Mi LAUHENCESTERNE, - HIS MOST INTIMATE FRIENDS i 5 é ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS, AS PUBLISHED BY HIS DAUGHTER MRS. MEDALLE AND OTHERS: INCLUDING THE LETTERS BETWEEN YORICK AND ELIZA. TO WHICH ARE ADDED a An Appendix of XXXII. ‘Letters, never Printed Made : . s ro WITH oe NS, NOTES. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOLUME THE SECOND. Containing YORICK’s Letters to ELIZA, to- gether with her Anfwers; Letters publifhed ano- tui (leek and the Hiftory of a W atch-Coat. 5 VIENNA: Printed for R. SAMMER, Book(eller. M. PCC, XCVIL. Go Pee ae ict Me i { bebe ep / “YORICK AND perk js baie AN _ANONY. YM ous 3 gts el Fs am, pec. LXXv. re zis fe =i a : * ul ae me ley i ue ; ¢ iy fy ie *. 43 a Ae | “ HE following Letters ee hav- ing been feparately printed from thole of ELIZA in the original edition, fo as to — make up two OF pitas the editor of the prefent editio has: thought jt more con- Pas ‘venient spot sis e to the Reader tor” se pu n together in the fame order as they haxe been written, and caft them into. one volume. By this way the Reader _ + will neither be at a lofs in the perufal of them, nor be obliged to look for ELIZA’s an{wers,. which have been printed before in the fecond. moe: For this reafon the prefixed to heh rofbottive volume.. “ é Se SS ST PREFACE YORICK’s LETTERS. IN the Preface prefixed to the frft Edi- tion of thefe Letrers, which appeared in the year 1775, and were then dedicat- ed to Lorn Apstry (the prefent Eart Batuurst) the En1ror remarks, that he >, purpofely waves all proofs which might — be drawn concerning their authenticity, from the character of the Gentleman who had the perufal. of the originals, and, with Ex1za’s permiflion, faithfully copied them at Bombay in the Eaft-Indies; from. the teftimony of many reputable families in Londen, who knew and loved Exriza, earefled and admired Mr. STERNE, and were well acquainted with the tender friendfhip between them; and from many curious anecdotes in the Letters them- felves, any one of which were fully fuffi- ecient to authenticate them.” ? PREFACE, 5 He then proceeds to obferve, that ,, as the Public is unqueftionably entitled to every kind of information concerning the Characters contained in thefe Letters which confifts with the duties of humani- ty and a good citizen; that is, a minute acquaintance with thole of whom honour- able mention is made, or the Eprror is furnifhed with authorities to vindicate from Mr. Srerne’s cenfures, which, as a man of warm temper and lively imagination, he was perhaps fometimes hurried into without due reflection; he perfuades him- felf that no party concerned will or can be offended with this publication, efpe- cially if it is confidered that without fuch information it would be cold and unen- tertaining; that by publifhing their merits’ he.cannot be underftood to intend them ‘ any injury, and without it, it would in himfelf fail in his duty to the public.” »,H41iza, (the Eniror continues) the . lady to whom thefe Letters are addreffed, is Mrs. ErrzaBpetTu Draper, wife of Da- nieL Drarer, Elq; Counfellor at Bom- bay, and at prefent Chief of the Englifh factory at Surat; a gentleman very much ee PREFACE. rzefpected in that quarter of the globe. She is by birth an Eaft-Indian; but the cir- cumfiance of being born in the country not proving [ufficient to defend her deli- cate frame againfi the heats of that burn- ing climate, fhe came to England for the recovery of her health, when by accident fhe became acquainted with Mr. Sreane. He immediately difcovered in her a mind fo congenial with his own, fo enlighten- ed, fo refined, and fo tender, that their mutual attraction prefently joined them in the clofeft union that purity could poflibly admit of. He loved her as his friend, and prided in her as his pupil. All her con- cerns became prefently his; her health, her circumftances, her reputation, her children, were his; his fortune, his time, his country, were at her difpofal, fo ‘far as the [acrifice of all or any of thele might, in his opinion, contribute to her real hap- pinefs.” . >» Mr. and Mrs. Jamus, fo frequently and honourably mentioned in thele Let- TERS, are the worthy heads of an opulent family in this City.” >» Miss Licut, now Mrs. STRATTON, - Stratton, Efq; Counfellor at Madras PREFACE, % was accidentally a palfenger in the fame {hip with Exiza, and inftantly engaged her friendfhip and efteem; but being men- tioned in one of Mrs. Drapenr’s letters to Mr. Srerne in fomewhat of a compa- rative manner with herfelf, his partiality for her, as fhe modeftly expreffed it, took the alarm, and betrayed him into fome expreflions, the coarfenels of which can- not be exenfed, Mrs. Draper declares that this lady was entirely unknown to him, and infinitely fuperior to his idea of her: fhe has been lately married to Georce- 29 >> Lhe manner ** in which Mr. STERNE’S acquaintance with the celebrated Lord Ba- TuuRsT ***, the friend and companion of Appison, Swirt, Pope, STEELE, and all the fineft wits of the laft age, commenc- ed, cannot fail to attract the attention of. the curious reader.” >> 1t is very much to be lamented, that Exiza’s modefty was invincible to all the * She is fince dead. 4 ** See Letter III. *** Father of the prefent Earl Bathurf. bgt - PREFACE. Eprtror’s endeavours to obtain her anf- wers to thefe Lerrers: her wit, pene- - tration, and judgment, her happinefs in the epiftolary ftyle, fo rapturoufly com- mended by Mr. Sterne, could not fail to furnifh a rich entertainment for the public. He could not help telling her, that he wifhed to God fhe was really poffefled of that vanity with which fhe was charg- ed;” to which fhe replied, ,,that [fhe was fo far from acquitting herfelf of vanity , | that fhe fuflpected that to be the caufe why fhe could not prevail on herfelf to fubmit her letters to the public eye; for although Mr. Srerne was partial to eve- ry thing of her’s, fhe could not hope that the world would be fo too.” With this anfwer. the Epiror was obliged to be contented. >> Lhe reader will remark, that thefe Letters have various fignatures; fome- times he figns Srerne, fometimes Yo- RICK, and to one or two he figns uER Bramin. Although it is pretty generally known who the Bramins are, yet lef any body fhould be at alofs, it may not be amils to obferve, that the principal a 7 ‘ PREFACE. — 9 caft or tribe among the idolatrous Indians are the Bramins, and out of the chief clafs of this caft come the Priefts fo famous for i - their aufterities, and the {hocking tor- ments, and frequently death, they vo- luntarily expofe themfelves to, on a reli- gious account. Now, as Mr. Sterne was a Clergyman, and Exiza an Indian by birth, it was cuftomary with her to call him ner Bramin, which he accordingly, in his pleafant moods, ufes as a fignature.” 5,1t remains only to take fome notice of the family marked with afterifks, on | whom Mr. Sterne has thought proper to {hed the bittereft gall of his pen. It is however evident, even from fome pal- fages in the Letrers themfelves, that Mrs, Drarer* could not be eafily pre- vailed on to fee this family in the fame * As the curiofity of the reader may pro- bably be excited to inquire concerning the fate of this lady, it is thought neceffary to mention, that fhe hath been dead fome years; and it is with regret we add, that fome circumftances which attended the lat- ‘ter part of her life are [aid to have reflected no credit either on her prudence or dilcre- tion. 10 PREFACE. odious light in which they appeared to her perhaps over-zealous friend. He, in the heat, or hurry of his affection, might have accepted fufpicious circumftances as real evidences of guilt, or liftened too unguardedly to the infinuations of their ennemies,” 4 ti Nn re rs renee ear anrera rms —emeen | PREFACE TO ELIZA’s LETTERS, Tue editor of the elegant and pathetic letters, from YORICK to ELIZA, which have lately made their appearance in the world, fays, ,,It is very much to be la- j,mented, that Eliza’s modefty was ine »,vincible to all the publifher’s endea- »,vours to obtain her anfwers to thele >, letters.” . », Her wit, penetration, and judgment, », her happinefs in the epiftolary ftyle, fo »rapturoully recommended by Mr. Sterne, ,, could not fail to furnifh a rich entertain- », ment for the public—the publifher could >not help telling her, that he wifhed to »,God, fhe really was polleffed of that >») Vanity with which fhe was charged.” We fhould as fincerely lament Eliza’s invincible modefty, as the editor of thofe letters, if we thought her fenfibility, in od 2 PREFACE. ~ that refpect, would preclude the publica- tidn of fuch valuable compofitions ; or if we imagined that her too [crupulous par- tiality for her particular friends, or in the moft enlarged idea, the circle of her ac- quaintance, ought in jultice to impede the more general gratification of that PUBLIC, who by means of YORICK’s letters ad- dreffed to her, muft of courfe become = admirers. Nor ought Eliza to blame us—the deli- cate mind is frequently too [evere to it- felf, and abridges its own merit of that fame, which is juftly its due. . It is therefore incumbent on the friends of fuch a being, to break through fuch partial reftrictions, and difobey thofe or- ders which are only the effects of a too timorous [enfibility. To difobey the felf-denying rigour of fuch commands, to put a negative on fuch da/h- ful delicacy, if I may be allowed the ex- preflion, is not only prea but even meritorious. Real merit is always modeft, it feeks folitude, would pine in fecret, and fink unnoticed into oblivion, PREFACE. . 13 Then furely that perfon is deferving of applaufe, or at leaft the thanks “of the public, who drawsit from its retirement, brings it to the light for public benefit, and places it in that point of view in which it ought to be confpicuoufly feen, and to fhine for general imitation, and improvement. _ Eliza’s only objection to the publication of her letters, was, that fhe thought, >, Although Mr. Sterne was partial to eve- 5Ty thing of her’s, fhe could not hope 3, that the world would be fo too.” But we will venture to affirm , that the _world will not think this argument ought to be deemed [ufficiently ftrong, to de- prive them of fuch a valuable entertain- ment: - For the excellency of the epiftles them- felves, and the great deference which fhould be paid to the judgment of Mr? Sterne, are reafons more than [ufficient to overturn the objection— — And that once fallen, not a [fyllable can be jufily ad- vanced againft this. publication. For a character of Eliza’s letters, take Mr. Sterne’s own words: 14 PREFACE, ss Who taught youthe art of writing fo »» fweetly , Eliza? — You abfolutely have >, exalted it to a [cience. »» When I am in want of ready: cafh,. 3, and ill health will permit my genius to », exert itfelf, I {hall print your letters as oo finifhed Effays, by an pichdsie oe In- >, dian Lady.” 3 Lhe ftyle is new, and would almof >, be a fufficient recommendation, for their »» felling well without merit: 5, But their fenfe, natural eafe, and 3, {pirit, are not to be equalled, I believe, yin this fection of the globe—nor, I will >, anfwer for it, by any of your country- >> women in your's.” Then what a crime would the pofleffor of fuch literary jewels, fuch a mental trea- fure, have been guilty of, in fecluding it from the public , and, like the mifer, lock- — ing that from the light, whieh generoufly diffufed, muft be pleafing and ufeful to alk. Nothing but her native diffidence could have induced Eliza to have- entertained the leafi idea of being fo unkind, or of wifhing her friends to be fo felfith, The curiofity of the public is railed. by PREFACE. 25 the publication of Yorick’s letters —— it ought to be gratified with the counterpart. Nay , the lady’s fame is concerned—— it is necefflary that her anfwers fhould be publifhed——it is neceflary to fecure her. reputation from the fmalleft [hadow of cenfare , to evince before the face of the world, that her ideas were not lefs pure than her Bramin’s. The publication of the following letters will prove, that her expreffions, tho’ as animated, were no lefs ae Soars deli- cate than her Yorick’s: And likewile, that Platonifm, fo much ridiculed , fo long thought a chimera, may exift, and even with the firongeft fenfibi- lity, and warmeft imagination. Though Eliza was too diffident of her abilities, or nice in her ideas,.to oblige the public with her letters to Yorick, yet fhe indulged many of her friends with co- pies of them—thefe again gratified many within the cirele of their acquaintance with the fame favour. And thus they, in fact, became publifh. ed; unlefs the word fignifies nothing , with- out being applied to what iflues from. the prefs only. 16. PREFACE. Thus we can only claim the merit of giving a more fair, convenient, and ge- neral edition of thefe elegant epifiles, of which we received correct copies from a lady, not more dignified, by her rank in life , than elevated by her underfanding. She gave us leave, if we thought pro- per to ufe her name—but we declined it, thinking the letters fufficient to recommend themfelves, and the bef seruennes in their own favour: Agreeable to Mr. Sterne’s opinion, con- cerning Eliza’s picture: »1 requefted, fays he, that you would: »,come fimple and unadorned , when you 3 fat for me, knowing, as I fee with un- »> prejudiced eyes, that you could receive ,,no addition from the flk-worm’s aid, >, or jeweller’s polifh.” n Thus we fend Eliza’s anfwers to Yo- rick’s epiftles into the world, without any recommendation, except their own intrin- fic merit. ia a . gee a aah -, wy + ' ‘ ie : aed Page pe < . i Jy ry ed So ee “LETTER L ov YORICK TO ELIZA. Exiza will receive my books with this. ° _’ The fermons came all hot from the heart: } I with that I could give them any title to be offered to your's. — The others came. from_the head—I-am more indifferent about their reception. I know not how it comes about, but I am half in love with you—I ought to be wholly fo; for I never valued, or faw more good qualities to value, or thought more of one of your fex than of you; fo adieu, : i Yours f faithfully, if not affectionately, -L, STERNE. LETTER It. ELIZA 10 YORICK. MY BRAMIN, I RECEIVED your Sentimental J ourney —your imagination has ftrange powers— b Sterne’s Letters, Vol, 11, B 48 STERNE’s LETTERS. it has awakened feelings in my heart, | which I never knew I poffeffed— You make > me vain—you make me in love with my own fenfibility.— I bedewed your pathetic pages with tears—but they were tears of pleafure— my heart flowed through my eyes—every particle of tendernefs in my whole frame was awakened.— You take the furefi method to inprove the underftanding—you convince the rea- fon, by touching the foul.— Sure the greateft compliments an author can receive, are the fighs and tears of his readers —fuch fincere *ppleule I amply gave you. I beg, if you ‘oNuie me, that you will ) q not flatter me —I am already too vain—. . and praife from a man of fenfe is dan- gerous. I am in the utmoft extent of the word, your Cordial friend, . Exiza,. _ * eo S'S 's5 ¥ a STERNE’s LETTERS. 19 L EOF Tre. BI: oe i b a eg ie YORICK TO ELIZA. _ T cannor ref, Eliza, though I fhall call on you at half pafi twelve, till I know how you do.— May thy dear face [mile, as thou rifeft, like the fun of this morn- ing. I was much grieved to hear of your alarming indifpofition yefterday ; and dif- appointed too, at not being let in. — Re- member, my dear, that a friend has the Same right as a phyfician. The etiquettes of this town, you'll fay, fay otherwile.— No matter! Delicacy and propriety do not always confit in obferving their frigid. doctrines. | I am going out to breakfaft, but fhall be at my lodgings by eleven; when I hope to read a fingle line under thy own hand, that thou art better, and wilt be glad to fee thy y o'clock. BRAMIN. i 20 STERNE’s LETTERS. LETTER lv. ELIZA TO YORICK. MY BRAMIN, Ir is with pleafure I inform you, that I am better—becaufe I believe it will give you pleafure. You tell me, ,,A friend has the fame right as a phyfician,” Then you may claim a double right— you are my friend, and phyfician, the moft valuable of phyficians , the phyfician _of my mind—come then, and bring the beft of cordials—the cordial of fentiment —if thy converfation does not eradicate my diforder entirely —it will make me forget that I am ill—I [hall feel no pain while you are prefent. To wifh to fee yor—you find is the in- tereft, as well as defire of Ten o’clock. ; Exiza. STERNE’s LETTERS. ~~ 21 | ; LE T.T E-R’.Y. YORICK TO ELIZA. I Gor thy letter laf night, Eliza, on my return from Lord Bathurfi’s, where I dined, and where I was heard, as I talk- ed of thee an hour without intermiffion, with fo much pleafure and attention, that the good old Lord toafied your health three different times; and now he is in his eighty-fifth year, fays he hopes to live long enough to be introduced as a friend to my fair Indian difciple, and to [ee her ; eclipfe all other nabobeffes as much in wealth, as fhe does already in exterior and, what is far better, in interior merit. I hope fo too. This nobleman is an old friend of mine.—You know he was always’ the protector of men of wit and genius; and has had thofe of the laft century, Ad- difon, Steele, Pope, Swift, Prior, ete. etc. always at his table—The manner in which his notice began of me, was as fin- gular as it was polite.—He came up to me, one day, as I was at the Princefs of : Ok oes 22 STERNE’s LETTERS. Wales’s court. ,,1 want to know you, Mr. Sterne ;'but it is fit you [hould know, alfo, who it is that wifhes this plealure. You have heard, continued he, of an old . Lord Bathurfi, of whom your Popes and Swifts have fung and fpoken fo much: I ° have lived my life with geniufes of that cafis; but have furvived them; and, de- {pairing ever to find their equals, it is fome years fince I have clofed my ace- counts, and fhut up my books, with thoughts of never opening them again; but you have kindled a defire in me of opening them once more before I die; which I now do; fo go home and dine with me.”—This nobleman, I fay, is a prodigy; for at eighty-five he has all the wit and promptnefs of a man of thirty. A difpofition to be pleafed, and a power to | pleafe others beyond whatever I knew: added to which, a man of learning , courte- Sy, and feeling. He heard mé@ talk of thee, Eliza, with uncommon fatisfaction; for there was on- ly a third perfon, and of fenfibility, with us.—And a moft fentimental afternoon, till nine o'clock, have we pafled! But STERNE’s LETTERS. 23 thou, Eliza, wert the flar that conducted | and enlivened the difcourfe.—And when I talked not of thee, fill did& thou fill my mind, and warm every thought I ut- tered; for I am not afhamed to acknow- _ ledge I greatly mifs thee.—Beft of all good - girls! the fufferings I have fuftained the whole night on account of thine, Eliza, ~are beyond my power of words.—Aflur- edly does Heaven give firength propor- tioned to the weight he lays upon us! Thou haf been bowed down, my child, with every burden that forrow of heart, and pain of body, could inflict upon a poor being; and ftill thou tellef me, thou art beginning to get eafe ;—thy fever gone, thy ficknefs, the pain in thy fide vanifh- ing alfo.—May every evil fo vanifh that thwarts Eliza’s happinels, or but awakens thy fears for a moment!—Fear nothing, my dear!—Hope every thing; and the balm of this paffion will fhed its influence on thy health, and make thee enjoy a {pring of youth and chearfulnels, more than thou hafi hardly yet tafied. And fo thou haft fixed thy Bramin’s portrait over thy writing defk; and wilt bale a 64 STERNE’s LETTERS. confult it in all doubts and difficulties. — — Grateful and good girl! Yorick {miles con- tentedly over all thou doft; his picture does not do julftice to his own compla- cency! . - Thy fweet little plan and diftribution of thy time—how worthy of thee! Indeed, Eliza, thou leaveft me nothing to direct thee in; thou leaveft me nothing to re- quire, nothing to afk—but a continuation of that conduct which won my efteem, and has made me thy friend for ever. May the rofes come quick back to thy cheeks, and the rubies to thy lips! But trufi my declaration, Eliza, that thy huf- band, if he is the good, feeling man I with him, will prefs thee to him with more honeft warmth and affection, and kifs thy pale, poor, dejected face, with more tranfport, than he would be able to do, in the beft bloom of all thy beau- — ty;—and fo he ought, or I pity him. He muft have firange feelings, if he knows not ~ the value of fuch a creature as thou art! Iam glad Milfs Light goes with you. She may relieve you from many anxious moments,—I am glad your fhip-mates are’ a. STERNE’s LETTERS. 2 friendly beings. You could leaft difpenfe with what is contrary to your own nature, which is foft and gentle, Eliza.—It would’ civilize favages.—Though, pity were it, thou fhouldf be tainted with the office! How canft thou make apologies for thy Jaf letter? “Tis moft delicious to me, for the very reafon you excule it. Write to ‘me, my child, only fuch. Let them [peak the ealy careleffnefs of a heart that opens itfelf, any how, and every how, to a man you ought to efteem and truft. Such, Eliza, I write to thee,—and fo I fhould ever live with thee, moft artlefsly, moft affectionately , if Providence permiited thy refidence in the fame [ection of the globe; for I am, all that honour and affection gan make me, Thy BRAMIN» LETTER VL “ELIZA TO YORICK. KIND. YORICK, I PERUSED your epiftle, as I always do, with infinite pleafure—I am charmed Sterne’s Letters. Vol: IL.. GC mee Re ee ee te 26 ~ STEHKNE’s LETTERS. with your account of that worthy noble- man, Lord Bathurfi—half a [core of fuck as him would make old age amiable, re- deem it from the character of morofenels, and render it the moft defirable period of life. . The company his Lordfhip has kept, . and the friendfhips he has courted, fuffi- ciently evidence his underfianding — the manner of his introducing himfelf to you, at the Princefs of Wales’s Court, is enough to render his name refpectable.— — _ Iam obliged to his Lordfhip for his good opinion of me, though I only fhone like the moon with borrowed light—L cannot merit his encomiums—ihey are not due to myfelf; but to my picture, as drawn by your brilliant imagination—your kind fan- cy was the fun, that gave me the light ,, which his: Lordfhip admired.— — You [peak with feraphic truth, when you fay, heaven gives. us: firength, pro- portioned to the weight it lays upon us— I have experienced it—for I found forti- ° tude increafe with my illnefs—and as my health decayed, my dependance upon providence grew ftronger.—— a. ie - STERNE’s LETTERS, or But I am better —thank heaven —you; bid me hope every thing—I do—hepe is: the balm of my foul, the kind foother of my anguifh upon all occalions.— — The time approaches for my departure: from England—TI could wilh you to be of the voyage—your converfation would [hor- ten the tedious hours, and [mooth the rug- ged bofom of the deep. I fhould find no terrors from the wavering elements., nor dread the dangers that tarotnded my floating prifon.— — Yet why fhould I wifh to call you from your peaceful retirement , and domeftic happinefs—to trufi the precarious ele- menis, and feek an inclement [ky—cruel thought! Eliza, be content to bear thy Yorick’s image in thy mind—and_ to trea- fure his inftructions in thy heart—then thou wilt be properly fuftained againfi, the changes of torture, and dangers of the deep—then thou wilt be in the true fenfle ef the exprellion, Yoricr’s ExizAs. os ee tall i Sa 28 STERNE’s LETTERS. LETTER VH. ELIZA TO YORICK. KIND YORICK, My nerves are fo weak, and my hand - trembles fo much, that I am afraid this {crawl will hardly be intelligible—I am extremely ill—indeed I am.—— I am obliged to exert myfelf to write this—prefent my kind refpects to Mr. and Mrs. James—they are in my heart—they occupy a [hare of my cordial friendfhip , ‘with my Bramin—may Heaven preferve you all from experiencing the anguifh my poor weak being is opprefled with.— — But think not Yorick that I complain— ~ no— Bountiful Heaven, I thank thee for my afflictions—thou chaftifefi me for my good —my poor vain heart had wandered from — the thoughts of futurity—thou hak brought it back, and fixed its attention to the point where it ought to dwell—O keep me from the fin of repining, and give me firength to bear my afflictions with patience, STERNE’s LETTERS. _ 25 The family of the ***s have been with me—they are truly amiable beings—I ad- mire them greatly—they were extremely afflicted at my fituation—I believe they felt for me—I am [ure they regard me. I am taken with a ftrange dizzinefs—I can fay no more, adieu. | ; Exiza. LETTER VIL YORICK TO ELIZA. I WRITE this, Eliza, at Mr. James's, whilft he is drefling, and the dear girl, his wife, is writing befide me to thee.—I got your melancholy billet before we fat down to dinner, ’Tis melancholy indeed, my dear, to hear fo piteous an account of thy ficknefs! Thou art encountered with evils enough, without that additio- nal weight! I fear it wilt fink thy poor foul, and body with it, paft recovery— ‘Heaven fupply thee with fortitude! We have talked of nothing but thee, Eliza, and of thy [weet virtues, and endearing conduct all the afternoon. Mrs. James, 30 STERNE’s LETTERS. pt and thy Bramin, have mixt their tears a hundred times, in {peaking of thy hard- fhips, thy goodnefls, thy graces. — The *HHP Ss . by heavens, are worthlefs! I have heard enough to tremble at the articula- tion of the name.—How could you, Eli- za, leave them, or fuffer them to leave you rather, with impreffions. the leaft fa- vourable? I have told thee enough to plant difguft againft their treachery to thee, to the laf hour of thy life! Yet fill, thou ‘toldefi Mrs. James at lait, that thou be- lieveft they affectionately love thee.—Her delicacy to my Eliza, and true regard to her eafe of mind, have faved thee from hearing more glaring proofs of their bafe- nefs—For God’s [ake write not to them; nor foul thy fair character with fuch pollut- ed hearts—They love thee! What proof? Is it their actions that fay fo? or their * zeal for thofe attachments, which do thee honour, and make thee happy? or their tendernels for thy fame? No—But they weep, and fay tender things.—Adieu to all fuch for ever. Mis. James’s honeft heart ~ revolts againft the idea of ever returning them one vilit.—I honour her, and I he- STERNE’s LETTERS. 31 nour thee, for almoft every act of thy life, _ but this blind partiality for an unworthy being. _ Forgive my zeal, dear girl, and allow me a right which arifes only out of that fund of affection I have and fhall pre- ' ferye for thee to the hour of my death! Reflect, Eliza, what are my motives for perpetually advifing thee? think whether I can have any, but what proceed from the caufe Ihave mentioned! I think you are a very deflerving woman; and that ‘you want nothing but firmnefs, and a better opinion of yourfelf, to be the bef female character I know. I wifh I could infpire you with a {hare of that vanity your enemies lay to your charge; though _ to me it has never been vifible, becaufe I think in a well turned mind, it will PrO- duce good effects. I probably {hall never fee you more; yet I flatter myfelf you'll fometimes think of me with pleafure; becaufe you muf be convinced I love you, and fo intereft myfelf in your rectitude, that I had rather hear of any evil befalling you, than your want of reverence for yourfelf, I had not 32 — STERNE’s LETTERS. power to keep this remonftrance in my breaft.—It’s now out; fo adieu. Heaven watch over my Eliza. Thine, . Yoricx. LE TOT DR ELIZA TO YORICK. MY BRAMIN, I FIND myfelf rather better to- day , my head is eafier. Accept my grateful thanks—make them acceptable to Mr. and Mrs. James—for the_ concern you have all had upon my ac- count—my overflowing heart thanks ye— though my exprellions are too weak to defcribe its feelings. You have certainly been mifinformed~ I cannot think the *** family really merit the alperity with which you mention it— I cannot think ill of any being, without having had fome occafion—I would not wifh to live a [lave to fufpicion—that were to be miferable indeed —I am [en- fible, my Bramin would mot conceive a Gad STERNE’s LETTERS. 35 hard opinion of any one, without fome grounds—but he may have been deceived —his good heart may have been too open to the defigning—and the ***s mifrepre- fented. I muft be exceedingly troublefome to _ you—I want your aflifiance to execute a few commiffions—excufe your Eliza—fhe cannot take that freedom—fhe cannot truft any perfon elfe. I ‘muft intreat, that you would procure directions from Mr. Zumps, in what man- ner I am to tune my piano-forté—as I de- ' fign it to be my harmonious companion, Guring the voyage. I {hould be glad of about a dozen brals {crews, to put up in my cabin, as conve- niences to.hang any thing upon. I muk have a proper journal book, to amufe myfelf, in minuting the particulars of my voyage. An arm-chair will likewile be ufeful to me. . Be kind enough to fend any parcel for me tothe addrels of Mr. Abraham Walk- er, pilot at Deal. Though my health improves, I am not . 34 STERNE’s LETTERS. entirely at eafe in my mind—but let me not give pain to the heart that feels too much. for me. i lig My warmeft affections to Mrs. James , —fhe is a dear creature—my refpects to — Mr. James—Heaven blefs them both— may the [miles of health and profperity attend them, ! God is my éternal friend, to him I look’ for protection, and while I breathe the air of mortality, my regards are on you —you are my adviler—my monitor—my better genius—may our reciprocal affec- tions continue pure and unchanged, till the diffolution of our frail beings—and if an intercourfe is allowed between the [pi- tits of the departed, may we enjoy that exalted—that refined, etherial rapture— which the ardent feraphims know, while glowing with the emanations of their eter- nal Creator. Mayef thou enjoy uninterrupted hap- pinels, till the angel of death wings ee to the regions of blils, Adieu, $s ‘Exiza. STERNE’s LETTERS. 35° LETTER X. VORICK TO ELIZA. To whom [hould Eliza apply in her diftrefs, but to her friend who loves her? why then, my dear, do you apologize for employing me? Yorick would be of- fended; and with reafon, if you ever fent commillions to another, which he could execute. I have been with Zumps; and your piano-forté mufi be tuned from the brafs middle-fring of your guittar, which is C.—I have got you a hammer too, and a pair of plyers to twift your wire with; and may every one of them, my dear, vibrate [weet comfort to my hopes! Ihave bought you ten handfome brals fcrews, to hang your necellaries upon: I purchaf- ed twelve; but ftole a couple from you to put up in my own cabin, at Coxwould. —I fhall never hang, or take my hat off one of them, but I fhall think of you, I have bought thee, moreover, a couple of iron {crews, which are more to be de- pended on than brais, for the globes. 36 STERNE’s LETTERS. I have written, alfo, to Mr. Abraham Walker, pilot at Deal, that I had dif- patched thefe in a packet directed to his - eare; which I defired he would [eek af- ter, the moment the Deal machine arriv- ed. I have, moreover, given him direc- tions , what fort of an arm-chair you would want, and have directed him to purchafe the beft that Deal could afford, and take it with the parcel, in the firft boat that went off. Would I could, Eliza, fo fup- ply allthy wants, and all thy wifhes! It would be a ftate of happinels to me.