 Section 5 of the History of Emile Montague Vol. 2 by Francis Moorbrook. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 5 Letters 95 to 104 Cast List Arabella Firmor, read by Grace Buchanan John Temple, read by Alan Mapstone Lucy Rivers, read by Lian Yao Edward Rivers, read by Jim Locke William Firmor, read by Kevin S narrated by Sonia Letter 95 To Miss Rivers' Clarges Street, Cilory, March 20 I have been telling Fitzgerald I am jealous of his prodigious attention to Emile, whose cheek's beo he has been the last ten days. The simpleton took me seriously and began to vindicate himself by explaining the nature of his regard for her, pleading her late in disposition as an excuse for showing her some extraordinary civilities. I let him harang ten minutes, then stops me him short, puts on my poetical face, and repeats. When sweet Emile complains I have sense of all her pains, but for little Bella I do not only grieve but die. He smiled, kissed my hand, praised my amazing penetration, and was going to take this opportunity of saying a thousand civil things. When my divine rivers appeared on the side of the hill, I flew to meet him and left my love to finish the conversation alone. 12 o'clock I am the happiest of all possible women. Fitzgerald is in the sullen's about your brother. Surely there is no pleasure in nature equal to that of plaguing a fellow who really loves one, especially if he has as much merit as Fitzgerald, for otherwise he would not be worth tormenting. He had better not pout with me. I believe I know who will be tired first. 8 o'clock in the evening I have passed a most delicious day. Fitzgerald took it into his wise head to endeavour to make me jealous of a little pert French woman, the wife of Aquadessin Louis, who I know he despises. I then thought myself at full liberty to play off all my heirs, which I did with ineffable success, and have sent him home in a humour to hang himself. Your brother stays the evening. So does a very handsome fellow I have been flirting with all the day. Fitz was engaged here too, but I told him it was impossible for him not to attend Madame La Brosse to Quebec. He looked at me with a spite in his countenance, which charmed me to the soul, and handed the fair lady to his carry-o. I'll teach him to coo-kay, Lucy. Let him take his Madame La Brosse. Indeed, as her husband is at Montréal, I don't see how he can avoid pursuing his conquest. I am delighted, because I know she is his aversion. Emily calls me to cards, adieu, my dear little Lucy. Yours, eh, Fermo? Later, 96. To Colonel Rivers at Quebec. Palmao, January the 3rd. I have but a moment, my dear Ned, to tell you that without so much as asking your leave, and in spite of all your wise admonitions, your lovely sister has this morning consented to make me the happiest of mankind. Tomorrow gives me all that is excellent and charming in woman. You are to look on my writing this letter as the strongest proof I ever did, or ever can give you, of my friendship. I must love you with no common affection to remember at this moment that there is such a man in being. Perhaps you owe this recollection only to your being brother to the loveliest woman nature ever formed, whose charms in a month have done more towards my conversion than seven years of your preaching would have done. I am going back to Clare Street. Adieu. Yours, et cetera. John Temple. Later, 97. To Colonel Rivers at Quebec. Clare Street, January the 3rd. I am afraid you knew very little of the sex, my dear brother, when you cautioned me so strongly against loving Mr. Temple. I should perhaps, with all his merit, have never thought of him before that caution. There is something very interesting to female curiosity in the idea of these very formidable men, whom no woman can see without danger. We gaze on the terrible creature at a distance, see nothing in him so very alarming. He approaches. Our little heart's paupetage with fear. He is gentle, attentive, respectful. We are surprised at this respect. We are sure the world wrongs the dear civil creature. He flatters. We are pleased with his flattery. Our little heart still paupetate, but not with fear. In short, my dear brother, if you wish to serve a friend with us, describe him as the most dangerous of his sex. The very idea that he is so makes us think resistance vain, and we throw down our defensive arms in absolute despair. I am not sure this is the reason of my discovering Mr. Temple to be the most amiable of men, but of this I am certain that I love him with the most lively affection and that I am convinced, notwithstanding all you have said, that he deserves all my tenderness. Indeed, my dear prudent brother, you men fancy yourselves extremely wise and penetrating, but you don't know each other half so well as we know you. I shall make Temple in a few weeks as tame a domestic animal as you can possibly be, even with your Emily. I hope you won't be very angry with me for accepting an agreeable fellow and a coach in six. If you are, I can only say that finding the dear man steal every day upon my heart and recollecting how very dangerous a creature he was. I held it both safest and best to marry for fear you should child. Adieu. Your affectionate, et cetera, Lucy Rivers, pleased to observe my marbles on Mr. Temple's side and that I only take him from obedience to her commands. He has behaved like an angel to her, but I leave himself to explain how. She has promised to live with us. We are going to a party to Richmond and only wait for Mr. Temple. With all my pertness, I trembled at the idea that tomorrow will determine the happiness or misery of my life. Adieu, my dearest brother. Letter 98. To John Temple Esquire, Paul Maul, Quebec, March 21. Were I convinced of your conversion, my dear Jack, I should be the happiest man breathing in the thought of your marrying my sister. But I tremble thus this resolution should be the effect of passion merely and not of that subtle esteem and tender confidence without which mutual repentance will be the necessary consequence of your connection. Lucy is one of the most beautiful women I ever knew, but she has merits of a much superior kind. Her understanding and her heart are equally lovely. She has also a sensibility which exceedingly alarms me for her as I know it is next to impossible that even her charms can fix a heart. So long are accustomed to change. Do I not guess too truly, my dear Temple, when I suppose the charming mistress is the only object you have in view and that the tender, amiable friend, the pleasing companion, the faithful confidant, is forgot? I will not, however, anticipate evils. If any merit has power to fix you, Lucy's cannot fail of doing it. I expect with impatience a further account of an event in which my happiness is so extremely interested. If she is yours, may you know her value and you cannot fail of being happy. I only fear from your long habit of improper attachments. Naturally, I know not a heart filled with nobler sentiments than yours, nor is there unearth a man for whom I have equal esteem. Adieu, your affectionate Ed Rivers. Letter 99. To John Temple Esquire Paul Mall, Quebec, March 23rd. I've received your second letter, my dear Temple, with the account of your marriage. Nothing could make me so happy as an event which unites a sister I idolize to the friend on earth most dear to me. Did I not tremble for your future happiness from my perfect knowledge of both? I know the sensibility of Lucy's temper and that she loves you. I know also the difficulty of weaning the heart from such a habit of inconstancy as you have unhappily acquired. Virtues like Lucy's will forever command your esteem and friendship but in marriage it is equally necessary to keep love alive. Her beauty, her gaiety, her delicacy will do much but it is also necessary, my dearest Temple, that you keep a guard on your heart accustomed to liberty to give way to every light impression. I need not tell you who have experienced the truth of what I say that happiness is not to be found in a life of intrigue, there is no real pleasure in the possession of beauty without the heart. With it the fears, the anxieties, a man not absolutely destitute of humanity must feel for the honor of her who ventures more than life for him must extremely counterbalance his transports. Of all the situations this world affords a marriage of choice gives the fairest prospect of happiness. Without love life would be a tasteless void and unconnected human being is the most wretched of all creatures. By love I would be understood to mean that tender, lively friendship, that mixed sensation which the libertine never felt and with which I flattered myself my amiable sister cannot fail of inspiring a heart naturally virtuous however at present warped by a foolish compliance with the world. I hope my dear temple to see you recover your taste for those pleasures peculiarly fitted to our natures to see you enjoy the pure delights of peaceful domestic life, the calm social evening hour, the circle of friends, the prattling offspring and the tender impassioned smile of real love. Your generosity is no more than I expected from your character and to convince you of my perfect esteem I so far accepted as to draw out the money I have in the funds which I intended for my sister. It will make my settlement here turn to greater advantage and I allow you the pleasure of convincing Lucy of the perfect disinterestedness of your affection. It would be a trifle to you and will make me happy but I am more delicate in regard to my mother and will never consent to resume the estate I have settled on her. I esteem you above all mankind but will not let her be dependent even on you. I consent she visit you as often as she pleases but insist on her continuing her house in town and living in every respect as she has been accustomed. As to Lucy's