Having executed these orders, and moderately supplied the Doctor (he seemed to know that nobody else wanted anything to eat), he lingered as near the Firm as he decently could, watching, with an austere eye, their disposition of the viands, and but once relaxing the severe expression of his face. This was on the occasion of Mr. Craggs, whose teeth were not of the best, partially choking, when he cried out with great animation, “I thought he was gone!”
“Now Alfred,” said the Doctor, “for a word or two of business, while we are yet at breakfast.”
“While we are yet at breakfast,” said Snitchey and Craggs, who seemed to have no present idea of leaving off.
Although Alfred had not been breakfasting, and seemed to have quite enough business on his hands as it was, he respectfully answered:
“If you please, Sir.”
“If anything could be serious,” the Doctor began, “in such a—”
“Farce as this, Sir,” hinted Alfred.
“In such a farce as this,” observed the Doctor, “it might be this recurrence, on the eve of separation, of a double birth-day, which is connected with many associations pleasant to us four, and with the recollection of a long and amicable intercourse. That’s not to the purpose.”
“Ah! yes, yes, Doctor Jeddler,” said the young man. “It is to the purpose. Much to the purpose, as my heart bears witness this morning; and as yours does too, I know, if you would let it speak. I leave your house to-day; I cease to be your ward to-day; we part 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!”