To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Sept. 25.
I have been rambling about amongst the peasants, and asking them a
thousand questions, in order to satisfy your inquisitive friend. As to
my father, though, properly speaking, your questions are addressed to
him, yet, being upon duty, he begs that, for this time, you will accept
of an answer from me.
The Canadians live a good deal like the ancient patriarchs; the
lands were originally settled by the troops, every officer became a
seigneur, or lord of the manor, every soldier took lands under his
commander; but, as avarice is natural to mankind, the soldiers took a
great deal more than they could cultivate, by way of providing for a
family: which is the reason so much land is now waste in the finest
part of the province: those who had children, and in general they have
a 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 of
Coudre, where the inhabitants are all the descendants of one pair, if
we only suppose that their sons went to the next village for wives, for
I find no tradition of their having had a dispensation to marry their
sisters.
The corn here is very good, though not equal to ours; the harvest
not half so gay as in England, and for this reason, that the lazy
creatures leave the greatest part of their land uncultivated, only
sowing as much corn of different sorts as will serve themselves; and
being too proud and too idle to work for hire, every family gets in
its own harvest, which prevents all that jovial spirit which we find
when 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 driven
about like women, for they never drive themselves, lolling at their
ease in a calache: the peasants, I mean the masters of families, are
pretty near as useless as their lords.
You will scarce believe me, when I tell you, that I have seen, at
the farm next us, two children, a very beautiful boy and girl, of about
eleven years old, assisted by their grandmother, reaping a field of
oats, whilst the lazy father, a strong fellow of thirty two, lay on the
grass, smoaking his pipe, about twenty yards from them: the old people
and children work here; those in the age of strength and health only
take their pleasure.
_A propos_ to smoaking, 'tis common to see here boys of three
years old, sitting at their doors, smoaking their pipes, as grave and
composed as little old Chinese men on a chimney.
You ask me after our fruits: we have, as I am told, an immensity of
cranberries all the year; when the snow melts away in spring, they are
said to be found under it as fresh and as good as in autumn:
strawberries and rasberries grow wild in profusion; you cannot walk a
step in the fields without treading on the former: great plenty of
currants, plumbs, apples, and pears; a few cherries and grapes, but not
in much perfection: excellent musk melons, and water melons in
abundance, but not so good in proportion as the musk. Not a peach, nor
any thing of the kind; this I am however convinced is less the fault
of the climate than of the people, who are too indolent to take pains
for any thing more than is absolutely necessary to their existence.
They might have any fruit here but gooseberries, for which the summer
is too hot; there are bushes in the woods, and some have been brought
from England, but the fruit falls off before it is ripe. The wild
fruits here, especially those of the bramble kind, are in much greater
variety and perfection than in England.
When I speak of the natural productions of the country, I should not
forget that hemp and hops grow every where in the woods; I should
imagine the former might be cultivated here with great success, if the
people could be persuaded to cultivate any thing.
A little corn of every kind, a little hay, a little tobacco, half a
dozen apple trees, a few onions and cabbages, make the whole of a
Canadian plantation. There is scarce a flower, except those in the
woods, where there is a variety of the most beautiful shrubs I ever
saw; the wild cherry, of which the woods are full, is equally charming
in flower and in fruit; and, in my opinion, at least equals the
arbutus.
They sow their wheat in spring, never manure the ground, and plough
it in the slightest manner; can it then be wondered at that it is
inferior to ours? They fancy the frost would destroy it if sown in
autumn; but this is all prejudice, as experience has shewn. I myself
saw a field of wheat this year at the governor's farm, which was
manured and sown in autumn, as fine as I ever saw in England.
I should tell you, they are so indolent as never to manure their
lands, or even their gardens; and that, till the English came, all the
manure of Quebec was thrown into the river.
You will judge how naturally rich the soil must be, to produce good
crops without manure, and without ever lying fallow, and almost without
ploughing; yet our political writers in England never speak of Canada
without the epithet of _barren_. They tell me this extreme
fertility is owing to the snow, which lies five or six months on the
ground. Provisions are dear, which is owing to the prodigious number of
horses kept here; every family having a carriage, even the poorest
peasant; and every son of that peasant keeping a horse for his little
excursions of pleasure, besides those necessary for the business of the
farm. The war also destroyed the breed of cattle, which I am told
however begins to encrease; they have even so far improved in corn, as
to 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 my
knowledge? 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, having
little else to do here, has taken some pains to pick up a competent
knowledge 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 you
chuse me to expose my ignorance? If so, I flatter myself you are a
little taken in, for I think John and I figure in the rural way.