"What can you do, then?" asked Windham, who seemed to grow quite amused at this conversation. "That's a thing I've often puzzled over," said Obed, thoughtfully; "and I can see only one remedy for us." "And what is that?" "Well, it's a hard one--but I suppose it's got to come. You see, the only foreign countries that are near enough to us to afford a satisfactory field of operations are Mexico and British America. The first we have already tried. It was poor work, though. Our armies marched through Mexico as though they were going on a picnic. As to British America, there is no chance. The population is too small. No, there is only one way to gratify the national craving for a fight." "I don't see it." "Why," said Obed, dryly, "to get up a big fight among ourselves." "Among yourselves?" "Yes--quite domestic--and all by ourselves." "You seem to me to speak of a civil war." "That's the identical circumstance, and nothing else. It is the only thing that is suited to the national feeling; and what's more--it's got to come. I see the pointings of the finger of Providence. It's got to come--there's no help for it--and mark me, when it does come it'll be the tallest kind of fightin' that this revolving orb has yet seen in all its revolutions." "You speak very lightly about so terrible a thing as a civil war," said Windham. "But do you think it possible? In so peaceful and well-ordered a country what causes could there be?" "When the whole nation is pining and craving and spilin for a fight," said Obed, "causes will not be wanting. I can enumerate half a dozen now. First, there is the slavery question; secondly, the tariff question; thirdly, the suffrage question; fourthly, the question of the naturalization of foreigners; fifthly, the bank question; sixthly, the question of denominational schools." Windham gave a short laugh. "You certainly seem to have causes enough for a war, although, to my contracted European mind, they would all seem insufficient. Which of these, do you think, is most likely to be the cause of that civil war which you anticipate?" "One, pre-eminently and inevitably," said Obed, solemnly. "All others are idle beside this one." He dropped abruptly the half gasconading manner in which he had been indulging, and, in a low voice, added, "In real earnest, Windham, there is one thing in America which is, every year, every month, every day, forcing on a war from which there can be no escape; a war which will convulse the republic and endanger its existence; yes, Sir, a war which will deluge the land with blood from one end to the other." His solemn tone, his change of manner, and his intense earnestness, impressed Windham most deeply. He felt that there was some deep meaning in the language of Obed Chute, and that under his careless words there was a gloomy foreboding of some future calamity to his loved country. "This is a fearful prospect," said he, "to one who loves his country. What is it that you fear?"