perceive no entertaining strokes of humour in it. I cannot be cheerful when a thousand melancholy ideas surround me. I have met with a loss of near fifty pounds, which I was taken in for in an extraordinary manner; but what is that loss in comparison of one I may experience? Friendship is the balm and cordial of life, and without it 'tis a heavy load not worth sustaining. I am unhappy-thy mother and thyself at a distance from me, and what can compensate for such a destitution? For God's sake persuade her to come and fix in England, for life is too short to waste in separation; and whilst she lives in one country and I in another, many people will suppose it proceeds from choice. Besides, I want thce 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 affects me. I am apprehensive the dear friend I mentioned in my last letter is going into a decline. I was with her two days ago, and I never beheld a being so altered; she has a tender frame, and looks like a drooping lily, for the roses are fled from her cheeks. I can never see or talk to this incomparable woman without bursting into tears. I have a thousand obligations to her, and I owe her more than her whole sex, if not all the world put together. She has a delicacy in her way of thinking that few possess; our conversations are of the most interesting nature, and she talks to me of quitting this world with more composure than others think of living in it. I have wrote an epitaph, of which I send thee a copy. "Tis expressive of her modest worth; but may Heaven restore her! and may she live to write mine! Columns and labour'd urns but vainly show An idle scene of decorated woe. The sweet companion, and the friend sincere, Need no mechanic help to force the tear. In heartfelt numbers, never meant to shine, "Twill flow eternal o'er a hearse like thine: "Twill flow whilst gentle goodness has one friend, Or kindred tempers have a tear to lend. 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 was, and hope ever shall be, thy affectionate father, L. S. As to Mr. -, by your description he is a fat fool. I beg you will not give up your time to such a being. Send me some batons pour les dents; there are none good here. XCII.-TO LADY P-. MOUNT COFFEE-HOUSE, Tuesday, 3 o'clock. THERE is a strange mechanical effect produced in writing a billet-doux within a stone-cast of the lady who engrosses the heart and soul of an inamorato: for this cause (but mostly because I am to dine in this neighbourhood) have I, Tris tram Shandy, come forth from my lodgings to a coffee-house the nearest I could find to my dear Lady -'s house, and have called for a sheet of gilt paper to try the truth of this article ci my creed. Now for it O, my dear lady, what a dish-clout of a 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 youwhere, 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, and as far as his legs would carry him, rather than thus carelessly, foolishly, and foolhardily expose himself afresh—and afresh, where his heart and his reason tells him he shall be sure to come off loser, if not totally undone? Why would you tell me you would be glad to see me? Does it give you pleasure to make me more unhappy? or does it add to your triumph that your eyes and lips have turned a man into a fool, whom the rest of the town is courting as a wit? I am a fool-the weakest, the most ductile, the most tender fool that ever woman tried the weakness of-and the most unsettled in my purposes and resolutions of recovering my right mind. It is but an hour ago that I kneeled down and swore I never would come near you, and, after saying my Lord's Prayer for the sake of the close, of not being led into temptation, out I sallied like any Christian hero, ready to take the field against the world, the flesh, and the devil, not doubting but I should finally trample them all down under my feet; and now am I 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 purchased a box-ticket to carry me to Miss *******'s benefit, yet I know very well, that was a single line directed to me to let me know Lady would be alone at seven, and suffer me to spend the evening with her, she would infallibly see everything verified I have told her. I dine at Mr. C-r's, in Wigmore Street, in this neighbourhood, where I shall stay till seven, in hopes you purpose to put me to this proof. If I hear nothing by that time, I shall conclude you are better disposed of, and shall take a sorry hack, and sorrily jog on to the play. Curse on the world! I know nothing but sorrow, except this one thing, that I love you (perhaps foolishly, but) most sincerely. L. SIERNE. XCIII. TO MR. AND MRS. J—. OLD BOND STREET, April 21, 1767. I AM sincerely affected, my dear Mr. and Mrs. J—, by your friendly inquiry, and the interest you are so good as to take in my health. God knows I am not able