— The journal is as it fhould be—all but its as SN ie contents, Poor, dear, patient being! I do- more than pity you; for I think I lofe both firmnels and philofophy, as I figure to myfelf your diftrefles. Do net think I fpoke lafi night with too much afperity of ***. there was caufle; and befides, a good heart ought not to love.a bad one; and, indeed, cannot. But, adieu to the ungrateful fubject. I have been this morning to fee Mrs, James—She loves thee tenderly, and un- feignedly.—She is alarmed for thee—She fays thou looked& mof ill and melan- STERNE’s LETTERS. oF choly. on going away. She pities thee. L fhall vifit her every Sunday, while I am in town. As this may be my laft letter, I earneftly bid thee farewell.—-—May the God of Kindnefs be kind to thee, and approve himfelf thy protector, now thow art defencelefs! And, for thy daily com- fort, bear in thy mind this truth, that whatever méafure of forrow and diftrefs is thy portion, it will be repaid to thee in a full meafure of happinefs, by the Being thou haft wifely chofen for thy eter- nal friend. eh Farewell, farewell, Eliza; whilfiI live,. count upon me as the moft warm and difinterefted of earthly friends. Yorick.. LETTER XI. ELIZA TO YORICK.. MY BRAMIN, I WAVE received the box— you have taken a deal of trouble—my heart feels your kindnefs, and overflows with gra» titude.. ; ie zl * ‘a : 3 ee ee ‘ 38 STERNE’s LETTERS. The Chip I am to [ail with is extremely neat—my cabin is convenient, but {mall —it is to be painted white—lo I fhall be obliged to land, in order to accommodate myfelf with a lodging.—I [hall therefore expect, by every poft, a continuance of the happinefs which the effufions of my Bramin’s fancy , and his preceptive fenti- ments always give me. May Heaven continue your health for the benefit of mankind, and to blefs Eli- za, fince the effufions ofa friendfhip, at once fo delicate and rational, are the mok falutary pleafures that can be. felt by the fenfibility of EvizA, LETTER XH,“ ELIZA TO YORICK. DEAR BRAMIN, Tuts is my birth day—I am twenty- five years of age—yet years, when paft,, feem but as fo many hours—the moments of anguifh are the only portions of time,, which we can count—we feel their weight. ae rt a) ol % pares \ wis STERNE’s LETTERS. 39 —they pals tedioufly by— we blame them for being tardy, tho’ their [peed conti- nually takes from the {pace of our exif- " tence—But how fleeting are the moments in which we enjoy ourflelves—they fieal unperceived away, and all our pleafures are but fhort-liyed dreams. | To the mind debaled by vice , or clond- ~ é di ed by doubts , how, dreadful mufi the ra- — pidity of time appear—when every mi- nute takes from their much-loved exif- tence, and leads them to be——,, They », know not what, they know not where y2— or what is worfe, finks them into eaiting Yet even that nothing appears: 4, terrible.’ Such is the Sceptic’s fituation. - But to a foul fond of virtue, and fecur- ed by faith, time’s {wift wings give not a moment’s anguifh—The good with to get rid of the ineumbrance of clay, and the: - pains of mortality, they pant for a diflo- lution—time feems an enemy, who bars their [peedy paflage to that defitable feli- city, which is-only to be found in the regions of blifs. The time I have paft is nothing—it is now not mine—it is but a blank jnft ‘fiamped upon the memory. a. _milcarriages , and. rife to future virtues 40 Then let me ‘prize’ iene yak remains behind—let me learn forefight from paft from former follies—may each revolving. fun fee me increafe in wifdom, and fhine on ripening virtues, till I am fitted for that ftate which is all purity. I bow before my afflictions with refig- nation, and thank the bountiful Author ef nature, for fending me fuch ufeful mo- — nitors. ‘ »» Virtue rejoice, tho’ heaven may frown. awhile, That frown is but an earneft of a fmile; One day of tears prefages years of joy, Misfortunes only mend us, not deftroy 3. Who feel the lafhes of an adverfe hour, Find them but means to waft them into q 9.5992 pow’r.’ May Heaven blefs my friends and ene. mies, and give me peace of mind.. Eviza. } The above letter was either never anfwered, or the anfwer is loft. \ LETTER XIll. YORICK TO ELIZA. MY DEAREST ELIZA! ] BEGAN a new journal this morning; - you fhall fee it; for if I live not till your return to England, I will leave it you as a legacy. Tis a forrowful page; but I will write chearful ones; and could I write let- iers to thee, they fhould be chearful ones ioo: but few, I fear, will reach thee! However, depend upon receiving fome- | thing of the kind by every poft; till then, thou waveft thy hand, and bidf me write no more. Tell me how you are; and what fort of fortitude Heaven infpires you with. How are you accommodated, my dear? Is all right? Scribble away, any thing, - _and every thing to me. Depend upon [ee- ing me at Deal, with the James’s, fhould you be detained there by contrary winds. —Indeed, Eliza, I fhould with pleafure © fly to you, could I be the means of ren- dering you any fervice, or doing you kind- Sterne’s Letters, Vol. 11, D fee oN! deny . a ee n ‘ ——. 4 “ 42 STERNE’s LETTERS. nefs. Gracious and merciful God! confider the anguifh of a poor girl.—Strengthen - and preferve her-in all the {hocks her frame muft be expoled to. She is now without a protector, but thee! Save her from all accidents of a dangerous element, and give her comfort at the laft. My prayer, Eliza, I hope, is heard; for the {ky feems to {mile upon me, as I look up to it. I am juft returned from our dear Mrs. James’s, where I have been ~ . talking of thee for three hours.—She has got your picture, and likes it: but Mar- riot, and fome other judges, agree that _ mine is the better, and expreflive of a {weeter character. But what is that to the original? yet I acknowledge that hers is a picture for the world, and mine is cal- culated only to pleafe a very fincere friend, or fentimental philofopher.—In the one, you are dreffed in fmiles, and with all the advantages of filks , pearls, and er- mine ;—in the other, fimple as a vefial— appearing the good girl Nature made you; which, to me, conveys an idea of more unaffected {weetnels, than Mrs. Draper, habited for conqueft in a bitth-day [uit, Mi Sot “4 STERNE’s LETTERS. 43 with her countenance animated, and her dimples vifible.—If I remember right, Eli- za, you endeavoured to collect every charm of your perfon into your face, with more than common care, the day you fat for Mrs. James—Your colour too, brigh- tened; and your eyes [hone with more- than ufual brilliancy. I then requefted you to’come fimple and unadorned when you fat for me—knowing, as I fee with uz- prejudiced eyes, that you could receive no addition from the filk-worm’s aid, or jeweller’s polifh. Let me now tell you a truth, which, I believe, I have uttered before.—When I fir faw you, I beheld. you as an object of compafllion, and as a very plain woman. The mode of your drefs, tho’ fafhionable, disfigured you. — But nothing now could render you fuch, but the being folicitous to make yourlelf admired as a handfome one—You are not handfome, Eliza, nor is yours a face that will pleafe the tenth part of your behold- — ers ,—but are fomething more ; for I {cruple not to tell you, I never [aw fo intelligent, fo animated, fo good a countenance; nor “was there, nor ever will be, that man of D2. hy Seat Wi? + aa Be oie ; et 44 STERNE’s LETTERS. fenfe, tendernefs, and feeling, in your company three hours, that was not, or will not be, your admirer, or friend, in confequence of it; that is, if you aflume, or aflumed, no character foreign to your own, but appeared the artlefs being Na- ture defigned you for. A fomething in your eyes, and voice, you pollefs in a degree more perfuafive than any woman I ever faw, read, or heard of. But it is that be- witching fort of namelefs excellence that men of nice fenfibility alone can be touch- ed with. | di Were your hufband in England, I would freely give him five hundred pounds, if money could purchale the acquifition, to let you only fit by me two hours in a day, while I wrote my Sentimental Jour. ney. I am [ure the work would fell fo - much the better for it, that I fhould be reimburled the fum more than feven times told.— I would not give nine pence for the picture of you the Newnhams have got executed—lIt is the refemblance of a conceited, made-up coquette. Your eyes, and the fhape of your face, the latter the moft perfect oval I ever faw, which are + ci ] ¥ le ¢ . Sn. STERNE’s LETTERS. 45 perfections that muft ftrike the moft indif- ferent judge, becaufe they are equal to any of God’s works in a fimilar way, . and finer than any I beheld in all my tra- vels, are manifeftly injured by the affect- ed leer of the one, and flrange appearance of the other; owing to the attitude of the head, which is a proof of the ariifi’s or your friend’s falfe tafte. The ****’s, who verify the character I once gave, of teaz- ing, or fticking like pitch, or bird-lime, fent a card that they would wait on Mrs. ** on Friday.—She fent back, fhe was engaged.—Then to meet at Ranelagh, to- night.—She anfwered, fhe did not go.— She fays, if [he allows the leaft footing, _ fhe never fhall get rid of the acquain- tance, which {he is refolved to drop at once. She knows them. She knows they are not her friends, nor yours; and the firt ule they would make of being with her, would be to facrifice you to her, if they could, a fecond time. Let her not then, let her not, my dear, be a greater friend to thee, than thou art to thylelf. She begs I will reiterate my requeft to you, that you will not write to them, li SPT ee ey — or ; = rere 46 STERNE’s LETTERS. will give her, and thy Bramin, inexpref- fible pain. Be affured, all this is not with- out reafon on her fide. I have my reafons 100; the firft of which is, that IF fhould grieve to excels, if Eliza wanted that for- titude her Yorick has built fo high upon. I faid I never more would mention the name to thee; and had I not received it, as a kind’ of charge, from a dear woman that loves you, I fhould not have broke my word. I will write again to-morrow to _ thee, thou belt and moft endearing of girls! A peaceful night to thee. My fpirit will be with thee through every watch of it. ; ~ Adieu. LETTER XIV. ELIZA TO YORICK. Ler me fee your journal, at leaft fend a copy of it, before I leave England—for far, far off be the time deftined for its defcending to me as a legacy—TI fhall be happy to perufe the forrowful pages, they humanize the heart—I feel as you felt, when I read what you pen—and that is to feel with the mof refined fenfibility. STERNE’s LETTERS, 47. The fympathy of Sentiments beftows the . - moft inexpreflible pleafures—fuch forrows are forrows to be coveted—when your | page compels the tears from my eyes, and makes my heart throb—I will fay, Here my Bramin wept—when he penned this paflage, he wept—let me catch the pleafing contagion from each heart-felt fen- tence, and bedew the leaf with mutual fireaming forrows.— ~ —Then will I turn to the chearful effu- fions ‘of thy imagination—then will I revel in the bright fallies of thy wit, and calm the pathetic perturbations of my foul with thy inimitable humour—the big tear {hall no longer tremble in my eye—the tender anguifh fhall no longer heave my heart, - but Yorick fhall heal the forrows the Bra- min gave. Such delectable’ amufements fhall gild the tedious hours of my paflage—and by Yorick’s affiftance, I {hall fancy India but haif the diffance from England than it really is. A kindly fomething you promife, i: every polt—then be affured I Chall never wave my hand to fiop the filent meffen- ger, but with open arms receive it, 48 STERNE’s LETTERS. I am confiderably better; and, thank heaven, am infpired with a fortitude, which I hope renders me worthy of the name of your difciple, of your friend. My accommodations are tolerable—I cannot complain. : You fay you [hall fee me at Deal with the James’s, fhould I be detained there by contrary winds. _ _ It has been my petition, ever fince to the fupreme Being, to interefi the elements in my behalf, that I may once more, be indulged with the fight of my friends. Thus while the captain, the crew, and the other paflengers, are wifhing for a favourable gale, Iam importuning the heavens to deny their prayer, and fill to detain the veffel from her proceeding on her deftined voyage. ‘i I will not give my opinion concerning my refemblance on canvas, in the various ftyles, defired by my friends—TI fat to oblige them — and would not on any ac- count obtrude a diflenting fricture on their judgment. But of this they may reft affured, that however the pictures may appear, the original is their’s. | | AR eee eee 6 Be ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. 49 : es . You fay, when you firf faw me, the mode of my drefs, the fafhionable, dif- figured me. _ I thought fo myfelf—but wore it in com- pliance with the reigning tafte—-there is no pride fo firong as that which is couch- _ed under an affected fingularity. Above all things, I would not wifh to appear fingular; that is, to be effentially abfurd. When I confider the diftinguifhed friend- fhip, with which you honour me, and reflect on that purity of affection which hath interefted you in my mof trivial con- _ eerns, and engaged you to devote your precious moments to my fervice—I can- not but glory in the’compliment you pay me—in faying, ,, You are not handfome »» Eliza—nor is yours a faee that will pleafe 994 tenth part of your beholders.” flow happy am I not to owe your at- tachment to frail and fading beauty—but to fentiment alone. . The compliment is the firongeft I ever in my life received, or wilh to receive— it is not compofed of common place flatte- ry, nor paid to the fimple features of a Sterne’s Letters. Vol. Il. E ‘ " 7 a : — > ic so STERNE’s LETTERS, face—it is genuine applaufe—it is pare to the head—to the heart. Yet I muft not indulge any isitey ; fo far as to take it in its full force to mylelf —you rather draw me as you are preju- diced in my favour, and partial to my defects. Yet will I often Iook on my picture as Anifhed by your hand—I am perfuaded it is what I ought to be—I will ftrive to come up to the colouring, in order to be as perfect as my nature will admit, or perhaps as Providence defigned I fhould be, during this fublunary probation. You mention my hufband, that dear name has made the tide of my blood ebb tumultuoufly towards my heart—I turn my imagination towards India—figh at the diftance, and could almoft unfay all that I have [aid in the former part of my letter. But why fhould I revoke a fingle fen- tence, or wifh to recall one fentiment— are not love and friendlhip equally facred —then learn, Eliza, to keep them both inviolate—to be worthy of fuch a hufband —fuch a friend! Yes, my Yorick, my hufband could STERNE’s LETTERS. 51 grant thee my company—if it could be of fervice to thee, whilf thou waft continu- ing thy fentimental journey—he would not deprive mankind of the improvement and pleafure thou art capable of giving them, by denying thee any thing. i Say no more of the ***s—I yield to - your ardency—I give up every thing te your friendfhip—but quit the ungrateful fubject—I will not write to them any more. I fhall impatiently expect your promif- ed letter to-morrow. Farewell, thou beff of men, and fin- cereft friend—may Heaven protect thy bu- fy hours, and guard thy more fecluded moments, Adieu. Eight o’clock, Morn. 52 STERNE’s LETTERS. "Se rs atc serene err tome LETTER Xv. ELIZA TO YORICK. KIND YORICK, I AM very happy in the company of Mifs L——t, fhe is an amiable and deferving young lady.—I am thoroughly fatisfied that fhe is to fail with me. There is to be of the voyage amilitary officer in the company’s fervice—He yefter- day intruded upon us to tea—I did not ehufe .to fhew any refentment. I rallied him, I told him, that boldnefs was cer- tainly one of the principal requifites in. a - foldier. He excufed his incivility, without con- felling it with a good grace. He feemsto be greatly taken with Mifs 'L——t,—I dare engage that before we have failed together the [pace of a fort- night, he will be in love with her. The paflengers I am to fail with are genteel people, and the officers behave with politenefs and decorum. STERNE’s LETTERS. 53 ~My Yorick, my friend, divides my thoughts with the dear name that duty binds me to.—I often dream of you—re- member me in your prayers—think of me waking, and let me like an illufion, fteal through your fancy ; while you ee = wo Aasenggin am yours. — ; Adieu, adieu. a Eviza. P. S. As my ftay will be fo [hort at leaft in all probability , take i bite oppor- tunity to me—adieu, — “LETTER: XVL YORICK TO ELIZA. “ [ rank you could act no otherwifle than you did with the young [oldier. There was no fhutting the door againf him, either in politenefs or humanity. Thou tellefi me he feems fulceptible of tender impreffions; and that before Mifs Light has failed a fortnight, he willbe in love with her.—Now I think it a thoufand times more likely that he attaches himfelf to thee, Eliza; becaufe thou art a thoufand 54 STERNE’s LETTERS. times more amiable. Fivemonths with Eliza; and in the fame room—and an amorous fon of Mars befides!— ,,Z¢ can »”0 be, maffr.” The fun, if he could avoid it, would not fhine upon a dung- hill; but hisrays are fo pure, Eliza, and celeftial,—I never heard that they were polluted by it.—Juft fuch will thine be, deareft child, in this, and every fuch fitua- tion you will be expofed to, till thou art fixed for life.— But thy difcretion, thy wildom, thy honour, the fpirit of thy Yo- rick , and thy own [pirit, which is equal to it, will be thy ablef counfellors. Surely, by this time, fomething is do- ing for thy accommodation.—But why may not clean wafhing and rubbing do, inftead of painting your cabin, as it isto be hung? Paint is fo pernicious, both to your nerves and lungs, and will keep you fo much longer too, out of your apartment; where , I hope, you will pafs fome of your hap- piefi hours.— ; I fear the beft of your fhipmates are only genteel, by comparifon with the con- tcafted crew, with which thou muft be- hold them, So was—you know who! — oe sn i STERNE’s LETTERS. 55 from the fame fallacy that was put upon the judgment , when—but I will net mor- tify you. If they are decent, and diftant, it is enough; and as much as is to be ex- pected. If any of them are more, I re- joice;— thou wilt want every aid; and *tis thy due to have them. Be cautious only, my-dear, of intimacies. Good hearts | are open, and fall naturally into them. Heaven infpire thine. with fortitude, in this, and every deadly trial! Beft of God’s works , farewell! Love me, I befeech thee; and remember me for ever! I am, my Eliza, and will ever be, in the moft comprehenfive [enfe , Thy friend, Yorick. P. S. Probably you will have an oppor- tunity of writing to me by [ome Dutch or French Chip , or from the Cape de Verd Mlands— it will reach me fome how, — 55 STERNE’s LETTERS. ee a ema ee LETTER XVI. YORICK TO ELIZA. MY DEAR ELIZA! Ou: I grieve for your cabin.—And the frefh painting will be enough to deftroy every nerve about thee. Nothing fo per- nicious as white lead. Take care of your- felf, dear girl; and fleep not in it too foon. It will be enough to give you a firoke of an epileply. I hope you will have left the fhip ; and that my letters may meet, and greet you, as you get out of your poft-chaife, at Deal.— When you have got them all, put them, my dear, into fome order.— The firfi eight or nine, are numbered: but I wrote the reft without that direction to thee; but thou wilt find them out, by the day or hour, which, I hope, I have ge- nerally prefixed to them. When they are got together, in chronological order, few them together under a cover. I truft they will be a perpetual refuge to thee, from time to time; and that thou wilt, when STERNE’s LETTERS; 57 weary of fools, and uninterefting dif- — courfe, retire, and converfe an hour with them and me. ~ I have not had power, or the heart, to aim at enlivening any one of them, with a fingle firoke of wit or humour; but they contain fomething better; and what you . will feel more fuited to your fituation—a . long detail of much advice, truth, and knowledge. I hope, too, you will per- ceive loofe touches of an honeft heart, in every one of them; which fpeak more than the moft fiudied periods; and will give thee more ground of truft and re- liance upon Yorick, than all that labour- ed eloquence could fupply.. Lean then thy whole weight, Eliza, upon them and upon me. ,, May poverty, diftrefs, an- guifh, and fhame, be my portion if ever | I give thee reafon to repent the know- ledge of me.” — With this affeveration, made in the prefence of a juft God, I pray to him, that fo it may {peed with meas I deal candidly, and honourably with thee! I would not miflead thee, Eliza; I would not injure thee, in_the opinion of a fingle individual, for the - richeft crown the proudef monarch wears. 58 . STERNE’s LETTERS, Remember, that while I have life and power, whatever is mine, you may fiyle, and. think, your’s.—Though forry fhould I be, if ever my friendfhip ‘was put to the tefi thus, for your own delicacy’s fake.—Money and counters are of equal ufe in my opinion, they both ferve to fet up with. : : I hope you will anfwer me this letter; but if thou art debarred by the elements , which hurry thee away, I will write one for thee; and knowing it is fuch a one as thou wouldf have written, I will regard itas my Eliza’s. Honour, and happinefs, and health, and comforts of every kind, fail along with thee, thou mof worthy of girls! I will live for thee, and my Lydia—be rich for the dear children of my heart— gain wisdom, gain fame, and happinels, to {hare with them—with thee—and her, in my old age.—Once for all, adieu. Pre- ferve thy life; Readly purfue the ends we propofed; and let nothing rob thee of thofe powers Heaven has given thee for thy well-being. What can I add more, in the agitation STERNE’s LETTERS. _— 5 of mind I am in, and within five minutes of the laft poftman’s bell, but recommend thee to Heaven, and recommend myfelf to Heaven with thee, in the [ame fervent ejaculation ,,that we may be happy, and meet again; if not in this world, in the next.” —Adieu ,—I am thine, Eliza, af- fectionately, and everlaftingly. : Yorick, LETTER XVIII ELIZA TO YORICK, MY YORICK, Iuope your fears, re{pecting my health, on account of my.cabin being new paint- ed, will prove groundlefs.—But as it will give my Yorick pleafure—I promife to take care of mylelf, particular care for his fake. . I have received your letters with heart- felt fatisfaction—I received them, and have arranged them in chronological or- der, as you directed me—I found no diffi- culty in doing it, as the dates fupplied any deficiency in the numbering. : \ 60 STERNE’s LETTERS. I have put them divdiae a cover—I will. wear them next my heart—they [hall, in- deed, be my refuge—my kind filent mo- nitors—lI will perufe them with reverence, and obey them with refpect—I have al- ready treafured them in my. peo: and experienced their efficacy. While they are animated by knowledge and truth, thy honeft heart appears in every line, and makes them glow with fenfibility.— Mine reverberates to every fentence , and fympathizes with thine.—I return thy alleveration with equal finceri- ty, and imprecate the fame wrath, if my candour is not equal to thine. You fay, ,, If thou art debarred by the ,, elements, which hurry thee away, I will 4, write one, a letter, for thee, and know-. 3 ing it is fuch an one, as thou wouldf >> have writers will. regard it as ay >, Eliza’s.’ . Do, my Yorick, when I have left the Britifh [hore—while I am combating the uncertainty of the boifterous elements— | when I can no longer behold the white cliffs of thy native land, a land happy in. thy birth, do write a letter for thy Eliza STERNE’s LETTERS, 61 —Siretch thy imagination to its utmoft ‘extent—fancy all that is tender, delicate, kind and pure—fancy the moft feraphic affection, and believe the powers of thy imagination cannot exceed the dictates of my heart. ih AL You ejaculate, ,, May we be happy, >and meet pumetiche: not in this world, >> in the next.’ I extend the petition, i ee we again »» meet, both here and hereafter.” Euiza: 4 LETTER XIX. Y¥YORICK TO ELIZA. L WASH to Gady Eliza st waspoltble to. pofipone the voyage to India, for another year.—For I am firmly perfuaded within my own heart, that thy hufband could never limit thee with regard-to. time... I fear that Mr, B—-+has exaggerated matters.—I- like hot his countenance It: is, abfolutely killing. —Should: evil befall’ thee, what-will he not shavesto anfwer for? I know not the being:that will be 6: STERNE’s LETTERS. deferving of fo much pity; or that I fhall hate more. He will be an outcafi, alien— In which cafe I will be a father to thy children, my good girl !—therefore take no thought about them.— But, Eliza, if thou art fo very ill, ail put of all thoughts of returning to India this year. — Write to your hufband — tell him the truth of your cafe.—If he is the generous, humane man you defcribe him to be, he cannot but applaud your con- duct.—I am credibly informed, that his repugnance to your living in England, arif- es only from the dread which has enter- ed his brain, that thou mayft run him in debt, beyond thy appointments, and that he mufi difcharge them—that fuch a crea- ture fhould be facrificed for ‘the paltry confideration of a few hundreds is too, too hard! Oh! my child, that I could, with propriety indemnify him for every charge, even to the laft mite, that ‘thou haft’ been of to him! With joy would I give him my whole fubfiftence——nay, fequefier my livings, and’ truftsthe’ trea- fures Heaven has furnifhed my head with , for a future fubfifience.— ul NG See STERNE’s LETTERS. 63 i _ You owe much, I allow, to your buf. | band,—you owe fomething to appear- ances, and the opinion of the world; but, trufi me, my dear, you owe much likewife to yourfelf.— Return therefore, from Deal, if you continue ill.—I will prefcribe for you, gratis.— You are not the firk woman, by many, I have done fo for, with fuccefs. I will fend for my wife and daughter, and they fhall carry you, in purfuit of health, to Montpelier, the wells of Brancais, the Spa, or whither thou wilt. Thou [halt direct them, and make parties of pleafure in what corner of the world fancy points out to thee. ‘We Chall fifh upon the banks of Arno, and lofe ourfetves in the {weet labyrinths of its vallies.—And then thou fhouldf& warble to us, as I have once or twice heard thee.—,, I’m loft,-I’m lofi”?—but we fhould find thee again, my Eliza.—Of a -fimilar nature to this, was your phyfi- cian’s pre[cription: ,, Ule gentle exercife, the pure fouthern air of France, or mild- er Naples— with the fociety of friendly: gentle beings.” Senfible man! He certain- ly entered into your feelings. He knew back tad il 6; STERNE’s LETTERS. the fallacy of medicine to a creature, whole 1LLNESS HAS ARISEN FROM THE ‘AFFLICTION OF HER MIND. Time only, my dear, I fear you muft truft to, and have your reliance on; may it give you the health fo enthufiaftic a votary to the charming goddefs deferves. I honour you, Eliza, for keeping fecret fome things, which if explained , had been a panegyric on yourfelf. There is a digni- ty in venerable affliction, which will not allow it to appeal to the world for pity, or redrefs, Well have you fupported that _eharacter, my amiable, philofophic friend ! And, indeed, I begin to think you have as many virtues as my uncle Toby’s wi- dow.—I don’t mean to infinuate, hufley, that my opinion is no better founded than his was of Mrs. Wadman; nor do I con- ceive it-poffible for any Trim to convince me it is’ equally fallacious.—I am fure, ~ while I have my reafon, it is not.—Talk- ing of widows—pray, Eliza, if ever you are fuch, do not think of giving yourfelf to fome wealthy Nabob—becaufe I defign to marry you mylelf.—My wife cannot live long—fhe has fold all the provinces ieiassiichingials in - vairte Ve nl I iat not the woman I fhould like fo well for her fub- ftitute as yourlelf.—’Tis true, I am nine- ty-five in confitution, and you but twen- ty-five—rather too great a difparity this! —but what I want in youth, I will make up in wit and good-humour.—Not Swift fo loved his Stella, Scarron his Mainte-_ non, or Waller his Sachariffa, as I will love, and fing thee, my wife elect! All thofe names, eminent as they were, [hall give place to thine, Eliza. Tell me in anfwer to this, that you approve and ho- ~ nour the propofal, and that you wauld, like the Spectator’s miftrefs, have more joy in putting on an old man’s [lipper than affociating with the gay, the volup- - tuous, and the young.—Adieu, my Sim- plicia! 1 Yours, TrisTRAM, . és Sterne’s Letters. Vol. 11. FE | STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘6; aa 38 i 66 STERNE’s LETTERS. L © TiT-E'R KX. ELIZA TO YORICK. MY TRISTRAM, if WOULD oblige you in any thing prac- ticable—with any thing within the line of - my duty ;—-but it is impoflible to poftpone my voyage—my orders are irrevocable— I muft fubmit. “Mr. B—did not exaggerate—but I am better—my children I therefore hope will not be orphans—but I thank thee, how- ever, for the generofity of thy idea con- cerning them—it was exalted. Indeed you have been mifinformed con- cerning my Jhufbands temper—he is not of that parfimonous difpofition which you imagine.—If my expences only were in queftion, I might continue te breathe the air of Europe—but more tender confidera- tions urge him to prefs my return to In- dia—I am not made a pecuniary facrifice. You allow I owe much to my hufband —I follow but the dictates of my duty to difcharge that debt—the moft facred debt STERNE’s LETTERS. _— 6 of which we know, and contracted in the moft folemn manner. I confefs much is due to appearances, ‘sand the opinion of the world , yet not to wrong thofe appearances, and that opi- nion—not to take from whatis due to my- felf, I would, if circumfiances permitted, I would, indeed, turn from Deal to pay what is due to friendfhip. You fhould prefcribe for me—but not corporeally—let thofe do it whofe bufinefs it is—let them have their perquifites, and fatten on the anguifh of the valetudinary, while my Yorick aflumed_to himfelf the nobler tafk of preferibing to the mind, and eradicating the diforders of the foul— that is the tafk he can perform unrivaled , and for which Heaven peculiarly defigned him, and lent his talents to benefit an un- feeling—a depraved world. May thy wife and daughters be better employed, thanin adminifering to the an- guifh of thy Indian—may they be the means and partakers of thy domeftic hap- pinels—if they felt as I feel, they would think every toil a pleafure which gave thee comfort, B 9 6s STERNE’s LETTERS. I cannot think , let phyficians preferibe as they pleafe, that change of place could relieve me—I have tried it from one fide of the globe ‘to the other, without fuc, _cefs—therefore Britain, and thy conyerle would certainly prove as efficacious, as the air of France and Naples—but my. continuance here will be impoffible. Anguifh of mind, as you juftly intimate, perhaps, proceeding from too great a de- gree of fenfibility, and being conftitutio- _ nally ailing, will, in my cafe, baffle the prefcriptions of art and the experience of the moft able phyficians. ; You fay, ,,There is a dignity in vener- - 5, able affliction, which will not allow it 2»to appeal to the world for, pity or re- », drefs.””