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LETTERS.

I-TO MISS L-.

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YES! I will steal from the world, and not a babbling tongue shall tell where I am-Echo shall not so much as whisper my hiding-place suffer thy imagination to paint it as a little sungilt cottage on the side of a romantic hill-dost thou think I will leave love and friendship behind me? No! they shall be my companions in solitude, for they will sit down and rise up with me in the amiable form of my L-. We will be as merry and as innocent as our first parents in Paradise, before the arch-fiend entered that undescribable scene.

The kindest affections will have room to shoot and expand in our retirement, and produce such fruit as madness, and envy, and ambition have always killed in the bud. Let the human tempest and hurricane rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon of peace. My L- has seen a polyanthus blow in December- -some friendly wall has sheltered it from the biting wind. No planetary influence shall reach us but that which presides and cherishes the sweetest flowers. God preserve us! how delightful this prospect in idea! We will build and we will plant in our own way-simplicity shall not be tortured by art-we will learn of nature how to live she shall be our alchymist to mingle all the good of life into one salubrious draught. The gloomy family of care and distrust shall be banished from our dwelling, guarded by thy kind and tutelar deity: we will sing our choral songs of gratitude, and rejoice to the end of our pilgrimage.

Adieu, my L- Return to one who languishes for thy society. L. STERNE.

II. TO THE SAME. You bid me tell you, my dear L-, how I bore your departure for S-, and whether the valley where D'Estella stands retains still its looks, or if I think the roses or jessamines smell as sweet

1 This and the three subsequent letters were written by Mr. Sterne to his wife, while she resided in Staffordshire, before their marriage.

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as when you left it. Alas! everything has now lost its relish and look. The hour you left D'Estella I took to my bed. I was worn out with fevers of all kinds, but most by that fever of the heart with which thou knowest well I have been wasting these two years, and shall continue wasting till you quit S. The good Miss S-, from the forebodings of the best of hearts, thinking I was ill, insisted upon my going to her. What can be the cause, my dear L—, that I never have been able to see the face of this mutual friend but I feel myself rent to pieces? She made me stay an hour with her; and in that short space I burst into tears a dozen different times, and in such affectionate gusts of passion that she was constrained to leave the room and sympathize in her dressingroom. I have been weeping for you both, said she, in a tone of the sweetest pity-(for poor L-'s heart I have long known it, her anguish is as sharp as yours, her heart as tender, her constancy as great, her virtues as heroic)-Heaven brought you not together to be tormented. I could only answer her with a kind look and a heavy sigh, and returned home to your lodgings (which I have hired till your return), to resign myself to misery. Fanny had prepared me a supper-she is all attention to me; but I sat over it with tears-a bitter sauce, my L-; but I could eat it with no other, for the moment she began to spread my little table my heart fainted within

me.

One solitary plate, one knife, one fork, one glass: I gave a thousand pensive penetrating looks at the chair thou hadst so often graced in those quiet and sentimental repasts, then laid down my knife and fork, and took out my handkerchief, and clapped it across my face, and wept like a child. I do so this very moment, my L—; for as I take up my pen my poor pulse quickens, my pale face glows, and tears are trickling down upon the paper as I trace the word L. 0 thou blessed in thyself and in thy virtuesblessed to all that know thee-to me most so, because more do I know of thee than all thy sex! This is the philtre, my L-, by which thou hast charmed me, and by which thou wilt hold me thine, whilst virtue and faith hold this world together. This, my friend, is the plain

I

and simple magic by which I told Miss
have won a place in that heart of thine, on
which I depend so satisfied, that time or distance,
or change of everything which might alarm the
hearts of little men, create no uneasy suspense
in mine. Wast thou to stay in S- these seven
years, thy friend, though he would grieve, scorns
to doubt or to be doubted,-'tis the only excep-
tion where security is not the parent of danger.
I told you poor Fanny was all attention to me
since your departure contrives every day bring- |
ing in the name of L-. She told me last night
(upon giving me some hartshorn), she had ob-
served my illness began the very day of your
departure for S-; that I had never held up my
head, had seldom or scarce ever smiled, had fled
from all society; that she verily believed I was
broken-hearted, for she had never entered the
room, or passed by the door, but she heard me
sigh heavily; that I neither ate, or slept, or
took pleasure in anything as before. Judge then,
my L, can the valley look so well, or the roses
and jessamines smell so sweet as heretofore?
Ah me! but adieu: the vespor bell calls me
from thee to my God.
L. STERNE.

