Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

Belmont, February, 1861.



Letter Ten



My Dear Grandchildren:

I see in casting a glance back, that I have passed over a good deal in the life of your grandfather, which will, perhaps, be of interest to you; without which, at any rate, this sketch would not be complete. And I intended, when I closed my last letter, to commence this with his career as a business man, and to continue the narrative to the close of his life; and then to give you a distinct account of his influence and deeds in the Church, and in the world, as a Christian. But I do not know, upon further reflection, that it is best to divide up his life in that way; and, indeed, it seems to me rather a difficult and unnatural task to do so, for he strictly followed the injunction of the Apostle: "Be diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." The dividing line, therefore, would be hard to find, if there was one at all.

And these letters, which are a pleasant recreation to me while I write them—and of profit, too, I hope, as I carefully review the life of him who, "though dead, still speaketh"—would, I fear, become a task, should I change the simple and pleasing plan I have adopted of recalling the past, with the incidents as they occurred, and from them selecting such as I think will best unfold to your view the real, every-day life of him, which, if fairly seen, cannot fail to plant in your young hearts a just pride for such an ancestor, and a holy desire to walk in his steps. With this view, I will retrace, and bring up, briefly and in order, the omissions to which I have alluded.

You remember, I mentioned to you the fact, that your grandfather commenced life, as a business man, by becoming the partner of his father in the drug business. His father had, a few years previously, given up his interest in the "Missouri Republican" to his son Edward, and commenced a business which was new to him, and that upon a small capital. He found it so profitable, however, that he prevailed on Joseph to abandon his profession, (the practice of which he had but just commenced), and to join him, believing that it would ultimately be more to his advantage to do so. From the profits arising from this business—which regularly increased, with the increase of the city, and that of the country, from the rapid emigration to the Western States—combined with his success in an occasional speculation in land, I doubt not, if "grandpa" had been at all given to the love of money, or had been ambitious of attaining to great wealth, and had bent his powers of mind and body in that direction, he would have reached the desired goal, perhaps to becoming a millionaire.

But very different from this were the tendencies of his nature. He appreciated money as the means of adding to the sum of human happiness; and, while he was by no means reckless in the use of it, it was a source of great pleasure to him to have it in his power to indulge his family in having what they desired and in living as they pleased, and still to have something over to distribute to the necessities of the indigent. To the Church of Christ he cheerfully contributed to the extent of his ability, esteeming it one of his highest privileges. Pursuing this course, his business meanwhile widening, and constantly becoming more profitable, in the year 1837 or '38, he decided to take a partner, and offered the situation to my brother Henry, which was gladly accepted. After this, (I do not know exactly how long), he purchased a valuable piece of ground in the city, upon a part of which "the firm" determined to build an oil and lead factory. This proved to be a very expensive and arduous undertaking; and, although it promised, after being fairly established, to be a most profitable investment, yet the capital of "the firm" was not sufficient to complete and to carry it on successfully until it should reach a self-sustaining point, without doing serious injury to "the store," by depriving it of the necessary capital for its success.

During this state of things, which grew worse every day, my husband discerned a portentous cloud in the sky of his commercial prosperity, which resulted after days and nights of anxiety and overtaxed strength of body and mind, in a low state of health and spirits that almost unfitted him for his accumulated business, which, nevertheless, he continued to prosecute with avidity. This was about the year 1841. I do not recollect how long his ill health lasted, but I well remember how his flesh went away—how pale he was—how he perspired at night, from nervous prostration, and how his skin seemed to cleave to his bones. He was still amiable and uncomplaining; but his elasticity, his free-hearted joyousness was gone.

After pressing him for some time to tell me his troubles and difficulties, and sympathizing with him because of them, until a far deeper concern took possession of me on account of his health, and, finding that moderate expostulations did not better things, I determined to make an effort by trying a wife's skill in arousing him from this state of despondency, which threatened such serious consequences; for I might well feel that fortune would be nothing to me without my husband—my husband as he ever had been. And "if the worst came to the worst," if he only had sufficient means to pay his debts, (which he said, without doubt, he had), I cared for nothing better than to begin life afresh, with such a husband as I had, with health, youth, business capacity, and a good reputation.

This conversation was not without effect; and he determined, by way of recruiting, to "knock off" from business, and to make an excursion into the country. This little trip—which was not simply without aim, other than for his health, as he had some business to attend to on the way—acted like a charm, by restoring his wasted energies and his cheerfulness. He returned, in ten or fifteen days, more like himself than he had been for months. After this, he soon recovered entirely; and never again did he lose his equanimity for more, perhaps, than a day or two at a time, although the dreaded blow did come, but not before he had taken a step in the divine life, which served to buoy him up above the ills of this checkered existence.

During the year 1839, about five years after we became members of the Church, your grandfather was ordained "Ruling Elder" in the Second Presbyterian church. We united with the "First Presbyterian church" (which I believe, I told you in a previous letter), which was then the only one in the city, but were induced, from a sense of duty, to go out, with a few others, to assist in strengthening a small colony that had been struggling for existence almost from the time it had left the mother church, some two or three years previous. In the building up of this church he was one of its most efficient agents. Besides having the duties of an Elder to perform, he was appointed a Trustee, and, with others, was very active in planning, and carrying forward to its completion, a large and expensive building, bearing a heavy part of the debt of it for years, until the means were provided for his relief, which was not until long after he had met with heavy pecuniary losses. He was regularly in his place at all the meetings of the church, both for spiritual and secular purposes.

Now, my dear children, if you have conceived an idea, from the insight I have given you, of the numerous occupations of your grandfather, that he must have been bustling about, having so much to do—hurrying things at home, and having no time for pleasure or recreation—you are greatly mistaken. A day rarely passed that he did not take a ride with his family, or some member of it, to "the farm," (except during the period of his ill health, when he oftener sought repose in the afternoon), enjoying, with the fresh air, exercise, and charms of the country, the society of those so dear to him. He never came home with a surly look—like some people who want to make an impression that they have the world on their shoulders—to talk about hard work, and hard times, or disagreeable matters, or to recount all the wonderful things he had done, or had to do. But, with a step and a countenance that seemed to say, "What a blessed and happy man I am!" his presence always brought with it happiness and peace. He was not a great talker, but he generally had something pleasant to say, or an interesting anecdote to relate; for, with a keen perception of the ludicrous, he possessed a talent for telling anecdotes admirably well, and a humor that was irresistibly pervasive. No one could help feeling its influence, and being all the happier for it.

I wish I could remember some of his anecdotes, and do them justice in the relation; but I know the attempt would be futile: for there was so much in the look and manner that gave a zest to his conversation, and rendered it attractive, that it would be impossible to convey a correct idea of it in words. None can feel, or fully appreciate it, without having had the privilege of being in his presence. A friend, to whom he was much attached, and at whose house he frequently visited, mentioned to me, since his death, that he and his wife had, from their early acquaintance with him, been in the habit of referring often to what "Mr. Charless" would say, recalling his conversation, and talking so much about him, that one day he asked, "Wife, how is it we cannot help talking of Mr. Charless?—what is there about him that impresses us so? It is not really what he says, but the way he says it. It is his humor, his benevolence of manner, his inimitable pleasantry, etc."

With these qualities, I need not say that he was an acquisition to society. He enjoyed it at home or abroad; at the evening party, or with a few friends around the social board. With a genial nature, he had a facility for adaptation, so that it was easy for him to feel perfectly at home, and unrestrained, with all classes and conditions of men, young or old, gay or grave. He was particularly fond of young people, and generally had a "little sweetheart" among the girls, with whom he would occasionally carry on a spirited flirtation.

