"I have just called on Dr. Drake and family, and find them very
pleasant people. We stay here but a few hours, and leave for Wheeling,
at 8 o'clock to-night. Remember me to mother, and to all our dear
friends at home. Yours truly, JOS. CHARLESS."
This is a very characteristic letter, and I will take occasion
here to acknowledge, with shame, that, with my ardent temperament, I
was not always pleased with my husband's universal care, and love, and
consideration of everybody, without a stronger expression of his
feelings for me. When he presented me with a set of pearls, before our
marriage, he brought two sets for me to select from, not being able
himself to decide which was the prettiest. As soon as I expressed a
preference, he handed that set to me, and the other to my sister,
politely asking her acceptance of it. While I was pleased to see my
sweet sister with a set of pearls, like mine, I would have been more
pleased with his attention if it had been directed to me only; and
often have I lost sight of his devotion to me--by every act of his
life, not less in his love to those most dear to me, than in thousands
of other ways--because he did not make a more marked difference in
his acts, and bestow upon me, in words, a stronger expression of his
love.
But I have lived long enough to find out what empty things words
are: how poor and mean, compared with a life which, like "a living
epistle, is known and read of all men."
"A happy New Year to my dear C., and all my dear friends," etc.
His was a courtesy which sprung from the heart--which was seen alone
with his wife in the cordial New Year's greeting, or at the fireside,
with familiar loved ones there; that came from his pen, or flew upon
the telegraph; a courtesy that carried soul with it, and made everyone
feel the value of his friendship and love; not that which is the result
of false teaching, or a false heart--to be put on, or put off, as it
suits the place or the whim of its possessor.
But I promised to quote some extracts from other letters. Well,
here is one: "I hope, dear Charlotte, you have taken care of your
health in my absence, and that I shall have the happiness to see you
yourself again. I pray the Lord to be merciful unto us, and grant that
we may meet again, and that our hearts may once more be raised, with
our voices, around our family altar, to Him who purchased us by His
blood, and, as we hope, redeemed us unto a new life; and that His
blessing may extend to all who are near and dear to us; that all our
family may be united in serving the Lord fervently and affectionately."
Again he says: "I hope that, in the letters you have written, you
have told me all about the business of the store, and house, and farm,
and generally all the news of home, as I will not be able to receive an
answer to this, or any of my subsequent letters from the east."
My husband made me his confidant. He did not think me so far
beneath him as not to be able to understand, and to appreciate all that
interested him--his "business," his "farm. At "the house" he ever
considered me the head, while he relieved me of every possible care, by
strict personal attention to all out-of-door work connected with
housekeeping. This little farm to which he refers was his delight; for
it served as recreation from the toils of mercantile life, and afforded
him unalloyed pleasure. He was fond of flowers, of fruits, of trees, of
meadows, and everything pertaining to country life. It was impossible
for him to stand and look at others who were at work in the garden. He
would throw off his coat, seize the spade or the hoe, and go to work
himself with the most intense relish. Not the most minute little wild
flower ever escaped his notice, or was ruthlessly trodden under foot;
but, stooping down, he would take up the tiny thing, and hold it up for
admiration, seeming to think that others could not but admire it as he
did. Oh, my husband! how sweet and pure was your life! Tears fall as I
think of thee.
Before this period in the history of your grandfather, we had
exchanged our old residence for a very delightful one, near to his
paternal home, on Market and Fifth streets. It had been built by Mr.
and Mrs. Wahrendorff, for their own use; had a large yard, and every
improvement necessary to make it second to none in the city. Here your
dear mother passed seven years of her happy childhood, and still
remembers what romps she used to have with her papa; how she would
watch for him at the alley-gate, with hands full of snow-balls to pelt
him with, and how he would catch her up in his arms, kiss her cheeks,
plunge them into the snowbank, and then give her a fair chance to pay
him back. She remembers what assistance he would render her in the very
grave business of catching pigeons, by creeping up behind them, and
sprinkling "a little fresh salt upon their tails." She has not
forgotten the happy Christmas mornings, when old Santa Claus was sure
to load her with presents; nor her school-girl parties, which would
have been no parties at all without "papa" to make fun for them; and
many other things, perhaps, which I never knew, or noticed, she could
tell you. But "grandma" remembers some things, which, as she wants you
to see "grandpa" just as he was, she will relate to you.
About this time, we had a dining-room waiter, who, one day, was
such a luckless wight as to be very impertinent to me. He was an
"exquisite," (in his way), although as black as the "ace of spades;"
wore a stiff shirt collar, that looked snow-white, from the contrast,
and combed his hair so nicely that it appeared as fleecy as
zephyr-worsted. He had, however, a habit of going off, without
anybody's knowing where, and staying a long time, neglecting his work,
and provoking "grandma." Upon his return, when she would inquire
where he had been, his answer invariably was, "To the barbers,
ma'am"--accompanied by a bow, and an odoriferous compound of barbarous
perfumes, presenting altogether such a ludicrous picture that I could
not possibly avoid laughing; after which, of course, I would have to
excuse him, with the mild injunction not to stay so long again. Anthony
presumed upon this mode of treatment until it ceased to be amusing to
me, when, with a good grace, I was enabled to administer a severe
reproof, which he returned with the most unheard-of impudence. As soon
as his master came in, I related the fact to him. In an instant, as
Anthony was passing the dining-room door, my husband sprang at
him--caught him by the collar, shook and twirled him around into the
gallery, and pounded him with his bare fists to his heart's content.
