THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE
THE
WORKS AND LIFE
OF
LAURENCE STERNE.
YORK EDITION.
The Sutton Issue of the Life and Works of
Laurence Sterne, printed at The Westminster Press,
New York, is limited to Seven Hundred and Fifty Sets,
of which this is Set No 4 i )
_ iili'M,
THE
Journal
I f
AND
V AH iOl
TrTnT^T-'-m r-^
BY
LAIJRl^.iNCii. biERNE
ELIZABEli
WITH AH
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Laurence Sterrn- Rtchinir bv Hedouin.
THE
Journal to Eliza
AND
VARIOUS LETTERS
BY
LAURENCE STERNE
AND
Ml
ELIZABETH DRAPER
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
WILBUR L. CROSS
fmmm
J. F. TAYLOR & COMPANY
NEW YORK
"D
lid -j
Copyright Ifiot, by
J. F. Taylor & CoiMPANY
NEW YORK
The Westminster Press
THE
Journal to Eliza
AND
VARIOUS LETTERS
TAKEN FROM
THE GIBBS MANUSCRIPTS
AND
OTHER SOURCES
MOSTLY PUBLISHED NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME
CONTENTS
Pagb
Introduction ii
Letters from Yorick to Eliza 15
The Journal to Eliza 51
Original Letters of Laurence Sterne . . . 155
Letters of Elizabeth Draper 165
An Eulogy by the Abbe Raynal 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Laurence Sterne. Etching by Hedouin Frontispiece
Tomb of Eliza Draper in Bristol Cathedral 50
Commodore James, by Sir Joshua Reynolds 157
Belvidere House, by Lee Woodward Zeigler, from an
original sketch by J. B. Frazer 173
Abbe Raynal 279
INTRODUCTION
INTRODUCTION.
ELIZABETH DRAPER.
STERNE married Miss Lumley of York.
He afterwards held sentimental con-
verse with Miss Fourmantelle, Lady
Percy, "My witty widow Mrs. F — ," &c.,
&c. But his one passion was for the Eliza
to whom this volume is dedicated. " Not
Swift," he wrote to her just before she
sailed for India, * ' so loved his Stella,
Scarron his Maintenon, or Waller his
Sacharissa, as I will love and sing thee,
my wife elect ! All those names, emi-
nent as they are, shall give place to thine,
Eliza."
Mrs. Elizabeth Draper was daughter to one
May Sclater who went out to India when
a mere boy. He married there a Miss
Whitehill, and settled at Anjengo, a small
factory on the coast of Malabar, where
Elizabeth was born on April 5, 1744. In
iii
INTRODUCTION
due time she was sent to England for the
' * frivolous education ' ' accorded to ' ' girls
destined for India. " ' * The generality of
us," she wrote in sorrowful retrospect,
<< * # # Yirere never instructed in the Im-
portance of any thing, but one Worldly
Point, that of getting an Establishment of
the Lucrative kind, as soon as possible,
a tolerable complection, an Easy manner,
some degree of taste in the adjustment of
our ornaments, some little skill in dancing
a minuet, and singing an air." With no
training in * ' useful Employments, ' ' she re-
turned to India in her fourteenth year to
become, six months later, the wife of
Daniel Draper, her elder by some twenty
years. Since 1750 Draper had been in the
service of the East India Company, and in
1759, the year after his marriage, he was
appointed Secretary to the Government at
Bombay, where with some interruptions he
continued for the rest of his life in India.
His faithful services were eventually re-
warded by a seat in the Council and the
post of Accountant General. If a some-
what heavy official, he was described by a
friend and admirer as "a very noble and
iv
INTRODUCTION
good-humoured man." There was nothing
unusual about the Draper marriage, which
now seems so ill-sorted in respect to age;
and we may suppose that neither husband
nor wife found it too uncomfortable. A
boy was born in 1759, and two years later
a girl, named for her mother — the Eliza or
Betsey who figures in one of the letters.
In 1765, the Drapers brought their children
to England that they might be given an
English education. Later in the same year
Mr. Draper went back to Bombay, but his
wife remained in England to recover her
health, which had been much weakened by
child-bearing and the heat of India.
There was then living in Gerrard Street,
Soho, a retired Indian commodore named
William James. After making a fortune in
the Bombay Marine Service, he returned to
England, married an attractive wife, and
soon won a place in the ' ' best ' ' London
society. Early in 1767, Sterne began going
to the Jameses for dinner, especially of a
Sunday; and the friendship quickly became
intimate. Under date of February 23, Sterne
wrote to his daughter Lydia : "I wish I had
you with me — and I would introduce you to
INTRODUCTION
one of the most amiable and gentlest of be-
ings, whom 1 have just been with — * * * a
Mrs. James, the wife of as worthy a man as
I ever met with — I esteem them both." It
was no doubt at the house of these " kind
friends in Gerrard Street" that Sterne made
the acquaintance of Mrs. Draper — and most
likely on his arrival in London at the very
beginning of January, 1767. Half in love on
first sight, Sterne soon became completely
engrossed with his new passion. And well
he might, for though Eliza may not have
been handsome, she was young, good look-
ing at least, and most agreeable in manner.
"Your eyes," Sterne wrote to her, "and the
shape of your face (the latter the most per-
fect oval I ever saw) * * * are equal to any
of God's works in a similar way, and finer
than any I beheld in all my travels. ' ' Mrs.
Draper was then called by her London friends,
says one of her letters, the Belle Indiari.
Sterne saw much of her at the Jameses;
she visited his lodgings in Old Bond Street;
they made excursions together in and about
London ; and when separated from her,
Sterne communed with her ' ' sweet senti-
mental picture." As the time was ap-
vi
INTRODUCTION
preaching for her to return to India — she
sailed on April 3, 1767 — he addressed to
her the extraordinary epistles that all the
world knows, and for months afterwards he
recorded his sensations in a journal which
he hoped some day to place in her hands.
The sojourn of Mrs. Draper in England
had been to the change and harm of her
character. With her little knowledge of the
world, she took Sterne and her flatterers too
seriously. She was no doubt attractive in
appearance, with her oval face and light
airs, but her admirers said to her face that
she was beautiful ; and worse than that, they
tried to make out that she possessed quali-
ties of mind which, if cultivated, would
surely lead to distinction in literature. They
sent her back to the dull humdrum of India
with the literary ambitions of Mrs. Montagu
and the blue-stockings. Henceforth she was
to find at Bombay a great "Dearth of every
thing which could charm the Heart — please
the Fancy, or speak to the judgment." Still
Mrs. Draper seems for a time to have made
the best of the situation. Writing from Tel-
licherry in 1769 to a friend in England, she
spoke with respect if not with enthusiasm of
vii
INTRODUCTION
her husband, whom she was assisting in his
official correspondence. But by 1772 she
became thoroughly sick of India and of her
husband in particular. In a letter to Mrs.
James from Bombay she lamented that she
was compelled to remain in a detestable
country, where her health was declining,
and her mind was tortured by the desire
to return to England and be with her
daughter. At this time she was no longer
living with Draper as a wife, and for suffi-
cient reasons, for he was engaged in open
intrigue with an attendant — a Mrs. Leeds.
In retaliation and despair, Mrs. Draper
abruptly left her husband on the night of
January 14-15, 1773, in company with Sir
John Clark of the Navy, then in command
of a frigate at Bombay. She sought refuge
for a time with a ' ' kind uncle, ' ' Tom
Whitehill, at Rajahmandry, and the next
year she returned to England, where much
attention was paid to her as Sterne's Eliza.
She associated, perhaps not to her good
fame, with John Wilkes the politician ;
and, if an anecdote of Rogers is to be
trusted, William Combe, the literary hack,
could boast ' ' that it was with him, not
viii
INTRODUCTION
with Sterne, that EHza was in love."
More to be pitied than to be censured,
the unfortunate Mrs. Draper died at Bristol
on August 3, 1778, in the thirty- fifth year
of her age.
Mrs. Draper was buried in the cloisters
of Bristol Cathedral, where to her memory
stands a monument symbolizing in its two
draped figures Genius and Benevolence, the
qualities given her in the inscription. The
next year the Abbe Raynal, the French
historian of the Indies — over whom Mrs.
Draper had cast her spells, first in India
and afterwards in England — wrote about
her in mad eulogy. He had wept, he said,
with Eliza over Sterne; and at the time of
her death, she was intending to quit her
country for a life with him in France. "A
statuary," he goes on to say in description
of Mrs. Draper, "who would have wished to
represent Voluptuousness, would have taken
her for his model; and she would equally
have served for him who might have had
a figure of Modesty to display. =^ * *^ Every
instant increased the delight she inspired;
every instant rendered her more interesting.
# # # Eliza then was very beautiful? No,
ix
INTRODUCTION
she was simply beautiful: but there was no
beauty she did not eclipse, because she was
the only one that was like herself." ^And
long afterwards, James Forbes, to whose
Oriental Memoirs we owe so much for the
social India of those days, paid his tribute
to Mrs. Draper. Anjengo he averred would
ever be celebrated as the birthplace of Eliza:
' ' a lady with whom I had the pleasure of
being acquainted at Bombay, whose refined
tastes and elegant accomplishments require
no encomium from my pen." To the vari-
ous places where Mrs. Draper lived in India
the curious long made pilgrimages. Colonel
James Welsh of the Madras infantry visited
the house at Anjengo where she was sup-
posed to be born, and carried away from a
broken window pieces of oyster- shell and
mother-of-pearl as mementos. He took pains
to write also in his Memoirs that the house
she lived in at Tellicherry was still standing
in 1812. Belvidere House, at Mazagon, over-
looking the harbour at Bombay — the house
from an upper window of which Eliza es-
caped by a rope ladder to the ship of Sir
* Quoted from the English translation in The European
Magazine, March, 1784. Consult Raynal, Histoire Philosophique
et Politique (Book III, new edition, Paris, 1780),
INTRODUCTION
John Clark — was long believed to be haunted
by her spirit, ' * flitting about in corridor or
verandah in hoop and farthingale." Sketches
of Belvidere were brought to England by J.
B. Fraser, the traveller and explorer; and
from them Robert Burford painted a pano-
rama* for public exhibition in London. For
nearly a century, it is said, a tree on the
estate of her uncle Tom Whitehill at Masuli-
patam was called Eliza's tree in memory of
her sojourn there.
* A vignette of the view was made for The Mirror of
Literature, Amusement and Instruction (July 9, 1831).
XI
INTRODUCTION
LETTERS FROM YORICK TO ELIZA.
AS narrated in the introduction to the
first volume of Letters and Miscel-
lanieSy Mrs. Draper was induced to
print some of the letters that she received
from Sterne in the spring of 1767. The
slight volume, with the dedication and pre-
face reproduced here, made its appearance in
February, 1775. Except for the ten letters
that this volume contained, the correspondence
between Sterne and Mrs. Draper seems to
have been lost. Among the lost letters,
were several from Sterne, and all of Mrs.
Draper's replies covering the same period.
The latter were so many that Sterne spent
an entire afternoon in sorting and arranging
them. And to be lamented much more is
the disappearance of the long ship letters
that passed between the Bramin and Bra-
mine in the summer and fall of the same
year. In May, Sterne took four days for
an overland letter to Mrs. Draper and in
August he dispatched another to chaperon
one from Mrs. James. While in his retreat at
xiii
INTRODUCTION
Coxwold he wept for an evening and a
morning over Eliza's narration of the dan-
gers and miseries of her voyage. * ' Thou
wouldst win me by thy Letters," he records
in his jom-nal to her, "had I never seen thy
face or known thy heart."
The ten letters that have survived bore
when written no date except the hour of
the day or the day of the week, and they
were published by Mrs. Draper without any
indication of date whatever. The first brief
note, sent with a present of the Sermons
and Tristram Shandy, evidently belongs to
January, perhaps to the last week of the
month when appeared the ninth volume
of Shandy. And very soon afterwards,
no doubt, Sterne dispatched the second
note in which he would persuade Eliza
to admit him as physician in her illness,
notwithstanding '* the etiquettes of this
town say otherwise." The succeeding eight
letters were daily missives from Sterne to
Eliza while she was at Deal waiting for
the signal of embarkation from the Earl of
Chatham, which was to bear her to India.
On her departure the blood broke from
poor Yorick's heart.
xiv
INTRODUCTION
THE GIBBS MANUSCRIPTS.
THESE manuscripts are by far the most
important Sterne discovery of the nine-
teenth century. They are named from
their former owner, Thomas Washbourne
Gibbs, a gentleman of Bath, into whose
possession they came midway in the cen-
tury. How this piece of good fortune hap-
pened to him, we leave to his own pen to
relate :
"Upon the death of my father," he
writes, ' ' when I was eleven years old, a
pile of old account books, letters, common-
place books, and other papers of no docu-
mentary value was set aside as waste, and
placed in a room where I used to play.
I looked through the papers, and found the
journal and letters. An early fondness for
reading had made me acquainted with the
well-known extracts from the writings of
Sterne— 'The Story of Maria,' 'The Sword,'
' The Monk, ' ' Le Fevre, ' and a small book
containing the ' Letters of Yorick and Eliza, '
XV
INTRODUCTION
and finding these names in the letters and
book, I took all I could find, and obtained
permission to preserve them, and they have
been in my possession ever since. How
they came into the hands of my father,
who was a great reader, and had a large
collection of books, I never had any means
of knowing."
Mr. Gibbs showed the curious manuscripts
to his friends, and in May, 1851, sent a part
of them to Thackeray, then at work upon
the English Humourists. Except for a men-
tion of this incident in a Roundabout (the
pages were afterwards suppressed), nothing
was publicly known concerning the manu-
scripts until March, 1878, when Mr. Gibbs
read before the Bath Literary Institution
a paper on ' ' Some Memorials of Laurence
Sterne," the substance of which was printed
in The Athenceum for March 30, 1878. On
the death of Mr. Gibbs in 1894, the manu-
scripts passed under his bequest to the
British Museum. They are numbered 34527
among the additional manuscripts acquired
in 1894-1899. They contain:
1. The Journal to Eliza.
2. A Letter from Sterne at Coxwold to
xvi
INTRODUCTION
Mr. and Mrs. James, dated August 10,
1767.
3. A Letter from Sterne at York to
Mr. and Mrs. James, dated December 28,
1767.
4. Draft of a Letter from Laurence
Sterne to Daniel Draper.
5. A Letter from Elizabeth Draper at
Bombay to Anne James, dated April 15,
1772.
6. Two Letters from W. M. Thackeray
to J. W. Gibbs dated May 31, and Sep-
tember 12, [1851.]
About the genuineness of every part of
this manuscript material there can be no
doubt. The Journal to Eliza and the let-
ters to Mr. and Mrs. James and to Daniel
Draper are in Sterne's own hand-writing.
The first letter "has been through the post,
and is franked by Lord Fauconberg, the
patron of the Coxwold living." The
second letter has also passed through the
post. The letter from Mrs. Draper is like-
wise in her own hand. And to the Thack-
eray letters have been preserved the original
covering envelopes.
xvii
INTRODUCTION
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA.
NEARLY one half of the manuscript
volume just described is occupied by
The Journal to Eliza, or The Bra-
mine^s Journal, as Sterne perhaps intended to
call it. On the first page is a note by Sterne
himself, wherein it is said, with a character-
istic attempt at mystification, that the names
' ' Yorick and Draper — and sometimes the
Bramin and Bramine"* — are fictitious, and
that the entire record is * ' a copy from a
French manuscript — in Mr. S s hands."
Then follow seventy-six pages of writing,
with about twenty-eight lines to the page,
and finally a page with only a few words
upon it. The leaves are folio in size, and
except in the case of the first and the last,
both sides are written upon.
This curious diary was composed during the
first months after Sterne's separation from
• Mrs. Draper called Sterne the Bramin in allusion to his
priestly character; and he kept up the fiction by addressing
her as the Bramine.
xix
INTRODUCTION
Mrs. Draper. On a certain day late in
March 1767, Sterne handed Mrs. Draper
into a postchaise for Deal, and turned away
to his London lodgings ' ' in anguish. ' ' Be-
fore parting, each promised to keep an inti-
mate journal that they might have "mu-
tual testimonies to deliver hereafter to each
other," should they again meet. While
Mrs. Draper was at Deal making prepara-
tions for her voyage to India, Sterne sent
her all that he had written; and on the
thirteenth of April he forwarded by a Mr.
Watts, then departing for Bombay, a second
instalment of his record. These two sections
of Sterne's journal — and likewise all of Mrs.
Draper's, for we know that she kept one —
have disappeared. The extant part begins on
the thirteenth of April, 1767 and comes down
to the fourth of August in the same year.
The sudden break was occasioned by the
expected return of Mrs. Sterne from France,
where she had been living for some time.
After her arrival at Cox wold, the journal
could be carried on only by stealth; and
besides that, Sterne felt her presence — and
even the thought of it — a restraint upon
the fancy. A postscript was added on the
INTRODUCTION
first of November announcing that Mrs.
Sterne and Lydia had just gone to York
for the winter, while he himself was to
remain at Coxwold to complete the Senti-
mental Journey. There were hints that the
journal would be resumed as soon as he
reached London in the following January.
But Sterne probably did not carry out his
intention. At least nothing is known of a
later effort.
In Sterne's introductory note, the Journal
is described as * ' a Diary of the miserable
feelings of a person separated from a Lady
for whose Society he languished. " Already
worn out by a long stretch of dinners,
Sterne completely broke down under the
strain of Mrs. Draper's departure for India.
"Poor sick-headed, sick-hearted Yorick ! "
he exclaims, ' ' Eliza has made a shadow of
thee." As his illness increased, the Sunday
visits in Gerrard Street were broken-off, and
the sick and dejected lover shut himself up
in his lodgings to abstinence and reflection.
To allay the "fever of the heart" with
which he was wasting, he had recourse to
Dr. James's Powder, a popular remedy of
the period which, so said the advertisement,
xxi
INTRODUCTION
would cure "any acute fever in a few hours,
though attended with convulsions." On go-
ing out too soon after taking the nostrum,
Sterne caught cold and came near dying.
Physicians were called in, and twelve ounces
of blood were taken from the patient in
order "to quiet," says Sterne, "what was
left in me." The next day the bandage on
his arm broke loose and he ' ' half bled to
death ' ' before he was aware of it. Four
days later he found himself much "im-
proved in body and mind." On feeling
his pulse, the doctors "stroked their beards
and look'd ten per c^ wiser." The patient
was now in condition for their last prescrip-
tion: I "am still," he writes, "to run thro'
a Course of Van Sweeten's corrosive Mer-
cury, or rather Van Sweeten's Course of
Mercury is to run thro' me." The doctors
dismissed, Sterne finally experimented at
his own risk with a French tincture called
L'Extraite de Saturne, and on the next day
he was able to dine out once more.
During his illness his "room was allways
full of friendly Visitors," and the "rapper
eternally going with Cards and enquiries."
With these friends, among whom were
INTRODUCTION
Lord and Lady Spencer, he had yet to
dine; and then on the twenty second of
May he set out for Yorkshire. On the
twenty eighth he reached his * ' thatched
cottage ' ' at Coxwold, and began another
course of corrosive Mercury. His ' ' face as
pale and clear as a Lady after her Lying
in," he rose from his bed to take the air
every day in his postchaise drawn by ' ' two
fine horses," and by the middle of June he
was "well and alert." So he went over to
Hall-Stevenson's at Crazy Castle, where on
the neighboring beach, "as even as a mir-
rour of 5 miles in Length," squire and par-
son ran daily races in their chaises, "with
one wheel in the Sea, & the other in the
Sand." In the course of the summer,
Sterne paid another visit to Crazy Castle;
Hall- Stevenson came to Coxwold for a day or
two, and they went together to Harrogate
to drink the waters. By the 27th of July
they were back at York for the races. At
the beginning of the next month, Sterne
was ' ' hurried backwards and forwards ab*^
the arrival of Madame" — an event that had
long been impending to the suspense and
torture of his mind.
xxiii
INTRODUCTION
To some the Journal will be most inter-
esting for the light it sheds upon Sterne's
doings for four months in the last year of
his life. By it may be determined the dates
of letters and the order of Sterne's move-
ments in London and then in Yorkshire. It
is no doubt a fragment of trustworthy auto-
biography. To others it may appeal as a
Shandean essay. Indeed Sterne himself
thought the story of his illness — especially
in its first stages — as good as any of the
accidents that befell Mr. Tristram Shandy.
All will see that the Journal is a senti-
mental document. For just as in the Senti-
mental Journey, Sterne here lets his fancy
play about trivial incidents and trivial things.
A cat as well as a donkey may become an
emotional theme:
"Eating my fowl," he records for July 8,
"and my trouts & my cream & my straw-
berries, as melanchoUy as a Cat; for want of
you — by the by, I have got one which sits
quietly besides me, purring all day to my
sorrows — & looking up gravely from time to
time in my face, as if she knew my Situa-
tion. — how soothable my heart is Eliza,
when such little things sooth it! for in
xxiv
INTRODUCTION
some pathetic sinkings I feel even some
support from this poor Cat — I attend to
her purrings — & think they harmonize me —
they are pianissimo at least, & do not dis-
turb me. — poor Yorickl to be driven, wt^
all his sensibilities, to these resources — all
powerful Eliza, that has had this magic!
authority over him; to bend him thus to
the dust."
With him was always the picture of
Eliza, who had sat for him just before
going down to Deal. It may have been
one of Cosway's ; but we do not know,
for it has disappeared along with all other
portraits of Mrs. Draper. It rested upon his
table as he wrote his daily record of inci-
dent and emotion. To it he said his ma-
tins and vespers, and felt all his murmurs
quieted by the spirit that spoke to him
from the " gentle sweet face." " I've
been," he says, "as far as York to day
with no Soul with me in my Chase, but
yT Picture — for it has a Soul I think — or
something like one which has talk'd to me,
& been the best Company I ever took a
Journey with." He showed the portrait to
the Archbishop of York — "his Grace, his
XXV
INTRODUCTION
Lady and Sister" — and told them "a short
but interesting Story" of his "friendship for
the original." It was taken over to Crazy
Castle where it went round the table after
supper and Eliza's health with it. And
finally, says Sterne, in allusion to the Senti-
jiiental Journey, " I have brought yr name
Eliza! and Picture into my work — where
they will remain — when you and I are at
rest for ever." But with Sterne sentiment
must end in humor ; and so came that
daring fancy of some Dryasdust commenting
in a far distant time on Yorick and Eliza:
' ' Some Annotator, ' ' says Sterne, ' 'or explainer
of my works in this place will take occasion
to speak of the Friendship w^.^ subsisted so
long & faithfully betwixt Yorick & the Lady
he speaks of — Her Name he will tell the
world was Draper — a Native of India — mar-
ried there to a gentleman in the India Ser-
vice of that Name — who brought her over
to England for the recovery of her health
in the Year 65 — where She continued to
April the year 1767. It was ab^ three
months before her Return to India, That
our Author's acquaintance h hers began.
M^:^ Draper had a great thirst for knowl-
XX vi
^
INTRODUCTION
edge — was handsome — genteel — engaging —
and of such gentle disposition & so en-
lightend an understanding, — That Yorick
(whether he made much opposition is not
known) from an acquaintance — soon became
her Admirer — they caught fire, at each other
at the same time — & they w*^ often say,
without reserve to the world, & without any
Idea of saying wrong in it. That their Af-
fections for each other were unbounded — M^
Draper dying in the Year * * * # * This
Lady return 'd to England & Yorick the
year after becoming a Widower — They were
married — & retiring to one of his Livings in
Yorkshire, where was a most romantic Situa-
tion — they lived & died happily — and are
spoke of with honour in the parish to this
day."
Sterne felt sure that the marriage with
Eliza would take place within three years.
He had so written on the impulse of the
moment in dedicating an almanac to her,
and he believed that impulse came from
heaven. In the meantime Eliza was omni-
present in the spirit. *' In proportion,"
writes Sterne, ' * as I am thus torn from y^
embraces — / cling the closer to the Idea of
xxvii
INTRODUCTION
you. Your Figure is ever before my eyes
— the sound of yT voice vibrates with its
sweetest tones the Hve long day in my
ear — I can see & hear nothing but my
EHza. " As he sat down to his Senti-
mental Journey^ EUza entered the hbrary
without tapping, and he had to shut her
out before he could begin writing. On
another day, the dear Bramine was asked to
stay that her presence might ' 'soften and mod-
ulate" his feelings for a sentimental portrait
— the fair Fleming, it may be, or the beau-
tiful Grisette, or the heartbroken Maria. To
Eliza he dedicated "a sweet little apartment"
in his "thatched palace," and entered there
ten times every day to render his devotions
to her in ' ' the sweetest of earthly Taber-
nacles. ' ' And for his future ' ' Partner and
Companion" he built a pavilion in "a re-
tired corner" of his garden, where he sat in
reverie, and longed and waited for that day's
sleep when he might say with Adam —
* ' Behold the Woman Thou has given me for
Wife:'
The woman that had been given him for
wife twenty-five years before was still in
France. But she was then about to visit
xxviii
INTRODUCTION
her husband for the purpose of obtaining
from him provision for the support of
herself and daughter in southern France.
After repeated delays Mrs. Sterne reached
Coxwold on the second of October. As
Sterne looks forward to this visit, his "heart
sinks down to the earth." He would be in
health and strength, if it were not for this
cloud hanging over him with "its torment-
ing consequences." Taking this distress for
theme, his friend Hall- Stevenson wrote "an
affecting little poem" which Sterne promised
to transcribe for Eliza. When illness pre-
vented Mrs. Sterne from setting out from
France as soon as she expected, her husband
became impatient at the detention, for he
was anxious " to know certainly the day
and hour of this Judgment. " " The period
of misery," covering a month at length
came and passed. Half in love with her
husband because of his humanity and gen-
erosity, Mrs. Sterne went to York to spend
the winter. In the spring she was to retire
into France, "whence," says Sterne, "she
purposes not to stir, till her death. — &
never, has she vow'd, will give me another
sorrowful or discontented hour." These last
xxix
INTRODUCTION
weeks with his wife brought to Sterne one
consolation more. — Mrs. Sterne confessed to
her husband that at the time of her mar-
riage she made herself out ten years younger
than she really was. *' God bless," he writes
to Ehza, '*& make the remainder of her Life
happy — in order to W^.^ I am to remit her
three hundred guineas a year."
Much that was said, in an earlier volume,
of the Sentimental Journey might be appro-
priately repeated here of the Journal to Eliza.
Once Sterne was at the point of dying broken
hearted because of his separation from Miss
Lumley. Twenty-five years after marriage
she became ' ' a restless unreasonable Wife
whom neither gentleness or generosity can
conquer." With Mrs. Draper, Sterne was
no doubt more deeply in love than he had
ever been with his wife. He would have
married her, but for the barriers. And yet,
had he married her, the time must surely
have come when even Eliza would have
found her place supplanted. For sincere as
Sterne may have been for the moment, his
emotions were fugitive and volatile. If one
woman were not at hand for evoking them,
another would answer as well; if not one
XXX
INTRODUCTION
object, why then another. Whole passages
— and this is one of the Sterne curiosities —
are taken from the letters to Miss Lumley
and carried over into the Journal to Eliza,
as applicable, with a few minor changes, to
the new situation. It was hardly more than
writing "Molly" for "Fanny," or "our faith-
ful friend Mrs. James" for "the good Miss
S " and the old "sentimental repasts"
once graced by Miss Lumley could be served
anew for Eliza.*
To explain these remarkable parallelisms,
—sometimes word for word — Mr. Sidney Lee
has recently suggested that Mrs. Medalle, in
editing her father's correspondence, "foisted
some passages from the Journal on her
mother's love-letters. " t Mrs. Medalle was
certainly unscrupulous enough for that; but
it is more likely that Sterne deliberately
adjusted the letters to the Journal from
copies preserved at Coxwold. Miss S
of York consoled with him in the ear-
lier days while Miss Lumley was away in
Staffordshire. Mrs. James now consoles with
* Compare the letters to Miss Lumley with the Journal for
April 15, 16, 19, 26.
t Article on Sterne in the Dictionary of National Biography.
xxxi
INTRODUCTION
him for the loss of EHza. The situations are
similar; and why should not the same or
similar language be used in describing them.
Sterne's plagiarism from himself in the Jour-
nal is by no means confined to the senti-
mental passages. The letter dated June 7,
1767, to A. Lee Esq., descriptive of the
golden age at Coxwold, was worked into
the Journal for the second of July. And
in reverse order, the Shandean story of
Sterne's illness recorded in the Jouriial for
the twenty-second of April, was retold on
the twenty-first of May in a letter to the
Earl of S . This was, as has been seen,
the manner of the sermons, of which two
were nearly alike except for the different
texts.
xxxu
INTRODUCTION
THACKERAY AND THE JOURNAL.
WHILE Thackeray was preparing his
lectures on the English Humourists,
Mr. Gibbs sent him the Journal
to Eliza in a parcel which seems to have
contained also the copy of the Letters from
Yorick to Eliza now bound with the Gibbs
Manuscripts. Surprise has been expressed by
Sterne's biographers — Mr. Percy Fitzgerald
and Mr. Sidney Lee — that Thackeray "made
no use" of the Journal, as if he thought it
"of slight importance. " The biographers also
say that it was lent to Thackeray "while he
was lecturing on Sterne. ' ' As a matter of fact,
Thackeray must have received the Manu-
scripts nearly a month before his lecture;
and as will be seen, he did make some use
of them. But we will let Thackeray first
speak for himself. The following letter to
Mr. Gibbs is postmarked May 31, 1851 and
June 1, 1851.
xxxiii
INTRODUCTION
13 Young St.
Kensington
May 31 [1851.]
Dear Sir
I thank you very much for your obHging
offer, and the kind terms in w^ you make
it. If you will send me the MSS I will
take great care of them, and gratefully re-
store them to their owner.
Your very faithful Serv^
W M Thackeray
It may be taken for granted that the
Manuscripts reached Thackeray in the course
of a week. The lecture on Sterne and
Goldsmith — the last of the series — was read
at Willis's Rooms on the afternoon of
Thursday July 3, 1851.* After a long de-
lay, the Manuscripts were returned to Mr.
Gibbs, with a comment on the man Sterne
as revealed by the Journal. I give the let-
ter just as Thackeray wrote it, save for
erasures and substitutions :
* The London Times for July 4.
xxxir
INTRODUCTION
Kensington
12 September [1851.]
Dear Sir
Immediately after my lectures I went
abroad and beg your pardon for having
forgotten in the hurry of my departure to
return the MSS wh. you were good enough
to lend me. I am sorry that reading the
Brahmin's letters to his Brahmine did not
increase my respect for the Reverend Lau-
rence Sterne.
In his printed letters there is one XCII t
addressed to Lady P. full of love and despair
for my Lady & pronouncing that he had got
a ticket for Miss xxx benefit that night, which
he might use if deprived of the superior de-
light of seeing Lady P. I looked in the
Dramatic Register (I think is the name of
the book) to find what lady took a benefit
on a Tuesday, k found the names of 2, 1 at
Covent Garden, & one at Drury Lane, on
the same Tuesday evening, and no other
Miss's benefit on a Tuesday during the
Season. Miss Poyntz I think is one of the
names, but I'm 5 miles from the book as I
tNo. CVIII in this edition.
XXXV
INTRODUCTION
write to you, and forget the lady's name &
the day.
However on the day Sterne was writing
to Lady P., and going to Miss 's bene-
fit, he is dying in his Journal to the Brah-
mine, can't eat, has the Doctor, & is in a
dreadful way.
He wasn't dying, but lying I'm afraid —
God help him — a falser & wickeder man
its difficult to read of. Do you know the
accompanying pamphlet.* (My friend Mf
Cooper gave me this copy, wh he had pre-
viously sent to the Reform club, & has since
given the club another copy) there is more
of Yorick's love making in these letters,
with blasphemy to flavor the compositions,
and indications of a scornful unbelief. Of
course any man is welcome to believe as
he likes for me except a parson, and I can't
help looking upon Swift & Sterne as a couple
of traitors and renegades (as one does upon
Bonneval or poor Bem the other day,) with
a scornful pity for them in spite of all their
genius and greatness.
* Seven Letters written hy Sterne and his Friends, edited by
W. Durrant Cooper (London, printed for private circulation,
1844). The letter Thackeray thought blasphemous is evidently
the one addressed to John Hall-Stevenson from Coxwold on
December 17, 1766.
xxxvi
INTRODUCTION
With many thanks for your loan beheve
me Dear Sir
Very faithfully yours
W. M. Thackeray
It may be that Thackeray left the Journal
unread until after the lecture on Sterne and
Goldsmith. No positive statement can be
made about that. But it is not probable
that he would fail to examine at once Sterne
manuscripts that he "gratefully" received.
True, no quotation is made from the Journal
for the lecture — and in that sense Thackeray
"made no use of it" — but a careless perusal
of the document is precisely what would lead
one to the unreasonable view that Thackeray
took of Sterne. He was evidently much
amused by the account Sterne gives of a
fever brought on by the loss of Eliza — the
minute circumstances of the blood letting
and the wise physicians, the farewell to
Eliza and the announcement on an evening
that " I am going," to be corrected the
next morning by "So shall not depart as
I apprehended." At this point Thackeray
turned to that famous letter written on an
xxxvu
INTRODUCTION
afternoon at the Mount Coffee-house to
Lady P., which bears no date except
" Tuesday, 3 o'clock," though in the
standard editions of Sterne it is among
the letters for April 1767. Sterne writes
to ' ' my dear lady ' ' that if she will per-
mit him to spend the evening with her, he
will gladly stay away from Miss ******* 's
benefit, for which he has purchased a box
ticket. On consulting the Dramatic Register,
Thackeray discovered that the only actresses
to receive benefits on a Tuesday in April
1767 were Miss Pope at Drury Lane and
Miss Poitier at Covent Garden. The date
for each was the twenty-first. The very
day then, that Sterne was dying for Eliza,
he was also dining in the Mount Coffee-
house and trying to make an assignation
with Lady P. Cleverly forged as Thacke-
ray's chain may seem, it has one weak link.
The date of the letter to Lady P. is un-
determined. In Mrs. Medalle's edition of
the correspondence, the letter was placed
near the end as if it belonged to Decem-
ber 1767 or to January 1768. In the col-
lected edition of Sterne's works, it first
appeared with the letters for April 1767.
xxxviii
INTRODUCTION
April 21, 1767 is impossible, for Sterne was
surely too ill then to leave his lodgings. On
that very day, as Thackeray might have ob-
served, Sterne wrote to Mr. and Mrs. James
that he was "almost dead" from the bleed-
ing. It may be supposed, if you hke, that
Sterne could exaggerate or even sham an
iUness to awaken Eliza's pity for him, but
he could have had no motive for deceiving
his friends in Gerrard street. Without much
doubt the correct date for the letter is Tues-
day, April 23, 1765. As he sat in the
Mount Coffee-house, Sterne was debating
within himself whether he should pass the
evening with Lady Percy, or attend the
benefit to be given at Covent Garden to
Miss Wilford, a popular dancer, who was to
appear on that evening as Miranda in Mrs.
CentHvre's Biisy Body.^
How much Thackeray's unfortunate mis-
take may have contributed to the violence of
his essay in the Humourists we shall never
know. It may have been the very thing
which clenched his opinion that Sterne's
word was never to be trusted. At any
rate, no one can longer say that Thackeray
* See note to Letter CVIII.
xxxix
INTRODUCTION
' ' made no use of ' ' the Journal to Eliza.
Thereafter Thackeray usually assumed a
more genial tone when Sterne became the
theme. Nobody can object to that letter he
wrote in Sterne's room at Dessein's Hotel
for Miss Baxter in America. "Sterne's pic-
ture" — to quote a sentence or two from the
delightful passage — "Sterne's picture is look-
ing down on me from the chimney piece at
which he warmed his lean old shanks ninety
years ago. He seems to say 'You are right.
I was a humbug: and you, my lad, are you
not as great?' Come, come Mr. Sterne none
of these tu quoques. Some of the London
papers are abusing me as hard as ever I
assaulted you." Then there is this same
fancy elaborated into a Roundabout: Thack-
eray is again in Sterne's room at midnight,
when a lean figure in black-satin breeches
appears in the moonlight to call him to
account with menacing finger for that mis-
trust and abuse of ten years back. But
there is also another Roundabout in which
Sterne figures — Notes of a Week's Holiday,^
wherein Thackeray returns to the old as-
sault with terrific fury. The Journal to
* Cornhill Magazine for November 1860.
INTRODUCTION
Eliza, there mentioned by title, is focussed
with an anecdote misread from Dutens'
Memoirs, for a scathing portrait of a
'* wretched old sinner." Thackeray seems
to have immediately repented of his loss
of temper, for the passage — two pages in
length — was not allowed to go into the col-
lected Roundabouts. It has, I think, never
been reprinted. Hence the biographers may
be pardoned for saying that Thackeray made
no use of "Sterne's own Journal to Eliza,"
sent him by "a gentleman from Bath. ' '
x6
INTRODUCTION
THE AUTOGRAPH LETTERS.
THE two letters from Sterne to Mr. and
Mrs. James are not original drafts
that were, according to the usual
statement, afterwards recast and elabo-
rated. They are the very letters that
went through the mails to their destina-
tion; and their counterparts found in the
printed collections are only mutilated forms
for which Sterne's daughter is responsible.
Mrs. Medalle possessed every quality that
should damn the editor. She was ignorant;
she was careless; she was dishonest. That
the letters as Sterne wrote them may be
easily compared with the mutilations, I
have printed the two sets side by side in
their due place among the Letters and
Miscellanies; and I here reprint the authen-
tic copies, that the material of the Gibbs
Manuscripts may be all together. To both
letters Mrs. Medalle gave wrong dates.
Words and phrases were inserted for the
improvement of her father's style. An
xlii
INTRODUCTION
amusing passage on the impending visit
of Mrs. Sterne was stricken out. And
the references to Mrs. Draper — her jour-
nal, letters, and Sterne's anxiety for her —
were either deleted or emasculated. This
want of the literary conscience no doubt
vitiates the entire Sterne correspondence that
appeared under the supervision of Mrs.
Medalle.
In the Sterne curiosity-shop, where one
strange thing lies hidden beneath another,
nothing has been uncovered quite so curi-
ous as the draft of a letter to Daniel
Draper, Esq., of Bombay. Sterne evidently
found it difficult to explain to the husband
of Ehza the kind of love he felt for her;
for he begins a sentence, breaks it off,
starts in anew, draws pen through word
and phrase once more, and finally passes
into chaos on arriving at the verge of a
proposal that Mrs. Draper shall be per-
mitted to return to England and live un-
der his platonic protection. The letter bears
no date, but as its substance is contained in
the Journal for the second of June, it was
probably written soon after Sterne's coming
to Coxwold in the early summer of 1767.
xliii
INTRODUCTION
That Sterne completed the sketch and sent
it off to Draper may seem improbable. But
Sterne was certainly corresponding with Dra-
per at this time.* A photograph of the letter
is given here along with Mr. Gibbs's own
version, t
*See Letter CXLIV.
fAtheruBum, 30 March, 1878.
xliv
INTRODUCTION
THE LETTERS OF ELIZABETH
DRAPER.
