To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Jan. 9.
I begin not to disrelish the winter here; now I am used to the cold,
I don't feel it so much: as there is no business done here in the
winter, 'tis the season of general dissipation; amusement is the study
of every body, and the pains people take to please themselves
contribute to the general pleasure: upon the whole, I am not sure it is
not a pleasanter winter than that of England.
Both our houses and our carriages are uncommonly warm; the clear
serene sky, the dry pure air, the little parties of dancing and cards,
the good tables we all keep, the driving about on the ice, the
abundance of people we see there, for every body has a carriole, the
variety of objects new to an European, keep the spirits in a continual
agreable hurry, that is difficult to describe, but very pleasant to
feel.
Sir George (would you believe it?) has written Emily a very warm
letter; tender, sentimental, and almost impatient; Mrs. Melmoth's
dictating, I will answer for it; not at all in his own composed
agreable style. He talks of coming down in a few days: I have a strong
notion he is coming, after his long tedious two years siege, to
endeavor to take us by storm at last; he certainly prepares for a
_coup de main_. He is right, all women hate a regular attack.
Adieu for the present.
Monday, Jan. 12.
We sup at your brother's to-night, with all the _beau monde_ of
Quebec: we shall be superbly entertained, I know. I am malicious enough
to wish Sir George may arrive during the entertainment, because I have
an idea it will mortify him; though I scarce know why I think so.
Adieu!
Yours,
A. Fermor.