"Ha! the war with Mexico." The war between the United States and that country had now fairly commenced.

My sword--a fine Toledo, taken from a Spanish officer at San Jacinto--hung over the mantel, rusting ingloriously.

Near it were my pistols--a pair of Colt's revolvers--pointing at each other in sullen muteness.

A warlike ardour seized upon me, and clutching, not the sword, but my pen, I wrote to the War Department for a commission; and, summoning all my patience, awaited the answer.
But I waited in vain.

Every bulletin from Washington exhibited its list of new-made officers, but my name appeared not among them.