"So," resumed Mr. Caxton, more quietly, "so, if later wars yet perplex us as to the good that the All-wise One draws from their evils, our posterity may read their uses as clearly as we now read the finger of Providence resting on the barrows of Marathon, or guiding Peter the Hermit to the battlefields of Palestine. Nor, while we admit the evil to the passing generation, can we deny that many of the virtues that make the ornament and vitality of peace sprang up first in the convulsion of war!" Here Squills began to evince faint signs of resuscitation, when my father let fly at him one of those numberless waterworks which his prodigious memory kept in constant supply. "Hence," said he, "hence, not unjustly has it been remarked by a philosopher, shrewd at least in worldly experience [Squills again closed his eyes, and became exanimate]: 'It is strange to imagine that war, which of all things appears the most savage, should be the passion of the most heroic spirits. But 't is in war that the knot of fellowship is closest drawn; 't is in war that mutual succor is most given, mutual danger run, and common affection most exerted and employed: for heroism and philanthropy are almost one and the same!'" (1) My father ceased, and mused a little. Squills, if still living, thought it prudent to feign continued extinction. "Not," said Mr. Caxton, resuming, "not but what I hold it our duty never to foster into a passion what we must rather submit to as an awful necessity. You say truly, Mr. Squills,--war is an evil; and woe to those who, on slight pretences, open the gates of Janus,-- "'The dire abode, And the fierce issues of the furious god.'" Mr. Squills, after a long pause,--employed in some of the more handy means for the reanimation of submerged bodies, supporting himself close to the fire in a semi-erect posture, with gentle friction, self-applied, to each several limb, and copious recourse to certain steaming stimulants which my compassionate hands prepared for him,--stretches himself and says feebly, "In short, then, not to provoke further discussion, you would go to war in defence of your country. Stop, sir, stop, for Heaven's sake! I agree with you, I agree with you! But, fortunately, there is little chance now that any new Boney will build boats at Boulogne to invade us." Mr. Caxton.--"I am not so sure of that, Mr. Squills. [Squills falls back with a glassy stare of deprecating horror.] I don't read the newspapers very often, but the past helps me to judge of the present."