ss 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 daughter's 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, "What's 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