“O, to be sure,” said I. “It’s perfectly right they should not forget your services.” I gave him a quarter, and found his speech much improved. Still, it was not so fluent as I could have desired, and I further touched it up in this way: “Do you ever drink any thing?” “Yes, sometimes,” he replied, distinctly, brightening up. “The gentleman below keeps something, does he not?” “Yes, I believe he—Yes, he keeps a little on hand.” “Then,” said I, “we will take a little of a good article when we go down. It always does me good to take a little something strengthening that way with an old soldier—especially one who, like yourself, has that graceful military air that can leave no doubt of his having served his country with distinction.” This was certainly piling it on pretty strong, but not too much so, it seemed, for he took it all with as good a grace as a toper would take his “bitters” in the morning. He grew extremely affable, and gave me all the information I wanted; and more, too, for I am satisfied he made up about thirty-nine or forty lies and told me—among which was this one: That he was captured at Lundy’s Lane and taken before General (then Colonel) Winfield Scott—whom he pronounced the noblest soldier that ever lived—and that the latter gave him a drink of most excellent rum, and said to him: “You have an air of greatness about you—you have. Are you not a British general in disguise?” The veteran guide also told me that Buffalo was clearly visible through the telescope, and tried to point it out to me. I will not deny the fact that it was visible from the tower, but I couldn’t “see it.” When we went below, I treated him, as I had promised, tasting something myself; then I asked the proprietor what was to pay for drinks and visiting the tower? He let me off for a dollar. Returning to my sable friend in the buggy, I got in again and told him to drive to the Burning Springs, “as fast as the law would allow him;” and in less than half-an-hour we were there. The water of these springs is characterized by an accompaniment of inflammable gas—sulphuretted hydrogen, I think—and when a lighted match is applied to it a blue flame springs up over the surface, like the flames of burning spirits. I returned to the Falls and found that we had been gone a little over two hours and a half. I then gave the darkey three dollars, and told him to drive me down to the river; which he cheerfully did.