to give a good account of L. STERNE. myself, having passed a bad night in much ous supports-the feigned compassion of one, feverish agitation. My physician ordered me the flattery of a second, the civilities of a third, to bed, and to keep therein till some favourable the friendship of a fourth; they all deceive, and change. I fell ill the moment I got to my lodg- bring the mind back to where mine is retreating, ings. He says it is owing to my taking James's to retirement, reflection, and books. My deparPowder, and venturing out on so cold a day as ture is fixed for to-morrow morning, but I could Sunday; but he is mistaken, for I am certain not think of quitting a place where I have rewhatever bears the name must have efficacy ceived such numberless and unmerited civilities with me. I was bled yesterday, and again from your Lordship, without returning my most to-day, and have been almost dead; but grateful thanks, as well as my hearty acknowthis friendly inquiry from Gerrard Street has ledgments for your friendly inquiry from Bath. poured balm into what blood I have left. I Illness, my Lord, has occasioned my silence. hope still; and (next to the sense of what I owe Death knocked at my door, but I would not adto my friends) it shall be the last pleasurable mit him-the call was both unexpected and unsensation I will part with. If I continue mend-pleasant-and I am seriously worn down to a ing, it will yet be some time before I shall have shadow, and still very weak; but weak as I am, strength enough to get out in a carriage. My │I have as whimsical a story to tell you as ever first visit will be a visit of true gratitude-I befell one of my family. Shandy's nose, his leave my kind friends to guess where. A thou- name, his sash-window, are fools to it: it will sand blessings go along with this, and may serve at least to amuse you. The injury I did Heaven preserve you both. Adieu, my dear sir, myself last month, in catching cold upon James's and dear lady. I am your ever obliged, Powder, fell, you must know, upon the worst part it could, the most painful, and most dangerous of any in the human body, It was on this crisis I 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 women? 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, rather than submit to be treated like a sinner, in a point where I had acted like a saint. Now as the father of mischief would have it, who has no pleasure like that of dishonouring the righteous, it so fell out that, from the moment I dismissed my doctors, my pains began to rage with a violence not to be expressed or supported. Every hour became more intolerable. I was got to bed, cried out and raved the whole night, and was got up so near dead that my friends insisted upon my sending again for my physician and surgeon. I told them upon the word of a man of honour they were both mistaken as to my case, but though they had reasoned wrong, they might act right; but that sharp as sufferings were, I felt them not so sharp as the imputation which a venereal treatment of my case laid me under. They answered that these taints of the blood laid dormant twenty years; but they would not reason with me in a point wherein I was so delicate, but would do all the office for which they were called in, namely, to put an end to my tor XCIV. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO. BOND STREET, Saturday [April 25, 1767]. I was very sorry, my good Sancho, that I was not at home to return my compliments by you for the great courtesy of the Duke of M-g-'s family to me in honouring my list of subscribers with their names, for which I bear them all thanks. But you have something to add, Sancho, to what I owe your good-will also on this account, and that is, to send me the subscription money, which I find a necessity of dunning my best friends for before I leave town-to avoid the perplexities of both keeping pecuniary accounts (for which I have very slender talents), and collecting them (for which I have neither strength of body nor mind); and so, good Sancho, dun 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-. XCV.-TO THE EARL OF S-. OLD BOND STREET, May 1, 1767. MY LORD,-I was yesterday taking leave of all the town, with an intention of leaving it this day, but I am detained by the kindness of Lord and Lady S-, who have made a party to dine and sup on my account. I am impatient to set out for my solitude, for there the mind gains strength, and learns to lean upon herself. In the world it seeks or accepts of a few treacher L. STERNE XCVIII.