He told me himself about his frolics with the French boys (many of whom were his earliest and truest friends), how they used to have match-eating pancake parties, in the day of the pancake festival in the Catholic Church; and about his youthful gallantries, and how desperately in love he was once with a very smart, pretty creole girl, and how the discovery of a hole in her stocking drove the little god of love from his breast.
But these anecdotes and incidents were, perhaps, more interesting to his wife than they will be to you. Well, then, I will tell you an Indian story, for I have never known a boy yet that did not like to hear about the Indians. You know the poor things are now nearly exterminated from the face of the earth. In the early history of St. Louis, I find that they lived not far off, having pitched their wigwams only a little farther to the west, for the white man, in intruding upon their hunting grounds, had driven them, with the elk, the deer and the buffalo, still farther from the Atlantic coast, which they once claimed as their own rightful property. These poor savages, however, would often come into the town to see the white-faced children of the Great Spirit; to buy their beads and other fine things to dress up in; and that they might show them how fierce they looked, their faces streaked with every variety of paint, and their hair all shaved off excepting a little bunch on the top of their heads which they reserved as a fastening for their feathers and other head ornaments, of which they were very fond. But, I dare say, if you have never seen Indians, you have seen their pictures. It was real sport for the boys to see them dance, and listen to their wild songs and savage yells.
But to my story. There was an old Indian who was a great thief. He was seen alone, generally, prowling about the town, peeping through the fences into the yards, watching out for chickens, or anything he could shoot with his arrow, or slip under his blanket. Little Joseph Charless had watched this famous old Indian thief, and determined to punish him for his wickedness. To accomplish this purpose, he armed himself with plenty of dried squashes, which he kept in the garret of his fathers house, near to the gable window, that fronted on the street. He watched his opportunity, and one day, as the Indian passed by, he threw a squash down upon the old fellows head. Soon after he peeped out to see if it had struck him, when whiz went the arrow, just grazing his face and sticking tight and firm into the window beam above his head! This fright cured him of playing tricks upon travelers, at least for awhile.
You see now, my dear children, from what I have told you, that grandpa was just such a boy as you are-fond of fun and frolic, and of playing tricks.
I have said nothing of his love of school and books. But I think he was about as fond of both as boys usually are. When a little boy he was sent to the village school, and after he became large enough to work, he was put to work in his fathers printing office. By the time he became a pretty good printer, a school of a higher grade than any St. Louis had yet afforded was opened in the country, and his father gladly availed himself of this opportunity to continue the education of his son. He was a pupil in this school for some time, after which he commenced the study of the law, agreeably to his fathers wishes, under the supervision of Francis Spalding, who was at that time an eminent lawyer in St. Louis. After having read law awhile, he was sent to complete his legal education at the Transylvania University, Kentucky.
While in the printing office he and another boy received a terrible flogging one day for laughing at a poor, unfortunate man, who had a very bad impediment in his speech, which being accompanied, with ludicrous gestures and grimaces, was more than their youthful risibility could withstand. They made a manly, but vain attempt to suppress a roar of laughter, which only gathered strength from being dammed up, and at last burst over all bounds. I never could forgive his father for whipping the poor boys so severely for what they could not avoid. He was too just and generous a man, however, to have been so unmerciful, if his better feelings and his better judgment had not been warped by a burst of passion.
The following is from the pen of his old friend and playmate, Mr.
N. P., of St. Louis:
You ask me to state what I know of the early character of your late husband. This I proceed to do. In his boyhood there were not the same temptations in St. Louis to irregularity of habits and vice that assail the young men of the present day. I do not think I err when I say that Joseph Charless was a good boy-kind, tractable, obedient to his parents, and giving them no further solicitude than such as every parent may well feel when watching the progress of a son to manhood. He had no bad habits. As a boy, there was nothing dishonorable about him, and he had quite as few frailties, or weaknesses, as attach to any of us. In the sports and amusements of that day he stood well with his fellows, and was well received in ever society. Of course, from what I have said, you will infer that he was of an amiable disposition, exhibiting less of heated temper than most of us. Not quick in inviting a quarrel, but, being in, defending himself resolutely and manfully. I do not think he was the favorite of his parents at that day. Edward was. John, another brother, was passionate and hard to govern, but he was the only one of the family who had these qualities in a marked degree.
I think Joseph gave as little cause for anxiety to his parents and friends as any boy could possibly do. He has been taken from us, and I have written in a more public manner (as editor of The Republican) my estimate of his character in all the relations of life, &c.,&c.
At the age of twelve years, his brother John, who was two years older than himself, was taken sick and died. This was the first great sorrow that your dear grandfather ever knew. I have often heard him speak of it, but never without a shade passing over his countenance, denoting that time could not efface the recollection of that painful event. Oh, how his loving young heart must have swelled with unutterable grief when his playmate brother lay in his coffin, so still and cold, his hands clasped upon his breast, with cheeks so pale, and his bright blue eyes dimmed and closed! But grandpa still had brothers and sisters left, and a kind father and mother. The world which looked so dark, soon became a pleasant world to him again; the flowers looked pretty and the air was fresh, and he was again seen sporting and romping. But at night, when he knelt down to pray, and his thoughts went up to Heaven, he would think of his brother, and, weeping, to relieve his little, aching heart, he would go to bed, feeling lonely and sad.