own little fortune as it is not worth your receiving suppose she lays it out in jewels. I love to see beauty adorned and 2,000 pounds added to what you have given her will set her on a footing in this respect with a nabo best. Your marriage my dear temple removes the strongest objection to mine the money I have in the funds which whilst Lucy was unmarried I never would have taken enables me to fix to great advantage here. I've now only to try whether Emily's friendship for me is sufficiently strong to give up all hopes of a return to England. I shall make an immediate trial. You shall know the event in a few days. If she refuses me, I bid adieu to all my schemes and embark in the first ship. Give my kindest, tenderest wishes to my mother and sister, my dear temple only know the value of the treasure you possess and you must be happy. Adieu, your affectionate ed rivers. Letter 100. To the Earl of Blank. Silherri, March 24th. My lord, nothing can be more just than your lordship's observation and I am the more pleased with it as it coincides with what I had the honor of saying to you in my last. In regard to the impropriety, the cruelty, I had almost said the injustice of your intention of deserting the world of which you are at once the ornament and the example. Good people, as your lordship observes are generally too retired and abstracted to let their example be of much service to the world whereas the bad on the contrary are conspicuous to all. They stand forth. They appear on the foreground of the picture and force themselves into observation. Tis to that circumstance I am persuaded we may attribute that dangerous and too common mistake that vices natural to the human heart and virtuous characters, the creatures of fancy. A mistake of the most fatal tendency is it tends to harden our hearts and destroy that mutual confidence so necessary to keep the bands of society from loosening without which man is the most ferocious of all beasts of prey. Would all those whose virtues like your lordships are adorned by politeness and knowledge of the world mix more in society? We should soon see vice hide her head. Would all the good appear in full view? They would I am convinced be found infinitely the majority. Virtue is too lovely to be hidden cells. The world is her scene of action. She is soft, gentle and indulgent. Let her appear then in her own form and she must charm. Let politeness be forever her attendant. That politeness which can give gracious even device itself which makes superiority easy removes the sense of inferiority and adds to everyone's enjoyment both of himself and others. I'm interrupted and must postpone till tomorrow what I have further to say to your lordship. I have the honor to be my lord, your lordships, et cetera. W. Firmhorn. Letter 101. To Mrs. Temple, Pal Mal, Cilory, March 25. Your brother, my dear Lucy, has made me happy in communicating to me the account he has received of your marriage. I know, Temple, he is besides being very handsome, a fine, sprightly agreeable fellow and is particularly formed to keep a woman's mind in that kind of play, that gentle agitation which will forever secure her affection. He has, in my opinion, just as much coquetry as is necessary to prevent marriage from degenerating into that sleepy kind of existence, which to minds of the awakened turn of yours and mine would be insupportable. He has also a fine fortune which I hold to be a pretty enough ingredient in marriage. In short, he is just such a man upon the whole as I should have chosen for myself. Make my congratulations to the dear man and tell him if he is not the happiest man in the world, he will forfeit all his pretensions to taste. And if he does not make you the happiest woman, he forfeits all title to my favor as well as to the favor of the whole sex. I meant to say something civil, but to tell you the truth, I am not enthroned. I am excessively out of humor. Fitzgerald has not been here of several days. He spends his whole time in galanting Madame Le Brass, a woman to whom he knows I have an aversion and who has nothing but a tolerable complexion and a modest assurance to recommend her. I certainly gave him some provocation, but this is too much. However, it is very well. I don't think I shall break my heart, though my vanity is a little peaked. I may perhaps live to take my revenge. I am hurt because I began really to like the creature, a secret, however, to which he is happily a stranger. I shall see him tomorrow at the governor's and suppose he will be in his penitentials. I have some doubt whether I shall let him dance with me. Yet it would look so particular to refuse him that I believe I shall do him the honor. Adieu, your affectionate, A. Vermaugh. 26th Thursday, 11 at night. No, Lucy, if I forgive him this, I have lost all the free spirit of woman. He had the insolence to dance with Madame Le Brass tonight at the governor's. I never will forgive him. There are men perhaps quite his equals. But is no matter. I do him too much honor to be peaked. Yet on the footing we were. I could not have believed. Adieu. I was so certain he would have danced with me that I refused Colonel H, one of the most agreeable men in the place, and therefore could not dance at all. Nothing hurt me so much as the impertinent looks of the women. I could cry for vexation. Would your brother have behaved thus to Emily? But why do I name other men with your brother? Do you know he and Emily had the good nature to refuse to dance that my sitting still might be the less taken notice of? We all played at cards, and rivers contrived to be of my party, by which he would have won Emily's heart if he had not had it before. Good night. Letter 102. To Mrs. Temple, Paul Maul, Quebec, March 27th. I've been twice at Soleri with the intention of declaring my passion and explaining my situation to Emily, but have been prevented by a company which made it impossible for me to find the opportunity I wished. Had I found that opportunity, I am not sure I should have made use of it. A degree of timidity is inseparable from true tenderness, and I'm afraid of declaring myself a lover, lest if not beloved, I should lose the happiness I at present possess in visiting her as her friend. I cannot give up the dear delight I find in seeing her and hearing her voice, in tracing and admiring every sentiment of that lovely unaffected generous mind as it rises. In short, my Lucy, I cannot live without her esteem and friendship. And though her eyes, her attention to me, her whole manner, encourage me in the hope of being beloved, yet the possibility of my being mistaken makes me dread an explanation by which I hazard losing the lively pleasure I find in her friendship. This timidity, however, must be conquered, tis pardonable to feel it, but not to give way to it. I've ordered my carry-all and am determined to make my attack this very morning like a man of courage and a soldier. Adieu, your affectionate Ed Rivers, a letter from Bell Farmer to whom I wrote this morning on the subject. To Colonel Rivers at Quebec,cillary Friday morning, you are a foolish creature and know nothing of women. Dine atcillary and we will air after dinner. It is a glorious day, and if you are timid in a covered carry-all, I give you up. Adieu, yours, Ed Farmer. Letter 103. To Mrs. Temple, Paul Mall, Quebec, March 27th, 11 at night. She is an angel, my dear Lucy, and no words can do her justice. I'm the happiest of mankind. I painted my passion with all the moving eloquence of undissembled love. She heard me with the most flattering attention. She said little but her looks, her air, her tone of voice, her blushes, her various silence. How could I ever doubt her tenderness? Have not those lovely eyes a thousand times betrayed the dear secret of her heart? My Lucy, we were formed for each other. Our souls are of intelligence. Every thought, every idea from the first moment I beheld her. I have a thousand things to say but the tumult of my joy. She has given me leave to write to her. What has she not said in that permission? I cannot go to bed. I will go and walk an hour on the battery. It is the loveliest night I ever beheld, even in Canada. The day is scarce brighter. One in the morning. I've had the sweetest walk imaginable. The moon shines with a splendor I never saw before. A thousand streaming meteors add to her brightness. I've stood gazing on the lovely planet and delighting myself with the idea that is the same moon that lights my Emily. Good night, my Lucy. I love you beyond all expression. I always loved you tenderly but there is a softness about my heart tonight, this lovely woman. I know not what I would say but till this night I could never be said to live. Adieu, your affectionate Ed Rivers. RETA-104 To Mrs. Temple, Paul Mall, Quebec, 28th March. I had this morning a short billet from her dear hand in treating me to make up a quarrel between Belle Firmare and her lover. Your friend has been indiscreet. Her spirit of coquetry is eternally carrying her wrong. But in my opinion, Fitzgerald has been at least equally to blame. His behavior at the Governor's on Thursday night was inexcusable as it exposed her to the sneers of a whole circle of her own sex. Many of them jealous of her perfections. A lover should overlook little caprices where the heart is good and amiable like bells. I should think myself particularly obliged to bring this affair to an amicable conclusion even if Emily had not desired it as I was originally the innocent cause of their quarrel. In my opinion, he ought to beg her pardon and as a friend tenderly interested for both I have a right to tell him I think so. He loves her and I know must suffer greatly though a foolish pride prevents his acknowledging it. My greatest fear is that an idle resentment may engage him in an intrigue with the lady in question who is a woman of gallantry