What, I! a man here under the frozen zone and grand climacteric of my days,
with one foot in the grave and the other hard by, to quit
my prayer book and crutches, (an old man's best companion,)
and drawing my sword, flourish and fight over again the battles of my youth.

The Lord forbid me such madness! But what can one do when one's friends
are eternally teasing him, as they are me, and calling out
at every whipstitch and corner of the streets, "Well, but, sir,
where's Marion? where's the history of Marion, that we have so long
been looking for?"

'Twas in vain that I told them I was no scholar; no historian.
"God," said I, "gentlemen, has made `many men of many minds;'
one for this thing and another for that. But I am morally certain
he never made me for a writer. I did indeed once understand
something about the use of a broadsword; but as to a pen, gentlemen,
that's quite another part of speech. The difference between
a broadsword and a pen, gentlemen, is prodigious; and it is not every officer,
let me tell you, gentlemen, who can, like Caesar, fight you a great battle
with his sword to-day, and fight it over again with his pen to-morrow."

"Burn Caesar!" replied they, "and his book too. If it were written in
letters of gold, we would not read it. What have honest republicans like us
to do with such an ambitious cut-throat and robber? Besides sir,
your reasoning about scholarship, and fine style, and all that,
does not, begging your pardon, apply at all to the case in hand.
Small subjects indeed, require great writers to set them off;
but great subjects require no such artificial helps: like true beauties,
they shine most in the simplest dress. Marion is one of this sort:
great in his simplicity. Then give us Marion -- plain, brave, honest Marion;