Chapter V: Part 5

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.

PEACEFULLY HE LIVED-PEACEFULLY HE DIED!

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.

I feel that I am doing that which will re-open the bleeding wound, but I cannot help it, as my own emotions must have the relief which this note of sympathy only partially affords. O, how unspeakably dear to us is the thought of his readiness for the great change, and that he is now walking those golden streets, and basking in the smiles of his Saviour. And how consoling the many sweet assurances of our heavenly Father that he doth not willingly afflict, that all things work 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 the gentleman who wrote this letter, and yet a stranger to him, it may be of interest to you to know, that in the spring of 1859, just before the return of your dear mother and yourselves to St. Louis, from your Southern home, he paid a short visit to the city of New York, to attend to some business for the Mechanics Bank, which brought him in contact with Mr. S., President of the Bank of the Republic, who gave him a pressing invitation to pass the Sabbath day with him, at his country seat, on the Hudson river. He accepted the invitation, accompanied his new made friend on Saturday afternoon, and returned Monday morning; and was thus made acquainted with a charming family, of whom he several times 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 own feelings refrain from expressing to you the deep, deep grief I felt at the loss of our dear friend, Mr. Charless. In all my intercourse with the world I can safely say that he was the purest and best man I have ever known. Thousands have lost their best friend, society one of its brightest ornaments, and his family-Great God, how can their loss be described. I have been proud for twenty years to claim him as my friend, 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 to human nature, and I never, sir, expect to meet his equal again in all that is essential to make a good and true man.

Another gentleman, who dates his letter, Sarcoxie, June 10, in addressing the same brother, after offering his sincere condolence to him, and through him to the immediate family of the deceased, says: My relations with Mr. Charless it is true were mostly of a business character, yet a relation of this kind of twenty years standing, could not exist with such a man without producing feelings of a kindly character. Such I entertain for him, though I never saw his face; and I am persuaded that he entertained similar feelings toward me. I shall ever cherish his memory as one of the best friends I ever had in my life. 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 Macaulays Essays, a few days since, was struck with his description of the late Lord Holland, as being so much like her father. She pointed it out to me, and it so exactly accords with my views of him, also, that I think I may be excused by transferring it to this letter, for your perusal. He says of the expression of Lord Hollands face, that it was singularly compounded of sense, humor, courage, openness, a strong will and a sweet temper, and that he had the most gracious and interesting countenance that was ever lighted up by the mingled luster of intelligence and benevolence. As it was with the faces of the men of this noble family (referring to Lord Holland and his ancestors) so was it with their minds. Nature had done much for them all. She had moulded them all of that clay, of which she is most sparing. To all she had given strong reason and a sharp wit; a quick relish for every physical and intellectual enjoyment; constitutional intrepidity, and that frankness by which constitutional intrepidity is generally accompanied; spirits which nothing could depress; tempers easy, generous and placable; and that genial courtesy which has its seat in the heart, and of which artificial politeness is only a faint and cold imitation. Such a disposition is the richest inheritance that ever was entailed on any family.

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

1st. The death of Mr. Charless teaches us the mysteriousness of Gods providence. In the calamity, dear hearers, which has removed from our midst one of the best men of this, or any previous age of the world, and overwhelmed so many in deep sorrow, we are pointed to the cruel and murderous hand of the assassin, but this was only the proximate cause of his sudden and violent death. There is a high and remote cause to which we must look, if we would find the true source of this event, which has thrilled the heart of this whole community. That cause, dear hearers, is the providence of God.

Rev. Dr. Palmer of New Orleans, whom you recollect was to be our guest when in St. Louis, in June, 1859, told me that on that Sabbath day, when so many tearful eyes were looking for the last time upon the placid countenance of the beloved, who lay so still and cold in his coffin, he saw at the hotel where he was staying, among others who were lamenting the untimely end of Mr. Charless, men of rough appearance, who would one moment use the most horrible oaths of vengeance against the perpetrator of the bloody dead, and the next, their voices softening with expressions of tender regret, big tears were seen streaming down their cheeks, showing, as Dr. Palmer said, how they loved the man from whom, in a moral point of view, they were so far separated, 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 of this dear friend, I will extract but a portion of one:

Resolved, That in the death of JOSEPH CHARLESS, Esq., we, as representatives of The Home of the Friendless, are called to grieve for the loss of our First Patron. He whose benefactions, stimulated into action the earliest impulses that led to the establishing of this institution, and whose sympathizing heart and ready hand followed us to the end of his life. Truly of him it may be said, The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him, and he caused the widows heart to sing for joy.

