His concern for the conversion of his child was not always seen in his letters to her. I have just read one embracing seven pages of large letter paper, in which he tells much of interest about every thing and every body, in a lively jocose strain, but says not a word on the subject of religion. Among other things he says, But I have never told you about our dog, Nimrod. Why, he has improved wonderfully in size, beauty, manners, &c. You will be perfectly delighted with him. He is no longer a country dog, but is becoming a real city bred gentlemanly dog. The fond companion of Miss Annie Blow in her rambles around the well, cistern, and even out into the alley. And never comes into the dining room, kitchen, or your grandmas room, without being pressingly invited. Having upon his first arrival received divers striking hints, his intellect has become very sharp, and his sense of propriety very much quickened in regard to all these matters. Towards the close of January instead of the usual reception of letters every few days, we experienced the far greater happiness of seeing him, which was 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 Fellons school. In the meanwhile we made up our mind to pay another visit to Pascagoula, from whence I see he wrote to our daughter as follows:
Pascagoula, May 18, 1847.
Dear Daughter: We avail ourselves of the return of Dr. F. to send you a few lines to let you know how we are getting on in these diggings. We arrived safely last Friday evening, and found Mrs. F. and O. pleased to see us. The General is over on Round Island, whither we attempted, this morning, to go, but were driven back by the head winds. Your mother and aunt were wet by the spray but have experienced no inconvenience from it. They are both well. We missed you very much this morning when the fish were biting almost as fast as we could bate our lines and throw them into the water. Your mother caught nearly two dozen cats before breakfast. But you need not come as there are no redfish or sheepshead, or trout, nothing to be caught but cats and croakers, and I know you are too fastidious in your piscal taste to delight in such sport. We would have been much pleased to have had dear daughter with us. But hope that you have improved the time, so that when the examination comes off we shall be delighted with the proficiency you have made in your studies. Mother and aunt send their love to you. Ever your devoted, FATHER.
After the examination, in June, we returned to St. Louis. The encouragement we felt from the effect of the last winter upon my health, induced us to try another winters sojourn in the South, with the hope that a permanent restoration would be the result. Consequently in December following, your grandfather took us to Mobile and settled us for the winter. Soon after which we returned home, by way of the eastern cities, for the purpose of purchasing his stock of goods for the next spring.
After again taking leave of the dearest objects of his earthly affection, he pursues his solitary way. From Charleston, Dec. 22nd, 1847, he writes:
My Dear Daughter: To redeem my promise to write alternately to you and dear mother, I date my first to you from this City of Palms. I wrote from Montgomery, the capital of Alabama, last, sitting in the Senate chamber, which was beautifully adorned with curtains, and furnished with rosewood desks and rosewood and damask velvet cushioned chairs; everything having the air of majesty-the majesty of the sovereign people. Since which time, I have been compelled to descend from my lofty flights to the real democracy, as I have had rough traveling, 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 this morning quite well again, and shall leave to-day for Wilmington, North Carolina, by sea, in a fine steamer. The weather is very fine, and I think I shall have a quick and pleasant journey."
I had the honor of traveling with Maj. Gen. Quitman and family from Montgomery to Augusta, George, where he was invited to remain and receive the congratulations of the citizens. The General, accustomed to command, could not well put up with the little deference paid him by his fellow-travelers, and was much annoyed that they were not restrained until he and his family were provided for. He is expected here to-day, and all the military are ordered out to receive him. General Shields has been here for several days, feasted and honored by this city, and the capital, Columbia, where the Legislature have voted him a splendid sword, the use of which he has so well practiced in Mexico."
This is really a very beautiful and pleasant city, and has much of a business appearance. The streets are wide. It has a fine market-house. The Citadel is an old-fashioned fort, now used as a military school; for you must know that South Carolina is, or claims to be, the most chivalrous State in the Union; and her great men-Mr. Calhoun, Preston, McDuffy, and a host of others-stand high among the great men of the nation."
I suppose you are, long before this, comfortably fixed at school, and mother has-etc., etc.
You see, my children, from these several specimen letters, that your grandfather allowed no opportunity to pass unimproved. That, however, limited his time, he always found time to observe and to write. Neglect of duty had no place in his head or heart. It gratified him to serve his friends in any and in every way; but his devotion to his immediate family, in every respect, was remarkable. No display, no effort marked his intercourse with them, which made it only the more precious, for they well knew that love and kindness prompted his every act.
He wrote from New York-after having written from every stopping-place on his way thither-giving a more detailed account of his duties and pleasures which occupied every moment of his time there. In one of these letters he says: I have been this evening to see Powers 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 you perceive new beauties every moment. The face, the neck, the arms, and hands, in fact every limb, and every muscle, are perfect; and the marble seems to have that softness and delicacy which we see in a young and 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 our separation, and the thoughts of the long and wearisome months that must elapse before I can again clasp my dear wife and child to my arms. But I trust that it will be best for us both, and that it will be the last time on this earth.
In another letter from New York, dated January 4th, 1848, after a good deal of good advice to his child, and a faithful dealing with her peculiar faults, he writes: With all the other matters, do not, my dear daughter, forget to learn the most important of all lessons-the end for which you were placed on this earth; for which mind and body were given you: that you glorify God here, and enjoy Him forever in the world to come. That you know, experimentally, Jesus Christ, now in the 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 sure that there is nothing that would gratify your parents so much as to see you, with all the fervor and ardor of youth, seeking and serving this, the best of masters; devoting your best affections to Him who sticketh closer, 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 Second Presbyterian church, he says: How delighted would I be, could I see dear daughter a bright Christian, devoting all her powers and energies to the service of the blessed Saviour! How much more important is it to be educated to shine in Heaven than to be a star in this world of sorrow and affliction, where there is no solid enjoyment, and where all is transitory and evanescent. I pray that you may be led to a wise choice in these things.
As soon as the winter months were over-becoming impatient under such a long separation-we determined to cut short our stay in the Sunny South. The greatly improved health of her for whose sake the sacrifice had been made, was ever afterwards a cause of gratulation.
In April we returned to St. Louis, with joyous anticipations of the future. The darling of our hearts was fast blooming into womanhood. Her father had purchased the residence which my brother had built for his own use, and which, above all others, we preferred, (especially as it was near to that of his aged mother), and we hoped before 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 and stricken heart.
