<p style="text-align:center"><strong>TRUMAN SEYMOUR</strong></p><p style="text-align:center"><strong>No. 1290 · Class of 1846</strong></p><p style="text-align:center"><strong>Died October 30, 1891, at Florence, Italy, aged 67 years.</strong></p><p>General Truman Seymour was born September 25th, 1824, at Burlington, Vermont, and was the second child and oldest son of the Rev. Truman Seymour and Ann Armstrong. He entered, as cadet, the military Academy at West Point, in June 1842, and graduated June 1846. Joining the Army in Mexico, he served through the Mexican War, with distinction, and continued in active service in the Army till November 1876, when he was placed on the retired list. His extended and distinguished service in the Army is too voluminous to be incorporated in a brief obituary. All information on that subject will be found in Cullum's Biography of Graduates.</p><p>It may be proper, however, here to state that Seymour received no less than eight Brevet Commissions for distinguished service during the thirty years of his army life. First, he was brevetted a First Lieutenant for services in the Battle of Cero Gordo, Mexico, April 1847; then brevetted Captain, for distinguished service at the Battles of Contreras and Churubusco, Mexico, in August 1847; next he was brevetted Major for services at Fort Sumpter, South Carolina, in 1861; again brevetted for action at South Mountain, Maryland; then again for service at Antietam, Maryland; and at Petersburg, Virginia; lastly, he was brevetted a Major General for "meritorious services during our late war, and for ability and energy in handling his division, and for gallantry and valuable services in action."</p><p>It is in reference to Seymour's personal character the writer of this desires to say only a few last and parting words expressive of that degree of esteem for his unblemished character which rises to the line of true brotherly love.</p><p>We first met as classmates, at West Point, 1842, and neither being aggressive in forming acquaintances, our social relations were at first slow of growth. In fact I may say, we rather drifted into personal intercourse by reason of each finding the other a congenial and desirable associate.</p><p>We were both devoted to our studies and to the performance of every duty required at that institution, and became a mutual help to each other. Besides being three years his senior, in age, my boyhood life had been on much more rugged lines than Seymour's, and I greatly profited by his gentle and methodical adherence to daily duty, and to every moral precept and teaching, while my less polished, but equally sincere, convictions on current events, gave to him a needed courage of his own opinions. In this manner our mutual friendship and confidence grew and strengthened during our four years course at the Academy.</p><p>After graduating in 1846, we both joined the Army, but in different corps, and by exigencies of service, never met but once during our long service in the Army. Meanwhile, with only slight intermission, we kept up a correspondence so that each knew the life, the thoughts, and hopes of the other. In my long life I have not known a man of purer motives in all his actions; nor one of higher ideal of true manliness than Truman Seymour; neither one who, in the performance of duties, more scrupulously and vigilently blended practice with the theory of the highest elements of a noble manhood.</p><p>After he was retired from active service, with his noble wife, he went to Europe, as well for health as for travel and general information. His travels through, and sojourn in, different parts of Europe, gave him broader and wider views of human government than he had acquired at home. The social condition of the masses of people in England, France, Italy, Germany and Spain, (where he always tarried long enough to see things as they really were), led him to study more carefully the economics of political systems of government, with the same degree of thoroughness he applied to all other subjects. He was fond of art and literature, (himself a painter of more than average excellency.) His health began to fail rapidly, about 1885, so that his bodily infirmities prevented travel; he leased a comfortable residence in Florence, Italy, for quiet and rest, with his devoted wife as companion and nurse. He was soon informed by his physician that he had contracted the chronic phase of Bright's Disease.</p><p>His last two years of lingering and suffering were more severe than most men are called upon to endure. More than thirty times the surgeon had to draw the dropsical accumulation from his system-in amount, from twelve to twenty quarts every month. This may give some idea of his sufferings, and also attest his patience and fortitude while hopelessly awaiting the inevitable ending of life, so usefully employed, and so instructive and charming to those near him.</p><p>I named my youngest son for Seymour, in 1875, and the boys fine physique and mental developments gave full promise of a bright future, in which Seymour felt no less interest than did his parents. But fruition was not to crown these fond hopes. While at home, from college, spending the summer vacation, the boy fell a victim to malignant typhoid fever, and died 24th of August 1891. On the same day I mailed a letter to Seymour, at Florence, Italy, giving him the sad news of the grievous ending of the young life, just in its 17th year. Seymour received that letter the 8th of September. Feeble and reeling on the brink of his own sepulcher, he answered my letter the same day. That last letter is so full of tenderness, sweetness and pathos-so replete with sentiments of Seymour's true character, life and being, I feel it due to the cherished memory of such a friend, to add its contents to this notice as a fitting (though unconscious) contribution from Seymour himself, to his own obituary.