Chapter 16

My Dear Grandchildren:

It has been nearly two years since I last wrote to you, since which time, war has desolated our once prosperous and happy country, and drenched its soil with the blood of her sons. All has been excitement and turmoil. Many widows and orphans have been made-–and the wail of anguish has been poured into the ear of the God of Sabbath. But I turn from the revolting facts which belong to the history of the nation–-to consider the last sad hours of your revered grandfather, and to copy for your instruction and admonition his dying words.

After having seen something of his daily walk through life, thought upon his sad and unexpected death, and in imagination mingled with the throng that followed him to his last resting place-–your mind will naturally revert to the lonely homestead and its desolate inmates. But words cannot picture the anguished of our hearts, the gloom and loneliness of our home--after the last relic of its light and glory had passed away from our view. So you will follow me, my dear children, to that little store on Market Street; look upon the bare floor, and behold your grandfather-–the gentle and loving man, in his dying agony! Listen to his words.

He knew he was dying, for he said, in answer to a hope expressed, that he might live–-“No, no, no! I am a dead man.” After a pause he uttered, fervently, “Lord Jesus, come quickly.”

Again, said he, “I am a great sinner.” Some one directed him to look to Jesus. “I do look to him. He is my all. He is very precious to my soul.”

Again, he said, “I deserve all I suffer, for I am a great sinner.”

I heard all this, but do not know how long I had been by him, when he said to me, “Charlotte, I have loved you always-–dearly loved you–-and I love you to the end.” Then turning his eye towards your father, who was on the opposite side of him, said he, “Louis, I leave my family to you–-my wife I leave to you.”

Some gentleman came up and asked, “Mr. Charless, who shot you?” He replied, “A man by the name of Thornton. I was called upon to testify against him in court last fall. While President of the Bank of Missouri, he brought me some bank notes to redeem. They were stained and had the appearance of having been buried. I asked him where he got those notes. He replied, he had bought them from some boatmen, who said they had found them under a stump, which had been pulled up from a boat having been tied to it. I told him that was a very unlikely story. When called upon to testify, I told, upon oath, what I knew about the matter, but I had no unkind feeling towards the poor fellow. I would have done him a kindness if it had been in my power. I have always tried to be a good neighbor-–to do justly-–and to love mercy. But I honor my country, and the majesty of her laws, and I have never shrunk from discharging my duty as a man, and as a Christian.”

Sometime afterwards he said, “How little we know what is before us.”

I remember, my children, in that dark hour, to have seen your dear mother, kneeling at the head of her precious father, in the deepest woe, alternating between glimmerings of hope, and agonizing fear.

To some remark of Col Grimsley, he said, “No, Colonel, no! I forgive my murderer; from the bottom of my heart, I forgive him.”

Some one asked him if he would not like to see a minister. He answered, “Send for Mr. McPheeters. You will find him at the Second Presbyterian Church, at the meeting of the Church Extension Committee.”

“My dear Pastor, I am glad to see you, I have always loved you. You have tried to instruct men, and I thank you for it.”

My beloved sister, for whom my heart is now bleeding–-for she too has left us and gone away, to return no more to cheer, to sympathize with, and to comfort us in our sorrows-–was at my brother’s, six miles from the city, and was late in meeting with us at this mournful scene. When she arrived, in broken accents she asked, “Is there no hope? Is there no hope?” “No hope here,” replied my husband, “but a bright hope beyond!”

Thank God! for the bright hope which I have that they met again, not, as then, in sorrow, but in the full enjoyment of the blissful presence of the adorable Jesus! But, come back my thoughts from that joyous abode, to the once happy little earthly home, I used to have, and go with me, dear children, to the same parlors, where your dear mother has had so much pleasure in the days of her youth, and behold, laid on a narrow couch, in agony and blood, that noble form. The beloved and admired of all who knew him. The rooms, the halls, are filled with anxious friends, but stillness reigns. Not a sound is heard save the involuntary groans of the dying Christian. In the midst of them he would sometimes exclaim, “God have mercy upon me a sinner!”

Through that long dark day, little was said. After many paroxysms of intense pain, Mr. McPheeters said, “Mr. Charless, you know something now about the sufferings of Jesus.” “Yes,” he faintly replied, “I have been thinking about that, while lying here.”

Again, Mr. McPheeters repeated, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” In broken accents he replied, “Nevertheless not my will, but Thine be done.”

Several times, looking full in my face, said he, “I love you.”

