home with unsulliedbeauty, and feel the pity and contempt for them that I do, thesetrifling baubles will take their appropriate place, and you will seelife as it is, and value it for what is pure and genuine--not forthat which is false and worthless. 

On the 8th of November--exactly one year after our marriage--your dear mother (then our sweet little Lizzie) was born. Not longafter this, I was taken extremely ill with a fever, which lasted many, many weeks. My dear husband is now seen as the tender and devotednurse. With my sisters, he watched beside me, with his own handswringing out the flannels from strong, hot lotions, and applying themto my aching limbs, which gave relief (but that only momentary) when ashot as could be borne. No nurse could be procured. The few that were inthe city had left from fright when the cholera made its appearancethere that fall, and had not returned. But "grandpa" never wearied inattentions to his wife. After the violence of my disease had abated, and I was pronounced by my physicians "out of danger, " I continued weakand in a bad state of health for months. Still, how thoughtful, howwatchful and attentive he was! Often at night have I waked, and thefirst object that would meet my eyes would be my husband, walking toand fro with the baby in his arms, trying to hush her to sleep, lestshe should disturb me. 

For at least six months after my partial recovery my limbs had tobe bandaged, to lessen the swelling. No one but he could do thisproperly. At night he would prepare the bandages, by rolling themtightly, and in the morning, immediately after returning from market, (that he might not lose time from business), he would go through withthe tedious process of bandaging--meanwhile keeping up a cheerfulconversation, which is so reviving to the invalid; and, afterbreakfast, he would return to my room, to bid me an affectionate adieu, before leaving for the store. 

During this sorrowful year, my dear husband lost both of hissisters. Mrs. Wahrendorff died in November; Mrs. Kerr the Mayfollowing. In this severe dispensation he derived comfort from thebelief that they had exchanged this for a better world, for they bothhad a well-grounded hope in the merits of a crucified Redeemer; and, even while he mourned for his sisters, he was cheerful. 

It is surprising how much real happiness we can have in the midstof trouble, when the heart is right; and it is surprising, too, howmuch real misery we can have in the midst of prosperity, when there iseverything apparently to make life pleasant and blissful, when theheart is wrong. 

You know the little song, "Kind words can never die. " "Grandma"realizes to-day that they never do; nor kind looks either, nor gooddeeds. With the God of love, nothing is small. He stoops "to feed theyoung ravens when they cry, " and yet there are men, (not many, I hope), who, from pride, selfishness, and ill-nature, imagine that, as "lordsof creation, " it is utterly beneath them to minister with their ownhands to the sick and feeble, not even excepting the wife of theirbosoms. Life is made up of little things. "A cup of cold water" fromthe hand of a loving, gentle, sympathizing friend, does more toalleviate suffering than rich gifts bestowed by the unfeeling and theproud; than many luxuries provided by the harsh and exacting. 

I have first particularized, and then drawn a contrast, my dearchildren, that you may be the better able to see the beauty andexcellency of true goodness; and that, like your grandfather, who hasgone to reap the reward, through grace, of a well-spent life, you maybe self-denying, gentle, loving, and kind. 

Devotedly yours, GRANDMA. 

Belmont, January, 1861. 

Letter Seven

My Dear Grandchildren:

With a return of comparative good health, "grandma" is againenabled to resume her duties as housekeeper, and is daily seen, with"grandpa, " presiding at their family board. Our sisters and brothers, with two young men from "the store, " (who, from motives of economy, board with us), and our little daughter, who sits to the left of herfather, in her baby dining-chair, constitute the family. How cheerfulthe scene, after months of sickness and anxiety! "Grandpa, " at least, is radiant with happiness and good-humor. No unpleasant word or look isseen or heard during our family repast. Perhaps an awkward boy upsetshis cup of coffee, but the quaint remark, "accidents will happen in thebest regulated families, " spoken with a native courtesy, rarely seen, restores his equilibrium; and thus peacefully, (in the main), day afterday passes along, although many little perplexities and cares arise, such as every family are subject to, especially where there are sonsjust entering the dangerous and tempting paths of youth. 

In my particular duties and unavoidable anxieties I had a warmand sympathizing friend, and a good counsellor, in the person of myprecious husband. But I felt that I needed more than this to sustain mein the cares, and trials, and sorrows of life. And, besides, I carriedabout with me a troubled conscience. For, at the commencement of myillness, in the fall of 1832, I was perfectly aware of the approach ofdanger, and, as I took a look from this world into Eternity, all wasdark and void, and the thought of having to meet death thus alarmed me. While a raging fever was fast making me wild, I drew the sheet up overmy face, and said, "Let me be quiet. " All was stilled, no sound beingheard, save an occasional whisper from some loved one, (who was tooanxious to be mute), and my own quick breathing, while my heart wasstruggling for communion with God. Vague as were my ideas of thatglorious Being, I prayed that He might spare my life, promising, mostsolemnly, that if He should do so, I would, upon my recovery, turn myattention to the consideration of Divine Truth; that I would search theScriptures, to know what they taught, and, should I be assured that theBible contained a revelation from Heaven, I would, in the future, govern my life by its precepts and doctrines. 

Weak and sinful as this prayer was, I believe the God of pityheard and answered it; for, notwithstanding my disinclination to thefulfilment of this vow, made under circumstances so appalling, He borewith me, but never allowed me to forget it. Every appearance of evil--and especially the return of the cholera in our midst the next fall--seemed to me, "like the fingers upon the wall, " ready to write my doom. I often tried to become interested in reading the Bible, but thatsacred book possessed no charm to me. I found it a hard and unpleasanttask to read it at all. At length I summoned up courage to communicatemy difficulties and fears to my husband. Prompt in action, heimmediately purchased for me "Scott's Commentary, " which, he said, would aid me in understanding the Bible; the want of which, he thought, was the reason I could feel no interest in it. He was right; for, before I had finished the book of Matthew, with the systematic andattentive reading of "the notes" and "practical observations, " I wasconvinced that this was none other than the word of that great Beingwho had made and preserved me all the days of my life. This blessedbook--which, hitherto, had been a sealed book to me--now seemed toglow with real life, and unwonted beauty! It was no difficult task forme then, hour after hour, to pore over its sacred pages. 

Your grandfather, at this time, was only a nominal believer. Hehad not earnestly examined this all-important matter, and made it apersonal one. Engrossed in business, young and healthy, he no doubtfelt, like thousands of others, that there was time enough for him toattend to the interests of his soul, (which, to the natural heart, isinsipid, if not distasteful); but, when he saw his wife so deeplyinterested, he did all he could to encourage her. He knelt with her atthe bedside in secret prayer, conversed with her on the subject, wentwith her to church, and sympathized with her; until, as a reward, Itruly believe, for all his kindness to me, at a time when I was ashamedof myself--ashamed to let anyone know (even him) that I felt theweight of unpardoned sin-–“God touched his heart as with a live coalfrom off His altar. " So, hand and heart, we went together. Sweet is the memory of the ever-to-be-remembered day, when, "inthe presence of men and of angels, we avouched the Lord JEHOVAH to beour God, the object of our supreme love and delight; the Lord JesusChrist to be our Saviour from sin and death, our Prophet, Priest, andKing; and the Holy Ghost, our Illuminator, Sanctifier, Comforter, andGuide;" when we gave ourselves away in "a covenant, never to berevoked, to be his willing servants forever, humbly believing that wehad been redeemed, not with corruptible things, as silver and gold, butwith the precious blood of the Son of God. "

How different is the scene now presented at that fireside, whereno God had heretofore been acknowledged! For, morning and evening, wesurround the Throne of Grace; the Bible is read, a hymn sung, and thatsweet voice, which we shall hear no more on earth, with a fullconfession of sin and unworthiness, humbly pleads with Him "in whom welive, and move, and have our being. " A blessing is asked at our meals;preparations are made on Saturday for the holy Sabbath, that nounnecessary work may be done on that day, and servants are exhorted toimprove its sacred hours. 

After having dedicated ourselves to the service of the livingGod, we took our little Lizzie--the dearest, richest treasure of ourheart and life--and presented her, in the solemn ordinance of baptism, to that Saviour who, when all earth, "took little children in his armsand blessed them, " and there promised to pray with, and for her; toimpart to her the knowledge of God's holy word, and to bring her up, not for this vain and perishing world, but for Heaven. 

Now, my dear children, that I have given you a peep into the homeand household of your grandparents, when your mamma was a littlebabe--before and after they became members of the Church--I will proceed, by telling you that, during that summer, (in July, 1834), your belovedgrandfather met with another heavy bereavement, in the death of hisfather. None were then left of all that united and happy family circle, which caused the homestead to ring with mirth when "grandma, " as abride, first became a member of it, excepting his mother, his brotherEdward, and himself. Deep sorrow pervaded our souls, most of allbecause, before this sad event, we had learned to feel, most keenly, the importance of a careful preparation for "the great change, " whichwe do not know that his father ever made. But, (as I once heard aminister say at a funeral), "we will leave him where he left himself, in secret with his God, " with the hope that he was enabled, by thatgrace which is rich in Christ Jesus, to "make his calling and electionsure. "

Life is made up of lights and shadows, and, before closing thisletter, I will give you an account of a delightful little journey whichwe made early in September of that year. 

Your mamma, who was then just twenty-two months old, was quitedelicate, and we thought a little trip into the country would be ofservice to her; and her papa, having some business in Illinois thatwould cause an absence of ten or twelve days, concluded to hitch up ourlittle barouche and take us with him. So we started, in fine style, ona beautiful morning--"grandpa, " and "grandma, " our little Lizzie; andher nurse--which, with a small trunk, a carpet-bag, and a littlebasket, containing some crackers, etc. , for the baby, quite filled thecarriage. 

I’ll tell you there is no such traveling these days of railroadsand steam boats! Every body is in too great a hurry to stop and goslowly, as we did in our little barouche, trotting gently along acrossthe prairies of Illinois. How balmy and bracing the air; how quiet thescene; how beautiful the prairies! Some four, some ten, some twentymiles in width--all covered with tall grasses and a profusion of largeautumn flowers that waved in graceful undulations before the sweepingbreeze. An apt representation of a gently swelling sea, upon whose darkgreen waves, nature had emptied her lap of richly varied blossoms. We traveled from twenty-five to thirty miles per day; startingearly in the morning--while yet the dew glittered before the risingsun. We always took care to learn from our host, the distance andsituation of the next good stopping place, where we might dine, andrest a few hours in the heat of the day, after which we would again"hitch up" and start refreshed and strengthened for our evening ride. What magnificent sunsets! How picturesque the woodland borderingof these beautiful prairies, with here and there an humble residence, and a cultivated field. We could not but lift our hearts in adorationand praise. 

“If God has made this world so fair, where sin and death abound, How beautiful, beyond compare, will Paradise be found. ”

On we went--passing occasionally through neat little villages, sometimes large towns, such as, Springfield and Jacksonville--until wereached Lewiston, where we spent the Sabbath and attended the villagechurch. In the afternoon of the next day we went to Canton which wasthe end of our journey. And when "grandpa" had transacted his businessthere we turned our faces homeward. 

The first day upon our return, we lost our way--then appearedclouds and mists, just enough rain falling, to make the high hills wehad to climb, slippery and hard upon our poor horse, who manfullypulled away without flagging, until we found a shelter for the night;which, although a wretched one we were very thankful for. From thistime, there is but a faint impression left upon my mind of our return, until within a few miles of Alton, when, as the sun was fast sinkinginto his glorious bed of cloud and fire (giving strong indications ofan approaching storm), my anxious husband, after having made astrenuous but vain attempt to obtain a shelter for the night "whippedup" his jaded horse and pressed forward. 

It grew dark rapidly. As we passed from the open prairie into thedense forest, we seemed to leave light and hope behind us--for cloudand tempest, lightning, and loud claps of thunder quickly succeeded. For awhile we could discern the road; at length, enveloped in totaldarkness, it was to be seen, only by the flashes of lightning, which, while it horrified our horse and ourselves, served to guide us and alsoto show us our danger, from the tall trees as they swung to and froabove and around us. About nine o'clock we discovered (as we thought)in the distance a light from a window, of which we were soon assured--and our fears allayed by hearing "the watch-dog's honest bark. "

Next day we reached our snug little home, where we entertainedthe family with the incidents of our trip--its pleasures, hair-breadthescapes, &c. None were more delighted in that group than our sweetLizzie, who brought the roses of the prairie home upon her littlechecks, which were more than a reward for a few untoward events of thatdelightful and long remembered journey. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Belmont, January, 1861

Letter Eight

My Dear Grandchildren:

There is a circumstance connected with the death of my fatherCharless, which I cannot pass over without omitting a very strikingfeature in the character of my husband, delineating his unselfishness, brotherly affection, and his strict sense of justice. I think hisfather had deferred making his will until his last illness. At any rateit was not until then that his son, Joseph, learned (from hisbrother-in-law, Mr. John Kerr), the contents of his father's will, whichwere, in substance, as follows: Joseph was to inherit all of his father'sestate, excepting a lot of ground, fronting on Walnut street, of sixtyfeet, which was bequeathed to his mother. Thus his brother, Edward, wasdisinherited. Eliza Wahrendorff, the only child of your grandfather'ssister, who afterwards became the wife of my brother, Taylor Blow, had, by the death of her parents, inherited a beautifully improved lotof sixty feet front, on Market street, which was the gift of Eliza'sgrandfather to her mother, Ann Charless. Edward Charless hadunfortunately displeased his father; for, although he was a genial, honorable, and kind-hearted man, he had, in early life, contractedhabits of dissipation, which clung to him through life, and which werevery displeasing to his father. He had been married a number of years, too, but had no children. The information of Mr. Kerr, respecting thewill of my husband's father, was anything but pleasing to him--for heloved his brother, and had a very tender regard for his feelings--andas much as he valued the love and approbation of his father, he couldnot enjoy it at the expense of his brother. He was very much worried, and seemed scarcely to know what to do. Finally he repaired to thebedside of his father, and, painful as it must have been to him, atsuch a time, he gently, but earnestly, expostulated with him on thesubject. The old gentleman, for some time, persisted in saying, Joseph, you are my favorite son; you have a child, too; while Edward has none. I do not wish my property to be squandered, or to go out of my family:but always received the reply, father, you have but two children, donot, I beg you, make a difference between us, or something equivalentto that. At length he prevailed, and his father had a codicil added tohis will, which made his brother an equal heir with himself, theproperty to come into their possession after the death of their mother, and should these brothers die, leaving no heirs, the estate shouldbelong to his granddaughter, Eliza Wahrendorff. I am sure you willagree with me, dear boys, that your grandfather was right, but howseldom do we see an exhibition of such firm integrity among men, (evenamong brothers), of whom the poet truthfully says, "If self the waveringbalance shake, it's rarely right adjusted. "

In the winter of 1836 my husband paid a visit to the easterncities, for the purpose of purchasing a stock of goods. Previous tothis I had always accompanied him, so that, excepting the time he wentfor his sick brother, (Robert McCloud), to which I have alluded, we hadnever been separated. He was absent seven weeks, during which time hewrote me twenty-one letters, of which I will quote one entire, and givea few extracts from others, that you may read from his own pen. 

"Steamboat Potosi, below Cincinnati, Jan. 1st, 1836. 

"A happy new year to my dear Charlotte and to all my dear friendsat home! I feel that I should be happy to spend today with you, butthough absent, still, in spirit, I am with you, for my thoughts havedwelt all the morning with my dear friends in St. Louis. We leftLouisville last night at seven o'clock and are now passing "RisingSun, " a village in Indiana, thirty-five miles below Cincinnati, whichwe hope to reach by dinner time. I saw no one in Louisville that weknew. Mr. B. Was not there and I made no inquiries about his family, asI do not know his partner, Mr. G. , and we remained there but a fewhours. I read, this morning, the 46th chapter of Isaiah, and, from thefact of this being new year’s day, my mind has been carried to thegoodness of God to usward, in granting all the blessings we enjoy:--Hisinfinite greatness, wisdom and mercy. I feel greater reliance on theatonement of our divine Saviour, and a full assurance that if we arefaithful unto the end, we shall reap a crown of immortality and beforever blessed by His presence. Let us then, dear Charlotte, endeavorto realize more than we ever yet have done the reality of eternalthings, and fix our minds more on the attainment of the salvation, notonly of our own souls, but of all those who are near and dear to us. Let us "seek first the kingdom, " feeling assured that all things elsewill be given us that is best for us. I am satisfied that love to Godwill purify our souls, and make us better fitted for the trials of thisworld, and will ensure eternal happiness to us hereafter. 

"I send you a kiss, which you must share with our dear littlegirl, not forgetting aunt Loo's share. When you write, let me know howthe boys (my brothers Taylor and Wm. ) get on at St. Charles, and thenews generally of all the family. "

CINCINNATI. 

"I have just called on Dr. Drake and family, and find them verypleasant people. We stay here but a few hours, and leave for Wheeling, at 8 o'clock to-night. Remember me to mother, and to all our dearfriends at home. Yours truly, JOS. CHARLESS. "

This is a very characteristic letter, and I will take occasionhere to acknowledge, with shame, that, with my ardent temperament, Iwas not always pleased with my husband's universal care, and love, andconsideration of everybody, without a stronger expression of hisfeelings for me. When he presented me with a set of pearls, before ourmarriage, he brought two sets for me to select from, not being ablehimself to decide which was the prettiest. As soon as I expressed apreference, he handed that set to me, and the other to my sister, politely asking her acceptance of it. While I was pleased to see mysweet sister with a set of pearls, like mine, I would have been morepleased with his attention if it had been directed to me only; andoften have I lost sight of his devotion to me--by every act of hislife, not less in his love to those most dear to me, than in thousandsof other ways--because he did not make a more marked difference inhis acts, and bestow upon me, in words, a stronger expression of hislove. 

But I have lived long enough to find out what empty things wordsare: how poor and mean, compared with a life which, like "a livingepistle, is known and read of all men. "

"A happy New Year to my dear C. , and all my dear friend’s, " etc. His was a courtesy which sprung from the heart--which was seen alonewith his wife in the cordial New Year's greeting, or at the fireside, with familiar loved ones there; that came from his pen, or flew uponthe telegraph; a courtesy that carried soul with it, and made everyonefeel the value of his friendship and love; not that which is the resultof false teaching, or a false heart--to be put on, or put off, as itsuits the place or the whim of its possessor. 

But I promised to quote some extracts from other letters. Well, here is one: "I hope, dear Charlotte, you have taken care of yourhealth in my absence, and that I shall have the happiness to see youyourself again. I pray the Lord to be merciful unto us, and grant thatwe may meet again, and that our hearts may once more be raised, withour voices, around our family altar, to Him who purchased us by Hisblood, and, as we hope, redeemed us unto a new life; and that Hisblessing may extend to all who are near and dear to us; that all ourfamily may be united in serving the Lord fervently and affectionately. "

Again he says: "I hope that, in the letters you have written, youhave told me all about the business of the store, and house, and farm, and generally all the news of home, as I will not be able to receive ananswer to this, or any of my subsequent letters from the east. "

My husband made me his confidant. He did not think me so farbeneath him as not to be able to understand, and to appreciate all thatinterested him--his "business, " his "farm. ” At "the house" he everconsidered me the head, while he relieved me of every possible care, bystrict personal attention to all out-of-door work connected withhousekeeping. This little farm to which he refers was his delight; forit served as recreation from the toils of mercantile life, and affordedhim unalloyed pleasure. He was fond of flowers, of fruits, of trees, ofmeadows, and everything pertaining to country life. It was impossiblefor him to stand and look at others who were at work in the garden. Hewould throw off his coat, seize the spade or the hoe, and go to workhimself with the most intense relish. Not the most minute little wildflower ever escaped his notice, or was ruthlessly trodden under foot;but, stooping down, he would take up the tiny thing, and hold it up foradmiration, seeming to think that others could not but admire it as hedid. Oh, my husband! how sweet and pure was your life! Tears fall as Ithink of thee. 

Before this period in the history of your grandfather, we hadexchanged our old residence for a very delightful one, near to hispaternal home, on Market and Fifth streets. It had been built by Mr. And Mrs. Wahrendorff, for their own use; had a large yard, and everyimprovement necessary to make it second to none in the city. Here yourdear mother passed seven years of her happy childhood, and stillremembers what romps she used to have with her papa; how she wouldwatch for him at the alley-gate, with hands full of snow-balls to pelthim with, and how he would catch her up in his arms, kiss her cheeks, plunge them into the snowbank, and then give her a fair chance to payhim back. She remembers what assistance he would render her in the verygrave business of catching pigeons, by creeping up behind them, andsprinkling "a little fresh salt upon their tails. " She has notforgotten the happy Christmas mornings, when old Santa Claus was sureto load her with presents; nor her school-girl parties, which wouldhave been no parties at all without "papa" to make fun for them; andmany other things, perhaps, which I never knew, or noticed, she couldtell you. But "grandma" remembers some things, which, as she wants youto see "grandpa" just as he was, she will relate to you. 