III.-TO THE SAME.

be bestowed with more liberality. We cannot gather grapes from thorns, so we must not expect kind attachments from persons who are wholly folded up in selfish schemes. I do not know whether I most despise or pity such characters. Nature never made an unkind creature; ill-usage and bad habits have deformed a fair and lovely creation.

My L, thou art surrounded by all the melancholy gloom of winter: wert thou alone, the retirement would be agreeable. Disappointed ambition might envy such a retreat, and disappointed love would seek it out. Crowded towns, and busy societies, may delight the unthinking and the gay, but solitude is the best nurse of wisdom. Methinks I see my contemplative girl now in the garden, watching the gradual approaches of spring. Dost not thou mark with delight the first vernal buds? The snow-drop and primrose, these early and welcome visitors, spring beneath thy feet. Flora and Pomona already consider thee as their handmaid; and in a little time will load thee with their sweetest blessing. The feathered race are all thy own; and with them, untaught harmony will soon begin to cheer thy morning and evening walks. Sweet as this may be, return-return. The birds of Yorkshire will tune their pipes, and sing as melodiously as those of Staffordshire.

Adieu, my beloved L, thine too much for my peace. L. STERNE.

IV. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE offended her whom I so tenderly love! What could tempt me to it? But if a beggar was to knock at thy gate, wouldst thou not open the door and be melted with compassion? I know

BEFORE now, my L- has lodged an indictment against me in the high court of Friendship; I plead guilty to the charge, and entirely submit to the mercy of that amiable tribunal. Let this mitigate my punishment, if it will not expiate my transgression: do not say that I shall offend again in the same manner, though a too easy pardon sometimes occasions a repetition of the same fault. A miser says, Though I do no good with my money to-day, to-morrow shall be marked with some deed of beneficence. The libertine says, Let me enjoy this week in for-thou wouldst, for pity has erected a temple in bidden and luxurious pleasures, and the next I will dedicate to serious thought and reflection. The gamester says, Let me have one more chance with the dice, and I will never touch them more. The knave of every profession wishes to obtain but independency, and he will become an honest man. The female coquette triumphs in tormenting her inamorato, for fear, after marriage, he should not pity her.

The apparition of the fifth instant (for letters may almost be called so) proved more welcome, as I did not expect it. Oh, my L-, thou art kind indeed to make an apology for me, and thou never wilt assuredly repent of one act of kindness; for being thy debtor, I will pay thee with interest. Why does my L- complain of the desertion of friends? Where does the human being live that will not join in this complaint? It is a common observation, and perhaps too true, that married people seldom extend their regards beyond their own fireside. There is such a thing as parsimony in esteem, as well as money; yet, as one costs nothing, it might

thy bosom. Sweetest, and best of all human passions, let thy web of tenderness cover the pensive form of affliction, and soften the darkest shades of misery! I have reconsidered this apology, and, alas! what will it accomplish? Arguments, however finely spun, can never change the nature of things: very true; so a truce with them.

I have lost a very valuable friend by a sad accident, and, what is worse, he has left a widow and five young children to lament this sudden stroke. If real usefulness and integrity of heart could have secured him from this, his friends would not now be mourning his untimely fate. These dark and seemingly cruel dispensations of Providence often make the best of human hearts complain. Who can paint the distress of an affectionate mother, made a widow in a moment, weeping in bitterness over a numerous, helpless, and fatherless offspring! God! these are thy chastisements, and require (hard task !) a pious acquiescence.

Forgive me this digression, and allow me to

drop a tear over a departed friend, and, what is more excellent, an honest man. My L-! thou wilt feel all that kindness can inspire in the death of ―. The event was sudden, and thy gentle spirit would be more alarmed on that account. But, my L-, thou hast less to lament, as old age was creeping on, and the period of doing good and being useful was nearly over. At sixty years of age the tenement gets fast out of repair, and the lodger with anxiety thinks of a discharge. In such a situation, the poet might well say,

'The soul uneasy,' etc.