Once, with some difficulty, as if to leave his blessing, he placed his hand upon the head of your poor mother, and said, “My precious daughter.”

Again and again he uttered, “My poor wife.” He well knew how desolate his poor wife would be in this bleak world without him.

Towards the close of his sufferings, said he, “Will my heart strings never break? ‘Not my will but thine be done.’”

When he was almost gone, he whispered to me, “I–-love--you.”

His last words were, “I am satisfied.”

PEACEFULLY HE LIVED-–PEACEFULLY HE DIED!

And now, my dear children, I have but little more to say. It has been a hard struggle for me to write much that I have written; for it seemed like tearing open my heart. But the ardent desire that the virtues of my husband should not die out as his name has done, and the fear that, as one by one of those who knew and loved him, should be laid in the grave, and the bare fact that he was murdered only remain, a blush might tinge your cheeks, at the mention of his name, lest the ancestor, who thus fell, might by his evil deeds have provoked his untimely end. I have often felt, too, while penning these letters, it is useless; my grandchildren will perhaps never even take the pains to read them, and if read they may not be impressed by them or stimulated to a single effort, to imitate the being I so much love and admire, and whose blood still flows in their own veins.

One of the few friends to whom I communicated my intention to write this sketch, and for whose opinion I have a high regard, wrote me as follows:

“Do not suffer yourself to forget that when your grandchildren shall have become old enough to understand what you write, the present and the future will be the object of their interest, not the past and the dead. They will be unlike humanity, if they take any interest, in what so much interests you. I very much fear that your labors will wholly fail of accomplishing the good your earnest and loving heart intends.”

In the same letter he also expresses a fear that it will be impossible for me to make any attempt of the kind which will not be a very partial one. In reference to this, he says:

“The memory comes insensibly to dwell on all that was agreeable, and to intensify it; impartiality ceases; and the almost certain result is, a picture which all who read it, having known the object, see to be colored by the hand of love.”

If I had not already written twelve or thirteen letters before this damper to my efforts came to hand; I do not know that I would have had the courage to proceed, and I am now gratified to see, in reperusing the letters of condolence which we received after the death of your grandfather, that they, no less than the public manifestations of the community where he lived and died, corroborate what I have said in relation to him. Of the forty-seven letters received from friends, from every part of the country, there is but one opinion. All speak of him as an uncommon man, whose loss is irreparable. I will copy a few extracts from these letters, scarcely knowing, however, which to select, so full they all are of praises of him, whose memory, I humbly pray, his children may ever cherish as their richest earthly inheritance.

A gentleman of Cincinnati writes: “After the first stunning realization of the horrible crime of which your dear and universally beloved husband has been the victim, we continue to ask ourselves, if such a man is murdered, who can be safe? A man so kind, so just, so gentle, so good. I never knew a man whose whole life and character would have seemed a better guarantee against all violence, even of feeling.”

A lady, who had passed the greater part of her life in St. Louis, writes to my brother Henry, from “East Rockport.” She says, (after an expression of her heart-felt sympathy for him, and for the bereaved wife and child): “St. Louis has not been alone in her just indignation and horror at the cruel and ruthless deed committed on one of her principal streets; the bitter lament she so recently sent forth to all parts of the country has been re-echoed back again by many hearts and voices, that never knew our poor friend. May I not then, who have known him from his early youth, be permitted to bear my testimony to his many excellencies of character, so justly portrayed by his own Pastor, and others, with whom he was associated? Yes! there is but one voice on that subject, as there should be but one earnest wish, by all who mourn this sad event, ‘May I die the death of the righteous, and may my last end be like his.’ I know that on the face of the widowed wife and her only child, there rests the expression of unutterable sorrow, but her Maker is her husband, and her fatherless one, His peculiar care. The cold grave does not contain the immortal spirit that she saw contending in its agony for freedom from its clay casket, but it has soared away forever to the fields of light and immortality. May all with whom he has been associated, and all who shall hereafter learn the history of his amiable character, of his serene, and exalted piety, his peaceful conscience, and his martyr death, be so impressed as to join themselves to the ‘followers of the Cross,’ and bear the same noble testimony to the excellence of our holy religion that our friend, Mr. Charless, has done.”

