A Biographical Sketch of the Life and Character of Joseph Charless Part 2

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

BELMONT, January, 1861.

Letter Six

MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

In my previous letters I have endeavored, with the best lights I have, to show you the circ.u.mstances and surroundings of your grandfather?s early life, by giving you a sketch of his parentage, a.s.sociations, youthful characteristics, etc.

But now, I am entering upon a new era. He is a married man-?has left the paternal roof, and is forming new a.s.sociations. The romance of the vine-covered cottage, with the girl of his heart-?which, as fortune smiled, should gradually grow into the stately mansion, with none to share or distract the peculiar joys of early married life, when all is couleur de rose-?were not for him. Life is too earnest for romance; for high and holy responsibilities, in the dispensations of an all-wise Providence, he has to meet and to discharge. He is young and inexperienced, but here are boys, bound to him by a new, but tender tie, just entering the most dangerous period of life, without their natural guides; here are girls, unused to the hard usages of misfortune, suddenly deprived of all ?save innocence and Heaven,? and he is their only earthly protector and friend.

Our parents were both of English descent, and Virginians by birth. They were married young, and settled upon the hereditary estate of my mother, which consisted of a well-improved Virginia plantation.

There they lived, with nothing to interrupt the quiet and ease of their existence, excepting the war of 1812-13, between the United States and England, when my father had to shoulder the musket, as captain of a volunteer company, and leave his family, to fight for his country.

This was the only eventful period of their lives, until my father became fired with the Western Fever, that about that time (the year 1818) began to rage, and which resulted in the purchase and settlement of a cotton plantation in North Alabama. Alabama was then the Eldorado of the far West, and I well remember the disappointment I felt, upon our arrival there, at not seeing ?money growing upon trees,? and ?good old apple brandy flowing from their trunks!?

From this period commenced our misfortunes, which, although trying to my parents, were, by dint of energy and perseverance, readily overcome, at least so as to enable them to support and educate their growing family-?securing the comforts of life, with some of its luxuries?-until, very naturally, aiming at more than this, my father again made a sacrifice of much, with the hope of gaining the more, by removing to St. Louis-?the result of which I have already told you.

My father was honest, frank, social, communicative, and confiding. He possessed an unbounded confidence in his species, believing every man a gentleman who seemed to be one, or was by others esteemed as such, and, in transactions with them, considered their ?word as good as their bond.? From which, as soon as the old and well-tried a.s.sociations of his native State were dissolved, he suffered many pecuniary losses. He was pa.s.sionate, but not revengeful; gay and animated, but subject to occasional reactions, when he became much depressed. He was a high-toned, honorable gentleman, very neat and exact in his personal appearance, but entirely free from pretension.

My mother was orphaned in infancy, and brought up by her grand-parents ?-Mr. and Mrs. Etheldred Taylor. She was proud of her ancestry. I can see and hear her now, when, under circ.u.mstances where her pride was touched, she would say, ?Daughter, remember that pure and rich blood flows in your veins-?the best in the land. If your mother had to live in a hollowed stump, she would be what she is; no outward circ.u.mstances could lower or elevate her one iota;? and she would raise her proud head with the air of an unrighteously dethroned queen. This, I may say, was mother?s great, if not her only fault. She was a pure, lovely, estimable woman; quick and sensitive, but, as a friend, a wife, and mother, she was unexceptionable. Like the Grecian matron, her children were her jewels.

Her education would have been considered limited for these days, yet she was a woman of fine sense and quick intellect. She possessed great delicacy of feeling, an inflexible will, an unusual energy (for a woman) in carrying out what she esteemed right, and an uncontrollable aversion to whatever was mean or cowardly. The training of their children devolved mostly up her, my father finding enough out of doors, in business or pleasure, to occupy him. And faithful she was in teaching them the practical lessons of industry and economy; faithful in dealing with their faults. The only one never checked was pride.

This she appealed to as a stimulant to every other virtue; for virtue she esteemed it-?and virtue it is, in its proper place, and under proper control.

My parents were brought up in the Episcopal church-?with a form of G.o.dliness, without the substance. But the sufferings and death of my eldest sister, who had become a true convert to the religion of Jesus Christ, in the Methodist church, and who died rejoicing in the hope of everlasting life, so impressed my mother that she, too, sought and found the ?one thing needful?-?which happy change, although it took place late in life, was long enough to evince to her children the genuineness of her faith, and the power of the Gospel in making the ?proud in spirit? meek and lowly at the feet of Jesus. She united with the Presbyterian church a few years before her death; and now, as I look back at the days of my childhood and youth, and call to mind all the pleasant and sweet things which memory cherishes, there is nothing so refreshing as the piety of my mother, and that of the dear sister, who, like a pioneer, went before to show us the "straight and narrow path? through the rugged scenes of this sinful world. Like an oasis in the desert of life, it lives, fresh and green, and ever and anon directs my vision above the storm and tempest to the pure and bright realms of the redeemed.

