I should tell you, they are so indolent as never to manure their
lands, or even their gardens; and that, till the English came, all the
manure of Quebec was thrown into the river.

You will judge how naturally rich the soil must be, to produce good
crops without manure, and without ever lying fallow, and almost without
ploughing; yet our political writers in England never speak of Canada
without the epithet of _barren_. They tell me this extreme
fertility is owing to the snow, which lies five or six months on the
ground. Provisions are dear, which is owing to the prodigious number of
horses kept here; every family having a carriage, even the poorest
peasant; and every son of that peasant keeping a horse for his little
excursions of pleasure, besides those necessary for the business of the
farm. The war also destroyed the breed of cattle, which I am told
however begins to encrease; they have even so far improved in corn, as
to export some this year to Italy and Spain.

Don't you think I am become an excellent farmeress? 'Tis intuition;
some people are born learned: are you not all astonishment at my
knowledge? I never was so vain of a letter in my life.

Shall I own the truth? I had most of my intelligence from old John,
who lived long with my grandfather in the country; and who, having
little else to do here, has taken some pains to pick up a competent
knowledge of the state of agriculture five miles round Quebec.

Adieu! I am tired of the subject.

Your faithful,
A. Fermor.