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."

Therewith my father earnestly recommended to Mr. Squills the careful
perusal of certain passages in Thucydides, just previous to the outbreak
of the Peloponnesian war (Squills hastily nodded the most servile
acquiescence), and drew an ingenious parallel between the signs and
symptoms foreboding that outbreak and the very apprehension of coming
war which was evinced by the recent lo pawns to peace. (2) And after
sundry notable and shrewd remarks, tending to show where elements for
war were already ripening, amidst clashing opinions and disorganized
states, he wound up with saying: "So that, all things considered, I
think we had better just keep up enough of the bellicose spirit not
to think it a sin if we are called upon to fight for our pestles and
mortars, our three-percents, goods, chattels, and liberties. Such a time
must come, sooner or later, even though the whole world were spinning
cotton and printing sprigged calicoes. We may not see it, Squills, but
that young gentleman in the cradle whom you have lately brought into
light, may."

"And if so," said my uncle, abruptly, speaking for the first time,--"if
indeed it be f