long
life spent in a growing city of considerable size, they died, leaving
many to speak their praises, and not one, that I have ever heard of, to
say aught against them. He departed this life at the age of sixty-two,
having enjoyed robust health until within two weeks of his death. His
widow was "gathered as a shock of corn, fully ripe, into the garner of
the Lord," at the advanced age of eight-one.

From an obituary notice of her I will quote the following lines:
"Mrs. Sarah Charless was an exemplary Christian, and was one of the
most zealous and untiring in her exertions to build up the Presbyterian
Church established in this city under the pastoral care of the Rev.
Salmon Giddings. Eminently charitable in her disposition, and ever
willing to alleviate the evils of others, she endeared to her all upon
whom the hand of misfortune hung heavily. Well was it said of her by
one of the most eminent men of our State--the Hon. Edward Bates--that
she was a woman upon whom the young man, far from friends and home,
could always rely."

Of a family of eight children, viz: Robert McCloud, Edward,
John, Joseph, Anne, Eliza, Chapman, and Sarah Charless, Joseph alone
was left in this pilgrimage word to mourn for his mother. Eliza
Wahrendorff, daughter of Anne Charless Wahrendorff, and Lizzie
Charless, your own dear mother, were the only grandchildren left to
mingle their tears with his. Great was the void caused in our small
family circle when this excellent woman, this aged Christian, this
revered and much loved parent was laid in the silent tomb. It is sweet
now to think about her love of flowers, and how often she would say,
when they commenced shooting up in early spring, that they reminded her
of the resurrection morning. May you, my dear mother, realize the
blessedness of this truth--when Jesus shall bid his redeemed ones rise
from the cold ground which has so long shrouded them--and come forth,
more beautiful than the hyacinth, to bloom forever on the borders of
the river of life! And may you, my sweet children, have a pleasant and
happy childhood, loving all that is lovely and hating all this is evil,
that you may grow up to be good men and women; and in old age, when
memory fails, may you, like her, rejoice and revel again amid the
innocent scenes of early life, looking through them up to that glorious
world above us, where the "inhabitant shall no more say he is sick," or
shall feel the infirmities of age.

A