garding, finally despising Christianity, till the amiable youth is transformed to the brutal man, and the brave soldier becomes the terror of his associates, the enemy of his God, perhaps the outcast from society.

The evil would be comparatively small, if it ended with the individual; but it spreads beyond himself. The soldier of his country, retaining the scars, and recounting the tales of its battles, he is an object of peculiar attraction. Vices, detested in others, if not amiable in him, are yet less repulsive, from their proximity to alluring properties and splendid deeds. They are even copied; at least it is no small relief to the domestic transgressor, that bravery and honour are allied with vice; that the hero of his neighbourhood is a greater proficient than himself in impiety, profaneness, or debauchery.

The temptations to vice which war presents, result both from the absence of restraints, and from the general character of the soldiery. Even of the attributes which form this character, some, as its patriotism, its pride of honour, its contempt of death, though often extolled as illustrious virtues, are really but splendid vice. Its patriotism is exclusive at tachment to a single country, accompanied commonly by hatred or contempt of its enemies. Its honour consists in advancing the good of this country, at any hazard, and by almost any means. To secure the end of both, the grand principles with which the soldier's mind is imbued are adherence to his own country, and submission to his superiors, with out inquiring as to the rectitude of the cause, or the lawfulness of the means. The love of country is, indeed, a generous passion, deserving universal respect, and assiduous cultivation; yet there is a higher and nobler passion,-the love of man. There are obligations paramount to those of national kindred, as there are laws written on the heart, and

identifying man with his species rather than, if I may so speak, with his locality. Am I to rank as a virtue the passion which merges these laws and obligations, which merges the feeling of brotherhood to man and the dictates of conscience, in one absorbing effort for the power or the honour of a nation to which it is attached by mere casualties, and which the same casualties would have fixed with equal energy to the soil it abhors? Or when my country calls me to actions prompted by such a passion, to service which my conscience condemns, to deeds against which the law of God is established, am I to disobey God, to resist conscience, to yield reason into the hands of human power? Am I to adopt the maxim of war, and to follow my country's flag, though it advances to needless battle, and waves over thousands unjustly slain? The nature of the alternative is clearly presented in the language of two ancient heroes: Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye. On this principle the apostles and early Christians acted; and though submissive to magistrates, where submission implied no dereliction of duty, no sacrifice of rectitude, they yet maintained through life, deliberately, seriously, and openly, a course of action forbidden by law, and connected with severe penalties.

To such a spirit, to a character founded on personal convictions, the patriotism and the honour, as they are called, of war, are directly opposed. Right and wrong are to be laid out of question. The soldier is to love but his country, to obey but his superior. He is to act, not think; to fight, not reason; to ask counsel, not of his conscience, but of his leader's will. In this situation will he learn the decided conscientiousness, the unconfined benevolence, the meek virtue, the bold submission to God, which are essential alike to

the character of the citizen, and to the destiny of the immortal man?

The patriotism, nourished by war, and deemed essential in the soldier, is party spirit, differing from its usual form, not in the emotion, but in the extent of the object. Instead of arraying one section of a people against another, it arrays one people against another. It spends its fury, not on a part of its own nation, but on the whole of a foreign. But its spirit is the same,-attachment to one, and disaffection to an opposite community, begotten by casualty; in its forgetfulness of moral distinctions employing every means, however base, leaguing itself with what is mean as well as what is noble, and with the goddess of antiquity exclaiming, "If I cannot bend to my purpose the powers of heaven, I will excite the infernal regions." (Æn. VII. 311.)

Next, analyse the courage so much sought and honoured, when it is more than fear of disgrace, than dread of a death worse than of battle, or than thoughtlessness begotten by the tumult of conflicting armies. Whether death be viewed as the dissolution of human connexions, as the close of earthly existence, or as the commencement of everlasting retribution, the feeling denominated courage is precisely opposite to that with which it should be contemplated. If this courage result from thoughtlessness or levity, it betokens insensibility to what is precious in the present, and recklessness of what is solemn in the future. If from contempt, it is worse. It has laid waste the finest sensibilities; it exults in the desolation. It desecrates the grave, and sets eternity at nought. It is impiety to God. It is demoniac frenzy.

By thus undermining religious and moral feeling, war removes restraint from all the passions, while to many it directly imparts strength. The mind, accustomed to thoughtlessness in the presence of suffering, and to cold calculations of the amount of

death and pain, loses its sympathy with distress. Trained to savage and retaliatory deeds, it becomes ferocious and vindictive. Pride is cherished as generosity, and promptness to resent as honorable spirit. Profaneness, intemperance, and licentiousness, are produced or increased; and throughout, there is a tendency to the entire prostration of moral character. Though we readily grant that many have escaped without contamination, and that some, controlled by invincible virtue, have maintained a lofty character, even in the camp, yet we cannot doubt that this is its tendency, and that in instances too numerous the tendency has been seen in the depravity of the soldier, and the contagion of his example.