About this time, we had a dining-room waiter, who, one day, wassuch a luckless wight as to be very impertinent to me. He was an"exquisite, " (in his way), although as black as the "ace of spades;"wore a stiff shirt collar, that looked snow-white, from the contrast, and combed his hair so nicely that it appeared as fleecy aszephyr-worsted. He had, however, a habit of going off, withoutanybody's knowing where, and staying a long time, neglecting his work, and provoking "grandma. " Upon his return, when she would inquirewhere he had been, his answer invariably was, "To the barber’s, ma'am"--accompanied by a bow, and an odoriferous compound of barbarousperfumes, presenting altogether such a ludicrous picture that I couldnot possibly avoid laughing; after which, of course, I would have toexcuse him, with the mild injunction not to stay so long again. Anthonypresumed upon this mode of treatment until it ceased to be amusing tome, when, with a good grace, I was enabled to administer a severereproof, which he returned with the most unheard-of impudence. As soonas his master came in, I related the fact to him. In an instant, asAnthony was passing the dining-room door, my husband sprang athim--caught him by the collar, shook and twirled him around into thegallery, and pounded him with his bare fists to his heart's content. In this changing world, I do not know but that, in the course oftime, you little Southerners may become fanatical abolitionists, and, losing sight, in the above case, of the cause of provocation, in yourtenderness and sympathy for the slave, will attribute thisunceremonious treatment of poor Anthony to the fact that he was one ofthose "colored unfortunates. " Therefore, to set you right, at least, with regard to the character of your grandfather, I will give youanother instance of his impulsiveness, which, perhaps, may beconsidered a flaw in the character of this singularly pure and nobleman. 

Some years after the circumstance related above, a young friendwas living with us who had a hired white girl for a nurse. I soondiscovered that she was an unprincipled, saucy girl; but she was smartenough to get on the "blind side" of this young mother, by nursing thebabe (as she thought) admirably well. When I could no longer put upwith her encroachments, I took the girl to one side, and laid down thelaw; whereupon the enraged creature was excessively impertinent. Afterfinding that my dear little friend had not the moral courage to dismissthe girl (which she might have done, for I offered to take care of thebaby myself until another could be procured), I suppressed my emotions, and bore it as well as I could. From reasons of consideration for myhusband, who seemed much wearied that evening after returning home frombusiness, I concluded not to consult him about what was best to be doneuntil next morning, when, upon hearing the particulars of this littleepisode in domestic life, he arose in great haste, and so excited asscarcely to be able to get into his clothes. I begged him to be calm, but there was no calmness for him until he got hold of the girl, ranher down two flights of stairs, and out of the door into the street, having ordered her, in no very measured terms, never again to cross histhreshold. 

In the course of his whole life, I witnessed but one (or perhapstwo) other instances of like impetuosity. They were rare, indeed, andalways immediately followed, as in the cases above referred to, by hisusual calmness and good humor, no trace being left of the storm within, save a subdued smile, which had in it more of shame than triumph. Ihave been told that, in his counting-room, he has occasionally produceda sensation by like demonstrations, caused, in every case, by theentrance of some person who, not knowing the stuff he was made of, would venture to make an attack upon the character of some friend ofhis; or, perhaps, would make a few insidious remarks, "just to put Mr. Charless on his guard. " But the slanderous intruder would soon find outthe quicker he was outside of the store the better for him, much to theastonishment, and amusement, too, of his partners and clerks, who, butfor those rare flashes of temper, and an occasional "stirring up" of amilder sort among the boys in the store, could not be made to believeit possible that Mr. Charless could be otherwise than mild and genialas a sunbeam. 

He was never known to resent, in this kind of way, any indignityshown to himself, which was rarely done by any one. Unfortunately, however, on one occasion, he gained the displeasure of an Irishman, (from whom he had borrowed some money), who was half lawyer, halfmoney-broker. Standing with a group of gentlemen, in conversation aboutmoney matters, per centage, etc. , your grandfather remarked that he hadborrowed a certain amount from Mr. M. , for a certain per cent. , (namingit). One of the gentlemen asked, "Are you sure, Mr. Charless? for thatwas my money Mr. M. Lent you, and he informed me that you were to payhim only so much, " (naming the per cent. , which happened to be lessthan that agreed upon). Mr. Charless, perceiving his faux pas, expressed a regret that he had so unwittingly mentioned what, itseemed, should have been kept secret; which was all he could do. Mr. M. , of course, heard of it. He knew well that he could not revengehimself upon him who was the innocent cause of his exposure, in St. Louis; but in New York, where neither were so well known, he did all hecould to injure Mr. Charless' reputation. The friends of the latter, having heard of Mr. M. 's unprincipled conduct, in insidiously strivingto undermine the confidence reposed in him there, informed him of it, expecting that he would take some notice of the matter--which he didnot do. They came again, and protested against his allowing “thatfellow” to continue these aspersions. He smiled, and replied, “I amnot afraid of his doing me any harm; let him go on. ” He did go on, andafter awhile he returned to St. Louis, when some mutual friend (poorMr. M. Still had friends among gentlemen) informed him that certainreports against Mr. Charless, which had reached St. Louis, as comingfrom him, were doing him considerable injury; not Mr. C, for he stoodtoo high in the estimation of the community to be injured by slanderousreports of any kind whatever. Whereupon Mr. M. Denied having madethem, and expressed a determination to explain, and make the matter allright with Mr. Charless. For this purpose, one day, as the latter waspassing a livery stable, where Mr. M. Was waiting for his buggy to bebrought out, he called to Mr. Charless, who passed along withoutnoticing him. Again he called saying, “Mr. Charless, I want to speakto you. ” Mr. Charless waved his hand back at him, and went on. Elevating his voice, said he, “Do you refuse to speak to me, sir?”Still a wave of the hand-–nothing more. This was too much for thehot-headed gentleman. His raving and abuse attracted the attention ofeverybody about there to the hand, which still waved, as “grandpa”walked on, and said, too plainly to be mistaken, in its silentcontempt, “ I can’t lower myself by speaking to such a dirty fellow asyou are. ”

Without a word or circumstance from your grandfather, itcirculated from mouth to mouth, with considerable gusto; from which, Ineed not say, Mr. M. Had the worst of it. 

It has given me some pain, my dear children, to speak of theseincidents; and, indeed, there are many things (some very sweet to me)that I feel constrained to write which I would gladly keep secret andsacred in my soul, but for a firm conviction that such a halo of lightas has shone about my path, from the pure life of your belovedgrandfather, should not be allowed to go out. And the faithfulhistorian cannot give the light without the shadows. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Belmont, February, 1861. 

Letter Nine

My Dear Grandchildren:

Before the fire companies were properly organized in St. Louis, or, perhaps, before there were any at all, I was perfectly miserablewhenever a fire occurred, for “grandpa” would be sure to rush to thespot, and up, probably, to the most dangerous places on the tops ofhouses, or anywhere else, to assist in protecting life or property. Besides the fear that he might lose his life in this way, I feltconsiderable anxiety on account of his health; for, after theseextraordinary exertions, he would return home nearly exhausted. Noentreaties or arguments, in urging him to desist, had any weight, untilhe found that his services were no longer needed. 

With this impetuosity of character, he possessed a large share ofmoral courage. He dared to do right, or what he deemed right, always, and that without display or fear, and entirely indifferent to theopinion of the world. With a modest estimate of himself was blended aquiet satisfaction in the discharge of duty. But not over-carefulabout what others did or did not do, or at all dictatorial, hecheerfully accorded to all what he claimed for himself, viz:independence of thought and action. No one was more willing to giveadvice, when asked; none more free from obtruding it uninvited. Thankfully and courteously he always received it, even when pressedupon him beyond what was proper; and although to some of it he mightnot give a second thought, perceiving at once its invalidity; yet hewas too modest, and too polite to intimate the fact–-leaving animpression upon the mind of the giver (without the slightest intentionto deceive) that he had conferred a favor: which, indeed, byconsidering the kindness of the motive, he appreciated as such. Thiswas the result of a profound respect for the opinions and feelings ofhis fellow-men, to whom he would listen patiently, even to the ignorantand the weak, meanwhile giving kind and considerate responses, causingthem (no less than his equals) to feel satisfied with themselves andwith him, whom each one, high and low, rich and poor, esteemed as hisown particular friend: and all this without study, without an effort, because the offspring of a kind, generous, and appreciative nature. 

A circumstance occurs to my mind, which, perhaps will give you anidea of your grandfather’s kindness and consideration towards those inthe humbler walks of life: One morning a plain, honest looking youth, from whom he had purchased some marketing, accompanied him to thehouse, for the purpose of bringing it. They went into the kitchentogether, to warm and dry themselves, and when, in a few momentsafterwards, breakfast was announced, “grandpa” asked me to have a plateplaced for the lad; to which I demurred, inquiring if I had not bettersend breakfast to the kitchen for him? He replied, “No. The goldenrule directs us to do unto others as we would they should do unto us. ”Whereupon an argument ensued, I insisting that, according to that rule, his breakfast should be sent out, as I had no doubt that the boy wouldfeel more at ease, and would enjoy his breakfast more in the kitchenthan he would at our table. Fixing his eyes upon me, with that kindbut reproving expression which was characteristic of him, he said:“Charlotte, if we were to stop at the house of that young man’s father, I doubt not but that he would give us the best place, and the best ofeverything he has. ” Even this did not convince me; when, with his usualdislike to argument, and with that conciliatory kindness which evermarked his intercourse with his family, he yielded the point, gracefully, as though it was a matter of little consequence, so thatthe young man was only well provided for; but not without a mild, andwell-merited reproof, in which he playfully reminded me of my “Virginiapride. ”

And thus it ever was, my dear children, with your honoredgrandfather. Firm in principle–-kind in action; but most kind tothose who had the first and highest claim upon him. Never afraid ofcompromising his dignity or position as head of his family, he alwaysretained it unabated. How unlike some men, who, by attempting tomaintain their rights by an overbearing, arbitrary manner, and harshand unbecoming words, evince a weakness which makes them contemptible, if not in the estimation of the wife and children, at least so in thatof others, who plainly discern that littleness, in some shape or other, and not manly dignity and good sense, places them in their unenviableposition of “master of my own house. ”

And yet how much do I regret, now, when it is too late to remedyit, that I did not, readily and cheerfully, accede to every wish ofthis dear friend, whose truly consistent and beautiful character shoneout most clearly at home. How much do I regret now, that I should haveallowed his few little foibles to annoy me. The greatest of these, andthe one that caused more unpleasant words between us than any and allthings else, was his carelessness in dress. I do not know that I amscrupulously neat, but I did pride myself in the personal appearance ofmy husband, which was sometimes seriously marred by an unshaved beardor a soiled shirt. We were once traveling on a steamboat, and, standing on the guards, I discovered him on the wheel-house, and calledto him to come to me. A lady asked if “that old gentleman” was myhusband, and said: “You look so young, I am surprised that you shouldhave married so old a man. ” She seemed to be an unoffending, simple-hearted woman, such as we frequently meet in traveling, and Ireplied, with a smile, “He suits me very well, ma’am;” but made use ofthe earliest opportunity to tell him of it–-really taking pleasure indoing so-–for I had often expressed my own views on that subject, assuring him that he looked at least twenty years older when heneglected to dress with care, especially if he had not shaved. 

Next morning he paid particular attention to making his toilet, declaring it to be his intention “to create a sensation, ” which hecertainly succeeded in doing, much to our mutual amusement; for thesame lady, eyeing him closely at breakfast; expressed to me afterwardsher amazement at the change, giving it as her opinion, that “he was thehandsomest young gentleman she had ever seen. ”

I went too boldly to work in trying to correct his carelesshabits in dress. I formed an idea that it was my duty and myprivilege, not only to attend to my husband’s wardrobe, but to direct, too, how it should be disposed of; but soon found that he was not to bemade to do anything. And, as “straws show which way the wind blows, ” Ilearned, in most things, to influence him by silken cords. He waswilling to be led captive by love and tenderness. Why, when your dearmamma was not more than four or five years of age, she had learned theart of making “papa” do as she liked. I remember to have heard her sayonce (slyly to one side), “I am going to make papa let me do it. ” Andwhen asked “Make papa?” answered, “Yes, the way mamma does;” andimmediately turned to him with her most bewitching little smile, andsaid, “Do please, dear papa, let me. ”

O! what a joyous home we had! And what changes time has made!The old Wahrendorff house has been rased to the ground, and storesstand in its place. Where domestic peace and happiness reigned-–whereflowers bloomed-–where childhood held its sports and holidays, now isseen the busy mart of this bustling, plodding world. The merry littlemagnet of that grass-covered spot is now the mother of four children;and the beloved father, upon whom her mother fondly hoped to lean, asshe tottered down the hill of life, lies low, at its base. 

One of my dear sisters was there seen in her bridals robes, pureand sweet. But now, she is among the angels (as I humbly trust, )clothed in the white robe of a Saviour’s righteousness. The otherstill lives to bless us with her presence and her love. 

Our brothers have passed their truant school-boy days-–“sowedtheir wild oats”–-have taken their stand among men, and are realizingthemselves now the blessedness of a home of conjugal and paternalhappiness, and begin to know something of the care and anxiety that hasbeen felt for them, and of the hopes which stimulate to duty. Andthus, Time, as he passes, leaves foot-prints, which make the childrenof to-day the men and women of to-morrow; brings changes which blightour fondest hopes, crush the heart, and leave us, in our tempest-tossedbark, to weather awhile longer the storms upon the voyage of life. 

But my mind still reverts to this home of my happy married life. It is Sabbath morning there, and we are around the family altar. Thechapter has been read, and we are singing a favorite hymn of the onewho reads and prays. It is spring time, and the fresh air comes inthrough the opened window, perfumed with the rose and the sweet-brier. But we are singing:

“The rosy light is dawning, Upon the mountain’s brow:It is the Sabbath morning, Arise, and pay thy vow. Lift up thy voice to Heaven, In sacred praise and prayer, While unto thee is givenThe light of life to share. 

The landscape, lately shroudedBy evening’s paler ray, Smiles beauteous and uncloudedBefore the eye of day;So let our souls, benightedToo long in folly’s shade, By the kind smiles be lightedTo joys that never fade. 

O, see those waters streamingIn crystal purity;While earth, with verdure teeming, Give rapture to the eye. Let rivers of salvationIn larger currents flow, Till every tribe and nationTheir healing virtue know. ”

The morning is past–-we have been to church, and dined; and nowour little daughter is listening, most eagerly, to the Bible story, which was promised her as a reward for good behavior. 

The afternoon has passed. We have had an early tea, and again wesurround the Throne of Grace before going to church. The same lovedvoice is heard again joining in another favorite hymn:

“Sweet is the light of Sabbath eve, And soft the sunbeams lingering there:For this blest hour the world I leave, Wafted on wings of faith and prayer. 

The time, how lovely, and how still!Peace shines and smiles on all below;The vale, the wood, the stream, the hill, All fair with evening’s setting glow. 

Season of rest, the tranquil soulFeels the sweet calm, and melts to love:And while these peaceful moments roll, Faith sees a smiling Heaven above. 

Nor shall our days of toil be long;Our pilgrimage will soon be trod, And we shall join the ceaseless song, The endless Sabbath of our God. ”

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Belmont, February, 1861. 

Letter Ten

My Dear Grandchildren:

I see in casting a glance back, that I have passed over a gooddeal in the life of your grandfather, which will, perhaps, be ofinterest to you; without which, at any rate, this sketch would not becomplete. And I intended, when I closed my last letter, to commencethis with his career as a business man, and to continue the narrativeto the close of his life; and then to give you a distinct account ofhis influence and deeds in the Church, and in the world, as aChristian. But I do not know, upon further reflection, that it is bestto divide up his life in that way; and, indeed, it seems to me rather adifficult and unnatural task to do so, for he strictly followed theinjunction of the Apostle: “Be diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. ” The dividing line, therefore, would be hard tofind, if there was one at all. 

And these letters, which are a pleasant recreation to me while Iwrite them–-and of profit, too, I hope, as I carefully review the lifeof him who, “though dead, still speaketh”–-would, I fear, become atask, should I change the simple and pleasing plan I have adopted ofrecalling the past, with the incidents as they occurred, and from themselecting such as I think will best unfold to your view the real, every-day life of him, which, if fairly seen, cannot fail to plant inyour young hearts a just pride for such an ancestor, and a holy desireto walk in his steps. With this view, I will retrace, and bring up, briefly and in order, the omissions to which I have alluded. 

You remember, I mentioned to you the fact, that your grandfathercommenced life, as a business man, by becoming the partner of hisfather in the drug business. His father had, a few years previously, given up his interest in the “Missouri Republican” to his son Edward, and commenced a business which was new to him, and that upon a smallcapital. He found it so profitable, however, that he prevailed onJoseph to abandon his profession, (the practice of which he had butjust commenced), and to join him, believing that it would ultimately bemore to his advantage to do so. From the profits arising from thisbusiness–-which regularly increased, with the increase of the city, and that of the country, from the rapid emigration to the WesternStates-–combined with his success in an occasional speculation inland, I doubt not, if “grandpa” had been at all given to the love ofmoney, or had been ambitious of attaining to great wealth, and had benthis powers of mind and body in that direction, he would have reachedthe desired goal, perhaps to becoming a millionaire. 

But very different from this were the tendencies of his nature. He appreciated money as the means of adding to the sum of humanhappiness; and, while he was by no means reckless in the use of it, itwas a source of great pleasure to him to have it in his power toindulge his family in having what they desired and in living as theypleased, and still to have something over to distribute to thenecessities of the indigent. To the Church of Christ he cheerfullycontributed to the extent of his ability, esteeming it one of hishighest privileges. Pursuing this course, his business meanwhilewidening, and constantly becoming more profitable, in the year 1837 or’38, he decided to take a partner, and offered the situation to mybrother Henry, which was gladly accepted. After this, (I do not knowexactly how long), he purchased a valuable piece of ground in the city, upon a part of which “the firm” determined to build an oil and leadfactory. This proved to be a very expensive and arduous undertaking;and, although it promised, after being fairly established, to be a mostprofitable investment, yet the capital of “the firm” was not sufficientto complete and to carry it on successfully until it should reach aself-sustaining point, without doing serious injury to “the store, ” bydepriving it of the necessary capital for its success. 

During this state of things, which grew worse every day, myhusband discerned a portentous cloud in the sky of his commercialprosperity, which resulted after days and nights of anxiety andovertaxed strength of body and mind, in a low state of health andspirits that almost unfitted him for his accumulated business, which, nevertheless, he continued to prosecute with avidity. This was aboutthe year 1841. I do not recollect how long his ill health lasted, butI well remember how his flesh went away–-how pale he was–-how heperspired at night, from nervous prostration, and how his skin seemedto cleave to his bones. He was still amiable and uncomplaining; buthis elasticity, his free-hearted joyousness was gone. 

After pressing him for some time to tell me his troubles anddifficulties, and sympathizing with him because of them, until a fardeeper concern took possession of me on account of his health, and, finding that moderate expostulations did not better things, Idetermined to make an effort by trying a wife’s skill in arousing himfrom this state of despondency, which threatened such seriousconsequences; for I might well feel that fortune would be nothing to mewithout my husband-–my husband as he ever had been. And “if the worstcame to the worst, ” if he only had sufficient means to pay his debts, (which he said, without doubt, he had), I cared for nothing better thanto begin life afresh, with such a husband as I had, with health, youth, business capacity, and a good reputation. 

This conversation was not without effect; and he determined, byway of recruiting, to “knock off” from business, and to make anexcursion into the country. This little trip–-which was not simplywithout aim, other than for his health, as he had some business toattend to on the way-–acted like a charm, by restoring his wastedenergies and his cheerfulness. He returned, in ten or fifteen days, more like himself than he had been for months. After this, he soonrecovered entirely; and never again did he lose his equanimity formore, perhaps, than a day or two at a time, although the dreaded blowdid come, but not before he had taken a step in the divine life, whichserved to buoy him up above the ills of this checkered existence. 

During the year 1839, about five years after we became members ofthe Church, your grandfather was ordained “Ruling Elder” in the SecondPresbyterian church. We united with the “First Presbyterian church”(which I believe, I told you in a previous letter), which was then theonly one in the city, but were induced, from a sense of duty, to goout, with a few others, to assist in strengthening a small colony thathad been struggling for existence almost from the time it had left themother church, some two or three years previous. In the building up ofthis church he was one of its most efficient agents. Besides havingthe duties of an Elder to perform, he was appointed a Trustee, and, with others, was very active in planning, and carrying forward to itscompletion, a large and expensive building, bearing a heavy part of thedebt of it for years, until the means were provided for his relief, which was not until long after he had met with heavy pecuniary losses. He was regularly in his place at all the meetings of the church, bothfor spiritual and secular purposes. 