</p><p>P. T. TURNLEY, (Class of 1846), Highland Park, Illinois.</p><p>[SEYMOUR'S LAST LETTER TO TURNLEY.] "FLORENCE, ITALY, Sept. 8, 1891. MY DEAR OLD FRIEND:- I am so feeble, so broken down, so heavy-hearted that I hardly know how I can write to you, for since your letter came this morning, I have been wandering about the house, trying vainly to realize the incomprehensible fact, and crying until I can hardly see to write.</p><p>What a sudden, and what an awful blow! I wish I could be with you, and put my arms around you, and try to console you, if only by mingling my tears with your own. But there is no human consolation, and words are very empty and unmeaning. There is truly but one source from which consolation can be derived. I need not tell you what that is. You say that you submit, but what merit is there in submitting to the inevitable? I have learned the lesson. One submits because there is no other way. The difficulty is, not to rebel, and I believe the most perfect christian who ever lived must, often, under such affliction as yours, and mine, find himself crying out against the justice and mercy of the father in Heaven. As for myself, I am often thus rebellious, for my afflictions are constantly with me.</p><p>We have recently been reading Proctor's Works on Astronomy. They have deeply impressed our minds with the absolutely unfathomable extent of God's power and wisdom; they convince us that the most that man can know of them is but a grain of sand-nothing whatever-at best. How, then, can we accuse his wisdom in dealing with his children? All whom he creates are truly his own, and his mercy and loving kindness are as infinite as his wisdom. How can we accuse him of unkindness? And the reflections with which you close your sad letter, prove that you are already deriving strong consolation from the assurance that the boy is spared a life of possible temptation and sorrow, of which you cannot form more than a suspicion. The good Lord knows all, and nothing can be surer than that he does not vainly afflict those who love and serve him. What we have to learn is not merely submission, but a complete and cheerful compliance with God's will-rejoicing even through and over all our sorrows, that his will may be done here as in heaven-kissing the rod, feeling as a child would feel after punishment, that puts its arms around the mother's neck and loves her all the more. That is what I am trying to learn, and I am profoundly grateful to the good father that he gives me time-that I have not been suddenly taken away, and if my stripes are heavy, often heavier than I can bear, I know it must be because my heart is still rebellious and unsubmissive.</p><p>Yes, all is well with the lad. There need be no fear or anxieties on his account. So bright and pure a spirit as his has gone straight to the happy land. He is not dead. He is not even asleep. His spirit, his soul, is active and living as ever, and is now perfectly happy. He comes to you whenever you think of him, although you cannot see him, and when you also are called, it will be his spirit that will stand at your bedside and conduct you to the mansion that is waiting for you on the other side. All of this I profoundly believe and I trust, you also have some such conviction. I should be unhappy if I did not so believe; and very earnestly-when I was thought to be dying, four years ago, a letter came from a friend in the United States, who had received a message for me through a medium, from my dear old father, and it was to the effect that I must be patient. At the time this seemed very irrelevant, but I see now that the message contained all the wisdom words could convey. It now seems an inspiration. I really believe that he was near me and would have spoken if he could. He knew that I was not yet to die, and that a patient and trustful submission only could sustain me while life lasted.</p><p>It is much to feel as if you could submit, but, my dear old friend, do not leave the matter there, become as a child in faith and trust, if you would still be happy, not only for the few years that may remain to you, but for the endless future. You are a good man; you can be better. Your dear wife can show you the way. The loving woman is always stronger and better than any of us, and what I have written has always been with your dear wife in my mind, quite as much as yourself. She will suffer more keenly than you, but she has lived nearer God, and that that God may sustain you both and each one of you, poor afflicted souls, we shall fervently pray; and beg him in our feeble way, for his blessings upon you. How useless are words! I am ashamed of even attempting to comfort or console one who is a Christian man, and knows the way to peace and joy, amid the worst of all sorrows, as well as, or better than I. But I must put my arms around you in this, the only way I can, and try to wipe away a tear. My heart is very heavy within me and I am crying as I write. My dear wife comes to me and with her arms about me, kisses me, and we both utter a cry a prayer-that you may both see and feel God's infinite wisdom and mercy, and be not so unhappy.</p><p>All is well with the lad. May the dear Lord give you all patience and strength.</p><p>Always and affectionately yours, T. SEYMOUR.</p><p style="text-align:right">� P. T. Turnley (Class of 1846)</p><p style="text-align:center"><a href="https://usmalibrary.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/aogreunion/id/11287">Annual Report, June 9, 1892, pp. 35�40 · U.S. Military Academy Library</a></p>