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.