with tender relations stretching far behind us, that never can be
exactly renewed, and with others dawning - yet before us,' he
looked down at Marion beside him, 'fraught with such considerations
as I must not trust myself to speak of now. Come, come!' he added,
rallying his spirits and the Doctor at once, 'there's a serious
grain in this large foolish dust-heap, Doctor. Let us allow to-
day, that there is One.'

'To-day!' cried the Doctor. 'Hear him! Ha, ha, ha! Of all days
in the foolish year. Why, on this day, the great battle was fought
on this ground. On this ground where we now sit, where I saw my
two girls dance this morning, where the fruit has just been
gathered for our eating from these trees, the roots of which are
struck in Men, not earth, - so many lives were lost, that within my
recollection, generations afterwards, a churchyard full of bones,
and dust of bones, and chips of cloven skulls, has been dug up from
underneath our feet here. Yet not a hundred people in that battle
knew for what they fought, or why; not a hundred of the
inconsiderate rejoicers in the victory, why they rejoiced. Not
half a hundred people were the better for the gain or loss. Not
half-a-dozen men agree to this hour on the cause or merits; and
nobody, in short, ever knew anything distinct about it, but the
mourners of the slain. Serious, too!' said the Doctor, laughing.
'Such a system!'

'But, all this seems to me,' said Alfred, 'to be very serious.'

'Serious!' cried the Doctor. 'If you allowed such things to be
serious, you must go mad, or die, or climb up to the top of a
mountain, and turn hermit.'