moml JOHN FOOT, LATE CAPTAIN f tt ^tionA ^tcjinxtnt MINNESOTA VOLUNTEERS. /.''., / ' •' nV,' V vy U . > . /^A.'-i^C^^^ c^l/^ ^^ ^-tt €^ u^/^ /^ ^^ Y-^^ ^ .^:K-_ -^^^ ~^ f^^ /j iL-^ JOHN FOOT, BO UN AT THE CITY OF NEW V o UK, (Oil % ;}Otlr ^ipril, isa.l, DIED ^T aENKV^, ONTAEIO COUNTY, c^n tl)f l;UI) ^llai'clr, mi. ^tb |ork: VRAN1I9 A LOUTREL, PBINTEUS, HOOKlilNDEKS ANU STATIONKRS, 45 Maiden Lane. 1862 CAPT. JOHN FOOT, LATE OF THE ^umA |icr|'t |Hinur5otii ^'oluutccvs. The life of Cjqit. Foot, tlionii'li Ijricf, w:;s so useful, lii^ (leatli so lionoral)le, and liis cluiracter so coniniendablo. that a memorial of him cannot fail to be a(.'ce})table to a large circle of relati\es, and to numy friends who esteemed and loved him in life, and lamented him in deatli. His example, too, will not bo without its influence on his younger brothers, and the youtli of the families of liis relatives and friends. It may, also, extend even farther, and stimulate some of the youth of our Country to ac<[uire, even in early manhood, distinguished names and enduring fame. John Foot was the son of JSamuel Alkkkd and Jane Campbkll Foot, He was born on the 30th of Ai)ril, 1S35, ill the City of New Yoi'k, and was tlie eldest of a large family of sons and daughters, lie was bai>ti/.ed by the liev. W. Vi. riiiLLiPs, Fastor of the First Presbyterian Churcli of the City of New York, of which his jtarents were then members, on the lOtli of June, 1>!35. The elements of his education were ac(juired in that city, and maiidy at the (Tranmiar School of the University, of which Mr. Lewis IF. lloimv, was the Principal. In the S^tring of 1S47, his parents removed from the city to tlie Village (if (leiieva. In that villaii'O, Mr. Waltkr T. Tavlok, ke|il an excellent Eiiii'lisli and Classical School. Capt. Foot, then a yonth of twelve years, entered this school, and enjoyed the faithfnl and efficient instrnction of Mr. Taylok, from the Spring of 1847 to the Spring of 1S5(). By this time he was well advanced in his edncation, and nearly prepared to enter Williams' College, where it was intended he should receive his Collegiate Education. But being considered too young to enter college, and a practical knowledge of farming regarded as useful, he worked on his father's farm during the season of 1850. Early in Novendjcr of that year, he entered the School of ]\[essrs. B. F. & J. A. Mills, at South Williamstown, Mass., and there completed his preparation for entering Williams' College. He entered that College in September, 1851, and graduated in July, 1855. The subject of his commencement exercise was " The Earnest Man."' In Septendjer, of that year, he went to the City of !N'ew York, and commenced the study of law, in the Office of Wm. E. Curtis, Esq., and was admitted to the Bar in Decendjer, 1856. lie early exliil>ited unusual adaptation for the profession he had chosen, and shortly after his admission, entered upon the discussion of questions be- fore the Courts usually entrusted to counsel of mature years. lie was not loquacious, but rather erred in the opposite dii'cction, being, sometimes, almost too chary of language fnlly to express his views; and was never excited or rude, but, on the contrary, always cool, self- possessed and gentlemanly. lie had one unusual talent of great value in his pro- fession, and that was, remarkable facility for committing his thoughts to ])apcr with rapidity and accuracy — often writing, in a clear and legible hand, several successive pages, with uncommon celerity, without an ungramma- tical expression, or erasing, altering, or misspelling a word. Thus qualified, lie was, as might well be expect- ed, eminently successful in his ]irofessit)n fi)r a new beginner. lie i)ursued his ]>ri»tessi()n in tlie city till Octubor, 18G0, M'lieii iiii|)aired health obliged him tt» seek a moi'c propitious climate in the West. While on a visit to his parents in December, 1859, he took a cold. IFaving always enjoyed good health, and I'ully oecu[)ic(l in his profession, he did not realize the importance of attending to the cold he had taken. A cough ensued, l»ut it was not regarded of sufficient consequence to ret pi ire atten- tion. The Spring of 18G0 came round, and his cough still continued. Having some professional business in Georgia, he made a journey there in March ; and, after attending to the business in his charge, spent some time with friends in Auij-usta. llis couii'h was somewhat abated, though not subdued. In August, 18G0, having some business at Lawrence, in Kansas, he