Reputation based upon such a characters as his, could not be marred. But, ah! it was as President of this Bank, he was brought into contact with the wretched being who has robbed the world of a benefactor, and where can I find a word in which to embody an idea of the loss of those he so dearly loved.
He served two years in the State Bank, at which time the term expired, and he determined to be no longer tied down to St. Louis, more than was necessary to attend to his own business. But in the formation of the Mechanics Bank the Board of Directors insisted upon have Mr. Charless for their President. He refused positively, but they still insisted; and, at length, urgently requested that he would accept the presidency of this new institution until fairly established, if for no longer time. He finally acceded to the latter proposition. But after once getting in, there was no getting out of it; for he found the gentlemen with whom he was there associated so very congenial, and his duties not onerous but pleasant, so that he continued to serve them until the day of his death, having signed the last notes on the 1st of June.
It only remains for me to say, my dear children, that after the marriage of your mother, the summers were our gala time, for Lizzie and the boys and grandma were all at home, and happy Grandpa would in his excess of joy forget the lonely winters, which he had endeavored by constant occupation at the store, the bank, and in the Church, to make the best of. His evenings were spent in reading, and in holding communion, by letter writing, with his loved ones far away: which, excepting on Church evenings, he would occasionally vary by a visit to some friend, of whom, I need not say, he had many, who would have esteemed it a privilege, during my absence, to have admitted him into their family circle as a member, but, as he often said, in his letters, he preferred to visit friends, and make his home in the old familiar spot, where he could so readily call up to his mind the earthly idols of his heart.
I shall ever be thankful, to the Ruler of all events, that I was with him during the whole winter immediately preceding his death. We accompanied our daughter and her three little boys to their home in Louisiana in December; staid two weeks with them, and returned together, fully determined to be no more separated; that, in future, together we would visit our children, and together return to our lonely home. For the light that had gone out when our daughter married, was no more kindled in our aching hearts, notwithstanding the joy we felt in the possession of our precious little grandchildren. In earlier life when we pictured to ourselves a green old age, with our bairn and bairns bairns about us, it was a different scene from the reality when it came with its long separations and anxieties.
Our greatest solace during this last winter of our pilgrimage together, was the service of our God. And oh, with what gratitude I shall ever remember His loving kindness and tender mercies towards us. He leadeth us in ways we know not of. He can comfort in the darkest hour.
The spring came, and with it, a month or two earlier than usual, our beloved ones returned to the longed for homestead, around which were so many tender recollections of a happy, very happy life. How your dear mother clung to that precious father! How she feasted upon his every look. She followed him every where; in his rides, in his strolls through the garden. She accompanied him at night, and at all times to Church, preferring (when we did not ride) to take the long walk with father to going with mother across the street to the Second Church. When business called him away from his much prized domestic circle, she would walk, with her arm wrapped around him, to the door, and follow him with her eyes down the street until out of sight. After her return home that spring, when she first saw his portrait, that he had had taken for her, she wept, and could not tell why, except that it was faultless.
And now, my dear children, I am treading so closely upon that last morning, that I begin to tremble.
On Friday, June 3, 1859, your dear grandfather arose early, and drove, as he was wont to do, to the garden. While there he gathered and tied together a bunch of flowers for his daughter, and when I came down stairs to breakfast he was sitting at the window, where he had evidently read the morning paper and laid it aside, and was enjoying the sports of his little sonny boys who were at play on the grass plot. I gave him my last good morning kiss, little thinking that in joy our lips would no more be pressed, and turning to the beautiful bouquet, which was placed in a glass of water at our daughters plate, I took it up and admired it. He had gathered his first fuchsia to put in her bouquet.
Our last breakfast is over. At worship little Charless seated himself opposite his grandpa, and observed him attentively as he read the Bible and one of the metre Psalms. We knelt in prayer, the only words of which, that I remember, are, We thank thee, O God, that thy mercies are new to us every morning, and fresh every evening. After worship he stood erect before us, his countenance full of his usual look of benevolence and love, as he asked, Whats the order of the day? I will go around to the Planters House, and see if Dr. and Mrs. Palmer have arrived, and will be back in ten minutes to let you know. (Dr. and Mrs. Palmer of New Orleans were on their return from the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, and had been invited to stay with us, while they remained in St. Louis). In ten or fifteen minutes the door bell rang violently. A young man entered and tremblingly said, Mr. Charless is badly hurt on Market Street. I heard nothing more, but running, and hoping that he was not hurt so seriously, I found myself among a crowd of people, and then beside my dying husband! He lay on the floor in the back part of a small store, pale and sweet. Like an angel he looked to me. I did not lose my senses, and I was so impressed with the sanctity of the spot that it seems to me I dropped, but dropped very softly beside him. Be still and know that I am God, seemed to be spoken by the Holy One, into my ear and heart. And I was still. I thought, of course, this was an accident, but when I heard from his own pale, slightly parted lips, as he answered some one who asked, Who did this, Mr. Charless, that he was murdered!
Where! Who! I exclaimed, could do this deed! But instantly turning to my husband, I said, He is more to be pitied than your are, my dear, for he is a fiend! not a man.