Clay County MO Archives Obituaries.....King, Emma Chiles May 11, 1862
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Ronald J. Reid rreid21@cox.net September 9, 2007, 12:31 pm

The Liberty Tribune, May 23, 1862
Liberty Tribune, May 23, 1862:
Gentle Emma King.
Died, on Sabbath morning, May 11th, Emma Chiles King, in the 21st year of her 
age, wife of Thomas B. King, Esq., of Liberty, Clay county, Mo.
A little less than two years ago we decked her in snowy robes, with a wreath of 
orange blossoms upon her brow.  How lovely she looked with her violet eyes, her 
pure complexion and her brown hair beneath her bridal veil.  She was like no 
other bride; she was only like her own sweet self.  From her deep blue eyes 
shaded by their long dark lashes to her faultless hands and feet – even in her 
words and actions there was an individuality as decided as it was charming.
We would not have exchanged it for the beauty of Helen or the grace of Juno.
Though we cannot write of her as Dante did of Beatrice, her image will always 
be to us as the sweetest poetry.  God’s poetry – a poem lent us for a little 
while to read and study, and then assign it to its Author.  May we profit by 
the sweet lesson.  Though so superior in beauty and accomplishments, we did not 
love her so much for these as for her unselfish, gentle disposition, and her 
loving heart.  But fair as she was and dear as she was, consumption came, and 
with his beautiful though fearful painting, touched her cheek.  Even when we 
kissed her, and gave her at the altar to the love of her youth, we turned to 
hide the tears which flowed unbidden.  We loved her, so we wished to keep her, 
to nurse her with our own hands, but he who had won such wealth as her love 
would not give it up; he begged us for her, if only for a little while.  And it 
was a little while.  Ten short months she lived with him in his home in 
Liberty.  Even in her dying hour she said, I spent a happy year in Liberty!  
What pathos, what poetry, there was in that simple phrase, as it came from her 
lips.  Just when the roses of May last were blooming she came home to us on a 
visit.  How sweet it was to have our lamb, our pet, as she called herself, with 
us once more.  But O, how said to see her fading day by day!  When her strength 
had so far failed that she could not walk, she chiefly regretted it because she 
could no longer go with her husband to the house of God.
Six years ago, when a school girl, she was baptized by the Rev. Mr. Berryman, 
and received into the Methodist Church at Glasgow, in this State.  Though 
caressed and admired by the world, though possessed of all a woman’s love of 
pleasing and fondness for the beautiful things of this world – the house of God 
and not the gay scenes of this earth, was her constant resort.  How often she 
has taken me, her eldest sister, by the hand, as it were and led me there; 
especially to the Methodist class room; then, like the modest little lilly of 
the valley, that she was, she would sit so close beside me and answer with her 
expressive, her sweet blue eyes, the words of the man of God.
The hectic flush upon her cheek was not more deceiving than the roseate view 
she had of her condition.  She never seemed to think of dying – all we could do 
was to watch her wasting beauty, and pray that before the end came she would 
give us the only assurance that had power to comfort us.
God in his infinite goodness answered our prayer.  Although almost speechless 
on Saturday last, about twilight, she spoke to us in tones as clear, as steady, 
as musical as those of a silver bell, saying she did not dread giving up the 
things of the world; it was only her husband and her family circle that she 
could not leave.  A week previous to this she had said in answer to my anxious 
looks: “Sister, brother Taffinder says as God has given me living, so when I 
come to die he will bless me with dying grace.”  She now repeated it, saying 
with childlike faith and simplicity, “Brother Taffinder told me God would give 
me dying grace, and he has.  He told me I would meet my father, and I shall.”  
Then came over her the memory of her childhood, and with it a bright 
realization of her loving father, who died almost eleven years ago, and it 
seemed as though she could give us up better.  So gently did her Savior bear 
her to him.
Her father and her infant sister she said she would see, and she hoped to meet 
her dear brother Walter, who went two years before her.  She called each one by 
name and bade us meet her in heaven.  To her husband she said, “O know there is 
a divine reality in religion, and you must seek it to your life’s end.  I could 
not die as happy if I did not think I should meet you in Heaven”.  Then, to 
poor, unworthy me, she said, “Sister, I know I shall meet you there.” So 
impressive she said, “I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.  I know I have been a 
great sinner, but whenever I have done anything wrong, I have always asked God 
to forgive, and he says, “Ask, believing ye shall received and it shall be 
given to you.”
To her mother she turned, saying, “Ma, they are crying about me: I don’t feel 
like crying; death has no terrors for me.  I wish to be buried beside my 
father; and I wish none of you to wear any mourning whatever for me.  I shall 
be better off than you.  If I die tonight I shall go to Heaven.”
Touching as was her love for her husband, it was not more so than her affection 
for her sister nearest her own age.  All her tasteful little handiwork was for 
her.  Tell her she has, I know been long striving to be a Christian; she must 
never, never give up.  Turning to her devoted nurse she said, with her own 
child-like simplicity, “I shall meet your daughter there too, Mrs. Lynch.”  She 
often spoke of her minister as such a holy man, saying he had led her so gently 
to her Savior.  She again and again commended her mother to our tender care.  
During her sickness she said she found it so easy to be a Christian while in 
Liberty; that her kind friend, Mrs. D -----N, talked to her so much of her 
Savior.
As her husband remarked to us, if she had come as a bright angel and laid all 
the treasures of earth at the feet of her loved ones, they would have been 
nothing to these sweet assurances.
Again we arrayed her in her bridal robes; this time we decked her with lilies 
of the valley.  How sweetly she looked, reposing so sweetly beneath the folds 
of her bridal veil within her coffin.  Even her coffin did not look gloomy.  We 
felt like embracing it when we could no longer clasp the form it held.  
Reader, my simple story is from real life; the heroine was Emma, wife of Thos. 
B. King, and daughter of Walter F. and Emily A. Chiles, formerly of Glasgow, 
but now of Jefferson City, MO.  She left us for a home in Heaven, on Sabbath 
morning, the 11th day of May, just as dawn was breaking – fitting time for such 
an angel to join the Heavenly throng!  Her age was 20 years, 8 months and 11 
days.
“We shall go to her, but she cannot come to us.”


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