Frame to yourself the picture of a man upwards of sixty years of age — who having with much penury and more toil, with the addition of a small legacy, scraped together about fourscore pounds to support him in the infirmities of old age, and to be a little portion for his child when he should be dead and gone — lost his little hoard ot once; and to aggravate his misfortune, by his own neglect and incaution.— “If I was young, Sir, (said he) my affliction would have been light — and I might have obtained it again! — but I have lost my comfort when I most wanted it! — my staff is taken from me when I cannot go alone; and I have nothing to expect in future life, but the unwilling charity of a Parish-Officer.” — Never in my whole life, did I wish to be rich, with so good a grace, as at this time! — What a luxury would it have been to have said to this afflicted fellow creature,— “There is thy money — go thy ways — and be at peace.” — But, alas! the Shandy family were never much encumbered with money; and I (the poorest of them all) could only assist him with good council: — but I did not stop here. — I went myself with him to ****, where by persuasion, threats, and some art, which (by the bye) in such a cause, and with such an opponent, was very justifiable — I sent my poor client back to his home, with his comfort and his bond restored to him. — Bravo! — bravo!
If a man has a right to be proud of any thing, — it is of a good action, done as it ought to be, without any base interest lurking at the bottom of it.
LETTER VI. TO HIS FRIENDS.
A SUBJECT FOR COMPASSION.
IF there is a case under heaven which calls out aloud for the more immediate exercise of compassion, and which may be looked upon as the compendium of all charity, surely it is this: and I am persuaded there would want nothing more to convince the greatest enemy to these kind of charities that it is so, but a bare opportunity of taking a nearer view of some of the more distressful objects of it.
Let him go into the dwellings of the unfortunate, into some mournful cottage, where poverty and affliction reign together. There let him behold the disconsolate widow — sitting — steeped in tears; — thus sorrowing over the infant she knows not how to succour.— “O my child, thou art now left exposed to a wide and a vicious world, too full of snares and temptations for thy tender and unpractised age. Perhaps a parent’s love may magnify those dangers — but when I consider thou art driven out naked into the midst of them without friends, without fortune, without instruction, my heart bleeds beforehand for the evils which may come upon thee. God, in whom we trusted, is witness, so low had his providence placed us, that we never indulged one wish to have made thee rich, — virtuous we would have made thee; — for thy father, my husband, was a good man, and feared the Lord, — and though all the fruits of his care and industry were little enough for our support, yet he honestly had determined to have spared some portion of it, scanty as it was, to have placed thee safely in the way of knowledge and instruction — But alas! he is gone from us, never to return more, and with him are fled the means of doing it: — For, Behold the creditor is come upon us, totake all that we have.” Grief is eloquent, and will not easily be imitated. — But let the man who is the least friend to distresses of this nature, conceive some disconsolate widow uttering her complaint even in this manner, and then let him consider, if there is any sorrow like THIS sorrow, wherewith the Lord has afflicted her? or whether there can be any charity like that, of taking the child out of the mother’s bosom, and rescuing her from these apprehensions? Should a heathen, a stranger to our holy religion and the love it teached, should he, as he journeyed, come to the place where SHE LAY, when he saw, would he not have compassion on her? God forbid a Christian should this day want it! or at any time look upon such a distress, and pass by on the other side. Rather let him do, as his Saviour taught him, bind up the wounds, and pour comfort into the heart of one, whom the hand of God has so bruised. Let him practise what it is, with Elijah’s transport, to say to the afflicted widow, — See, thy Son liveth! liveth by my charity, and the bounty of this hour, to all the purposes which make life desirable, — to be made a good man, and a profitable subject: on one hand, to be trained up to such a sense of his duty, as may secure him an interest in the world to come; and with regard to this world, to be so brought up in it to a love of honest labour and industry, as all his life long to earn and eat his bread with joy and thankfulness.
SERMON V. PAGE 112.
COMPASSION.
