To be happy in this world, it is necessary not to raise one's ideastoo high: if I loved a man of Sir George's fortune half as well as byyour own account you love him, I should not hesitate one moment aboutmarrying; but sit down contented with ease, affluence, and anagreeable man, without expecting to find life what it certainly is not,a state of continual rapture. 'Tis, I am afraid, my dear, yourmisfortune to have too much sensibility to be happy.
I could moralize exceedingly well this morning on the vanity ofhuman wishes and expectations, and the folly of hoping for felicity inthis vile sublunary world: but the subject is a little exhausted, and Ihave a passion for being original. I think all the moral writers, whohave set off with promising to shew us the road to happiness, haveobligingly ended with telling us there is no such thing; a conclusionextremely consoling, and which if they had drawn before they set pen topaper, would have saved both themselves and their readers an infinityof trouble. This fancy of hunting for what one knows is not to befound, is really an ingenious way of amusing both one's self and theworld: I wish people would either write to some purpose, or be so goodas not to write at all.
I believe I shall set about writing a system of ethics myself, whichshall be short, clear, and comprehensive; nearer the Epicurean perhapsthan the Stoic; but rural, refined, and sentimental; rural by allmeans; for who does not know that virtue is a country gentlewoman? allthe good mammas will tell you, there is no such being to be heard of intown.
I shall certainly be glad to see you, my dear; though I foreseestrange revolutions _in the state of Denmark_ from this event; atpresent I have all the men to myself, and you must know I have aprodigious aversion to divided empire: however, 'tis some comfort theyall know you are going to be married. You may come, Emily; only be soobliging to bring Sir George along with you: in your present situation,you are not so very formidable.
The men here, as I said before, are all dying for me; there are manyhandsomer women, but I flatter them, and the dear creatures cannotresist it. I am a very good girl to women, but naturally artful (if youwill allow the expression) to the other sex; I can blush, look down,stifle a sigh, flutter my fan, and seem so agreeably confused--youhave no notion, my dear, what fools men are. If you had not got thestart of me, I would have had your little white-haired baronet in aweek, and yet I don't take him to be made of very combustiblematerials; rather mild, composed, and pretty, I believe; but he hasvanity, which is quite enough for my purpose.
Either your love or Colonel Rivers will have the honor to deliverthis letter; 'tis rather cruel to take them both from us at once;however, we shall soon be made amends; for we shall have a torrent ofbeaux with the general.
Don't you think the sun in this country vastly more chearing than inEngland? I am charmed with the sun, to say nothing of the moon, thoughto be sure I never saw a moon-light night that deserved the name till Icame to America.
_Mon cher pere_ desires a thousand compliments; you know hehas been in love with you ever since you were seven years old: he isvastly better for his voyage, and the clear air of Canada, and looksten years younger than before he set out.
Adieu! I am going to ramble in the woods, and pick berries, with alittle smiling civil captain, who is enamoured of me: a pretty ruralamusement for lovers!
Good morrow, my dear Emily,
Yours, A. Fermor.
LETTER 16.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Sept. 18.
Your brother, my dear, is gone to Montreal with Sir George Clayton,of whom I suppose you have heard, and who is going to marry a friend ofmine, to pay a visit to _Monsieur le General_, who is arrivedthere. The men in Canada, the English I mean, are eternally changingplace, even when they have not so pleasing a call; travelling is cheapand amusing, the prospects lovely, the weather inviting; and there areno very lively pleasures at present to attach them either to Quebec orMontreal, so that they divide themselves between both.
This fancy of the men, which is extremely the mode, makes anagreable circulation of inamoratoes, which serves to vary the amusementof the ladies; so that upon the whole 'tis a pretty fashion, anddeserves encouragement.
You expect too much of your brother, my dear; the summer is charminghere, but with no such very striking difference from that of England,as to give room to say a vast deal on the subject; though I believe, ifyou will please to compare our letters, you will find, putting ustogether, we cut a pretty figure in the descriptive way; at least ifyour brother tells me truth.
You may expect a very well painted frost-piece from me in thewinter; as to the present season, it is just like any fine autumn inEngland: I may add, that the beauty of the nights is much beyond mypower of description: a constant _Aurora borealis_, without acloud in the heavens; and a moon so resplendent that you may see toread the smallest print by its light; one has nothing to wish but thatit was full moon every night. Our evening walks are delicious,especially at Silleri, where 'tis the pleasantest thing in the world tolisten to soft nonsense,
"Whilst the moon dances through the trembling leaves"
(A line I stole from Philander and Sylvia): But to return:
The French ladies never walk but at night, which shews their goodtaste; and then only within the walls of Quebec, which does not: theysaunter slowly, after supper, on a particular battery, which is a kindof little Mall: they have no idea of walking in the country, nor theleast feeling of the lovely scene around them; there are many of themwho never saw the falls of Montmorenci, though little more than anhour's drive from the town. They seem born without the smallest portionof curiosity, or any idea of the pleasures of the imagination, orindeed any pleasure but that of being admired; love, or rathercoquetry, dress, and devotion, seem to share all their hours: yet, asthey are lively, and in general handsome, the men are very ready toexcuse their want of knowledge.