— — You [peak from my heart, you have taken my fentiment—oh! may I never be compelled to feek redrefs from” _ the world, or be fo unfortunate as to merit — indifcriminate pity. If I am pitied—let it be by thee !—Yet I would not wilh thee to pity any thing. Thy worthy heart’is fo tender, that I am [enfible, fhould& thou have occafion to pity any one, that thy anguifh would ee ee Sephs SOne STERNE’s LETTERS. 69 be more fevere than that felt by the ob- ject of thy fenfibility,—I would wifh none but the flinty breafted to feel pity, and~ they are incapable of it. ' But you grow merry—you alk, If ever I fhould become a widow, Heaven avert the hour! whether I would marry again? Whether I would give my hand to fome rich Nabob. I think I. never fhould give my hand again—as I am afraid my heart would not go with it.— —But as to Nabobs, I delpife them all—thofe who pretend to be Chrif- tians, I mean. Have they not depopulated towns—laid wafie villages , and defolated the plains of my native country ?— —Alas ! they have fertilized the immenfe fields of India, with the blood of its inhabitants—they have facrificed the lives of millions of my coun- . trymen to their infatiable avarice—rivers of blood fiream for vengeance againft them —widows and orphans fupplicate Heaven for revenge. Then can thofe [pirits, who-have waded through blood, to gain riches and power, be congenial with the foul of Eliza, — yo. STERNE’s LETTERS. eould Yorick’s haplefs Indian bear the idea of an union with the murderers of her countrymen—no—f{hame and every, be firf my portion. Riches, as the origin of luxury, and fupport of the gaudy. trappings of pride, I contemn.— —Gold is beneficial only in the hands of virtue, when ‘the benevolent hand is extended to petitionary diftrefs— or when [oft-eyed humanity feeks the cot- tage of affliction to | », Shine its fuperfluity away’ — to diffule its bleffings around , and bid the big tear of joy ftart from the eye of [or- row , and trickle down the woe-wan cheeks that begin to glow with the warmth of | gratitude. BR: ¥ Yes, my Bramin, were I a widow— and thou a widower—I think I would give my hand to thee, preferable to any | man exifting—I would unite in the purity of heart , with my monitor—I would wed thy foul—my mind [fhould adopt thy [fen- timents, and become congenial with thy own, and Hie STERNE’s LETTERS. 5 | 49 My rough genius Chould. at length refine, Acquiring worth by imitating thine; With thee I'd wander o’r the hiftoric page , And view the changing {cenes of every’ age. Or led by thee, the lateft tracts explore Of grave philofophy’s extenfive lore; Or now reelin’'d imthe Sylvean bow’r, - With peaceful bards, enjoy the blifsful He ony ei hour.” What maiter difparity of years, refpect- ing the mortal part? The foul, that ray of immortality; is always young; and I am certain, thy foul is more vigorous than what the generality of mankind can boaft. If any part of thee is old, it is the mof infignificant.—The moft valuable part is in all the vernal bloom of youthful prime. A great poet fays, »» For love no certain caufe can beaffign’d, » Lisinno face, but inthe lover's mind.” And may not I improve the, idea—may not I fay, 72 -STERNE’s LETTERS. | Why fhould.one thought on ‘years unequal -wafte; | Love’s notin age , but‘in the lover's tafte ; If time towards the grave the body bring, The foul fhines forth in all the charms of fpring. ‘ Then let not frail corruption touch my ite heart, I claim the foul , and love th’immortal part. But rhapfody afide—I hope Mrs. Sterne will out-live every idea of fuch an union: —You fay, She has fold all the provinces in France—I am glad of it—that fhe may the fooner purchale the fee fimple of her health in her native air. : However, I honour thy flipper, and really prefer it to any allociation with the gay, the voluptuous, and the young—but I would not have Mrs. Sterne put it off too . foon, for the fake of thy domeftic happinels. Without joking, Iam ferioufly, and with fincerity , in the utmof purity of affection, thine moft unalterably , Exiza. °-- P. S, My heart will beat with impatience for an anfwer—be expeditious to eafe’its throbbings, 4 STERNE’s LETTERS. 73 oy! = ¢ bby E ' 5k Se ea ee LETTER XXI “YORICK TO ELIZA. MY DEAR ELIZA! I HAVE been within the verge of the gates — of Death.—I was ill the laf time I wrote to you; and apprehenfive of what would be the confequence.—My fears were but too well founded; for in ten minutes af-- ter I difpatched my letter, this poor, fine- > fpun frame of Yorick’s gave way, and L broke a veflelin my breaft , and could not fiop the lofs of blood, till four this morn- ing. I have filled all thy India: handker-- chiefs with it.—It came; I think, from my» leart! I fell, afleep, through weak- nefs,. At fix I awoke, with the bofom of my fhirt fteeped in tears. I dreamt I. was: fitting under the canopy of Indolence, and that thou cameft into the room, with.a: fhaulin thy hand., and toldf me, my [pirit had flown to: thee in the Downs, with: tidings of my fate; and that’ you were come to: adminifter what confolation. filial affection could beftow, and to receive my Sterne’s Letters. Vol. Ll. G v4 STERNE’s LETTERS. parting breath and blefling. — With that you folded the fhaul about my waif, and, kneeling , fupplicated my attention. I awoke; but in what a frame! Oh! my God! ,, But thou wilt number my tears, and put them all into thy bottle.”—Dear girl! I fee thee ,—thou art for ever prefent to my fancy , embracing my feeble knees, and raifing thy fine eyes to bid me be of comfort: and when-I talk to Lydia, the words of Efau,%as uttered by thee; per- petually ring in my ears—,,Blefs me even alfo, my father!’ '—Bleffing attend wri thou child of my heart! ' My ‘bleeding is quite ftopped, Atel I ‘feel the principle of life firong within me: fo be not alarmed ; Eliza—I know I fhall do ‘well. I have eat my breakfaft' with hunger ; and I write to thee with a plea- fure arifing from that prophetic impreflion - in my imagination, that ,, all will termi- nate to ourheart’s content.” Comfort thy- felf eternally with this perfuafion, ,, that the beft of beings, as thou’ haft. fweetly expreffed it, could not, by a combination of accidents, produce fuch a chain of events, merely to be the fource of mifery _ STERNE’s LETTERS:. —_75 to the leading perfon. engaged in them.” The obfervation' was: very applicable, ve- ry. good, and very elegantly expreffed. I wifh my memory did juftice to the word- — ing of it.— Who taught you the art-of : writing fo fweetly , Eliza? —You have.ab- folutely’ exalted. it tora [cience!: When I amin wantiofready cafh, and ill health | will permit: miy genius, to,exert itfelf,; I fhall print’ your/letters.,'as finifhed effays, 3,by an unfortunate: Indian lady.” The fiyle is mew 3: and would almof be a [uf- ficient» recommendation for their felling well » without merit—but their fenfe, na- tural ieafe, and fpitit, is not to be equal- led., I believe., inithis fection of the globe; nor, 1 will anfwer, for it; by any of your country-women in your’s.—I have fhew- ed your letter ‘to Mrs. B—, and to half . the literati in town.—You [hall not be angry! with mesfor it,:becaufe I meant to do you ‘honour -by: it.—You*cannot ima- gine how many admirers. your epiftolary productions have gained’ you, that never * viewed: your external merits. I. only ‘won- der where thou couldft acquire thy graces, thy goodnels, thy accomplif{hments—fo « G2 76 STERNE’s LETTERS. connected! fo educated! Nature has, fure- ly , fiudied to make’ thee her peculiar care —for thou art, and’not in my eyes alone, - the beft and fairefi of all her works.— And fo, this is the laft letter thou art to receive from me; becaufe the Earl of Chatham, I read in the papers, is got to the Downs*; .and the wind, f find j:is - fair. If fo—bleffed woman! take my laf, lafi farewell!—Cherifh the remembrance of me; think how I efieem, nay, how af- fectionately I love thee, and what a prize I fet upon thee! Adieu, adieu! and with my adieu—let me give thee ‘one: fireight rule of conduct, that thou haft heard from my lips in a thoufand ‘forms—but I cons 5 center it in one word, >» tise 8 REVERENCE THYSELF. Adieu, once more, Eliza! May no an- guifh of heart: plant’ a wrinkle upon thy face, till [behold it again! May no doubts or milgivings: difturb: the ferenity of thy mind, or awaken a painful thought about * April 7, 1767. STERNE’s LETTERS, 77 | thy children—for they are Yorick’s—and Yorick ‘is thy friend for ever! — Adieu, ‘adieu, adieu! P. S., Remember, that Hope fhortens all j journies, by {weetening them ;—fo fing my little ftanza on the fubject, with the devotion of an hymn, every morning when thou arifeft, and thou wilt eat thy break- faft. with more comfort for it. . Bleffings, reft, and Hygeia go with thee! Mayft thou foon return, in peace and af- fluence, to illumine my night! I am, and fhall be, the lafi to deplore thy lofs, and will be the firft to congratulate, and hail thy return.— PARE, THEE, WELL! | | LETTER XXII. ELIZA TO YORICK. MY BRAMIN, Tu 1S is the laf letter thou wilt receive from me, while I am within fight of the Britifh [hore—the land of freedom, and 78 STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘benevolence—the land which, to its own glory be it [poken, gave my Yorick being, _I was terrified when.I opened your laf letter ;—-your illnefs gave me the moft 8e- nuine concern. IN Oj To break a blood velfel in thy biwaftes dreadful!—I was alarmed at the intelli- gence, and my blood thrilled in my veins, — and curdled near my heart, when I'read it. O that my India handkerchiefs had been -ftyptic, to give thee eafe.—I was happy to read you had flept—but' your dream— ‘Heaven render it improphetic — Heaven keep me from the painful office of admi+ niftering to your diffolution. --. | rh] Thy tears I will treafure in my bottle, or at leaft, I will weep for thee—fill it with my tears, and call them thine, as they are unfeignedly fhed upon thy account. : Your imagination images to my feelings —you behold-me in fancy in the very fupplicating pofture I fhould aflume, were I near you—I fhould embrace! embrace! - your knees, and look as if I bade you be of ron tiinntok I fhould only: look—TI . fheuld be unable to fpeak. » nes! | STERNE’s LETTERS. pis oT join. with’ thee i in bleffing the child of ‘thy heart—thy Lydia. | And. all praife be given to that bounti- ful Being; who has healed, thy, diforder,. and fiopped thy bleeding—who bade thee again ,,feel the principle of life firong »» within thee.” : i SA og: All will certainly terminate to our heart’s content—to think otherwife, is to enter- _tain an.ill opinion of an omnipotent Being -—who is all: wife—all. merciful, and all good, whole benignity is. equal to his power, and both are unbounded. _ You may inquire, who taught me the art of writing—it was even. my Yorick !— if I have any claim to merit—if.my ftyle is, as youiare pleafed to fay; newt ib the eale and Ipirit of my compolitions are not to be-equalled—the praife is eptitely due to yourfelf. I have taken the utmoft pains to feal your fentiments—your manner—the deli- cacy of your expreflions—the eafy flow of your thoughts—the purity of your diction —in fine, 1 have in my writings aimed,as much as poflible to be Yorick. 80 STERNE’s LETTERS. But I cannot think my ftyle equal te © what your prejudice in my favour per- fuades ‘you it is ;—I can perceive manifeft faults in my compofitions myfelf. 1 am not laying a trap for future plaudits, in- deed I am not.—I-beg that our corre[pon- dence may be from the heart, not of the heart;—therefore no compliments. , -I muft, however, chide—I muft, my Yorick ,—for [hewing my letters.—Y ou tell me, you have [hewn them to Mrs. B—, and to half the literati in town ;—indeed you have been to blame—fo to expole your Eliza’s weaknels. She bares her heart to thee—fhe lays it entirely open—but fhe would not have it fhewn fo naked to every one in the ful- . nefs of her fincerity.—Many. things may flip from her unfufpecting pen, which fhe would not have known to any one, who could not, like thee, make great allow- ances in her favour—and pardon the weaknefs of her nature. > You fay, ,, You cannot imagine how s,;many admirers your epiftolary produc- : tions have gained you.” ~ ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. 41. » Falfe flattery! — Their encomiums are illufive—it is to you their compliments.are paid—they find you’ are blind to my er- rors—they perceive you implicitly admire all that comes from me—they pretend to coincide with your opinion, not to give you any unealinels—they admire—they reverence you—they will not mortify you, by declaring that any being you are \anety ed to think perfect, is not fo. It is the refpect due to the merits of my Yorick, that occafions the many compli- ments paid to the trifling deferts of his - Eliza. We are in ‘the Downs—the wind is fair —we fhall fail this evening—the captain has jufi informed me fo—I therefore took this opportunity to pour the effafions of my heart to thee in hafte._ Farewell, worthiefi of men— feeling being, thou art all fentiment—farewell— I will—I will cherifh the remembrance of thee !—You tell me how you efteem me— how affectionately. you.love me—what a prize you fet upon me. I efieem thee with equal ardour—I love thee with equal affection—I prize thee as $2 STERNE’s LETTERS. ardently—let me be ever dear to thy heart +and an inhabitant of thy memory, I will reverence. my/felf for. my Yorick’s fake—I will, my ‘Yorick, who is my Gieos for ever. i I will fing thy little fianza to Hope in my matin and evening orifons—yet I can- not help deploring: our feparation, \ >: Farewell, my Bramin— my : faithfok mo- nitor, Farewell. t he May profperity attend thee, ‘ana peace rown thy days with felicity. , Thine affectionately, Thine everlafiingly, . Adieu, adieu, adieu, ‘ ELIZAy ~ P. S.1 will, if poffible, write oe fine thip bound: to pe ae - sont hers - i eth - 4 ee! = STERNE’s LETTERS . TO | HIS FRIENDS. PUBLISHED BY AN ANONYMOUS EDITOR IN M. DCC. LXXV. nay: sido Tah tees Sgt en Seen en ne ee Tie CED ae Sei Ny der) ; 85: STERNE’s LETTERS TO HIS FRIENDS. Peet Ten 1*. OE 3 RH, cule HAVE been much concerned at your overthrow; but our roads are ill con- trived forthe airy vehicles now in fafhion. May it be the laft fall you ever meet with in this world!—But this reflection cofts. me a deep figh— and I fear, my friend, you will get over it no. cheaper—Many, many are the ups and downs of life, and _ fortune muft be uncommonly gracious to that mortal who does not experience a great variety of them;—though perhaps. to. thefe. may be owing as. much of our * The fir and fifth Letters of this Collec: tion are omitted, having been. already ine ferted amongfi thole publifhed by Mrs. Me- DALLE. See Vol. 1. Lerrer LIX. p. 1503 and Lertex LXXIX. p. 183. 36 STERNE’s LETTERS. peeafures as our pains: there are [cenes of delight in, the vale as well as on the mountain; and the inequalities® of nature may not bé lefs neceflary to pleafe the eye—than the varieties of life to improve the heart. At befi we are.but a fhort-fight- - ed race of beings, with juf light enough to difcern our way— —To do that is our: duty, and fhould» be sour, gare! When a man has done this, he is fate, the reft is of little coBedoerre er IVAW Coverthis head with a jun or'a fone; It ts all one, it is in ones > t —I vifit my aver, as ufual, every even: ing—Amid the mouldering ruins of ancient — greainefs ae take my folitary walks far're- moved from the noife and buftle’of ‘a’ma- licious world , I’can ‘cherifh the fond ‘re- membrance of my Cordelia. — Cordelia, thou wert kind, ‘gentle, and’ beauteous! Thy beauties, rather let me fay thy mis-_ fortunes, fir’ raifed the flame of tender affection in my breaft!——But thy beau- ties and thy misfortunes are pafled away together; and all that charmed mankind, wat “ E r. ; , 7 - STERNE’s LETTERS. — 7 and delighted’ me, become a clod of ‘the valley !—Here, my Cordelia, I will weed _ clean thy. grave—T will firétch myfelfupon —4t— —will wet it with my tears—and the traveller fhall not turn afide to obferve me.— But whither am I led? De; my lind friend, excufe the wanderings 'of my pen; it govertis me, I govern:not it— —Fare- popes aoe receive the warmeft affection of LitSrerne. Le Tt. TLE BR as TO OK ahi FEAR: that ere this you may have oftentimes accufed me of: negligence, in not anfwering your laf letters; but you addreffed them to me in’London., and I was dying in the country.—I have been more forely afflicted this laft time than I ever was before’: had I: followed the: ad- vice. of the faculty, it had been*over with me; and, contrary to their opinion, J -yentured to order mylelf a fout bleeding. —This, in all probability, faved me; for a3 STERNE’s LETTERS, how long God only knows!—I am Rill’ weak, and can hardly make myfelf heard’ acrofs the ‘table. — My [pirits, the bef friends I.ever had in this world, fiuck clofe by me. in this laft conflict: by their kind affifiance I have been able to bear. the heavy load of life, and walk fo mer- rily along the wildernefs of this world.— — Thanks to them,.I1 have been able to: whiftle and fing in its moft uncheery paths! —As it has.‘pleafed heaven to let them accompany me-thus far on my journey, — I hope and trufi they will not be fuffered: to leave: me now that I am almof at the: end. of it.—I know and feel (my friend): that this laft fentiment will give you pain! - —This, believe me,, is moft foreign: to: my wifhes; but Ihave always: writ from: my heart—and fuppofing it to be my prac- tice to cheat. the world, I have ever con- fidered the character of a friend too re[pect- able to: make the fport of an idle imagina- tion. To deceive is a bafe trade at beft ;—but: to deceive thofe we love and value, is a: folly fo totally inexcufable, that I defy all the arts of fophiftry to frame an argu- ment in its. favour.— When I. open my STERNE’s LETTERS. 89 heart—I fhew all its follies —its caprices | its wantonnels—its virtues are all ex- -pofed to view ! and\though by this means Tlay myfelf open to the illiberal and the ill-natured, who are ever ready to feize the opportunity of gratifying their dirty paffions ;— and withal are fo numerous, that hypocrify, with refpect to- them, is accounted a virtue—éut I fhew all!—This may be imprudent—and I am told by fome fentimental prudes—that it is indecent ;— if fo, let them put their fans before their faces, or walk on the other fide of the way.—Dilguife is the fafhion; and the man who does not ule it is called a Li- bertine: for my“part—I hate a mafk, and will never wear one! I am not afhamed of my failings, while I feel that I have fome little flock of virtue to counterbalance them.— —The man who hides nothing, who varnifhes nothing, when applaufe, when honour comes, and come it muft to fuch , finds no buly fomething in his breaft that gives the lie toit.—’Tis his own, and his heart will anfwer it.— Of all fycophants, {courge me thofe who flatter themfelves! ——He who [peaks peace to himfelf when Sterne’s Letters, Vol. LI. . H 90 STERNE’s LETTERS. there is no peace, is acting a part he can- not long fupport— The fcene clofes —the curtain drops—and; he -is himfelf again. The follies, the errors of mankind I, fin- cerely forgive, as I hope to be forgiven —and when a man. has mounted on his hobby-horle, let him amble, or trot, or gallop, fo he will be quiet, and not let his heart do mifchief—God {peed him!— And if I feel inclination to put on, my _fool’s cap, and jingle the bells for two or three hours of the four-and-twenty — or the whole twenty-four thours together— what is that to any one ?—O, Sir, you will be called trifling, foolifh, etc. etc.— With all my heart!—Pray,. good.folks, fall on—never {pare!—Fair ladies, have you got your bellies full?—If fo, much good may it do you!—But, Sir, ‘we muft prove you to be a, rogue, a rafcal, an hypocrite.—Alas ! I have nothing to give you but my fool’s cap and my hobby- horfe-—If they are, not fufficient, I_muft beg leave to recommend you to that pale- faced, folemn, ftiff-farched figure who is this moment entering that church; fallupon - him;—and for once,in’ your lives, pers haps, you may hit. the mark, / ™" STERNE’s LETTERS, — 1 I fear, my good friend, you will begin to think, that however my [peaking fa- _‘eulties: are obftructed, that one: of writing fiill remains free and large—But here is the grief—it is but writing!—My pen is a leaden one, and it is with fome difficulty I trail it on to affure you of my. being © mok cordially . aT -» Yours, L. STerne. LETTER Ii. TO -~, [ HAVE not been a furlong from Shan- dy-hall fince I wrote to you laft—but why is my pen fo perverfe?—I1 have been to—, and my errand was of fo peculiar a nature, that I muft give you an account of it.—You will fcarce believe me when I tell you, it was to out-juggle a juggling attorney; to put craft, and all its power, to defiance; ‘and to obtain juftice from ene—who has a heart foul enough to take advantage of the mifiakes of boneft fm- ye Ha 92 STERNE’s LETTERS. plicity, and who has raifed a confiderable fortune by artifice and injuftice. However, I gained my point!—It was a ftar and garter to me!—The matter was as fol- lows: . i ‘5A poor man, the father of my Veftal, 5, having by the [weat of his brow, dur- »,ing a courfe of many laborious years, »»faved a [mall fum of money, applied to sthis {cribe to put it out to ufe for him: » this was dune, and a bond given for »,the money.—The honeft man, having sno place in his cottage which he thought >» fufficiently fecure, put it in a hole in »»the thatch, which had ferved inftead of >a ftrong box to keep his money. —In , this fituation the bond remained till the ss time of receiving the intereft drew nigh. >> — But alas!—the rain which had done »no milchief to his gold, had found out »,his paper fecurity, and had rotted it to »» pieces !”—It would be a difficult matter to paint the diftrefs of the old country- man upon this difcovery;—he came to me weeping, and begging my advice and aflifiance!—It cut me to the heart! Frame to yourlfelf the picture of a man bara a: =~ -STERNE’s LETTERS. 93 upwards of fixty years of age—who hav- ing with much penury and more toil, with the addition of a {mall legacy, {craped together about fourlcore pounds to [up- port him in the infirmities of old age, and to be a little portion for his child when he fhould be dead and gone—loft his little hoard at once! and’ to aggravate his mis- fortune, through his own neglect and, in- caution.—,, 1f Iwas young, Sir, (faid he) »»my affliction would have been light— »,and I might have obtained it again;— >, but I have lof my comfort when I mof », wanted it!—My ftaff is taken from me 35> when I cannot go alone; and I have », nothing to -expect, in future life, but _ yy the unwilling charity of a Parifh Offi- 4, cer.” —Never, in my whole life, did I wilh to be rich, with fo good a grace, as at this time!—What a luxury it would have been to have faid to this afflicted fellow-creature ,— —,, There is thy money 997 go thy ways—and be at peace.” —But alas! the Shandy family were neyer much encumbered with money; and I (the poor- eft of thein all) could only aflift him with good counfel :—but I did not fiop here.— i * } ty —s \ 94 STERNE’s LETTERS. I went myfelf with him to——, where by ‘perfuafion, threats and fome art, which (by the bye) in fuch a caufe, and with fuch an opponent, was very juftifi- able—I fent my poor client back to his home, with-his comfort and his bond re- flored to him.—Brayo!—Bravo! _If a man has a right to:be proud of any thing,—-it is of a good action, done as it . ought to be, without any bale intereft lurking at the bottom of it.—Adieuw— Adieu— — Stig " é L.. STERNE. LE TT Ttk se Ty, TO MRS. Vv. Or the two-bad cafloks, fair Lady, which I am worth in the world, I would this.moment freely give the latter of them to. find. out by what. irrefiftible force of magic it is that I am influenced ‘to write a letter to you upon fo fhort an acquaint- ance.—Short did I fay ?—I unfay it again , —T have been acquainted with Mrs, V—— eae STERNE’s LETTERS.. 9 this long and. many a day: for, furely , the mok penetrating of her fex need not be told,:that ‘intercourfes of this) kind are ‘not to be dated bychours,, days, or months —but by the flow or rapid progrefs of our intimacies, which are meafured only by the degrees of penetration by which we difcover! characters at once—-or by the opennels. sand. franknefs of heart which lets the obferver into it without the pains of reflection. Either of thefe {pares us what a fhort life could ill afford—and that is the long and unconfcionable time in form- ing connexions, which had much bettex be {pent im tafting the fweets of them.— Now of this frame and contexture is the fair Mrs. V—-—; her character is to be read at once—I faw it before I had walk- ed twenty paces befide her—J believe in my confcience, dear Lady, if truth was known, that you have no-infide at alt. _ That you are graceful, elegant, and defirable, etc. etc.—every common be- holder who can ftare at you, as a Dutch boor does: at ‘the Queen of Shaba,—can eafily find out; —but that you are fenfible, ’ gentle and tender, and from one end to ane ae . : f : pie © 96 STERNE’s LETTERS. * )b oe ¢ the other of you full of the [weetel tones and modulations, requires a deeper re- fearch.—You are a fyftem of harmonic vi- brations—the foftefi and: beft: attuned of all infiruments.—Lord! I would give away my other caffock to touch you—But in giving my laft rag of priefthood for that — pleafure, I fhould be left naked—to fay nothing of being quite difordered—So di- vine a hand as your’s would prefently put me into orders again—but if you fuppofe this would leave me as you found me, — believe me, dear Mrs. V——, you are much miftaken.—All this being duly put together, pray, dear Lady, let me alk you, what bufinefs you had to'come here from ——? or, to fpeak'more to the purpofe, what bufinels have you to return back again?—The deuce take you with your mufical and other powers! Could nothing ferve you, but» you muf turn Trifiram Shandy’s head, as if it was not turned enough: already—A‘'s for your turning my heart—I forgive you, as you have been fo good as to turn it towards fo excellent and heavenly an object.— : > -STERNE’s LETTERS. 97 Now, dear Mrs. V— —, if you can help it, do not think of your/elf— But believe me to be, With the higheft efteem For your character and felf, Mour scot: L. Sterne. L:E-E:T.E R..v. FROM DR. EUSTACE IN AMERICA, TO THE REV. MR. STERNE, WITH A WALKING-STICK. SIR! W HEN Laffure you that I am a great admirer of Trifram Shandy, and have, -ever fince his introduction into the world, been one of. his moft zealous defenders againft the repeated affaults of prejudice and mifapprehenfion, I hope you will not treat this unexpected appearance in his company as an intrufion. You know it is an obfervation as re- markable for its truth as for its antiquity , that a fimilitude of femtiments is the ge- ’ neral parent of friendfiip.—It cannot be , Stierne’s Letters. Vol, LL. I 98 STERNE’s LETTERS. wondered at, that I [hould conceive an efieem for a perfon whom Nature had moft indulgently enabled to frifk and cur- vet with eafe through all thofe intricacies of fentiment, which from itrefifiible pro- penfity fhe had impelled me to trudge through without merit or difiinction. The only reafon that gave rife to this ~addrefs to you, is my accidentally having met with a piece of true Shandeyan fia- tuary , I mean according to vulgar opinion, for to fuch judges both appear equally de~ ftitute of regularity or defign.—It was made by a very ingenious gentleman of this pro- vince , and prefented to the late Governor Dobbs. After his death Mrs. D: gave it me: its fingularity made many defirous of pro- . euring it; but Lhad relolved, ar firft, not to part with it, til, upon reflection, I thought it would be a very proper and ' probably not an unacceptable compliment to my favourite author, and in his hands might prove as ample a field for medita- tion as a button-hole or a broomfiick. I have the honour tobe, etc. ete. ee ee ne . STERNE’s LETTERS. 99 “ LETTER VI. MR. STERNE’S ANSWER. SIR, London, Feb. 9, 1768. I THs moment received your obliging Shandeyan piece of [culpture along with it , of both which teftimonies of your regard I have the juftefi [enfe, and return you, dear Sir, my beft thanks and acknowledg- ment. Your walking-Rick is in no fenfe more Shandaick than in that of its having more handles than one: the parallel breaks only in this, that in ufing the flick every one will take the handle which [uits his convenience. In Triftram Shandy the ‘handle is taken which fuits the palflions, '. their ignorance or their fenfibility. There is fo little true feeling in the herd of the world, that I wifh I could have got an act of parliament, when the books firft “appeared, that none but wife men fhould look into them. It is too much to write books, and find heads to underftand them; the world, however, feems to come into aes Ile 100 STERNE’s LETTERS. a better temper about them, the people of genius here being to a man on its fide; and the reception it has met within France, Italy, and Germany, has engaged one part of the world to give it a fecond reading. The other, in order to be on the ftrongeft fide, has at length agreed to [peak well of it too. Afew hypocrites and Tartuffes , whole approbation could do it nothing bat difhonour, remain unconverted. I am very proud, Sir, to have had a man like you on my fide from the beginning ; but it is not in the power of every one to tafte humour, however he may wilhit; it is the gift of God: and, befides, a true feeler always brings halfthe entertainment along with him; his own ideas are only called forth by what he reads, and the vibrations within him entirely correfpond with thofe excited.—’Tis like reading himfelf and not the book. In a week’s time I fhall be delivered of two volumes of the Sentimental Travels of Mr. Yorick through France and Italy; but, alas! the fhip [ails three days too foon, and I have but to lament it deprives me of the pleafure of prefenting them to you, ee oo Soe STERNE’s LETTERS. — 101 Believe me, dear Sir, with great thanks for the honour you have done me, with true efieem , Your obliged humble fervant, L. STERNE. (aoa tk TER VII. It is even as you told me, my good friend ,—a beckon from an old female ac- quaintance has led me a dance to— — —. “It was too great a temptation to be thrown in the way of fuch a finner :—fo I have. - bid adieuto Shandy Hall till the beginning of October—which, by the bye, is one of the finefi months inthe year in this part of the kingdom— —This is added, by the way, to induce-you to return to me at that time: if you cannot, let me know where you are to be the beginning of the following month, and the wheels of my chariot [hall roll rapidly towards you. I have not been quite idle fince you left me, but, amidf a thoufand impediments , have [natched one volume more fora gouty 1.02 STERNE’s LETTERS. and fplenetic world. I fuppofe this will overtake you at the Hot-Wells, as you are walking afentimental foot-pace befide the phthifical nymph of the fountain—If fo —protect and cherifh her, whofoever fhe be; and tell her, that fhe has Trifiram Shandy’s wifhes for her recovery and hap- pinefs.