In the fall of 1841, immediately after his period of dejection, and consequent ill health, your grandfather and myself mutually agreed that it would be best for us, by way of lessening our expenses, to sell our furniture, and break up housekeeping for a few years. My health, which had never been good since that severe illness, of which I have spoken, was the palpable cause; for my husband had often expressed a desire to try the effect of rest from the cares and fatigue of housekeeping, and now, that one sister and two of my brothers were married and settled, there was not difficulty in the way of our doing so. This proved to be a very fortunate step, for at the time things, almost anything, sold well. The city was prosperous, and everybody felt rich. Our furniture, of which we reserved sufficient to furnish two bed-rooms, besides our valuables of plate, etc., sold for as much, some of it for more, than we paid for it when new. And in one year from that time, suddenly, there was a monetary pressure, which brought every kind of property down to less than half of its value or original cost. It was one of those pecuniary tornadoes which occasionally sweep through the whole length and breadth of the land, levelling and blighting everything as it passes, putting a stop to the wheels of commerce, and bringing terror into almost every family. It came with an astounding effect upon St. Louis. Many who felt themselves rich were in a few days reduced to a state of poverty, not having the means wherewith to pay their honest debts.

The firm of "Charless & Blow" were compelled to "suspend payment." This reverse came upon them like a shock, for, notwithstanding my husband's fears, a year or two previous, with regard to his mercantile affairs, he had informed me, but a short time before, that he had no doubt now but that they would be enabled to get through with the difficulties that had been pressing him down; for, as he expressed it, "we begin now to see our way clear." They had had no apprehensions with regard to their endorser (for whom they also endorsed), for "his house" was one of the oldest and (it was thought) one of the most opulent in the city. But when the fact was known that Mr. T had failed, and when his creditors called upon the firm of "Charless & Blow" to respond to his notes, which were then due, it was too much for them. At first my husband (pale from emotion) thought all was over!—all for which he had been toiling for years; reduced to poverty, his reputation as a merchant, perhaps, greatly weakened; and, what was worse still, (not knowing the extent of his losses by Mr. T.), he might not be able, after sacrificing everything he had in the world, to pay his debts!

In a crisis like this, developments are exceedingly rapid, and revulsion of feeling just as much so. The excitement is too intense to endure delay. The best and the worst must be known, if possible, and that at once. It was soon ascertained, therefore, in the case of "Charless & Blow," that their loss, by the failure of our good and honorable old friend, was not much; and the chief difficulty with them, as with all other sufferers, lay in the loss of confidence between men, and the consequent scarcity of money in circulation.

Your grandparents passed one troubled night in consequence of this event, in which sleep—"tired nature's sweet restorer"—forsook them. But the next afternoon found them taking a drive in grandpa's buggy, calmly talking about their new circumstances, and resolving, with a courageous heart, to meet them, whatever they might be. Of course, I did all I could to encourage him, (else I would not have been worthy the name of wife); became very self-sacrificing for a lady—willing to part with my tea service, and all my silver-ware—any and everything I had of value, except my bridal gifts; and then began to speculate upon how very nice it would be to live in a neat little cottage, etc., etc. For I was not too old to be romantic; and I do really believe now, as I recall my enthusiasm on the subject, that I would have been disappointed had anything occurred to prevent me from exhibiting to my husband how cheerfully I could submit to misfortune. No such test came; for the very next day a widow, who had deposited a few hundred dollars with "the firm" for safe keeping, hearing of their reverses, called to get her money. They had none; and my husband, remembering my offer, sent a messenger, with a note, requesting me to send the tea-service, with which to secure her. Cheerfully—for I was glad it was in my power to secure the widow against loss, and to relieve the mind of my husband to some little extent—but with a beating heart, (for this was a birth-day gift from him), I parted with my beautiful tea-service, and have never seen it since. It was sold to pay that debt.

Our dear old mother was greatly afflicted because of our reverses in fortune, and wept like a child; but her amazement was to see me so unmoved. I thought then it was Christian submission that enabled me to bear up so well; but I see now there was a great deal of human love, and sympathy, and human pride, too, mixed with it.

Although we were not keeping house, at that time, we were very delightfully and happily situated, for we were boarding (as an especial favor) at our eldest brother's. He had a sweet wife, and they lived in their beautiful new house, which, years after, "grandpa" purchased. It was there your dear mamma passed her young lady days—where she was married—where her little sons, Charless, Louis and Edward, were born; and where their loving grandpa breathed away his precious life. But the same reasons which made it necessary for us to submit to loss and inconvenience, made it incumbent on my brother to sell his residence. Consequently, we accepted the kind invitation of our mother to occupy a part of her house; and, by strict economy in every practicable thing —paying her a very low price for our board, which the old lady would receive, but "not a cent more"—we passed three of the happy years of our life, at the end of which time, we had regained a considerable amount of our losses; and, what was better still, your dear grandfather had become firmly and prosperously re-established in business, without having lost an atom of his reputation as a judicious and energetic merchant.

"The suspension" of Charless & Blow did not result in a complete failure, by any means. They solicited an examination into their affairs, exhibited their books, making a complete and full exposition of the condition of their business, and it was unanimously agreed upon, by the committee chosen for the purpose, that it would be greatly to the advantage of their creditors for "the firm" not to close up, but to continue the business, each binding himself to extract, for the two succeeding years, only a small (stated) sum for private use, from the proceeds of the store.

As soon as the adverse condition of "C. & B." was relieved, and they had regained their former position—which, I think, was in about two years from the time of the crisis—they made up their minds to dissolve partnership: one to take "the store;" the other, "the oil and lead factory." Accordingly, terms of dissolution were drawn up. Mr. Charless, being the elder, had the privilege of choosing, and, after reflection, decided upon retaining the store. My two younger brothers afterwards became his partner in the business, and remained as "Charless, Blow & Co." until dissolved by the death of their beloved senior.

This is a long letter, my dear children, and I will close it, with the promise of letting you know something more about our three years' sojourn at your great-grandmamma's: in which I hope to show you how happy we can be under adverse circumstances, and how much less the evil of "coming down in the world" is, than generally is supposed.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.



Letter Eleven



My Dear Grandchildren:

Man is naturally aspiring, and the more he attains to in life, the more earnestly he reaches after something higher still. And it is well that it is so, for, without this spirit, there would necessarily be but little or no advance in the world. The old land-marks would stand unmolested, forever; and the human family, instead of developing, could not but deteriorate, from generation to generation. But for the fall of man, his highest aim would have been such as the angels have, viz: to see, and to be with God, whose exceeding greatness and glory would tend to ravish the soul with delight, enlarge its capacity, and yet keep it at an humble distance, reverent and lowly. But I am stepping beyond my reach, and will come back again to what is, not what might have been.

As soon as you observe at all, you must perceive what a constant struggle there is going on here below. Some aim at "fortune's gaudy show," while others strive to catch the wreath of fame, and crown themselves with that. Few are so indifferent, unless besotted by ignorance and degradation, as not to aspire, in some shape or other, to something more or better than they ever had, or better than others have; and, in this age of the world—at any rate in this country—money seems to be esteemed the chief good. Not the miser's money, for, while that is locked up, and he hoards, and hoards, and still locks it up, it narrows down the soul, and expunges from it all the milk of human kindness. What are the orphan's tears, or the widow's groans—what is human suffering to him? Gold! gold! His precious gold fills the contracted, dark place, which the soul, made in the image of its Creator, has forsaken, and leaves him more brute than man.

Money is a good and valuable possession, but not to the spendthrift, to whom it becomes a temptation to vice. Better be poor forever, and, by the sweat of the brow, eat your daily bread, maintaining, at the same time, a pure and unblemished character, than to have a fortune that only induces idleness and self-indulgence, opening to you an avenue for the destruction of soul and body; and, perhaps, too, as is often the case, cause you to blindly drag your wife and children with you, if not to vice, at least to want and to disgrace. Money is only good when properly valued, and properly used. It is desirable as a means of education, and of refinement; for the cultivation of one's taste in the field of nature, or in the arts and sciences. It is gratifying, and not wrong, to have handsome houses and grounds, tasteful furniture, fine paintings, or statuary, libraries, and everything pertaining to an elegant establishment. It is very good when used to make people happy who, in the providence of God, are not supplied with the necessaries of life. "The poor ye have always with you"—why if not to keep the stream of benevolence running fresh and sweet? And money helps materially, perhaps too much, toward giving one position in society. All things considered, it is hard to lose it. It is trying to feel, as you pass along, people are saying, "There goes poor Mrs. A., or B. She has come down in the world!" Some malicious ones will say, "Well, she deserved it, for she was very extravagant, and she held her head too high." Women, no doubt, are more susceptible to suffering and mortification, from reverses in fortune than men are; yet there are many ways in which they feel it, too—according to their characters and dispositions. And, my dear children, if I were to say that we had not felt or cared for the reverses in life of which I told you in my last letter, it would not be true. We did feel it, and that in many ways. My husband was humbled, and disappointed, but entirely submissive to the will of God; for he believed that adversity, as well as prosperity, came from His loving hand, and was designed for the highest good of His people. Instead of having the effect to lessen, it strengthened his faith. Instead of making him more anxious and striving for the accumulation of wealth, he was less so; and he continued to be less so throughout the remainder of his life. Notwithstanding he was quite as industrious, just as energetic; yet there was less of dross mixed up with the pure metal in his soul. To me, it was evident that he advanced rapidly in the divine life; of which I felt the influence, if I caught none of its spirit.