I CANNOT conceive but that the very mechanical motions which maintain life, must be performed with more equal vigour and freedom in that man whom a great and good soul perpetually inclines to shew mercy to the miserable, than they can be in a poor, sordid, selfish wretch, whose little contracted heart melts at no man’s affliction; but sits brooding so intently over its own plots and concerns, as to see and feel nothing; and in truth, enjoy nothing beyond himself: and of whom one may say what that great master of nature has, speaking of a natural sense of harmony, which I think with more justice may be said of compassion, that the man who had it not, —— Was fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils: The MOTIONS of his spirits are dull as night; And his affections dark as EREBUS: — Let no such man be trusted: —
SERMON V. P. 102
HAPPINESS.
THE great pursuit of man is after happiness: it is the first and strongest desire of his nature; — in every stage of his life, he searches for it as for hid treasure; — courts it under a thousand different shapes, — and though perpetually disappointed, — still persists, — runs after and enquires for it afresh — asks every passenger who comes in his way, Who will shew him any good? who will assist him in the attainment of it or direct him to the discovery of this great end of all his wishes?
He is told by one to search for it among the more gay and youthful pleasures of life, in scenes of mirth and sprightliness, where happiness ever presides, and is ever to be known by the joy and laughter which he will see at once painted in her looks. A second, with a graver aspect, points out to the costly dwellings which pride and extravagance have erected: — tells the enquirer that the object he is in search of inhabits there, — that happiness lives only in company with the great, in the midst of much pomp and outward state. That he will easily find her out by the coat of many colours she has on, and the great luxury and expense of equipage and furniture with which she always sits surrounded.
The Miser blesses God! — wonders how any one would mislead and wilfully put him upon so wrong a scent — convinces him that happiness and extravagance never inhabited under the same roof; — that if he would not be disappointed in his search, he must look into the plain and thrifty dwelling of the prudent man, who knows and understands the worth of money, and cautiously lays it up against an evil hour: that it is not the prostitution of wealth upon the passions, or the parting with it at all that constitutes happiness — but that it is the keeping it together, and the having and holding it fast to him and his heirs for ever, which are the chief attributes that form this great idol of human worship, to which so much incense is offered up every day.
The Epicure, though he easily rectifies so gross a mistake, yet at the same time he plunges him, if possible, into a greater; for hearing the object of his pursuit to be happiness, and knowing of no other happiness than what is seated immediately in his senses — he sends the enquirer there; — tells him ’tis in vain to search elsewhere for it, than where nature herself has placed it — in the indulgence and gratification of the appetites, which are given us for that end: and in a word — if he will not take his opinion in the matter — he may trust the word of a much wiser man, who has assured us — that there is nothing better in this world, than that a man should eat and drink and rejoice in his works, and make his soul enjoy good in his labour — for that is his portion.
To rescue him from this brutal experiment — ambition takes him by the hand and carries him into the world, — shews him all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them, — points out the many ways of advancing his fortune and raising himsel
f to honour, — lays before his eyes all the charms and bewitching temptations of power, and asks if there can be any happiness in this world like that of being caressed, courted, flattered, and followed?
To close all, the philosopher meets him bustling in the full career of this pursuit — stops him — tells him, if he is in search of happiness, he is far gone out of his way. That this deity has long been banished from noise and tumults, where there was no rest found for her, and was fled into folitude far from all commerce of the world; and, in a word, if he would find her, he must leave this busy and intriguing scene, and go back to that peaceful scene of retirement and books, from which he first set out.
In this circle too often does a man run, tries all experiments, and generally sits down wearied and dissatisfied with them all at last — in utter despair of ever accomplishing what he wants — nor knowing what to trust to after so many disappointments; or where to lay the fault, whether in the incapacity of his own nature, or in the insufficiency of the enjoyments themselves.
SERMON I. P. I.
TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION.
