As soon as this solemn ceremony was concluded, the sweet tones of the organ, accompanied by the choir, came floating over our heads, and seemed like the music of heaven to our souls. They sang:
1. People of the living God,
I have sought the world around,
Paths of sin and sorrow trod,
Peace and comfort no where found:
Now to you my spirit turns,
Turns a fugitive unblest;
Brethren, where your altar burns,
O! receive me into rest.
2. Lonely I no longer roam,
Like the cloud, the wind, the wave;
Where you dwell shall be my home,
Where you die shall be my grave;
Mine the God whom you adore,
Your Redeemer shall be mine;
Earth can fill my soul no more,
Every idol I resign.
3. Tell me not of gain or loss,
Ease, enjoyment, pomp and power;
Welcome poverty and cross
Shame, reproach, afflictions hour:
Follow me! I know thy voice;
Jesus, Lord, thy steps I see;
Now I take thy yoke by choice;
Light thy burden now to me.
On the 23rd of February, 1854, we gave our dearly beloved child away, to your own dear father. And the light and joy of our house and hearts, the free and joyous hearted girl, became a wife.
Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.
Letter Fourteen
My Dear Grandchildren:
Before speaking of the changes, the marriage of your mother brought, and the life of self-denial led by her father, in consequence of it, I will relate a few incidents of his every day life. I have already said he was kind to the poor. He was systematic in his contribution for the benefit of this large class in every city; but that did not deprive him of the pleasure of throwing a few dimes into the hands of every applicant, although he often felt that they might be used for a bad purpose and do more harm than good to the recipient. On one occasion as I entered the dining room, just before breakfast, he was having a kind and merry chat at the window, with a shabby looking son of Erin, in the yard below, who declared to his honor that he hadnt tasted a drop! (upon which fact the matter of giving, or not giving, seemed to turn). He threw him a piece of money, saying, as he did so, look out, my friend, or that quarter will get you into the calaboose. Next morning it so happened that your grandfather was called to that useful, but uninteresting place, to bail out a colored servant, who was prone, occasionally, to get into scrapes, which subjected him to temporary imprisonment, when, whom should he find there, safely ensconced in one of the cells, but the Irishman, his old customer, as he called him, in relating the anecdote, which he did with considerable point and humor, making all around the breakfast table laugh heartily. At another time, when we were spending the summer at our country place, near the city, another citizen of the auld country presented himself and asked for work. What kind of work can you do? inquired your grandfather. Work, sir! I am not over particular at all, at all. Can you dig potatoes? Praities! Your honor, jist thry me. Well, I will hire you by the day. By the day, and sure Ive no place to put my head at night. Well then, my man, I cant hire you, for I have no place for you to sleep. Sleep, is it? Id never want a better place than with the horses-the stable, to be sure, on a bit of straw-theres no better place to my mind, sir. The poor fellows destitution, his worn and tattered clothes, his tangled hair, with a face young and simple, but not vicious looking, touched my husbands heart. Poor Tommy did know how to dig potatoes, if he knew nothing else, and his new master set him to work at his small patch, with the understanding that when he got through with that, he had nothing more for him to do. But Tommy took good care not to get through with that potatoe patch, yet he was always as busy as a bee when he saw the master coming that way, who would praise him for his industry and wink at his tricks. Tommy was quite a Merry Andrew, and more knave than fool, after all; and when he became a decent looking man, from the present of a bran new suit-cap-a-pie-and a comb into the bargain, which his thoughtful benefactor procured for him, he was decidedly the lion of the kitchen cabinet. But how to get rid of Tommy became at length a serious question. Just before returning to the city in the fall, he was sent with a note, from the master, to a farmer, hard by, who gave him a trial, but finding that he was not capable of earning a living, or from some other cause, he soon dismissed him; and, Tommy, much to my dismay, found his way to our city residence. But as the developments of his character in civilized life, were not of the most encouraging nature, it was not a difficult matter for your grandfather to drive him from the premises.
But there was another poor man, of whom I never speak or think, but with feelings of kindness and respect. His remains lie in Bellefontaine, and I have no doubt but that his spirit is happy in the presence of his God. He had lived a poor, but honest life in the west of Ireland, with his wife and children, until, like thousands of his countrymen, he was driven, by hardship and poverty, to seek a better future in this land of the free and the home of the brave. In extreme poverty they arrived in St. Louis. Not so many in family as when they bade adieu to their native land, having buried one or two children on the banks of the Mississippi. They had all had ship fever, and a more wretched looking family I had never seen. But notwithstanding their squalid poverty and wretchedness we found them industrious, good people, and Protestants, which was an unusual circumstance among this class of Irish. Your grandfather, who, in his charities, never seemed to forget that God caused his sun to shine upon the evil as well as the good, and who could not allow even a beast to suffer from want, took peculiar pleasure in ministering to the necessities of this virtuous family, and reaped the rare reward of a rich return in gratitude and love. Poor David appeared to look up to him as to a superior being, always addressing him as Your honor, in the most respectful manner. One day as I was coming out of church I was attracted by the subdued look of this good man, whose tearful eyes were fixed on Rev. Mr. McPheeters and your grandfather, as they walked together down the aisle. I had a good excuse to stop as I was in the advance of my husband, and off to one side I saw him bow most reverently, as he said, Your riverence-Your honor, and out of the abundance of his heart, while tears streamed down his honest face, he gave utterance to his feelings of gratitude to God, and to them, for the blessedness of this holy day. The pathos and eloquence of the sermon had completely overcome him. David was a farmer, and after having been in your grandfathers employ, at first one thing and then another, for a year or two, he finally accepted an advantageous offer, to take charge of a gentlemans farm, some eight or ten miles from the city; and we had heard nothing from the family for several months, when, one cold rainy day in autumn, a wagon was driven up to our front door, containing his remains. His poor afflicted wife came with them, and told, that David had said, Take me to Mr. Charless to bury me. He had died of congestive fever. No doubt but that it was a comfort to the poor fellow in his dying hour to feel that in this distant land of strangers, he had found a friend who would not neglect the widow and the fatherless in their affliction, and his confidence was not misplaced, for, from the time of his death, his family lived near us, and never knew, as long as Davids good friend lived, what it was to want a friend indeed.