In a letter from him, dated that fall, soon after our removal to his mother's, he says: "The scenery of the Mississippi, from the rapids north, is very beautiful. The frost having changed the color of part of the leaves, the forest presents an endless variety of colors; and the great number of farms and villages add much to the beauty of the landscape. But everywhere I find the people complaining, and many suffering from actual want. Although Providence has provided a most bountiful harvest, many, who have been accustomed to have every comfort, and many luxuries, around them, are now almost destitute. It makes me feel more resigned to our losses and poverty, seeing we are so much better off than thousands who are more deserving than we. They, it seems, are resigned, and submit most cheerfully to all the dispensations of their Heavenly Father. Let us, dear Charlotte, hereafter endeavor to show, in our lives, greater devotedness to Him who has done so much for us, and who promises to be our support and stay in every hour of need; who will never desert any who put their trust in Him.

"Let us, therefore, exhort one another, and provoke each other to well-doing, in the service of our God. Let us love each other more and more, and make Jesus the great object of our praise and prayer. I hope and pray that the chastenings of our blessed Lord, in depriving us of our worldly possessions, may be sanctified to us, and lead us, more earnestly and undoubtingly, to seek for possessions in that Kingdom where all is joy, and peace, and love. Oh! That we may be enabled, with all our dear kith and kin, and kind friends, to attain unto this glorious and happy state, to dwell forever in the presence of our God, and enjoy Him throughout eternity. Dear C., are not these things worth our most strenuous efforts? And yet how little do we do! How poor our best attempts to serve Him who has done everything for us."

With these earnest desires for closer communion with God, and for those treasures which fade not away, he necessarily had a hard struggle to prosecute his worldly affairs, under circumstances so disadvantageous as that of carrying on a large business without the necessary capital, greatly weakened, in fact, by pecuniary losses, and more still by the misfortune of being compelled to "suspend payment," and the consequent exposure of the internal difficulties with which "the firm" had to contend. Anxious and toiling, week after week, he was always rejoiced when Saturday night came, that he might, as he generally expressed it in his prayer that night, "lay aside the world, and engage in the delightful exercises of the holy Sabbath." And I will here mention, for the benefit of those among you (if there are any such) who, in your eager pursuit of wealth, or honor, or are battling, as he was, with the untoward events of life, are tempted to desecrate the Sabbath to secular purposes, that I have often heard your grandfather say (about that time) that on Monday his mind was clearer, and his hopes stronger of success, than at any other time. And towards the close of the week, after his mental energies had been on the stretch for days, things looked darker; that sometimes he felt as though he must give up; that it would be impossible to meet his payments; but that on Monday, with both mind and body invigorated from the holy rest of the Sabbath day, the mists had cleared away, and everything looked bright again—so bright that he often felt surprised that he should have been in such a desponding condition on Saturday.

There is sound philosophy in this; but I will leave it for you to work out the problem, and will proceed to say, that with the opening of the spring of 1843, business prospects really did brighten. And our new home, though humble, we had found vastly comfortable. It looked familiar and home-like, too; for the furniture to which we had been accustomed had been removed into our suite of rooms, one of the bedsteads minus only the cornice and the feet, which had to be taken off to accommodate it to the height of the ceiling—of which, for awhile, I had so constant and disagreeable an impression that often, when rising suddenly from my chair, I would dodge, from fear of bumping my head against it. And no wonder! For this was an old house, built in "the year one," before people (poor things!) found out the necessity of having their ceilings pitched so high above them! But our front room was otherwise capacious; for several partitions had been knocked down, which added a small room and part of a hall to the main one, and extended it entirely across the front of the house. It was so large that it accommodated the piano, and a pier-stand, besides every necessary article for a completely furnished bed-room. The piano and pier-stand—the latter of which was a particular object of attraction to your mamma (for bon-bons were kept in that)—gave to the room the air somewhat of a parlor. At least, we esteemed it so cosy, and appropriate for the purpose, that we more frequently received the calls of friends there than in our mother's little reception-room.

What right had we to murmur? It would have been ungrateful if we had done so; for, although not by any means elegant, we were comfortable. True, my nice carriage and beautiful horses had been sold; but mother had quite a nice little carriage, and a fine old gray horse, that would have appeared very respectable, if (as the stable boy said) the calves had not "chawed of his tail!" However, that was a source of amusement. We rode often, for both mother and I needed the exercise; and the rides were delightful, as 'Joseph' was generally our driver; and a merry chase he would lead us sometimes, for when he no longer had "the farm" to go to, (that had likewise been sold), he seemed determined to find out the merits, or demerits, of every road in the vicinity. This made quite a variety for us, for, besides the change of scenery, it usually called forth ejaculations from his mother, and answers from him, which were very amusing. She saw no sense in "rambling the country over, going into every nook and corner, and jolting people to death!" But he would earnestly assure her that he had not gone into half yet—looking round at her with a provokingly mischievous expression, which seemed to intimate that he meant to try it, though—and as for the roads, he could "find much worse roads than that! And as to driving—he hadn't begun to show how many stumps he could go over, without upsetting." This playful, jocose, merry mood of her son, frequently recalled to the old lady's mind some incidents of early times, when she was young, and Joseph was a boy, which she would relate, and laugh all over at, shaking her fat sides most merrily. And, notwithstanding her outbursts of hastily spoken words of disapprobation to him for his temerity, she always wondered, after being safely landed at home, why she enjoyed her rides so much more when Joseph drove!

When we think about it, there are really no enjoyments in this wide world equal to home enjoyments. And when we have to go away from that hallowed spot, to seek for some longing of the soul which we cannot find there, or return to it with distaste, after having dipped into the pleasures (even the refined and reasonable ones) of the world, we are to be pitied, greatly pitied; for we are strangers to the purest and sweetest joys that are known this side of Paradise. And, thank God! this happiness is not confined to the mansion of the rich and the great. Perhaps it is less felt there than in the cottage of the virtuous and intelligent poor.

At our mother's we had quite as much of domestic peace and happiness as we had ever known. Our little daughter, who, to us at least, looked just as sweet and pretty in her bit calicos as she had ever done in better and more expensive clothes, beguiled a portion of our evenings with her music. She played delightfully on the piano, for a child of her age; and then she had conceived an idea (perhaps from something her father or mother had said) that the day might come when, by teaching music and French, she would be their support in old age. This was a new and beautiful stimulant to study, and we were no less pleased with this virtuous devotion of her young life, because we confidently believed that no such necessity would ever arise.

We enjoyed society, too—not quite so much or half as often as when we could return civilities; but there was an abandonment of feeling, or freedom from care, when we did participate; something like that expressed by a clerical friend of ours, who, upon beholding the beautiful grounds of a wealthy gentleman, congratulated himself upon his capacity for enjoying them as much as the proprietor could, "without having his responsibility and care," which, in some measure, compensated us.

And, then, your grandfather found out what "a jewel of a wife" he had; how, as with a magic touch, she could make old things perfectly new, in which she appeared more charming to his eye than ever before. We are really not dependent upon external circumstances for happiness. That ingredient of life is found within us; and every one has a share in promoting it. One gentle, patient, unselfish, cheerful member of a household, can do wonders towards making the whole atmosphere of home redolent with his soul-reviving influences.

