The Postillion.

self-Did we love each other, as this poor soul but loved his ass-'twould be something.

NAMPONT.

THE POSTILLION.

THE concern which the poor fellow's story threw me into, required some attention: the postillion paid not the least to it, but set off upon the pavé in a full gallop.*

The thirstiest soul in the most sandy desert of Arabia could not have wished more for a cup of cold water, than mine did for grave and quiet movements; and I should have had an high opinion of the postillion, had he but stolen off with me in something like a pensive pace-On the contrary, as the mourner finished his lamentation, the fellow gave an unfeeling lash to each of his beasts, and set off clattering like a thousand devils.

I called to him as loud as I could, for heaven's sake to go slower-and the louder I called, the more unmercifully he gallopped.-The deuce take him and his galloping too-said I—he'll go on tearing my nerves to pieces till he has worked

* The roads in France are paved, which, added to their being generally with little deviation from the right line, renders travelling by no means so pleasant as in this country.

Arrival at Amiens.

me into a foolish passion, and then he'll go slow, that I may enjoy the sweets of it.

The postillion managed the point to a miracle: by the time he had got to the foot of a steep hill about half a league from Nampont-he had put me out of temper with him—and then with myself, for being so.

My case then required a different treatment; and a good rattling gallop would have been of real service to me.

Then, prythee, get on-get on, my good lad, said I.

The postillion pointed to the hill-I then tried to return back to the story of the poor German and his ass-but I had broke the clue-and could no more get into it again, than the postillion could into a trot.

-The deuce go, said I, with it all! Here am I sitting as candidly disposed to make the best of the worst, as ever wight was, and all runs

counter.

There is one sweet lenitive at least for evils, which nature holds out to us: so I took it kindly at her hands, and fell asleep; and the first word which roused me was Amiens.

-Bless me! said I, rubbing my eyes-this is the very town where my poor lady is to

The Billet.

AMIENS.

THE words were scarce out of my mouth, when the Count de L***'s post-chaise, with his sister in it, drove hastily by: she had just time to make me a bow of recognition-and of that particular kind of it, which told me she had not yet done with me. She was as good as her look; for, before I had quite finished my supper, her brother's servant came into the room with a billet, in which she said she had taken the liberty to charge me with a letter, which I was to present myself to Madame R*** the first morning I had nothing to do at Paris. There was only added, she was sorry, but from what penchant she had not considered, that she had been prevented telling me her story-that she still owed it me; and if my route should ever lay through Brussels, and I had not by then forgot the name of Madame de L***-that Madame de L*** would be glad to discharge her obligation.*

Then I will meet thee, said I, fair spirit! at Brussels 'tis only returning from Italy through Germany to Holland, by the route of Flanders, home 'twill scarce be ten posts out of my way;

* It would be desirable to know whether Sterne, in every instance, alludes to living characters. The lady here meant is said to be a Madame de Lamberti,

Susceptibility of the Tender Passion.

but were it ten thousand, with what a moral delight will it crown my journey, in sharing in the sickening incidents of a tale of misery told to me by such a sufferer! to see her weep!---and though I cannot dry up the fountain of her tears, what an exquisite sensation is there still left, in wiping them away from off the cheeks of the first and fairest of women, as I'm sitting with my handkerchief in my hand in silence the whole night beside her!

There was nothing wrong in the sentiment; and yet I instantly reproached my heart with it in the bitterest and most reprobate of expressions.

It had ever, as I told the reader, been one of the singular blessings of my life, to be almost every hour of it miserably in love with some one; and my last flame happening to be blown out by a whiff of jealousy on the sudden turn of a corner, I had lighted it up afresh at the pure taper of Eliza but about three months before-swearing as I did it, that it should last me through the whole journey-Why should I dissemble the matter? I had sworn to her eternal fidelity—she had a right to my whole heart-to divide my affections was to lessen them-to expose them, was to risk them where there is risk, there may be loss-and what wilt thou have, Yorick! to

Excess of Transport.

answer to a heart so full of trust and confidence -so good, so gentle, and unreproaching?

I will not go to Brussels, replied I, interrupting myself-but my imagination went on-I recalled her looks at that crisis of our separation, when neither of us had power to say Adieu! I look'd at the picture she had tied in a black ribband about my neck-and blush'd as I look'd at it-I would have given the world to have kiss'd itbut was ashamed-And shall this tender flower, said I, pressing it between my hands-shall it be smitten to its very root-and smitten, Yorick ! by thee, who hast promised to shelter it in thy breast?

Eternal fountain of happiness! said I, kneeling down upon the ground-be thou my witnessand every pure spirit which tastes it, be my witness also, That I would not travel to Brussels, unless Eliza went along with me, did the road lead me towards heaven.*

* Eliza―the platonic affection which subsisted between Sterne and Eliza is well known. She was the wife of Daniel Draper, Esq. councellor at Bombay, and afterwards chief of the English factory at Surat; a gentleman very much respected in that quarter of the globe. Though by birth an East Indian, she came to England for the recovery of her health, when, by accident, she became acquainted with Mr. S- Vide Eliza's Letters, 12mo. Ginger, 1801.