Letter Thirteen
My Dear Grandchildren:
In the summer of 1848 your beloved grandfather, to whom no discharge of duty in the Church of God was felt to be a sacrifice, again determined to change his church connection. A feeble little church, painting for existence, without a pastor or house to worship in, solicited help from the mother church. Every Christian felt that the increasing wants of our growing city demanded more churches, but how many in the Second Presbyterian could obtain their own consent to exchange the comfort and ease of this elegant temple, which at length, after much self-denial of its members, was almost free from debt, and whose pulpit was adorned with the gifted and talented Dr. Potts! who could give up their cushioned and carpeted pews, the choice choir, the grand organ, and the many sweet Christian associations of past years, and throw in their lot with a little handfull of Jesus praying disciples, who had few possessions, save that faith which made them lovingly cling to their Masters cause? My husband had been one of the first to assist in building up the Second Presbyterian church. He was an Elder, and a Trustee, and, after much anxiety, and the utmost straining of his ability to raise and to contribute funds towards the completion of their house of worship, he was just beginning to enjoy the comfort of seeing the debt, which had hung as an incubus over it for years, wiped out, when this new call was made upon him. A few young 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 such efficient aid, would be utterly in vain. It was thought, however, by the members generally, that it was a useless undertaking to keep the little church, as such, alive; and that it would be better for its few advocates to be merged into the different churches already established. Yet all seemed to think that St. Louis, growing as it was so rapidly in population and in wickedness, needed more houses of public worship; but most of the members of this church evidently shrank from the self-denial necessary thereto.
Your grandfather did not at once accede to this proposal, without first consulting his wife, as to her views, and especially her feelings, and she could not have it in her heart to consider her own comfort and pleasure, or that of their daughter, when he so evidently felt 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 a great deal of this kind of worldliness carried even into the Holy place), I requested that we should retain our pew, calculating, as soon as the young church was fairly established, again to occupy it. We both loved and admired, and, like everybody else, felt proud of our minister-for, without doubt, he stood among the first, if not at the head 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 be tossed upon the breakers, and ready to sink. But my husband, like the early disciples, would have been pleased to toil all night upon the sea of Galilee, and at early dawn would have been seen mending the meshes of the broken net, making ready for another day or night of toil, while I would have preferred to sit with the five thousand upon the green grass, to be fed. But I never could gainsay or resist the few, simply spoken words, that revealed the cherished purpose of his soul, adorned, as they were, with eloquence of his unobtrusive and devoted piety. Of the difficulties and hardships endured by that faithful little band before a flourishing church was really established, and what part the subject 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 other matters.
Early in the fall of 1848 we placed our dear Lizzie at school in Philadelphia, under the care of Mrs. Gardell, who deservedly enjoyed the highest reputation as an instructress of young ladies, being untiring in her efforts to cultivate their hearts, no less than their minds and manners. From the letters of her father, written during that time, I will make but one quotation, merely to show how earnestly he ever longed for the spiritual good of his beloved daughter: Do you ever think on the subject of your souls salvation?-of its value-of the importance of giving the subject that attention its magnitude demands, in the morning of life, when the feelings and emotions of the heart are warm and generous-before the temper and disposition are soured by disappointment? It was for this reason our blessed Saviour desired the young to come unto Him. My dear daughter, you cannot tell how happy your mother and I would be to know that you had consecrated yourself, heart, soul, and body, to the Lord, to serve Him faithfully in this world, that you might be permitted to enjoy Him in mansions of peace in that which is to come. This is the tenor of our morning and evening prayers, and, we trust, of yours also.
It was our intention to keep our Lizzie at this school for two years, but, the cholera making its appearance in the United States-a more terrible epidemic than ever before, in the spring of 1849-determined us to bring her home at the expiration of the first year. 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, we deemed it safest to bring her home, where she might still pursue her studies under the instruction of private teachers.
From the time we had solemnly vowed at the baptismal font to train our child, not for this perishing world, but for Heaven, and thereby could claim the rich promise of a covenant-keeping God-I will be a God to you, and to your seed-nothing had caused us more anxiety than to know how wisely and faithfully to discharge our duties towards her. Whether strictly to force her into measures, or, by a mild and firm treatment, to win her to love the religion of her parents, was often discussed by us when alone in our chamber. We observed, with pain, that many of the children of our beloved church, whose parents believed that they could do no better part by them than strictly 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 most reckless of young people. Some, first uniting with the Church, and afterwards disgracing their profession, while still under parental guidance; others, waiting until they were married, and were countenanced by a worldly husband, before throwing off all restraint, and showing these long-faced Presbyterians how amazingly dashy and gay they could be. With what natural grace and ease they can now discuss the merits or demerits of the last play! What a keen relish they have for balls! How charming the masquerade was! What delightful sport, in masque, to tell disagreeable and sarcastic truths (or falsities, perhaps), to some luckless ones who very innocently, but ignorantly, preferred to look on at the droll sight with their faces uncovered! Oh, what a disgrace to the child, who, for the sake of a few years (perhaps days) of false and empty pleasure, can do such violence to the feelings of parents, who, whatever their errors, truly love, and would sacrifice everything, except their hope of Heaven, to bless 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 enjoy everything that was innocent; that, while an act of disobedience-an untruth, or any direct breach of The Commandments-would cause his displeasure, and was followed by a look that penetrated your mothers soul, and was a far greater punishment than the rod of her mother, yet she might dance as much as she pleased, for dancing was childrens sport. But when she would gravely ask, if, like her school-mates, she might not go to a dancing school, she would be told that her papa and mamma had promised God to bring her up for Heaven, and that they would not be doing that if they fitted her for the gay world: that she must not forget that she was a baptized child of the Church. If she looked doubtful, or was inclined to urge the matter, we would ask her if she wanted us to break our word to God-which, like any other conscientious child, she would recoil from. When in her sixteenth year, however, while at boarding-school in Mobile, she expressed a greater desire than ever before to take lessons in dancing. They were given in the school, and confined to the pupils; not at night, but in the afternoon, when she required exercise instead of sleep; and we determined, after serious and prayerful reflection, to indulge her in this very natural wish, believing that longer opposition might be attended with a still stronger desire for the forbidden thing, which she could see no harm in, nor we, if confined to the social circle. We knew that God alone could make her a Christian-could turn her heart from the love of the world to that of holiness-and we did not believe that He would be less willing to do so because of our yielding to her wishes in this respect, which, our child clearly understood, was done, not from inconsistency on our part, or a vain desire to see her admired in the world; but from a conviction that, at her age, some consideration should be shown to her reasonable desires; especially as she was far from esteeming this indulgence as a license to unbounded worldliness; that the theater and the ball-room were to be conscientiously avoided, as the road that led directly away from all that was pure, holy and happy. And I am now gratified in saying that we 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-our daughter finding, by experience, how empty and shallow this greatly overrated enjoyment is, compared to others, even of a worldly and social nature; how far it falls below the more refined joys of a less conspicuous but more reasonable and choice character, which the cultivated alone can appreciate.
