To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Kamaraskas, Oct. 10.
I am at present, my dear Lucy, in the wildest country on earth; I
mean of those which are inhabited at all: 'tis for several leagues
almost a continual forest, with only a few straggling houses on the
river side; 'tis however of not the least consequence to me, all places
are equal to me where Emily is not.
I seek amusement, but without finding it: she is never one moment
from my thoughts; I am every hour on the point of returning to Quebec;
I cannot support the idea of her leaving the country without my seeing
her.
'Tis a lady who has this estate to sell: I am at present at her
house; she is very amiable; a widow about thirty, with an agreable
person, great vivacity, an excellent understanding, improved by
reading, to which the absolute solitude of her situation has obliged
her; she has an open pleasing countenance, with a candor and sincerity
in her conversation which would please me, if my mind was in a state to
be pleased with any thing. Through all the attention and civility I
think myself obliged to shew her, she seems to perceive the melancholy
which I cannot shake off: she is always contriving some little party
for me, as if she knew how much I am in want of amusement.
Oct. 12.
Madame Des Roches is very kind; she sees my chagrin, and takes every
method to divert it: she insists on my going in her shallop to see the
last settlement on the river, opposite the Isle of Barnaby; she does me
the honor to accompany me, with a gentleman and lady who live about a
mile from her.
Isle Barnaby, Oct. 13.
I have been paying a very singular visit; 'tis to a hermit, who has
lived sixty years alone on this island; I came to him with a strong
prejudice against him; I have no opinion of those who fly society; who
seek a state of all others the most contrary to our nature. Were I a
tyrant, and wished to inflict the most cruel punishment human nature
could support, I would seclude criminals from the joys of society, and
deny them the endearing sight of their species.
I am certain I could not exist a year alone: I am miserable even in
that degree of solitude to which one is confined in a ship; no words
can speak the joy which I felt when I came to America, on the first
appearance of something like the chearful haunts of men; the first man,
the first house, nay the first Indian fire of which I saw the smoke
rise above the trees, gave me the most lively transport that can be
conceived; I felt all the force of those ties which unite us to each
other, of that social love to which we owe all our happiness here.
But to my hermit: his appearance disarmed my dislike; he is a tall
old man, with white hair and beard, the look of one who has known
better days, and the strongest marks of benevolence in his countenance.
He received me with the utmost hospitality, spread all his little
stores of fruit before me, fetched me fresh milk, and water from a
spring near his house.
After a little conversation, I expressed my astonishment, that a man
of whose kindness and humanity I had just had such proof, could find
his happiness in flying mankind: I said a good deal on the subject, to
which he listened with the politest attention.
"You appear," said he, "of a temper to pity the miseries of others.
My story is short and simple: I loved the most amiable of women; I was
beloved. The avarice of our parents, who both had more gainful views
for us, prevented an union on which our happiness depended. My Louisa,
who was threatened with an immediate marriage with a man she detested,
proposed to me to fly the tyranny of our friends: she had an uncle at
Quebec, to whom she was dear. The wilds of Canada, said she, may afford
us that refuge our cruel country denies us. After a secret marriage,
we embarked. Our voyage was thus far happy; I landed on the opposite
shore, to seek refreshments for my Louisa; I was returning, pleased
with the thought of obliging the object of all my tenderness, when a
beginning storm drove me to seek shelter in this bay. The storm
encreased, I saw its progress with agonies not to be described; the
ship, which was in sight, was unable to resist its fury; the sailors
crowded into the boat; they had the humanity to place my Louisa there;
they made for the spot where I was, my eyes were wildly fixed on them;
I stood eagerly on the utmost verge of the water, my arms stretched out
to receive her, my prayers ardently addressed to Heaven, when an
immense wave broke over the boat; I heard a general shriek; I even
fancied I distinguished my Louisa's cries; it subsided, the sailors
again exerted all their force; a second wave--I saw them no more.
"Never will that dreadful scene be absent one moment from my memory:
I fell senseless on the beach; when I returned to life, the first
object I beheld was the breathless body of my Louisa at my feet. Heaven
gave me the wretched consolation of rendering to her the last sad
duties. In that grave all my happiness lies buried. I knelt by her, and
breathed a vow to Heaven, to wait here the moment that should join me
to all I held dear. I every morning visit her loved remains, and
implore the God of mercy to hasten my dissolution. I feel that we shall
not long be separated; I shall soon meet her, to part no more."
He stopped, and, without seeming to remember he was not alone,
walked hastily towards a little oratory he has built on the beach, near
which is the grave of his Louisa; I followed him a few steps, I saw
him throw himself on his knees; and, respecting his sorrow, returned
to the house.
Though I cannot absolutely approve, yet I more than forgive, I
almost admire, his renouncing the world in his situation. Devotion is
perhaps the only balm for the wounds given by unhappy love; the heart
is too much softened by true tenderness to admit any common cure.
Seven in the evening.
I am returned to Madame Des Roches and her friends, who declined
visiting the hermit. I found in his conversation all which could have
adorned society; he was pleased with the sympathy I shewed for his
sufferings; we parted with regret. I wished to have made him a
present, but he will receive nothing.
A ship for England is in sight. Madame Des Roches is so polite to
send off this letter; we return to her house in the morning.
Adieu! my Lucy.
Yours,
Ed. Rivers.