LETTER XXVII. To Lady D.

I Will not ſend your ladyſhip the trifles you bid me purchaſe without a line. I am very well pleaſed with Paris—indeed I meet with ſo many civilities amongſt the people here that I muſt ſing their praiſes—the French have a great deal of urbanity in their compoſition, and to ſtay a lit⯑tle [2] time amongſt them will be agreea⯑ble.—I ſplutter French ſo as to be underſtood—but I have had a droll adventure here in which my Latin was of ſome ſervice to me—I had hired a chaiſe and a horſe to go about ſeven miles into the country, but, Shandean like, did not take notice that the horſe was almoſt dead when I took him—Before I got half way the poor ani⯑mal dropp'd down dead—ſo I was forced to appear before the Police, and began to tell my ſtory in French, which was, that the poor beaſt had to do with a worſe beaſt than himſelf, namely his maſter, who had driven him all the day before (Jehu like) and that he had neither had corn, or hay, [3] therefore I was not to pay for the horſe—but I might as well have whiſtled, as have ſpoke French, and I believe my Latin was equal to my uncle Toby's Lilabulero—being not underſtood becauſe of it's purity, but by dint of words I forced my judge to do me juſtice—no common thing by the way in France.—My wife and daughter are arrived—the latter does nothing but look out of the window, and complain of the tor⯑ment of being frizled.—I wiſh ſhe may ever remain a child of nature—I hate children of art.

I hope this will find your ladyſhip well—and that you will be kind e⯑nough [4] to direct to me at Toulouſe, which place I ſhall ſet out for very ſoon. I am, with truth and ſincerity,

LETTER XXVIII. To Mr. E.

MY wife and daughter arrived here ſafe and ſound on Thurſday, and are in high raptures with the ſpeed and pleaſantneſs of their journey, and particularly of all they ſee and meet with here. But in their journey from York to Paris, nothing has given them a more ſenſible and laſting plea⯑ſure, than the marks of kindneſs they received from you and Mrs. E.—The friendſhip, good will and politeneſs [6] of my two friends I never doubted to me, or mine, and I return you both all a grateful man is capable of, which is merely my thanks. I have taken however the liberty of ſending an Indian taffety, which Mrs. E. muſt do me the honour to wear for my wife's ſake, who would have got it made up, but that Mr. Stanhope, the Conſul of Algiers, who ſets off to⯑morrow morning for London, has been ſo kind (I mean his lady) as to take charge of it; and we had but juſt time to procure it: and had we miſs'd that opportunity, as we ſhould have been obliged to have left it be⯑hind us at Paris, we knew not when or how to get it to our friend.—I [7] wiſh it had been better worth a para⯑graph. If there is any thing we can buy or procure for you here, (intelli⯑gence included) you have a right to command me—for I am yours, with my wife and girl's kind love to you and Mrs. E.

LETTER XXIX. To T. H. S. Eſq.

BY the time you have got to the end of this long letter you will per⯑ceive that I have not been able to an⯑ſwer your laſt 'till now—I have had the intention of doing it almoſt as of⯑ten as my prayers in my head—'tis thus we uſe our beſt friends—what an infamous ſtory is that you have told me!—After ſome little remarks on it the reſt of my letter will go on like ſilk. ****— is a good na⯑tured [9] old eaſy fool and has been de⯑ceived by the moſt artful of her ſex, and ſhe muſt have abundance of im⯑pudence and charlatanery to have carried on ſuch a farce. I pity the old man for being taken in for ſo much money—a man of ſenſe I ſhould have laughed at—My wife ſaw her when in town, and ſhe had not the appearance of poverty, but when ſhe wants to melt **** heart ſhe puts her gold watch and diamond rings in her drawer.—But he might have been aware of her. I could not have been miſtaken in her character—and 'tis odd ſhe ſhould talk of her wealth to one, and tell another the reverſe—ſo good night to her.—About a week [10] or ten days before my wife arrived at Paris I had the ſame accident I had at Cambridge, of breaking a veſſel in my lungs. It happen'd in the night, and I bled the bed full, and finding in the morning I was likely to bleed to death, I ſent immediately for a ſurgeon to bleed me at both arms—this ſaved me, and with lying ſpeech⯑leſs three days I recovered upon my back in bed; the breach healed, and in a week after I got out—This with my weakneſs and hurrying about made me think it high time to haſte to Toulouſe.—We have had four months of ſuch heats that the oldeſt Frenchman never remembers the like—'twas as hot as Nebuchadnezzar's [11] oven, and never has relaxed one hour—in the height of this 'twas our deſ⯑tiny (or rather deſtruction) to ſet out by way of Lyons, Montpellier, &c. to ſhorten, I trow, our ſufferings—Good God!—but tis over—and here I am in my own houſe, quite ſettled by M....'s aid, and good-natured offices, for which I owe him more than I can expreſs or know how to pay at preſent—'Tis in the prettieſt ſituation in Tou⯑louſe, with near two acres of garden—the houſe too good by half for us—well furniſhed, for which I pay thirty pounds a year.—I have got a good cook—my wife a decent femme de chambre, and a good looking laquais—The Abbé has planned our expences, [12] and ſet us in ſuch a train, we cannot eaſily go wrong—tho' by the bye the D— is ſeldom found ſleeping un⯑der a hedge. Mr. Trotter dined with me the day before I left Paris—I took care to ſee all executed according to your directions—but Trotter, I dare ſay, by this has wrote to you—I made him happy beyond expreſſion with your crazy tales, and more ſo with its frontiſpiece.—I am in ſpirits, writing a crazy chapter—with my face turned towards thy turret—'Tis now I wiſh all warmer climates, coun⯑tries, and every thing elſe at — that ſeparates me from our paternal ſeat—ce ſera là où repoſera ma cendre—et ce ſera là où mon couſin viendra repondre [13] les pleurs dues à notre amitié.—I am taking aſſes milk three times a day, and cows milk as often—I long to ſee thy face again once more—greet the Col. kindly in my name, and thank him cordially from me for his many civilities to Madame and Mademoiſelle Shandy at York, who ſend all due acknowledgments. The humour is over for France, and Frenchmen, but that is not enough for your affec⯑tionate couſin, L. S.

(A year will tire us all out I trow) but thank heaven the poſt brings me a letter from my Anthony—I felicitate you upon what Meſſrs. the Reviewers allow you—they have too much judge⯑ment [14] themſelves not to allow you what you are actually poſſeſs'd of, ‘"talents, wit and humour."’—Well, write on my dear couſin, and be guided by thy own fancy.—Oh! how I envy you all at Crazy Caſtle!—I could like to ſpend a month with you—and ſhould return back again for the vintage.—I honour the man that has given the world an idea of our pa⯑rental ſeat—'tis well done—I look at it ten times a day with a quando te aſpi⯑ciam?—Now farewell—remember me to my beloved Col.—greet Panty moſt lovingly on my behalf, and if Mrs. C... and Miſs C... &c. are at G.. greet them likewiſe with a holy kiſs—So God bleſs you.

LETTER XXX. To Mr. F.—, at Paris.

AFTER many turnings (alias digreſſions) to ſay nothing of down⯑right overthrows, ſtops, and delays, we have arrived in three weeks at Toulouſe, and are now ſettled in our houſes with ſervants, &c. about us, and look as compoſed as if we had been here ſeven years.—In our journey we ſuffered ſo much from the heats, it gives me pain to remember [16] it—I never ſaw a cloud from Paris to Niſmes half as broad as a twenty⯑four ſols piece.—Good God! we were toaſted, roaſted, grill'd, ſtew'd and carbonaded on one ſide or other all the way—and being all done enough (aſſez cuits) in the day, we were eat up at night by bugs, and other unſwept out vermin, the legal inhabitants (if length of poſſeſſion gives right) of every inn we lay at.—Can you conceive a worſe ac⯑cident than that in ſuch a journey, in the hotteſt day and hour of it, four miles from either tree or ſhrub which could caſt a ſhade of the ſize of one of Eve's fig leaves—that we ſhould break a hind wheel into [17] ten thouſand pieces, and be obliged in conſequence to ſit five hours on a gravelly road, without one drop of water or poſſibility of getting any—To mend the matter, my two po⯑ſtillions were two dough-hearted fools, and fell a crying—Nothing was to be done! By heaven, quoth I, pulling off my coat and waiſtcoat, ſomething ſhall be done, for I'll thraſh you both within an inch of your lives—and then make you take each of you a horſe, and ride like two devils to the next poſt for a cart to carry my bag⯑gage, and a wheel to carry ourſelves—Our luggage weighed ten quintals—'twas the fair of Baucaire—all the world was going, or returning—we [18] were ask'd by every ſoul who paſs'd by us, if we were going to the fair of Baucaire—No wonder, quoth I, we have goods enough! vous avez raiſon mes amis—

Well! here we are after all, my dear friend—and moſt deliciouſly placed at the extremity of the town, in an excellent houſe well furniſh'd, and elegant beyond any thing I look'd for—'Tis built in the form of a hotel, with a pretty court towards the town—and behind, the beſt gar⯑dens in Toulouſe, laid out in ſerpen⯑tine walks, and ſo large that the company in our quarter uſually come to walk there in the evenings, for [19] which they have my conſent—‘"the more the merrier."’—The houſe conſiſts of a good ſalle à manger above ſtairs joining to the very great ſalle à com⯑pagnie as large as the Baron D'Hol⯑bach's; three handſome bed-cham⯑bers with dreſſing rooms to them—below ſtairs two very good rooms for myſelf, one to ſtudy in, the other to ſee company.—I have moreover cellars round the court, and all other offices—Of the ſame landlord I have bargained to have the uſe of a country-houſe which he has two miles out of town, ſo that myſelf and all my family have nothing more to do than to take our hats and remove from the one to the other—My [20] landlord is moreover to keep the gardens in order—and what do you think I am to pay for all this? nei⯑ther more or leſs than thirty pounds a year—all things are cheap in propor⯑tion—ſo we ſhall live for very very little.—I dined yeſterday with Mr. H— he is moſt pleaſantly ſituated, and they are all well.—As for the books you have received for D—, the bookſeller was a fool not to ſend the bill along with them—I will write to him about it.—I wiſh you was with me for two months; it would cure you of all evils ghoſtly and bodily—but this, like many other wiſhes both for you and myſelf, muſt have its completion elſewhere—Adieu my [21] kind friend, and believe that I love you as much from inclination as rea⯑ſon, for

My wife and girl join in compliments to you—my beſt reſpects to my worthy Baron d'Holbach and all that ſociety—remember me to my friend Mr. Panchaud.

LETTER XXXI. To J. H. S. Eſq.

