Need no mechanic help to force the tear.
In heart felt 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.
LETTER LXXIX. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
Old Bond-street, April 21, 1767.
I Am sincerely affected, my dear Mr. and Mrs. J. — by your friendly enquiry, and the interest you are so good to take in my health. God knows I am not able to give a good account of myself, having passed a bad night in much feverish agitation. — My physician ordered me to bed, and to keep therein ‘till some favourable change — I fell ill the moment I got to my lodgings — he says it is owing to my taking James’s Powder, and venturing out on so cold a day as Sunday — but he is mistaken, for I am certain whatever bears that name must have efficacy with me — I was bled yesterday, and again to day, and have been almost dead, but this friendly enquiry from Gerrard-street has poured balm into what blood I have left — I hope still (and next to the sense of what I owe my friends) it shall be the last pleasurable sensation I will part with — if I continue mending, it will yet be some time before I shall have strength enough to get out in a carriage — my first visit will be a visit of true gratitude — I leave my kind friends to guess where — a thousand blessings go along with this, and may heaven preserve you both — Adieu my dear sir, and dear lady.
I am your ever obliged, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXX. TO THE EARL OF — .
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 treacherous supports — the feigned compassion of one — the flattery of a second — the civilities of a third — 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 to-morrow 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 grateful thanks, as well as my hearty acknowledgments for your friendly enquiry from Bath. Illness, my lord, has occasioned my silence — Death knocked at my door, but I would not admit him — the call was both unexpected and unpleasant — and I am seriously worn down to a shadow — and still very weak, but weak as I am, I have as whimsical a story to tell you as ever befel one of my family — Shandy’s nose, his name, his sash window are fools to it — it will serve at least to amuse you — The injury I did myself last month in catching cold upon James’s 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 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, 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 my 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 torment, which otherwise would put an end to me — and so have I been compelled to surrender myself — and thus, my dear lord, has your poor friend with all his sensibilities been 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 repects 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 the greatest regard,
my Lord,
your Lordship’s most faithful humble servant, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXII. TO J. D — N, ESQ.
Old Bond-street, Friday Morning.
I Was going, my dear D — n, to bed before I received your kind enquiry, 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 lock’d up my boots — and I go bootless home — and fear I shall go bootless all my life — Adieu, gentlest and best of souls — adieu.
I am yours most affectionately, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXIII. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
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 rout, 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 (as at the last) be happy together — My kind respects to a few. — I am, dear H.
truly yours, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXIV. FROM IGNATIUS SANCHO, TO MR. STERNE.
Reverend Sir,
IT would be an insult on your humanity (or perhaps look like it,) to apologize for the liberty I am taking. — I am one of those people whom the vulgar and illiberal call negroes. — The first part of my life was rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who judged ignor
ance the best and only security for obedience. — A little reading and writing I got by unwearied application. — The latter part of my life has been, thro’ God’s blessing, truly fortunate — having spent it in the service of one of the best and greatest families in the kingdom — my chief pleasure has been books — Philanthropy I adore — How very much, good Sir, am I (amongst millions) indebted to you for the character of your amiable Uncle Toby! — I declare I would walk ten miles in the dogdays, to shake hands with the honest Corporal. — Your sermons have touch’d me to the heart, and I hope have amended it, which brings me to the point — In your tenth discourse, page seventy-eight, in the second volume — is this very affecting passage —
“Consider how great a part of our species in all ages down to this — have been trod under the feet of cruel and capricious tyrants, who would neither hear their cries, nor pity their distresses. — Consider slavery — what it is — how bitter a draught — and how many millions are made to drink of it.”
— Of all my favourite authors not one has drawn a tear in favour of my miserable black brethren — excepting yourself, and the humane author of Sir Geo. Ellison. — I think you will forgive me; I am sure you will applaud me for beseeching you to give one half hour’s attention to slavery, as it is at this day practised in our West Indies. — That subject handled in your striking manner would ease the yoke (perhaps) of many — but if only of one — gracious God! what a feast to a benevolent heart! and sure I am, you are an epicurean in acts of charity. — You who are universally read, and as universally admired — you could not fail. — Dear Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted hands of thousands of my brother Moors. Grief (you pathetically observe) is eloquent: figure to yourself their attitudes; hear their supplicating addresses! — alas! you cannot refuse, — Humanity must comply — in which hope I beg permission to subscribe myself,
Reverend Sir, &c.
L S.
