But why do I talk of marble, — I should say beneath the sod.
For cover my head with a turf, or a stone,
‘Twill be all one —
‘Twill be all one.
Till then, at least, I shall be, with great truth,
Your most affectionate, L. STERNE.
FINIS.
LETTERS OF THE LATE REV. MR. LAURENCE STERNE TO HIS MOST INTIMATE FRIENDS
CONTENTS
LETTER I. TO MISS L — .
LETTER II. TO THE SAME.
LETTER III. TO THE SAME.
LETTER IV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER V. TO S — C — , ESQ.
LETTER VI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER VII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER VIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER IX. TO THE SAME.
LETTER X. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XI. TO MRS. F — .
LETTER XII. TO DR. ******.
LETTER XIII. TO THE B — OF G — .
LETTER XIV. TO THE REV. MR. STERNE.
LETTER XIV. TO MY WITTY WIDOW, MRS. F — .
LETTER XV. TO LADY — .
LETTER XVI. TO J — H — S — , ESQ.
LETTER XVII. TO D — G — , ESQ.
LETTER XVIII. TO LADY D — .
LETTER XIX. TO J — H — S — , ESQ.
LETTER XX. TO D. G — , ESQ.
LETTER XXI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXII. TO MRS. S — , YORK.
LETTER XXIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXIV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXVI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXVII. TO LADY D.
LETTER XXVIII. TO MR. E.
LETTER XXIX. TO T. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER XXX. TO MR. F. — , AT PARIS.
LETTER XXXI. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER. XXXII. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER XXXIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXIV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXVI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXVII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXVIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XXXIX. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XL. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XLI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XLII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XLIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XLIV. TO MRS. F.
LETTER XLV. TO MISS S.
LETTER XLVI.
LETTER XLVII. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER XLVIII. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER XLIX. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER L. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER LI. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER LII. TO MR. F. AT P.
LETTER LIII. TO D. G. ESQ.
LETTER LIV. TO D. G. ESQ.
LETTER LV.
LETTER LVI. TO MR. W.
LETTER LVII. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER LVIII. TO MRS. M — D — S.
LETTER LIX. TO MR. W.
LETTER LX. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXI. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER LXIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER LXIV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER LXV. TO MISS S.
LETTER LXVI. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXVII. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER LXVIII. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXIX. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER LXX. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXXI. TO MR. S.
LETTER LXXII. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXXIII. TO MR. F. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXXIV. TO THE SAME.
LETTER LXXV. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER LXXVI. TO MISS S.
LETTER LXXVII. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER *LXXVII. TO D. G. ESQ.
LETTER LXXVIII. TO MISS S.
LETTER LXXIX. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
LETTER LXXX. TO THE EARL OF — .
LETTER LXXXII. TO J. D — N, ESQ.
LETTER LXXXIII. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER LXXXIV. FROM IGNATIUS SANCHO, TO MR. STERNE.
LETTER LXXXV. FROM MR. STERNE, TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
LETTER LXXXVI. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
LETTER LXXXVII. TO IGNATIUS SANCHO.
LETTER LXXXVIII. TO MRS. H.
LETTER LXXXIX. TO MRS. H.
LETTER XC. TO HIS EXCELLENCY SIR G. M.
LETTER XCI. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER XCII. TO A. L — E, ESQ.
LETTER XCIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER XCIV. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
LETTER XCV. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER XCVI. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
LETTER XCVII. TO J. H. S. ESQ.
LETTER XCVIII. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
LETTER XCIX. TO MISS S — .
LETTER C. TO SIR W.
LETTER CI. TO THE SAME.
LETTER CII. TO MR. P. AT PARIS.
LETTER CIII. TO MR. AND MRS. J —
LETTER CIV. TO MRS. F — .
LETTER CV. TO MR. AND MRS. J — .
LETTER CVI. TO A. L — E, ESQ.
LETTER CVII. TO THE EARL OF —
LETTER CVIII. TO A. L — E, ESQ.
LETTER CIX. TO MR. AND MRS. J.
LETTER CX. TO LADY P.
LETTER CXI. TO MR. AND MRS. J — .
LETTER CXII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER CXIII. TO THE SAME.
LETTER CXIV. TO L. S. ESQ.
LETTER CXV.
LETTER CXVI. TO MRS. J — .
LETTER CXVII. TO MR. B.
AN IMPROMPTU.
THE FRAGMENT.
DEDICATION. TO DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.
WHEN I was ask’d to whom I should dedicate these volumes, I carelessly answered to no one — Why not? (replied the person who put the question to me.) Because most dedications look like begging a protection to the book. Perhaps a worse interpretation may be given to it. No, no! already so much obliged, I cannot, will not, put another tax upon the generosity of any friend of Mr. Sterne’s, or mine. I went home to my lodgings, and gratitude warmed my heart to such a pitch, that I vow’d they should be dedicated to the man my father so much admired — who, with an unprejudiced eye, read, and approved his works, and moreover loved the man— ’Tis to Mr. Garrick then, that I dedicate these Genuine Letters.