I Received your letter yeſterday—ſo it has been travelling from Crazy Caſtle to Toulouſe full eighteen days—If I had nothing to ſtop me I would engage to ſet out this morn⯑ing, and knock at Crazy Caſtle gates in three days leſs time—by which time I ſhould find you and the colonel, Panty, &c. all alone—the ſeaſon I moſt wiſh and like to be with you [23] —I rejoice from my heart, down to my reins, that you have ſnatch'd ſo many happy and ſunſhiny days out of the hands of the blue devils—If we live to meet and join our forces as heretofore we will give theſe gentry a drubbing—and turn them for ever out of their uſurped citadel—ſome legions of them have been put to flight already by your operations this laſt campaign—and I hope to have a hand in diſperſing the remainder the firſt time my dear couſin ſets up his banners again under the ſquare tower—But what art thou meditating with axes and hammers?—‘"I know thy pride and the naughtineſs of thy heart,"’ and thou loveſt the ſweet [24] viſions of architraves, friezes and pediments with their tympanums, and thou haſt found out a pretence, à raiſon de cinq cent livres ſter⯑ling to be laid out in four years, &c. &c. (ſo as not to be felt, which is al⯑ways added by the D— as a bait) to juſtify thyſelf unto thyſelf—It may be very wiſe to do this—but 'tis wiſer to keep one's money in one's pocket, whilſt there are wars without and rumours of wars within.—St. — adviſes his diſciples to ſell both coat and waiſtcoat—and go rather without ſhirt or ſword, than leave no money in their ſcrip, to go to Jeruſalem with—Now thoſe quatre ans conſecutifs, my dear Anthony, are the moſt precious [25] morſels of thy life to come (in this world) and thou wilt do well to en⯑joy that morſel without cares, calcu⯑lations, and curſes, and damns, and debts—for as ſure as ſtone is ſtone, and mortar is mortar, &c. 'twill be one of the many works of thy repen⯑tance—But after all, if the Fates have decreed it, as you and I have ſome time ſuppoſed it on account of your generoſity, ‘"that you are never to be a monied man,"’ the decree will be fulfilled whether you adorn your caſtle and line it with cedar, and paint it within ſide and without ſide with vermilion, or not—et cela etant (having a bottle of Frontiniac and glaſs at my right hand) I drink, dear [26] Anthony, to thy health and happi⯑neſs, and to the final accompliſh⯑ments of all thy lunary and ſublunary projects.—For ſix weeks together, after I wrote my laſt letter to you, my pro⯑jects were many ſtories higher, for I was all that time, as I thought, jour⯑neying on to the other world—I fell ill of an epidemic vile fever which killed hundreds about me—The phyſicians here are the erranteſt char⯑latans in Europe, or the moſt igno⯑rant of all pretending fools—I with⯑drew what was left of me out of their hands, and recommended my affairs entirely to Dame Nature—She (dear goddeſs) has ſaved me in fifty different pinching bouts, and I begin to have [27] a kind of enthuſiaſm now in her fa⯑vour, and in my own, That one or two more eſcapes will make me be⯑lieve I ſhall leave you all at laſt by tranſlation, and not by fair death. I am now ſtout and fooliſh again as a happy man can wiſh to be—and am buſy playing the fool with my uncle Toby, who I have got ſouſed over head and ears in love.—I have many hints and projects for other works; all will go on I truſt as I wiſh in this matter.—When I have reaped the benefit of this winter at Toulouſe—I cannot ſee I have any thing more to do with it, therefore after having gone with my wife and girl to Bagnieres, I ſhall return from [28] whence I came—Now my wife wants to ſtay another year to ſave money, and this oppoſition of wiſhes, tho' it will not be as ſour as lemon, yet 'twill not be as ſweet as ſugar candy.—I wiſh T— would lead Sir Charles to Toulouſe; 'tis as good as any town in the South of France—for my own part, 'tis not to my taſte—but I believe, the ground work of my ennui is more to the eternal plati⯑tude of the French characters—little variety, no originality in it at all—than to any other cauſe—for they are very civil—but civility itſelf, in that uniform, wearies and bodders one to death—If I do not mind, I ſhall grow moſt ſtupid and ſententious— [29] Miſs Shandy is hard at it with mu⯑ſick, dancing, and French ſpeak⯑ing, in the laſt of which ſhe does à marveille, and ſpeaks it with an ex⯑cellent accent, conſidering ſhe prac⯑tices within ſight of the Pyrenean Mountains.—If the ſnows will ſuffer me, I propoſe to ſpend two or three months at Barege, or Bagnieres, but my dear wife is againſt all ſchemes of additional expences—which wicked propenſity (tho' not of deſpotick power) yet I cannot ſuffer—tho' by the bye laudable enough—But ſhe may talk—I will do my own way, and ſhe will acquieſce without a word of debate on the ſubject.—Who can ſay ſo much in praiſe of his wife? Few [30] I trow.—M— is out of town vin⯑taging—ſo write to me, Monſieur Sterne gentilhomme Anglois—'twill find me.—We are as much out of the road of all intelligence here as at the Cape of Good Hope—ſo write a long nonſenſical letter like this, now and then to me—in which ſay nothing but what may be ſhewn, (tho' I love every paragraph and ſpirited ſtroke of your pen, others might not) for you muſt know a letter no ſooner arrives from England, but curioſity is upon her knees to know the contents.—Adieu dear H. believe me,

We have had bitter cold weather here theſe fourteen days—which has obliged us to ſit with whole pagells of wood lighted up to our noſes—'tis a dear article—but every thing elſe being extreme cheap, Madame keeps an excellent good houſe, with ſoupe, boulli, roti—&c. &c. for two hundred and fifty pounds a year.

LETTER. XXXII. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Have had this week your letter on my table, and hope you will for⯑give my not anſwering it ſooner—and even to day I can but write you ten lines, being engaged at Mrs. M—'s. I would not omit one poſt more ac⯑knowledging the favour—In a few poſts I will write you a long one gratis, that is for love—Thank you for having done what I deſired you— [33] and for the future direct to me under cover at Monſieur Brouſſe's—I receive all letters through him, more punctual and ſooner than when left at the poſt-houſe—

H—'s family greet you with mine—we are much together and never forget you—forget me not to the baron—and all the circle—nor to your domeſtic circle—

I am got pretty well, and ſport much with my uncle Toby in the volume I am now fabricating for the laughing part of the world—for the melancholy part of it, I have nothing but my prayers—ſo God help them.—I ſhall hear from you in a poſt or [34] two at leaſt after you receive this—in the mean time dear F— adieu, and believe no man wiſhes or eſteems you more than your

LETTER XXXIII. To the ſame.

THE poſt after I wrote laſt—I received yours with the incloſed draught upon the receiver, for which I return you all thanks—I have re⯑ceived this day likewiſe the box and tea all ſafe and ſound—ſo we ſhall all of us be in our cups this Chriſtmas, and drink without fear or ſtint—We begin to live extremely happy, and are all toge⯑ther every night—fiddling, laughing and ſinging, and cracking jokes. You [36] will ſcarce believe the news I tell you—There are a company of Engliſh ſtrollers arrived here, who are to act comedies all the Chriſtmas, and are now buſy in making dreſſes and pre⯑paring ſome of our beſt comedies—Your wonder will ceaſe, when I in⯑form you theſe ſtrollers are your friends with the reſt of our ſociety, to whom I propoſed this ſcheme ſoulagement—and I aſſure you we do well.—The next week, with a grand orcheſtra—we play the Buſy Body—and the Journey to London the week after, but I have ſome thoughts of adapting it to our ſituation—and making it the Journey to Toulouſe, which, with the change of half a dozen ſcenes, [37] may be eaſily done.—Thus my dear F. for want of ſomething better we have recourſe to ourſelves, and ſtrike out the beſt amuſements we can from ſuch materials.—My kind love and friendſhip to all my true friends—My ſervice to the reſt. H—'s family have juſt left me, having been this laſt week with us—they will be with me all the holidays.—In ſummer we ſhall viſit them, and ſo balance hoſ⯑pitalities.

LETTER XXXIV. To the ſame.

I HAVE for this laſt fortnight every poſt-day gone to Meſſrs. B— and ſons, in expectation of the pleaſure of a letter from you, with the remittance I deſired you to ſend me here.—When a man has no more than half a dozen guineas in his pocket—and a thouſand miles from home—and in a country, where he can as ſoon raiſe the d—l, as a ſix livres piece to go to market [39] with, in caſe he has changed his laſt guinea—you will not envy my ſitu⯑ation.—God bleſs you—remit me the balance due upon the receipt of this.—We are all at H—'s, practiſing a play we are to act here this Chriſtmas holidays—all the Dramatis Perſonae are of the Engliſh, of which we have a happy ſociety living together like brothers and ſiſters—Your banker here has juſt ſent me word the tea Mr. H. wrote for is to be delivered into my hands—'tis all one into whoſe hands the treaſure falls—we ſhall pay Brouſſe for it the day we get it—We join in our moſt friendly, reſpects, and believe me, dear F—y, truly yours,

LETTER XXXV. To the ſame.

—THO' that's a miſtake! I mean the date of the place, for I write at Mr. H—'s in the country, and have been there with my people all the week—how does Triſtram do? you ſay in yours to him—faith but ſo-ſo—the worſt of human maladies is poverty—though that is a ſecond lye—for poverty [41] of ſpirit is worſe than poverty of purſe, by ten thouſand per cent.—I incloſe you a remedy for the one, a draught of a hundred and thirty pounds, for which I inſiſt upon a reſcription by the very return—or I will ſend you and all your commiſſaries to the d—l.—I do not hear they have taſted of one fleſhy banquet all this Lent—you will make an excellent grillé—P— they can make nothing of him, but bouillon—I mean my other two friends no ill—ſo ſhall ſend them a reprieve, as they acted out of neceſſity—not choice—My kind reſpects to Baron D' Holbach and all his houſhold—Say all that's kind for me to my other [42] friends—you know how much, dear F—, I am yours,

I have not five Louis to vapour with in this land of coxcombs—My wife's compliments.

LETTER XXXVI. To the ſame.

I Thank you for your punctuality in ſending me the reſcription, and for your box by the courier, which came ſafe by laſt poſt.—I was not ſurpriſed much with your account of Lord ***** being obliged to give way—and for the reſt, all follows in courſe.—I ſuppoſe you will endeavour to fiſh and catch ſomething for yourſelf [44] in theſe troubled waters—at leaſt I wiſh you all a reaſonable man can wiſh for himſelf—which is wiſhing enough for you—all the reſt is in the brain.—Mr. Woodhouſe (who you know) is alſo here—he is a moſt amiable worthy man, and I have the pleaſure of having him much with me—in a ſhort time he proceeds to Italy.—The firſt week in June I decamp like a patriarch with my whole houſhold, to pitch our tents for three months at the foot of the Pyrenean Hills at Bag⯑nieres, where I expect much health and much amuſement from the concourſe of adventurers from all corners of the earth.—Mrs. M— ſets out at the ſame time, for another part of the [45] Pyrenean Hills, at Coutray—from whence to Italy—This is the general plan of operation here—except that I have ſome thoughts of ſpending the winter at Florence, and croſſing over with my family to Leghorn by water—and in April of returning by way of Paris home—but this is a ſketch only, for in all things I am governed by circumſtances—ſo that what is fit to be done on Monday, may be very unwiſe on Saturday—On all days of the week believe me yours,

P.S. All compliments to my Pariſian friends.

LETTER XXXVII. To the ſame.

