They are satisfied with being good, without considering thatunadorned virtue may command esteem, but will never excite love; andboth are necessary in marriage, which I suppose to be the state everywoman of honor has in prospect; for I own myself rather incredulous asto the assertions of maiden aunts and cousins to the contrary. I wishmy amiable countrywomen would consider one moment, that virtue isnever so lovely as when dressed in smiles: the virtue of women shouldhave all the softness of the sex; it should be gentle, it should beeven playful, to please.
There is a lady here, whom I wish you to see, as the shortest way ofexplaining to you all I mean; she is the most pleasing woman I everbeheld, independently of her being one of the handsomest; her manner isirresistible: she has all the smiling graces of France, all theblushing delicacy and native softness of England.
Nothing can be more delicate, my dear Temple, than the manner inwhich you offer me your estate in Rutland, by way of anticipating yourintended legacy: it is however impossible for me to accept it; myfather, who saw me naturally more profuse than became my expectations,took such pains to counterwork it by inspiring me with the love ofindependence, that I cannot have such an obligation even to you.
Besides, your legacy is left on the supposition that you are not tomarry, and I am absolutely determined you shall; so that, by acceptingthis mark of your esteem, I should be robbing your younger children.
I have not a wish to be richer whilst I am a batchelor, and the onlywoman I ever wished to marry, the only one my heart desires, will be inthree weeks the wife of another; I shall spend less than my incomehere: shall I not then be rich? To make you easy, know I have fourthousand pounds in the funds; and that, from the equality of livinghere, an ensign is obliged to spend near as much as I am; he isinevitably ruined, but I save money.
I pity you, my friend; I am hurt to hear you talk of happiness inthe life you at present lead; of finding pleasure in possessing venalbeauty; you are in danger of acquiring a habit which will vitiate yourtaste, and exclude you from that state of refined and tender friendshipfor which nature formed a heart like yours, and which is only to befound in marriage: I need not add, in a marriage of choice.
It has been said that love marriages are generally unhappy; nothingis more false; marriages of meer inclination will always be so:passion alone being concerned, when that is gratified, all tendernessceases of course: but love, the gay child of sympathy and esteem, is,when attended by delicacy, the only happiness worth a reasonable man'spursuit, and the choicest gift of heaven: it is a softer, tendererfriendship, enlivened by taste, and by the most ardent desire ofpleasing, which time, instead of destroying, will render every hourmore dear and interesting.
If, as you possibly will, you should call me romantic, hear a man ofpleasure on the subject, the Petronius of the last age, the elegant,but voluptuous St. Evremond, who speaks in the following manner of thefriendship between married persons:
"I believe it is this pleasing intercourse of tenderness, thisreciprocation of esteem, or, if you will, this mutual ardor ofpreventing each other in every endearing mark of affection, in whichconsists the sweetness of this second species of friendship.
"I do not speak of other pleasures, which are not so much inthemselves as in the assurance they give of the intire possession ofthose we love: this appears to me so true, that I am not afraid toassert, the man who is by any other means certainly assured of thetenderness of her he loves, may easily support the privation of thosepleasures; and that they ought not to enter into the account offriendship, but as proofs that it is without reserve.
"'Tis true, few men are capable of the purity of these sentiments,and 'tis for that reason we so very seldom see perfect friendship inmarriage, at least for any long time: the object which a sensualpassion has in view cannot long sustain a commerce so noble as that offriendship."
You see, the pleasures you so much boast are the least of thosewhich true tenderness has to give, and this in the opinion of avoluptuary.
My dear Temple, all you have ever known of love is nothing to thatsweet consent of souls in unison, that harmony of minds congenial toeach other, of which you have not yet an idea.
You have seen beauty, and it has inspired a momentary emotion, butyou have never yet had a real attachment; you yet know nothing of thatirresistible tenderness, that delirium of the soul, which, whilst itrefines, adds strength to passion.