-TO A. L-E, Esq. ment, which otherwise would put an end to me, (as at the last) be happy together. My kind reand so I have been compelled to surrender my-spects to a few. I am, dear H—, truly yours, self. And thus, my dear Lord, has your poor friend, with all his sensibilities, becn suffering the chastisement of the grossest sensualist. Was it not as ridiculous an embarrassment as ever Yorick's spirit was involved in? Nothing but the purest conscience of innocence could have tempted me to write this story to my wife, which, by the bye, would make no bad anecdote in Tristram Shandy's Life. I have mentioned it in my journal to Mrs. —. In some respects there is no difference between my wife and herself-when they fare alike, neither can reasonably complain. I have just received letters from France, with some hints that Mrs. Sterne and my Lydia are coming to England to pay me a visit. If your time is not better employed, Yorick flatters himself he shall receive a letter from your Lordship, en attendant. I am, with great regard, my Lord, your Lordship's most faithful humble servant, L. STERNE. XCVI.-TO J. D-N, Esq. OLD BOND STREET, Friday morning. I WAS going, my dear D-n, to bed before I received your kind inquiry, and now my chaise stands at my door to take and convey this poor body to its legal settlement. I am ill, very ill. I languish most affectingly. I am sick both soul and body. It is a cordial to me to hear it is different with you. No man interests himself more in your happiness, and I am glad you are in so fair a road to it: enjoy it long, my D-, whilst I-no matter what-but my feelings are too nice for the world I live in-things will mend. I dined yesterday with Lord and Lady S-; we talked much of you, and your goings on, for every one knows why Sunbury Hill is so pleasant a situation! You rogue-you have locked up my boots, and I go bootless home, and I fear I shall go bootless all my life. Adieu, gentlest and best of souls, adieu. yours affectionately, L. STERNE. XCVII. TO J— H— S-, Esq. I am NEWARK, Monday, ten o'clock in the morn. MY DEAR COUSIN,-I have got conveyed thus far like a bale of cadaverous goods consigned to Pluto and Company-lying in the bottom of my chaise most of the route, upon a large pillow which I had the prevoyance to purchase before I set out. I am worn out-but press on to Barnby Moor to-night, and if possible to York the next. I know not what is the matter with me, but some derangement presses hard upon this machine; still I think it will not be overset this bout. My love to G. We shall all meet from the east, and from the south, and COXWOULD, June 7, 1767. DEAR L-I had not been many days at this peaceful cottage before your letter greeted me with the seal of friendship; and most cordially do I thank you for so kind a proof of your good will. I was truly anxious to hear of the recovery of my sentimental friend; but I would not write to inquire after her, unless I could have sent her the testimony without the tax; for even how-d'yes to invalids, or those that have lately been so, either call to mind what is past or what may return,-at least I find it so. I am as happy as a prince at Coxwould, and I wish you could see in how princely a manner I live,-'tis a land of plenty. I sit down alone to venison, fish, and wild-fowl, or a couple of fowls or ducks, with curds, and strawberrics and cream, and all the simple plenty which a rich valley (under Hamilton hills) can produce,-with a clean cloth on my table, and a bottle of wine on my right hand to drink your health. I have a hundred hens and chickens about my yard; and not a parishioner catches a hare, or a rabbit, or a trout, but he brings it as an offering to me. If solitude would cure a love-sick heart, I would give you an invitation; but absence and time lessen no attachment which virtue inspires. I am in high spirits-care never enters this cottage. I take the air every day in my postchaise, with two long-tailed horses-they turn out good ones. And as to myself, I think I am better upon the whole for the medicines and regimen I submitted to in town. May you, dear L-, want neither the one nor the other. Yours truly, L. STERNE. XCIX.-TO THE SAME. COXWOULD, June 30, 1767. I AM in still better health, my dear L-e, than I clever, though what is commonly called wit may pass for literature on the other side of Temple-Bar. You say Mrs. J- thinks them amiable: she judges too favourably; but I have put a stop to her intentions of visiting them. They are bitter enemies of mine, and I am even with them. La Bramine assured me they used their endeavours with her to break off her friendship with me, for reasons I will not write, but tell you. I said enough of them before she left England; and though she yielded to me in every other point, yet in this she obstinately persisted. Strange infatuation! but I think I have effected my purpose by a falsity, which Yorick's friendship to the Bramine can only justify. I wrote her word that the most amiable of women reiterated my request, that she would not write to them. I said, too, she had concealed many for the sake of her peace of mind, when, in