NO apology is necessary for including
in the works of Sterne the letters
of Mrs. Draper. If the journal she
kept for him on the voyage to India and
the letters to him covering the year 1767
may not be recovered, we have in their
stead several letters, of which some have
appeared in print and others are in manu-
scripts that are accessible.* Most important
of all is the long ship-letter (forming a
part of the Gibbs Manuscripts) from Bom-
bay to Mrs. James in London. It is really
the fragment of an autobiography, down to
1772. Now thoroughly disillusioned, Mrs.
Draper passes in review her early educa-
tion, the ill-starred marriage, the friendship
with Sterne, the efforts to aid widow and
daughter, her literary aims and ambitions,
and the sorrow that was fast settling close
* For spurious letters, see the introduction to the first volume
of Letters and Miscellanies in this edition.
xlv
INTRODUCTION
upon her. Of Sterne she says: "I was
almost an Idolator of His Worth, while
I fancied Him the Mild, Generous, Good
Yorick, We had so often thought him to
be." But "his Death," she must add with
words underscored, "gave me to know, that
he was tainted with the Vices of Injustice,
meanness & Folly." Of her treatment by
Mrs. Sterne and Lydia she makes bitter
complaint, and for the best of reasons. For
them she collected, with the aid of Colonel
Campbell, twelve hundred rupees among her
friends in India; and Lydia she invited to
come and live with her. Her kindness was
met with a threat to publish her letters to
Sterne, then in the hands of the widow and
daughter. The sad record is relieved by
many charming feminine traits of character,
and it is ennobled by the mother j'^earning
to be with her children left behind in Eng-
land.
One aspect of the self-drawn portrait has
especial interest. Mrs. Draper was — I have
said it — a blue-stocking. She was probably
not acquainted with Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu,
whose assemblies of blue-stockings were then
famous; but the Essay on the JVritings and
xlvi
INTRODUCTION
Genius of Shakespear had reached India.
After reading Mrs. Montagu's book, Mrs.
Draper declared that she ' ' would rather be
an Attendant on her Person, than the first
Peeress of the Realm." And so under this
new inspiration Mrs. Draper resumed the
scribbling to which she had been encour-
aged by Sterne. "A little piece or two"
that she "discarded some years ago," were
completed ; they were ' ' not perhaps un-
worthy of the press," but they were
never printed. Though these efforts seem
to be lost, Mrs. Draper took advantage of
the occasion to weave into her letter to
Mrs. James various little essays which may
be described in her phrase as "of the moral
kind," because they have to do with prac-
tical conduct. Anxiety for the welfare of
her daughter Betsey, who had been put to
school at Kensington, leads to several pages
on the boarding-school and the parlor- boarder,
which are good enough to find a place in one
of Mrs. Chapone's letters. A little way on,
she relates the * ' story of a married pair,
which," she says, " pleased me greatly,
from the sensible singularity of it." The
tale tells of a wealthy and indolent man in
xlvii
INTRODUCTION
North India who married a smart young
woman to ' ' rouse his mind from its usual
state of Inactivity ' ' — and he succeeded.
The wife, too, discarded her hght airs, and
became a most agreeable woman. It all
reads like a character sketch from Margaret
Duchess of Newcastle. There is also an
experiment in the sentimental style, wherein
is told the story of " a smart pretty French
woman," who, shutting out all promiscuous
loves and friendships, kept her heart for her
dear husband alone and one "sweet woman"
across the Alps. ' ' The lovely Janatone, ' '
writes Mrs. Draper, "died three Years ago —
after surviving her Husband about a Week
and her Friend a twelvemonth." And be-
sides these, there are other sketches from
life, and vivid descriptions of society at
Bombay. If Eliza did not write exactly,
as Sterne flattered her, "with an angel's
pen," she knew how to ramble agreeably.
Of other letters by Mrs. Draper, thirteen
are now owned by Lord Basing of Hodding-
ton, a descendant of Mrs. Draper's uncle,
Richard Sclater. These letters, which are
said to relate mostly to family affairs, have
not been procured for this collection. But
xlviii
INTRODUCTION
their tenor may perhaps be inferred from
the letter dated TeUicherry, April 1769,
which is here printed from the autograph
copy in the British Museum. Though the
name of the man to whom it was addressed
is left blank, the contents show that he
was a friend of the Drapers who had re-
tired from the service and returned to Eng-
land. The letter presents a portrait of Mrs.
Draper, not the blue-stocking but the sensi-
ble wife who has resolved to adjust herself
to the humdrum and drudgery of official
India. Her husband, she says, has lost his
two clerks, and so she is ''maintaining his
correspondence for him." Quite remarkable,
too, as her good sense, is the knowledge
she shows of the intrigues and blunders
that culminated in the troubles with Hyder
Ali, then besieging Madras and striking
terror throughout South India.
Mrs. Draper's career in India is brought
to a close by the letters written on the eve
of her elopement. Now in private hands at
Bombay, they were published, with an intro-
ductory essay, in the Times of India for
February 24, 1894, and in the overland
weekly issue for March 3, 1894. In the
xlix
INTRODUCTION
first of them Mrs. Draper gives *' a faith-
ful servant and friend" — one Ehza Mihill —
an order on George Horsley, Esq., in Eng-
land for all her jewels, valued at 5001. or
more. Accept them, the generous woman
writes, ' ' as the best token in my power,
expressive of my good- will to you." Of
the Mr. Horsley, one of Mrs. Draper's
closest friends, who had gone to England
for his health, a pretty character- sketch
was made two years before in the long
letter to Mrs. James. To him she ad-
dressed a brief impassioned note — the sec-
ond of the series — explaining what she has
done for Betty Mihill and what she is about
to do for her own freedom. The third let-
ter, which is to her husband, in justification
of her conduct, was composed under great
agitation of mind, as she was awaiting the
moment of the last perilous step. Her
pearls and silk clothes she left behind, tak-
ing, of all her ornaments, only the picture
of Betty — ' ' my dearest girl, ' ' far off in
England.
For Mrs. Draper after her escape to
England, material is scant. There is really
nothing very trustworthy except an undated
INTRODUCTION
letter to Wilkes the politician, thanking him
for a "French volume" and beseeching him
to cease from his flattery. This letter, of
which the original is in the British Museum,
is here printed from Mr. Fitzgerald's copy.
A degrading anecdote of Combe's is omitted,
as it seems more likely to be false than true.
We conclude with the eulogy on Eliza by
the Abbe Raynal, the second ecclesiastic to
be startled out of propriety by that oval face
and those brilliant eyes.
W. L. C.
li
LETTERS
FROM
YORICK TO ELIZA.
TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE
LORD APS LEY,
LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR
OF ENGLAND.*
MY LORD,
THE Editor of the following Letters is
so far from having tasted your Lord-
ship's bounty, that he is, and perhaps
ever must remain, a stranger to your per-
son, consequently no adulation is to be ap-
prehended from him
He leaves it to the weak and oppressed,
the widow and orphan, to proclaim your
* From the original edition.
DEDICATION
Lordship's virtues in your public capacity;
that which he would celebrate is of a pri-
vate nature, namely, your filial affection,
which is so conspicuous, that he flatters
himself a Volume of Letters written by
such a person as Mr. Sterne, in which
your noble father"^ is placed in a light so
truly amiable, cannot fail of engaging your
Lordship's gracious acceptance and protec-
tion — in this hope, and upon this founda-
tion, he presumes to dedicate these papers
to your Lordship, and to have the honour
of subscribing himself,
My Lord,
your Lordship's
most obedient,
and most humble Servant,
THE EDITOR.
*Lord Bathurst.
PREFACE.*
THE foul and infamous traffic, between
dishonest booksellers, and profligate
scribblers, which has subsisted for
more than a century, has justly brought
posthumous publications under suspicion,
in England, France, and more especially
in Holland: ministers of state in every
European court, great generals, royal mis-
tresses, authors of established reputation, in
a word, all such as have had the misfortune
to advance themselves to eminence, have
been obliged to leave behind them parcels
of letters, and other memoirs, of the most
secret and important transactions of their
times, in which, every fact beyond the in-
formation of a news-paper, or coffee-house
chat, is so faithfully misrepresented, every
character delineated with such punctual de-
viation from the truth, and causes and
*From the original edition.
PREFACE
effects which have no possible relation, are
with such amazing effrontery obtruded upon
the public, that it is no wonder if men of
sense, who read for instruction as well as
entertainment, generally condemn them in
the lump, never, or very rarely, affording
them the honour of a perusal, — the publisher
of these letters, however, has not the small-
est apprehension that any part of this well
grounded censure can fall to his share; he
deals not in surprising events to astonish
the reader, nor in characters (one excepted)
which have figured on the great theatre of
the world; he purposely waves all proofs
which might be drawn concerning their
authenticity, from the character of the gen-
tleman who had the perusal of the origi-
nals, and, with Eliza's permission, faithfully
copied them at Bombay in the East Indies;
from the testimony of many reputable fami-
lies in this city, who knew and loved Eliza,
caressed and admired Mr. Sterne, and were
well acquainted with the tender friendship
between them ; from many curious anec-
dotes in the letters themselves, any one of
which were fully sufficient to authenticate
them, and submits his reputation to the
PREFACE
taste and discernment of the commonest
reader, who must, in one view, perceive
that these letters are genuine, beyond any
possibihty of doubt, — as the pubUc is un-
questionably entitled to every kind of in-
formation concerning the characters con-
tained in these letters, which consists with
the duties of humanity and a good citizen,
that is, a minute acquaintance with those of
whom honourable mention is made, or the
publisher is furnished with authorities to
vindicate from Mr. Sterne's censures, which
as a man of warm temper and lively imagi-
nation, he was perhaps sometimes hurried
into without due reflection, he persuades
himself that no party concerned, will or can
be offended with this publication, especially
if it is considered that without such in-
formation it would be cold and unenter-
taining; that by publishing their merits he
cannot be understood to intend them any
injury, and without it, he would in himself
fail in his duty to the public. Eliza, the
lady to whom these letters are addressed,
is Mrs. Elizabeth Draper, wife of Daniel
Draper, Esq. counsellor at Bombay, and at
present chief of the English factory at Su-
PREFACE
rat, a gentleman very much respected in
that quarter of the globe — she is by birth
an East-Indian; but the circumstance of be-
ing born in the country not proving suffi-
cient to defend her delicate frame against
the heats of that burning climate, she came
to England for the recovery of her health,
when by accident she became acquainted
with Mr. Sterne. He immediately discov-
ered in her a mind so congenial with his
own, so enlightened, so refined, and so ten-
der, that their mutual attraction presently
joined them in the closest union that purity
could possibly admit of; he loved her as his
friend, and prided in her as his pupil; all
her concerns became presently his ; her
health, her circumstances, her reputation,
her children, were his ; his fortune, his
time, his country, were at her disposal, so
far as the sacrifice of all or any of these
might, in his opinion, contribute to her real
happiness. If it is asked whether the glow-
ing heat of Mr. Sterne's affection never
transported him to a flight beyond the
limits of pure Platonism, the publisher will
not take upon him absolutely to deny it;
but this he thinks, so far from leaving any
PREFACE
stain upon that gentleman's memory, that
it perhaps includes his fairest encomium;
since to cherish the seeds of piety and
chastity in a heart which the passions are
interested to corrupt, must be allowed to
be the noblest effort of a soul fraught and
fortified with the justest sentiments of reli-
gion and virtue. — Mr. and Mrs. James, so
frequently and honourably mentioned in
these letters, are the worthy heads of an
opulent family in this city: their character
is too well established to need the aid of
the publisher in securing the estimation they
so well deserve, and universally possess, yet
he cannot restrain one observation; that to
have been respected and beloved by Mr.
Sterne and Mrs. Draper, is no inconsider-
able testimony of their merit, and such as
it cannot be displeasing to them to see pub-
lished to the world. Miss Light, now
Mrs. Stratton, is on all accounts a very
amiable young lady — she was accidentally a
passenger in the same ship with Eliza, and
instantly engaged her friendship and esteem;
but being mentioned in one of Mrs. Draper's
letters to Mr. Sterne, in somewhat of a com-
parative manner with herself, his partiality
PREFACE
for her, as she modestly expressed it, took
the alarm, and betrayed him into some ex-
pressions, the coarseness of which cannot be
excused. Mrs. Draper declares that this
lady was entirely unknown to him, and in-
finitely superior to his idea of her: she has
been lately married to George Stratton,
Esq. counsellor at Madrass. — The manner
in which Mr. Sterne's acquaintance with
the celebrated Lord Bathurst, the friend
and companion of Addison, Swift, Pope,
Steele, and all the finest wits of the last
age, commenced, cannot fail to attract the
attention of the curious reader: here, that
great man is social and unreserved, un-
shackled with that sedulity in supporting a
feigned character which exposes most of his
rank to the contempt of wise men, and the
ridicule of their valets de chambre; here he
appears the same as in his hours of festivity
and happiness with Swift and Addison, su-
perior to forms and ceremonies, and, in his
eighty-fifth year, abounding in wit, vivacity,
and humanity: methinks, the pleasure of
such a gentleman's acquaintance resembles
that of conversing with superior beings; but
it is not fit to dwell longer on this pleasing
10
PREFACE
topic, lest it should anticipate the reader's
pleasure in perusing the letter itself. One
remark however it suggests, which may be
useful to old men in general, namely, that
it appears by his Lordship's example, the
sour contracted spirit observable in old age,
is not specifically an effect of years, altho'
they are commonly pleaded in its excuse.
Old men would therefore do well to cor-
rect this odious quality in themselves; or, if
that must not be, to invent a better apology
for it. It is very much to be lamented, that
Eliza's modesty was invincible to all the
publisher's endeavours to obtain her answers
to these letters: her wit, penetration, and
judgment, her happiness in the epistolary
style, so rapturously recommended by Mr.
Sterne, could not fail to furnish a rich en-
tertainment for the public. The publisher
could not help telling her, that he wished
to God she was really possessed of that
vanity with which she was charged; to
which she replied, that she was so far from
acquitting herself of vanity, that she sus-
pected that to be the cause why she could
not prevail on herself to submit her letters
to the public eye; for altho' Mr. Sterne
11
PREFACE
was partial to every thing of her's, she
could not hope that the world would be
so too. With this answer he was obliged
to be contented ; yet cannot reflect with-
out deep concern, that this elegant accom-
plishment, so peculiarly adapted to the re-
fined and delicate understandings of ladies
should be yet so rare, that we can boast
of only one Lady Wortley Montagu among
us; and that Eliza, in particular, could not
be prevailed on to follow the example of
that admired lady. — The reader will remark
that these letters have various signatures;
sometimes he signs Sterne, sometimes Yor-
ick, and to one or two he signs Her Bramin.
Altho' it is pretty generally known who the
Bramins are, yet lest any body should be at
a loss, it may not be amiss to observe, that
the principal cast or tribe among the idola-
trous Indians are the Bramins, and out of
the chief class of this cast comes the priests
so famous for their austerities, and the shock-
ing torments, and frequently death, they vol-
untarily expose themselves to, on a religious
account. Now, as Mr. Sterne was a clergy-
man, and Eliza an Indian by birth, it was
customary with her to call him her Bramin,
12
PREFACE
which he accordingly, in his pleasant moods,
uses as a signature.
It remains only to take some notice of
the family, marked with asterisks, on whom
Mr. Sterne has thought proper to shed the
bitterest gall of his pen. It is however
evident, even from some passages in the
letters themselves, that Mrs. Draper could
not be easily prevailed on to see this family
in the same odious light in which they ap-
peared to her perhaps over-zealous friend.
He, in the heat, or I may say, hurry of his
affection, might have accepted suspicious
circumstances as real evidences of guilt, or
listened too unguardedly to the insinuations
of their enemies.
Be that as it may, as the publisher is not
furnished with sufficient authorities to excul-
pate them, he chuses to drop the ungrate-
ful subject, heartily wishing, that this family
may not only be innocent of the shocking
treachery with which they are charged, but
may be able to make their innocence appear
clearly to the world; otherwise, that no per-
son may be industrious enough to make
known their name.
13
LETTERS
FROM
YORICK TO ELIZA
LETTER 1.*
ELIZA will receive my books with this.
The sermons came all hot from the
heart: I wish that I could give them
any title to be offered to yom-s. — The
others came from the head — I am more
indifferent about their reception.
I know not how it comes about, but I
am half in love with you — I ought to be
wholly so; for I never valued (or saw more
good qualities to value) or thought more of
one of your sex than of you; so adieu.
Yours faithfully,
if not affectionately,
L. Stp:rne.
* The letters to Eliza are without date. The first letter
belongs to January, 17(j7; and the second to January or Feb-
ruary; the last eight were written during the week or thereabouts
that preceded Mrs. Draper's departure for India (April 3, 1767).
15
LETTERS
LETTER II.
I Cannot rest, Eliza, though I shall call
on you at half past twelve, till I know
how you do — May thy dear face smile,
as thou risest, like the sun of this morning.
I was much grieved to hear of your alarm-
ing indisposition yesterday; and disappointed
too, at not being let in. — Remember, my
dear, that a friend has the same right as
a physician. The etiquettes of this town
(you'll say) say otherwise. — No matter !
Delicacy and propriety do not always con-
sist in observing their frigid doctrines.
I am going out to breakfast, but shall be
at my lodgings by eleven; when I hope to
read a single line under thy own hand, that
thou art better, and wilt be glad to see thy
Bramin.
9 o'clock.
16
LETTERS
LETTER III.
I Got thy letter last night, Eliza, on my
return fi'om Lord Bathurst's, where I
dined, and where I was heard (as I
talked of thee an hour without intermission)
with so much pleasure and attention, that
the good old Lord toasted your health
three different times; and now he is in his
eighty-fifth year, says he hopes to live long
enough to be introduced as a friend to my
fair Indian disciple, and to see her eclipse
all other nabobesses as much in wealth, as
she does already in exterior and (what is
far better) in interior merit. I hope so too.
This nobleman is an old friend of mine. —
You know he was always the protector of
men of wit and genius; and has had those
of the last century, Addison, Steele, Pope,
Swift, Prior, &c. &c. always at his table. —
The manner in which his notice began of
me, was as singular as it was polite. — He
came up to me, one day, as I was at the
Princess of Wales's court. " I want to
know you, Mr. Sterne ; but it is fit you
17
I. E T T E R S
should know, also, who it is that wishes
this pleasure. You have heard, continued
he, of an old Lord Bathurst, of whom
your Popes and Swifts have sung and
spoken so much: I have lived my life with
geniuses of that cast ; but have survived
them ; and, despairing ever to find their
equals, it is some years since I have closed
my accounts, and shut up my books, with
thoughts of never opening them again; but
you have kindled a desire in me of opening
them once more before I die; which I now
do; so go home and dine with me." — This
nobleman, I say, is a prodigy; for at eighty-
five he has all the wit and promptness of a
man of thirty. A disposition to be pleased,
and a power to please others beyond what-
ever I knew: added to which, a man of
learning, courtesy, and feeling.
He heard me talk of thee, Eliza, with
uncommon satisfaction; for there was only
a third person, and of sensibility, with us. —
And a most sentimental afternoon, 'till nine
o'clock, have we passed ! But thou, Eliza,
wert the star that conducted and enliven 'd
the discourse. — And when I talked not of
thee, still didst thou fill my mind, and
18
LETTERS
warmed every thought I uttered; for I am
not ashamed to acknowledge I greatly miss
thee. — Best of all good girls! the sufferings
I have sustained the whole night on account
of thine, Eliza, are beyond my power of
words. — Assuredly does Heaven give strength
proportioned to the weight he lays upon us!
Thou hast been bowed down, my child, with
every burden that sorrow of heart, and pain
of body, could inflict upon a poor being ;
and still thou tellest me, thou art beginning
to get ease; — thy fever gone, thy sickness,
the pain in thy side vanishing also. — May
every evil so vanish that thwarts Eliza's
happiness, or but awakens thy fears for a
moment! — Fear nothing, my dear! — Hope
every thing ; and the balm of this passion
will shed its influence on thy health, and
make thee enjoy a spring of youth and
chearfulness, more than thou hast hardly
yet tasted.
And so thou hast fixed thy Bramin's por-
trait over thy writing-desk; and wilt consult
it in all doubts and difficulties. Grateful
and good girl ! Yorick smiles contentedly
over all thou dost; his picture does not do
justice to his own complacency!
19
LETTERS
Thy sweet little plan and distribution of
thy time — how worthy of thee ! Indeed,
Eliza, thou leavest me nothing to direct
thee in ; thou leavest me nothing to re-
quire, nothing to ask — but a continuation
of that conduct which won my esteem, and
has made me thy friend for ever.
May the roses come quick back to thy
cheeks, and the rubies to thy lips ! But
trust my declaration, Eliza, that thy hus-
band (if he is the good, feeling man I wish
him) will press thee to him with more
honest warmth and affection, and kiss thy
pale, poor, dejected face, with more trans-
port, than he would be able to do, in the
best bloom of all thy beauty; — and so he
ought, or I pity him. He must have
strange feelings, if he knows not the value
of such a creature as thou art!
I am glad Miss Light* goes with you.
She may relieve you from many anxious
moments. — I am glad your ship-mates are
friendly beings. You could least dispense
with what is contrary to your own nature,
which is soft and gentle, Eliza. — It would
* Miss Light afterwards married George Stratton, Esq., in
the service of the East India Company at Madras.
20
LETTERS
civilize savages. — Though pity were it thou
shouldst be tainted with the office ! How
canst thou make apologies for thy last let-
ter? 'tis most delicious to me, for the very
reason you excuse it. Write to me, my
child, only such. Let them speak the easy
carelessness of a heart that opens itself, any
how, and every how, to a man you ought
to esteem and trust. Such, Eliza, I write
to thee, — and so I should ever live with
thee, most artlessly, most affectionately, if
Providence permitted thy residence in the
same section of the globe; for I am, all that
honour and affection can make me.
Thy Bramin.
21
LETTERS
LETTER IV.
I Write this, Eliza, at Mr. James's, whilst
he is dressing, and the dear girl, his wife,
is writing, beside me, to thee. — I got
your melancholy billet before we sat down
to dinner. 'Tis melancholy indeed, my dear,
to hear so piteous an account of thy sick-
ness ! Thou art encountered with evils
enow, without that additional weight ! I
fear it will sink thy poor soul, and body
with it, past recovery — Heaven supply thee
with fortitude! We have talked of nothing
but thee, Eliza, and of thy sweet virtues,
and endearing conduct, all the afternoon.
Mrs. James, and thy Bramin, have mixed
their tears a hundred times, in speaking of
thy hardships, thy goodness, thy graces. —
The ***=^'s, by heavens, are worthless! I
have heard enough to tremble at the articu-
lation of the name. — How could you, Eliza,
leave them (or suffer them to leave you
rather) with impressions the least favour-
able ? I have told thee enough to plant
LETTERS
disgust against their treachery to thee, to
the last hour of thy hfe ! Yet still, thou
toldest INIrs. James at last, that thou be-
lie vest they affectionately love thee. — Her
delicacy to my Eliza, and true regard to
her ease of mind, have saved thee from
hearing more glaring proofs of their base-
ness — For God's sake write not to them;
nor foul thy fair character with such pol-
luted hearts. — They love thee! What proof?
Is it their actions that say so? or their zeal
for those attachments, which do thee hon-
our, and make thee happy ? or their ten-
derness for thy fame? No — But they weep,
and say tende?^ things. — Adieu to all such
for ever. Mrs. James's honest heart revolts
against the idea of ever returning them one
visit. — I honour her, and I honour thee, for
almost every act of thy life, but this blind
partiality for an unworthy being.
Forgive my zeal, dear girl, and allow me
a right which arises only out of that fund
of affection I have, and shall preserve for
thee to the hour of my death ! Reflect,
Eliza, what are my motives for perpetually
advising thee? think whether I can have
any, but what proceed from the cause I
23
LETTERS
have mentioned ! I think you are a very
deserving woman; and that you want noth-
ing but firmness, and a better opinion of
yourself, to be the best female character I
know. I wish I could inspire you with a
share of that vanity your enemies lay to
your charge (though to me it has never
been visible) ; because I think, in a well-
turned mind, it will produce good effects.
I probably shall never see you more ; yet
I flatter myself you'll sometimes think of
me with pleasure ; because you must be
convinced I love you, and so interest my-
self in your rectitude, that I had rather
hear of any evil befalling you, than your
want of reverence for yourself I had not
power to keep this remonstrance in my
breast. — It's now out; so adieu. Heaven
watch over my Eliza!
Thine,
YORICK.
24
LETTERS
LETTER V.
TO whom should Eliza apply in her dis-
tress, but to her friend who loves her?
why then, my dear, do you apologize
for employing me ? Yorick would be of-
fended, and with reason, if you ever sent
commissions to another, which he could
execute. I have been with Zumps*; and
your piano forte must be tuned from the
brass middle string of your guittar, which is
C. — I have got you a hammer too, and a
pair of plyers to twist your wire with ; and
may every one of them, my dear, vibrate
sweet comfort to my hopes! I have bought
you ten handsome brass screws, to hang
your necessaries upon: I purchased twelve;
but stole a couple from you to put up in
my own cabin, at Coxwould — I shall never
hang, or take my hat off one of them, but
I shall think of you. I have bought thee,
moreover, a couple of iron screws, which
are more to be depended on than brass, for
the globes.
*A maker of musical instruments.
25
LETTERS
T have written, also, to Mr. Abraham
Walker, pilot at Deal, that I had dis-
patched these in a packet, directed to his
care; which I desired he would seek after,
the moment the Deal machine arrived. I
have, moreover, given him directions, what
sort of an arm-chair you would want, and
have directed him to purchase the best that
Deal could afford, and take it, with the par-
cel, in the first boat that went off. Would
I could, Eliza, so supply all thy wants, and
all thy wishes! It would be a state of hap-
piness to me. — The journal is as it should
be — all but its contents. Poor, dear, patient
being ! I do more than pity you ; for I
think I lose both firmness and philosophy,
as I figure to myself your distresses. Do
not think I spoke last night with too much
asperity of ****; there was cause; and be-
sides, a good heart ought not to love a bad
one; and, indeed, cannot. But, adieu to the
ungrateful subject.
I have been this morning to see Mrs.
James — She loves thee tenderly, and un-
feignedly. — She is alarmed for thee — She
says thou looked'st most ill and melancholy
on going away. She pities thee. I shall
26
LETTERS
visit her every Sundaj^ while I am in town.
As this may be my last letter, I earnestly
bid thee farewell. — May the God of Kind-
ness be kind to thee, and approve himself
thy protector, now thou art defenceless!
And, for thy daily comfort, bear in thy
mind this truth, that whatever measure of
sorrow and distress is thy portion, it will
be repaid to thee in a full measure of happi-
ness, by the Being thou hast wisely chosen
for thy eternal friend.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza; whilst I live,
count upon me as the most warm and dis-
interested of earthly friends.
YORICK.
27
LETTERS
LETTER VI.
MY DEAREST ELIZA !
I Began a new journal this morning; you
shall see it; for if I live not till your
return to England, I will leave it you
as a legacy. 'Tis a sorrowful page; but I
will write chearful ones; and could I write
letters to thee, they should be chearful ones
too: but few, I fear, will reach thee! How-
ever, depend upon receiving something of
the kind by every post ; till then, thou
wavest thy hand, and bid'st me write no
more.
Tell me how you are; and what sort of
fortitude Heaven inspires you with. How
are you accommodated, my dear ? Is all
right? Scribble away, any thing, and every
thing to me. Depend upon seeing me at
Deal, with the James's, should you be de-
tained there by contrary winds. — Indeed,
Eliza, I should with pleasure fly to you,
could I be the means of rendering you any
£3
LETTERS
service, or doing you kindness. Gracious
and merciful God! consider the anguish of
a poor girl. — Strengthen and preserve her
in all the shocks her frame must be ex-
posed to. She is now without a protector,
but thee! Save her from all accidents of a
dangerous element, and give her comfort at
the last.
My prayer, Eliza, I hope, is heard; for
the sky seems to smile upon me, as I look
up to it. I am just returned from our dear
Mrs. James's, where I have been talking of
thee for three hours. — She has got your
picture, and likes it: but Marriot, and some
other judges, agree that mine is the better,
and expressive of a sweeter character. But
what is that to the original? yet I acknowl-
edge that hers is a picture for the world,
and mine is calculated only to please a
very sincere friend, or sentimental philoso-
pher. — In the one, you are dressed in
smiles, with all the advantages of silks,
pearls, and ermine ; — in the other, simple
as a vestal — appearing the good girl nature
made you; — which, to me, conveys an idea
of more unaffected sweetness, than Mrs.
Draper, habited for conquest, in a birth-
29
LETTERS
day suit, with her countenance animated,
and her dimples visible. — If I remember
right, Eliza, you endeavoured to collect
every charm of your person into your face,
with more than common care, the day you
sat for Mrs. James — Your colour, too,
brightened; and your eyes shone with more
than usual brilliancy. I then requested you
to come simple and unadorned when j^ou
sat for me — knowing (as I see with unpre-
judiced eyes) that you could receive no ad-
dition from the silk-worm's aid, or jeweller's
polish. Let me now tell you a truth, which,
I believe, I have uttered before. — When I
first saw you, I beheld you as an object of
compassion, and as a very plain woman.
The mode of your dress (tho' fashionable)
disfigured you. — But nothing now could
render you such, but the being solicitous to
make yourself admired as a handsome one. —
You are not handsome, Eliza, nor is yours a
face that will please the tenth part of your
beholders, — but are something more; for I
scruple not to tell you, I never saw so in-
telligent, so animated, so good a counte-
nance; nor was there (nor ever will be),
that man of sense, tenderness, and feeling,
30
LETTERS
in your company three hours, that was not
(or will not be) your admirer, or friend, in
consequence of it; that is, if you assume,
or assumed, no character foreign to your
own, but appeared the artless being nature
designed you for. A something in your
eyes, and voice, you possess in a degree
more persuasive than any woman I ever
saw, read, or heard of. But it is that be-
witching sort of nameless excellence, that
men of nice sensibility alone can be touched
with.
Were your husband in England, I would
freely give him five hundred pounds (if
money could purchase the acquisition), to
let you only sit by me two hours in a day,
while I wrote my Sentimental Journey. I
am sure the work would sell so much the
better for it, that I should be reimbursed
the sum more than seven times told. — I
would not give nine pence for the picture
of you, the Newnhams have got executed —
It is the resemblance of a conceited, made-
up coquette. Your eyes, and the shape of
your face (the latter the most perfect oval
1 ever saw), which are perfections that must
strike the most indifferent judge, because
31
LETTERS
they are equal to any of God's works in a
similar way, and finer than any I beheld
in all my travels, are manifestly injured by
the affected leer of the one, and strange
appearance of the other; owing to the atti-
tude of the head, which is a proof of the
artist's, or your friend's false taste. The
*###'g^ who verify the character I once gave
of teazing, or sticking like pitch, or bird-
lime, sent a card that they would wait on
Mrs. *^** on Friday. — She sent back, she
was engaged. — Then to meet at Ranelagh,
to-night. — She answered, she did not go. —
She says, if she allows the least footing, she
never shall get rid of the acquaintance;
which she is resolved to drop at once. She
knows them. She knows they are not her
friends, nor yours ; and the first use they
would make of being with her, would be
to sacrifice you to her (if they could) a
second time. Let her not then; let her
not, my dear, be a greater friend to thee,
than thou art to thyself. She begs I will
reiterate my request to you, that you will
not write to them. It will give her, and
thy Bramin, inexpressible pain. Be assured,
all this is not without reason on her side.
32
LETTERS
I have my reasons too; the first of which
is, that I should grieve to excess, if Ehza
wanted that fortitude her Yorick has built
so high upon. I said I never more would
mention the name to thee; and had 1 not
received it, as a kind of charge, from a dear
woman that loves you, I should not have
broke my word. I will write again to-mor-
row to thee, thou best and most endearing
of girls! A peaceful night to thee. My
spirit will be with thee through every watch
of it.
Adieu.
LETTER VII.
I Think you could act no otherwise than
you did with the young soldier. There
was no shutting the door against him,
either in politeness or humanity. Thou
tellest me he seems susceptible of tender
impressions : and that before Miss Light
has sailed a fortnight, he will be in love
with her. — Now I think it a thousand times
33
LETTERS
more likely that he attaches himself to thee,
Eliza ; because thou art a thousand times
more amiable. Five months with Eliza;
and in the same room ; and an amorous
son of Mars besides! — ''It can no be, mas-
ser.^'' The sun, if he could avoid it, would
not shine upon a dunghill; but his rays are
so pure, Eliza, and celestial, — I never heard
that they were polluted by it. — Just such
will thine be, dearest child, in this, and
every such situation you will be exposed
to, till thou art fixed for life. — But thy
discretion, thy wisdom, thy honour, the
spirit of thy Yorick, and thy own spirit,
which is equal to it, will be thy ablest
counsellors.
Surely, by this time, something is doing
for thy accommodation. — But why may not
clean washing and rubbing do, instead of
painting your cabin, as it is to be hung ?
Paint is so pernicious, both to your nerves
and lungs, and will keep you so much
longer too, out of your apartment; where,
I hope, you will pass some of your hap-
piest hours. —
I fear the best of your ship- mates are
only genteel by comparison with the con-
34
LETTERS
trasted crew, with which thou must behold
them. So was — you know who! — from the
same fallacy that was put upon the judg-
ment, when — but I will not mortify you.
If they are decent, and distant, it is enough;
and as much as is to be expected. If any
of them are more, I rejoice; — thou wilt
want every aid; and 'tis thy due to have
them. Be cautious only, my dear, of inti-
macies. Good hearts are open, and fall
naturally into them. Heaven inspire thine
with fortitude, in this, and every deadly
trial! Best of God's works, farewell! Love
me, I beseech thee; and remember me for
ever !
I am, my Eliza, and will ever be, in the
most comprehensive sense,
Thy friend,
YORICK.
P. S. Probably you will have an oppor-
tunity of writing to me by some Dutch or
French ship, or from the Cape de Verd
Islands — it will reach me some how. —
35
L E T T E 11 S
LETTER VIII.
MY DEAR ELIZA !
OH! I greive for your cabin. — And the
fresh painting will be enough to de-
stroy every nerve about thee. Noth-
ing so pernicious as white lead. Take care
of yourself, dear girl; and sleep not in it
too soon. It will be enough to give you
a stroke of an epilepsy.
T hope you will have left the ship; and
that my Letters may meet, and greet you,
as you get out of your post-chaise, at
Deal. — When you have got them all, put
them, my dear, into some order. — The first
eight or nine, are numbered : but I wrote
the rest without that direction to thee; but
thou wilt find them out, by the day or
hour, which, I hope, I have generally pre-
fixed to them. When they are got to-
gether, in chronological order, sew them
together under a cover. I trust they will
be a perpetual refuge to thee, from time to
time; and that thou wilt (when weary of
36
LETTERS
fools, and uninteresting discourse) retire, and
converse an hour with them, and me.
I have not had power, or the heart, to
aim at enhvening any one of them, with a
single stroke of wit or humour; but they
contain something better; and what you
will feel more suited to your situation —
a long detail of much advice, truth, and
knowledge. T hope, too, you will perceive
loose touches of an honest heart, in every
one of them; which speak more than the
most studied periods ; and will give thee
more ground of trust and reliance upon
Yorick, than all that laboured eloquence
could supply. Lean then thy whole weight,
Eliza, upon them and upon me. " May
poverty, distress, anguish, and shame, be
my portion, if ever I give thee reason to
repent the knowledge of me. ' ' With
this asseveration, made in the presence of
a just God, I pray to him, that so it may
speed with me, as I deal candidly, and
honourably with thee ! T would not mis-
lead thee, Eliza; I would not injure thee,
in the opinion of a single individual, for
the richest crown the proudest monarch
wears.
37
LETTERS
Remember, that while I have hfe and
power, whatever is mine, you may style,
and think, yours. — Though sorry should I
be, if ever my friendship was put to the
test thus, for your own delicacy's sake. —
Money and counters are of equal use, in
my opinion ; they both serve to set up
with.
I hope you will answer me this letter;
but if thou art debarred by the elements,
which hurry thee away, I will write one for
thee; and knowing it is such a one as thou
would 'st have written, I will regard it as
my Eliza's.
Honour, 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
children of my heart — gain wisdom, gain
fame, and happiness, to share with them —
with thee — and her, in my old age. — Once
for all, adieu. Preserve thy life; steadily
pursue the ends we proposed; and let noth-
ing rob thee of those powers Heaven has
given thee for thy well-being.
What can I add more, in the agitation of
mind T am in, and within five minutes of
38
LETTERS
the last postman's bell, but recommend
thee to Heaven, and recommend myself to
Heaven with thee, in the same fervent
ejaculation, "that we may be happy, and
meet again; if not in this world, in the
next." — Adieu, — I am thine, Eliza, affec-
tionately, and everlastingly,
YORICK.
LETTER IX.
I Wish to God, Eliza, it was possible to
postpone the voyage to India, for an-
other year. — For I am firmly persuaded
within my own heart, that thy husband
could never limit thee with regard to time.
I fear that Mr. B has exaggerated
matters. — I like not his countenance. It
is absolutely killing. — Should evil befal thee,
what will he not have to answer for? I
know not the being that will be deserving
of so much pity, or that I shall hate more.
He will be an outcast, alien — In which case
I will be a father to thy children, my
39
LETTERS
good girl! — therefore take no thought about
them. —
But, Ehza, if thou art so very ill, still
put off all thoughts of returning to India
this year. — Write to your husband — tell
him the truth of your case. — If he is the
generous, humane man you describe him to
be, he cannot but applaud your conduct. —
I am credibly informed, that his repugnance
to your living in England arises only from
the dread, which has entered his brain, that
thou mayest run him in debt, beyond thy
appointments, and that he must discharge
them — that such a creature should be sacri-
ficed for the paltry consideration of a few
hundreds, is too, too hard! Oh! my child!
that I could, with propriety indemnify him
for every charge, even to the last mite,
that thou hast been of to him! With joy
would I give him my whole subsistence —
nay, sequester my livings, and trust the
treasures Heaven has furnished my head
with, for a future subsistence. —
You owe much, I allow, to your hus-
band, — you owe something to appearances,
and the opinion of the world ; but, trust
me, my dear, you owe much likewise to
40
LETTERS
yourself. — Return therefore, from Deal, if
you continue ill. — I will prescribe for you,
gratis. — You are not the first woman, by
many, I have done so for, with success. I
will send for my wife and daughter, and
they shall carry you, in pursuit of health,
to Montpelier, the wells of Bancois, 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 vallies. — And then thou
should 'st warble to us, as I have once or
twice heard thee. — "I'm lost, I'm lost" —
but we should find thee again, my Eliza. —
Of a similar nature to this, was your phy-
sician's prescription: "Use gentle exercise,
the pure southern air of France, or milder
Naples — with the society of friendly, gentle
beings." Sensible man! He certainly en-
tered into your feelings. He knew the fal-
lacy of medicine to a creature, whose ill-
ness HAS ARISEN FROM THE AFFLICTION OF
HER MIND. Time only, my dear, I fear
you must trust to, and have your reliance
on; may it give you the health so enthu-
41
LETTERS
siastic a votary to the charming goddess
deserves.
