for thee; and knowing it is such a one as dread, which has entered his brain, that thou would'st have written, I will regard it thou mayest run him in debt beyond thy as my Eliza's. appointments, and that he must discharge them.-That such a creature should be sacrificed for the paltry consideration of a few hundreds, is too, too hard! Oh! my child! Honor, and happiness, and health, and comforts of every kind, sail along with thee, thou most worthy of girls! I will live for thee, and my Lydia;-be rich for the dear that I could, with propriety, indemnify him children of my heart;-gain wisdom, gain for every charge, even to the last mite, that fame, and happiness, to share with them, thou hast been of to him! With joy would with thee,—and her, in my old age. Once I give him my whole subsistence; — nay, for all, adieu.—Preserve thy life; steadily sequester my livings, and trust the treasures pursue the ends we proposed; and let no- Heaven has furnished my head with, for a thing rob thee of those powers Heaven has future subsistence. given thee for thy well-being. You owe much, I allow, to your husband, What can I add more, in the agitation of |—you owe something to appearances, and mind I am in, and within five minutes of the opinion of the world; but, trust me, my the last postman's bell, but recommend thee dear, you owe much likewise to yourself.— to Heaven, and recommend myself to Hea--Return therefore from Deal, if you conven with thee, in the same fervent ejacula- tinue ill.-I will prescribe for you, gratis. tion, "That we may be happy, and meet-You are not the first woman, by many, I "again; if not in this world, in the next." have done so for, with success.-I will send -Adieu.—I am thine, Eliza, affectionately for my wife and daughter, and they shall and everlastingly, carry you in pursuit of health, to Montpellier, the wells of Bançois, the Spa, or whither thou wilt. Thou shalt direct them, and make parties of pleasure in what corner of the world fancy points out to thee. We shall fish upon the banks of Arno, and lose ourselves in the sweet labyrinths of its valleys. And then thou should'st warble to LETTER LXXXVIII. TO THE SAME. YORICK. us, as I have once or twice heard thee,I WISH to God, Eliza, it was possible to "I'm lost, I'm lost!"—but we should find postpone the voyage to India for another thee again, my Eliza.—Of a similar nature year; for I am firmly persuaded within to this was you physician's prescription:— my own heart, that thy husband could never“ Use gentle exercise, the pure southern air limit thee with regard to time. "of France, or milder Naples, with the so I fear that Mr. B- has exaggerated "ciety of friendly, gentle beings." Sensimatters. I like not his countenance. It is ble man! He certainly entered into your absolutely killing.-Should evil befall thee, feelings. He knew the fallacy of medicine what will he not have to answer for? I to a creature whose illness has arisen from know not the being that will be deserving the affliction of her mind. Time only, my of so much pity, or that I shall hate more. dear, I fear you must trust to, and have your He will be an outcast, alien,-in which reliance on; may it give you the health so case I will be a father to thy children, my enthusiastic a votary to the charming godgood girl!-therefore take no thought about dess deserves! them. I honor you, Eliza, for keeping secret But, Eliza, if thou art so very ill, still put some things, which, if explained, had been off all thoughts of returning to India this a panegyric on yourself. There is a dignity year. Write to your husband:-tell him in venerable affliction which will not allow the truth of your case.-If he is the gener- it to appeal to the world, for pity or redress. ous, humane man you describe him to be, Well have you supported that character, he cannot but applaud your conduct.--I am my amiable, philosophic friend! And, incredibly informed, that his repugnance to deed, I begin to think you have as many your living in England arises only from the virtues as my uncle Toby's Widow. — I don't mean to insinuate, hussy, that my with tidings of my fate; and that you were opinion is no better founded than his was come to administer what consolation filial of Mrs. Wadman; nor do I conceive it possi- affection could bestow, and to receive my ble for any Trim to convince me it is equally parting breath and blessing. With that fallacious.—I am sure, while I have my rea- you folded the shawl about my waist, and, son, it is not.—Talking of widows:-Pray, kneeling, supplicated my attention. Iawoke; Eliza, if ever you are such, do not think of but in what a frame! Oh! my God! But giving yourself to some wealthy nabob,- "thou wilt number my tears, and put them because I design to marry you myself. My "all into thy bottle."