skin under our feet, which turns up, and wraps round us almost to our
shoulders; so that, upon the whole, we are pretty well guarded from the
weather as well as the men.

Our covered carrioles too have not only canvas windows (we dare not
have glass, because we often overturn), but cloth curtains to draw all
round us; the extreme swiftness of these carriages also, which dart
along like lightening, helps to keep one warm, by promoting the
circulation of the blood.

I pity the Fitz; no tiger was ever so hard-hearted as I am this
weather: the little god has taken his flight, like the swallows. I say
nothing, but cruelty is no virtue in Canada; at least at this season.

I suppose Pygmalion's statue was some frozen Canadian gentlewoman,
and a sudden warm day thawed her. I love to expound ancient fables, and
I think no exposition can be more natural than this.

Would you know what makes me chatter so this morning? Papa has made
me take some excellent _liqueur_; 'tis the mode here; all the
Canadian ladies take a little, which makes them so coquet and agreable.
Certainly brandy makes a woman talk like an angel. Adieu!

Yours,
A. Fermor.

LETTER 50.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Silleri, Jan. 4.

I don't quite agree with you, my dear; your brother does not appear
to me to have the least scruple of that foolish false modesty which
stands in a man's way.

He is extremely what the French call _awakened_; he is modest,
certainly; that is, he is not a coxcomb, but he has all that proper
self-confidence which is necessary to set his agreable qualities in
full light: nothing can be a stronger proof of this, than that,
wherever he is, he always takes your attention in a moment, and this
without seeming to solicit it.

I am very fond of him, though he never makes love to me, in which
circumstance he is very singular: our friendship is quite platonic, at
least on his side, for I am not quite so sure on the other. I remember
one day in summer we were walking _tete a tete_ in the road to
Cape Rouge, when he wanted me to strike into a very beautiful thicket:
"Positively, Rivers," said I, "I will not venture with you into that
wood." "Are you afraid of _me_, Bell?" "No, but extremely of
_myself_."

I have loved him ever since a little scene that passed here three or
four months ago: a very affecting story, of a distressed family in our
neighbourhood, was told him and Sir George; the latter preserved