I honour you, EHza, for keeping secret
some things, which if explained, had been
a panegyric on yourself There is a dignity
in venerable affliction which will not allow
it to appeal to the world for pity or re-
dress. Well have you supported that char-
acter, my amiable, philosophic friend! And,
indeed, I begin to think you have as many
virtues as my uncle Toby's widow. — I don't
mean to insinuate, hussey, that my opinion
is no better founded than his was of Mrs.
Wadman; nor do I conceive it possible for
any Trim to convince me it is equally falla-
cious. — I am sure, while I have my reason,
it is not. — Talking of widows — pray, Eliza,
if ever you are such, do not think of giving
yourself to some wealthy nabob — because I
design to marry you myself — My wife can-
not live long — she has sold all the provinces
in France already — and I know not the
woman I should like so well for her sub-
stitute as yourself — 'Tis true, I am ninety-
five in constitution, and you but twenty-
five — rather too great a disparity this! — but
what I want in youth, I will make up in
42
LETTERS
wit and good humour. — Not Swift so loved
his Stella, Scarron his Maintenon, or Waller
his Sacharissa, as I will love, and sing thee,
my wife elect! All those names, eminent
as they were, shall give place to thine,
Eliza. Tell me, in answer to this, that
you approve and honour the proposal, and
that you would (like the Spectator's mis-
tress) have more joy in putting on an old
man's slipper, than associating with the gay,
the voluptuous, and the young. — Adieu, my
Simplicia !
Yours,
Tristram.
43
LETTERS
LETTER X.
MY DEAR ELIZA
I Have been within the verge of the gates
of death. — I was ill the last time I wrote
to you, and apprehensive of what would
be the consequence. — My fears were but
too well founded; for, in ten minutes after
I dispatched my letter, this poor, fine-spun
frame of Yorick's gave way, and I broke a
vessel in my breast, and could not stop the
loss of blood till four this morning. I have
filled all thy India handkerchiefs with it. —
It came, I think, from my heart I I fell
asleep through weakness. At six I awoke,
with the bosom of my shirt steeped in tears.
I dreamt I was sitting under the canopy of
Indolence, and that thou camest into the
room, with a shaul in thy hand, and told
me, my spirit had flown to thee in the
Downs, with tidings of my fate; and that
you were come to administer what conso-
lation filial affection could bestow, and to
44
LETTERS
receive my parting breath and blessing. —
With that you folded the shaul about my
waist, and, kneeling, supphcated my atten-
tion. I awoke; but in what a frame I Oh!
my God ! " But thou wilt number my
tears, and put them all into thy bottle." —
Dear girl ! I see thee, — thou art for ever
present to my fancy, — embracing my feeble
knees, and raising thy fine eyes to bid me
be of comfort: and when I talk to Lydia,
the words of Esau, as uttered by thee, per-
petually ring in my ears — "Bless me even
also, my father ! " — Blessing attend thee,
thou child of my heart!
My bleeding is quite stopped, and I feel
the principle of life strong within me; so
be not alarmed, Eliza — I know I shall do
well. I have eat my breakfast with hunger;
and I write to thee with a pleasure arising
from that prophetic impression in my im-
agination, that ' ' all will terminate to our
heart's content." Comfort thyself eternally
with this persuasion, "that the best of be-
ings (as thou hast sweetly expressed it)
could not, by a combination of accidents,
produce such a chain of events, merely to
be the source of misery to the leading per-
45
LETTEKS
son engaged in them." The observation
was very appUcable, very good, and very
elegantly expressed. I vv^ish 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 of ready
cash, and ill health will permit my genius
to exert itself, I shall print your letters, as
finished essays, "by an unfortunate Indian
lady." The style is new; and would almost
be a sufficient recommendation for their sell-
ing well, without merit — but their sense, nat-
ural ease, and spirit, is not to be equalled, I
believe, in this section of the globe; nor, I
will answer for it, by any of your country-
women in yours. — I have shewed your let-
ter to Mrs. B — , and to half the literati in
town. — You shall not be angry with me for
it, because I meant to do you honour by
it.— You cannot imagine how many admirers
your epistolary productions have gained you,
that never viewed your external merits. I
only wonder where thou could 'st acquire thy
graces, thy goodness, thy accomplishments —
so connected! so educated! Nature has sure-
ly studied to make thee her pecuhar care —
46
LETTERS
for thou art (and not in my eyes alone) the
best and fairest of all her works. —
And so this is the last letter thou art to
receive from me; because the Earl of Chat-
ham* (I read in the papers) is got to the
Downs; and the wind, I find, is fair. If
so — blessed woman! take my last, last fare-
well ! — Cherish the remembrance of me ;
think how I esteem, nay how affectionately
I love thee, and what a price I set upon
thee! Adieu, adieu! and with my adieu —
let me give thee one streight rule of con-
duct, that thou hast heard from my lips in
a thousand forms — but I concenter it in one
word,
Reverence Thyself.
Adieu, once more, Eliza ! May no an-
guish of heart plant a wrinkle upon thy
face, till I behold it again! May no doubt
or misgivings disturb the serenity of thy
mind, or awaken a painful thought about
thy children — for they are Yorick's — and
Yorick is thy friend for ever ! — Adieu,
adieu, adieu !
* By the newspapers of the times it appears that the Earl
of Chatham, East Indiaman, sailed from Deal, April 3, 1767.
4T
LETTERS
P. S. Remember, that Hope shortens all
journies, by sweetening them — so sing my
little stanza on the subject, with the devo-
tion of an hymn, every morning when thou
arisest, and thou wilt eat thy breakfast with
more comfort for it.
Blessings, rest, and Hygeia go with thee!
May'st thou soon return, in peace and
affluence, to illumine my night ! 1 am,
and shall be, the last to deplore thy loss,
and will be the first to congratulate and
hail thy return. —
Fare thee well!
48
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
■ fMi"i!i !>'''W M
iombof Kliza Draper in Bristol Cathedral. W
.Itibyrini J luje.nci m ijm^i^
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
THIS Journal wrote under the fictitious
names of Yorick & Draper — and some-
times of the Bramin & Bramine — but
tis a Diary of the miserable feelings of a
person separated from a Lady for whose
Society he languish'd — The real Names — are
foreigne — & the acc^ a copy from a french
Mans* — in M!" S s hands — but wrote as
it is, to cast a Viel over them — There is a
Counterpart — which is the Lady's ace* what
transactions dayly happend — & what Senti-
ments occupied her mind, during this Sepa-
ration from her admirer — these are worth
reading — the translator cannot say so much
in favT of Yoricks which seem to have little
merit beyond their honesty &; truth.*
* The Journal to Eliza, or The Continuation of the Bramines
Journal — Sterne's phrase written above the first entry — is printed
just as Sterne left it, with its wild chronology and all its vagaries
in spelling and punctuation. This descriptive title-page, as well
as the Journal itself, is in Sterne's own hand.
51
LETTERS
CONTINUATION OF THE
BRAMINES JOURNAL.
([S]he saild 23*)
Sunday Ap: 13. t
WROTE the last farewel to Eliza by
MT Wats who sails this day for
Bombay — inclosed her likewise the
Journal kept from the day we parted, to
this — so from hence continue it till the
time we meet again — Eliza does the same,
so we shall have mutual testimonies to de-
liver hereafter to each other, That the Sun
has not more constantly rose & set upon the
earth, than we have thought of & remem-
ber'd, what is more chearing than Light
itself — eternal Sunshine ! Eliza 1 — dark to
me is all this world without thee! & most
heavily will every hour pass over my head,
till that is come w^^ brings thee, dear Woman
back to Albion, dined with Hall &c. at
*The mistake in date is obvious,
t Sunday fell on the 12th in April 1767.
62
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
the brawn's head — the whole Pandamonium
assembled — supp'd together at Halls — worn
out both in body &; mind, & paid a severe
reckoning all the night.
Ap: 14. Got up tottering & feeble — then
is it Eliza, that I feel the want of thy friendly
hand & friendly Council — & yet, with thee
beside me, thy Bramin would lose the merit
of his virtue — he could not err — but I will
take thee upon any terms Eliza! I shall be
happy here — & I will be so just, so kind
to thee, I will deserve not to be miserable
hereafter — a Day dedicated to Abstinence &
reflection — &; what object will employ the
greatest part of mine — full well does my
Eliza know.
Munday. Ap: 15.
worn out with fevers of all kinds, but
most, by that fever of the heart with w^.^
I'm eternally wasting, & shall waste till I
see Eliza again — dreadful Suffering of 15
months! — it may be more — great Controuler
of Events! surely thou wilt proportion this,
to my Strength, and to that of my Eliza,
pass'd the whole afternoon in reading her
53
LETTERS
Letters, & reducing them to the order in
which they were wrote to me — staid the
whole evening at home — no pleasure or
Interest in either Society or Diversions —
What a change, my dear Girl, hast thou
made in me! — but the Truth is, thou hast
only turn'd the tide of my passions a new
way — they flow Eliza to thee — & ebb from
every other Object in this world — & Reason
tells me they do right — for my heart has
rated thee at a Price, that all the world is
not rich enough to purchase thee from me,
at. In a high fever all the night.
Ap: 16. and got up so ill, I could not
go to M^^ James as I had promised her —
took James's Powder however — & leand the
whole day with my head upon my hand,
sitting most dejectedly at the Table with
my Eliza's Picture before me — sympathizing
& soothing me — O my Bramine! my Friend!
my Help-mate! — for that (if I'm a prophet)
is the Lot mark'd out for thee; — & such I
consider thee now, & thence it is, Eliza, I
share so righteously with thee in all the evil
or good which befalls thee — But all our
portion is Evil now, & all our hours grief —
54,
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
T look forwards towards the Elysium we
have so often and rapturously talk'd of —
Cordelia's spirit will fly to tell thee in
some sweet Slumber, the moment the door
is open'd for thee & The Bramin of the
Vally, shall follow the track wherever it
leads him, to get to his Eliza, & invite her
to his Cottage —
5 in the afternoon — I have just been eat-
ing my Chicking, sitting over my repast upon
it, with Tears — a bitter Sause — Eliza! but I
could eat it with no other — when Molly
spread the Table Cloath, my heart fainted
within me — one solitary plate — one knife —
one fork — one Glass! — O Eliza! twas pain-
fully distressing, — I gave a thousand pen-
sive penetrating Looks at the Arm chair
thou so often graced on these quiet, senti-
mental Repasts — & sighed & laid down my
knife &; fork, — & took out my handkerchief,
clap'd it across my face & wept like a child
— I shall read the same affecting acc*^ of
many a sad Dinner w^.^ Eliza has had no
power to taste of, from the same feelings
& recollections, how She and her Bramin have
eat their bread in peace and Love together.
55
LETTERS
April 17. with my friend M^^ James in
Gerard street, with a present of Colours &
apparatus for painting: — Long Conversation
about thee my Eliza — sunk my heart w*^!* an
infamous acc*^ of Draper & his detested
Character at Bombay — for what a wretch
art thou hazarding thy life, my dear friend,
& what thanks is his nature capable of re-
turning? — thou wilt be repaid with Injuries
& Insults! Still there is a blessing in store
for the meek and gentle, and Eliza will not
be disinherited of it: her Bramin is kept
alive by this hope only — otherwise he is so
sunk both in Spirits and looks, Eliza would
scarce know him again, dined alone again
to-day; & begin to feel a pleasure in this
kind of resigned misery arising from this
situation of heart unsupported by aught
but its own tenderness — Thou owest me
much Eliza! — & I will have patience; for
thou wilt pay me all — But the Demand is
equal; much I owe thee, & with much
shalt thou be requited. sent for a Chart
of the Atlantic Ocean, to make conjectures
upon what part of it my Treasure was float-
ing — O ! tis but a little way off — and I could
venture after it in a Boat, methinks — I'm
56
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
sure I could, was I to know Eliza was in
distress — but fate has chalk 'd out other
roads for us — We must go on with many
a weary step, each in his separate heartless
track, till Nature
Ap: 18.
This day set up my Carriage, — new Sub-
ject of heartache. That Eliza is not here to
share it with me.
Bought Orm's account of India — why ?
Let not my Bramine ask me — her heart
will tell her why I do this, & every
Thing—
Ap: 19 — poor sick-headed, sick hearted
Yorick! Eliza has made a shadow of thee
— I am absolutely good for nothing, as
every mortal is who can think & talk but
upon one thing ! — how I shall rally my
powers alarms me ; for Eliza thou has
melted them all into one — the power of
loving thee & with such ardent affection
as triumphs over all other feelings — was
with our faithful friend all the morning;
& dined with her & James — What is the
Cause, that I can never talk ab! my Eliza
57
LETTERS
to her, but I am rent in pieces — I burst
into tears a dozen different times after din-
ner, & such affectionate gusts of passion,
That she was ready to leave the room, —
& sympathize in private for us — I weep for
you both, said she (in a whisper,) for EHza's
anguish is as sharp as yours — her heart as
tender — her constancy as great — heaven join
your hands I'm sure together! — James was
occupied in reading a pamphlet upon the
East India affairs — so I answerd her with
a kind look, a heavy sigh, and a stream of
tears — what was passing in Eliza's breast,
at this affecting Crisis? — something kind, and
pathetic, ! I will lay my Life.
8 o'clock — retired to my room, to tell my
dear this — to run back the hours of Joy I
have pass'd with her — & meditate upon those
w'^^ are still in reserve for Us. — By this time
Mt James tells me, You will have got as far
from me, as the Maderas — & that in two
months more, you will have doubled the
Cape of good hope — I shall trace thy track
every day in the map, & not allow one
hour for contrary Winds, or Currants — every
engine of nature shall work together for us
58
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
— Tis the Language of Love — & I can speak
no other. & so, good night to thee, & may
the gentlest delusions of love impose upon
thy dreams, as I forbode they will, this
night, on those of thy Bramine.
Ap: 20. Easter Sunday.
was not disappointed — yet awoke in the
most acute pain — Something Eliza is wrong
with me — you should be ill, out of Sym-
pathy — & yet you are too ill already — my
dear friend — all day at home in extream
dejection.
Ap: 21. The Loss of Eliza, and atten-
tion to that one Idea, brought on a fever —
a consequence, I have for some time, for-
seen — but had not a sufficient Stock of cold
philosophy to remedy — to satisfy my friends,
caird in a Physician — Alas! alas! the only
Physician, & who carries the Balm of my
Life along with her, — is Eliza. — why did I
suffer thee to go from me? surely thou hast
more than once call'd thyself my Eliza, to
the same account — twil cost us both dear !
but it could not be otherwise — We have
submitted — we shall be rewarded. Twas a
59
LETTERS
prophetic spirit, w^'^ dictated the acc*^ of
Corpl Trim's uneasy night when the fair
Beguin ran in his head, — for every night
& almost every Slumber of mine, since the
day we parted, is a repe[ti]tion of the same
description — dear Eliza! I am very ill — very
ill for thee — but I could still give thee
greater proofs of my affection, parted with
12 Ounces of blood, in order to quiet what
was left in me — tis a vain experiment, — phy-
sicians cannot understand this; tis enough for
me that Eliza does — I am worn down my
dear Girl to a Shadow, & but that I'm cer-
tain thou wilt not read this, till I'm re-
stored — thy Yorick would not let the Winds
hear his Complaints 4 °. clock — sorrowful
meal! for twas upon our old dish. — we shall
live to eat it, my dear Bramine, with com-
fort.
8 at night, our dear friend M^^ James,
from the forbodings of a good heart, think-
ing I was ill; sent her maid to enquire
after me — I had alarm'd her on Saturday;
&; not being with her on Sunday, — her
friendship supposed the Condition I was in
— She suffers most tenderly for Us, my
60
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Eliza! — & we owe her more than all the
Sex — or indeed both Sexes, if not, all the
world put together — adieu! my sweet Eliza!
for this night — thy Yorick is going to waste
himself on a restless bed, where he will
turn from side to side a thousand times —
& dream by Intervals of things terrible &
impossible — That Eliza is false to Yorick, or
Yorick is false to Eliza.
Ap: 22*^ — rose with utmost difficulty —
my Physician order' d me back to bed as
soon as I had got a dish of Tea — was bled
again; my arm broke loose & I half bled
to death in bed before I felt it. O! Eliza!
how did thy Bramine mourn the want of
thee to tye up his wounds, & comfort his
dejected heart — still something bids me
hope — and hope, I will — & it shall be the
last pleasurable sensation I part with.
4 o'clock. They are making my bed —
how shall I be able to continue my Journal
in it? — If there remains a chasm here —
think Eliza, how ill thy Yorick must have
been. — this moment rec^ a Card from our
dear friend, beging me to take [care] of
61
LETTERS
a Life so valuable to my friends — but most
so — she adds, to my poor dear Eliza. — not
a word from the Newnhams! but they had
no such exhortations in their harts, to send
thy Bramine — adieu to em !
Ap: 23. — a poor night, and am only able
to quit my bed at 4 this afternoon — to say
a word to my dear — & fulfill my engage-
ment to her, of letting no day pass over
my head without some kind communication
with thee — faint resemblance, my dear girl,
of how our days are to pass, when one
kingdom holds us — visited in bed by 40
friends, in the Course of the Day — is not
one warm affectionate call, of that friend,
for whom I sustain Life, worth 'em all? —
What thinkest thou my Eliza.
Ap: 24.
So ill, I could not write a word all this
morning — not so much, as Eliza! farewel to
thee; — I'm going am a little better.
- so shall not depart, as I apprehended —
being this morning something better — & my
Symptoms become milder, by a tolerable easy
night. — and now, if I have strength & Spirits
69
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
to trail my pen down to the bottom of the
page, I have as whimsical a Story to tell you,
and as comically dis-astrous as ever befell one
of our 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 in catching cold upon James's
pouder, fell, you must know, upon the worst
part it could — the most painful, & most dan-
gerous of any in the human Body — It was on
this Crisis, I call'd in an able Surgeon & with
him an able physician (both my friends) to
inspect my disaster — tis a venerial Case, cried
my two Scientifick friends 'tis impossible
at least to be that, replied I — for I have had
no commerce whatever with the Sex — not
even with my wife, added I, these 15 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 ab^ it,
said the Physician, but you must undergo a
course of Mercury, — I'll lose my life first,
said I — & 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 un-
63
LETTERS
derwent, & ten times more rather than, sub-
mit to be treated as a Sinne?^ in a point
where I had acted hke a Saint. Now as
the father of mischief w^ have it, who has
no pleasm-e hke that of dishonouring the
righteous — it so fell out. That from the
moment I dismiss 'd my Doctors — my pains
began to rage with a violence not to be
express'd, or supported — every hour became
more intollerable — I was got to bed — cried
out &; raved the whole night — & was got
up so near dead, That my friends insisted
upon my sending again for my Physician &
Surgeon — I told them upon the word of a
man of Strict honour, They were both mis-
taken as to my case — but tho' they had
reason' d wrong — they might act right — but
that sharp as my sufferings were, I felt
them not so sharp as the Imputation,
w'^.^ a venerial treatment of my case, laid
me under — They answerd that these taints
of the blood laid dormant 20 years — but
that they would not reason with me in a
matter wherein I was so delicate — but would
do all the office for w^^ they were call'd in
— & namely, to put an end to my torment,
w^.^ otherwise would put an end to me. — &
64
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
so have I been compell'd to surrender myself
— & thus Ehza is your Yorick, y^ Bramine —
your friend with all his sensibilities, suffering
the chastisement of the grossest Sensualist —
Is it not a most ridiculous Embarassm* as
ever Yorick 's Spirit could be involved in —
Tis needless to tell Eliza, that nothing but
the purest consciousness of Virtue, could
have tempted Eliza's friend to have told
her this Story — Thou art too good my
Eliza to love aught but Virtue — & too dis-
cerning not to distinguish the open char-
acter w^.^ bears it, from the artful & double
one w'^.^ affects it — This, by the way, w^
make no bad anecdote in T. Shandy's Life —
however I thought at least it would amuse
you, in a country where less Matters serve. —
This has taken me three Sittings — it ought
to be a good picture — I'm more proud.
That it is a true one. In ten Days I shall
be able to get out — my room allways full of
friendly Visitors — & my rapper eternally going
with Cards & enquiries after me. I sh^ be
glad of the Testimonies — without the Tax.
Every thing convinces me, Eliza, We
shall live to meet again — So — Take care
of y^ health, to add to the comfort of it.
65
LETTERS
Ap: 25. after a tolerable night, I am
able, Eliza, to sit up and hold a discourse
with the sweet Picture thou hast left behind
thee of thyself, & tell it how much I had
dreaded the catastrophe, of never seeing its
dear Original more in this world — never did
that look of sweet resignation appear so elo-
quent as now; it has said more to my heart
— & cheard it up more effectually above lit-
tle fears & may he's — Than all the Lectures
of philosophy I have strength to apply to it,
in my present Debility of mind and body. —
as for the latter — my men of Science, will
set it properly agoing again — tho' upon what
principles — the Wise Men of Gotham know
as much as they — If they act right — what is
it to me, how wrong they thinks for finding
my machine a much less tormenting one to
me than before, I become reconciled to my
Situation, and to their Ideas of it but
don't you pity me, after all, my dearest and
my best of friends? I know to what an
amount thou wilt shed over me, this tender
Tax — & tis the Consolation springing out of
that, of what a good heart it is which pours
this friendly balm on mine. That has already,
& will for ever heal every evil of my Life.
66
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
And what is becoming, of my Eliza, all this
time! — where is she sailing? — what Sickness
or other evils have befallen her? I weep
often my dear Girl, for thee my Imagina-
tion surrounds them with* — What w^ be the
measure of my Sorrow, did I know thou
wast distressed ? — adieu — adieu — & trust my
dear friend — my dear Bramine, that there still
wants nothing to kill me in a few days, but
the certainty. That thou wast suffering, what
I am — & yet I know thou art ill — but when
thou returnest back to England, all shall be
set right — so heaven waft thee to us upon
the wings of Mercy — that is, as speedily as
the winds & tides can do thee this friendly
office. This is the 7*^ day That I have
tasted nothing better than Water gruel — am
going, at the solicitation of Hall, to eat of
a boild fowl — so he dines with me on it —
and a dish of Macaruls —
7 o'clock — I have drank to thy Name
Eliza! everlasting peace & happiness (for my
Toast) in the first glass of Wine I have ad-
ventured to drink. My friend has left me —
* Sterne evidently intended to write "for those my Imagina-
tion surrounds thee with."
67
LETTERS
& I am alone, — like thee in thy solitary
Cabbin after thy return from a tasteless
meal in the round house & like thee I fly
to my Journal, to tell thee, I never prized
thy friendship so high, or loved thee more —
or wish'd so ardently to be a Sharer of all
the weights w^.^ Providence has laid upon
thy tender frame — Than this moment — when
upon taking up my pen, my poor pulse
quickend — my pale face glowed — and tears
stood ready in my Eyes to fall upon the
paper, as I traced the word Eliza. O Eliza!
Eliza! ever best & blessed of all thy Sex!
blessed in thyself and in thy Virtues — &
blessed and endearing to all who know thee
— to Me, Eliza, most so; because I know
more of thee than any other — This is the
true philtre by which Thou hast charm 'd
me & wilt for ever charm h hold me thine,
whilst Virtue & faith hold this world to-
gether; tis the simple Magick, by which I
trust, I have won a place in that heart of
thine on w<=.^ I depend so satisfied. That
Time & distance, or change of every thing
w^?* might allarm the little hearts of little
men, create no unasy suspence in mine — It
scorns to doubt — & scorns to be doubted — -
m
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
tis the only exception — where Security is
not the parent of Danger.
My Illness will keep me three weeks
longer in town. — but a Journey in less
time would be hazardous, unless a short
one across the Desert w^.^ I should set out
upon to morrow, could I carry a Medicine
with me which I was sure would prolong
one month of y' Life — or should it hap
pen
—but why make Suppositions ? — when
Situations happen — tis time enough to shew
thee That thy Bramin is the truest & most
friendly of mortal Spirits, & capable of do-
ing more for his Eliza, than his pen will
suffer him to promise.
Ap: 26. Slept not till three this morn-
ing — was in too delicious Society to think
of it; for I was all the time with thee be-
sides me, talking over the projess [.v/c] of
our friendship, & turning the world into a
thousand shapes to enjoy it. got up much
better for the Conversation — found myself
improved in body & mind & recruited be-
yond any thing I lookd for; my Doctors,
stroked their beards, & look'd ten per C!^
69
LETTERS
wiser upon feeling my pulse, & enquiring
after my Symptoms — am still to run thro' a
Course of Van Sweeten's corrosive Mercury,
or rather Van Sweeten's Course of Mercury
is to run thro' me — I shall be sublimated to
an etherial Substance by the time my Eliza
sees me — she must be sublimated and un-
corporated too, to be able to see me — but I
was always transparent & a Being easy to
be seen thro', or Eliza had never loved me
nor had Eliza been of any other Cast her-
self could her Bramine have held Communion
with her. hear every day from our worthy
sentimental friend — who rejoyces to think
that the Name of Eliza is still to vibrate
upon Yorick's ear — this, my dear Girl, many
who loved me dispair'd off — poor Molly who
is all attention to me — & every day brings
in the name of poor M^^ Draper, told me
last night, that She and her Mistress had
observed, I had never held up my head,
since the Day you last dined with me —
That I had seldome laughd or smiled — had
gone to no Diversions — but twice or thrice
at the most, dined out — That they thought
I was broken hearted, for she never enterd
the room or passd by the door, but she
TO
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
heard me sigh heavily — That I neither eat
or slept or took pleasure in any Thing as
before, except writing The Observation
will draw a sigh Eliza, from thy feeling
heart — & yet, so thy heart w^ wish to have
it — tis fit in truth We suffer equally nor
can it be otherwise — when the causes of
anguish in two hearts are so proportion'd,
as in ours. — ; Surely — Surely — Thou art
mine Eliza! for dear have have I bought
thee I
Ap: 27. Things go better with me,
Eliza! and I shall be reestablished soon,
except in bodily weakness ; not yet being
able to rise from thy arm chair, &; walk
to the other corner of my room, & back
to it again without fatigue — I shall double
my Journey to morrow, & if the day is
warm the day after be got into my Car-
riage & be transported into Hyde park for
the advantage of air and exercise — wast thou
but besides me, I could go to Salt hill, I'm
sure, & feel the journey short & pleasant. —
another Time! * * =^ * * * * — the present,
alas! is not ours. I pore so much on thy
Picture — I have it off by heart — dear Girl —
71
LETTERS
oh tis sweet ! tis kind ! tis reflecting ! tis
affectionate! tis thine my Bramine — I
say my matins & Vespers to it — I quiet
my Murmurs, by the Spirit which speaks in
it — "all will end well my Yorick. " — I de-
clare my dear Bramine I am so secured &
wrapt up in this Belief, That I would not
part with the Imagination, of how happy I
am to be with thee, for all the offers of
present Interest or Happiness the whole
world could tempt me with; in the lone-
liest cottage that Love & Humility ever
dwelt in, with thee along with me, I could
possess more refined Content, Than in the
most glittering Court; & with thy Love &
fidelity, taste truer joys, my Eliza, & make
thee also partake of more, than all the
senseless parade of this silly world could
compensate to either of us — with this, I
bound all my desires & worldly views —
what are they worth without Eliza? Jesus!
grant me but this, I will deserve it — I will
make my Bramine as Happy, as thy good-
ness wills her — I will be the Instrument of
her recompense for the sorrows & disap-
pointments thou has suffer' d her to under-
go; &; if ever 1 am false, unkind or un-
72
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
gentle to her, so let me be dealt with by
thy Justice.
9 o'clock, I am preparing to go to bed
my dear Girl, & first pray for thee, & then
to Idolize thee for two wakeful hours upon
my pillow — I shall after that, I find dream
all night of thee, for all the day have I
done nothing but think of thee — something
tells, that thou hast this day, been employed
in the same way. good night, fair Soul — &
may the sweet God of sleep close gently
thy eyelids — & govern & direct thy Slum-
bers — adieu — adieu, adieu I
Ap: 28. I was not deceived Eliza! by
my presentiment that I should find thee
out in my dreams; for I have been with
thee almost the whole night, alternately
soothing Thee, or telling thee my sorrows
— I have rose up comforted & strengthend —
& found myself so much better, that I or-
derd my Carriage, to carry me to our mu-
tual friend — Tears ran down her cheeks
when she saw how pale & wan I was —
never gentle creature sympathized more ten-
derly — I beseech you, cried the good Soul,
73
LETTER S
not to regard either difficulties or expences,
but fly to Eliza directly — I see you will dye
without her — save y^'self for her — how shall
I look her in the face? What can I say to
her, when on her return I have to tell her,
That her Yorick is no more! — Tell her my
dear fi-iend, said I, That I will meet her in
a better world — & that I have left this,
because I could not live without her; tell
Eliza, my dear friend, added I — That I died
broken hearted — and that you were a Wit-
ness to it — as I said this, She burst into the
most pathetick flood of Tears — that ever
kindly Nature shed. You never beheld so
affecting a Scene — 'twas too much for Na-
ture ! oh ! she is good — I love her as my
Sister! — & could Eliza have been a witness,
hers would have melted down to Death &
scarse have been brought back, an Extacy
so celestial & savouring of another world. —
I had like to have fainted, & to that Degree
was my heart & soul affected, it was w*h
difficulty I could reach the street door; I
have got home, & shall lay all day upon
my Sopha — & to morrow morning my dear
Girl write again to thee; for I have not
strength to drag my pen —
74
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Ap: 29.
I am so ill to day, my dear, I can only
tell you so — I wish I was put into a Ship
for Bombay — 1 wish I may otherwise hold
out till the hour We might otherwise have
met — I have too many evils upon me at
once — & yet I will not faint under them —
Come! — Come to me soon my Eliza & save
me!
Ap : 30. Better to day — but am too
much visited & find my strength wasted by
the attention I must give to all concern 'd
for me — I will go Eliza, be it but by ten
mile Journeys, home to my thatchd Cottage
— &c there I shall have no respit — for I shall
do nothing but think of thee — and burn out
this weak Taper of Life by the flame thou
hast superadded to it — fare well my dear
# * # * — ^Q morrow begins a new month — &
I hope to give thee in it, a more sunshiny
side of myself — Heaven! how is it with my
Eliza —
May 1.
got out into the park to day — Sheba
there on Horseback; pass'd twice by her
75
LETTERS
without knowing her — she stop'd the 3^
time — to ask me how I did — I w^ not
have askd you, Solomon! said She, but y'
Looks affected me — for you'r half dead I
fear — I thank' d Sheba very kindly, but w*^-
out any emotion but what sprung from
gratitude — Love alas! was fled with thee
Eliza ! — I did not think Sheba could have
changed so much in grace & beauty — Thou
hadst shrunk poor Sheba away into Noth-
ing, but a good natured girl, without powers
or charms — I fear your wife is dead ; quoth
Sheba — no, you don't feai' it Sheba said I
— Upon my word Solomon! I would quar-
rel with You, was you not so ill — If you
knew the cause of my Illness, Sheba, replied
I, you w^ quarrel but the more with me —
You lie, Solomon! answerd Sheba, for I
know the Cause already — & am so little
out of Charity with You upon it — That I
give you leave to come h drink Tea with
me before you leave Town — you're a good
honest Creature Sheba — no! you Rascal, I
am not — but I'm in Love, as much as you
can be for yT Life — I'm glad of it Sheba!
said I — You Lie, said Sheba, & so canter'd
away. — O my Eliza, had I ever truely loved
76
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
another {w^]^ I never did) Thou hast long
ago, cut the Root of all Affection in me —
& planted & waterd & nourish 'd it, to bear
fruit only for thyself — Continue to give me
proofs I have had and shall preserve the
same rights over thee my Eliza! and if I
ever murmur at the sufferings of Life after
that. Let me be numberd with the ungrate-
ful. — I look now forwards with Impatience
for the day thou art to get to Madras — &
from thence shall I want to hasten thee to
Bombay — where heaven will make all things
Conspire to lay the Basis of thy health &
future happiness — be true my dear girl, to
thy self — & the rights of Self preservation
which Nature has given thee — persevere — be
firm — be pliant — be placid — be courteous —
but still be true to thy self — & never give
up y^ Life, — or suffer the disquieting alter-
cations, or small outrages you may undergo
in this momentous point, to weigh a Scru-
ple in the Ballance — Firmness — & fortitude
& perseverance gain almost impossibilities —
& Skm for Skin, saith Job, nay all that a
Man has, will he give for his Life" — oh my
Eliza ! That I could take the Wings of the
Morning, & fly to aid thee in this virtuous
77
LETTERS
Struggle, went to Ranelagh at 8 this night,
and sat still till ten — came home ill.
May 2^
I fear I have relapsed — sent afresh for my
Doctor — who has confined me to my sopha
— being able neither to walk, stand or sit
upright, without aggravating my Symptoms
— I'm still to be treated as if I was a Sin-
ner — & in truth have some appearances so
strongly implying it, That was I not con-
scious I had had no Commerce with the
Sex these 15 Years, I would decamp to
morrow for Montpellier in the South of
France, where Maladies of this sort are
better treated & all taints more radically
driven out of the Blood — than in this
Country ; but If I continue long ill — I
am still determined to repair there — not
to undergo a Cure of a distemper I can-
not have, but for the bettering my Con-
stitution by a better Climate. — I write this
as I lie upon my back — in w^^ posture I
must continue, I fear some days — If I am
able — will take up my pen again before
night —
4? clock. — an hour dedicated to Eliza! for
78
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
I have dined alone — & ever since the Cloath
has been laid, have done nothing but call
upon thy dear Name — and ask why tis not
permitted thou shouldst sit down, & share
my Macarel & fowl — there would be enough,
said Molly as she placed it upon the Table
to have served both You & poor M"!^ Dra-
per — I never bring in the knives &; forks,
added she, but I think of her — There was
no more trouble with you both, than w*!*
one of You — I never heard a high or a
hasty word from either of You — You were
surely made, added Molly, for one another,
you are both so kind so quiet & so friendly
— Molly furnishd me with Sause to my
Meat — for I wept my plate full, Eliza! &
now I have begun, could shed tears till
Supper again — & then go to bed weeping
for thy absence till morning. Thou hast
bewitch 'd me with powers, my dear Girl,
from which no power shall unlose me —
and if fate can put this Journel of my
Love into thy hands, before we meet, I
know with what warmth it will inflame the
kindest of hearts, to receive me. peace be
with thee, my Eliza, till that happy mo-
ment!
79
LETTERS
9 at night. I shall never get possession
of myself, Eliza! at this rate — I want to
Call off my Thoughts from thee, that I
may now & then apply them to some
concrns w^.^ require both my attention &
genius, but to no purpose — I had a Letter
to write to Lord Shelburn — & had got my
apparatus in order to begin — when a JMap
of India coming in my Way — I begun to
study the length k dangers of my Eliza's
Voiage to it, and have been amusing &
frightening myself by turns, as I traced the
path- way of the Earl of Chatham, the whole
afternoon — good god! what a voiage for any
one! — but for the poor relax'd frame of my
tender Bramine to cross the Line twice, &
be subject to the Intolerant heats, & the
hazards w^^ must be the consequence of
em to such an unsupported Being ! O
Eliza! 'tis too much — & if thou conquerest
these, and all the other difficulties of so
tremendous an alienation from thy Country,
thy Children & thy friends, tis the hand of
Providence w^^ watches over thee for most
merciful purposes — Let this persuasion, my
dear Eliza ! stick close to thee in all thy
tryals — as it shall in those thy faithful
80
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Bramin is put to — till the mark'd hour of
deliverance comes. I'm going to sleep upon
this religious Elixir — may the Infusion of it
distil into the gentlest of hearts — for that
Eliza! is thine — sweet, dear, faithful Girl,
most kindly does thy Yorick greet thee
with the wishes of a good night & of
Millions yet to come
May 3^ Sunday. What can be the mat-
ter with me! Something is wrong, Eliza!
in every part of me — I do not gain strength;
nor have I the feelings of health returning
back to me; even my best moments seem
merely the efforts of my mind to get well
again, because I cannot reconcile myself to
the thoughts of never seeing thee Eliza
more. — for something is out of tune in
every Chord of me — still with thee to nurse
& sooth me, I should soon do well — The
want of thee is half my distemper — but not
the whole of it — I must see M^^ James to
night, tho' I know not how to get there —
but I shall not sleep, if I don't talk of you
to her — so shall finish this Days Journal on
my return —
May 4*^!^ Directed by M^.^ James how to
81
LETTERS
write Over- Land to thee, my Eliza! — would
gladly tear out thus much of my Journal to
send to thee — but the Chances are too
many against it's getting to Bombay — or of
being deliverd into yT own hands shall
write a long long Letter — & trust it to fate
& thee, was not able to say three words at
MT^ James, thro' utter weakness of body &
mind ; & when I got home — could not get
up stairs w*!^ Molly's aid — have rose a little
better, my dear girl — & will live for thee —
do the same for thy Bramin, I beseech thee,
a Line from thee now, in this state of my
Dejection, — would be worth a kingdome to
me! —
May 4. Writing by way of Vienna &
Bussorah My Eliza. — this & Company took
up the day.
5th writing to Eliza. — & trying V Extraite
de Saturne upon myself. — (a french Nos-
trum)
Q"^^ Dined out for the 1^* time — came
home to enjoy a more harmonious evening
w*^ my Eliza, than I could expect at Soho
82
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Concrt* — every Thing my dear Girl, has lost
its former relish to me — &c for thee eternally
does it quicken! writing to thee over Land
all day.
7. continue poorly, my dear! — but my
blood warms every mom*^ I think of our
future Scenes — so must grow strong upon
the Idea — what shall I do upon the Real-
ity?— O God!—
8^!* employ 'd in writing to my Dear all
day — & in projecting happiness for her — tho
in misery myself. O ! I have undergone
Eliza! — but the worst is over — (I hope) — so
adieu to those Evils, & let me has't the
happiness to come.
9*** — 10*^ — & 11^ — so unaccountably disor-
der'd — I cannot say more — but that I w.
suffer ten times more & with wishs for my
Eliza — adieu bless'd Woman! —
12^^ O Eliza! That my weary head was
now laid upon thy Lap — (tis all that's left
* One of the famous concerts at Carlisle House under the
management of Mrs. Theresa Cornelys.
83
LETTERS
for it) — or that I had thine, reclining upon
my bosome, and there resting all its dis-
quietudes ; — my Bramine — the world or
Yorick must perish, before that foundation
shall fail thee! — I continue poorly — but I
turn my Eyes Eastward the oftener, & with
more earnestness for it Great God of
Mercy I shorten the Space betwixt us, —
Shorten the space of our miseries!