With this short sketch of the life and character of my parents, from which you can form an idea of the peculiar characteristics and dispositions of their children, who now have become so intimately a.s.sociated with your grandfather, I will proceed to say, that, after the death of my father, which occurred in June, just eleven months after that of my mother, he at once became our loving and beloved head.

We took an affectionate leave of his dear parents, and removed into our own "rented house;" and that you may be enabled to place us there, I will describe our two best rooms, which were separated by a folding-door, and used as parlor and dining rooms. They were neatly furnished, with nice ingrain carpets, cane-bottom chairs, an extension dining table, and very pretty, straw-colored Venetian window-blinds, trimmed with dark blue cords and ta.s.sels. A mahogany work-stand--the only article ordered from "the east," because it was a gift for his wife--was placed in the parlor, for it was too pretty to stay up stairs, (perhaps the emptiness of the parlor made me think so).

Now, my dear children, you may laugh, and, perhaps, feel ashamed that your grandparents should have started in life with so little, and that so plain, especially if you hear others boasting of the wealth and grandeur of theirs. But, when I tell you that after awhile we had a nice sofa, (bought at auction, because it was cheap), and that at another time a small side-board was provided, in like manner, by that dear grandpa, who always did the best he could; and when I tell you that "grandma" was so happy, and so well satisfied; that n.o.body's house--not even those furnished in the most expensive manner, with the richest carpets, the most ma.s.sive and elegant furniture, mirrored and draped in costly brocatelle--looked half so sweet and pretty to her; when you know, my dear children, and understand, that those people who have so far deteriorated, by false teaching, and the glitter of the world, as to esteem such things more highly than the far richer treasures of the heart, which alone can garnish a home with unsullied beauty, and feel the pity and contempt for them that I do, these trifling baubles will take their appropriate place, and you will see life as it is, and value it for what is pure and genuine--not for that which is false and worthless.

On the 8th of November--exactly one year after our marriage --your dear mother (then our sweet little Lizzie) was born. Not long after this, I was taken extremely ill with a fever, which lasted many, many weeks. My dear husband is now seen as the tender and devoted nurse. With my sisters, he watched beside me, with his own hands wringing out the flannels from strong, hot lotions, and applying them to my aching limbs, which gave relief (but that only momentary) when as hot as could be borne. No nurse could be procured. The few that were in the city had left from fright when the cholera made its appearance there that fall, and had not returned. But "grandpa" never wearied in attentions to his wife. After the violence of my disease had abated, and I was p.r.o.nounced by my physicians "out of danger," I continued weak and in a bad state of health for months. Still, how thoughtful, how watchful and attentive he was! Often at night have I waked, and the first object that would meet my eyes would be my husband, walking to and fro with the baby in his arms, trying to hush her to sleep, lest she should disturb me.

For at least six months after my partial recovery my limbs had to be bandaged, to lessen the swelling. No one but he could do this properly. At night he would prepare the bandages, by rolling them tightly, and in the morning, immediately after returning from market, (that he might not lose time from business), he would go through with the tedious process of bandaging--meanwhile keeping up a cheerful conversation, which is so reviving to the invalid; and, after breakfast, he would return to my room, to bid me an affectionate adieu, before leaving for the store.

During this sorrowful year, my dear husband lost both of his sisters. Mrs. Wahrendorff died in November; Mrs. Kerr the May following. In this severe dispensation he derived comfort from the belief that they had exchanged this for a better world, for they both had a well-grounded hope in the merits of a crucified Redeemer; and, even while he mourned for his sisters, he was cheerful.

It is surprising how much real happiness we can have in the midst of trouble, when the heart is right; and it is surprising, too, how much real misery we can have in the midst of prosperity, when there is everything apparently to make life pleasant and blissful, when the heart is wrong.

You know the little song, "Kind words can never die." "Grandma"

realizes to-day that they never do; nor kind looks either, nor good deeds. With the G.o.d of love, nothing is small. He stoops "to feed the young ravens when they cry," and yet there are men, (not many, I hope), who, from pride, selfishness, and ill-nature, imagine that, as "lords of creation," it is utterly beneath them to minister with their own hands to the sick and feeble, not even excepting the wife of their bosoms. Life is made up of little things. "A cup of cold water" from the hand of a loving, gentle, sympathizing friend, does more to alleviate suffering than rich gifts bestowed by the unfeeling and the proud; than many luxuries provided by the harsh and exacting.