My L-talks of leaving the country. May a kind angel guide thy steps hither! Solitude at length grows tiresome. Thou sayest thou wilt quit the place with regret: I think so too. Does not something uneasy mingle with the very reflection of leaving it? It is like parting with an old friend, whose temper and company one has long been acquainted with. I think I see you looking twenty times a day at the house, almost counting every brick and pane of glass, and telling them at the same time, with a sigh, you are going to leave them. Oh, happy modification of matter! they will remain insensible of thy loss. But how wilt thou be able to part with thy garden? The recollection of so many pleasing walks must have endeared it to you. The trees, the shrubs, the flowers, which thou rearedst with thy own hands, will they not droop and fade away sooner upon thy departure? Who will be thy successor to nurse them in thy absence? Thou wilt leave thy name upon the myrtle-tree. If trees, and shrubs, and flowers could compose an elegy, I should expect a very plaintive one upon this subject.

Adieu, adieu! Believe me, ever, ever thine, L. STERNE.

V. TO MRS. F-.

YORK, Tuesday, Nov. 19, 1759. DEAR MADAM,-Your kind inquiries after my health deserve my best thanks. What can give one more pleasure than the good wishes of those we value? I am sorry you give so bad an account of your own health, but hope you will find benefit from tar-water: it has been of infinite service to me. I suppose, my good lady, by what you say in your letter, 'that I am busy writing an extraordinary book,' that your intelligence comes from York, the fountainhead of all chit-chat news, and, no matter. Now for your desire of knowing the reason of my turning author: why, truly I am tired of employing my brains for other people's advantage. 'Tis a foolish sacrifice I have made for some years to an ungrateful person. I depend much upon the candour of the public, but I shall not pick out a jury to try the merit of my book

amongst ******, and till you read my Tristram, do not, like some people, condemn it. Laugh I am sure you will at some passages. I have hired a small house in the Minster Yard for my wife and daughter: the latter is to begin dancing, etc. If I cannot leave her a fortune, I will at least give her an education. As I shall publish my works very soon, I shall be in town by March, and shall have the pleasure of meeting with you. All your friends are well, and ever hold you in the same estimation that your sincere friend does.

Adieu, dear lady. Believe me, with every wish for your happiness, your most faithful, etc. LAURENCE STERNE.

VI. TO DR. *****.

Jan. 30, 1760. DEAR SIR,-De mortuis nil nisi bonum is a maxim which you have so often of late urged in conversation, and in your letters (but in your last especially), with such seriousness, and severity against me, as the supposed transgressor of the rule, that you have made me at length as serious and severe as yourself: but that the humours you have stirred up might not work too potently within me, I have waited four days to cool myself, before I would set pen to paper to answer you, 'de mortuis nil nisi bonum.' I declare I have considered the wisdom and foundation of it over and over again, as dispassionately and charitably as a good Christian can; and after all, I can find nothing in it, or make more of it than a nonsensical lullaby of some nurse, put into Latin by some pedant, to be chanted by some hypocrite to the end of the world, for the consolation of departing lechers. "Tis, I own, Latin; and I think that is all the weight it has-for, in plain English, 'tis a loose and futile position below a dispute-' you are not to speak anything of the dead but what is good.' Why so? Who says so?-Neither reason nor Scripture. Inspired authors have done otherwise; and reason and common sense tell me that, if the characters of past ages and men are to be drawn at all, they are to be drawn like themselves; that is, with their excellences, and with their foibles; and it is as much a piece of justice to the world, and to virtue too, to do the one, as the other. The ruling passion, et les egaremens du cœur, are the very things which mark and distinguish a man's character; in which I would as soon leave out a man's head as his hobby-horse. However, if, like the poor devil of a painter, we must conform to this pious canon, de mortuis, etc.-which I own has a spice of piety in the sound of it,—and be obliged to paint both our angels and our devils out of the same pot, I then infer that our Sydenhams and Sangrados, our Lucretias and Messalinas, our Somers and our Bolingbrokes, are alike

entitled to statues; and all the historians or satirists who have said otherwise since they departed this life, from Sallust to S-e, are guilty of the crimes you charge me with'cowardice and injustice.'