-Dear girl! I see wife cannot live long,-she has sold all the thee;-thou art for ever present to my provinces in France already;—and I know fancy, — embracing my feeble knees, and not the woman I should like so well for her raising thy fine eyes to bid me be of comsubstitute as yourself. — 'Tis true, I am fort: and, when I talk to Lydia, the words ninety-five in constitution, and you but of Esau, as uttered by thee, perpetually twenty-five;—rather too great a disparity ring in my ears, — "Bless me even also, this!-but what I want in youth, I will" my father!"-Blessings attend thee, thou make up in wit and good-humor. - Not child of my heart! Swift so loved his Stella, Scarron his Main- My bleeding is quite stopped, and I feel tenon, or Waller his Sacharissa, as I will the principle of life strong within me; so love and sing thee, my wife elect! All those be not alarmed, Eliza;-I know I shall do names, eminent as they were, shall give well. I have eat my breakfast with hunger; place to thine, Eliza. Tell me, in answer and I write to thee with a pleasure arising to this, that you approve and honor the pro- from that prophetic impression in my imaposal, and that you would (like the Specta-gination, that "all will terminate to our tor's mistress) have more joy in putting on "hearts' contents." Comfort thyself eteran old man's slipper, than associating with nally with this persuasion,-“That the best the gay, the voluptuous, and the young.- "of Beings (as thou hast sweetly expressed -Adieu, my Simplicia! it) "could not, by a combination of acci dents, produce such a chain of events, "merely to be the source of misery to the "leading person engaged in them."—The observation was very applicable, very good, and very elegantly expressed. I wish my memory did justice to the wording of it.Who taught you the art of writing so sweetly, Eliza? -You have absolutely exalted it to a science.-When I am in want I HAVE been within the verge of the gates of ready cash, and ill-health will not perof death. I was ill the last time I wrote to mit my genius to exert itself, I shall print you, and apprehensive of what would be the your letters, as finished essays, “by an unconsequence. My fears were but too well fortunate Indian Lady." The style is new; founded; for, in ten minutes after I dis- and would almost be a sufficient recompatched my letter, this poor, fine-spun frame mendation for their selling well, without of Yorick's gave way, and I broke a vessel merit;-but their sense, natural ease, and in my breast, and could not stop the loss of spirit, is not to be equalled, I believe, in blood till four this morning. I have filled this section of the globe; nor, I will anall thy India handkerchiefs with it. It swer for it, by any of your countrywomen came, I think, from my heart; I fell asleep in yours.—I have shown your letter to Mrs. through weakness. At six I awoke, with B, and to half the literati in town.— the bosom of my shirt steeped in tears. You shall not be angry with me for it, bedreamt I was sitting under the canopy of cause I meant to do you honor by it.-You Indolence, and that thou camest into the cannot imagine how many admirers your room with a shawl in thy hand, and told me, epistolary productions have gained you, that my spirit had flown to thee in the Downs, never viewed your external merits. I only Yours, TRISTRAM. LETTER LXXXIX. TO THE SAME. MY DEAR ELIZA, - 66 wonder where thou could'st acquire thy thou wilt perceive no entertaining strokes graces, thy goodness, thy accomplishments, of humor in it.—I cannot be cheerful when --so connected! so educated! Nature has a thousand melancholy ideas surround me. surely studied to make thee her peculiar I have met with a loss of near fifty care;-for thou art (and not in my eyes pounds, which I was taken in for, in an alone) the best and fairest of all her works. extraordinary manner: - but what is that And so this is the last letter thou art to loss in comparison of one I may experience? receive from me; because the Earl of Chat--Friendship is the balm and cordial of life, ham* (I read in the papers) is got to the and, without it, 'tis a heavy load not worth Downs; and the wind, I find, is fair. If so, sustaining.—I am unhappy, thy mother -blessed woman! take my last, last fare- and thyself at a distance from me; and what well!-Cherish the remembrance of me; can compensate for such destitution?-For think how I esteem, nay, how affectionately God's sake, persuade her to come and fix I love thee, and what a price I set upon in England, for life is too short to waste in thee! Adieu, adieu! and with my adieu, separation; and, whilst she lives in one let me give thee one straight rule of conduct, that thou hast heard from my lips in a thousand forms, but I concentre it in one word, REVERENCE THYSELF. country, and I in another, many people will suppose it proceeds from choice;-besides, I want thee near me, thou child and darling of my heart!-I am in a melancholy mood, and my Lydia's eyes will smart with weeping, when I tell her the cause that now Adieu once more, Eliza! May no an- affects me.