I have first particularized, and then drawn a contrast, my dear children, that you may be the better able to see the beauty and excellency of true goodness; and that, like your grandfather, who has gone to reap the reward, through grace, of a well-spent life, you may be self-denying, gentle, loving, and kind.

Devotedly yours, GRANDMA.

Belmont, January, 1861.

Letter Seven

My Dear Grandchildren:

With a return of comparative good health, "grandma" is again enabled to resume her duties as housekeeper, and is daily seen, with "grandpa," presiding at their family board. Our sisters and brothers, with two young men from "the store," (who, from motives of economy, board with us), and our little daughter, who sits to the left of her father, in her baby dining-chair, const.i.tute the family. How cheerful the scene, after months of sickness and anxiety! "Grandpa," at least, is radiant with happiness and good-humor. No unpleasant word or look is seen or heard during our family repast. Perhaps an awkward boy upsets his cup of coffee, but the quaint remark, "accidents will happen in the best regulated families," spoken with a native courtesy, rarely seen, restores his equilibrium; and thus peacefully, (in the main), day after day pa.s.ses along, although many little perplexities and cares arise, such as every family are subject to, especially where there are sons just entering the dangerous and tempting paths of youth.

In my particular duties and unavoidable anxieties I had a warm and sympathizing friend, and a good counsellor, in the person of my precious husband. But I felt that I needed more than this to sustain me in the cares, and trials, and sorrows of life. And, besides, I carried about with me a troubled conscience. For, at the commencement of my illness, in the fall of 1832, I was perfectly aware of the approach of danger, and, as I took a look from this world into Eternity, all was dark and void, and the thought of having to meet death thus alarmed me.

While a raging fever was fast making me wild, I drew the sheet up over my face, and said, "Let me be quiet." All was stilled, no sound being heard, save an occasional whisper from some loved one, (who was too anxious to be mute), and my own quick breathing, while my heart was struggling for communion with G.o.d. Vague as were my ideas of that glorious Being, I prayed that He might spare my life, promising, most solemnly, that if He should do so, I would, upon my recovery, turn my attention to the consideration of Divine Truth; that I would search the Scriptures, to know what they taught, and, should I be a.s.sured that the Bible contained a revelation from Heaven, I would, in the future, govern my life by its precepts and doctrines.

Weak and sinful as this prayer was, I believe the G.o.d of pity heard and answered it; for, notwithstanding my disinclination to the fulfilment of this vow, made under circ.u.mstances so appalling, He bore with me, but never allowed me to forget it. Every appearance of evil --and especially the return of the cholera in our midst the next fall --seemed to me, "like the fingers upon the wall," ready to write my doom.

I often tried to become interested in reading the Bible, but that sacred book possessed no charm to me. I found it a hard and unpleasant task to read it at all. At length I summoned up courage to communicate my difficulties and fears to my husband. Prompt in action, he immediately purchased for me "Scott's Commentary," which, he said, would aid me in understanding the Bible; the want of which, he thought, was the reason I could feel no interest in it. He was right; for, before I had finished the book of Matthew, with the systematic and attentive reading of "the notes" and "practical observations," I was convinced that this was none other than the word of that great Being who had made and preserved me all the days of my life. This blessed book--which, hitherto, had been a sealed book to me--now seemed to glow with real life, and unwonted beauty! It was no difficult task for me then, hour after hour, to pore over its sacred pages.

Your grandfather, at this time, was only a nominal believer. He had not earnestly examined this all-important matter, and made it a personal one. Engrossed in business, young and healthy, he no doubt felt, like thousands of others, that there was time enough for him to attend to the interests of his soul, (which, to the natural heart, is insipid, if not distasteful); but, when he saw his wife so deeply interested, he did all he could to encourage her. He knelt with her at the bedside in secret prayer, conversed with her on the subject, went with her to church, and sympathized with her; until, as a reward, I truly believe, for all his kindness to me, at a time when I was ashamed of myself--ashamed to let anyone know (even him) that I felt the weight of unpardoned sin-??G.o.d touched his heart as with a live coal from off His altar." So, hand and heart, we went together.

