at least, to learn that the splendid war-horse, which Warner was known to have rode in all his battles, could neither be mounted nor managed by any except the colonel and his son, then a lad of sixteen or seventeen, who attended his father in the service mainly on that account. This fact I have from the lips of Colonel W.'s second son, now living in Lower Canada.] advanced with rapid and resolute tread directly to the scene of action. “Warm work, warm work here, Colonel Warner,” said Stark, as the other dashed up to his side for his orders. “Ay, general; but we will make it still warmer for the Red coats, at least, if you will give us a chance at them in front of your line,” promptly responded the gallant officer. “That chance you shall have, with the thanks of my exhausted troops, to whom, and myself, your presence, at this time, my brave friend, could scarcely be more welcome,” said Stark, with a frankness and cordiality of manner which attested the pleasure he felt at the other's timely arrival. “Thank you--thank you, general,” replied Warner, galloping back to his regiment, and commanding their attention. “Soldiers,” he exclaimed, in his clear, trumpet tones throwing back his tall, superb form, and displaying his noble and beautifully-arched brow,--“my brave soldiers, shall this be _our_ battle, and _our_ victory?” A deafening cheer was the affirmative response. “In God's name, on, then!” he resumed, in a voice of thunder--“on, and avenge yourselves for country's wrongs, and for your flogging at Hubbardton.”