amaraskas, Aug. 14.

By Madame Des Roches, who is going on shore, I write two or three
lines, to tell you we have got thus far, and have a fair wind; she will
send it immediately to Quebec, to be put on board any ship going, that
you may have the greater variety of chances to hear of me.

There is a French lady on board, whose superstition bids fair to
amuse us; she has thrown half her little ornaments over-board for a
wind, and has promised I know not how many votive offerings of the same
kind to St. Joseph, the patron of Canada, if we get safe to land; on
which I shall only observe, that there is nothing so like ancient
absurdity as modern: she has classical authority for this manner of
playing the fool. Horace, when afraid on a voyage, having, if my memory
quotes fair, vowed

"His dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea."

The boat is ready, and Madame Des Roches going; I am very unwilling
to part with her; and her present concern at leaving me would be very
flattering, if I did not think the remembrance of your brother had the
greatest share in it.

She has wrote four or five letters to him, since she came on board,
very tender ones I fancy, and destroyed them; she has at last wrote a
meer complimentary kind of card, only thanking him for his offers of
service; yet I see it gives her pleasure to write even this, however
cold and formal; because addressed to him: she asked me, if I thought
there was any impropriety in her writing to him, and whether it would
not be better to address herself to Emily. I smiled at her simplicity,
and she finished her letter; she blushed and looked down when she gave
it me.

She is less like a sprightly French widow, than a foolish English
girl, who loves for the first time.

But I suppose, when the heart is really touched, the feelings of all
nations have a pretty near resemblance: it is only that the French
ladies are generally more coquets, and less inclined to the romantic
style of love, than the English; and we are, therefore, surprized when
we find in them this trembling sensibility.

There are exceptions, however, to all rules; and your little Bell
seems, in point of love, to have changed countries with Madame Des
Roches.

The gale encreases, it flutters in the sails; my fair friend is
summoned; the captain chides our delay.

Adieu! _ma chere Madame Des Roches_. I embrace her; I feel the
force of its being _for the last time_. I am afraid she feels it
y