This is a long letter, my dear children, and I will close it, with the promise of letting you know something more about our three years? sojourn at your great-grandmamma?s: in which I hope to show you how happy we can be under adverse circ.u.mstances, and how much less the evil of ?coming down in the world? is, than generally is supposed.
Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.
Letter Eleven
My Dear Grandchildren:
Man is naturally aspiring, and the more he attains to in life, the more earnestly he reaches after something higher still. And it is well that it is so, for, without this spirit, there would necessarily be but little or no advance in the world. The old land-marks would stand unmolested, forever; and the human family, instead of developing, could not but deteriorate, from generation to generation. But for the fall of man, his highest aim would have been such as the angels have, viz: to see, and to be with G.o.d, whose exceeding greatness and glory would tend to ravish the soul with delight, enlarge its capacity, and yet keep it at an humble distance, reverent and lowly. But I am stepping beyond my reach, and will come back again to what is, not what might have been.
As soon as you observe at all, you must perceive what a constant struggle there is going on here below. Some aim at ?fortune?s gaudy show,? while others strive to catch the wreath of fame, and crown themselves with that. Few are so indifferent, unless besotted by ignorance and degradation, as not to aspire, in some shape or other, to something more or better than they ever had, or better than others have; and, in this age of the world-?at any rate in this country-?money seems to be esteemed the chief good. Not the miser?s money, for, while that is locked up, and he h.o.a.rds, and h.o.a.rds, and still locks it up, it narrows down the soul, and expunges from it all the milk of human kindness. What are the orphan?s tears, or the widow?s groans?-what is human suffering to him? Gold! gold! His precious gold fills the contracted, dark place, which the soul, made in the image of its Creator, has forsaken, and leaves him more brute than man.
Money is a good and valuable possession, but not to the spendthrift, to whom it becomes a temptation to vice. Better be poor forever, and, by the sweat of the brow, eat your daily bread, maintaining, at the same time, a pure and unblemished character, than to have a fortune that only induces idleness and self-indulgence, opening to you an avenue for the destruction of soul and body; and, perhaps, too, as is often the case, cause you to blindly drag your wife and children with you, if not to vice, at least to want and to disgrace. Money is only good when properly valued, and properly used.
It is desirable as a means of education, and of refinement; for the cultivation of one?s taste in the field of nature, or in the arts and sciences. It is gratifying, and not wrong, to have handsome houses and grounds, tasteful furniture, fine paintings, or statuary, libraries, and everything pertaining to an elegant establishment. It is very good when used to make people happy who, in the providence of G.o.d, are not supplied with the necessaries of life. ?The poor ye have always with you?-?why if not to keep the stream of benevolence running fresh and sweet? And money helps materially, perhaps too much, toward giving one position in society. All things considered, it is hard to lose it. It is trying to feel, as you pa.s.s along, people are saying, ?There goes poor Mrs. A., or B. She has come down in the world!? Some malicious ones will say, ?Well, she deserved it, for she was very extravagant, and she held her head too high.? Women, no doubt, are more susceptible to suffering and mortification, from reverses in fortune than men are; yet there are many ways in which they feel it, too-?according to their characters and dispositions. And, my dear children, if I were to say that we had not felt or cared for the reverses in life of which I told you in my last letter, it would not be true. We did feel it, and that in many ways. My husband was humbled, and disappointed, but entirely submissive to the will of G.o.d; for he believed that adversity, as well as prosperity, came from His loving hand, and was designed for the highest good of His people. Instead of having the effect to lessen, it strengthened his faith. Instead of making him more anxious and striving for the acc.u.mulation of wealth, he was less so; and he continued to be less so throughout the remainder of his life.
Notwithstanding he was quite as industrious, just as energetic; yet there was less of dross mixed up with the pure metal in his soul. To me, it was evident that he advanced rapidly in the divine life; of which I felt the influence, if I caught none of its spirit.