went there; and, after spending a few days in the vicinity, went out West on the plains, joined a hunting party, and passed a few weeks in hunting buffalo. In the dry and light atmosphere of the prairies his cough sensibly diminished: but, on his return to the city, his cough also returned with increased violence. In the hitter }>art of October, ISGO, he left the city for the prairies of the West, in accordance with eminent medical advice, lie i»assctl the following winter in Western Missouri, and mostly in the c>pen air. His health greatly improved, and his cough nlmo^t entirely subsided. He regarded himself as well, and determined to establish himself and re-commence the practice (»f his profession at the West. With that view he went to lied Wing, in Minnesota, early in the Spring of 18G1, and determined to fix his residence there. He made arrangements for renewing liis prot'es- >-ion!d busines-, and on tlie l."'tli ot' Aiu-il wa- ;i(liiiitted "'us an attorney and counsellor to i)ractice in all the Courts" of the State of Minnesota. Soon after this, the call (if the President for Volunteers to suppress the rebellion and sustain the institutions of the country, reached Minnesota. Capt. Foot deemed it his duty, be- fore re-coniniencing his profession, to aid in this })atriotic work. He soon commenced the raising of a company, for which he had been desiguated as Captain. That having been accomplished, he was commissioned by Governor Ilamsay of Minnesota, on the 31st of July, 1861, as Ca],)tain of Company 1, in the Second liegi- ment of Minnesota A'olunteers. That regiment, after l)eing thoroughly drilled for several months, entered into active service in Kentucky, in October, 1801. It went through an acti\e winter's cam])aign in that State, and took a ])rominent part in the battle and xictory of Mill Spring, on the 19th of January, 1862. On the 29th of that month Captain Foot was ordered to Minnesota on recruiting sei'vice. lie repaired to his post of duty, but his health rapidly declining, and being no longer able to serve his country, he was unwilling to l)e a burthen to it, and on the 24th of February, 1862, offered his resig- nation, and left Minnesota for his father's residence, lie arrived there on the first of March, and e.\}»ired on the 13th, aged 26 years. His funeral took place and his re- mains were interred at Geneva, on Sunday afternoon, the 17th of March, 1862. While he resided in tlic City of Xew York, ho at- teiuled the Collegiate lleformed Dutch Church, of which the Kev, Dr. Tuomas De Witt is the senior Pastor. He was fully aware of his approaching end, and came to his paternal home to die. The few days wliich he was al- lowed to spend there, wci'c i)assed in gentle and sul)mis- sive waiting for his appi'oacliing end. llv M'as jireparcd fni- di-ath. lio gave as-uniiice of hisii'n>t in his lu'ilc'cmei". and died peacefully. Ills death was not expected so soon. The morning that he died, after devotions in his room, he rose to dress for breakfast. His brother, Alfred, was alone in the room with liiin. While dressing, he was attacked with an obstruction of respiration. His brother assisted him to his bed. As he lay down, he said to him, in a natural and gentle tone of voice, and in a calm and peaceful manner, "Good bye,'' and immediately ex}»ired. His character and military services, and the sorrow for his death, will a})pear in the extracts of letters from sym- pathizing friends, in obituary notices of him in the pub- lic journals, and in the sermon of the He v. Dr. Wir.Ev, which follow : From the Rev. Dr. Dk Wht, to the father of the de- ceased, March 18, 1SG2. " Your eldest son and your first-born has been taken from you, just as he was entering upon life, with the develop- ment of a fair and excellent character, and with the pro- mise of usefulness in his future course. Jlis position, as the oldest child in your large family of children, was an interesting and important one; but He wlio removed him can re])air the loss, by making it productive of spiritual and precious fruit to your surviving children. What I knew of John, in the occasional intercourse I liad with him, led me to esteem him hii;-hly, and to indulge the hope that he M'ould prove a blessing and comfort to his parents and family. But the Lord has taken him t*) himself, and 1 trust that the fruit which was forming on earth, is now ri})ened in Heaven. How beautiful are the words of Patl, in the 12th chapter to the Hebrews, describing the design, pro- cess, and fruits of affliction: 'Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous. Nevertheless, afterwards it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.' Your son died in a good cause, in jiatriotic devotion to his country. The good seed, sown under parental, pious care, aiul in the associations in which he was placed, doubtless lodged in his mind, and o]>ened his soul to Christ and llca\cn." From D. H. Eatox, Esq.. to the p;\ino. April S, 1SG2.