To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Repentigny, Sept. 18, ten at night.
I study my fellow traveller closely; his character, indeed, is not
difficult to ascertain; his feelings are dull, nothing makes the
least impression on him; he is as insensible to the various beauties of
the charming country through which we have travelled, as the very
Canadian peasants themselves who inhabit it. I watched his eyes at some
of the most beautiful prospects, and saw not the least gleam of
pleasure there: I introduced him here to an extreme handsome French
lady, and as lively as she is handsome, the wife of an officer who is
of my acquaintance; the same tasteless composure prevailed; he
complained of fatigue, and retired to his apartment at eight: the
family are now in bed, and I have an hour to give to my dear Lucy.
He admires Emily because he has seen her admired by all the world,
but he cannot taste her charms of himself; they are not of a stile to
please him: I cannot support the thought of such a woman's being so
lost; there are a thousand insensible good young women to be found, who
would doze away life with him and be happy.
A rich, sober, sedate, presbyterian citizen's daughter, educated by
her grandmother in the country, who would roll about with him in
unweildy splendor, and dream away a lazy existence, would be the proper
wife for him. Is it for him, a lifeless composition of earth and water,
to unite himself to the active elements which compose my divine Emily?
Adieu! my dear! we set out early in the morning for Montreal.
Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.