LAST poſt my agent wrote me word he would ſend up from York a bill for fourſcore guineas, with or⯑ders to be paid into Mr. Selwin's hands for me. This he ſaid he would expedite immediately, ſo 'tis poſſible you may have had advice of it—and 'tis poſſible alſo the money may not be paid this fortnight, therefore as I [47] ſet out for Bagnieres in that time, be ſo good as to give me credit for the money for a few poſts or ſo, and ſend me either a reſcription for the money, or a draught for it—at the receipt of which we ſhall decamp for ten or twelve weeks—You will re⯑ceive twenty pounds more on my ac⯑count, which ſend alſo—So much for that—as for pleaſure—you have it all amongſt you at Paris—we have nothing here which deſerves the name.—I ſhall ſcarce be tempted to ſojourn another winter at Toulouſe—for I cannot ſay it ſuits my health, as I hoped—'tis too moiſt—and I cannot keep clear of agues here—ſo that if I ſtay the next winter on [48] this ſide of the water—'twill be either at Nice or Florence—and I ſhall re⯑turn to England in April—Wherever I am, believe me, dear F—, that I am,

Madame and Mademoiſelle preſent their beſt compliments—Remem⯑ber me to all I regard, particularly Meſſrs. P—d, and the reſt of your houſhold.

LETTER XXXVIII. To the ſame.

I Took the liberty three weeks ago to deſire you would be ſo kind as to ſend me fourſcore pounds, having re⯑ceived a letter the ſame poſt from my Agent, that he would order the mo⯑ney to be paid to your correſpondent in London in a fortnight.—It is ſome diſappointment to me that you have taken no notice of my letter, eſpeci⯑ally as I told you we waited for the mo⯑ney [50] before we ſet out for Bagnieres,—and ſo little diſtruſt had I that ſuch a civility would be refuſed me, that we have actually had all our things pack'd up theſe eight days, in hourly expectation of receiving a letter.—Perhaps my good friend has waited till he heard the money was paid in London—but you might have truſted to my honour—that all the caſh in your iron box (and all the bankers in Europe put together) could not have tempted me to ſay the thing that is not.—I hope before this you will have received an account of the money being paid in London—But it would have been taken kindly, if you had wrote me word you would [51] tranſmit me the money when you had received it, but no ſooner; for Mr. R— of Montpellier, tho' I know him not, yet knows enough of me to have given me credit for a fortnight for ten times the ſum.

I ſaw the family of the H— yeſterday, and aſked them if you was in the land of the living—They ſaid yea—for they had juſt received a letter from you.—After all I hear⯑tily forgive you—for you have done me a ſignal ſervice in mortifying me, [52] and it is this, I am determined to grow rich upon it.

Adieu, and God ſend you wealth and happineſs—All compliments to — Before April next I am obliged to reviſit your metropolis in my way to England.

LETTER XXXIX. To the ſame.

I This moment received yours—conſequently the moment I got it I ſat down to anſwer it—So much for a logical inference.

Now believe me I had never wrote you ſo teſty a letter, had I not both loved and eſteemed you—and it was merely in vindication of the rights of friendſhip that I wrote in a way as [54] if I was hurt—for neglect me in your heart, I knew you could not, without cauſe; which my heart told me I never had—or will ever give you:—I was the beſt friends with you that ever I was in my life, before my letter had got a league, and pleaded the true excuſe for my friend, ‘"That he was oppreſſed with a mul⯑titude of buſineſs."’ Go on, my dear F. and have but that excuſe, (ſo much do I regard your intereſt) that I would be content to ſuffer a real evil without future murmuring—but in truth, my diſappointment was partly chimerical at the bottom, having a letter of credit for two hundred pounds from a perſon I never ſaw, by me—but [55] which out of a nicety of temper I would not make any uſe of—I ſet out in two days for Bagnieres, but direct to me to Brouſſe, who will for⯑ward all my letters.—Dear F— adieu.—Believe me,

LETTER XL. To the ſame.

LUCKILY juſt before I was ſtepping into my chaiſe for Bagnieres, has a ſtrayed fifty pound bill found its way to me; ſo I have ſent it to its lawful owner incloſed—My noodle of an agent, inſtead of getting Mr. Selwin to adviſe you he had received the money (which would have been enough) has got a bill for it, and ſent it rambling to the furtheſt part [57] of France after me, and if it had not caught me juſt now it might have fol⯑lowed me into Spain, for I ſhall croſs the Pyreneans, and ſpend a week in that kingdom, which is enough for a fertile brain to write a volume upon.—When I write the hiſtory of my travels—Memorandum! I am not to forget how honeſt a man I have for a banker at Paris.—But, my dear friend, when you ſay you dare truſt me for what little occaſions I may have, you have as much faith as ho⯑neſty—and more of both than of good policy.—I thank you however ten thouſand times—and except ſuch liberty as I have lately taken with you—and that too at a pinch—I ſay [58] beyond that I will not treſpaſs upon your good nature, or friendlineſs to ſerve me.—God bleſs you, dear F—

LETTER XLI. To the ſame.

I Am aſhamed I have not taken an opportunity of thanking you before now, for your friendly act of civility, in ordering Brouſſe, your correſpon⯑dent at Toulouſe, in caſe I ſhould have occaſion, to pay me fifteen hun⯑dred livres—which as I knew the offer came from your heart I made no dif⯑ficulty of accepting.—In my way thro' Toulouſe to Marſeilles, where [60] we have been, but neither liking the place nor Aix (particularly the latter, it being a parliament town, of which Toulouſe has given me a ſurfeit) we have returned here, where we ſhall reſide the winter—My wife and daugh⯑ter purpoſe to ſtay a year at leaſt be⯑hind me—and when winter is over, to return to Toulouſe, or go to Mon⯑taubon, where they will ſtay till they return, or I fetch them—For myſelf I ſhall ſet out in February for Eng⯑land, where my heart has been fled theſe ſix months—but I ſhall ſtay a fortnight with my friends at Paris; tho' I verily believe, if it was not for the pleaſure of ſeeing and chattering with you, I ſhould paſs on directly [61] to Bruſſels, and ſo on to Rotterdam, for the ſake of ſeeing Holland, and embark from thence to London—But I muſt ſtay a little with thoſe I love and have ſo many reaſons to re⯑gard—you cannot place too much of this to your own ſcore.—I have had an offer of going to Italy a fortnight ago—but I muſt like my ſubject as well as the terms, neither of which were to my mind.—Pray what Engliſh have you at Paris? where is my young friend Mr. F—? We hear of three or four Engliſh families coming to us here—If I can be ſerviceable to any you would ſerve, you have but to write.—Mr. H... has ſent my friend W—'s picture—You have ſeen the [62] original, or I would have ſent it you—I believe I ſhall beg leave to get a copy of my own from yours, when I come in propria perſona—till when, God bleſs you my dear friend, and believe me,

LETTER XLII. To the ſame.

YOU ſee I cannot paſs over the fifth of the month without thinking of you, and writing to you—The laſt is a periodical habit—the firſt is from my heart, and I do it oftner than I remember—however, from both mo⯑tives together I maintain I have a right to the pleaſure of a ſingle line—be it only to tell me how your watch goes—You know how much happier [64] it would make me to know that all things belonging to you went on well.—You are going to have them all to yourſelf (I hear) and that Mr. S— is true to his firſt intention of leaving buſineſs—I hope this will enable you to accompliſh yours in a ſhorter time, that you may get to your long wiſhed for retreat of tranquillity and ſilence—When you have got to your fire⯑ſide, and into your arm-chair (and by the by, have another to ſpare for a friend) and are ſo much a ſovereign as to ſit in your furr'd cap (if you like it, tho' I ſhould not, for a man's ideas are at leaſt the cleaner for being dreſs'd decently) why then it will be a miracle if I do not glide in like a [65] ghoſt upon you—and in a very un⯑ghoſt-like faſhion help you off with a bottle of your beſt wine.

January 15.—It does not happen every day that a letter begun in the moſt perfect health, ſhould be con⯑cluded in the greateſt weakneſs—I wiſh the vulgar high and low do not ſay it was a judgement upon me for taking all this liberty with ghoſts—Be it as it may—I took a ride when the firſt part of this was wrote to⯑wards Perenas—and returned home in a ſhivering fit, tho' I ought to have been in a fever, for I had tired my beaſt; and he was as unmoveable as Don Quixote's wooden horſe, and my [66] arm was half diſlocated in whipping him—This quoth I is inhuman—No, ſays a peaſant on foot behind me, I'll drive him home—ſo he laid on his poſteriors, but 'twas needleſs—as his face was turn'd towards Montpellier he began to trot.—But to return, this fever has confined me ten days in my bed—I have ſuffered in this ſcuffle with death terribly—but unleſs the ſpirit of prophecy deceive me—I ſhall not die but live—in the mean time dear F. let us live as merrily but as innocently as we can.—It has ever been as good, if not better, than a biſhoprick to me—and I deſire no other—Adieu my dear friend and be⯑lieve me yours,

Pleaſe to give the incloſed to Mr. T.—and tell him I thank him cordially from my heart for his great good⯑will.

LETTER XLIII. To the ſame.

HEARING by Lord R. who in paſſing thro' here in his way to Madrid has given me a call, that my worthy friend Mr. Fox was now at Paris—I have incloſed a letter to him, which you will preſent in courſe or direct to him.—I ſuppoſe you are full of Eng⯑liſh—but in ſhort we are here as if in another world, where unleſs ſome ſtray'd ſoul arrives, we know nothing [69] of what is going on in yours.—Lord G.......r I ſuppoſe is gone from Paris, or I had wrote alſo to him. I know you are as buſy as a bee, and have few moments to yourſelf—nevertheleſs beſtow one of them upon an old friend and write me a line—and if Mr. F. is too idle and has ought to ſay to me, pray write a ſecond line for him.—We had a letter from Miſs P— this week, who it ſeems has decamp'd for ever from Paris—All is for the beſt—which is my general re⯑flection upon many things in this world.—Well! I ſhall ſhortly come and ſhake you by the hand in St. Sauveur—if ſtill you are there.—My wife re⯑turns to Toulouſe and purpoſes to [70] ſpend the ſummer at Bagnieres—I on the contrary go and viſit my wife the church in Yorkſhire.—We all live the longer—at leaſt the hap⯑pier—for having things our own way.—This is my conjugal maxim—I own 'tis not the beſt of maxims—but I maintain 'tis not the worſt. Adieu dear F— and believe me,

LETTER XLIV. To Mrs. F.