LETTER LXXXV. FROM MR. STERNE, TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
Coxwould, July 27, 1766.
THERE is a strange coincidence, Sancho, in the little events (as well as in the great ones) of this world: for I had been writing a tender tale of the sorrows of a friendless poor negro-girl, and my eyes had scarce done smarting with it, when your letter of recommendation, in behalf of so many of her brethren and sisters, 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 descends from the fairest face about St. James’s, to the sootiest complexion in Africa: — at which tint of these 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 uncommon 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 so. — For my own part, I never look westward, (when I am in a pensive mood at least) but I think of the burthens which our brothers and sisters are there carrying, and could I ease their shoulders from one ounce of them, I declare I would set out this hour upon a pilgrimage to Mecca for their sakes — which by the bye, Sancho, exceeds your walk of ten miles in about the same proportion, that a visit of humanity should 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 service of the afflicted — and a much greater matter; for in serious truth, it casts a sad shade upon the world, that so great a part of it are, and have been so long bound in chains of darkness, and in chains of misery; and I cannot but both respect and felicitate you, that by so much laudable diligence you have broke the one — and that by falling into the hands of so good and merciful a family, Providence has rescued you from the other.
And so good-hearted Sancho adieu! and believe me I will not forget your letter.
Yours, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXVI. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
Bond Street, Saturday.
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 duning 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 or 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 — .
LETTER LXXXVII. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
Coxwould, June 30.
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 out upon (if I chuse 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 thro’ the task I have set it this summer. — But I am a resign’d 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. — Farewel — I hope you will not forget your custom of giving me a call at my lodgings next winter — in the mean time I am very cordially,
My honest friend Sancho,
Yours, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXVIII. TO MRS. H.
Coxwould, October 12, 1767.
EVER since my dear H. wrote me word she was mine, more than ever woman was, I have been racking my memory to inform me where it was that you and I had that affair together. — People think that I have had many, some in body, some in mind, but as I told you before, you have had me more than any woman — therefore you must have had me, H — , both in mind, and in body. — Now I cannot recollect where it was, nor exactly when — it could not be the lady in Bond-street, or Grosvenor-street, or — Square, or Pall-mall. — We shall make it out, H. when we meet — I impatiently long for it— ’tis no matter — I cannot now stand writing to you to-day — I will make it up next post — for dinner is upon table, and if I make Lord F — stay, he will not frank this. — How do you do? Which parts of Tristram do you like best? — God bless you.
Yours, L. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXIX. TO MRS. H.
Coxwould, Nov. 15, 1767.
NOW be a good dear woman, my H — , and execute these commissions well — and when I see you I will give you a kiss — there’s for you! — But I have something else for you which I am fabricating at a great rate, and that is my Sentimental Journey, which shall make you cry as much as it has affected me — or I will give up the business of sentimental writing — and write to the body — that is H. what I am doing in writing to you — but you are a good body, which is worth half a score mean souls. —
I am yours, &c. &c. L. SHANDY.
LETTER XC. TO HIS EXCELLENCY SIR G. M.
Co
xwould, December 3, 1767.
My dear Friend,
FOR tho’ you are his Excellency, and I still but parson Yorick — I still must call you so — and were you to be next Emperor of Russia, I could not write to you, or speak of you, under any other relation — I felicitate you, I don’t say how much, because I can’t — I always had something like a kind of revelation within me, which pointed out this track for you, in which you are so happily advanced — it was not only my wishes for you, which were ever ardent enough to impose upon a visionary brain, but I thought I actually saw you just where you now are — and that is just, my dear Macartney, where you should be. — I should long, long ago have acknowledged the kindness of a letter of yours from Petersbourg; but hearing daily accounts you was leaving it — this is the first time I knew well where my thanks would find you — how they will find you, I know well — that is — the same I ever knew you. In three weeks I shall kiss your hand — and sooner, if I can finish my Sentimental Journey. — The duce take all sentiments! I wish there was not one in the world! — My wife is come to pay me a sentimental visit as far as from Avignon — and the politesses arising from such a proof of her urbanity, has robb’d me of a month’s writing, or I had been in town now. — I am going to ly-in; being at Christmas at my full reckoning — and unless what I shall bring forth is not press’d to death by these devils of printers, I shall have the honour of presenting to you a couple of as clean brats as ever chaste brain conceiv’d — they are frolicksome too, mais cela n’empeche pas — I put your name down with many wrong and right honourables, knowing you would take it not well if I did not make myself happy with it.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 110