II. What do you think of an ensign, who passed from the age of seventeen to forty-seven without promotion?
I. He must have had no education,—knew nothing,—nothing of tactics,—nothing of the art of war. I have made it my study; I am well acquainted with the best schools of warfare—the Grecian, the Roman, and the modern. Granicus, Marathon, and Pharsalia, are familiar to me. I have made myself acquainted with the characters of every great conqueror, from Charles the Twelfth, who was my favourite, down to Lord Wellington. The Duke of Marlborough’s campaigns I have deeply studied, and know every move in the battles of Fredlingen, Scardigen, Schwemmingen, Spinbach, Shellenberg, Blenheim, and Ramillies. In short, Sir, if I do not succeed, it will be my own fault.
II. With those qualifications for the military profession, it is to be lamented that you did not embrace it earlier in life.
I. If I had taken up the profession earlier, I should not have been so well qualified. A series of years devoted to the instruction of young gentlemen, in—not only military science—but of general learning, afforded me the very qualification by which I hope to rise in the army.
II. Come, fill again; you are not doing any thing at all.
I. Doing! Ecod, I am doing away with my brains, and I’m half done over; but a pleasant companion and good wine, I say again, are not to be resisted—
Solis æterna est Phœbo Bacchoque juventa.
Isn’t that right, eh?
II. Tunc dolor et curæ RUGAque frontis abit.
I. Excellent! good! fine! give me your hand.—Ovid, Sir—good! I respect you, Sir; I reverence you, Sir. You’ll be a general; you’ll be a great commander, depend upon it. I’ll fill a bumper; there, there, there! and now—here is wishing you every success—may you be a field-marshal!