Reader, I would gladly make a confidant of yourself in this matter, and tell you all about this charming little woman, if it were not for the fact that she is standing at my elbow at this very minute, causing me to make blots, and telling me not to write nonsense!
Before dismissing U. Biquitous, I may as well introduce here the last meeting I had with him. It was a considerable time after the war was over—after the “Congress” had closed its labours, and my friend had settled—if such a term could be applied to one who never settled—near London. Nicholas and I were sitting in a bower at the end of our garden, conversing on the war which had been happily brought to a close. Bella and my mother were seated opposite to us, the latter knitting a piece of worsted-work, the size of whose stitches and needles was suited to the weakness of her eyes, and the former busy with a pencil sketch of the superb view of undulating woodland which stretched away for miles in front of our house.
“No doubt it is as you state, Jeff,” said Nicholas, in reply to my last remark; “war is a miserable method of settling a dispute, quite unworthy of civilised, to say nothing of Christian, men; but, then, how are we to get along without it? It’s of no use saying that an evil must be put down—put a stop to—until you are able to show how it is to be stopped.”
“That does not follow,” said I, quickly; “it may be quite possible for me to see, point out, and condemn an evil although I cannot suggest a remedy and my earnest remonstrances regarding it may be useful in the way of helping to raise a general outcry of condemnation, which may have the effect of turning more capable minds than my own to the devising of a remedy. Sea-sickness is a horrible malady; I perceive it, I know it to be so. I loudly draw attention to the fact; I won’t be silenced. Hundreds, thousands, of other miserables take heart and join me. We can’t stand it! we shan’t! is the general cry. The attention of an able engineer is attracted by the noise we make, and the Calais-Douvre steamboat springs into being, a vessel which is supposed to render sea-sickness an impossibility. Whether it accomplishes this end or not is beside the question. The point is, that, by the vigorous use of our tongues and pens in condemnation of an admitted evil, we have drawn forth a vigorous attempt to get the better of it.”
“But you don’t expect to do away with war altogether?” said Nicholas.
“Certainly not; I am not mad, I am only hopeful. As long as sin reigns in this world we shall have more or less of war, and I don’t expect universal peace until the Prince of Peace reigns. Nevertheless, it is my duty to ‘seek peace,’ and in every way to promote it.”
“Come, now, let us have this matter out,” said Nicholas, lighting a cigar.
“You are as fond of argument as a Scotsman, Nic,” murmured Bella, putting a powerful touch in the foreground of her sketch.
“Suppose, now,” continued Nicholas, “that you had the power to influence nations, what would you suggest instead of war?”
“Arbitration,” said I, promptly; “I would have the nations of Europe to band together and agree never to fight but always to appeal to reason, in the settlement of disputes. I would have them reduce standing armies to the condition of peace establishments—that is, just enough to garrison our strongholds, and be ready to back up our police in keeping ruffians in order. This small army would form a nucleus round which the young men of the nation would rally in the event of unavoidable war.”