 was great in all the minor
attributes of character, but who was found wanting, when it became necessary to
prove how much principle is superior to policy. But the task would exceed our
prerogatives; and, as history, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with
an atmosphere of imaginary brightness, it is probable that Louis de Saint Véran
will be viewed by posterity only as the gallant defender of his country, while
his cruel apathy on the shores of the Oswego and of the Horican, will be
forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on the part of a sister muse, we
shall at once retire from her sacred precincts, within the proper limits of our
own humbler vocation.
    The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing to a close, but the
business of the narrative must still detain the reader on the shores of the holy
lake. When last seen, the environs of the works were filled with violence and
uproar. They were now possessed by stillness and death. The blood-stained
conquerors had departed; and their camp, which had so lately rung with the merry
rejoicings of a victorious army, lay a silent and deserted city of huts. The
fortress was a smouldering ruin; charred rafters, fragments of exploded
artillery, and rent mason-work, covering its earthen mounds, in confused
disorder.
    A frightful change had also occurred in the season. The sun had hid its
warmth behind an impenetrable mass of vapour, and hundreds of human forms, which
had blackened beneath the fierce heats of August, were stiffening in their
deformity, before the blasts of a premature November. The curling and spotless
mists, which had been seen sailing above the hills, towards the north, were now
returning in an interminable dusky sheet, that was urged along by the fury of a
tempest. The crowded mirror of the Horican was gone; and, in its place, the
green and angry waters lashed the shores, as if indignantly casting back its
impurities to the polluted strand. Still, the clear fountain retained a portion
of its charmed influence; but it reflected only the sombre gloom that fell from
the impending heavens. That humid and congenial atmosphere which commonly
adorned the view, veiling its harshness, and softening its asperities, had
disappeared, and the northern air poured across the waste of water so harsh and
unmingled, that nothing was left to be conjectured by the eye, or fashioned by
the fancy.
    The fiercer element had cropped the verdure of the plain, which looked as
though it were scathed by the consuming lightning. But, here and there, a dark
green tuft
