“Yes, but all Washington’s important generals were Northern men; but that is not to the point.  Washington put down the whisky-tax revolt with small regard for State rights.  The Constitution unhappily left those State rights in a condition to keep up old differences.  That is clear, I regret to say.  Then came the tariff and a new seed of dissension.  Slavery and its growing claims added later mischief, but it was not the only cause of our troubles, nor is it to-day with us, although it is with you, the largest.  We have tried compromises.  They are of the history of our own time, familiar to all of us.  Well, Mr. Grey, the question is shall we submit to the threat of division, a broken land and its consequences?—­one moment and I have done.  I am filled with gloom when I look forward.  When nations differ, treaties or time, or what not, may settle disputes; too often war.  But, Mr. Grey, never are radical, civil or religious differences settled without the sword, if I have read history aright.  You see,” and he smiled, “I could not let pass your hint without a word.”

“If it comes to that—­to war,” said Grey, “we would win.  In that belief lies the certainty I dread.”

“Ah! sir, in that Southern belief lies the certainty I too dread.  You think we live merely lives of commerce.  You do not realise that there is with us a profound sentiment of affection for the Union.  No people worth anything ever lived without the very human desire of national self-preservation.  It has the force of a man’s personal desire for self-preservation.  Pardon me, I suppose that I have the habit of the sermon.”

Grey replied, “You are very interesting, but I am tired.  A little more rye, John.  I must adjourn this discussion—­we will talk again.”

“Not if I can help it,” laughed Rivers.  “I ought to say that I shall vote the Republican ticket.”

“I regret it—­I deeply regret it.  Oh! thanks, John.”  He drank the whisky and went upstairs to bed.

Rivers sat down.  “This man is what I call a stateriot.  I am or try to be that larger thing, a patriot.  I did not say all, it was useless.  Your uncle cares little—­oh, too little—­about slavery, and generally the North cares as little; but the antislavery men are active and say, as did Washington, that the Union of the States was or will be insecure until slavery comes to an end.  It may be so, John; it is the constant seed of discord.  I would say, let them go in peace, but that would be only to postpone war to a future day.  I rarely talk about this matter.  What made you start him?  You ought to have held your tongue.”

The young fellow smiled.  “Yes, sir, I suppose so.”

“However, we won’t have it again if I can help it.”

“It was very interesting.”

“Quite too interesting, but will he try it on the Squire and your aunt?  Now I am going home.  I hate these talks.  Don’t sit up and read the Tribune.”