The young lady days, no less than those of her childhood, your mother will tell you, were happy days. Restrained in that only which her parents, and her own conscience, deemed wrong, she was as free and joyous as the birds that carol in their native air. When her sprightly and impulsive nature inclined her to go beyond the bounds of propriety, she was checked. Readily indulged in every reasonable desire, and knowing that nothing worldly afforded her parents so much happiness as that of her own, she did not long mourn over occasional disappointments in personal gratification, which, if indulged in, might have reasonably reflected discredit, if not on her, at least on the religious position of her parents. She had to be reminded, now and then, that she was the child of an Elder of the Church; but never did she intentionally do violence to the feelings or views of him she so much reverenced and loved.
This reminds me of a circumstance, that I will relate: One evening, when your mother was dressing for a party, which was to be given at the house of a friend, a very serious accident occurred a few squares from us. A May-day celebration of school-girls, with their teachers, parents and friends, were suddenly startled with the sound and movement of a falling house, and, in a moment, from the giving way of the floor, they were precipitated from the second story of the house down to the first, and, after a moments pause, into the cellar. The alarm was soon noised abroad, and, in a very short time, the building was surrounded by persons-some, who had relatives there, in agony to know the worst concerning them, some from curiosity, and others to render assistance to the sufferers. Your grandfather rushed to the spot, 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 the injuries received there, a few days after the event; but many were dreadfully bruised, and some had limbs broken. After learning who constituted the assembly, who was hurt, and how much, and finding that, although we knew two or three of the injured persons, and entertained a high respect for them, they were not among our particular friends, nor even in our visiting circle—daughter and I concluded that there could be no impropriety in her attending the party: the time of starting having been delayed for awhile, until we were fully assured of all the facts, and had recovered from the shock felt upon the first alarm.
In less than half an hour after she had gone, her father returned from the scene of the disaster, and, learning that Lizzie had gone to the party, was amazed and greatly excited, that, when our neighbors were dying around us, our child, knowing the fact, should be permitted to make one of a gay and thoughtless crowd! I was taken aback, for I had not realized the distressing condition of the wounded, and undertook 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 sent back, with an explanatory note from me. Lizzie had that moment taken her place in a cotillion, when the note was handed her. She read it, made an apology to her partner, an explanation to her hostess, bidding her good evening, and, in a few minutes more, she was handed into the parlor at home by her friend and escort, regretting, most of all, that she had wounded that kind and tender father, who so deeply sympathized in the sorrows and sufferings of others.
Our house was a gay one. It was thought too much so by some, and perhaps gave umbrage to the feelings of a few of them, who, judging from without, as they passed to and fro, and heard music, and could discern from the street the moving of the heads in the brilliantly lighted parlors, thought, and said, too, what a shame to reflect discredit upon the cause of Christ by revelry and dancing. How much better it would be to appropriate the expenditure of money in these costly preparations to the poor, etc., etc. But, could they have seen and felt the influence of a Christian light, of which he alone who reflected it was unconscious, as he moved about in congenial mood with the young and gay, or, quietly conversed with the grave, perhaps his own dear pastor; had they but known that the calls upon the benevolence of the Christian man were as sacred, and as cheerfully granted, as those of the indulgent father, perhaps more so, they would not, I am sure, have been so censorious. And then, had they known the facts in the case, that no instrument of music, excepting the piano and guitar, and occasionally a flute, and no professor to play on them, for the purpose of keeping up a dance, had ever been in our house, these worthy people, fastidious Christians as they may have been, could not have felt so grieved.
We used wine too, but only at dinner and at suppers, with the ladies. No side-board drinking was ever done in our house. In our early married life even this was not our custom, for several reasons, two of which I will name: We were members of the old temperance society, which, however, did not forbid the moderate use of wine; but to be consistent with the spirit of our pledge, we used it only when some 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 at one time introduce claret, as an every-day drink at dinner. We had been South for the first time, where the use of this mild wine is a universal practice, especially in New Orleans and Mobile. My husband and sister became quite fond of it, and so did our little Lizzie, who was then only five years old. Her father, consequently, purchased a cask for home use, had it bottled and sent to the house. But we found that 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 up into his face, making it so red, and all three appearing a little more merry than usual. Their good brother-in-law, never having known what a selfish feeling was, thought this may be the first step towards giving these boys a taste for drink, and determined at once to forego personal gratification in the use of a beverage which he really enjoyed, and felt 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 the boys asked the servant to hand it. My husband then in his ordinary modest cheerful way, explained the reason why the wine was not there. From which time we relapsed into our previous habit of offering a glass of sherry or madeira, only when politeness suggested it. But by the time our daughter was grown up, these brother-sons of his were men, with their habits formed, and capable of judging for themselves, and he no longer felt it incumbent upon him to be over strict.
Let every one be fully persuaded in his own mind. To his own Master he standeth or falleth. The religion of Jesus Christ is designed for all nations and people, whatever may be their peculiar views, 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 not to measure other Christians in our measure, which, while it may be the best one for us, may not be exactly adapted to them. By their fruits you shall know them, which the Apostle defines thus: The fruit of the Spirit 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 her young friends, and long to be remembered. But more cherished still to her are the recollections of our religious hours. The same sweet hymns of praise that she loved to sing, while away at school, that would bring tears trickling down her sunny face, and with them that relief which her home-sick heart required, ascended in former times at our morning and evening orison. A few friends dropping in to tea were no excuse to evade the worship of our God. Regularly the Bible and hymn books were placed, before retiring from table, in front of your grandfather, and without an apology, excepting occasionally he might say, it is our habit, as he turned the leaves of the Blessed Book.