Another lady writes, from Cumberland, Penn., thus: “My heart bleeds for you all, for well I know what a treasure you have lost. Few persons beyond your family circle had a better opportunity of knowing your beloved husband, and none, I venture to say, loved and admired him more. The world at large knew and valued him as a noble Christian gentleman, as a man of sterling integrity, and enlarged benevolence, but who could understand all his excellence and all his loveliness, but those who have been privileged, as I have so often been, to see him in the sweet relations of husband and father, to bow with him at his family altar, and to hear the fervent, yet humble, outpourings of the Christian heart before the mercy seat? Ah! well do I remember how tenderly, how sweetly, his petitions were wont to ascend for me, at the time of my deep and overwhelming sorrow; and when about to leave his hospitable roof, how affectionately he would commend the stricken one to our heavenly Father’s gracious care. These remembrances will linger about the heart as long as it throbs with life. Oh! sad, sad is the thought that I shall no more hear that sweet voice pleading with our Father God in behalf of the sorrowing ones, or for the Church of God, so dear to his heart, or committing his loved ones into his gracious care; while, with lowly meekness, he confessed and bewailed his sins, and plead for pardon with a childlike love and trust in our blessed Saviour. But oh! delightful thought, his prayers are now turned to praise.”

I will copy a part of a letter, from a gentleman in the city of New York, to show what kind of an impression your dear grandfather made upon strangers.

“June 4, 1859."

“Very dear Madam: Although a stranger to you, I cannot repress the expression of the heart-felt sympathy of myself and my whole family for you in your late terrible bereavement. Language is totally at fault in its poverty to convey what we feel, or give words that shall comfort you in your heavy affliction. Our acquaintance with your dear husband was recent and short, but it was long enough to endear him to our hearts in no ordinary way. We had gone to the house of God in company, and taken sweet counsel together. We had mingled our songs of praise around the domestic altar, and at the same holy place had poured out our united petitions to God for his blessing on our dear families, as well as on the cause of our divine Master. Indeed, I can truly say that our intercourse with your dear husband was all that was sweet and refreshing to the Christian’s heart, and time can never efface the delightful impression he left in our family when he took an affectionate leave of us all in order to join you and his dear daughter, and grandchildren. Every look and every word as is fresh as yesterday, and his sweet memory will be cherished by Mrs. S. and myself, and all our children, every one of whom became warmly attached to him.

“I feel that I am doing that which will re-open the bleeding wound, but I cannot help it, as my own emotions must have the relief which this note of sympathy only partially affords. O, how unspeakably dear to us is the thought of his readiness for the great change, and that he is now walking those golden streets, and basking in the smiles of his Saviour. And how consoling the many sweet assurances of our heavenly Father that he doth not willingly afflict, that all things work together for good to them that love God, and that as our day is, so shall our strength be.”

In explanation of your grandfather having been a guest of the gentleman who wrote this letter, and yet a stranger to him, it may be of interest to you to know, that in the spring of 1859, just before the return of your dear mother and yourselves to St. Louis, from your Southern home, he paid a short visit to the city of New York, to attend to some business for the Mechanics’ Bank, which brought him in contact with Mr. S., “President of the Bank of the Republic,” who gave him a pressing invitation to pass the Sabbath day with him, at his country seat, on the Hudson river. He accepted the invitation, accompanied his new made friend on Saturday afternoon, and returned Monday morning; and was thus made acquainted with a charming family, of whom he several times spoke in terms of admiration and affection.

A gentleman, residing in the interior of the State of Missouri, says, in a letter to my brother Taylor: “I cannot in justice to my own feelings refrain from expressing to you the deep, deep grief I felt at the loss of our dear friend, Mr. Charless. In all my intercourse with the world I can safely say that he was the purest and best man I have ever known. Thousands have lost their best friend, society one of its brightest ornaments, and his family-–Great God, how can their loss be described. I have been proud for twenty years to claim him as my friend, and if I had no other reason for thinking well of human nature, a knowledge of his character would be sufficient. He was a credit to human nature, and I never, sir, expect to meet his equal again in all that is essential to make a good and true man.”

Another gentleman, who dates his letter, Sarcoxie, June 10, in addressing the same brother, after offering his sincere condolence to him, and through him to the immediate family of the deceased, says: “My relations with Mr. Charless it is true were mostly of a business character, yet a relation of this kind of twenty years standing, could not exist with such a man without producing feelings of a kindly character. Such I entertain for him, though I never saw his face; and I am persuaded that he entertained similar feelings toward me. I shall ever cherish his memory as one of the best friends I ever had in my life.” Before closing his letter he requests a “lithograph likeness” of your grandfather, which was sent him.

What a rare testimonial is this! Known only as a business man, without ever having seen his face.

