people into a secret they would never suspect, that she is past five
and twenty.

You are a foolish girl, Lucy: do you think I have not more pleasure
in continuing to my mother, by coming hither, the little indulgencies
of life, than I could have had by enjoying them myself? pray reconcile
her to my absence, and assure her she will make me happier by jovially
enjoying the trifle I have assign'd to her use, than by procuring me
the wealth of a Nabob, in which she was to have no share.

But to return; you really, Lucy, ask me such a million of questions,
'tis impossible to know which to answer first; the country, the
convents, the balls, the ladies, the beaux--'tis a history, not a
letter, you demand, and it will take me a twelvemonth to satisfy your
curiosity.

Where shall I begin? certainly with what must first strike a
soldier: I have seen then the spot where the amiable hero expir'd in
the arms of victory; have traced him step by step with equal
astonishment and admiration: 'tis here alone it is possible to form an
adequate idea of an enterprize, the difficulties of which must have
destroy'd hope itself had they been foreseen.

The country is a very fine one: you see here not only the
_beautiful_ which it has in common with Europe, but the _great
sublime_ to an amazing degree; every object here is magnificent: the
very people seem almost another species, if we compare them with the
French from whom they are descended.

On approaching the coast of America, I felt a kind of religious