I have already alluded to one effect of war on the morals of society. Besides this effect,-besides the influence of a disbanded army in corrupting the sentiments and habits of the young, through a widely extended territory, it exerts a kindred influence during its continuance, by example, by suspension of religious duties, by interruption of industrious occupations, and destruction of property, thus at once impairing the principle of virtue, and multiplying the inducements to crime, weakening conscience, when conscience is all which can prevent dishonest efforts for subsistence.

With this moral deterioration, the political institutions of a republic are impaired, and its relations to other governments are disturbed. Both by the vices it creates, and by the military passion it nourishes, the foundations of liberty are shaken. When men cease to be virtuous, they cease to employ for the establishment and execution of law, individuals of unbending principle. They contend strenuously as ever for liberty; but they are ignorant of its nature, and they trust it to the oversight of men uninstructed like themselves, and more vicious. Power, lodged in

such hands, is abused. Professions of unbounded deference to popular will, flattery of the people as incorruptible, and subserviency to the party claiming to be this people, are the earliest modes of deception. Military greatness, ever dazzling to the ignorant, and not uncongenial with the feelings of the wicked, is extolled as the surest qualification for offices demanding quick discernment, rapid decision, and energetic action. Thus two effects are produced; the people are deceived, and, under pretence of guarding liberty, power is augmented. A class of exclusive patriots, by partial concessions, gain influence, rapidly increasing, and, whether by design or without it, accelerate the progress to a despotism whose chief instrument is the sword. In proportion to the prevalence of military habits to the frequency of war, and to the extent of its spirit, is the danger of such a result. By war the community sinks in morals, thus opening the avenue to corruption of government, and calls military men to office, thus aiding the universal tendency of government by force rather than by law. Degraded at home, the nation is not respected abroad. If, for alleged injury, it engages in war and secures the end, yet success is attended by revenge, surviving retaliation, and keeping alive the hatred of the vanquished; a hatred mingled with envy, prompting jealousy, and waiting for the hour of repairing both the loss and the dishonour. A warlike attitude, even if there be no resort to violence, excites the same attitude in opposition. Reciprocal malignity is generated; private injuries, continually perpetrated, are palliated or overlooked by the aggressor, while by the sufferer they are magnified and revenged. This state, neither of peaceful intercourse nor of open hostility, furnishes the first act of that fearful tragedy, which can end but with the sacrifice of property, of life, and of virtue.

The climax is now complete. As war began in passion, so it ends in vice. It was disobedience to God; it produces additional disobedience. It advanced in blood; it stays in ruin. It wounds by other instruments than the sword; it inflicts other death than of the body. What to the prepared spirit is the dissolution of nature? What the suddenness of its departure, but the speedier entrance into glory? But war aids not its preparation. It leads the soul astray: and while it surrounds life with dangers, disqualifies for happiness in death. Parents, can you endure the thought of seeing your children lost to virtue, to happiness, to heaven? Remember that war is a prolific source of loss so dreadful. Resist, then, every passion, both in yourselves and in your children, which pertains to its spirit. Avoid every exhibition of a martial disposition; repress vindictive feelings; discountenance those risings of pride, those lofty emotions which are excited by military parade. Can you not see the eyes of your little ones sparkle, and their young bosoms beat, as the stirring music sounds, and the thick array of warlike weapons moves onward? Do they not even now feel the spell of war? It is for you, parents, to break the spell, to strip war of its enchantments, and to disclose, with the miseries which it brings, the vices which it sustains. Their infant hands will not strangle the serpent passion; you must rise and crush it ere they perish within its thousand folds.

I have mentioned a delusive patriotism, not only produced by war, but in its turn begetting war, which, by fixing the eye on a single country, causes forgetfulness of every other. It can recognize the relation implied in the term American; it discerns none in the more comprehensive term Man. The intervention of a mountain, or ocean, or river, limits the affections, and breaks every moral,

not less than every local connexion. This disposition must be resisted by extending your views from your country to your species, by the deep and operative feeling that you are not citizens of America more than you are citizens of the world.

Besides cultivation of the whole christian character, be assiduous, my brethren, in seeking its pacific spirit. Remember the kindness of God, not confined to the good, but extending to the evil, sending the influences of heaven and the radiance of the sun on the fields of the rebellious, equally with those of the obedient. Remember his love to a world at enmity with him, in reconciling it unto himself by Jesus Christ. Contemplate the Son of God, humbled and dying for men, hostile both to himself and to his Father. Cherish the lofty ambition of resembling the God of love and peace, of being meek and lowly, like his Son from heaven. Let the love of Christ reign in your hearts; embrace all men as brethren, as the offspring of God, and the heirs of eternity.

Be careful to inculcate the principles of peace. Let your influence, both by argument and by example, excite men at least to inquiry. Implore the Spirit of God to subdue the corruptions of the human heart, to reconcile the affections of men, alienated alike from God and from each other, to render them meek, humble, and forgiving. And when oppressed by weariness, collect and invigorate your energies by the assurance that your efforts will not be ultimately ineffectual, that the truth of God is your security; for he hath said, Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.