I AM preparing, my dear Mrs. F. to leave France, for I am heartily tired of it—That inſipidity there is in French characters has diſguſted your friend Yorick.—I have been dangerouſly ill, and cannot think that the ſharp air of Montpellier has been of ſervice to me—and ſo my phyſi⯑cians told me when they had me un⯑der their hands for above a month—if you ſtay any longer here, Sir, it [72] will be fatal to you—And why good people were you not kind enough to tell me this ſooner?—After having diſ⯑charged them, I told Mrs. S. that I ſhould ſet out for England very ſoon, but as ſhe chuſes to remain in France for two or three years, I have no ob⯑jection, except that I wiſh my girl in England.—The ſtates of Langue⯑doc are met—'tis a fine raree-ſhew, with the uſual accompanyments of fiddles, bears, and puppet-ſhews.—I believe I ſhall ſtep into my poſt-chaiſe with more alacrity to fly from theſe ſights, than a Frenchman would to fly to them—and except a tear at parting with my little ſlut, I ſhall be in high ſpirits, and every ſtep I take [73] that brings me nearer England, will I think help to ſet this poor frame to rights. Now pray write to me di⯑rected to Mr. F. at Paris, and tell me what I am to bring you over.—How do I long to greet all my friends! few do I value more than yourſelf.—My wife chuſes to go to Montauban, rather than ſtay here, in which I am truely paſſive.—If this ſhould not find you at Bath, I hope it will be forwarded to you, as I wiſh to fulfill your commiſſions—and ſo adieu—Ac⯑cept every warm wiſh for your health, and believe me ever yours,

P.S. My phyſicians have al⯑moſt poiſoned me with what they call bouillons refraichiſſants—'tis a cock flead alive and boiled with poppy ſeeds, then pounded in a mortar, af⯑terwards paſſ'd thro' a ſieve—There is to be one crawfiſh in it, and I was gravely told it muſt be a male one—a female would do me more hurt than good.

LETTER XLV. To Miſs S.

BY this time I ſuppoſe your mo⯑ther and ſelf are fixed at Montauban, and I therefore direct to your banker, to be delivered to you.—I acquieſced in your ſtaying in France—likewiſe it was your mother's wiſh—but I muſt tell you both (that unleſs your health had not been a plea made uſe of) I ſhould have wiſhed you both to re⯑turn with me.—I have ſent you the [76] Spectators, and other books, particu⯑larly Metaſtaſio; but I beg my girl to read the former, and only make the lat⯑ter her amuſement.—I hope you have not forgot my laſt requeſt, to make no friendſhips with the French-women—not that I think ill of them all, but ſometimes women of the beſt princi⯑ples are the moſt inſinuating—nay I am ſo jealous of you that I ſhould be miſerable were I to ſee you had the leaſt grain of coquettry in your com⯑poſition.—You have enough to do—for I have alſo ſent you a guittar—and as you have no genius for drawing, (tho' you never could be made to believe it) pray waſte not your time about it—Remember to write to me as to a [77] friend—in ſhort whatever comes into your little head, and then it will be natural.—If your mother's rheuma⯑tiſm continues and ſhe chooſes to go to Bagnieres—tell her not to be ſtopped for want of money, for my purſe ſhall be as open as my heart. I have preached at the ambaſſador's chapel—Hezekiah—(an odd ſubject your mother will ſay) There was a concourſe of all nations, and reli⯑gions too.—I ſhall leave Paris in a few days—I am lodged in the ſame hotel with Mr. T.... they are good and generous ſouls—Tell your mother that I hope ſhe will write to me, and that when ſhe does ſo, I may alſo receive a letter from my Lydia.

[78]Kiſs your mother from me, and believe me,

LETTER XLVI.

THERE is a young lady with whom I have ſent a letter to you, who will arrive at Paris in her way to Italy—her name is Miſs Tuting; a lady known and loved by the whole kingdom—if you can be of any aid to her in your advice, &c. as to her journey, &c. your good nature and politeneſs, I am ſure need no ſpur from me to do it. I was ſorry we were like the two buckets of a well, [80] whilſt in London, for we were never able to be both reſident together the month I continued in and about the environs.—If I get a cough this winter which holds me three days, you will certainly ſee me at Paris the week following, for now I abandon every thing in this world to health and to my friends—for the laſt ſer⯑mon that I ſhall ever preach, was preach'd at Paris—ſo I am altogether an idle man, or rather a free one, which is better. I ſent, laſt poſt, twenty pounds to Mrs. S. which makes a hundred pounds remitted, ſince I got here—You muſt pay yourſelf what I owe you out of it—and place [81] the reſt to account.—Betwixt this and Lady-day next, Mrs. S. will draw from time to time upon you to about the amount of a hundred louis—but not more—(I think) I having left her a hundred in her pocket.—But you ſhall always have money be⯑forehand of mine—and ſhe pur⯑poſes to ſpend no further than five thouſand livres in the year—but twenty pound, this way or that, makes no difference between us—Give my kindeſt compliments to Mr. P—. I have a thouſand things to ſay to you, and would go half way to Paris to tell them you in your ear.—The Meſſrs. T—, H—, &c. and many more of [82] your friends with whom I am now, ſend their ſervices—Mine to all friends—Yours, dear F. moſt truly,

LETTER XLVII. To J. H. S. Eſq.

NOW, my dear, dear Anthony—I do not think a week or ten days playing the good follow (at this very time) at Scarborough ſo abominable a thing—but if a man could get there cleverly, and every ſoul in his houſe in the mind to try what could be done in furtherance thereof, I have no one to conſult in this affair—therefore as a man may do worſe things, the Eng⯑liſh of all which is this, that I am [84] going to leave a few poor ſheep here in the wilderneſs for fourteen days—and from pride and naughtineſs of heart to go ſee what is doing at Scar⯑borough—ſtedfaſtly meaning after⯑wards to lead a new life and ſtrengthen my faith.—Now ſome folks ſay there is much company there—and ſome fay not—and I believe there is nei⯑ther the one or the other—but will be both, if the world will have but a month's patience or ſo.—No, my dear H... I did not delay ſending your letter directly to the poſt—As there are critical times or rather turns and revolutions in *** humours, I knew not what the delay of an hour might hazard—I will anſwer [85] for him, he has ſeventy times ſeven forgiven you—and as often wiſh'd you at the d—l.—After many oſ⯑cillations the pendulum will reſt firm as ever.—

I ſend all kind compliments to Sir C... D.... and G—s —I love them from my ſoul—If G.....t is with you, him alſo.—I go on, not rapidly, but well enough with my uncle To⯑by's amours—There is no ſitting, and cudgeling ones brains whilſt the ſun ſhines bright—'twill be all over in ſix or ſeven weeks, and there are diſ⯑mal months enow after to endure ſuf⯑focation by a brimſtone fire-ſide.—If you can get to Scarborough, do.— [86] A man who makes ſix tons of alum a week, may do any thing—Lord G—y is to be there—what a temp⯑tation!

LETTER XLVIII. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Have juſt had the honour of a letter from Miſs T—, full of the ac⯑knowledgments of your attention and kind ſervices to her; I will not believe theſe aroſe from the D. of A....'s letters, nor mine. Surely ſhe needed no recommendation—the trueſt and moſt honeſt compliment I can pay you, is to ſay they came from your own good heart, only you was intro⯑duced [88] to the object—for the reſt fol⯑low'd in courſe—However let me caſt in my mite of thanks to the trea⯑ſury which belongs to good natured actions. I have been with Lord G—y theſe three weeks at Scarborough—the pleaſures of which I found ſome⯑what more exalted than thoſe of Bag⯑nieres laſt year—I am now returned to my Philoſophical Hut to finiſh Triſtram, which I calculate will be ready for the world about Chriſtmas, at which time I decamp from hence, and fix my head quarters at London for the winter—unleſs my cough puſhes me forwards to your Metro⯑polis—or that I can perſuade ſome gros my Lord to take a trip to you— [89] I'll try if I can make him reliſh the joys of the Tuileries, Opera Comique, &c.

I had this week a letter from Mrs. S— from Montauban, in which ſhe tells me ſhe has occaſion for fifty pounds immediately—Will you ſend an order to your correſpondent at Montauban to pay her ſo much caſh—and I will in three weeks ſend as much to Becket—But as her purſe is low, for God's ſake write directly.—Now you muſt do ſomething e⯑qually eſſential—to rectify a miſtake in the mind of your correſpondent there, who it ſeems gave her a hint not long ago, ‘"that ſhe was ſepa⯑rated [90] from me for life.’—Now as this is not true in the firſt place, and may give a diſadvantageous impreſſion of her to thoſe ſhe lives amongſt—'twould be unmerciful to let her, or my daughter, ſuffer by it; ſo do be ſo good as to undeceive him—for in a year or two ſhe propoſes (and in⯑deed I expect it with impatience from her) to rejoin me—and tell them I have all the confidence in the world ſhe will not ſpend more than I can afford, and I only mention'd two hun⯑dred guineas a year—becauſe 'twas right to name ſome certain ſum, for which I beg'd you to give her cre⯑dit.—I write to you of all my moſt intimate concerns, as to a brother, [91] ſo excuſe me dear F—. God bleſs you—Believe me,

Compliments to Mr. Panchaud, D'Holbach, &c.

LETTER XLIX. To J. H. S. Eſq.

I Am but this moment return'd from Scarborough, where I have been drinking the waters ever ſince the races, and have received marvellous ſtrength, had I not debilitated it as faſt as I got it, by playing the good fellow with Lord G—y and Co. too much. I rejoice you have been encamp'd at Harrowgate, from which, by now, I ſuppoſe you are decamp'd [93] —otherwiſe as idle a beaſt as I have been, I would have ſacrificed a few days to the god of laughter with you and your jolly ſet.—I have done no⯑thing good that I know of, ſince I left you, except paying off your gui⯑nea and a half to K—, in my way thro' York hither—I muſt try now and do better—Go on, and proſper for a month,

LETTER L. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Sent ten days ago, a bank bill of thirty pounds to Mr. Becket, and this poſt one of ſixty—When I get to Lon⯑don, which will be in five weeks, you will receive what ſhall always keep you in bank for Mrs. S—; in the mean time I have deſired Becket to ſend you fourſcore pounds, and if my wife, before I get to London, ſhould have occaſion for fifty louis let her [95] not wait a minute, and if I have not paid it, a week or a fortnight I know will break no ſquares with a good and worthy friend.—I will contrive to ſend you theſe two new volumes of Triſtram, as ſoon as ever I get them from the preſs.—You will read as odd a tour thro' France as ever was projected or executed by traveller, or travel-writers ſince the world be⯑gan—'Tis a laughing good temper'd ſatyr againſt travelling (as puppies tra⯑vel) Panchaud will enjoy it—I am quite civil to your Pariſians—et pour cauſe you know—'tis likely I may ſee them in ſpring—Is it poſſible for you to get me over a copy of my picture any how? If ſo I would write to Ma⯑demoiſelle [96] N— to make as good a copy from it as ſhe poſſibly could—with a view to do her ſervice here—and I would remit her the price—I really believe it would be the parent of a dozen portraits to her, if ſhe executes it with the ſpi⯑rit of the original in your hands—for it will be ſeen by many—and as my phiz is as remarkable as my⯑ſelf, if ſhe preſerves the true cha⯑racter of both, it will do her ho⯑nour and ſervice too.—Write me a line about this, and tell me you are well and happy—Will you pre⯑ſent my kind reſpects to the worthy Baron—I ſhall ſend him one of the beſt impreſſions of my picture from [97] Mr. Reynolds's—another to Monſieur P—. My love to Mr. S—n and P—d.

LETTER LI. To J. H. S. Eſq.

