The lover is every hour expected; I am not quite sure I should have
lik'd to see him arrive: a third person, you know, on such an occasion,
sinks into nothing; and I love, wherever I am, to be one of the figures
which strike the eye; I hate to appear on the back ground of the
picture.



LETTER 8.


To Miss Rivers.

Quebec, Aug. 24.

You can't think, my dear, what a fund of useful knowledge I have
treasur'd up during my journey from Montreal. This colony is a rich
mine yet unopen'd; I do not mean of gold and silver, but of what are
of much more real value, corn and cattle. Nothing is wanting but
encouragement and cultivation; the Canadians are at their ease even
without labor; nature is here a bounteous mother, who pours forth her
gifts almost unsolicited: bigotry, stupidity, and laziness, united,
have not been able to keep the peasantry poor. I rejoice to find such
admirable capabilities where I propose to fix my dominion.

I was hospitably entertained by the curés all the way down, tho'
they are in general but ill provided for: the parochial clergy are
useful every where, but I have a great aversion to monks, those drones
in the political hive, whose whole study seems to be to make themselves
as useless to the world as possible. Think too of the shocking