Now, my dear children, if you have conceived an idea, from theinsight I have given you, of the numerous occupations of yourgrandfather, that he must have been bustling about, having so much todo--hurrying things at home, and having no time for pleasure orrecreation-–you are greatly mistaken. A day rarely passed that he didnot take a ride with his family, or some member of it, to “the farm, ”(except during the period of his ill health, when he oftener soughtrepose in the afternoon), enjoying, with the fresh air, exercise, andcharms of the country, the society of those so dear to him. He nevercame home with a surly look–-like some people who want to make animpression that they have the world on their shoulders-–to talk abouthard work, and hard times, or disagreeable matters, or to recount allthe wonderful things he had done, or had to do. But, with a step and acountenance that seemed to say, “What a blessed and happy man I am!”his presence always brought with it happiness and peace. He was not agreat talker, but he generally had something pleasant to say, or aninteresting anecdote to relate; for, with a keen perception of theludicrous, he possessed a talent for telling anecdotes admirably well, and a humor that was irresistibly pervasive. No one could help feelingits influence, and being all the happier for it. 

I wish I could remember some of his anecdotes, and do themjustice in the relation; but I know the attempt would be futile: forthere was so much in the look and manner that gave a zest to hisconversation, and rendered it attractive, that it would be impossibleto convey a correct idea of it in words. None can feel, or fullyappreciate it, without having had the privilege of being in hispresence. A friend, to whom he was much attached, and at whose househe frequently visited, mentioned to me, since his death, that he andhis wife had, from their early acquaintance with him, been in the habitof referring often to what “Mr. Charless” would say, recalling hisconversation, and talking so much about him, that one day he asked, “Wife, how is it we cannot help talking of Mr. Charless?–-what isthere about him that impresses us so? It is not really what he says, but the way he says it. It is his humor, his benevolence of manner, his inimitable pleasantry, etc. ”

With these qualities, I need not say that he was an acquisitionto society. He enjoyed it at home or abroad; at the evening party, orwith a few friends around the social board. With a genial nature, hehad a facility for adaptation, so that it was easy for him to feelperfectly at home, and unrestrained, with all classes and conditions ofmen, young or old, gay or grave. He was particularly fond of youngpeople, and generally had a “little sweetheart” among the girls, withwhom he would occasionally carry on a spirited flirtation. 

In the fall of 1841, immediately after his period of dejection, and consequent ill health, your grandfather and myself mutually agreedthat it would be best for us, by way of lessening our expenses, to sellour furniture, and break up housekeeping for a few years. My health, which had never been good since that severe illness, of which I havespoken, was the palpable cause; for my husband had often expressed adesire to try the effect of rest from the cares and fatigue ofhousekeeping, and now, that one sister and two of my brothers weremarried and settled, there was not difficulty in the way of our doingso. This proved to be a very fortunate step, for at the time things, almost anything, sold well. The city was prosperous, and everybodyfelt rich. Our furniture, of which we reserved sufficient to furnishtwo bed-rooms, besides our valuables of plate, etc. , sold for as much, some of it for more, than we paid for it when new. And in one yearfrom that time, suddenly, there was a monetary pressure, which broughtevery kind of property down to less than half of its value or originalcost. It was one of those pecuniary tornadoes which occasionally sweepthrough the whole length and breadth of the land, levelling andblighting everything as it passes, putting a stop to the wheels ofcommerce, and bringing terror into almost every family. It came withan astounding effect upon St. Louis. Many who felt themselves richwere in a few days reduced to a state of poverty, not having the meanswherewith to pay their honest debts. 

The firm of “Charless & Blow” were compelled to “suspendpayment. ” This reverse came upon them like a shock, for, notwithstanding my husband’s fears, a year or two previous, with regardto his mercantile affairs, he had informed me, but a short time before, that he had no doubt now but that they would be enabled to get throughwith the difficulties that had been pressing him down; for, as heexpressed it, “we begin now to see our way clear. ” They had had noapprehensions with regard to their endorser (for whom they alsoendorsed), for “his house” was one of the oldest and (it was thought)one of the most opulent in the city. But when the fact was known thatMr. T had failed, and when his creditors called upon the firm of“Charless & Blow” to respond to his notes, which were then due, it wastoo much for them. At first my husband (pale from emotion) thought allwas over!–-all for which he had been toiling for years; reduced topoverty, his reputation as a merchant, perhaps, greatly weakened; and, what was worse still, (not knowing the extent of his losses by Mr. T. ), he might not be able, after sacrificing everything he had in the world, to pay his debts!

In a crisis like this, developments are exceedingly rapid, andrevulsion of feeling just as much so. The excitement is too intense toendure delay. The best and the worst must be known, if possible, andthat at once. It was soon ascertained, therefore, in the case of“Charless & Blow, ” that their loss, by the failure of our good andhonorable old friend, was not much; and the chief difficulty with them, as with all other sufferers, lay in the loss of confidence between men, and the consequent scarcity of money in circulation. 

Your grandparents passed one troubled night in consequence ofthis event, in which sleep–-“tired nature’s sweet restorer”-–forsookthem. But the next afternoon found them taking a drive in grandpa’sbuggy, calmly talking about their new circumstances, and resolving, with a courageous heart, to meet them, whatever they might be. Ofcourse, I did all I could to encourage him, (else I would not have beenworthy the name of wife); became very self-sacrificing for a lady–-willingto part with my tea service, and all my silver-ware-–any andeverything I had of value, except my bridal gifts; and then began tospeculate upon how very nice it would be to live in a neat littlecottage, etc. , etc. For I was not too old to be romantic; and I doreally believe now, as I recall my enthusiasm on the subject, that Iwould have been disappointed had anything occurred to prevent me fromexhibiting to my husband how cheerfully I could submit to misfortune. No such test came; for the very next day a widow, who had deposited afew hundred dollars with “the firm” for safe keeping, hearing of theirreverses, called to get her money. They had none; and my husband, remembering my offer, sent a messenger, with a note, requesting me tosend the tea-service, with which to secure her. Cheerfully–-for I wasglad it was in my power to secure the widow against loss, and torelieve the mind of my husband to some little extent-–but with abeating heart, (for this was a birth-day gift from him), I parted withmy beautiful tea-service, and have never seen it since. It was sold topay that debt. 

Our dear old mother was greatly afflicted because of our reversesin fortune, and wept like a child; but her amazement was to see me sounmoved. I thought then it was Christian submission that enabled me tobear up so well; but I see now there was a great deal of human love, and sympathy, and human pride, too, mixed with it. 

Although we were not keeping house, at that time, we were verydelightfully and happily situated, for we were boarding (as an especialfavor) at our eldest brother’s. He had a sweet wife, and they lived intheir beautiful new house, which, years after, “grandpa” purchased. Itwas there your dear mamma passed her young lady days-–where she wasmarried-–where her little sons, Charless, Louis and Edward, were born;and where their loving grandpa breathed away his precious life. Butthe same reasons which made it necessary for us to submit to loss andinconvenience, made it incumbent on my brother to sell his residence. Consequently, we accepted the kind invitation of our mother to occupy apart of her house; and, by strict economy in every practicable thing-–paying her a very low price for our board, which the old lady wouldreceive, but “not a cent more”-–we passed three of the happy years ofour life, at the end of which time, we had regained a considerableamount of our losses; and, what was better still, your dear grandfatherhad become firmly and prosperously re-established in business, withouthaving lost an atom of his reputation as a judicious and energeticmerchant. 

“The suspension” of Charless & Blow did not result in a completefailure, by any means. They solicited an examination into theiraffairs, exhibited their books, making a complete and full expositionof the condition of their business, and it was unanimously agreed upon, by the committee chosen for the purpose, that it would be greatly tothe advantage of their creditors for “the firm” not to close up, but tocontinue the business, each binding himself to extract, for the twosucceeding years, only a small (stated) sum for private use, from theproceeds of the store. 

As soon as the adverse condition of “C. & B. ” was relieved, andthey had regained their former position-–which, I think, was in abouttwo years from the time of the crisis-–they made up their minds todissolve partnership: one to take “the store;” the other, “the oil andlead factory. ” Accordingly, terms of dissolution were drawn up. Mr. Charless, being the elder, had the privilege of choosing, and, afterreflection, decided upon retaining the store. My two younger brothersafterwards became his partner in the business, and remained as“Charless, Blow & Co. ” until dissolved by the death of their belovedsenior. 

This is a long letter, my dear children, and I will close it, with the promise of letting you know something more about our threeyears’ sojourn at your great-grandmamma’s: in which I hope to show youhow happy we can be under adverse circumstances, and how much less theevil of “coming down in the world” is, than generally is supposed. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Letter Eleven

My Dear Grandchildren:

Man is naturally aspiring, and the more he attains to in life, the more earnestly he reaches after something higher still. And it iswell that it is so, for, without this spirit, there would necessarilybe but little or no advance in the world. The old land-marks wouldstand unmolested, forever; and the human family, instead of developing, could not but deteriorate, from generation to generation. But for thefall of man, his highest aim would have been such as the angels have, viz: to see, and to be with God, whose exceeding greatness and glorywould tend to ravish the soul with delight, enlarge its capacity, andyet keep it at an humble distance, reverent and lowly. But I amstepping beyond my reach, and will come back again to what is, not whatmight have been. 

As soon as you observe at all, you must perceive what a constantstruggle there is going on here below. Some aim at “fortune’s gaudyshow, ” while others strive to catch the wreath of fame, and crownthemselves with that. Few are so indifferent, unless besotted byignorance and degradation, as not to aspire, in some shape or other, tosomething more or better than they ever had, or better than othershave; and, in this age of the world-–at any rate in this country-–moneyseems to be esteemed the chief good. Not the miser’s money, for, while that is locked up, and he hoards, and hoards, and still locks itup, it narrows down the soul, and expunges from it all the milk ofhuman kindness. What are the orphan’s tears, or the widow’s groans–-whatis human suffering to him? Gold! gold! His precious gold fillsthe contracted, dark place, which the soul, made in the image of itsCreator, has forsaken, and leaves him more brute than man. 

Money is a good and valuable possession, but not to thespendthrift, to whom it becomes a temptation to vice. Better be poorforever, and, by the sweat of the brow, eat your daily bread, maintaining, at the same time, a pure and unblemished character, thanto have a fortune that only induces idleness and self-indulgence, opening to you an avenue for the destruction of soul and body; and, perhaps, too, as is often the case, cause you to blindly drag your wifeand children with you, if not to vice, at least to want and todisgrace. Money is only good when properly valued, and properly used. It is desirable as a means of education, and of refinement; for thecultivation of one’s taste in the field of nature, or in the arts andsciences. It is gratifying, and not wrong, to have handsome houses andgrounds, tasteful furniture, fine paintings, or statuary, libraries, and everything pertaining to an elegant establishment. It is very goodwhen used to make people happy who, in the providence of God, are notsupplied with the necessaries of life. “The poor ye have always withyou”-–why if not to keep the stream of benevolence running fresh andsweet? And money helps materially, perhaps too much, toward giving oneposition in society. All things considered, it is hard to lose it. Itis trying to feel, as you pass along, people are saying, “There goespoor Mrs. A. , or B. She has come down in the world!” Some maliciousones will say, “Well, she deserved it, for she was very extravagant, and she held her head too high. ” Women, no doubt, are more susceptibleto suffering and mortification, from reverses in fortune than men are;yet there are many ways in which they feel it, too-–according to theircharacters and dispositions. And, my dear children, if I were to saythat we had not felt or cared for the reverses in life of which I toldyou in my last letter, it would not be true. We did feel it, and thatin many ways. My husband was humbled, and disappointed, but entirelysubmissive to the will of God; for he believed that adversity, as wellas prosperity, came from His loving hand, and was designed for thehighest good of His people. Instead of having the effect to lessen, itstrengthened his faith. Instead of making him more anxious andstriving for the accumulation of wealth, he was less so; and hecontinued to be less so throughout the remainder of his life. Notwithstanding he was quite as industrious, just as energetic; yetthere was less of dross mixed up with the pure metal in his soul. Tome, it was evident that he advanced rapidly in the divine life; ofwhich I felt the influence, if I caught none of its spirit. 

In a letter from him, dated that fall, soon after our removal tohis mother’s, he says: “The scenery of the Mississippi, from the rapidsnorth, is very beautiful. The frost having changed the color of partof the leaves, the forest presents an endless variety of colors; andthe great number of farms and villages add much to the beauty of thelandscape. But everywhere I find the people complaining, and manysuffering from actual want. Although Providence has provided a mostbountiful harvest, many, who have been accustomed to have everycomfort, and many luxuries, around them, are now almost destitute. Itmakes me feel more resigned to our losses and poverty, seeing we are somuch better off than thousands who are more deserving than we. They, it seems, are resigned, and submit most cheerfully to all thedispensations of their Heavenly Father. Let us, dear Charlotte, hereafter endeavor to show, in our lives, greater devotedness to Himwho has done so much for us, and who promises to be our support andstay in every hour of need; who will never desert any who put theirtrust in Him. 

“Let us, therefore, exhort one another, and provoke each other towell-doing, in the service of our God. Let us love each other more andmore, and make Jesus the great object of our praise and prayer. I hopeand pray that the chastenings of our blessed Lord, in depriving us ofour worldly possessions, may be sanctified to us, and lead us, moreearnestly and undoubtingly, to seek for possessions in that Kingdomwhere all is joy, and peace, and love. Oh! That we may be enabled, with all our dear kith and kin, and kind friends, to attain unto thisglorious and happy state, to dwell forever in the presence of our God, and enjoy Him throughout eternity. Dear C. , are not these things worthour most strenuous efforts? And yet how little do we do! How poor ourbest attempts to serve Him who has done everything for us. ”

With these earnest desires for closer communion with God, and forthose treasures which fade not away, he necessarily had a hard struggleto prosecute his worldly affairs, under circumstances sodisadvantageous as that of carrying on a large business without thenecessary capital, greatly weakened, in fact, by pecuniary losses, andmore still by the misfortune of being compelled to “suspend payment, ”and the consequent exposure of the internal difficulties with which“the firm” had to contend. Anxious and toiling, week after week, hewas always rejoiced when Saturday night came, that he might, as hegenerally expressed it in his prayer that night, “lay aside the world, and engage in the delightful exercises of the holy Sabbath. ” And Iwill here mention, for the benefit of those among you (if there are anysuch) who, in your eager pursuit of wealth, or honor, or are battling, as he was, with the untoward events of life, are tempted to desecratethe Sabbath to secular purposes, that I have often heard yourgrandfather say (about that time) that on Monday his mind was clearer, and his hopes stronger of success, than at any other time. And towardsthe close of the week, after his mental energies had been on thestretch for days, things looked darker; that sometimes he felt asthough he must give up; that it would be impossible to meet hispayments; but that on Monday, with both mind and body invigorated fromthe holy rest of the Sabbath day, the mists had cleared away, andeverything looked bright again-–so bright that he often felt surprisedthat he should have been in such a desponding condition on Saturday. 

There is sound philosophy in this; but I will leave it for you towork out the problem, and will proceed to say, that with the opening ofthe spring of 1843, business prospects really did brighten. And ournew home, though humble, we had found vastly comfortable. It lookedfamiliar and home-like, too; for the furniture to which we had beenaccustomed had been removed into our suite of rooms, one of thebedsteads minus only the cornice and the feet, which had to be takenoff to accommodate it to the height of the ceiling-–of which, forawhile, I had so constant and disagreeable an impression that often, when rising suddenly from my chair, I would dodge, from fear of bumpingmy head against it. And no wonder! For this was an old house, built in“the year one, ” before people (poor things!) found out the necessity ofhaving their ceilings pitched so high above them! But our front roomwas otherwise capacious; for several partitions had been knocked down, which added a small room and part of a hall to the main one, andextended it entirely across the front of the house. It was so largethat it accommodated the piano, and a pier-stand, besides everynecessary article for a completely furnished bed-room. The piano andpier-stand-–the latter of which was a particular object of attractionto your mamma (for bon-bons were kept in that)-–gave to the room theair somewhat of a parlor. At least, we esteemed it so cosy, andappropriate for the purpose, that we more frequently received the callsof friends there than in our mother’s little reception-room. 

What right had we to murmur? It would have been ungrateful if wehad done so; for, although not by any means elegant, we werecomfortable. True, my nice carriage and beautiful horses had beensold; but mother had quite a nice little carriage, and a fine old grayhorse, that would have appeared very respectable, if (as the stable boysaid) the calves had not “chawed of his tail!” However, that was asource of amusement. We rode often, for both mother and I needed theexercise; and the rides were delightful, as ‘Joseph’ was generally ourdriver; and a merry chase he would lead us sometimes, for when he nolonger had “the farm” to go to, (that had likewise been sold), heseemed determined to find out the merits, or demerits, of every road inthe vicinity. This made quite a variety for us, for, besides thechange of scenery, it usually called forth ejaculations from hismother, and answers from him, which were very amusing. She saw nosense in ”rambling the country over, going into every nook and corner, and jolting people to death!” But he would earnestly assure her thathe had not gone into half yet-–looking round at her with a provokinglymischievous expression, which seemed to intimate that he meant to tryit, though-–and as for the roads, he could “find much worse roads thanthat! And as to driving–-he hadn’t begun to show how many stumps hecould go over, without upsetting. ” This playful, jocose, merry mood ofher son, frequently recalled to the old lady’s mind some incidents ofearly times, when she was young, and Joseph was a boy, which she wouldrelate, and laugh all over at, shaking her fat sides most merrily. And, notwithstanding her outbursts of hastily spoken words ofdisapprobation to him for his temerity, she always wondered, afterbeing safely landed at home, why she enjoyed her rides so much morewhen Joseph drove!

When we think about it, there are really no enjoyments in thiswide world equal to home enjoyments. And when we have to go away fromthat hallowed spot, to seek for some longing of the soul which wecannot find there, or return to it with distaste, after having dippedinto the pleasures (even the refined and reasonable ones) of the world, we are to be pitied, greatly pitied; for we are strangers to the purestand sweetest joys that are known this side of Paradise. And, thankGod! this happiness is not confined to the mansion of the rich and thegreat. Perhaps it is less felt there than in the cottage of thevirtuous and intelligent poor. 

At our mother’s we had quite as much of domestic peace andhappiness as we had ever known. Our little daughter, who, to us atleast, looked just as sweet and pretty in her bit calicos as she hadever done in better and more expensive clothes, beguiled a portion ofour evenings with her music. She played delightfully on the piano, fora child of her age; and then she had conceived an idea (perhaps fromsomething her father or mother had said) that the day might come when, by teaching music and French, she would be their support in old age. This was a new and beautiful stimulant to study, and we were no lesspleased with this virtuous devotion of her young life, because weconfidently believed that no such necessity would ever arise. 

We enjoyed society, too–-not quite so much or half as often aswhen we could return civilities; but there was an abandonment offeeling, or freedom from care, when we did participate; something likethat expressed by a clerical friend of ours, who, upon beholding thebeautiful grounds of a wealthy gentleman, congratulated himself uponhis capacity for enjoying them as much as the proprietor could, “without having his responsibility and care, ” which, in some measure, compensated us. 

And, then, your grandfather found out what “a jewel of a wife” hehad; how, as with a magic touch, she could make old things perfectlynew, in which she appeared more charming to his eye than ever before. We are really not dependent upon external circumstances for happiness. That ingredient of life is found within us; and every one has a sharein promoting it. One gentle, patient, unselfish, cheerful member of ahousehold, can do wonders towards making the whole atmosphere of homeredolent with his soul-reviving influences. 

From what you have seen of your grandfather, you will readilyimagine that he must have been a good son. He was: one of the best, ifnot the best, I have ever known. But facts speak for themselves. Ihave never once heard him speak a hasty or unkind word to his mother. He was her staff, upon whom she lovingly leaned; and yet, at herbidding, he was her boy, obedient, and respectful. As she declined inlife, “when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shallbe in the way, ” and many infirmities made her irritable and exacting, the charm of his loving voice, playfully and skillfully giving a turnto the current of her feelings, would alternately soothe, comfort, andamuse her. He was thoughtful of her every wish and comfort, and didall that he could to fill the void which death had made in that agedheart. 

Some of the most striking proofs of his pure and elevatedcharacter, of his disinterested friendship and love, delicacy forbidsme to speak of, as there are those living who might be touched by them. But I have given facts enough to show that he was no ordinary man. Hewas fond of reading, quick of perception, and given to investigation. There were but few subjects with which he was not more or lessacquainted. For, notwithstanding his close business habits, he foundmuch time for his favorite occupation of reading; by which means hekept up with the religious, political, and literary news of the day. He was a good historian, and possessed a retentive memory. I neverthought of referring to an encyclopedia, or to a dictionary, when hewas present; for I found it so much easier, and more pleasant, toobtain needed information from him. As regards the intellectualcharacter of his mind, however, I do not think it was of the higheststamp. Of all practical things he had a decided opinion. His judgmentwas sound. Not marred by prejudice, nor warped by self-love, orself-praise, or self-aggrandisement, he was enabled coolly to exercisehis powers of mind in forming a just estimate of men and things. Hepossessed strong common sense, which, being balanced by a high moraltone, and refined sensibilities, enabled him to be quick in discerningthe characters of men, but tenderly careful of their feelings andreputation. I do not think his mind was of a metaphysical cast. Henever willingly engaged in argument of any kind, nor conversed uponabstruse subjects. He might have said, with David, “Lord, my heart isnot haughty, nor mine eyes lofty, neither do I exercise myself in greatmatters, or in things too high for me. ” Yet he had a profound respect, and great admiration, for the highly gifted, and the learned;especially for those who, with these extraordinary gifts andattainments, possessed sincere piety. He enjoyed learned disquisitionsjust as he did a fine painting, the excellencies and beauties of whichhe appreciated, and could point out, without knowing how to use thebrush or the pencil. 

