Even the rollicking Murphy's eyes were moist as he recited this anecdote; and as for Father Phil, he was quite melted, ejaculating in an under tone, “Oh, my poor fellow! my poor fellow!”
“So there,” said Murphy, “is an example of a man, with revenge in his heart, and his right arm tired with slaughter, suddenly melted into gentleness by a resemblance to his child.”
“'T is very touching, but very sad,” said the Squire.
“My dear sir,” said the doctor, with his peculiar dryness, “sadness is the principal fruit which warfare must ever produce. You may talk of glory as long as you like, but you cannot have your laurel without your cypress, and though you may select certain bits of sentiment out of a mass of horrors, if you allow me, I will give you one little story which shan't keep you long, and will serve as a commentary upon war and glory in general.
“At the peace of 1803, I happened to be travelling through a town in France where a certain count I knew resided. I waited upon him, and he received me most cordially, and invited me to dinner. I made the excuse that I was only _en route_, and supplied with but traveling costume, and therefore not fit to present myself amongst the guests of such a house as his. He assured me I should only meet his own family, and pledged himself for Madame la Comtesse being willing to waive the ceremony of a _grande toilette_. I went to the house at the appointed hour, and as I passed through the hall I cast a glance at the dining-room and saw a very long table laid. On arriving at the reception-room, I taxed the count with having broken faith with me, and was about making my excuses to the countess when she assured me the count had dealt honestly by me, for that I was the only guest to join the family party. Well, we sat down to dinner, three-and-twenty persons; myself, the count and countess, and their _twenty children!_ and a more lovely family I never saw; he a man in the vigour of life, she a still attractive woman, and these their offspring lining the table, where the happy eyes of father and mother glanced with pride and affection from one side to the other on these future staffs of their old age. Well, the peace of Amiens was of short duration, and I saw no more of the count till Napoleon's abdication. Then I visited France again, and saw my old friend. But it was a sad sight, sir, in that same house, where, little more than ten years before, I had seen the bloom and beauty of twenty children, to sit down with _three_--all he had left him. His sons had fallen in battle--his daughters had died widowed, leaving but orphans. And thus it was all over France. While the public voice shouted 'Glory!' wailing was in her homes. Her temple of victory was filled with trophies, but her hearths were made desolate.”