Read Ebook: A Biographical Sketch of the Life and Character of Joseph Charless In a Series of Letters to his Grandchildren by Charless Charlotte Taylor Blow

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After a brief and simple introduction, he says: "That I love, you is but a faint expression of my feelings, and should I be so happy as to have that feeling reciprocated by you, I pledge you the best efforts of my life to promote your happiness. Nature, I fear, has wrought me in her rougher mould, and unfitted me to appear to advantage in an undertaking like this, in which so much delicacy of sentiment seems to be required in these, our days of refinement. Such as I am-?and I have endeavored to appear without any false coloring--I offer myself a candidate for your affections, for your love. You have known me long enough to find out my faults--for none are without them--and to discover what virtues I may have , and, from these, to form a just estimate of my character.

"I feel that my future happiness, in a great measure, depends on your answer. But suspense to me is the greatest source of unhappiness. Naturally impatient and sanguine, I cannot rest until the result is known. May I hope that my offer will be favorably received, and that hereafter I may subscribe myself, as now, Your devoted, JOS. CHARLESS, Jr.?

If this seems like a "love-letter" to you, my dear children, it does not to me, for it does not embody half of the love and devotion which I ever received from my husband, from the time we stood at the hymenial altar, until, in his last, faint whisper, while he gazed with unutterable tenderness, he said, "I--love--you!"

But I must try to forget, while I am writing to you, my dear children, that I am bereaved. I must not let my sorrows give a coloring to every page, for I know how natural it is to the young to delight in pleasant things, and to flee from that which is gloomy; and, besides, I cannot leave a faithful impression upon your minds of what he was, unless I enter into the spirit of the past, when our sweet home was full of joy, and gladness.

And why should I not be joyous again? Have I not dear children to love me, and is not my dear husband alive, and shall I not see him again? Is not God still good, and has he ever tried me more than I am able to bear? Was he not with me in the deep waters? "I know that in very faithfulness Thou hast afflicted me."

Then let me cease my murmurings; or, rather, let me check my yearnings for what I can never have again--a faithful, loving heart, to bear with me my sorrows, and a strong arm to lean upon. Yes, there is a strong arm upon which I can lean. May I have faith to make use of it! There is a "Friend who sticketh closer than a brother," to whom I can unburden my heart.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

BELMONT, January, 1861.

Letter Five

My DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

We were married on the 8th of November, 1831. No costly arrangements were made for the occasion. The death of my sweet mother having occurred a few months previous would alone have prevented display and revelry; but, besides this sad event, my father had become greatly reduced in circumstances, and could afford no better preparations for the wedding of his child than such as could be made at home. Evergreens, provided by my little brothers, and festooned with flowers by my sisters, set off to great advantage the transparent white curtains, and gave a look of freshness and gaiety to our neat, but plain parlor; and the cake, with its plain icing, showed more than the confectioner's skill in its whiteness and flavor.

The circle of Mr. Charless' own immediate family, and a few friends he wished to invite, with some of our own, composed the company. And, since I am dealing in minutiae, I will tell you how the bride was dressed. She wore a plain, white satin dress, , trimmed about the waist and sleeves with crape-lisse, which gave a becoming softness to the complexion of the arms and neck, which were bare. A simple wreath of white flowers entwined in her black hair, without veil, laces or ornaments, , completed her toilet. The graceful and talented Dr. Potts performed the marriage ceremony, saying, "what God hath joined together, let not man put asunder."

My father, who had always been in comfortable circumstances, had, however, never been rich; and, notwithstanding he had been called to encounter many untoward events in life, we had never known what it was to want, until we came to St. Louis. This last move, which was fraught with brilliant hopes, in a monetary point of view, proved most disastrous, and, in a few short months, his little all of earthly goods was gone, and his faithful, loving help-meet laid away to sleep in the cold earth, and he, himself, declining in health, depressed and discouraged.