From what you have seen of your grandfather, you will readily imagine that he must have been a good son. He was: one of the best, if not the best, I have ever known. But facts speak for themselves. I have never once heard him speak a hasty or unkind word to his mother. He was her staff, upon whom she lovingly leaned; and yet, at her bidding, he was her boy, obedient, and respectful. As she declined in life, "when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way," and many infirmities made her irritable and exacting, the charm of his loving voice, playfully and skillfully giving a turn to the current of her feelings, would alternately soothe, comfort, and amuse her. He was thoughtful of her every wish and comfort, and did all that he could to fill the void which death had made in that aged heart.

Some of the most striking proofs of his pure and elevated character, of his disinterested friendship and love, delicacy forbids me to speak of, as there are those living who might be touched by them. But I have given facts enough to show that he was no ordinary man. He was fond of reading, quick of perception, and given to investigation. There were but few subjects with which he was not more or less acquainted. For, notwithstanding his close business habits, he found much time for his favorite occupation of reading; by which means he kept up with the religious, political, and literary news of the day. He was a good historian, and possessed a retentive memory. I never thought of referring to an encyclopedia, or to a dictionary, when he was present; for I found it so much easier, and more pleasant, to obtain needed information from him. As regards the intellectual character of his mind, however, I do not think it was of the highest stamp. Of all practical things he had a decided opinion. His judgment was sound. Not marred by prejudice, nor warped by self-love, or self-praise, or self-aggrandisement, he was enabled coolly to exercise his powers of mind in forming a just estimate of men and things. He possessed strong common sense, which, being balanced by a high moral tone, and refined sensibilities, enabled him to be quick in discerning the characters of men, but tenderly careful of their feelings and reputation. I do not think his mind was of a metaphysical cast. He never willingly engaged in argument of any kind, nor conversed upon abstruse subjects. He might have said, with David, "Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty, neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me." Yet he had a profound respect, and great admiration, for the highly gifted, and the learned; especially for those who, with these extraordinary gifts and attainments, possessed sincere piety. He enjoyed learned disquisitions just as he did a fine painting, the excellencies and beauties of which he appreciated, and could point out, without knowing how to use the brush or the pencil.

He had a keen appreciation of natural beauty, and of the art which could represent it, either on canvas or in marble. He was fond of poetry. But of all the poets, Burns stood first in his estimation. He could enter so easily into the spirit of this writer, because, in some respects, they were kindred spirits. Burns' touching pathos, his humor, his love and pity for man and beast, penetrated his own humorous and nature-loving soul. When the centenary celebration of the birth of this great poet took place in St. Louis, a few years ago, he was absent, and I attended, not only for personal gratification, but that I might, upon his return, give him an account of it. In a letter to your mother (who was at Belmont) I alluded to the celebration, and said, "It only needed 'father' to read the 'Cotter's Saturday Night' to have made it complete in interest." He did read those poems beautifully; and many of his anecdotes embodied Scotch and Irish nature, and every-day life, which he would relate with all their native simplicity and humor, using the brogue of the one, and the accent and provincialism of the other, to perfection.

He was fond of music; but that, like his love of poetry, was a simple taste, his decided preference being for Scotch and Irish ballads. He could speak and read French well—very well, when in practice.

In much weakness, my dear children, but looking up to God to guide me into all truth concerning this matter, I have endeavored to give you a faithful history of the life (as far as it goes) and character of your beloved grandfather. I am afraid it does not do him justice, for I have often felt how meager words are to convey an idea of what he really was. But look at his portrait, and that benevolent, honest, cheerful countenance, may, in some measure, make up to you what my pen has failed to do.

I do not believe I have spoken to you of his kindness to the poor. But ask, in St. Louis, who were among those who wrung their hands and wept big tears around his cold remains, and you will find he was the poor man's friend.

I have made but slight allusions to his self-denying labors in the Church of Christ, because I know comparatively, but little of them. He never spoke of his good works, as such, not even to me. "Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth" was no difficult task for one who, alone conscious of his "many infirmities," was kept truly humble before the eye of the heart-searching God. His humility was his crowning virtue. It adorned all the rest, and gave a certain kind of grace, even to his greatest faults.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.



Letter Twelve



My Dear Grandchildren:

In this simple sketch of the life of an unpretending Christian man, whose highest aim was to discharge his duties, as such, in the position in which God had placed him, I am aware there is nothing particularly interesting, or congenial, to the feelings or taste of the worldling. By "the worldling" I mean a man, or woman, who—perhaps without deliberately weighing things as they exist, and regardless of the future—is content with the short-lived pleasures and advantages of this world. But I cannot better describe the worldling than in the language of your grandfather, taken from a letter which lies open before me. In speaking of a certain lady who expressed to him a regret that she had not fifty thousand dollars per annum to spend in living, he says: "She is a poor, worldly woman, whose chief end in life is to dash!—shine, and out-shine—consequently envies those who have more means, or appear to out-shine her. I would not swap my old woman for as many of such as could stand between this and Mobile, and the fifty thousand per annum in the bargain!" To such among you (God forbid that there should be such!) I do not write; for I know how the world blinds by its dazzle, and you could see no beauty or use in living for the glory of that Being who made and preserves you, and before whom you must stand to be judged. Made in His image, with an immortal soul, you might dwell forever with the Redeemer, in the mansions he has gone to prepare. But, like the butterfly, you fritter away your earthly existence, and, by so doing, throw away the only cup of real, unadulterated pleasure of this present life; and, when Time, with all its fleeting joys, has passed away forever, where, oh, where! do you expect to dwell?

But for those who are the worthy descendants of him who lived the life of the righteous, and who find pleasure in reading these imperfect letters, I will recommence a review of the past, recording, as I have done, such facts as I think will interest you, and acquaint you still better with him. You have seen his Christianity exhibited in many ways; and I have not kept from your view his faults and imperfections. You have seen him as a son, and as a brother, a friend, and a husband. As a father, you know but little of him; and now I will relate the circumstances which led to a temporary separation from his child and her mother, and will quote from his letters, that you may learn, from himself, his views and desires as a father, and his manner of intercourse with this only child of his heart.

During the winter of 1846—after we had removed from your great-grandmamma's, and were again enjoying a home of our own—my health gave way, to an alarming extent. Although able to go about the house, it was evident (declared so by my physicians) that I was in a decline. When I grew no better from the concentrated wisdom of three of the Faculty, my husband determined to try the effect of a change of air and scene, first having consulted the doctors as to the expediency of it, and having been assured by them that, if it did me no good, it could do me no harm. With his accustomed dispatch he hastened to the river, secured our passage on a boat, which was to leave in three days, and at dinner asked me if I would not like to take a trip to Havana? The question startled me, for there was more business done in March and April than in any other two months of the whole year, and I could not see the practicability—indeed, it had previously seemed almost impossible for him to leave home at that time. But his answer to my exclamations of surprise—"Business is of no importance compared to health," and the question, "Can you be ready by day after tomorrow?" accompanied by the assurance that our state-rooms were already engaged —put a stop to further discussion, and set my sister earnestly to work to get me ready. "Lizzie must leave school," ("papa" said), "for she, too, may go along to help take care of mamma"—and never was a mamma better taken care of, with two such nurses as she had.