13*^ Could not get the Gen! post office
to take charge of my Letters to You — so
gave thirty shillings to a Merchant to fur-
ther them to Aleppo & fi-om thence to
Bassorah — so you will receive 'em (I hope
in god) say by Christmas — Surely 'tis not
impossible, but I may be made as happy
as my Eliza, by some transcript from her,
by that time — If not I shall hope — & hope
every week, and every hour of it, for Tidings
of Comfort — we taste not of it 710110, my
dear Bramine — but we will make full meals
upon it hereafter. — Cards from 7 or 8 of
our Grandies to dine with them before I
leave Town — shall go like a Lamb to the
Slaughter — ' ' Man delights not me — nor
Woman^^
84
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
14. a little better to day — & would look
pert, if my heart would but let me — dined
w*?^ L^ & Lady Bellasis. — so beset w*^
Company — not a moment to write.
15. Undone with too much Society yes-
terday, — You scarse can Conceive my dear
Eliza what a poor Soul I am — how I shall
be got down to Cox only heaven knows —
for I am as weak as a Child — You would
not like me the worse for it, Eliza, if you
was here — My friends like me, the more, —
& Swear I shew more true fortitude &
eveness of temper in my Suffering than
Seneca, or Socrates — I am, my Bramin,* re-
signed.
16. Taken up all day with worldly mat-
ters, just as my Eliza was the week be-
fore her departure. — breakfasted with Lady
Spencer — caught her with the character of
y^ Portrait — caught her passions still more
with that of y'^self — & my Attachment to
the most amiable of Beings — drove at night
to Ranelagh — staid an hour — returnd to my
Lodgings, dissatisfied.
* Just as Sterne sometimes refers to himself as the Bramine,
so he here carelessly addresses Eliza as the Bramin.
85
LETTERS
17. At Court — every thing in this world
seems in Masquerade, but thee dear Woman
— and therefore I am sick of all the world
but thee — one Evening so spent, as the
Saturday's w^!^ preeceeded our Separation —
would sicken all the Conversation of the
world — / relish no Converse since — when
will the like return? — tis hidden from us
both, for the wisest ends — and the hour
will come my Eliza! when We shall be
convinced, that every event has been or-
der' d for the best for Us — our fruit is not
ripend — the accidents of time & Seasons will
ripen every Thing together for Us — a little
better to day — or could not have wrote
this, dear Bramine rest thy Sweet Soul in
peace !
18. Laid sleepless all night, with think-
ing of the many dangers & sufferings, my
dear Girl ! that thou art exposed to — from
the Voiage & thy sad state of health — but
I find I must think no more upon them —
I have rose wan and trembling with the
Havock they have made upon my nerves —
tis death to me to apprehend for you — I
must flatter my Imagination, That every
86
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Thing goes well with You — Surely no evil
can have befallen you — for if it had — I had
felt some monitory sympathetic Shock with-
in me, w^.^ would have spoke like Revela
tion. — So farewell to all tormenting May
he's in regard to my Eliza — She is well —
she thinks of her Yorick w*!^ as much Affec-
tion and true esteem as ever — and values
him as much above the World, as he values
his Bramine.
19.
Packing up, or rather Molly for me, the
whole day — tormenting! had not Molly all
the time talk'd of poor M':^ Draper — & re-
counted every Visit She had made me, and
every repast she had shared with me — how
good a Lady! — How sweet a temper! — how
beautiful! — how genteel! — how gentle a Car-
riage — & how soft & engaging a look! — the
poor girl is bewitch 'd with us both — infi-
nitely interested in our Story, tho' She
knows nothing of it but from her penetra-
tion and Conjectures. — She says however, tis
Impossible not to be in Love with her — In
heart felt truth, Eliza! I'm of Molly's
opinion.
87
LETTERS
20. Taking Leave of all the Town, be-
fore my departure to morrow.
21. detaind by Lord k Lady Spencer
who had made a party to dine & sup on
my Acc*^ Impatient to set out for my Soli-
tude — there the Mind, Eliza! gains strength,
& learns to lean upon herself — and seeks
refuge in its own Constancy & Virtue — in
the world it seeks or accepts of a few
treacherous supports — the feign'd Compas-
sion of one — the flattery of a second — the
Civilities of a third — the friendship of a
fourth — they all deceive — & bring the Mind
back to where mine is retreating — that is
Eliza! to itself — to thee who art my second
self, to retirement, reflection & Books —
when The Stream of Things, dear Bramine,
Brings Us both together to this Haven —
will not your heart take up its rest for
ever? & will not yT head Leave the world
to those who can make a better thing of
it — if there are any who know how. —
Heaven take thee Eliza! under it's Wing —
adieu ! adieu —
22^
Left Bond Street & London w* it, this
88
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Morning— What a Creature 1 am! my heart
has ached this week to get away — & still
was ready to bleed in quiting a Place
where my Connection with my dear dear
Eliza began — Adieu to it! till I am sum-
mon 'd up to the Downs by a Message, to
fly to her — for I think I shall not be able
to support Town without you — & w^ chuse
rather to sit solitary here till the end of the
next Summer — to be made happy altogether
— then seek for happiness — or even suppose
I can have it, but in Eliza's Society.
23^* bear my Journey badly — ill — & dis-
pirited all the Way— staid two days on the
road at the A-Bishops of Yorks — shewd his
Grace & his Lady and Sister yr portrait —
w*!^ a short but interesting Story of my
friendship for the Original — kindly nursed &
honourd both — arrived at my Thatchd Cot-
tage the 28th of May.
29*^h & 30*!^ — confined to my bed — so ema-
ciated, and unlike what I was, I could scarse
be angry with thee Eliza, if thou Coulds not
remember me, did heaven send me across
* Only the first clause can belong to the twenty-third.
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LETTERS
thy way — Alas ! poor Yorick ! — " remember
thee! Pale Ghost — remember thee — whilst
Memory holds a seat in this distracted
World — Remember thee — Yes from the
Table of her Memory, shall just Eliza wipe
away all trivial men — & leave a throne for
Yorick — adieu dear constant Girl — adieu —
adieu — & Remember my Truth and eternal
fidelity — Remember how I Love — remember
what I suffer. — Thou art mine Eliza by
Purchace — had I not earn'd thee with a
bitter price.
31.
Going this day upon a long course of
Corrosive Mercury — w^.^ in itself, is deadly
poyson, but given in a certain preparation,
not very dangerous — I was forced to give it
up in Town, from the terrible Cholicks both
in Stomach & Bowels — but the Faculty
thrust it down my Throat again — These
Gentry have got it into their Noddies,
That mine is an Ecclesiastick Rheum as
the french call it — god help em! I sub-
mit as my Uncle Toby did, in drinking
Water, upon the wound he rec^ in his
Groin — Merely for quietness sake.
90
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
June 1.
The Faculty, my dear Eliza! have mis-
taken my Case — why not y^^? I wish I
could fly to you & attend you but one
month as a physician — You'l Languish &
dye where you are, — (if not by the climate)
— most certainly by their Ignorance of y^
Case, & the unskilful Treatment you must
be a martyr to in such a place as Bom-
bay. — I'm Languishing here myself with
every Aid & help — & tho' I shall conquer
it — yet have had a cruel Struggle — w^ my
dear friend, I could ease y*"?, either by my
Advice — my attention — my Labour — my
purse — They are all at yr Service, such as
they are — and that you know Eliza — or my
friendship for you is not worth a rush.
June 2^
This morning surpriz'd with a Letter
from my Lydia — that She and her Mama,
are coming to pay me a Visit — but on
Condition I promise not to detain them
in England beyond next April — when,
they purpose, by my Consent, to retire
into France, & establish themselves for
Life — To all which I have freely given
91
LETTERS
my parole of Honour — & so shall have
them with me for the Summer — from
Octr to April — they take Lodgings in
York — when they Leave me for good &
all I suppose.
^^ Every thing for the best! Ehza.
This unexpected visit, is neither a visit of
friendship or form — but tis a visit, such as
1 know you will never make me, — of pure
Interest — to pillage what they can from me.
In the first place to sell a small estate I
have of sixty p'^.^ a year — & lay out the
purchase money in joint annuitys for them
in the french Funds; by this they will ob-
tain 200 p*^.s a year, to be continued to the
longer Liver — and as it rids me of all future
care — & moreover transfers their Income to
the Kingdom where they purpose to live —
I'm truely acquiescent — tho' I lose the
Contingency of surviving them — but 'tis no
matter — I shall have enough — & a hundred
or two hundred Pounds for Eliza when
ever She will honour me with putting her
hand into my Purse In the main time,
I am not sorry for this Visit, as every
Thing will be finally settled between us
by it — only as their Annuity will be too
92
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
strait — I shall engage to remit them a 100
Guineas a year more, during my Wife's
Life — & then, I will think, Eliza, of living
for myself & the Being I love as much.
But I shall be pillaged in a hundred small
Item's by them — w^h I have a Spirit above
saying, no — to; as Provisions of all sorts of
Linnens — for house use — Body use — printed
Linnens for Gowns — Mazareens of Teas —
Plate, (all I have (but 6 Silver Spoons) —
In short I shall be pluck' d bare — all but
of y Portrait & SnufF Box &; yT other
dear Presents — & the neat furniture of
my thatch'd Palace — & upon these I set
up Stock again, Eliza. What say you,
Eliza! shall we join our little capitals to-
gether? — will Mr Draper give us leave? —
he may safely — if yT Virtue & Honour are
only concernd, — 'twould be safe in Yoricks
hands, as in a Brothers — I w^ not wish M*"
Draper to allow you above half I allow M"
Sterne — Our Capital would be too great, &
tempt us from the Society of poor Cordelia
— who begins to wish for you.
By this time, I trust you have doubled
the Cape of good hope — & sat down to y'
writing Drawer; & look'd in Yoricks face,
93
LETTERS
as you took out yT Journal; to tell him
so — I hope he seems to smile as kindly
upon you Eliza, as ever — yT Attachment
& Love for me, will make him do so to
eternity — if ever he sh^ change his Air,
Eliza ! — I charge you catechize your own
Heart — oh! twil never happen!
June 3^ — Cannot write my Travels, or
give one half hours close attention to
them, upon Thy Ace* my dearest friend —
Yet write I must, & what to do with You,
whilst I write — I declare I know not — I
want to have you ever before my Imagina-
tion — & cannot keep you out of my heart
or head — In short thou enterst my Library
Eliza! (as thou one day shalt) without tap-
ping — or sending for — by thy own Right of
ever being close to thy Bramine — now I
must shut you out sometimes — or meet you
Eliza! with an empty purse upon the Beach
— pity my entanglements from other pas-
sions — my Wife with me every moment
of the Summer — think w* restraint upon
a Fancy that should Sport & be in all
points at its ease — O had I, my dear
Bramine this Summer, to soften — k modu-
94
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
late my feelings — to enrich my fancy, &
fill my heart brim full with bounty — my
Book w^ be worth the reading —
It will be by stealth if I am able to go
on with my Journal at all — It will have
many Interruptions — & Heyho's! most sen-
timentally utter' d — Thou must take it as it
pleases God. — as thou must take the Writer
— eternal Blessings be about You Eliza! I
am a little better, & now find I shall be
set right in all points — my only anxiety is
about You — I want to prescribe for you
My Eliza — for I think I understand y*"
Case better than all the Faculty, adieu —
adieu.
June 4.
Hussy ! — I have employ 'd a full hour
upon yr sweet sentimental Picture — and a
couple of hours upon yourself — & with as
much kind friendship, as the hour You left
me — I deny it — Time lessens no Affections
w^.^ honour h merit have planted — I w*? give
more, and hazard more now for your happi-
ness than in any one period, since I first
learn'd to esteem you — is it so with thee
my friend ? has absence weakend my In-
95
LETTERS
terest — has time worn out any Impression —
or is Yorieks name less Musical in Eliza's
ears? — my heart smites me, for asking the
question — tis Treason ag^^ thee Eliza and
Truth — Ye are dear Sisters, and yT Brother
Bramin Can never live to see a Separation
amongst Us. — What a similitude in our
Trials whilst asunder! — Providence has or-
der' d every Step better, than we could
have order'd them, — for the particular good
we wish each other — This you will com-
ment upon & find the Sense of without my
explanation.
I wish this Summer & Winter w'^^ all I
am to go through with in them, in busi-
ness &i. Labour & Sorrow, well over — I have
much to compose — & much to discompose
me — have my Wife's projects — & my own
Views arising out of them, to harmonize
and turn to account — I have Millions of
heart aches to suffer & reason with — & in
all this Storm of Passions, I have but one
small Anchor, Eliza ! to keep this weak
Vessel of mine from perishing — I trust all
I have to it — as I trust Heaven, which
cannot leave me, without a fault, to perish.
— may the same just Heaven my Eliza, be
96
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
that eternal Canopy w*=^ shall shelter thy
head from evil till we meet — Adieu — adieu
— adieu.
June 5.
I sit down to write this day, in good
earnest — so read Eliza! quietly besides me —
I'll not give you a Look — except one of
kindness — dear Girl ! if thou lookest so be-
witching once more — I'll turn thee out of
my Study — You may bid me defiance,
Eliza. — You cannot conceive how much &
how universally I'm pitied, upon the Score
of this unexpected Visit from france — my
friends think it will kill me — If I find my-
self in danger I'll fly to you to Bombay —
will MT Draper receive me? — he ought — but
he will never know what reasons make it
his Interest and Duty — We must leave all
all to that Being who is infinitely removed
above all Straitness of heart & is a
friend to the friendly, as well as to the
friendless.
June 6. — am quite alone in the depth of
that sweet Recesse, I have so often de-
scribed to You — tis sweet in itself — but
97
LETTERS
You never come across me — but the per-
spective brightens up — &; every Tree & Hill
& Vale & Ruin ab* me — smiles as if you
was amidst 'em — delusive moments! — how
pensive a price do I pay for you — fancy
sustains the Vision whilst She has strength —
but Eliza ! Eliza is not with me ! — I sit
down upon the first Hillock Solitary as a
sequester' d Bramin — I wake from my de-
lusion to a thousand Disquietudes, which
many talk of — my Eliza! — but few feel —
then weary my Spirit with thinking, plot-
ting, &£ projecting — & when I've brought
my System to my mind — am only Doubly
miserable, That I cannot execute it —
Thus — Thus my dear Bramine are we lost
at present in this tempest — Some Haven of
rest will open to us assuredly — God made
us not for Misery! and Ruin — he has orderd
all our Steps — & influenced our Attachments
for what is worthy of them — It must end
well — Eliza! —
June 7
I have this week finish'd a sweet little
apartment which all the time it was doing,
I flatter' d the most delicious of Ideas, in
98
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
thinking I was making it for You — Tis a
neat little simple elegant room, overlook 'd
only by the Sun — just big enough to hold
a Sopha; for us — a Table, four Chairs, a
Bureau, & a Book case — They are to be
all y", Room & all — & there Eliza I shall
I enter ten times a day to give thee Tes-
timonies of my Devotion — Was't thou this
moment sat down, it w^ be the sweetest of
earthly Tabernacles — I shall enrich it, from
time to time, for thee — till Fate lets me
lead thee, by the hand Into it — & then it
can want no Ornament. — tis a little oblong
room — with a large Sash at the end — a little
elegant fireplace — w*^!^ as much room to dine
around it, as in Bond street — But in sweet-
ness & Simplicity; & silence beyond any
thing — oh my Eliza 1 — I shall see thee surely
Goddesse of this Temple, — and the most
sovereign one, of all I have — & of all the
powers heaven has trusted me with — They
were lent me, Eliza! only for thee — & for
thee my dear Girl shall be kept & em-
ployed. — You know what rights You have
over me. — wish to heaven I could Convey
the Grant more amply than I have done —
but tis the same — tis register' d where it will
99
L E T T E H S
longest last — & that is in the feeling & most
sincere of human hearts — You know I mean
this reciprocally — & whenever I mention the
Word Fidelity & Truth, — in Speaking of y""
Reliance on mine — I always Imply the same
Reliance upon the same Virtues in my Eliza.
— I love thee Eliza! & will love thee for
ever — Adieu. —
June 8.
Begin to recover, and sensibly to gain
strength every day — and have such an ap-
petite as I have not had for some Years —
I prophecy I shall be the better, for the
very Accident which has occasiond my Ill-
ness — & that the Medicines & Regimen I
have submitted to will make a thorough
Regeneration of me, and y^ I shall have
more health and strength, than I have en-
joy 'd these ten Years — Send me such an
Acc!^ of thyself Eliza, by the first sweet
Gale — but tis impossible You sh^ from
Bombay — twil be as fatal to You, as it has
been to thousands of y'" Sex — England &
Retirement in it, can only save you —
ome ! — Come away —
C
100
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
June 9*!^ I keep a post chaise & a couple
of fine horses, & take the Air every day in
it — I go out — & return to my Cottage Eliza!
alone — 'tis melancholly, what sh*? be matter
of enjoyment; &; the more so for that reason
— I have a thousand things to remark & say
as I roll along — but I want you to say them
to — I could some times be wise — & often
Witty — but I feel it a reproach to be the
latter whilst Eliza is so far from hearing
me — & what is Wisdome to a foolish weak
heart like mine ! Tis like the Song of
Melody to a broken Spirit — You must
teach me fortitude my dear Bramine — for
with all the tender qualities w9^ make you
the most precious of Women — & most
wanting of all other Women of a kind of
protector — yet you have a passive kind of
sweet Courage w^.'^ bears you up — more
than any one Virtue I can summon up in
my own Case — We were made with Tem-
pers for each other Eliza ! and you are
blessd with such a certain turn of Mind &
reflection — that if Self love does not blind
me — I resemble no Being in the world so
nearly as I do you — do you wonder then I
have such fi-iendship for you? — for my own
101
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
RiVEHSlOt
LETTERS
part, 1 sW not be astonished, Eliza, if you
was to declare ' ' You was up to the ears in
Love with Me."
June lot!*
You are stretching over now in the Trade
Winds from the Cape to Madrass — (I hope)
— but I know it not, some friendly Ship
you possibly have met w*^!^, & I never read
an Acc*^ of an India Man arrived — but I
expect that it is the Messenger of the news
my heart is upon the rack for. — I calculate.
That you will arrive at Bombay by the be-
ginning of October — by February, I shall
surely hear from you thence — but from
Madrass sooner. — I expect you Eliza in
person, by September — & shall scarse go to
London till March — for what have I to do
there, when (except printing my Books) I
have no Interest or Passion to gratify — I
shall return in June to Coxwould — & there
wait for the glad Tidings of yr arrival in
the Downs — won't You write to me Eliza?
by the first Boat? would not you wish to
be greeted by yT Yorick upon the Beech? —
or be met by him to hand you out of yy
postchaise, to pay him for the Anguish he
102
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
underwent, in handing you into it? — I know
your answers — my Spirit is with You. fare-
wel dear friend —
June 11.
I am every day negociating to sell my
little Estate besides me — to send the money
into France to purchace peace to myself — &
a certainty of never having it interrupted
by M':^ Sterne — who when She is sensible I
have given her all I can part with — will be
at rest herself — Indeed her plan to purchace
annuities in france — is a pledge of Security
to me — That She will live her days out
there — otherwise She could have no end in
transporting this two thousand pounds out
of England — nor w^ I consent but upon
that plan — but I may be at rest! — if my
imagination will but let me — Hall says tis
no matter where she lives; If we are but
separate, tis as good as if the Ocean rolled
between us — & so I should argue to an-
other Man — but, tis an Idea w^.^ won't do so
well for me — & tho' nonsensical enough —
Yet I shall be most at rest when there is
that Bar between Us — was I never so sure,
I sh"? never be interrupted by her, in Eng-
103
L E T T E R S
land — but I may be at rest T say, on that
head — for they have left all their Cloaths &
plate and Linnen behind them in france — &
have joind in the most earnest Entreaty,
That they may retm^n & fix in france — to
w^!^ I have give my word & honour — You
will be bound with me Eliza! I hope, for
performance of my promise — I never yet
broke it, in cases where Interest or pleasure
could have tempted me, — and shall hardly
do it now, when tempted only by misery. —
In Truth Eliza! thou art the Object to w^h
every act of mine is directed — You interfere
in every Project — I rise — T go to sleep with
this on my Brain — how will my dear Bra-
mine approve of this? — w^.^ way will it con-
duce to make her happy? and how will it
be a proof of my affection to her? are all
the Enquiries I make — y^ Honour, yr Con-
duct, y^ Truth & regard for my esteem —
I know will equally direct every Step — &
movement of y"" Desires — & with that As-
surance, is it, my dear Girl, That I sustain
Life. — But when will those Sweet eyes of
thine, run over these Declarations ? — how —
&; with whom are they to be entrusted; to
be conveyed to You? — unless M^;^ James's
104
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
friendship to us, finds some expedient — i
must wait — till the first evening I'm with
You — when I shall present You wt^ them
as a better Picture of me, than Cosway
could do for You . . — have been dismally
ill all day — owing to my course of Mede-
cines w^!^ are too strong & forcing for this
gawsy Constitution of mine — I mend with
them however — good God! how is it with
You?
June 12. I have return 'd from a deli-
cious walk of Romance, my Bramine, which
I am to tread a thousand times over with
You swinging upon my arm — tis to my
Convent — & I have pluckd up a score [of]
Bryars by the roots w'=^ grew near the
edge of the foot way, that they might not
scratch or incommode you — had I been sure
of yT taking that walk with me the very
next day, I could not have been more seri-
ous in my employm*^ — dear Enthusiasm? —
thou bringst things forward in a moment,
w<=^ Time keeps for Ages back — I have you
ten times a day besides me — I talk to you
Eliza, for hours together — I take yT Council
— I hear your reasons — I admire you for
105
LETTERS
them I — to this magic of a warm Mind, I
owe all that's worth living for, during this
State of our Trial — Every Trincket you
gave or exchanged w*!^ me has its force —
yT Picture is Y'self — all Sentiment, Softness
& Truth — It speaks — it listens — 'tis con-
c'rned — it resignes — Dearest Original 1 how
like unto thee does it seem — & will seem —
till thou makest it vanish, by thy presence
— I'm but so, so — but advancing in health —
to meet you — to nurse you, to nourish you
agst you come — for I fear, You will not ar-
rive, but in a State that calls out to Yorick
for support — Thou art Mistress, Eliza, of all
the powers he has to sooth & protect thee
— for thou art Mistress of his heart; his
affections; and his reason — & beyond that,
except a paltry purse, he has nothing worth
giving thee — .
June 13.
This has been a year of presents to me —
my Bramine — How many presents have I
rec4 from You in the first place? — L^ Spen-
cer has loaded me with a grand Ecritoire of
40 Guineas — I am to receive this week a
fourty Guinea - present of a gold SnufF Box,
106
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
as fine as Paris can fabricate one with an
Inscription on it, more valuable, than the
Box itself — I have a present of a portrait,
(which by the by I have immortalized in
my Sentimental Journey) worth them both
— I say nothing of a gold Stock buccle &
Buttons — tho' I rate them above rubies,
because they were Consecrated by the hand
of Friendship, as She fitted them to me. — I
have a present of the Sculptures upon poor
Ovid's Tomb, who died in Exile, tho' he
wrote so well upon the Art of Love — These
are in six beautiful Pictures executed on
Marble at Rome — & these Eliza, I keep
sacred as Ornaments for y'" Cabinet, on
Condition I hang them up. — and last of
all, I have had a present, Eliza! this Year,
of a Heart so finely set — with such rich
materials — & Workmanship — That Nature
must have had the chief hand in it — If I
am able to keep it — I shall be a rich Man
— If I lose it — I shall be poor indeed — so
poor I I shall stand begging at y\ gates. —
But what can all these presents portend —
That it will turn out a fortunate earnest, of
what is to be given me hereafter.
lor
LETTERS
June 14.
I want you to comfort me my dear Bra-
mine — & reconcile my mind to 3 months
misery — some days I think Hghtly of it — on
others — my heart sinks down to the earth —
but tis the last Trial of conjugal Misery — &
I wish it was to begin this moment, That
it might run its period the faster — for sit-
ting as I do, expecting sorrow — is suffering
it — I am going to Hall to be philosophizd
with for a week or ten Days on this point
— but one hour with you would calm me
more & furnish me with stronger Supports
under this weight upon my Spirits, than all
the world put together — Heaven! to what
distressful Encountres hast thou thought fit
to expose me — & was it not, that thou hast
blessd me with a chearfulness of disposition
— &£ thrown an object in my way, That is
to render that Sun Shine perpetual — Thy
dealings with me, would be a mystery.
June 15 — from morning to night every
mom^ of this day held in Bondage at my
friend L^ ffauconberg's — so have but a mo-
ment left to close the day, as I do every
one — with wishing thee a sweet nights rest
108
I
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
— would I was at the feet of y^ Bed fan-
ning breezes to You, in yT Slumbers — Mark!
— you will dream of me this night — & if it
is not recorded in your Journal — 1 11 say,
you could not recollect it the day following
— adieu. —
June 16.
My Chaise is so large — so high — so long
— so wide — so Crawford 's-like, That I am
building a coach house on purpose for it —
do you dislike it for this gigantick size? —
now I remember, I heard you once say —
You hated a small post Chaise — w^.^ you
must know determined my Choice to this —
because I hope to make you a present of
it — & if you are squeamish I shall be as
squeamish as You, & return you all yT pres-
ents, — but one — w^.^ I cannot part with —
and what that is — I defy you to guess. I
have bought a milch Asse this afternoon — &
purpose to live by Suction, to save the ex-
pences of houskeeping — & have a Score or
two guineas in my purse, next
June 17.
I have brought yr name Eliza! and Pic-
109
LETTERS
ture into my work* — where they will remain
— when You &c I are at rest for ever — Some
Annotator or explainer of my works in this
place will take occasion, to speak of the
Friendship w^.^ subsisted so long & faith-
fully betwixt Yorick & the Lady he speaks
of — Her Name he will tell the world was
Draper — a Native of India — married there
to a gentleman in the India Service of that
Name — who brought her over to England
for the recovery of her health in the Year
65 — where She continued to April the Year
1767. It was ab* three months before her
Return to India, That our Author's ac-
quaintance & hers began. M*:^ Draper had
a great thirst for knowledge — was hand-
some — genteel — engaging — and of such gen-
tle dispositions & so enlightend an under-
standing, — That Yorick (whether he made
much opposition is not known) from an ac-
quaintance — soon became her Admirer — they
caught fire, at each other at the same time
— & they w^ often say, without reserve to
the world, & without any Idea of saying
wrong in it, That their Affections for each
other were unbounded — M^ Draper dying in
* A Sentimental Journey.
110
jyft,y^f^^ ^cr-"^^ 9€-cunr€^ (f^ X'^ X'^'^f^ c.^tj
V.
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
the Year * * * * * This Lady return'd to
England & Yorick the Year after becoming
a Widower — They were married — & retiring
to one of his Livings in Yorkshire, where
was a most romantic Situation — they hved
& died happily — and are spoke of with hon-
our in the parish to this day —
June 18.
How do you like the History, of this
couple, Eliza ? — is it to your mind ? — or
shall it be written better some sentimental
Evening after your return — tis a rough
i^etch — but I could make it a pretty pic-
ture, as the outlines are just — we'll put our
heads together & try what we can do. This
last Sheet has put it out of my power, ever
to send you this Journal to India — I had
been more guarded — but that You have
often told me, 'twas in vain to think of
writing by Ships w^?* sail in March, — as you
hoped to be upon yT return again by their
arrival at Bombay — If I can write a Letter
I will — but this Journal must be put into
Eliza's hands by Yorick only — God grant
you to read it soon. —
111
L E T T E R S
June 19.
I never was so well and alert, as I find
myself this day — tho' with a face as pale &c
clear as a Lady after her Lying in. Yet
you never saw me so Young by 5 Years — &
If you do not leave Bombay soon — You'l
find me as young as Y^self — at this rate of
going on Summon'd from home — adieu.
June 20.
I think my dear Bramine — That nature is
turn'd upside down — for Wives go to visit
Husbands, at greater perils & take longer
journies to pay them this Civility now a
days out of ill Will — than good — Mine is
flying post a Journey of a thousand Miles
— with as many miles to go back — merely
to see how I do, & whether I am fat or
lean — & how far are you going to see yr
Helpmate — and at such hazards to Yt Life,
as few Wives' best affections w^ be able to
surmount — But Duty & Submission Eliza
govern thee — by what impulses my Rib is
bent towards me — I have told you — & yet
I w^ to God, Draper but rec^ & treated
you with half the courtesy & good nature
— I wish you was with him — for the same
112
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
reason I wish my Wife at Coxwould — That
She might the sooner depart in peace — She
is ill — of a Diarhea which she has from a
weakness on her bowels ever since her para-
litic Stroke — Travelling post in hot weather,
is not the best remedy for her — but my girl
says — she is determined to venture — She
wrote me word in Winter, She w^ not leave
france, till her end approach 'd — surely this
journey is not prophetick! but t would invert
the order of Things on the other side of
this Leaf — and what is to be on the next
Leaf — The Fates, Eliza only can tell us —
rest satisfied.
June 21.
have left off all medicnes — not caring to
tear my frame to pieces with 'em — as T feel
perfectly well. — set out for Crasy Castle to
morrow morning — where I stay ten days —
take my Sentimental Voyage — and this
Journal with me, as certain as the two
first Wheels of my Chariot — I cannot go
on without them. — I long to see y":^ — I
shall read it a thousand times over If I get
it before yr arrival — What w^ I now give
for it — tho' I know there are circumstances
113
LETTERS
in it, That will make my heart bleed &
waste within me — but if all blows over — tis
enough — we will not recount our Sorrows,
but to shed tears of Joy over them — O
Eliza ! Eliza ! Heaven nor any Being it
created, never so possessd a Man's heart —
as thou possessest mine — use it kindly —
Hussy — that is, eternally be true to it.
June 22. Ive been as far as York to day
with no Soul with me in my Chase, but y^
Picture — for it has a Soul I think — or
something like one which has talk'd to me,
& been the best Company I ever took a
Journey with (always excepting a Journey I
once took with a friend of y^^ to Salt hill,
& Enfield Wash — The pleasure I had in
those Journies, have left Impressions upon
my Mind, which will last my Life — You
may tell her as much when You see her —
she will not take it ill — I set out early to
morrow morning to see MT Hall — but take
my Journal along with me.
June 24*^
As pleasant a Journey as I am capable
of taking Eliza! without thee — Thou shalt
114
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
take it with me when time & tide serve
hereafter, & every other Journey w*=.^ ever
gave me pleasure, shall be rolled over again
with thee besides me — Amo's Vale shall
look gay again upon Eliza's Visit — and the
Companion of her Journey, will grow young
again as he sits upon her Banks with Eliza
seated besides him — I have this and a thou-
sand little parties of pleasure — & systems of
living out of the comon high road of Life,
hourly working in my fancy for you — there
wants only the Dramatis Personce for the
performance — the play is wrote — the Scenes
are painted — & the Curtain ready to be
drawn up. — the whole Piece waits for thee,
my Eliza —
June 25. — In a course of continual visits
& Invitations here — Bombay-Lascelles dined
here to day (his Wife yesterday brought to
bed) — (he is a poor sorry soul 1 but has
taken a house two miles from Crasy Castle
— What a Stupid, selfish, unsentimental set
of Beings are the Bulk of our Sex! by
Heaven 1 not one man out of 50, informd
with feelings — or endow' d either with heads
or hearts able to possess & fill the mind — of
11^
LETTERS
such a Being as thee, — with one Vibration
Hke its own — I never see or converse with
one of my Sex — but I give this point a re-
flection — how w^ such a creature please my
Bramine? I assure thee Ehza I have not
been able to find one, whom I thought
could please You — the turn of Sentiment,
with w'^^ 1 left yT Character possess' d — must
improve, hourly upon You — Truth, fidelity,
honour & Love mix'd up with Delicacy,
garrantee one another — and a taste so im-
proved as y'"^, by so delicious fare, can
never degenerate — I shall find you, my
Bramine, if possible, more valuable &; lovely
than when you first caught my esteem and
kindness for You — and tho' I see not this
change — I give you so much Credit for it —
that at this moment, my heart glowes more
warmly as I think of you — & I find my-
self more your Husband than contracts can
make us — I stay here till the 29*^^ — had in-
tended a longer Stay — but much company
& Dissipation rob me of the only comfort
my mind takes, w^.'^ is in retirement, where
I can think of You Eliza! and enjoy you
quietly &; without Interruption — tis the way
We must expect all that is to be had of
116
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
real enjoyment in this vile world — which
being miserable itself — seems so confederated
ag^.^ the happiness of the Happy, that they
are forced to secure it in private — Vanity
must still be had ; — & that, Eliza ! every
thing w*^!^ it, w^^ Yorick's sense, or gener-
osity has to furnish to one he loves so
much as thee — need T tell thee — Thou wilt
be as much a Mistress of — as thou art eter-
nally of thy Yorick — adieu — adieu —
June 26 — elven at night — out all the
day — dined with a large Party — shewd yf
Picture from the fullness of my heart —
highly admired — alas! said I did you but
see the Original 1 — good night. —
June 27.
Ten in the morning, with my SnufF open
at the Top of this sheet, — &; your gentle
sweet face opposite to mine, & saying
' ' what I write will be cordially read ' ' —
possibly you may be precisely engaged at
this very hour, the same way — and telling
me some interesting Story ab* yT health, y""
sufferings — yT heart aches — and other Sensa-
tions w^.^ friendship — absence & uncertainty
iir
LETTERS
create within you. for my own part, my
dear Eliza, I am a prey to every thing in
its turn — & was it not for that sweet clew
of hope w^^ is perpetual opening me a way
which is to lead me to thee thro' all this
Labyrinth — was it not for this, my Eliza!
how could I find rest for this bewilderd
heart of mine ? — I sh^ wait for you till Sep-
tember came — & if you did not arrive with
it — sh^ sicken & die — but I will live for
thee — so count me Immortal — 3 India Men
arrived within ten days — will none of 'em
bring me Tidings of You? — but I am fool-
ish — but ever thine — my dear, dear Bra-
mine.
June 28.
O what a tormenting night have my
dreams led me aW You Eliza — M":^ Draper
a Widow ! — with a hand at Liberty to give !
— and gave it to another! — She told me — I
must acquiese — it could not be otherwise.
Acquiese! cried I, waking in agonies — God
be prais'd cried I — tis a dream — fell asleep
after — dreamd You was married to the Cap-
tain of the Ship — I waked in a fever — but
'twas the Fever in my blood which brought
118
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
on this painful chain of Ideas — for I am ill
to day — & for want of more cheary Ideas, I
torment my Eliza with these — whose Sensi-
bility will suffer, if Yorick could dream but of
her Infidelity! & I suffer Eliza in my turn,
& think my self at pres^ little better than
an old woman or a Dreamer of Dreams in
the Scripture Language — I am going to ride
myself into better health & better fancies
with Hall — whose Castle lying near the
Sea — We have a Beach as even as a mir-
rour of 5 miles in Length before it, where
we dayly run races in our Chaises; with
one wheel in the Sea, & the other in the
Sand — O Eliza, w'^^ wt fresh ardour h im-
patience when I'm viewing the element,
do I sigh for thy return — But I need no
memento's of my Destitution & misery for
want of thee — I carry them aW me, — &
shall not lay them down — (for I worship &
I do Idolize these tender sorrows) till I
meet thee upon the Beech & present the
handkerchiefs staind with blood w^.^ broke
out from my heart upon yT departure —
This token of what I felt at that Crisis,
Eliza, shall never, never be wash'd out.
Adieu my dear Wife — you are still mine —
119
LETTERS
notwithstanding all the Dreams & Dreamers
in the World. — Mr Lascells dined w*^!* us —
Mem^ I have to tell you a Conversation —
I will not write it —
June 29. am got home from Halls — to
Cox would — O 'tis a delicious retreat! both
from its beauty, & air of Solitude; & so
sweetly does every thing ab* it invite y^
mind to rest from its Labours and be at
peace with itself &c the world — That tis the
only place, Eliza, I could live in at this
juncture — I hope one day. You will like it
as much as yT Bramine — It shall be deco-
rated & made more worthy of You — by the
time fate encourages me to look for you — I
have made you a sweet Sitting Room (as
I told You) already — and am projecting a
good Bed- Chamber adjoing it, with a pretty
dressing room for You, which connects them
together — & when they are finishd, will be
as sweet a set of romantic apartments, as
You ever beheld — the Sleeping room will
be very large — The dressing room, thro'
■yych You pass into yT Temple, will be little
— but Big enough to hold a dressing Table —
a couple of chairs, with room for yT Nymph
120
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
to stand at her ease both behind and on
either side of you — w*^ spare Room to
hang a dozen petticoats — gowns, &c — &
Shelves for as many Bandboxes — yr Uttle
Temple I hav^e described — and what it will
hold — but if it ever it holds You & I, my
Eliza — the Room will not be too little for
us — but We shall be too big for the
Room. —
June 30. — Tis now a quarter of a year
(wanting 3 days) since You sail'd from the
Downs — in one month more — You will be
(I trust) at Madras — & there you will stay
I suppose 2 long long months, before you
set out for Bombay — Tis there I shall want
to hear from you, — most impatiently — be-
cause the most interesting Letters must
come from Eliza when she is there — at
present, I can hear of y^ health, & tho' that
of all Acc^? affects me most — yet still I have
hopes taking their Rise from that — & those
are — What Impression you can make upon
M^ Draper, towards setting you at Liberty —
& leaving you to pursue the best measures
for yr preservation — and these are points, 1
m
LETTERS
w^ go to Aleppo, to know certainty* : I have
been possess 'd all day & night with an
opinion, That Draper will change his be-
haviour totally towards you — That he will
grow friendly & caressing — and as he knows
yr nature is easily to be won with gentle-
ness, he will practice it to turn you from
yT purpose of quitting him^ — In short when
it comes to the point of yT going from him
to England — it will have so much the face,
if not the reality, of an alienation on yT side
from India for ever, as a place you cannot
live at — that he will part with You by no
means, he can prevent — You will be caj oiled
my dear Eliza thus out of yT Life — but what
serves it to write this, unless means can be
found for You to read it — If you come not
— I will take the Safest Cautions I can to
have it got to You — & risk every thing,
rather than You should not know how much
I think of You — & how much stronger hold
you have got of me, than ever. — Dillon has
obtain'd his fair Indian — & has this post
wrote a kind Letter of enquiry after Yorick
and his Bramine — he is a good Soul — &
* This is probably a slip for "certainly," though Sterqe may
have intended "for a certainty."
122
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
interests himself much in our fate — I have
wrote him a whole Sheet* of paper ab^ us —
it ought to have been copied into this
Journal — but the uncertainty of yT ever
reading it, makes me omit that, with a
thousand other things, which when we
meet, shall beguile us of many a long
winters night. — those precious Nights! — my
Eliza! You rate them as high as I do —
& look back upon the manner the hours
glided over our heads in them, with the
same Interest & Delight as the Man you
spent them with — They are all that remains
to us — except the Expectatio7i of their re-
turn — the Space between us is a dismal
Void — full of doubts & suspence — Heaven
& its kindest Spirits, my dear rest over y'
thoughts by day — & free them from all dis-
turbance at night adieu — adieu Eliza ! — I
have got over this Month — so fare wel to
it, & the Sorrows it has brought with it —
the next month, I prophecy will be worse.