Our new home was a sad place, and it was joyous, too; for young hearts were there throbbing with pleasurable emotions, which sorrow and disappointment, though they checked, could not destroy. And young heads were there, big with the future; and Hope, which could not be hid by the darkness that surrounded us, sat enthroned as a queen, ever pointing us to the beautiful castle in the distant mist, and by her reflex influence coloring even the dreary present with her rainbow-tints.

A few days after our marriage we were received, as members of the family, at the house of my husband's parents. Upon our arrival there, we found the house brilliantly illuminated, for "Joseph was coming home with his bride," and the old people must have a grand reception! Everybody came that evening, and everybody called on the bride afterwards. Next morning, however, some of the realities of life commenced. We were late to breakfast, and, to my dismay, the breakfast was over. I glanced at my husband, who seemed a little embarrassed. But a cordial greeting from his mother, who was busy in the adjoining room "ridding up," and an affectionate kiss from his sister , who immediately advanced upon our entrance into the room, made things a little more pleasant. We sat down together, and alone. Hot batter-cakes, etc., which were covered up near the fire, were soon placed upon the table, by the servant, and our plain, old-fashioned mother very unceremoniously told me to "pour out the coffee." What a downfall for a bride!

But this was not all. Upon my return to my room, after the departure of Mr. Charless to the store, I found that it was just as we had left it, and not cleaned and put in order, as I supposed it would have been. Mrs. Wahrendorff followed me, and offered to assist me in making my bed, which I courteously accepted; and, finding that I was to be my own chamber-maid, I asked for a broom, which she sent to me. How long I had had that broom in hand I do not remember, but, while standing in the middle of the room, leaning on its handle, absorbed in rather disagreeable reflections, , I happened to look out of the window, down into the street, when what should I see but the uplifted countenance of my husband, beaming with happiness and joy. Our eyes met, and, in a few moments, he entered the apartment, which had been very prettily fitted up, expressly for us. There was a shade of mortification on his whole-souled face, mingled with a playful humor, as he said: "Has mother put you to work already?" A kind embrace, with "I must make some other arrangement, dear--this will not do"--brought me to my senses, and I insisted , upon conforming to his mother's wishes in all things. "I had been accustomed to do house-work , but I only felt strange, and a little home-sick; I would soon get over that, however." A few crystal tears fell, not mixed with sorrow; for how could sorrow find a place for such trifles in a heart so conscious of having just obtained a treasure, in a noble and devoted husband?

The next event of consequence that will aid in developing to your minds the character and disposition of your revered grandfather, occurred a few weeks after the circumstances related above. Mr. Edward Charless, who was married and settled a few squares from us, sent one evening an invitation to his brother to come over and make one of a card-party-?to be sure to come, for they could not do without him. He went. Upon his return, about twelve o'clock, he found me still up, waiting for him. He saw I felt badly. Not an unpleasant word passed between us, and nothing was said about it afterwards, that I recollect. Again his brother sent a similar message--"one wanting in a game of whist." He promptly replied, , "tell your master I am a married man now, and cannot come. He will have to look out for some one else to fill that chair." And if my husband ever spent half a dozen evenings from me in his life--except when attending to business of importance, or when necessarily separated--I do not now remember it. His pleasures were with his heart, and that was with his family.

Not long after this, news came that his half-brother was in a declining state of health. His mother expressed a desire to have him brought home. Joseph immediately offered to go for him, and in a few days he took leave of me for the first time; left in his sister's carriage, with two good horses and a careful driver. And it was fortunate that he was so well equipped, for it was a hard trip, at best, for a poor invalid who was a good many miles distant. He returned in a few weeks with his emaciated brother, who lingered a few months, and died.

