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.
You will often hear from those who knew your grandfather speak of
his great kindness, his habitual placidity of temper, and uncommon
sweetness of disposition, and all this was eminently true of him; but
if you are led by such accounts to think of him as in any degree what
is called a yea-nay sort of character, or as destitute of spirit, or
even incapable of passion, you will make a great mistake. He was not
at all deficient in firmness, and had not only moral but physical
courage in an eminent degree. As he never wantonly gave so he never
tamely brooked an indignity. His eye could flash as well as laugh. I
was one day conversing pleasantly with him in his private office in the
Bank, of which he was President. A gentleman came in, evidently in a
pet, and addressing Mr. Charless, spoke in a very harsh way, and with
broad insinuations against one of the Bank Directors, in relation to
some transaction. Before he had well finished his invective Mr.
Charless rose to his feet, his eye kindling, every feature of his faced
marked by sternness, and replied, Sir, the gentleman of whom you speak
is my personal friend. The charge you bring against him is not true;
the facts were these (mentioning them concisely but clearly), and now,
sir, you must retract what you have said. The gentleman evidently
taken aback, both Mr. Charless statement of the case, and manner,
immediately calmed down, made an explanation and withdrew. I could not
resist a hearty laugh at the storm which had so suddenly burst upon us
and had been as suddenly quelled, and turning to him said, Mr.
Charless, I had no idea you had so much pluck. He joined the laugh
and said, My Irish will sometimes come up. Besides, he added, more
gravely, that man took no pains to learn the facts of the case, and
has a way of bullying that I wanted to put a stop to.
Few men had a keener relish for what was humorous or enjoyed a
laugh better than Mr. Charless, and with little children he was playful
and would sometimes even join in their sports, and if he did not join
them he would look on and seemed to relish with great zest their pranks
and joyous shouts and gambols. Perhaps some persons would not have
mentioned such a trait of character, as it might seem to imply a want
of dignity. I beg leave to differ from such. There is a dignity of
manner and a dignity of character, not only quite separable, but often
separated. I have known men who had great dignity of manner and very
little dignity of character, and they are to me among the most irksome
of mortals. Mr. Charless, while not deficient in dignity of manner,
when occasion called for it, was truly dignified in character. The one
he might drop for a little while, the other he never dropped. The
children, with whom he might sport or familiarly talk, respected him
just as much as if he had the manner of a Judge on the bench, and then
they loved him far better; and there was to me in these occasional
overflowings of a genial nature, this return of youthful feeling in
mature manhood, this sympathy with children, something very beautiful.
It showed how large his heart was, how little he been soured or soiled
by contact with the world, how broad, and healthy and true a nature God
had endowed him with. The very same large humanity that disposed him
to enter into the sports of children led him also to help the widow, to
befriend the friendless and soothe the sorrowing.
I have said nothing yet about your grandfathers religious
character, and yet this was by far his greatest excellence. He was
truly and sincerely pious. By which I mean he truly loved, trusted in,
and obeyed Christ. But, although I am a preacher, I do not intend to
write you a sermon, and I hope you will not take it as so intended, in
what I am about to say to you of the religious character of Mr.
Charless. I esteem it by far your greatest loss, in his death before
you were old enough to understand him, that you are deprived of the
means of learning something about true religion as it was exemplified
in him.
Most young people, if not pious themselves, have an idea that
religion is in its nature gloomy, or at least that it would interfere
with the happiness and vivacity of youth. I know this, for I once
thought and felt so myself. And it is just to correct this that I so
much regret that you did not know your grandfather Charless; you could
not have known him without knowing that he was truly pious, nor could
you have helped seeing that he was a happy man, and that his religion,
yes, his religion, so far from interfering with, promoted his happiness.