In conclusion, my dear children, I am reminded as I often have been while writing these letters, that my husband was not fond of praise, and that he particularly disliked any approach to it from his wife, for he thought it almost as unbecoming in her to extol his virtues 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 he had been redeemed from the curse of a broken law and was indebted to God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, for all that he had or was. And to God truly does the glory belong! Nature had done much for him, but Grace far more. And while, my dear children, I would again and again point you to your noble grandfather as an example worthy of your imitation, 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 it wanes until it ceases to be seen before the dazzling purity of the Sun of Righteousness! Man, although he was originally made pure, has fallen very low in the scale of moral being, on account of sin. And notwithstanding he may by nature be endowed with many amiable qualities and many excellencies of character, the atmosphere of this sinful world is not favorable to their proper development, so that the virtuous and happy youth, gifted as he may be with intellectual capacity, and having ever so large a share of moral courage, may yet not be able to resist evil; and at last may become a bad, and, consequently, a discontented man. And it is certain, that, although he may live above reproach before his fellows, and achieve wonders in his career through life, he can never be noted for true moral excellence without Christianity.

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

That you may be guided by the precepts of Gods Holy Word, which is so faithfully taught you from week to week by your own sweet mother, my precious grandchildren, and that the dews of Divine Grace may distil from heaven upon you, making you true men and women, that you may live the life of the righteous, and at last be found among those who have washed 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 to you, concerning the life of your Grandfather Charless, giving many incidents and recollections of him, which I doubt not will be of the greatest interest to you, and to those who will come after you; at her request, I will also add a letter on the same subject.

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

I wish very much that I could give you the picture of your Grandfather, as he was, and as he lives in my memory. And when I first undertook the pleasant task, so distinct was his whole character upon my memory, and so dear was the recollection of Mr. Charless to my heart, that I thought it would be easy to transfer to paper the image that was in my mind. But I have not found it so. I have once and again failed to satisfy myself in efforts I made to draw his moral and social portrait, nor do I know that I will succeed better now. But you may ask what is the difficulty? I will reply by an illustration from nature. When one is familiar with a landscape that is marked by bold mountains, prominent headlands, or rushing torrents, it is not difficult 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, such an object of beauty and delight to the soul. There are a thousand objects too minute for detailed description, which, blended, charm the eye and please the fancy, and make us exclaim, How beautiful! The verdant grass, and modest flower, and budding tree, and singing bird, and genial sun, and balmy air, and light, and shade, all combine to make a scene, which he who sees it feels, but cannot easily reproduce in the mind of another. So it is with Mr. Charless. That which gave him his peculiar charm was not one or two striking characteristics which distinguished him from other men, but it was a beautiful combination of many noble and lovely traits, in proportions so just, and in harmony so pleasing, that when I have attempted to select this and that characteristic for description, I feel that I have succeeded about as well, as if I had collected a bouquet from the valley of which I just spoke, and should give it to a friend as a picture of the landscape itself. The truth is, my young friends, you will never truly know 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 something of him, and form some true idea of his character. And it is with the hope that I may add to your pleasure that I shall try and give you some account 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 a Ruling Elder. This official connection necessarily brought me in frequent intercourse with him, and as it was hardly possible to know such a man at all, without wishing to know him better, our intercourse soon ripened into friendship, which continued while he lived.

How well do I remember the first time I saw Mr. Charless, and the impression he made upon me. I had just come to St. Louis, from Virginia, to visit Westminster Church, with a view of settlement as its Pastor, if we should be mutually pleased. Being comparatively young and inexperienced, I felt much diffidence in undertaking the charge of a Church in a large city. It would have taken little to have discouraged me and made me abandon the thought; when I saw St. Louis, I felt so unfit to labor in such a place, that I was more than half regretting that I had listened to the invitation. As soon as he learned that I had arrived he called to see me. And there was something so cordial and winning in his manner, he was so frank and kind, that I at once felt that I could give him my confidence, and that with 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 of personal kindnesses shown me. I never went to him discouraged or dispirited that he did not impart some of the cheerful hope, which was so characteristic of his own mind. I never sought his advice when perplexed, or in doubt, that he did not, by his wise counsel, throw light 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 very dear to me, but never such a friend as Mr. Charless; and what he was to me in our peculiar relations, such he was also to many, many others, in the various relations of life. But while so true and valuable a friend, I do not think I ever knew a man who made fewer declarations or professions of friendship.