Your mother, in reading “Macaulay’s Essays,” a few days since, was struck with his description of the late Lord Holland, as being so much like her father. She pointed it out to me, and it so exactly accords with my views of him, also, that I think I may be excused by transferring it to this letter, for your perusal. He says of the expression of Lord Holland’s face, that it was “singularly compounded of sense, humor, courage, openness, a strong will and a sweet temper,” and that he had the “most gracious and interesting countenance that was ever lighted up by the mingled luster of intelligence and benevolence. As it was with the faces of the men of this noble family (referring to Lord Holland and his ancestors) so was it with their minds. Nature had done much for them all. She had moulded them all of that clay, of which she is most sparing. To all she had given strong reason and a sharp wit; a quick relish for every physical and intellectual enjoyment; constitutional intrepidity, and that frankness by which constitutional intrepidity is generally accompanied; spirits which nothing could depress; tempers easy, generous and placable; and that genial courtesy which has its seat in the heart, and of which artificial politeness is only a faint and cold imitation. Such a disposition is the richest inheritance that ever was entailed on any family.”

Rev. Mr. Cowen, of Carondelet, on the Sabbath of June 12, 1859, preached to his congregation from the text, “He being dead yet speaketh.” After giving an exposition of the text, he calls the attention of his congregation to the lessons of instruction “which this solemn providence” (alluding to the sad death of your grandfather) teaches:

1st. “The death of Mr. Charless teaches us the mysteriousness of God’s providence.” “In the calamity, dear hearers, which has removed from our midst one of the best men of this, or any previous age of the world, and overwhelmed so many in deep sorrow, we are pointed to the cruel and murderous hand of the assassin, but this was only the proximate cause of his sudden and violent death. There is a high and remote cause to which we must look, if we would find the true source of this event, which has thrilled the heart of this whole community. That cause, dear hearers, is the providence of God.”

Rev. Dr. Palmer of New Orleans, whom you recollect was to be our guest when in St. Louis, in June, 1859, told me that on that Sabbath day, when so many tearful eyes were looking for the last time upon the placid countenance of the beloved, who lay so still and cold in his coffin, he saw at the hotel where he was staying, among others who were lamenting the untimely end of Mr. Charless, men of rough appearance, who would one moment use the most horrible oaths of vengeance against the perpetrator of the bloody dead, and the next, their voices softening with expressions of tender regret, big tears were seen streaming down their cheeks, showing, as Dr. Palmer said, “how they loved the man from whom, in a moral point of view, they were so far separated, and the extraordinary influence of his life and character.”

Among the many copies that were sent to us of “the Resolutions,” which were passed by the various associations of St. Louis, in honor of this dear friend, I will extract but a portion of one:

“Resolved, That in the death of JOSEPH CHARLESS, Esq., we, as representatives of “The Home of the Friendless,” are called to grieve for the loss of our First Patron. He whose benefactions, stimulated into action the earliest impulses that led to the establishing of this institution, and whose sympathizing heart and ready hand followed us to the end of his life. Truly of him it may be said, ‘The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him, and he caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy.’”

In conclusion, my dear children, I am reminded as I often have been while writing these letters, that my husband was not fond of praise, and that he particularly disliked any approach to it from his wife, for he thought it almost as unbecoming in her to extol his virtues as it would have been to speak in praise of her own. He was, as I have said, an humble man, for he seemed never to forget that he had been redeemed from the curse of a broken law and was indebted to God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, for all that he had or was. And to God truly does the glory belong! Nature had done much for him, but Grace far more. And while, my dear children, I would again and again point you to your noble grandfather as an example worthy of your imitation, I would more earnestly direct your attention higher still, even to the Great Exemplar whom he followed at so great a distance. Attempt to compare any human standard, however exalted to this, and it wanes until it ceases to be seen before the dazzling purity of the Sun of Righteousness! Man, although he was originally made pure, has fallen very low in the scale of moral being, on account of sin. And notwithstanding he may by nature be endowed with many amiable qualities and many excellencies of character, the atmosphere of this sinful world is not favorable to their proper development, so that the virtuous and happy youth, gifted as he may be with intellectual capacity, and having ever so large a share of moral courage, may yet not be able to resist evil; and at last may become a bad, and, consequently, a discontented man. And it is certain, that, although he may live above reproach before his fellows, and achieve wonders in his career through life, he can never be noted for true moral excellence without Christianity.