MY heart stops me to pay to thee, my dear uncle Toby, once for all, the tribute I owe thy goodness; — here let me thrust my chair aside, and kneel down upon the ground, whilst I am pouring forth the warmest sentiments of love for thee, and veneration for the excellency of thy character, that ever virtue and nature kindled in a nephew’s bosom. — Peace and comfort rest for evermore upon thy head! — Thou enviedst no man’s comforts, — insultedst no man’s opinions. — Thou blackenedst no man’s character, — devouredst no man’s bread: gently, with faithful Trim behind thee, didst thou amble round the little circle of thy pleasures, jostling no creature in thy way: — for each one’s service thou hadst a tear, — for each man’s need, thou hadst a shilling. Whilst I am worth one, to pay a weeder, — thy path from thy door to thy bowling green shall never be grown up. — Whilst there is a rood and a half of land in the Shandy family, thy fortifications, my dear uncle Toby, shall never be demolish’d.
T. SHANDY, VOL. II. CHAP. 27.
POWER OF SLIGHT INCIDENTS.
IT is curious to observe the triumph of slight incidents over the mind; — What incredible weight they have in forming and governing our opinions, both of men and things — that trifles light as air, shall waft a belief into the soul, and plant it so immoveable within it, — that Euclid’s demonstrations, could they be brought to batter it in breach, should not all have power to overthrow it.
T. SHANDY, VOL. 2. CHAP. 62.
CROSSES IN LIFE.
MANY, many are the ups and downs of life, and fortune must be uncommonly gracious to that mortal who does not experience a great variety of them: — though perhaps to these may be owing as much of our pleasures as our pains: there are scenes of delight in the vale as well as the mountain; and the inequalities of nature may not be less necessary to please the eye — than the varieties of life to improve the heart. At best we are but a short-sighted race of beings, with just light enough to discern our way — to do that is our duty, and should be our care; when a man has done this, he is safe, the rest is of little consequence —
“ Cover his head with a turf or a stone,
“ It is all one, it is all one!
LETTER IV. TO HIS FRIENDS.
THE CONTRAST.
THINGS are carried on in this world, sometimes so contrary to all our reasonings, and the seeming probabilities of success, — that even the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; — nay, what is stranger still — nor yet bread to the wise, who should last stand in want of it, — nor yet riches to the men of understanding, who you would think best qualified to acquire them, — nor yet favour to men of skill, whose merit and pretences bid the fairest for it, — but that there are some secret and unseen workings in human affairs, which baffle all our endeavours, and turn aside the course of things in such a manner, — that the most likely causes disappoint and fail of producing for us the effect which we wished, and naturally expected from them.
You will see a man, of whom was you to form a conjecture from the appearances of things in his favour, — you would say was setting out in the world, with the fairest prospect of making his fortune in it; — with all the advantages of birth to recommend him, — of personal merit to speak for him, — and of friends to push him forwards: you will behold him, notwithstanding this, disappointed in every effect you might naturally have looked for, from them; every step he takes towards his advancement, something invisible shall pull him back, some unforeseen obstacle shall rise up perpetually in his way, and keep there. — In every application he makes — some untoward circumstance shall blast it. — He shall rise early, — late take rest, — and eat the bread of carefulness, — yet some happier man shall still rise up, and ever step in before him, and leave him struggling to the end of his life, in the very same place in which he first began it.
The history of a second, shall in all respects be the contrast to this. He shall come into the world with the most unpromising appearance, — shall set forwards without fortune, without friends, — without talents to procure him either the one or the other. Nevertheless, you will see this clouded prospect brighten up insensibly, unaccountably before him; every thing presented in his way shall turn out beyond his expectations, in spite of that chain of unsurmountable difficulties which first threatened him, — time and chance shall open him a way, — a series of successful occurrences shall lead him by the hand to the summit of honour and fortune, and, in a word, without giving him the pains of thinking, or the credit of projecting, it shall place him in a safe possession of all that ambition could wish for.
SERMON VIII. PAGE 152.