July 1. — But who can foretell what a a
month may produce — Eliza — I have no less
than seven different chances — not one of
* This letter is probably lost. Consult Letter CXLI.
123
LETTERS
w^.h is improbable — and any one of ['em]
would set me much at Liberty — & some of
'em render me compleatly happy — as they w^
facilitate & open the road to thee — what
these chances are I leave thee to con-
jecture, my Eliza — some of them You can-
not divine — tho' I once hinted them to
You — but those are pecuniary chances aris-
ing out of my Prebend — &; so not likely to
stick in thy brain — nor could they occupy
mine a moment, but on thy ace* . . I hope
before I meet thee Eliza on the Beach, to
have every thing plann'd; that depends on
me properly — & for what depends upon him
who orders every Event for us, to him I
leave & trust it — We shall be happy at last
I know — tis the Corner Stone of all my
Castles — & tis all I bargain for. I am per-
fectly recoverd — or more than recover' d — for
never did I feel such Indications of health
or Strength & promptness of mind — not-
withstanding the Cloud hanging over me of
a Visit — & all its tormenting consequences —
Hall has wrote an affecting little poem upon
it — the next time I see him, I will get it,
& transcbe it in this Journal, for You . .
He has persuaded me to trust her with no
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
more than fifteen hundred pounds into
Frane[e] — twil purchase 150 p^.^ a year — & to
let the rest come annually from myself —
the advice is wise enough, If I can get
her off with it — I 11 summon up the Hus-
band a little (if I can) — & keep the 500
p^^ remaining for emergencies — who knows,
Eliza, what sort of Emergencies may cry
out for it — I conceive some — & you Eliza
are not backward in Conception — so may
conceive others. / wish I was in Arno^s
Vale!—
July 2^— But I am in the Vale of Cox-
would & wish You saw in how princely a
manner I live in it — tis a Land of Plenty —
I sit down alone to Venison, fish or wild
foul — or a couple of fouls — with curds, and
strawberrys h cream, (and all the simple
clean plenty w^l^ a rich Vally can produce,
— with a Bottle of wine on my right hand
(as in Bond street) to drink y^ health — I
have a hundred hens & chickens M my
yard — and not a parishoner catches a hare
a rabbit or a Trout — but he brings it as
an offering — In short tis a golden Vally —
& will be the golden Age when You govern
135
LETTERS
the rural feast, my Bramine, & are the Mis-
tress of my table &t, spread it with elegancy
and that natural grace & bounty w^^^ w*^**
heaven has distinguish 'd You . .
— Time goes on slowly — every thing stands
still — hours seem days & days seem Years
whilst you lengthen the Distance between
us — from Madras to Bombay — 1 shall think
it shortening — and then desire & expectation
will be upon the rack again — come — come —
July 3^
Hail! Hail! my dear Eliza — I steal some-
thing every day from my sentimental Jour-
ney — to obey a more sentimental impulse in
writing to you — & giving you the present
Picture of myself — my wishes — my Love,
my sincerity — my hopes — my fears — tell me,
have I varied in any one Lineament, from
the first sitting — to this last — have I been
less warm — less tender and affectionate than
you expected or could have wish'd me in
any one of 'em — or, however varied in the
expressions of what I was & what I felt,
have I not still presented the same air and
face towards thee? — take it as a Sample of
what I ever shall be — My dear Bramine — &
126
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
that is — such as my honour, my Engage-
ments & promisses k desires have fix'd me
— I want You to be on the other side of
my httle table, to hear how sweetly y!"
Voice will be in Unison to all this — I want
to hear what You have to say to y^ Yorick
upon this Text. — what heavenly Consolation
w^ drop from y^ Lips — & how pathetically
you w^ enforce yT Truth & Love upon my
heart to free it from every Aching doubt —
Doubt! did 1 say — but I have none — and
as soon w^ I doubt the Scripture I have
preach 'd on — as question thy promisses or
suppose one Thought in thy heart during
thy absence from me, unworthy of my
Eliza — for if thou art false, my Bramine —
the whole world — and Nature itself are lyars
— and I will trust to nothing on this side
of heaven — but turn aside from all Com-
merce with expectation, & go quietly on
my way alone towards a State where no
disappointments can follow me — you are
grieved when 1 talk thus; it implies what
does not exist in either of us — so cross it
out if thou wilt — or leave it as a part of
the picture of a heart that again Languishes
for Possession — and is disturbed at every Idea
LETTERS
of its uncertainty — So heaven bless thee — &
ballance thy passions better than I have
power to regulate mine — farewel my dear
Girl — I sit in dread of tomorrovi^s post
which is to bring me an ace* when Madame
is to arrive.
July 4^^ Hear nothing of her — so am
tortured from post to post, for I want to
know certainly the day 8^ hour of this Judg-
ment — She is moreover ill, as my Lydia
writes me word — & I'm impatient to know
whether tis that — or what other Cause de-
tains her, & keeps me in this vile state of
Ignorance — I'm pitied by every Soul in pro-
portion as her Character is detested — & her
Errand known — She is coming, every one
says, to flea poor Yorick or stay him — & I
am spirited up by every friend I have to
sell my Life dear h fight valiantly in de-
fence both of my property h Life — Now
my Maxim, Eliza, is quietly \sic\ in three*
— "Spare my Life, and take all I have["] —
If she is not content to decamp with that —
One Kingdome shall not hold us — for If she
will not betake herself to France — I will.
* Sterne apparently intended "is quickly wrote in three
words. ' *
128
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
but these, I verlily [sic] believe my fears &
nothing more — for she will be as impatient
to quit England — as I could with her — but
of this — you will know more, before I have
gone thro' this month's Journal. — I get
2000 pounds for my Estate — that is, I had
the offer this morning of it — & think tis
enough. — when that is gone — I will begin
saving for thee — but in Saving myself for
thee, That & every other kind Act is im-
plied. — get on slowly with my Work — but
my head is too full of other Matters — yet
will I finish it before I see London — for I
am of too scrupulous honour to break faith
with the world — great Authors make no
scruple of it — but if they are great Authors
— I'm sure they are little Men. — k I'm
sure also of another Point w^.^ concerns y""-
self — & that is Eliza, that You shall never
find me one hair breadth a less Man than
you * — farewell — I love thee eter-
nally —
July 5. Two letters from the South of
France by this post, by which by some
fatality, I find not one of my Letters have
got to them this month — This gives me
* Erasure.
129
LETTERS
concern — because it has the aspect of an
unseasonable unkindness in me — to take no
notice of what has the appearance at least
of a Civihty in desiring to pay me a Visit —
my daughter besides has not deserved ill of
me — & tho' her mother has, I w^ not
ungenerously take that Opportunity, which
would most overwhelm her, to give any
mark of my resentment — I have besides
long since forgiven her — & am the more in-
clined now as she proposes a plan, by which
I shall never more be disquieted — in these 2
last, she renews her request to have leave to
live where she has transfer 'd her fortune — &
purposes, with my leave she says, to end her
days in the South of france — to all which I
have just been writing her a Letter of Con-
solation & good will — k to crown my pro-
fessions, intreat her to take post with my
girl to be here time enough to enjoy York
races — & so having done my duty to them —
I continue writing, to do it to thee Eliza
who art the IFoman of my heaj^t, & for
whom I am ordering & planning this, &
every thing else — be assured my Bramine
that ere every thing is ripe for our Drama,
I shall work hard to fit out h decorate a
13Q
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
little Theatre for us to act on — but not be-
fore a crouded house — no Eliza — it shall be
as secluded as the elysian fields — retirement
is the nurse of Love and kindness — & I will
Woo &; caress thee in it in such sort, that
every thicket & grotto we pass by shall sol-
licit the remembrance of the mutual pledges
We have exchanged of Affection with one
another — oh! these expectations — make me
sigh as I recite them — & many a heart-felt
Interjection! do they cost me, as I saunter
alone in the tracks we are to tread together
hereafter — still I think thy heart is with me
— & whilst I think so, I prefer it to all the
Society this world can offer — &; tis in truth
my dear oweing to this — that tho I've rec'^
half a dozen Letters to press me to join
my friends at Scarborough — that Ive found
pretences not to quit You here — and sacri-
fice the many sweet occasions I have of
giving my thoughts up to You — , for Com-
pany I cannot rellish since I have tasted my
dear Girl, the sweets of thine. —
July 6.
Three long Months and three long days
are passed & gone, since my Eliza sighed
131
LETTERS
on taking her Leave of Albions Cliffs, &
of all in Albion, which was dear to her —
How oft have I smarted at the Idea, of
that last longing Look by w<=^ thou badest
adieu to all thy heart sufFerd at that dismal
Crisis — twas the Separation of Soul & Body
— & equal to nothing but what passes on
that tremendous Moment. — & like it in
one Consequence, that thou art in another
world; where I w^ give a world to follow
thee, or hear even an Acc^ of thee — for this
I shall write in a few days to our dear
friend M^^ James — she possibly may have
heard a single Syllable or two ab^ You —
but it cannot be; the same must have been
directed towards Yoricks ear, to whom you
w^ have wrote the Name of Eliza, had
there been no time for more. I w^ almost
now compound w*!^ Fate — & was I sure
Eliza only breathd — I w^ thank heaven h
acquiesce. I kiss your Picture — your Shawl
— & every trinket I exchanged with You —
every day I live — alas! 1 shall soon be de-
barrd of that — in a fortnight I must lock
them up h clap my seal k, y''? upon them in
the most secret Cabinet of my Bureau — You
may divine the reason, Eliza! adieu — adieu!
J3?
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
July 7.
— But not Yet — for I will find means to
write to you every night whilst my people
are here — if I sit up till midnight, till they
are asleep. — I should not dare to face you,
if I was worse than my word in the smallest
Item — & this Journal I promised You Eliza
should be kept without a chasm of a day in
it — & had I my time to myself & nothing
to do but gratify my propensity — I sh^ write
from sun rise to sun set to thee — But a
Book to write — a Wife to receive & make
Treaties with — an estate to sell — a Parish to
superintend — and a disquieted heart perpetu-
ally to reason with, are eternal calls upon
me — & yet I have you more in my mind
than ever — and in proportion as I am thus
torn from y^ embraces — / cling the closer to
the Idea of you. Your Figure is ever before
my eyes — the sound of y^ voice vibrates with
its sweetest tones the live long day in my
ear — I can see & hear nothing but my Eliza,
remember this, when you think my Journal
too short & compare it not with thine, w^^
tho' it will exceed it in length, can do no
more than equal it in Love and truth of
esteem — for esteem thee I do beyond all
133
LETTERS
the powers of eloquence to tell thee how
much — & I love thee my dear Girl, & pre-
fer thy Love, to me more than the whole
world —
night — have not eat or drunk all day
thro' vexation of heart at a couple of un-
grateful unfeeling Letters from that Quar-
ter, from whence, had it pleas'd God, I
should have lookd for all my Comforts —
but he has will'd they sh^ come from the
east — & he knows how I am satisfyed with
all his Dispensations — but with none, my
dear Bramine, so much as this — with w<=^
Cordial upon my Spirits — I go to bed, in
hopes of seeing thee in my Dreams.
July 8th
— eating my fowl, and my trouts & my
cream & my strawberries, as melancholly as
a Cat; for want of you — by the by, I have
got one which sits quietly besides me, pur-
ring all day to my sorrows — & looking up
gravely from time to time in my face, as
if she knew my Situation. — how soothable
my heart is Eliza, when such little things
sooth it! for in some pathetic sinkings I
134
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
feel even some support from this poor Cat
— I attend to her purrings — k think they
harmonize me — they are piajiisshno at least,
& do not disturb me. — poor Yorickl to be
driven, vj^^ all his sensibilities, to these re-
sources — all powerful Eliza, that has had
this Magicl authority over him; to bend
him thus to the dust — But I'll have my
revenge, Hussy!
July 9. I have been all day making a
sweet Pavillion in a retired Corner of my
garden, — but my Partner & Companion &
friend for whom I make it, is fled from
me, & when she return to me again,
Heaven who first brought us together, best
knows — when that hour is foreknown what
a Paradise will I plant for thee — till then
I walk as Adam did whilst there was no
help-meet found for it, and could almost
wish a days Sleep would come upon me till
that Moment When t can say as he did —
''Behold the Woman Thou has given me for
Wife'' She shall be call'd La Bramine.
Indeed Indeed Eliza I my Life will be little
better than a dream, till we approach nearer
to each other — I live scarse conscious of my
135
LETTERS
existence — or as if I wanted a vital part; &
could not live above a few hours — & yet I
live, & live, & live on, for thy Sake, and
the sake of thy truth to me; which I
measure by my own, — & I fight ag^? every
evil and every danger, that 1 may be able
to support & shelter thee from danger and
evil also. — upon my word, dear Girl, thou
owest me much — but tis cruel to dun thee
when thou art not in a condition to pay — I
think Eliza has not run off in her Yoricks
debt-
July 10.
I cannot suffer you to be longer upon the
Water — in 10 days time, You shall be at
Madrass — the element roles in my head as
much as y*"?, & I am sick at the sight &
smell of it — for all this, my Eliza, I feel
in Imagination & so strongly I can bear
it no longer — on the 20^^!^ therefore Ins*^ I
begin to write to you as a terrestrial Being
— I must deceive myself — & think so I will
notwithstanding all that Lascelles has told
me — but there is no truth in him. — I have
just kiss'd yT picture — even that sooths many
an anxiety — I have found out the Body is
136
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
too little for the head — it shall not be recti-
fied, till I sit by the Original, & direct the
Painter's Pencil and that done, will take a
Scamper to Enfield k see yT dear children —
if You tire by the Way, there are one or
two places to rest at. — I never stand out.
God bless thee — I am thine as ever
July 11.
Sooth me — calm me — pour thy healing
Balm Eliza, into the sorest of hearts — I'm
pierced with the Ingratitude and unquiet
Spirit of a restless unreasonable Wife whom
neither gentleness or generosity can conquer
— She has now enterd upon a new plan of
waging War with me, a thousand miles —
thrice a week this last month, has the
quietest man under heaven been outraged
by her Letters — I have offer' d to give her
every Shilling I was worth except my pre-
ferment, to be let alone & left in peace by
her — Bad Woman I nothing must now pur-
chace this, unless I borrow 400 p4^ to give
her & carry into france — more — I w^ perish
first, my Eliza! 'ere I would give her a
shilling of another man's, w^^ I must do if
I give her a shill? more than I am worth.
137
LETTERS
— How I now feel the want of thee! my
dear Bramine — my generous unworldly hon-
est creature — I shall die for want of thee
for a thousand reasons — every emergency &
every Sorrow each day brings along with
it — tells me what a Treasure I am bereft
off, — whilst I want thy friendship & Love
to keep my head up sinking — Gods will be
done, but I think she will send me to my
grave. — She will now keep me in torture
till the end of SeptT — & writes me word
to day — She will delay her Journey two
Months beyond her 1^?^ Intention — it keeps
me in eternal suspence all the while — for
she will come unawars at last upon me — &
then adieu to the dear sweets of my retire-
ment.
How cruelly are our Lots drawn, my
dear — both made for happiness — & neither
of us made to taste it I In feeling so
acutely for my own disapp^ment I drop
blood for thine, I call thee in to my
Aid — & thou wantest mine as much —
Were we together we sh^ recover — but
never, never till then no7' by any other
Recipe. —
138
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
July 12.
Am ill all day with the Impressions of
Yesterday's account. — can neither eat or
drink or sit still k write or read — I walk
like a disturbed Spirit ab^ my Garden —
calling upon heaven & thee, — to come to
my Succour — couldst Thou but write one
word to me, it would be worth half the
world to me — my friends write me millions
— & every one invites me to flee from my
Solitude & come to them — I obey the
comands of my friend Hall who has sent
over on purpose to fetch me — or he will
come himself for me — so I set off to mor-
row morning to take Sanctuary in Crasy
Castle — The news papers have sent me
there already by putting in the following
paragraph
" We hear from Yorkshire, That Skelton
Castle is the present Rendevouz, of the
most brilliant Wits of the Age — the ad-
mired Author of Tristram — MT Garrick &c
beening [sic] there; & Mr Coleman & many
other men of Wit & Learning being every
day expected" — when I get there, w^!* will
be to morrow night, my Eliza will hear
139
LETTERS
from her Yorick — her Yorick — who loves
her more than ever.
July 13. Skelton Castle. Your picture
has gone round the Table after supper — &
yT health after it, my invaluable friend! —
even the Ladies, who hate grace in another,
seemed struck with it in You — but Alasl
you are as a dead Person — & Justice (as
in all such Cases) is paid you in course —
when thou returnest it will be rendered
more sparingly — but I'll make up all de-
ficiences — by honouring You more than ever
Woman was honourd by man — every good
Quality That ever good heart possess 'd —
thou possessest my dear Girl; & so sover-
eignly does thy temper & sweet sociability,
which harmonize all thy other properties
make me thine, that whilst thou art true
to thyself and thy Bramin — he thinks thee
worth a world — & w^ give a World was he
master of it, for the undisturbed possession
of thee — Time and Chance are busy throw-
ing this Die for me — a fortunate Cast, or
two, at the most, makes our fortune — it
gives us each other — & then for the World,
I will not give a pinch of SnufF. — Do take
140
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
care of thyself — keep this prospect before
thy eyes — have a view to it in all y'' Trans-
actions, Eliza, — In a word Remember You
are mine — and stand answerable for all you
say & do to me — I govern myself by the
same Rule — & such a History of myself can
I lay before you as shall create no blushes,
but those of pleasure — tis midnight — & so
sweet Sleep to thee the remaining hours of
it. I am more thine, my dear Eliza! than
ever — but that cannot be —
July 14.
dining k feasting all day at Mt Turner's
— his Lady a fine Woman herself, in love
w^h your picture — O my dear Lady, cried I,
did you but know the Original — but what
is she to you, Tristram — nothing; but that
I am in Love with her — et c^etera
said She — no I have given over dashes —
replied I I verily think my Eliza I shall
get this Picture set, so as to wear it, as I
first purposed — ab!^ my neck — I do not like
the place tis in — it shall be nearer my
heart — Thou art ever in its centre — good
night —
141
LETTERS
July 15 — From home. (Skelton Castle)
from 8 in the morning till late at Supper —
I seldom have put thee off, my dear Girl —
& yet to morrow will be as bad —
July 16.
for Mr Hall has this Day left his Crasy
Castle to come and sojourn with me at
Shandy Hall for a few days — for so they
have long christend our retired Cottage —
we are just arrived at it k whilst he is
admiring the premisses — I have stole away
to converse a few minutes with thee, and
in thy own dressing room — for I make
every thing thine & call it so, before hand,
that thou art to be mistress of hereafter.
This Hereafter, EHza, is but a melancholly
term — but the Certainty of its coming to
us, brightens it up — pray do not forget my
prophecy in the Dedication of the Alma-
nack — I have the utmost faith in it my-
self — but by what impulse my mind was
struck with 3 Years — heaven whom I be-
lieve it's author, best knows — but I shall
see yT face before — but that I leave to
You — & to the Influence such a Being
must have over all inferior ones — We are
142
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
going to dine with the Arch Bishop* to
morrow — & from thence to Harrogate for
three days, whilst thou dear Soul art pent
up in sultry Nastiness — without Variety or
change of face or Conversation — Thou shalt
have enough of both when I cater for thy
happiness Eliza — & if an Affectionate hus-
band & 400 p*^.^ a year in a sweeter Vally
than that of Jehosophat will do — less thou
shalt never have — but I hope more — & were
it millions tis the same — twould be laid at
thy feet — Hall is come in in raptures with
every thing — & so I shut up my Journal
for to day & to morrow for I shall not be
able to open it where I go — adieu my dear
Girl—
18 — was yesterday all the day with our
A. Bishop — this good Prelate who is one of
our most refined Wits & the most of a
gentleman of our order — oppresses me with
his kindness — he shews in his treatment of
me, what he told me upon taking my
Leave — that he lov^es me, & has a high
Value for me — his Chaplains tell me, he is
* Robert Hay Drumraond. Consult Letters LXVI., LXXXIV.,
and CI.
143
LETTERS
perpetually talking of me — & has such an
opinion of my head & heart that he begs
to stand Godfather for my next Literary
production — so has done me the hon^ of
putting his name in a List which I am
most proud of because my Eliza's name is
in it. I have just a moment to scrawl this
to thee, being at York — where I want to
be employd in taking you a little house,
where the prophet may be accommodated
with a Chamber in the Wall apart with a
stool (^ a Candlestick'" — where his Soul can
be at rest from the distractions of the world,
& lean only upon his kind hostesse. & repose
all his Cares, & melt them along" with hers
on her sympathetic bosom.
July 19. Harrogate Spaws. — drinking the
waters here till the 26^^ — to no effect, but
a cold dislike of every one of your sex — I
did nothing, but make comparisons betwixt
thee my Eliza, & every woman I saw and
talk'd to — thou hast made me so unfit for
every one else — than* I am thine as much
from necessity, as Love — I am thine by a
* Evidently a slip for that.
144
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
thousand sweet ties, the least of which shall
never be relax 'd — be assured my dear Bra-
mine of this — & repay me in so doing, the
Confidence I repose in thee — yT absence, y!"
distresses, your sufferings; your conflicts, all
make me rely but the more upon that fund
in you, w^.^ is able to sustain so much
weight — Providence I know will relieve you
from one part of it — and it shall be the
pleasure of my days to ease, my dear friend
of the other — I Love thee Eliza, more than
the heart of Man ever loved Woman's — I
even love thee more than I did, the day
thou badest me farewell — Farewell! — Fare-
well! to thee again — I'm going from hence
to York Races. —
July 27. arrived at York. — where I had
not been 2 hours before My heart was
overset with a pleasure, w<=.h beggard every
other, that fate could give me — save thy-
self — It was thy dear Packets from lago — I
cannot give vent to all the emotions I felt
even before I opend them — for I knew thy
hand — & my seal — w^.^ was only in thy pos-
session — O tis from my Eliza, said I. — I
instantly shut the door of my Bed-chamber,
145
LETTERS
& orderd myself to be denied — & spent the
whole evening, and till dinner the next day,
in reading over and over again the most in-
teresting Acc!^ — & the most endearing one
that ever tried the tenderness of man — I
read & wept — and wept and read till I was
blind — then grew sick, & went to bed — &
in an hour calld again for the Candle — to
read it once more — as for my dear Girls
pains &; her dangers I cannot write ab*
them — because I cannot write my feelings
or express them any how to my mind —
Eliza! but I will talk them over with
thee with a sympathy that shall woo thee,
so much better than I have ever done —
That we will both be gainers in the end —
77/ love thee for the dangers thou hast past
— and thy Affection shall go hand in hand
w*^!* me, because I'll pity thee — as no man
ever pitied Woman — but Love like mine is
never satisfied — else yT 2^ Letter from I ago
— is a Letter so warm, so simple, so tender I
1 defy the world to produce such another —
by all thats kind & gracious 1 I will entreat
thee Eliza so kndly — that thou shalt say, I
merit much of it — nay all — for my merit to
thee, is my truth.
146
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
I now want to have this week of non-
sensical Festivity over — that I may get
back, with my picture w^.^ I ever carry
ab* me — to my retreat and to Cordeha —
when the days of our Afflictions are over,
I oft amuse my fancy, w*.^ an Idea, that
thou wilt come down to me by Stealth, &
hearing where I have walk'd out to — sur-
prize me some sweet Shiney night at Cor-
delia's grave, & catch me in thy Arms over
it — O my Bramin! my Bramin!
July 31 — am tired to death with the hur-
rying pleasures of these Races — I want still
& silent ones — so return home to morrow,
in search of them — I shall find them as I
sit contemplating over thy passive picture;
sweet Shadow! of what is to come! for tis
all I can now grasp — first and best of
woman kind ! remember me, as I remem-
ber thee — tis asking a great deal my
Bramine ! — but I cannot be satisfied with
less — far well — fare — happy till fate will let
me cherish thee myself. — O my Eliza! thou
writest to me with an Angels pen — & thou
wouldst win me by thy Letters, had I never
seen thy face or known thy heart.
m
LETTERS
Augs* 1. what a sad Story thou hast told
me of thy Sufferings & Despondences from
S^ lago, till thy meeting w*?^ the Dutch
Ship — twas a sympathy above Tears — I
trembled every Nerve as I went from line
to line — & every moment the Acc^ comes
across me — I suffer all I felt, over & over
again — will providence suffer all this anguish
without end — & without pity? — '"it no can
6^" — I am tried my dear Bramine in the
furnace of Affliction as much as thou — by
the time we meet, We shall be fit only for
each other — & should cast away upon any
other Harbour.
Aug^!^ 2, my wife uses me most unmer-
cifully — every Soul advises me to fly from
her — but where can I fly If I fly not to
thee ? The Cishop of Cork & Ross* has
made me great offers in Ireland — but I
will take no step without thee — & till
heaven opens us some track — He is the
best of feeling tender hearted men — knows
our Story — sends You his Blessing — and
says if the Ship you return in touches at
*Dr. Jemmet Brown, whom Sterne met at Scarborough.
Consult Letter CLV.
148
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
Cork (w'^^ many India men do) — he will
take you to his palace, till he can send for
me to join You — he only hopes, he says, to
join us together for ever — but more of this
good man, and his attachment to me — here-
after and of and [sic] couple of Ladies in
the family &cc — &c.
Aug^ 3. I have had an offer of exchang-
ing two pieces of preferment T hold here
(but sweet Cordelia's Parish is not one of
'em) for a living of 350 p4^ a year in Surry*
ab^ 30 miles from London — & retaining
Coxwould & my Prebendaryship — w*^.^ are
half as much more — the Country also is
sweet — but I will not — I cannot take any
step unless I had thee my Eliza for whose
sake I live, to consult with — & till the road
is open for me as my heart wishes to ad-
vance — with thy sweet light Burden in my
Arms, I could get up fast the hill of pre-
ferment, if I chose it — but without thee I
feel Lifeless — and if a Mitre was offer'd me,
I would not have it, till I could have thee
too, to make it sit easy upon my brow — I
•Consult Letter CLXIII.
149
LETTERS
want kindly to smooth thine, & not only
wipe away thy tears but dry up the Sourse
of them for ever —
Aug^!^ 4. Hurried backwards &; forwards
ab^ the arrival of Madame, this whole week
— &; then farewel I fear to this journal — till
I get up to London — & can pursue it as I
wish — at present all I can write would be
but the History of my miserable feelings —
She will be ever present — & if I take up
my pen for thee — something will jarr with-
in me as I do it — that I must lay it down
again — I will give you one gen*. Ace* of all
my sufferings together — but not in Journals
— I shall set my wounds a-bleeding every
day afresh by it — & the Story cannot be
too short — so worthiest best, kindest &
afFec*? of Souls farewell — every Moment
will I have thee present — & sooth my
sufferings with the looks my fancy shall
cloath thee in — Thou shalt lye down & rise
up with me — ab* my bed & ab* my paths,
& shalt see out all my Ways. — adieu — adieu
— &£ remember one eternal truth, My dear
Bramine, w^]^ is not the worse, because I
have told it thee a thousand times be-
150
THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
fore — That I am thine — & thine only, &
for ever.
L. Sterne.
[Postscript.]
Nov: 1^*^ All my dearest Eliza has turnd
out more favourable than my hopes — M^^ S.
— & my dear Girl have been 2 Months with
me and they have this day left me to go to
spend the Winter at York, after having set-
tled every thing to their hearts content —
M^^ Sterne retires into france, whence she
purposes not to stir, till her death. — &
never, has she vow'd, will give me another
sorrowful or discontented hour — I have con-
querd her, as I w^ every one else, by
humanity & Generosity — & she leaves me,
more than half in Love w*^!^ me — She goes
into the South of france, her health being
insupportable in England — & her age, as
she now confesses ten Years more, than I
thought being on the edge of sixty — so
God bless — & make the remainder of her
Life happy — in order to w^.^ I am to remit
her three hundred guineas a year — & give
my dear Girl two thousand p4^ — w*^l* w^l* all
151
LETTERS
Joy, I agree to, — but tis to be sunk into
an annuity in the french Loans —
— And now Eliza! Let me talk to thee —
But What can I say. What can I write —
But the Yearnings of heart wasted with
looking & wishing for thy Return — Return
— Return ! my dear Eliza ! May heaven
smooth the Way for thee to send thee
safely to us, & joy for Ever.
isi
ORIGINAL LETTERS
OF
LAURENCE STERNE.
^u^
T ' ^ l} O ' tt/ ^^ ,ft
ffH. /LU^^ ifYl^ UAvy^ J t^ *^^^^ o/y^ <i*7«->t^^
^^^.^^y^ /?Z^e!'>r^-e.''>t^ t.crrri.^Cc^ >^«--«~e. /^^^e-*-*, •^^T,
■ •;/l » «r -^ ' _/
A^ • /^ "^^ t.^r;>-y'-*^ ty*^ yC^ ^^r>rr^ },^^o^f^
/ic^tt^'^^.i^ «*<*^5Q
ORIGINAL LETTERS
OF
LAURENCE STERNE
TO DANIEL DRAPER, ESQ.
[Coxwould, 1767?]
I OWN it, Sir, that the writing a letter
to a gentleman I have not the hon-
our to be known to — a letter like-
wise upon no kind of business (in the ideas
of the world) is a little out of the common
course of things — but I'm so myself, and
the impulse which makes me take up my
pen is out of the common way too, for it
arises from the honest pain I should feel in
having so great esteem and friendship as I
bear for Mrs. Draper — if I did not wish to
hope and extend it to Mr. Draper also. I
am really, dear sir, in love with your wife;
but 'tis a love you would honour me for,
for 'tis so like that I bear my own daugh-
155
LETTERS
ter, who is a good creature, that I scarce
distinguish a difference betwixt it — that
moment I had would have been the last.
I wish it had been in my power to have
been of true use to Mrs. Draper at this dis-
tance from her best protector. I have be-
stowed a great deal of pains (or rather, I
should say, pleasure) upon her head — her
heart needs none — and her head as little as
any daughter of Eve's, and indeed less than
any it has been my fate to converse with
for some years. I wish I could make my-
self of any service to Mrs. D. whilst she is
in India, and I in the world — for worldly
affairs I could be of none.
I wish you, dear sir, many years' happi-
ness. 'Tis a part of my Litany, to pray for
her health and life. She is too good to be
lost, and I would out of pure zeal take a
pilgrimage to Mecca to seek a medicine.*
Mr. Gibba made this version from the rough draft.
156
■,;ja j .; ^ii ijgiy;ar_j.,:-^y^r.^^^ ^j^ ■- - •^'^J
( (iniiiindorr Jamt;,, b.\ Sir Joshua Htynold.s.
RS
O IS
it-
T wi een pov
tance from
stowed ler, I
si ^n ber head — her
h
any ... .. ver^e
, service to ^^.^.
and I in the wo.
.,,t.-s r...
■. ■ ♦
X vv . ■
1: *i rn » t 1[ *■
iiappi
ness
pray f'^
her iit
tuu
.J 4-^
' ^ anu
ui pure
zcai .
l-O
, 5.0 seek a med? '
r Gibba made thit version tnan the roug(
l.'>ti
LETTERS
TO MR. AND MRS. JAMES.
CoxM^ould, Augst 10, 1767.
MY DEAR FRIENDS,
I but copy your great civility to me — in
writing you word, that I have this
moment rec^ another Letter, wrote
eighteen days after the date of the last
from S^ lago — If our poor friend could
have wrote another Letter to England, you
will in course have it — but I fear from the
circumstance of great hurry, and bodily dis-
order when she dispatch' d this she might
not have time — In case it has so fallen out
— I send you the contents of w^ I have
rec4 — and that is a melancholly history of
herself and sufferings since they left lago —
continual and most violent rhumatism all
the time — a fever brought on — with fits —
and attended with Delirium, and every ter-
rifying symptome — the recovery from this
left her low and emaciated to a skeleton — I
give you the pain of this detail with a
bleeding heart — knowing how much at the
157
LETTERS
same time it will affect yours — The three or
four last days in her journal, leave us with
hopes she will do well at last — for she is
more chearful, and seems to be getting up
her spirits — & health in course with it. —
They have cross 'd the Line — are much
becalm 'd — w'^.^ with other delays, [s]he
fears, they will lose their passage to Mad-
rass — & be some months sooner for it at
Bombay — Heaven protect this worthy crea-
ture! for she suffers much, k with uncom-
mon fortitude — She writes much to me ab!^
her dear friend M":^ James in her last Packet
— in truth, my good Lady, she honours &
loves you from her heart — but if she did
not — I should not Love her half so well
myself as I do.
Adieu my dear friends — You have
Very few in the world, more truely
& cordially y" ^ g^^^^^
P. S.
I have just rec^ as a present from a
right Hon¥^* a most elegant gold Snuff fab-
ricated for me at Paris — I wish Eliza was
here, I would lay it at her feet — however, I
* Probably, Mr. Gibbs thought, Sir George Macartney, to
whom Sterne addressed Letter CLXII.
158
LETTERS
will enrich my gold Box, with her picture,
— & if the Doner does not approve of such
an acquisition to his pledge of friendship — I
will send him his Box again —
May I presume to inclose you the Letter
I write to M*:^ Draper — I know you will
write yourself — k my Letter may have the
honour to chapron yours to India. M*"?
Sterne & my daughter are coming to stay
a couple of months with [me], as far as
fi'om Avignion — & then return — Here's
Complaisance for you — I went 500 miles
the last Spring, out of my way, to pay my
wife a weeks visit — and she is at the ex-
pence of coming post a thousand miles to
return it — what a happy pair! — however, en
passant, she takes back sixteen hundred p*^^
into France with her — and will do me the
honour likewise to strip me of every thing
I have — Except Eliza's Picture, Adieu.
Endorsed: —
To M':^ James
in Gerard Street,
Soho,
London.
Free Fauconberg.
159
LETTERS
TO MR. AND MRS. JAMES.
York, Dec. 28, 1767.
I WAS afraid that either my friend M'
James, or M^^ James, or their Httle
Blossome was drooping, or that some
of you were ill by not having the pleasure
of a line from you, & was thinking of writ-
ing again to enquire after you all — when T
was cast down myself with a fever, & bleed-
ing at my lungs, which had confined me to
my room three weeks, when I had the favour
of y'"^ which till to day I have not been able
to thank you both kindly for, as I most cor-
dially now do, — as well as for all y': proofs
& professions of good will to me — I will not
say, I have not ballanced Acc^^ with you in
this — all I know, is. That I honour and value
you more than I do any good creature upon
earth — k that I could not wish y"^ happiness
and the Successe of whatever conduces to it,
more than I do, was I your Brother — but
good god ! are we not all brothers and sisters,
who are friendly & virtuous & good? —
160
LETTERS
Surely my dear friends, my Illness has
made a sort of sympathy for yT Afflictions
upon the Score of yT dear little one — and I
make no doubt when I see Eliza's Journal,
I shall find she has been ill herself at that
time — I am rent to pieces with uncertainty
aW this dear friend of ours — I think too
much — & interest my self so deeply by my
friendship for her, that I am worn down to
a Shadow — to this I owe my decay of health
— but I can't help it
As my fever has left me, 1 set off the
latter end of the week with my friend Mr
Hall for Town — I need not tell my friends
in Gerard Street, I shall do myself the
Honour to visit them before either Lord
Shelburn or Lord Spencer &c. &;c. —
I thank you my dear friend, for what you
say so kindly ab^ my Daughter — it shews yf
good heart, as she is a stranger, 'tis a free
Gift in you — but when she is known to you
— she shall win it fairly — but Alasl when
this event is to happen, is in the clouds —
M[rs.] Sterne has hired a house ready fur
[nished] at York, till she returns to france
& my Lydia must not leave her —
What a sad scratch of a Letter — but 1
161
LETTERS
am weak my dear friends both in body &
mind — so God bless you — Youl see me en-
ter like a Ghost — so I tell you before hand,
not to be frighten 'd.
I am, my dear friends
with truest attachment &
end esteem Y!*"
L. Sterne.
Endorsed: —
To
Mr or M'? James
Gerrard Street
Soho
London.
162
LETTERS
OF
ELIZABETH DRAPER.
LETTERS
OF
ELIZABETH DRAPER
TO
*
[Tellicheny April, 1769.]
MY DEAR SIR
IT'S with great pleasure I take every op-
portunity of paying my Duty to you,
but more particularly this by the Gren-
ville, as by her I'm enabled to give you a
better account of Mr. Drapers success as a
Merchant, than he flatter' d himself with any
hopes of, upon his arrival at Tellicherry, and
if Fortune continues to be as propitious to
us, the six ensuing Seasons, as she's proved
the last, — Mr. D. would not thank the
Directors for nominating him to the Gov-
ernment of Bombay. We are both well,
* Some friend in England formerly in the Indian service.
165
LETTERS
entirely contented and wish not to exchange
our situation, but for an Independance in
England, which I hope we are in the way
of obtaining, and may accomplish in six or
seven Years, notwithstanding Hyder Ally
maintains his Ground, and has absolutely
refused to listen to terms of Peace from
the Madrassers, unless they will make over
Trichinopoly to him. this, they think they
can not in point of Honor, or Conscience do
— tho' they are heartily tired of the War, &
wish to accommodate with him, on reason-
able terms — they are now preparing for a
long Siege, which he has threatened them
with, and if they do not receive Supplies
of Money, & Troops, from England, God
knows! what will be their fate! — as Hyder
is really a very clever, and enterprising Man,
— accustomed to face, & Conquer Europeans
and has for his surest adviser, one of the
best Politicians in India, Governour Laws —
of Pondicherry, whom it is imagined, has
always plan'd each of his Campaigns; the
Gentlemen of Bengal have drained their
Treasury, to befriend those of Madrass — but
the Governour of Bombay — will not consent
to assist them in any respect, tho' he has
166
LETTERS
often been sollicited to do it — and a little
timely aid from our side, might have pre-
vented the present melancholy prospect, but
he says, he has no notion of Quixotism ad-
ventures, and as we cannot benefit by the
troubles, he will not risque our suffering any
loss, — this argument is very cruel,* & super-
ficial, tho' at first it may appear Specious,
tis impolitic too, because if the Madrassers
are worsted, we certainly shall be the next
Prey — but that's a distant Day, & he
always quotes ' ' sufficient to the Day is the
"Evil thereof." but he is a poor, despic-t
able Creature, in every respect and as unfit
for a Governour — as I am for an Ach-
Bishop, not one Individual, is there at
Bombay, his friend, — and in short, he
neither is — or deserves to be, Loved,
esteem' d, or feared. We are very par-
ticularly interested in Hyders success, at
this Settlement, as he has most of the
Country powers, about us, in total subjec-
tion, & infests our Coast, with his Fleet, to
intercept our Merchantmen, their's no leav-
* The letters ru in this word have been altered from some-
thing else.
t The c in this word has been altered from s.