Can I forget the sweet Epitaph which proved Mr. Garrick’s friendship, and opinion of him? ’Twas a tribute to friendship — and as a tribute of my gratitude I dedicate these volumes to a man of understanding and feelings — Receive this, as it is meant — May you, dear Sir, approve of these letters, as much as Mr. Sterne admired you — but Mr. Garrick, with all his urbanity, can never carry the point half so far, for Mr. Sterne was an enthusiast, if it is possible to be one, in favour of Mr. Garrick.
This may appear a very simple dedication, but Mr. Garrick will judge by his own sensibility, that I can feel more than I can express, and I believe he will give me credit for all my grateful acknowledgements.
I am, with every sentiment of gratitude, and esteem,
Dear Sir,
Your obliged humble servant, Lydia Sterne de Medalle.
London, June, 1775.
EPITAPH.
SHALL Pride a heap of sculptur’d marble raise,
Some worthless, un-mourn’d titled fool to praise;
And shall we not by one poor grave-stone learn,
Where Genius, Wit, and Humour, sleep with Sterne?
D. G.
PREFACE.
IN publishing these Letters the Editor does but comply with her mother’s request, which was, that if any letters were publish’d under Mr. Sterne’s name, that those she had in her possession, (as well as those that her father’s friends would be kind enough to send to her) should be likewise publish’d — She depends much on the candour of the public for the favourable reception of these, — their being genuine (she thinks — and hopes) will render them not unacceptable — She has already experienced much benevolence and generosity from her late father’s friends —
the rememberance of it will ever warm her heart with gratitude!
IN MEMORY OF MR. STERNE, AUTHOR OF THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.
WITH wit, and genuine humour, to dispel,
From the desponding bosom, gloomy care,
And bid the gushing tear, at the sad tale
Of hapless love or filial grief, to flow
From the full sympathising heart, were thine,
These powers, Oh Sterne! but now thy fate demands
(No plumage nodding o’er the emblazon’d hearse
Proclaiming honor where no virtue shone)
But the sad tribute of a heart-felt sigh:
What tho’ no taper cast its deadly ray,
Nor the full choir sing requiems o’er thy tomb,
The humbler grief of friendship is not mute;
And poor Maria, with her faithful kid,
Her auburn tresses carelessly entwin’d
With olive foliage, at the close of day,
Shall chaunt her plaintive vespers at thy grave.
Thy shade too, gentle Monk, mid aweful night,
Shall pour libations from its friendly eye;
For ‘erst his sweet benevolence bestow’d
Its generous pity, and bedew’d with tears
The sod, which rested on thy aged breast.
A CHARACTER, AND EULOGIUM OF STERNE, AND HIS WRITINGS; IN A FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A GENTLEMAN IN IRELAND TO HIS FRIEND. — WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1769.
WHAT trifle comes next? — Spare the censure, my friend,
This letter’s no more from beginning to end:
Yet, when you consider (your laughter, pray, stifle)
The advantage, the importance, the use, of a trifle —
When you think too beside — and there’s nothing more clear —
That pence compose millions, and moments the year,
You surely will grant me, nor think that I jest,
That life’s but a series of trifles at best.
How wildly digressive! yet could I, O STERNE,
Digress with thy skill, with thy freedom return!
The vain wish I repress — Poor YORICK! no more
Shall thy mirth and thy jests “set the table on a roar;”
No more thy sad tale, with simplicity told,
O’er each feeling breast its strong influence hold,
From the wise and the brave call forth sympathy’s sigh,
Or swell with sweet anguish humanity’s eye:
Here and there in the page if a blemish appear,
(And what page, or what life, from a blemish is clear?)
TRIM and TOBY with soft intercession attend;
LE FEVRE intreats you to pardon his friend;
MARIA too pleads, for her favourite distress’d,
As you feel for her sorrows, O grant her request!
Should these advocates fail, I’ve another to call,
One tear of his MONK shall obliterate all.
Favour’d pupil of Nature and Fancy, of yore,
Whom from Humour’s embrace sweet Philanthropy bore,
While the Graces and Loves scatter flow’rs on thy urn,
And Wit weeps the blossom too hastily torn;
This meed too, kind spirit, unoffended receive
From a youth next to SHAKESPEARE’s who honours thy grave!
LETTERS.
LETTER I. TO MISS L — .
YES! I will steal from the world, and not a babbling tongue shall tell where I am — Echo shall not so much as whisper my hiding place — suffer thy imagination to paint it as a little sun-gilt cottage on the side of a romantic hill — dost thou think I will leave love and friendship behind me? No! they shall be my companions in solitude, for they will sit down, and rise up with me in the amiable form of my L. — we will be as merry, and as innocent as our first parents in Paradise, before the arch fiend entered that undescribable scene.
The kindest affections will have room to shoot and expand in our retirement, and produce such fruit, as madness, and envy, and ambition have always killed in the bud. — Let the human tempest and hurricane rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon of peace. — My L. has seen a Polyanthus blow in December — some friendly wall has sheltered it from the biting wind. — No planetary influence shall reach us, but that which presides and cherishes the sweetest flowers. — God preserve us, how delightful this prospect in idea! We will build, and we will plant, in our own way — simplicity shall not be tortured by art — we will learn of nature how to live — she shall be our alchymist, to mingle all the good of life into one salubrious draught. — The gloomy family of care and distrust shall be banished from our dwelling, guarded by thy kind and tutelar deity — we will sing our choral songs of gratitude, and rejoice to the end of our pilgrimage.
