ould 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.

LETTER 53.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Jan. 13, Eleven o'clock.

We passed a most agreable evening with your brother, though a large
company, which is seldom the case: a most admirable supper, excellent
wine, an elegant dessert of preserved fruits, and every body in spirits
and good humor.

The Colonel was the soul of our entertainment: amongst his other
virtues, he has the companionable and convivial ones to an immense
degree, which I never had an opportunity of discovering so clearly
before. He seemed charmed beyond words to see us all so happy: we staid
till four o'clock in the morning, yet all complained to-day we came
away too soon.

I need not tell you we had fiddles, for there is no entertainment in
Canada without them: never was such a race of dancers.

One o'clock.

The dear man is come, and with an equipage which puts the Empress of
Russia's tranieau to shame. America never beheld any thing so
brilliant:

"All other carrioles, at sight of this,
Hide their diminish'd heads."

Your brother's and Fitzgerald's will never dare to appear now; they
sink into nothing.

Seven in the evening.

Emily has been in tears in her chamber; 'tis a letter of Mrs.
Melmoth's which has had this agreable effect; some wise advice, I
suppose. Lord! how I hate people that give advice! don't you, Lucy?

I don't like this lover's coming; he is almost as bad as a husband:
I am afraid he will derange our little coterie; and we have been so
happy, I can't bear it.

Good night, my dear.

Yours,
A. Fermor.

LETTER 54.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Silleri, Jan. 14.

We have p