* "On my return from a tour to the West, I have heard, with o-reat j^ain, of the death of 3M-)ur cklest son, wlio lias falhMj a martyr in the service of his country, in the early prime of life. On my tour I met a young Lieutenant of the same regiment as your son, and who was with him in the bloody hlattle of Somerset. The Lieutenant bore the highest testimony to the courtesy, zeal, and ofHcer-like conduct of Captain Foot, on every occasion, and to his bravery and presence of mind in that battle. There is no young man whose reiinement of manners, high, manly tone, and rare moral and intellectual qualities, have won a higher place in my respect and regard." From Lieut. C S. ITline, to Lieut. Alfred Foot, brother of the deceased, dated Columbia, Tenn., March 31, 1862.t '• The sad intelligence of the death of Capt. Foot reached us a few days before the receipt of your letter. Our Colonel saw an obituary notice of him in a New York paper. Let me assure you, many a free, happy heart was shrouded with sadness and gloom at the announcement. I made the statement to his late Company, and many, wliose liearts have become hardened at death, wore moved to tears. During his term of service he had, by his soldierly bear- ing, his eminent qualities of mind and heart, endeared himself to the regiment, and all feel his loss; but he was especially dear to Company I, who knew him best and loved him most. To them his death is a sore affliction. To his exertions, his indomitable energy, his unerring judgment, his disciplined mind, and perfect self-command, do they owe their present efficiency. None knew Captain Foot but to love and respect him. When the officers oi' our regiment were examined, he received the highest ])raise, and he received the only compliment paid our regiment. All knew his i)ower8 of endurance were being ■' Ml-. Eatox boarded in tlio sanio hniiso wifli the ur sou reached me tliis moniijig, and I write, not only to give \(>n some details in regard to the few days he spent here with me after his return from Kentucky, l)ut, also, to ex]iress my sympathy with 3'ou and your family in the loss of one so dear to us all. Ilis death, though sudden, was not unex- pected by me. T am coutidcnt, from what passed between US, that he was fully awai'c of his condition, lie nc\cr said much about his health to any one, but did, on one or two occasions, talk freely to me. I was pained to see how sick he a})peared when he j-eturned from Kentucky. He arrived here oji Monday, February 10th, and on the 21st, in answer to in(|iries I had made the previous evening, asked me to ex'aminc his lungs. I did so, and told him they were l)oth badly diseased. lie then stated to me, that he had been convinced for some months that he should never recover, and desired to remain here in Minnesota, in the recruiting service, as long as I deemed it safe, but he wished to go home to die. I urged u])on him the l)ad condition of the roads in the Spring, in case the weather should affect him nnfavoi'ably. He said Ik- m'ouUI wait a few days before he decided, but on Sunday evening fol- lowing, told me he was going the next day. "I hope these particulars, though painful, will be a satis- faction to you as showing, that though he fully realized In's situation, with that consideration he always showed, he dreaded to foreshadow sori-ow, which he so well knew you would soon be called upon to bear. " My professional duties prevented me from being with liim wdiile he was here as much as I desired. Our intercourse was always of the most delightful character — I loved hiui as a brother, and I shall ever cherish the rcmendjrancc of our mutual friendship as among the precious memories of my life. Ilis kindly ([ualities of head and heart had won for him many friends here among us, and no one whom I ever knew was more resi)ected and beloved." 