In a letter from him, dated that fall, soon after our removal to his mother?s, he says: ?The scenery of the Mississippi, from the rapids north, is very beautiful. The frost having changed the color of part of the leaves, the forest presents an endless variety of colors; and the great number of farms and villages add much to the beauty of the landscape. But everywhere I find the people complaining, and many suffering from actual want. Although Providence has provided a most bountiful harvest, many, who have been accustomed to have every comfort, and many luxuries, around them, are now almost dest.i.tute. It makes me feel more resigned to our losses and poverty, seeing we are so much better off than thousands who are more deserving than we. They, it seems, are resigned, and submit most cheerfully to all the dispensations of their Heavenly Father. Let us, dear Charlotte, hereafter endeavor to show, in our lives, greater devotedness to Him who has done so much for us, and who promises to be our support and stay in every hour of need; who will never desert any who put their trust in Him.
?Let us, therefore, exhort one another, and provoke each other to well-doing, in the service of our G.o.d. Let us love each other more and more, and make Jesus the great object of our praise and prayer. I hope and pray that the chastenings of our blessed Lord, in depriving us of our worldly possessions, may be sanctified to us, and lead us, more earnestly and undoubtingly, to seek for possessions in that Kingdom where all is joy, and peace, and love. Oh! That we may be enabled, with all our dear kith and kin, and kind friends, to attain unto this glorious and happy state, to dwell forever in the presence of our G.o.d, and enjoy Him throughout eternity. Dear C., are not these things worth our most strenuous efforts? And yet how little do we do! How poor our best attempts to serve Him who has done everything for us.?
With these earnest desires for closer communion with G.o.d, and for those treasures which fade not away, he necessarily had a hard struggle to prosecute his worldly affairs, under circ.u.mstances so disadvantageous as that of carrying on a large business without the necessary capital, greatly weakened, in fact, by pecuniary losses, and more still by the misfortune of being compelled to ?suspend payment,?
and the consequent exposure of the internal difficulties with which ?the firm? had to contend. Anxious and toiling, week after week, he was always rejoiced when Sat.u.r.day night came, that he might, as he generally expressed it in his prayer that night, ?lay aside the world, and engage in the delightful exercises of the holy Sabbath.? And I will here mention, for the benefit of those among you (if there are any such) who, in your eager pursuit of wealth, or honor, or are battling, as he was, with the untoward events of life, are tempted to desecrate the Sabbath to secular purposes, that I have often heard your grandfather say (about that time) that on Monday his mind was clearer, and his hopes stronger of success, than at any other time. And towards the close of the week, after his mental energies had been on the stretch for days, things looked darker; that sometimes he felt as though he must give up; that it would be impossible to meet his payments; but that on Monday, with both mind and body invigorated from the holy rest of the Sabbath day, the mists had cleared away, and everything looked bright again-?so bright that he often felt surprised that he should have been in such a desponding condition on Sat.u.r.day.
There is sound philosophy in this; but I will leave it for you to work out the problem, and will proceed to say, that with the opening of the spring of 1843, business prospects really did brighten. And our new home, though humble, we had found vastly comfortable. It looked familiar and home-like, too; for the furniture to which we had been accustomed had been removed into our suite of rooms, one of the bedsteads minus only the cornice and the feet, which had to be taken off to accommodate it to the height of the ceiling-?of which, for awhile, I had so constant and disagreeable an impression that often, when rising suddenly from my chair, I would dodge, from fear of b.u.mping my head against it. And no wonder! For this was an old house, built in ?the year one,? before people (poor things!) found out the necessity of having their ceilings pitched so high above them! But our front room was otherwise capacious; for several part.i.tions had been knocked down, which added a small room and part of a hall to the main one, and extended it entirely across the front of the house. It was so large that it accommodated the piano, and a pier-stand, besides every necessary article for a completely furnished bed-room. The piano and pier-stand-?the latter of which was a particular object of attraction to your mamma (for bon-bons were kept in that)-?gave to the room the air somewhat of a parlor. At least, we esteemed it so cosy, and appropriate for the purpose, that we more frequently received the calls of friends there than in our mother?s little reception-room.