And now, my dear, very dear children, I am done. But I linger in saying, farewell! Oh, that you all, “children, and children’s children, even to the third and fourth generation,” may be enabled to give your hearts away, in early life, to that blessed Saviour, who alone is able to fit you for living and for dying, who alone can effectually soothe your sorrows, sweeten every earthly enjoyment, and impart to you, in the midst of the cares, trials, and dangers of life, that calm confidence so beautifully expressed by David, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.”

That you may be guided by the precepts of God’s Holy Word, which is so faithfully taught you from week to week by your own sweet mother, my precious grandchildren, and that the dews of Divine Grace may distil from heaven upon you, making you true men and women, that you may live the life of the righteous, and at last be found among those who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, is, and ever will be, the sincere and earnest prayer of,

YOUR LOVING GRANDMA,

C. T. CHARLESS.

Belmont, December 24, 1862.

Letter from Rev. S. B. McPheeters, D.D.

Shelby Co., Kentucky, Sept. 5, 1865.

TO THE GRANDCHILDREN OF MR. JOSEPH CHARLESS.

My Dear Young Friends:

Your Grandmother has told me of the letters she has addressed to you, concerning the life of your Grandfather Charless, giving many incidents and recollections of him, which I doubt not will be of the greatest interest to you, and to those who will come after you; at her request, I will also add a letter on the same subject.

Before doing so, however, I wish to say, that as you are all, at the time I am writing, quite young, and as you will not probably read this until some years are passed, I shall not address you as small children, but anticipating a little, I will have you in my mind, and address you, as you will be a few years hence.

I wish very much that I could give you the picture of your Grandfather, as he was, and as he lives in my memory. And when I first undertook the pleasant task, so distinct was his whole character upon my memory, and so dear was the recollection of Mr. Charless to my heart, that I thought it would be easy to transfer to paper the image that was in my mind. But I have not found it so. I have once and again failed to satisfy myself in efforts I made to draw his moral and social portrait, nor do I know that I will succeed better now. But you may ask what is the difficulty? I will reply by an illustration from nature. When one is familiar with a landscape that is marked by bold mountains, prominent headlands, or rushing torrents, it is not difficult to describe such scenery so that it is at once recognized. Very different, however, it is when one attempts to tell in detail, what it is that makes a rich valley, in a bright spring morning, such an object of beauty and delight to the soul. There are a thousand objects too minute for detailed description, which, blended, charm the eye and please the fancy, and make us exclaim, How beautiful! The verdant grass, and modest flower, and budding tree, and singing bird, and genial sun, and balmy air, and light, and shade, all combine to make a scene, which he who sees it feels, but cannot easily reproduce in the mind of another. So it is with Mr. Charless. That which gave him his peculiar charm was not one or two striking characteristics which distinguished him from other men, but it was a beautiful combination of many noble and lovely traits, in proportions so just, and in harmony so pleasing, that when I have attempted to select this and that characteristic for description, I feel that I have succeeded about as well, as if I had collected a bouquet from the valley of which I just spoke, and should give it to a friend as a picture of the landscape itself. The truth is, my young friends, you will never truly know your Grandfather unless you are so happy as to meet him in heaven. And yet this is no reason that you should not desire to know something of him, and form some true idea of his character. And it is with the hope that I may add to your pleasure that I shall try and give you some account of him from my own personal knowledge and intercourse with him.

My relations to Mr. Charless were intimate for about eight years, I being, during that time, the Pastor of the Church in which he was a Ruling Elder. This official connection necessarily brought me in frequent intercourse with him, and as it was hardly possible to know such a man at all, without wishing to know him better, our intercourse soon ripened into friendship, which continued while he lived.

How well do I remember the first time I saw Mr. Charless, and the impression he made upon me. I had just come to St. Louis, from Virginia, to visit Westminster Church, with a view of settlement as its Pastor, if we should be mutually pleased. Being comparatively young and inexperienced, I felt much diffidence in undertaking the charge of a Church in a large city. It would have taken little to have discouraged me and made me abandon the thought; when I saw St. Louis, I felt so unfit to labor in such a place, that I was more than half regretting that I had listened to the invitation. As soon as he learned that I had arrived he called to see me. And there was something so cordial and winning in his manner, he was so frank and kind, that I at once felt that I could give him my confidence, and that with such men I would love to live and labor. It was Mr. Charless, more than all others in St. Louis, that induced me to make it my home. It would be easy for me to fill sheets with my recollections of personal kindnesses shown me. I never went to him discouraged or dispirited that he did not impart some of the cheerful hope, which was so characteristic of his own mind. I never sought his advice when perplexed, or in doubt, that he did not, by his wise counsel, throw light on the matters presented. But I will not dwell on these things, yet I can never forget them. I have had other friends who were very dear to me, but never such a friend as Mr. Charless; and what he was to me in our peculiar relations, such he was also to many, many others, in the various relations of life. But while so true and valuable a friend, I do not think I ever knew a man who made fewer declarations or professions of friendship.