You will get a very good idea of your grandfathers personal appearance from the excellent portraits of him in the family. He was slightly above the average height, well developed, without being corpulent, had a firm elastic step, and motions indicating vigor and health. His eye was bright, but mild, his features regular and unusually handsome, and his countenance was habitually lighted up by an intelligence and benignity which gave it a peculiar charm, and inspired even strangers with a confidence that such a face could not belong to any but a good and upright man. Mr. Charless was an exceedingly pleasant companion, and, without being either brilliant or witty in conversation, his society was courted and his arrival was always hailed with pleasure by the company in which he mingled, for he brought with him a bright face, a cheerful heart, a genial humor and hearty cordiality that seemed to diffuse itself through all around-children, young people and old people seemed alike to enjoy his society-yet he never seemed to me to make an effort to be agreeable, he only acted out his natural feelings and disposition, and this was agreeable.

I hesitate some in describing your grandfather as a very polished and polite man. I fear you might put a meaning to those words which would lead you into a wrong view of his character: there is a polish and politeness that is the result of art and painstaking-a thing on the surface-often a disguise, having its root in expediency, always self-conscious and often selfish-something that may please us because it flatters us, but does not win us because we cannot trust it. Nothing could be more unlike Mr. Charless than this. Yet there is a polish which flows from a nice sense of what is fitting and proper to be done in social intercourse, from ease and self-possession, from a kind heart and desire to make others happy; a politeness that is made up 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 making you easy; that flows, not from rules, but from good principles and a generous nature, in this sense Mr. Charless was eminently a polished and polite man. I have seen him with persons in humble life, he made them easy and treated them with kindness. I have seen him with men of eminent positions and great reputation, he was at perfect ease himself and commanded their marked respect.

Mr. Charless was not a learned man, and made no pretensions to learning, yet he was remarkably well informed; kept himself acquainted with the current literature of the day, and conversed with intelligence and good sense on all matters that came up in general society. On more than one occasion he surprised me, by showing an amount and accuracy of acquaintance with subjects which I had supposed lay out of the range of his investigation, and of which I should never have known that he had a knowledge had they not casually come up in conversation. I met him one day, 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 it with so much pleasure that I sent for a copy for you. When I got home I was surprised to find it an elaborate and scientific treatise on the nature of the Church, a work which, I venture the assertion, not one layman in five hundred would have thought of reading, or would have finished if he had begun it.

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

Mr. Charless was a modest and very unassuming man, and never pushed himself forward, yet he had a just estimate of his abilities, knew what he could do, and when called upon by circumstances, or by those with whom he acted, to take the lead, if the thing commended itself to his judgment, without ado or apology, he went forward and did it; and I have often been surprised to see how much he could accomplish and how well he did what he undertook. Besides his private business which 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 the various benevolent and educational schemes, in commercial and municipal enterprises, and still found time to attend to a multitude of little business matters for friends, who would avail themselves of his experience, and, I will add, (being one of the number myself), impose upon his kindness. But while always busy he never seemed in a hurry. The fact is, he had, in addition to great energy, a most uncommon amount of business talent. He was a thorough business man, and conducted all his affairs on strict business principles; a little circumstance will illustrate this: I was settling with him an account of a few dollars, in some matter which he had attended to for me. I handed him the money and there was a few cents in change, which neither he nor I could make. It was so insignificant that I said, Never mind, Mr. Charless, that makes no difference. He replied, promptly, But it does 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, You preachers are too often poor business men, and I want my Pastor to be not only a good preacher, but a good business man. The rule is, meet your engagements to the minute and pay your debts to the cent. The whole thing made, as he designed it should, an impression on my mind, and has been of great advantage to me. I have often repeated the anecdote to other clergymen, and hope it has been an advantage to them.