the night. As he was getting up, his Bible fell out of his pocket upon the deck. He picked it up and replaced it. Some kind hand, perhaps a mother or a Sunday-school teacher had given him that Bible.

He went below, and prepared himself for his bed. When ready, he kneeled down, and, though many loudtalking men were standing about, put his hands together in the attitude of prayer, and poured out his heart silently to God. He heeded not the noise around him. In a moment all was hushed. the conduct of the boy, reverently stood silent until he had finished his prayer. It was one of the scenes of earth on which angels pause to look down with interest.

The company, as if overawed by

X. FOOTE'S FAREWELL TO HIS SAILORS.

This gallant officer, who had long been suffering from the effect of a wound, was obliged at length to seek a temporary release from his command. The parting from his men and the introduction to them of his successor took place on board the Benton, the flag-ship of the Mississippi flotilla, in May, 1862. The remarks which he made on that occasion (we profess to give only the general tenor of them) present him to us as a man of the sternest loyalty, and yet able, by his courtesy and Christian mildness, to bind to himself, as "with hooks of steel," the hearts of those who shared the perils and honors of his naval achievements. He said,

"Officers and men: It has now become my painful duty to inform you that I am about to leave you, though I trust only for a short time. Commodore Davis, who is here before you, has been appointed my successor, and is the man whom I proposed to the government as the one above

FOOTE'S FAREWELL TO HIS SAILORS.

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all others best fitted to relieve me of my charge. He has talent, and scientific as well as naval ability, and, as he has borne hitherto an unsullied name, will, I doubt not, maintain it in future."

Turning then to Mr. Davis, and pointing to the officers around him, he said, "These gallant officers, men of the East, West, North, South, and of foreign climes, who now stand before you, are men on whom you can depend in any emergency. I have tried them, one and all, and know what I say; and although they may never receive the reward due to their gallant and manly bearing, we have, at least, the proud satisfaction of knowing that we have done our duty. The improvising of a squadron like this without means at all adequate to the work has been our greatest labor; it has cost more effort than our signal victories when we have met the enemy face to face. Providence has seen fit to afflict me in this hour of our triumph, just as the great work begins to be crowned with success. But I trust I may regain my failing strength in body and mind, and be enabled to rejoin you. The painful duty is now over. I wish I was able to introduce you singly to each officer; but (affected to tears as he spoke) I am too weak."

He attempted to perform that courtesy, but could not proceed. Captain Phelps relieved him by mentioning the officers by name to Commodore Davis. Pointing then to the seamen, the flag-officer continued: "These men, too, you can depend upon in any emergency. If they have any fault, they are but too anxious to go into a fight; they will never surrender to the enemy. Unless you hold them back, they will be ahead of you in reaching the post of danger. They can run faster than I can, you see,” casting his eyes to his wounded foot. "Officers and men, one and all, farewell."

At the close of these remarks, the brave old commodore was assisted on board of the steam-packet De Soto, bound for Cincinnati, the officers and crew of the Benton gazing with tender sympathy toward him, as if he had been to each one of them his best and nearest friend. Some minutes were occupied in starting, and the commodore was placed in a chair on the upper deck of the De Soto. As he looked at the Benton, says an eye-witness, and saw the many familiar faces that fixed their kind eyes upon him so earnestly, his trembling hand frequently sought his quivering lip, and it was evident that he was struggling hard to control his feelings. But nature prevailed, and the brave officer covered his wan face with a fan which he held, to protect himself against the heat, and wept like a child. As the steamer left the flag-ship, three loud, long, and ringing cheers were given by the crew. The commodore stood up on his crutches as the De Soto moved up the broad Mississippi, and with tremulous voice said, "God bless you all! Heaven knows how hard it is for me to leave you! Better and braver men than you never trod a deck. I would much rather stay with you and die with you than go away. But my duty to my country compels me to yield to stronger, though I hope not more willing, hands. God bless you, my brave men, - God bless you all!"

There was hardly one on the deck whose eyes were not filled with tears while the commodore spoke, and old tars that had braved the frozen horrors of the Northern seas and the plagues of the tropics, that had doubled the Horn again and again, and sailed under the equator, and touched at every prominent land-point on the globe, stood in the hot sun, with hotter tears upon their checks, melted into tenderness at the thought of parting from their brave old commander, whom they had learned to love so well.

At Hickman, Madison, Cairo, and other places, the citi

THE SOLDIER'S GREATEST FEAR.

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zens crowded down to the wharves to cheer the gallant commodore on his way.1

A scene with which every hamlet and neighborhood in the land are now sadly familiar summoned us to the old church. A coffin covered with the stars and stripes, in front of the pulpit, contained all that remained on earth of one whom we had known and loved. He was a young man whose noble traits of character had drawn to him many hearts. Only two years before, he had stood in this very aisle, making a public profession of the religion of Jesus.

A Christian can best afford to be a fearless soldier, for he can look danger and death in the face. William, the subject of this notice, did so. He had been in many battles. He always stood his ground like a true hero. But there was one thing of which this youth, whom the last conqueror only had vanquished, was afraid. He was afraid he should disgrace his Christian profession by yielding to temptation in an unhappy moment. The burden of his requests as he wrote to his parents, was, "Pray for me;

1 It was not the will of Providence that this brave and good man should fulfil the hope expressed by him, of rejoining the companions in arms to whom he addressed this farewell. He repaired to Washington, and for more than a year, by his advice and coöperation, rendered invaluable aid to the naval department, with the affairs of which he was so thoroughly conversant. But he was needed for more active service, and at the earliest moment of apparent convalescence, was appointed commander of the fleet engaged in the attack on Fort Sumter and Charleston. The most important results were hoped for from his unquestioned skill and bravery. He had reached New York on his way to the South, when suddenly he was taken ill there, and died on the 26th of June, 1863. Hardly any one has appeared on the stage of action during the war more distinguished for the highest qualities of the patriot, hero, and Christian, than Admiral Foote.

my temptations are many. Pray for me that I may overcome."

But William's days were numbered. He was attacked by a fatal disease, and borne as far as Rhode Island, where his father, who belonged to Massachusetts, was summoned to come to him. He hastened to the expected place of interview. Here, as the father looked round on a company of sick and wounded soldiers, he inquired, with searching gaze, "Where is William ?"

"That is my name," answered a feeble voice.

Who shall attempt to describe that last fond meeting between father and son? At length the father found voice to say, "I see, my son, how it is as to the body; but how as to the temptations about which you wrote to us? Have you been able to overcome?"

“Oh, yes, father, I have not put the intoxicating cup to my lips once; I have fallen into no open sin since I left home."

As he sleeps beneath the flag he loved and defended, we seem to hear a voice from heaven, saying, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne."

XII. SORROW IN THE HOMESTEAD.

I was called last week, (writes one of the army chaplains, Rev. Mr. Bass,) to bury a young man aged about twenty-one years, George Van Schaick, son of Rev. Mr. Van Schaick, of Unadilla, N. Y. He was a noble youth. In the tent, in the camp, in his duties, or recreations, he demeaned himself as a Christian. He was a friend to his chaplain, and many were the pleasant hours we have spent together in friendly