We cross thy tranquil plains, Oh! Chippewa. Scott—Ripley—Towson—Hindman—brave soldiers; long will this battle-ground your names remember. And thou too, Riall! brave Englishman, foeman wert thou worthy of warriors’ steel. But far different music has resounded through these continuous woods than the wild bird’s carol, the hum of insects, and the waving of the breeze that now so gently greets our ear. Ay! yonder it is—yonder is the white house. There, said the Major, as General Scott, making a forward movement with his brigade in the afternoon of the 25th of July, 1814, came in view of it, we saw the court-yard filled with British officers, their horses held by orderlies and servants in attendance. As soon as we became visible to them, their bugles sounded to saddle, and in a few moments they were mounted and soon disappeared through the woods at full gallop, twenty bugles ringing the alarm from different parts of the forest. All vanished as if swallowed by the earth, save an elegant veteran officer, who reined up just out of musket shot, and took a leisurely survey of our numbers. Having apparently satisfied himself of our force, he raised the plumed hat from his head, and bowing gracefully to our cortege, put spurs to his horse and disappeared with the rest. From the occupant of the house we gathered that we were about a mile distant from a strong body of the enemy, posted in the rising ground just beyond the woods in our front. General Scott, turning to one of his escort, said, “Be kind enough, sir, to return to Major General Brown; inform him that I have fallen in with the enemy’s advance, posted in force at ‘_Lundy’s Lane_,’ and that in one half hour, I shall have joined battle.” “Order up Ripley with the second brigade,—direct Porter to get his volunteers immediately under arms,” was the brief reply of Major General Brown to my message, and the aids were instantly in their saddles, conveying the orders. As I galloped back through the woods, continued the Major, the cannon shot screaming by me, tearing the trees and sending the rail fences in the air in their course, warned me that the contest had begun.—But we are on the battle-ground. There, said the Major, upon the verge of that sloping hill, parallel with the road, and through the grave-yard towards the Niagara, was drawn up the British line under General Riall, in force three times greater than our brigade—his right covered with a powerful battery of nine pieces of artillery, two of them brass twenty-fours.