SELFISHNESS AND MEANNESS.
THAT there is selfishness and meanness enough in the souls of one part of the world, to hurt the credit of the other part of it, is what I shall not dispute against; but to judge of the whole from this bad sample, and because one man is plotting and artful in his nature; — or, a second openly makes his pleasure or his profit the whole center of all his designs; — or because a third strait-hearted wretch sits confined within himself, — feels no misfortunes, but those which touch himself; to involve the whole race without mercy under such detested characters, is a conclusion as false as it is pernicious; and was it in general to gain credit, could serve no end, but the rooting out of our nature all that is generous, and planting in the stead of it such an aversion to each other, as must untie the bands of society, and rob us of one of the greatest pleasures of it, the mutual communications of kind offices; and by poisoning the fountain, rendering every thing suspected that flows through it.
SERMON VII. PAGE 137.
VICE NOT WITHOUT USE.
THE lives of bad men are not without use, — and whenever such a one is drawn, not with a corrupt view to be admired, — but on purpose to be detested — it must excite such a horror against vice, as will strike indirectly the same good impression. And though it is painful to the last degree to paint a man in the shades which his vices have cast upon him, yet when it serves this end, it carries its own excuse with it.
SERMON IX. PAGE 173.
EFFECTS OF MISFORTUNE.
WHAT by successive misfortunes; by failings and cross accidents in trade; by miscarriage of projects: — what by unsuitable expences of parents, extravagances of children, and the many other secret ways whereby riches make themselves wings and fly away; so many surprising revolutions do every day happen in families, that it may not seem strange to say, that the posterity of some of the most liberal contributors here, in the changes which one century may produce, may possibly find shelter under this very plant which now they so kindly water. Nay, so quickly sometimes has the wheel turned round, that many a man has lived to enjoy the benefit of that charity which his own piety projected.
SERMON V. PAGE 98.
YORICK’S OPINION OF GRAVITY.
SOMETIMES, in his wild way of talking, he would say that gravity was an errant scoundrel; and he would add,
of the most dangerous kind too, — because a sly one; and that he verily believed, more honest, well-meaning people were bubbled out of their goods and money by it in one twelvemonth, than by pocket-picking and shop-lifting in seven. In the naked temper which a merry heart discovered, he would say, there was no danger, — but to itself: — whereas the very essence of gravity was design, and consequently deceit;— ’twas a taught trick to gain credit of the world for more sense and knowledge than a man was worth; and that, with all its pretensions, — it was no better, but often worse than what a French wit had long ago defined it, viz. — A mysterious carriage of the body to cover the defects of the mind.
T. SHANDY, VOL. 1. C. 11.
REFLECTION UPON MAN.
WHEN I reflect upon man; and take a view of that dark side of him which represents his life as open to so many causes of trouble — when I consider how oft we eat the bread of affliction, and that we are born to it, as to the portion of our inheritance — when one runs over the catalogue of all the cross reckonings and sorrowful items with which the heart of man is over-charged, ’tis wonderful by what hidden resources the mind is enabled to stand it out, and bear itself up, as it does against the impositions laid upon our nature.
T. SHANDY, VOL. 11. CHAP. 42.
REVENGE.
REVENGE from some baneful corner shall level a tale of dishonour at thee, which no innocence of heart or integrity of conduct shall set right.
— The fortunes of thy house shall totter, — thy character, which led the way to them, shall bleed on every side of it, — thy faith questioned, — thy works belied, — thy wit forgotten, — thy learning trampled on. To wind up the last scene of thy tragedy, CRUELTY and COWARDICE, twin ruffians, hired and set on by MALICE in the dark, shall strike together at all thy infirmities and mistakes: the best of us, lie open there, — and trust me, — trust me, — when, to gratify a private appetite, it is once resolved upon, that an innocent and an helpless creature shall be sacrificed, ’tis an easy matter to pick up sticks enow from any thicket where it has strayed, to make a fire to offer it up with.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 138