II. Well, how old are you?
I. I’m not yet forty.
II. Forty! that’s pretty well, I think, for a Volunteer.
I. It is, in my mind, the proper age for every thing which requires the full energy of the mind; and what calls for that more than the art of war? I always had a taste for the noble profession—I have taught military tactics.
II. Taught!
I. Yes, Sir, taught—and some of my pupils are now Captains in the local militia.
II. Indeed!
I. Yes, Sir; I led the business of one of the first schools in England.
II. God bless me!
I. Forty! Have you read Cæsar, Sir?—Omnis Gallia divisa est in partes tres, &c.—He was beyond that age, when his talents came into the field. Look at Washington, Sir, that “patriæ Columen”—he was also beyond that age when he took up arms. Cromwell, too—see what a soldier he became. Pichegru, also, was at my age before he was made an officer. And let me tell you, Sir, that boys are not fit to command—give me the man, whose sense and judgment are matured. I don’t mind two years as Ensign;—I get my Lieutenancy before I am forty-two: there are now many Lieutenants older than that, Sir.—Well—I know the use of tactics, and as to fighting—give me an opportunity. I wish I had been out time enough for the storming of San Sebastian! Let me have but an opportunity—I’ll die in the breach, or I’ll be promoted. I have entered the temple of Mars, Sir,—I have shaken the Ancilia—I have waved his sacred spear, and I have cried “Mars, Vigilia!” But, Sir, this is my motto:—