I have a sort of an idea he won’t be very unhappy at this delay; I want vastly to send him word of it.

      Adieu! ma chere.

LETTER 32.

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.