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aged father or mother, or a beloved wife or child, driven by strangers, of adamantine hearts, under a burning sun, scorching with fever, parching with thirst, rendered more intolerable by the air being darkened with heated dust. -- See this dear wife of our bosom, languishing, and almost ready to drop to the ground every step, and yet clinging to her friends, choosing rather to die in their arms, than be torn from them, and thrown into a heated waggon to be separated forever from all she held dear on earth. See her last despairing look toward her dear husband, as she sinks at his feet. Now she is taken, and thrown carelessly into a great waggon, covered with a thick cloth, and all the air confined, and heated by a scorching sun. Here she has no cordial -- no kind friend to wipe the cold sweat from her face. As she awakes from her swoon, she cries for water to quench her thirst, but no kind voice is heard to reply, and no hand can administer to her relief. The waggoner is in the noise of the crowd, and cannot hear her faint whisperings, and if he should hear he could not understand. Thus she must lie from morning till night, parching with thirst, and torn, as it were, upon the rack, by every jolt of the waggon, till death kindly embraces her departing spirit. And now where is the dear partner of her bosom. the tender children of her love, or the fond mother of her childhood? They are mingled in the crowd, and forbid taking a parting look at the dear object of their delight. They only hear she is dead. O how are all the tender feelings torn upon the rack, which a deep groan, a wild despairing look, indicate a wish only, to die, and join their departed