“What will you charge to drive to Lundy’s Lane?” “Why,” he replied after regarding me attentively for a moment, “dey charges six dol——” “O, never mind,” I interrupted. “I’ll walk it!” And I turned away. “No, no; wait a minute,” he said, quickly; and I stopped to learn what he might have the honor to represent. “Dey charges six dollahs,” said he, “but you git in an’ I’ll take you dar an’ to de Burnin’ Springs bofe, fur dat. Did you want to go any oder whar?” “Don’t know,” said I. “But come, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I may want to visit several places, or may only go to Lundy’s Lane. Now, I’ll give you a dollar an hour for the time we’re gone.” “O, dat’s too——” “Very well,” I interrupted, walking away. “Hold on! Wait!” he called, excitedly. “Let’s see. Well, don’ car. May be I kin afford it. Git in.—Or, I’ll help you.” He was going to get out to help me in, but I placed one hand on the buggy and the other on the top of my crutch, and sprung up upon the seat with ease. “Golly!” he exclaimed. “You kin git up better’n anoder man!” “Certainly, old coon,” I replied. “You awkward two-legged fellows can’t get about in the world.—Drive on: don’t waste my time. Let me see——” I looked at my watch—“it is just ten o’clock.” “Whar’ll I go de fustest?” “To Lundy’s Lane. Move it, now.” My ebony companion touched up his horse, and we got over the ground pretty fast. He might have jogged along slowly, to extend the time, as he was paid by the hour; but he saw I was up to all that, and it wouldn’t do. On the old battle ground of Lundy’s Lane, there is a wooden tower fifty or sixty feet high, from the top of which one can see not only all the ground on which the battle was fought, but also a vast expanse of country on both sides of the river, including the vicinity of the Falls, and also many miles of the river, its mouth and a portion of Lake Ontario. The tower is ascended by means of a winding stairway; and a surly old cove, who pretends that he was in the battle of Lundy’s Lane—but I’ll bet my hat he wasn’t—stays there and acts as guide. He accompanied me to the top of the tower, and showed me a telescope supported on a pivot. With this I proceeded to sweep the wide, wide landscape before me, and I began to ask the old “soldier” a few questions. He was very reticent, and his answers were not only very brief, but also very vague, ambiguous, and unsatisfactory. I soon discovered why. His tongue had to be greased with a trifle of change—for he was only employed by the owner of the tower, who kept a drinking-saloon at the bottom—that is, the _base-meant_. “Is that Brock’s Monument?” I queried, perceiving a tall column of masonry in the direction of Lake Ontario. “A-hem,” he replied, reluctantly, and with an apparent difficulty of articulation—“I—I—it bothers my head to talk much, ever since I got my wound in this battle. That is Brock’s—A-hem—I—Visitors usually gives me—a—a—they generally—a little—a—a—ahem——”