Excerpt from A Discourse: Delivered at the Funeral of Hon. Solomon Foot, in the Congregational Church, Rutland, Vt;, April 3, 1866

I know not what may be done or spoken elsewhere in regard to the departure from this life of that illustrious, and honored, and beloved citizen, whom we in the community were so proud to call our friend and neighbor, our representative; but this I know, that we are all unwilling that he should pass away from us never to return, and that his dust should be laid down to mingle with that of sainted kindred, beneath the shadow of these hills which he so much loved, without some recognition of our personal loss, Without some words of tender feeling, some expressions of reverence for his memory, some offerings of praise and thanksgiving to God for the excellent gifts of head and heart with which He was pleased to endow him, without some mention of the debt of gratitude under which he laid this com munity for the public services of a quarter of a century as an honorable man and an unspotted counsellor.

What he was in the wider and more public sphere of human action, what he was in the councils of the nation, in which he so long took a part, and over which he so often and, so ably pre sided, -what he was in the arena of debate, when master minds with grand emulation contend together for the country's good, we leave to the abler tongues of his peers and equals to rehearse, but what he was as he went in and out among us, as he met us in our streets and forum, With warm heart and welcoming hand, as from time to time he spoke to us words of counsel and wis dom, as in days of trial and distress we Went to him for aid and comfort and came back cheered and strengthened, - this, as his friends, neighbors, constituents, in homely but hearty speech we desire to somewhat tell ere the grave hides him from our sight forever. True, no words of ours can break death's silence, - no approbation of ours can quicken with the glow of Well earned praise that heart now still and cold, - true, all our applause is now to him valueless and worthless, and yet speak we must, not for his sake but for ours, - not for his glory, but for our own comfort. Among the costlier wreaths that adorn his last repose, we would lay a garland Of simpler flowers from his own hills and vales, - arnong the expressions of national sorrow we would blend the humbler but not less sincere voices of our own private grief, as we stand to-day for the last time around that form, which we have seen so often, but which soon we shall see no more.

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