This arrangement acted like a charm, for I began to mend before we started, from the effect upon my mind, in being drawn off from myself and my ailments to the necessary thought required in giving directions for the packing of trunks, and in making arrangements generally for leaving home. After reaching New Orleans, we were advised that it was too late in the season to visit Havana, and we determined to steer our course toward Pensacola; but, upon our arrival in Mobile, our friends there suggested Pascagoula, as a better place, and, as it was more accessible than the former, we decided upon trying the effect of the sea-breeze there. It was early in the season to visit a watering-place, but we were not the less welcomed by the proprietors of a delightful hotel, (which has since been burned down), for, as it happened, they were old acquaintances of ours. This hotel was a commodious, and cheerful looking establishment, with its large dancing saloon attached, and had every convenience for the amusement and comfort of the gay crowd that assembled there in the summer months for pastime or health. It stood on an eminence, and commanded a beautiful view of the bay. The large yard in front, which gradually sloped down to the beach, was planted with evergreens and shrubbery, presenting a gay contrast, which, with the flowered vines, so prettily trained around the pillars of the long piazza, made it rurally picturesque, and filled the air with odors of the sweetest kind. But nothing was so sweet to me as the unadulterated sea air, which I delighted to drink in, every breath of which seemed to send vigor into my wasted and weakened frame. At first, I could walk but a little way along the beach; but soon, by leaning on the arm of my husband, I could walk half a mile out on the pier, and, sitting down in a chair (provided for me), would remain there, with the rest of the party, for hours, as deeply interested in fishing as ever that famous old angler, Sir Izaak Walton, could have been. And if he had been as successful as we were in hooking and pulling out the great variety of fish, large and small—with an occasional monster of the deep, which caused us to open our eyes in amazement—I am sure he could not have ruminated to his heart's content, as he did, and made the world so much the wiser for his having lived and angled in it.

Pascagoula, as it was then, was by far the most fascinating place I had ever seen. Besides its natural beauties and advantages, (its health-giving influences being, no doubt, the greatest to the invalid), we had a pleasant little society of cultivated people, all bent on pleasure and sport. Sometimes we would go rowing, and then sailing. At other times we would course up the Pascagoula river—a beautiful little stream, all studded with the gardens of cottagers. One of these was an Italian, who, devoted to the land of his birth, had, as it were, transplanted the home of his heart to this romantic spot in the far-off world. It looked decidedly foreign; but its greatest beauty (to my taste) was the background, which was composed a grand old forest of towering pines.

In contrast with this little river, were the island which dotted the bay, adding beauty to the scene and affording tempting attractions to those who are fond of pic-nics. One especially—"Island Casot," formed by the beautiful bayou of the same name—is shaded by immense live-oak trees, and lies just south on the border of the finest oyster bed (for flavor) in the South. We spent a whole day there, having first amply provided ourselves with every luxury, even to comforts and pillows to lounge on. Your grandfather admired this beautiful little island so much that he thought seriously of purchasing it, to improve in a cheap and simple way, to be used as an occasional resort for health and pleasure. He and your mother were evidently as much charmed with Pascagoula, and its surroundings, as I was. Both were the picture of happiness. They engaged in many amusements, of which I was incapable, and could only look on and laugh at—such as catching crabs, and speering flounders by torchlight. They bathed and swam, too, (the latter with a life-preserver), but they were afraid to venture out too far, on account of sharks, which were occasionally seen near the shore. At a certain season of the year there was frequently heard, near the bath-houses, a strain of music, like the Aeolian harp, which had never been satisfactorily accounted for, although many wise heads had pondered over it. Some supposed that it proceeded from a certain kind of small fish, which, in their perambulations through the mighty deep, for some secret reason best know to themselves, touched at this point at the stated season, just to whisper a few sweet notes, and would then retire. Other said it was only an echo borne upon the waters (when the wind was in a certain direction), from the playing of the waves against the sandy shore of an island, three miles distant. There is an Indian legend, which I will relate, that gives a more interesting account of this phenomenon than either of these. A war party of the Pascagoula tribe, headed by their chief, having been hotly pursued by a victorious enemy, had rushed into the bay (sooner than submit), and were drowned, while singing a melancholy dirge, which annually returns in token of the sad event. They:

"Sing of death and life undying, In the Islands of the Blest In the kingdom of Ponemah, In the Land of the Hereafter."

But perhaps it is irrelevant to my subject to dwell so minutely upon scenes and incidents so remotely associated with it. He was with me then, and it makes me for awhile forget my loneliness.

The result of this little excursion, which proved so beneficial to my health, was a sojourn of one whole winter and spring, and part of another, in Mobile. We found there a boarding-school for young ladies, of high standing, in which we determined to place our daughter; and a very delightful boarding place for me, about three miles from the city, in the family of an old friend and relative, who, some years previous, had been the family physician of my father, in North Alabama. Feeling quite at home here, among these kind friends, with the advantages resulting from a mild climate, and the sea-breeze, my health steadily improved, which was some consolation for the long and tedious separation from my beloved husband. In the meanwhile our daughter was pursuing her studies at Madame De Fellon's. I often visited her at the Academy, and she always came out to the Doctor's on Friday afternoon, and remained until Monday morning, when she would make an early start for school. We had many pleasures and recreations in the city and neighborhood of Mobile, the country especially presenting a very beautiful appearance from the highly cultivated gardens, picturesque and tasteful cottages, and elegant mansions, contrasted, as they were, with the magnificent groves of pine and magnolia, with their rich and fragrant undergrowth of yellow jessamine, and other sweet flowers, which were indigenous to the soil of this lovely country. In these pleasant groves were many springs of soft, clear water, which, flowing together, formed little creeks, whose gentle meanderings added freshness and increasing loveliness to the already charming scene. Some of these creeks flowed over their shining beds of sand, and some over the waving grass and lily. It tranquillizes me, even now, to recall the rustic bridge, where I have often stood (it seems to me for hours) and gazed at the gentle stream, as it murmured over the log that lay half-imbedded in the sand, and watched the never-ceasing motion of the graceful "water lilies" which arched the stream below.

But our highest enjoyment, with the exception of the visits, were the letters of our beloved husband and father, who necessarily had to remain, a greater part of the time, in St. Louis. I find, in looking over your mother's package of letters from him, one dated "October 15th, 1842," at which time she was not quite ten years of age. After writing the particulars of his journey, and expressing a desire that she and her mother were with him "to enjoy the beautiful scenery of the Mississippi," etc., he says: "I hope you have been a good girl, and that 'mother' will be able to tell me how well you have behaved during my absence, and what a comfort it is to have so dutiful a daughter, who never has to be told a second time to go to her piano, or to learn her Sabbath school lesson. I am satisfied if children knew how it gladdens the hearts of parents, and how cheerfully they labor to educate good children, that my little girl would give her whole energy to acquire such a habit of obedience, and attention to her parents, as would make her beloved by all who know her; and, more than all, would meet the approbation of Him who has said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.' But I feel assured that the unwearied attentions of the best of mothers will not be in vain; but that the blessed God will make them serve his own wise purpose, and, 'father' prays, will eventually make her a bright and shining light in this world, and place her in the world to come among the redeemed of our Lord and Saviour JESUS CHRIST. I have been reading to-day the Life of the Rev. Mr. Newton, who was a very wicked man," etc., etc. "Mr. Newton was, like little Samuel, devoted to the Lord, when a child, by his mother, who died, leaving him an orphan, at three years of age. Yet, after many trials, He saves him from his sins —and, might we not almost say, for his mother's sake? Surely for the Saviour's sake.

"I have heard nothing from home since I left, and am extremely anxious to hear from you all. Has dear 'mother's' health improved? How is 'grandma,' and 'Cousin Eliza,' and little Joe and Ella, and 'aunt Loo,' and all our dear friends?" etc.

"Your affectionate father, JOS. CHARLESS."

Here is the first page of another letter, dated "New York, December 22, 1843."

"My Dear Daughter: Having finished my business arrangements for the day, and having a spare moment, I thought I would occupy it by writing to my dear child. Since I left home, I have been hurried along, from place to place, and from scene to scene, so that I have nothing very pleasing to detail to you of my journey. Since I have been in this great city I have also been very closely engaged with my business, and have visited, as yet, none of its wonders. We have tonight, at the house where I am staying, a very large company, assembled to celebrate the landing of the Puritans in New England. They had a most splendid table, filled with every luxury; and they have Mr. Webster, who is to make a speech to them. Mr. Choate delivered an address to-day, in the Tabernacle. So, you see, we have grand doings.

"Well, I feel more happy up in my little room, away from the noise and bustle, writing to my daughter, and thinking of her dear mother and grandma, and cousin Eliza, and all that are so dear to us. My dear, when I think how God has blessed you, and all of us, and when I think how wicked we have been, what stubborn and disobedient children we have all been, and how little we love that Saviour who has done so much for us, I feel very much condemned. God would be just, if he should at once punish us. We should be very prayerful, and pray earnestly and continually, for a new heart and a right spirit, and that we may all be truly converted, and fitted to serve Him with our whole hearts."