There were a few restrictions with regard to how often your mother, when a young lady, should accept invitations to spend the evening out, or have invited company at home, but none was so strictly regarded as the one concerning Saturday night: for, as in early childhood she had been taught to put away her toys and irreligious books before the dawn of the Sabbath, she now found it easy and natural, if not to prepare her mind for the sacred day, at least to engage in nothing which might physically unfit her for its enjoyments. And the Sabbath was esteemed the day of all the week the best. Often felt so by her, who, in the midst of this fascinating and beautiful world, never forgot that it was the burden of her fathers prayers that like Mary of old, she might choose that good part which should never be taken from her, and learn like her, to sit humbly at the feet of Jesus. And this quiet day of rest, so still, so sweet, so unlike the bustle of the world without, is well calculated to arrest the current of worldly thought, and cause the mind to revert to the impressions of happy childhood, and often to incite a desire for joys more pure and stable than Earth can afford.
Christians of an ardent temperament, who have come out from the world without having had previous religious training, are apt to go to extremes, and in trying to keep the Sabbath holy sometimes become slaves to the day, and only breathe freely when Monday comes. This was not the case with your grandfather. The Sabbath seemed to be made for him, 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; nor was he so absorbed in religious duties as to make him less thoughtful of the ordinary claims of life. I have often seen him on the afternoon of that day, when the servants were all out, lay down his religious book or newspaper, and go out to the stable, lead the horses into the yard, water them at the hydrant, and then turn them loose on the grass plot; and, seemingly with the greatest delight, he would watch them as they alternately nipped the green grass, or engaged in those extraordinary fantastic exercises which horses that have been pent up in 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, which extended entirely across, and beyond which boundary the horses were not allowed to pass. In this yard they had carte blanche in their Sabbath day recreation, with one exception; they were not to touch the grape vines. And they well understood from the wave of the book or handkerchief in the hand of their master (who generally, on these occasions, sat in one of the arches of the arbor) that they were to approach no nearer the forbidden thing. Even horses know what kindness is; and I have often been amused in looking at them, from the gallery, as they would follow grandpa about the yard evincing evident satisfaction in the many caresses he bestowed upon them. And had he lived, my precious little children, you would soon have learned, in your happy experience of his playfulness, and sympathy with you, on the holy day, that he was far from being a Puritan in his views and feelings.
In the fall of 1852, again in search of health, which of all things belonging to this life (save an unblemished character) was ever the most prized by your dear grandfather, we determined to pass the whole of the approaching winter in the South. We started early in November, went to Baileys Springs, in North Alabama, intending to proceed from thence to Charleston, then to Mobile, and take New Orleans in our way home in the spring. But after reaching the Springs we concluded to give them a fair trial before proceeding further, as we understood from friends, who had tested these waters, that they often proved as beneficial in winter as in summer. Accordingly as we had learned that the accommodations were very indifferent, we made arrangements with the proprietor to rent us three nice, new log cabins, telegraphed to St. Louis for our servants, carriage and horses, and were speedily set up for ourselves. With our own kitchen and cook we needed nothing, for Bailey Springs were situated only nine miles from Florence, where my parents had lived seven years, more than twenty years previous, and our experience did not prove the old adage, out of sight out of mind, or the truth of the poetical effusion, what is friendship but a name. For our old friends were friends indeed, evincing the most delicate attentions, and making up to us the deficiency in our supplies, from a carpet, to keep the wind from penetrating our open cabin floors, to dog-irons, or a dutch oven, and the like useful articles, besides many rare sweetmeats from their own choice kitchens. Our main supply of provisions, however,—for these Baileys could not understand that mortal man needed more than hog and hominy-came every week from my nephews, who is a cotton planter, residing eighteen miles from the Springs. As sure as Friday or Saturday came, so sure came the pack horse, laden with fresh butter, mutton, &c. The presiding genius of these luxuries, who safely guided the richly laden vessel into port, was a grinning, half grown cuffy, whom they called Bowlegs. But my only object in telling you of this delightful, but very novel winter sojourn, made so pleasant because of the unwearied attentions, and choice society of a small circle of friends, is to give you a peep at your beloved grandfather in these new circumstances. Cut off, necessarily, a greater part of the time from society, in a wild country, without occupation or recreation, excepting such as we could originate, with many it would have been esteemed unendurable. Especially to men possessing the active and stirring habits of a city life, and to young ladies accustomed to a large circle of congenial friends. But we did not find it unendurable by any means. Your mother often said to me while there, Mother, I did not know before that my father was such a delightful man, we really need no other society.
In his gunning excursions, which, in pleasant weather, were frequent, she often accompanied her father, and, from her account of them, upon their return, you would imagine that nothing could have been more charming; but, from the appearance of both father and daughter, you would think they had been rambling over hill and dale, scrambling through briars and wading creeks, without design, for the game that they sought was rarely found, or if found, lost again, before the inexperienced huntsman could level his gun. But who cared for that when they had so much pleasure and sport notwithstanding, and always such glorious anticipations for the morrow. Sometimes, in their eager pursuit after game, they would paddle up and down the creek, watching out on either side for ducks. On these occasions, Lizzie would hold the steering oar, while her father made vigorous use of the propelling ones; but one day his Lady of the Lake, (as he called her), in her excitement, at the prospect over the bluffs, of flying ducks, rose to her feet; and, reeling, tipping, over she went, which was the finale of the ducking for that day. From the beneficial effect of the exercise in walking back to the cabins no ill result ensued, and next day they were eager to resume their search.
In rainy weather and of evenings your grandfather would often read 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 Scotch airs, 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 kindest friends, we pursued our way farther south.
The only time that your dear mother and I were separated from her father, after her return from school until her marriage, was in the summer of 1853. In a letter received from him at that time he says, I hope and pray that daughter will seriously bring her mind to the consideration of this most momentous subject. Oh, that she would remember how good and kind and merciful God has always been to her, and how strong is the obligation she is under to consecrate herself, with all her energies, to Gods service. How happy would we be, could we be permitted to meet her at the table of our Lord, as an humble follower of the blessed Saviour, to feel that her peace is made with God, and that her calling and her election is sure. Nothing which this earth offers could confer so great happiness upon her parents. And will she not now try to find the Saviour, who is always found of them that seek Him earnestly and faithfully? Let us, dear wife, pray more earnestly, that our kind heavenly Father would add this, our greatest mercy and blessing, to the innumerable ones that have followed us all the days of our lives.