16T
LETTERS
ing us, now for Bombay, with any safety,
without a Convoy, & the Bombay Cruizers,
three or four of them, are Stationed be-
tween Carwar, Onore, & Mount Dilly, for
that purpose, we are terribly infested too,
by the Cooley Boats, & Mallawans. the
Morattas, had the Insolence to surround
Bombay with their Fleet a few months
since, which did not a little terrify our
Pusillanimous General, but they soon dis-
persed when the Commodore received Per-
mission to ask them some questions, it's
imagined this Bravado was effected at the
Instigation of Hyder, to Divert us from all
thoughts of sending Troops to Madrass, it
answer' d his hopes — but if he had bribed
the Governours Brahmin to be his friend,
it would have done as well — for nothing in
Public or domestic Concerns, is transacted
at Bombay, without that Fellows knowledge
& consent some of the Gentlemen by way
of reprimand, have advised Mr. Hodges to
give him a Seat at Council, our Island is
now very Populous — very expensive, very
improvable, & would be very flourishing, if
we had a proper Man at the head of
affairs. This Coast has been vastly injured
168
LETTERS
by Hyders Ravages, 'tis nothing in Com-
parison to what it was some Years ago, but
would still be the Source of profit to the
Company, & a Tellicherry Chief if the War
was once happily terminated. — Most of the
Gentlemen that distinguished themselves, by
behaving ill at Mangulore, have been broke
by a General Court Martial at Bombay, it
was a tedious affair — lasting upwards of six
Weeks, tho' the Members met Daily, — This
my dear Sir, is all the Public Intelligence,
I can recollect, worthy of transmitting you,
and now for a little private, Tom White-
hill, my kind Uncle, is well — I often hear
from him & he must by all accounts, have
made himself independant, by this time, he
is increasing his Family of Natural Children,
but declared to me, that he never would
give them more than five thousand rupees
each, because he would not tempt any
Gentleman to marry them for the sake of
Money, and he had rather dispose of them
to Phesendars of their own Colour — than to
Europeans — he has one Daughter marriage-
able, two young ones, & two or three infant
Sons, — I never hear from Jack Whitehill,
but I know he is well, from my Corre-
169
LETTERS
spondents at Madrass, I hope he does not
maintain Silence to his EngKsh friends, as
... * should he be a good Accomptant &
write swiftly Mr Draper would be very glad
of him here — make it worth his while, and
keep him out of harms way, as he is in
want of just such a Person, You know his
inability to use the Pen — he has lost his
two Clerks too, &; if I was not capable of
assisting, & maintaining his Correspondence
for him I know not what he would do, at
this juncture. I only fulfil my Duty — and
have not the least merit in it — as a good
Purvoe that thoroughly understood English,
and spelled properly — would answer his
Views still better. Louisa is very advanta-
geously married, to the Commander of our
Forces, a Colonel Pemble, he is handsome,
amiable and magnificent in his temper — his
Income amounts to thirty thousand Rupees
a year — but I fear they stand little chance
of saving a Fortune, as they are Gay — ex-
travagant, & fond of Company, but I know
not if it signifies much — as they love India
— are health5% admired, and esteemed here —
and not very desirous of exchanging affluence
* A few lines of the manuscript are lost here.
170
LETTERS
in the Eastern *
fondness, and is a Prince in Spirit, and occa-
sional good works, they are on no terms
with the Governour, neither visiting, or be-
ing visited by him. A Mr Banister, that is
much older than yourself & formerly knew
you in the Service, now resides here — he
desired me to present his kindest remem-
brances to you, assuring you of his unalter-
able esteem, & good wishes. The good Man
&c his Wife live very comfortably — are well,
and much noticed with respectful attention
I hope to be favor' d with long & interest-
ing letters from Europe by the next Ship —
England, which was always dear to me — was
never so much so as now I — the We[l]fare of
my dear Children, sits very near my heart,
& I cannot help feeling great anxiety on their
account, tho' I am confident of Mrs White-
hills care, and best attention to their true
Interest, God preserve the poor babes !
may they live to give satisfaction to their
Parents — and reflect honour on their amiable
Protectress ! I hope you had an agreable
Summer in the Society of my friend and
little * by presenting my com-
* Some lines are lost.
171
LETTERS
pliments to him, and best wishes for his
health, and enjoyment of England; we now
wish him our Head again, would to Heaven
he had not left us a Prey to the foolish
policy, and low Cunning of an Hodges*!
the wish is entirely general, not a moist
Eye — or grave Countenance will be visible
on his Departure, unless it's his Female
CofFary Shirt airers, — for a few Rupees, or
mere form's sake, oh ! he is gloriously
hated ! and I prognosticate, ever will be
so — even by the Wife of his Bosom — if he
is Dotard enough with his jealous propen
[sities] and Selfish particularities, to make a
second choice! but no: — his avarice will pre-
vent his marrying again, for a good Woman
would loathe his Wealth with such an In-
cumbrance as himself — and a bad one's ....
t happy — prays your ever
grateful and t ed Child.
Eliza Draper
Tellicherry
April 1769
* Thomas Hodges, Governour of Bombay (1767-71). His
predecessor was Charles Crommelin (1760-67).
fSome lines are lost.
1T2
-^I^-'
Belvidere House, by I.' e WoodwSrd "/eijfler, from an oriffinal
sketch bv J. 0. l'Vaz<r
ETTERS
pi ^st wishes for his
England; we now
w ould to Heaven
•ey to the foolish
policy,
lodges* !
the wi
not a moist
Jive — (
ice will he visible
oi
Female
C
^ js, or
e. oh ! he is erlorioiislv
so -is Bosom , ..
is .... his jealous propen
[s ..XV. ^^articu^-T'Hif^c fo make a
1
tw^- „i vvill pre-
. iv.i "^oman
-•utitiJit.: i(i> til Witii ,r>ucn nU. lH-
jLiincv ^■'' • -l a bad or '"
i. r>- -i Al4 i V
April 17fi?>
pr J-6T).
tSome lines are lost.
172
LETTERS
P. S.
Mv Draper presents you his respectful
Compliments, with t[he sin]cerest assurences
of his doing every thi[ng i]n his power for
Stephen, if you se[nd him] to Bombay.
To MRS ANNE JAMES.
Bombay 15*!^ April 1772.
I NOW have before me. Dearest of
Women, and Friend twenty sheets
of your writing received this year;
and mean to answer every page of it which
I've not yet replied to distinctly — the first
Letter is dated 15*^ May 1771 by Try on of
the Deptford, this I answered months ago —
as I did that of the 5^^ April, by Captain
Allen, the contents of which related wholly
to himself & M^ Cooper his Nephew, and
one of the same date, by MT Allen his
Purser to the same effect — Your next is
dated 28*^!^ April and enclosed an Account
of Money Matters — that of the 20*!^ should
173
LETTERS
have been handed first, but as it contains
much more importantant [sic] matter, I pur-
posely omitted giving it the Precedence —
from meaning to speak at large on some
parts of it. — You say my dear, that you had
''suffered much Uneasiness at hearing that I
thought you had not acted a friendly part
by me in protecting two unfortunate People,^
and requesting me to make a contribution
amongst my friends in their Favor: — that,
this Report touched you to the heart; tho'
you disbelieved it, as it was inconsistent with
my Humanity, my opijiion of you, and the
reverse of all my letters, and yet, when you
found, that I had wrote to Becket,^ your
Ideas' were rather confused; for if I had,
had a proper reliance on you, I need not
have applied to him; as I might have sup-
posed, you would find some means to secure
my letters, if violent measures had been the
Widows Plan; but, that you, was perfectly
easy as to that matter; and imagined I
should have been the same; knowing you to
be my Friend — that there was a stiffness, in
my calling you M^.^ James, which eat you to
* Sterne's widow and daughter,
t Thomas Becket, the publisher.
1T4
LETTERS
the heart, pm'ticidarly, when I said I could
not accost you with my usual Freedom —
What had you done to create reserve, ^ dis-
tance? and had my letter concluded in the
same style, you shoidd have believed I tvas
altered, not you.'"' I will endeavour to an-
swer all this very plainly, and in the first
place, I do assure you then, on my never
forfeited word, that I neither by Thought,
Word, or Action, ever gave the most dis-
tant Cause for such a Report, and how, or
wherefore it was invented & propagated, I
know no more, than I do of any one foreign
Circumstance, j^et unheard, or unthought of
by me — it is certain, my dear James, that
so far from thinking unkindly of you for
your patronage of the Sternes, that you
never to me, appeared in so amiable a
Light — Strange; if you had not, as noth-
ing but a sordid Principle, most narrowly
selfish could have induced me to dislike an
action which had its foundation in Gener-
osity, and all the milder feminine Virtues —
but my James, I will be very explicit with
you, on this subject as you have introduced
it yourself — the World, I fear, does not see
the beauty of a compassionate disinterested-
175
LETTERS
ness, in the same light, that you and I do
— for it has been said, and wrote to me,
more than once, that my friend was betray-
ing the Cause of her Ehza, in order to
acquire the Title of Patroness, to Beauty,
and Distress — I never paid the least regard
to such Insinuations — for I [pers]onally sup-
posed they had their foundation in Igno-
rance, Malice and that Love of Talk, which
is alike common to the rash Young, and ill
natured Old — I cannot believe any thing to
the Prejudice of those I love my dear
James — nothing which arraigns their Morals,
I am sure, I cannot! — and if this knowledge,
cannot secure me from Unkindness as deceit
— I am, and ever must be a ready sacrifice
to their Hands — for I neither can or will
maintain suspicion, against the Friends I
trust — I can but suffer by them, in my
Peace, Property or Fame — and these are
ever at the Devotion of those I love, if
more consequential to them, than my Ease
— I might in such Case lament the fate of
my ill star'd sensibility, which led me to fix
my Regards on Persons so incapable of pro-
moting my Happiness, from not being equally
conscious as myself how much pleasanter it
176
LETTERS
is to love another with the most endearing
affection, than to regard the Pleas of a poor
Selfish Self — Some Philosophers and Moral-
ists too, assert the proof to be impossible,
but I deny the Facts, and could deduce
from my own Experience, Young as I am,
a thousand Instances to validate my Opinion
to the most Incredulous — but of that, no
more at present — for it is a Key, harsh and
Untuneful, to the Notes of Peace, and
might awaken every painful sense, which
could set my heart a bleeding — You won-
der my dear, at my writing to Becket — I'll
tell 3^ou why I did so — / had heard some
Anecdotes extremely disadvantageous to the
Characters of the Widow <^ Daughter, and
that from Persons who said they had been
personally acquairited with them, both in
France and England — / had no reason to
doubt, the Veracity of these Gentlemen In-
formants, they could have no view in de-
ceiving me, or motive of putting me on my
Guard, but what arose from Be7ievole?ice,
which I hope is common to the greatest par^t
of Mankind — Some part of their Intelligence,
corroborated, what I had a thousand times
heard, from the lips of Yorick, almost, in-
177
LETTERS
variably repeated — the JVidow, I was assured
was occasionally a Drinker, a Swearer, ex-
ceeding Unchaste — Mo' in point of Under-
standing, and finished Address supposed to
be inferior to no Woman in Eui^ope — the
Secret of my Letters being in her hands,
had some how become extremely Public, it
was noticed to me by almost every Acquaint-
ance I had in the C[ompany's]* Ships, as at
this Settlement — this alarmed me — for at
that time I had never Communicated the
Circumstance, and could not suspect you of
acting by me in any manner, which I would
not have acted in by my self — One Gentle-
man in particular told me, that both you,
and I should be deceived, if we had the
least reliance on the Honor or Principles of
M":^ Sterne, for that, when she had secured
as much as she could, for suppressing the
Correspondence, she was capable of seUing
it to a Bookseller afterwards — by either re-
fusing to restore it to you — or taking Copies
of it, without our knowledge — and therefore
he advised me, if I was averse to it's Pub-
lication to take every means in my Power
of Suppressing it — this influenced me to
* Here and elsewhere the manuscript is worn away.
178
LETTERS
write to Becket, and promise him a reward
equal to his Expectations, if He would de-
liver the Letters to you (I think I proposed
no other method to Him except this, but I
am not sure) in case they were offered him
for sale — I had a long Conflict in my own
mind whether I should, or should not reveal
every thing regarding this Business to you
at length, I determined to keep the Secret
in my own breast and that from a motive
[of] Delicacy rather than good Judgment — so
well do I know, how harshly it grates, to
have those we love, aspersed, whether with
or without Foundation — My Circumstances,
as to this Family were peculiar, and require
the nicest Conduct — Interest, Jealousy, a
thousand Narrow Motives, might be sup-
posed to Stimulate me! as I could not with
Honor, have disclosed my Authorities for
advancing many things I must have ad-
vanced, to say the half of what I had been
told, — and a real or pretended respect, for
myself had prompted the disclosure of them,
it would have been something worse than
ungenerous to have subjected the Persons
to ill Will, or being called upon to prove
their assertions when they had a Moral
LETTERS
Claim to my handsome treatment at least,
for whether their Intelligence was founded
on, Truth or falsehood, it is not to be con-
ceived, that they meant I should suppose
them influenced by unjust Motives; conse-
quently, it had all the Rights of well at-
tested Facts, till I could disprove it — This
I have never been able to do, tho' all my
Enquiries, when Yoricks Widow or Daughter
has been named have tended to this effect,
in hopes of Accomplishing my Wishes ; for it
cannot surely be supposed my dear James,
that I am so fiend like in my nature as to
wish that any Woman of Sense and Char-
acter, might be proved vicious rather than
virtuous, by the confirmations of Truth or
Chance — it is True my friend! I love not
these Ladies! and what is more, I think, I
think! Excuse me my dear — that while I
preserve my Rectitude and Sensibility, I
never shall ! — and I would not part with
them for so paltry an Exchange, as the
Acquisition of New Acquaintances. "Trifles,
lisrht as air"; — You know what these are to
the Jealous — and such they are, to the lib-
eral. Ingenuous Minded, I would sooner,
regulate my opinion of Man or Womens
180
LETTERS
real Worth, from their Conduct in Trivial
INIatters, than I would from their grand
efforts to attain a Name or Character. —
Ambition, Lust of Praise, Interest, Pride,
a thousand sordid affections, may stimulate,
in the one Case — but the other is of too
humble a Nature to affect Glare; broad
Day light is not necessary to it; for few,
very, very few, have that sense, which is
capable of feeling, a Grace, a Manner, &
Decorum, beyond the fixed & settled rules
of Vice & Virtue — consequently, when such
an Attention to the Minutiae is uniformly
practised, by Male or Female, its source
must be in the Heart, from a preferable
love to Goodness only — How I do, more
than Admire, a Creature so Characterized !
I would almost suffer Martyrdom, to see
such Perfection in my only Child ! and if I
live to be her Monitress it shall be the
Study of my Life to make her capable of
it My dear Friend, that Stiffness you
complain 'd of when I called you M\^ James,
& said I could not accost you with my
usual Freedom Entirely arose from depres-
sion of Spirits, too natural to the Mortified,
when severe Disappointments gall the sense
181
LETTERS
— You had told me that Sterne was no
more — I had heard it before; but this con-
formation [sic] of it sorely afflicted me; for I
was almost an Idolator of His Worth,
while I fancied Him the Mild, Generous,
Good Yorick, We had so often thought
Him to be — to add to my regrets for his
loss — his Widow had my letters in her
Power, (I never entertained a good opinion
of her) and meant to subject me to Disgrace
& Inconvenience by the Publication of them
— You knew not the contents of these let-
ters, and it was natural for you to form the
worst judgment of them, when those who
had seen 'em reported them, unfavorably,
and were disposed to dislike me on that
account — My dear Girl! had I not cause to
feel humbled so circumstanced — and can you
wonder at my sensations communicating
themselves to my Pen? You cannot on
reflection — for such are the Emotions of
the Human Heart, that they must influence
human Actions, while Truth and Nature, are
unsubdued — I do not, I assure you my dear
James, I never did, think you acted by me
other than the kindest part throughout this
whole Transaction with the Sternes— I lament
LETTERS
your attachment to them, but I only lament
it for your sake, in case Lydia, is rather
speciously attractive than mildly amiable ;
W^.^ I have heard Insinuated — whatever
cause, I may have to dislike them on my
own account, I can have none to do so on
Yours — While they preserve an Empire in
Your Breast from their superiority in Merit
principally — but beware of Deceivers my
dear Woman, the best Hearts are most
liable to be imposed on, by them — Frank,
Generous, Kind themselves — they naturally
suppose. Each Companion of specious sem-
blance, a Kindred Spirit, till dire Experience
has convinced them, that Hypocrisy can as-
sume all Shapes meet for her Purpose: — do
not suppose my Caution arises from any
thing but affection ; for tho' I hint at
Counterfeits to you, I never suffer any
thing of the kind to escape me to others
— On the contrary I ever speak of both
Widow &; Daughter as you or they, might
wish me to speak, when expatiating on the
subject, — for I have no Idea my James,
that Eliza's opinion is to be the Standard
of other Peoples, well as I think of it in
the main — and however Angry I may be
183
LETTERS
with them in my heart, I should be very
sorry to have People I esteemed think ill
of them — as a proof of which, I'll transcribe
for you, part of a letter 1 wrote on the
subject the other Day, to Colonel Campbell
in Bengal — who is a great Favorite of Mine,
had sent me six hundred Rupees, which He
had raised by Contributions for their use,
and hinted * his wishes to know something
of the Ladies — as He meant to visit Eng-
land shortly. — "I sensibly feel the Exertions
of your kindness in behalf of my Friends
Widow & Daughter — and assure myself,
if you ever know them, that your own
Complacency will administer a Reward
from the Consciousness of having served
two very Amiable Persons; as well Edu-
cated Women, of Talents, and Sensibility,
are, I believe of all others, the most seri-
ous objects of a Generous Compassion,
when obliged to Descend from an Easy
Elegance, their Native Sphere, to the Mor-
tifying Vicissitudes of Neglect & pecuniary
Embarrassments. The Ladies, are no
Strangers to your Character; and I please
myself with the Notion of their proving a
* In the manuscript "desired" is written above "hinted."
184
LETTERS
very agreable addition to your Acquaint-
ance, when you are at all disposed to cul-
tivate Theirs. M^^ Sterne, I have heard
spoke of as one of the most sensible
Women in Europe — she is nearly related
to the M^^ Montague, whose Essay on the
Writings and Genius of Shakespeare has
reflected so much Honor, on the reputa-
tion of Female Judgment & Generosity —
which circumstance renders it probable,
that she, (M^^ Sterne) may possess equal
Powers from Inheritance — Miss Sterne is
supposed to have a portion of each
Parents best Qualities — the Sensibility &
frolic Vivacity of Yorick, most happily
blended in her Composition — Lively by
Nature, Youth & Education, she cannot
fail to please every Spectator of capacious
Mind; but much, I fear, that, the Shandy
Race will be Extinct with this Accom-
plished Young Woman — for She's of the
Muses Train, and too much attached to
them and filial Duties, to think of a
change of name with much Complacency
— How is it Colonel (You are a Casius —
& can tell me) that a Woman seldom, very
seldom, judges favorably of the Wedded
185
LETTERS
' ' Life, if once seriously attached to those
' ' Moral Doctrines & Poetic Flights — so
* * truely captivating to a Muse like Appre-
"hension? And yet the Nine are said to
"aid the Votary's of Love — Apollo him-
" self, sacrifices at Cupid's Shrine, and Verse
' ' Men of all Ages, have at some period of
"their Lives, been prone to follow his great
"Example. — I fear, I fear: that the Details
"of Experience, joined to a little more
"than ordinary Penetration may be the
"true Source of their Dislike to Masculine
"Subjection." — So much my Dear, for my
discription of the Sternes to Colonel Camp-
bell, tho' I've seen them not, but v^rith the
Minds Eye : — be so good my dear, as to
announce his name and Character to them,
as it's probable He may find them out and
make himself known to them — He has been
very assiduous in collecting above one half
of the Money I have sent Home for their
use — in his Profession He is supposed to
have extraordinary Merit — and in his Prin-
ciples, and Manners, He is I think, one of
ten thousand — sensible, sweet tempered, &
Amiable, to a very great degree — added to
which, lively, comical & accomplished —
186
LETTERS
Young, Handsome, rich, & a Soldier I —
What fine Girl, would wish more? I bor-
row my Notions of M':^ & Miss Sterne from
Various Reports — By culling the good from
the bad in such Cases one may at any time,
form a tolerable description of a Character.
— this I believe, is what's called conveying
a Lye, in the Words of Truth — but no
matter — Campbell cannot be hurt by think-
ing favorably of them, and they might be
much Injured by his forming a different
opinion — for the real Dislike of a Man of
sense &; Honor, this dislike, founded, on
Principle, is, I think, the severest Disgrace
that can happen to a Woman of sentiment
or reputation — May it never be the fate of
Me, or Mine, Good Heaven I for if any
thing in Nature could prompt me to be
guilty of Suicide, it would be an Affliction
of this nature, all others have their Allevia-
tions, but this, must arise, from a conscious-
ness of our being lost to Worth — as a
Good &c Wise Man, never is Influenced by
Caprice, but only contemns the Sinner from
his hatred of the Sin. I am grown very
moral of late, I believe, my dear Friend,
for I cannot help dispersing such grave re-
187
LETTERS
flections as these throughout my Letters or
Discourse, both my reading, and natural
turn of Mind, encourages [this] Propensity,
and as it teaches me to have a good reason
for the Minutiae in all Actions which savour
of kindness, or the Agreable; I am rather
pleased with myself, for the cultivation of a
Taste, which may promote my usefulness in
Society, as well as insure my own Approba-
tion on just Grounds. — I am a good deal
altered in my appearance James, since you
used to view me with the Eyes of Kind-
ness, due only, to a second self — but, my
Head and Heart, if Self Love does not
mislead me, are both much improved and
the Qualities of Reflection and tenderness,
are no bad substitutes for that clearness of
Complection, and Je-ne-scai-quoi Air, which
my flatterers used to say entitled me to the
Apellation of Belle Indian. I read a great
deal, I scribble much — and T daily ride on
Horseback, bathe in the Sea — and live most
abstemiously — but I cannot manage to ac-
quire confirmed Health in this detested
Country; and what is far worse, I cannot
induce MT Draper, to let me return to
England; tho' He must be sensible, that
188
LETTERS
both my Constitution and Mind, are suffer-
ing by the effects of a Warm CHmate — I
do, and must wonder that He will not,* for
what good Purpose my Residence Here can
promote, I am quite at a loss to imagine,
as I am disposed to think favorably of Mr
D's Generosity and Principles. My dear
James, it is Evident to the whole of our
Acquaintance, that our Minds are not
pair'd, and therefore I will not scruple
informing you — that I neither do, nor will
any more, if I can help it live with Him
as a Wife — my reasons for this are cogent;
be assured they are; — or I would not have
formed the Resolution — I explain them not
to the World — tho' I could do it, and with
credit to myself; but for that very cause I
will persevere in my silence — as 1 love not
selfish Panegyricks. — How wretched must
be that Womans Fate, my dear James, who
loving Home, and having a Taste for the Ac-
quitments [.«c], both useful and Agreable, can
find nothing congenial in her Partners Senti-
ments — nothing companionable, nothing en-
gagingly domestic in his Manner, to endear
his Presence, nor even any thing of that
•Supply: "let rae return to England."
189
LETTERS
Great, or respectful sort, which creates Pub-
lic Praise, and by such means, often lays
the Foundation of Esteem, and Compla-
cency at Home ? — Sad, Sad State ! my
James — and Wo! be to the feeling Heart
so circumstanced! — a Woman who might
have been a Valuable Member of Society,
is by such disunion either a Mere Blank —
or liable to every Disgrace resulting from
Infamy — if finely organized — Grief & Dis-
appointment may render useless all her
Mental Faculties — if chearful by nature, and
calculated to struggle with trying difficulties,
in Hopes of surmounting them, these very
excellencies, are so many snares to her, as
they excite to Envy, Malice, & Detraction
— for who is just enough to acknowledge,
that an Amiable, Sensible Woman, has fund
sufficient in her own Mind, to be a per-
petual Resource to her in all Calamities
and Exigencies? On the contrary, who does
not Insinuate, that where such a Character
is unhappily pair'd & Maintains her Chear-
fulness. Secret pleasures make her Amends
for public Penances — ? a thousand Causes
will rather be assigned, than the real One;
as few People are good enough themselves,
190
LETTERS
for Goodness 's Sake, to imagine that, that
Principle should regulate the Conduct of a
Woman unhappily married — but surely !
surely ! they are mistaken — for if that same
laudable Affection, will not engage to the
Pursuit of every thing praise worthy — no
other I fear, will ever bear us out — as Vir-
tue, in it's comprehensive sense, to those
who understand it well must have an effect
on the mind very superior to what is Ex-
cited by Inferior Principles, and yet, even
these, such as Pride, the love of Fame,
Wealth, Greatness — a Humour or a Name;
will sometimes enable us to forego Ease &
Health — and to risque Life & Honor — and
can it be so divine a Thing, to Practise
Worth, for Glory's Sake — and not equally
so, at least, to Practise it for it's own —
when in fact this same Glory is nothing
better than one of it's under Ministers ?
there never was a more just saying than
that of Virtue being it's own Reward — and
those who understand it's nature, could not
wish a diviner than what springs from the
consciousness of it — while they are Inhabit-
ants of Earth, I mean — for as to a future
state of Rewards & Punishments — I pretend
191
LETTERS
not to argue about it lest I should be guilty
of something blamable, when I only wished
to assert the cause of Goodness as prefer-
able to all other known Causes. We can
but Reason from what we know — and
therefore Silence and Modesty is the proper
Shield for Ignorance, in such conflicts as
wou'd prove superior to our Strength. — I
wonder not at the Praises given to M!^
IMontagues Essay — it has, I am told, all
the Advantages of Learning, Sound Criti-
cism, and just Taste. — 1 am so far a Judge
of it's Merit, as to be confident that it
bespeaks Her of a generous Nature, as it
seems calculated to rescue Genius — long
departed Genius from the illiberal Censures
of Witty Malice, now living, and too long
triumphant — but my dear James, the cir-
cumstance of all others, I most admire in
Mi:^ Montagues Character — is her avoiding
to put her Name to this Performance — this
evinces a something very superior, to what
is commonly ascribed, even to good Taste —
1 would rather be an Attendant on her
Person, than the first Peeress of the Realm
— if, this proceeded from a certain Delicacy
and justness of Apprehension, only to be
192
LETTERS
met with in Women of refined sense. —
You say my Friend that you wonder I
do not employ my leisure Hours in writing
something which might reflect Lustre on
my Name — and you encourage me to do
so, by Praises which are easily accounted
for from the partiality you ever have
kindly considered my Talents with — I will
be very Ingenuous with you on this Sub-
ject — There was a time, when I fancied
myself capable of doing justice to some
Undertaking of the Moral kind. My Taste
has been thought judicious, and my lan-
guage often Complimented as Elegant, this
was Yoricks given opinion of it whatever
his real one might be. — A little Piece or
two I designed some Years ago, and finished
lately — are not, perhaps unworthy of the
Press, when compared with many Produc-
tions which have gained their Authors some
degree of Reputation in the literate World
— but my dear James, I do not think writ-
ing a Poem, a Play, an Essay, or an Any-
thing the Chief Merit of a Woman ; — so
little do I think it necessary to the Fame
of a good one, that I most assuredly, if
capable of the Performance, would never
193
LETTERS
affix my Name to it — my Vanity of this
kind is amazingly lessened, if not quite
extinct — from this you may gather, that I
did not always judge so nicely, as I do at
present — true my friend, a great flow of
animal spirits — high Health — Youth — Flat-
tery, and fair Prospects, wrought their usual
Effects on a mind rather sprightly, than
solid, but adversity is an Excellent School
— and two or three serious Afflictions, have
done more for me, in the way of self Knowl-
edge, and Home Philosophy, than I might
probably [have] acquired before my Grand
Climateric, if Fortune had continued lavish
of her Smiles to me, her once Enthusiastic
Votary — a thousand little Flights which are
only to be excused, on the score of Youth
& Gay Fancy, now appear too trifling to
have engaged the time & labour I once
bestowed on them, and with a view, to
raise my Consequence, I own to you my
beloved Friend — for I had Romance and
Vanity Enough, to think they would An-
swer the Airy Purpose — and add to my
Praise, as much as the Letters of Madame
de Sevigne or Ninon D'Lenclos did to
Theirs, but as Judgment encreased. Fancy
194
LETTERS
lessened; and now I should be as much
concerned, if they were to see the Light
in form of a Printed Volume as I then
should if I had thought any unforeseen
Accident would have robbed me the Pros-
pect of many encomiums, which I flattered
myself with the notion of being entitled to
on their Publication — this change of Hu-
mour, induces me to think, that my senti-
ments may be as different to what they
now are, some time hence, as they are at
present from what they were three Years
ago — and this renders me extremely averse
to shewing any of my Performances, lest I
should acquire a Name that I could neither
support or Defend, for the Suffrages of
Friendship are as liable to Error in such
Cases, as the Censures of Malignancy, and
I am not qualified to steer clear of this
Scylla & Charybdis, by those lukewarm
affections, which enables Worldy Wisdom
to rest it's appeal with the Indifferent —
for I love not the neutral Character — and
would never consult it, in anything which
concerned the Heart or it's good Affections,
it's cold absolves, approach too near to the
Stoical Virtue — the only species of Virtue I
195
LETTERS
have; and that because "it's fix'd, as in a
Frost ' ' — The Praises of the whole Tribe
could do nothing better than play round
my Head, and that's a minor Pleasure,
compared to the Heart felt one of kind
Sympathy — I could my dear James, assign
many Rational Motives for my declining to
scribble for the world, even if my Inclina-
tion, and Capacity dictated the Measure —
the former, seriously does not, and the
latter is by no means equal to the under-
taking — I have much, very much indeed
to learn, before I can accomplish my first
Wish of deserving to be thought, a Woman
truely Amiable enough, to employ me, my
whole Life; as my Powers, are not of that
ready sort to receive Things quickly as if
by Intuition — You must not imagine fi-om
this, that I dislike a Womans engaging in
the Field of Literature or Science — far from
it, I declare to you, if she goes to it well
Armed, on the contrary, if I may presume
to say so — I think that Salique Law a very
absurd one which reserves to Men only, the
Province of Instructing & pleasing by use-
ful Lucubrations, the result of Genius, Taste
and Contemplative Life. — I cannot help
196
LETTERS
thinking that they might be supposed to
infringe on our Prerogative, if our minds
were train'd in the same advantageous man-
ner as Theirs — as to learning and the sciences
I mean, for I wish not to interfere in their
boistrous Pursuits. — Our Genius's, for aught
I know, may be as great, but however that
may be, our Taste, Apprehension, DeHcacy,
in every thing We are Mutually concerned
in, soars far, very far above Theirs — and as
the Arrangements of Civil Life, are man-
aged — Our Home Station, naturally induces
that contemplative Turn, so advantageous to
the Cause of Philosophy and all the Fine
Arts — Nothing I believe but the frivolous
Manners, inculcated by our frivolous Educa-
tion, prevents our Capacity for disputing the
Empire of Sense, Wit, and Reason with these
Masculine Rulers, and that they do possess it,
is rather owing to their usurped Authority as
Legislators, than to any superiority in point
of natural advantages — those of strength and
personal courage, excepted. I love my own
sex, James, and could wish for the Honor
and Happiness of it, that the whole system
of Female Education was very much altered,
tho' not totally reversed — M':^ Montague's
197
LETTERS
Pen, might do justice to this subject ; 'tis
an important one, and worthy of her — had
I the Honor of her Acquaintance & good
opinion, I would strenuously recommend it
to her consideration — as the pleas of natural
solicitude uncultivated by Art might have
their just Weight, on a Mind so happily
enriched as hers is by useful acquirements
— You cannot think my dear James, how
much I lament the want of that knowl-
edge, which is only to be attain 'd in the
Spring time of Life — as my Reflection en-
creases, I daily am more sensible of the loss
I have sustained, in not receiving those ad-
vantages which are the birthright of Girls
well born, or by nature teachable, especially
if their Prospects are such as to give them
a chance of being fix'd in conspicuous Life
— such was my Case — it is the Case of all
Girls destined for India — No Beings in the
World are less indebted to Education —
None living, require greater Assistances from
it — for the regulations of time in Eastern
Countries are such that every Woman must
naturally have a large portion of it, Leisure;
this is either a Blessing or Curse, as our
Minds are disposed — the Generality of us
198
LETTERS
are extremely frivolous, and Ignorant; How
should we be otherwise? We were never
instructed in the Importance of any thing,
but one Worldly Point, that of getting an
Establishment of the Lucrative kind, as soon
as possible, a tolerable Complection, an Easy
Manner, some degree of taste in the Adjust-
ment of our Ornaments, some little skill in
dancing a Minuet, and singing an Air, are
the Summum Bonum, of Perfections here —
and these are all that Mothers, Aunts k
Governess's Inculcate. — With Some Merit,
as to these Accomplishments — the very best of
us — leave Europe, and Commence Wives in
the East, [at] fourteen — Climate, Custom, and
immediate Examples — induce to Indolence
— this betrays us into the Practice of Gal-
lantry — that Prisoner of all that's Amiable
& Good — No Country in the World abounds
more with it's pernicious Consequences, no
Women in the World are less Subject to
the force of genuine Love! — this may seem
a Paradox, but it is in fact none at all — for
their grand object once attained, that of a
settlement in Life — they know not what
other to pursue — their Conduct is then reg-
ulated by Chance — and they are Intriguers,
199
LETTERS
or nominally virtuous — as Beauty, Health,
or Temptation dictates — this is a sad Pic-
ture, my dear James — Yet it is but too
strong a Resemblance — and surely the hap-
less originals of it, are less blamable than
their Early Instructors — Why were they
not taught the necessity of useful Employ-
ments — and considering Morals, next to re-
ligion, as the most essential of all Things
to their Happiness in both Worlds — poor
Things! the Wo7'd is a bye one to Them —
and the Precepts, it inculcates — the subject
of their illiberal Derision — Many of them
have good Propensities — but Habit, so
counteracts their momentary Resolves of
the serious kind that no steadiness in
Well doing must be expected from them
in this Climate — the attaining useful knowl-
edge — and a Will of our Own, on proper
Grounds, is dreadful up Hill Work, without
the assistance of Precept & Example, the
one occasionally to lean on, and the other
to stimulate; And those Persons, must owe
very important obligations to Nature, who
by dint of knowledge, self taught, can rise
superior to the Prejudices of India, while
an Indian; I mean not to be, or to seem
200
LETTERS
guilty of any Pride or Vanity my dear
James — when I swear to you in the open-
ness of my Heart, that I've not yet known,
or seen the Woman abroad, whom I would
associate with thro' Choice, in preference to
being alone — there may be a thousand
others, more sensible, or Amiable, but the
Sense or Qualifications, of those I have met
with, have had nothing in them congenial to
my taste — and therefore we only associate
in the formal way; this I am sorry for —
for I love the Company of my own
sex, when they are mild. Ingenuous &
devoted to Cleanliness — Your Miss Bristow,
I'm told, was an elegant Woman — I fancy
so — for she was not liked Here and is
styled, by way of Reproach, the Reserved &
Poetical Lady — she has Genius, I think,
for I have seen some little Pieces of hers,
which abound with happy Thoughts; and
her Enthusiasm in matters of Love or
Friendship, makes me like her Character,
tho' I have never seen her Person — I
wish she had continued Here — we should, I
think, have been upon a good footing to-
gether, for you know my James, that I
have none of that narrowness which excites
201
LETTERS
to Envy, or Detraction, at the sight of
superior Merit. I fear, poor Woman, that
she will not be as happy as she deserves to
be, for the man, she has chosen, by M'?
Shaws Account, is a contemptible one, and
in wretched Circumstances, without a pros-
pect of Improving them — She now, I am
told, lives in the black Town at Madrass,
without Friends, without Acquaintances,
Conveniences, Notice. — Still — her Book,
and her Pen afford her constant Employ-
ment — Here is a proof of the Advantages
of a natural good Taste, being well culti-
vated — but for the resources in her own
mind, M^? Tasswell must have sunk a prey
to affliction — or been a Wretch indeed — if
incapable of Feeling what she has ex-
perienced — for of all Misery, that I think is
the greatest, which renders us incapable of
estimating our Blessings — or misfortunes
arightly — be my Woes in Life what they
will, may I never be delivered of them at
so sad a cost as inconsiderateness — "I had
rather stand all Adventures with Religion,
(even tho' I practised not the Duties of it)
than Endeavor to get rid of the Thoughts
of it by Diversion." — M'? Taswell, I hope
202
LETTERS
is employ'd in some Ingenious Work, —
a Woman who writes well, cannot I be-
lieve write too much, if she neglects none
of the Duties of her own sex to be so
engaged — but these are certainly, her first
concern, and these accomplished — the more
she excels in, the more she Evidences the
strength of her Genius, and that Economy
of Time, which it is Wisdom, to be an
Economist of. — Miss Shaw, I think, a whin-
ing. La La Girl — don't you think so my
dear ? I am sorry if I do her injustice,
but there's nothing which attaches me to
her, either in the way of sentiment, man-
ners, or appearance — for I detest that cov-
ert insignificancy, which is comprised in the
appellation of good natured sort of Girls —
to me, it implies, that any Man might
make a Fool of Her, who could be satisfied
with a non-resisting Victory. M'? Playdell,
and Miss Harris, as I told you by the
Hampshire, remain 'd at the Cape instead
of proceeding to Bombay — had they come
here, I would have shewn them all the
rites of Hospitality — Cap^ Taylor, will tell
you all you wish to know relative to them
— the M": Gambler you mentioned to me,
203
LETTERS
at your Father's request my dear, went
Home Cap* Taylors Passenger, He is
a fine Youth, and dear to me, and all who
know Him, on the score of his AVorth,
strict Principles, and Amiable Manners are
his real Characteristicks — I have given him
a letter for you, by way of Passport, to
your Notice — He desired & deserves, it —
therefore I could not refuse Him — I fear
poor Youth, We never shall see Him
again, for the Disorder in his Neck (an
Aneurism) is of too dangerous a nature, to
give sanguine Hopes of his surviving the
necessary Operation in case He submits to
it — and if He does not — He must never
more Visit India, as the Heat of this
Climate would soon increase it, beyond the
Power of Art to reduce it or save Him.