I perhaps say too much, but I wish with ardor to see you happy; inwhich there is the more merit, as I have not the least prospect ofbeing so myself.
I wish you to pursue the plan of life which I myself think mostlikely to bring happiness, because I know our souls to be of the sameframe: we have taken different roads, but you will come back to mine.Awake to delicate pleasures, I have no taste for any other; there areno other for sensible minds. My gallantries have been few, rather (ifit is allowed to speak thus of one's self even to a friend) fromelegance of taste than severity of manners; I have loved seldom,because I cannot love without esteem.
Believe me, Jack, the meer pleasure of loving, even without areturn, is superior to all the joys of sense where the heart isuntouched: the French poet does not exaggerate when he says,
--Amour; Tous les autres plaisirs ne valent pas tes peines.
You will perhaps call me mad; I am just come from a woman who iscapable of making all mankind so. Adieu!
Yours, Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 22.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Sept. 25.
I have been rambling about amongst the peasants, and asking them athousand questions, in order to satisfy your inquisitive friend. As tomy father, though, properly speaking, your questions are addressed tohim, yet, being upon duty, he begs that, for this time, you will acceptof an answer from me.
The Canadians live a good deal like the ancient patriarchs; thelands were originally settled by the troops, every officer became aseigneur, or lord of the manor, every soldier took lands under hiscommander; but, as avarice is natural to mankind, the soldiers took agreat deal more than they could cultivate, by way of providing for afamily: which is the reason so much land is now waste in the finestpart of the province: those who had children, and in general they havea great number, portioned out their lands amongst them as they married,and lived in the midst of a little world of their descendants.
There are whole villages, and there is even a large island, that ofCoudre, where the inhabitants are all the descendants of one pair, ifwe only suppose that their sons went to the next village for wives, forI find no tradition of their having had a dispensation to marry theirsisters.
The corn here is very good, though not equal to ours; the harvestnot half so gay as in England, and for this reason, that the lazycreatures leave the greatest part of their land uncultivated, onlysowing as much corn of different sorts as will serve themselves; andbeing too proud and too idle to work for hire, every family gets inits own harvest, which prevents all that jovial spirit which we findwhen the reapers work together in large parties.
Idleness is the reigning passion here, from the peasant to his lord;the gentlemen never either ride on horseback or walk, but are drivenabout like women, for they never drive themselves, lolling at theirease in a calache: the peasants, I mean the masters of families, arepretty near as useless as their lords.
You will scarce believe me, when I tell you, that I have seen, atthe farm next us, two children, a very beautiful boy and girl, of abouteleven years old, assisted by their grandmother, reaping a field ofoats, whilst the lazy father, a strong fellow of thirty two, lay on thegrass, smoaking his pipe, about twenty yards from them: the old peopleand children work here; those in the age of strength and health onlytake their pleasure.
_A propos_ to smoaking, 'tis common to see here boys of threeyears old, sitting at their doors, smoaking their pipes, as grave andcomposed as little old Chinese men on a chimney.
You ask me after our fruits: we have, as I am told, an immensity ofcranberrie
s all the year; when the snow melts away in spring, they aresaid to be found under it as fresh and as good as in autumn:strawberries and rasberries grow wild in profusion; you cannot walk astep in the fields without treading on the former: great plenty ofcurrants, plumbs, apples, and pears; a few cherries and grapes, but notin much perfection: excellent musk melons, and water melons inabundance, but not so good in proportion as the musk. Not a peach, norany thing of the kind; this I am however convinced is less the faultof the climate than of the people, who are too indolent to take painsfor any thing more than is absolutely necessary to their existence.They might have any fruit here but gooseberries, for which the summeris too hot; there are bushes in the woods, and some have been broughtfrom England, but the fruit falls off before it is ripe. The wildfruits here, especially those of the bramble kind, are in much greatervariety and perfection than in England.