—Had I lived in days of yore, when virtue and fentiment bore a price , [fhould have been the moft peerlefs knight of them ~ all!—Some tender-hearted damfel in dif- trefs would ever have been my object :—_ to wipe away the tears from off the cheek of fuch a friendlefs fair-one, I would go to Mecca—and fora friend—to the end of | the world.— In this laft fentiment my beft friend was uppermoft in my thoughts! But wherefore do I think of arms and Duicineas, —when, alas, my {pear is grown rufty, and is fit only to be hung in the old family-hall, among piftols without cocks, and helmets that have loft their vizards. As for my health, which you fo kindly inquire after—I cannot brag of it—itis not fo well with me this year as it was the fez : STERNE’s LETTERS. 103 lafi—and I fear I have little on my fide but laughter and good [pirits! Thefe have . ftood me in great ftead for twenty years paft: how long they may be able to keep the field, and prolong the combat—for at beft it is but prolonging a conte& which muft at laft end in their defeat—I know not !—Neverthelefs, for the days that are- paft, as well as thofe which are to come I will eat my bread in peace: and be it but bread and water, and I have fuch a friend as you, I willfind a way , f{omehow or other, to make merry over it. Adieu, L. STerne., LETTER VIIL TO——. aI SNATCH half an hour,. while my din- ner is getting ready, to tell you I am thus far on my way to Shandy Hall :—two more fiages, and I fhall be at the end of a tedious journey.—Report, for the fourth time, has numbered me with dead;—and it was generally believed in this part of 104 STERNE’s LETTERS. he the world, that my bones were laid in claffic ground.—This I do not much won- der at—for, to make the befi of it, my conftitution is but a [curvy one, and to _ keep the machine a going a little longer, has been the only motive for my running away from my friends and my country fo much as I have done of late ;—though weak asitis , it has fomehow or other wea- thered more ftorms than many a ftouter one has been able to do;—could I but transform mylelf into a bird of paflage, and go and come with the fummer—I think I fhould give the lie to a few more reports of this nature—before I am called in good earneft to make areport of myfelf and all my actions to the Being who made me. The book of engravings which I left with you, I muft recommend to your care for a few weeks longer: — nay,—if you think they are worthy of your acceptance ~ keep them for ever!—for to tell you the truth, I have now no occafion fot them.— This is rather an ungracious way of mak- ing an offering, but you will excufe me when I tell you,—that the dear young lady at whofe feet I intended to lay them a aoe =~ aa VE ay in) ' : ‘4 STERNE’s LETTERS. 105 down, and for whofe fake I had preferv- ed them with fo much care, is gone to that country from whence no one returns. —Genius , — wit, — beauty, —goodnefs— _ all, all were united in her!——every vir- tue ,— every grace!—I could write for ever _ on fuch a theme—but I muft have done. Surely the pleafures which arife from contemplating fuch characters ,— embrac- - ing the urn which contains their afhes ,— and fhedding the tears of friendfhip over it—are far , far fuperior to the higheft joys of fenfe—or fenfuality. If you do not like the laft word ,—I pray you be fo kind as to [cratch it out; —for that is a liberty I have never yet ventured to take mylelf with any thing I. write, ; Adieu ,—Adieu ! Yours moft truly, L. STERNE. Ee TBR. AX, ht pee tae 1 et) BEHELD ther tender. look — ltr pathetic eye petrified my fluids——the 106 STERNE’s LETTERS. liquid diffolution drowned thofe once- bright orbs—the late {ympathetic features , fo pleafing in their harmony, are now blafied — withered —and are dead;— her charms are dwindled into a melancholy which demands my pity.—Yes—my friend —our once [prightly and vivacious Harriot is that very object that muft thrill your foul.—How abandoned is that heart which bulges the tear of innocence, and is the caufe, the fatal caufe of overwhelming the fpotlefs foul , and plunging the yet-untaint- ed mind into a fea of forrow and repent- ance. Though born to protect the fair, does not man act the part of a Demon ?— _ fir alluring by his temptations, and then triumphing in his victory—When villainy gets the afcendency, it feldom leaves the wretch ’till it has thoroughly polluted him, —T— —, once the joyous companion of our juvenile extravagances, by a deep- laid {cheme fo far ingratiated himfelf into the good graces of the old man—that even _ he, with all his penetration and expee rience, (on which old folks generally pique themfelves) could not perceive his drift, and, like the goodnefs of his own re! 7 STERNE’s LETTERS. _107 heart, believed him honourable.—Had I known his pretenfions—I would have flown on the wings of friendfhip—of re- gard—of affection—and refcued the lovely innocent from the hands of the [poiler.— Be not alarmed at my declaration—I have been long bound to her in the reciprocal bonds’ of affection;—but it is of a more _delicate fiamp than the grofs materials nature has planted in us for procreation— I hope ever to retain the idea of*inno- cence and love her fiill: I would love the whole fex were they equally deferving. —-—— —taking her by the hand—the - other thrown round her waifti—after an intimacy allowing fuch freedoms—with a look deceitfully pleafing, the villain pour- -ed out a torrent of protefiations—and— though oaths are facred—f{wore with all the fortitude of a confcientious man—the depth of his love—the height of his efteem_ —the firength of his attachment ;—by thefe and other artful means to anfwer his aban- doned purpofe—(for which you know he is but too well qualified)—gained on the open inexperienced heart of the generous Harriot, and robbed her of her brighte& ay STERNE’s LETTERS. jewel —Oh, England where are your fe- nators ?—where are your laws ?—Ye Hea- ~ vens! where refis your deadly thunder ?— why are your bolts reftrained from o’er- whelming with vengeance this vile feducer. —I,—my friend ,—I was the minifter [ent by juftice to revenge her wrongs—revenge? © —I difclaim it—to redrefs her wrongs. — The news of affliction flies—I heard it, and pofted to ****, where forgetting my character—this is the ftyle of the enthu- fiafi—it moft became my character—I faw- him in his retreat—I flew out of the chaife —caught him by the collar—and in a tu- mult of paffion—demanded—fure, if anger is exculable, it muft be when it is excited by a deteftation of vice—I demanded him to reftore—alas! what was not in his power to return.—Vengeance !—and [hall thefe vermin—thele [poilers of the fair— thefe murderers of the mind—lurk and creep about in dens, fecure to themfelves and pillage all around them ?—Diftracted with my rage—I charged him with his crime—exploded his bafenels —condemn- ed his villainy—while coward guilt fat on his fullen brow, and, like a criminal | STERNE’s LETTERS. 109 confcious of his deed, tremblingly pro- nounced his fear.—He hoped means might be found for a Cufficient atonement—of- * fered a tender of his hand as a fatisfac- tion, and a life devoted to her [ervice as. a recompence for his error.—His humilia- _ tion ftruck me—’twas the only means he could have contrived to affuage my anger. —I hefitated—paufed—thought— and fill muft think on fo important a concern.— Affifi me—I am half afraid of trafting my Harriot in the hands of a man whole cha- racters I too well know to be the anti- podes of Harriot’s—he all fire and diffi- pation!—fhe all meeknefs and fentiment! —nor can I think there is any hopes of reformation.—,, The offer proceeds more -from furprife or fear, than juftice and fince- rity,” the world—the world will exclaim, - and my Harriot be a caft-off from [ociety. —Let her—I had rather fee her thus, than miferably linked for life to a lump of vice.—She fhall retire to fome corner of the world, and there weep out the re- mainder of her days in forrow—forgetting the wretch who has abuled her confidence, but ever remembering the friend who con- 110 STERNE’s LETTERS. ' foles her in retirement.—You, my dear: Charles, Chall bear a part with me in the delightful tafk of whifpering ,, peace to thofe who are in trouble, and Nealsg the broken in [pirit,* ~ Adieu, L, STERNE. LETTER X. TO 1 gE, “SIR, I FEET the weight of obligation which your friendfhip has laid upon me, and if it fhould never be in my power to make you a recompence, I hope you will be recompenfed at the ,,refurrection of the juft.”—I hope, Sir, we fhall both be found in that catalogue;—and we are encourag- ed to hope, by the example of Abraham's © faith, even »» againft hope ’—I think there is, at leafé, as much probability of our reaching and rejoicing in the ,, haven where we would be,” as there was of the ald patriarch’s having a child by his old wife. —There is not any perfon, living or dead, STERNE’s LETTERS. +t whom I have fo firong a defire to fee and converfe with as yourfelf:—indeed I have no inclination to vifit, or fay a fyllable to but a few perfons in this lower vale of vanity and tears befides you;—but I often derive a peculiar fatisfaction in converfing with the ancient and modern dead ,— who yet live and [peak excellently in their works.— My neighbours think me oftez alone ,—and yet at [uch times I am in company with more than five hundred mutes—each of whom, at my pleafure, communicates his ideas to me. by dumb figns—quite as intelligibly as any perfon living can do by the uttering of words,— They always keep the difltance from me which I direct,—and, with a motion of . my hand, I can bring them as near to me as I pleafe.—I lay hands on fifty of them fometimes in an evening, and handle them as I like:—they never complain of ill- ufage,—and when difmilled from my pre- fence—though ever fo abruptly—take no offence. Such convenience is not to be en- joyed—nor [uch liberty to be’ taken—with the living: —we are bound in point of good-manners to admit all our pretended ae ea. 42 STERNE’s LETTERS. friends when they Kn Ok for an puntaice: a and difpenfe with all the nonfenfe orim- — pertinence which they broach till they think proper ‘to withdraw ; nor can we q take the liberty of humbly and decently : oppofing their fentiments without exciting - their difguft, and being in danger of their fplenetic reprefentation after they have left us. I am weary of talking to the many ,— who though quick of hearing—are fo ,, flow - of heart to believe”’—propofitions which are next to felf-evident.—You and I were not caft in oxe mould,—corporal compari- fon will attefi it,—and yet we are fafhion- ed fo much alike, that we may pals for twins.—Were it poflible to take an in- ventory of all our fentiments and feelings —juft and unjufi—holy and impure—there would appear as little difference between them as there is between inftinct and rea- fon—or wit and madnels. The barriers which feparate thefe—like the real effence of bodies—-efcape the piercing eye of me- taphyficks, and cannot be pointed out more clearly than geometricians define a firaight line, which is faid to have length | rERNE: LETTERS, 11 “hut rena, Pia Tia ee ye learned a anatomical aggregates , who pretend to in- firuct other aggregates! be as candid as. the fage whom ye pretend to revere—and tell them, that all you know is, > that you know nothing. ) ———-—I have a mort to communi- cate to you on different [ubjects—my moun- tain will be in labour ’till I fee you—and ~ then—What then?—Why, you muft ex- pect to fee it bring forth—a moufe.—I therefore befeech you to have a watchful _ eye to the cats ;—but it is faid mice were _ defigned to be ‘killed by cats—cats to be _ worried by dogs, etc. etc.—This may be _ true—and I think.I am made to be killed by my cough, — which is a perpetual plagueto me.— What, inthe name of found lungs, has my cough to do with you—or —you with my cough? _ ise L. STERNE. End of the Letters publifhed anonymou/ft ly. Sterne’s Letters. Vol. 11. K hat hire 3 iy ae ee ee a6 oe! Way oe ety (is : ni oe pies oat ‘ Pe ee ee vv f aS . Fa ie a. AP PN D1 x XXXII LETTERS ; ar THE LATE REVEREND MR. LAURENCE STERNE. (Never printed before. } INTRODUCTION. Tue enfuing letters have been fome years in the polleffion of the Editor; their publication was deferred, as he was in daily expectation that time and opportu- nity would happily have been productive of a larger acquifition; but defpairing of any further fuccels, he has ventured- to prefent them to the public, with whom he muft fincerely regret the lofs we fuftain by not retrieving a larger correfpondence. The odious light in which many polfthu- mous publications are defervedly viewed, by the difcerning few, would have funk thefe letters in oblivion, if they had re- flected the leaft difcredit on the morals or . literary merit of an author who fo jufily e! ery Biengbithed attention he hag Peceival: but, on the contrary, as they reflect honour on the author in eve- “ry capacity, and place him in the moft pleafing point of view, and as they carry with them evident and convincing marks of originality, he thinks the moft incre. 118 INTRODUCTION. dulous muft applaud his undertaking, and be fully fatisfied of their authenticity, as he would be always happy to add to, rather than diminifh the luftre of literary fame; thinking it almoft as criminal to commit a literary as a corporal murder. Some apology may be thought necella- ry for fubjoining the laff letter, as it has al- ready appearedin a [mall pamphlet about feven years ago; but as it was never at- tended to for want of being [ufficiently known, the editor hopes the public will unite with him in wifhing not a dafh of his author's pen might be loft; for which reafon he could not refit the temptation ~ of preferving it, though it might be of a temporary nature.—The following account of it is taken from fome anecdotes of Mr. Sterne’s life, lately publifhed, and pre- fixed to the before-mentioned vt onal as an advertifement. ——,, For fome time Mr. Sterne lived, in a retired manner, upon a {mall curacy in Yorkfhire, and, probably, would have remained in the fame ebfcurity, if his lively genius had not difplayed itfelf upon an occafion which fecured him a friend, - ~ and a INTRODUCTION. 119 - and paved the way for his promotion.— _A perfon who filled a hcrative benefice, was not fatisfied with enjoying it during his own life-time, but exerted all his in- terefi to have it intailed on his wife and fon after his deceafe: the gentleman that expected the reverfion of this pofi was Mr. Sterne’s friend, who had not, how- ever, fufficient influence to prevent the fuc- cels of his adverfary.—At this time Sterne’s fatirical pen operated fo firongly, that the intended monopolizer informed him, if he would fupprefs the publication of” his farcafm, he would refign his preten- -fions to the next candidate.” The title of this piece, it appears, was to have been, ,,The Hiftory of a good >> warm Watch-Coat, with which the pre- ,, Lent Poffeffor is not content to cover his ,,own fhoulders, unlefs he can cut out of sit, a Petticoat for his Wife, and a pair ,, of Breeches for his Son.” Whenever genius is difiinguifhed, it will, naturally, excite our attention.—No man eyer claimed a greater right to that attention than the author of Triftram :—a natural viyacity, united with a fentimen- 390 | INTRODUCTION. tal delicacy, and a tendernefs felt by eve- ry fulceptible foul, deferves commenda- tion: we muft rank Sterne as one of the moft celebrated originals. ,, He plays with the fancy, and fometimes, perhaps, too wantonly; but, while he thus defignedly mafks his main attack, he comes at once upon the heart, refines it, amends it, fof- - tens it, beats down each felfifh barrier” from about it, and opens every fource of © pity and benevolence.’’—This is the true characteriftic of our Author, whofe poig- nant wit, and fentimental tendernefs, will ever immortalize his memory, while tafte exifis; and, though I mufi, unwillingly, fubfcribe to the opinion of my Author, - that ,,It is not in the power of every one »»to tafte humour, however he may wilh oo it.—It is the gift of God;”—yet, I truft, the majority of my readers are poffelfed of that gift, and will heartily rejoice, with me, in the opportunity of preferving thefe marks of genius, and handing them to pofterity. iss x id - ae i tl al aa ee Se, oe) Rtg ae te Se te ep Tam fafe: hegiep at my. Bolbedeshued IT ruft that you have no lohger any doubt "about coming to embower it with me. Hav- ing for fix months together been running. at the ring of pleafure, you will find that repofe here which, all young as you are,. you ought to want. We will be witty, or claffical, or fentimental, as it {hall pleafe you befi. My milk-maids fhall weave you: garlands; and every day, after coffee,, I will take you to pay a-vifit to my nuns. Do not, however, indulge your fancy _ beyond mealure, but rather let me indulge’ Sterne’s Letters. Vol. Il. L. : sip Coxwould, July 1, 17646 122 «= STERNE’s LETTERS. mines; or, at leaft, let me give you the. hiftory of it, and how the fair fifterhood dwell in one of its vifionary corners,— Now, what is all this about? you'll fay. : —Have a few moments piiene and.I . will tell you. You muft- know, en that on paffing out of my back-door, I very foon gain a path, which, after conducting me through feveral verdant meadows and fhady thic- kets, brings me in about twenty minutes to the ruins of a monaftery, where in times long paft, a certain number of cloi- fiered females devoted their—lives——I fcarce know what I was going to write— to religious folitude.— This faunter of mine, when I take it, I call payine “A VISIT TO MY NUNS. Is is an awful {pot—a rivulet flows by it, and a lofty bank, covered with wood, that gives a gloom to the whole, and for- bids the thoughts, if they were ever fo difpofed, from wandering away from the place. Solitary Sanctity never found a nook more appropriated to her nature !——It isa place for an antiquary to fejourn in for a month—and examine with all the ‘ ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. 125 fpirit of rufty refearch, But I am no anti- / .quary, as you well know—and therefore I come here upon a different and a better errand—that is—to examine mylelf. So I lean, lackadayfically, over a gate and look at the palling fream—and for- give the. {pleen, the gout, and the envy of a malicious world. And, after having .taken a ftroll beneath mouldering arches, I fummon the fifterhood together, and take the fairefi among them, and fit down with her on a fione, beneath a bunch of alders —And do what? you'll fay—Why I exa- mine her gentle heart, and fee how it is attuned; I then guefs at her wifhes, and play with the erofs that hangs at her bo- fom—in [hort—I make love to her. Fie, for fhame! Triftram—that is not as it ought to be.—Now I declare, on the contrary, that it is exactly what it ought to be; for though philofophers may fay, among the many other foolifh things phi- lofophers have faid, that a man who is in love is not in his right fenfes;—I do alfert, in oppofition to all their faws and fee-faws, that he is never in his right fenfes, or I would rather fay, his right Loe ® 124 STERNE’s LETTERS. fentiments , but when he is purfuing [ome Dulcinea or other. If that fhould be the cafe with you at this moment, I will for- give your ftaying from me; but if this let- ter fhould find you at the infant when your laft flame is blown out, and before © a new one is lighted up, and you fhould mot take poft and come to me and my ‘nuns, I will abufe in their names and my own, to the end of the chapter—though I believe, after all, at the end of the chapter I fhould feel myfelf affectionate- ly your’s, L.. Signa) LETTER I. TO W. C. ESQ Coxwould, July 17, » 1764: Anp fo. you have been at the feats of. the learned.—If I could have gueffed at fuch an intention, I would have contriv= ed that fomething in an epiftolary fhape i fhould have met you there, with half a a dozen lines recommending you to the care ef the Ma/fter of Jefus.—He was my tutor, STERNE’s LETTERS. 195, when I was at college, and a very good. kind of man. He ufed to let me have my way, when I was under his direction, and that [hewed his fenfe , for I was born to travel out of the common road, and to get alide from the highway path, and he had_ fenfe enough to fee it, and not to trouble me with trammels. I was neither made to be a thill- horfe nor a fore-horfes in fhort, I was not made to go in a team, but to amble along as I liked; and fo that Ido not kick, or {plafh, or run over any one, who, in the name of common. fenfe, has a right to interrupt me ?-—Let the good folks laugh if they will, and much good may it do them. Indeed I am perfuaded, and I think I could prove, nay, and I would do it, if 1 were writing a book inftead of a lettos:, the truth of what I once told a very great fatefman, orator, politician, and as much more as you pleafe—,, that every time a man [miles _ ——much more fo, when he laughs—it adds fomething to the fragment of life.” But the flaying five days at Cambridge does. not come within the immediate reach of my crazy comprehenfion, and you might re6 STERNE’s LETTERS, have employed your time ‘much, much’ better, in urging your pbs: nese tits to- wards Coxwould. ' Y may fuppofe that you have been pick ing a hole in the fkirts of Gibbs’s cum: brous architecture, or mealuring the fa- gade of Trinity College Library, or peep- ing about the Gothic perfections of King’s College Chapel, or, which was doing a better thing, fipping tea and talking fenti- mentally with the Mifs Cookes, or difturb- ing Mr. Gray with one of your enthufialtic vits—I fay difiurbing him; for with all your own agreeablenefs, and all your ad- miration of him, he would rather have your room than your company. But mark me, I do not fay this to his glory, but to his [fhame. For I would be content with any room, fo I had your company. But tell me, I befeech you, what you did with Scroop all this time. The look- ing at the heavy walls of muzzing Col- leges, and gazing at the mouldy pictures of their founders, is not altogether in his way; nor did he wander where I have whilom wandered, on Cam’s all-verdant banks with ‘willows crowned, and call STERNE’s LETTERS. —i2y_ the mufe.-Alas, he’d rather calla waiter: —And how fuch a milkfop as you could travel—I mean be [uffered to travel two: leagues in the fame chaife with him; I _know not—but from that admirable and kind pliability of {pirit which you poflels whenever you pleafe, but which you do | ' not always pleafe to poffefs. Ido not mean that a man fhould wear a court drefs when he is going to a puppet-fhew ;:but, on the other hand, 'to:keep the beft {uit of em- broidery for thofe only whom he loves, though, there is fomething noble in it, will never do. The world, my dear friend, will not let it do. For while there are fuch qua« lities in the human mind as ingratitude and duplicity, unlimited confidence and this patriotif{m of friendfhip, which‘I have heard you rave and rant about, is a very dangerous bufinefs. I could preach a fermon on the fubject —to fay the truth; I am got as grave as if I were in my pulpit. Thus are the pro-’ jects of this life deftroyed. When I took. up my pen, my humour was gay, frilky, and fanciful—and now, am I [liding into all the fee-faw gravity of folemn councils, 3128 STERNE’s LETTERS. I want nothing but an als to look over my pales and fet up a ss. fi to keep me in countenance. Leave, leave your Lincolnfhire fees and come to my dale; Scroop, I know, is heartily tired of you. Befides, I want a nurfe, for I am not quite well, and have taken to milk-coffee. Remember me, however, to him bhai and to yourlelf — cordially , for y I am your’s moft truly, L. Srexne, LETTER IU, TO W. C. ESQ. Coxwould, Aug. 5; 1764. Anpd fo you fit in Scroop’s temple, and drink téa, and converfe claflically.—Now I fhould like to know what is the nature of this diforder which you call clafficali- ty; if it confifts in a rage to converfe on ancient fubjects in a modern manner, or on modern [ubjects in an ancient ones— or are you both out of your fenfes, and do you fancy yourfelves with Virgil and STERNE’s LETTERS. 129 Horace at Sinuella, or with Tully and Atticus: at Tufculum? Oh how it would delight me to peep at you from behind a laurel bufh, and fee you furrounded with columns, and covered by a dome, quaf- fing the extract of a Chinefe. weed, and talking of men who boafted the infpiration of the Falernian: grape! What.a a couple of vapid, inert beings you muft be! I fhould really give you up for*loft, if it were not for the confidence I have in the re-invigorating powers of _ my fociety, to which you muft now have immediate recourfe, if you wifh for a re» fioration. Make hafte then, my good friend, and feek ‘the aid of pee ee ere it be ‘toolate. -You*know not the interé® I take in- your welfare. Have I not ordered all the linen to be taken out of the prefs, and rewafhed before it was dirty, that you may have a clean table-cloth every day, with a napkin into the bargain? And have I not ordered a kind of windmill, that makes my head ach again with its clat- ter, to be placed in my fine cherry-tree, that the fruit may be preferved from the 130 += STERNE’s LETTERS. birds, to furnifh you a defert? And da -you not know that you will have curds and cream for your fupper?) Think on | thefe things, and let Screop go to Lincoln feffions by himfelf, and talk claflically with country juftices. In the mean time, we will philofophize and fentimentalize: —the laf word is a bright invention of the moment in which it was written, for yours or Dr. Johnfon’s fervice :—and: you; Chall fit-in my ftudy and take a peep inte) the world as into a fhew-box, and amufe‘ yourfelf as I prefent the pictures of it to- your imagination. Thus will I teach you’ to laugh at its follies, to pity its errors, and defpife its injuftice. And I will intro- duce you, among the reft, to fome tender- hearted: damfel,:on whole cheeks fome _ bitter affliction has placed a tear—and, having heard her fiory, you fhall take a white handkerchief from your pocket,.to wipe the moifture from her eyes and from your own:——and then you fhall go to bed, not to the damfel, but with an heart confcious of thofe fentiments, and poffef- fed of thofe feelings, which will give foft- nels to your pillow, fweetnels to your flumbers, and” sladnets ‘to bala — moments, | -* You fhall fit’in‘ my hie. and laugh at Attic” veftibules. I love the Claffics as’ well as any man ought to love them ,—— mut, aigong all their fine fayings, their fine writings, and their fine verfes, their moft enthufiaftic admirer would not be able to find me half a dozen ftories that’ have any fentiment in them 3——and fo much for that. ; If you don’t come row , 1 fhall fet about another volume of Trifiram without you. So God ai you, for I am your's mof truly, - L. STERNE. LETTER Iv. oy cee Coxwould, dug. 8, 1764. I AM grieved for your downfall, though it was only out of a park-chair.—May it be the laft you will receive in this world; though, while I write this wifh, my heart heaves a deep figh, and I believe it will 7 232 STERNE’s LETTERS. not be read by you, my friend, without a fimilar accompaniment. : Alas! alas! my dear boy, you are born with talents to foar aloft; but you have. an heart, which, my apprehenfions tell - me, will keep you low.—I do not mean, -you know I do not, any thing bale or grovelling ;—but, inftead of winging your way above the fiorm, I am afraid that you will calmly fubmit to its rigours, and houfe yourfelf afterwards in fome humble fhed, and there live contented , and-chaunt away the time, and be loft to the world, How the wind blows I know not; and I have no inclination to walk to my wins dow, where, perhaps, I might catch the courfe of a cloud and be [atisfied ;—but here I am got up to my knees—I fhould rather fay up to my heart—in a fubject, which is ever accompanied with fome af-~ flicting vaticination or other. I am not afraid of your doing any wrong but to yourlelf. A fecret: knowledge of fome cir- oumftances which you have never commu- nicated to me, have alarmed my affection for you—not from any immediate harm they can produce, but from the conyic- ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. 135 tion: they Have fered upon: me concerns ‘ing your difpofition, and the nicer’ parts: of your character. If you.\do not come foon to me, I Chall take ‘the: wings of fome fine morning and fly to’ you; but I fhould rather have you here: for 1 with to- have you alone; and if you will let me be: a MENTOR to you. for one little month, L will be content—and you fhall be a Men- Tor to me the reft of the year; or, if you: will, the reft of my days. I long moft anxioufly, my dear friend,, to: teach you—not to give an opiate to. thofe fenfibilities of your nature, which make me love you as I do; nor to check. ‘your glowing fancy, that gives fuch grace: ‘to polifhed youths. nor to yield the beve-« tage of the fountain for the nectar of the calk ; but to. afe the world no better, or to pleafe you, a very little: better than it. deferves.—But think not, I befeech you,,. ‘that I would introduce my young Telema- chus to fuch a foul and fquint-eyed piece-, of pollution as fufpicion. Avaunt to fuch. a bale, ungenerous paffion! I would foon- er carry you to Carypso at once, and. give you at leaft a little pleafure:for your. 334 STERNE’s LETTERS. pain. But there is a certain. little_fpot ve be found fomewheré in the mid-way be- tween trufting every body and trufting no- body; and fo well am I acquainted with - the longitudes, latitudes, and bearings of this world of ours, that I could put my finger upon it, and direct you at once to it; and I think I could give you fo many good reafons why you Lfhould go there, that you would not hefitate to fet off immediately, and I would accompany you thither, and [ferve as Cicerone to you. I .wifh therefore much, very much, to talk with you about it and other[erious matters. As for your bodily infirmity, never mind it; you may come here by gentle fiages, and without inconvenience; and I will be your furgeon or your nurfe; and warm you verjuice every evening, and bathe your {prain with it, and talk of thele things. So tell me, I pray you, the day that I am to meet you at York. In the mean time and always may a good Pro- ~ vidence protect you—ZIt is the fincere wilh of Your affectionate, L. STERNE. 2 ae STERNE’s LETTERS. 154 LETTER Vv. TO - or eee es ican Te Coxwould, Monday Mornith. IL SHALL fesaine the tardinefs of your - paflage hither, if it be true, as a fill, {malt voice of a York goffip has informed me, that you repofe, with your infirm limb, on a fofa in Mrs.