What right had we to murmur? It would have been ungrateful if we had done so; for, although not by any means elegant, we were comfortable. True, my nice carriage and beautiful horses had been sold; but mother had quite a nice little carriage, and a fine old gray horse, that would have appeared very respectable, if (as the stable boy said) the calves had not ?chawed of his tail!? However, that was a source of amus.e.m.e.nt. We rode often, for both mother and I needed the exercise; and the rides were delightful, as ?Joseph? was generally our driver; and a merry chase he would lead us sometimes, for when he no longer had ?the farm? to go to, (that had likewise been sold), he seemed determined to find out the merits, or demerits, of every road in the vicinity. This made quite a variety for us, for, besides the change of scenery, it usually called forth e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns from his mother, and answers from him, which were very amusing. She saw no sense in ?rambling the country over, going into every nook and corner, and jolting people to death!? But he would earnestly a.s.sure her that he had not gone into half yet-?looking round at her with a provokingly mischievous expression, which seemed to intimate that he meant to try it, though-?and as for the roads, he could ?find much worse roads than that! And as to driving?-he hadn?t begun to show how many stumps he could go over, without upsetting.? This playful, jocose, merry mood of her son, frequently recalled to the old lady?s mind some incidents of early times, when she was young, and Joseph was a boy, which she would relate, and laugh all over at, shaking her fat sides most merrily.
And, notwithstanding her outbursts of hastily spoken words of disapprobation to him for his temerity, she always wondered, after being safely landed at home, why she enjoyed her rides so much more when Joseph drove!
When we think about it, there are really no enjoyments in this wide world equal to home enjoyments. And when we have to go away from that hallowed spot, to seek for some longing of the soul which we cannot find there, or return to it with distaste, after having dipped into the pleasures (even the refined and reasonable ones) of the world, we are to be pitied, greatly pitied; for we are strangers to the purest and sweetest joys that are known this side of Paradise. And, thank G.o.d! this happiness is not confined to the mansion of the rich and the great. Perhaps it is less felt there than in the cottage of the virtuous and intelligent poor.
At our mother?s we had quite as much of domestic peace and happiness as we had ever known. Our little daughter, who, to us at least, looked just as sweet and pretty in her bit calicos as she had ever done in better and more expensive clothes, beguiled a portion of our evenings with her music. She played delightfully on the piano, for a child of her age; and then she had conceived an idea (perhaps from something her father or mother had said) that the day might come when, by teaching music and French, she would be their support in old age.
This was a new and beautiful stimulant to study, and we were no less pleased with this virtuous devotion of her young life, because we confidently believed that no such necessity would ever arise.
We enjoyed society, too?-not quite so much or half as often as when we could return civilities; but there was an abandonment of feeling, or freedom from care, when we did partic.i.p.ate; something like that expressed by a clerical friend of ours, who, upon beholding the beautiful grounds of a wealthy gentleman, congratulated himself upon his capacity for enjoying them as much as the proprietor could, ?without having his responsibility and care,? which, in some measure, compensated us.
And, then, your grandfather found out what ?a jewel of a wife? he had; how, as with a magic touch, she could make old things perfectly new, in which she appeared more charming to his eye than ever before.
We are really not dependent upon external circ.u.mstances for happiness.
That ingredient of life is found within us; and every one has a share in promoting it. One gentle, patient, unselfish, cheerful member of a household, can do wonders towards making the whole atmosphere of home redolent with his soul-reviving influences.
From what you have seen of your grandfather, you will readily imagine that he must have been a good son. He was: one of the best, if not the best, I have ever known. But facts speak for themselves. I have never once heard him speak a hasty or unkind word to his mother.