fact, L-e, this was merely a child of my own brain, made Mrs. J-'s by adoption, to enforce the argument I had before urged so strongly. Do not mention this circumstance to Mrs. J-; 'twould displease her; and I had no design in it but for the Bramine to be a friend to herself. I ought now to be busy from sunrise to sunset; for I have a book to write, a wife to receive, an estate to sell, a parish to superintend, and, what is worst of all, a disquieted heart to reason with ;-these are continual calls upon me. I have received half a dozen letters to press me to join my friends at Scarborough, but I am at present deaf to them all. I perhaps may pass a few days there something later in the season, not at present; and so, dear L-e, adieu. I am most cordially yours, L. STERNE. C.-TO IGNATIUS SANCHO. COXWOULD, June 30, [1767]. I MUST acknowledge the courtesy of my good friend Sancho's letter were I ten times busier than I am, and must thank him, too, for the many expressions of his good will and good opinion. "Tis all affectation to say a man is not gratified with being praised; we only want it to be sincere, and then it will be taken, Sancho, as kindly as yours. I left town very poorly, and with an idea I was taking leave of it for ever; but good air, a quiet retreat, and quiet reflections along with it, with an ass to milk and another to ride upon (if I choose it), all together do wonders. I shall live this year at least, I hope, be it but to give the world, before I quit it, as good impressions of me as you have, Sancho. I would only covenant for just so much health and spirits as are sufficient to carry my pen through the task I have set it this summer. But I am a resigned being, Sancho, and take health and sickness as I do light and darkness, or the vicissitudes of seasons,-that is, just as it pleases GOD to send them,-and accommodate myself to their periodical returns as well as I can, only taking care, whatever befalls me in this silly world, not to lose my temper at it. This I believe, friend Sancho, to be the truest philosophy; for this we must be indebted to ourselves, but not to our fortunes. Farewell. I hope you will not forget your custom of giving me a call at my lodgings next winter. In the meantime I am, very cordially, my honest friend Sancho, yours, L. STERNE. CI. TO MR. AND MRS. J-. COXWOULD, July 6, 1767. Ir is with as much true gratitude as ever heart felt, that I sit down to thank my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. J-, for the continuation of their attention to me; but for this last instance of their humanity and politeness to me, I must ever be their debtor. I never can thank you enough, my dear friends, and yet I thank you from my soul; and for the single day's happiness your goodness would have sent me I wish I could have sent you back thousands: I cannot, but they will come of themselves; and so GOD bless you. I have had twenty times my pen in my hand since I came down, to write a letter to you both in Gerrard Street; but I am a shy kind of a soul at the bottom, and have a jealousy about troubling my friends, especially about myself. I am now got perfectly well, but was, a month after my arrival in the country, in but a poor state; my body has got the start, and is at present more at ease than my mind; but this world is a school of trials, and so Heaven's will be done! I hope you have both enjoyed all that I have wanted, and, to complete your joy, that your little lady flourishes like a vine at your table, to which I hope to see her preferred by next winter. I am now beginning to be truly busy at my Sentimental Journey,-the pains and sorrows of this life having retarded its progress; but I shall make up my leeway, and overtake everybody in a very short time. What can I send you that Yorkshire produces? tell me. I want to be of use to you; for I am, my dear friends, with the truest value and esteem, your ever obliged L. STERNE CII. TO MR. PANCHAUD, AT PARIS. YORK, July 20, 1767. MY DEAR PANCHAUD,-Be so kind as to forward what letters are arrived from Mrs. Sterne at your office by to-day's post, or the next, and she will receive them before she quits Avignon for England. She wants to lay out a little money in an annuity for her daughter; advise her to get her own life insured in London, lest my Lydia should die before her. If there are 434 any packets, send them with the ninth volume of Shandy, which she has failed of getting. She says she has drawn for fifty louis. When she leaves Paris, send by her my account. Have you got me any French subscriptions, or subscriptions in France? Present my kindest service to Miss P-. I know her politeness and good nature will incline her to give Mrs. J- her advice about what she may venture to bring over. hope everything goes on well, though never half so well as I wish. God prosper you, my