His humility is plainly seen in this quotation, as it often was in his prayers, when he seemed more like a little child, seeking his Father's face, than an elder in the Church, conscious of setting an example to the flock.

In the first letter your mother received from her father, in the winter of 1846-7, after we were settled in Mobile, he says: "My dear child, I hope, needs no hint to urge her in attention and kindness to a mother whose happiness is so dependent upon her child. Your father, immersed in the business of the world, and his feelings hardened by the adverse and trying scenes which he is constantly called to breast, is not so alive to, and dependent for happiness, as the mother is upon her husband and child; and, in the absence of the former, the weightier duties devolve on you, and I confidently feel that you will fulfil them all cheerfully, and partake of the happiness their performance affords. I pray that the Spirit of all Grace may impart to you all the strength and grace you need, and that you may be guided to the Saviour, in whom you will find fullness of joy, and a peace which passeth all knowledge."

After writing another page, in which he gives all "the news," he says: "'Grandma' says, 'tell Lizzie I do miss her so much!' She says the birds are fine and healthy, and are well taken care of. So are the pigeons, for several of the neighboring boys have erected more comfortable winter quarters for them, than they had in your boxes, and they have nearly all left us and gone to the neighbors, much to the distress of John, who cannot be reconciled to such ingratitude, not even in pigeons. For he says, 'I feeds them every morning, and as soon as they get the corn they fly away.' So you will find the world, my dear girl; when they get nothing more from us either in a pecuniary or other point of view, they cease to care for, or to be interested in us. We are therefore warned to seek happiness at home. And the well cultivated, and well balanced mind will always find it there, where no one can deprive us of it. Will you not seek that happiness? It is to be found with the blessed Saviour. He alone can impart it; but He promises that all who seek shall find, and that none shall be turned away without it, if they will seek Him in the appointed way." This letter was written on thanksgiving day. Further on, he continues: "And have we not great reason to render thanks to our heavenly Father, when we see how great are his mercies to us, that we have such an abundant harvest while nearly all Europe is in a starving condition? I really think that we have, for these mercies are most undeserved and unmerited; for we have not sought the Lord as we should have done, but have widely departed from him, as a people, and followed the guidance of our own wicked hearts. But let us fear and humble ourselves and repent; and seek the pardon of our sins, and determine that let others do as they will, as for us we will seek and serve the Lord our God! Oh, I pray that the Blessed Spirit may incline the heart of my dear child to consecrate her heart and soul to the service of her Saviour, and her Redeemer."

His concern for the conversion of his child was not always seen in his letters to her. I have just read one embracing seven pages of large letter paper, in which he tells much of interest about every thing and every body, in a lively jocose strain, but says not a word on the subject of religion. Among other things he says, "But I have never told you about our dog, Nimrod. Why, he has improved wonderfully in size, beauty, manners, &c. You will be perfectly delighted with him. He is no longer a country dog, but is becoming a real city bred gentlemanly dog. The fond companion of Miss Annie Blow in her rambles around the well, cistern, and even out into the alley. And never comes into the dining room, kitchen, or your grandma's room, without being pressingly invited. Having upon his first arrival received divers striking hints, his intellect has become very sharp, and his sense of propriety very much quickened in regard to all these matters." Towards the close of January instead of the usual reception of letters every few days, we experienced the far greater happiness of seeing him, which was only marred by the stern necessity of his having to leave us again. In May he returned, bringing my sister with him, to remain until after "the examination" of Madame De Fellon's school. In the meanwhile we made up our mind to pay another visit to Pascagoula, from whence I see he wrote to our daughter as follows:

Pascagoula, May 18, 1847.

"Dear Daughter: We avail ourselves of the return of Dr. F. to send you a few lines to let you know how we are getting on in these diggings. We arrived safely last Friday evening, and found Mrs. F. and O. pleased to see us. The General is over on "Round Island," whither we attempted, this morning, to go, but were driven back by the head winds. Your mother and aunt were wet by the spray but have experienced no inconvenience from it. They are both well. We missed you very much this morning when the fish were biting almost as fast as we could bate our lines and throw them into the water. Your mother caught nearly two dozen cats before breakfast. But you need not come as there are no redfish or sheepshead, or trout, nothing to be caught but cats and croakers, and I know you are too fastidious in your piscal taste to delight in such sport. We would have been much pleased to have had dear daughter with us. But hope that you have improved the time, so that when the examination comes off we shall be delighted with the proficiency you have made in your studies. 'Mother' and 'aunt' send their love to you. Ever your devoted, FATHER."

After the examination, in June, we returned to St. Louis. The encouragement we felt from the effect of the last winter upon my health, induced us to try another winter's sojourn in the South, with the hope that a permanent restoration would be the result. Consequently in December following, your grandfather took us to Mobile and settled us for the winter. Soon after which we returned home, by way of the eastern cities, for the purpose of purchasing his stock of goods for the next spring.

After again taking leave of the dearest objects of his earthly affection, he pursues his solitary way. From "Charleston, Dec. 22nd, 1847," he writes:

"My Dear Daughter: To redeem my promise to write alternately to you and dear mother, I date my first to you from this City of Palms. I wrote from Montgomery, the capital of Alabama, last, sitting in the Senate chamber, which was beautifully adorned with curtains, and furnished with rosewood desks and rosewood and damask velvet cushioned chairs; everything having the air of majesty—the majesty of the sovereign people. Since which time, I have been compelled to descend from my lofty flights to the real democracy, as I have had rough traveling, and the roughest kind of fare. After two and one-half days' hard traveling (night and day), I arrived her yesterday afternoon, completely worn out, and determined to lay over one day at this place. Having slept soundly, and removed the lamp-black and dust, I feel this morning quite well again, and shall leave to-day for Wilmington, North Carolina, by sea, in a fine steamer. The weather is very fine, and I think I shall have a quick and pleasant journey."

"I had the honor of traveling with Maj. Gen. Quitman and family from Montgomery to Augusta, George, where he was invited to remain and receive the congratulations of the citizens. The General, accustomed to command, could not well put up with the little deference paid him by his fellow-travelers, and was much annoyed that they were not restrained until he and his family were provided for. He is expected here to-day, and all the military are ordered out to receive him. General Shields has been here for several days, feasted and honored by this city, and the capital, Columbia, where the Legislature have voted him a splendid sword, the use of which he has so well practiced in Mexico."

"This is really a very beautiful and pleasant city, and has much of a business appearance. The streets are wide. It has a fine market-house. The Citadel is an old-fashioned fort, now used as a military school; for you must know that South Carolina is, or claims to be, the most chivalrous State in the Union; and her great men—Mr. Calhoun, Preston, McDuffy, and a host of others—stand high among the great men of the nation."

"I suppose you are, long before this, comfortably fixed at school, and mother has"—etc., etc.

You see, my children, from these several specimen letters, that your grandfather allowed no opportunity to pass unimproved. That, however, limited his time, he always found time to observe and to write. Neglect of duty had no place in his head or heart. It gratified him to serve his friends in any and in every way; but his devotion to his immediate family, in every respect, was remarkable. No display, no effort marked his intercourse with them, which made it only the more precious, for they well knew that love and kindness prompted his every act.

He wrote from New York—after having written from every stopping-place on his way thither—giving a more detailed account of his duties and pleasures which occupied every moment of his time there. In one of these letters he says: "I have been this evening to see Powers' Greek Slave, and think it the most beautiful thing I ever saw. It is a perfect model of the human form, and as you gaze at it you perceive new beauties every moment. The face, the neck, the arms, and hands, in fact every limb, and every muscle, are perfect; and the marble seems to have that softness and delicacy which we see in a young and beautiful girl. But you must see it to realize all its beauties, which I hope you will have an opportunity of doing next spring."

"I am very well, and have nothing to trouble me but our separation, and the thoughts of the long and wearisome months that must elapse before I can again clasp my dear wife and child to my arms. But I trust that it will be best for us both, and that it will be the last time on this earth."