'TIS a church militant week with me, full of marches, and coun⯑termarches—and treaties about Stil⯑lington common, which we are going to incloſe—otherwiſe I would have obey'd your ſummons—and yet I could not well have done it this week neither, having receiv'd a letter from C—, who has been very ill; and is coming down to ſtay a week or ten [99] days with me.—Now I know he is am⯑bitious of being better acquainted with you; and longs from his ſoul for a ſight of you in your own caſtle.—I cannot do otherwiſe, than bring him with me—nor can I gallop away and leave him an empty houſe to pay a viſit to from London, as he comes half expreſs to ſee me.—I thank you for the care of my northern vintage—I fear after all I muſt give it a fer⯑mentation on the other ſide of the Alps, which is better than being on the lees with it—but nous verrons—yet I fear as it has got ſuch hold of my brain and comes upon it like an armed man at nights—I muſt give way for quietneſs ſake, or be hag-ridden with [100] the conceit of it all my life long.—I have been Miſs-ridden this laſt week by a couple of romping girls (bien miſes et comme il faut) who might as well have been in the houſe with me, (tho' perhaps not, my retreat here is too quiet for them) but they have taken up all my time, and have given my judgment and fancy more airings than they wanted.—Theſe things ac⯑cord not well with ſermon making—but 'tis my vile errantry, as Sancho ſays, and that is all that can be made of it.—I truſt all goes ſwimmingly on with your alum; that the works amuſe you, and call you twice out (at leaſt) a day.—I ſhall ſee them I truſt in ten days, or thereabout—If [101] it was any way poſſible, I would ſet out this moment, tho' I have no cavalry—(except a ſhe aſs) Give all friendly reſpects to Mrs. C. and to Col. H...'s and the garriſon, both of Guiſbro and Skelton.—I am, dear Anthony, affectionately

LETTER LII. To Mr. F. at P.

THREE poſts before I had the favour of yours (which is come to hand this moment) I had wrote to ſet Mrs. S. right in her miſtake—That you had any money of mine in your hands—being very ſenſible that the hundred pounds I had ſent you, thro' Becket's hands, was but about what would balance with you—The rea⯑ſon of her error was owing to my writ⯑ing her word, I would ſend you a [103] bill in a poſt or two for fifty pounds—which, my finances falling ſhort juſt then, I deferr'd—ſo that I had paid nothing to any one—but was however come to York this day, and I have ſent you a draught for a hun⯑dred pounds—in honeſt truth a fort⯑night ago I had not the caſh—but I am as honeſt as the king (as Sancho Pança ſays) only not ſo rich.

Therefore if Mrs. S. ſhould want thirty louis more, let her have them—and I will balance all (which will not be much) with honour at Chriſtmas, when I ſhall be in London, having now juſt finiſh'd my two volumes of Triſtram.—I have ſome thoughts of [104] going to Italy this year—at leaſt I ſhall not defer it above another.—I have been with Lord Granby, and with Lord Shelburne, but am now ſat down till December in my ſweet retirement—I wiſh you was ſat down as happily, and as free of all worldly cares.—In a few years, my dear F. I hope to ſee you a real country gentleman, tho' not altoge⯑ther exiled from your friends in Lon⯑don—there I ſhall ſpend every winter of my life, in the ſame lap of con⯑tentment, where I enjoy myſelf now—and wherever I go—we muſt bring three parts in four of the treat along with us—In ſhort we muſt be happy within—and then few things [105] without us make much difference—This is my Shandean philoſophy.—You will read a comic account of my journey from Calais thro' Paris to the Garonne, in theſe volumes—my friends tell me they are done with ſpirit—it muſt ſpeak for itſelf—Give my kind reſpects to Mr. Selwin and my friend Panchaud—When you ſee Baron d'Holbach, preſent him my reſpects, and believe me, dear F.

LETTER LIII. To D. G. Eſq.

I Threatened you with a letter in one I wrote a few weeks ago to Foley, but (to my ſhame be it ſpoken) I lead ſuch a life of diſſipation I have never had a moment to myſelf which has not been broke in upon, by one engagement or impertinence or another—and as plots thicken to⯑wards the latter end of a piece, I find, unleſs I take pen and ink juſt now, I ſhall not be able to do it, [107] till either I am got into the country, or you to the city. You are teized and tormented too much by your cor⯑reſpondents, to return to us, and with accounts how much your friends, and how much your Theatre wants you—ſo that I will not magnify ei⯑ther our loſs or yours—but hope cor⯑dially to ſee you ſoon.—Since I wrote laſt I have frequently ſtept into your houſe—that is, as frequently as I could take the whole party, where I dined, along with me—This was but juſtice to you, as I walk'd in as a wit—but with regard to myſelf, I balanced the account thus—I am ſometimes in my friend —'s houſe, but he is always in Triſtram Shandy's—where my [108] friends ſay he will continue (and I hope the prophecy true for my own immortality) even when he himſelf is no more.

I have had a lucrative winter's campaign here—Shandy ſells well—I am taxing the publick with two more volumes of ſermons, which will more than double the gains of Shan⯑dy—It goes into the world with a prancing liſt of de toute la nobleſſe—which will bring me in three hundred pounds, excluſive of the ſale of the copy—ſo that with all the contempt of money which ma façon de penſer has ever impreſs'd on me, I ſhall be rich in ſpite of myſelf: but I ſcorn you [109] muſt know, in the high ton I take at preſent, to pocket all this traſh—I ſet out to lay a portion of it in the ſervice of the world, in a tour round Italy, where I ſhall ſpring game, or the duce is in the dice.—In the begin⯑ning of September I quit England, that I may avail myſelf of the time of vintage, when all nature is joyous, and ſo ſaunter philoſophically for a year or ſo, on the other ſide the Alps.—I hope your pilgrimages have brought Mrs. G. and yourſelf back à la fleur de jeuneſſe—May you both long feel the ſweets of it, and your friends with you.—Do, dear friend, make my kindeſt wiſhes and compli⯑ments acceptable to the beſt and wiſeſt [110] of the daughters of Eve—You ſhall ever believe and ever find me affec⯑tionately yours,

LETTER LIV. To D. G. Eſq.

I Scalp you!—my dear G—! my dear friend!—foul befal the man who hurts a hair of your head!—and ſo full was I of that very ſentiment, that my letter had not been put into the poſt-office ten minutes, before my heart ſmote me; and I ſent to recall it—but failed—You are ſadly to blame, Shandy! for this, quoth I, leaning with my head on my hand, as I re⯑criminated upon my falſe delicacy in [112] the affair—G—'s nerves (if he has any left) are as fine and delicately ſpun, as thy own—his ſentiments as honeſt and friendly—thou knoweſt, Shandy, that he loves thee—why wilt thou ha⯑zard him a moment's pain? Puppy! fool, coxcomb, jack-aſs, &c. &c.—and ſo I balanced the account to your favour, before I received it drawn up in your way—I ſay your way—for it is not ſtated ſo much to your honour and credit, as I had paſſed the account before—for it was a moſt la⯑mented truth, that I never received one of the letters your friendſhip meant me, except whilſt in Paris.—O! how I congratulate you for the anxiety the world has and continues [113] to be under, for your return.—Re⯑turn, return to the few who love you and the thouſands who admire you.—The moment you ſet your foot upon your ſtage—mark! I tell it you—by ſome magic, irreſiſted power, every fibre about your heart will vibrate afreſh, and as ſtrong and feelingly as ever—Nature, with glory at her back, will light up the torch within you—and there is enough of it left, to heat and enlighten the world theſe many, many, many years.

Heaven be praiſed! (I utter it from my ſoul) that your lady, and my Mi⯑nerva, is in a condition to walk to Windſor—full rapturouſly will I lead [114] the graceful pilgrim to the temple, where I will ſacrifice with the pureſt incenſe to her—but you may worſhip with me, or not—'twill make no dif⯑ference either in the truth or warmth of my devotion—ſtill (after all I have ſeen) I ſtill maintain her peerleſs.

P—! good Heav'n!—give me ſome one with leſs ſmoke and more fire—There are who, like the Phariſees, ſtill think they ſhall be heard for much ſpeaking—Come—come away my dear G— and teach us another leſſon.

Adieu!—I love you dearly—and your lady better—not hobbihorſically—but moſt ſentimentally and affec⯑tionately[115] —for I am yours (that is if you never ſay another word about—) with all the ſentiments of love and friendſhip you deſerve from me,

LETTER LV.

MY wife tells me ſhe has drawn for one hundred pounds, and 'tis fit that you ſhould be paid it that mi⯑nute—the money is now in Becket's hands—ſend me, my dear F— my account, that I may diſcharge the balance to this time, and know what to leave in your hands.—I have made a good campaign of it this year in the field of the literati— [117] my two volumes of Triſtram, and two of ſermons, which I ſhall print very ſoon, will bring me a conſiderable ſum.—Almoſt all the nobility in Eng⯑land honour me with their names, and 'tis thought it will be the largeſt, and moſt ſplendid liſt which ever pranced before a book, ſince ſubſcriptions came into faſhion.—Pray preſent my moſt ſincere compliments to lady H—whoſe name I hope to inſert with many others.—As ſo many men of genius favour me with their names alſo, I will quarrel with Mr. H—e, and call him deiſt, and what not, un⯑leſs I have his name too.—My love to Lord W.—Your name, F. I have put in as a free-will offering of my [118] labours—your liſt of ſubſcribers you will ſend—'tis but a crown for ſixteen ſermons—Dog cheap! but I am in queſt of honour, not money.—Adieu, adieu,—believe me, dear F.

LETTER LVI. To Mr. W.

AT this moment am I ſitting in my ſummer houſe with my head and heart full, not of my uncle Toby's amours with the widow Wadman, but my ſermons—and your letter has drawn me out of a penſive mood—the ſpirit of it pleaſeth me—but in this ſolitude, what can I tell or write to you but about myſelf—I am glad that you are in love—'twill cure you (at leaſt) of the ſpleen, which has a bad [120] effect on both man and woman—I my⯑ſelf muſt ever have ſome dulcinea in my head—it harmoniſes the ſoul—and in thoſe caſes I firſt endeavour to make the lady believe ſo, or rather I begin firſt to make myſelf believe that I am in love—but I carry on my affairs quite in the French way, ſentimentally—‘"l'amour" (ſay they) "n'eſt rien ſans ſentiment"’—Now notwithſtanding they make ſuch a pother about the word, they have no preciſe idea annex'd to it—And ſo much for that ſame ſubject called love—I muſt tell you how I have juſt treated a French gentleman of for⯑tune in France, who took a liking to my daughter—Without any ceremony [121] (having got my direction from my wife's banker) he wrote me word that he was in love with my daugh⯑ter, and deſired to know what fortune I would give her at preſent, and how much at my death—by the bye, I think there was very little ſen⯑timent on his ſide—My anſwer was ‘"Sir, I ſhall give her ten thouſand pounds the day of marriage—my calculation is as follows—ſhe is not eighteen, you are ſixty-two—there goes five thouſand pounds—then Sir, you at leaſt think her not ugly—ſhe has many accompliſhments, ſpeaks Italian, French, plays upon the guit⯑tar, and as I fear you play upon no inſtrument whatever, I think you [122] will be happy to take her at my terms, for here finiſhes the account of the ten thouſand pounds"’—I do not ſup⯑poſe but he will take this as I mean, that is—a flat refuſal.—I have had a parſonage houſe burnt down by the careleſsneſs of my curate's wife—as ſoon as I can I muſt rebuild it, I trow—but I lack the means at preſent—yet I am never happier than when I have not a ſhilling in my pocket—for when I have I can never call it my own. Adieu my dear friend—may you enjoy better health than me, tho' not better ſpirits, for that is im⯑poſſible.