He had a keen appreciation of natural beauty, and of the artwhich could represent it, either on canvas or in marble. He was fondof poetry. But of all the poets, Burns stood first in his estimation. He could enter so easily into the spirit of this writer, because, insome respects, they were kindred spirits. Burns’ touching pathos, hishumor, his love and pity for man and beast, penetrated his own humorousand nature-loving soul. When the centenary celebration of the birth ofthis great poet took place in St. Louis, a few years ago, he wasabsent, and I attended, not only for personal gratification, but that Imight, upon his return, give him an account of it. In a letter to yourmother (who was at Belmont) I alluded to the celebration, and said, “Itonly needed ‘father’ to read the ‘Cotter’s Saturday Night’ to have madeit complete in interest. ” He did read those poems beautifully; andmany of his anecdotes embodied Scotch and Irish nature, and every-daylife, which he would relate with all their native simplicity and humor, using the brogue of the one, and the accent and provincialism of theother, to perfection. 

He was fond of music; but that, like his love of poetry, was asimple taste, his decided preference being for Scotch and Irishballads. He could speak and read French well-–very well, when inpractice. 

In much weakness, my dear children, but looking up to God toguide me into all truth concerning this matter, I have endeavored togive you a faithful history of the life (as far as it goes) andcharacter of your beloved grandfather. I am afraid it does not do himjustice, for I have often felt how meager words are to convey an ideaof what he really was. But look at his portrait, and that benevolent, honest, cheerful countenance, may, in some measure, make up to you whatmy pen has failed to do. 

I do not believe I have spoken to you of his kindness to thepoor. But ask, in St. Louis, who were among those who wrung theirhands and wept big tears around his cold remains, and you will find hewas the poor man’s friend. 

I have made but slight allusions to his self-denying labors inthe Church of Christ, because I know comparatively, but little of them. He never spoke of his good works, as such, not even to me. “Let notthy left hand know what thy right hand doeth” was no difficult taskfor one who, alone conscious of his “many infirmities, ” was kept trulyhumble before the eye of the heart-searching God. His humility was hiscrowning virtue. It adorned all the rest, and gave a certain kind ofgrace, even to his greatest faults. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Letter Twelve

My Dear Grandchildren:

In this simple sketch of the life of an unpretending Christianman, whose highest aim was to discharge his duties, as such, in theposition in which God had placed him, I am aware there is nothingparticularly interesting, or congenial, to the feelings or taste of theworldling. By “the worldling” I mean a man, or woman, who-–perhapswithout deliberately weighing things as they exist, and regardless ofthe future-–is content with the short-lived pleasures and advantagesof this world. But I cannot better describe the worldling than in thelanguage of your grandfather, taken from a letter which lies openbefore me. In speaking of a certain lady who expressed to him a regretthat she had not fifty thousand dollars per annum to spend in living, he says: “She is a poor, worldly woman, whose chief end in life is todash!–-shine, and out-shine-–consequently envies those who have moremeans, or appear to out-shine her. I would not swap my old woman foras many of such as could stand between this and Mobile, and the fiftythousand per annum in the bargain!” To such among you (God forbid thatthere should be such!) I do not write; for I know how the world blindsby its dazzle, and you could see no beauty or use in living for theglory of that Being who made and preserves you, and before whom youmust stand to be judged. Made in His image, with an immortal soul, youmight dwell forever with the Redeemer, in the mansions he has gone toprepare. But, like the butterfly, you fritter away your earthlyexistence, and, by so doing, throw away the only cup of real, unadulterated pleasure of this present life; and, when Time, with allits fleeting joys, has passed away forever, where, oh, where! do youexpect to dwell?

But for those who are the worthy descendants of him who lived thelife of the righteous, and who find pleasure in reading these imperfectletters, I will recommence a review of the past, recording, as I havedone, such facts as I think will interest you, and acquaint you stillbetter with him. You have seen his Christianity exhibited in manyways; and I have not kept from your view his faults and imperfections. You have seen him as a son, and as a brother, a friend, and a husband. As a father, you know but little of him; and now I will relate thecircumstances which led to a temporary separation from his child andher mother, and will quote from his letters, that you may learn, fromhimself, his views and desires as a father, and his manner ofintercourse with this only child of his heart. 

During the winter of 1846–-after we had removed from yourgreat-grandmamma’s, and were again enjoying a home of our own--my healthgave way, to an alarming extent. Although able to go about the house, it was evident (declared so by my physicians) that I was in a decline. When I grew no better from the concentrated wisdom of three of theFaculty, my husband determined to try the effect of a change of air andscene, first having consulted the doctors as to the expediency of it, and having been assured by them that, if it did me no good, it could dome no harm. With his accustomed dispatch he hastened to the river, secured our passage on a boat, which was to leave in three days, and atdinner asked me if I would not like to take a trip to Havana? Thequestion startled me, for there was more business done in March andApril than in any other two months of the whole year, and I could notsee the practicability–-indeed, it had previously seemed almostimpossible for him to leave home at that time. But his answer to myexclamations of surprise-–“Business is of no importance compared tohealth, ” and the question, “Can you be ready by day after tomorrow?”accompanied by the assurance that our state-rooms were already engaged–-put a stop to further discussion, and set my sister earnestly to workto get me ready. “Lizzie must leave school, ” (”papa” said), “for she, too, may go along to help take care of mamma”-–and never was a mammabetter taken care of, with two such nurses as she had. 

This arrangement acted like a charm, for I began to mend beforewe started, from the effect upon my mind, in being drawn off frommyself and my ailments to the necessary thought required in givingdirections for the packing of trunks, and in making arrangementsgenerally for leaving home. After reaching New Orleans, we wereadvised that it was too late in the season to visit Havana, and wedetermined to steer our course toward Pensacola; but, upon our arrivalin Mobile, our friends there suggested Pascagoula, as a better place, and, as it was more accessible than the former, we decided upon tryingthe effect of the sea-breeze there. It was early in the season tovisit a watering-place, but we were not the less welcomed by theproprietors of a delightful hotel, (which has since been burned down), for, as it happened, they were old acquaintances of ours. This hotelwas a commodious, and cheerful looking establishment, with its largedancing saloon attached, and had every convenience for the amusementand comfort of the gay crowd that assembled there in the summer monthsfor pastime or health. It stood on an eminence, and commanded abeautiful view of the bay. The large yard in front, which graduallysloped down to the beach, was planted with evergreens and shrubbery, presenting a gay contrast, which, with the flowered vines, so prettilytrained around the pillars of the long piazza, made it rurallypicturesque, and filled the air with odors of the sweetest kind. Butnothing was so sweet to me as the unadulterated sea air, which Idelighted to drink in, every breath of which seemed to send vigor intomy wasted and weakened frame. At first, I could walk but a little wayalong the beach; but soon, by leaning on the arm of my husband, I couldwalk half a mile out on the pier, and, sitting down in a chair(provided for me), would remain there, with the rest of the party, forhours, as deeply interested in fishing as ever that famous old angler, Sir Izaak Walton, could have been. And if he had been as successful aswe were in hooking and pulling out the great variety of fish, large andsmall–-with an occasional monster of the deep, which caused us to openour eyes in amazement-–I am sure he could not have ruminated to hisheart’s content, as he did, and made the world so much the wiser forhis having lived and angled in it. 

Pascagoula, as it was then, was by far the most fascinating placeI had ever seen. Besides its natural beauties and advantages, (itshealth-giving influences being, no doubt, the greatest to the invalid), we had a pleasant little society of cultivated people, all bent onpleasure and sport. Sometimes we would go rowing, and then sailing. At other times we would course up the Pascagoula river-–a beautifullittle stream, all studded with the gardens of cottagers. One of thesewas an Italian, who, devoted to the land of his birth, had, as it were, transplanted the home of his heart to this romantic spot in the far-offworld. It looked decidedly foreign; but its greatest beauty (to mytaste) was the background, which was composed a grand old forest oftowering pines. 

In contrast with this little river, were the island which dottedthe bay, adding beauty to the scene and affording tempting attractionsto those who are fond of pic-nics. One especially-–“Island Casot, ”formed by the beautiful bayou of the same name-–is shaded by immenselive-oak trees, and lies just south on the border of the finest oysterbed (for flavor) in the South. We spent a whole day there, havingfirst amply provided ourselves with every luxury, even to comforts andpillows to lounge on. Your grandfather admired this beautiful littleisland so much that he thought seriously of purchasing it, to improvein a cheap and simple way, to be used as an occasional resort forhealth and pleasure. He and your mother were evidently as much charmedwith Pascagoula, and its surroundings, as I was. Both were the pictureof happiness. They engaged in many amusements, of which I wasincapable, and could only look on and laugh at-–such as catchingcrabs, and speering flounders by torchlight. They bathed and swam, too, (the latter with a life-preserver), but they were afraid toventure out too far, on account of sharks, which were occasionally seennear the shore. At a certain season of the year there was frequentlyheard, near the bath-houses, a strain of music, like the Aeolian harp, which had never been satisfactorily accounted for, although many wiseheads had pondered over it. Some supposed that it proceeded from acertain kind of small fish, which, in their perambulations through themighty deep, for some secret reason best know to themselves, touched atthis point at the stated season, just to whisper a few sweet notes, andwould then retire. Other said it was only an echo borne upon thewaters (when the wind was in a certain direction), from the playing ofthe waves against the sandy shore of an island, three miles distant. There is an Indian legend, which I will relate, that gives a moreinteresting account of this phenomenon than either of these. A warparty of the Pascagoula tribe, headed by their chief, having been hotlypursued by a victorious enemy, had rushed into the bay (sooner thansubmit), and were drowned, while singing a melancholy dirge, whichannually returns in token of the sad event. They:

“Sing of death and life undying, In the Islands of the BlestIn the kingdom of Ponemah, In the Land of the Hereafter. ”

But perhaps it is irrelevant to my subject to dwell so minutelyupon scenes and incidents so remotely associated with it. He was withme then, and it makes me for awhile forget my loneliness. 

The result of this little excursion, which proved so beneficialto my health, was a sojourn of one whole winter and spring, and part ofanother, in Mobile. We found there a boarding-school for young ladies, of high standing, in which we determined to place our daughter; and avery delightful boarding place for me, about three miles from the city, in the family of an old friend and relative, who, some years previous, had been the family physician of my father, in North Alabama. Feelingquite at home here, among these kind friends, with the advantagesresulting from a mild climate, and the sea-breeze, my health steadilyimproved, which was some consolation for the long and tediousseparation from my beloved husband. In the meanwhile our daughter waspursuing her studies at Madame De Fellon’s. I often visited her at theAcademy, and she always came out to the Doctor’s on Friday afternoon, and remained until Monday morning, when she would make an early startfor school. We had many pleasures and recreations in the city andneighborhood of Mobile, the country especially presenting a verybeautiful appearance from the highly cultivated gardens, picturesqueand tasteful cottages, and elegant mansions, contrasted, as they were, with the magnificent groves of pine and magnolia, with their rich andfragrant undergrowth of yellow jessamine, and other sweet flowers, which were indigenous to the soil of this lovely country. In thesepleasant groves were many springs of soft, clear water, which, flowingtogether, formed little creeks, whose gentle meanderings addedfreshness and increasing loveliness to the already charming scene. Some of these creeks flowed over their shining beds of sand, and someover the waving grass and lily. It tranquillizes me, even now, torecall the rustic bridge, where I have often stood (it seems to me forhours) and gazed at the gentle stream, as it murmured over the log thatlay half-imbedded in the sand, and watched the never-ceasing motion ofthe graceful “water lilies” which arched the stream below. 

But our highest enjoyment, with the exception of the visits, werethe letters of our beloved husband and father, who necessarily had toremain, a greater part of the time, in St. Louis. I find, in lookingover your mother’s package of letters from him, one dated “October 15th, 1842, ” at which time she was not quite ten years of age. After writingthe particulars of his journey, and expressing a desire that she andher mother were with him “to enjoy the beautiful scenery of theMississippi, ” etc. , he says: “I hope you have been a good girl, andthat ‘mother’ will be able to tell me how well you have behaved duringmy absence, and what a comfort it is to have so dutiful a daughter, whonever has to be told a second time to go to her piano, or to learn herSabbath school lesson. I am satisfied if children knew how it gladdensthe hearts of parents, and how cheerfully they labor to educate goodchildren, that my little girl would give her whole energy to acquiresuch a habit of obedience, and attention to her parents, as would makeher beloved by all who know her; and, more than all, would meet theapprobation of Him who has said, ‘Suffer little children to come untome, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. ’ But Ifeel assured that the unwearied attentions of the best of mothers willnot be in vain; but that the blessed God will make them serve his ownwise purpose, and, ‘father’ prays, will eventually make her a brightand shining light in this world, and place her in the world to comeamong the redeemed of our Lord and Saviour JESUS CHRIST. I have beenreading to-day the Life of the Rev. Mr. Newton, who was a very wickedman, ” etc. , etc. “Mr. Newton was, like little Samuel, devoted to theLord, when a child, by his mother, who died, leaving him an orphan, atthree years of age. Yet, after many trials, He saves him from his sins–-and, might we not almost say, for his mother’s sake? Surely for theSaviour’s sake. 

“I have heard nothing from home since I left, and am extremelyanxious to hear from you all. Has dear ‘mother’s’ health improved?How is ‘grandma, ’ and ‘Cousin Eliza, ’ and little Joe and Ella, and‘aunt Loo, ’ and all our dear friends?" etc. 

“Your affectionate father, JOS. CHARLESS. ”

Here is the first page of another letter, dated “New York, December 22, 1843. "

“My Dear Daughter: Having finished my business arrangements forthe day, and having a spare moment, I thought I would occupy it bywriting to my dear child. Since I left home, I have been hurriedalong, from place to place, and from scene to scene, so that I havenothing very pleasing to detail to you of my journey. Since I havebeen in this great city I have also been very closely engaged with mybusiness, and have visited, as yet, none of its wonders. We have tonight, at the house where I am staying, a very large company, assembledto celebrate the landing of the Puritans in New England. They had amost splendid table, filled with every luxury; and they have Mr. Webster, who is to make a speech to them. Mr. Choate delivered anaddress to-day, in the Tabernacle. So, you see, we have grand doings. 

“Well, I feel more happy up in my little room, away from thenoise and bustle, writing to my daughter, and thinking of her dearmother and grandma, and cousin Eliza, and all that are so dear to us. My dear, when I think how God has blessed you, and all of us, and whenI think how wicked we have been, what stubborn and disobedient childrenwe have all been, and how little we love that Saviour who has done somuch for us, I feel very much condemned. God would be just, if heshould at once punish us. We should be very prayerful, and prayearnestly and continually, for a new heart and a right spirit, and thatwe may all be truly converted, and fitted to serve Him with our wholehearts. ”

His humility is plainly seen in this quotation, as it often wasin his prayers, when he seemed more like a little child, seeking hisFather’s face, than an elder in the Church, conscious of setting anexample to the flock. 

In the first letter your mother received from her father, in thewinter of 1846-7, after we were settled in Mobile, he says: “My dearchild, I hope, needs no hint to urge her in attention and kindness to amother whose happiness is so dependent upon her child. Your father, immersed in the business of the world, and his feelings hardened by theadverse and trying scenes which he is constantly called to breast, isnot so alive to, and dependent for happiness, as the mother is upon herhusband and child; and, in the absence of the former, the weightierduties devolve on you, and I confidently feel that you will fulfil themall cheerfully, and partake of the happiness their performance affords. I pray that the Spirit of all Grace may impart to you all the strengthand grace you need, and that you may be guided to the Saviour, in whomyou will find fullness of joy, and a peace which passeth allknowledge. ”

After writing another page, in which he gives all “the news, ” hesays: “’Grandma’ says, ‘tell Lizzie I do miss her so much!’ She saysthe birds are fine and healthy, and are well taken care of. So are thepigeons, for several of the neighboring boys have erected morecomfortable winter quarters for them, than they had in your boxes, andthey have nearly all left us and gone to the neighbors, much to thedistress of John, who cannot be reconciled to such ingratitude, noteven in pigeons. For he says, ‘I feeds them every morning, and as soonas they get the corn they fly away. ’ So you will find the world, mydear girl; when they get nothing more from us either in a pecuniary orother point of view, they cease to care for, or to be interested in us. We are therefore warned to seek happiness at home. And the wellcultivated, and well balanced mind will always find it there, where noone can deprive us of it. Will you not seek that happiness? It is tobe found with the blessed Saviour. He alone can impart it; but Hepromises that all who seek shall find, and that none shall be turnedaway without it, if they will seek Him in the appointed way. ” Thisletter was written on thanksgiving day. Further on, he continues: “Andhave we not great reason to render thanks to our heavenly Father, whenwe see how great are his mercies to us, that we have such an abundantharvest while nearly all Europe is in a starving condition? I reallythink that we have, for these mercies are most undeserved andunmerited; for we have not sought the Lord as we should have done, buthave widely departed from him, as a people, and followed the guidanceof our own wicked hearts. But let us fear and humble ourselves andrepent; and seek the pardon of our sins, and determine that let othersdo as they will, as for us we will seek and serve the Lord our God!Oh, I pray that the Blessed Spirit may incline the heart of my dearchild to consecrate her heart and soul to the service of her Saviour, and her Redeemer. ”

His concern for the conversion of his child was not always seenin his letters to her. I have just read one embracing seven pages oflarge letter paper, in which he tells much of interest about everything and every body, in a lively jocose strain, but says not a word onthe subject of religion. Among other things he says, “But I have nevertold you about our dog, Nimrod. Why, he has improved wonderfully insize, beauty, manners, &c. You will be perfectly delighted with him. He is no longer a country dog, but is becoming a real city bredgentlemanly dog. The fond companion of Miss Annie Blow in her ramblesaround the well, cistern, and even out into the alley. And never comesinto the dining room, kitchen, or your grandma’s room, without beingpressingly invited. Having upon his first arrival received diversstriking hints, his intellect has become very sharp, and his sense ofpropriety very much quickened in regard to all these matters. ” Towardsthe close of January instead of the usual reception of letters everyfew days, we experienced the far greater happiness of seeing him, whichwas only marred by the stern necessity of his having to leave us again. In May he returned, bringing my sister with him, to remain until after“the examination” of Madame De Fellon’s school. In the meanwhile wemade up our mind to pay another visit to Pascagoula, from whence I seehe wrote to our daughter as follows:

Pascagoula, May 18, 1847. 

“Dear Daughter: We avail ourselves of the return of Dr. F. Tosend you a few lines to let you know how we are getting on in thesediggings. We arrived safely last Friday evening, and found Mrs. F. AndO. Pleased to see us. The General is over on “Round Island, ” whitherwe attempted, this morning, to go, but were driven back by the headwinds. Your mother and aunt were wet by the spray but have experiencedno inconvenience from it. They are both well. We missed you very muchthis morning when the fish were biting almost as fast as we could bateour lines and throw them into the water. Your mother caught nearly twodozen cats before breakfast. But you need not come as there are noredfish or sheepshead, or trout, nothing to be caught but cats andcroakers, and I know you are too fastidious in your piscal taste todelight in such sport. We would have been much pleased to have haddear daughter with us. But hope that you have improved the time, sothat when the examination comes off we shall be delighted with theproficiency you have made in your studies. ‘Mother’ and ‘aunt’ sendtheir love to you. Ever your devoted, FATHER. ”

After the examination, in June, we returned to St. Louis. Theencouragement we felt from the effect of the last winter upon myhealth, induced us to try another winter’s sojourn in the South, withthe hope that a permanent restoration would be the result. Consequentlyin December following, your grandfather took us to Mobile and settledus for the winter. Soon after which we returned home, by way of theeastern cities, for the purpose of purchasing his stock of goods forthe next spring. 