There are two ladies in the province, I am told, who read; but bothof them are above fifty, and they are regarded as prodigies oferudition.
Eight in the evening.
Absolutely, Lucy, I will marry a savage, and turn squaw (a pretty softname for an Indian princess!): never was any thing so delightful astheir lives; they talk of French husbands, but commend me to an Indianone, who lets his wife ramble five hundred miles, without asking whereshe is going.
I was sitting after dinner with a book, in a thicket of hawthornnear the beach, when a loud laugh called my attention to the river,where I saw a canoe of savages making to the shore; there were sixwomen, and two or three children, without one man amongst them: theylanded, tied the canoe to the root of a tree, and finding out the mostagreable shady spot amongst the bushes with which the beach wascovered, which happened to be very near me, made a fire, on which theylaid some fish to broil, and, fetching water from the river, sat downon the grass to their frugal repast.
I stole softly to the house, and, ordering a servant to bring somewine and cold provisions, returned to my squaws: I asked them in Frenchif they were of Lorette; they shook their heads: I repeated thequestion in English, when the oldest of the women told me, they werenot; that their country was on the borders of New England; that, theirhusbands being on a hunting party in the woods, curiosity, and thedesire of seeing their brethren the English who had conquered Quebec,had brought them up the great river, down which they should return assoon as they had seen Montreal. She courteously asked me to sit down,and eat with them, which I complied with, and produced my part of thefeast. We soon became good company, and _brighten'd the chainof friendship_ with two bottles of wine, which put them into suchspirits, that they danced, sung, shook me by the hand, and grew so veryfond of me, that I began to be afraid I should not easily get rid ofthem. They were very unwilling to part with me; but, after two or threevery ridiculous hours, I with some difficulty prevailed on the ladiesto pursue their voyage, having first replenished their canoe withprovisions and a few bottles of wine, and given them a letter ofrecommendation to your brother, that they might be in no distress atMontreal.
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Adieu! my father is just come in, and has brought some company withhim from Quebec to supper.
Yours ever, A. Fermor.
Don't you think, my dear, my good sisters the squaws seem to livesomething the kind of life of our gypsies? The idea struck me as theywere dancing. I assure you, there is a good deal of resemblance intheir persons: I have seen a fine old seasoned female gypsey, of asdark a complexion as a savage: they are all equally marked as childrenof the sun.
LETTER 17.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Repentigny, Sept. 18, ten at night.
I study my fellow traveller closely; his character, indeed, is notdifficult to ascertain; his feelings are dull, nothing makes theleast impression on him; he is as insensible to the various beauties ofthe charming country through which we have travelled, as the veryCanadian peasants themselves who inhabit it. I watched his eyes at someof the most beautiful prospects, and saw not the least gleam ofpleasure there: I introduced him here to an extreme handsome Frenchlady, and as lively as she is handsome, the wife of an officer who isof my acquaintance; the same tasteless composure prevailed; hecomplained of fatigue, and retired to his apartment at eight: thefamily are now in bed, and I have an hour to give to my dear Lucy.
He admires Emily because he has seen her admired by all the world,but he cannot taste her charms of himself; they are not of a stile toplease him: I cannot support the thought of such a woman's being solost; there are a thousand insensible good young women to be found, whowould doze away life with him and be happy.
A rich, sober, sedate, presbyterian citizen's daughter, educated byher grandmother in the country, who would roll about with him inunweildy splendor, and dream away a lazy existence, would be the properwife for him. Is it for him, a lifeless composition of earth and water,to unite himself to the active elements which compose my divine Emily?
Adieu! my dear! we set out early in the morning for Montreal.
Your affectionate Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 18.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Montreal, Sept. 19, eleven o'clock.
No, my dear, it is impossible she can love him; his dull soul is illsuited to hers; heavy, unmeaning, formal; a slave to rules, toceremony, to _etiquette_, he has not an idea above those of agentleman usher. He has been three hours in town without seeing her;dressing, and waiting to pay his compliments first to the general, whois riding, and every minute expected back. I am all impatience, thoughonly her friend, but think it would be indecent in me to go withouthim, and look like a design of reproaching his coldness. Howdifferently are we formed! I should have stole a moment to see thewoman I loved from the first prince in the universe.
The general is returned. Adieu! till our visit is over; we go fromthence to Major Melmoth's, whose family I should have told you are intown, and not half a street from us. What a soul of fire has this_lover!_ 'Tis to profane the word to use it in speaking of him.
One o'clock.
I am mistaken, Lucy; astonishing as it is, she loves him; this dullclod of uninformed earth has touched the lively soul of my Emily. Loveis indeed the child of caprice; I will not say of sympathy, for whatsympathy can there be between two hearts so different? I am hurt, sheis lowered in my esteem; I expected to find in the man she loved, amind sensible and tender as her own.
I repeat it, my dear Lucy, she loves him; I observed her when weentered the room; she blushed, she turned pale, she trembled, hervoice faltered; every look spoke the strong emotion of her soul.
