OLDHAM.--I never, myself, see any good come of the hair-splitting and lawyering of the new school; indeed, I don't know what could be better than our second battalion was. Nowadays, by Jove! any whipper-snapper jackanapes, with a pocket full of money and the grimaces of a dancing-master, walks easily to the top of the tree, while an old soldier's services go for nothing. What did the Duke himself say to me thirty-five years ago? Never mind, damme! LOVELL.--Indeed! what did he say? OLDHAM.--Never you mind what he said; he'll never say it to you. An infernal system when fellows sit at a desk and think they're soldiers. I'm no office man, damme! leading on is my forte; let them promote quill-drivers and milksops if they like, what does Dick Oldham care? I've been bred among the right sort, and I'll go to my grave a real soldier, if not a fortunate one. O'SHEEVO.--That's true, Oldham; when they fire over you, old boy, 'twont be the first time you smelt powder. LOVELL.--I hope Oldham will have another meeting or two with his old friends over the water before that. OLDHAM.--Oh! confound it! don't say a word about it; they'll soon forget what a soldier used to be. It's sickening--by Jove! sickening. I'd have been a colonel of infantry before now, if there'd been any thing like justice. Never mind. O'SHEEVO.--It's not too late yet. They must have soldiers where there's danger; they'll restore the old second battalion of the 107th, when the French come, and you'll command it yet. OLDHAM.--Ugh! bother! (_Sleeps._) PIPECLAY.--I thought so. The detail of his grievances, and a lamentation over modern degeneracy, are generally the prelude to a nap; fine old fellow, if he wasn't so sadly bigoted. O'SHEEVO.--Yes, but when means are scarce, men are driven into extremes; we sometimes overrate our capacities; if our friend here were to be put into a colonel of infantry's shoes to-morrow, he'd not find his position a bed of roses. LOVELL.--I wish he'd gone on about the coast defences, that's what I wanted to hear. O'SHEEVO.--Sure, that's very ungrateful of you, when we've all been talking for your edification. PIPECLAY.--Patience, Lovell, patience; you can't learn all the art of war in a minute; follow the thing up, and you'll know all about it by-and-by. A death vacancy'll be giving me my step, some of these days, and I should like to throw my mantle over you, I confess. O'SHEEVO.--D'ye, mean that seedy old cloak that you've used these last fifteen years? if any one was to throw such a thing over me, I should consider it a personal affront. PIPECLAY.--You're so literal, Major. O'SHEEVO.--Ye're wrong there; I never composed any thing in my life, more to be blushed for than punch or sangree, and there's nothing literal in them except their being liquids. PIPECLAY.--But I meant if Lovell could be eligible to succeed me in the adjutancy.