— —’s withdraw- ing-room, and have your coffee and tea handed to you by her two daughters, and one of them has charms enough for the three Graces—and that they play on their harpfichord,, and, with voices fiolen from heaven, fing duets. to you, while you, ftretched on damafk, command, as it were, that little world of beauty and good fenfe which furrounds you. : You cannot, my good friend, ie known the charming people with whom _ you are fo happy more than eight and forty hours at moft. Now I make this ob- fervation, merely to have the plealure of making another, which is—that you have learned the art, and a very comfortable 136: STERNE’s LETTERS, | . shige » ras ene it is, of fetting yourfelf at eafe with worthy [pirits,:when you have the good. fortune to-meet them: Indeed, I may claim: the credit of having taught you the ma-— xim, that life is too [hort to be long in. forming the tender and happy connexions: of it. Tis a miferable wafte of time, as: well as a very bale bufinels, to be look-. ing at each other, as an ufurer looks ata. fecurity to find a flaw in it. No: if you. meet a heart worth: being admitted into.,. and you really feel yourlelf worthy of ad- million, the matter is: arranged: in: five: hours: as well as five years.. Hail! ye gentle fympathies, that can ap- proach two amiable hearts to each other,. and chafe every difeordant idea from. an. union that nature has defigned by the fame happy colouring of character that fhe has: given them!—But, ducus a non lucendo— e 4 I have received a kind of difh-dafh fort of letter from Garrick, out of which all my chemifiry cannot extract a fympathe- tic atom. I am glad, however, to have’ an opportunity of writing a fhort anfwer. to him, that I may addrefls a long pol: foript to his-cara /pofa.. a Site oe: STERNE’s LETTERS. 137 aves 3 oo ange aia I achat Garrick on the ftage better than any thing in the world, except Mrs. Gar- rick off it: and if there is any one heart in the world I [hould like to get a corner of—it would be her’s. But I am too great . a finner to do more than approach the pottal of fo much excellence —there to - bend one knee at leaft, and ejaculate at a difiance from the altar. _. Ihave often thought on what this fpivit of idolatry, which is continually bearing me to the feet of [ome fair image or other, will do with me twenty years hence; and whether, after having had, during my younger days, a damfel to [mooth my ev low, I fhould find one, in my age, put on my flippers. However, I need not trouble myfelf or you about thele conjec- tures; for I well know, that there is not life in me to make the experiment, This infant brings me a letter from your kind hoftels, who is determined not to let you go till I come to fetch you.—To-mor- tow, by noon, therefore, I {hall embrace you, and her——and the damfels. *Lam, moft cordially, yours, L. STERNEs Sterne’s Letters, Vol. II. M 138 STERNE’s LETTERS. LETTER VI. TO ———-—, ESQ. Cray Cafile. phe? UGH I hope and teu you believe that I am not only difpofed to laugh with thofe who weep; yet it is moft true, my dear friend, that F could not but [mile as I read the account you fent me of your diftrefs and difappointment; and when I | gave your letter to Hall, for. you fee I am at Crazy Cafile, he laughed. the tears in- to his eyes. ; Now you mufi not fuppofe, nor can you imagine, that either of us trifled 4vith your fufferings , for you know Llove you, and Hall fays. you are a lad of promife; but we were merry at the amiable fimplicity of your nature, in wondering that there is ever any villainy in a villainous world, and at the idea, how little a time you were deftined to poffels that delicious, for I will call it, with all its {crapes and. duperies ,.a delicious [entiment. You have jufi opened the volume of life, and fartle STERNE’s LETTERS. 139 to find a blot in the firft page: alas! alas! . as you proceed you will find whole pages fo blotted and blurred, that you will [carce be able to difiinguifh the caracters. ’Tis a forry bulinefs, I mufi confels, to plant ; and in a breaft that has never known » and to check the glow of hope which enieonah the beginning of the journey, by pointing out the interruptions and dangers that will’be neceffarily encountered in the courfe of it. But this is the duty of friend- fhip, and arifes from the nature of out exiftence and ftate of the world. If, how- ever, after all; you can acquire an ufeful experience, and be taught to put yourfelf on your guard, at the expence of a few feore guineas, you have made a good bar- gain; fo be content; and no more of your complainings. But you will tell me, perhaps, that it isnot the matterof the lofs, but the man- ner of it, that you confider as a misfor- tune. The being treated fo ill, and with. fo. much ingratitude, is the bufinefs that afflicts you. Hall, who is fill laughing, bids me tell you for your comfort, that he who dupes muli be a rafcal; and he | M 2 ~ 140 STERNE’s LETTERS, who is duped may be an honeff man; but he is a cynic, and adminifters his dofe in ’ his own way. Now, was I to confole you in mine, I fhould tell you, that gratitude — is not fo common a virtue in the world as it ought to be, for all our fakes; but ingratitude, my dear friend, is not an off- {pring of the prefent moment; it feems to have exilted from the beginning, and will continue to diflgrace the world when we _have long been in the valley of Jehofla- phat: nay, you muft have read, indeed I | know that I have written a fermon upon the fubject, that of the lepers who were healed, but ove returned to give thanks for his reftoration. I do not, however, tell you thefe things that you may find _confolation in the miferable habits of man- kind, but that you may not fuppofe your- felf worfe ufed than the ref of the world, which is very common-with young men like yourfelf, who feel at every pore, and have not yet had that collifion with untoward -circumftances which awakens caution, or begets patience. And fo much for you and your mife- ries, which I doubt not will have been STERNE’s LETTERS. 141 diffipated by the bewitching [miles of fome fair damfel or other, before my grave [ee- faw letter {hall reach you. Let me know, ‘I beg of you, your plan of operations for the winter, if you have one. You may, I think, though you may think otherwife, fly from the joys and damps of this unge- nial climate, and winter ferenely with me, in Languedoc; your company would ~ _ do me good, and mine would do you no harm—at leafi:I think fo; and we fhall” return to London time enough to peep in at Ranelagh, and look at the Birth-day. In ‘fhort, write to me upon the fubject, and direct to me here, for here I am to ‘be:during this {hooting month of ‘Septem- ter; fo God blefs you, and give you pa- ~ tience if you want it, I remain, Your's , moft cordially, LL. STERNE. NS iy ‘3 142 #STERNE’S LETTERS, 7 LETTER VI. TOW = i¢—vesy BS Couxwould , June 11, 1765. So Burton *) really told you, with a grave face and an apparent mortification , that I Wad ridiculed my Irifh friends at Bath for an hour together, and had made a large company merry at Lady Lepel’s table during a whole afternoon at their expence. By heavens, ’tis falfe as mifre- prefentation can make it. It is not in my nature, I truft, to be fo ungrateful, as I fhould be, if abfent or prefent , I fhould be ungracious to them. That I fhould make Burton leok grave, whole countenance is formed to mark the [miles of an amiable and an honeft heart, is not within my chapter of pollibilities ; —I am fure it is not in that of my intentions to fay any thing that is unurbane of fuch a man as he is: —for, in my life, did I never com- municate with a gentleman of qualities *) The prefent amiable Lord Cunningham. be ‘ ee | aa ney § ih % co at STERNE’s LETTERS. 143 more winning, and difpofitions more ge- nerous. He invited me to his houfe with - kindnefs, and he gave me a truly grace- ful welcome, for it was with all his heart. He is as much formed to make fociety pleafant as any one I ever faw; and I wifh he were as rich as Croefus, that he might do all the good an unbounded gene- rofity would lead jhim to do. I never paf- fed more pleafant hours in my life than with him and his faircountrywomen; and foul befall the man who fhould let drop a word in difpraife of him or them'!— And there is the charming widow Moor, where, if I had not a piece of legal mea- dow of my own, Ifhould rejoice to batter the reft of my days;— and the gentle ele- gant.Gore, with her fine form and Gre- cian face, and whofe lot I truf it will be to make [ome man happy who knows the — value: of a tender heart. — Nor fhall I for- get another widow, the -interefting Mrs. Veley , with her vocal: and fifty other. - accomplifhments.—I abufe them!—it muft not be told—for it is falfe—and it fhould not be believed, for it is unnatural. — It is true I, did-talk of them for an hour to- -~ > a 144 STERNE’s LETTERS. gether, but no farcafm or unlucky fallies mingled with my fpeech: yes, I did talk of them, as they would wilh to be talked of—with fmiles on my countenance, praife on my tongue, hilarity in my heart, and the gobletinmy hand. Befides, I am my- felf of their own country: my father was a confiderable time on duty with his regi- ment in Ireland, and my mother gave me to the world when the was there, on duty with him. I beg of you, therefore, to make all thefe’ good people believe that I have been at leaf& mifunderftood;) for it is im- poffible that Lady een ire could mean to mifreprefent me. Read Burton this letter if you have an opportunity, and allure him of my meoft cordial efieem and re[pect for him and all his focial excellencies ; and whifper fome- ‘thing kind and gentle for me, as you well know how, to my faircountry women ; and let not'an unmerited prejudice ordif- — pleafure againfi me remain any longer in their tender bofoms; When you get into difgrace of any kind, be allured that I will do as much for you. 1 am here as idle as eafe of heart can: make me; I fhall wait for you till the be- ginning -of next month ; when > if you do ‘not come, I fhall proceed to while away the reff the fummer at Crazy Cafile and Scarborough. In the beginning , > the very beginning , of October, I mean to arrive -in Bond-freet with my Simones nd when LE have arranged their publication, then F go-mad for Italy, where you would do ‘well to accompany me. Inthe mean time, » however, I hope and wilh to fee you ‘here: it will, after all, be much better, | than playing the Strephon with phtifical nymphs at the Briftol Fountain. But de as you may. PARE PE ANT eat T am, moft fincerely yours , ty L. ek (ane « LETTER VII. ees eS: I DID not anfwer your letter as you de- fired me, for at the moment I received it, L really thought all my projects, for fome time to come, were burned to a cinder; or, which is the better exprellion Sterne’s Letters. Vol. Il. a Rs! RG, a 246. _ STERNE’s LETTERS. ; of the two, had’ evaporated in- {moke; for, not half an hour before, an affright- ed meflenger, on a breathlels horfe,-had © arrived to acquaint me,. that the parfonage ~houfe at—-— was on fire when: he came away ,. and burning. like: a bundle of fag- gots; and: while I was preparing: to. fet off to fee my houfe, after it was-burned down, your letter. arrived’ to, confole me on my. way;: for it gave’ me every affur- ance,. that if| I were left without an hole to put my head into, or a rag to: cover my —— body, _you.would give me a.com- fortable room in your houfe, and a. clean fhirt into the bargain. In. fhort, by. the careleffnefs. of: my? cue rate or his wife, or fome one within his gates, I am an houfe out of pocket —TI fay, litterally , out of pocket; for I muft. rebuild it at my own cofts and charges, — or the Church of York,. who originally gave it me, will do-thofe things, which, in good: fenfe, ought not to be done; but which the wifeacres ,. who. compofeit , will tell me they have a right to do. My lofs. will be upwards:of two: hundred pounds, with fome books, etc. etc. fo that you vee ee ; STERNE’s LETTERS. 147 may now lay afide all your apprehenfions about what I fhall-do-with the wealth that my fermons have brought, and are to-bring te me—. I told you then that fome devi- lifh accident or‘other would ptovide me with the ends of getting rid of the means; and I had a crofs accident in my head at. the time, whichI did not communicate to . you; butit i is. not that which has fallen out, ner any: thing like it; though. this may fall out too, for aught I know.,. and then the fee fimple of my fermons will be gone for-ever. - . Now thefe: iene ak mine were , moft of them, written.in the very houfe that is.burned down , and all of them preached, Ifear again and again, in the very church to which it belonged; and they now an- {wer a purpofe I never dreamed.or thought of; but fo it is in this world, and thus, are things hinged and hung together, or ’ yather unhinged. or unhung; for I have my. doubts-at prefent, whether. we.[hall fee the dying gladiator next winter... The matter, however, that concerns me moft in. the bufinels, is the firange unaccount-. able conduct of. my poor.-unfortunate cu- Ne ~ 348 STERNE’s LETTERS. q yate, notin fetting fire to the houfe, for I do not accufe him of it, God knows, nor any one elfe; but in fetting off the moment after it happened, and flying, like Paul to Tarfus, through fear ofa profecution from me.» a That the man fhould have formed fuch \ an ideaof me, as to fuppofe me capable, if I did not footh his forrows, of adding — another to their number, wounded me | forely. For, amidft all my errors and fol-: lies, I do not believe there is any thing, — in the colour or complexion of any part of my life, that would juftify the fhadow of fuch an apprehenfion. Befides, he de- prived me of all the comfort I made out to mylelf from the misfortune; which was, as it pleafed Heaven to deprive him of one houfe, to take him and his wife, and his little one, into another—I mean into ; that where I lived myfelf. And He who now reads my heart, and will one day judge me for the [ecrets of .it— He well knows that it did not grow cold within me, on account of the accident, till I was informed that this filly man was a fugitive, from the fear of my wrath, we STERNE’s LETTERS. 149 : The family of the C——s were kind to me beyond méalure , as they have al- ways been; they are a [fort of people that E you would like extremely; and before the fummer is paft, I hope to prefent you to them; though, if I recollect, you know the charming damfel of the houfe already, and the reft of it, though not fo young or fo fair, and as amiable as [he is. As I cannot leave you in poflelfion of a bet- ter fubject for your reflection, etc. I Chall fay adieu, and God blefs you. In a few days you {hall hear again from Your affectionate and faithful i. STERNE. LETTER Be , TO ——, ESQ. I HAVE received, my dear friend, your kind anfwer to my letter. And you muf know that it was juf fuch an one as I wifhed to receive from you: nay, it was ju fuch an one as I expected that. you would write to me. I fhould have been difappointed if it had been in any other a ate ae ee = Se rs0 STERNE’s LETTERS. form or fhape of friendfhip. But underftand me, if you pleafe: I fhould have been difappointed-for: your fake, and not for my own; for though I am charmed that. youfhould have made me thofe unreferv- ed offers. of. friendfhip which are fo ‘gra- cious in you, I-am almoft as much pleaf- _ ed that my Exchequer is in that Rate of fufficiency.asnot to require them. ‘I have made my bargain for rebuilding my parfonage, and fettled all arrange- ments, with all parties concerned, ina manner more to my (atisfaction than +I . could have expected. Iwas rather in-hafte to fettle this account, that there might be -no rifque of leaving my wife and Lydia . _a dilapidation for their fortune: for Ihave no reafon to believe that the * of * would be more kind to them, when friendlefs and unprotected, than they had been to the hufband of the -one and the father: of the other, who, when he was a poor Curate, had pride enough to defpife their Reverences , and wit enough to make ethers laugh at them. But may God for- give them, as I do! Amen. :-I wrote to Hall on account of my. dif- 4% * afters and his .anfwer bid me find out a conceit on the. occafion, and comfort my- felf with it. Tully., the Orator, the Poli- tician, ‘the Philofopher, the Moralifi, the Conflul., etc. etc. etc:adopted, as he can- didly ‘tells every one , who. reads his works, ‘this mode of confolation, when he lof his daughter; and if we may be- lieve him, with fuccefs. Now this. fame Tally, you muft know, was like my fa- ther; I mean. Mr. Shandy , of Shandy _ Hall, who was as well pleafed with a misfortune that gave him an opportunity of difplaying his eloquence, as with a bleffing that obliged him to hold his tongue. Both thefe great.:men were fond of conceits,’ I'mean their own; fo: I ,will;tell you a: fiory of a:Conceit, not of Cicero’s ‘nor of my father’s, but of the Lord of Crazy. You muf know then, that this fame friend of mine, and, I may add, of your’s alfo, in a moment of lazy pride, took it into his -head,that he would have a town chariot,.to fave his-feet by day, and te carry: hirh to Ranelagh . in the evening. For this purpole,, after confulting a coach- maker, he had allotted one Aundrad and aoe oe agg STERNE’s LETTERS. forty pounds; and’he wrote, me word of it, On my arrival in town,» about three months after this communication, I found a card of invitation from Lord Spencer to dine with him on the following Sunday; and I had no fooner read it, than Hall’s fine crane-necked chariot came bounce, as it were, upon my recollection; fo LI fallied forth to afk him how he did, and to borrow his carriage, that I might pay my vifit in pomp as a pontificalibus. i found him at home, made a friendly. in- quiry or two, and told him of the little arrangement I had formed; when he re- plied , with one of his Cynical {miles, that his mortification was in the extreme, for that his chariot was gone poft to Scotland. I fared , and he laughed—not at me, but at his own conceit—and you fhall have it, — {uch as it is. git : A mufinform you then, that at the mo- ment when the coach-maker was receiving his laf infiructions, he himfelf received a letter; which letter acquainted him, that his fon, who was quartered at Edinburgh, had got into a terrible riot there; to get out ofthe confequences of which, he demand: ae ho, STERNE’s LETTERS. 153 ed almoft the precife fum that had been deftined fer, the chariot. So that the hun- dred and fourty pounds, whichhad been fet apart to build a chariot in London, were employed to repair broken windows , broken lamps, and broken heads, in Edin- burgh; and Hall comforted himfelf with the conceit that his chariot was gone poft to Scotland. So much for comforts and conceits;— and happy is it for us when we can, by any means, conceit ourfelves into comfort. I could fay more upon this matter, but my paper is almoft filled; and I have only {pace to exprefs a-wifh, that your life may never want any of thofe petty helps to make it as happy as, if I greatly miftake not, it muft be honour- . able. Let me fee you foon; and, in the mean time, and at all times, ee God be with you. Your’s, moft affectionately, L. STERNE. 154 STERNE'’s LETTERS. L ETTE R x T0——, ESQ. Coteau near Eajiipioditl You are not fingular in your opinion about my wonderful capacity for poetry. Beauclerk and Lock, and I think Lang- ton, have faid what you have faidon the fubject., and founded their opinion, as you have done, ‘on the fragment of an Intro- duction to the Ode to Julia ,in Trifram Shandy. The -unity ofthe epifode would have been wounded, if I had added an- other line; and if Ichad added a dozen, my character.as:a poetical genius, which ,: ‘by the bye, I never had, would have been loft.for ever—or rather would never. have been [ulpected. Hall had alfo fimilar ideas.on this very matter, and, onthe firength of his opi- nion, ventured once to give me an unfi- nifhed poemf his own, and bade me go on with it—and fo I did, heltering and {keltering at a moft terrible rate: —~ in fhort, I added fome fixty or fourfcore lines a nl a a A tr a STERNE’s LETTERS, 155 eb ike bufinels, which he dina doggrel, and which‘I think’ he called rightly ; how- ever he chofe to let them fiand, ‘to ufe | his.own: iphrafe , as a curiofity.; fo into the prefs they went, and ‘helped to compofe the worft {quib. our crazy friend ever let off. I do not, however, mention thefe things to’ leffen the -merit of your opinion, by pointing out its fimilarity to that of others. You need not be afhamed to think with fuch men, if:even’they fhould be wrong, which ,.on this particular fubject, Imoft folemnly believe you all tobe. Cum his errare is fomething—and all that— — . ‘Ivonce, it is true, wrote an epitaph, which I liked myfelf, but the perfon at whofe requeft I did it, [acrificed it to one - of his own, which ‘he liked ‘better, but _ which I did not—fo my ‘lines were thrown afide, and his-own nerveléfs rhime was engraved on .a-marble, which deferved a better infcription: for it covered the duf of one, whole gentle nature , and amiable qualities , merited more than common praife, or commonplace eulogium. How- ever,-I fhed a tear over the fepulchre, ‘which , if the dead:could have: known it, 156 STERNE’s LETTERS. | |, - would have been more acceptable than the moft {plendid diction that ever ented on monumental alabafter, i alfo wrote a kind of Shandean, fing. : fong , dramatic: piece of rhime for Mr. Beard —and he fung it at Ranelagh, as well as on his own ftage, for the benefit of fome one-or other. He afked for fomething of the kind, and I knew not how to refufe him; for, a year before, he had, in a very refpectful manner, and without any previous acquaintance, prefented me with the freedom of Covent-Garden Theatre. The act was ‘gracious, and I liked it the better, becaufe the monarch of Drury- Lane had known me for fome few years, and befides had, for fome time, occupied a front feat in my page, before he offered me the freedom —not of Drury-Lane houfe, but of Drury-Lane pit. I told him on the occafion, that he acted great things and did little ones , fo he ffammered and look- ed foolifh, and performed, at length, with a bad grace, what his rival mana- ger was [o kind as to do with the beft grace in the world—But no more of that—heis fo complete on the ftage, that I ought not to mention his patch-work off it, | STERNE’s LETTERS. 157 _ However, to return to my fubject — if Tcan; for digreflion is interwoven with my nature; and to get to my point, or find my way back to it, when I have wan- dered afide, as other men do, is not in the line of my faculties. But though I may not be a poet, the clerk of my parifh is — not abfolutely in my conceit — but , which is better, in that of his meteldidurs 5 ; and, which is the beft of all—in his own. His mufe is a profeffional one, for fhe only infpires him to indite hymns; and it #s appropriate, for fhe leads him to fuch fubjects as are fuitable to his [piritual office, and which, like thofe of his brethren, Sternhald and Hopkins, may be [aid or _ fung in churches. In {hort, there had been a terrible difeafe among, the cattle, and our parifh had fuffered greatly , fo that this parochial bard thought it a proper fub- ject for a [piritual fong, which he accor- dingly compofed, and gave it out on the Sunday following, to the praife and glory of God, as an hymn of his own compol- ing. Not ohly the murrain itfelf, but the fufferers by the calamity were vociferated through the aifles in all the pomp and 138° STERNE’s LETTERS. devotion of ruftic plalmody.. Thelaft fanza, * which is the only one I recollect, - rather unhinged my devotion, but it [eemed to- rivet that of the congregation, and. there- fore I had no right. to complain. I leave jt with you as a bonne, bouché,.and with you a good night... : g aed Here’s Jemmy How has loft a cow,. And fo has Johnny Bland; Therefore we'll put our truft in God, And ‘not in any other man. Le STERNE. - HET TT ER: Xi. TO——,-ESQ. Coxwould, Wednefday night. . f SEND you, my dear friend, as you requeft.it, the epitaph which I mentioned in my laft epifile to you. I write it from recollection ;.and, though it may not con- tain the precife expreflion, it. will certainly pollefs the fentiment of the original. com pofition—and. that is of the moft. confe- quence, L remember. -well it came from the- Ee ee eS ee Beh tte, Ee SS ee PT, | ee a i STERNE’s LETTERS. agg. i= | Heart: for mol fineerely loved the-amiable- perfon, jowhofe aubetens -deferved a better. -infeription , and, according to a very cont- mon courfe of things, found a.worle. But: by ee it-is—- : “Columns sil labou'd- vurns 5 but aaa fhe ee kee fhow~. Anvidle fcene: ae Shetbatec woe: — -aeThe fweet companion and the friend fincere: Need. no-mechanic. arts to force the tear. In heart-felt numbers , never meant to fhine, *T will flow eternal o’er an hearfe like thine; - Twill flow while. gentle goodnels has one. - ‘ -fiiend,... .. Or kindred tempers. have a tear ‘to lend. . Hall liked it > I-remember—and Hall _ always knows what ought to be liked, and, . ‘in-certain humours, will be candid. upon -thefe: fentimental fubjects, and. acknow- ‘ledge that he feels them, He is an excel-. ‘Tent. [cholar and a good. critic, but his judgment has more feverity. than it.ought to have,..and his: tafte lefs. delicacy. than: it fhould poffefs. He has, alfo, great hu- - “manity:,;. but, fomehow or-other, there. is- Ie 60 STERNE’s LETTERS. fo ‘dae fuch ih ture. sOF | Sad i ‘in it, that there are many hail 1765. 170 ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. I have received a letter from Touloufe which does not comfort my [pirits ; and I have reafon to apprehend from thence, that there is fome neglect at the fountain head of my treafury, which I muft beg you to inquire into; and, if you fee occa- fion, to correct, in order that the little rill of ways and means may not be inter- rupted between London and Languedoc, thatis, between me and Mrs, Sterne, and my poor dear Lydia. They write me word that they have drawn upon Foley, as I defired, who tells them he has no effects to anfwerthé — bill; but that, if they are in diftrefs, he will accommodate them for my fake. This is very handfome dealing, and I am rather proud of it ;s—but, in the mean time , there is an uncertainty which is very unpleafant —I mean to the poor women, who are at fuch a diftance, that a great deal of — anxious fufpence muft be fuffered before the miftake canbe rectified. Befides, ——, thele things breed words and queftions , as well as fufpicions and . all that.—My dear Lydia contents herfelf with a gentle complaint or fo; but her ee Se ae ee ee ee! _ STERNE's LETTERS. 171 mother des not hefitate to difcharge as volume of reproaches. Now ‘the truth_is, that I deferve neither the one nor the other ,—and had managed the matter for the fupply of their wants, and the ridding myfelf of all future anxiety in the bufinels, in as plain a manner as my hand-writing and fpirit of calculation could make it. However, it has abated the ardour of my Knight Errantry for the prefent, ‘and thrown more than a fickly ih or two on my imagination. I am prodigal of words, my dear friend, in a matter wherein a mere hint is all that - would be necellary for you to exert your- felf. So do me the honour to fee that it is abfolutely done without a moment’s de- lay; and if B— —fhould hefitate the tythe of aninftant ,—do that for me, my friend, which I would do for you on a fimilar occa- fion. So God blefs you. My heart will not fuffer me to offer you an apology , becaufe : | I know it will be ungracious to you. Once more farewell ! ‘Molt cordially yours, L, STERNE. Pa La 172 +STERNE’s LETTERS. LETTER XV. T0.—-—, ESQ, Coxwould , Wednesday iets ] HAVE received the Lelie whisk you in- formed me I fhould receive from Doctor L— —, and return you both my beftthanks for it. He is certainly a man of learning, and an excellent critic, and would do well to employ his leifure hours on. . Virgil; or rather, if I underftand him well, on Ho- race; and he would give us fuch a com- mentary on boththole authors, as we have not, and, perhaps, may never have, if he does not fet about it. But Trifiram Shandy, my friend, was made and formed to. baffle all criticifm :— and I will venture to reft the book on this ground, that it is either above the power, er beneath the attention of any critic aor - hypercritic whatloever. I did not fafhion it according to any rule. I reft my fancy, or my genius, or my feeling, ¢ call it what you may, to its own free courfe, without a lfingle intruding reflection , that there ever iii LETTERS. 173 had been: fuch a man as Ariftotle i in the world. ‘When ' I mounted my Lobty’ horfe, I . mever thought, or pretended to think , where I was going, or whether I fhould return home to dinner or fupper, or the next day, orthe next week. I let him take. his'own courfe; and amble, ‘or curvet, or trot, or go a fober, forrowful, lack- adayfical pace, as it pleafed him beft. It was all one to me, for my temper was ever in unifon with his manner of courling it—be it what it might, I never pricked him with a (pur, or firuck him'with a whip; but let the’ tein lay loofely on his neck, and he was wont to take his way without doing injury to any one. ss ee “Some would laugh at us as we palled along, and fome feemed to pity us, and now and thena melancholy tender heart- ed paffenger would look at us and heave a figh.—Thus have we travelled together; but my poor Rofinante did not, like Bas laam’s afs, fland fiill if he faw an Angel inthe way, but directly pufhed up to her, and if it were but a damfel, fitting by a fountain, who would let me take a ree 174 + STERNE’s LETTERS. frefhing draught from her cup, fhe was, furely , an angel to me. The grand error of life is, that we aie too far:—we [cale the Heavens, we dig down to the centre of the earth, for fyfiems, and we forget ourfelves. —Truth lies be- fore us ; itis in the highway path; and the ploughman treads on it with his clouted fhoon. / Tere Nature defies the rule and the line;— Art raifesits ftructures, and forms its works ontheir aid; but Nature has her own laws, which Art cannot always comprehend , and Criticifm can never reach. Doctor L—— acknowledges, however, that my Sermon on Confeience is a mol admirable compofition ; but is of opinion, that it is degraded by being made a part of Trifiram Shandy.—Now, if you pleafe, be fo good as to note my anfwer: if this fermon is fo excellent, and I myfelf be- lieve it to be fo, becaufe Judge Burnet, who was a man of tafte and erudition, as well as law, defired me to print it:—I fay, ifitbe a good fermon, it ought to be read; and fince it appeared in the pages of Trif- tram Shandy, ithas been read by thou- RAG Fig iy PMs a OME aoe, Pe ae See 4 Oa | STERNE’s LETTERS, ~— 175 fands and tens of thoufands; whereas the fact is , that when it was publifhed by itfelf, it was read by no one. I have anfwered Doctor L—— with all the refpect which his amiable character ‘and admirable talents deferve; but I have told him, at the fame time, that my book was not written to be tried by any known laws. of {cholaftic criticifm ; and that if I thought any thing I might hereafter write would be within their reach , I would throw the manulcript that is now before me into the fire, and never dip my pen into my ink-fand again , but for the purpole of affur- ing fome uncritical and uncriticifing friend, Li like yourlelf, of my fincere and cordial regard. At thismoment I make that offer- ing to you.—So God be with you. L. STERNE. I begin to peep out of my hermitage a little ; for Lord and Lady F— — are come down, and bring with them, as ufual, a large fore of amiable, ealy, and hofpi- . table virtues, wilh you were here to par- take of and add to them. 176 STERNE’s LETTERS. iy a ¢ 4, TFs aie} j OW Se Ms © hs XVI TO ——, ESQ. a Minday vvenings Yo U have hit my fancy moft wonderfully, in the account you have given me ‘of La- dy ——. The Juno character not only pre- vails, but abfolutely predominates.