...to meet, upon the fixed bayonets of the hollow squares of Wellington, a no less certain fate. And all this, why? A cowboy said to a general on one bright Sunday morning: Sire, take this road. Blucher , seventy-three years old, fired with the spirit of war and revenge, falling from his horse, but mounting again with the alacrity of youth, presses upon the scene, while Wellington prays that he or ni...