and whom he may find very troublesome hereafter. It is much easier to commence an affair of this kind than to break it off and a man though his heart was disengaged should be always on his guard against anything like an attachment where his affections are not really interested. Mere passion or mere vanity will support an affair en passant but where the least degree of constancy and attention are expected, the heart must feel or the lover is subjecting himself to a slavery as irksome as a marriage without inclination. Temple will tell you I speak like an oracle for I have often seen him led by vanity into this very disagreeable situation. I hope I am not too late to save Fitzgerald from it. Six in the evening all goes well. His proud heart has come down. He has begged her pardon and is be given. You have no idea how civil both are to me for having persuaded them to do what each of them has long to do from the first moment. I love to advise when I'm sure the heart of the person advised is on my side, both were to blame but I always love to save the ladies from anything mortifying to the dignity of their characters. A little pride in love becomes them but not us and as always our part to submit on these occasions I never saw two happier people than they are at present as I have a little preserved decorum on both sides and taken the whole trouble of the reconciliation on myself. Bell knows nothing of my having applied to Fitzgerald nor he that I did it at Emily's request. My conversation with him on this subject seemed accidental. I was obliged to leave them having business in town but my lovely Emily thanked me by a smile which quit overpaid thousands of little services. I am to spend tomorrow at Solari. How long shall I think this evening? I do my tenderest wishes attend you all. Your affectionate at Rivers. End of section five. Section six of the history of Emily Montague volume two by Francis Moore Brook. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Section six. Letters 105 to 114. Cast list. Emily Montague, read by Emma Hatton. Arabella Fairmore, read by Grace Buchanan. Edward Rivers, read by Jim Locke. Narrated by Sonya. Letter 105. To Mrs. Temple, Palmao. Silerie, March 27th evening. Fitzgerald has been here and has begged my pardon. He declares he had no thought of displeasing me at the governors but from my behavior was afraid of importuning me if he addressed me as usual. I thought who would come to first. For my part, if he had stayed away forever I would not have suffered papa to invite him to Silerie. It was easy to see his neglect was all peak. It would have been extraordinary indeed if such a woman as Madame Labros could have rivaled me. I am something younger and if either my glass or the men are to be believed as handsome. Atre knew there is some little difference if she was not so very fair she would be absolutely ugly and these very fair women you know Lucy are always insipid. She is the taste of no man breathing though eternally making advances to every man without spirit, fire, understanding, vivacity or any quality capable of making amends for the mediocrity of her charms. Her insolence in attempting to attach Fitzgerald is intolerable especially when the whole province knows him to be my lover. There is no expressing to what degree I hate her. The next time we meet I hope to return her impertence on Thursday night at the governors. I will never forgive Fitzgerald if he takes the least notice of her. Emily has read my letter and says she did not think I had so much of the woman in me. Insists on my being civil to Madame Labros but if I am Lucy, these French women are not to be supported. They fancy vanity and assurance are to make up for the want of every other virtue. Forgetting that delicacy, softness, sensibility, tenderness are attractions to which they are strangers. Some of them here are however tolerably handsome and have a degree of liveliness which makes them not quite insupportable. You will call all this spite as Emily does so I will say no more. Only that in order to show her how very easy it is to be civil to arrival. I wish for the pleasure of seeing another French lady that I could mention at Quebec. Good night, my dear. Tell Temple I am everything but in love with him, your faithful, a vermore. I will however own. I encouraged Fitzgerald by a kind look. I was so pleased at his return that I could not keep up the farce of disdain I had projected. In love affairs, I am afraid. We are all fools alike. Letter 106. To Miss Firmar, Saturday noon. Come to my dressing room, my dear. I have a thousand things to say to you. I want to talk of rivers to tell you all the weaknesses of my soul. No, my dear, I cannot love him more. A passion like mine will not admit addition. From the first moment I saw him, my whole soul was his. I knew not that I was dear to him, but true genuine love is self-existent and does not depend on being beloved. I should have loved him, even had he been attached to another. This declaration has made me the happiest of my sex, but it has not increased. It could not increase. My tenderness, with what softness, what diffidence, what respect, what delicacy, was this declaration made. My dear friend, he is a God. And my ardent affection for him is fully justified. I love him. No words can speak how much I love him. My passion for him is the first and shall be the last of my life. My bosom never heaved aside but for my rivers. Will you pardon the folly of a heart which till now was a shame to its own feelings and of which you are even now the only confident? I find all the world so insipid. Nothing amuses me one moment. In short, I have no pleasure but in rivers' conversation, nor do I count the hours of its absence in my existence. I know all this will be called folly, but it is a folly which makes all the happiness of my life. You love, my dear Belle, and, therefore, will pardon the weakness of your Emily. Letter 107. To Miss Montague, Saturday. Yes, my dear, I love. At least I think so. But thanks to my stars, not in the manner you do, I prefer Fitzgerald to all the rest of his sex, but I count the hours of his absence in my existence and contrive sometimes to pass them pleasantly enough if any other agreeable man is in the way. In short, I relish flattery and attention from others, though I infinitely prefer them from him. I certainly love him, for I was jealous of Madame Le Brass. But in general I am not alarmed when I see him flirt a little with others. Perhaps my vanity was as much wounded as my love with regard to Madame Le Brass. I find love is quite a different plant in different soils. It is an exotic and grows faintly with us Cucayes, but in its native climate with you people of sensibility and sentiment. Adieu, I will attend you in a quarter of an hour. Yours, a Fermor. Letter 108. To Miss Fermor. Not alarmed, my dear, to his attention to others. Believe me, you know nothing of love. I think every woman who beholds my rivers as a rival. I imagine I see in every female countenance a passion tender and lively as my own. I turn pale, my heart dies within me. If I observe his eyes a moment fixed on any other woman, I tremble at the possibility of his changing. I cannot support the idea that the time may come when I may be less dear to my rivers than at present. Do you believe it possible, my dear, a spell for any heart not pre-possessed to be insensible one moment to my rivers? He is formed to charm the soul of a woman, his delicacy, his sensibility, the mind that speaks through those eloquent eyes, the thousand graces of his air, the sound of his voice. My dear, I never heard him speak without feeling a softness of which it is impossible to convey an idea, but I am wrong to encourage a tenderness which is already too great. I will think less of him. I will not talk of him. Do not speak of him to me, my dear Belle. Talk to me of Fritz Gerald. There is no danger of your passion becoming too violent. I wish you loved more tenderly, my dearest. You would then be more indulgent to my weakness. I am ashamed of owning it even to you. Ashamed, did I say? No, I rather glory in loving the most amiable, the most angelic of mankind. Speak of him to me forever. I abhor all conversation of which he is not the subject. I am interrupted. I do, your faithful Emily. My dearest, I tremble. He is at the door. How shall I meet him without betraying all weaknesses of my heart? Come to me this moment. I will not go down without you. Your father is to come fetch me. Follow me. I entreat. I cannot see him alone. My heart is too much softened at this moment. He must not know to what excess he is beloved. Letter 109. To Mrs. Temple, Paul Mall, Quebec, March 28. I met President, my dear Lucy, extremely embarrassed. Madame de Roche is at Quebec. It is impossible for me not to be more than polite to her. Yet my Emily has all my heart and demands all my attention. There is but one way of seeing them both as often as I wish, tis to bring them as often as possible together. I wish extremely that Emily would visit her but tis a point of the utmost delicacy to manage. Will it not, on reflection, be cruel to Madame de Roche? I know her generosity of mine, but I also know the weakness of the human heart. Can she see with pleasure a beloved rival? My Lucy, I never so much wanted your advice. I will consult Bell firmer, who knows every thought of my Emily's heart. 