After again taking leave of the dearest objects of his earthlyaffection, he pursues his solitary way. From “Charleston, Dec. 22nd, 1847, ” he writes:

“My Dear Daughter: To redeem my promise to write alternately toyou and dear mother, I date my first to you from this City of Palms. Iwrote from Montgomery, the capital of Alabama, last, sitting in theSenate chamber, which was beautifully adorned with curtains, andfurnished with rosewood desks and rosewood and damask velvet cushionedchairs; everything having the air of majesty-–the majesty of thesovereign people. Since which time, I have been compelled to descendfrom my lofty flights to the real democracy, as I have had roughtraveling, and the roughest kind of fare. After two and one-half days’hard traveling (night and day), I arrived her yesterday afternoon, completely worn out, and determined to lay over one day at this place. Having slept soundly, and removed the lamp-black and dust, I feel thismorning quite well again, and shall leave to-day for Wilmington, NorthCarolina, by sea, in a fine steamer. The weather is very fine, and Ithink I shall have a quick and pleasant journey. "

“I had the honor of traveling with Maj. Gen. Quitman and familyfrom Montgomery to Augusta, George, where he was invited to remain andreceive the congratulations of the citizens. The General, accustomedto command, could not well put up with the little deference paid him byhis fellow-travelers, and was much annoyed that they were notrestrained until he and his family were provided for. He is expectedhere to-day, and all the military are ordered out to receive him. General Shields has been here for several days, feasted and honored bythis city, and the capital, Columbia, where the Legislature have votedhim a splendid sword, the use of which he has so well practiced inMexico. "

“This is really a very beautiful and pleasant city, and has muchof a business appearance. The streets are wide. It has a finemarket-house. The Citadel is an old-fashioned fort, now used as amilitary school; for you must know that South Carolina is, or claims tobe, the most chivalrous State in the Union; and her great men–-Mr. Calhoun, Preston, McDuffy, and a host of others–-stand high among thegreat men of the nation. "

“I suppose you are, long before this, comfortably fixed atschool, and mother has”-–etc. , etc. 

You see, my children, from these several specimen letters, thatyour grandfather allowed no opportunity to pass unimproved. That, however, limited his time, he always found time to observe and towrite. Neglect of duty had no place in his head or heart. Itgratified him to serve his friends in any and in every way; but hisdevotion to his immediate family, in every respect, was remarkable. Nodisplay, no effort marked his intercourse with them, which made it onlythe more precious, for they well knew that love and kindness promptedhis every act. 

He wrote from New York–-after having written from everystopping-place on his way thither-–giving a more detailed account ofhis duties and pleasures which occupied every moment of his time there. In one of these letters he says: “I have been this evening to seePowers’ Greek Slave, and think it the most beautiful thing I ever saw. It is a perfect model of the human form, and as you gaze at it youperceive new beauties every moment. The face, the neck, the arms, andhands, in fact every limb, and every muscle, are perfect; and themarble seems to have that softness and delicacy which we see in a youngand beautiful girl. But you must see it to realize all its beauties, which I hope you will have an opportunity of doing next spring. "

“I am very well, and have nothing to trouble me but ourseparation, and the thoughts of the long and wearisome months that mustelapse before I can again clasp my dear wife and child to my arms. ButI trust that it will be best for us both, and that it will be the lasttime on this earth. ”

In another letter from New York, dated January 4th, 1848, after agood deal of good advice to his child, and a faithful dealing with herpeculiar faults, he writes: “With all the other matters, do not, mydear daughter, forget to learn the most important of all lessons-–theend for which you were placed on this earth; for which mind and bodywere given you: “that you glorify God here, and enjoy Him forever’ inthe world to come. That you know, experimentally, Jesus Christ, now inthe morning of life, whom to know aright is eternal life; who is love, and who has promised to love all who come unto Him by faith. I am surethat there is nothing that would gratify your parents so much as to seeyou, with all the fervor and ardor of youth, seeking and serving this, the best of masters; devoting your best affections to Him who stickethcloser, under every trial, than parent or friend. ”

I will quote another short extract from a letter dated “St. Louis, March 3d, 1848. ” In giving an account of a revival of religion, naming the number of persons who were about to unite with the SecondPresbyterian church, he says: “How delighted would I be, could I seedear daughter a bright Christian, devoting all her powers and energiesto the service of the blessed Saviour! How much more important is itto be educated to shine in Heaven than to be a star in this world ofsorrow and affliction, where there is no solid enjoyment, and where allis transitory and evanescent. I pray that you may be led to a wisechoice in these things. ”

As soon as the winter months were over-–becoming impatient undersuch a long separation-–we determined to cut short our stay in the“Sunny South. ” The greatly improved health of her for whose sake thesacrifice had been made, was ever afterwards a cause of gratulation. 

In April we returned to St. Louis, with joyous anticipations ofthe future. The darling of our hearts was fast blooming intowomanhood. Her father had purchased the residence which my brother hadbuilt for his own use, and which, above all others, we preferred, (especially as it was near to that of his aged mother), and we hopedbefore long to be permanently settled. 

But as this letter has reached its full length, I will close it, with the best love poor grandma has to offer from her desolate andstricken heart. 

Letter Thirteen

My Dear Grandchildren:

In the summer of 1848 your beloved grandfather, to whom nodischarge of duty in the Church of God was felt to be a sacrifice, again determined to change his church connection. A feeble littlechurch, painting for existence, without a pastor or house to worshipin, solicited help from the mother church. Every Christian felt thatthe increasing wants of our growing city demanded more churches, buthow many in the Second Presbyterian could obtain their own consent toexchange the comfort and ease of this elegant temple, which at length, after much self-denial of its members, was almost free from debt, andwhose pulpit was adorned with the gifted and talented Dr. Potts! whocould give up their cushioned and carpeted pews, the choice choir, thegrand organ, and the many sweet Christian associations of past years, and throw in their lot with a little handfull of Jesus’ prayingdisciples, who had few possessions, save that faith which made themlovingly cling to their Master’s cause? My husband had been one of thefirst to assist in building up the Second Presbyterian church. He wasan Elder, and a Trustee, and, after much anxiety, and the utmoststraining of his ability to raise and to contribute funds towards thecompletion of their house of worship, he was just beginning to enjoythe comfort of seeing the debt, which had hung as an incubus over itfor years, wiped out, when this new call was made upon him. A fewyoung people proposed to go out to the assistance of the feeble church, upon the condition that Mr. Charless and Mr. Keith would go with them-–wisely concluding that the attempt to sustain it without some suchefficient aid, would be utterly in vain. It was thought, however, bythe members generally, that it was a useless undertaking to keep thelittle church, as such, alive; and that it would be better for its fewadvocates to be merged into the different churches already established. Yet all seemed to think that St. Louis, growing as it was so rapidly inpopulation and in wickedness, needed more houses of public worship; butmost of the members of this church evidently shrank from the self-denialnecessary thereto. 

Your grandfather did not at once accede to this proposal, withoutfirst consulting his wife, as to her views, and especially herfeelings, and she could not have it in her heart to consider her owncomfort and pleasure, or that of their daughter, when he so evidentlyfelt that, for him, this was the path of duty. I cheerfully consented;but, looking back at the “flesh-pots of Egypt” (and there is no doubt agreat deal of this kind of worldliness carried even into the Holyplace), I requested that we should retain our pew, calculating, as soonas the young church was fairly established, again to occupy it. Weboth loved and admired, and, like everybody else, felt proud of ourminister–-for, without doubt, he stood among the first, if not at thehead of the Presbyterian church in the West-–and we knew that no Dr. Potts could be obtained for this poor little church, which seemed to betossed upon the breakers, and ready to sink. But my husband, like theearly disciples, would have been pleased to toil all night upon the seaof Galilee, and at early dawn would have been seen mending the meshesof the broken net, making ready for another day or night of toil, whileI would have preferred to sit with the five thousand upon the greengrass, to be fed. But I never could gainsay or resist the few, simplyspoken words, that revealed the cherished purpose of his soul, adorned, as they were, with eloquence of his unobtrusive and devoted piety. Ofthe difficulties and hardships endured by that faithful little bandbefore a flourishing church was really established, and what part thesubject of this brief history took in it, I must refer you to others, who know the particulars better than I do, and will proceed to othermatters. 

Early in the fall of 1848 we placed our dear Lizzie at school inPhiladelphia, under the care of Mrs. Gardell, who deservedly enjoyedthe highest reputation as an instructress of young ladies, beinguntiring in her efforts to cultivate their hearts, no less than theirminds and manners. From the letters of her father, written during thattime, I will make but one quotation, merely to show how earnestly heever longed for the spiritual good of his beloved daughter: “Do youever think on the subject of your soul’s salvation?-–of its value-–ofthe importance of giving the subject that attention its magnitudedemands, in the morning of life, when the feelings and emotions of theheart are warm and generous-–before the temper and disposition aresoured by disappointment? It was for this reason our blessed Saviourdesired the young to come unto Him. My dear daughter, you cannot tellhow happy your mother and I would be to know that you had consecratedyourself, heart, soul, and body, to the Lord, to serve Him faithfullyin this world, that you might be permitted to enjoy Him in mansions ofpeace in that which is to come. This is the tenor of our morning andevening prayers, and, we trust, of yours also. ”

It was our intention to keep our Lizzie at this school for twoyears, but, the cholera making its appearance in the United States-–amore terrible epidemic than ever before, in the spring of1849-–determined us to bring her home at the expiration of the firstyear. Especially as this fearful disease had exhausted itself in St. Louis during that summer, while we were with her at Newport and Nahant, out of its reach, and as it had not yet swept through Philadelphia, wedeemed it safest to bring her home, where she might still pursue herstudies under the instruction of private teachers. 

From the time we had solemnly vowed at the baptismal font totrain our child, not for this perishing world, but for Heaven, andthereby could claim the rich promise of a covenant-keeping God-–“Iwill be a God to you, and to your seed”–-nothing had caused us moreanxiety than to know how wisely and faithfully to discharge our dutiestowards her. Whether strictly to force her into measures, or, by amild and firm treatment, to win her to love the religion of herparents, was often discussed by us when alone in our chamber. Weobserved, with pain, that many of the children of our beloved church, whose parents believed that they could do no better part by them thanstrictly to carry out the rules of the church concerning worldliness, and would not, for any consideration, allow them to learn how to dance, or to attend a dancing party, were by far the giddiest and mostreckless of young people. Some, first uniting with the Church, andafterwards disgracing their profession, while still under parentalguidance; others, waiting until they were married, and werecountenanced by a worldly husband, before throwing off all restraint, and showing these “long-faced Presbyterians” how amazingly dashy andgay they could be. With what natural grace and ease they can nowdiscuss the merits or demerits of the last play! What a keen relishthey have for balls! How charming the masquerade was! What delightfulsport, in masque, to tell disagreeable and sarcastic truths (orfalsities, perhaps), to some luckless ones who very innocently, butignorantly, preferred to look on at the droll sight with their facesuncovered! Oh, what a disgrace to the child, who, for the sake of afew years (perhaps days) of false and empty pleasure, can do suchviolence to the feelings of parents, who, whatever their errors, trulylove, and would sacrifice everything, except their hope of Heaven, tobless their children and do them good. 

Your grandfather, my dear children, who was no extremist, but was“moderate in all things, ” thought it best to let his child enjoyeverything that was innocent; that, while an act of disobedience-–anuntruth, or any direct breach of “The Commandments”-–would cause hisdispleasure, and was followed by a look that penetrated your mother’ssoul, and was a far greater punishment than the rod of her mother, yetshe might dance as much as she pleased, for “dancing was children’ssport. ” But when she would gravely ask, if, like her school-mates, shemight not go to a dancing school, she would be told that her papa andmamma had promised God to bring her up for Heaven, and that they wouldnot be doing that if they fitted her for the gay world: that she mustnot forget that she was a baptized child of the Church. If she lookeddoubtful, or was inclined to urge the matter, we would ask her if shewanted us to break our word to God-–which, like any otherconscientious child, she would recoil from. When in her sixteenthyear, however, while at boarding-school in Mobile, she expressed agreater desire than ever before to take lessons in dancing. They weregiven in the school, and confined to the pupils; not at night, but inthe afternoon, when she required exercise instead of sleep; and wedetermined, after serious and prayerful reflection, to indulge her inthis very natural wish, believing that longer opposition might beattended with a still stronger desire for the forbidden thing, whichshe could see no harm in, nor we, if confined to the social circle. Weknew that God alone could make her a Christian–-could turn her heartfrom the love of the world to that of holiness-–and we did not believethat He would be less willing to do so because of our yielding to herwishes in this respect, which, our child clearly understood, was done, not from inconsistency on our part, or a vain desire to see her admiredin the world; but from a conviction that, at her age, someconsideration should be shown to her reasonable desires; especially asshe was far from esteeming this indulgence as a license to unboundedworldliness; that the theater and the ball-room were to beconscientiously avoided, as the road that led directly away from allthat was pure, holy and happy. And I am now gratified in saying thatwe have never had cause to regret the course we pursued in this matter-–which ceased to be overrated as soon as its depths were sounded-–ourdaughter finding, by experience, how empty and shallow this greatlyoverrated enjoyment is, compared to others, even of a worldly andsocial nature; how far it falls below the more refined joys of a lessconspicuous but more reasonable and choice character, which thecultivated alone can appreciate. 

The young lady days, no less than those of her childhood, yourmother will tell you, were happy days. Restrained in that only whichher parents, and her own conscience, deemed wrong, she was as free andjoyous as the birds that carol in their native air. When her sprightlyand impulsive nature inclined her to go beyond the bounds of propriety, she was checked. Readily indulged in every reasonable desire, andknowing that nothing worldly afforded her parents so much happiness asthat of her own, she did not long mourn over occasional disappointmentsin personal gratification, which, if indulged in, might have reasonablyreflected discredit, if not on her, at least on the religious positionof her parents. She had to be reminded, now and then, that she was thechild of an Elder of the Church; but never did she intentionally doviolence to the feelings or views of him she so much reverenced andloved. 

This reminds me of a circumstance, that I will relate: Oneevening, when your mother was dressing for a party, which was to begiven at the house of a friend, a very serious accident occurred a fewsquares from us. A May-day celebration of school-girls, with theirteachers, parents and friends, were suddenly startled with the soundand movement of a falling house, and, in a moment, from the giving wayof the floor, they were precipitated from the second story of the housedown to the first, and, after a moment’s pause, into the cellar. Thealarm was soon noised abroad, and, in a very short time, the buildingwas surrounded by persons-–some, who had relatives there, in agony toknow the worst concerning them, some from curiosity, and others torender assistance to the sufferers. Your grandfather rushed to thespot, and remained there as long as there was anything for him to do, in encouraging the sufferers, and in assisting them to their homes. 

No one was killed–-though I think one person died from theinjuries received there, a few days after the event; but many weredreadfully bruised, and some had limbs broken. After learning whoconstituted the assembly, who was hurt, and how much, and finding that, although we knew two or three of the injured persons, and entertained ahigh respect for them, they were not among our particular friends, noreven in our visiting circle--daughter and I concluded that there couldbe no impropriety in her attending the party: the time of startinghaving been delayed for awhile, until we were fully assured of all thefacts, and had recovered from the shock felt upon the first alarm. 

In less than half an hour after she had gone, her father returnedfrom the scene of the disaster, and, learning that Lizzie had gone tothe party, was amazed and greatly excited, that, “when our neighborswere dying around us, ” our child, knowing the fact, should be permittedto make one of a gay and thoughtless crowd! I was taken aback, for Ihad not realized the distressing condition of the wounded, andundertook to explain; but feeling condemned, mortified, and chagrined, I immediately proposed to send for her, which he promptly approved of, and, in a few moments, the carriage (which had just returned) was sentback, with an explanatory note from me. Lizzie had that moment takenher place in a cotillion, when the note was handed her. She read it, made an apology to her partner, an explanation to her hostess, biddingher “good evening, ” and, in a few minutes more, she was handed into theparlor at home by her friend and escort, regretting, most of all, thatshe had wounded that kind and tender father, who so deeply sympathizedin the sorrows and sufferings of others. 

Our house was a gay one. It was thought too much so by some, andperhaps gave umbrage to the feelings of a few of them, who, judgingfrom without, as they passed to and fro, and heard music, and coulddiscern from the street the moving of the heads in the brilliantlylighted parlors, thought, and said, too, “what a shame to reflectdiscredit upon the cause of Christ by revelry and dancing. ” “How muchbetter it would be to appropriate the expenditure of money in thesecostly preparations to the poor, ” etc. , etc. But, could they have seenand felt the influence of a Christian light, of which he alone whoreflected it was unconscious, as he moved about in congenial mood withthe young and gay, or, quietly conversed with the grave, perhaps hisown dear pastor; had they but known that the calls upon the benevolenceof the Christian man were as sacred, and as cheerfully granted, asthose of the indulgent father, perhaps more so, they would not, I amsure, have been so censorious. And then, had they known the facts inthe case, that no instrument of music, excepting the piano and guitar, and occasionally a flute, and no professor to play on them, for thepurpose of keeping up a dance, had ever been in our house, these worthypeople, fastidious Christians as they may have been, could not havefelt so grieved. 

We used wine too, but only at dinner and at suppers, with theladies. No side-board drinking was ever done in our house. In ourearly married life even this was not our custom, for several reasons, two of which I will name: We were members of the old temperancesociety, which, however, did not forbid the moderate use of wine; butto be consistent with the spirit of our pledge, we used it only whensome friend dined with us, whom we supposed was so accustomed to it, that he could not dine with comfort or pleasure without it. We did atone time introduce claret, as an every-day drink at dinner. We hadbeen South for the first time, where the use of this mild wine is auniversal practice, especially in New Orleans and Mobile. My husbandand sister became quite fond of it, and so did our little Lizzie, whowas then only five years old. Her father, consequently, purchased acask for home use, had it bottled and sent to the house. But we foundthat our “cold water” brothers became quite excited after drinking it, one saying-–“Sister, I felt like walking over the tops of houses, yesterday, after dinner. ” Another complained of the wine flying upinto his face, making it so red, and all three appearing a little moremerry than usual. Their good brother-in-law, never having known what aselfish feeling was, thought this may be the first step towards givingthese boys a taste for drink, and determined at once to forego personalgratification in the use of a beverage which he really enjoyed, andfelt all the better for. Next day, by order, the wine was not brought, as usual, to the table. No remark was made about it, until one of “theboys” asked the servant to hand it. My husband then in his ordinarymodest cheerful way, explained the reason why the wine was not there. From which time we relapsed into our previous habit of offering a glassof sherry or madeira, only when politeness suggested it. But by thetime our daughter was grown up, these brother-sons of his were men, with their habits formed, and capable of judging for themselves, and heno longer felt it incumbent upon him to be over strict. 

“Let every one be fully persuaded in his own mind. ” “To his ownMaster he standeth or falleth. ” The religion of Jesus Christ isdesigned for all nations and people, whatever may be their peculiarviews, tastes, or vices, and while it cannot exist in a corrupt heart--and when that has been changed, savingly touched by the Holy Spirit, the true light will shine out of it-–yet we should all be careful notto measure other Christians in our measure, which, while it may be thebest one for us, may not be exactly adapted to them. “By their fruitsyou shall know them, ” which the Apostle defines thus: “The fruit of theSpirit is love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. Against such there is no law. ”

Pleasant and merry times your dear mother had at home, with heryoung friends, and long to be remembered. But more cherished still toher are the recollections of our religious hours. The same sweet hymnsof praise that she loved to sing, while away at school, that wouldbring tears trickling down her sunny face, and with them that reliefwhich her home-sick heart required, ascended in former times at ourmorning and evening orison. A few friends dropping in to tea were noexcuse to evade the worship of our God. Regularly the Bible and hymnbooks were placed, before retiring from table, in front of yourgrandfather, and without an apology, excepting occasionally he mightsay, “it is our habit, ” as he turned the leaves of the Blessed Book. 

There were a few restrictions with regard to how often yourmother, when a young lady, should accept invitations to spend theevening out, or have invited company at home, but none was so strictlyregarded as the one concerning Saturday night: for, as in earlychildhood she had been taught to put away her toys and irreligiousbooks before the dawn of the Sabbath, she now found it easy andnatural, if not to prepare her mind for the sacred day, at least toengage in nothing which might physically unfit her for its enjoyments. And the Sabbath was esteemed “the day of all the week the best. ” Oftenfelt so by her, who, in the midst of this fascinating and beautifulworld, never forgot that it was the burden of her father’s prayers thatlike “Mary of old, she might choose that good part which should neverbe taken from her, and learn like her, to sit humbly at the feet ofJesus. ” And this quiet day of rest, so still, so sweet, so unlike thebustle of the world without, is well calculated to arrest the currentof worldly thought, and cause the mind to revert to the impressions ofhappy childhood, and often to incite a desire for joys more pure andstable than Earth can afford. 

