desire of seeing their brethren the English who had conquered Quebec, had brought them up the great river, down which they should return as soon as they had seen Montreal.  She courteously asked me to sit down, and eat with them, which I complied with, and produced my part of the feast.  We soon became good company, and brighten’d the chain of friendship with two bottles of wine, which put them into such spirits, that they danced, sung, shook me by the hand, and grew so very fond of me, that I began to be afraid I should not easily get rid of them.  They were very unwilling to part with me; but, after two or three very ridiculous hours, I with some difficulty prevailed on the ladies to pursue their voyage, having first replenished their canoe with provisions and a few bottles of wine, and given them a letter of recommendation to your brother, that they might be in no distress at Montreal.

Adieu! my father is just come in, and has brought some company with him from Quebec to supper.

      Yours ever,
          A. Fermor.

Don’t you think, my dear, my good sisters the squaws seem to live something the kind of life of our gypsies?  The idea struck me as they were dancing.  I assure you, there is a good deal of resemblance in their persons:  I have seen a fine old seasoned female gypsey, of as dark a complexion as a savage:  they are all equally marked as children of the sun.

LETTER 17.

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?