11 o'clock. I have visited Madame de Roche at her relations. She received me with a pleasure, which was too visible not to be observed by all present. She blushed, her voice faltered when she addressed me. Her eyes had a softness, which seemed to reproach my insensibility. I was shocked at the idea of having inspired her with a tenderness, not in my power to return. I was afraid of increasing that tenderness. I scarce dared to meet her looks. I've built a criminal in the presence of this amiable woman. For both our sakes, I must see her seldom. Yet what an appearance will my neglect have after the attention she has showed me and the friendship she has expressed for me to all the world. I know not what to determine. I'm going to Solari adieu to my return. Eight o'clock. I've entreated Emily to admit Madame de Roche among the number of her friends and have asked her to visit her tomorrow morning. She changed color at my request, but promised to go. I almost repent of what I've done. I am to attend Emily and bell firmer to Madame de Roche in the morning. I'm afraid I shall introduce them with a very bad grace. Adieu, your affectionate ed rivers. Letter 110. To Miss firmer, Sunday morning. Could you have believed he would have expected such a proof of my desire to oblige him? But what can he ask that his Emily will refuse? I will see this friend of his, this Madame de Roche's. I will even love her if it is in woman to be so disinterested. She loves him, he sees her. They say she is amiable. I could have wished her visit to Quebec had been delayed. But he comes, he looks up. His eyes seem to thank me for the success of complacence. What is there I would not do to give him pleasure? Six o'clock. Do you think her so very pleasing, my dear Belle? She has fine eyes, but have they not more fire than softness? There was a vivacity in her manner which hurt me extremely. Could she have behaved with such unconcerned, had she loved as I do? Do you think it possible, Belle, for a French woman to love? Is not vanity the ruling passion of their hearts? May not rivers be deceived in supposing her so much attached to him? Was there not some degree of affectation or particular attention to me? I cannot help thinking her artful. Perhaps I am prejudiced. She may be amiable, but I will own. She does not please me. Rivers beg me to have a friendship for her. I am afraid this is more than is in my power. Friendship, like love, is the child of sympathy, not of constraint. Hadou, yours, Emily Montague. Letter 111. To Miss Montague, Monday. The enclosed, my dear, is as much to you as to me, perhaps more. I pardon the lady for thinking you the handsomest. Is not this the strongest proof I could give of my friendship? Perhaps I should have been peaked, however had the preference been given by a man. But I can, with great tranquility, allow you to be the women's beauty. Dictate an answer to your little Belle, who waits your commands at her bureau. Adieu. To Miss Firmar, as Celery, Monday, you and your lovely friend obliged me beyond words, my dear Belle, by your visit of yesterday. Madame de Roche is charmed with you both. You will not be displeased when I tell you she gives Emily the preference. She says she is beautiful as an angel, that she should think the man insensible who could see her without love, that she is too strong to use her own word beyond anything she ever beheld. She, however, does justice to your charms, though Emily's seem to affect her most. She even allows you to be perhaps more the taste of men in general. She intends paying her respects to you and Emily this afternoon and has sent to desire me to conduct her. As it is so far, I would wish to find you at home. Yours, Ed Rivers. Letter 112. To Miss Firmar, always, Madame de Roche's, but let her come. Indeed, my dear, she is artful. She gains upon him by this appearance of generosity. I cannot return it. I do not love her, yet I will receive her with politeness. He is to drive her too, but tis no matter if the tenderest affection can secure his heart, I have nothing to fear. Loving him as I do, it is impossible not to be apprehensive. Indeed, my dear, he knows not how I love him. How do you, your Emily? Letter 113. To Miss Firmar, Monday evening. Surely I am the weakest of my sex. I am ashamed to tell you all my feelings. I cannot conquer my dislike to Madame de Roche's. She said a thousand obliging things to me. She praised my rivers. I made her no answer. I even felt tears ready to start. What must she think of me? There is a meanness in my jealousy of her, which I cannot forgive myself. I cannot account for her attention to me. It is not natural. She behaved to me not only with politeness, but with the appearance of affection. She seems to feel and pity my confusion. She is either the most artful or the most noble of women. How do you, your Emily? Letter 114. To Mrs. Temple, Palmao, Cillory, March 29. We are going to dine at a farmhouse in the country, where we are to meet other company and have a ball. The snow begins a little to soften from the warmth of the sun, which is greater than in England in May. Our winter parties are almost at an end. My father drives Madame de Roche, who is of our party, and your brother, Emily. I hope the little fool will be easy now, Lucy. She is very humble to be jealous of one, who though really very pleasing, is neither so young nor so handsome as herself, and who professes to wish only for Rivers' friendship. But I have no right to say a word on this subject, after having been so extremely hurt at Fitzgerald's attention to such a woman as Madame Lavras, and attention too, which was so plainly meant to pique me. We are all, I am afraid, a little absurd in these affairs, and therefore ought to have some degree of indulgence for others. Emily and I, however, differ in our ideas of love. It is the business of her life, the amusement of mine, tis the food of her hours, the seasoning of mine, or in other words, she loves like a foolish woman, I like a sensible man, for men you know compared to women, love in about the proportion of one to 20, tis a mighty wrong thing after all, Lucy, that parents will educate creatures so differently, who are to live with and for each other. Every possible means is used even from infancy to soften the minds of women and to harden those of men. The contrary endeavor might be of use, for the men creatures are unfeeling enough by nature, and we are born too tremblingly alive to love, and indeed to every soft affection. Your brother is almost the only one of his sex I know who has the tenderness of woman with the spirit and firmness of man, a circumstance which strikes every woman who converses with him and which contributes to make him the favorite he is amongst us. Foolish women who cannot distinguish characters may possibly give the preference to a coxcomb, but I will venture to say no woman of sense was ever much acquainted with Colonel Rivers without feeling for him an affection of some kind or other. Apropos to women, the estimable part of us are divided into two classes only, the tender and the lively. The former, at the head of which I place Emily, are infinitely more capable of happiness, but to counterbalance this advantage, they are also capable of misery in the same degree. We of the other class who feel less keenly are perhaps upon the whole as happy, at least I would feign think so. For example, if Emily and I marry our present lovers, she will certainly be more exquisitely happy than I shall, but if they should change their minds or any accident prevent our coming together, I am inclined to fancy my situation would be much the most agreeable. I should pout a month and then look about for another lover, whilst the tender Emily would sit like patience on a monument and pine herself into a consumption. Adieu, they wait for me, yours a fair more. Tuesday, midnight, we have had a very agreeable day, Lucy, a pretty enough kind of a ball and everybody in good humor. I danced with Fitzgerald, whom I never knew so agreeable. Happy love is gay, I find. Emily is all sprightliness. Your brother's eyes have never left her one moment and her blushes seemed to show her sense of the distinction. I never knew her look so handsome as this day. Do you know I felt for Madame De Roche? Emily was excessively complacent to her. She returned her civility, but I could perceive a kind of constraint in her manner, very different from the ease of her behavior when we saw her before. She felt the attention of rivers to Emily very strongly. In short, the ladies seemed to have changed characters for the day. We supped with your brother on our return and from his windows, which look on the River St. Charles, had the pleasure of observing one of the most beautiful objects imaginable, which I never remember to have seen before this evening. You are to observe. The winter method of fishing here is to break openings like small fish ponds on the ice to which the fish coming for air are taken in prodigious quantities on the surface. To shelter themselves from the excessive cold of the night, the fishermen build small houses of ice on the river, which are arranged in a semi-circular form and extend near a quarter of a mile and which from the blazing fires within have a brilliant transparency and vivid luster, not easy either to imagine or to describe. The starry semi-circle looks an immense crescent of diamonds on which the sun darts his meridian rays. Absolutely, Lucy, you see nothing in Europe. You are cultivated, you have the tame beauties of art. But to see nature in her lovely, wild luxuriance, you must visit your brother when he is prince of the Kamaraskas. Adieu, your faithful ephemer. The variety as well of grand objects as of amusements in this country confirms me in an opinion I have always had that Providence had made the conveniences and inconveniences of life nearly equal everywhere. We have pleasures here even in winter, peculiar to the climate, which counterbalance the evils we suffer from its rigor. Good night, my dear Lucy. End of Section 6. Section 7 of the History of Amidie Montague, Volume 2 by Francis Morebrook. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 7. Letters 115 to 124. Cast this. Edward Rivers, read by Jim Locke. Emily Montague, read by Emma Hatton. Arabella Firmore, read by Grace Buchanan. William Firmore, read by Kevin S. Narrated by Sonia. Letter 115. To Mrs. Temple, Paul Mall, Quebec, April 2nd. I have this moment, my dear, a letter from Montreal, describing some lands on Lake Champlain, which my friend thinks much better worth my taking than those near the Kamaraskas. He presses me to come up immediately to see them, as the ice on the rivers will in a few days be dangerous to travel on. I'm strongly inclined to go, and for this reason, I'm convinced my wish of bringing about a friendship between Emily and Madame de Roche, the strongest reason I had for fixing at the Kamaraskas was an imprudent one, gratitude, and if the expression is not impertinent, compassion give me a softness in my behavior to the latter, which a superficial observer would take for love, and which her own tenderness may cause even her to misconstrue a circumstance which must retard her resolution of changing the affection with which she has honored me into friendship. I am also delicate in my love and cannot bear to have it one moment supposed. My heart can know a wish but for my Emily. Shall I say more? The blush on Emily's cheek on her first seeing Madame de Roche convinced me of my indiscretion and that vanity alone carried me to desire to bring together two women whose affection for me is from their extreme merit, so very flattering. I shall certainly now fix in Canada. I can no longer doubt of Emily's tenderness though she refuses me her hand from motives which make her a thousand times more due to me but which I flatter myself, love will overrule. I am setting off in an hour for Montreal and shall call at Solari to take Emily's commands. Seven in the evening, day, shambo. I asked her advice as to fixing the place of my settlement. She said much against my staying in America at all but if I was determined recommended Lake Champlain rather than the Camarascas on account of climate. Belle smiled and a blush which I perfectly understood overspread the lovely cheek of my sweet Emily. Nothing could be more flattering than this circumstance had she seen Madame de Roche with a calm indifference had she not been alarmed at the idea of fixing near her I should have doubted of the degree of her affection. A little apprehension is inseparable from real love. My courage has been today extremely put to the proof had I stayed three days longer it would have been impossible to have continued my journey. The ice cracks under us at every step the horses set a rather unpleasant circumstance on our river, 20 fathom deep. I should not have attempted the journey had I been aware of this particular. I hope no man meets inevitable danger with more spirit but no man is less fond of seeking it where it is honorably to be avoided. I'm going to sup with the senior of the village who is I'm told married to one of the handsomeness women in the province adieu my dear I shall write to you from Montreal your affectionate ed rivers. Letter 116. To Mrs. Temple, Paul Mall, Montreal, April 3rd. I'm arrived my dear after a very disagreeable and dangerous journey. I was obliged to leave the river soon after I left de Chambeau and to pursue my way on the land over melting snow into which the horses feet sunk half a yard every step. An officer just come from New York has given me a letter from you which came by a private ship. I'm happy to hear of your health and that temple's affection for you seems rather to increase and lessen since your marriage. You asked me my dear Lucy how to preserve this affection on the continuance of which you justly say your whole happiness depends. The question is perhaps the most delicate and important which respects human life, the caprice, the inconstancy, the injustice of men makes the task of women in marriage infinitely difficult. Prudence and virtue will certainly secure esteem but unfortunately esteem alone will not make a happy marriage. Passion must also be kept alive which the continual presence of the object beloved is too apt to make subside into that apathy so insupportable to sensible minds. The higher your rank and the less your manner of life separates you from each other the more danger there will be of this indifference. The poor whose necessary avocations divide them all day and whose sensibility is blunted by the coarseness of their education are in no danger of being weary of each other and unless naturally vicious you will see them generally happy in marriage whereas even the virtuous in more affluent situations are not secure from this unhappy cessation of tenderness. When I received your letter I was reading Madame Adéan Manthanal's advice to the Duchess of Burgundy on this subject. I will transcribe so much of it as relates to the woman leaving her advice to the princess to those whom it may concern. Do not hope for perfect happiness. There is no such thing in this sublunary state. Your sex is the more exposed to suffer because it is always in dependence. Be neither angry nor ashamed of this dependence on a husband nor of any of those which are in the order of providence. Let your husband be your best friend and your only confidant. Do not hope that your union will procure you perfect peace. The best marriages are those where with softness and patience they bear by turns with each other. There are none without some contradiction and disagreement. Do not expect the same degree of friendship that you feel. Men are in general less tender than women and you will be unhappy if you are too delicate in friendship. Beg of God to guard your heart from jealousy. Do not hope to bring back a husband by complaints, ill humor and reproaches. The only means which promise success are patience and softness. Impatience sours and alienates hearts. Softness leads them back to their duty. In sacrificing your own will, pretend to know right over that of a husband. Men are more attached to theirs than women because educated with less constraint. They are naturally tyrannical. They will have pleasures and liberty. Yet insist that women renounce both. Do not examine whether their rights are well founded. Let it suffice to you that they are established. They are masters. We have only to suffer and obey with a good grace. Thus far, Madame Edouementonant, who must be allowed to have known the heart of man since, after having been above 20 years of widow, she inflamed even to the degree of bringing him to marry her that of a great monarch, younger than herself, surrounded by beauties, habituated to flattery in the plentitude of power and covered with glory and retained him in her chains through the last moment of his life. Do not, however, my dear, be alarmed at the picture she has drawn of marriage, nor fancy with her that women are only born to suffer and to obey. That we are generally tyrannical, I am obliged to own, but such of us as know how to be happy, willingly give up the harsh title of master for the more tender and endearing one of friend. Men of sense abhor those customs which treat your sex as if created merely for the happiness of the other, a supposition injurious to the deity, though flattering to our tyranny and self-love and wish only to bind you in the soft chains of affection. Equality is the soul of friendship. Marriage to give delight must join two minds, not devote a slave to the will of an imperious Lord. Whatever conveys the idea of subjection necessarily destroys that of love of which I am so convinced that I've always wished the word obey, expunge from the marriage ceremony. If you will permit me to add my sentiments to those of a lady so learned in the art of pleasing, I would wish you to study the taste of your husband and endeavor to acquire a relish for those pleasures which appear most to affect him. Let him find amusement at home, but never be peevish at his going abroad. He will return to you with the higher gust for your conversation, have separate apartments, since your fortune makes it not inconvenient, be always elegant but not too expensive in your dress, retain your present exquisite delicacy of every kind, receive his friends with good reading and complacency, contrive such little parties of pleasure as you know are agreeable to him and with the most agreeable people you can select, be lively even to playfulness in your general turn of conversation with him, but at the same time, spare no pains so to improve your understanding, which is an excellent one as to be no less capable of being the companion of his graver hours. Be ignorant of nothing which becomes your sex to know, but avoid all affectation of knowledge, let your economy be exact, but without appearing otherwise than by the effect. Do not imitate those of your sex who by ill temper make the husband pay dear for their fidelity, let virtue in you be dressed in smiles and be assured that cheerfulness is the native garb of innocence. In one word, my dear, do not lose the mistress in the wife, but let your behavior to him as a husband be such as you would have thought most proper to attract him as a lover. Have always the idea of pleasing before you and you cannot fail to please. Having lectured you, my dear Lucy, I must say a word to Temple. A great variety of rules have been given for the conduct of women in marriage, scarce any for that of men, as if it was not essential to domestic happiness that the man should preserve the heart of her with whom he is to spend his life or as if bestowing happiness were not worth a man's attention, so he possessed it. If, however, it is possible to feel true happiness without giving it, you, my dear Temple, have to just an idea of pleasure to think in this manner you would be beloved. It has been the pursuit of your life though never really attained perhaps before. You at present possess a heart full of sensibility, a heart capable of loving with ardor and from the same cause as capable of being estranged by