Christians of an ardent temperament, who have come out from theworld without having had previous religious training, are apt to go toextremes, and in trying to keep the Sabbath holy sometimes becomeslaves to the day, and only breathe freely when Monday comes. This wasnot the case with your grandfather. The Sabbath seemed to be made forhim, not he for the Sabbath. It was his day of sacred rest, in which, however, he was not afraid to laugh as heartily as on other days; norwas he so absorbed in religious duties as to make him less thoughtfulof the ordinary claims of life. I have often seen him on the afternoonof that day, when the servants were all out, lay down his religiousbook or newspaper, and go out to the stable, lead the horses into theyard, water them at the hydrant, and then turn them loose on the grassplot; and, seemingly with the greatest delight, he would watch them asthey alternately nipped the green grass, or engaged in thoseextraordinary fantastic exercises which horses that have been pent upin the stable, or in harness all the week, know so well how to perform. Our back yard was separated from the front by a grape arbor, whichextended entirely across, and beyond which boundary the horses were notallowed to pass. In this yard they had carte blanche in their Sabbathday recreation, with one exception; they were not to touch the grapevines. And they well understood from the wave of the book orhandkerchief in the hand of their master (who generally, on theseoccasions, sat in one of the arches of the arbor) that they were toapproach no nearer the forbidden thing. Even horses know what kindnessis; and I have often been amused in looking at them, from the gallery, as they would follow “grandpa” about the yard evincing evidentsatisfaction in the many caresses he bestowed upon them. And had helived, my precious little children, you would soon have learned, inyour happy experience of his playfulness, and sympathy with you, on theholy day, that he was far from being a Puritan in his views andfeelings. 

In the fall of 1852, again in search of health, which of allthings belonging to this life (save an unblemished character) was everthe most prized by your dear grandfather, we determined to pass thewhole of the approaching winter in the South. We started early inNovember, went to “Bailey’s Springs, ” in North Alabama, intending toproceed from thence to Charleston, then to Mobile, and take New Orleansin our way home in the spring. But after reaching “the Springs” weconcluded to give them a fair trial before proceeding further, as weunderstood from friends, who had tested these waters, that they oftenproved as beneficial in winter as in summer. Accordingly as we hadlearned that the accommodations were very indifferent, we madearrangements with the proprietor to rent us three nice, new log cabins, telegraphed to St. Louis for our servants, carriage and horses, andwere speedily set up for ourselves. With our own kitchen and cook weneeded nothing, for Bailey Springs were situated only nine miles fromFlorence, where my parents had lived seven years, more than twentyyears previous, and our experience did not prove the old adage, “out ofsight out of mind, ” or the truth of the poetical effusion, “what isfriendship but a name. ” For our old friends were friends indeed, evincing the most delicate attentions, and making up to us thedeficiency in our supplies, from a carpet, to keep the wind frompenetrating our open cabin floors, to dog-irons, or a dutch oven, andthe like useful articles, besides many rare sweetmeats from their ownchoice kitchens. Our main supply of provisions, however, --for theseBaileys could not understand that mortal man needed more than “hog andhominy”-–came every week from my nephew’s, who is a cotton planter, residing eighteen miles from the Springs. As sure as Friday orSaturday came, so sure came the pack horse, laden with fresh butter, mutton, &c. The presiding genius of these luxuries, who safely guidedthe richly laden vessel into port, was a grinning, half grown cuffy, whom they called “Bowlegs. ” But my only object in telling you of thisdelightful, but very novel winter sojourn, made so pleasant because ofthe unwearied attentions, and choice society of a small circle offriends, is to give you a peep at your beloved grandfather in these newcircumstances. Cut off, necessarily, a greater part of the time fromsociety, in a wild country, without occupation or recreation, exceptingsuch as we could originate, with many it would have been esteemedunendurable. Especially to men possessing the active and stirringhabits of a city life, and to young ladies accustomed to a large circleof congenial friends. But we did not find it unendurable by any means. Your mother often said to me while there, “Mother, I did not knowbefore that my father was such a delightful man, we really need noother society. ”

In his gunning excursions, which, in pleasant weather, werefrequent, she often accompanied her father, and, from her account ofthem, upon their return, you would imagine that nothing could have beenmore charming; but, from the appearance of both father and daughter, you would think they had been rambling over hill and dale, scramblingthrough briars and wading creeks, without design, for the game thatthey sought was rarely found, or if found, lost again, before theinexperienced huntsman could level his gun. But who cared for thatwhen they had so much pleasure and sport notwithstanding, and alwayssuch glorious anticipations for the morrow. Sometimes, in their eagerpursuit after game, they would paddle up and down the creek, watchingout on either side for ducks. On these occasions, Lizzie would holdthe steering oar, while her father made vigorous use of the propellingones; but one day his “Lady of the Lake, ” (as he called her), in herexcitement, at the prospect over the bluffs, of flying ducks, rose toher feet; and, reeling, tipping, over she went, which was the finale ofthe ducking for that day. From the beneficial effect of the exercisein walking back to “the cabins” no ill result ensued, and next day theywere eager to resume their search. 

In rainy weather and of evenings your grandfather would oftenread aloud, while your mother and I were engaged in kitting or sewing;or, she would take up her guitar and sing some of those pretty Scotchairs, of which he was so fond; or, the more deep-toned German songs, which were favorites of mine. And thus we passed nearly thee months, happy months, never to be forgotten; and bidding adieu to these wilds, with improved health, and taking an affectionate leave of the kindestfriends, we pursued our way farther south. 

The only time that your dear mother and I were separated from herfather, after her return from school until her marriage, was in thesummer of 1853. In a letter received from him at that time he says, “Ihope and pray that daughter will seriously bring her mind to theconsideration of this most momentous subject. Oh, that she wouldremember how good and kind and merciful God has always been to her, andhow strong is the obligation she is under to consecrate herself, withall her energies, to God’s service. How happy would we be, could we bepermitted to meet her at the table of our Lord, as an humble followerof the blessed Saviour, to feel that her peace is made with God, andthat her calling and her election is sure. Nothing which this earthoffers could confer so great happiness upon her parents. And will shenot now try to find the Saviour, who is always found of them that seekHim earnestly and faithfully? Let us, dear wife, pray more earnestly, that our kind heavenly Father would add this, our greatest mercy andblessing, to the innumerable ones that have followed us all the days ofour lives. ”

Our kind heavenly Father did “add this, our greatest mercy andblessing, to the innumerable ones that had followed us all the days ofour lives, ” for not long after this we were permitted to sit together, father, mother, and child, at the table of our Lord. Your belovedmother having consecrated her heart to the blessed Saviour, determinedto make a public profession of her faith on the Sabbath morning ofFebruary 5th, 1854, when, in the presence of the congregation of “PineStreet Presbyterian Church, ” she went forward to the pulpit(accompanied by her precious father), and there, under the ministrationof Rev. S. B. McPheeters, dedicated herself, soul and body, to theservice of “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the only livingand true God. ”

As soon as this solemn ceremony was concluded, the sweet tones ofthe organ, accompanied by the choir, came floating over our heads, andseemed like the music of heaven to our souls. They sang:

1. “People of the living God, I have sought the world around, Paths of sin and sorrow trod, Peace and comfort no where found:Now to you my spirit turns, Turns a fugitive unblest;Brethren, where your altar burns, O! receive me into rest. 

2. “Lonely I no longer roam, Like the cloud, the wind, the wave;Where you dwell shall be my home, Where you die shall be my grave;Mine the God whom you adore, Your Redeemer shall be mine;Earth can fill my soul no more, Every idol I resign. 

3. “Tell me not of gain or loss, Ease, enjoyment, pomp and power;Welcome poverty and crossShame, reproach, affliction’s hour:‘Follow me!’ I know thy voice;Jesus, Lord, thy steps I see;Now I take thy yoke by choice;Light thy burden now to me. ”

On the 23rd of February, 1854, we gave our dearly beloved childaway, to your own dear father. And the light and joy of our house andhearts, the free and joyous hearted girl, became a wife. 

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA. 

Letter Fourteen

My Dear Grandchildren:

Before speaking of the changes, the marriage of your mother brought, and the life of self-denial led by her father, in consequence of it, Iwill relate a few incidents of his every day life. I have already saidhe was kind to the poor. He was systematic in his contribution for thebenefit of this large class in every city; but that did not deprive himof the pleasure of throwing a few dimes into the hands of everyapplicant, although he often felt that they might be used for a badpurpose and do more harm than good to the recipient. On one occasionas I entered the dining room, just before breakfast, he was having akind and merry chat at the window, with a shabby looking son of Erin, in the yard below, who declared to his “honor” that he “hadn’t tasteda drop!” (upon which fact the matter of giving, or not giving, seemedto turn). He threw him a piece of money, saying, as he did so, “lookout, my friend, or that quarter will get you into the calaboose. ” Nextmorning it so happened that your grandfather was called to that useful, but uninteresting place, to bail out a colored servant, who was prone, occasionally, to get into scrapes, which subjected him to temporaryimprisonment, when, whom should he find there, safely ensconced in oneof the cells, but the Irishman, his “old customer, ” as he called him, in relating the anecdote, which he did with considerable point andhumor, making all around the breakfast table laugh heartily. Atanother time, when we were spending the summer at our country place, near the city, another citizen of the “auld country” presented himselfand asked for work. “What kind of work can you do?” inquired yourgrandfather. “Work, sir! I am not over particular at all, at all. ”“Can you dig potatoes?” “Praities! Your honor, jist thry me. ” “Well, I will hire you by the day. ” “By the day, and sure I’ve no place toput my head at night. ” “Well then, my man, I can’t hire you, for Ihave no place for you to sleep. ” “Sleep, is it? I’d never want abetter place than with the horses-–the stable, to be sure, on a bit ofstraw-–there’s no better place to my mind, sir. ” The poor fellow’sdestitution, his worn and tattered clothes, his tangled hair, with aface young and simple, but not vicious looking, touched my husband’sheart. Poor Tommy did know how to dig potatoes, if he knew nothingelse, and his new master set him to work at his small patch, with theunderstanding that when he got through with that, he had nothing morefor him to do. But Tommy took good care not to get through with thatpotatoe patch, yet he was always as busy as a bee when he saw “themaster” coming that way, who would praise him for his industry and winkat his tricks. Tommy was quite a Merry Andrew, and more knave thanfool, after all; and when he became a decent looking man, from thepresent of a bran new suit–-cap-a-pie–-and a comb into the bargain, which his thoughtful benefactor procured for him, he was decidedly thelion of the kitchen cabinet. But how to get rid of Tommy became atlength a serious question. Just before returning to the city in thefall, he was sent with a note, from “the master, ” to a farmer, hard by, who gave him a trial, but finding that he was not capable of earning aliving, or from some other cause, he soon dismissed him; and, Tommy, much to my dismay, found his way to our city residence. But as thedevelopments of his character in civilized life, were not of the mostencouraging nature, it was not a difficult matter for your grandfatherto drive him from the premises. 

But there was another poor man, of whom I never speak or think, but with feelings of kindness and respect. His remains lie inBellefontaine, and I have no doubt but that his spirit is happy in thepresence of his God. He had lived a poor, but honest life in the westof Ireland, with his wife and children, until, like thousands of hiscountrymen, he was driven, by hardship and poverty, to seek a betterfuture in this “land of the free and the home of the brave. ” Inextreme poverty they arrived in St. Louis. Not so many in family aswhen they bade adieu to their native land, having buried one or twochildren on the banks of the Mississippi. They had all had “shipfever, ” and a more wretched looking family I had never seen. Butnotwithstanding their squalid poverty and wretchedness we found themindustrious, good people, and Protestants, which was an unusualcircumstance among this class of Irish. Your grandfather, who, in hischarities, never seemed to forget that God caused his sun to shine uponthe evil as well as the good, and who could not allow even a beast tosuffer from want, took peculiar pleasure in ministering to thenecessities of this virtuous family, and reaped the rare reward of arich return in gratitude and love. Poor David appeared to look up tohim as to a superior being, always addressing him as “Your honor, ” inthe most respectful manner. One day as I was coming out of church Iwas attracted by the subdued look of this good man, whose tearful eyeswere fixed on Rev. Mr. McPheeters and your grandfather, as they walkedtogether down the aisle. I had a good excuse to stop as I was in theadvance of my husband, and off to one side I saw him bow mostreverently, as he said, “Your riverence”-–“Your honor, ” and out of theabundance of his heart, while tears streamed down his honest face, hegave utterance to his feelings of gratitude to God, and to them, forthe blessedness of this holy day. The pathos and eloquence of thesermon had completely overcome him. David was a farmer, and afterhaving been in your grandfather’s employ, at first one thing and thenanother, for a year or two, he finally accepted an advantageous offer, to take charge of a gentleman’s farm, some eight or ten miles from thecity; and we had heard nothing from the family for several months, when, one cold rainy day in autumn, a wagon was driven up to our frontdoor, containing his remains. His poor afflicted wife came with them, and told, that David had said, “Take me to Mr. Charless to bury me. ”He had died of congestive fever. No doubt but that it was a comfort tothe poor fellow in his dying hour to feel that in this distant land ofstrangers, he had found a friend who would not neglect “the widow andthe fatherless in their affliction, ” and his confidence was notmisplaced, for, from the time of his death, his family lived near us, and never knew, as long as David’s good friend lived, what it was towant a friend indeed. 

Another anecdote of the poor just occurs to my mind, and as itexhibits your grandfather in another light, I will relate it. Immediately after dinner, on a pleasant day, my two sisters-in-law, whoresided together, less than a square from us, came over to our house, with a man, who had just applied to them for assistance. They weredeeply interested in behalf of this poor fellow, who was a Frenchman, and “Frenchmen, ” they said, “were not apt to beg unless in real want. ”They were sure he was an honest man. One of my sisters was a FrenchCreole, and both were new beginners in active effort for the benefit ofthe indigent, and did not know exactly the best method of relieving theunfortunate man, “who had just arrived and had a poor sick wife and sixlittle children on the boat at the wharf. A kind-hearted gentleman hadoffered them a home at his farm in Illinois, a few miles from theriver, and all he wished was money sufficient to hire a horse and wagonin which to move his helpless family. ” While the ladies werepresenting his case to me, the Frenchman manifested great anxiety, andmade the most touching appeals in the piteous expression of his faceand manner. Presently, my husband, who had been indulging in his usualsiesta, awoke and came down stairs. “Now, the poor fellow can tell hisown story, ” and “Mr. Charless” was pathetically appealed to, to listento his tale of woe. Unfortunately for the man he was immediatelyrecognized by your grandfather, who had but a short time before givenhim a cup of coffee, etc. , from the kitchen, and had also procured workfor him as a day laborer in a factory, which mode of subsistence notsuiting the Frenchman’s taste, he had slipped out of, and ran off, before commencing work. It was soon evident, from the juxtaposition ofthe two, one as accusant, the other defendant, which was not to bemistaken, even by a person ignorant of the language in which theyspoke, that all was not right. His friends, the ladies, stared, when, upon each renewed attempt to convict him, he would assure, in the mostself-possessed and polite manner, “Your are mistaken, Monsieur, I haveno doubt but that the man to whom you refer, was very like me, but notmyself, I assure you, sir. ” Whereupon your grandfather proposed toaccompany him to the boat for the purpose of seeing his family, promising to procure him a wagon and every thing necessary for theircomfort and removal. But they had not gone far before the Frenchmanbegan to sidle off, as it to turn a corner, but finding that it was noeasy matter to get away from the persevering gentleman, who insistedupon being “introduced to the Madame, ” he made a clean breast of thewhole thing, “Monsieur, I have no wife and little children, but youknow when a poor man want he get nothing from the ladies unless he haveone sick wife, and some poor little children. Excuse me, Monsieur, Imean no disrespect to you. ” No one liked a joke better than yourgrandfather, and being something of a tease too, he more than onceslily referred to the pitiable condition of the poor Frenchman, which, although enjoyed by others, was not quite so keenly relished by theladies, who had manifested so much interest in the welfare of thehonest man, and his distressed family. 

You are not old enough, my dear little children, to remember howdevotedly fond “Grandpa” was of children, and how they all loved him, notwithstanding he was always playing some trick upon them. Sometimesat dinner when any of your little cousins were with us and would showby the interest expressed in their faces, when the dessert was beingbrought in, how eager they were to be “helped, ” “Grandpa” would quietlyand gravely say, “’Aunty, ’ you needn’t give Peter (or perhaps it mightbe Charless) any of that, he is not fond of ‘Charlotte Russe, ’” (orwhatever the nice thing might happen to be), when Peter, taken aback, half believing, half doubting, would present such a ludicrous picture, by the mingled expression of his countenance that no one present, noteven little Peter himself, (when he found out it was all a joke), couldavoid a hearty laugh. And thus with a thousand little ways whichfascinated the children he was decidedly a favorite among them. Henever forgot what he liked, and how he felt, when a boy, and couldeasily enter into the feelings of a boy and be a sympathizing friendand companion. 

I know some little boys whose parents lived on Pine Street, andalthough this was by no means the direct road from “the garden, ” theyused to watch for “dear Mr. Charless’” return from that oft-frequentedplace in the cool of the evening, for he would be sure to come that wayand stop a minute to fill their hats with peaches or apples, etc. Oneof these little boys, attracted one evening by a glorious sunset, whichstretched its golden streaks and varied hues far and wide, lighting upthe azure blue with unusual brilliancy and beauty, asked, “Mamma, is n’tthat like heaven?” “Something like it, I expect, my son. ”“There’s where good Mr. Charless will go, when he dies!” said thelittle boy. And thus it was, even children felt the influence of sucha godly life, as that of your beloved grandfather. 

The marriage of your dear mother, and the necessity of her beingso far separated from the home of her parents, away here in Louisiana, where there is no Protestant Church, and among strangers, whoseisolated lives throw an almost impassable barrier in the way of socialintercourse, made it incumbent on me to remain with her a greater partof the time. Your father gave your mother’s parents a very cordial andpressing invitation to spend their winters with them, promising thatthey would always pass the summer with us, and that we should never beseparated from our precious only child. But the business relations ofyour grandfather made it impossible for him to do more than to pay avisit of five or six weeks during the winter; but with the tenderfeeling of the father he was willing to submit to the self-denial ofseparation from his wife, that she might be with the darling of theirunited hearts. In one of his letters he says, “You ask me, in yourlast, how I am getting on, I must be honest and say, bad enough. If Iwere not tied hand and foot I would cut loose from these cold regionsand lonely habitations, and fly away to my ‘ain wifey, and my ainbairns’ in the sunny south. ” Again he says, when longing to see me, “But I would not have you come too soon, as I know how changeable Marchand April are here, and how delightful they must be in Louisiana. ” Atanother time he says, “Kiss Louis, Lizzie and the babies for me, andbelieve me that whatever claims business or other ties, may have oneme, my heart is ever with my dear ones. ”

In the winter of 1855 he was elected “President of the Bank ofMissouri. ” I find among my newspaper slips, an article relative tothat fact which I will copy: “We announced in our article of Fridaylast that the name of Joseph Charless, Esq. , would probably passthrough the Legislature, as the new President of the 'Bank of the Stateof Missouri. ’ The Telegraph of this morning announces his election tothat important post. 

“It is proper for us to say to our distant readers, who Mr. Charless is, and we shall assume to speak of his capacity for theimportant post confided to him, by the Legislative wisdom of the State. 

“The Bank of Missouri is a State institution; were it otherwisewe question whether we would refer to the matter at all. It is also bythe wisdom of our fathers constituted (vide the Constitution) amonopoly, a moneyed monopoly too, and therefore, wields great power, and it is important to the people of this State to know in whose handsthis great moneyed power is to be vested for the next two years, by theact of Legislature, if (perchance) the Bank is not turned into aprivate corporation, by act of Assembly, with the concurrence ofprivate stockholders. We do not intend to tire our readers with a‘long yarn, ’ and therefore proceed to say, that, Mr. Charless haslived, man and boy, in this State and in this city 45 years, being theworthy son of a most respected sire, and is now about 50 years of age. Mr. Charless is a gentleman of fair financial ability, and has managedhis own private affairs in the prosecution of a large business, withprudence, skill and judgment, and the firm, of which he is head, enjoysa high credit, both at home and abroad. 

“He is a gentleman, too, of great suavity of manner, and exhibitsa kind spirit in all his intercourse with men (a good quality for thepost he is called to) and withal is a man of great firmness of purpose, not stubborn, of indomitable industry, perseverance and energy, andeven in moneyed panics (the worst of all panics) would probably be ascalm as a summer morning, while at the same time he would act, and act, too, efficiently, looking to the interest and safety of the corporationof which he is the head, and to the interests of the mercantile andtrading community, at the same time. 

“The private character of the new President is beyond reproach, he is a gentleman of unwavering integrity, and possesses the confidenceof his fellow-citizens in an eminent degree. To use the westernphrase, he is ‘very popular, ’ but we don’t esteem this of much account. It is an idle wind, and may blow south or north to-morrow and provesnothing. 

“The new President, however, has not only a good character but agood reputation, and whether he will mar or advance the latter duringhis presidency, time only can determine. ”

“Reputation” based upon such a characters as his, could not bemarred. But, ah! it was as President of this Bank, he was brought intocontact with the wretched being who has robbed the world of abenefactor, and where can I find a word in which to embody an idea ofthe loss of those he so dearly loved. 

