only pause here a moment to remark, how awful is the simplest record of war! How much of all that is most horrible in pain, and sickness, and loss of character, and ruin of "body, mind, or estate," is comprehended under the bald and dry statistics of marchings, fightings, sieges, and conquests! If all this operation be glory, then, in the name of heaven and humanity, we ask what is shame? If this be a work for which we should applaud, honor, and reward the actors, then for what deeds, in the range of possibility, should we condemn and execrate them?

First, Envy, eldest born of hell, imbrued

Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men
To make a death which nature never made,

And God abhorred.

One murder made a villain,

Millions a hero. Princes assumed a right
To kill; did numbers sanctify the crime?"?*

* Bishop Porteus's Poem on "Death."