to die for their country?"

"I can't think of a great many at the moment, sir," replied the son,
with the modesty of his generation.

"And I couldn't in '61," said his uncle. "Nevertheless they were
there."

"Then your theory is that it's the occasion that is wanting," said
Bromfield Corey. "But why shouldn't civil service reform, and the
resumption of specie payment, and a tariff for revenue only, inspire
heroes? They are all good causes."

"It's the occasion that's wanting," said James Bellingham, ignoring the
persiflage. "And I'm very glad of it."

"So am I," said Lapham, with a depth of feeling that expressed itself
in spite of the haze in which his brain seemed to float. There was a
great deal of the talk that he could not follow; it was too quick for
him; but here was something he was clear of. "I don't want to see any
more men killed in my time." Something serious, something sombre must
lurk behind these words, and they waited for Lapham to say more; but
the haze closed round him again, and he remained silent, drinking
Apollinaris.

"We non-combatants were notoriously reluctant to give up fighting,"
said Mr. Sewell, the minister; "but I incline to think Colonel Lapham
and Mr. Bellingham may be right. I dare say we shall have the heroism
again if we have the occasion. Till it comes, we must content
ourselves with the every-day generosities and sacrifices. They make up
in quantity what they lack in quality, perhaps." "They're not so
picturesque," said Bromfield Corey. "You can paint a man dying for his
country, but you can't express on canvas a man fulfilling the duties of
a good citizen."

"Perhaps the novelists will get at him by and by," suggested Charles
Bellingham. "If I were one of these fellows, I shouldn't propose to
myself anything short of that."

"What? the commonplace?" asked his cousin.

"Commonplace? The commonplace is just that light, impalpable, aerial
essence which they've never got into their confounded books yet. The
novelist who could interpret the common feelings of commonplace people
would have the answer to 'the riddle of the painful earth' on his
tongue."

"Oh, not so bad as that, I hope," said the host; and Lapham looked from
one to the other, trying to make out what they were at. He had never
been so up a tree before.

"I suppose it isn't well for us to see human nature at white heat
habitually," continued Bromfield Corey, after a while. "It would make
us vain