He served two years in the State Bank, at which time the termexpired, and he determined to be no longer tied down to St. Louis, morethan was necessary to attend to his own business. But in the formationof the “Mechanics’ Bank” the Board of Directors insisted upon have Mr. Charless for their President. He refused positively, but they stillinsisted; and, at length, urgently requested that he would accept thepresidency of this new institution until fairly established, if for nolonger time. He finally acceded to the latter proposition. But afteronce getting in, there was no getting out of it; for he found thegentlemen with whom he was there associated so very congenial, and hisduties not onerous but pleasant, so that he continued to serve themuntil the day of his death, having signed the last notes on the 1st ofJune. 

It only remains for me to say, my dear children, that after themarriage of your mother, the summers were our gala time, for Lizzie andthe boys and grandma were all at home, and happy Grandpa would in hisexcess of joy forget the lonely winters, which he had endeavored byconstant occupation at the store, the bank, and in the Church, to makethe best of. His evenings were spent in reading, and in holdingcommunion, by letter writing, with his loved ones far away: which, excepting on Church evenings, he would occasionally vary by a visit tosome friend, of whom, I need not say, he had many, who would haveesteemed it a privilege, during my absence, to have admitted him intotheir family circle as a member, but, as he often said, in his letters, he preferred to visit friends, and make his home in the old familiarspot, where he could so readily call up to his mind the earthly idolsof his heart. 

I shall ever be thankful, to the Ruler of all events, that I waswith him during the whole winter immediately preceding his death. Weaccompanied our daughter and her three little boys to their home inLouisiana in December; staid two weeks with them, and returnedtogether, fully determined to be no more separated; that, in future, together we would visit our children, and together return to our lonelyhome. For the light that had gone out when our daughter married, wasno more kindled in our aching hearts, notwithstanding the joy we feltin the possession of our precious little grandchildren. In earlierlife when we pictured to ourselves a green old age, with our “bairn andbairn’s bairns” about us, it was a different scene from the realitywhen it came with its long separations and anxieties. 

Our greatest solace during this last winter of our pilgrimagetogether, was the service of our God. And oh, with what gratitude Ishall ever remember His loving kindness and tender mercies towards us. “He leadeth us in ways we know not of. ” He can comfort in the darkesthour. 

The spring came, and with it, a month or two earlier than usual, our beloved ones returned to the longed for homestead, around whichwere so many tender recollections of a happy, very happy life. Howyour dear mother clung to that precious father! How she feasted uponhis every look. She followed him every where; in his rides, in hisstrolls through the garden. She accompanied him at night, and at alltimes to Church, preferring (when we did not ride) to take the longwalk with “father” to going with “mother” across the street to “theSecond Church. ” When business called him away from his much prizeddomestic circle, she would walk, with her arm wrapped around him, tothe door, and follow him with her eyes down the street until out ofsight. After her return home that spring, when she first saw hisportrait, that he had had taken for her, she wept, and could not tellwhy, except that it was “faultless. ”

And now, my dear children, I am treading so closely upon thatlast morning, that I begin to tremble. 

On Friday, June 3, 1859, your dear grandfather arose early, anddrove, as he was wont to do, to the garden. While there he gatheredand tied together a bunch of flowers for his daughter, and when I camedown stairs to breakfast he was sitting at the window, where he hadevidently read the morning paper and laid it aside, and was enjoyingthe sports of his little “sonny boys” who were at play on the grassplot. I gave him my last “good morning” kiss, little thinking that injoy our lips would no more be pressed, and turning to the beautifulbouquet, which was placed in a glass of water at our daughter’s plate, I took it up and admired it. He had gathered his first fuchsia to putin her bouquet. 

Our last breakfast is over. At worship little Charless seatedhimself opposite his grandpa, and observed him attentively as he readthe Bible and one of the metre Psalms. We knelt in prayer, the onlywords of which, that I remember, are, “We thank thee, O God, that thymercies are new to us every morning, and fresh every evening. ” Afterworship he stood erect before us, his countenance full of his usuallook of benevolence and love, as he asked, “What’s the order of theday? I will go around to the Planters’ House, and see if Dr. And Mrs. Palmer have arrived, and will be back in ten minutes to let you know. ”(Dr. And Mrs. Palmer of New Orleans were on their return from the“General Assembly” of the Presbyterian Church, and had been invited tostay with us, while they remained in St. Louis). In ten or fifteenminutes the door bell rang violently. A young man entered andtremblingly said, “Mr. Charless is badly hurt on Market Street. ” Iheard nothing more, but running, and hoping that he was not hurt soseriously, I found myself among a crowd of people, and then beside mydying husband! He lay on the floor in the back part of a small store, pale and sweet. Like an angel he looked to me. I did not lose mysenses, and I was so impressed with the sanctity of the spot that itseems to me I dropped, but dropped very softly beside him. “Be stilland know that I am God, ” seemed to be spoken by the Holy One, into myear and heart. And I was still. I thought, of course, this was anaccident, but when I heard from his own pale, slightly parted lips, ashe answered some one who asked, “Who did this, Mr. Charless, ” that hewas murdered!

Where! Who! I exclaimed, could do this deed! But instantlyturning to my husband, I said, “He is more to be pitied than your are, my dear, for he is a fiend! not a man. ”

Oh, Oh, Oh! If my Father, God, had then lifted up the veil andshowed me all I have passed through since, I must have died. But hedoes not try us more than we are able to bear. Indeed he bestowed suchrich spiritual blessings upon us (your dear mother and myself) in thatdark hour, that we were astonishingly sustained. We were filled withgratitude because “dear father” was ready. We knew that he had nothingto do, but to die. Like Stephen, he “fell asleep. ”

My beloved children, I have his dying words written down, andafter I show you “what the newspapers say, ” and you have read hisfuneral sermon, perhaps I will tell you more about the last moments ofyour honored, it must be forever honored, grandfather. 

Yours, affectionately, GRANDMA. 

Belmont, March, 1861. 

Letter Fifteen

My Dear Grandchildren:

It has been nearly two years since I last wrote to you, sincewhich time, war has desolated our once prosperous and happy country, and drenched its soil with the blood of her sons. All has beenexcitement and turmoil. Many widows and orphans have been made-–andthe wail of anguish has been poured into the ear of the God of Sabbath. But I turn from the revolting facts which belong to the history of thenation–-to consider the last sad hours of your revered grandfather, and to copy for your instruction and admonition his dying words. 

After having seen something of his daily walk through life, thought uponhis sad and unexpected death, and in imagination mingledwith the throng that followed him to his last resting place-–your mindwill naturally revert to the lonely homestead and its desolate inmates. But words cannot picture the anguished of our hearts, the gloom andloneliness of our home--after the last relic of its light and gloryhad passed away from our view. So you will follow me, my dearchildren, to that little store on Market Street; look upon the barefloor, and behold your grandfather-–the gentle and loving man, in hisdying agony! Listen to his words. 

He knew he was dying, for he said, in answer to a hope expressed, that he might live–-“No, no, no! I am a dead man. ” After a pause heuttered, fervently, “Lord Jesus, come quickly. ”

Again, said he, “I am a great sinner. ” Some one directed him tolook to Jesus. “I do look to him. He is my all. He is very preciousto my soul. ”

Again, he said, “I deserve all I suffer, for I am a greatsinner. ”

I heard all this, but do not know how long I had been by him, when he said to me, “Charlotte, I have loved you always-–dearly lovedyou–-and I love you to the end. ” Then turning his eye towards yourfather, who was on the opposite side of him, said he, “Louis, I leavemy family to you–-my wife I leave to you. ”

Some gentleman came up and asked, “Mr. Charless, who shot you?”He replied, “A man by the name of Thornton. I was called upon totestify against him in court last fall. While President of the Bank ofMissouri, he brought me some bank notes to redeem. They were stainedand had the appearance of having been buried. I asked him where he gotthose notes. He replied, he had bought them from some boatmen, whosaid they had found them under a stump, which had been pulled up from aboat having been tied to it. I told him that was a very unlikelystory. When called upon to testify, I told, upon oath, what I knewabout the matter, but I had no unkind feeling towards the poor fellow. I would have done him a kindness if it had been in my power. I havealways tried to be a good neighbor-–to do justly-–and to love mercy. But I honor my country, and the majesty of her laws, and I have nevershrunk from discharging my duty as a man, and as a Christian. ”

Sometime afterwards he said, “How little we know what is beforeus. ”

I remember, my children, in that dark hour, to have seen yourdear mother, kneeling at the head of her precious father, in thedeepest woe, alternating between glimmerings of hope, and agonizingfear. 

To some remark of Col Grimsley, he said, “No, Colonel, no! Iforgive my murderer; from the bottom of my heart, I forgive him. ”

Some one asked him if he would not like to see a minister. Heanswered, “Send for Mr. McPheeters. You will find him at the SecondPresbyterian Church, at the meeting of the Church Extension Committee. ”

“My dear Pastor, I am glad to see you, I have always loved you. You have tried to instruct men, and I thank you for it. ”

My beloved sister, for whom my heart is now bleeding–-for shetoo has left us and gone away, to return no more to cheer, tosympathize with, and to comfort us in our sorrows-–was at mybrother’s, six miles from the city, and was late in meeting with us atthis mournful scene. When she arrived, in broken accents she asked, “Is there no hope? Is there no hope?” “No hope here, ” replied myhusband, “but a bright hope beyond!”

Thank God! for the bright hope which I have that they met again, not, as then, in sorrow, but in the full enjoyment of the blissfulpresence of the adorable Jesus! But, come back my thoughts from thatjoyous abode, to the once happy little earthly home, I used to have, and go with me, dear children, to the same parlors, where your dearmother has had so much pleasure in the days of her youth, and behold, laid on a narrow couch, in agony and blood, that noble form. Thebeloved and admired of all who knew him. The rooms, the halls, arefilled with anxious friends, but stillness reigns. Not a sound isheard save the involuntary groans of the dying Christian. In the midstof them he would sometimes exclaim, “God have mercy upon me a sinner!”

Through that long dark day, little was said. After manyparoxysms of intense pain, Mr. McPheeters said, “Mr. Charless, you knowsomething now about the sufferings of Jesus. ” “Yes, ” he faintlyreplied, “I have been thinking about that, while lying here. ”

Again, Mr. McPheeters repeated, “Father, if it be possible, letthis cup pass from me. ” In broken accents he replied, “Neverthelessnot my will, but Thine be done. ”

Several times, looking full in my face, said he, “I love you. ”

Once, with some difficulty, as if to leave his blessing, heplaced his hand upon the head of your poor mother, and said, “Myprecious daughter. ”

Again and again he uttered, “My poor wife. ” He well knew howdesolate his poor wife would be in this bleak world without him. 

Towards the close of his sufferings, said he, “Will my heartstrings never break? ‘Not my will but thine be done. ’”

When he was almost gone, he whispered to me, “I–-love--you. ”

His last words were, “I am satisfied. ”

PEACEFULLY HE LIVED-–PEACEFULLY HE DIED!

And now, my dear children, I have but little more to say. It hasbeen a hard struggle for me to write much that I have written; for itseemed like tearing open my heart. But the ardent desire that thevirtues of my husband should not die out as his name has done, and thefear that, as one by one of those who knew and loved him, should belaid in the grave, and the bare fact that he was murdered only remain, a blush might tinge your cheeks, at the mention of his name, lest theancestor, who thus fell, might by his evil deeds have provoked hisuntimely end. I have often felt, too, while penning these letters, itis useless; my grandchildren will perhaps never even take the pains toread them, and if read they may not be impressed by them or stimulatedto a single effort, to imitate the being I so much love and admire, andwhose blood still flows in their own veins. 

One of the few friends to whom I communicated my intention towrite this sketch, and for whose opinion I have a high regard, wrote meas follows:

“Do not suffer yourself to forget that when your grandchildrenshall have become old enough to understand what you write, the presentand the future will be the object of their interest, not the past andthe dead. They will be unlike humanity, if they take any interest, inwhat so much interests you. I very much fear that your labors willwholly fail of accomplishing the good your earnest and loving heartintends. ”

In the same letter he also expresses a fear that it will beimpossible for me to make any attempt of the kind which will not be avery partial one. In reference to this, he says:

“The memory comes insensibly to dwell on all that was agreeable, and to intensify it; impartiality ceases; and the almost certain resultis, a picture which all who read it, having known the object, see to becolored by the hand of love. ”

If I had not already written twelve or thirteen letters beforethis damper to my efforts came to hand; I do not know that I would havehad the courage to proceed, and I am now gratified to see, inreperusing the letters of condolence which we received after the deathof your grandfather, that they, no less than the public manifestationsof the community where he lived and died, corroborate what I have saidin relation to him. Of the forty-seven letters received from friends, from every part of the country, there is but one opinion. All speak ofhim as an uncommon man, whose loss is irreparable. I will copy a fewextracts from these letters, scarcely knowing, however, which toselect, so full they all are of praises of him, whose memory, I humblypray, his children may ever cherish as their richest earthlyinheritance. 

A gentleman of Cincinnati writes: “After the first stunningrealization of the horrible crime of which your dear and universallybeloved husband has been the victim, we continue to ask ourselves, ifsuch a man is murdered, who can be safe? A man so kind, so just, sogentle, so good. I never knew a man whose whole life and characterwould have seemed a better guarantee against all violence, even offeeling. ”

A lady, who had passed the greater part of her life in St. Louis, writes to my brother Henry, from “East Rockport. ” She says, (after anexpression of her heart-felt sympathy for him, and for the bereavedwife and child): “St. Louis has not been alone in her just indignationand horror at the cruel and ruthless deed committed on one of herprincipal streets; the bitter lament she so recently sent forth to allparts of the country has been re-echoed back again by many hearts andvoices, that never knew our poor friend. May I not then, who haveknown him from his early youth, be permitted to bear my testimony tohis many excellencies of character, so justly portrayed by his ownPastor, and others, with whom he was associated? Yes! there is but onevoice on that subject, as there should be but one earnest wish, by allwho mourn this sad event, ‘May I die the death of the righteous, andmay my last end be like his. ’ I know that on the face of the widowedwife and her only child, there rests the expression of unutterablesorrow, but her Maker is her husband, and her fatherless one, Hispeculiar care. The cold grave does not contain the immortal spiritthat she saw contending in its agony for freedom from its clay casket, but it has soared away forever to the fields of light and immortality. May all with whom he has been associated, and all who shall hereafterlearn the history of his amiable character, of his serene, and exaltedpiety, his peaceful conscience, and his martyr death, be so impressedas to join themselves to the ‘followers of the Cross, ’ and bear thesame noble testimony to the excellence of our holy religion that ourfriend, Mr. Charless, has done. ”

Another lady writes, from Cumberland, Penn. , thus: “My heartbleeds for you all, for well I know what a treasure you have lost. Fewpersons beyond your family circle had a better opportunity of knowingyour beloved husband, and none, I venture to say, loved and admired himmore. The world at large knew and valued him as a noble Christiangentleman, as a man of sterling integrity, and enlarged benevolence, but who could understand all his excellence and all his loveliness, butthose who have been privileged, as I have so often been, to see him inthe sweet relations of husband and father, to bow with him at hisfamily altar, and to hear the fervent, yet humble, outpourings of theChristian heart before the mercy seat? Ah! well do I remember howtenderly, how sweetly, his petitions were wont to ascend for me, at thetime of my deep and overwhelming sorrow; and when about to leave hishospitable roof, how affectionately he would commend the stricken oneto our heavenly Father’s gracious care. These remembrances will lingerabout the heart as long as it throbs with life. Oh! sad, sad is thethought that I shall no more hear that sweet voice pleading with ourFather God in behalf of the sorrowing ones, or for the Church of God, so dear to his heart, or committing his loved ones into his graciouscare; while, with lowly meekness, he confessed and bewailed his sins, and plead for pardon with a childlike love and trust in our blessedSaviour. But oh! delightful thought, his prayers are now turned topraise. ”

I will copy a part of a letter, from a gentleman in the city ofNew York, to show what kind of an impression your dear grandfather madeupon strangers. 

“June 4, 1859. "

“Very dear Madam: Although a stranger to you, I cannot repressthe expression of the heart-felt sympathy of myself and my whole familyfor you in your late terrible bereavement. Language is totally atfault in its poverty to convey what we feel, or give words that shallcomfort you in your heavy affliction. Our acquaintance with your dearhusband was recent and short, but it was long enough to endear him toour hearts in no ordinary way. We had gone to the house of God incompany, and taken sweet counsel together. We had mingled our songs ofpraise around the domestic altar, and at the same holy place had pouredout our united petitions to God for his blessing on our dear families, as well as on the cause of our divine Master. Indeed, I can truly saythat our intercourse with your dear husband was all that was sweet andrefreshing to the Christian’s heart, and time can never efface thedelightful impression he left in our family when he took anaffectionate leave of us all in order to join you and his deardaughter, and grandchildren. Every look and every word as is fresh asyesterday, and his sweet memory will be cherished by Mrs. S. Andmyself, and all our children, every one of whom became warmly attachedto him. 

“I feel that I am doing that which will re-open the bleedingwound, but I cannot help it, as my own emotions must have the reliefwhich this note of sympathy only partially affords. O, how unspeakablydear to us is the thought of his readiness for the great change, andthat he is now walking those golden streets, and basking in the smilesof his Saviour. And how consoling the many sweet assurances of ourheavenly Father that he doth not willingly afflict, that all thingswork together for good to them that love God, and that as our day is, so shall our strength be. ”

In explanation of your grandfather having been a guest of thegentleman who wrote this letter, and yet a stranger to him, it may beof interest to you to know, that in the spring of 1859, just before thereturn of your dear mother and yourselves to St. Louis, from yourSouthern home, he paid a short visit to the city of New York, to attendto some business for the Mechanics’ Bank, which brought him in contactwith Mr. S. , “President of the Bank of the Republic, ” who gave him apressing invitation to pass the Sabbath day with him, at his countryseat, on the Hudson river. He accepted the invitation, accompanied hisnew made friend on Saturday afternoon, and returned Monday morning; andwas thus made acquainted with a charming family, of whom he severaltimes spoke in terms of admiration and affection. 

A gentleman, residing in the interior of the State of Missouri, says, in a letter to my brother Taylor: “I cannot in justice to my ownfeelings refrain from expressing to you the deep, deep grief I felt atthe loss of our dear friend, Mr. Charless. In all my intercourse withthe world I can safely say that he was the purest and best man I haveever known. Thousands have lost their best friend, society one of itsbrightest ornaments, and his family-–Great God, how can their loss bedescribed. I have been proud for twenty years to claim him as myfriend, and if I had no other reason for thinking well of human nature, a knowledge of his character would be sufficient. He was a credit tohuman nature, and I never, sir, expect to meet his equal again in allthat is essential to make a good and true man. ”

Another gentleman, who dates his letter, Sarcoxie, June 10, inaddressing the same brother, after offering his sincere condolence tohim, and through him to the immediate family of the deceased, says: “Myrelations with Mr. Charless it is true were mostly of a businesscharacter, yet a relation of this kind of twenty years standing, couldnot exist with such a man without producing feelings of a kindlycharacter. Such I entertain for him, though I never saw his face; andI am persuaded that he entertained similar feelings toward me. I shallever cherish his memory as one of the best friends I ever had in mylife. ” Before closing his letter he requests a “lithograph likeness”of your grandfather, which was sent him. 

What a rare testimonial is this! Known only as a business man, without ever having seen his face. 