Mr Horsley too — another Friend of mine, I
have desired MT James, to interest himself,
in obtaining your smiles, and good Graces
for — I know not that you'll like Him
at first, I rather think not — for He's re-
served, and has none of that Easy Address,
which Impresses People Agreably at first
sight, but He has one of the clearest
Heads, my James, that I ever knew, added
204
LETTERS
to which a correctness of Taste and No-
bleness of sentiment, which does Honor
to the Manly Character — 1 would not
Introduce Him, to any I loved, if I did
not think their merit would bear them out
— for the Creature is penetrating, and satyr-
ical — but you have nothing to fear from
those Qualities; for it's only to Impert-
inence, Affection, and Arrogance, that He's
severe, to be frank with you my James —
I know not the Person in India, I'm afraid
of — now that He has left it — nor do I know
the Man in the World whose good Opinion
I would rather Insure, and that because —
He, amongst a thousand Indians — stands
alone in mine, as a Competent Judge of
Merit of that sort, particularly, which adds
Grace & Worth to the Female Character —
The World says I am a favorite with Him;
and I the rather suspect it, (tho' He has
said severer Things to me, than Man before
Him, ever did) — because He devoted much
of his Time to me, and this, I believe, he
would not have done, if it had not been
the result of his free Choice — for never
mortal was less Punctilious — , spoke less
to the sex, and more to the Reason, than
205
LETTERS
He did, when once Interested enough to
speak his real sentiments, to any Woman.
— I think Horsley altogether, a very great
Character — He has a thousand singularities,
a thousand Faults — but they are infinitely
overbalanced by one of the most active
Minds, and Generous Hearts that ever I
knew Inhabit a human Frame — I give you
all these Lights into his Character, in order
that you may manage with Him accord-
ingly, for I wish those I love, to be liked
by the Discerning & Worthy, — if James,
admits him to any degree of Intimacy in
your Family — make him read Poetry to
you my dear — his manner of doing it will
charm you — and yet the Creature has no
more notion of music than I have of Alge-
bra — this has often puzzled me — such a
Judge of Harmony — and yet no taste in
fine sounds; I declare to you that I have
been quite mortified, when I, who think I
may pretend to some little merit as to Ear
& Voice, have aimed at doing justice to
Poetry, and could not please myself for my
Life, when upon consigning the Book to
Him — He has exactly hit the modulation &
manner I in vain wished to compass, — and
206
LETTERS
yet his natural Voice is almost as defective,
as his Judgment in music. — but enough of
Him, after telling you, that He visits Eng-
land on the score of extreme bad Health,
(indeed He has gone thro' enough to kill
forty Giants in this Country) and will in all
probability be obliged to continue there for
some Years, before he has the confirmed
Health, He once possessed. — / cannot my
dear, send you the six hundred Rupees I
received from Colonel Campbell for the use
of the Sternes by this ship, as none but
Company's servants are allowed Bills on the
Company, on their own Account. — M'" D.
cannot swear, that this money is his own
Property — however, I account to you or
them for it with Interest — and if this Re-
striction as to Bills, is not taken off by the
Mocha ship, I will lay out the money
in Pearl (as that I am told sells advantage-
ously in England, Very much so at present)
and send it by Cap* Jones, or somebody
for their use; and by such means, they can
in no way be losers, and I hope it will be
no Inconvenience to them, to wait a few
months longer for it, then I wished them
to do — as I imagine their Expectations
20T
LETTERS
from me, must have ceased, with the last
Bill, I transmitted to England. — O my
dear Friend for God sake, pay them all the
money of mine in your Hands — would it
were twice as much I the Ring too is
much at M^^ Sternes service — as should be
every thing I have in the world, rather
than I would freely owe the shaddow of an
obligation to Her. — You say my dear, in
your letter of May 29*^ 1771, dated from
Eltham — " I hope my Lydia's Letter did
' not give you pain, perhaps not Pleasure,
' but you must make some allowance,
' for she loves her Mother, who really is a
' good Woman — and even the Proposal
' however kind the Intention in having
' Lydia live with you, yet the taking from
' M^? Sterne her only Child, and only
' Comfort, and taking no notice of the
' Mother, was rather ill timed in my Eliza
'and threw some difficulties in my way"
— Miss Sternes Letter did indeed my dear,
give me a great deal of pain — it was such
a one, as I by no means deserved, in an-
swer to one wrote in the true spirit of
kindness, however it might have been con-
strued. — MT Sterne had repeatedly told me,
208
LETTERS
that his Daughter was as well acquainted
with my Character, as he was with my
appearance — in all his letters, wrote since
my leaving England, this Circumstance is
much dwelt upon — another too, that of
M""? Sternes being in too precarious a state
of health, to render it probable that she
would survive many months — her violence
of Temper (indeed James I wish not to
recriminate or be severe just now) and the
hatefulness of her Character are strongly
urged to me, as the Cause of his Indifferent
Health, the whole of his Misfortunes, and
the Evils that would probably shorten his
Life — the Visit M""^ Sterne meditated some
time Antecedent to his Death, he most
pathetically lamented, as an adventure that
would wound his Peace, and greatly embar-
rass his Circumstances, the former on ac-
count of the Eye Witness He should be,
to his Childs Affections having been Alien-
ated from Him by the Artful Misrepre-
sentations of her Mother, under whose
Tutorage she had ever been — and the latter,
from the kapacity of her Disposition — for
well do 1 know say's He, — "that the sole
*' Intent of her visit is to plague &
209
LETTERS
** fleece me — had I money enough, I would
** buy off this Journey, as I have done sev-
* * eral others — but till my sentimental work
' * is published, I shall not have a single
"sous more than will Indemnify People
"for my immediate Expences. " Soon after
the receipt of this Intelligence I heard of
Yoricks Death, the very first ship which
left us afterwards, I wrote to Miss Sterne
by and with all the freedom which my In-
timacy with her Father & his Communica-
tions warranted. — I purposely avoided speak-
ing of her Mother for I knew nothing to
her Advantage — and I had heard a great deal
to the reverse — So circumstanced — , How
could I with any kind of Delicacy mention
a Person, who was hateful to my departed
Friend, when for the sake of that very
friend — I wished to confer a kindness on his
Daughter — and to enhance the value of it,
— solicited her society, & consent to share
my Prospects, as the highest Favor which
could be shewn to myself? — indeed I knew
not, but M!^ Sterne, from the Description I
had received of her, might be no more — or
privately confined, if in Being, owing to a
Malady, which I've been told the Violence
210
LETTERS
of her temper subjects her to. You my
dear, knew nothing of the Ladies at this
time — my letter of Invitation was sent be-
fore I received your's urging the necessity
of their circumstances — and the worthiness of
their Characters — but can they be thus
worthy, when so ready to take part against
a stranger — tho' that Stranger is the friend
of a woman they profess to Esteem &
admire, & has ever had the Advantage of
being described by her in an Amiable light?
Non Credo! The Intention, ought in all
Causes, my James, to sanctify the Act,
where the kindness of the One is visible,
and the propriety of the other, nothing
worse than doubtful — and so it ever will
my dear to benevolent Natures. Miss
Sterne, in her letter, tells me — that her
Father did sometimes misrepresent her mother y
in order to justify his neglect of her — I do
not think highly of a Daughter, who could
compliment a living Parent, however justly
at the expence of a Deceased one — but as
this was Miss Sternes opinion — she might
in common justice to have supposed that
M"^? Sterne had been misrepresented to me,
this would have accounted for my silence
2l\
LETTERS
on the subject & clearly evinced that I
could not mean any kind of Disrespect to
herself or mother by not naming her in
my letter of Invitation — indeed my dear
— so far from it — that my silence on
the subject, as I've hinted before, only
proceeded from a Delicacy w'ch is
natural to me, when I either wish or
men to speak to the affections — I have
been strangely deceived in Miss Sternes —
or she never could have preverted my senti-
ments so much as to suppose I did her an
Injury, in addressing her as a kindred Spirit,
and with all the freedom I could wish to
subsist between myself and a sister of my
Heart — the circumstance in particular, which
you allude to was such as would of itself,
have given me some reputation in the Eyes
of Discerning and kind Sensibility! conse-
quently it ought not to have obstructed
your progress in my favor — nor would it
my James — Excuse me — if these Rivals of
mine in your friendship had been half as
deserving, as your absent Eliza — I cannot
account for M^^ Sterne's pique towards me
from that, (as it proved) unfortunate letter
— not on any one principle of Goodness, my
21?
LETTERS
dear, can I account for it — for however the
Woman might have been displeased, at my
supposed shght of her, the Mother I think,
must have pleaded well for me, in a
kind maternal breast — as she must have
been sensible that I meant affectionate
services to her Child, however I'd failed
in the Punctilo's due to herself, and that
fond sensations, in such a Cause, must be
lukewarm indeed in that* could not counter-
act the effects of Caprice — Reason, she had
none, to be angry with me, knowing that
my sole knowledge of her was derived from
Yoricks Communications — and that such,
were not of the favorable sort — I believed
Sterne implicitly, I believed him! / had
no Motive to do otherwise than believe him
just, generous S^ unhappy — till his Death
gave me to know, that he was tainted with
the Vices of Injustice, Meanness &^ Folly.
Nothing had ever offered to remove my
prejudice against the Widows Character —
till your assurances made me wish to be
divested of it — Why then angry with me
for a slight, which had it's foundation in
real Propriety when the very Proposal
* For the meaning of the sentence, substitute if they for in that.
213
LETTERS
which Accompanied it, ought to have acted
as a sponge on that, and a thousand such
trivial offences, if I had been guilty of
them? why? me! — why — I'll tell you my
Dear — because such Commentations on the
beauty of a good Action — are like those
Pretenders to science, who viewing a fine
Poem, Statue, piece of Architecture, or
Painting, have not latitude of mind enough,
to comprehend the whole beauty of the De-
sign, but enough of Presumtion to censure
a Line — a Toe, a Pillar, or single error of the
Pencil; if any of these vary in the smallest
degree from the Rules of Art — Science may
be Taught, and so may good breeding. Taste,
Worth and Genius must be innate — to fill
the Graceful, whether in Still or Active Life.
— A Connoisseur in either, will refer to the
Plan, in preference to seeking those Minute
Blemishes, from w'ch the finest Models are
not wholly exempt — and if all is fair, and
well proportioned There, He with pleasure
fixes his Eye on it as the Grand object
worthy his Attention, in the way of Praise
& Criticisms. And thus, I should have sup-
posed, a Widow & Daughter of the Senti-
mental Yorick, capable of acting upon every
2U
LETTERS
occasion, in which it was given them to dis-
tinguish sterling merit from the false — for
such I call every species of good Breeding,
in some Cases, when Generosity, and Deli-
cacy are principally requisite — I would en-
gage, in a twelvemonth, to train any Girl
of moderate abilities, to all the necessary
Forms, and peculiar Etiquettes of genteel
Behaviour — but I would not engage to
make her capable of reaching one Generous
Thought 'tis no hard matter, "to dwell
in Decency's forever" — those who find Vir-
tue painful, — have endeavor'd, and succeeded
in it — I should not have imagined, that
M^^ & Miss Sterne needed to have been
told, there were greater Wants, than what
result 'd from an Ignorance of, or Defect in
mere Ceremonies — these have their use, no
Doubt — and I can admire them as much as
any Body in Dissipated Life, where nothing
superior to Amusing the Imagination, is I
suppose aimed at tho' serious consequences
do sometimes happen from our frequenting
such scenes — but I should form a very queer
opinion of a Friend — or Stranger, who had
it in their Power to oblige me — Meant to
do so — and either tete a tete, or by Letter
215
LETTERS
— prefaced the Intention with the Flatteries
agreable enough in a Rout Room — any
fashionable Circle or Epistle Dedicatory —
for there, they are common, and one natu-
rally expects to find 'em. Any species of
Civility, I could have exerted towards M^^
Sterne, in the Crisis you know of, would
have been just as ill-timed. Complaisance,
if not something more hyperbolical — for I
certainly entertained a most unfavorable
opinion of her — and thought I paid a high
Compliment to her Delicacy in forbearing
to speak of her at all — as my Imagination
suggested nothing good — and to profess a
liking or solicitude about Persons, or Things,
I am no way interested about — it's what I
cannot do, my dear James — Nor do I Honor
Those who Can — A few words more, of the
Widow & Daughter, and then I hope to
have done with the subject — when I think
of Miss Sternes reply, to a letter replete
with kindness — for such I am sure it was,
because such, I meant it should be — and
the Mother starting any difficulties to oblige
me in a Point I had much at Heart — be-
cause I had neglected a mere Ceremony —
which in my Case — could have meant just
216
LETTERS
nothing at all at the very best — I can, and
do pronounce from my very soul — that I
think them as unworthy my Friendship —
as any two Persons, I know, or ever yet
heard of — and it does indeed, wound both
my Pride, and Love, that the Woman in
Life, I most Value — should bring them into
Competition with myself, when she names
me as her Friend — her dear Eliza. — I hate
Competitions in Love, or Friendship; and
am not more Jealous in the one Case, than
in the other — but you my dear James, have
nothing to apprehend, on the score of this
Passion, for it is of that quiet sort which
can offend nobody, or prey on anything but
my own Peace — I do not love easily — but
my Affections once given — and they are irre-
coverable, whether treated with the Distinc-
tion they Merit or not — I have no Idea of
loving any two Friends equally, or indeed
with the same species of Affection, My,
Heart, naturally forms an Election — and
would I think — sooner break, than suffer
the Preference due to that Choice, to be at
all Infringed upon — Esteem — Complacency —
it doubtless would ever be susceptible of,
where the worthy were to be found; and
217
LETTERS
different degrees of these Qualities as the
Objects were more or less Amiable — or
peculiarly circumstanced but one Friend
in the Emphatical Sense of the Word — and
one Love together with the Relations aris-
ing from that union — are I think — sufficient
to engross the whole serious affections of
any one Woman — and where they do not,
they are not the friend or Lover, I could
wish to be, or to be thought capable of be-
ing for which I give AIL 1 think, I think
my James — I have a right to expect recip-
rocal affection — at least nothing less, I am
sure would gratify my Pride, or satisfy my
Love — but in opinions of this sort — I — per-
haps ; consult a very improper Standard —
tho' a very natural one — in appealing to my
own Heart — for that has ever deceived me
in the judgment I have formed of other
Peoples — still, I must refer to it — for I
know of no other Rule and Measure, that
is not equally — if not more liable, to mis-
lead me — and I believe it's better to suffer
occasionally by the fallibility of what's well
known to us — than trust to chance for our
Success — by having recourse to foreign
Expedients — I blame not a good Man or
318
LETTERS
Woman, for having a sincere regard & even
Friendship for a bad person for such Things
are Possible — for They have been — but I do
extremely blame or pity, any Person who
having elected another to be the chosen
partner of their Heart — can yet suffer a
second or third, to dispute the preference &
Privileges only due to the First — the Thing
could never be, my James — if that one, had
been loved with genuine warmth, as well as
Distinction — for it is just as natural for us
to distinguish between Character, as Faces —
no two of which could ever be proved alike
— and choice is never I believe neutral in
such Cases — it naturally points to the one
in preference to the other tho' not always
to the best — still there is a necessity for it's
choosing for itself for it will not be con-
troul'd, and where that's the case, 'tis wis-
dom to give it scope — by aiming to direct
it only — We may break the force of the
Distemper's by eluding them, but in no
other way can we restrain it's Powers — I
once had a sincere affection for a sweet
pretty French Woman — Young, lively, ten-
der, sensible, and happily married — she saw
the earnestness I felt to please her — and
219
LETTERS
justified my partiality in her favor by dis-
claiming any Title to it — as her heart was
too much engrossed by her Husband, and
an Italian Cousin to do justice to the
sensibility of Mine — "My dear Eliza — said
she — I see you are fondly disposed to like
me above any other Person — (this vras
true) — I feel grateful for this preference
for it does me Honor, from a Mind so
Ingenuous and capable of Refinement (so
she was pleased to say) as Yours — but my
dear Girl — I will have nothing more than
your Esteem, in common with other agre-
able Women, for nothing more, can I give
you, of myself — and I should be guilty of
the highest injustice, if I encouraged in you
a hope, that I could be your Friend, in
mine, & your sense of the word — 'tis
impossible my Eliza — for I have from
Infancy, been tenderly attached to a sweet
Woman on the other side of the Alps —
and my Husband, is almost the Object
of my Adoration — These two possess my
whole Heart — It has no room for other
Objects — Esteem, Complacency, Generosity,
Humanity & Civility — are qualities the
World has a right to — these, I can be-
220
LETTERS
stow occasionally; but these constitute not
the whole of Friendship, tho' they are ab-
solutely requisite to the Formation of it —
Your notions My Dear, are just as Deli-
cate as my Own — Your heart is equally
tender — and your first Regards will be a
prize to any Person, capable of deserving
them; reserve them, my dear, for some
amiable woman unfetter' d by what the
World calls friends, or unclogged by sisters,
and she will do justice to your Preference —
1 cannot — for I cannot give you mine, tho'
I think you worthy of it — and without a
mutual feeling in such Cases no Commerce
of the kind, was ever durable or Happy — "
I admired M":^ Martaigne, for her Ingen-
uousness, but I had not the better opinion
of her sensibility, or Generosity for harang-
uing me thus — and so I told her — She
always answered my objections, with that
kindness and good sense, which were natural
to her — but never thought of me I believe
with any thing more than a transient emo-
tion of good Will, when I was out of her
Presence — this sorely afflicted me, for I
would have abandon 'd anything understood
by the word Diversion, to have been two
221
LETTERS
Hours in her Company — and I could not
bear to think that I should be always
desirous of associating with her — without
her seeming to think my society either an
addition or Dimunition to her satisfaction —
I once complain'd of this — and before her
husband — with all the Pathos I was mis-
tress of. She heard me with the greatest
sweetness — and never once Interrupted me,
tho' I was more vehement than was recon-
ciliable to good manners — but the Truth
was — that I was mortified, at feeling my
own Insignificancy before the most Amiable
Couple, I knew in the World. — *' Where
situations in Life are not similar — and
minds have the same good Propensities
(said the charming Janatone) — there always
must be some degree of Doubt and
Chagrin in the suffering Party — had you
my Eliza, been happily married — tenderly
connected with one of your own sex — and
enjoyed all the advantages [of] liberal Edu-
cation, as I have done — You, like me,
would have had, your whole stock of affec-
tion occupied by two Persons — & then my
dear, you had been a happy Woman —
for both Martaigne & myself, have a
LETTERS
thousand times remark 'd that We never in
our Various Wanderings, met with an un-
cultivated Creature, so much indebted to
Nature, for every good affection of the
Heart. — Your affections, now my dear, are
diffused. — You know not the strength of
them — Mine are collected as in a Focus —
to make use of a Term of science — and
that Circumstance, together with the Hap-
piness of my Destiny in having chosen well
— is all the superiority I can boast over
you — My Lover (pointing to Martaigne)
who is a Philosopher has made human
nature his study — can explain to you why
it's impossible — that even a good Amiable
Woman should do justice to more than
the Claims of a Husband Friend, and a
female one — the rest of the World — I own
to you, my sensible Girl, are nothing to me
in comparison of these, but that I have not
Penetration enough to see merit in Various
Characters — but I certainly have not mate-
rials to reward it, in more than my stated
number — did the Fancy of doing so occur
to me — I must to accomplish it — take from
those I am bound to, by every tye of
Love, Gratitude & Sympathy — and then I
LETTERS
might cease to promote the Happiness of
those Persons who now constitute the sole
Value of mine, (for Lovers &; Friends are
jealous of Competition, and they are right
to be so, as the Principal worth of their
privileges is derived, from there being Their
privileges only,) and I will not risque it,
why should I ? for what ? to pursue, and
accomplish another Happiness ? I am con-
tented with that I possess, and well I may
[be] — Merit even, is not always so rewarded
— and I have no Idea, of any Felicity on
Earth, superior to what I now experience —
I have been taught to think — & I truly
believe it — that a Woman, however capa-
cious her mind — and Amiable her manners
— has but such a Portion of Worth as En-
ables her to fill the Duties of her Station
well — and if her Destiny subjects her to
a Worthy Partner in Life, He & his, espe-
cially with the Addition of a female Friend,
offer scope enough, for the Exertion of all
her Talents & good Propensities, be they
ever so numerous, and endearing — And it
is a Maxim with me, from which I believe,
I never shall depart — that where a Married
Woman, evinces a desire to please the other
224
LETTERS
Sex — & professes attachments to many, or
more than one Individual of her own — that
she has, either been unfortunate in her
Choice — or has not those Quahties, which
could enable her to fulfill the great Duties,
of Love & Friendship fitly & Handsomely."
— How like you, the Sentiments of M^^
Martaigne my dear James — ? Whether it
was that her Person & Manner, gave Ad-
vantages to Them, or that they really made
a Strong Impression on me from the Pro-
priety of Them, I know not; but in my
Life, I never felt so strong a Disposition
to believe a Woman. She often told me,
that she was unworthy the Love of such
a heart as mine, because she could not
return it— Respect for her Memory k fre-
quent recollections of her Various Excel-
lencies, is now all that remains with me
relative to the Lovely Janatone; for she
died three years ago — after surviving her
Husband about a week and her Friend a
twelvemonth — What had such a Woman to
do in Life after the survival of her best
affections? Unless indeed as an Example to
all others, how they should grieve upon
such Disastrous Circumstances knowing
225
LETTERS
her, as I did, I was not sorry to hear of
her Releasement so soon after the Death of
Martaigne — Charming, Happy Couple ! I
have enthusiasm enough to wish to under-
take a Journey into Italy, for the pleasure
of Weeping over their Tomb Stone — and
think the Sad Luxury, would Administer,
more to my Happiness; than half the Pur-
suits, which the World styles Pleasant — I
never shall contemplate, their Like again —
Sense, Wit, Literature, All the Manly Ac-
complishments & Graces, were his! — Beauty,
Softness, and every feminine Virtue Hers! —
Their Story was Romantic — their Life Pleas-
ant, and their Deaths I doubt not most
Happy! — You may have heard me speak
of them, before — but never with so much
Explicitness — I had my reasons for being
reserved on the subject — They were in Eng-
land when I left it — but quite Incognito —
MT Sterne Introduced me to their Notice —
the most Agreable Service, He ever did me
— for till I saw Madame de Martaigne — I
never saw the Character, who came up to
my Ideas of Female Beauty & Worth — till
I knew her Husband — I never conceived it
possible for a Man to please a whole Life —
226
L E T TE R S
without the least Apprehension of Indiffer-
ence or Satiety! Excuse this Elogium in
their Praise to you my dear James, tho'
you knew them not — You would have
loved, as much as I admired Them — and
joined your Tears with mine, for the Loss
of Persons so Amiably distinguished — this
subject has such hold of me, that I cannot
readily quit it — and therefore I'll indulge
the Penserozo Humours, by telling you a
couple of little anecdotes, as such matters
often give a better Insight into Character,
than all the great Outlines — Upon reading
Lord Lyttletons Monody, on the Death of
his Lucy — she used to wish that Martaigne
had wrote, and that she had been the sub-
ject — declaring, that to be so lamented — she
would consent to dye, and that with Pleas-
ure — Westminster Abbey, was her favorite
Scene of Amusement — Contemplation rather
— on account of a Monument there inscribed
to the Memory of a MT^ Nightingale, you
may have noticed it, as it is a very Singu-
lar one, and well Executed — Death is stalk-
ing out of a Cavern — Aims his Dart at a
Woman — and her Husband Endeavors to
repel the Stroke, with an Anxiety and
227
LETTERS
Terror in his Countenance, more Easy to
conceive than describe — M^^ M never
passed the Abbey if alone, but she called to
look at this Monument — often went there,
from a very distant part of the Town, on
no other Errand — and never saw it I be-
lieve, but it cost her more Tears, than the
deepest wrote Tragedy would have done.
She used to say — that Octavia was the first
of all female Characters in Ancient History
— and that Marc Anthony deserved to lose
the World, for his insensibility to the Vir-
tues of such a wife, rather than for attach-
ing himself to a Cleopatra — Prior of all our
English Poets, was her Favorite — and his
Nut brown Maid, her Theme of Admiration
whenever it was named — Solomons Egyp-
tian, was a grand Favorite with her —
especially when she returned the Proffer' d
Wreath — afterwards, indeed, the Girl talked
too much — but altogether, she behaved no-
bly — now poor Afra, / think, was not inferior
to her — and deserved a better fate than she
met with — read the second book of Priors
Solomon my dear, if it is not familiar to
you, in order that you may form a judg-
ment of her taste, from the above speci-
228
LETTERS
men of it — You will find it in the Second
Volume of his Works — but I'll give you
no more of her Criticisms — for if I was to
recollect the whole of them, I should fill a
Volume, and the above are sufficient, to
give you an Idea of her sensibility and
Taste — I know not how other People might
be affected by these Traits in a Character —
but I know, I cannot think of them, with-
out an Emotion which is pleasing to me,
because it flatters me with the notion of
some worth, as I cannot foresee other bene-
fit from it, than what arises from the con-
sciousness of a tender sensibility — and that
is in Fact — all, in all — tho' the World is
too often pleased to Judge otherwise. I
thank you my dear, and with all my Heart
for the Explicitness you have used as to
Betsey's * situation — she is now I hope at
M^^ Terry's — if you remember my Dear,
you recommended this school to me when
I was in England — and a twelvemonth ago,
I desired MP Whitehillt to remove her from
Newington to Kensington — and I shall insist
on the Circumstance of her sleeping in an
*A daughter to the Drapers,
t Probably an aunt to Mrs. Draper.
229
LETTERS
Airy Room, unincumber'd with scholars,
tho' the Price of her SchooHng should be
greatly rais'd by it — as to having her a
Parlour Boarder — I know not what to say
My James — as I cannot think more highly
of the tall Girls so distinguished than I do
of the lesser Misses, en Groupe — in General
those Girls are horribly frivolous, or Artful;
and 1 would rather My Darling retained
the simplicity of a Child, by associating
with those of her own Age only, than
acquired any of the knowledge, which Par-
lour Boarder Maxims too frequently incul-
cates — for Betsey, if I mistake not, has
much observation for her Years, and would
soon from the liveliness of her apprehension
become a Proficient in all those Flirtations &
Flippancies so commonly found in AVomen
Girls — I think, my dear, I cannot consent
to her being a Parlour Boarder; the increase
of Expence would weigh nothing with me.
If I thought it would be for her advantage,
but as I do not it certainly has some weight
in the Scale of Objection — I shall not only
write to M':^ Whitehill about the Chamber
arrangement, but to M'!^ Terry, enclosing it
to MT^ Whitehill, and desiring her to deliver
230
LETTERS
it or not as she thinks it will add force to
her Directions. — I detest Boarding Schools,
my James — I know, from having experi-
enced in my own Case, how little of the
Useful is to be acquired there & I am
truely sensible of the risque a Child runs,
of being ruined in Constitution, & forever
Corrupted in her Morals in those Simina-
ries, for in order to secure both the one
and the other, every Child it associates
with, ought to be of as Amiable Propen-
sities as itself — and can this be expected
when there are fifty Children, all descended
from different Parents, no one of which
may be like the other, in either affections
humour or Blood? And who of feeling can
be satisfied to trust to Chance for that
which is to constitute the Honor & Wel-
fare, or disgrace & misery of a beloved
Child? for 'tis Certain, that the Principles
inculcated in Youth, and confirmed by
Habit, more or less influence all our suc-
ceeding Actions — k creates the Portion of
praise, or blame which fix's our Character
in Life. — I have thought often, and very
much on this matter, and the more I pon-
der it, the more I am convinced in my first
231
LETTERS
particularly for an Home Education — and this
is one of my grand Inducements for pining
after a reunion to my Child, for I do think
my James, that I am better qualified to be
her Instructress than any other human Be-
ing — and this, because I am her Mother,
and as such infinitely more Interested in
her Welfare than any Friend, however cor-
dial can be, for, on her Establishment in
Life, do I think to found my own Pros-
pects of a Mild quiet Evening, after a very
boistrous Day — as such it must be, if my
Autumn, partakes of my Spring, & Sum-
mers Nature — & I have no reason to expect
otherwise — Miracles having long since ceased
to Operate — Consequently, Policy, as well as
Maternal Affection induces me to wish the
Cultivation of this Plant under my own
Eye, as so much, so very much depends on
the flourishing of it — for I think James, if
this poor Girl, was to prove unhappy, or
worthless, that it would weigh me down
much sooner than Loads of Accumulated
Affliction reserved for myself alone — or
Independed [sic] of her fate — for with that,
is united the future Chart of mine — if she
is deserving & Amiable, I cannot be wholly
932
LETTERS
miserable — if the reverse — which, Heaven
forbid ! Not all the Blessings in Life — can
be superior — to[o] Tasteless — to me — for my
Ideas of Happiness are so Interwoven with
those of her good Destiny, that in Fact,
they are one & the same — and nothing
more variable, than a Distinction in Terms
— this known to MT Draper — and most as-
suredly felt by me with all the Agonies of
Doubt and longing Expectation; I do &
must wonder — that He refuses the request
so often made, that of my going Home &
fixing this Object under my own Protection
— for Independant of my Health — which
really is Very precarious — I live in a man-
ner, so utterly irreconciliable to my own
good opinion in the way of Delicacy and
in the Public's favorable Eye — that I seri-
ously should wish to leave India, if I had
no other motive for it than wishing to
change the scene — but when I take into
consideration, Betseys Welfare, (w'ch I'm
vain enough to think is suffering by my
absence from her, tho' I've a high opinion
of M^3 Whitehill altogether) — my present
situation — M^ Drapers extreme Indifference
about me — what I may lose as to my
@33
LETTERS
Childs Improvements by not visiting Eng-
land — and the little use there can be to
any Person my continuing Here — I must &
do think I am very hardly dealt with — as it
can only arise from a notion very Injurious
to my Principles — and as such, I can and
do feel the Indignity, with all the bitter-
ness of a wounded Spirit — for I have not
deserved to be thought ill of — nor am I
treated, as if I was — when there's any
occasion for the Exertions of my Episto-
lary talents, or Address — I only say this to
you James — what my Thoughts are upon
such occasions I will not say, tho' I am
confident that no Husband acts the Politic,
any more than the Generous part by a
Woman — when He at times can descend to
solicit her aid — and at others, use her with
unmanly violence, lest a notion of her own
superiority should induce her, to contemn
his Authority — Contemptible Reasoning! I
do my James detest those Maxims of Rule,
which are founded on Sex alone — and can
as heartily despise the Man who has re-
course to Them, because He may, from
the Accidental Circumstance of his Gender
alone. — In Marriage, as, the most serious
234
LETTERS
of all social Compacts — all people ought I
think to determine on living well together,
whether seduced into it by Love, or the
Prospect of Convenience — at least, I'm
moved to Wonder when sensible Indi-
viduals don't plan ingenuously & act con-
formably to it, in every Thing which re-
gards their mutual Interest, for as to sepa-
rate there's no such Thing between People
of Morals &c good Judgment, when they are
once fated to pass their lives together. —
Children — their mutual Interest in having a
Home Comfortable, Affectionate, Orderly, a
mind at Ease, and Respect abroad — are so
many pleasing Links which depend entirely
on their own Chain of good Conduct — and
these must rivet those propensitys to well
doing — w'ch the sensible Practise, when
Prudence alone views the reverse of such
Picture in a distressful Light — I yester-
day heard a story of a married pair, which
pleased me greatly, from the sensible singu-
larity of it — tho' I avoided making any
comments at the time — A Gentleman in
the North of very large fortune — and indo-
lent turn of mind, was extremely desirous
of marrying a Woman of such sprightly
235
LETTERS
talents, and good Disposition as might
rouse his mind from it's usual state of
Inactivity, and at the same time. Induce
her to be grateful for his preference, and
never think of taking advantage of his
Supine Humour — this you'll say, might
be difficult to accomplish, however as he
was perfectly Indifferent as to Money
Matters — Very Young & rather Handsome
— Many Necessitous Girls endeavor' d to
Captivate His Notice — but all in Vain —
till a Very smart spirited one, in the Per-
son of a Toad Eater threw out a Bait for
Him at a Water drinking Place. He was
attracted by her appearance, and had sing-
ularity enough to admire her courage, in
thinking of a Man worth three thousand a
year. They married, and the generality of
People Prophecied that Misery wou'd be
the Portion of each, as Interest on one
side, and Caprice on the other was only
supposed to have cemented their union —
but the man had great good Judgment,
as well as generosity, under the appearance
of Much Phlegm, & Indolence — and the
Girl, Sense and Gratitude, as well as Wit
& Vivacity at will — and they proved a very
LETTERS
Happy and respectable Couple, without
other aides than such as Moderate Affec-
tions, and reasonable Dictates, usually sup-
ply — but their Sensible Plan of Acting, was
in a great measure ascribed to a very seri-
ous conversation he had with her the Day
after Marriage. — After shewing her his
House, his Gardens, making his House-
keeper explain to her the different Depart-
ments of Servants &;c. &;c. Economicks —
He desired she would oblige Him with her
Company in his Library, tete a tete, for a
couple of Hours — the Girl was all Amaze-
ment — and well she might — for He had
never been known to harangue for a Quar-
ter of an hour together in his Life — but
she submitted of course & you are to sup-
posed them seated in his Study, each side
of a Pembroke Table, if you will, his Hand
extended over it to receive Hers — and He
Declaiming Thus "My Dear Lydia I
* observed your su[r]prize, and I wonder not
' at it, when I proposed a Conference with
' you — You must think it strange — that I,
' who never sought to engage your atten-
' tion for more than ten minutes together
' before, should now solicit it for Hours,
23T
LETTERS
when I've a Prospect of engaging it as
often as I choose — but my dear Girl —
lend me your serious attention at present,
& 1 flatter myself that I never shall be
desirous of it again on the same subject —
as 1 cannot think my Inclinations once
known, that you will ever act in opposi-
tion to them — You are not to suppose
Lydia, from my Character as to Indo-
lence & Singularity, that I have not the
same Discernment and in many Respects
the same Passions as other men and you
will find perhaps, under this Apparent
Nonchalance one of the steadiest Tem-
pers and most quick sighted observers —
you ever met with in the most brilliant
of your acquaintance — but the Truth is,
my Dear, that I'm of a Very speculative
if not Philosophic Humour — I have in
my heart — a most thorough Contempt for
Pageantry and Ceremony, in almost all
it's Forms — but I have never yet loved
an human Being well enough to tell
them so — I am satisfied with the recti-
tude of my own Heart, and desire no
other Praises than what results from the
Consciousness of Deserving all good Peo-
238
LETTERS
pies, if the string of my Actions was once
discover' d — but I speak not of this Pecu-
harity, as any Excellence in my Nature —
it is perhaps the Contrary — as most Good
Persons are taught to admire the Opinions
& Practises of the Public, and they may
be right in doing so — if either the one
or the other are effectual in stimulating
to good Examples — with me they do not
operate in this way — I have no pleasure
in any thing, however well appearing, if
I cannot trace it to the source of good
Moral Principles — I love the study of the
human Kind above all sciences — and in
order to accomplish this, I must have my
own at perfect ease — this an Indifferent
Spectator would imagine no difficult mat-
ter surrounded with affluence, bless 'd with
Health and equal Spirits as I am — but
my Dear Girl — in spite of these Advan-
tages — I have not tasted any Permanent
Happiness — My Domesticks leave me,
without mtending it, I believe — My
Recreations have pall'd, in spite of my
Philosophy — and Serious Inchnations to
continue them without satiety — for they
have always been such, as my Reason
239
LETTERS
approved — Friendships, I have had, but
they have only been transient ones, owing
to the want of congeniahty in my asso-
ciations [and] Feehngs, which is requisite
to gratify a taste hke mine — the World
mixed too much, in their Regards of
the tenderest sort for me to expect to
keep my Hold, if any Matter of Interest
intervened, and therefore I have been
content, to bear the reproach of fickle-
ness (tho' a Vice I abhor' d) by relaxing
in my attentions, and by that means fur-
nishing them with an excuse to break off
a Commerce which had nothing better
than Convenience or Love of Dissipation
for its Basis. — Marriage I have ever
thought, the union of all others, best
calculated to promote the Happiness of
a Heart like mine — but I despair'd I
own to you — of meeting with an object
capable of fulfilling her share of it's
Duties, Agreable to my sense of the
matter — Address, I'd none — and my for-
tune I rather thought a snare to me, as
I never made a secret of my being indif-
ferent as to that article, if I could but
secure the Woman of my choice — her
240
L E T TE R S
affections I mean Lydia — that is, that
preference in them, which every man is
entitled to expect, who marries a Woman
of principle unattached to any other man,
and while he preserves his right to them,
by such a portion of kindness and Confi-
dence as assures her, of the same Place
in His — This my dear Girl, I have yet
my Doubts of — as to you — Your Dissi-
pated tho' Mortifying Manner of Life —
induces me to think, you may have seen
the man you could have prefer' d to my-
self, if you had been at liberty to bestow
your hand where you had chose. (I hope
Lydia shed tears at this place) Your
Embarrassments as to Situation — Your
indifferent Prospects, naturally accounted
for your wishing to attract any Man,
whose Honorable Protection, could insure
you a tolerable Establishment in Life —
Fortune threw me in your way — I saw
your Design and assisted you in it, as I
flattered myself, that I distinguished in
you a disposition to be grateful for any
pecuniary Advantages I could bestow —
this was all I expected, it was almost
all I wished till I could have time &
241
LETTERS
opportunities to convince you, that I
deserved, all that a Woman so circum-
stanced has to give. — And now my
dearest Girl, I will deal very ingenu-
ously with you — I really like you at
present, as much as many women would
wish to be liked — but my affections are
so much controul'd by my Reason — that
I believe I could withdraw them without
any Material Prejudice to my Peace if
you disgusted me by Indifference in your
Carriage towards myself, or the least spe-
cies of Coquettry towards any other Man
whatever — for I think myself entitled to
Mild obligingness at all times, however
singular my Humour, and I would as
soon, my Wife gave her Person to an-
other Man, as her little finger, with the
Idea of a Momentary Preference to my-
self — start not Lydia — nor think yourself
subject to a Jealous Husband — for such I
neither am, or ever can be — but I am
Nice — so nice, that I could much sooner
forgive your want of love for me, than
your want of Delicacy, in any of the
Punctilio's, which are not only peculiar
to the Femenine Character, but highly
LETTERS
graceful in it when properly maintain 'd.