You will get a very good idea of your grandfather’s personal appearance from the excellent portraits of him in the family. He was slightly above the average height, well developed, without being corpulent, had a firm elastic step, and motions indicating vigor and health. His eye was bright, but mild, his features regular and unusually handsome, and his countenance was habitually lighted up by an intelligence and benignity which gave it a peculiar charm, and inspired even strangers with a confidence that such a face could not belong to any but a good and upright man. Mr. Charless was an exceedingly pleasant companion, and, without being either brilliant or witty in conversation, his society was courted and his arrival was always hailed with pleasure by the company in which he mingled, for he brought with him a bright face, a cheerful heart, a genial humor and hearty cordiality that seemed to diffuse itself through all around-–children, young people and old people seemed alike to enjoy his society–-yet he never seemed to me to make an effort to “be agreeable,” he only acted out his natural feelings and disposition, and this was agreeable.

I hesitate some in describing your grandfather as a very polished and polite man. I fear you might put a meaning to those words which would lead you into a wrong view of his character: there is a polish and politeness that is the result of art and painstaking-–a thing on the surface-–often a disguise, having its root in expediency, always self-conscious and often selfish-–something that may please us because it flatters us, but does not win us because we cannot trust it. Nothing could be more unlike Mr. Charless than this. Yet there is a polish which flows from a nice sense of what is fitting and proper to be done in social intercourse, from ease and self-possession, from a kind heart and desire to make others happy; a politeness that is made up of a thousand little acts of self-denial for the comfort of others; that does not obtrude itself upon your notice, but is felt in making you easy; that flows, not from rules, but from good principles and a generous nature, in this sense Mr. Charless was eminently a polished and polite man. I have seen him with persons in humble life, he made them easy and treated them with kindness. I have seen him with men of eminent positions and great reputation, he was at perfect ease himself and commanded their marked respect.

Mr. Charless was not a learned man, and made no pretensions to learning, yet he was remarkably well informed; kept himself acquainted with the current literature of the day, and conversed with intelligence and good sense on all matters that came up in general society. On more than one occasion he surprised me, by showing an amount and accuracy of acquaintance with subjects which I had supposed lay out of the range of his investigation, and of which I should never have known that he had a knowledge had they not casually come up in conversation. I met him one day, and after some general conversation he gave me a book, remarking, “Here is a work to which a friend called my attention. I have read it with so much pleasure that I sent for a copy for you.” When I got home I was surprised to find it an elaborate and scientific treatise on the nature of the Church, a work which, I venture the assertion, not one layman in five hundred would have thought of reading, or would have finished if he had begun it.

You will never hear any one who knew your grandfather speak of him without mentioning his great generosity, liberality and kindness to the poor, but no one will ever be able to tell you how much he did to alleviate the sorrows of the distressed, or to help the needy, for he did these things so quietly that none knew it but those received, and Him who sees our secret things; but in my visits to the poor I have seen the tears start in the eyes of widows and orphans at the mention of his name, which told better than words who was their friend and benefactor. Mr. Charless was one of the few men I have ever known who seemed to think, as much as they should, that the manner of bestowing a benefaction, while it adds nothing to the cost of what is given, adds immensely to the value of the thing given, in the estimation of those who receive it. A friend of mind, who was soliciting funds for a charitable purpose, said to me, as he returned from an interview with your grandfather, “It is a pleasure to ask a subscription from Mr. Charless. He gives as though you conferred a favor on him in affording him the opportunity of ‘giving.’” This was very characteristic.

