I appeal, then, to you, the commercial men of Liverpool, if there are any
such in this congregation. If not, I appeal to their wives and
daughters, who are kept in wealth, luxury, refinement, by the honourable
labours of their husbands, fathers, brothers, on behalf of this human
soot. Merchants are (and I believe that they deserve to be) the leaders
of the great caravan, which goes forth to replenish the earth and subdue
it. They are among the generals of the great army which wages war
against the brute powers of nature all over the world, to ward off
poverty and starvation from the ever-teeming millions of mankind. Have
they no time--I take for granted that they have the heart--to pick up the
footsore and weary, who have fallen out of the march, that they may
rejoin the caravan, and be of use once more? Have they no time--I am
sure they have the heart--to tend the wounded and the fever-stricken,
that they may rise and fight once more? If not, then must not the pace
of their march be somewhat too rapid, the plan of their campaign somewhat
precipitate and ill-directed, their ambulance train and their medical
arrangements somewhat defective? We are all ready enough to complain of
waste of human bodies, brought about by such defects in the British army.
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