In another letter from New York, dated January 4th, 1848, after a good deal of good advice to his child, and a faithful dealing with her peculiar faults, he writes: "With all the other matters, do not, my dear daughter, forget to learn the most important of all lessons—the end for which you were placed on this earth; for which mind and body were given you: "that you glorify God here, and enjoy Him forever' in the world to come. That you know, experimentally, Jesus Christ, now in the morning of life, whom to know aright is eternal life; who is love, and who has promised to love all who come unto Him by faith. I am sure that there is nothing that would gratify your parents so much as to see you, with all the fervor and ardor of youth, seeking and serving this, the best of masters; devoting your best affections to Him who sticketh closer, under every trial, than parent or friend."

I will quote another short extract from a letter dated "St. Louis, March 3d, 1848." In giving an account of a revival of religion, naming the number of persons who were about to unite with the Second Presbyterian church, he says: "How delighted would I be, could I see dear daughter a bright Christian, devoting all her powers and energies to the service of the blessed Saviour! How much more important is it to be educated to shine in Heaven than to be a star in this world of sorrow and affliction, where there is no solid enjoyment, and where all is transitory and evanescent. I pray that you may be led to a wise choice in these things."

As soon as the winter months were over—becoming impatient under such a long separation—we determined to cut short our stay in the "Sunny South." The greatly improved health of her for whose sake the sacrifice had been made, was ever afterwards a cause of gratulation.

In April we returned to St. Louis, with joyous anticipations of the future. The darling of our hearts was fast blooming into womanhood. Her father had purchased the residence which my brother had built for his own use, and which, above all others, we preferred, (especially as it was near to that of his aged mother), and we hoped before long to be permanently settled.

But as this letter has reached its full length, I will close it, with the best love poor grandma has to offer from her desolate and stricken heart.



Letter Thirteen



My Dear Grandchildren:

In the summer of 1848 your beloved grandfather, to whom no discharge of duty in the Church of God was felt to be a sacrifice, again determined to change his church connection. A feeble little church, painting for existence, without a pastor or house to worship in, solicited help from the mother church. Every Christian felt that the increasing wants of our growing city demanded more churches, but how many in the Second Presbyterian could obtain their own consent to exchange the comfort and ease of this elegant temple, which at length, after much self-denial of its members, was almost free from debt, and whose pulpit was adorned with the gifted and talented Dr. Potts! who could give up their cushioned and carpeted pews, the choice choir, the grand organ, and the many sweet Christian associations of past years, and throw in their lot with a little handfull of Jesus' praying disciples, who had few possessions, save that faith which made them lovingly cling to their Master's cause? My husband had been one of the first to assist in building up the Second Presbyterian church. He was an Elder, and a Trustee, and, after much anxiety, and the utmost straining of his ability to raise and to contribute funds towards the completion of their house of worship, he was just beginning to enjoy the comfort of seeing the debt, which had hung as an incubus over it for years, wiped out, when this new call was made upon him. A few young people proposed to go out to the assistance of the feeble church, upon the condition that Mr. Charless and Mr. Keith would go with them —wisely concluding that the attempt to sustain it without some such efficient aid, would be utterly in vain. It was thought, however, by the members generally, that it was a useless undertaking to keep the little church, as such, alive; and that it would be better for its few advocates to be merged into the different churches already established. Yet all seemed to think that St. Louis, growing as it was so rapidly in population and in wickedness, needed more houses of public worship; but most of the members of this church evidently shrank from the self-denial necessary thereto.

Your grandfather did not at once accede to this proposal, without first consulting his wife, as to her views, and especially her feelings, and she could not have it in her heart to consider her own comfort and pleasure, or that of their daughter, when he so evidently felt that, for him, this was the path of duty. I cheerfully consented; but, looking back at the "flesh-pots of Egypt" (and there is no doubt a great deal of this kind of worldliness carried even into the Holy place), I requested that we should retain our pew, calculating, as soon as the young church was fairly established, again to occupy it. We both loved and admired, and, like everybody else, felt proud of our minister—for, without doubt, he stood among the first, if not at the head of the Presbyterian church in the West—and we knew that no Dr. Potts could be obtained for this poor little church, which seemed to be tossed upon the breakers, and ready to sink. But my husband, like the early disciples, would have been pleased to toil all night upon the sea of Galilee, and at early dawn would have been seen mending the meshes of the broken net, making ready for another day or night of toil, while I would have preferred to sit with the five thousand upon the green grass, to be fed. But I never could gainsay or resist the few, simply spoken words, that revealed the cherished purpose of his soul, adorned, as they were, with eloquence of his unobtrusive and devoted piety. Of the difficulties and hardships endured by that faithful little band before a flourishing church was really established, and what part the subject of this brief history took in it, I must refer you to others, who know the particulars better than I do, and will proceed to other matters.

Early in the fall of 1848 we placed our dear Lizzie at school in Philadelphia, under the care of Mrs. Gardell, who deservedly enjoyed the highest reputation as an instructress of young ladies, being untiring in her efforts to cultivate their hearts, no less than their minds and manners. From the letters of her father, written during that time, I will make but one quotation, merely to show how earnestly he ever longed for the spiritual good of his beloved daughter: "Do you ever think on the subject of your soul's salvation?—of its value—of the importance of giving the subject that attention its magnitude demands, in the morning of life, when the feelings and emotions of the heart are warm and generous—before the temper and disposition are soured by disappointment? It was for this reason our blessed Saviour desired the young to come unto Him. My dear daughter, you cannot tell how happy your mother and I would be to know that you had consecrated yourself, heart, soul, and body, to the Lord, to serve Him faithfully in this world, that you might be permitted to enjoy Him in mansions of peace in that which is to come. This is the tenor of our morning and evening prayers, and, we trust, of yours also."

It was our intention to keep our Lizzie at this school for two years, but, the cholera making its appearance in the United States—a more terrible epidemic than ever before, in the spring of 1849—determined us to bring her home at the expiration of the first year. Especially as this fearful disease had exhausted itself in St. Louis during that summer, while we were with her at Newport and Nahant, out of its reach, and as it had not yet swept through Philadelphia, we deemed it safest to bring her home, where she might still pursue her studies under the instruction of private teachers.

From the time we had solemnly vowed at the baptismal font to train our child, not for this perishing world, but for Heaven, and thereby could claim the rich promise of a covenant-keeping God—"I will be a God to you, and to your seed"—nothing had caused us more anxiety than to know how wisely and faithfully to discharge our duties towards her. Whether strictly to force her into measures, or, by a mild and firm treatment, to win her to love the religion of her parents, was often discussed by us when alone in our chamber. We observed, with pain, that many of the children of our beloved church, whose parents believed that they could do no better part by them than strictly to carry out the rules of the church concerning worldliness, and would not, for any consideration, allow them to learn how to dance, or to attend a dancing party, were by far the giddiest and most reckless of young people. Some, first uniting with the Church, and afterwards disgracing their profession, while still under parental guidance; others, waiting until they were married, and were countenanced by a worldly husband, before throwing off all restraint, and showing these "long-faced Presbyterians" how amazingly dashy and gay they could be. With what natural grace and ease they can now discuss the merits or demerits of the last play! What a keen relish they have for balls! How charming the masquerade was! What delightful sport, in masque, to tell disagreeable and sarcastic truths (or falsities, perhaps), to some luckless ones who very innocently, but ignorantly, preferred to look on at the droll sight with their faces uncovered! Oh, what a disgrace to the child, who, for the sake of a few years (perhaps days) of false and empty pleasure, can do such violence to the feelings of parents, who, whatever their errors, truly love, and would sacrifice everything, except their hope of Heaven, to bless their children and do them good.