You may meet with other examples, but you will rarely find one so
striking as his. And I hold, as a matter of fairness, that religion
should be judged by just such examples. I know that there are truly
pious persons who are not attractive, who are melancholy, or who are
sometimes even repulsive in their characters. Do you ask, Why not
judge the effect of religion from these as well as from better and more
pleasing cases? My reply is: What you see and judge may not be
religion at all. In the repulsive it may be only the coarse, rough
natural character; with the melancholy it may be dyspepsia. You do not
form your estimate of what the glorious light of the sun does in
gladdening and beautifying the earth, by its vain struggles with mists
and fogs; it may fail to make a potato patch sublime or grand, and yet
be in itself both sublime and grand. No, you judge of it by objects in
themselves calculated to reflect its excellence, by the life and joy it
diffuses on all animated nature, and especially by the exquisite beauty
it imparts to some lovely valley, or to grand old mountains whose snow
summits it drenches in light until they glitter and radiate like the
gates of heaven. So, precisely, in fairness, you should judge
religion. Hence I insist that men like Mr. Charless are examples by
which religion should be judged. Nature did much for him, made him
generous and kind, gave him a large heart and noble impulses. Grace
elevated, strengthened, purified all these natural qualities, and
brought him in harmony and fellowship with God; set before him, as an
object of love, confidence, and imitation, the blessed Saviour; gave
him a hope which earthly losses could not dim, and a peace which they
only know who have felt it. Why should it not have added to his
happiness? Had he lived he would have told you himself that what real
happiness he had in this life came more from his religion than all
other sources. My young friends if you still stand in doubt on this
point I can only say make the experiment yourselves, and if you find
what I have said not true, judge me a false witness.
There is a special promise made by Christ, to those who enter
their closet and shut the door and pray to their Father which is in
secret. How often Mr. Charless brought those words to my mind; and as
I used to see him coming from home, with such a cheerful, happy face,
as I saw how good men and wicked men respected and honored him, I have
said to myself over and often: His Father who seeth in secret is
rewarding him openly. In truth this passage was so associated with Mr.
Charless in my mind, that I do not know that I have read these words
for a number of years before his death and since without thinking of
him as a striking illustration of its truth and beauty.
I need not, in concluding, say much to you of the circumstances
that snatched from his family, from you, from the Church and the
community, such a man. The record of the whole event you will see in
the journals, secular and religious, which your Grandmother has so
thoughtfully preserved for you. I remember nothing that occurred in
St. Louis, during the fourteen years that I resided there, which
produced a more profound impression on the public mind, or so stirred
its hot indignation, as the death of Mr. Charless by the hand of the
assassin who slew him. Nothing, I believe, but the urgent request of
Mr. Charless, from his bed of death, prevented the community from
avenging themselves without the forms of law for the dark crime
committed. And when, at the request of Mr. Charless, the community
spared the life of the felon, there was all the sterner purpose that
Justice should be meted out to his crime by the hand of law. And no
jury could have been found in the city, who, if they had been so
disposed, would have ventured to acquit him on false or frivolous
pretexts, such as secured the acquittal of many a culprit.
No one felt that the death of the poor wretch who did the deed
was any atonement for what he had done, any more than a household can
feel that the death of the viper is any atonement for the life of a
favorite son it has slain. The viper is crushed and forgotten, the
child is remembered, honored and cherished-so it was in this case.
The execution of the murderer created no excitement; all that men
appeared to desire with regard to him was to know that he was executed,
and he was dismissed with loathing and detestation from all minds. I
think it exceedingly probably that there are multitudes in St. Louis
who could not, without an effort recall the name of Thornton-I do not
now myself remember his given name,--but there is not a little boy or
girl, there is not a citizen, living there at that time, who does not
remember JOSEPH CHARLESS. And I have been struck with the fact that a
number of persons who have been at my house in this State, and have
asked me, as they looked at your Grandfathers miniature that hangs on
my walls-Who is this? When I have told them, all remembered what
they had heard, or seen in the papers, of his virtuous life and tragic
death; but not one ever asked me the name of his assassin. So true to
nature and the orderings of Providence is the proverb of Solomon: The
memory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot.
And now, my dear young friends, let me say to each of you, if you
would be virtuous, or happy, or useful, if you would be loved and
deserve to be loved, honored and deserve honor, be like JOSEPH CHARLESS.
And to this end may the rich blessing of God rest on each of you.