She is paler than when I saw her last; she is, I think, lessbeautiful, but more touching than ever; there is a languor in her air,a softness in her countenance, which are the genuine marks of a heartin love; all the tenderness of her soul is in her eyes.
Shall I own to you all my injustice? I hate this man for having thehappiness to please her: I cannot even behave to him with thepoliteness due to every gentleman.
I begin to fear my weakness is greater than I supposed.
22d in the evening.
I am certainly mad, Lucy; what right have I to expect!--you willscarce believe the excess of my folly. I went after dinner to MajorMelmoth's; I found Emily at piquet with Sir George: can you conceivethat I fancied myself ill used, that I scarce spoke to her, andreturned immediately home, though strongly pressed to spend the eveningthere. I walked two or three times about my room, took my hat, and wentto visit the handsomest Frenchwoman at Montreal, whose windows aredirectly opposite to Major Melmoth's; in the excess of my anger, Iasked this lady to dance with me to-morrow at a little ball we are tohave out of town. Can you imagine any behaviour more childish? It wouldhave been scarce pardonable at sixteen.
Adieu! my letter is called for. I will write to you again in a fewdays.
Yours, Ed. Rivers.
Major Melmoth tells me, they are to be married in a month atQuebec, and to embark immediately for England. I will not be there; Icannot bear to see her devote herself to wretchedness: she will be themost unhappy of her sex with this man; I see clearly into hischaracter; his virtue is the meer absence of vice; his good qualitiesare all of the negative kind.
LETTER 19.
To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.
Montreal, Sept. 24.
I have but a moment, my dear, to acknowledge your last; this weekhas been a continual hurry.
You mistake me; it is not the romantic passion of fifteen I wish tofeel, but that tender lively friendship which alone can give charms toso intimate an union as that of marriage. I wish a greater conformityin our characters, in our sentiments, in our tastes.
But I will say no more on this subject till I have the pleasure ofseeing you at Silleri. Mrs. Melmoth and I come in a ship which sailsin a day or two; they tell us, it is the most agreeable way of coming:Colonel Rivers is so polite, as to stay to accompany us down: MajorMelmoth asked Sir George, but he preferred the pleasure of paradinginto Quebec, and shewing his fine horses and fine person to advantage,to that of attending his mistress: shall I own to you that I am hurt atthis instance of his neglect, as I know his attendance on the generalwas not expected? His situation was more than a sufficient excuse; itwas highly improper for two women to go to Quebec alone; it is in somedegree so that any other man should accompany me at this time: my prideis extremely wounded. I expect a thousand times more attention fromhim since his acquisition of fortune; it is with pain I tell you, mydear friend, he seems to shew me much less. I will not descend tosuppose he presumes on this increase of fortune, but he presumes on theinclination he supposes I have for him; an inclination, however, notviolent enough to make me submit to the least ill treatment from him.
In my present state of mind, I am extremely hard to please; eitherhis behaviour or my temper have suffered a change. I know not how itis, but I see his faults in a much stronger light than I have ever seenthem before. I am alarmed at the coldness of his disposition, so illsuited to the sensibility of mine; I begin to doubt his being of theamiable character I once supposed: in short, I begin to doubt of thepossibility of his making me happy.
You will, perhaps, call it an excess of pride, when I say, I am muchless inclined to marry him than when our situations were equal. Icertainly love him; I have a habit of considering him as the man I amto marry, but my affection is not of that kind which will make me easyunder the sense of an obligation.
I will open all my heart to you when we meet: I am not so happy asyou imagine: do not accuse me of caprice; can I be too cautious, wherethe happiness of my whole life is at stake?
Adieu! Your faithful Emily Montague.
LETTER 20.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Sept. 24.
I declare off at once; I will not be a squaw; I admire their talkingof the liberty of savages; in the most essential point, they areslaves: the mothers marry their children without ever consulting theirinclinations, and they are obliged to submit to this foolish tyranny.Dear England! wh
ere liberty appears, not as here among these odioussavages, wild and ferocious like themselves, but lovely, smiling, ledby the hand of the Graces. There is no true freedom any where else.They may talk of the privilege of chusing a chief; but what is that tothe dear English privilege of chusing a husband?
I have been at an Indian wedding, and have no patience. Never did Isee so vile an assortment.
Adieu! I shall not be in good humor this month.
Yours, A. Fermor.
LETTER 21.
To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.
Montreal, Sept. 24.
What you say, my dear friend, is more true than I wish it was; ourEnglish women of character are generally too reserved; their manner iscold and forbidding; they seem to think it a crime to be tooattractive; they appear almost afraid to please.
'Tis to this ill-judged reserve I attribute the low profligacy oftoo many of our young men; the grave faces and distant behaviour ofthe generality of virtuous women fright them from their acquaintance,and drive them into the society of those wretched votaries of vice,whose conversation debases every sentiment of their souls.
With as much beauty, good sense, sensibility, and softness, atleast, as any women on earth, no women please so little as the English:depending on their native charms, and on those really amiable qualitieswhich envy cannot deny them, they are too careless in acquiring thoseenchanting nameless graces, which no language can define, which giveresistless force to beauty, and even supply its place where it iswanting.