Within a magnificent Pavilion in the centre of the French camp, the King, the nobility and the high Ecclesiastics of the realm were grouped about a plain iron cot. Prone upon this cot, wasted by disease, lay the Count de Saxe, in that stupor which often precedes and usually presages dissolution. The last rites of the Church had been administered, and the assemblage in silence and apprehension, awaited the approach of a victorious enemy and the final gasp of a general who had never lost a battle. The din of strife drawing nearer, penetrated the coma which enshrouded the soul of the great Field-Marshal. Saxe opened his eyes. His experienced ear told him that his army, routed and disordered, was flying before an exultant enemy. The giant whose pastime it was to tear horseshoes in twain with his bare hands and to twist nails into corkscrews with his fingers, staggered to his feet, hoarsely articulating fierce and mandatory ejaculations. Hastily clothed, the Count de Saxe was placed in a litter and borne out of his pavilion into that chaos of ruin and carnage which invariably accompanies a lost battle. Around him, behind and in front, swarmed his broken battalions and disorganized squadrons; while in pursuit advanced majestically in solid column, the triumphant English. Saxe demanded his horse and armor. Clad in iron and supported in the saddle on either hand, this modern Achilles galloped to the front of his army; then, at the head of the Scotch Guards, the Irish Brigade, and French Household troops, Saxe in person, led that series of terrific hand-to-hand onslaughts which drove the English army from the field of battle, and gained the famous victory of Fontenoy. * * * * * “Furthermore,” declares this illustrious Generalissimo of Louis XIV; “_It is possible to make war without trusting anything to accident; this is the highest point of skill and perfection within the province of a general._” “Most men,” writes Vergetius, “imagine that strength and courage are sufficient to secure victory. Such are ignorant that when they exist, stratagem vanquishes strength and skill overcomes courage.” In his celebrated work, _Institutorum Rei Militaris_, that source from whence all writers derive their best knowledge of the military methods of the ancients; and by means of which, he strove to revive in his degenerate countrymen that intelligent valor which distinguishes their great ancestors--the famous Roman reiterates this solemn warning: “Victory in war depends not on numbers, nor on courage; skill and discipline only, can ensure it.” The emphasis thus laid by these great warriors on genius for warfare is still further accentuated by men whose dicta few will dispute, viz., “The understanding of the Commander,” says Frederic the Great, “has more influence on the outcome of the battle or campaign, than has the prowess of his troops.” Says Napoleon: