soothing. It seemed as if, with the termination of the roar of artillery
and the plunging of shot, nature had also seized the moment to assume
her mildest and most captivating form. The sun poured down his parting
glory on the scene, without the oppression of those fierce rays that
belong to the climate and the season. The mountains looked green,
and fresh, and lovely, tempered with the milder light, or softened in
shadow, as thin vapors floated between them and the sun. The numerous
islands rested on the bosom of the Horican, some low and sunken, as if
embedded in the waters, and others appearing to hover about the element,
in little hillocks of green velvet; among which the fishermen of the
beleaguering army peacefully rowed their skiffs, or floated at rest on
the glassy mirror in quiet pursuit of their employment.

The scene was at once animated and still. All that pertained to nature
was sweet, or simply grand; while those parts which depended on the
temper and movements of man were lively and playful.

Two little spotless flags were abroad, the one on a salient angle of the
fort, and the other on the advanced battery of the besiegers; emblems of
the truth which existed, not only to the acts, but it would seem, also,
to the enmity of the combatants.

Behind these again swung, heavily opening and closing in silken folds,
the rival standards of England and France.

A hundred gay and thoughtless young Frenchmen were drawing a net to the
pebbly beach, within dangerous proximity to the sullen but silent cannon
of the fort, while the eastern mountain was sending back the loud shouts
and gay merriment that attended their sport. Some were rushing eagerly
to enjoy the aquatic games of the lake, and others were already toiling