My dear Girl — I mean to deal quite upon
the Square with you, My Prudence will
occasionally restrain your lively Powers —
and those will constitute my Happiness,
judiciously exerted — for nothing but your-
self that I know of — has a chance of the
Power, to make me animated or even
visibly chearful — We shall be mut[u]ally
assisting & obliged to each other — I wish
to banish the Word Obedience from our
Compact — and to substitute that of We
for the letter / & Word You — I will
never arrogate on the score of Masculine
Prerogative — I am ashamed of those Men,
who have recourse to it, when they have
a sensible mild companion to deal with,
& do not you my Lydia, ever mistake,
your real Interest so much as to be in-
duced to take advantages of the Easiness
of my nature. You may, I tell you, you
may, succeed in many Points by attempt-
ing it, for I cannot contend with those
who are even Indifferent to me, but my
Dear, you would by such means injure
my opinion of your Generosity — &; this
would pave the way to various uneasi-
LETTERS
ness's with the Woman I loved — We
must in that case part, for I would owe
nothing, but to her Love, Gratitude, or
kindness — the Tye of Duty without these
— is to me, a mere cobweb — tell me your
Thoughts, on every subject, as they arise
my Lydia — & I will either conform to
them, or satisfy your reason by giving
the preference to my Own ; our joint
Stock of Wisdom is the Property of one
or both as one or both as either may
happen to have occasion for more than
their immediate supplies — let us use it as
such, my Lydia — and never think of valu-
ing ourselves occasionally, more than each
other, for this, or that advantage — when
all our good Qualities ought to be in
common to both, and so they must, if
we mean to promote each others Happi-
ness, on a principle of Love, Wisdom, or
mere Policy for there's no such Thing, in
Fact, as a separate Interest in Marriage,
between Persons of Reflection — or good
Morals — they must each, occasionally,
advance their whole Quota of Worth, in
order to please or assist the other, if they
wish to live Peaceably or be Respected —
244
LETTERS
and this every thinking Man & Woman
must wish — My dearest Lydia, would you
gain my soul, & reign for ever the Mis-
tress of it, do not teaze me with Menial
Adventures — never let me hear your voice
rais'd or see a frown lowering on your
Brow — these requests complied with on
your Part — I will engage to second all
your Wishes, while you seem desirous of
promoting mine — and I doubt not but we
may years hence be cited as Examples of
Conjugal Felicity, when those whose Union
commenced in Transport, have long, ex-
hausted, all their stock of Tenderness —
for you my dear, have Wit, Spirit, sense
enough ; and a Devotion to Elegant Clean-
liness — I, prudence, tenderness, and easy
Temper to please — and a real Inclination
to love you better, than I now do, every
Day of my Life — perfect this wish my
Lydia — it is in your Power to do it — as
I doubt your Capacity in Nothing which
is congenial to your Will." Was not
this a sensible Harangue my dear James?
I swear to you, that to see a Plan of this
sort seems a thousand times better calcu-
lated to promote Harmony in Life, than all
245
LETTERS
the Reserves, Distances, and Authorities,
which men of noted Pride or Wisdom can
have recourse to; for there is that, in the
Mind of a Principled Woman, which makes
her fond of unHmited confidences, it speaks
to her affections, and I verily believe there
never yet, was that good Character, who
abused them; Men of sense, should never
insinuate to a Wife, that they have not a
very high opinion of her Generosity — as it is
the first step, to a good Minds being care-
less and a degenerate One's throwing off
the Mask — for many a Woman has been
complimented into good Behaviour, upon
trying occasions when Temptations foible —
and many a one, lost to a sense of great-
ness, from depriving her of the Rewards
due to Worth, and by that means destroy-
ing the Principle of Self Complacency,
which in Some Minds, must be encour-
aged to be durable — for such is our
Machinery, my dear James, that we are
all actuated by Praise, more or less, con-
sequently more Mechanical in our Thoughts
& Actions than Pride or Knowledge, will
sometimes admit of from not being con-
scious perhaps of the necessity of that
946
LETTERS
stimulus in their own Case, which is abso-
lutely requisite to some natures, to impel
them to any thing of the Noble, and good
Kind. — After teUing you that Mt & M'?
Fenton, experienced the good effects of
coming to an Ecclaircissement, and hav-
ing a real dependance on the Generosity &
good sense of each other, it may be un-
necessary to add perhaps, that they became
the esteem, & admiration of their neigh-
bourhood; still I tell you of it, because it's
pleasant to dwell on such subjects, & not
to leave a doubt on the mind of those who
contemplate them with satisfaction, as every
judge of real merit must, from their own
fund of Natural Benevolence — M^ Fenton,
from a Man distinguished for his Indiffer-
ence and Taciturnity — became as remark-
able for his Even Chearfulness, and social
Humour — Lydia lost nothing of her
Sprightly Talents, by making many of his
Maxims, her own — and added to the repu-
tation of being a most agreable Woman,
that of being as respectable, as lively. A
numerous offspring, together with the Habit
of acting in Concert upon all occasions, has
so rivited their affections, & Principles, that
247
LETTERS
a description of their manners has rather the
air of a romantic Fiction, than any thing
which exists in real Life — consequently the
truest reflection, and at the same time the
bitterest satyr, which can be made on the
present system of Wedlock is, that to think
& act as they do, will be the ready means,
of making a Couple pass for Romantic. —
Sincerity, Constancy, Generosity, and ten-
derness, are rarely to be found. They are
so much out of use, that People of Mode
imagine them to be out of Nature. I bor-
row this Thought from a letter in Swifts
Collection — it is. There applied to Friend-
ship, I remember, and as the Passage struck
me, 1 will endeavor to give you the whole
of it, I quote from Memory. *' We meet,
with few Friends : the greatest part of
those, who, pass for such, are properly
speaking, nothing more than acquaintances;
and no Wonder, since Tully's Maxim is
certainly true, that Friendship can subsist
non nisi inter bonus [sic], at that age of Life,
when there is balm in the Blood, and that
Confidence in the Mind, which the inno-
cency of our own heart inspires, and the
Experience of other People's destroys. I
248
LETTERS
was apt to confound my Acquaintance &
my friends together. I never doubted but
I had a numerous Cohort of the Latter. —
but the fire of Adversity has purged the
mass of my Acquaintances, and the separa-
tion made, I discover on one side, a hand-
ful of friends; but on the other, a Legion
of Enemies, at least of strangers. — Happily
this fiery trial has had an effect on me,
which makes me some amends. I have
found less Resource in other People, and
more in myself, than I expected." Have
you formed an Acquaintance with my dear
MP Stratton, James? I hope you have,
because I think her Mind of that Cast,
which must inevitably please you when
once known — her reserve is imputed to be
as a foible in this part of the world, by
superficial observers — but to me, it speaks
an Additional Charm in her Character — As
I love those Dispositions, which do not un-
fold themselves to all alike, but reserve for
a few, a distinguished Few! their Ingenu-
ousness and pleasing Powers — Such Persons,
never attract the Notice of the World in a
great Measure, but they generally make the
steadiest Friends and kindest support in
249
LETTERS
every serious relation of Life. — and this
once known, We must feel a Superior degree
of esteem for Them — As the very Indiffer-
ence which displeases mere Acquaintance, is
a tacit acknowledgement of their sincerity
when they profess to like any Individual;
and in fact, a very high Compliment to the
Person so noticed ; as We may observe, that
Reserve and, Indifference immediately give
Place, to Ingenuous Communications, and a
desire to please, when once they profess to
regard any body with real affection — I own
to you, I greatly admire those Characters,
who can hold general applause so cheap, as
never to think of trying for it — a wariness
to prevent Censure, every delicate mind
must practise — but any thing farther from
the World than mere Indifference or silence,
seems not to be the aim, of these rightly
formed Creatures, and truely, when one sees
the Scandal, Malice, & Detraction, which
Vivacity Address — and the Desire of pleas-
ing, Subjects People of Brilliant Talents
to — there's nothing methinks very enviable,
in their Powers — especially if they are not
(as I've heard is the case) so well qualified
to discharge the softer Engagements of
250
LETTERS
Society, as the undisplaying Tempers of a
sombre hue. — If you observe, throughout
your whole acquaintance my dear James — I
dare say you'll find — that the most serious,
& quiet natures, attach Husbands, Lovers,
friends, & children to them much more
strongly than the Gay Agreables do — and
this might be easily accounted for. — I dare
say too — that Minds of such a Cast are
much more capable of any thing Great,
and worthy of Record, than the Vivacious
fair ones — for it is the Curse of these to
fail in exciting esteem — tho' they often
Charm — and seldom fail to amuse — but
such is the degeneracy of the Times, that
a Woman must have deep Reflection in-
deed, who, unassisted by Excellent Advisers
can rise superior to the Amiable Triflers
Character — As Men of almost all Denomi-
nations prefer it to that of any other
species — and no Wonder — for where Mar-
riage is made subservient to a wretch 'd
plan'd system of Convenience, Men Doubt-
less, will often find their Home a seat of
Irksomeness ; and fly to any thing, or any
body, who can divest them of Thinking —
'tis then, that the agreable Trifler, feels her
251
LETTERS
own Importance — and judges, that it ought
to be, the summit of female Perfection,
because it often pleases when Sense, Birth
& Prudence, fail to attach or Amuse; not
considering, poor Thing, that it's Merit, is
principally founded, on the Defects of the
other Sex — for if Men were Wise, at all
times they would always Act from Prin-
ciple — consequently only be amused by the
Trifling, and give their serious attachments
to the seriously Deserving — but this can
never be till Marriage becomes an affair of
the Heart, as till then, Men never can be
satisfied to ponder & reflect on the spring
of their own actions with impartiality, that
is if they have any remain of sensibility in
them — for so true a reverence has every
one for himself, when He comes clearly to
appear before his Close Companion Con-
science; that He had rather profess the
Vilest Things of himself in Company, than
hear his Character privately from his own
mouth. So that we may from hence con-
clude. That the chief Interest of Ambition,
Avarice, Corruption, and every sly, insinu-
ating Vice, is to prevent this Intimacy, and
familiarity of Discourse which is consequent
252
LETTERS
upon close Retirement, and inward Recess.
— and to avoid it — the Man, or Woman,
of frailty, will ever seek Dissipation in all
its forms, till that even becomes toilsome as
the severest Manuel Labour — I never had
so high an Idea of the Recluse Character
as I have at Present, nor so contemptable
a one of the frivolous — as I cannot help
thinking that the former must be conscious
of his own superiority in every thing which
regards the Heart, or He never could sub-
mit to live without those aids which society
furnishes — and as to the latter. He could
not be insensible enough, to make a toil of
Diversion (the Wise intention of which was
to unbend the Mind only) if He had that
Credit with himself which enables a Man
to question his own Heart, without any
fear of it's Reproofs on the score of Vice —
Here's — Morality for you my dear James —
but I hope it will not displease you — as I
cannot help thinking it confirms my own
good Resolutions, when I thus, give forth —
a voice to it's Dictates either in writing or
Discourse 1 shall strenuously urge M'
Draper to let me return to England next
year — that is about January next at farthest
953
LETTERS
— As he always promised — that I should be
with my Girl, by the time she was twelve
years old, whether He was desirous, or
ready to quit India, by that time, or not —
in October next, she will be eleven — & I
hope — I hope! MT Draper will not forfeit
his Word to me — his Prospects, as to the
Broach Affair will be then settled — and his
fortune is so easy, that He may without
prejudice to it, allow me four or five hun-
dred a year, I desire no more — my Resi-
dence of Choice, would be in some one of
the ^^illages near Town, as I mean to have
Eliza entirely with me — & must be near
the Metropolis on account of the necessary
Masters for her Instruction — otherwise 1
should have to fix at some distance from
London — as I know, the Self Denial requi-
site to avoid Participation in Gay Scenes, is
by no means a pleasing Sensation, tho' a
very necessary one, to Persons of greater
taste than affluence — and I would at any
time rather avoid Temptation, than be
obliged to resist it (which I must do — if
seated in the midst of it) — as I have no
Idea that my Philosophy is of that Invul-
nerable sort, that may safely defye all out-
254
LETTERS
ward attacks, without the least risk of en-
dangering it. The Parthian DiscipHne, to
fight Flying is the properest Method of
Defence a Woman can make when Danger
or Temptations assail her Courage — but to
guard against their approaches is still better
Policy, as well as more Amiable — because
it evinces Wisdom & Modesty too — both
highly praiseworthy in the Female Character
— and reflective of Light upon each other —
when gracefully exerted — I am as sensible,
as yourself, my dear, of the necessity there
may be for my being in England before
Betsey is much older — I can, and will
speak plainer than you have done — as a
proof of which I now tell you, that I do
not think M^^^ Whitehills at all a proper
Protection for Betsey — in the first Place,
because she has never been a Parent her-
self — in the next, because Misfortunes in
the Early part of her Life, when her Affec-
tions were warm, and Expectations high,
have given, to a mind naturally active &
Chearful — both an Indolent, & reserved
Cast — the former disqualifies her, for at-
tending to the Minutiae in a Childs Educa-
tion, and the latter for encouraging, that
LETTERS
species of Communicativeness, which is the
Cement of Affection between a Child and
it's Monitress — I have another objection to
M^® Whitehills Patronage — which may seem
at first, to have an ungenerous sound — but
I mean nothing ilUteral by it — and that is,
her narrow Circumstances — Betsey has a
chance for Hving Elegantly, and I am afraid
from the natural bent of her mind that if
she is suddenly translated from one extreme
of Life to another, she may be apt to for-
get her obligations to M^^ Whitehill, and
regulate her opinion of her, by her situa-
tion — this is but too natural, to Girls of
lively Propensities, especially if they are
taught to look forward to the luxuries, as
to a real Good — and all Preceptors, & Pre-
ceptress's teach this, more or less, for what
else can be implied, by their servile Atten-
tion to Parents and Persons of Wealth —
however Denominated, as to Character. A
conduct of the above sort, in Betsey, to
M^^ Whitehill, would indeed distress me
exceedingly; & well I know, it would to
the Soul, mortify that sensible Woman —
for she has all those finer Sensibilities, w'ch
Affliction & Pecuniary Embarrassments,
256
L E T TE R S
rather gives a sharper edge to, than blunts
by the trial of perverse Accidents — and for
this reason — Independent of my Wishes on
her own Account, I do most seriously wish,
that her situation in Life had been perfectly
easy — Children, in general — have amazing
Powers as to observation & memory — Betsey,
I am confident, possesses these — & they
may enable her to retain as to matters in
which I had rather she was perfectly igno-
rant. Had M^s Whitehill been a Mother —
had her fortune been affluent, and her ten-
derness of Heart a little more Conspicuous
— I know not the Woman who could have
been more capable of forming the Minds
of Young People, for she has great Good
Sense, Generosity of Temper, a Mind Natu-
rally Chearful, & prone to make every thing
it's own with the assistance of very little
Application, then she reads, writes, speakes,
not only correctly but gracefully, these are
all Important Advantages. I can & do feel
the weight of them, & shall for ever think
my self obliged for Her — unsolicited offer
to take Charge of the Children — I should
have loved her better perhaps, if I had
thought it proceeded from a Principle of
257
LETTERS
Affection to myself rather than Generosity
— but this is fooHsh to say — or think — as
We certainly can rely more securely on those
Qualities which are implanted in the breast
by nature herself & confirmed by Choice &c
Habit, than on those partial Affections,
which Caprice, Absence, Time, or Chance
Eradicate. 'Tis certain that I in my Life,
could never be induced to Unbend my
whole soul in the Presence of M'!^ White-
hill — there was a consent of Minds, a some-
thing wanting, which enables the playful
sincere Heart, to disclose it's follies, it's
Wishes, with the genuine warmth of kind
Simplicity, and without the suspicion of
being any way a sufferer, by the frank
disclosure. Betsey's Teinper, partakes much
of the nature of my own, & if her observa-
tion is of the same stamp — she will have
her Reserves to M^^ Whitehill, & this will
inculcate an artifice which is at all times
hateful, and more particularly so in the
Girlish Character — which ought to be com-
posed of frankness, Generosity, and all the
mild Attributes, suitable to the Age of
Innocence. — Oh my dear James ! what an
important Task is it to train a young mind
2&S
LETTERS
properly to all the Duties of Society! and
yet how shamefully is it neglected by
Guardians — Teachers, and even by Parents
themselves! and for what is it too often
Neglected? even for some sorry purpose of
dirty interest — or more contemptible one, of
Thoughtless Dissipation — the first ought ever
to be subservient to our childrens Welfare —
instead of taking place of it — as a primary
Consideration, and the last can only amuse
for a While, at best, and yet to pursue these
Ideal Satisfactions — we too, too often, neg-
lect a permanent Good — in leaving to the
blind guidance of Chance, a study, which if
properly cultivated, might be the source of
all our Pleasures — when Age & Decency
urges the Propriety of making way for
Younger Actors in the busy Scenes of
Life's Stage. — I know not a more dis-
graceful Picture of human nature — than
that of Old People frequenting the paths
assigned to Youth — & folly — or a more
delightful survey to the Intelhgent Mind,
than that of Age, retiring to the Seques-
ter'd Valley, beloved by it's Offspring,
Honor' d by it's Dependants — and Rever-
enced by All — But this can only, with
259
LETTERS
reason be expected, when in Youth — We
give up something to the Claims of our
Children. Our Time, I must ever think of
as their lawful Property — this once Devoted
to them, & judiciously arranged for the
Purpose of Solid Improvements — They
must be a Blessing to us — if Nature has
not forgot indeed or much erred, in the
Execution of her part. — I do declare to
you my friend, that when I am once
settled in England — Betsey shall be as
inseparable from me, as my Right Hand
is from my left. — I am astonished at the
Reasoning of those Parents, who can imag-
ine that a Venal person will do justice to
their Children for the sake of a Pecuniary
Reward; when they themselves, betray an
unwillingness to forming their Principles,
and Manners by the resignation of Time,
or the sacrifice of what's call'd Diversions.
I have no Idea, but a Girl must improve a
thousand times more, under the Tutorage
of a Prudent ^lother, than from the Docu-
ments of the most sensible & accomplished
Governess whatever. — A Boarding School,
may be a very proper seminary for an
Actress — as there she may learn to lisp
260
LETTERS
before a numerous audience — and to lose
that Bashfulness so prejudicial to the Cares
of Fame, in the way of Public Excellence —
but for a Child, who is to aspire no higher,
than to the Character of a private Gentle
AV^oman, it is I think, the very worst
Nursery she can possibly be fixed in — so
thinking, do 3^ou not pity me James, when
you connect the Idea of Betseys situation
with this plain assurance ? take into the
account too, my Dear, that all my Pros-
pects of Worldly Happiness are dependant
on the Rectitude, Manners & Establishment
of this beloved Child — Think of my being
obliged to submit all these Important Con-
cerns to Chance, and that for no better
Reason, than to remain an useless Spectator
in a detestable Country, where my Health
is declining, my Mind tortured by the Sac-
rifice of my own just Wishes — to a most
illiberal species of Reasoning, founded on
Caprice — and then my Dear Woman, You
will but do justice to my sorrow — if you
think, and pronounce — that of all Beings
the most worthy your Compassion at
present is your unfortunate Friend — your
almost, broken Hearted Eliza.
261
LETTERS
I am indeed — Unhappy! I think, superla-
tively sol — but I will try to divest myself
of this Notion, — as, with Nerves like Mine,
it might accelerate a Fate, I wish to avoid,
for the sake of my Dearer self — for Betsey,
would never get such another Monitress — as
I am Qualified to be to her — My Disap-
pointments — real Afflictions, & Natural turn
of Mind — all have added to a tenderness for
her, which ever, 1 think, was fondly mater-
nal — and encouraged me, to stake my last
Chance for Happiness on her Head — May
Heaven crown my pleased Hopes with Suc-
cess, and I think I shall not repine at what-
ever else, it's Providence imposes. — I am
going to some Warm Springs of the same
quality nearly, as the Bath Waters — a Bil-
ious Complaint, obliges me to this Expedi-
tion — I wish it did not — for a change of
scene here, is attended with great fatigue,
as well as an immoderate Expence — owing
to the necessity of our carrying. Tents,
Equipage, and every Household Conve-
nience along with us — I shall be absent
only a Month — and yet my Expences in
that time, in spite of economy, will amount
to as great a sum, as would defray the
LETTERS
Charges of a Voyage to England. Would
to God ! the money was to be so appropri-
ated in preference to my Laving, and Com-
mencing "Phthisical Nymph of the Foun-
tain." — but it will not be — and I must
endeavor to rest satisfied, till next year —
I sometimes think, my dear James — that
our present Differences Here, may induce
the Directors to send us a Governor from
England, in preference to appointing any of
the Gentlemen Here to succeed — in which
Case, your Commodore I suppose has a
Chance of succeeding to the Chair, if he
chooses to Exert his Interest, to obtain it —
I own to you, in that Case my dear, that
my wishes for seeing you accompany Him
are not very sanguine — the Climate — the
Society — are dreadful Taxations, on the
Mind as well as Body's Health — and I
wish you to preserve yours, serene, and
Chearful, as long as you live, and to a
good old age, without any of those Rubs
of Disturbances — ill Health, & worse spirits
usually Creates. — Your little Maiden too —
how would you dispose of her? I like not
your bringing her with you, nor yet the
Idea of your seperating from her for years
263
L E T T E R S
together — James, I think, is rather attached
to this Country, see, an Instance, of the
force of Habit, in this — for absolutely, it is
not, not otherwise to be justified on any
one Principle of Sound Reasoning — or
Agreable Caprice for there never was a
greater Dearth, of every thing which could
charm the Heart — please the Fancy, or
speak to the Judgment, than what reigns
in Bombay, nor Wit, Beauty, Sense, Merit,
have We — nor yet Taste — Humour, Amuse-
ments — Social Converse — and as to Worth
in it's different Species; of Honor, Charac-
ter — benevolence. Industry — and what is
Emphatically meant, by Superior Abilities
— We either are too ignorant to know the
real Estimation of Them — or so far degen-
erate, as to laugh at their ascribed Powers,
when any selfish Purpose can be gratified,
by the Derision of Them — Such are the
People I associate with, & such must be
your Fate, my dear Woman, if you visit
this Country — Happy for you — that your
Mind is formed, &; has that natural Biass
to Goodness, which cannot now be per-
verted, by the Maxims, & Examples of a
wretched Community — I wish you my dear
264
LETTERS
Friend, all the Happiness, you can possibly
wish yourself, and therefore I never wish to
see you in India. — Indeed you do me but
justice in thinking that my Regard for your
little Treasure must equal the tenderness
you shew towards mine, for 'tis certain that
I am just as sincere in wishing her Welfare,
as I am in wishing that of Betseys — and I
flatter myself, dear James, that these Young
Plants of ours will not Emulate us more in
anything else, than they will in the affec-
tion they bear to each other — for it would
be a source of joy to me, to see them
capable of a lively fi'iendship, and each con-
sidering the other as a second self — for
which purpose, I would endeavor to instill
into the mind of Eliza, how very superior
the pleasure of obliging is, to that of grati-
fying any Inclination which has self, only,
or even principally, for it's object. — as I'm
confident such a mode of thinking must
lead to the attainment of every social Virtue,
and diffuse a Complacency throughout the
whole manner which would please every
Sensible Observer, and insure heartfelt peace
to the Possesser of it — if any Acquisition in
nature can effect so desired a Purpose. I
LETTERS
could wish my dear — when your little
Maiden begins to handle the Pen, that a
Correspondence might be commenced be-
tween her and Betsey, as an Intercourse of
this kind between young People is often
promotive of the most endearing offices, &
might be made highly conducive to their
reciprocal Improvement in various ways, as
well as lead to Perfection in an Art, which
certainly is a valuable accomplishment in
Young Women — for nothing expands the
Mind, and gives advantages to style, more,
than the early Practise of familiar letter
writing — for which Purpose, I would en-
deavor to make it agreable to them, by
suffering them to carry it on without the
least Restraint — as it is not to be imagined
how quick the Progress of Improvement
frequently is in such Cases — both our Girls,
seem to have lively Talents — here's a fine
field for the Display of them — and their
Ignorance, their Innocense rather, renders it
impossible that they should be the means of
Injuring each other — no matter if they spell
incorrectly and scribble nothing but non-
sense — their doing even this, will pave the
way to their acquitting themselves better —
966
LETTERS
and there is to j^oung as well as old, a joy
in giving way to the dictates of fancy only,
when they imagine that none superior to
themselves will pass judgment on the Per-
formance, and for this Reason my James — I
would not attempt, or wish to make them
think that I had any desire to view their
Epistles. — but this my Friend, I submit en-
tirely to you — What a letter have I wrote,
and how I have wrote it, but no matter, if
you can but read it, for it is too long to
write over again — and indeed if it was not,
I am not fond of the practise of copying —
it looks as if we wrote for applause, or were
afraid to entrust our friends with our first
Thoughts, which certainly, are in general
the best Picture of our Minds — for tho'
after Reflection, may enable us to improve
the Drapery by heightening the Colouring,
it's a great Doubt with me if we ever im-
prove the likeness by attempting to give
grace to the Features, and quere whether
we can be satisfied to embellish some parts
of a Portrait, without endeavoring to do as
much by the whole, when the Pencil is
once in our hands, and the fancy of im-
proving very strong upon us — therefore I
367
LETTERS
deem it more fair to give the first sketch,
whether of the rude or elegant sort, when
we mean to convey an Idea of Truth, to
our Friends, or People of real Taste — For
such will always make kinder allowances for
an Artist, than He in Modesty could make
for Himself. Adieu! my beloved Friend I
I wish you Health, and a large Portion of
everything that's desirable — Remember me
most kindly to your Husband. I will write
to him by this opportunity if I have time —
I now enclose you a Duplicate & Triplicate,
of Bills I have sent you before for the use
of the Sternes — by Cap^ Taylor you would
receive some Trifles from me. Adieu !
Adieu 1 I ever am most sincerely Yours —
with the tenderest affection.
E. Draper.
368
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LETTERS
TO MRS. ELIZA MIHILL.
Bombay. Marine House,
January 14, 1773.
MY DEAR BETTY.
THIS may be the last hour I may have
it in my power to write or do anything
of use for the benefit of you my faithful
servant and dear friend ; for in the latter
capacity, indeed, I've rather wished ever to
consider you, therefore let me dedicate it as
properly as the peculiarity of my situation
will admit. When Mr. Horsley went to
England I consigned some few jewels to
him, the amount of which would be about
£500 or £600, and which I ever intended
for you in case I could not induce Mr.
Draper to make you a present exceeding it,
and more suited to my wishes. Accept it,
my dear woman, as the best token in my
power, expressive of my good-will to you.
Do not hesitate from any point of delicacy
or principle to Mr. Draper: — I am as inca-
269
LETTERS
pable of taking mean pecuniary advantages,
as the most moral persons breathing can be.
This little fund, by right, is my due; it is
what results from the sale of my ornaments,
little perquisites due to me as a woman, and
which he never would have possessed had I
not received them; nor will they be his if
you decline having them — that is the worth
of them. Take it then, Betty, without any
scruple of conscience. The enclosed is an
order on Mr. Horsley for the delivery of it
to you. You will, perhaps, see England be-
fore me. God bless you, my dear woman!
Visit my child sometimes, and speak kindly
to her of her mother. My heart is full.
The next twenty-four hours will, in all
probability, either destine me to the grave
or a life of reproach, — shocking alternative,
but I will endeavour to bear my fate, so as
to assure my own heart. I had deserved a
better, if chance had not counteracted the
good propensities assigned me by nature.
God give you health and a peaceable
establishment in England, my dear woman.
Adieu,
Eliza Draper.
370
LETTERS
TO GEO. HORSLEY ESQ.
January 14, 1773.
DEAR HORSLEY,
IF you knew the misery and compunction
with which I addressed this note to you,
you would, in spite of reason and justice,
think me entitled to some degree of pity,
though I am lost, for ever lost, to every
claim which could entitle me to your es-
teem. This hour is my own, but whether
the next may produce my death or destrac-
tion, or whatever else, heaven only knows.
I dedicate it as one act of just benevolence,
by requesting you to pay to Betty I^Iihill,
or her order, the sum of money which may
have resulted from the sale of my diamond
rings, be it what it will. Adieu Horsleyl
God restore you to health, and the enjoy-
ment of yourself.
Eliza Draper.
271
LETTERS
TO DANIEL DRAPER.
[January 14, 1773.]
IF you knew, Draper, with what anguish
I accosted you at present, I think, and
cannot help thinking it, that the severity
of justice should give place to the sentiment
of compassion, in a farewell letter — I will
not recriminate — I would even be all in
fault, if that might serve to alleviate the
disgrace inflicted on my husband, by my
elopement from him, but, Draper, be can-
did, I beseech you, as you sometimes can
be, when it makes against yourself to be
so, and then think, if you have not a great
deal to reproach yourself for, in this late
affair — if you can say you have not, I must,
I fear, be miserable, as my sole prospect of
happiness is derived from the idea that your
own consciousness will befriend me in this
particular instance, and if it does, let it
operate so as to prevent your pursuing me
in a vindictive manner. I speak in the
272
L E T TE R S
singular number, because I would not
wound you by the mention of a name
that I know must be displeasing to you;
but. Draper, believe me for once, when I
solemnly assure you, that it is you only
who have driven me to serious Extremities.
But from the conversation on IVIonday last
he had nothing to hope, or you to fear.
Lost to reputation, and all hopes of living
with my dearest girl on peaceable or credit-
able terms, urged by a despair of gaining
any one point with you, and resenting,
strongly resenting, I own it your avowed
preference of Leeds to myself, I myself
Proposed the scheme of leaving you thus
abruptly. Forgive me, Draper, if its accom-
plishment has excited anguish; but if pride
is only wounded by the measure, sacrifice
that I beseech you to the sentiment of
humanity, as indeed you may, and may be
amply revenged in the compunction I shall
feel to the hour of my death, for a conduct
that will so utterly disgrace me with all I
love, and do not let this confirm the preju-
dice imbibed by Leeds's tale, as I swear to
you that was false, though my present mode
of acting may rather seem tlie consequence
273
LETTERS
of it than of a more recent event. Oh!
that prejudice had not been deaf to the
reasonable requests of a wounded spirit, or
that you, Draper could have read my very
soul, as undisguisedly, as sensibility and in-
nocence must ever wish to be read ! But
this is, too, like recrimination which I would
wish to avoid. I can only say in my justifi-
cation, Draper, that if you imagine I plume
myself on the Success of my scheme, you
do me a great wrong. My heart bleeds for
what I suppose may possibly be the suffer-
ings of yours, though too surely had you
loved, all this could never have been. My
head is too much disturbed to write with
any degree of connection. No matter, for if
your own mind does not suggest palliatives,
all I can say will be of little avail. I go, I
know not whither, but I will never be a
tax on you. Draper. Indeed, I will not,
and do not suspect me of being capable of
adding to my portion of infamy. I am not
a hardened or depraved creature — I never
will be so. The enclosed are the only bills
owing that I know of, except about six
rupees to Doojee, the shoemaker. I have
never meant to load myself with many
274
LETTERS
spoils to your prejudice, but a moderate
provision of linen has obliged me to secure
part of what was mine, to obviate some
very mortifying difficulties. The pearls and
silk cloathes are not in the least diminished.
Betty's picture, of all the ornaments, is the
only one I have ventured to make mine. T
presume not to recommend any of the per-
sons to you who were immediately officiat-
ing about me; but this I conjure you to
believe as strictly true, that not one of
them or any living soul in the Marine
House or Mazagon, was at all privy to my
scheme, either directly or indirectly, nor do
I believe that any one of them had the
smallest suspicion of the matter; unless the
too evident Concern occasioned by my pres-
ent conflict induced them to think Some-
thing extraordinary was in agitation. Ol
Draper I a word, a look, sympathetick of
regret on Tuesday or Wednesday would
have saved me the perilous adventure, and
such a portion of remorse as would be suffi-
cient to fill up the longer life. I reiterate
my request that vindictive measures may
not be pursued. Leave me to my fate I
conjure you. Draper, and m doing this you
LETTERS
will leave me to misery inexpressible, for
you are not to think, that T am either
satisfied with myself or my prospects,
though the latter are entirely my own
seeking. God bless you, may health and
prosperity be yours, and happiness too, as
I doubt not but it will, if you suffer your
resentments to be subdued by the aid of
true and reasonable reflections. Do not let
that false idea of my triumphing induce you
to acts of vengeance I implore you. Draper,
for indeed that can never be, nor am I
capable of bearing you the least ill-will; or
treating your name or memory with irrever-
ence, now that I have released myself from
your dominion. Suffer me but to be unmo-
lested, and I will engage to steer through
life with some degree of approbation, if not
respect. Adieu! again Mr. Draper, and be
assured I have told you nothing but the
truth, however it may clash with yours and
the general opinion.
Eliza Draper.
276
L E T TE R S
TO MR. WILKES.
Sunday Afternoon, Mar. 22, [1775?]
I THANK you for the French volume,
Mr. Wilkes, and I really feel myself
obliged for the English pages; tho'
the Eulogium which accompanied them
makes me half afraid of indulging in
something which I presume to call taste
for the pleasure of wit and conversation,
as there is nothing which I ought to be
more apprehensive of than Praise from dis-
tinguished persons because it ever has had
too powerful an effect on my imagination
to render me capable of aspiring to merit
in capital instances. 1 say not this with a
view to disqualify and extort refinements in
flattery, but from such a consciousness of
my own imbecility as makes me very seri-
ous when reduced to the necessity of self-
examination. If, therefore, you have the
generosity which I take you to have, you
277
LETTERS
will rather endeavour to correct my foiblesse
than to add to it by your encomiums. I
request my compliments, if you please, to
Miss Wilkes, and am your much obliged
and most obedient,
Eliza Draper.
8T8
Abbe Ravnal
L E ■
wll rather my joiolesse
t iums. I
^se, to
l*;n7RH 3(idA
AN EULOGY
BY THE
ABBE RAYNAL
AN EULOGY
BY THE
ABBE RAYNAL
(From the European Magazine for March,
1784,)
MRS. DRAPER, the Lady who has
been so celebrated as the Corre-
spondent of Mr. Sterne under the
name of Eliza, will naturally attract the
notice of the Publick. That she was de-
serving of the encomiums bestowed upon
her by that admirable writer will appear
from the following eulogium written by the
excellent Abbe Raynal, which I transmit
to you for publication in your next Maga-
zine.
I am, yours, &;c.
A. T.
281
AN EULOGY
Territory of Anjengo, thou art nothing;
but thou hast given birth to EUza. A day
will come, when these staples of commerce,
founded by the Europeans on the coasts of
Asia, will exist no more. Before a few cen-
turies are elapsed, the grass will cover them,
or the Indians, avenged, will have built upon
their ruins. But if my works be destined
to have any duration, the name of Anjengo
will not be obliterated from the memory of
man. Those who shall read my works, or
those whom the winds shall drive towards
these shores, will say : There it is that
Eliza Draper was born; and if there be a
Briton among them, he will immediately
add, with the spirit of conscious pride. And
there it was that she was born of English
parents.
Let me be permitted to indulge my
grief, and to give a free course to my
tears! Eliza was my friend. Reader, who-
soe'er thou art, forgive me this involuntary
emotion. Let my mind dwell upon Eliza.
If I have sometimes moved thee to com-
passionate the calamities of the human race,
let me now prevail upon thee to commiser-
ate my own misfortune. I was thy friend
282
AN EULOGY
without knowing thee; be for a moment
mine. Thy gentle pity shall be my reward.
Eliza ended her days in the land of her
forefathers, at the age of three-and-thirty.
A celestial soul was separated from a heav-
enly body. Ye who visit the spot on which
her sacred ashes rest, write upon the marble
that covers them: In such a year, in such a
month, on such a day, at such an hour, God
withdrew his spirit, and Eliza died.
And thou, original writer, her admirer
and her friend, it was Eliza who inspired
thy works, and dictated to thee the most
affecting pages of them. Fortunate Sterne,
thou art no more, and I am left behind. I
wept over thee with Eliza ; thou wouldst
weep over her with me; and had it been
the will of Heaven, that you had both sur-
vived me, your tears would have fallen to-
gether upon my grave.
The men were used to say, that no woman
had so many graces as Eliza: the women
said so too. They all praised her candour;
they all extolled her sensibility; they were
all ambitious of the honour of her acquaint-
ance. The stings of envy were never pointed
against unconscious merit.
383
AN EULOGY
Anjengo, it is to the influence of thy
happy climate that she certainly was in-
debted for that almost incompatible har-
mony of voluptuousness and decency, which
diffused itself over all her person, and ac-
companied all her motions. A statuary who
would have wished to represent Voluptuous-
ness, would have taken her for his model;
and she would equally have served for him
who might have had a figure of Modesty to
display. Even the gloomy and clouded sky
of England had not been able to obscure
the brightness of that aerial kind of soul,
unknown in our climates. In every thing
that Eliza did, an irresistible charm was dif-
fused around her. Desire, but of a timid and
bashful cast, followed her steps in silence.
Any man of courteousness alone must have
loved her, but would not have dared to own
his passion.
I search for Eliza every where: I discover,
I discern some of her features, some of her
charms, scattered among those women whose
figure is most interesting. But what is be-
come of her who united them all ? Nature,
who hast exhausted thy gifts to form an
Eliza, didst thou create her only for one
284
AN EULOGY
moment ? Didst thou make her to be ad-
mired for one instant, and to be for ever
regretted ?
All who have seen Eliza, regret her. As
for myself, my tears will never cease to
flow for her all the time I have to live.
But is this sufficient ? Those who have
known her tenderness for me, the confi-
dence she had bestowed upon me, will they
not say to me. She is no more, and yet
thou livest.
Eliza intended to quit her country, her
relations, her friends, to take up her resi-
dence along with me, and spend her days
in the midst of mine. What happiness had
I not promised to myself? What joy did
I not expect, from seeing her sought after
by men of genius; and beloved by women
of the nicest taste? I said to myself, Eliza
is young, and thou art near thy latter end.
It is she who will close thine eyes. Vain
hope I Fatal reverse of all human probabili-
ties! My old age has been prolonged be-
yond the days of her youth. There is now
no person in the world existing for me.
Fate has condemned me to live, and die
alone.
S85
AN EULOGY
Eliza's mind was cultivated, but the effects
of this art were never perceived. It had
done nothing more than embellish nature;
it served in her, only to make the charm
more lasting. Every instant increased the
delight she inspired; every instant rendered
her more interesting. Such is the impres-
sion she made in Europe. Eliza then was
very beautiful? No, she was simply beauti-
ful:* but there was no beauty she did not
eclipse, because she was the only one that
was like herself.
Eliza has written; and the men of her
nation, whose works have been the most
abounding in elegance and taste, would not
have disavowed the small number of pages
she has left behind her.
When I saw Eliza, I experienced a sensa-
tion unknown to me. It was too warm to
be no more than friendship; it was too pure
to be love. Had it been a passion, Eliza
would have pitied me; she would have en-
deavoured to bring me back to my reason,
and I should have completely lost it.
Eliza used frequently to say, that she had
* Eliza etoit done tres-belle ? Non, elle n'etoit que belle.
386
AN EULOGY
a greater esteem for me than for any one
else. At present I may believe it.
In her last moments, Eliza's thoughts
were fixed upon her friend; and I cannot
write a line without having before me the
monument she has left me. Oh ! that she
could also have endowed my pen with her
graces and her virtue! Methinks, at least,
I hear her say, ' ' That stern muse that
looks at you, is History, whose awful duty
it is to determine the opinion of posterity.
That fickle deity that hovers o'er the globe,
is Fame, who condescended to entertain us
a moment about you; she brought me thy
works, and paved the way for our connec-
tion [liaison^ by esteem. Behold that phoe-
nix immortal amidst the flames: it is the
symbol of Genius, which never dies. Let
these emblems perpetually incite thee to
shew thyself the defender of humanity, of
TRUTH, and of liberty."
Eliza, from the highest Heaven, thy first
and last country, receive my oath: I swear
NOT TO WRITE ONE LINE IN WHICH THY
FRIEND MAY NOT BE RECOGNISED.*
• For the original French, see the Hisioire Philosophique et
Politique (new edition. Vol. II., Bk. III., 1780).
387
AA 000 599 705
