The last night of this eventful pilgrimage, of which I fear to tire my readers by a farther recital, was spent at fort Bruerton, then commanded by Captain Mungo Campbell,[19] whose warm and generous heart, whose enlightened and comprehensive mind, whose social qualities and public virtues I should delight tA commemorate did my limits permit; suffice it, that he is endeared to my recollection by being the first person who ever supposed me to have a mind capable of culture, and I was ever after distinguished by his partial notice. Here we were detained two days by a premature fall of snow. Very much disposed to be happy any where, I was here particularly so. Our last day’s journey, which brought us to lake Ontario and fort Oswego, our destined abode, was a very hard one; we had people going before, breaking the ice with paddles all the way. Footnote 19: Colonel Mungo Campbell was killed leading on the attack of fort St. Anne, at the battle of White Plains, anno 1777. All that I had foreboded of long tasks, confinement, &c. fell short of the reality. The very deep snow confined us all; and at any rate the rampart or the parade would have been no favourable scene of improvement for me. One great source of entertainment I discovered here, was no other than the Old Testament, which during my confinement I learned to read; till then having done so very imperfectly. It was an unspeakable treasure as a story book, before I learnt to make any better use of it, and became, by frequent perusal, indelibly imprinted on my memory. Wallace Wight, and Welwood’s memoirs of the history of England, were my next acquisitions. Enough of egotism, yet all these circumstances contributed to form that taste for solid reading, which first attracted the attention of my invaluable friend.