their ports, to waft the heralds of peace to their appointed stations. "The Lord will bless his people

with peace.

He maketh wars to cease unto the ends of the earth." "Nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more."

IMPROVEMENT.

I. Hence we learn the importance of publishing this final result of Christian influence.

This may kindle hope and zeal, to hasten the event. If the gospel be destined to produce universal peace, it ought to be known, that suitable measures may be adopted, to accomplish the object. The interesting fact ought to be proclaimed from the pulpit, from the press, from the senate, and from the throne.

The mighty theme of universal peace may well awaken the most powerful strains of human eloquence, the tongue of the learned, the pen of the ready writer, the songs of angels. When they were permitted to announce the reign of peace, they seized the moment with raptures of bliss. Shall not the angels of the churches, in the same spirit, proclaim peace on earth? Is not this the Gospel? Did not the angels understand the gospel?

II. Does not the subject afford encouragement to multiply Peace Societies.

Peace, and all its blissful effects, must be produced by human exertions. No irresistible charm, no secret incantation, no miraculous voice, will silence the fury of war. No. The blessings of peace must be ob

tained as other blessings are. As science, wealth, or piety are, by persevering effort and self-denial. The day of enthusiasm has gone by. We do not slumber on the couch of the sluggard to procure the favours of heaven; but we go forth to seek them. Vigorous and extensive means will introduce universal peace. These societies are powerful means. They embody a mass of sound principles, facts, and arguments. They may influence public opinion, and break the sword of the conqueror.

III. We learn the importance of electing rulers, who are men of

peace.

Rulers are the makers of war and peace. They carry the olive branch to every door; or cover the fields with swords and spears. If the peace for rulers, wars must stop.

people elect men of The people do not

declare war; it is never their interest. They do not consent, till they are deluded and infatuated by designing men.

Were all rulers such men as the first Christians, no more blood nor treasure would be wasted; the banner of blood would no more wave over the land; our brethren would no more march to the field of battle.

Warlike rulers are the Achans of their country, the Pandora's box, which fills the world with misery. To revenge some imaginary wrong, to maintain some childish point of honour, to enlarge their territory, to advance their glory, they associate their names with scenes of havoc and carnage. They blow the trumpet; they rouse the passions; they inflame their people with the lust of plunder and revenge, and send them to the field of slaughter and death, to feast the

hawks and vultures of heaven. Will not your regard to your own interest, and your concern for your children and posterity, persuade you to elect rulers, who are lovers of peace? You are the real sovereigns of the country. Unless you require peace from your rulers, you will be accountable to God, for every drop of blood, which may be shed. Every man, who is slain in war, will be an accusing spirit before the tribunal of divine justice.

IV. Is it fancy, or do you all seem to suggest the wisdom and necessity of discouraging and suppressing all excitements to war.

These prolong the mischief; these prevent the advance of peace.

Yes, my friends, I agree with you, that if any excitements do exist, they ought to be suppressed, as war itself in disguise. Destroy the means of mischief, and you destroy the mischief itself.

It may, perhaps, be reasonably inquired, whether all military honours, and titles, and rewards, have not the baleful effect of promoting war. What could more violently tempt men to the field of destruction, than splendid rewards? Governments well understand this art of making dupes and victims of their subjects.

Does not all martial music have the same effect, by producing delightful associations with the trade of war?

The war song of the poet, the harmony of his numbers, the sublimity of his style, the splendour of his descriptions, inflame the passions with the fury of battle.

Might not some historians be more useful, if they distinctly related the wickedness and miseries of war?

May I not inquire whether some of them do not, though perhaps unintentionally, sin against benevolence and humanity? With alluring eloquence, with all the magic charms of style, they describe the march of armies, the splendour of their arms, the valour of their commanders. In all the pomp of gay description, the field of action rises in distant view. The columns move; the plumes and banners wave. You hear the thunder of the battle, and the shout of victory. The grandeur of the exploits, the sublimity of the varied scenes, delight the imagination, and you applaud the murderers of your brethren. But the historian does not carry you to the spot. You do not hear the cries and shrieks of the wounded. You do not see the shattered limbs, the mangled bodies, the convulsive agonies of the dying;-the blood streaming, the field red,-no physician,-no friend to give relief or consolation. You see not the ground covered with limbs, and bodies, and heads, their ghastly visages, still marked with rage and despair.

I ask, are not all military establishments, particularly, military academies, excitements to war? Must they yet exist? Where then shall they be established? In our cities, where better principles of peace and commerce prevail? Or near our colleges, to pervert the study of the liberal sciences, and poison the waters of the sanctuary? No. Do not I hear you all say, "Rather let these seminaries of blood, these colleges of misery and murder, be erected far from the region of domestic felicity, and the pleasant walks of social life, on some mountain's lofty top, in the region of eternal winter, where the blossoms of spring were

never seen, where the tiger's yell was never heard, amid the brew of storms, and the howlings of tempests; or on the side of a smoking volcano, in the suburbs of death and destruction, where lightnings flash, and thunders burst; there let the gloomy walls of the military academy rise.

Let tombs, and graves, and bones, mark the path to this dismal spot. Let the standing army of the country, from a thousand fields of battle, transport the skulls and shattered bones of the slain, to build the fortress of their defence, to raise their own fabric. The region of Smolensk and Moscow, of Leipsic and Waterloo, present their mournful offerings. The banks of the Beresina and Rhine, of the Danube and Nile, raise their voice to be relieved from the relics of recent battles.

As these men of war proceed in their labours, instead of supplication and praise, let the war whoop and the song of death, the clang of arms and the roar of artillery announce their morning toils, their evening rest.

On their banqueting room, some artist, who delights himself with human misery, may paint the carnage of war, Nimrod, and Cæsar, and Tamerlane, with their veteran bands, covering the field with death. The blood flows; the piles of the dead rise, and shrieks of anguish torment the air.

In their apartments of rest, if such spirits ever rest, the surgeons may be drawn, with their knives and saws of amputation. The victims of battle ;-streaming wounds, shattered limbs, pale visages, ghastly bodies, surround the slumbers of the young warriours.