Your mother, in reading “Macaulay’s Essays, ” a few days since, was struck with his description of the late Lord Holland, as being somuch like her father. She pointed it out to me, and it so exactlyaccords with my views of him, also, that I think I may be excused bytransferring it to this letter, for your perusal. He says of theexpression of Lord Holland’s face, that it was “singularly compoundedof sense, humor, courage, openness, a strong will and a sweet temper, ”and that he had the “most gracious and interesting countenance that wasever lighted up by the mingled luster of intelligence and benevolence. As it was with the faces of the men of this noble family (referring toLord Holland and his ancestors) so was it with their minds. Nature haddone much for them all. She had moulded them all of that clay, ofwhich she is most sparing. To all she had given strong reason and asharp wit; a quick relish for every physical and intellectualenjoyment; constitutional intrepidity, and that frankness by whichconstitutional intrepidity is generally accompanied; spirits whichnothing could depress; tempers easy, generous and placable; and thatgenial courtesy which has its seat in the heart, and of whichartificial politeness is only a faint and cold imitation. Such adisposition is the richest inheritance that ever was entailed on anyfamily. ”

Rev. Mr. Cowen, of Carondelet, on the Sabbath of June 12, 1859, preached to his congregation from the text, “He being dead yetspeaketh. ” After giving an exposition of the text, he calls theattention of his congregation to the lessons of instruction “which thissolemn providence” (alluding to the sad death of your grandfather)teaches:

1st. “The death of Mr. Charless teaches us the mysteriousness ofGod’s providence. ” “In the calamity, dear hearers, which has removedfrom our midst one of the best men of this, or any previous age of theworld, and overwhelmed so many in deep sorrow, we are pointed to thecruel and murderous hand of the assassin, but this was only theproximate cause of his sudden and violent death. There is a high andremote cause to which we must look, if we would find the true source ofthis event, which has thrilled the heart of this whole community. Thatcause, dear hearers, is the providence of God. ”

Rev. Dr. Palmer of New Orleans, whom you recollect was to be ourguest when in St. Louis, in June, 1859, told me that on that Sabbathday, when so many tearful eyes were looking for the last time upon theplacid countenance of the beloved, who lay so still and cold in hiscoffin, he saw at the hotel where he was staying, among others who werelamenting the untimely end of Mr. Charless, men of rough appearance, who would one moment use the most horrible oaths of vengeance againstthe perpetrator of the bloody dead, and the next, their voicessoftening with expressions of tender regret, big tears were seenstreaming down their cheeks, showing, as Dr. Palmer said, “how theyloved the man from whom, in a moral point of view, they were so farseparated, and the extraordinary influence of his life and character. ”

Among the many copies that were sent to us of “the Resolutions, ”which were passed by the various associations of St. Louis, in honor ofthis dear friend, I will extract but a portion of one:

“Resolved, That in the death of JOSEPH CHARLESS, Esq. , we, asrepresentatives of “The Home of the Friendless, ” are called to grievefor the loss of our First Patron. He whose benefactions, stimulatedinto action the earliest impulses that led to the establishing of thisinstitution, and whose sympathizing heart and ready hand followed us tothe end of his life. Truly of him it may be said, ‘The blessing of himthat was ready to perish came upon him, and he caused the widow’s heartto sing for joy. ’”

In conclusion, my dear children, I am reminded as I often havebeen while writing these letters, that my husband was not fond ofpraise, and that he particularly disliked any approach to it from hiswife, for he thought it almost as unbecoming in her to extol hisvirtues as it would have been to speak in praise of her own. He was, as I have said, an humble man, for he seemed never to forget that hehad been redeemed from the curse of a broken law and was indebted toGod, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, for all that he had or was. Andto God truly does the glory belong! Nature had done much for him, butGrace far more. And while, my dear children, I would again and againpoint you to your noble grandfather as an example worthy of yourimitation, I would more earnestly direct your attention higher still, even to the Great Exemplar whom he followed at so great a distance. Attempt to compare any human standard, however exalted to this, and itwanes until it ceases to be seen before the dazzling purity of the Sunof Righteousness! Man, although he was originally made pure, hasfallen very low in the scale of moral being, on account of sin. Andnotwithstanding he may by nature be endowed with many amiable qualitiesand many excellencies of character, the atmosphere of this sinful worldis not favorable to their proper development, so that the virtuous andhappy youth, gifted as he may be with intellectual capacity, and havingever so large a share of moral courage, may yet not be able to resistevil; and at last may become a bad, and, consequently, a discontentedman. And it is certain, that, although he may live above reproachbefore his fellows, and achieve wonders in his career through life, hecan never be noted for true moral excellence without Christianity. 

And now, my dear, very dear children, I am done. But I linger insaying, farewell! Oh, that you all, “children, and children’schildren, even to the third and fourth generation, ” may be enabled togive your hearts away, in early life, to that blessed Saviour, whoalone is able to fit you for living and for dying, who alone caneffectually soothe your sorrows, sweeten every earthly enjoyment, andimpart to you, in the midst of the cares, trials, and dangers of life, that calm confidence so beautifully expressed by David, “The Lord is myShepherd, I shall not want. ”

That you may be guided by the precepts of God’s Holy Word, whichis so faithfully taught you from week to week by your own sweet mother, my precious grandchildren, and that the dews of Divine Grace may distilfrom heaven upon you, making you true men and women, that you may livethe life of the righteous, and at last be found among those who havewashed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, is, and ever will be, the sincere and earnest prayer of, YOUR LOVING GRANDMA, C. T. CHARLESS. 

Belmont, December 24, 1862. 

Letter from Rev. S. B. McPheeters, D. D. 

Shelby Co. , Kentucky, Sept. 5, 1865. 

TO THE GRANDCHILDREN OF MR. JOSEPH CHARLESS. 

My Dear Young Friends:

Your Grandmother has told me of the letters she has addressed toyou, concerning the life of your Grandfather Charless, giving manyincidents and recollections of him, which I doubt not will be of thegreatest interest to you, and to those who will come after you; at herrequest, I will also add a letter on the same subject. 

Before doing so, however, I wish to say, that as you are all, atthe time I am writing, quite young, and as you will not probably readthis until some years are passed, I shall not address you as smallchildren, but anticipating a little, I will have you in my mind, andaddress you, as you will be a few years hence. 

I wish very much that I could give you the picture of yourGrandfather, as he was, and as he lives in my memory. And when I firstundertook the pleasant task, so distinct was his whole character uponmy memory, and so dear was the recollection of Mr. Charless to myheart, that I thought it would be easy to transfer to paper the imagethat was in my mind. But I have not found it so. I have once andagain failed to satisfy myself in efforts I made to draw his moral andsocial portrait, nor do I know that I will succeed better now. But youmay ask what is the difficulty? I will reply by an illustration fromnature. When one is familiar with a landscape that is marked by boldmountains, prominent headlands, or rushing torrents, it is notdifficult to describe such scenery so that it is at once recognized. Very different, however, it is when one attempts to tell in detail, what it is that makes a rich valley, in a bright spring morning, suchan object of beauty and delight to the soul. There are a thousandobjects too minute for detailed description, which, blended, charm theeye and please the fancy, and make us exclaim, How beautiful! Theverdant grass, and modest flower, and budding tree, and singing bird, and genial sun, and balmy air, and light, and shade, all combine tomake a scene, which he who sees it feels, but cannot easily reproducein the mind of another. So it is with Mr. Charless. That which gavehim his peculiar charm was not one or two striking characteristicswhich distinguished him from other men, but it was a beautifulcombination of many noble and lovely traits, in proportions so just, and in harmony so pleasing, that when I have attempted to select thisand that characteristic for description, I feel that I have succeededabout as well, as if I had collected a bouquet from the valley of whichI just spoke, and should give it to a friend as a picture of thelandscape itself. The truth is, my young friends, you will never trulyknow your Grandfather unless you are so happy as to meet him in heaven. And yet this is no reason that you should not desire to know somethingof him, and form some true idea of his character. And it is with thehope that I may add to your pleasure that I shall try and give you someaccount of him from my own personal knowledge and intercourse with him. 

My relations to Mr. Charless were intimate for about eight years, I being, during that time, the Pastor of the Church in which he was aRuling Elder. This official connection necessarily brought me infrequent intercourse with him, and as it was hardly possible to knowsuch a man at all, without wishing to know him better, our intercoursesoon ripened into friendship, which continued while he lived. 

How well do I remember the first time I saw Mr. Charless, and theimpression he made upon me. I had just come to St. Louis, fromVirginia, to visit Westminster Church, with a view of settlement as itsPastor, if we should be mutually pleased. Being comparatively youngand inexperienced, I felt much diffidence in undertaking the charge ofa Church in a large city. It would have taken little to havediscouraged me and made me abandon the thought; when I saw St. Louis, Ifelt so unfit to labor in such a place, that I was more than halfregretting that I had listened to the invitation. As soon as helearned that I had arrived he called to see me. And there wassomething so cordial and winning in his manner, he was so frank andkind, that I at once felt that I could give him my confidence, and thatwith such men I would love to live and labor. It was Mr. Charless, more than all others in St. Louis, that induced me to make it my home. It would be easy for me to fill sheets with my recollections ofpersonal kindnesses shown me. I never went to him discouraged ordispirited that he did not impart some of the cheerful hope, which wasso characteristic of his own mind. I never sought his advice whenperplexed, or in doubt, that he did not, by his wise counsel, throwlight on the matters presented. But I will not dwell on these things, yet I can never forget them. I have had other friends who were verydear to me, but never such a friend as Mr. Charless; and what he was tome in our peculiar relations, such he was also to many, many others, inthe various relations of life. But while so true and valuable afriend, I do not think I ever knew a man who made fewer declarations orprofessions of friendship. 

You will get a very good idea of your grandfather’s personalappearance from the excellent portraits of him in the family. He wasslightly above the average height, well developed, without beingcorpulent, had a firm elastic step, and motions indicating vigor andhealth. His eye was bright, but mild, his features regular andunusually handsome, and his countenance was habitually lighted up by anintelligence and benignity which gave it a peculiar charm, and inspiredeven strangers with a confidence that such a face could not belong toany but a good and upright man. Mr. Charless was an exceedinglypleasant companion, and, without being either brilliant or witty inconversation, his society was courted and his arrival was always hailedwith pleasure by the company in which he mingled, for he brought withhim a bright face, a cheerful heart, a genial humor and heartycordiality that seemed to diffuse itself through all around-–children, young people and old people seemed alike to enjoy his society–-yet henever seemed to me to make an effort to “be agreeable, ” he only actedout his natural feelings and disposition, and this was agreeable. 

I hesitate some in describing your grandfather as a very polishedand polite man. I fear you might put a meaning to those words whichwould lead you into a wrong view of his character: there is a polishand politeness that is the result of art and painstaking-–a thing onthe surface-–often a disguise, having its root in expediency, alwaysself-conscious and often selfish-–something that may please us becauseit flatters us, but does not win us because we cannot trust it. Nothing could be more unlike Mr. Charless than this. Yet there is apolish which flows from a nice sense of what is fitting and proper tobe done in social intercourse, from ease and self-possession, from akind heart and desire to make others happy; a politeness that is madeup of a thousand little acts of self-denial for the comfort of others;that does not obtrude itself upon your notice, but is felt in makingyou easy; that flows, not from rules, but from good principles and agenerous nature, in this sense Mr. Charless was eminently a polishedand polite man. I have seen him with persons in humble life, he madethem easy and treated them with kindness. I have seen him with men ofeminent positions and great reputation, he was at perfect ease himselfand commanded their marked respect. 

Mr. Charless was not a learned man, and made no pretensions tolearning, yet he was remarkably well informed; kept himself acquaintedwith the current literature of the day, and conversed with intelligenceand good sense on all matters that came up in general society. On morethan one occasion he surprised me, by showing an amount and accuracy ofacquaintance with subjects which I had supposed lay out of the range ofhis investigation, and of which I should never have known that he had aknowledge had they not casually come up in conversation. I met him oneday, and after some general conversation he gave me a book, remarking, “Here is a work to which a friend called my attention. I have read itwith so much pleasure that I sent for a copy for you. ” When I got homeI was surprised to find it an elaborate and scientific treatise on thenature of the Church, a work which, I venture the assertion, not onelayman in five hundred would have thought of reading, or would havefinished if he had begun it. 

You will never hear any one who knew your grandfather speak ofhim without mentioning his great generosity, liberality and kindness tothe poor, but no one will ever be able to tell you how much he did toalleviate the sorrows of the distressed, or to help the needy, for hedid these things so quietly that none knew it but those received, andHim who sees our secret things; but in my visits to the poor I haveseen the tears start in the eyes of widows and orphans at the mentionof his name, which told better than words who was their friend andbenefactor. Mr. Charless was one of the few men I have ever known whoseemed to think, as much as they should, that the manner of bestowing abenefaction, while it adds nothing to the cost of what is given, addsimmensely to the value of the thing given, in the estimation of thosewho receive it. A friend of mind, who was soliciting funds for acharitable purpose, said to me, as he returned from an interview withyour grandfather, “It is a pleasure to ask a subscription from Mr. Charless. He gives as though you conferred a favor on him in affordinghim the opportunity of ‘giving. ’” This was very characteristic. 

Mr. Charless was a modest and very unassuming man, and neverpushed himself forward, yet he had a just estimate of his abilities, knew what he could do, and when called upon by circumstances, or bythose with whom he acted, to take the lead, if the thing commendeditself to his judgment, without ado or apology, he went forward and didit; and I have often been surprised to see how much he could accomplishand how well he did what he undertook. Besides his private businesswhich was large, and complicated, one would think, enough for any man, he took a most active part in all the operations of the Church, in thevarious benevolent and educational schemes, in commercial and municipalenterprises, and still found time to attend to a multitude of littlebusiness matters for friends, who would avail themselves of hisexperience, and, I will add, (being one of the number myself), imposeupon his kindness. But while always busy he never seemed in a hurry. The fact is, he had, in addition to great energy, a most uncommonamount of business talent. He was a thorough business man, andconducted all his affairs on strict business principles; a littlecircumstance will illustrate this: I was settling with him an accountof a few dollars, in some matter which he had attended to for me. Ihanded him the money and there was a few cents in change, which neitherhe nor I could make. It was so insignificant that I said, “Never mind, Mr. Charless, that makes no difference. ” He replied, promptly, “But itdoes make a difference; the account is not settled until that is paid, ”and away he went to the other end of the store, stepped to his cashier, got the exact change, and handing it to me, said, with a smile, “Youpreachers are too often poor business men, and I want my Pastor to benot only a good preacher, but a good business man. The rule is, meetyour engagements to the minute and pay your debts to the cent. ” Thewhole thing made, as he designed it should, an impression on my mind, and has been of great advantage to me. I have often repeated theanecdote to other clergymen, and hope it has been an advantage to them. 

You will often hear from those who knew your grandfather speak ofhis great kindness, his habitual placidity of temper, and uncommonsweetness of disposition, and all this was eminently true of him; butif you are led by such accounts to think of him as in any degree whatis called a yea-nay sort of character, or as destitute of spirit, oreven incapable of passion, you will make a great mistake. He was notat all deficient in firmness, and had not only moral but physicalcourage in an eminent degree. As he never wantonly gave so he nevertamely brooked an indignity. His eye could flash as well as laugh. Iwas one day conversing pleasantly with him in his private office in theBank, of which he was President. A gentleman came in, evidently in apet, and addressing Mr. Charless, spoke in a very harsh way, and withbroad insinuations against one of the Bank Directors, in relation tosome transaction. Before he had well finished his invective Mr. Charless rose to his feet, his eye kindling, every feature of his facedmarked by sternness, and replied, “Sir, the gentleman of whom you speakis my personal friend. The charge you bring against him is not true;the facts were these (mentioning them concisely but clearly), and now, sir, you must retract what you have said. ” The gentleman evidentlytaken aback, both Mr. Charless’ statement of the case, and manner, immediately calmed down, made an explanation and withdrew. I could notresist a hearty laugh at the storm which had so suddenly burst upon usand had been as suddenly quelled, and turning to him said, “Mr. Charless, I had no idea you had so much pluck. ” He joined the laughand said, “My Irish will sometimes come up. Besides, ” he added, moregravely, “that man took no pains to learn the facts of the case, andhas a way of bullying that I wanted to put a stop to. ”

Few men had a keener relish for what was humorous or enjoyed alaugh better than Mr. Charless, and with little children he was playfuland would sometimes even join in their sports, and if he did not jointhem he would look on and seemed to relish with great zest their pranksand joyous shouts and gambols. Perhaps some persons would not havementioned such a trait of character, as it might seem to imply a wantof dignity. I beg leave to differ from such. There is a dignity ofmanner and a dignity of character, not only quite separable, but oftenseparated. I have known men who had great dignity of manner and verylittle dignity of character, and they are to me among the most irksomeof mortals. Mr. Charless, while not deficient in dignity of manner, when occasion called for it, was truly dignified in character. The onehe might drop for a little while, the other he never dropped. Thechildren, with whom he might sport or familiarly talk, respected himjust as much as if he had the manner of a Judge on the bench, and thenthey loved him far better; and there was to me in these occasionaloverflowings of a genial nature, this return of youthful feeling inmature manhood, this sympathy with children, something very beautiful. It showed how large his heart was, how little he been soured or soiledby contact with the world, how broad, and healthy and true a nature Godhad endowed him with. The very same large humanity that disposed himto enter into the sports of children led him also to help the widow, tobefriend the friendless and soothe the sorrowing. 

I have said nothing yet about your grandfather’s religiouscharacter, and yet this was by far his greatest excellence. He wastruly and sincerely pious. By which I mean he truly loved, trusted in, and obeyed Christ. But, although I am a preacher, I do not intend towrite you a sermon, and I hope you will not take it as so intended, inwhat I am about to say to you of the religious character of Mr. Charless. I esteem it by far your greatest loss, in his death beforeyou were old enough to understand him, that you are deprived of themeans of learning something about true religion as it was exemplifiedin him. 

Most young people, if not pious themselves, have an idea thatreligion is in its nature gloomy, or at least that it would interferewith the happiness and vivacity of youth. I know this, for I oncethought and felt so myself. And it is just to correct this that I somuch regret that you did not know your grandfather Charless; you couldnot have known him without knowing that he was truly pious, nor couldyou have helped seeing that he was a happy man, and that his religion, yes, his religion, so far from interfering with, promoted his happiness. You may meet with other examples, but you will rarely find one sostriking as his. And I hold, as a matter of fairness, that religionshould be judged by just such examples. I know that there are trulypious persons who are not attractive, who are melancholy, or who aresometimes even repulsive in their characters. Do you ask, Why notjudge the effect of religion from these as well as from better and morepleasing cases? My reply is: What you see and judge may not bereligion at all. In the repulsive it may be only the coarse, roughnatural character; with the melancholy it may be dyspepsia. You do notform your estimate of what the glorious light of the sun does ingladdening and beautifying the earth, by its vain struggles with mistsand fogs; it may fail to make a potato patch sublime or grand, and yetbe in itself both sublime and grand. No, you judge of it by objects inthemselves calculated to reflect its excellence, by the life and joy itdiffuses on all animated nature, and especially by the exquisite beautyit imparts to some lovely valley, or to grand old mountains whose snowsummits it drenches in light until they glitter and radiate like thegates of heaven. So, precisely, in fairness, you should judgereligion. Hence I insist that men like Mr. Charless are examples bywhich religion should be judged. Nature did much for him, made himgenerous and kind, gave him a large heart and noble impulses. Graceelevated, strengthened, purified all these natural qualities, andbrought him in harmony and fellowship with God; set before him, as anobject of love, confidence, and imitation, the blessed Saviour; gavehim a hope which earthly losses could not dim, and a peace which theyonly know who have felt it. Why should it not have added to hishappiness? Had he lived he would have told you himself that what realhappiness he had in this life came more from his religion than allother sources. My young friends if you still stand in doubt on thispoint I can only say make the experiment yourselves, and if you findwhat I have said not true, judge me a false witness. 

There is a special promise made by Christ, to those who entertheir closet and shut the door and pray to their Father which is insecret. How often Mr. Charless brought those words to my mind; and asI used to see him coming from home, with such a cheerful, happy face, as I saw how good men and wicked men respected and honored him, I havesaid to myself over and often: His Father who seeth in secret isrewarding him openly. In truth this passage was so associated with Mr. Charless in my mind, that I do not know that I have read these wordsfor a number of years before his death and since without thinking ofhim as a striking illustration of its truth and beauty. 

I need not, in concluding, say much to you of the circumstancesthat snatched from his family, from you, from the Church and thecommunity, such a man. The record of the whole event you will see inthe journals, secular and religious, which your Grandmother has sothoughtfully preserved for you. I remember nothing that occurred inSt. Louis, during the fourteen years that I resided there, whichproduced a more profound impression on the public mind, or so stirredits hot indignation, as the death of Mr. Charless by the hand of theassassin who slew him. Nothing, I believe, but the urgent request ofMr. Charless, from his bed of death, prevented the community fromavenging themselves without the forms of law for the dark crimecommitted. And when, at the request of Mr. Charless, the communityspared the life of the felon, there was all the sterner purpose thatJustice should be meted out to his crime by the hand of law. And nojury could have been found in the city, who, if they had been sodisposed, would have ventured to acquit him on false or frivolouspretexts, such as secured the acquittal of many a culprit. 

No one felt that the death of the poor wretch who did the deedwas any atonement for what he had done, any more than a household canfeel that the death of the viper is any atonement for the life of afavorite son it has slain. The viper is crushed and forgotten, thechild is remembered, honored and cherished-–so it was in this case. The execution of the murderer created no excitement; all that menappeared to desire with regard to him was to know that he was executed, and he was dismissed with loathing and detestation from all minds. Ithink it exceedingly probably that there are multitudes in St. Louiswho could not, without an effort recall the name of Thornton-–I do notnow myself remember his given name, --but there is not a little boy orgirl, there is not a citizen, living there at that time, who does notremember JOSEPH CHARLESS. And I have been struck with the fact that anumber of persons who have been at my house in this State, and haveasked me, as they looked at your Grandfather’s miniature that hangs onmy walls-–Who is this? When I have told them, all remembered whatthey had heard, or seen in the papers, of his virtuous life and tragicdeath; but not one ever asked me the name of his assassin. So true tonature and the orderings of Providence is the proverb of Solomon: “Thememory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot. ”

And now, my dear young friends, let me say to each of you, if youwould be virtuous, or happy, or useful, if you would be loved anddeserve to be loved, honored and deserve honor, be like JOSEPH CHARLESS. And to this end may the rich blessing of God rest on each of you. 

Your Friend

SAM’L B. McPHEETERS.