In this changing world, I do not know but that, in the course of
time, you little Southerners may become fanatical abolitionists, and,
losing sight, in the above case, of the cause of provocation, in your
tenderness and sympathy for the slave, will attribute this
unceremonious treatment of poor Anthony to the fact that he was one of
those "colored unfortunates." Therefore, to set you right, at least,
with regard to the character of your grandfather, I will give you
another instance of his impulsiveness, which, perhaps, may be
considered a flaw in the character of this singularly pure and noble
man.
Some years after the circumstance related above, a young friend
was living with us who had a hired white girl for a nurse. I soon
discovered that she was an unprincipled, saucy girl; but she was smart
enough to get on the "blind side" of this young mother, by nursing the
babe (as she thought) admirably well. When I could no longer put up
with her encroachments, I took the girl to one side, and laid down the
law; whereupon the enraged creature was excessively impertinent. After
finding that my dear little friend had not the moral courage to dismiss
the girl (which she might have done, for I offered to take care of the
baby myself until another could be procured), I suppressed my emotions,
and bore it as well as I could. From reasons of consideration for my
husband, who seemed much wearied that evening after returning home from
business, I concluded not to consult him about what was best to be done
until next morning, when, upon hearing the particulars of this little
episode in domestic life, he arose in great haste, and so excited as
scarcely to be able to get into his clothes. I begged him to be calm,
but there was no calmness for him until he got hold of the girl, ran
her down two flights of stairs, and out of the door into the street,
having ordered her, in no very measured terms, never again to cross his
threshold.
In the course of his whole life, I witnessed but one (or perhaps
two) other instances of like impetuosity. They were rare, indeed, and
always immediately followed, as in the cases above referred to, by his
usual calmness and good humor, no trace being left of the storm within,
save a subdued smile, which had in it more of shame than triumph. I
have been told that, in his counting-room, he has occasionally produced
a sensation by like demonstrations, caused, in every case, by the
entrance of some person who, not knowing the stuff he was made of,
would venture to make an attack upon the character of some friend of
his; or, perhaps, would make a few insidious remarks, "just to put Mr.
Charless on his guard." But the slanderous intruder would soon find out
the quicker he was outside of the store the better for him, much to the
astonishment, and amusement, too, of his partners and clerks, who, but
for those rare flashes of temper, and an occasional "stirring up" of a
milder sort among the boys in the store, could not be made to believe
it possible that Mr. Charless could be otherwise than mild and genial
as a sunbeam.
He was never known to resent, in this kind of way, any indignity
shown to himself, which was rarely done by any one. Unfortunately,
however, on one occasion, he gained the displeasure of an Irishman,
(from whom he had borrowed some money), who was half lawyer, half
money-broker. Standing with a group of gentlemen, in conversation about
money matters, per centage, etc., your grandfather remarked that he had
borrowed a certain amount from Mr. M., for a certain per cent., (naming
it). One of the gentlemen asked, "Are you sure, Mr. Charless? for that
was my money Mr. M. lent you, and he informed me that you were to pay
him only so much," (naming the per cent., which happened to be less
than that agreed upon). Mr. Charless, perceiving his faux pas,
expressed a regret that he had so unwittingly mentioned what, it
seemed, should have been kept secret; which was all he could do. Mr.
M., of course, heard of it. He knew well that he could not revenge
himself upon him who was the innocent cause of his exposure, in St.
Louis; but in New York, where neither were so well known, he did all he
could to injure Mr. Charless' reputation. The friends of the latter,
having heard of Mr. M.'s unprincipled conduct, in insidiously striving
to undermine the confidence reposed in him there, informed him of it,
expecting that he would take some notice of the matter--which he did
not do. They came again, and protested against his allowing that
fellow to continue these aspersions. He smiled, and replied, I am
not afraid of his doing me any harm; let him go on. He did go on, and
after awhile he returned to St. Louis, when some mutual friend (poor
Mr. M. still had friends among gentlemen) informed him that certain
reports against Mr. Charless, which had reached St. Louis, as coming
from him, were doing him considerable injury; not Mr. C, for he stood
too high in the estimation of the community to be injured by slanderous
reports of any kind whatever. Whereupon Mr. M. denied having made
them, and expressed a determination to explain, and make the matter all
right with Mr. Charless. For this purpose, one day, as the latter was
passing a livery stable, where Mr. M. was waiting for his buggy to be
brought out, he called to Mr. Charless, who passed along without
noticing him. Again he called saying, Mr. Charless, I want to speak
to you. Mr. Charless waved his hand back at him, and went on.
Elevating his voice, said he, Do you refuse to speak to me, sir?
Still a wave of the hand-nothing more. This was too much for the
hot-headed gentleman. His raving and abuse attracted the attention of
everybody about there to the hand, which still waved, as grandpa
walked on, and said, too plainly to be mistaken, in its silent
contempt, I cant lower myself by speaking to such a dirty fellow as
you are.
Without a word or circumstance from your grandfather, it
circulated from mouth to mouth, with considerable gusto; from which, I
need not say, Mr. M. had the worst of it.
It has given me some pain, my dear children, to speak of these
incidents; and, indeed, there are many things (some very sweet to me)
that I feel constrained to write which I would gladly keep secret and
sacred in my soul, but for a firm conviction that such a halo of light
as has shone about my path, from the pure life of your beloved
grandfather, should not be allowed to go out. And the faithful
historian cannot give the light without the shadows.
Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.
Belmont, February, 1861.