-I am apprehensive the dear guish of heart plant a wrinkle upon thy friend I mentioned in my last letter is going face, till I behold it again! May no doubt into a decline.—I was with her a few days or misgivings disturb the serenity of thy ago, and I never beheld a being so altered; mind, or awaken a painful thought about-she has a tender frame, and looks like a thy children; for they are Yorick's, and drooping lily, for the roses are fled from her Yorick is thy friend for ever!-Adieu, cheeks. I can never see or talk to this adieu, adieu! incomparable woman without bursting into P. S. Remember that Hope shortens all tears.-I have a thousand obligations to her, journeys, by sweetening them ;- -so sing my and I owe her more than her whole sex, if little stanza on the subject, with the devo- not all the world put together.—She has a tion of an hymn, every morning when thou delicacy in her way of thinking that few arisest, and thou wilt eat thy breakfast with more comfort for it. possess.-Our conversations are of the most interesting nature; and she talks to me of Blessings rest, and Hygeia go with thee! quitting this world with more composure -May'st thou soon return, in peace and than others think of living in it.—I have affluence, to illume my night! I am, and wrote an epitaph, of which I send thee a shall be, the last to deplore thy loss, and copy;—'tis expressive of her modest worth; will be the first to congratulate and hail-but may Heaven restore her;—and may thy return. she live to write mine! Fare thee well. LETTER XC. TO MISS STERNE. Bond-street, April 9, 1767. THIS letter, my dear Lydia, will distress thy good heart; for, from the beginning, Columns and labor'd urns but vainly show The sweet companion, and the friend sincere, Say all that is kind of me to thy mother, and believe me, my Lydia, that I love thee most truly.-So adieu.—I am what I ever By the newspapers of the times, it appears that was, and hope ever shall be, the Earl of Chatham East Indiaman sailed from Deal April 3, 1767. Thy affectionate Father, L. STERNE. As to Mr. M, by your description he | Christian hero, ready to take the field is a fat fool. I beg you will not give up against the world, the flesh, and the Devil; your time to such a being.-Send me some not doubting but I should finally trample batons pour les dents;—there are none good them all down under my feet;-and now I here. am got so near you,-within this vile stone's cast of your house,-I feel myself drawn into a vortex, that has turned my brain upside downwards; and, though I had pur chased a box-ticket to carry me to Miss LETTER XCI. TO LADY P. 's benefit, yet I know very well, that was a single line directed to me to let me Mount Coffee-honse, Tuesday, 3 o'clock. know Lady- would be alone at seven, THERE is a strange mechanical effect and suffer me to spend the evening with her, produced in writing a billet-doux within a she would infallibly see every thing verified stone-cast of the Lady who engrosses the I have told her.-I dine at Mr. C—r's, heart and soul of an enamorato;-for this in Wigmore-street, in this neighborhood, cause (but mostly because I am to dine in where I shall stay till seven, in hopes you this neighborhood) have I, Tristram Shan-purpose to put me to this proof. If I hear dy, come forth from my lodgings to a coffee- nothing by that time, shall conclude you house, the nearest I could find to my dear are better disposed of,- and shall take a Lady -'s house, and have called for a sorry hack, and sorrily jog on to the play. sheet of gilt paper, to try the truth of this article of my creed.-Now for it. - Most sincerely, LETTER XCII. L. STERNE TO MR. AND MRS. J. Curse on the world! I know nothing but sorrow, except this one thing, that I O my dear Lady, what a dish-clout of a love you (perhaps foolishly, but) soul hast thou made of me!-I think, by the bye, this is a little too familiar an introduction for so unfamiliar a situation as I stand in with yon,-where, Heaven knows, I am kept at a distance,—and despair of getting one inch nearer you, with all the steps and windings I can think of to recommend myself to you.-Would not any man in his senses run diametrically from you,— Old Bond-street, April 21, 1767. and as far as his legs would carry him, ra- I AM sincerely affected, my dear Mr. and ther than thus causelessly, foolishly, and Mrs. J-, by your friendly inquiry, and fool-hardily expose himself afresh, and the interest you are so good to take in my afresh, where his heart and his reason tell health. God knows I am not able to give him he shall be sure to come off loser, if a good account myself, having passed a bad not totally undone ?-Why should you tell night in much feverish agitation.—My phy me you would be glad to see me?-Does it sician ordered me to bed, and to keep theregive you pleasure to make me more un- in till some favorable change.—I fell ill happy?