Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call
Us to the field againe."

"Stuff!" he cried impatiently, looking wistfully at the men's faces
going by,--"stuff! _We_ look like gallants to ride a tilt at the world,
and die for Honor and Fame,--we!"

"I thank God, Willie, you are not called upon for any such sacrifice."

"Ah, little mother, well you may!" he answered, smiling, and taking her
hand,--"well you may, for I am afraid I should fall dreadfully short
when the time came; and then how ashamed you'd be of your big boy, who
took his ease at home, with the great drums beating and the trumpets
blowing outside. And yet--I should like to be tried!"

"See, mother!" he broke out again,--"see what a life it is, getting and
spending, living handsomely and doing the proper thing towards society,
and all that,--rubbing through the world in the old hereditary way;
though I needn't growl at it, for I enjoy it enough, and find it a
pleasant enough way, Heaven knows. Lazy idler! enjoying the sunshine
with the rest. Heigh-ho!"

"You have your profession, Willie. There's work there, and opportunity
sufficient to help others and do for yourself."

"Ay, and I'll _do_ it! But there is so much that is poor and mean, and
base and tricky, in it all,--so much to disgust and tire one,--all the
time, day after day, for years. Now if it were only a huge giant that
stands in your way, you could out rapier and have at him at once, and
there an end,--laid out or triumphant. That's worth while!"