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feast for a benevolent heart! and fure I am, you are an epicurean in acts of charity.-You who are univerfally read, and as univerfally admired-you could not fail. -Dear Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted hands of thousands of my brother Moors. Grief (you pathetically obferve) is eloquent: figure to yourself their attitudes; hear their fupplicating addreffes ! alas! you cannot refufe.-Humanity muft complyin which hope I beg permiffion to fubscribe myself, Reverend Sir, &c.

I..S..

FROM MR. STERNE TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.'.

Coxwould, July 26, 1766.5

HERE is a ftrange coincidence, Sancho, in

THERE

the little events (as well as in the great ones) of this world: for I had been writing a tender tale of the forrows of a friendless poor negro-girl, and my eyes had fcarce done fmarting with it, when your letter of recommendation, in behalf of so many of her brethren and fifters, came to me-but why her brethren? or yours, Sancho? any more than mine? It is by the: finest tints and most insensible gradations, that nature defcends from the fairest face about St. James's to the footieft complexion in Africa:-at which tint of thefe is it, that the ties of blood are to cease?-and how many shades must we descend lower still in the scale,, ere mercy is to vanish with them? But 'tis no uneas

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common thing, my good Sancho, for one half of the world to use the other half of it like brutes, and then endeavour to make 'em fo.-For my own part 1 never look uefward (when I am in a penfive mood at least) but I think of the burthens which our brothers and fifters are there carrying, and could I eafe their shoulders from one ounce of them, I declare I would fet out this hour upon a pilgrimage to Mecca for their fakes-which, by the bye, Sancho, exceeds your walk of ten miles in about the same proportion that a visit of humanity fhould one of mere form. However, if you meant my Uncle Toby, more he is your debtor.

If

I can weave the tale I have wrote into the work I am about-'tis at the fervice of the afflicted--and a much greater matter; for, in ferious truth, it cafts a fad fhade upon the world, that fo great a part of it are, and have been fo long, bound in chains of darknefs, and in chains of misery; and I cannot but both respect and felicitate you, that by fo much laudable diligence you have broke the one-and that by falling into the hands of fo great and merciful a family, Providence has refcued you from the other.

me,

And fo, good-hearted Sancho, adieu! and believe I will not forget your letter.

Yours,

L. STERNE.

I

To ELIZA.

MY DEAR ELIZA !*

BEGAN a new journal this morning; you

fhall fee it; for if I live not till you return to England, I will leave it you as a legacy. 'Tis a forrowful page; but I will write cheerful ones; and could I write letters to thee, they fhould be cheerful ones. too; but few, I fear, will reach thee! However, de-, pend upon receiving something of the kind by every, poft; till when thou waveft thy hand, and bid'st 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 feeing me, at Deal, with the James's, fhould you be detained there by contrary winds.Indeed, Eliza, I fhould with pleasure fly to you, could I be the means of rendering you any service, or doing you any kindness. Gracious and merciful God' confider the anguish of› a poor girl!-Strengthen and perferve her in all the fhocks her frame must be exposed 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.

*This Lady's name was Draper, wife of Daniel Draper, Efq; of Bombay.

My prayer, Eliza, I hope, is heard; for the fky feems to fmile upon me as I look up to it. I am just 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 Marriot, and fome other judges, agree that mine is the better, and expreffive of a fweeter character, but what is that to the original? yet I acknowledge that hers is a picture for the world, and mine is calculated only to please a very fincere friend, or fentimental philofopher.In the one, you are dreffed in smiles, and with all the advantages of filks, pearls and ermine ;-in the other, simple as a vestal, appearing the good girl nature made you !—which, to me, conveys an idea of more unaffected sweetness, than Mrs. Draper, habited for conqueft, in a birth-day fuit, with her countenance animated, and her dimples vifible.- -If I remember right, Eliza, you endeavoured to collect every charm of your person into your face, with more than common care, the day you fat for Mrs. James-Your colour, too, brightened; and your eyes fhone with more than ufual brilliancy. I then requested you to come fimply and unadorned when you fat for me-knowing (as I fee with unprejudiced 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 firft faw you, I beheld you as an object of compaffion, and as a very plain woman. The mode of your dress, (though fashionable) disfigured you. But nothing. now could render you fuch,but the being folicitous to

make yourself admired as a handfome one. You are not handsome, Eliza, nor is yours a face that will. please the tenth part of your beholders-but are some thing more; for I fcruple not to tell you, I never faw fo intelligent, so animated, so good a countenance; nor was there (nor ever will be) that man of sense, tenderness, 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 affume, or affumed, no character foreign to your own, but appeared the artless being nature defigned you for. A fomething in your eyes and voice, you poffefs in a degree more persuasive than any woman I ever saw, read, or heard of. But it is that bewitching fort of nameless excellence, that men of nice fenfibility alone can be touched with.

Were your husband in England, I would freely give five hundred pounds (if money could purchase the acquifition) to let you only fit by me two hours in a day, while I wrote my Sentimental Journey. I am fure the work would fell fo much the better for it, that I fhould be reimbursed the fum more than seven times told.I would not give nine-pence for the picture of you the Newnhams have got executed-It is the resemblance of a conceited made-up coquet. Your eyes, and the fhape of your face (the latter the moft perfect oval I ever faw) which are perfections that must ftrike the most indifferent judge, because they are equal to any of God's works in a fimilar way, and finer than any I beheld in all my travels, are manifeftly injured by

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