11 FiHtiu his Excellency Alkxaxdeu Uam.say, Governor of Minnesota, to tlie same, dated St. raul, March 21, 18G2 : ""I was pained to learn, ])_v 3-onr favor of the 15th inst., of tlie demise of your son, the late Captain of Company I, in our Second Regiment. "We had hoi)ed, on his return from the Ilegiment, after the lirilliant enp;agement at Logan's Cross Iloads, in which the Second took, perhaps, the most heroic part, and has rendered its name, and that of every member of it, forever illustrions, that his health, a})[)arently never very robust, would l»e restored, so he might be spared to us for many years to come. "Captain Foot had already, on his entering the jMilitary Service of the Couutry in the hour of its peril, by his m-- ])ane, gentlemanly manner, and his well trained mind, made a very favorable impression on the community with which he had cast his lot ; and his zeal and perseverance in organizing his Company, at a time when enlistments, owing to the season of the year, were secured with great difficulty, were witnessed with admiration. And, all honor tlie memory of one, whose patriotism prompted him to devote his life to so noble a cause." The following 01)ituary Notice was publislu'd in the princi[)al p>iblic journals of the City and State of Xew York: OBITUAllY. "Died, at the resideiu-e of his fatlier, at (ieneva, IMarcli 13, 1SG2, JouN Foot, Es(p, of this city. Counsellor at Law, son of Hon. Sa:mukl A. Foot, aged twenty-six. The deceased raised a Company in INEinnesota, which he led in the gallant and memorable cluirge of the Second Min- nesota Regiment, at the Battle of Mill Spring. Capt. Foot, broken in constitution by the privations and hard- shi[)S of the Winter campaign, readied home in time to !)reathe his last. Distinguished and successful, beyond his vears, in his jirofessiou; lirave and l>eloved as a soldier — 111' Lia\e liis life to his Countr\-. aiiervant, 'SAMUEL A. FOOT.'"' From the Geneva CoKricr, of March 19, 1SG2: FUNERAL OF CAPT. JOHN FOOT, U. S. V. ''We little thought a few weeks since, when giving a brief notice of the three sons of Judge Foot, in the public service, that we Avould be called to uotice so soon the death and funeral of the eldest one. He was able to reach home, and died at his father's on the 13th instant. The Funeral Services were held on Sunday afternoon last, in the Dutch Church of this village, and were conducted by the Rev. Dr. Wiley, the Pastor of the church. Although tlie day was stormy, the church was crowded with a deej)ly interested audience. While all the services were ap[)ropriate and im])ressive, the Sermon was especially so. The large ;iudience listened tt» it with thedee[>est attention. 14 ^cvmou of the ilcv. J}\\ \\*\U\i John xi., 14, li). — Tlieii said Jesus unto tliein, plainly, Lazarus is dead, and I am glad for your sake that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe. j\pen, the existing sorrow and bereavement might, by possibility, have been deferred or avoided. These are the feelings that naturally hang ai'ound us in contemplating the removal of our friends. They are the almost inseparable witness and attendant of a true and tender regret towards those that are called away from us by death. The very first words with which Martha greeted the Saviour on the occasi if the I'roN idciicc of G(t(l did iK.t extfiid to ull the circiuHstcUices of our personal Iicruaveiiu'iits and atilictions, as if Divine Wisdom did not order all the antccad'niU »»f death as well as the rc_i>Tetted event itself; as if it were not trne of tlir ISaxionrV aicency lierc in all its particulars, us well as in other dei)artnients of his action, th;it 'V/Zc doeth all th'uxjii well.'" Tlie narrative with which the text is connected, is highly instructive and consolatorv in this very respect. It presents the Saviour before us as having so intimate a relation to the sickness and death of Lazarus in all the circumstances of it, as to be highly soothing and trancpiilizing to those that are called to similar trials, lie distinctly anticipates the occurrence, lie hovers near the scene whei'e it transpired, and if lie does not actually interpose to })revent it. it is for reasons of wisdom that are after made fully to ap])ear. There are two thoughts in jiarticular suggested by the iiarrative, on which I desire tt) dwell at the present time, as being in harmou}- with the present occasion; thoughts that are iitted to convey a deeply consolatory impression to the mind, uiuler the sense of the recent loss and remo\al of endeared relatives and friends. I, The lirst thought that is proni])ted l)y the narrative before us, is, that the Saviour is thoroiujhlij cognizant of the sickness of our kindred and friends^ and full ij antirl- pates the issue and event of their