To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Nov. 23.
I have been seeing the last ship go out of the port, Lucy; you have
no notion what a melancholy sight it is: we are now left to ourselves,
and shut up from all the world for the winter: somehow we seem so
forsaken, so cut off from the rest of human kind, I cannot bear the
idea: I sent a thousand sighs and a thousand tender wishes to dear
England, which I never loved so much as at this moment.
Do you know, my dear, I could cry if I was not ashamed? I shall not
absolutely be in spirits again this week.
'Tis the first time I have felt any thing like bad spirits in
Canada: I followed the ship with my eyes till it turned Point Levi,
and, when I lost sight of it, felt as if I had lost every thing dear to
me on earth. I am not particular: I see a gloom on every countenance; I
have been at church, and think I never saw so many dejected faces in my
life.
Adieu! for the present: it will be a fortnight before I can send
this letter; another agreable circumstance that: would to Heaven I
were in England, though I changed the bright sun of Canada for a fog!
Dec. 1.
We have had a week's snow without intermission: happily for us, your
brother and the Fitz have been weather-bound all the time at Silleri,
and cannot possibly get away.
We have amused ourselves within doors, for there is no stirring
abroad, with playing at cards, playing at shuttlecock, playing the
fool, making love, and making moral reflexions: upon the whole, the
week has not been very disagreable.
The snow is when we wake constantly up to our chamber windows; we
are literally dug out of it every morning.
As to Quebec, I give up all hopes of ever seeing it again: but my
comfort is, that the people there cannot possibly get to their
neighbors; and I flatter myself very few of them have been half so well
entertained at home.
We shall be abused, I know, for (what is really the fault of the
weather) keeping these two creatures here this week; the ladies hate us
for engrossing two such fine fellows as your brother and Fitzgerald, as
well as for having vastly more than our share of all the men: we
generally go out attended by at least a dozen, without any other woman
but a lively old French lady, who is a flirt of my father's, and will
certainly be my mamma.
We sweep into the general's assembly on Thursdays with such a train
of beaux as draws every eye upon us: the rest of the fellows crowd
round us; the misses draw up, blush, and flutter their fans; and your
little Bell sits down with such a saucy impertinent consciousness in
her countenance as is really provoking: Emily on the contrary looks
mild and humble, and seems by her civil decent air to apologize to them
for being so much more agreable than themselves, which is a fault I for
my part am not in the least inclined to be ashamed of.
Your idea of Quebec, my dear, is perfectly just; it is like a third
or fourth rate country town in England; much hospitality, little
society; cards, scandal, dancing, and good chear; all excellent things
to pass away a winter evening, and peculiarly adapted to what I am
told, and what I begin to feel, of the severity of this climate.
I am told they abuse me, which I can easily believe, because my
impertinence to them deserves it: but what care I, you know, Lucy, so
long as I please myself, and am at Silleri out of the sound?
They are squabbling at Quebec, I hear, about I cannot tell what,
therefore shall not attempt to explain: some dregs of old disputes, it
seems, which have had not time to settle: however, we new comers have
certainly nothing to do with these matters: you can't think how
comfortable we feel at Silleri, out of the way.
My father says, the politics of Canada are as complex and as
difficult to be understood as those of the Germanic system.
For my part, I think no politics worth attending to but those of the
little commonwealth of woman: if I can maintain my empire over hearts,
I leave the men to quarrel for every thing else.
I observe a strict neutrality, that I may have a chance for admirers
amongst both parties. Adieu! the post is just going out.
Your faithful
A. Fermor.