Sweet is the memory of the ever-to-be-remembered day, when, "in the presence of men and of angels, we avouched the Lord JEHOVAH to be our G.o.d, the object of our supreme love and delight; the Lord Jesus Christ to be our Saviour from sin and death, our Prophet, Priest, and King; and the Holy Ghost, our Illuminator, Sanctifier, Comforter, and Guide;" when we gave ourselves away in "a covenant, never to be revoked, to be his willing servants forever, humbly believing that we had been redeemed, not with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of the Son of G.o.d."

How different is the scene now presented at that fireside, where no G.o.d had heretofore been acknowledged! For, morning and evening, we surround the Throne of Grace; the Bible is read, a hymn sung, and that sweet voice, which we shall hear no more on earth, with a full confession of sin and unworthiness, humbly pleads with Him "in whom we live, and move, and have our being." A blessing is asked at our meals; preparations are made on Sat.u.r.day for the holy Sabbath, that no unnecessary work may be done on that day, and servants are exhorted to improve its sacred hours.

After having dedicated ourselves to the service of the living G.o.d, we took our little Lizzie--the dearest, richest treasure of our heart and life--and presented her, in the solemn ordinance of baptism, to that Saviour who, when all earth, "took little children in his arms and blessed them," and there promised to pray with, and for her; to impart to her the knowledge of G.o.d's holy word, and to bring her up, not for this vain and perishing world, but for Heaven.

Now, my dear children, that I have given you a peep into the home and household of your grandparents, when your mamma was a little babe--before and after they became members of the Church--I will proceed, by telling you that, during that summer, (in July, 1834), your beloved grandfather met with another heavy bereavement, in the death of his father. None were then left of all that united and happy family circle, which caused the homestead to ring with mirth when "grandma," as a bride, first became a member of it, excepting his mother, his brother Edward, and himself. Deep sorrow pervaded our souls, most of all because, before this sad event, we had learned to feel, most keenly, the importance of a careful preparation for "the great change," which we do not know that his father ever made. But, (as I once heard a minister say at a funeral), "we will leave him where he left himself, in secret with his G.o.d," with the hope that he was enabled, by that grace which is rich in Christ Jesus, to "make his calling and election sure."

Life is made up of lights and shadows, and, before closing this letter, I will give you an account of a delightful little journey which we made early in September of that year.

Your mamma, who was then just twenty-two months old, was quite delicate, and we thought a little trip into the country would be of service to her; and her papa, having some business in Illinois that would cause an absence of ten or twelve days, concluded to hitch up our little barouche and take us with him. So we started, in fine style, on a beautiful morning--"grandpa," and "grandma," our little Lizzie; and her nurse--which, with a small trunk, a carpet-bag, and a little basket, containing some crackers, etc., for the baby, quite filled the carriage.

I?ll tell you there is no such traveling these days of railroads and steam boats! Every body is in too great a hurry to stop and go slowly, as we did in our little barouche, trotting gently along across the prairies of Illinois. How balmy and bracing the air; how quiet the scene; how beautiful the prairies! Some four, some ten, some twenty miles in width--all covered with tall gra.s.ses and a profusion of large autumn flowers that waved in graceful undulations before the sweeping breeze. An apt representation of a gently swelling sea, upon whose dark green waves, nature had emptied her lap of richly varied blossoms.

We traveled from twenty-five to thirty miles per day; starting early in the morning--while yet the dew glittered before the rising sun. We always took care to learn from our host, the distance and situation of the next good stopping place, where we might dine, and rest a few hours in the heat of the day, after which we would again "hitch up" and start refreshed and strengthened for our evening ride.

What magnificent sunsets! How picturesque the woodland bordering of these beautiful prairies, with here and there an humble residence, and a cultivated field. We could not but lift our hearts in adoration and praise.

?If G.o.d has made this world so fair, where sin and death abound, How beautiful, beyond compare, will Paradise be found.?

On we went--pa.s.sing occasionally through neat little villages, sometimes large towns, such as, Springfield and Jacksonville--until we reached Lewiston, where we spent the Sabbath and attended the village church. In the afternoon of the next day we went to Canton which was the end of our journey. And when "grandpa" had transacted his business there we turned our faces homeward.

The first day upon our return, we lost our way--then appeared clouds and mists, just enough rain falling, to make the high hills we had to climb, slippery and hard upon our poor horse, who manfully pulled away without flagging, until we found a shelter for the night; which, although a wretched one we were very thankful for. From this time, there is but a faint impression left upon my mind of our return, until within a few miles of Alton, when, as the sun was fast sinking into his glorious bed of cloud and fire (giving strong indications of an approaching storm), my anxious husband, after having made a strenuous but vain attempt to obtain a shelter for the night "whipped up" his jaded horse and pressed forward.