Our kind heavenly Father did add this, our greatest mercy and blessing, to the innumerable ones that had followed us all the days of our lives, for not long after this we were permitted to sit together, father, mother, and child, at the table of our Lord. Your beloved mother having consecrated her heart to the blessed Saviour, determined to make a public profession of her faith on the Sabbath morning of February 5th, 1854, when, in the presence of the congregation of Pine Street Presbyterian Church, she went forward to the pulpit (accompanied by her precious father), and there, under the ministration of Rev. S. B. McPheeters, dedicated herself, soul and body, to the service of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the only living and true God.
As soon as this solemn ceremony was concluded, the sweet tones of the organ, accompanied by the choir, came floating over our heads, and seemed 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, afflictions 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 child away, to your own dear father. And the light and joy of our house and hearts, 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, I will relate a few incidents of his every day life. I have already said he was kind to the poor. He was systematic in his contribution for the benefit of this large class in every city; but that did not deprive him of the pleasure of throwing a few dimes into the hands of every applicant, although he often felt that they might be used for a bad purpose and do more harm than good to the recipient. On one occasion as I entered the dining room, just before breakfast, he was having a kind and merry chat at the window, with a shabby looking son of Erin, in the yard below, who declared to his honor that he hadnt tasted a drop! (upon which fact the matter of giving, or not giving, seemed to turn). He threw him a piece of money, saying, as he did so, look out, my friend, or that quarter will get you into the calaboose. Next morning 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 temporary imprisonment, when, whom should he find there, safely ensconced in one of the cells, but the Irishman, his old customer, as he called him, in relating the anecdote, which he did with considerable point and humor, making all around the breakfast table laugh heartily. At another time, when we were spending the summer at our country place, near the city, another citizen of the auld country presented himself and asked for work. What kind of work can you do? inquired your grandfather. 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 Ive no place to put my head at night. Well then, my man, I cant hire you, for I have no place for you to sleep. Sleep, is it? Id never want a better place than with the horses-the stable, to be sure, on a bit of straw-theres no better place to my mind, sir. The poor fellows destitution, his worn and tattered clothes, his tangled hair, with a face young and simple, but not vicious looking, touched my husbands heart. Poor Tommy did know how to dig potatoes, if he knew nothing else, and his new master set him to work at his small patch, with the understanding that when he got through with that, he had nothing more for him to do. But Tommy took good care not to get through with that potatoe patch, yet he was always as busy as a bee when he saw the master coming that way, who would praise him for his industry and wink at his tricks. Tommy was quite a Merry Andrew, and more knave than fool, after all; and when he became a decent looking man, from the present of a bran new suit-cap-a-pie-and a comb into the bargain, which his thoughtful benefactor procured for him, he was decidedly the lion of the kitchen cabinet. But how to get rid of Tommy became at length a serious question. Just before returning to the city in the fall, 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 a living, or from some other cause, he soon dismissed him; and, Tommy, much to my dismay, found his way to our city residence. But as the developments of his character in civilized life, were not of the most encouraging nature, it was not a difficult matter for your grandfather to 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 in Bellefontaine, and I have no doubt but that his spirit is happy in the presence of his God. He had lived a poor, but honest life in the west of Ireland, with his wife and children, until, like thousands of his countrymen, he was driven, by hardship and poverty, to seek a better future in this land of the free and the home of the brave. In extreme poverty they arrived in St. Louis. Not so many in family as when they bade adieu to their native land, having buried one or two children on the banks of the Mississippi. They had all had ship fever, and a more wretched looking family I had never seen. But notwithstanding their squalid poverty and wretchedness we found them industrious, good people, and Protestants, which was an unusual circumstance among this class of Irish. Your grandfather, who, in his charities, never seemed to forget that God caused his sun to shine upon the evil as well as the good, and who could not allow even a beast to suffer from want, took peculiar pleasure in ministering to the necessities of this virtuous family, and reaped the rare reward of a rich return in gratitude and love. Poor David appeared to look up to him as to a superior being, always addressing him as Your honor, in the most respectful manner. One day as I was coming out of church I was attracted by the subdued look of this good man, whose tearful eyes were fixed on Rev. Mr. McPheeters and your grandfather, as they walked together down the aisle. I had a good excuse to stop as I was in the advance of my husband, and off to one side I saw him bow most reverently, as he said, Your riverence-Your honor, and out of the abundance of his heart, while tears streamed down his honest face, he gave utterance to his feelings of gratitude to God, and to them, for the blessedness of this holy day. The pathos and eloquence of the sermon had completely overcome him. David was a farmer, and after having been in your grandfathers employ, at first one thing and then another, for a year or two, he finally accepted an advantageous offer, to take charge of a gentlemans farm, some eight or ten miles from the city; 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 front door, 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 to the poor fellow in his dying hour to feel that in this distant land of strangers, he had found a friend who would not neglect the widow and the fatherless in their affliction, and his confidence was not misplaced, for, from the time of his death, his family lived near us, and never knew, as long as Davids good friend lived, what it was to want a friend indeed.
Another anecdote of the poor just occurs to my mind, and as it exhibits your grandfather in another light, I will relate it. Immediately after dinner, on a pleasant day, my two sisters-in-law, who resided together, less than a square from us, came over to our house, with a man, who had just applied to them for assistance. They were deeply 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 French Creole, and both were new beginners in active effort for the benefit of the indigent, and did not know exactly the best method of relieving the unfortunate man, who had just arrived and had a poor sick wife and six little children on the boat at the wharf. A kind-hearted gentleman had offered them a home at his farm in Illinois, a few miles from the river, and all he wished was money sufficient to hire a horse and wagon in which to move his helpless family. While the ladies were presenting his case to me, the Frenchman manifested great anxiety, and made the most touching appeals in the piteous expression of his face and manner. Presently, my husband, who had been indulging in his usual siesta, awoke and came down stairs. Now, the poor fellow can tell his own story, and Mr. Charless was pathetically appealed to, to listen to his tale of woe. Unfortunately for the man he was immediately recognized by your grandfather, who had but a short time before given him a cup of coffee, etc., from the kitchen, and had also procured work for him as a day laborer in a factory, which mode of subsistence not suiting the Frenchmans taste, he had slipped out of, and ran off, before commencing work. It was soon evident, from the juxtaposition of the two, one as accusant, the other defendant, which was not to be mistaken, even by a person ignorant of the language in which they spoke, that all was not right. His friends, the ladies, stared, when, upon each renewed attempt to convict him, he would assure, in the most self-possessed and polite manner, Your are mistaken, Monsieur, I have no doubt but that the man to whom you refer, was very like me, but not myself, I assure you, sir. Whereupon your grandfather proposed to accompany him to the boat for the purpose of seeing his family, promising to procure him a wagon and every thing necessary for their comfort and removal. But they had not gone far before the Frenchman began to sidle off, as it to turn a corner, but finding that it was no easy matter to get away from the persevering gentleman, who insisted upon being introduced to the Madame, he made a clean breast of the whole thing, Monsieur, I have no wife and little children, but you know when a poor man want he get nothing from the ladies unless he have one sick wife, and some poor little children. Excuse me, Monsieur, I mean no disrespect to you. No one liked a joke better than your grandfather, and being something of a tease too, he more than once slily referred to the pitiable condition of the poor Frenchman, which, although enjoyed by others, was not quite so keenly relished by the ladies, who had manifested so much interest in the welfare of the honest man, and his distressed family.