—The Minerva qualities are all fecondary ;—and, as to any Cyprian difpofitions , I know nothing about them. She certainly poffefles a very good under- ftanding, andis not without attainments ; but both the one and the other derive all their confequence from her manners. She has fomewhat of an imperious difpofi- tion, which would be either filently def- piled by fome, or violently oppofed on others, if they did not give a grace to it that annihilates any unpleafant fenfation that might attempt to rife in the Breaft of any by-ftander; or which is better, by- fitter; but this is not all, for it calls forth alfo that kind of refpectful fubmiffion, which does not leffen us in our own opi- nion for having practifed it. ‘ e! 4 “y i. panes : STERNE’s LETTERS. 177, ' I never in my life felt ‘the merit of ex- terior decoration fo much as in my con- verfations and communications with this Lady; and I really do not know any pofi- tion in the prefent {chool of fafhion , where a young man might learn fo much as in her drawing-room , or without meaning. any “mifchievous | equivoque, her drefling room. It is really no common fatisfaction to me to-reflect that my young friend is an Eleve of fuch an inftructrefs. ) There is a time and circumfiance of life, and that period and circumftance are now your's , ‘when nothing bat the ealy fociety and. little tender friendfhips of ‘an accom- plifhed: woman are wanting to render a cha- racter complete:—and, without faying a word more than I think on the bufinefs, Icannot but exprefs my [atisfaction that you are in fuch hands as will probably ~produce the very effects which fo fincere a friend as myfelf can wilh and defire. It has ever been a maxim with me, fince I knew any thing of the world , that we are all of us as muchin want of a [chool- miftrefs at the-end, as we do at the com- mencement of our education. And as you 178 STERNE’s LETTERS. are fo fortunate as to have Lady ——to teach you the horn-book of high life, you will bid fair to {pell it and put it together, fo as to become the charm of all fociety et —and you will lofe, what I fo much wilh you to lofe,—the attention to one and the neglect of the many, which, though there may be fomething amiable in the principle, is not adapted to the general intercourfe cof diese. su oe ‘ Lady M—F—might forward the bufi- nefs ,— and Lady C—,I am fure, is ready to do it: fo that in fuch a foil,—in fuch a feafon, and with [uch cultivation—what has not partial friendfhip a right to expect! —And now, what can I do better than leave you in fuch good and excellent com- pany; and defire you, in return, to pre- fent my refpectful compliments to them all,—and to receive yourfelfthe moft cor- dial regard Of your very fincere and affectionate, L. Srerne. ss STERNE’s LETTERS. 179 re Re E T T E R XVI. “To ae a. , ESQ. Coxwould , Wednefday noon. Ii UNDERSTAND, from Mr. Phipps*), _ that you are abfolutely engaged to pals the fummer, or rather the autumn, with him at Mulgrave-hall; fo that I now confider a previous vifit tome as amatter on which I may depend, and to which, believe me, I look, with real [atisfaction—We will while away a month or fix weeks at my vicarage , in a manner which, I truft, will not be unpleafing or unprofitable to you. However, in faying this, or rather .writ- ing it, I addrefs mylelf to the excellence of your heart, which I cannot enough ad- mire, and that cultivated underftanding, of which I have the greateft hopes. Iknow | the pleafures you willquit, and the Socie- ties you muft [acrifice, to come and pals any part of the fummer.with me: but, at the ame time, I do not doubt of your viit— | *) The late Lord Mulgrave, +. 180 STERNE's LETTERS. and that a fadden téte- i téte it its renee . for you. pe I remember a circumfance , which I fhall never think of without the: utmok pride in . myfelf, -and the moft fincere affection for you;s—but, befides that it flattered me in the higheft degree, it proved that you pol- feffed a fource of fentiment , which ,’ what- ever may befall you in life, muft er you in honour and happinels. With fuch a delicious quality, misfortune will never be able to bear you down; nor will folly, pallion, or even vice, though they may for a time obfcure or leffen the excellence of your character , poflefs the Upside FOL defiroying it. j I allude to alittle touch of fentiment that efcaped you lafi winter, which, though I have mentioned it, with every pollible eulogium, to others, again and again, I have never before hinted it even to you. . The moment, however, is now come, when my fpirit urges me‘ to fpeak of it, and I do it with thofe difpofitions which are con- genial to the fubject , sa Ltruf, natural. to mylelf, You cannot abfolutely have forgotten - STERNE’s LETTERS. 181 ‘an evening vifit which you paid me laft Ja- nuary, in Bondfireet, when I was ill in bed,,nor oughtit to. efcape your occafional reflection, that you fat by my bed fide the ~whole night, performing every act of the . moft friendly and pious attention. I then thought that the {care-crow death was at my heels; nay, I thought the villain had - got me by the throat, andl told you as much. However, it pleafed Heaven that I fhould not be fnatched from the world at that moment ; though I fpoke my own. honeft opinion, when I. vaticinated my deftiny by expreffing little hopes of getting to the winter's end.—I believe, ‘my dear friend, faid I, that I fhall foon be off,— I hope not, you replied, with a [queeze of my, band, and a figh of your heart, which went to the very bottom of mine; —but, you were pleafed to add, left that fhould be the cafe, I hope you will do me the favour to let me be always with you, that I may have every atom of ad- vantage and comfort your fociety will af- ford me, while Heaven permits it to laf. I fpoke.no reply, for Icould not, but my heart. made one then, and will con- 182 STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘ = tinue to do fo, till it is ab lana a bod “i the valley. Hence it is that I do not doubt but hh ae will quit the ring of pleafure, without re- : -gret, tocome and fit with me beneath my honey-fuckle, which is now flaunting like a Ranelagh beauty, and accompany me in paying my nuns their penfive evening vifit, We can go to Velpers with them, and re- turn home to our curds and cream with more delicious fentiments , than all. the pleafures of the world and the beauties thereof, in their vaineflf moments, will pretend to afford. I am bufy about another couple of vo- lumes to amufe, and, asLhope, to inftruct agouty anda [plenetic world; in which} folemnly declare I have no ambition to re- main, but for the love I bear to fuch friends as yous; and, perhaps the vanity which I am vain enough not to call an idle one, of adding a few more leaves to the wreath which I have been able to weave for my own little glory. Come then, and let me read the pages to. you as they fall from my pen; and be a Mentor to Trifiram, as you have been STERNE’s LETTERS. 183 to. Yorick.—At all events, I am fure you cannot come to York without coming to me; andI fhalltriumph completely over Lady__ — —, if I draw you for a month from-the bright centre to which you are fo naturally attracted. So God blefs you, and believe me, with all fincerity , to be moft affectio- nately yours, tee : ade! gh she 3 L. Sterne, LETTER XVIII. TO —— ——. Bi (ose > Lhurfday night. I SAW the charming Mrs. Veley but for a moment, and fhe contrived with her voice and her thoufand other graces, to di/— order me: and what fhe will have to an- fwer for on the occafion, I fhall not em- ploy my cafuifiry to determine ; nor fhallI afk my good friend the Archbilfhop, from whofe houfe, and amidf whofe kindnefs and hofpitality, I addrefs this to you, I envy , however, your faunter together round an empty Ranelagh; and I fhould have liked it the better, becaule it was we empty, and would give the. imagination, and very delicious feeling, opportunity to make one. forget there was another being in the room but ourfelves, . You will, lam fure, more than. tiisdexs. ftand. me, aie I mention that fenfe of female perfection—I mean, however, pea the female is fitting or walking befide you —which fo poffelles the mind, that the whole globe [eems to be occupied by none but you two. When your hearts, in per- fect unifon, or, I fhould rather fay, har- mony with each other, produce the fame chords, and bloffom with the fame flow- ers of thought and fentiment. “Thefe hours —which virtuous, tender minds have power of feparating from.the melancholy feafons of life—make ample amends for the weight of cares and difap- pointments which the happieft of us are doomed to bear, They,caft. the brighteft funfhine on the dreary land[cape ; and form a kind of refuge from the Horn wind and tempeft. With fuch a companion, is not the prim- rofe bank, and cottage, which humble virtue has raifed on its fide, fuperior to ie a) we Re. ce as al os Ne “E RNE's LETTERS. 185 all that fled is wreath have toned in the. palaces of | Monarchs ? The. feented heath is then the perfumed Araby ; and, | though the nightingale fhould refufe to lodge 4 among the branches of the poor folitary tree that overfhadows us—if my | fair min- ftrel fhould but pour forth the melting firain, a I would not look to the mufic of the {pheres iy ravifhment. - There is fomething . my heme friend, mof wonderfully pleafant in the idea of getting away from the world; and, though I have ever found it a great comfort, yet I have been more vain of the bufinels, when I have done it in the midf of the world. But this aberration from the crowd, while you are furrounded and preffed by it, is only to be accomplifhed by the magic of female perfection.—Friendfhip , with all its powers—mere friendfhip cannot do it, A more refined fentiment muft employ its influence, to wrap the heart in this deli- cious oblivion. It is too pleafing to laft long’; for envious, fleeplefs care , is ever on the watch to awaken us from the bewitching trance, Sterne’s Letters, Vol. fl. Q £86 - STERNE’s LETTERS. You, my friend, noifels fomething of the reality of it: and I 2 while I enjoy your happinels , apply to fancy for the purpofe of creating a copy of it, So I fit myfelf ‘down upon the turf, and place a lovely fair one by my fide—as lovely, if pollible, as Mrs. P— —, and having plucked up a {prig of bloffoms from the May bufh, I place it in her bofom, and then addrefs fome tender tale to her heart; and if Che weeps atmy fiory, Itakethe white hand- kerchief fhe holds in her hand, and wipe the tears from off her cheek, and then I dry my own withit, and thus the delight- ful vifion gives wing to alazy hour, calms my [pirits , and compofes me for my pillow. To wifh that care may never plant a thorn upon yours, would be an idle em- ployment of votive regard; but that you may preferve the virtue which will blunt their points, and continue to pollefs the feelings which will, fometimes , pluck them away, is a wifh not unworthy of that re- gard, with which I am, your mof affec- tionate , L, STERN eet tie 3 STERNE’s LETTERS. 187 Ue eee wre nxt PB Deen? Sunday eyeniiae Do. -not imagine, my dear fell niisanlt do not fuffer, I befeech you, any pedan- tic, cold-hearted fellow to perfuade you— that fenfibility is an evil. You may take my word on this fubject, as you have been pleafed to do on many others—that fenfibility is one of the beft bleffings of - life—as well as the brightefi ornament of the human character. You do not explain matters to me, which, by the bye, is not fair; but I fup- pole , from the tenour of your letter, which is now befide me, that you have been made a dupe of by fome artful perfon— who, I am difpofed to think, is fome cunning baggage—and that, under the impreflions of this game that has been played you, your vanity is alarmed, and your underftanding piqued; and then you lay all this dire grievance, in a very pet- tifh manner, let me tell you, at the door Qe if % A Bs 188 STERNE’s LETTERS. _ Be of your fenfibility. And, which is worle than all the refi, you write to me as if you really believed yourfelf to be in ear- neft, in all the fee-faw obfervations you have written to me on the fubject. Be affured, my dear friend—If I thought the fentiments of your laft letter were not the fentiments of a fickly moment—if I eould be made to believe, for an inftant, that they proceeded from you, in a fober, reflecting condition of your mind—I fhould give you over as incurable, and give up all my hopes of your rifing into that proud honour, and brilliant reputation, which, I trufi, you will one day poffefs. I was almoft going to write—and where- fore fhould I not—that there is an amiable kind of cullibility, which is as fuperior to the flow precaution of wordly wifdom, as the found of Abel’s Viol di Gamba to the braying of an afs on the other fide of my paling. If I fhould, at any time, hear a man Pique himfelf upon never having been a dupe—I fhould grievoufly fufpect, that fuch an one will, fome time or other, _ give caufe to be thought, at befi, a mean- fpirited, dirty rafcal. ‘bead, ae ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. —18y Sex “You. “may think ne a. ‘Rrange doctrine —but, be that as it aiid am not afham- ed to adopt it.—What would you fay of any character, who had neither humani- ty, generolity, nor confidence ?—-Why you would fay, [know you would—fuch a man Is fit for treafons , firatagems , and fpoils— And yet impofition, dupery—deception— call it by what name you will,'attends upon thefe virtues like their {hadow. For virtue, my dear friend, like every other poffeffion in this world, though it is the moft valuable of all—is of a mixed na- ture; and the very ihconveniencies of it, if they deferve that name, form the bafis on which its importance and natural ex- cellence is eftablifhed. Senfibility is oftentimes betrayed into a foolifh thing;—but its folly is amiable, and fome one or other is the better for it, I am not for its excefles—or a blind fub- miffion to its impulfe, which produces them ;—-yet fome how or other, I fhould be firongly difpofed to hug the being, who would take the rag off his back—to place x ig0 + STERNE’s LETTERS. it on the fhivering wretch who had engeeht to. cover him. Difcretion is a cold kos I have no objection to the poffefling as much of it—as will direct your finer feelings to their proper objects ;— but here let its of- fice finifh ;—if it proceeds a fiep further— there may be mifchief:—it may cool that . current which is the life-blood of all vir- tue, and will, I truft, warm your heart, till it is become a clod of the valley. Senfibility is the fource of thofe deli- cious feelings which give a brighter. co- lour to our joys, and turn our tears to rapture.—Though it may now and then lead us into a [crape, as we pals through life—you may be affured, my dear friend, it will get us out of them all, at the end of it ;—and that it is a matter which wiler men than mylelf will tell you, is well worth thinking about. So leaving you to your capenlaghttnis -and wifhing them, and every thing you do, an happy iflue—I remain, with great truth, Your affectionate, L. STERNE. 5 at oy Oi See S Sas See. % - STERNE’s LETTERS. rgk A IeE Teme RX 2 Stee Bond-fireet , Thurfday Morning. So, my dear friend, you are pleafed to be very angry with the Reviewers ;—fo am not I, But as your difpleafure proceeds _ from your regard for me, L thank you, as I ought to do—again and again. I really do not know to whom I am perfonally indebted for fo much obliging illiberality. ‘Nor can I tell, whether it is the fociety at large, or a fplenetic indivi- dual, to whom I am to acknowledge my obligation. I have never inquired who it is, or who they are: and if I know him or them, what would it fignify ? and where- fore fhould I give their names immortali- ty in my writings, which they will never find in their own.—Let the affes bray as | they like; I {hall treat their worfhips as they deferve, in my own way and man- ner, and in a way and manner that they will like lefs than any other. _ There is a certain race of people who ; ae ae ‘ Re Oo ie ge Ee Vea -sge © STERNE’s LETTERS, +B 2” ERR 2. vee, are ever aiming to treat their betters in fome [curvy way or other; but it has ever - been a practice with me, not to mind a little dirt thrown upon my coat, fo that I keep my lining unrumpled.-And fo much for tHat envy, ignorance, and ill-nature, for which, what I have written is far too much. , ' Tam rejoiced, however, for twenty good reafons, which I will tell you hereafter, that London lies in your way between Oxfordfhire and Suffolk, and one of them I will tell you now—which is, that you | can be of very great fervice to me; ol would defire you to prepare yourfelf to do me a kindnels, if I did not know that you are always in fuch a fiate of prepa- ration. The town is fo empty, that though I have been init full four and twenty hours, I have feen only three people I know— Foote on the ftage—Sir Charles Davers, © at St. James’s Coffee-houfe , and Williams, who was an hafty bird of paflage, on his flight to Bright-helmftone, where Lam told he is making love in right earneft, and to a very fine woman, and with all the [uc- $ ight STERNE’s aS. 193 eels. his friends can wifh him. Our a at York were every thing we could defire them: to Bipayiat, the Ballroom, and every thing we did not defire them to be on the ground. The rain faid nay, with a ven- geance, to the [ports of the courfe, for all the water- -[pouts of the heavens feem- ed to be let loofe upon it. However, in the amufements under cover, we were all as merry as heart could with. I had pro- mifed a certain perfon that you fhould be Aa » and was obliged to parry a [core two of reproaches on your account. Bur, though IT forgot to tell it you be- fore , am by no means well, and if I do mot.get away from this climate before win- ‘ter fets:in, I fhall never fee another [pring in this world; and it is to forward my journey to the South, that I requeft you to make hafte to me from thé Weft. Alas, alas, my friend, I begin to feel that I lofe firength in thefe annual ftruggles and encounters with that miferable (care- crow, who knows as well as I do, that, do whatI can, he will finally get the bet- ter of me, and all of us. Indeed he has already beat the vizard from my helmet, Sterne’s Letters, Vol, II, R Fhe 194 STERNE’s LETTERS. and the point of my [pear is not as it was wont to be. But while it pleafes heaven to grant me life, it will, I truft, grant me {pirits to bear up againft the fawey cir- eumftances of it, and preferve, to my laf feparating figh, that fenfibility to what- ever is kind and gracious, which, when once it poffefles the heart, makes, I truf, ample amends for a large portion of hu- man error. | ; a | You may, indeed, believe, that while I am [enfible of any thing, I fhall be fen- fible of your friendfhip; and I have every reafon to think, that fhould my term be drawing nigh ‘to its period, you will con- tinue to love:me while I live, and: when I am no more, to cherifh the memory of Your ever faithful and affectionate , ‘ L. STERNE. iach \ LETTER XxXI. Men TO -————, - Sunday Morning. Ir you wifh to have the reprefentation of my [pare, meagre form, which, by the oe Be * ee gas "_STERNE’s ‘LETTERS. 195 ysis ‘not ae the canvas it muft be painted: on, you-fhall. be moft welcome to it; and I am happy in the reflection, that when my bones [hall be laid low, — there may be any refemblance of. me, which may recall my:image to your friend- _ and fympathifing recollection. ut you muft mention the bufinefs to Reyfcidm yourfelf; for I will. tell you why I cannot. He has already painted a very excellent Peaptnet of me, which, when I went to pay him for, he defired me to accept, as a tribute, to ule his own ele- gant and. flattering ‘expreffion, that his art}wifhed to pay: to my genius—That ‘man’s -way. of thinking and manners are, at leafi, equal to his pencil. - You will fee, therefore, the ah peas of my fituation, as well as the necelflity , if the genius of Reynolds is to be employed in the bufinefs, of your taking it entirely - upon: ‘yourlelf.. Qr if: your friendly impa- tience , which you exprefs with fo much kindnels 5 will let you wait till we make our tour to Bath, your favourite Gainsbo- rough may do the deed. Ox why not your little friend Cofway, Ra 196 | STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘who is rifing fafi into fame and fo tens. But be it as you pleafe, and arrange it according to your own fancy. | At all events, I {hall treat myfelf when I get to Rome with my own bufto, if Nollikens does not make a demand for it that may be inconfiftent with my Exche- ‘quer. The ftatuary . decorations of my grandfather the Archbifhop’s monument, an the Cathedral vat York, which you ad- mire fo much, have ‘given. birth, I be- lieve, to this whim of mine; and this piece of marble, which my ‘vanity—for let it be vanity if you pleafe— deftines for myfelf, may be placed by the hand of friendfhip, and» by your’s perhaps, near my grave—and fo mucl: for that. But I was born for digreffions, and I, therefore, tell you at once, not rafhly, or prematurely, but with all due fobriety and reflection, that Lord——is of alow, bale, pimping nature. If he had been no- thing but a fool, I fhould have faid— Have mercy upon him; but he has juf underftanding fufficient to make him an- fwerable for what he does ,. and not fuffi~ sient to perceive the fuperiority of what | STERNE’ LETTERS: 97 is gree over ct is, little. —If ever that. “man rifes into. a good or a noble action,. I would be bound. to be confidered as a retailer of feandal, and an_ ill-natured. ‘man, as long as I live, and as long as. my memory lives; but no more of him, I befeech eoaend the honr tells me to. write no ‘more of any thing; for I mui haften where I ought to have been half an. shout ago—fo God blefs you, and be- lieve me, wherever I am, to be 7 -Moft cordially your’s, “ L, Sterne, ae LETTER XXIL, Hae Se any ; Ry one tas a TO —, 1: Monday Morning. Tu E ftory, my dear friend, which you heard related with fuch an air of authori- ty, is like many other true fiories, abfo- _ lutely falfe. Mr. Hume and I never had a = difpute, I mean a ferious, angry, or pe- tulant difpute , in our livest—-indeed, I {ho ould be moft exceedingly furprifed to hear that David ever had an unvleatas 198 STERNE’s LETTERS, contention with any man ?—and if Ifhould be made to believe that fuch an event had happened, nothing would perfuade me that his opponent was not in the wrong: for, in my life, did I never meet with a being of a more placid and gentle nature} and it is this amiable turn of his charac- ter, that has given more confequence and force to his {cepticifm, than all the argu- ments of his fophifiry. You bach Ai on this as a truth, We had, I remember well, a little plea- fant fparring at Lord Hertford’s table at Paris: but there was nothing in it that did not bear the marks of good-will and ur- banity on both fides. I had preached that very day at the Ambaflador’s chapel, and David was difpofed to make a little mer- ry with the parfon; and, in return, the parfon was equally difpofed to make a little merry with the infidel; we laughed with one another, and the company laugh- ed with us both, and whatever your in- former might pretend, he certainly was not one of that company. Sha As for his other hiftory , that & Halt ed an offenfive fermon at the Ambaila- ~ STERNE’s LETTERS, 199 1 eS dor’s chapel —it is equally founded in truth; for:Lord Hertford did me the ho- nour to thank me for it again and again. The text, I will own, was an unlucky ~-one; and that was all your informer could have heard to have juftified his report. If he fell afleep are caeterrelies I arpeets ed ity ‘wills forgive himis ifs sxtl & The fact was as follows: . Lord Hertford .had juft taken and fur nifhed a magnificent hotel; and as every | thing and any thing gives the fafhion of the moment at Paris, it had been the fa- {hion for, every one to go and. fee the Englifh Ambaflador’s new hotel.—It oc- cupied the curiofity, formed the amufe- ment, sand gave a‘ fubject of convertation to the ‘polite circles of Paris, for a fort- night at leaft. fe: Now it fell to my lot, that is to fay, Tt was requefied to preach; the firft day’s fervice was performed in the chapel of this new hotel. The meflage was brought me when'I was playing a fober game of f Whit with the Thornhills, and whether it was that I was called rather abruptly from my afternoon’s amufement to pre~ 300 STERNE’s LETTERS. pare myfelf for this bufinels, for it was to be on the next day; or from what other caufe I do not pretend to determine; but that unlucky kind of fit feized me, which you know I can never refi, and a very unlucky text did come into my head, and you will fay fo when you read it. », And Hezekiah [aid unto the prophet, I have fhewn them my veflels of gold, and my vellels of filver, and my wives, and my concubines, and my boxes of oint- ment, and whatever I have in my houfe have I [hewn unto them; and the prophet faid unto Hezekiah, Thou haft done very foolifhly.” *) Now, as the text is a part of holy writ, that could not give offence; though wick- ed wits are fometimes difpofed to ill treat it with their own [curvy mifreprefenta- tions, But as to the difcourfe itfelf, no- thing could be more innocent, and David — Hume favoured it with his grace and ap- probation. f , But here am I got, I know not how, *) This fermon has been publifhed, and is to be found in Mr, Sterne’s works. i 1 ; Fa _ STERNE’s LETTERS. 202 e pede: abut amyfelf for whole pages to- gether—whereas the only part of my let- ters that can juftify my being an egotift, is, while I affure any gentle [pirit, or faithful friend, as I now do you, that E am her, or his, or your Mok nett humble fervant, > Bey 8 L. ‘Srzans. Ae payee, | LETTER Xxul. an — ey Wednefday Noon. Beuteve me, my dear friend, I have mo great faith in Doctors. Some eminent ones of the faculty have affured me, ma- ny years ago, that if I continued to do as I was then doing, I fhould not live three months, Now the fact is, that I have been. doing exactly what they told me I ought not to do for thirteen years together —and here I am, as thin, it is true, but _as faucy as ever; and it will not be my fault if I do not continue to give them the lie for another period of equal duration. _ It is Lord Bacon, I think, who oblerves 202 * STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘ _ —at leaft be it who it may that made the - obfervation, it is not unworthy the great. man whofe name I have juft written— That Phyficians are-old women, who fit by your bed-fide till they ne nage or Nature cures you. ‘ There is an uncertainty in aie inflicts that often baffles experience, and renders genius abortive—Tho’ I'mean not, believe me, to be fevere on a [cience which. is. fometimes made the means of doing good. Nay, the [{cience itfelf-confidered, natu- rally and phyfically , is the eye of all the reft, But I do not always hold my peace when I reflect on thofe felf-conceited , up- fiart profeffors of it, who fly and bounce; and give themfelves airs ,—if you do not’ read the directions upon the label of a phial which contains the matter of their prelcriptions with as much reverence, as if it had been penned by. St. Luke himfelf. Goddefls of Health—let me drink ‘thy: healing and ‘fuftaining beverage at the pure fountain which’ flows at thy command! Give me to breathe the balmy air, and to feel the enlivening fun—and fo I will!— for if 1 do not fee you in fifteen days, I ‘ -_ oe an a STERNE’s eee 203 ; nea jw eed se ; will, ont the fixteenth Rep “quietly into > the Dover’ ‘coach, and | proceed without you to the banks of the Rhone, where you may follow me if you pleale—and if. you-do not, the difference between us will be—that while you are palling your Chrifimas day in fencing againf fogs, by warm clothes and large fires, 1 fhall be fitting ‘on the grafs, tourting no warmth but the all-chearing one which proceeds from the grand luminary of nature. So think on thefe things I befeech you - —and let-me know about it, for I will not remain galping another month in Lon- don, evén for your fake—or for your com- _ pany, which, I peecar add, ts be ie my own fake. In the mean time, and at all times , may God blefs you. Yam, moft cordially, your’s, © L. STeRNE. 204 STERNE’s LETTERS. 4 LETTER XXIv. TO —--—-— ora Wednefday Noon. T am always getting into a ferape, not from a careleffnefs of offending, as fome good-humoured people have fulpected ; for I do not wifh to give offence, but from the want of being underftood—Pope has well expreffed the hardfhip of being forced —_~— to trudge Without a fecond and without a judge. I think the quotation is correct. Indeed, | a man may proceed well enough without .a fecond. Genius is oftentimes fo far from wanting fuch an affifiant, that it is fre- quently clogged by it; bat to be without a judge is a mortification which comes home with much feverity to the bofoms of thofe who feel, or fancy, which is pret- ty near the fame thing; and judgment, I mean impartial , adequate judgment, would be their reward, ae STERNE’s LETTERS. 205 To be eternally mifunderftood, and which naturally follows, to be eternally mifreprefented by ignorance, is far, far worfe than to be. {landered by malice, Calumny is more than oftentimes, for it is almoft always the facrifiee which vice pays to virtue, and folly offers up to wif- dom. A wife man, while he pities the ef- “fords of flander, will feel a k®d of confe- quence from the exertion of them—like the Philofopher, who is faid to have railed a monument to his-own fame, with the fiones, which the malignity of his compe- titors had thrown at him. The divorce between virtue and reputa- tion ‘is too common to be wondered at— though ‘it is too unjuf not to be lament- ed; but that being a circumfiance which connects itfelf with fomething like the gene- ral order of Providence—we are able to eonfole ourfelves under it, by hope and refignation: But in the little, and compa- atively fpeaking, the petty bufinefs of human fame—the mind may be juflified in kicking. at the. perverfions. to which. its hhoneft and beft.endeavours are fo conti- -Bually fubject. 