or striking the march towards the frontiers. Besides the provincial
troops, there were twenty-three British regiments in the northern
colonies. The country has never known a period of such excitement and
warlike life; except during the Revolution,--perhaps scarcely then; for
that was a lingering war, and this a stirring and eventful one.

One would think that no very wonderful talent was requisite for an
historical novel, when the rough and hurried paragraphs of these
newspapers can recall the past so magically. We seem to be waiting in
the street for the arrival of the post-rider--who is seldom more than
twelve hours beyond his time--with letters, by way of Albany, from the
various departments of the army. Or, we may fancy ourselves in the
circle of listeners, all with necks stretched out towards an old
gentleman in the centre, who deliberately puts on his spectacles, unfolds
the wet newspaper, and gives us the details of the broken and
contradictory reports, which have been flying from mouth to mouth, ever
since the courier alighted at Secretary Oliver's office. Sometimes we
have an account of the Indian skirmishes near Lake George, and how a
ranging party of provincials were so closely pursued, that they threw
away their arms, and eke their shoes, stockings, and breeches, barely
reaching the camp in their shirts, which also were terribly tattered by
the bushes. Then, there is a journal of the siege of Fort Niagara, so
minute that it almost numbers the cannon-shot and bombs, and describes
the effect of the latter missiles on the French commandant's stone
mansion, within the fortress. In the letters of the provincial officers,
it is amusing to observe how some of them endeavor to catch the careless
and jovial turn of old campaigners. One gentleman tells us that he holds
a brimming glass in his hand, intending to drink the health of his
correspondent, unless a cannon ball should dash the liquor from his lips;
in the midst of his letter he hears the bells of the French churches