disorders. We recognize this truth as a ]natter of theoretical conviction, as being necessarily connected with the di\im' and superior miture which Christ possesses. He. who in common with the Father, notices the fall of the >]>arro\v, and numbers the hairs of our heads, we may be sure, is not )imip})rised of what is transpiring in the way of sickness and death within the circles of our households. But how nnu-h more vivid and distinct does this truth ap})ear in the light of the simple narrative before us :' We IG luivi' here a li\iiii;- and practical cxeinpliticatioii ut it M'as an unnecessary and gratuitous errand, for Clirist already knew of it. It was upon his mind as a matter of distinct and tlioiiglitful contemplation. lie notes with accuracy, as is apparent from the record itself, tlie progress of the disorder, and after the lapse of two days. He says to His disciples, with the (juiet assurance of one whom nothing could surprise, " Our friend Lazarus sleejyeth^ hut I go that I may avKike him out of sleej},-'' and immediately bent His steps, that had hitherto lingered by the way, towards Judea, and towards the home of the aftiicted household. AVho can fail to see in this narrative a i)ractical exemplification of the fact, that the Saviour is intimately cognizant of M'hat transpires in the way of sick- ness, and sufl'ering, and death, within the circle of our kindred. AVhat was true of the family of Bethany is true of all the families of Israel. He who is the Great High Priest of our profession, who took part of our infirmities, who bore our sicknesses and carried our sorrows, we may be assured, is not unmindful of the domestic troubles and atfiictions of His ]>cople. He knows and notes the sick- nesses of our kindred, and not a thing that trans2)ires, not a circumstance that takes place, is hidden from the obser- vation of His benignant eye. In the day of our calamity we may be ready to say with the Psalmist, " Why standest thou afar off ^ O Lord ■ Why hide st thou thyself in tinw if tronhle ?" and when Death a(;tually intervenes, Ave may exclaim with the sisters of Bethany, " Ijord, If thou hadcst been here, my brother had not died.'' But these are cither the natural expressions of a true and tender solicitude and affection, or they are the indications of a weak and im- ])erfect faith, that fails to recognize the ever-}>resent eye, 17 the ever-watchful l*rovidencc of our Divine and l)enignunt Lord and Master in all onr aiiairs. Yeri, it i?; a most consolatory thought, that the Saviour knows perfectly the sickness and departure of our kindred in all their circumstances — in what is done and what is omitted, in what seems propitious and in what seems to be untoward and undesirable — in everything, lie is completely informed, and his benignant Providence is most intimately concerned. II. The other prominent thought suggested by the nar- rative before us is, that where the Saviour does not inter- jjose to inter ce2)t the death of our relatives and friends, He omits to do so for the most wise and sufficient reaso7is. lie withholds His healing and restoring hand in the exercise of a true, though sometimes an inscrutable wisdom. This is a very simple truth, but at the same time full of consolation to those who are able to realize its im])ort. Ordinarily, it is too far out of our reach to be brought clearly within our comprehension and intelligence. We have to wait the developments and issues of Eternity before we are able to get any palpable view of the wisdom of the Divine dispensations, especially in the form of bereavement and affliction. But how clear and instructive does this truth a])pear in the light of the nar- rative before ns. AVe see that Lazarus was permitted to die for reasons of Divine wisdom, and these reas(.)ns are actually disclosed to us in the aftcr-develo})ment of the narrative. It doubtless sounded strange to the disciples, wliat onr Saviour said to them in announcing, in anticipa- tion, the death of Lazarus : " Then said Jesus unto them, plwlnltj, Lazarus is dead, and I am glad for your sake that I u:as not there, to the intent ye may believe/' It must have been a mystery, certainly, to them, liow the Saviour could express himself thus cheerfully and con- fidently with regard to an occurrence whose natural aspect 18 is usually one only of sorrow and distress. But when they followed him to the scene of the affliction itself, and witnessed wlu\t ti-anspired at tlie tomb of Lazarus, when they saw the dead come forth at the word of Jesus, and