206 STERNE’s LETTERS. ‘ I do moft fincerely affure you, that I have feldom been fo proud of myfelf and the little difplay of my talents, whatever they may be—as I was in the very cir- cumftance which has given fo much unea- finefs. I intended no feverity—I was all eomplacency and good humour—my [pi- rits were in unifon- with every generous and gracious thought; and, fo far was I from poffeffing.the idea of giving offence— and to a Lady—that there never was a moment of my life, perhaps, when I was fo difpofed to buckle on my armour, and mount my Rofinante, to go and fight the caufe of injured or captive beaaty. But, inftead of all this; here am’I confidered as the very monfter whom I mylelf was ready to combat and to defiroy. - You will, therefore, be fo good as to communicate thefe thoughts, in as: much better a manner as you pleafe, to Mrs. H——, and affure her, that [he has only done what fo many have done before her —that is, fhe has mifconceived, or, as that word may produce a mifconception , fhe has mifunderfiood ‘me. ' So far I am mof willing to travel in the higher oa ie me sive if The . is difpofed to fmile., I will receive her re- turning heveited with all due acknowledg- ments; but if fhe fhould think it clever, or witty, or confequential, to:continue to be offended, I will not fail to remember her in a pofifcript to my chapter on the right and wrong ‘end of a woman; which, though my uncle ‘Toby, from a certain combination of circumftances could never be made to underftand, I will explain to the world’ in fuch a manner, that bey who run may read. < I am not, however, unintelligible to all. There are fome f{pirits who want no key either to my [peech or my writings: ‘and they, I mean the [pirits, are of the -firft order. This is fome comfort, and that comfort increafes both in its weight and mealures, on the reflection that vues one. of them... But my paper and the piniasites bell both: warm me to do—what I ought to have done at leaft a‘page ago, and that is to write adieu; fo adiea, and God blefs you. ‘Tam mof deidaatly yours, L. Sterne STERNE’s LETTERS. aah eal a his: 268 ‘STERNEs | LETTERS. — a < een & LETTER Xxv. ies an nae i ” T. hurfday, Nov. 1: WERE la Minifier of State, infead of being a Country Parfon—or rather , though I do not know that it is the better thing ef the two—were I King of a Country, not like: Sancho Pancha, without a will of my own, but with all the rights, privile- ges, and immunities, belonging to fuch a _ fituation, I would not fuffer a man of ge- nius to be pulled to pieces, orpulleddown, ~ er even whiftled at, by any man who had not fome fort of genius of his .own—that is to fay, I would not fuffer blockheads of any denomination to fhew their heads Gn my territories. - What—will you fay—is there no faving clanfe for the ignorant and the unlettered? —No fpot fet apart for thofe en whom fcience has not beamed, or the current of whole genius poverty. has frozen? — My dear friend, you do not quite underfiand me, and I Rie of you not to fuppofe that men are. Hockheads who are notZearn- Bea that no man who is learned can _ bea blockhead. My definition is not borrowed foot the F dekiraiod room of a College, or the dull muzzing pericranium of a word-mongering dictionary-maker, but from the book of Nature, the volume of the world, and the pandects of experience. There I find a blockhead to be aman, (for I am not at ~ prefent in a humour to involve the poor women in the definition) who thinks he has what, in fact, he has not—and who does not know how to make a right ofe of that which he has. _ It is the mode of applying means to ends that marks the character of fuperior under- fianding.—The poor feare-crow of a beaft that Yorick rode fo long and to «the laf, being once [et in the right road, will f iiss get to the end of his journey, than the fleetefi racehorfe of Newmarket, who has taken an oppolite direction. Wifdom very often cannot read or write, and Folly will often quote you pallages from all the dead and half the living lan- guages. Ibeg, therefore, you will not form Sterne’s Letters. Vol. Il, S Pa STERN E’s ‘LETTERS. 809 aio STERNE’s LETTERS, a bad, that is to fay a falfe idea of this. kingdom of mine—for whenever I get it, you may be [ure of being well appointed, and living at your eafe, as every one muft do there who lives to his honour—But to the point. . . ' To the point, did I fay ?—Alas! there is fo much zig-zag in my deftiny, that it is impoflible for me to keep going on firait through one poor letter — and that to a friend. But fo it is—for here is a vifitor arrived to whom I cannot fay nay—and who obliges me to write adieu, a page or two, or three, perhaps, before I intended to do it. I muft therefore fold up my paper as it is—and fhall only add, God blefs you—which, however, is the ceaneare and Gncereft wilh of Your affectionate, - L. STeRNE. } ee ee ee STERNE’s LETTERS. 21a LETTER XXVIL To -~——. MY DEAR F RIEND, | _ Dijon, Nov. 9. 1765 Ir RECOMMEND it to you, not, pacha, - above all things, but very afluredly above moft things, to fick to your own under- fianding a little more than you do; for, believe me, an ounce of. it. will anfwer your purpofe better than a pound weight of other people’s. There is a certain timi- dity which renders early life amiable, as a matter of [peculation; but is very incon- venient indeed, not to fay dangerous, “ according to the prefent: humour of the world, in matters of practice. There is a manly-confidence , which, as it fprings from a confcioufnefs of poflefling ihre excellent qualities and valuable attainments, we cannot have too early; and there is no more impropriety in offere ing manifeftations of it to the world, than the putting on your helmet in the day of battle. We want it as a protection—I fay S32 21 Ss TERNE’s LETTERS. Ms asa protection from the infults and injue ries of others; for in your particular cir- xumftances I confider it merely as a defen- five quality—to prevent you from being run down or run over by the firf igmorant blockhead or infolent coxcomb, who per- ceives your modefty to be a reftraint on your fpirit. But this by the way—The application of it is left to your own dilcernment and good fenfe, of which I fhall not write what I think , and what fome others think, whofe teftimony will wear well. — I am fo much better fince I fet my foot . on the Continent, that it would do you good-to fee—and more good ftill to hear me; for 1 have recovered my voice in this genial climate; and fo far am I now from finding a difficulty to make myfelf heard acrofs the table, that I am almoft fit te preach in a cathedral. Here they are all hey gomad—The vin- tage has been abundant, and is now at the clofe. Every eye beams delight, and every voice is attuned to joy—Though I am running away as faft as I can well go, and am withal fo prelled by the ralcal, STERNE’s LETTERS. arg that I. cee not in prudence to take time to look behind me; yetcannot I refift the temptation of getting out of my chaife, and fitting for a whole evening on a uit to fee thefe happy people dance away the labours oftheday: and thus they contrive, for two or three hours at leaft out of the four-and-twenty , to forget , God blefs’em, that there are fuch things as labour and care in the world. _ This innocent oblivion of forrow is one of the happieft arts of life; and philofo- phy, inall its ftore-houfe of human reme- dies, has nothing like unto it. Indeed, I am perluaded that mirth, a fober, well- regulated mirth, is perfectly acceptable to the kind Being that made us; and that a man may laugh and fing, and dance too and, after all, go to heaven. I never could, and I never ean, nay , I politively never will believe that we were fent into this world to go forrowing through it. On the contrary, every object around me—the rural dance, and the ruftic min- firelfy, that I behold and hear from my window, tell me that man is framed for joy Noxfhall any crack-brained Carthufian e14 — STERNE’s LETTERS, Monk, or all the Carthufian Monks iin the ‘world, perfuade meto the contrary. Swift fays, vive la bagatelle 1 fay, vive la joie; which I am fure is no bagatelle, ‘but, as I take it, a very ferious thing » and the firft of human poffeffions. May your treafury , my dear friend , con- tinue to have good flore of it—and, like- the widow's crufe, may it fail not! At Lyons I expect to find fome tidings of you, and from thence I will difpatch fome further tidings of myfelf. So, in the mean time, and at all times, may God blefs you.—Believe me, : I fhall ever remain moft truly And affectionately your’s $ OL, Sterns. LETTER XXVIU. epee ae, ) Lyons, Nov. 1. | HAVE travelled hither moft delicioufly ~—though I have made my journey ina défobligeant,.and, of courfe, alone. But when the heart is at refi, and the mind eS eee ee iti Me ha ‘STERNE’s LETTERS. 215 is in hanston} pent aha eand every fub- ordinate feeling’ is well. attuned, not an object offers’ itfelf to the attention’ but may be made'to produce pleafure. Befides, fuch is the character of this happy people, that you fee a [mile'on every countenance, and hear the ‘notes of j joy from every tongue. There is an old ‘woman, at this moment, playing on the ‘viol before my window, and a groupe of young people are dancing to it, with more appearance, and, I be- lieve, more reality of pleafure, than all your brilliant alfemblies at Almack’s can boaft. ~*~ Ilove my country as well as any of her childern; and I know the folid, characte- riftic virtues ofits people; but they do not “play the game of happinefs with that atten- tion of fuccefs which is practifed and ob- - tained here. I fhall not enterinto the phy- fical or moral difference between the two nations—but I cannot, however, help ob- ferving, that while the French poffefs a gaiety of heart, that always weakens and fometimes baffles forrow, the Englifh fill an[wet to the defcription of the o/d Frenche man, and really continue to divert them- felves moft trifiement. ie 2 ae 9:6 STERNE’s LETTERS. . Nay, how often have I feen at a York Affembly , two young people dancedown ~ thirty couple, with as grave countenances © as if they did it for hire, and were, after all, not fure of being paid: and here have I beheld the fun-burnt fons and daughters -of labour rife from their fcanty meal with not a pulfe in their hearts that did not bear to pleafure; and with the brightef& looks of fatisfaction, make their wooden Choes refponfive tothe found of a broken- — 4 winded hautboy. All the world Chall never perfuade me there is not a Providence, and a gracious one too, which governs it. With every bleffing under the fun we look grave, and reafon ourlelves into diffatisfaction; while here— with {carce any blefling but the fun —on eft content de fon état. But the kind Being who made us all gives to each the portion of happinefs, accord- ing to his wife and good pleafures for no one—and nothing is beneath his all- providential care— he even tempers the wind to the fhorn lamb. By fuch reflections, and under fuch in- fluences, I am perverted from my pure STERNE’s LETTERS. — ay pofe; for, when I drew my chair to the table, and dipped my pen into the inkhorn, I breathed “nothing but complaint, and it was my fole defign to tell you fo—for I have fent @ la pofte refiante again and again, and there is no letterfrom you. But ‘ though I am impatience itfelf to continue my journey towards the dips, and cannot pollibly indulge my curious [pirittill I hear from you, yet fuch is the effect of my fympathetic nature, that I have caught all the eafe and good humour of the people about me, and feem to be [fitting here, in my black coat and yellow flippers, as ‘contented as if I had not another ftep to take; and, God knows, I have a pretty circuit to make, my friend, before I may embrace you again. ; It is not, as you well know, my prac- tice to {cratch out any thing I write, or I would erafe the laft dozen lines; as, the very moment I had concluded them, your letter and two others arrived, and brought me every thing I could wilh. I would really linger if I thought you would overtake me. At all events, we Shall meet at Rome— at Rome—and I fhall now take the wings Sterne’s Letters. Vol. LI. T ‘ee ol Bo i i 018 STERNE’s LETTERS. - of to-morrow motning to forward my Pro- grefs thither. I fincerely hope this paper may be ! thrown away upon you—that is, I wifh you may be come away before it has made its paffage to England. At all events, my dear boy, we [hall meet at Rome. So till then fare thee well—there and ad every where I fhall be _ Your moft faithful and affectionate , L. STERNE. LETTER XXVIII. TO—-———. Bond-fi -fé reek, I HAVE a great mind to have done with joking, laughing, and merry-making, for the reft of my days, with either man, wo- man, or child; and fet up for a grave, formal, fee-faw character; and -difpenfe fiupid wifdom, as I have hitherto been faid to have done fenfible nonfenfe, to My countrymen and countrywomen. To tell you the truth, I began this let- ter yefterday morning, and was interrupt- Ti YOM Rig ARR ine STERNE’s LETTERS. 219 ed in getting to the end of it by half a dozen idle people, who called upon me > to lounge and to laugh ; though one of them ‘forced me home with him to dine with his: fifter, whom I found to be a being of | a fuperior order, and who has abfolutely made the fomething like a refolution with _ whic a began this letter, not worth the flavin! of the quill with which it) was writien.: She is, in good faith, Mowat beyond my powers of defcription, and we had fuch an evening as made the cup of tea fhe gave me more delicious.than nectar. By the bye, fhe wifhes very much to become acquainted with you—not, be- lieve me, from any reprefentations or bie- graphy of mine, but fromthe warm enco- miums lhe has received of youfrom others, and thofe, as fhe fays, of the firft order. After all this, however, you may be [ure that my teftimony was not wanting. So ‘that, when you will give me an oppor- tunity, I [hall have the honour of prefent- ing you to kils herhand, and add another deyout worlhipper at the temple of fuch tran{cendent merit. -« T 2 i @ 220 STERNE’s LETTERS. I am really of opinion, that if there is a woman inthe world formed to do you good, and to make you love her into the bargain, which, I believe, isthe only way of doing you any good, this is the pre- eminent and bewitching character. Indeed, were you to command my feeble powers to delineate the lovely being whofe affec- tions would well repay thee for all the heart-achs and difquieting apprehenfions that may and will afflict thee in thy paflage through life, it would be this fair and ex- cellent creature. My Anight Errant [pirit has already told her that fhe is a Dud- cinea to me—but I would moft willingly take off my armour, and break my [pear, and refign her as an Angel to you. I need not fay any thing, I truft, of my affection for you: and I havejuf now fome fingular ideas on your fubject, which kept me awake laft night, when I ought to have been found afleep; but I fhall referve them for the communication of my fire-fide or your's, as it may be; andI wifh as devoutly as ever I wifhed any thing in my life, that my fire was to brigh- ten before you this very evening. wl ’ . q I 3 4 q eee oe eRe eee gree a MR ee eI ire he aN ee STERNE’s LETTERS. 221 Inthe name of fortune, for want of a - petier at the moment, what bufinels have - you to be fifty leagues from ‘the capital, at a time when I fland fo much in need of you, for your own fake. I hear you exclaim, who is all this about? And I fee you half determined to throw my letter into the-fire, becaufe you cannot find her name in it. This is all, my good friend, asit ought to be; for you may be affured that I never intended to write her name on this fheet of paper. I have told you of the divinity, and you will find the ref infcribed on the altar. I was never more ferious in my life; fo let the wheels of your chariot roll as rapidly as pofthorfes can make them to- wards this town; where, if youcome not foon, I fhall be gone; and then I know not what may become of all-my pre/ent good intentions towards you— future ones, it is true, I fhall have in plenty—for, at all events , in all circumftances, and every where, I am, . Moft cordially and affectionately your's, ei CL, Sterne. avo. STERNE’s LETTERS. LETTER XXIX. _TOo—--—-——. ‘Friday. . "THEse may be piping times to you, my dear friend, and I rejoice at it—but they are not dancing ones to me. You will perceive, by the manner in which this letter is written, that if I dance — Holbein’s piper muft be the fiddler. Since I wrote to you laf I have burft another vellel of my lungs, and lof blood enough to pull down a very firong man: what it has done. then with my meagre form, clad as it is with infirmities, may be better imagined than defcribed.—Indeed it is with difficulty and fome intervals of repofe that I can trail on my pen; and, if it were not for the anxious forwardnefs of my fpirits, which aids. me for a few minutes by its precious mechanifm, I fhonld . not be able to thank you at all—I know I cannot thank you asI ought, for your four letters, which have remained fo long unan{wered, and particularly for the laf of them. ae STERNE’s LETTERS, _ 228 I Treally thought, my good friend, that Ifhould have feen you no more. The grim ~ feare-crow feemed to have taken pok a tHe foot of my bed, andI had not firength a, to laugh him off as I had hitherto done— — fo I bowed my head in patience, without — the leaft expectation of moving it again from my pillow. / é But fomehow or other he has, I believe, changed his purpole for the prefent; and we fhall, I trufi, embrace once again. I can only add, that, whileI live, Ifhall be Mof affectionately your's, aS L. STERNE. Pagedce Fo On ROX XX. TO 24 Bond-fireet, May 8. T FELT the full force of an honeft heart- ach on reading your laft letter.—The ftory it contains may be placed among the moft affecting relations of human calamity, and the happieft efforts of human benevolence. ‘Thappened to have it in my pocket yefter- day morning when breakfafied with Mrs. ~ 224 STERNE’s LETTERS, ae M——,; and, for want of fomething fo good of my own, I readthe whole of your letter to her—but this isnot all; for, which- is more to the purpofe (that is, to the pur- “aijote of your honour) fhe defired to read i _ it herfelf, and then fhe entreated me not to delay the earlieft opportunity to prefent . you to her breakfaft-table, and the miftrefs of it to you. I told her of the aukward {pace of an hundred miles, at leafi, that lay between us; but I promifed and vow- : ed, for I was obliged to do both, thatthe 4 — moment I could lay hold of yourarm, IT- would lead you to her vefiibule.—I really q begin to think I [hall get fome credit by you. Love, I mofi readily acknowledge, is fubject to violent paroxyfms as well as flow fevers; but there is fo much pleafure attendant upon the paflion in general, and fo many amiable fympathies are connect- ed with it; nay, it is fometimes fo [ud- denly , and oftentimes fo eafily cured, that Icannot, for the life of me, pity its difaf- ters with the fame tone of commiferation ” which accompanies my confolatory vilits to other lefs oftenfible fources of difirefs. STERNE's LETTERS. 225 tn the taf taa feparation ft friends, ie re comforts us” with the profpect of an eter- nal re-union, and Religion encouragesthe __ belief of it: but , in the melancholy hiftory a which you relate , I behold what has al ways appearedto me to be the moft affect- P ing fight in the gloomy region of human misfortune; I mean the pale countenance — of one who has feen better days, and links ~ under the defpair of feeing them return. The mind that is bowed down by unme- rited calamity, and knows not from what point of the compals to expect any good, is in a ftate over which the Angel of pity fheds all his [howers. — Unable to dig, and to beg afhamed; what a de(cription! what an object of relief! and how great the rapture to relieve it! I do not, my dear boy, indeed I donot envy your feelings, for I truft that! [hare them; but if it were polflible for me to en- vy you any thing that does you fo much honour, and makes me love you, if pof- ‘ fible , fo much better than I did before— it is the little fabric of comfort and hap- pinefs which you have erected in the depths of mifery. The whole may occupy, per- i ‘f o * é 226 STERNE’s LETTERS. - haps, but little [pace inthis world—but, | _like-the grain of muftard feed, it will grow up and rear its head towards that Heaven, to which the Spirit that planted it will finally conduct you. , Robinfon called upon me yefterday, to take me to dinner in Berkeley-fquare-; and while I was arranging my drapery, I gave him your letter to read. He felt it as he ought, and not only defired me to fay every handfome thing on his part to you, but he faid a-great many handfome things of you himfelf, during dinner and after it, and drank your health. Nay, as his wine warmed him, he talked aloud, and threa- tened to drink water the reft of his days. «But while I. am relating fo many fine things to flatter your vanity, let me, I befeech you, mention fomething on the part of my own; which is nothing more or lefs than a very elegant filver ftandifh, with a motto-engraved upon it, which. has been fent me by Lord Spencer. This mark of that nobleman’s good difpofition towards me, was difplayed in a manner which enhanced the value of the gift, and heightened my fenfe of the obligation. I ies | me : 4 | STERNE’s LETTERS. 227 I ae could not thank him for it as I ought, but I wrote my acknowledgments as well. as I could, and promifed his Lordfhip that, as it was a piece of plate the Shandy family would value the moft, it fhould certainly be the laft they will part with. I had another little bufinefs or two to communicate to you, but the poftman’s bell warns me to write adieu; fo God blefs you, and preferve you as you! are— and this wifh, by the bye, is faying no {mall matter in your favour; but it is ad- dreffed for and to you with the fame truth that guides my pen in alluring you that I am moft fincerely and cordially your faithful friend. “L. STERNE, LETTER XXXL Bond-ftreet. THere is acertain pliability ofthe affec- tions, my dear friend, which, with all its conveniences, and I will acknowledge a thoufand, forms a wonderful charm in al 22g . STERNE’s LETTERS. the human character.—To become a dupe to others, whe are almoft always worfe, . ‘and, very often, more ignorant than your- felf, is not only mortifying to one’s pride, but frequently deftructive to one’s fortune,’ Neverthelefs there is fomething in the very face, and, which is worfe,.in the mind of fufpicion , of fuch a deteftable comple- xion and character, that I could never bear it; and whenever I have obferved mifiruft in the heart, I would never rap at the door of it, even to pay, if I could help it, a morning vifit, much lefsto take my lodging there. Niger eft, hune tu Romane caveto. This fort of cullibility moft certainly lays - you open to the defigns of knaves and raf- cals; and they “are, alas! to be found in the hedges and highway fides, and will come in without the trouble of fending for them. — The happy mean between mad good-nature and mean felf-love is of diffi- cult attainment s—though Mr. Pope fays, that Lord Bathurft pollefled it in an emi- nent degree, andI believe it. Indeed, itis for my honour that I fhould believe it, ~ as I have received much kindnels, and ee - ere hae ] SPER LETTERS. 229 many generous attentions from the vene- rable and excellent nobleman ;—as I never pollefled this happy quality mylelf, I can only recommend it to you, without offering any inftructions on a duty , of which | can- not offer my felf as an example.—This is not altogether clerical—I mean as clergy- men do—but no matter. . —B—is exactly one of thefe harmlefs, inoffenfive people , who never frets or ‘fumes, but bears all his loffes with a moft _Chriftian patience, and [ettles the account in this manner, that he had rather lole any thing than that benevolence of difpo- fition which forms the happinefs of his life. But‘how will all ‘this end ?—for you know asI know, that when once you have won his good opinion, you may impofe upon him ten times a day, if nine did not fuit your purpofe. The real friends of vir- tue, of honour, and what is beft in the human character, [hould form a phalanx round fuch aman, and preferve him from the harpy plottings of fharpers and villains. But there is another fpecies of cullibility that I never can be brought to pity , which arifes from the continual aim to make culls ~ 230 STERNE’s LETTERS. of others. It is not that gentle, confiden- tial, unfulpicious [pirit, which I have al- ready hinted to you, butan overweening, — wicked, infidious difpofition, which, by being continually engaged in the miferable bufinefs of deceiving others , either outwits itfelf, or is outwitted by the very objects of its own fallacious intentions. There isnot, believe me, a more firait way to the being. a dupe yourfelf, than the refting your hopes or pleafure iz mak- ing dupes of others. eet This is not an honourable qualification; it is a kind of left-handed wifdom, which even fools can fometimes practife, and vil- -lains always make the foundation of their defigns:—but, alas! how often does it be- tray its votaries to their difhonour, if not to their defiruction. ae ; Though an occafional firatagem may be fometimes innocent, I am ever difpofled to fufpect the caufe where it muft be em- ployed; for, after all, you will, I am fure, agree with me, that where artifice is not to be condemned as a crime, the neceflity which demands it mufi be con- fidered as a misfortune. 7 a 4 ae : 1 Vhs GDR tere pat a iy is L Ihave been le cally from the tenour of your letter; though, _ifmy paper wouldallow me, I.would take a frifk, and vary the [{cene; but I have only room to add, ‘that I dined in Brook- | ' Rreet laft Sunday, where many gracious things were [aid of you, not only by the old folks, but, which is better, by the young virgins. I went afterwards , not much to my credit, to Argyle Buildings, but there were no virgins there. So may God forgive me, and blefs you, now, and all times.—Amen. I remain, mofi truly and cordially , Your’s, L. STeane, ee, TER. XxXxin TO ve wrt tas se Corwould, Auguft 19, 1766. Amonc your whimficalities , my dear friend, for you have themas well as Tri/- ~ tram, there is not one of them which pof- _ felfes a more amiable tendency than that gentle [pirit of modern .romance, which, ETTERS. __ 231 oe ° on fe a to write thus Socrati- have made thee the veriefi Knight Errant - Wat ever brandifhed a {pear or wore a vizard. fe The very fame f[pirit that ie led thee from hence to the Briftol fountain , for no other earthly purpofe but to let a Phyfical - Maiden lean upon thine arm, and receive the healing waters from thine hand, would, in a former age, have urged thee to tra- verfe forefis and fight with monfters, for the fake of fome Dudcinea whom thou had never feen; or, perhaps, have made a red crofs knight of thee, and carried thee over lands and feas to Palefiine. : For, to tell thee the truth, enthufiafm is in the very foul of thee; and, if thou wert born to.live in fome other planet, I might encourage all its glowing high-colour- ed vagaries; but, in this miferable , back- biting, cheating, pimping world of ours, it will not do; indeed, it will not.—And full well do I know, nor does this vatici- nation efcape me without a figh, that it will lead thee into a thoufand [crapes, and fome of them may be fuch as thou wilt not eafily get out of, and fhould the for- ne thou lived in days off yore, nad ee le eee ee a a skeen Baik all tli joltarane nfosyil dni oo - What then ? you may fay: and I'think I hear you fay fo—Why, “ed friends will then love thee. For if foul Fortune fhould sabe thy fiate- dy palfrey, with all its gay and gilded trappings, from beneath thee; or if, while thou art feeping by moon-light beneath | a tree, it{hould efcape from thee and find another mafter; or if the miferable ban- ditti of the world [hould plunder thee, I - know full well that we fhould fee thee no more; for thou wouldf then find out fome difiant cell, and become an hermit; and endeavour to perfuade thyfelf not to regret thy feparation from thofe friends who will ever regret their feparation from thee. This enthufiaftic [pirit is in itfelf a good fpirit; but there is no [pirit whatever—no, not a termagant Spirit, that requires a more active reftraint or a more difcreet re- gulation. _ And fo we will go next [pring , if you. pleafe, to. the Fountain of Vauclufe, and | think of Petrarch, and, which is better, apofirophife his Laura.—By that time, I Sterne’s Letters. Vol, II. U 234 STERNE’s LETTERS. / have reafon to think my wife will be there, who, by the bye, is not Laura ;—but my poor dear Lydia will:be with hér, and fhe is more than a Laura to her fond father, ’ Anfwer me on thefe things , and may God blefs you! I remain, with the moft cordial truth , Your affectionate ; L, Steane. | THE Has TOR Y denies OF A ae | GOOD WARM WATCH.COAT, A POLITICAL ROMANCE: WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES. ‘f Late Parfon, Archbifh. Herraine. Parfonof the Parifh, Archbifhop Hurt ON. John the Clerk, . Founrayne, Dean ~ of York, Trim . ~ Dr. Topuam. Mark Slender, Dr. BraiTHwalrTeE. Lorry Slim, Laurence STERNE. William Doe, Mr. Binpm—ez, Village, York. Author, Mr, Laurence STERNE. + id ADVERTISEMENT. Tus little piece was written by Mr. STERNE in the year 1759 but, for private reafons, was then [upprefled. The reco- very of this fatirical performance from ob- livion, as worthy of fo mafterly a pen, will, itis hoped, be a fufficient, excufe, 1 with all lovers of literary merit, for thus bringing it to public view, 239 INTRODUCTION. | F "Tue following account of this LetrTer is taken from fome anecdotes of SteRNe’s life prefixed to a {mall pamphlet in which it originally appeared. »,For fome time Mr. Sterne livedin a >, retired manner, upon a [mall:Curacy in >» Yorkfhire , and, probably, would have >,temained in the fame obfcurity, if his » lively genius had not difplayed. itfelf 2» Upon an occafion which fecured him a » friend, and paved the way for his pro- »,motion.—A perfon who filled a lucrative », benefice, was not fatisfied with enjoying | >it during his own life-time, but exerted », all his interefi to have it intailed on his >, wife and fon after his deceafe : the gentle- 2»man that expected the reverfion of this », poft was Mr. Sterne’s friend, who had >not, however, fufficient influencé to pre- », vent the fuccefs of his adverfary.—At ,, this time Sterne’s [atirical pen operated >, fo firongly, that the intended monopo- »» lizer informed him, if he would fupprels sa 240 the publication of his farcafm 5 he would »tefign his pretenfions to the next can- >, didate.”” oie »» Che title of this piece, itappears, was 3,to have been, The Hifiory of a Good >, Warm Watch-Coat, with which the pre- »fent Poffeffor is not content to cover his »,0wn Shoulders, uniefs he can cut out of Fe it a Petticoat for his Wife, and a Pair 33 0f Breeches for his Son too.*)” *) The whole of this piece alludes to facts and circumftances confined to the city of York, and was occafioned by a controverly be- tween Dr. Fountayne and Dr. Topham, in the year 1758, ona charge made by the latter againltthe former, of a breach of pro- mife in withholding from him fome prefer- ment which he had reafon to expect. e ve . : 241 HISTORY . my FA at, ‘GOOD WARM WATCH-COAT, --0 (IN ALETTER TO A FRIEND.) SIR , . In my laft, for want of fomething better to write about, I told you what a world of fending and proving we have had of late, in this little *) village of ours, about an old caft-off pair of black plufh-breech- es , **) which John, our parifh-clerk , about ten years ago, it feems, had made a pro- mife of to one Trim, who is our [exton and dog-whipper.