Mr. Charless was a modest and very unassuming man, and never pushed himself forward, yet he had a just estimate of his abilities, knew what he could do, and when called upon by circumstances, or by those with whom he acted, to take the lead, if the thing commended itself to his judgment, without ado or apology, he went forward and did it; and I have often been surprised to see how much he could accomplish and how well he did what he undertook. Besides his private business which was large, and complicated, one would think, enough for any man, he took a most active part in all the operations of the Church, in the various benevolent and educational schemes, in commercial and municipal enterprises, and still found time to attend to a multitude of little business matters for friends, who would avail themselves of his experience, and, I will add, (being one of the number myself), impose upon his kindness. But while always busy he never seemed in a hurry. The fact is, he had, in addition to great energy, a most uncommon amount of business talent. He was a thorough business man, and conducted all his affairs on strict business principles; a little circumstance will illustrate this: I was settling with him an account of a few dollars, in some matter which he had attended to for me. I handed him the money and there was a few cents in change, which neither he nor I could make. It was so insignificant that I said, “Never mind, Mr. Charless, that makes no difference.” He replied, promptly, “But it does make a difference; the account is not settled until that is paid,” and away he went to the other end of the store, stepped to his cashier, got the exact change, and handing it to me, said, with a smile, “You preachers are too often poor business men, and I want my Pastor to be not only a good preacher, but a good business man. The rule is, meet your engagements to the minute and pay your debts to the cent.” The whole thing made, as he designed it should, an impression on my mind, and has been of great advantage to me. I have often repeated the anecdote to other clergymen, and hope it has been an advantage to them.

You will often hear from those who knew your grandfather speak of his great kindness, his habitual placidity of temper, and uncommon sweetness of disposition, and all this was eminently true of him; but if you are led by such accounts to think of him as in any degree what is called a yea-nay sort of character, or as destitute of spirit, or even incapable of passion, you will make a great mistake. He was not at all deficient in firmness, and had not only moral but physical courage in an eminent degree. As he never wantonly gave so he never tamely brooked an indignity. His eye could flash as well as laugh. I was one day conversing pleasantly with him in his private office in the Bank, of which he was President. A gentleman came in, evidently in a pet, and addressing Mr. Charless, spoke in a very harsh way, and with broad insinuations against one of the Bank Directors, in relation to some transaction. Before he had well finished his invective Mr. Charless rose to his feet, his eye kindling, every feature of his faced marked by sternness, and replied, “Sir, the gentleman of whom you speak is my personal friend. The charge you bring against him is not true; the facts were these (mentioning them concisely but clearly), and now, sir, you must retract what you have said.” The gentleman evidently taken aback, both Mr. Charless’ statement of the case, and manner, immediately calmed down, made an explanation and withdrew. I could not resist a hearty laugh at the storm which had so suddenly burst upon us and had been as suddenly quelled, and turning to him said, “Mr. Charless, I had no idea you had so much pluck.” He joined the laugh and said, “My Irish will sometimes come up. Besides,” he added, more gravely, “that man took no pains to learn the facts of the case, and has a way of bullying that I wanted to put a stop to.”

Few men had a keener relish for what was humorous or enjoyed a laugh better than Mr. Charless, and with little children he was playful and would sometimes even join in their sports, and if he did not join them he would look on and seemed to relish with great zest their pranks and joyous shouts and gambols. Perhaps some persons would not have mentioned such a trait of character, as it might seem to imply a want of dignity. I beg leave to differ from such. There is a dignity of manner and a dignity of character, not only quite separable, but often separated. I have known men who had great dignity of manner and very little dignity of character, and they are to me among the most irksome of mortals. Mr. Charless, while not deficient in dignity of manner, when occasion called for it, was truly dignified in character. The one he might drop for a little while, the other he never dropped. The children, with whom he might sport or familiarly talk, respected him just as much as if he had the manner of a Judge on the bench, and then they loved him far better; and there was to me in these occasional overflowings of a genial nature, this return of youthful feeling in mature manhood, this sympathy with children, something very beautiful. It showed how large his heart was, how little he been soured or soiled by contact with the world, how broad, and healthy and true a nature God had endowed him with. The very same large humanity that disposed him to enter into the sports of children led him also to help the widow, to befriend the friendless and soothe the sorrowing.

I have said nothing yet about your grandfather’s religious character, and yet this was by far his greatest excellence. He was truly and sincerely pious. By which I mean he truly loved, trusted in, and obeyed Christ. But, although I am a preacher, I do not intend to write you a sermon, and I hope you will not take it as so intended, in what I am about to say to you of the religious character of Mr. Charless. I esteem it by far your greatest loss, in his death before you were old enough to understand him, that you are deprived of the means of learning something about true religion as it was exemplified in him.

