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 the sport and triumph of Death, who glories not only in the extent of his conquest, but in the richness of his spoil. In the other methods of attack; in the other forms which death assumes, the feeble and the aged, who at the best can live but a short time, are usually the victims; but here it is the vigorous and strong. It is remarked by the most ancient of poets, that in peace children bury their parents, but in war parents bury their children; nor is the difference small. Children lament their parents, in deed, but with that moderate and tranquil sorrow, which it is natural for those to feel, who are conscious of retaining many tender tics, and many animating objects. Parents mourn for their children with the bitterness of despair. The widowed mother loses, when she is deprived of her children, every thing but the capacity of suffering. Her heart withered and desolate, admits no other object, cherishes no other hope. It is Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are not."—Hall's Reflect on War.

"Transport yourselves but in imagination, for one moment, into the field of battle; and into the wretched countries which are the theatre of war; and surely, if your hearts be not seared to all the impressions of mercy, loving-kindness, and compassion, they will weep tears of blood for the woes which ye will there see accumulated upon suffering humanity. Behold whole ranks of human beings stretched out upon the earth, maimed and mutilated, dying and dead. See peaceful villages reduced to heaps of ruins; fair cities wrapt in flames; and "fruitful lands made desolate." Listen to the mingled din of shouts and shrieks; the yell of the victor, the cry of the vanquished, the groans of the wounded, and the screams