a new lialo of glory to suri-ound the jierson (tf their Master, and a new attestation to authenticate and signalize the truth of Ilis mission, when tiiey beheld the earnest and pledge of the Resurrection and future life in the resuscita- tion of the person of Lazarus — the brother of Bethany and the friend of Jesus — and saw the palpable proof of the power of Him who declared "7 am the Resurrection and the Life^^ then the mystery of Christ's words was ex- ])lained, and the wisdom was vindicated of that dispensa- tion that permitted the death of Lazarus. It is, doul)tless, true, that we are seldom permitted to see for ourselves the wisdom of such dispensations,/^'/' ttv walk now hy faith and not hy nujUt. But that wisdom is less real in all similar cases of death and bereavement. If Christ does not interpose to prevent the departure and removal of our kiiulred and friends, we know that he omits to do so for the wisest aud best of reasons — reasons not now discernable to us, but that shall have their development at least in the future life. We know that this is so; we have the }iledge of it in the little that we are permitted to witness of the ways of Providence. AYe have an epitome and illustration of it in the narrative before us. It is as certain as that God's benignant Providence and the Saviour's gracious rule and dominion are connected with all that transpires amidst these earthly scenes. These reflections, my brethren, are appropriate to be made in all the cases that occur of personal bereavement and domestic sorrow. They arc especially suitable to be indulged in the instances of premature or early death, or where, in any respect, darkness and mystery seem to 19 hano- around the Divine dispensation. It is southing to think, in the hour of calamity and 1)ereaveinent, that the Saviour knoM'S our sorrows, that He is present and inti- matelj ae(|uainted with tiie sicknesses, and sufierin^^s, and death of our friends, and that He withholds His hand from their relief only in the exercise of a wisdom and benignity that will he made fully conspicuous at last. This whole narrative, in fact, is full of consolation and support to the atflicted and bereaved in the assurance and witness it gives of the presence, and nearness, and interest of the Saviour amidst our domestic sorrow. And when the finale of the M'hole is brought out to view, and the Saviour a})pears in His proper majesty and power as the Resurrection and the Life, Avliat a glory crowns the scene I What a celestial light irradiates the whole! We seem to antedate the liour of the Resurrection, and to have tlie future life already brought into being and reality in the resuscitation of the risen Lazarus from the Dead. I cannot be mistaken in supposing, that it is with more than usual sensations of sorrow and regret, that we are met together on the present occasion. The shadow of death — premature and unanticipated death — is resting darkly upon our assembly. Youth, cut otf in its early promise and hopeful develoi)ment, suddenly intercepted on the very threshold of active Yifc—j)a rental hopes long and fondly entertained and just bidding fair to be fully realized in a useful and honorable career, blighted and dissipated by the touch of death — the ties of kindred and the associations of friendship unexpectedly dissolved and broken asunder — the silent form of the dead — the subdued ami thoughtful congregation of friend> and spectators — these are the features that compose the })rcsent scene — these are the circumstances under whidi we ai'e ca]leirit of the Fathers of the lievoliiticm. Young Foot felt and resi)oiided to the patriotic and generous impulse. With no reasons of personal need, or other constraint to o|)erate upon his mind; with prudential considerations aris- 22 in^ out (»r !i scarcely re-established health to check and restrain hiiu, he yet seemed to have regarded the call of the Country as imperative and obligatory. With no other motives, apparently, than such as were supplied by the ardor of youthful enterprise and the promptings of a })a- triotic spirit, he entered the service of the country as a Captain of Volunteers ; and when his Regiment was or- dered to Kentucky, the scene, at that time, of most peril- ous civil coniiict and commotion, he promptly followed with it the fortunes of the war. 1 need not describe to you the public features of that campaign. They are so recent as to be entirely familiar to you all. The series of brilliant successes, that have crowned the Arms of the Union