My compliments to the Col.

LETTER LVII. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Wrote ſome time in ſpring, to beg you would favour me with my ac⯑count. I believe you was ſet out from Paris, and that Mr. Garrick brought the letter with him—which poſſibly he gave you. In the hurry of your buſineſs you might forget the contents of it; and in the hurry of mine in town (though I called once) I could not get to ſee you. I decamp for [124] Italy in September, and ſhall ſee your face at Paris, you may be ſure—but I ſhall ſee it with more pleaſure when I am out of debt—which is your own fault, for Becket has had money left in his hands for that purpoſe.—Do ſend Mrs. Sterne her two laſt volumes of Triſtram; they arrived with your's in ſpring, and ſhe complains ſhe has not got them.—My beſt ſervices to Mr. Panchaud.—I am buſy com⯑poſing two volumes of ſermons—they will be printed in September, though I fear not time enough to bring them with me. Your name is amongſt the liſt of a few of my ho⯑norary ſubſcribers—who ſubſcribe for love.—If you ſee Baron D'Hol⯑bach, [125] and Diderot, preſent my reſpects to them—If the Baron wants any En⯑gliſh books, he will let me know, and I will bring them with me—Adieu.

LETTER LVIII. To Mrs. M—d—s.

THE firſt time I have dipped my pen into the ink-horn for this week paſt is to write to you, and to thank you moſt ſincerely for your kind epiſtle—Will this be a ſufficient apology for my letting it be ten days upon my table without anſwering it—I truſt it will—I am ſure my own feelings tell me ſo, becauſe I felt it impoſſible to do any thing that is un⯑gracious towards you.—It is not every [127] hour, or day, or week of a man's life that is a fit ſeaſon for the duties of friendſhip—ſentiment is not always at hand—pride and folly, and what is called buſineſs, oftentimes keep it at a diſtance—and without ſentiment, what is friendſhip?—a name, a ſhadow!—But, to prevent a miſapplication of this, (though why ſhould I fear it from ſo kind and gentle a ſpirit as your's)—you muſt know, that by care⯑leſſneſs of my curate, or his wife, or his maid, or ſome one within his gates, the parſonage-houſe at Sutton was burnt to the ground, with the fur⯑niture that belonged to me, and a pretty good collection of books; the loſs three hundred and fifty pounds— [128] The poor man with his wife took the wings of the next morning, and fled away—this has given me real vexa⯑tion, for ſo much was my pity and eſteem for him, that as ſoon as I heard of this diſaſter, I ſent to deſire he would come and take up his abode with me till another habitation was ready to receive him—but he was gone—and, as I am told, through fear of my perſecution.—Heavens! how little did he know of me to ſuppoſe I was among the number of thoſe wretches that heap misfortune upon misfortune—and when the load is almoſt inſup⯑portable, ſtill to add to the weight! God, who reads my heart, knows it to be true—that I wiſh rather to ſhare, [129] than to encreaſe the burthen of the miſerable—to dry up, inſtead of add⯑ing a ſingle drop to the ſtream of ſor⯑row.—As for the dirty traſh of this world, I regard it not—the loſs of it does not coſt me a ſigh, for after all, I may ſay with the Spaniſh Captain, that I am as good a gentleman as the king, only not quite ſo rich.

But to the point: Shall I expect you here this ſummer?—I much wiſh that you may make it convenient to gratify me in a viſit for a few weeks—I will give you a roaſt fowl for your dinner, and a clean table-cloth every day—and tell you a ſtory by way of deſert—in the heat of the day we will [130] ſit in the ſhade—and in the evening the faireſt of all the milk-maids who paſs by my gate, ſhall weave a gar⯑land for you.—If I ſhould not be ſo fortunate, contrive to meet me the be⯑ginning of October—I ſhall ſtay a fort⯑night after, and then ſeek a kindlier climate.—This plaguy cough of mine ſeems to gain ground, and will bring me to my grave in ſpight of me—but while I have ſtrength to run away from it I will—I have been wreſtling with it for theſe twenty years paſt—and what with laughter and good ſpirits, have prevented its giving me a fall—but my antagoniſt preſſes cloſer than ever upon me—and I have no⯑thing left on my ſide but another [131] journey abroad—A-propos—are you for a ſcheme of that ſort? if not, per⯑haps you will accompany me as far as Dover, that we may laugh together on the beach, to put Neptune in a good humour before I embark—God bleſs you, my dear Madam,—and believe me ever your's,

LETTER LIX. To Mr. W.

THANKS, my dear W. for your letter—I am juſt preparing to come and greet you and many other friends in town—I have drained my ink ſtandiſh to the bottom, and after I have publiſhed, ſhall ſet my face, not towards Jeruſalem, but towards the Alps—I find I muſt once more fly from death whilſt I have ſtrength—I ſhall go to Naples and ſee whether [133] the air of that place will not ſet this poor frame to rights—As to the pro⯑ject of getting a bear to lead, I think I have enough to do to govern my⯑ſelf—and however profitable it might be (according to your opinion) I am ſure it would be unpleaſurable—Few are the minutes of life, and I do not think that I have any to throw away on any one being.—I ſhall ſpend nine or ten months in Italy, and call upon my wife and daughter in France at my return—ſo ſhall be back by the King's birth-day—what a project!—and now my dear friend am I going to York, not for the ſake of ſociety—nor to walk by the ſide of the muddy Ouſe, but to recruit myſelf of the moſt [134] violent ſpitting of blood that ever mortal man experienced; becauſe I had rather (in caſe 'tis ordained ſo) die there, than in a poſt-chaiſe on the road.—If the amour of my uncle Toby do not pleaſe you, I am miſ⯑taken—and ſo with a droll ſtory I will finiſh this letter—A ſenſible friend of mine, with whom not long ago, I ſpent ſome hours in converſation, met an apothecary (an acquaintance of ours)—the latter aſked him how he did? why, ill, very ill—I have been with Sterne, who has given me ſuch a doſe of Atticſalt that I am in a fever—Attic ſalt, Sir, Attic ſalt! I have Glauber ſalt—I have Epſom ſalt in my ſhop, &c.—Oh! I ſuppoſe 'tis [135] ſome French ſalt—I wonder you would truſt his report of the medicine, he cares not what he takes himſelf—I fancy I ſee you ſmile—I long to be able to be in London, and embrace my friends there—and ſhall enjoy myſelf a week or ten days at Paris with my friends, particularly the Ba⯑ron d'Holbach, and the reſt of the joyous ſett—As to the females—no I will not ſay a word about them—only I hate borrowed characters taken up (as a woman does her ſhift) for the purpoſe ſhe intends to effectuate. Adieu, adieu—I am yours whilſt

LETTER LX. To Mr. F. at Paris.

IT is a terrible thing to be in Paris without a perriwig to a man's head! In ſeven days from the date of this, I ſhould be in that caſe, unleſs you tell your neighbour Madame Requiere to get her bon mari de me faire une peruque à bourſe, au mieux—c'eſt à dire—une la plus extraordinaire—la plus jolie—la plus gentille—et la plus—

[137]—Mais qu' importe? jai l'honneur d'etre grand critique—et bien difficile encore dans les affaires de peruques—and in one word that he gets it done in five days after notice—

I beg pardon for this liberty, my dear friend, and for the trouble of forwarding this by the very next poſt.—If my friend Mr. F. is in Paris—my kind love to him and reſpects to all others—in ſad haſte—

I have paid into Mr. Becket's hands ſix hundred pounds, which you may draw upon at ſight, according as either Mrs. S— or myſelf make it expedient.

LETTER LXI. To Mr. P. at Paris.

I Forgot to deſire you to forward whatever letters came to your hand to your banker at Rome, to wait for me againſt I get there, as it is uncer⯑tain how long I may ſtay at Turin, &c. &c. at preſent I am held priſoner in this town by the ſudden ſwelling of two pitiful rivulets from the ſnows melting on the Alps—ſo that we can⯑not either advance to them, or retire [139] back again to Lyons—for how long the gentlemen who are my fellow-travellers, and myſelf, ſhall languiſh in this ſtate of vexatious captivity, heaven and earth ſurely know, for it rains as if they were coming together to ſettle the matter.—I had an agree⯑able journey to Lyons, and a joyous time there; dining and ſupping every day at the commandant's—Lord F. W. I left there, and about a dozen Eng⯑liſh—If you ſee lord Oſſory, lord William Gordon, and my friend Mr. Crawfurd, remember me to them—if Wilkes is at Paris yet, I ſend him all kind wiſhes—preſent my compli⯑ments as well as thanks to my good friend Miſs P—, and believe me, dear Sir, with all truth, yours,

LETTER LXII. To the ſame.

AFTER many difficulties I have got here ſafe and ſound—tho' eight days in paſſing the mountains of Sa⯑voy.—I am ſtopped here for ten days by the whole country betwixt here and Milan being laid under water by continual rains—but I am very happy, and have found my way into a dozen houſes already—Tomorrow I am to be preſented to the King, and when that [141] ceremony is over, I ſhall have my hands full of engagements.—No Eng⯑liſh here but Sir James Macdonald who meets with much reſpect, and Mr. Ogilby. We are all together, and ſhall depart in peace together—My kind ſervices to all—pray forward the incloſed—

LETTER LXIII. To the ſame.

I AM juſt leaving this place with Sir James Macdonald for Milan, &c.—We have ſpent a joyous fortnight here, and met with all kinds of ho⯑nours—and with regret do we both bid adieu—but health on my ſide—and good ſenſe on his—ſay 'tis better to be at Rome—you ſay at Paris—but you put variety out of the que⯑ſtion.—I intreat you to forward the [143] incloſed to Mrs. Sterne—My compli⯑ments to all friends, more particu⯑larly to thoſe I moſt value (that in⯑cludes Mr. F. if he is at Paris.)

LETTER LXIV. To the ſame.

I Have been a month paſſing the plains of Lombardy—ſtopping in my way of Milan, Parma, Placenza, and Bologna—with weather as deli⯑cious as a kindly April in England, and have been three days in croſſing a part of the Apennines covered with thick ſnow—Sad tranſition!—I ſtay here three days to dine with our Ple⯑nipo Lords T—d and C—r, [145] and in five days ſhall tread the Vatican and be introduced to all the Saints in the Pantheon.—I ſtay but fourteen days to pay theſe civilities, and then decamp for Naples.—Pray ſend the incloſed to my wife, and Becket's letter to London.

LETTER LXV. To Miſs S.