When I speak of the natural productions of the country, I should notforget that hemp and hops grow every where in the woods; I shouldimagine the former might be cultivated here with great success, if thepeople could be persuaded to cultivate any thing.
A little corn of every kind, a little hay, a little tobacco, half adozen apple trees, a few onions and cabbages, make the whole of aCanadian plantation. There is scarce a flower, except those in thewoods, where there is a variety of the most beautiful shrubs I eversaw; the wild cherry, of which the woods are full, is equally charmingin flower and in fruit; and, in my opinion, at least equals thearbutus.
They sow their wheat in spring, never manure the ground, and ploughit in the slightest manner; can it then be wondered at that it isinferior to ours? They fancy the frost would destroy it if sown inautumn; but this is all prejudice, as experience has shewn. I myselfsaw a field of wheat this year at the governor's farm, which wasmanured and sown in autumn, as fine as I ever saw in England.
I should tell you, they are so indolent as never to manure theirlands, or even their gardens; and that, till the English came, all themanure of Quebec was thrown into the river.
You will judge how naturally rich the soil must be, to produce goodcrops without manure, and without ever lying fallow, and almost withoutploughing; yet our political writers in England never speak of Canadawithout the epithet of _barren_. They tell me this extremefertility is owing to the snow, which lies five or six months on theground. Provisions are dear, which is owing to the prodigious number ofhorses kept here; every family having a carriage, even the poorestpeasant; and every son of that peasant keeping a horse for his littleexcursions of pleasure, besides those necessary for the business of thefarm. The war also destroyed the breed of cattle, which I am toldhowever begins to encrease; they have even so far improved in corn, asto export some this year to Italy and Spain.
Don't you think I am become an excellent farmeress? 'Tis intuition;some people are born learned: are you not all astonishment at myknowledge? I never was so vain of a letter in my life.
Shall I own the truth? I had most of my intelligence from old John,who lived long with my grandfather in the country; and who, havinglittle else to do here, has taken some pains to pick up a competentknowledge of the state of agriculture five miles round Quebec.
Adieu! I am tired of the subject.
Your faithful, A. Fermor.
Now I think of it, why did you not write to your brother? Did youchuse me to expose my ignorance? If so, I flatter myself you are alittle taken in, for I think John and I figure in the rural way.
LETTER 23.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Sept. 29, 10 o'clock.
O to be sure! we are vastly to be pitied: no beaux at all with thegeneral; only about six to one; a very pretty proportion, and what Ihope always to see. We, the ladies I mean, drink chocolate with thegeneral to-morrow, and he gives us a ball on Thursday; you would notknow Quebec again; nothing but smiling faces now; all so gay as neverwas, the sweetest country in the world; never expect to see me inEngland again; one is really somebody here: I have been asked to danceby only twenty-seven.
On the subject of dancing, I am, as it were, a little embarrassed:you will please to observe that, in the time of scarcity, when all themen were at Montreal, I suffered a foolish little captain to sigh andsay civil things to me, _pour passer le tems_, and the creaturetakes the airs of a lover, to which he has not the least pretensions,and chuses to be angry that I won't dance with him on Thursday, and Ipositively won't.
It is really pretty enough that every absurd animal, who takes uponhim to make love to one, is to fancy himself entitled to a return: Ihave no patience with the men's ridiculousness: have you, Lucy?
But I see a ship coming down under full sail; it may be Emily andher friends: the colours are all out, they slacken sail; they dropanchor opposite the house; 'tis certainly them; I must fly to thebeach: music as I am a person, and an awning on the deck: the boat putsoff with your brother in it. Adieu for a moment: I must go and invitethem on shore.
2 o'clock.