in that section of the Country, began with the bat- tle of Mill Spring, in which the Regiment to which young Foot belonged bore a most gallant and conspicuous i)art. "With the successful issue of that first conflict on the soil of Kentucky, commenced the happy turn of events that seem destined to culminate, ere long, in the complete restoration of the ])(»wer of the Union. But, in tlu; meantime, the personal and private experience of Captain Foot discloses a sad but most heroic record, that remains to be briefly tohh The humidity of the climate, the exposures of the camj), and the toils of the march, began to show their eflects very sensibly upon his feel)le constitution, and it very soon became apparent to him tliut his health was likely to be totally undermined. But how could he retire iVom the service at this most critical juncture? How could pruden- tial considerations be listened to when the enemy was just at hand? Every thought of self, every considerate regard to health had to give way to the point of honor, and to the ini}>ulse of patriotism. Tliink of the <[uiet and unct>m- ]>laining heroism that could still go forward in such cir- cumstances as these! Think of the M'eaiy and protracted march, the broken rest, the unavoidable and ])crpetual e\- 23 [)Osuro to wind ami woatlici-, with an unfcubU-d and mani- festly sinkiiio- constitutidii ! Think of the i-xcitcineiit and tumult of the l)attl(' that ensued, and of the word of mili- tary eommaiul still continuini;- to issue iirmly and steadily from attenuated lips, and trom a breast already weakened and wasted ])\ the ravages of disease. It was n(»t until all these thing-s were gouv tlirough. and the army returned, suecessful and victorious to the camp, that our voutliful soldier felt himself at liberty to turn his attention to him- self. Oh! is there not a record here of nnobtrusive and silent heroism, that demands to be known and to be appre- ciated ? AVhat can we do less in regard to the youthful volunteers, that have entered the service of the Coun- try at the })resent imminent crisis, than to bear them upon onr prayers to the throne of grace while they live, aiid to preserve some grateful memorial of their patriot- ism and sacrifices when they eome to die. The sequel of our personal narrative can be very briefly told. It is told, indeed, more ekxjuently than words can do it, in the silent remains that lie before us. Captain Foot returned to Minnesota, under instructions to recruit his Eegiment, with the faint hope that his declining health might yet be retrieved. This h(»pe was, however, soon ex- tinguished, and unwilling to be a burthen to a cause which he was no longer able to serve, he at once oflered to relincjuish his commission, and with all the expedition his failing strength permitted, he betook himself to the home and refuge of his early childhood ; and here a few days of rapid decline termimited a life already shattered and broken by the severities of the recent campaign. lie ex- pired amid the solaces and supports of earthly friendship and love, leaving behind him, to his surviving kindred, the sad but proud recollection, that he spent his last strength, finnly and faithfully, in the service of the coun- try. His earthly record is, that he lived an uiddemished 24: lite, iiiul (lied virtiiiilly and icidly a voluntary sacritico to tiie noliie cause of Constitutional Freedom and Oi'der. His religious record, besides embracing precious reminiscences, upi>re('ial)le only to the eye and perception of dt)niestic ami private low, is, that he died a child of the baptismal covenant, and a child of parental prayer and hope, giving, as liis last utterance, an attirmative response to the proffers and promises of a Saviour's grace, presented to him by the lips of maternal alfection and faith. lluw liKst are tlicy wliose transient years, Pttss like an evening meteor's fliglit ; Not (lark with guilt, nor ay in a single word, young lutjn, en /lohle life hy honofoble aetivii ! lie- nuMuber that it is not the length of life, but the faithful fidtilmcnt of its high duties, that is the true and real ground of felicitatierniit hy Heaven. 1 would say csj)ccially, make clear, and bright, and legi- ble, i/our religious record. Be soldiers of the countrv if neetl be, in her present uig-cnt perils; but above all, be Soldiers of the Cross. The kingdom of Christ >hall sur- vive all other kingdoms. It shall contjuer death and the grave. It has brilliant crowns and mdading lauiels for all its true and loyal subjects.