let your heart be

merry mine ought upon the same score for I never have been so well since I left college - and should be a marvellous happy man, but for some reflections which bow down my spirits but if I live but even three or four years, I will no matter! we acquit myself with honour and will talk this over when we meet. If all ends as temperately as with you, and that I find grace, &c. &c., I will come and sing Te Deum, or drink poculum elevatum, or do any thing in the world. I should depend upon G―'s critique upon my head, as much as Moliere's old woman upon his comedies when you do not want her society, let it be carried into your bed-chamber to flay her, or clap it upon her bum to and give her my blessing as you do it.

My postillion has set me a-ground for a week, by one of my pistols bursting in his hand, which he taking for granted to be quite shot off — he instantly fell upon his knees and said (Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name), at which, like a good Christian, he stopped, not remembering any more of it

the affair was not so bad as he at first thought, for it has only bursten two of his fingers (he says). I long to return to you, but I sit here alone as solitary and sad as a tom-cat, which by the bye is all the company I keep he follows me from the parlour to the kitchen, into the garden, and every place I wish I had a dog - my daughter will bring me one and so God be about you, and strengthen your faith I am affectionately, dear cousin, yours,

L. STERNE. My service to the C, though they are from home, and to Panty.

CV. TO MR. AND MRS. J.

MY DEAR FRIENDS,

Coxwould, Aug. 13, 1767.

I BUT Copy your great civility to me in writing you word that I have this moment received another letter wrote eighteen days after the date of the last from St. Jago if our poor friend could have wrote another letter to England, you would in course have had it but I fear, from the circumstance of great hurry and bodily disorder in which she was, when she dispatched this, she might not have time. In case it has so fallen out, I send you the contents of what I have received and that is a melancholy history of herself and sufferings since they left St. Jago continual and most violent rheumatism all the time a fever brought on with fits, and attended with delirium, and every terrifying symptom - 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 same time it will affect yours. The three or four last days of our journal leave us with hopes she will do well at last, for she is more cheerful and seems to be getting into better spirits; and health will follow in course. They have crossed the line are much becalmed, by which, with other delays, she fears they will lose their passage to Madras and be some months sooner for it at Bombay. Heaven protect her, for she suffers much, and with uncommon fortitude. She writes much to me about her dear friend Mrs. J-- in her last packet. In truth, my good lady, she loves and honours you from her heart; but, if she did not, I should not esteem her, or wish her so well as I do. Adieu, my dear

www

friends cordially

you have few in the world more truly and

Yours,

L. STERNE.

P. S. I have just received, as a present from a man I shall ever love, a most elegant gold snuff-box, fabricated for me at Paris 'tis not the first pledge I have received of his friendship may I presume to inclose you a letter of chit-chat which I shall write to Eliza? I know you will write yourself, and my letter may have the honour to chaperon yours to India they will neither of them be the worse received for going together in company, but I fear they will get late in the year to their destined port, as they go first to Bengal.

CVI. TO MISS STERNE.

Coxwould, Aug. 24, 1767. I AM truly surprised, my dear Lydia, that my last letter has not reached thy mother and thyself — It looks most unkind on my part, after your having wrote me word of your mother's intention of coming to England, that she has not received my letter to welcome you both and though in that I said I wished you would defer your journey till March, for before that time I should have published my sentimental work, and should be in town to receive you yet I will shew you more real politesses than any you have met with in France, as mine will come warm from the heart. I am sorry you are not here at the races, but les fêtes champêtres of the Marquis de Sade. have made you amends. I know B

very well, and he is what in France would be called admirable

that would be but so-so here

that you two

"his con

You are right he studies nature more than any, or rather most, of the French comedians If the Empress of Russia pays him and his wife a pension of twenty thousand livres a year, I think he is very well off. The folly of staying till after twelve for supper excommunicated beings might have meat! science would not let it be served before." Surely the Marquis thought you both, being English, could not be satisfied without it. I would have given, not my gown and cassock (for I have but one), but my topaz ring, to have seen the petits maîtres et maîtresses go to mass, after having 'spent the night in dancing. As to my pleasures, they are few in compass. My poor cat sits purring beside me your lively French dog shall have his place on the other side of my fire but if he is as devilish as when I last saw him, I must tutor him, for I will not have my cat abused in short, I will have nothing devilish about me a combustion will spoil a sentimental thought.

and do not bewail them as

did

Another thing I must desire do not be alarmed 'tis to throw all your rouge pots into the Sorgue before you set out I will have no rouge put on in England her silver seringue or glister equipage, which she lost in a certain river but take a wise resolution of doing without rouge. I have been three days ago bad again with a spitting of blood and that unfeeling brute ******* came and drew my curtains, and with a voice like a trumpet, halloo'd in my ear Z-ds, what a fine kettle of fish have you brought yourself to, Mr. S! In a faint voice I bade him leave me, for comfort sure was never administered in so rough a

--

manner Tell your mother, I hope she will purchase what either of you may want at Paris 'tis an occasion not to be lost so write to me from Paris, that I may come and meet you in my post-chaise with my long-tailed horses and the moment you have both put your feet in it, call it hereafter yours. Adieu, dear Lydia - believe me what I ever shall be, Your affectionate father,

L. STERNE.

I think I shall not write to Avignon any more, but you will find one for you at Paris adieu.

once more

September 19, 1767.

You are perhaps the drollest being in the universe why do you banter me so about what I wrote to you? Tho' I told you, every morning I jump'd into Venus's lap (meaning thereby the sea), was you to infer from that, that I leaped into the ladies' beds afterwards? The body guides you the mind me. I have wrote the most whimsical letter to a lady that was ever read, and talked of body and soul too I said she had made me vain by saying she was mine more than ever woman was but she is not the lady

of Bond-street, nor square, nor the lady who supped with me in Bondstreet, on scollop'd oysters, and other such things nor did she ever go tête-à-tête with me to Salt Hill.

Enough of such nonsense and I can justify myself unto do as much? No, 'faith! Aye, so can my cat, when he