War and Peace contrasted. "THERE is nothing," says the truly great and good Erasmus, " more unnaturally wicked, more productive of

misery, more extensively destructive, more obstinate in mischief, more unworthy of man as formed by nature, much more of man professing Christianity, than war. This common misfortune of the world causes a suspension of commerce, a decay of wealth, an increase of taxes, a state of impatience, anxiety, and discontent; multiplies houses of mourning, and fills a country with robbers, thieves, and violators of innocence. The flocks are scattered, the harvest trampled, the husbandman butchered; villas, and villages are burnt, cities and states, that have been for ages rising to their flourishing condition, subverted, and all places resound with the voice of lamentation." But none of these things move those ambitious men who delight in schemes of mad ambition, and in the shout of victory. They heed not "That the widow's tears, the orphan's cries, The dead men's blood, the pining maiden's groans,

For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,

Are swallowed up in their vile controversies."-SHAKESPEARE.

Most animals live in concord with their kind, move together in flocks, and defend each other by mutual assistance. Nay, some species are not inclined to fight even their enemies. The hare, and rabbit, the harmless sheep, the cow, and horse, live quietly in their beloved pastures. Fierce creatures, such as lions, wolves, and tigers, alone emulate the examples of their delegated masters, and wage angry battles, when excited by rage or hunger, yet they rarely attack one the other, never, perhaps, except when under the pressure of extreme want, or when excited by cruel man, as in the bloody scenes of the aræna. No, they will not devour, and tear their fellows, unless ravening, and maddened with excess of hunger; and even venomous creatures live together in perfect harmony. But to man, no wild beast is so destructive as his fellow-man.

"Hear it not, ye stars!

And thou, pale moon, turn paler at the sound;

Man is to man the sorest, surest ill."

YOUNG.

Suppose that an angel was commissioned for the first time to alight on this fallen earth, and was to contemplate a battle field, and to hear the groans of dying men, and the loud shouts of those who were murdering their fellows whom they had never before seen, and who had never injured them, either in word or deed, would he be able to recognize in these strange doings the mild spirit of Christianity, which breathes love and peace, long-suffering, gentleness, and meekness? I think not! He would rather say, Surely these are not men, but evil spirits from the bottomless pit-vampires-creatures with a human form, but animated by demons. 66 View," said Erasmus, "with the eyes of your imagination, those savage troops, horrible in their very visages and voices, frightful figures, clad in steel, drawn up on every side in battle array, armed with weapons, terrible in their crash, and their very glitter; mark the horrid murmur of the confused multi tude, their threatening eye-balls, the harsh, jarring din of drums and clarions, the terrific sound of the trumpet, the thunder of the cannon, a noise not less formidable than the real thunder of heaven, and more hurtful; a mad shout like that of the shriek of bedlamites, a furious onset, a cruel butchering of each other! see the slaughtered and the slaughtering! heaps of dead bodies, fields flowing with blood, rivers reddened with human gore! So deep is the tragedy, that the bosom shudders while contemplating it, and the hand of humanity drops the pencil while it paints the scene."

"O'erspread with shatter'd arms the ground With broken bucklers, and with shiver'd

appears,

spears;

Here swords are stuck in hapless warriors kill'd,

And useless there are scatter'd o'er the field. Here, on their face, the breathless bodies lie; There turn their ghastly features to the sky. Beside his lord,the courser press'd the plain; Beside his slaughter'd friend, the friend is slain;

Foe near to foe; and on the vanqnish'd spread

The victor lies, the living on the dead! An undistinguish'd din is heard around, Mixt is the murmur, and confused the sound,

The threat of anger, and the soldier's cry, The groans of those that fall, and those that die."-HOOLE'S TASSO.

Such is war, when despoiled of the trappings in which poets and historians have too frequently invested it. What then is peace, and why have mankind so uniformly chosen the evil and refused the good? "Peace is at once the mother and the nurse of all that is good for man; it shines upon human affairs like the vernal sun." The people, the nerves, the sinews of this free land, and of every civilized nation under heaven, have neither interest nor pleasure in the horrors of military executions. What advantage can I derive, what pleasure flows to me from hearing that twenty thousand men on one side, and twenty-one on the other, are standing opposite in long rows, and firing at each other, or fighting sword in hand till blood runs, and arms, and legs, and heads, lie in all directions? If my father,

or my brother was in the fray, I should be greatly distressed; and if they were not, I should certainly think the combatants very foolish in leaving their homes and friends to be shot at, and perhaps to come back maimed and suffering to the end of their days. And for what? Not for any personal injury that they have received, for they never saw the faces of those whom they went out to kill, but, perhaps, because the boundary of some distant country, of which they never heard, was to be arranged, or because some personal offence was either given or taken by