neglect, give your whole attention to preserving this invaluable treasure. Observe every rule I have given to her if you would be happy and believe me, the heart of woman is not less delicate than tender. Their sensibility is more keen. They feel more strongly than we do. Their tenderness is more easily wounded and their hearts are more difficult to recover if once lost. At the same time, they are both by nature and education more constant and scarce ever change the object of their affections but from ill treatment for which reason there is some excuse for a custom which appears cruel that of throwing contempt on the husband for the ill conduct of the wife. Above all things retain the politeness and attention of a lover and avoid that careless manner which wounds the vanity of human nature, a passion given us as we're all passions for the wisest ends and which never quits us but with life. There is a certain attentive tenderness difficult to be described which the manly of our sex feel and which is peculiarly pleasing to woman is also a very delightful sensation to ourselves as well as productive of the happiest consequences regarding them as creatures placed by providence under our protection and depending on us for their happiness is the strongest possible tie of affection to a well turned mind. If I did not know Lucy perfectly I should perhaps hesitate in the next advice I'm going to give you which is to make her the confidant and the only confidant of your gallantries if you are so unhappy as to be inadvertently betrayed into any her heart will possibly be at first a little wounded by the confession but this proof of perfect esteem will increase her friendship for you. She will regard your error with compassion and indulgence and lead you gently back by her endearing tenderness to honor and herself. Of all tasks I detest that of giving advice you are therefore under infinite obligation to me for this letter. Be assured of my tenderness affection and believe me yours et cetera at rivers. Letter 117. To the Earl of Blank. Celery, April 8th. Nothing can be more true my lord than that poverty is ever the inseparable companion of indolence. I see proofs of it every moment before me with the soil fruitful beyond all belief the Canadians are poor on lands which are their own property and for which they pay only a trifling quit rent to their seniors. This indolence appears in everything. You scare see the meanest peasant walking even riding on horseback appears to them a fatigue insupportable. You see them lowly at ease like their lazy lords in carioles and clashes according to the season. A boy to guide the horse on a seat in the front of the carriage too lazy even to take the trouble of driving themselves. Their hands in winter folded in an immense muff though perhaps their families are in want of bread to eat at home. The winter has passed in a mixture of festivity and inaction dancing and feasting in their gay hours in their graver smoking and drinking brandy by the side of a warm stove. And when obliged to cultivate the ground in spring to procure the means of subsistence you see them just turn the turf once lightly over and without maneuvering the ground or even breaking the clods of earth throw in the seed in the same careless manner and leave the event to chance without troubling themselves further till it is fit to reap. I must however observe as some alleviation that there is something in the climate which strongly inclines both the body and mind but rather the latter to indolence. The heat of the summer though pleasing innervates the very soul gives a certain lassitude unfavorable to industry and the winter at its extreme binds up and chills all the active faculties of the soul. Add to this that the general spirit of amusement so universal here in winter and so necessary to prevent the ill effects of the season gives a habit of dissipation and pleasure which makes labor doubly irksome at its return. Their religion at which they are extremely bigoted is another great bar as well to industry as population. Their numerous festivals ignore them to idleness. Their religious houses rob the state of many subjects who might be highly useful at present and at the same time retard the increase of the colony. Sloth and superstition equally counter work providence and render the bounty of heaven of no effect. I'm surprised the French who generally make their religion subservient to the purposes of policy do not discourage convents in less than the number of festivals in the colonies where both are so peculiarly pernicious. It is to this circumstance one may in great measure attribute the superior increase of the British American settlements compared to those of France. A religion which encourages idleness and makes a virtue of celibacy is particularly unfavorable to colonization. However religious prejudice may have been suffered to counter work policy under a French government. It is scarce to be doubted that this cause of the poverty of Canada will by degrees be removed that these people slaves at present to ignorance and superstition will in time be enlightened by a more liberal education and gently led by reason to a religion which is not only preferable as being that of the country to which they are now annexed but which is so much more calculated to make them happy and prosperous as a people. Till that time till their prejudices subside it is equally just humane and wise to leave them the free right of worshiping the deity in the manner in which they had been early taught to believe the best and to which they are consequently attached. It would be unjust to deprive them of any of the rights of citizens on account of religion. In America where every other sect of dissenters are equally capable of employ with those of the established church, they were from whatever cause the Church of England is on a footing in many colonies little better than a toleration. It is undoubtedly in a political light an object of consequence everywhere that the national religion, whatever it is should be as universal as possible. Agreement and religious worship being the strongest tie to unity and obedience had all prudent means been used to lessen the number of dissenters in the colonies. I cannot avoid believing from what I observe in here that we should have found in them a spirit of rational loyalty and true freedom instead of that fact-shift one from which so much is to be apprehended. It seems consonant to reason that the religion of every country should have a relation to and coherence with the civil constitution. The Romish religion is best adapted to a despotic government, the Presbyterian to a Republican in that of the Church of England to a limited monarchy like ours. As therefore the civil government of America is on the same plan with that of the mother country, it were to be wished the religious establishment was also the same, especially in those colonies where the people are generally of the national church, though with the fullest liberty of conscience to dissenters of all denominations. I would be clearly understood, my Lord, from all I have observed here. I'm convinced nothing would so much contribute to defuse a spirit of order and rational obedience in the colonies as the appointment under proper restrictions of bishops. I'm equally convinced that nothing would so much strength in the hands of government or give such pleasure to the well-affected in the colonies who abide much the most numerous as such an appointment, over clamored against by a few abetters of sedition. I'm called upon for this letter and must remit to another time what I wished to say more to your lordship in regard to this country. I have the honor to be my Lord, et cetera, William Firmore. Letter 118. To Mrs. Malmoth at Montreal, Salieri, April 8th. I am indeed, madam, this inconsistent creature. I have at once refused to marry Colonel Rivers and own to him all the tenderness of my soul. Do not, however, think me mad or suppose my refusal the effect of an unmeaning childish affection of disinterestedness. I conform to myself no idea of happiness equal to that of spending my life with Rivers, the best, the most tender, the most amiable of mankind, nor can I support the idea of his marrying any other woman. I would therefore marry him tomorrow, where it possible without ruining him, without dooming him to a perpetual exile and obstructing those views of honest ambition at home, which become his birth, his connections, his talent, his time of life, and with which as his friend it is my duty to inspire him. His affection for me at present blinds him. He sees no object but me in the whole universe, but shall I take advantage of that inebriation of tenderness to seduce him into a measure inconsistent with his real happiness and interest? He must return to England, must pursue fortune in the world for which he was formed. Shall his Emily retard him in the glorious race? Shall she not rather encourage him in every laudable attempt? Shall she suffer him to hide that shining merit in the incultivated wilds of Canada, the seed of barbarism and ignorance, which entitles him to hope, a happy fate in the dear lands of arts and arms? I entreat you to do all you can to discourage his design. Remind him that his sister's marriage has in some degree removed the cause of his coming hither, that he can have now no motive for fixing here, but his tenderness for me, that I shall be justly blamed by all who love him for keeping him here. Tell him I will not marry him in Canada, that his day makes the best mother in the world wretched, that he owes his return to himself, nay, to his Emily whose whole heart is set on seeing him in a situation worthy of him, though without ambition as to myself, I am proud, I am ambitious for him. If he loves me, he will gratify that pride, that ambition, and leave Canada