Most young people, if not pious themselves, have an idea that religion is in its nature gloomy, or at least that it would interfere with the happiness and vivacity of youth. I know this, for I once thought and felt so myself. And it is just to correct this that I so much regret that you did not know your grandfather Charless; you could not have known him without knowing that he was truly pious, nor could you have helped seeing that he was a happy man, and that his religion, yes, his religion, so far from interfering with, promoted his happiness. You may meet with other examples, but you will rarely find one so striking as his. And I hold, as a matter of fairness, that religion should be judged by just such examples. I know that there are truly pious persons who are not attractive, who are melancholy, or who are sometimes even repulsive in their characters. Do you ask, Why not judge the effect of religion from these as well as from better and more pleasing cases? My reply is: What you see and judge may not be religion at all. In the repulsive it may be only the coarse, rough natural character; with the melancholy it may be dyspepsia. You do not form your estimate of what the glorious light of the sun does in gladdening and beautifying the earth, by its vain struggles with mists and fogs; it may fail to make a potato patch sublime or grand, and yet be in itself both sublime and grand. No, you judge of it by objects in themselves calculated to reflect its excellence, by the life and joy it diffuses on all animated nature, and especially by the exquisite beauty it imparts to some lovely valley, or to grand old mountains whose snow summits it drenches in light until they glitter and radiate like the gates of heaven. So, precisely, in fairness, you should judge religion. Hence I insist that men like Mr. Charless are examples by which religion should be judged. Nature did much for him, made him generous and kind, gave him a large heart and noble impulses. Grace elevated, strengthened, purified all these natural qualities, and brought him in harmony and fellowship with God; set before him, as an object of love, confidence, and imitation, the blessed Saviour; gave him a hope which earthly losses could not dim, and a peace which they only know who have felt it. Why should it not have added to his happiness? Had he lived he would have told you himself that what real happiness he had in this life came more from his religion than all other sources. My young friends if you still stand in doubt on this point I can only say make the experiment yourselves, and if you find what I have said not true, judge me a false witness.

There is a special promise made by Christ, to those who enter their closet and shut the door and pray to their Father which is in secret. How often Mr. Charless brought those words to my mind; and as I used to see him coming from home, with such a cheerful, happy face, as I saw how good men and wicked men respected and honored him, I have said to myself over and often: His Father who seeth in secret is rewarding him openly. In truth this passage was so associated with Mr. Charless in my mind, that I do not know that I have read these words for a number of years before his death and since without thinking of him as a striking illustration of its truth and beauty.

I need not, in concluding, say much to you of the circumstances that snatched from his family, from you, from the Church and the community, such a man. The record of the whole event you will see in the journals, secular and religious, which your Grandmother has so thoughtfully preserved for you. I remember nothing that occurred in St. Louis, during the fourteen years that I resided there, which produced a more profound impression on the public mind, or so stirred its hot indignation, as the death of Mr. Charless by the hand of the assassin who slew him. Nothing, I believe, but the urgent request of Mr. Charless, from his bed of death, prevented the community from avenging themselves without the forms of law for the dark crime committed. And when, at the request of Mr. Charless, the community spared the life of the felon, there was all the sterner purpose that Justice should be meted out to his crime by the hand of law. And no jury could have been found in the city, who, if they had been so disposed, would have ventured to acquit him on false or frivolous pretexts, such as secured the acquittal of many a culprit.

No one felt that the death of the poor wretch who did the deed was any atonement for what he had done, any more than a household can feel that the death of the viper is any atonement for the life of a favorite son it has slain. The viper is crushed and forgotten, the child is remembered, honored and cherished-–so it was in this case. The execution of the murderer created no excitement; all that men appeared to desire with regard to him was to know that he was executed, and he was dismissed with loathing and detestation from all minds. I think it exceedingly probably that there are multitudes in St. Louis who could not, without an effort recall the name of Thornton-–I do not now myself remember his given name,--but there is not a little boy or girl, there is not a citizen, living there at that time, who does not remember JOSEPH CHARLESS. And I have been struck with the fact that a number of persons who have been at my house in this State, and have asked me, as they looked at your Grandfather’s miniature that hangs on my walls-–Who is this? When I have told them, all remembered what they had heard, or seen in the papers, of his virtuous life and tragic death; but not one ever asked me the name of his assassin. So true to nature and the orderings of Providence is the proverb of Solomon: “The memory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot.”

And now, my dear young friends, let me say to each of you, if you would be virtuous, or happy, or useful, if you would be loved and deserve to be loved, honored and deserve honor, be like JOSEPH CHARLESS. And to this end may the rich blessing of God rest on each of you.

Your Friend

SAM’L B. McPHEETERS.