You are not old enough, my dear little children, to remember how devotedly fond Grandpa was of children, and how they all loved him, notwithstanding he was always playing some trick upon them. Sometimes at dinner when any of your little cousins were with us and would show by the interest expressed in their faces, when the dessert was being brought in, how eager they were to be helped, Grandpa would quietly and gravely say, Aunty, you neednt give Peter (or perhaps it might be Charless) any of that, he is not fond of Charlotte Russe, (or whatever 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, not even little Peter himself, (when he found out it was all a joke), could avoid a hearty laugh. And thus with a thousand little ways which fascinated the children he was decidedly a favorite among them. He never forgot what he liked, and how he felt, when a boy, and could easily enter into the feelings of a boy and be a sympathizing friend and companion.
I know some little boys whose parents lived on Pine Street, and although this was by no means the direct road from the garden, they used to watch for dear Mr. Charless return from that oft-frequented place in the cool of the evening, for he would be sure to come that way and stop a minute to fill their hats with peaches or apples, etc. One of these little boys, attracted one evening by a glorious sunset, which stretched its golden streaks and varied hues far and wide, lighting up the azure blue with unusual brilliancy and beauty, asked, Mamma, is nt that like heaven? Something like it, I expect, my son. Theres where good Mr. Charless will go, when he dies! said the little boy. And thus it was, even children felt the influence of such a godly life, as that of your beloved grandfather.
The marriage of your dear mother, and the necessity of her being so far separated from the home of her parents, away here in Louisiana, where there is no Protestant Church, and among strangers, whose isolated lives throw an almost impassable barrier in the way of social intercourse, made it incumbent on me to remain with her a greater part of the time. Your father gave your mothers parents a very cordial and pressing invitation to spend their winters with them, promising that they would always pass the summer with us, and that we should never be separated from our precious only child. But the business relations of your grandfather made it impossible for him to do more than to pay a visit of five or six weeks during the winter; but with the tender feeling of the father he was willing to submit to the self-denial of separation from his wife, that she might be with the darling of their united hearts. In one of his letters he says, You ask me, in your last, how I am getting on, I must be honest and say, bad enough. If I were not tied hand and foot I would cut loose from these cold regions and lonely habitations, and fly away to my ain wifey, and my ain bairns 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 March and April are here, and how delightful they must be in Louisiana. At another time he says, Kiss Louis, Lizzie and the babies for me, and believe me that whatever claims business or other ties, may have one me, my heart is ever with my dear ones.
In the winter of 1855 he was elected President of the Bank of Missouri. I find among my newspaper slips, an article relative to that fact which I will copy: We announced in our article of Friday last that the name of Joseph Charless, Esq., would probably pass through the Legislature, as the new President of the 'Bank of the State of Missouri. The Telegraph of this morning announces his election to that 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 the important post confided to him, by the Legislative wisdom of the State.
The Bank of Missouri is a State institution; were it otherwise we question whether we would refer to the matter at all. It is also by the wisdom of our fathers constituted (vide the Constitution) a monopoly, a moneyed monopoly too, and therefore, wields great power, and it is important to the people of this State to know in whose hands this great moneyed power is to be vested for the next two years, by the act of Legislature, if (perchance) the Bank is not turned into a private corporation, by act of Assembly, with the concurrence of private stockholders. We do not intend to tire our readers with a long yarn, and therefore proceed to say, that, Mr. Charless has lived, man and boy, in this State and in this city 45 years, being the worthy 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 managed his own private affairs in the prosecution of a large business, with prudence, skill and judgment, and the firm, of which he is head, enjoys a high credit, both at home and abroad.
He is a gentleman, too, of great suavity of manner, and exhibits a kind spirit in all his intercourse with men (a good quality for the post he is called to) and withal is a man of great firmness of purpose, not stubborn, of indomitable industry, perseverance and energy, and even in moneyed panics (the worst of all panics) would probably be as calm as a summer morning, while at the same time he would act, and act, too, efficiently, looking to the interest and safety of the corporation of which he is the head, and to the interests of the mercantile and trading 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 confidence of his fellow-citizens in an eminent degree. To use the western phrase, he is very popular, but we dont esteem this of much account. It is an idle wind, and may blow south or north to-morrow and proves nothing.
The new President, however, has not only a good character but a good reputation, and whether he will mar or advance the latter during his presidency, time only can determine.
Reputation based upon such a characters as his, could not be marred. But, ah! it was as President of this Bank, he was brought into contact with the wretched being who has robbed the world of a benefactor, and where can I find a word in which to embody an idea of the loss of those he so dearly loved.
He served two years in the State Bank, at which time the term expired, and he determined to be no longer tied down to St. Louis, more than was necessary to attend to his own business. But in the formation of the Mechanics Bank the Board of Directors insisted upon have Mr. Charless for their President. He refused positively, but they still insisted; and, at length, urgently requested that he would accept the presidency of this new institution until fairly established, if for no longer time. He finally acceded to the latter proposition. But after once getting in, there was no getting out of it; for he found the gentlemen with whom he was there associated so very congenial, and his duties not onerous but pleasant, so that he continued to serve them until the day of his death, having signed the last notes on the 1st of June.