He was her staff, upon whom she lovingly leaned; and yet, at her bidding, he was her boy, obedient, and respectful. As she declined in life, ?when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way,? and many infirmities made her irritable and exacting, the charm of his loving voice, playfully and skillfully giving a turn to the current of her feelings, would alternately soothe, comfort, and amuse her. He was thoughtful of her every wish and comfort, and did all that he could to fill the void which death had made in that aged heart.
Some of the most striking proofs of his pure and elevated character, of his disinterested friendship and love, delicacy forbids me to speak of, as there are those living who might be touched by them.
But I have given facts enough to show that he was no ordinary man. He was fond of reading, quick of perception, and given to investigation.
There were but few subjects with which he was not more or less acquainted. For, notwithstanding his close business habits, he found much time for his favorite occupation of reading; by which means he kept up with the religious, political, and literary news of the day.
He was a good historian, and possessed a retentive memory. I never thought of referring to an encyclopedia, or to a dictionary, when he was present; for I found it so much easier, and more pleasant, to obtain needed information from him. As regards the intellectual character of his mind, however, I do not think it was of the highest stamp. Of all practical things he had a decided opinion. His judgment was sound. Not marred by prejudice, nor warped by self-love, or self-praise, or self-aggrandis.e.m.e.nt, he was enabled coolly to exercise his powers of mind in forming a just estimate of men and things. He possessed strong common sense, which, being balanced by a high moral tone, and refined sensibilities, enabled him to be quick in discerning the characters of men, but tenderly careful of their feelings and reputation. I do not think his mind was of a metaphysical cast. He never willingly engaged in argument of any kind, nor conversed upon abstruse subjects. He might have said, with David, ?Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty, neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.? Yet he had a profound respect, and great admiration, for the highly gifted, and the learned; especially for those who, with these extraordinary gifts and attainments, possessed sincere piety. He enjoyed learned disquisitions just as he did a fine painting, the excellencies and beauties of which he appreciated, and could point out, without knowing how to use the brush or the pencil.
He had a keen appreciation of natural beauty, and of the art which could represent it, either on canvas or in marble. He was fond of poetry. But of all the poets, Burns stood first in his estimation.
He could enter so easily into the spirit of this writer, because, in some respects, they were kindred spirits. Burns? touching pathos, his humor, his love and pity for man and beast, penetrated his own humorous and nature-loving soul. When the centenary celebration of the birth of this great poet took place in St. Louis, a few years ago, he was absent, and I attended, not only for personal gratification, but that I might, upon his return, give him an account of it. In a letter to your mother (who was at Belmont) I alluded to the celebration, and said, ?It only needed ?father? to read the ?Cotter?s Sat.u.r.day Night? to have made it complete in interest.? He did read those poems beautifully; and many of his anecdotes embodied Scotch and Irish nature, and every-day life, which he would relate with all their native simplicity and humor, using the brogue of the one, and the accent and provincialism of the other, to perfection.
He was fond of music; but that, like his love of poetry, was a simple taste, his decided preference being for Scotch and Irish ballads. He could speak and read French well-?very well, when in practice.
In much weakness, my dear children, but looking up to G.o.d to guide me into all truth concerning this matter, I have endeavored to give you a faithful history of the life (as far as it goes) and character of your beloved grandfather. I am afraid it does not do him justice, for I have often felt how meager words are to convey an idea of what he really was. But look at his portrait, and that benevolent, honest, cheerful countenance, may, in some measure, make up to you what my pen has failed to do.
I do not believe I have spoken to you of his kindness to the poor. But ask, in St. Louis, who were among those who wrung their hands and wept big tears around his cold remains, and you will find he was the poor man?s friend.
I have made but slight allusions to his self-denying labors in the Church of Christ, because I know comparatively, but little of them.