During this winter my own dear father declined rapidly, and no hopes were entertained of his recovery. This state of things passed heavily upon me. It was painful enough to know that he, too, had to die soon. But what was to become of my dear sisters, and our brothers --all of whom were younger than ourselves? The eldest, who was about sixteen years old, and our second brother , had just commenced business as store-boys--one in a dry-goods store; the other, my father had placed under the care of my husband. Mr. Charless had, but a few years previous to this time, become a partner of his father in the drug business, , and, as he had frankly told me, immediately after our engagement, he was a new beginner in the world, and poor; under such circumstances I could not hope that it would be in his power to do anything for my father's helpless family. Tears, scalding tears, nightly chafed my cheeks, and it was only when emotions were too strong to be suppressed that I would sob out in my agony sufficiently loud to awake my husband from sound repose; for, through the day, I always controlled myself, and waited at night until deep sleep had fallen upon him before I would give vent to my burdened heart. At such times he would sympathize with me, and speak words of encouragement and comfort: not embracing promises, however, for he was not a man to make promises, unless he felt at least some assurance of an ability to perform them them. True, to his heart's core, he could not, even under the excitement of the moment, awaken hopes, perhaps to be blasted. And, young and warm-hearted as he was, so alive to the sufferings of others, I wonder now, when I think of it, that sympathy such as his, and love such as his, had not overbalanced his better judgment, and induced him, in such trying circumstances, to promise any and everything to soothe the troubled soul of one he loved better than himself.

He weighed matters. He planned, and thought of every expedient. As respectful as he ever had been to his parents, and tenderly as he loved them--fearful as he was of any step which they might not cordially approve--a new and nobler feeling was struggling in his breast; for a sorrowing one, whom he had promised to love and cherish, looked up to him as her only solace; and, while a thousand conflicting emotions forbade her utterances and requests, he divined all, and, folding me tenderly to his breast, said, emphatically: "Charlotte, your sisters and your brothers are mine." Sweet words, that acted "like oil poured upon the troubled waters." And has he not proved himself faithful to that declaration? Has he not been to us, in our destitute orphanage, more than a husband and a brother? Did a father ever bear more patiently with the foibles and imperfections of his children? Was a father ever less selfish than he has been? Has not his loving arm embraced us all?

But, my children, I forgot I was writing to you, and I have already written a long letter--so, will conclude with the injunction: If you want to be happy--if you want to make others happy--if you want to be truly noble, make this dear grandsire your model.

As regards his devotion to me and mine, I would say, there are but few brothers-in-law, and they hard-hearted, and regardless of the world's opinion, who could have refused to be the friend and brother of a helpless family, thus left in the midst of strangers. But how often do you see men so steadfast, so disinterested and devoted through life? Where is the man to be found that would not have murmured--that would not, at some time, have let an impatient word drop, showing that he felt the burden of the care and responsibility brought on him by marrying, and thus, at least, have wounded the wife of his bosom? Where is the man to be found, that, under such circumstances, has secured to himself the devoted love, and the unbounded confidence and admiration of a proud-spirited family, such as mine are? Many, indeed, must have been his virtues, clear and sound his judgment, upright and pure his daily walk and conversation, cheerful and confiding his demeanor.

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 circumstances and surroundings of your grandfather?s early life, by giving you a sketch of his parentage, associations, 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 associations. 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 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 associations of his native State were dissolved, he suffered many pecuniary losses. He was passionate, 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 circumstances 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 circumstances 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 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 godliness, 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 associated 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 tassels. 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, .

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, , 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 nobody's house--not even those furnished in the most expensive manner, with the richest carpets, the most massive 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 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 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 pronounced 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, , 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 God of love, nothing is small. He stoops "to feed the young ravens when they cry," and yet there are men, , 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," , and our little daughter, who sits to the left of her father, in her baby dining-chair, constitute 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, , day after day passes 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, , and my own quick breathing, while my heart was struggling for communion with God. 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 assured 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 God of pity heard and answered it; for, notwithstanding my disinclination to the fulfilment of this vow, made under circumstances 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, ; 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 that I felt the weight of unpardoned sin-??God 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 God, 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 God."

How different is the scene now presented at that fireside, where no God 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 Saturday for the holy Sabbath, that no unnecessary work may be done on that day, and servants are exhorted to improve its sacred hours.

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