Adieu, my L. Return to one who languishes for thy society.
L. STERNE.
LETTER II. TO THE SAME.
YOU bid me tell you, my dear L. how I bore your departure for S — , and whether the valley where D’Estella stands retains still its looks — or, if I think the roses or jessamines smell as sweet, as when you left it — Alas! every thing has now lost its relish, and look! The hour you left D’Estella I took to my bed. — I was worn out with fevers of all kinds, but most by that fever of the heart with which thou knowest well I have been wasting these two years — and shall continue wasting ‘till you quit S — . The good Miss S — , from the forebodings of the best of hearts, thinking I was ill, insisted upon my going to her. — What can be the cause, my dear L. that I never have been able to see the face of this mutual friend, but I feel myself rent to pieces? She made me stay an hour with her, and in that short space I burst into tears a dozen different times — and in such affectionate gusts of passion that she was constrained to leave the room, and sympathize in her dressing room — I have been weeping for you both, said she, in a tone of the sweetest pity — for poor L’s heart I have long known it — her anguish is as sharp as yours — her heart as tender — her constancy as great — her virtues as heroic — Heaven brought you not together to be tormented. I could only answer her with a kind look, and a heavy sigh — and return’d home to your lodgings (which I have hired ‘till your return) to resign myself to misery — Fanny had prepared me a supper — she is all attention to me — but I sat over it with tears; a bitter sauce, my L. but I could eat it with no other — for the moment she began to spread my little table, my heart fainted within me. — One solitary plate, one knife, one fork, one glass! — I gave a thousand pensive, penetrating looks at the chair thou hadst so often graced, in those quiet, and sentimental repasts — then laid down my knife, and fork, and took out my handkerchief, and clapped it across my face, and wept like a child. — I do so this very moment, my L. for as I take up my pen my poor pulse quickens, my pale face glows, and tears are trickling down upon the paper, as I trace the word L — . O thou! blessed in thyself, and in thy virtues — blessed to all that know thee — to me most so, because more do I know of thee than all thy sex. — This is the philtre, my L. by which thou hast charmed me, and by which thou wilt hold me thine whilst virtue and faith hold this world together. — This, my friend, is the plain and simple magick by which I told Miss — I have won a place in that heart of thine, on which I depend so satisfied, that time, or distance, or change of every thing which might alarm the hearts of little men, create no uneasy suspence in mine — Wast thou to stay in S — these seven years, thy friend, though he would grieve, scorns to doubt, or to be doubted— ’tis the only exception where security is not the parent of danger. — I told you poor Fanny was all attention to me since your departure — contrives every day bringing in the name of L. She told me last night (upon giving me some hartshorn) she had observed my illness began the very day of your departure for S — ; that I had never held up my head, had seldom, or scarce ever smiled, had fled from all society — that she verily believed I was broken-hearted, for she had never entered the room, or passed by the door, but she heard me sigh heavily
— that I neither eat, or slept, or took pleasure in any thing as before; — judge then, my L. can the valley look so well — or the roses and jessamines smell so sweet as heretofore? Ah me! — But adieu — the vesper bell calls me from thee to my God!
L. STERNE.
LETTER III. TO THE SAME.
BEFORE now my L. has lodged an indictment against me in the high court of Friendship — I plead guilty to the charge, and intirely submit to the mercy of that amiable tribunal. — Let this mitigate my punishment, if it will not expiate my transgression — do not say that I shall offend again in the same manner, though a too easy pardon sometimes occasions a repetition of the same fault. — A miser says, though I do no good with my money to-day, to-morrow shall be marked with some deed of beneficence. — The Libertine says, let me enjoy this week in forbidden and luxurious pleasures, and the next I will dedicate to serious thought and reflection. — The Gamester says, let me have one more chance with the dice and I will never touch them more. — The Knave of every profession wishes to obtain but independency, and he will become an honest man. — The Female Coquette triumphs in tormenting her inamorato, for fear, after marriage, he should not pity her.
Thy apparition of the fifth instant, (for letters may almost be called so) proved more welcome as I did not expect it. Oh! my L — , thou art kind indeed to make an apology for me, and thou never wilt assuredly repent of one act of kindness — for being thy debtor, I will pay thee with interest. — Why does my L. complain of the desertion of friends? — Where does the human being live that will not join in this complaint? — It is a common observation, and perhaps too true, that married people seldom extend their regards beyond their own fireside. — There is such a thing as parsimony in esteem, as well as money — yet as the one costs nothing, it might be bestowed with more liberality. — We cannot gather grapes from thorns, so we must not expect kind attachments from persons who are wholly folded up in selfish schemes. — I do not know whether I most despise, or pity such characters — nature never made an unkind creature — ill usage, and bad habits, have deformed a fair and lovely creation.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 100
