We ascended the hill that flanked the right wing of the position of the English where the fight was hottest. From this eminence we looked down on vast cultivated fields with acres of waving barley and verdant meadows in which fine Holstein cattle were grazing. This hill is composed of soil dug from Mount St. Jean to cover the bones of the slain of both armies. This conical tumulus contains upon its summit, set in a spacious and lofty pedestal, a huge bronze lion cast from the cannon taken in battle. As we stood on its top the scene unrolled before us like a wonderful panoramic painting, and we gazed out on this "great chessboard, where the last hard game of Napoleon's and Wellington's protracted match was played." Here where all Nature seemed to breathe of peace and joy it seemed difficult to believe that at that very season, one hundred and four years ago, on this spot was fought one of the memorable battles of the world. Here, after participating in the activities of a world war, how like a dream it seemed to be gazing down upon this fertile plain. The larks were soaring in the blue above, uttering the same sweet notes that charmed the poet, Shelley, while we gazed out upon the fair scene toward La Belle Alliance and La Haye Sainte. Nearer our eyes rested upon the place that formed the key to the English position, where they successfully resisted, throughout the day of the eighteenth of June, the hottest assaults of the enemy. Then we beheld the high road to Namur which passed through the center of the lovely picture "as if inviting us to look upon the road Napoleon took to make his escape when in the agony of his heart he exclaimed 'Sauve qui peut!' and fled from the field." Near La Belle Alliance is a monument to the memory of the German legion. Corning down from the tumulus we made our way past fields of barley and paused to pluck a few cornflowers and poppies, and over all the blue sky like an angel of peace the skylark was still flooding the blue dome with melodies which for us can never die. But we have been straying somewhat from Saratoga. The view we had from the monument reminded us a little of that to be obtained from the plateau of the citadel of Namur where we beheld the Sambre, the Meuse, and the forest of Ardennes. The valley of the Meuse through which we passed on our way to Liege, though wild, varied and secluded, full of unexpected turns and scenic surprises, has no more charm than Saratoga. We were greatly impressed with the tablet presented in memory of the women of 1776 by the Daughters of the American Revolution. It represents one woman busy with spinning while another is making bullets at a fireplace. These noble and brave women deserve much credit for helping to win our independence, for while their husbands and sons fought they gathered in the crops, melted into bullets their treasured pewter ware, learned to shoot, bar their homes against Indians and conceal themselves from preying bands of Indians and Tories.