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,