YOUR letter, my Lydia, has made me both laugh and cry—Sorry am I that you are both ſo afflicted with the ague, and by all means I wiſh you both to fly from Tours, becauſe I re⯑member it is ſituated between two ri⯑vers, la Loire, and le Cher—which muſt occaſion fogs, and damp un⯑wholeſome weather—therefore for the ſame reaſon go not to Bourges en [147] Breſſe—'tis as vile a place for agues.—I find myſelf infinitely better than I was—and hope to have added at leaſt ten years to my life by this journey to Italy—the climate is heavenly, and I find new principles of health in me, which I have been long a ſtranger to—but truſt me, my Lydia, I will find you out wherever you are, in May. Therefore I beg you to direct to me at Belloni's at Rome, that I may have ſome idea where you will be then.—The account you give me of Mrs. C— is truly amiable, I ſhall ever honour her—Mr. C. is a divert⯑ing companion—what he ſaid of your little French admirer was truly droll—the Marquis de — is an [148] impoſtor, and not worthy of your acquaintance—he only pretended to know me, to get introduced to your mother—I deſire you will get your mother to write to Mr. C. that I may diſcharge every debt, and then my Lydia, if I live, the produce of my pen ſhall be yours—If fate re⯑ſerves me not that—the humane and good, part for thy father's ſake, part for thy own, will never abandon thee!—If your mother's health will permit her to return with me to England, your ſummers I will render as agree⯑able as I can at Coxwould—your winters at York—you know my publications call me to London.—If Mr. and Mrs. C— are ſtill at Tours, [149] thank them from me for their cor⯑diality to my wife and daughter. I have purchaſed you ſome little trifles, which I ſhall give you when we meet, as proofs of affection from

LETTER LXVI. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Deſire Mrs. S— may have what caſh ſhe wants—if ſhe has not re⯑ceived it before now: ſhe ſends me word ſhe has been in want of caſh theſe three weeks—be ſo kind as to pre⯑vent this uneaſineſs to her—which is doubly ſo to me.—I have made very little uſe of your letters of credit, having ſince I left Paris taken up no more money than about fifty louis at Turin, as much at Rome—and [151] a few ducats here—and as I now travel from hence to Rome, Venice, through Vienna to Berlin, &c. with a gentleman of fortune, I ſhall draw for little more till my return—ſo you will have always enough to ſpare for my wife.—The beginning of March be ſo kind as to let her have a hundred pounds to begin her year with.—

There are a good many Engliſh here, very few in Rome, or other parts of Italy.—The air of Naples agrees very well with me—I ſhall return fat—my friendſhip to all who honour me with theirs—Adieu my dear friend—I am ever yours,

LETTER LXVII. To J. H. S. Eſq.

'TIS an age ſince I have heard from you—but as I read the London Chronicle, and find no tidings of your death, or that you are even at the point of it, I take it, as I wiſh it, that you have got over thus much of the winter free from the damps, both of climate and ſpirits, and here I am, as happy as a king after all, growing fat, ſleek, and well liking— [153] not improving in ſtature, but in breadth.—We have a jolly carnival of it—nothing but operas—punchi⯑nellos—feſtinos and maſquerades—We (that is nous autres) are all dreſ⯑ſing out for one this night at the Princeſs Francavivalla, which is to be ſuperb.—The Engliſh dine with her (excluſive) and ſo much for ſmall chat—except that I ſaw a little come⯑dy acted laſt week with more expreſ⯑ſion and ſpirit, and true character than I ſhall ſee one haſtily again.—I ſtay here till the holy week, which I ſhall paſs at Rome, where I occupy myſelf a month—My plan was to have gone from thence for a fortnight to Florence—and then by Leghorn to [154] Marſeilles directly home—but am di⯑verted from this by the repeated pro⯑poſals of accompanying a gentleman, who is returning by Venice, Vienna, Saxony, Berlin, and ſo by the Spaw, and thence through Holland to Eng⯑land—'tis with Mr. E...... I have known him theſe three years, and have been with him ever ſince I reach'd Rome; and as I know him to be a good hearted young gentleman, I have no doubt of making it anſwer both his views and mine—at leaſt I am perſuaded we ſhall return home together, as we ſet out, with friend⯑ſhip and good will.—Write your next letter to me at Rome, and do me the following favour if it lies in your way, [155] which I think it does—to get me a letter of recommendation to our am⯑baſſador (Lord Stormont at Vienna) I have not the honour to be known to his lordſhip, but Lords P— or H—, or twenty you better know, would write a certificate for me, im⯑porting that I am not fallen out of the clouds. If this will coſt my couſin little trouble, do incloſe it in your next letter to me at Belloni.—You have left Skelton I trow a month, and I fear have had a moſt ſharp win⯑ter, if one may judge of it from the ſeverity of the weather here, and all over Italy, which exceeded any thing known till within theſe three weeks here, that the ſun has been as hot as [156] we could bear it.—Give my kind ſer⯑vices to my friends—eſpecially to the houſhold of faith—my dear Garland—to Gilbert—to the worthy Colo⯑nel — to Cardinal S—, to my fel⯑low labourer Pantagruel—dear couſin Antony, receive my kindeſt love and wiſhes.

P.S. Upon ſecond thoughts, direct your next to me at Mr. W. banker at Venice.

LETTER LXVIII. To Mr. P. at Paris.

I Wrote laſt week to you, to deſire you would let Mrs. S— have what money ſhe wanted—it may hap⯑pen as that letter went incloſed in one to her at Tours, that you will receive this firſt—I have made little uſe of your letters of credit, as you will ſee by that letter, nor ſhall I want much (if any) till you ſee me, as I travel now in company with a gentleman— [158] however as we return by Venice, Vienna, Berlin, &c. to the Spaw, I ſhould be glad if you will draw me a letter of credit upon ſome one at Venice, to the extent of fifty louis—but I am perſuaded I ſhall not want half of them—however in caſe of ſick⯑neſs or accidents, one would not go ſo long a rout without money in one's pocket.—The bankers here are not ſo conſcientious as my friend P. they would make me pay twelve per cent. if I was to get a letter here.—I beg your letters, &c. may be incloſed to Mr. Watſon at Venice—where we ſhall be in the Aſcenſion.—I have re⯑ceived much benefit from the air of Naples—but quit it to be at Rome [159] before the holy week.—There are about five and twenty Engliſh here—but moſt of them will be decamp'd in two months—there are ſcarce a third of the number at Rome—I ſup⯑poſe therefore that Paris is full—my warmeſt wiſhes attend you—with my love to Mr. F. and compliments to all—I am, dear Sir, very faith⯑fully,

Sir James Macdonald is in the houſe with me, and is juſt recovering a long and moſt cruel fit of the rheumatiſm.

LETTER LXIX. To J. H. S. Eſq.

MY deſire of ſeeing both my wife and girl has turn'd me out of my road towards a delicious Chateau of the Counteſs of M—, where I have been patriarching it theſe ſeven days with her ladyſhip, and half a dozen of very handſome and agreeable ladies—her ladyſhip has the beſt of hearts—a valuable preſent not given to every one.—Tomorrow, with regret, [161] I ſhall quit this agreeable circle, and poſt it night and day to Paris, where I ſhall arrive in two days, and juſt wind myſelf up, when I am there, e⯑nough to roll on to Calais—ſo I hope to ſup with you the king's birth day, according to a plan of ſixteen days ſtanding.—Never man has been ſuch a wildgooſe chace after a wife as I have been—after having ſought her in five or ſix different towns, I found her at laſt in Franche Comté—Poor woman! ſhe was very cordial, &c. and begs to ſtay another year or ſo—my Lydia pleaſes me much—I found her greatly improved in every thing I wiſh'd her—I am moſt unac⯑countably well, and moſt accountably [162] nonſenſical—'tis at leaſt a proof of good ſpirits, which is a ſign and token given me in theſe latter days that I muſt take up again the pen.—In faith I think I ſhall die with it in my hand, but I ſhall live theſe ten years, my An⯑tony, notwithſtanding the fears of my wife, whom I left moſt melancholy on that account.—This is a delicious part of the world; moſt celeſtial weather, and we lie all day, without damps, upon the graſs—and that is the whole of it, except the inner man (for her ladyſhip is not ſtingy of her wine) is inſpired twice a day with the beſt Bur⯑gundy that grows upon the mountains, which terminate our lands here.—Surely you will not have decamp'd [163] to Crazy Caſtle before I reach town.—The ſummer here is ſet in good ear⯑neſt—'tis more than we can ſay for Yorkſhire—I hope to hear a good tale of your alum works—have you no other works in hand? I do not expect to hear from you, ſo God proſper you—and all your undertak⯑ings.—I am, my dear couſin,

Remember me to Mr. G—, Car⯑dinal S—, the Col. &c. &c. &c.

LETTER LXX. To Mr. P. at Paris.

I Wrote laſt week to Mr. Becket to diſcharge the balance due to you—and I have receiv'd a letter from him telling me, that if you will draw upon him for one hundred and ſixty pounds, he will punctually pay it to your or⯑der—ſo ſend the draughts when you pleaſe—Mrs. S. writes me word, ſhe wants fifty pounds—which I de⯑ſire you will let her have—I will take [165] care to remit it to your correſpondent—I have ſuch an entire confidence in my wife, that ſhe ſpends as little as ſhe can, tho' ſhe is confined to no par⯑ticular ſum—her expences will not ex⯑ceed three hundred pounds a year, unleſs by ill health, or a journey—and I am very willing ſhe ſhould have it—and you may rely, in caſe it ever happens that ſhe ſhould draw for fifty or a hundred pounds extraordinary, that it and every demand ſhall be punctually paid—and with proper thanks; and for this the whole Shan⯑dean family are ready to ſtand ſecu⯑rity.—'Tis impoſſible to tell you how ſorry I was that my affairs hurried me ſo quick thro' Paris, as to deprive [166] me of ſeeing my old friend Mr. F. and of the pleaſure I propoſed in be⯑ing made known to his better half—but I have a probability of ſeeing him this winter.—Adieu dear Sir, and be⯑lieve me

P.S. Mrs. S— is going to Chalon, but your letter will find her I believe at Avignon—ſhe is very poor⯑ly—and my daughter writes to me with ſad grief of heart that ſhe is worſe.

LETTER LXXI. To Mr. S.

ONE might be led to think that there is a fatality regarding us—we make appointments to meet, and for theſe two years have not ſeen each others face but twice—we muſt try, and do better for the future—having ſought you with more zeal, than C.... ſought the Lord, in order to deliver you the books you bad me purchaſe for you at Paris—I was forced to [168] pay carriage for them from London down to York—but as I ſhall neither charge you the books nor the car⯑riage—'tis not worth talking about.—Never man, my dear Sir, has had a more agreeable tour than your Yorick—and at preſent I am in my peaceful retreat, writing the ninth volume of Triſtram—I ſhall publiſh but one this year, and the next I ſhall begin a new work of four volumes, which when finiſh'd, I ſhall continue Triſ⯑tram with freſh ſpirit.—What a differ⯑ence of ſcene here! But with a diſ⯑poſition to be happy, 'tis neither this place, nor t'other that renders us the reverſe.—In ſhort each man's happineſs depends upon him⯑ſelf[169] —he is a fool if he does not en⯑joy it.