to those whose duty confines them here, or whose interest is to remain unseen. Let him not once think of me in his determination. I am content to be beloved, and will leave all else to time. You cannot so much oblige or serve me as by persuading Colonel Rivers to return to England. Believe me, my dear madam, you are affectionate Emily Montague. That's a 119. To Mrs. Temple, Palmael, Ciliary, April 9. Your brother, my dear, is gone to Montreal to look out for a settlement, and Emily to spend a fortnight at Quebec with a lady she knew in England, who is lately arrived from thence by New York. I am lost without my friend, though my lover endeavors in some degree to supply her place. He lays close siege. I know not how long I shall be able to hold out. This fine weather is exceedingly in his favor. The winter freezes up all the avenues to the heart, but this sprightly April sun thaws them again amazingly. I was the cruelest creature breathing whilst the chilly season lasted. But can answer for nothing now the sprightly may is approaching. I can see Papa's vastly in Fitzgerald's interest, but he knows our sex well enough to keep this to himself. I shall, however, for decency's sake, ask his opinion on the affair, as soon as I have taken my resolution, which is the very time which all the world ask advice of their friends. A letter from Emily, which I must answer. She is extremely absurd, which your tender lovers always are. Adieu, yours, eh, Fermor? Sir George Clayton had left Montreal some days before your brother arrived there. I was pleased to hear it, because with all your brother's good sense and concern for Emily's honor and Sir George's natural coldness of temper, a quarrel between them would have been rather difficult to have been avoided. Letter 120. To Miss Fermor, Quebec, Thursday morning. Do you think, my dear, that Madame Des Roches has heard from Rivers? I wish you would ask her this afternoon at the governors. I am anxious to know, but ashamed to inquire. Not, my dear, that I have the weakness to be jealous, but I shall think his letter to me a higher compliment if I know he writes to nobody else. I extremely approve of his friendship for Madame Des Roches. She is very amiable and certainly deserves it. But, you know, Belle, it would be cruel to encourage an affection which she must conquer or be unhappy. If she did not love him, there would be nothing wrong with this writing to her. But, as she does, it would be doing her the greatest injury possible. Tis as much on her account as my own, I am thus anxious. Did you ever read so tender, yet so lively a letter as Rivers to me? He is alike in all. There is in his letters, has in his conversation. Quote, all that can softly win or gaily charm the heart of a woman. End quote. Even strangers listen to him with an involuntary attention and hear him with a pleasure for which they scarce know how to account. He charms even without intending it and in spite of himself. But when he wishes to please, when he addresses the woman he loves, when his eyes speak the soft language of his heart, when your Emily reads in them the dear confession of his tenderness, when that melodious voice utters the sentiment of the noblest mind that ever animated a human form, my dearest, the eloquence of angels cannot paint my rivers as he is. I am almost inclined not to go to the governors tonight. I am determined not to dance till rivers returns and I know there are too many who will be ready to make observations on my refusal. I think I will stay at home and write to him against Monday's post. I have a thousand things to say and you know we are continually interrupted at Quebec. I shall have this evening to myself as all the world will be at the governors. Adieu, your faithful Emily Montague. Better, 121. To Miss Montague at Quebec. Silerie, Thursday morning. I dare say my dear Madame de Roche has not heard from rivers, but suppose she had. If he loves you of what consequence is it to whom he writes? I would not for the world any friend of yours should ask her such a question. I shall call upon you at six o'clock and shall expect to find you determined to go to the governors this evening and to dance. Fitzgerald begs the honor of being your partner. Believe me, Emily, these kinds of unmeaning sacrifices are childish. Your heart is new to love and you have all the romance of a girl. Rivers would on your account be hurt to hear you had refused to dance in his absence, though he might be flattered to know you had for a moment entertained such an idea. I pardon you for having the romantic fancies of 17, provided you correct them with the good sense of four and 20. Adieu, I have engaged myself to Colonel H. On the presumption that you are too polite to refuse to dance with Fitzgerald and too prudent to refuse to dance at all, you're affectionate, eh, Fermor? Letter 122. To Miss Fermor at Salieri, Quebec, Saturday morning. How unjust have I been in my hatred of Madame Des Roches? She spent yesterday with us and after dinner desired to converse with me an hour in my apartment, where she opened to me all her heart on the subject of her love for Rivers. She is the most noble and most amiable of woman and I have been in regard to her the most capricious and unjust. My hatred of her was unworthy, my character. I blushed to own the meanness of my sentiments. Willst I admire the generosity of hers? Why, my dear, should I have hated her? She was unhappy and deserved rather my compassion. I have deprived her of all hope of being beloved. It was too much to wish to deprive her also of his conversation. I knew myself the only object of Rivers' love. Why, then, should I have envied her of his friendship? She had the strongest reason to hate me, but I should have loved and pitied her. Can there be a misfortune equal to that of loving Rivers without hope of a return? Yet she has not only borne this misfortune without complaint, but has been the confident of his passion for another. He owned to her all his tenderness for me, and drew a picture of me, which she had told me, ought had she listened to reason, to have destroyed even the shadow of hope. But that love, ever ready to flatter and deceive, had betrayed her into the weakness of supposing it possible I might refuse him. And that gratitude might, in that case, touch his heart with tenderness for one who loved him, with the most pure and disinterested affection. That her journey to Quebec had removed the veil love had placed between her and truth, that she was now convinced the faint hope she had encouraged was madness, and that our souls were formed for each other. She owned. She still loved him with the most lively affection, yet assured me, since she was not allowed to make the most amiable of mankind happy herself, she wished him to be so with the woman on earth she thought was most worthy of him. She added that she had on first seeing me, though she thought me very worthy of his heart, felt an impulse of dislike which she was ashamed to own, even now that reason and reflection had conquered so unworthy a sentiment, that River's completions had a little dissipated her jargon, and enabled her to behave to me in the manner she did. That she had, however, almost hated me at the ball in the country, that the tenderness in River's eyes that day whenever they met mine, and his comparative inattention to her, had wounded her to the soul. That this preference had, however, been salutary, though painful, since it had determined her to conquer a passion which could only make her life wretched if continued, that, as the first step to this conquest, she had resolved to see him no more, that she would return to her house the moment she could cross the river with safety, and conjure me, for her sake to persuade him to give up all thought of his settlement near her, that she could not answer for her own heart if she continued to see him, that she believed in love there was no safety but in flight, that his absence had given her time to think coolly, and that she now saw so strongly the amulableness of my character, and was so convinced of my perfect tenderness for him, that she should hate herself where she capable of wishing to interrupt our happiness, that she hoped I would pardon her retaining a tender remembrance of a man who had he never seen me might have returned to her affection, that she thought so highly of my heart as to believe I could not hate a woman who esteemed me, and who solicited my friendship, though a happy rival. I was touched, even to tears, at her behaviour, we embraced, and, if I know my own weak, foolish heart, I love her. She talks of leaving Quebec before rivers return. She said her coming was an imprudence which only love could excuse, and that she had no motive for her journey but the desire of seeing him, which was so lively as to hurry her into an indiscretion of which she was afraid the world took, but too much notice. What openness, what sincerity, what generosity was there in all she said? How superior, my dear, is her character to mine. I blush for myself on the comparison. I am shocked to see how much she soars above me. How is it possible rivers should not have preferred her to me? Yet this is the woman I fancied incapable of any passion, but vanity. I am sure, my dear Belle, I am not naturally envious of the merit of others, but my excess of love for rivers makes me apprehensive of every woman who can possibly rival me in his tenderness. I was heard at Madame Des Roches's uncommon merit. I saw with pain the amiable qualities of her mind. I could scarce even allow her person to be pleasing, but this injustice is not that of my natural temper, but of love. She is certainly right, my dear, to see him no more. I applaud, I admire her resolution. Do you think, however, she would pursue it as she loved as I do? She has perhaps loved before, and her heart