"Mr Squills," answered the Captain, "it lies next to my heart while I live. It shall be buried in my coffin, and I shall rise with it, at the word of command, on the day of the Grand Review!" So saying, the Captain leisurely unbuttoned his coat, and, detaching from a piece of striped ribbon as ugly a specimen of the art of the silversmith (begging its pardon) as ever rewarded merit at the expense of taste, placed the medal on the table. The medal passed round, without a word, from hand to hand. "It is strange," at last said my father, "how such trifles can be made of such value--how in one age a man sells his life for what in the next age he would not give a button! A Greek esteemed beyond price a few leaves of olive twisted into a circular shape, and set upon his head--a very ridiculous headgear we should now call it. An American Indian prefers a decoration of human scalps, which, I apprehend, we should all agree (save and except Mr Squills, who is accustomed to such things) to be a very disgusting addition to one's personal attractions; and my brother values this piece of silver, which may be worth about five shillings, more than Jack does a gold mine, or I do the library of the London Museum. A time will come when people will think that as idle a decoration as leaves and scalps." "Brother," said the Captain, "there is nothing strange in the matter. It is as plain as a pike-staff to a man who understands the principles of honour." "Possibly," said my father mildly. "I should like to hear what you have to say upon honour. I am sure it would very much edify us all." CHAPTER II. MY UNCLE ROLAND'S DISCOURSE UPON HONOUR. "Gentlemen," began the Captain, at the distinct appeal thus made to him--"Gentlemen, God made the earth, but man made the garden. God made man, but man re-creates himself." "True, by knowledge," said my father. "By industry," said Uncle Jack. "By the physical condition of his body," said Mr Squills. "He could not have made himself other than he was at first in the woods and wilds if he had fins like a fish, or could only chatter gibberish like a monkey. Hands and a tongue, sir; these are the instruments of progress." "Mr Squills," said my father, nodding, "Anaxagoras said very much the same thing before you, touching the hands." "I can't help that," answered Mr Squills; "one could not open one's lips if one were bound to say what nobody else had said. But, after all, our superiority is less in our _hands_ than the greatness of our _thumbs_." "Albinus, _De Sceleto_, and our own learned William Lawrence, have made a similar remark," again put in my father. "Hang it, sir!" exclaimed Squills, "what business have you to know every thing?" "Every thing! No; but thumbs furnish subjects of investigation to the simplest understanding," said my father, modestly.