He never spoke of his good works, as such, not even to me. ?Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth? was no difficult task for one who, alone conscious of his ?many infirmities,? was kept truly humble before the eye of the heart-searching G.o.d. His humility was his crowning virtue. It adorned all the rest, and gave a certain kind of grace, even to his greatest faults.
Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.
Letter Twelve
My Dear Grandchildren:
In this simple sketch of the life of an unpretending Christian man, whose highest aim was to discharge his duties, as such, in the position in which G.o.d had placed him, I am aware there is nothing particularly interesting, or congenial, to the feelings or taste of the worldling. By ?the worldling? I mean a man, or woman, who-?perhaps without deliberately weighing things as they exist, and regardless of the future-?is content with the short-lived pleasures and advantages of this world. But I cannot better describe the worldling than in the language of your grandfather, taken from a letter which lies open before me. In speaking of a certain lady who expressed to him a regret that she had not fifty thousand dollars per annum to spend in living, he says: ?She is a poor, worldly woman, whose chief end in life is to dash!?-shine, and out-shine-?consequently envies those who have more means, or appear to out-shine her. I would not swap my old woman for as many of such as could stand between this and Mobile, and the fifty thousand per annum in the bargain!? To such among you (G.o.d forbid that there should be such!) I do not write; for I know how the world blinds by its dazzle, and you could see no beauty or use in living for the glory of that Being who made and preserves you, and before whom you must stand to be judged. Made in His image, with an immortal soul, you might dwell forever with the Redeemer, in the mansions he has gone to prepare. But, like the b.u.t.terfly, you fritter away your earthly existence, and, by so doing, throw away the only cup of real, unadulterated pleasure of this present life; and, when Time, with all its fleeting joys, has pa.s.sed away forever, where, oh, where! do you expect to dwell?
But for those who are the worthy descendants of him who lived the life of the righteous, and who find pleasure in reading these imperfect letters, I will recommence a review of the past, recording, as I have done, such facts as I think will interest you, and acquaint you still better with him. You have seen his Christianity exhibited in many ways; and I have not kept from your view his faults and imperfections.
You have seen him as a son, and as a brother, a friend, and a husband.
As a father, you know but little of him; and now I will relate the circ.u.mstances which led to a temporary separation from his child and her mother, and will quote from his letters, that you may learn, from himself, his views and desires as a father, and his manner of intercourse with this only child of his heart.
During the winter of 1846?-after we had removed from your great-grandmamma?s, and were again enjoying a home of our own--my health gave way, to an alarming extent. Although able to go about the house, it was evident (declared so by my physicians) that I was in a decline.
When I grew no better from the concentrated wisdom of three of the Faculty, my husband determined to try the effect of a change of air and scene, first having consulted the doctors as to the expediency of it, and having been a.s.sured by them that, if it did me no good, it could do me no harm. With his accustomed dispatch he hastened to the river, secured our pa.s.sage on a boat, which was to leave in three days, and at dinner asked me if I would not like to take a trip to Havana? The question startled me, for there was more business done in March and April than in any other two months of the whole year, and I could not see the practicability?-indeed, it had previously seemed almost impossible for him to leave home at that time. But his answer to my exclamations of surprise-??Business is of no importance compared to health,? and the question, ?Can you be ready by day after tomorrow??
accompanied by the a.s.surance that our state-rooms were already engaged ?-put a stop to further discussion, and set my sister earnestly to work to get me ready. ?Lizzie must leave school,? (?papa? said), ?for she, too, may go along to help take care of mamma?-?and never was a mamma better taken care of, with two such nurses as she had.