world,-but not to that little world of your acquaintance, whose opinion and sentiments you call the general opinion of the best judges without exception, who all affirm (you say) that my book cannot be put into the hands of any woman of character. (I hope you except widows, doctor, for they are not all so squeamish; but I am told they are all really of my party, in return for some good offices done their interests in the 274th page of my first volume.) But for the chaste married, and chaste unmarried part of the sex, they must not read my book! Heaven forbid the stock of chastity should be lessened by the Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy,—

But why cowardice? 'Because 'tis not courage to attack a dead man who can't defend himself.' But why do you doctors of the faculty attack such a one with your incision-knife? Oh! for the good of the living. "Tis my plea; but I have something more to say in my behalf, and it is this, I am not guilty of the charge, tho' defensible. I have not cut up Doctor Kunastrokius at all. I have just scratch'd him, and that scarce skin deep. I do him first all honour-yes, his Opinions; it would certainly debauch speak of Kunastrokius as a great man (be he whom he will), and then most distantly hint at a droll foible in his character, and that not first reported (to the few who can even understand the hint) by me, but known before by every chamber-maid and footman within the bills of mortality. But Kunastrokius, you say, was a great man: 'tis that very circumstance which makes the pleasantry, for I could name at this instant a score of honest gentlemen who might have done the very thing which Kunastrokius did, and seen no joke in it at all. As to the failing of Kunastrokius, which you say can only be imputed to his friends as a misfortune, I see nothing like a misfortune in it, to any friend or relation of Kunastrokius, that Kunastrokius upon occasion should sit with ***** and *****—I have put these stars not to hurt your Worship's delicacy. If Kunastrokius, after all, is too sacred a character to be even smiled at (which is all I have done), he has had better luck than his betters. In the same page (without imputation of cowardice) I have said as much of a man of twice his wisdom,-and that is Solomon,-of whom I have made the same remark, That they were both great men, and, like all mortal men, had each their ruling passion.'

The consolation you give me, 'That my book, however, will be read enough to answer my design of raising a tax upon the public,' is very unconsolatory, to say nothing how very mortifying! By H-n! an author is worse treated than a common ***** at this rate. You will get a penny by your sins, and that's enough.' Upon this chapter let me comment. That I proposed laying the world under contribution when I set pen to paper, is what I own; and I suppose I may be allowed to have that view in my head in common with every other writer, to make my labour of advantage to myself.

Do you not do the same? But I beg I may add that, whatever views I had of that kind, I had other views, the first of which was the hopes of doing the world good, by ridiculing what I thought deserving of it, or of disservice to sound learning, etc. How I have succeeded, my book must show, and this I leave entirely to the

'em. God take them under his protection in this fiery trial, and send us plenty of duennas to watch the workings of their humours, till they have safely got through the whole work. If this will not be sufficient, may we have plenty of Sangrados to pour in plenty of cold water, till this terrible fermentation is over! As for the nummum in loculo, which you mention to me a second time, I fear you think me very poor, or in debt. I thank God, though I don't abound, that I have enough for a clean shirt every day and a mutton chop; and my contentment with this has thus far (and I hope ever will) put me above stooping an inch for it, even for 's estate. Curse on it, I like it not to that degree, nor envy (you may be sure) any man who kneels in the dirt for it; so that, however I may fall short of the ends proposed in commencing author, I enter this protest: first, that my end was honest; and secondly, that I wrote not to be fed, but to be famous. I am much obliged to Mr. Garrick for his very favourable opinion; but why, dear sir, had he done better in finding fault with it than in commending it? To humble me! An author is not so soon humbled as you imagine: no, but to make the book better by castrations, that is still sub judice; and I can assure you, upon this chapter, that the very passages and descriptions you propose that I should sacrifice in my second edition, are what are best relished by men of wit, and some others whom I esteem as sound critics; so that, upon the whole, I am still kept up, if not above fear, at least above despair, and have scen enough to show me the folly of an attempt of castrating my book to the prudish humours of particulars. I believe the short cut would be to publish this letter at the beginning of the third volume, as an apology for the first and second. I was sorry to find a censure upon the insincerity of some of my friends. I have no reason myself to reproach any one man. My friends have continued in the same opinions of my books which they first gave me on them; many, indeed, have thought better of 'em by considering them more, few worse.-I am, sir, your humble servant,

LAURENCE STERNE.

VII.-TO DAVID GARRICK, Esq.