dear friend. Believe me, most warmly yours, I L. STERNE. The sooner you send me the gold snuff-box the better,-'tis a present from my best friend. CIII. TO MR. AND MRS. J-. COXWOULD, August 2, 1767. My dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. J-, are infinitely kind to me, in sending now and then a letter to inquire after me, and to acquaint me how they are. You cannot conceive, my dear lady, how truly I bear a part in your illness. I wish Mr. J- would carry you to the south of France in pursuit of health; but why need I wish it, when I know his affection will make him do that and ten times as much to prevent a return of those symptoms which alarmed him so much in the spring? Your politeness and humanity are always contriving to treat me agreeably, and what you promise next winter will be perfectly so; but you must get well, and your little dear girl must be of the party, with her parents and friends, to give it a relish. I am sure you show no partiality but what is natural and praiseworthy in behalf of your daughter; but I wonder my friends will not find her a play-fellow; and I both hope and advise them not to venture along through this warfare of life without two strings at least to their bow. I had letters from France by last night's post, by which (by some fatality) I find not one of my letters has reached Mrs. Sterne. This gives me concern, as it wears the aspect of unkindness, which she by no means merits from me. My wife and dear girl are coming to pay me a visit for a few months; I wish I may prevail with them to tarry longer. You must permit me, dear Mrs. J—, to make my Lydia known to you, if I can prevail with my wife to come and spend a little time in London, as she returns to France. I expect a small parcel: may I trouble you, before you write next, to send to my lodgings to ask if there is anything directed to me that you can inclose under cover? I have but one excuse for this freedom, which I am prompted to use, from a persuasion that it is doing you pleasure to give you an opportunity of doing an obliging thing; and as to myself, I rest satisfied, for 'tis only scoring up another debt of thanks to the millions I owe you both already. Receive a thousand and a thousand thanks, yes, and with them ten thousand friendly wishes for all you wish in this world. May my friend Mr. Jcontinue blessed with good health, and may his good lady get perfectly well, there being no woman's health or comfort I so ardently pray for. Adieu, my dear friends. Believe me most L. STERNE. truly and faithfully yours, P.S.-In Eliza's last letter, dated from St. Jago, she tells me, as she does you, that she is extremely ill. God protect her! By this time surely she has set foot upon dry land at Madras. I heartily wish her well, and if Yorick was with her he would tell her so; but he is cut off from this, by bodily absence. I am present with her in spirit, however; but what is that? you will say. CIV.—TO J— H— S—, Esq. COXWOULD, Aug. 11, 1767. MY DEAR H-,-I am glad all has passed with so much amity inter te et filium Marcum tuum, and that Madame has found grace in thy sight. All is well that ends well-and so much for moralizing upon it. I wish you could, or would, take up your parable, and prophesy as much good concerning me and my affairs. Not one of my letters has got to Mrs. Sterne since the notification of her intentions, which has a pitiful air on my side, though I have wrote her six or seven. I imagine she will be here the latter end of September; though I have no date for it, but her impatience, which, having suffered by my supposed silence, I am persuaded will make her fear the worst. If that is the case, she will fly to England-a most natural conclusion. You did well to discontinue all commerce with James's Powders. As you are so well, rejoice therefore, and let your heart be merry: mine ought, upon the same score; for I never have been so well since I left college, and should be a marvellous happy man, but for some reflections which bow down my spirits; but if I live but even three or four years, I will acquit myself with honour-and-no matter! we will talk this over when we meet. If all ends as temperately as with you, and that I find grace, etc. etc., I will come and sing Te Deum, or drink poculum elevatum, or do anything in the world. I should depend upon G-'s critique upon my head, as much as Moliere's old woman upon his comedies: when you do not want her society, let it be carried into your bed-chamber to flay her, or clap it upon her bum-to-and give her my blessing as you do it. My postillion has set me aground for a week, by one of my pistols bursting in his hand, which he taking for granted to be quite shot off, he instantly fell upon his knees and said, Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; at which, like a good Christian, ho |