l, therefore, only beg leave to add mine to the general voice
of Canada; and to assure your excellency, that

I am,
With the utmost esteem
and respect,
Your most obedient servant,
Frances Brooke.
London,
March 22, 1769.

THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.

LETTER 1.

To John Temple, Esq; at Paris.

Cowes, April 10, 1766.

After spending two or three very agreeable days here, with a party
of friends, in exploring the beauties of the Island, and dropping a
tender tear at Carisbrook Castle on the memory of the unfortunate
Charles the First, I am just setting out for America, on a scheme I
once hinted to you, of settling the lands to which I have a right as a
lieutenant-colonel on half pay. On enquiry and mature deliberation, I
prefer Canada to New-York for two reasons, that it is wilder, and that
the women are handsomer: the first, perhaps, every body will not
approve; the latter, I am sure, _you_ will.

You may perhaps call my project romantic, but my active temper is
ill suited to the lazy character of a reduc'd officer: besides that I
am too proud to narrow my circle of life, and not quite unfeeling
enough to break in on the little estate which is scarce sufficient to
support my mother and sister in the manner to which they have been
accustom'd.

What you call a sacrifice, is none at all; I love England, but am
not obstinately chain'd down to any spot of earth; nature has charms
every where for a man willing to be pleased: at my time of life, the
very change of place is amusing; love of variety, and the natural
restlessness of man, would give me a relish for this voyage, even if I
did not expect, what I really do, to become lord of a principality
which will put our large-acred men in England out of countenance. My
subjects indeed at present will be only bears and elks, but in time I
hope to see the _human face divine_ multiplying around me; and, in
thus cultivating what is in the rudest state of nature, I shall taste
one of the greatest of all pleasures, that of creation, and see order
and beauty gradually rise from chaos.

The vessel is unmoor'd; the winds are fair; a gentle breeze agitates
the bosom of the deep; all nature smiles: I go with all the eager hopes
of a warm imagination; yet friendship casts a lingering look behind.

Our mutual loss, my dear Temple, will be great. I shall never cease
to regret you, nor will you find it easy to replace the friend