has lost something of its native trembling sensibility. I wish my heart felt her merit as strongly as my reason. I esteem, I admire, I even love her at present, but I am convinced River's return while she continues here would weaken these sentiments of affection. The least appearance of preference, even for a moment, would make me relapse into my former weakness. I adore, I idolize her character, but I cannot sincerely wish to cultivate her friendship. Let me see you this afternoon at Quebec. I am told the road will not be passable for carioles, above three days longer. Let me therefore see you as often as I can before we are absolutely shut from each other. How do you, my dear, you are faithful, Emily Montague. England, however populous, is undoubtedly, my lord, too small to afford very large supplies of people to her colonies. And her people are also too useful and of too much value to be suffered to emigrate if they can be prevented whilst there is sufficient employment for them at home. It is not only our interest to have colonies, they are not only necessary to our commerce and our greatest and surest sources of wealth, but our very being as a powerful commercial nation depends on them. It is therefore an object of all others most worthy our attention that they should be as flourishing and populous as possible. It is, however, equally our interest to support them at as little expense of our own inhabitants as possible. I therefore look on the acquisition of such a number of subjects as we found in Canada to be a much superior advantage to the that of gaining ten times the immense tract of land seeded to us if uncultivated and destitute of inhabitants. But it is not only contrary to our interest to spare many of our own people as settlers in America. It must also be considered that if we could spare them, the English are the worst settlers on new lands in the universe. Their attachment to their native country, especially amongst the lower ranks of people, is so strong that few of the honest and industrious can be prevailed upon to leave it. Those therefore who go are generally the disillusioned and the idle, who are of no use anywhere. The English are also, though industrious, active in enterprising, ill-fitted to bear the hardships and submit to the wants which inevitably attend in infant settlement, even on the most fruitful lands. The Germans, on the contrary, with the same useful qualities, have a patience, a perseverance, and abstinence, which peculiarly fit them for the cultivation of new countries. Too great encouragement, therefore, cannot be given to them to settle in our colonies. They make better settlers than our own people. And at the same time, their numbers are an acquisition of real strength, where they fix, without weakening the mother country. It is long since the populousness of Europe has been the cause of hercenia colonies. A better policy prevails. Mankind are enlightened, as we are now convinced, both by reason and experience, that no industrious people can be too populous. The northern swarms were compelled to leave their respective countries, not because those countries were unable to support them, but because they were too idle to cultivate the ground. They were a ferocious, ignorant, barbarous people, averse to labor, attached to war, and like our American savages, believing every employment not relative to this favorite object, beneath the dignity of man. Their emigrations, therefore, were less owing to their populousness than to their want of industry and barbarous contempt of agriculture and ever-useful art. It is with pain I am compelled to say the late spirit of encouraging the monopoly of farms, which, from a narrow short-sighted policy, prevails among our landed men at home. And the alarming growth of celipacy among the peasantry, which is its necessary consequence, to say nothing of the same ruinous increase of celibacy in higher ranks, threaten us with such a decrease of population, as will probably equal that caused by the ravages of those scourges of heaven, the sword, the famine, and the pestilence. If this selfish policy continues to extend itself, we shall in a few years be so far from being able to send emigrants to America that we shall be reduced to solicit their return, and that of their posterity to prevent England's becoming in its turn an uncultivated desert. But to return to Canada, this large acquisition of people is an invaluable treasure, if managed, as I doubt not it will be, to the best advantage. They are won by the gentle arts of persuasion and the gradual progress of knowledge to adopt so much of our manners that tend to make them happier in themselves, and more useful members of the society to which they belong, if with our language which they should by every means be induced to learn, they acquire the mild genius of our religion and laws in that spirit of industry, enterprise and commerce, to which we owe all our greatness. Amongst the various causes which concur to render France more populist than England, notwithstanding the disadvantage of a less gentle government, and a religion so unfavorable to the increase of mankind, the cultivation of vineyards may be reckoned a principal one, as it employs a much greater number of hands than even agriculture itself, which has, however, infinite advantages in this respect above pastureage, the certain cause of a want of our people wherever it prevails above its due proportion. Our climate denies us the advantages arising from the cultural vines, as well as many others which nature has accorded to France, a consideration which should awaken us from the lethargy into which the avarice of individuals has plunged us, and set us in earnest on approving every advantage we enjoy, in order to secure us by our native strength from so formidable a rival. The want of bread to eat, from the late false and cruel policy of laying small farms into great ones, and the general discouragement of tillage, which is its consequence, is in my opinion much less to be apprehended than the want of people to eat it. In every country where the inhabitants are at once numerous and industrious, there will always be a proportionable cultivation. This evil is so very destructive and alarming that, if the great have not virtue enough to remedy it, it is to be hoped it will in time, like most great evils, cure itself. Your lordship inquires into the nature of this climate in respect to health, the air being uncommonly pure and serene, it is favorable to life beyond any I ever knew. The people live generally to a very advanced age, and are remarkably free from diseases of every kind, except consumptions, to which the younger part of the inhabitants are a good deal subject. It is, however, a circumstance one cannot help observing that they begin to look old much sooner than the people in Europe, on which my daughter observes that it is not very pleasant for women to come to reside in a country where people have a short youth and a long old age. The diseases of cold countries are in general owing to want of perspiration, for which reason exercise and even dissipation are here the best medicines. The Indians, therefore, showed their good sense in advising the French on their first arrival to use dancing, mirth, cheerfulness, and content as the best remedies against the inconveniences of the climate. I have already swallowed this letter to such a length that I must postpone to another time my account of the peculiar natural productions of Canada, only observing that one would imagine heaven intended a social intercourse between the most distant nations by giving them productions of the earth so very different each from the other, in each more than sufficient for itself, that the exchange might be the means of spreading the bond of society and brotherhood over the whole globe. In my opinion, the man who conveys and causes to grow in any country, a grain, a fruit, or even a flower it never possessed before, deserves more praise than a thousand heroes. He is a benefactor. He is in some degree a creator. I have the honor to be my lord, your lordships, etc., William Firmore. Letter 124 To Miss Monogue at Quebec, Montreal, April 14, Is it possible, my dear Emily, you can, after all I have said, persist in endeavoring to dissuade me from a design on which my whole happiness depends and which I flattered myself was equally essential to yours. I forgave, I even admired your first scruple. I thought it generosity, but I have answered it. And if you had loved as I do, you would never again have named so unpleasing a subject. Does your own heart tell you mine will call a settlement here with you and exile? Examine yourself well and tell me whether your aversion to staying in Canada is not stronger than your tenderness for your rivers. I'm hurt beyond all words at the earnestness with which you press Mrs. Malmoth to dissuade me from staying in this country. You pressed with warmth my return to England, though it would put an eternal bar between us. You give reasons which, though the understanding may approve the heart abhors, can ambition come in competition with tenderness? You fancy yourself generous when you are only indifferent, insensible girl, you know nothing of love. Write to me instantly and tell me every emotion of your soul for I tremble at the idea that your aversion is less lively than mine. Adieu, I am wretched till I hear from you. Is it possible, my Emily, you cannot cease to love him who, as you yourself own, sees no other object than you in the universe? Adieu, yours at rivers. You know not the heart of your rivers if you suppose it capable of any ambition, but that, dear one, of being beloved by you. What have you said, my dear Emily? You will not marry me in Canada. You have passed a hard sentence on me. You know my fortune will not allow me to marry you in England.