'Twas Emily and Mrs. Melmoth, with two or three very pretty Frenchwomen; your brother is a happy man: I found tea and coffee under theawning, and a table loaded with Montreal fruit, which is vastly betterthan ours; by the way, the colonel has brought me an immensity; he isso gallant and all that: we regaled ourselves, and landed; they dinehere, and we dance in the evening; we are to have a syllabub in thewood: my father has sent for Sir George and Major Melmoth, and half adozen of the most agreable men, from Quebec: he is enchanted with hislittle Emily, he loved her when she was a child. I cannot tell you howhappy I am; my Emily is handsomer than ever; you know how partial I amto beauty: I never had a friendship for an ugly woman in my life.
Adieu! _ma tres chere_. Yours, A. Fermor.
Your brother looks like an angel this morning; he is not drest, heis not undrest, but somehow, easy, elegant and enchanting: he has nopowder, and his hair a little _degagee_, blown about by the wind,and agreably disordered; such fire in his countenance; his eyes say athousand agreable things; he is in such spirits as I never saw him:not a man of them has the least chance to-day. I shall be in love withhim if he goes on at this rate: not that it will be to any purpose inthe world; he never would even flirt with me, though I have made him athousand advances.
My heart is so light, Lucy, I cannot describe it: I love Emily at mysoul: 'tis three years since I saw her, and there is something soromantic in finding her in Canada: there is no saying how happy I am: Iwant only you, to be perfectly so.
3 o'clock.
The messenger is returned; Sir George is gone with a party of Frenchladies to Lake Charles: Emily blushed when the message was delivered;he might reasonably suppose they would be here to-day, as the wind wasfair: your brother dances with my sweet friend; she loses nothing bythe exchange; she is however a little piqued at this appearance ofdisrespect.
12 o'clock.
Sir George came just as we sat down to supper; he did right, hecomplained first, and affected to be angry she had not sent an expressfrom _Point au Tremble_. He was however gayer than usual, and veryattentive to his mistress; your brother seemed chagrined at hisarrival; Emily perceived it, and redoubled her politeness to him, whichin a little time restored part of his good humor: upon the whole, itwas an agreable evening, but it would have been more so, if Sir Georgehad come at first, or not at all.
The ladies lie here, and we go all together in the morning toQuebec; the gentlemen are going.
I steal a moment to seal, and give this to the colonel, who will putit in his packet to-morrow.
LETTER 24.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Quebec, Sept. 30.
Would you believe it possible, my dear, that Sir George shoulddecline attending Emily Montague from Montreal, and leave the pleasingcommission to me? I am obliged to him for the three happiest days of mylife, yet am piqued at his chusing me for a _cecisbeo_ to hismistress: he seems to think me a man _sans consequence_, with whoma lady may safely be trusted; there is nothing
very flattering in sucha kind of confidence: let him take care of himself, if he isimpertinent, and sets me at defiance; I am not vain, but set ourfortunes aside, and I dare enter the lists with Sir George Clayton. Icannot give her a coach and six; but I can give her, what is moreconducive to happiness, a heart which knows how to value herperfections.
I never had so pleasing a journey; we were three days coming down,because we made it a continual party of pleasure, took music with us,landed once or twice a day, visited the French families we knew, layboth nights on shore, and danced at the seigneur's of the village.
This river, from Montreal to Quebec, exhibits a scene perhaps not tobe matched in the world: it is settled on both sides, though thesettlements are not so numerous on the south shore as on the other: thelovely confusion of woods, mountains, meadows, corn fields, rivers (forthere are several on both sides, which lose themselves in the St.Lawrence), intermixed with churches and houses breaking upon you at adistance through the trees, form a variety of landscapes, to which itis difficult to do justice.
This charming scene, with a clear serene sky, a gentle breeze in ourfavor, and the conversation of half a dozen fine women, would have madethe voyage pleasing to the most insensible man on earth: my Emily tooof the party, and most politely attentive to the pleasure she saw I hadin making the voyage agreable to her.
I every day love her more; and, without considering the improprietyof it, I cannot help giving way to an inclination, in which I find suchexquisite pleasure; I find a thousand charms in the least trifle I cando to oblige her.