What are you about, dear S—? Give me ſome account of your plea⯑ſures—you had better come to me for a fortnight, and I will ſhew, or give you (if needful) a practical doſe of my philoſophy; but I hope you do not want it—if you did—'twould be the office of a friend to give it—Will not even our races tempt you? You ſee I uſe all arguments—Believe me yours moſt truly,

LETTER LXXII. To Mr. P. at Paris.

IF Mrs. S— ſhould draw upon you for fifty louis d'ors, be ſo kind as to remit her the money—and pray be ſo good as not to draw upon Mr. Becket for it (as he owes me no⯑thing) but favour me with the draught, which I will pay to Mr. Selwin.—A young nobleman is now negociat⯑ing a jaunt with me for ſix weeks, about Chriſtmas, to the Fauxbourg [171] de St. Germain—I ſhould like much to be with you for ſo long—and if my wife ſhould grow worſe (having had a very poor account of her in my daughter's laſt) I cannot think of her being without me—and however ex⯑penſive the journey would be, I would fly to Avignon to adminiſter conſo⯑lation to both her and my poor girl—Wherever I am, believe me

My kind compliments to Mr. F—: though I have not the ho⯑nour of knowing his rib, I ſee no reaſon why I may not preſent all due [172] reſpects to the better half of ſo old a friend, which I do by theſe pre⯑ſents—with my friendlieſt wiſhes to Miſs P—.

LETTER LXXIII. To Mr. F. at Paris.

I Deſired you would be ſo good as to remit to Mrs. S— fifty louis, a month ago—I dare ſay you have done it—but her illneſs muſt have coſt her a good deal—therefore having paid the laſt fifty pounds into Mr. Sel⯑win's hands, I beg you to ſend her thirty guineas more—for which I ſend a bank bill to Mr. Becket by this poſt—but ſurely had I not done [174] ſo, you would not ſtick at it—for be aſſured, my dear F. that the firſt Lord of the Treaſury is neither more able or more willing (nor perhaps half ſo punctual) in repaying with honour all I ever can be in your books.—My daughter ſays her mother is very ill—and I fear going faſt down by all ac⯑counts—'tis melancholy in her ſitua⯑tion to want any aid that is in my power to give—do write to her—and believe me, with all compliments to your Hotel,

LETTER LXXIV. To the ſame.

I Juſt received yours—and am glad that the balance of accounts is now paid to you—Thus far all goes well—I have received a letter from my daughter with the pleaſing tidings that ſhe thinks her mother out of danger—and that the air of the coun⯑try is delightful (excepting the winds) but the deſcription of the Chateau my wife has hired is really pretty— [176] on the ſide of the Fountain of Vau⯑cluſe—with ſeven rooms of a floor, half furniſhed with tapeſtry, half with blue taffety, the permiſſion to fiſh, and to have game; ſo many partridges a week, &c. and the price—gueſs! ſixteen guineas a year—there's for you P.—about the latter end of next month my wife will have occaſion for a hundred guineas—and pray be ſo good, my dear ſir, as to give or⯑ders that ſhe may not be diſappointed—ſhe is going to ſpend the Carnival at Marſeilles at Chriſtmas—I ſhall be in London by Chriſtmas week, and then ſhall balance this remittance to Mrs. S. with Mr. S— I am going to ly in of another child of the Shan⯑daick [177] procreation, in town—I hope you wiſh me a ſafe delivery—I fear my friend Mr. F. will have left town before I get there—Adieu dear Sir—I wiſh you every thing in this world which will do you good, for I am with unfeigned truth,

Make my compliments acceptable to the good and worthy Baron D'Hol⯑bach—Miſs P. &c. &c.

LETTER LXXV. To Mr. P. at Paris.

I Paid yeſterday (by Mr. Becket) a hundred guineas, or pounds I forget which, to Mr. Selwin—But you muſt remit to Mrs. S. at Marſeilles a hun⯑dred louis before ſhe leaves that place, which will be in leſs than three weeks. Have you got the ninth volume of Shandy?—'tis liked the beſt of all here.—I am going to publiſh a Senti⯑mental [179] Journey through France and Italy—the undertaking is protected and highly encouraged by all our no⯑bleſſe—'tis ſubſcribed for, at a great rate—'twill be an original—in large quarto—the ſubſcription half a gui⯑nea—If you can procure me the ho⯑nour of a few names of men of ſcience, or faſhion, I ſhall thank you—they will appear in good company, as all the nobility here almoſt have honour⯑ed me with their names.—My kindeſt remembrance to Mr. F.—reſpects to Baron D'Holbach, and believe me ever ever yours,

LETTER LXXVI. To Miſs S.

AND ſo, my Lydia! thy mother and thyſelf are returning back again from Marſeilles to the banks of the Sorgue—and there thou wilt ſit and fiſh for trouts—I envy you the ſweet ſituation.—Petrarch's tomb I ſhould like to pay a ſentimental viſit to—the Fountain of Vaucluſe, by thy deſcription, muſt be delightful—I [181] am alſo much pleaſed with the account you give me of the Abbé de Sade—you find great comfort in ſuch a neighbour—I am glad he is ſo good as to correct thy tranſlation of my Sermons—dear girl go on, and make me a preſent of thy work—but why not the Houſe of Mourning? 'tis one of the beſt. I long to receive the life of Petrarch, and his Laura, by your Abbé, but I am out of all patience with the anſwer the Marquis made the Abbé—'twas truly coarſe, and I won⯑der he bore it with any chriſtian pa⯑tience—But to the ſubject of your letter—I do not wiſh to know who was the buſy fool, who made your mother uneaſy about Mrs. — [182] 'tis true I have a friendſhip for her, but not to infatuation—I believe I have judgment enough to diſcern hers, and every woman's faults. I honour thy mother for her anſwer—‘"that ſhe wiſhed not to be informed, and begged him to drop the ſubject."’—Why do you ſay that your mother wants money?—whilſt I have a ſhil⯑ling, ſhall you not both have nine⯑pence out of it?—I think, if I have my enjoyments, I ought not to grudge you yours.—I ſhall not begin my Sentimental Journey till I get to Coxwould—I have laid a plan for ſomething new, quite out of the beat⯑en track.—I wiſh I had you with me—and I would introduce you to one [183] of the moſt amiable and gentleſt of beings, whom I have juſt been with—not Mrs. —, but a Mrs. J. the wife of as worthy a man as I ever met with—I eſteem them both. He poſſeſſes every manly virtue—honour and bravery are his characteriſticks, which have diſtinguiſhed him nobly in ſeveral inſtances—I ſhall make you better acquainted with his character, by ſending Orme's Hiſtory, with the books you deſired—and it is well worth your reading; for Orme is an elegant writer, and a juſt one; he pays no man a compliment at the expence of truth.—Mrs. J— is kind—and friendly—of a ſentimen⯑tal turn of mind—and ſo ſweet a diſ⯑poſition, [184] that ſhe is too good for the world ſhe lives in—Juſt God! if all were like her, what a life would this be!—Heaven, my Lydia, for ſome wiſe purpoſe has created dif⯑ferent beings—I wiſh my dear child knew her—thou art worthy of her friendſhip, and ſhe already loves thee; for I ſometimes tell her what I feel for thee.—This is a long letter—write ſoon, and never let your letters be ſtudied ones—write naturally, and then you will write well.—I hope your mother has got quite well of her ague—I have ſent her ſome of Huxham's tincture of the Bark. I will order you a guittar ſince the other is broke. [185] Believe me, my Lydia, that I am yours affectionately,

LETTER LXXVII. To Mr. P. at Paris.

MY Daughter begs a preſent of me, and you muſt know I can deny her nothing—It muſt be ſtrung with cat-gut, and of five chords—ſi chiama in Italiano la chitera di cinque corde—ſhe cannot get ſuch a thing at Mar⯑ſeilles—at Paris one may have every thing—Will you be ſo good to my girl as to make her happy in this af⯑fair, by getting ſome muſical body to [187] buy one, and ſend it her to Avignon directed to Monſieur Teſte?—I wrote laſt week to deſire you would remit Mrs. S. a hundred louis—'twill be all, except the guittar, I ſhall owe you—ſend me your account, and I will pay Mr. Selwin—direct to me at Mr. Becket's—all kind reſpects to my friend Mr. F. and your ſiſter.

LETTER *LXXVII. To D. G. Eſq.

'TWAS for all the world like a cut acroſs my finger with a ſharp pen⯑knife.—I ſaw the blood—gave it a ſuck—wrapt it up—and thought no more about it.

But there is more goes to the heal⯑ing of a wound than this comes to:—a wound (unleſs 'tis a wound not worth talking of, but by the bye mine is) muſt give you ſome pain after.—Nature will take her own way with it—it muſt ferment—it muſt digeſt.

[189]The ſtory you told me of Triſtram's pretended tutor, this morning—My letter by right ſhould have ſet out with this ſentence, and then the ſimile would not have kept you a moment in ſuſpence.

This vile ſtory, I ſay—tho' I then ſaw both how, and where it wounded—I felt little from it at firſt—or, to ſpeak more honeſtly (tho' it ruins my ſimile) I felt a great deal of pain from it, but affected an air uſual on ſuch accidents, of leſs feeling than I had.

I have now got home to my lodgings ſince the play (you aſtoniſhed me in it) and have been unwrapping this ſelf⯑ſame wound of mine, and ſhaking my head over it this half hour.

[190]What the devil!—is there no one learned blockhead throughout the many ſchools of miſapplied ſcience in the Chriſtian World, to make a tutor of for my Triſtram?—Ex quovis ligno non fit.—Are we ſo run out of ſtock, that there is no one lumber-headed, muddle-headed, mortar-headed, pud⯑ding-headed chap amongſt our doc⯑tors?—Is there no one ſingle wight of much reading and no learning a⯑mongſt the many children in my mo⯑ther's nurſery, who bid high for this charge—but I muſt diſable my judg⯑ment by chooſing a W—n? Venge⯑ance! have I ſo little concern for the honour of my hero!—Am I a wretch ſo void of ſenſe, ſo bereft of feeling for the figure he is to make in ſtory, [191] that I ſhould chuſe a praeceptor to rob him of all the immortality I intended him? O! dear Mr. G.

Malice is ingenious—unleſs where the exceſs of it outwits itſelf—I have two comforts in this ſtroke of it;—the firſt is, that this one is partly of this kind; and ſecondly, that it is one of the number of thoſe which ſo unfairly brought poor Yorick to his grave.—The report might draw blood of the author of Triſtram Shandy—but could not harm ſuch a man as the author of the Divine Legation—God bleſs him! though (by the bye, and ac⯑cording to the natural courſe of de⯑ſcents) the bleſſing ſhould come from him to me.

[192]Pray have you no intereſt, lateral or collateral, to get me introduced to his Lordſhip?

Why do you aſk?

My dear Sir, I have no claim to ſuch an honour, but what ariſes from the honour and reſpect which in the pro⯑greſs of my work will be ſhewn the world I owe to ſo great a man.

Whilſt I am talking of owing—I wiſh, my dear Sir, that any body would tell you, how much I am indebted to you.—I am determined never to do it myſelf, or ſay more upon the ſubject than this, that I am yours,