It only remains for me to say, my dear children, that after the marriage of your mother, the summers were our gala time, for Lizzie and the boys and grandma were all at home, and happy Grandpa would in his excess of joy forget the lonely winters, which he had endeavored by constant occupation at the store, the bank, and in the Church, to make the best of. His evenings were spent in reading, and in holding communion, by letter writing, with his loved ones far away: which, excepting on Church evenings, he would occasionally vary by a visit to some friend, of whom, I need not say, he had many, who would have esteemed it a privilege, during my absence, to have admitted him into their 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 familiar spot, where he could so readily call up to his mind the earthly idols of his heart.
I shall ever be thankful, to the Ruler of all events, that I was with him during the whole winter immediately preceding his death. We accompanied our daughter and her three little boys to their home in Louisiana in December; staid two weeks with them, and returned together, fully determined to be no more separated; that, in future, together we would visit our children, and together return to our lonely home. For the light that had gone out when our daughter married, was no more kindled in our aching hearts, notwithstanding the joy we felt in the possession of our precious little grandchildren. In earlier life when we pictured to ourselves a green old age, with our bairn and bairns bairns about us, it was a different scene from the reality when it came with its long separations and anxieties.
Our greatest solace during this last winter of our pilgrimage together, was the service of our God. And oh, with what gratitude I shall ever remember His loving kindness and tender mercies towards us. He leadeth us in ways we know not of. He can comfort in the darkest hour.
The spring came, and with it, a month or two earlier than usual, our beloved ones returned to the longed for homestead, around which were so many tender recollections of a happy, very happy life. How your dear mother clung to that precious father! How she feasted upon his every look. She followed him every where; in his rides, in his strolls through the garden. She accompanied him at night, and at all times to Church, preferring (when we did not ride) to take the long walk with father to going with mother across the street to the Second Church. When business called him away from his much prized domestic circle, she would walk, with her arm wrapped around him, to the door, and follow him with her eyes down the street until out of sight. After her return home that spring, when she first saw his portrait, that he had had taken for her, she wept, and could not tell why, except that it was faultless.
And now, my dear children, I am treading so closely upon that last morning, that I begin to tremble.
On Friday, June 3, 1859, your dear grandfather arose early, and drove, as he was wont to do, to the garden. While there he gathered and tied together a bunch of flowers for his daughter, and when I came down stairs to breakfast he was sitting at the window, where he had evidently read the morning paper and laid it aside, and was enjoying the sports of his little sonny boys who were at play on the grass plot. I gave him my last good morning kiss, little thinking that in joy our lips would no more be pressed, and turning to the beautiful bouquet, which was placed in a glass of water at our daughters plate, I took it up and admired it. He had gathered his first fuchsia to put in her bouquet.
Our last breakfast is over. At worship little Charless seated himself opposite his grandpa, and observed him attentively as he read the Bible and one of the metre Psalms. We knelt in prayer, the only words of which, that I remember, are, We thank thee, O God, that thy mercies are new to us every morning, and fresh every evening. After worship he stood erect before us, his countenance full of his usual look of benevolence and love, as he asked, Whats the order of the day? 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 to stay with us, while they remained in St. Louis). In ten or fifteen minutes the door bell rang violently. A young man entered and tremblingly said, Mr. Charless is badly hurt on Market Street. I heard nothing more, but running, and hoping that he was not hurt so seriously, I found myself among a crowd of people, and then beside my dying 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 my senses, and I was so impressed with the sanctity of the spot that it seems to me I dropped, but dropped very softly beside him. Be still and know that I am God, seemed to be spoken by the Holy One, into my ear and heart. And I was still. I thought, of course, this was an accident, but when I heard from his own pale, slightly parted lips, as he answered some one who asked, Who did this, Mr. Charless, that he was murdered!
Where! Who! I exclaimed, could do this deed! But instantly turning 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 and showed me all I have passed through since, I must have died. But he does not try us more than we are able to bear. Indeed he bestowed such rich spiritual blessings upon us (your dear mother and myself) in that dark hour, that we were astonishingly sustained. We were filled with gratitude because dear father was ready. We knew that he had nothing to do, but to die. Like Stephen, he fell asleep.
My beloved children, I have his dying words written down, and after I show you what the newspapers say, and you have read his funeral sermon, perhaps I will tell you more about the last moments of your 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, since which time, war has desolated our once prosperous and happy country, and drenched its soil with the blood of her sons. All has been excitement and turmoil. Many widows and orphans have been made-and the 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 the nation-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 upon his sad and unexpected death, and in imagination mingled with the throng that followed him to his last resting place-your mind will naturally revert to the lonely homestead and its desolate inmates. But words cannot picture the anguished of our hearts, the gloom and loneliness of our home—after the last relic of its light and glory had passed away from our view. So you will follow me, my dear children, to that little store on Market Street; look upon the bare floor, and behold your grandfather-the gentle and loving man, in his dying 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 he uttered, fervently, Lord Jesus, come quickly.
Again, said he, I am a great sinner. Some one directed him to look to Jesus. I do look to him. He is my all. He is very precious to my soul.
Again, he said, I deserve all I suffer, for I am a great sinner.
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 loved you-and I love you to the end. Then turning his eye towards your father, who was on the opposite side of him, said he, Louis, I leave my 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 to testify against him in court last fall. While President of the Bank of Missouri, he brought me some bank notes to redeem. They were stained and had the appearance of having been buried. I asked him where he got those notes. He replied, he had bought them from some boatmen, who said they had found them under a stump, which had been pulled up from a boat having been tied to it. I told him that was a very unlikely story. When called upon to testify, I told, upon oath, what I knew about 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 have always 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 never shrunk from discharging my duty as a man, and as a Christian.
Sometime afterwards he said, How little we know what is before us.
I remember, my children, in that dark hour, to have seen your dear mother, kneeling at the head of her precious father, in the deepest woe, alternating between glimmerings of hope, and agonizing fear.
To some remark of Col Grimsley, he said, No, Colonel, no! I forgive my murderer; from the bottom of my heart, I forgive him.