—To this you write me word, that you have had more than either one or two occafions to know a good deal ~ ; *) York. ~ ‘**) The Commilfaryfhip of Pickering and Pocklington. Sterne’s Letters, Vol, 11. x 242 TRE HISTORY OF of the fhifty behace of the faid mafter Trim—and that you are aftonifhed, nor can you for your foul conceive, how fo worthlefs a fellow, and fo worthlefs a thing into the bargain, could become the occa- fion of fo much racket as I have reprefented. Now, though you do not fay exprelsly you could wifh to hear any more about it, yet I fee plainly enough I have raifed your curioity; and therefore , from the fame motive that I flightly mentioned it at all in my laft letter, I will in this give you a full and very circumftantial account | of the whole affair. But before I begin, I muft firft fet you right in one very material point, in which Ihave mifled you, as to the true caufe of all this uproar amengf us—which does not take its rife, as Ithentold you, from the affair of the breeches, but, on the contrary, the whole affair of the breeches has taken its rife from it—To underfiand which, you mufi know, that the firft be- ginning of the [quabble was not betwixt John the parifh-clerk and Trim the fex- ton, but betwixt the parfon of the parifh and the faid. mafter Trim, about an old ac Se Lee wt a ee egy oan oe ~~ ~ 3 watch-coat *) that had hung up many years é in the church, which Trim had fet his heart upon; and nothing would ferve Trim but he mufi take it home, in order to have it converted into a warm under-pet- ticoat for his wife, and a jerkin for him-_ felf again Winter; which, in a plaintive tone, he moft humbly begged his Rever- ence would confent to. _I need not tell you, Sir, who have fo often felt it, that a principle.of firong compallion tranfports a generous mind fometimes beyond whatis firictly right :— the parfon was within an ace of being an honourable example of this very crime ;— for no fooner did the diftinct words— — petticoat — —poor wife —warm — win- ter, ftrike upon his ear— but his heart warmed—and before Trim had well got to the end of his petition (being a.gentle- man of a frank open temper) he told him he was welcome to it with all_his heart | and foul.—But, Trim, fays he, as you [fee *) A patent place given by the Archbi- fhop to Dr. Topham forhis life, and which in 1758 he folicited to be granted to one of his family after his death. xX 2 - A WATCH-COAT. 243 ee 844 THE HISTORY OF Iam but jufi got down to my living, and am an utter firanger to all parifh matters, knowing nothing about this old watch-coat you beg of me, having never feen it in my life, and therefore cannot be a judge whether ’tis fit for fuch a purpofe, or, if itis, in truth, know not whether ’tis mine to beftow upon you or not—you muft have a week or ten days patience till I can make fome inquiries about it—and, if I find it is in my power, I tell you again,. man, your wife is heartily welcome to an under-petticoat out of it, and you to a jetkin, was the thing as good again as you reprefent it. It is neceflary to inform you, Sir, in this place, that the parfon was. earneftily bent to ferve Trim in this affair, not only from the motive of generofity , which I have juftly afcribed to. him, but likewife from another motive, and that was by making fome [ort of recompence for a mul- titudé of {mall fervives which Trim had occafionally done, and indeed was conti- nually doing (as he was much about the - houfe) when his own man was out of the way.—For all thefe reafons together, I P. . : ‘A WATCH-COAT. . | 245 fay , the parfon of the parilh intended to ferve Trim in this matter to the utmoft of his power. All that was wanting, ' was previoully to inquire if any one had a claim to it, or whether, as it had time immemorial hung up in the church, the taking it down might not raife a clamour in the parifh. Thefe inquiries were the things that Trim dreaded in his heart.— He knew very well, that, if the parfon fhould but fay one word to the church- wardens about it, there would be an-end of the whole affair. For this, and fome other reafons not neceflary to be told you at prefent, Trim was for allowing no time in this matter—but, on the contrary, doubled his diligence and importunity at the vicarage-houfe— plagued the whole family to death—prefled his fuit morning, noon,.and night; and, to fhorten my fto- ry, teazed the poor gentleman, who was but in an ill flate of health, almof out of his life about it. You will not wonder when I tell you, that all this hurry and precipitation on the fide of mafter Trim, produced its na- tural effect on the fide of the parfon, and #: 246 THE HISTORY OF that: was, a fufpicion that all was not right at the bottom. He was one evening fitting alone in his — fiudy , weighing and turning this doubt every way in his mind, and after an hour and a half’s ferious deliberation upon the affair, and running over Trim’s behaviour throughout—he was juft faying to himfelf —It muft be fo—when a fudden rap at the door put an end to his foliloquy, and, in a few minutes, to his doubts too; for a labourer in the town, who deemed him- felf paft his fifty-fecond year, had been returned by the conftables in the militia lifi—and he had come with a groat in his hand to fearch the parifh-regifter for his age. The parfon bid the poor fellow put the groat into his pocket, and go into the kitchen—then fhutting the ftudy-door, and taking down the parifh-regifter—— Who knows, fayshe, but 1 may find fomething here about this felf-fame watch-coat? He had [carce unclafped the bools, in faying this, when he popped on the very thing he wanted, fairly wrote in the firft page, paft- ed to the infide of one of the covers, where- on was a memorandum about the very 4 a, & Fe, pe. * & thing i in queftion, in thefe exprels. words <3 Memorandum. The great watch- coat 5, Was purchaled and given above twohuns », dred years ago, by the lord of the manor, . », to this parifh-church, to the fole ule and >» behoof of the poor fextons thereof, and >» their fucceffors for ever, to be worn »» by them refpectively in winterly cold nights, in ringing complines , paffing- » bells, etc. which the faid lord of the s,smanor had done in pity to keep the >» poor wretches warm, and for the good », of his*own foul, for which they were », directed to pray,” etc. Jujt Heaven! [aid the parfon to himfelf, looking upwards, what an efcape have I had! Give this for | an under-petticoatto Trim’s wife! Iwould not have confented to fuch a defecration, to be Primate of all England—nay I would not have difiurbed a fingle button of it for all my tithes. Scarce were the words out of his mouth, when in pops Trim with the whole fub- ject of the exclamation under both his arms—I fay , under both his arms—for he had actually got it ript and cut out ready, his own jerkin under one arm, ‘e _A WATCH-COAT. 247 248 THE HISTORY OF | o. ae , ? ras and the petticoat under the ‘other, in or- _ der to carry to the taylor to be made up, and had juf ftepped in, in high fpirits, ’ te fhow the parfon how lpyeny it had held out. ‘ _ There are now many ol fimiles fub- fifting in the world, but whichI have nei- ther time to recollect or look for, which would give you a firong conception of the aftonifhment and honeft indignation which this unexpected firoke of Trim’s impure, | dence impreffed upon the parfon’s looks— let it fuffice to fay, that it exceeded all fair de{cription—as well as all power of ~ proper refentment—except this, that Trim ~ was ordered, in a fiern voice, to lay the bundles down upon the table—to go about his bufinefs, and wait upon him, at his i peril , the next morning at eleven precifely. i —Againfi this hour, like a wife man, the parfon had [ent to defire John the parifh- clerk, who bore an exceeding good cha- racteras aman oftruth, and who, having moreover a pretty freehold of about eigh- teen pounds 4 year in the townlhip, was a leading manin it; and, upon the whole, was uch a one, ofwhomit might be [aid , e tather did tases to Mis office, that his office did honour to him— him he fends for, with th the i archwasdene b and one. of the fidefmen, agrave, knowing - re old man, to be prefent—for, as Trim had withheld the whole truth from the parfon, touching the watch-coat, he *houaat it pro- bable he would as certainly do the fame thing to others. Though this, Ifaid, was Vite 65 “te =) rs. as pie ae ‘ po tej i rt ¥ a ela .% A waren COAT. 249, wile , the trouble of the precaution might have been {pared —becaule the parfon’s | character was unblemifhed —and he had ever been held by the world in the eftima- tion of a man of honour and integrity.— Trim’s character, on the contrary, was as well known, if notin the world, at leaft : in all the parifh , to be thatof a little, dirty, pimping, pettifogging, ambidextrous fel- — low , who neither cared what he did or [aid ofany, provided he could get a penny by it. This might, I faid, have made any precaution needlefs—but you muft know, as the parfon had in a manner but juft got down to his living, he dreaded the confequences of the leaft ill impreflion on his firft entrance among his parifhioners, which would have difabled him from do- ee. 250 THE HISTORY OF ing them the good he wifhed—fo that, out of regard to his flock, more than the neceflary care due to himfelf, he ‘was re- folved not to ly at the mercy of what res fentment might vent, or malice lend an ear to.— Accordingly the whole matter was re- hearfed, from firf to laft, by the parfon, in the manner I’ve told you, in the hear- ing of John the parifh-clerk, and in the prefence of Trim. Trim had little to fay for himfelf, ex- cept ,,that the parfon had abfolutely pro- », mifed to befriend him and his wife, in »»the affair, to the utmoft of his power; »sthat the watch-coat was certainly in his 9» power, and that he might fill give ithim -5,if he pleafed.” To this the parfon’s reply was fhort, but firong, ,, that nothing was in his pow- »,er to do but what he could do honefily— 3 that, in giving the coat to him and his 3; wife, he fhould doa manifeft wrong to the »,mext fexton, the great watch-coat being - >» the moft comfortable part of the place— >» that he fhould moreover injure the right 9 Of his own [ucceflor, who would be juf ee em 7, A WATCH-COAT. _ 251 - 3,10 much a worfe patron as the worth of » the coat amounted to; and, in a word, »» he declared, that his whole intent in pro- »» mifing that coat, was charity to Trim, ' 9, but wrong to no man—that was areferve, »> he faid, made in all cafes of this kind: »,and he declared folemnly , iz verbo /a- * ,,cerdotis , that this was his meaning, and », was fo underftood by Trim himfelf.” ~ With the weight of this truth, and the great good fenfe and firong reafon which accompanied all,the parfon faid on the fubject—poor Trim was driven to his laft fhift—and begged he might be fuffered to plead his right and title to the watch-coat, if not by promife, at leaft by fervitude.— It was well known how much he was en- titled to it upon thefe fcores—,,that he >, had blacked the parfon’s fhoes without » count, and greazed his boots above fifty >, times—that he had run for eggs in the »,town upon all occafions—whetted the », Knives at all hours—catched his horfe, »,and rubbed him down—that, for his »» wife, fhe had been ready upon all occa- »,fions to char for them; and neither he »nor fhe, to the beft of his remembrance,- o52 ‘THE HISTORY OF >,ever took a farthing, or any thing be- _,,yond a mug of ale.” To this account of his fervices, he begged leave to add thole of his wifhes, which, he faid, had been equally great.—He affirmed, and was rea- ' dy, he faid, to make it appear, by a number of witnelles, ,,he had drank his »» Reverence’s health a thoufand times (by >sthe by, he did not add, out of the par- 3» fon’s own ale)—that he had: not only s, drank his health, but wifhed it, and », never came to the houfe, but afked his >»man kindly how he did—that in parti- », cular, about half a year ago, when his 5, Reverence cut his finger in paring an >» apple, he went half a mile to afk a cun- >,nhing woman what was good to ftanch »» blood, and actually returned with a >,cobweb in his breeches pocket. Nay, >,fays Trim, it was not a fortnight ago, »>when your Reverence took that firong ») purge, that I went to the far end of the 3, whole tewn to borrow you a clofefiool— 3» —and came back, as the neighbours whe >» flouted me will all bear witnels, with the »,pan upon my head,.and never thought - eit too much,” Trim concluded this pa- ae A WATCH-COAT.* 245, thetic remonftrance, with faying, ,,He » hoped his Reverence’s heart would not ,,fauffer him to requite fo many faithful »» fervices by fo unkind a return: that if >, it was fo, as he was the fir, fo he hop- >,ed he fhould be the laft exemple of a ',,man of his condition fo treated.””—This plan of Trim’s defence, which Trim had put himfelf upon, seid admit of no other — reply than a general [mile.—Upon the whole, let me inform you, that’ all that could be [aid pro and con, on both fides, being fairly heard , it was plain that Trim, in every part of this affair, had behaved very ill—and one thing, which was never expected to be known of him, happened in the courfe of this debate to come out againfi him, namely, that he had gone and told the parfon, before he had ever fet foot in his parifh, that John his parifh- clerk —his churchwardens., and fome of the heads of the parifh, were a parcel of {coundrels.—Upon the upfhot , Trim was kicked out of doors, and told at his peril never to come there again. At firft, Trim huffed and bounced mo terribly—[wore he would get a warrant e 254 THE HISTORY OF. _ 33 cs —that nothing would ferve him but he | would call a by-law, and tell the whole parifh how the parfon had. mifufed him; but cooling of that, as fearing the parfon might poffibly bind him over to his good’ behaviour, and, for aught he knew, might fend him to the houfe of correction, he lets the parfon alone, and, to revenge himfelf, falls foul upon the clerk, who had no more to do in the quarrel than you or I—rips up the promife of the old ——caft— — pair of black—plufh—breech- es ; and raifes an uproar in the town about it, notwithftanding it had flept ten years—but all this, you muf know, is looked upon in no other light but as an artful Rroke of generalfhip in Trim to taife a duft, and cover himfelf under the difgraceful chaftifement he has under- gone.— — If your curiofity is not yet fatisfied—I will now proceed to relate the battle of the breeches in the fame exact manner I have done that of the watch-coat. Be it known then, that about ten years ago, when John was appointed parifh- clesk of this church, this faid Trim took : WATCH-COAT. ons “no {mall pains to get into John’s good graces, in order, as it afterwards appear- ed, to coax a promife out of him of a pair of breeches, which John had then by him, of black plufh, not much the worfe for wearing—Trim only begged , for God’s fake, to have them beftowed upon him when John fhould think fit to caf them.—— Trim was one of thofe kind of men who loved a bit of finery in his heart, and would rather have a tattered rag of a bet- ter body’s, than the beft plain whole thing his wife could {pin him. * John, who was naturally Mee idone made no more difficulty of promifing the breeches, than the parfon had done in promifing the great coat; and indeed with fomething lefs referve — becaule the breeches were John’s own, and he could give them, without wrong, to whom he thought fit. - It happened, I was going to fay unluc- kily, but fhould rather fay moft luckily, for Trim , for he was the only gainer by it, that a quarrel about fome fix or eight weeks after this, broke out betwixtthe | late parfon of the parifh and John. the be sods but Trim) had! ‘put it into the parfon’s head, ,, that John’s defk *) inthe >» church was at: the leaft four iniches high- »,er than it fhould be—that the thing 95 gave offence, and was indecorous, inaf- »»much as it approached too near upon a > level with the parfon’s defk ith” This hardfhip the parfon complainel of loudly , and told John, one day — prayers, ,,he could bear it no longer— ,,and would have italtered, and brought >,aown as it fhould be.” John made no other reply, but ,,that the defk was not > Of his raifing— —that it was not one >, hair-breadth higher ‘than he found it— >and that as he found it, fo he would » leave it—In [hort , he would neither ,smake an encroachment, neither would >, he fuffer one.”’—The late parfon might have his virtues, but the leading part of his character was. not humility—fo that John’s ftiffnefs in this point was not like- ' *) Alluding to the right claimed by Dr. Fountayne againft the Archbifhop of appoint- ing preachers for vacant falls, Rig ly tore harveft. _ After a friendly hint to ae to ‘ahi his ground, away hies Trim to make his market at the vicarage.— What pafled _ there I will not fay, intending not to be uncharitable; fo fhall content myfelf with ~o\))/ptielling at it, from the [adden change thai appeared in Trim’s drefs for the bet- 1ay)s.. for he had left his old ragged coat, hat, and wig, in the fiable, and was come forth ftrutting acrofs the church- yard, cladin a good charitable caft-coat, large hat and wig, which the parfon had ju given him.—Ho! ho! hollo, John, cries Trim, in an infolent bravo, as loud as ever he could bawl—Tlee here , my lad , how fine I am!—The more fhame for you, anfwered John [erioufly —Do you think, Trim, fays he, fuch finery, gained by [uch [ervices, becoines you, or can wear well?—Fy upon it, Trim, I could not have expected this from you, confidering what ftiendfhip you pretend- ed, and how kind I have ever been to you—how many fhillings and fixpences I have generoufly lent you in your diftref- Sterné’s Letters, Vol. I. oe . a s o7 a F fes,—nay, it was but the other day, that ‘I promifed you thefe black plufh breeches I have on.—Rot your breeches , quoth Trim, (for Trim’s brain was half turned with his new finery) rot your breeches, fays he, I would not take themup, were they laid at my door—give them, and be d—d to you, to whom you like—I would have you to know I can have a better pair of the parfon’s any day inthe week. —Jokn told him plainly » as his word had once pafled him, ‘he had a [pirit above taking advantage of his infolence, in giving them away to another—but, to tell him his mind freely, he thought he had got fo many favours of that kind, and was fo likely to get many more for ~ the fame fervices,-of the parfon, that he had better give up the breeches, with good- nature, to [ome one who would be more thankful for them. ; : Here John mentioned Mark Slender, (who, it feems, the day before, had alk- ed John for them,) not knowing they were under promife to Trim —,,Come, 3 trim, fays he, let poor Mark have »them—you know he has not a pair to ae i ; en F i. ty hae 258 THE HISTORY OF — r ge ey a. ET are = oe x = A WATCH-COAT. 25y ws his as: befides you fee he is jaf of my fize, and they will fittoa T; where-— Py (pas if I give them to you, look ye, We they are not worth much; and befides , s,syou could not get your backfide into > them, if you had them, withouttearing _ »sthem all to pieces.”’—Every tittle of this ae was moft undoubtedly true; for Trim, you muft know, by foul feeding , and playing the good fellow at the parfon’s, was grown fomewhat grofs aboutthe low- — er paris, if not higher; fo that, as all John [aid upon the occafion was fact, ‘Trim, with much ado, and after a hun- dred hums and hahs, atlafi, out of mere “compaffion to Mark, figns, feals, and deliversup ALL RIGHT, tnrerEst, AND PRETENSIONS WHATSOEVER, IN AND TO “THE SAID BREECHES, THEREBY BINDING HIS HEIRS, EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS, AND ASSIGNS, NEVER MORE TO CALL THE sAID cLAim 1n QUESTION.—AIl this _renunciation was fet forth, in an ample manner, to.be in pure pity to Mark’s na- kednefs—but the fecret was, Trim had an eye to, and firmly expected, in his own mind, the great green pulpit-cloth, Y 2 . _ 260 THE HISTORY OF and old velvet cufhion*), which were that very year to be taken down——which, by the by, could he have wheedled John a fecond time, as he had hoped, would have made up the lols of the breeches feven fold. Now, you muft know, this pulpit-cloth and cufhion were not in John’s gift, but in the churchwardens, ete. However, as I faid above, that John was a leading man in'the parifh, Trim knew he could help him to ’em if he would—but John had got a furfeit of him— —fo, when the pulpit-cloth, etc. were taken down, they were immediately given (John having a great fay in it) to William Doe **), who underftood very well what ufe to make of them. » Noting As for the old breeches , poor Mark lived to wear them bat afhort time, and they got into the pofleflion of Lorry Slim, an unlucky wight, by whom they are *) The Commiflarythip of the Dean of York and Commillaryfhip of the Dean and chap- ter of York. **) Mr. Stables. oa Pa 7 AP a > ie “A WATCH-COAT. _— 26: #ill worn— —in truth, as you will guels, they are very thin by this time. But Lorry has a light heart, and what “gecommends them to him, is this, that, ' as thin as they are, he knows that Trim, let him fay what he will to the contrary, fill envies the pofleffor of them, and, with all his pride, would be very glad to wear them after him. Upon this footing have thefe affairs flept quietly for near ten years— —and would have [lept for ever, but for the unlucky kicking-bout, which, as I faid, has ripped this {quabble up afrefh ; fo that it was no longer ago than laft week, that Trim met and -infulted John in the public town-way before a hundred people — —taxed him with the promile of the old_caft pair of black breeches notwith- fianding Trim’s folemn renunciation— — twitted him with the pulpit-cloth and vel- vet cufhion——as good as told him he was ignorant of the common duties of his _ clerkfhip; adding, very infolently , that he knew not fo much as to give out a com- mon pfalm in tune. i i 262 THE HISTORY OF - John contented himfelf by giving a plain anfwer to every article that Trim had laid _ to his charge, and appealed to his neigh- bours, who remembered the whole affair —-—and, as he knew there was never any thing tobe got by wrefiling with a chimney-{[weeper, he was going to take his leave of Trim for ever. But hold—— the mob by this time had got round them, ] and their high mightinefles infifted upon ‘ ' having Trim tried upon the. [pot. ‘Trim was accordingly tried, and after a full hearing , was convicted a fecond — a time, and handled more reughly by one or more of them than even at the _ fon’s.— — | Trim, fays one, are you not afhamed — of yourfelf,. to make all this rout and difturbance in the town, and fet neigh- bours together. by the ears, about an old — —worn-out— —pair of caft— —bréech- es, not worth half a crown? Is there a that will bring you in a fhilling, but what you have fnapped up, like a greedy hound as you are ?— i caft coat, or a place in the whole town, : In the firft place, are you not fexton i : “A WATCH-toaT. ie ad ) year?) Then you begged the churchwar- a” ens to let your wife have the waflhing ? nd darning of the church-linen, which brings you in thirteen fhillings and four pence ; and then you have fix fhillings and eight pence for oiling and winding up. the clock, both paid you at Eafier— the pounder’s place, which is worth forty fhillings a-year, you have got that too— you are the bailiff, which the late parfon got you, which brings you in forty Chil- lings more. = Befide all this, you have fix pounds a-year, paid you quarterly, for being E. mole-catcher tothe parifh. ,, Aye, faysthe lucklefs wight above-mentioned, (who was ftanding clofe by him with the plulh breech- es on), you are not only mole-catcher, or Trims but you catch STRAY CONIES too in the dark, and you pretend a li- cence for it, which, Itrow, will be look- ed into at the next site talioms.t I maintain it, I have a licence, fays Trim, _ blufhing as red as [carlet—I have a li- cence, and, as I farm a warren in the mext parifh, I will catch conies every and dog-whipper, worth three pounds a me hour of the night. You cate a toothlefs old woman juft palling b en This fet the mob a-laughing, and fent every man home in perfect good hun mour , except Trim, who waddled very flowly ! off with five kind of inflexible gravity, only to be equalled by one animal in the creation, and furpaffled by none. Iam, Sir, yours, ete, ete. oe » BOS TS CR DES. ] HAVE broke open my letter to in- form you, that I miffed the opportunity of fending it by the meflenger, who I ex- pected would have called upon me in his return through this village to York: fo it has lain a week or ten days by me.—— | I am not forry for the difappointment, becaufe fomething has fince happened, in continuation of this affair, which I am thereby enabled to tranfmit to i all under one trouble. When I finifhed the above account, I thought (as did every foul in the parifh) nconies! fays _ J ae . WATCH: cOu oF ah 265 +h 9 ‘Trim had. met “— fo th érough arebuff from 4 John the parifh-clerk, and the towns-folks, — y all took againft him, that Trim would be glad to be quiet, and let the matter reft. .. But ; it feems, it is not half an hour ‘ago fince Trim [allied forth again, and having borrowed a fow-gelder’s horn, with hard blowing he got the whole town “round him, and endeavoured to raife a me: ‘difturbance , and fight the whole battle over again— —alledged that he had been ufed in the laft fray worfe than a dog, not by John the parifh-clerk , for I fhould " not, quoth Trim, have valued him a rulh, fingle-hands — — but all the town fided with him, andtwelve menin buckram [et upon me, all at once, and kept mein play at [word’s point for three hours together. Befides, quoth Trim, there were two mifbegotten knaves in Kendal-green, who lay all the while in ambufhin John’s own ‘houfe, and they all fixteen came upon my back, and let drive at me altogether — —a plague, fays Trim, of all cowards! Trim repeated this ftory above a do- zen times, which made fome of the neigh- “hours pity him, thinking the poor fellow. Sterne’s Letters, Vol. II. Z 266 THE HISTORY OF erack-brained, and that he actually be- lieved what he faid.) = After this, Trim dropped the affair of 4 the breeches, and began a frefh' dilate * about the reading-defk, which I told you had occafioned fome Tmall difpute be- tween the /Jate parfon and John, fome years ago.— —This reading-defk, as you will obferve , was but an epifode wove into the main fiory by the by; for the main affair was the battle of the breech- es and the great coat. However, Trim being at laft dui¥eb out of thefe two citadels——hehas feized hold, in his retreat, ofthis reading-defk, with a view, asit feems , to take fhelter behind it. I cannot fay but the man has fought it out obftinately enough; and, had his caufe been good, I fhould have really pitied him. For, when he was driven out of the great watch-coat, you fee he did not run away ;—no,—he retreated behind the breeches, and when he could make no- ~ thing of it behind the breeches, he got behind the reading-defk. To what other hold Trim -will next ‘retreat, the politi- cians of this village aré not agreed, Some - AWATCH-COAT. 267 think il ext move will be towards. the Ta rear of the parfon’s. boot; but, as itis hought he cannot make a long fiand there, others are of opinion, that Trim will once more: in his life get hold of the parfon’s horfe:, and charge upon him, or perhaps behind him; but, as the horfe is: not ealy to be caught, the more general opinion fs, that, when he is driven out of the reading-defk, he will make his laft retreat in fuch a manner, as if pollible, to gain the clofe-fool, and defend himfelf behind it to the very laf drop. - If Triny [hould make this movement, by my advice, he fhould be left, belides his-citadel, in full poffeffion of the field . of battle, where ’tis certain he will keep every body a league off, and may hop by himfelf till he is weary. Befides, as Trim feems bent upon purging himlfelf, and may have abundance of foul humours to work off, Ithink he cannot be better placed. »» But this: is* all matter of {[peculation— Let me carry you back to matter of fact, and tell you what kind of fiand Trim has actually made behind the [aid defk: », Neighbours and townfmen all, I will be Z 2 4% 268 THE HISTORY OF : 4 i 5 {worn before my Lord Mayor,, that John »,and his nineteen men in duckram- have »,abufed me worfe than a do e they >> told you that I played faft ahd go loofe. » whith the date parfon and him in that ; », old difpute of theirs about the reading- »defk, and that I made matters worfe », between them, and not better.” Of this charge,” Trim declared he! was. innocent as the child that was unborn— that he would be book-fworn he had no hand in it. . He produced a {trong witnefs and more- over infinuated , that John himfelf, in- fiead of being angry for what he had ~ done init, had actually thanked him——_ Ay, Trim, fays the wight in the plufh breeches, but that was, Trim, the day before John found thee out. Befides, Trim, there is nothing in that; for the very year that you was made town’s pounder, thou knoweft well, that I both thanked thee myfelf, and moreover gave thee a good warm fupper, for turning John Lund’s cows and horfes out of my hard cornclole, which, if thou hadf not done, (as thou teldh me), I fhould have lof my whole % - v J a ery “ ie © ; . — i be M 4 : ; - A WATCH-COAT. __26z : se crop; | John Lund and Thomas _ Patt, who are both here to tefiify, and , are both willing to take ‘their oaths on’t, that thou thyfelf was the very man ‘who fet the gate open—and after all, it was _ not thee, Trim, *twas the black-fmith’s poor lad who turned them out—fo that a man may bethanked, and rewarded too, for a good turn which he never did, nor ever did intend. Trim could not fuftain this unexpected &roke—fo Trim marched off the field with- out colours flying, or his horn founding, or any other enfigns of honour whatever. —Whether, after this, Trim intends to rally a fecond time—or whether he may - not take it into his head to claim the vic- tory——none but Trim himlfelf can ine form you. However, the general opinion, upon “the whole, is this, that in three feveral pitched battles, Zrim has been fo trim- med, as never dilaftrous hero was trimmed before.— THE END. ay ts ae m BOOKS printed for R. SAMMER, Book- td - feller at Vienna. . he ‘Rosrirsow s Hiftory of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V. 4 Volumes. 8. 787. | Robertfon’s Hiftory of America. 3 Volumes. 8. 787. Robertfon’s Hiftory of Scotland. 2 Volumes. 8. 788- - Yorick’s Sentimental Journey through France -. and Italy. 4 Volumes. 12. 795. The Vicar. of Wakefield, a Tale by Dr. Goldfmith. 18. 796. Pope’s Effay on Man; Englifh and German. 12.°795+ Letters between Yorick and Eliza; the fe- cond edition. 12. 797. Letters of Abelard and Eloila, with a par- _ ticular account of their lives, amours and misfortunes, by John Hughes, Efq. to which are added feveral Poems, by Mr. Pope and other authors. 12. 794. The Chriftian’s Companion; being a Choice- Manual of devout Prayers for swage 18. 795+ | The Adventures of TP elamidchuss the Son of Ulyfles, from the French of Salignac de la Mothe-Fenelon, Archbifhop of Cam- bray ; to which are added the Adventures of Ariftonous, 2 Volumes. 18. 746, Sterne’ s Letters to his mol intimate Friends “and to Eliza, together with her anfwers ; , |. to which is added an appendix of XXXIE * Letters never printed before. 2 Volumes. 42, 797. The Man of + Feeling, 18. 797. : Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, \ written during her travels through Europe, Afia and Africa ; to which .are added by way of fupplement the Poems of the fame Lady. 4 Volumes. 18. 797+ Wraxall’ s Tour to the Northern Countries. 18. 797- 63 Next year will be publifhed. 4 The Life and Opinions of Trifiram Shandy, complete in 4 Volumes, 12. “— ~ Brydone’s Taur to Sicily and Malta. 2 Vo- a - dumes. 18. f The Adventures of: Perekth. Pickle, by Dr. Smollet. 4 Volumes. 12. Offian’s Works. 4 Volumes. 12. — The Koran, by Laurence Sterne. 12. Hamlet, a Tragedy by William Shakefpear. Sterne’s felect Works, containing his Senti- ~ mental Journey, Letters, Triftram, Shan- dy and Koran. 8 vi 12,