[About April 1760.] Thursday, 11 o'clock-Night. DEAR SIR, 'Twas for all the world like a cut across my finger with a sharp pen-knife. I saw the blood-gave it a suck-wrapt it up-and thought no more about it.

But there is more goes to the healing of a wound than this comes to: a wound (unless it is a wound not worth talking of,-but, by the bye, mine is) must give you some pain after. Nature will take her own way with it; it must ferment,-it must digest.

The story you told me of Tristram's pretended tutor this morning,-my letter by right should have set out with this sentence, and then the simile would not have kept you a moment in suspense.

This vile story, I say, though I then saw both how and where it wounded,-I felt little from it at first, or, to speak more honestly (though it ruins my simile), I felt a great deal of pain from it, but affected an air usual on such accidents, of less feeling than I had.

I have now got home to my lodgings, since the play (you astonished me in it), and have been unwrapping this self-same wound of mine, and shaking my head over it this half hour.

What the devil! is there no one learned blockhead throughout the many schools of misapplied science in the Christian world, to make a tutor of for my Tristram?—ex quovis ligno non fit. Are we so run out of stock that there is no one lumber-headed, muddle-headed, mortar-headed, pudding-headed chap amongst our doctors? Is there no one single wight of much reading and no learning, amongst the many children in my mother's nursery, who bid high for this chargebut I must disable my judgment by choosing a Warburton ?-Vengeance! have I so little concern for the honour of my hero? Am I a wretch so void of sense, so bereft of feeling for the figure he is to make in story, that I should choose a preceptor to rob him of all the immortality I intended him? O! dear Mr. Garrick.

Malice is ingenious, unless where the excess of it outwits itself. I have two comforts in this stroke of it: the first is, that this one is partly of this kind; and secondly, that it is one of the number of those which so unfairly brought poor Yorick to his grave. The report might draw blood of the author of Tristram Shandy, but could not harm such a man as the author of the Divine Legation-God bless him! though (by the bye, and according to the natural course of descents) the blessing should come from him to me.

Pray have you no interest, lateral or collateral, to get me introduced to his Lordship? Why do you ask?

My dear sir, I have no claim to such an hon

our, but what arises from the honour and respect which, in the progress of my work, will be shown the world I owe to so great a man.

Whilst I am talking of owing, I wish, my dear sir, that anybody would tell you how much I am indebted to you. I am determined never to do it myself, or say more upon the subject than this, that I am yours, L. STERNE.

VIII. TO S― C-, Esq.

May 1760.

DEAR SIR,-I return you ten thousand thanks for the favour of your letter, and the account you give me of my wife and girl. I saw Mr. Ch--y to-night at Ranelagh, who tells me you have inoculated my friend Bobby. I heartily wish him well through, and hope in God all goes right.

On Monday we set on with a grand retinue of Lord Rockingham's (in whose suite I move) for Windsor: they have contracted for fourteen hundred pounds for the dinner, to some general undertaker, of which the K- has bargained to pay one-third. Lord George Sackville was last Saturday at the opera,-some say with great effrontery, others, with great dejection.

I have little news to add. There is a shilling pamphlet wrote against Tristram. I wish they would write a hundred such.

Mrs. Sterne says her purse is light: will you, dear sir, be so good as to pay her ten guineas? and I will reckon with you when I have the pleasure of meeting you. My best compliments to Mrs. C― and all friends. Believe me, dear sir, your obliged and faithful

LAU. STERNE.

IX.-TO THE SAME.

May 1760. DEAR SIR,-I this moment received the favour of your kind letter. The letter in the Ladies' Magazine about me was wrote by the noted Dr. Hill, who wrote the Inspector, and undertakes that magazine. The people of York are very uncharitable to suppose any man so gross a beast as to pen such a character of himself. In this great town no soul ever suspected it, for a thousand reasons. Could they suppose I should be such a fool as to fall foul upon Dr. Warburton, my best friend, by representing him so weak a man, or by telling such a lie of him, as his giving me a purse to buy off his tutorship for Tristram; or I should be fool

1 Prince Ferdinand, the Marquis of Rockingham, and Earl Temple, were installed Knights of the Garter, on

Tuesday, May 6th, 1769, at Windsor.

2 The Clockmaker's Outcry against the Author of Tristram Shandy. Svo.

3 The Royal Female Magazine, for April 1760.

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