Your grandfather, my dear children, who was no extremist, but was "moderate in all things," thought it best to let his child enjoy everything that was innocent; that, while an act of disobedience—an untruth, or any direct breach of "The Commandments"—would cause his displeasure, and was followed by a look that penetrated your mother's soul, and was a far greater punishment than the rod of her mother, yet she might dance as much as she pleased, for "dancing was children's sport." But when she would gravely ask, if, like her school-mates, she might not go to a dancing school, she would be told that her papa and mamma had promised God to bring her up for Heaven, and that they would not be doing that if they fitted her for the gay world: that she must not forget that she was a baptized child of the Church. If she looked doubtful, or was inclined to urge the matter, we would ask her if she wanted us to break our word to God—which, like any other conscientious child, she would recoil from. When in her sixteenth year, however, while at boarding-school in Mobile, she expressed a greater desire than ever before to take lessons in dancing. They were given in the school, and confined to the pupils; not at night, but in the afternoon, when she required exercise instead of sleep; and we determined, after serious and prayerful reflection, to indulge her in this very natural wish, believing that longer opposition might be attended with a still stronger desire for the forbidden thing, which she could see no harm in, nor we, if confined to the social circle. We knew that God alone could make her a Christian—could turn her heart from the love of the world to that of holiness—and we did not believe that He would be less willing to do so because of our yielding to her wishes in this respect, which, our child clearly understood, was done, not from inconsistency on our part, or a vain desire to see her admired in the world; but from a conviction that, at her age, some consideration should be shown to her reasonable desires; especially as she was far from esteeming this indulgence as a license to unbounded worldliness; that the theater and the ball-room were to be conscientiously avoided, as the road that led directly away from all that was pure, holy and happy. And I am now gratified in saying that we have never had cause to regret the course we pursued in this matter —which ceased to be overrated as soon as its depths were sounded—our daughter finding, by experience, how empty and shallow this greatly overrated enjoyment is, compared to others, even of a worldly and social nature; how far it falls below the more refined joys of a less conspicuous but more reasonable and choice character, which the cultivated alone can appreciate.

The young lady days, no less than those of her childhood, your mother will tell you, were happy days. Restrained in that only which her parents, and her own conscience, deemed wrong, she was as free and joyous as the birds that carol in their native air. When her sprightly and impulsive nature inclined her to go beyond the bounds of propriety, she was checked. Readily indulged in every reasonable desire, and knowing that nothing worldly afforded her parents so much happiness as that of her own, she did not long mourn over occasional disappointments in personal gratification, which, if indulged in, might have reasonably reflected discredit, if not on her, at least on the religious position of her parents. She had to be reminded, now and then, that she was the child of an Elder of the Church; but never did she intentionally do violence to the feelings or views of him she so much reverenced and loved.

This reminds me of a circumstance, that I will relate: One evening, when your mother was dressing for a party, which was to be given at the house of a friend, a very serious accident occurred a few squares from us. A May-day celebration of school-girls, with their teachers, parents and friends, were suddenly startled with the sound and movement of a falling house, and, in a moment, from the giving way of the floor, they were precipitated from the second story of the house down to the first, and, after a moment's pause, into the cellar. The alarm was soon noised abroad, and, in a very short time, the building was surrounded by persons—some, who had relatives there, in agony to know the worst concerning them, some from curiosity, and others to render assistance to the sufferers. Your grandfather rushed to the spot, and remained there as long as there was anything for him to do, in encouraging the sufferers, and in assisting them to their homes.

No one was killed—though I think one person died from the injuries received there, a few days after the event; but many were dreadfully bruised, and some had limbs broken. After learning who constituted the assembly, who was hurt, and how much, and finding that, although we knew two or three of the injured persons, and entertained a high respect for them, they were not among our particular friends, nor even in our visiting circle—daughter and I concluded that there could be no impropriety in her attending the party: the time of starting having been delayed for awhile, until we were fully assured of all the facts, and had recovered from the shock felt upon the first alarm.

In less than half an hour after she had gone, her father returned from the scene of the disaster, and, learning that Lizzie had gone to the party, was amazed and greatly excited, that, "when our neighbors were dying around us," our child, knowing the fact, should be permitted to make one of a gay and thoughtless crowd! I was taken aback, for I had not realized the distressing condition of the wounded, and undertook to explain; but feeling condemned, mortified, and chagrined, I immediately proposed to send for her, which he promptly approved of, and, in a few moments, the carriage (which had just returned) was sent back, with an explanatory note from me. Lizzie had that moment taken her place in a cotillion, when the note was handed her. She read it, made an apology to her partner, an explanation to her hostess, bidding her "good evening," and, in a few minutes more, she was handed into the parlor at home by her friend and escort, regretting, most of all, that she had wounded that kind and tender father, who so deeply sympathized in the sorrows and sufferings of others.

Our house was a gay one. It was thought too much so by some, and perhaps gave umbrage to the feelings of a few of them, who, judging from without, as they passed to and fro, and heard music, and could discern from the street the moving of the heads in the brilliantly lighted parlors, thought, and said, too, "what a shame to reflect discredit upon the cause of Christ by revelry and dancing." "How much better it would be to appropriate the expenditure of money in these costly preparations to the poor," etc., etc. But, could they have seen and felt the influence of a Christian light, of which he alone who reflected it was unconscious, as he moved about in congenial mood with the young and gay, or, quietly conversed with the grave, perhaps his own dear pastor; had they but known that the calls upon the benevolence of the Christian man were as sacred, and as cheerfully granted, as those of the indulgent father, perhaps more so, they would not, I am sure, have been so censorious. And then, had they known the facts in the case, that no instrument of music, excepting the piano and guitar, and occasionally a flute, and no professor to play on them, for the purpose of keeping up a dance, had ever been in our house, these worthy people, fastidious Christians as they may have been, could not have felt so grieved.

We used wine too, but only at dinner and at suppers, with the ladies. No side-board drinking was ever done in our house. In our early married life even this was not our custom, for several reasons, two of which I will name: We were members of the old temperance society, which, however, did not forbid the moderate use of wine; but to be consistent with the spirit of our pledge, we used it only when some friend dined with us, whom we supposed was so accustomed to it, that he could not dine with comfort or pleasure without it. We did at one time introduce claret, as an every-day drink at dinner. We had been South for the first time, where the use of this mild wine is a universal practice, especially in New Orleans and Mobile. My husband and sister became quite fond of it, and so did our little Lizzie, who was then only five years old. Her father, consequently, purchased a cask for home use, had it bottled and sent to the house. But we found that our "cold water" brothers became quite excited after drinking it, one saying—"Sister, I felt like walking over the tops of houses, yesterday, after dinner." Another complained of the wine flying up into his face, making it so red, and all three appearing a little more merry than usual. Their good brother-in-law, never having known what a selfish feeling was, thought this may be the first step towards giving these boys a taste for drink, and determined at once to forego personal gratification in the use of a beverage which he really enjoyed, and felt all the better for. Next day, by order, the wine was not brought, as usual, to the table. No remark was made about it, until one of "the boys" asked the servant to hand it. My husband then in his ordinary modest cheerful way, explained the reason why the wine was not there. From which time we relapsed into our previous habit of offering a glass of sherry or madeira, only when politeness suggested it. But by the time our daughter was grown up, these brother-sons of his were men, with their habits formed, and capable of judging for themselves, and he no longer felt it incumbent upon him to be over strict.

"Let every one be fully persuaded in his own mind." "To his own Master he standeth or falleth." The religion of Jesus Christ is designed for all nations and people, whatever may be their peculiar views, tastes, or vices, and while it cannot exist in a corrupt heart —and when that has been changed, savingly touched by the Holy Spirit, the true light will shine out of it—yet we should all be careful not to measure other Christians in our measure, which, while it may be the best one for us, may not be exactly adapted to them. "By their fruits you shall know them," which the Apostle defines thus: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. Against such there is no law."

Pleasant and merry times your dear mother had at home, with her young friends, and long to be remembered. But more cherished still to her are the recollections of our religious hours. The same sweet hymns of praise that she loved to sing, while away at school, that would bring tears trickling down her sunny face, and with them that relief which her home-sick heart required, ascended in former times at our morning and evening orison. A few friends dropping in to tea were no excuse to evade the worship of our God. Regularly the Bible and hymn books were placed, before retiring from table, in front of your grandfather, and without an apology, excepting occasionally he might say, "it is our habit," as he turned the leaves of the Blessed Book.