—or does it add to your triumph, the moment I got to my lodgings:-he says that your eyes and lips have turned a man it is owing to my taking James's Powder, into a fool, whom the rest of the town is and venturing out on so cold a day as Suncourting as a wit? I am a fool, - the day;-but he is mistaken, for I am certain weakest, the most ductile, the most tender whatever bears the name must have efficacy fool, that ever woman tried the weakness with me.-I was bled yesterday, and again of;-and the most unsettled in my purposes to-day, and have been almost dead; but this and resolutions of recovering my right friendly inquiry from Gerrard-street has mind.—It is but an hour ago that I kneeled poured balm into what blood I have left.— down and swore I never would come near I hope still, and (next to the sense of what you;—and, after saying my Lord's Prayer I owe my friends) it shall be the last pleafor the sake of the close, of not being led surable sensation I will part with;-if I into temptation, —out I sallied like any continue mending, it will yet be some time 23 I am your ever obliged, LETTER XCIII. L. STERNE. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO. before I shall have strength enough to get am impatient to set out for my solitude, for out in a carriage.—My first visit will be a there the mind gains strength, and learns visit of true gratitude.-I leave my kind to lean upon herself.—In the world it seeks friends to guess where.-A thousand bless- or accepts of a few treacherous supports; ings go along with this; and may Heaven -the feigned compassion of one,-the flatpreserve you both!-Adieu, my dear Sir, tery of a second,-the civilities of a third, and dear Lady. -the friendship of a fourth,—they all deceive, and bring the mind back to where mine is retreating, to retirement, reflection, and books. My departure is fixed for tomorrow morning; but I could not think of quitting a place where I have received such numberless and unmerited civilities from your Lordship, without returning my most Bond-street, Saturday, [April 25, 1767.] grateful thanks, as well as my hearty acI was very sorry, my good Sancho, that knowledgments for your friendly inquiry I was not at home, to return my compli- from Bath. Illness, my Lord, has occasioned ments by you for the great courtesy of the my silence. - Death knocked at my door, Duke of M—g—'s family to me, in honor- but I would not admit him;—the call was ing my list of subscribers with their names; both unexpected and unpleasant;-and I am -for which I bear them all thanks.-But seriously worn down to a shadow,—and you have something to add, Sancho, to still very weak:-but, weak as I am, I have what I owe your good-will also on this ac- as whimsical a story to tell you as ever count, and that is to send me the subscrip- befell one of my family;-Shandy's nose, tion-money, which I find a necessity of dun- his name, his sash-window, are fools to it; ning my best friends for before I leave-it will serve at least to amuse you.-The town, to avoid the perplexities of both injury I did myself last month in catching keeping pecuniary accounts (for which I cold upon James's powder,-fell, you must have very slender talents) and collecting know, upon the worst part it could,—the them (for which I have neither strength of most painful and most dangerous of any in body or mind;) and so, good Sancho, dun the human body. It was on this crisis I the Duke of M- the Duchess of M— and Lord M- for their subscriptions; and lay the sin, and money with it too, at my door. I wish so good a family every blessing they merit, along with my humblest compliments. You know, Sancho, that I am your friend and well-wisher, L. STERNE. P. S. I leave town on Friday morning, -and should on Thursday, but that I stay to dine with Lord and Lady S. called in an able surgeon, and with him an able physician (both my friends) to inspect my disaster. - 'Tis a venereal case, cried my two scientific friends.-'Tis impossible, however, to be that, replied I;—for I have had no commerce whatever with the sex,— not even with my wife, added I, these fifteen years. You are, however, my good friend, said the surgeon, or there is no such case in the world.-What the Devil, said I, without knowing woman? - We will not reason about it, said the physician, but you must undergo a course of mercury.—I will lose my life first, said I: and trust to nature, to time, or, at the worst, to death.-So I put an end, with some indignation, to the conference, and determined to bear all the torments I underwent, and ten times more, I was yesterday taking leave of all the rather than submit to be treated like a town, with an intention of leaving it this sinner, in a point where I had acted like a day but I am detained by the kindness of saint.-Now as the father of mischief would Lord and Lady S, who have made a have it, who has no pleasure like that of party to dine and sup, on my account.—I dishonoring the righteous, it so fell out that, LETTER XCIV. TO THE EARL OF S MY LORD, Old Bond-street. May 1, 1767. |