Some one asked him if he would not like to see a minister. He answered, Send for Mr. McPheeters. You will find him at the Second Presbyterian 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 she too has left us and gone away, to return no more to cheer, to sympathize with, and to comfort us in our sorrows-was at my brothers, six miles from the city, and was late in meeting with us at this mournful scene. When she arrived, in broken accents she asked, Is there no hope? Is there no hope? No hope here, replied my husband, 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 blissful presence of the adorable Jesus! But, come back my thoughts from that joyous abode, to the once happy little earthly home, I used to have, and go with me, dear children, to the same parlors, where your dear mother 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. The beloved and admired of all who knew him. The rooms, the halls, are filled with anxious friends, but stillness reigns. Not a sound is heard save the involuntary groans of the dying Christian. In the midst of them he would sometimes exclaim, God have mercy upon me a sinner!
Through that long dark day, little was said. After many paroxysms of intense pain, Mr. McPheeters said, Mr. Charless, you know something now about the sufferings of Jesus. Yes, he faintly replied, I have been thinking about that, while lying here.
Again, Mr. McPheeters repeated, Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. In broken accents he replied, Nevertheless not 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, he placed his hand upon the head of your poor mother, and said, My precious daughter.
Again and again he uttered, My poor wife. He well knew how desolate his poor wife would be in this bleak world without him.
Towards the close of his sufferings, said he, Will my heart strings 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.
And now, my dear children, I have but little more to say. It has been a hard struggle for me to write much that I have written; for it seemed like tearing open my heart. But the ardent desire that the virtues of my husband should not die out as his name has done, and the fear that, as one by one of those who knew and loved him, should be laid 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 the ancestor, who thus fell, might by his evil deeds have provoked his untimely end. I have often felt, too, while penning these letters, it is useless; my grandchildren will perhaps never even take the pains to read them, and if read they may not be impressed by them or stimulated to a single effort, to imitate the being I so much love and admire, and whose blood still flows in their own veins.
One of the few friends to whom I communicated my intention to write this sketch, and for whose opinion I have a high regard, wrote me as follows:
Do not suffer yourself to forget that when your grandchildren shall have become old enough to understand what you write, the present and the future will be the object of their interest, not the past and the dead. They will be unlike humanity, if they take any interest, in what so much interests you. I very much fear that your labors will wholly fail of accomplishing the good your earnest and loving heart intends.
In the same letter he also expresses a fear that it will be impossible for me to make any attempt of the kind which will not be a very 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 result is, a picture which all who read it, having known the object, see to be colored by the hand of love.
If I had not already written twelve or thirteen letters before this damper to my efforts came to hand; I do not know that I would have had the courage to proceed, and I am now gratified to see, in reperusing the letters of condolence which we received after the death of your grandfather, that they, no less than the public manifestations of the community where he lived and died, corroborate what I have said in relation to him. Of the forty-seven letters received from friends, from every part of the country, there is but one opinion. All speak of him as an uncommon man, whose loss is irreparable. I will copy a few extracts from these letters, scarcely knowing, however, which to select, so full they all are of praises of him, whose memory, I humbly pray, his children may ever cherish as their richest earthly inheritance.
A gentleman of Cincinnati writes: After the first stunning realization of the horrible crime of which your dear and universally beloved husband has been the victim, we continue to ask ourselves, if such a man is murdered, who can be safe? A man so kind, so just, so gentle, so good. I never knew a man whose whole life and character would have seemed a better guarantee against all violence, even of feeling.
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 an expression of her heart-felt sympathy for him, and for the bereaved wife and child): St. Louis has not been alone in her just indignation and horror at the cruel and ruthless deed committed on one of her principal streets; the bitter lament she so recently sent forth to all parts of the country has been re-echoed back again by many hearts and voices, that never knew our poor friend. May I not then, who have known him from his early youth, be permitted to bear my testimony to his many excellencies of character, so justly portrayed by his own Pastor, and others, with whom he was associated? Yes! there is but one voice on that subject, as there should be but one earnest wish, by all who mourn this sad event, May I die the death of the righteous, and may my last end be like his. I know that on the face of the widowed wife and her only child, there rests the expression of unutterable sorrow, but her Maker is her husband, and her fatherless one, His peculiar care. The cold grave does not contain the immortal spirit that 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 hereafter learn the history of his amiable character, of his serene, and exalted piety, his peaceful conscience, and his martyr death, be so impressed as to join themselves to the followers of the Cross, and bear the same noble testimony to the excellence of our holy religion that our friend, Mr. Charless, has done.
Another lady writes, from Cumberland, Penn., thus: My heart bleeds for you all, for well I know what a treasure you have lost. Few persons beyond your family circle had a better opportunity of knowing your beloved husband, and none, I venture to say, loved and admired him more. The world at large knew and valued him as a noble Christian gentleman, as a man of sterling integrity, and enlarged benevolence, but who could understand all his excellence and all his loveliness, but those who have been privileged, as I have so often been, to see him in the sweet relations of husband and father, to bow with him at his family altar, and to hear the fervent, yet humble, outpourings of the Christian heart before the mercy seat? Ah! well do I remember how tenderly, how sweetly, his petitions were wont to ascend for me, at the time of my deep and overwhelming sorrow; and when about to leave his hospitable roof, how affectionately he would commend the stricken one to our heavenly Fathers gracious care. These remembrances will linger about the heart as long as it throbs with life. Oh! sad, sad is the thought that I shall no more hear that sweet voice pleading with our Father 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 gracious care; while, with lowly meekness, he confessed and bewailed his sins, and plead for pardon with a childlike love and trust in our blessed Saviour. But oh! delightful thought, his prayers are now turned to praise.
I will copy a part of a letter, from a gentleman in the city of New York, to show what kind of an impression your dear grandfather made upon strangers.
June 4, 1859."
Very dear Madam: Although a stranger to you, I cannot repress the expression of the heart-felt sympathy of myself and my whole family for you in your late terrible bereavement. Language is totally at fault in its poverty to convey what we feel, or give words that shall comfort you in your heavy affliction. Our acquaintance with your dear husband was recent and short, but it was long enough to endear him to our hearts in no ordinary way. We had gone to the house of God in company, and taken sweet counsel together. We had mingled our songs of praise around the domestic altar, and at the same holy place had poured out 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 say that our intercourse with your dear husband was all that was sweet and refreshing to the Christians heart, and time can never efface the delightful impression he left in our family when he took an affectionate leave of us all in order to join you and his dear daughter, and grandchildren. Every look and every word as is fresh as yesterday, and his sweet memory will be cherished by Mrs. S. and myself, and all our children, every one of whom became warmly attached to him.