This arrangement acted like a charm, for I began to mend before we started, from the effect upon my mind, in being drawn off from myself and my ailments to the necessary thought required in giving directions for the packing of trunks, and in making arrangements generally for leaving home. After reaching New Orleans, we were advised that it was too late in the season to visit Havana, and we determined to steer our course toward Pensacola; but, upon our arrival in Mobile, our friends there suggested Pascagoula, as a better place, and, as it was more accessible than the former, we decided upon trying the effect of the sea-breeze there. It was early in the season to visit a watering-place, but we were not the less welcomed by the proprietors of a delightful hotel, (which has since been burned down), for, as it happened, they were old acquaintances of ours. This hotel was a commodious, and cheerful looking establishment, with its large dancing saloon attached, and had every convenience for the amus.e.m.e.nt and comfort of the gay crowd that a.s.sembled there in the summer months for pastime or health. It stood on an eminence, and commanded a beautiful view of the bay. The large yard in front, which gradually sloped down to the beach, was planted with evergreens and shrubbery, presenting a gay contrast, which, with the flowered vines, so prettily trained around the pillars of the long piazza, made it rurally picturesque, and filled the air with odors of the sweetest kind. But nothing was so sweet to me as the unadulterated sea air, which I delighted to drink in, every breath of which seemed to send vigor into my wasted and weakened frame. At first, I could walk but a little way along the beach; but soon, by leaning on the arm of my husband, I could walk half a mile out on the pier, and, sitting down in a chair (provided for me), would remain there, with the rest of the party, for hours, as deeply interested in fishing as ever that famous old angler, Sir Izaak Walton, could have been. And if he had been as successful as we were in hooking and pulling out the great variety of fish, large and small?-with an occasional monster of the deep, which caused us to open our eyes in amazement-?I am sure he could not have ruminated to his heart?s content, as he did, and made the world so much the wiser for his having lived and angled in it.
Pascagoula, as it was then, was by far the most fascinating place I had ever seen. Besides its natural beauties and advantages, (its health-giving influences being, no doubt, the greatest to the invalid), we had a pleasant little society of cultivated people, all bent on pleasure and sport. Sometimes we would go rowing, and then sailing.
At other times we would course up the Pascagoula river-?a beautiful little stream, all studded with the gardens of cottagers. One of these was an Italian, who, devoted to the land of his birth, had, as it were, transplanted the home of his heart to this romantic spot in the far-off world. It looked decidedly foreign; but its greatest beauty (to my taste) was the background, which was composed a grand old forest of towering pines.
In contrast with this little river, were the island which dotted the bay, adding beauty to the scene and affording tempting attractions to those who are fond of pic-nics. One especially-??Island Casot,?
formed by the beautiful bayou of the same name-?is shaded by immense live-oak trees, and lies just south on the border of the finest oyster bed (for flavor) in the South. We spent a whole day there, having first amply provided ourselves with every luxury, even to comforts and pillows to lounge on. Your grandfather admired this beautiful little island so much that he thought seriously of purchasing it, to improve in a cheap and simple way, to be used as an occasional resort for health and pleasure. He and your mother were evidently as much charmed with Pascagoula, and its surroundings, as I was. Both were the picture of happiness. They engaged in many amus.e.m.e.nts, of which I was incapable, and could only look on and laugh at-?such as catching crabs, and speering flounders by torchlight. They bathed and swam, too, (the latter with a life-preserver), but they were afraid to venture out too far, on account of sharks, which were occasionally seen near the sh.o.r.e. At a certain season of the year there was frequently heard, near the bath-houses, a strain of music, like the Aeolian harp, which had never been satisfactorily accounted for, although many wise heads had pondered over it. Some supposed that it proceeded from a certain kind of small fish, which, in their perambulations through the mighty deep, for some secret reason best know to themselves, touched at this point at the stated season, just to whisper a few sweet notes, and would then retire. Other said it was only an echo borne upon the waters (when the wind was in a certain direction), from the playing of the waves against the sandy sh.o.r.e of an island, three miles distant.
There is an Indian legend, which I will relate, that gives a more interesting account of this phenomenon than either of these. A war party of the Pascagoula tribe, headed by their chief, having been hotly pursued by a victorious enemy, had rushed into the bay (sooner than submit), and were drowned, while singing a melancholy dirge, which annually returns in token of the sad event. They: