THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA (continued 2)

How cruelly are our Lots drawn, my dear—both made for happiness—& neither of us made to taste it! In feeling so acutely for my own disapp^tment I drop blood for thine, I call thee in to my Aid—& thou wantest mine as much—Were we together we sh^d. recover—but never, never till then nor by any other Recipe.—

139July 12.

Am ill all day with the Impressions of Yesterday’s account.—can neither eat or drink or sit still & write or read—I walk like a disturbed Spirit ab^t. my Garden—calling upon heaven & thee,—to come to my Succour—could’st Thou but write one word to me, it would be worth half the world to me—my friends write me millions—& every one invites me to flee from my Solitude & come to them—I obey the commands of my friend Hall who has sent over on purpose to fetch me—or he will come himself for me—so I set off to morrow morning to take Sanctuary in Crasy Castle—The news papers have sent me there already by putting in the following paragraph

“We hear from Yorkshire, That Skelton Castle is the present Rendevouz, of the most brilliant Wits of the Age—the admired Author of Tristram—M^r. Garrick &c beening [sic] there; & M^r. Coleman & many other men of Wit & Learning being every day expected”—when I get there, w^ch. will be to morrow night, my Eliza will hear 140from her Yorick—her Yorick—who loves her more than ever.

July 13. Skelton Castle. Your picture has gone round the Table after supper—& y^r. health after it, my invaluable friend!—even the Ladies, who hate grace in another, seemed struck with it in You—but Alas! you are as a dead Person—& Justice (as in all such Cases) is paid you in course—when thou returnest it will be rendered more sparingly—but I’ll make up all deficiences—by honouring You more than ever Woman was honourd by man—every good Quality That ever good heart possess’d—thou possessest my dear Girl; & so sovereignly does thy temper & sweet sociability, which harmonize all thy other properties make me thine, that whilst thou art true to thyself and thy Bramin—he thinks thee worth a world—& w^d. give a World was he master of it, for the undisturbed possession of thee—Time and Chance are busy throwing this Die for me—a fortunate Cast, or two, at the most, makes our fortune—it gives us each other—& then for the World, I will not give a pinch of Snuff.—Do take 141care of thyself—keep this prospect before thy eyes—have a view to it in all y^r. Transactions, Eliza,—In a word Remember You are mine—and stand answerable for all you say & do to me—I govern myself by the same Rule—& such a History of myself can I lay before you as shall create no blushes, but those of pleasure—’tis midnight—& so sweet Sleep to thee the remaining hours of it. I am more thine, my dear Eliza! than ever—but that cannot be—

July 14.

dining & feasting all day at M^r. Turner’s—his Lady a fine Woman herself, in love w^th. your picture—O my dear Lady, cried I, did you but know the Original—but what is she to you, Tristram—nothing; but that I am in Love with her—et cætera——said She—no I have given over dashes—replied I——I verily think my Eliza I shall get this Picture set, so as to wear it, as I first purposed—ab^t. my neck—I do not like the place ’tis in—it shall be nearer my heart—Thou art ever in its centre—good night—

142July 15—From home. (Skelton Castle) from 8 in the morning till late at Supper—I seldom have put thee off, my dear Girl—& yet to morrow will be as bad—

July 16.

for M^r. Hall has this Day left his Crasy Castle to come and sojourn with me at Shandy Hall for a few days—for so they have long christend our retired Cottage—we are just arrived at it & whilst he is admiring the premisses—I have stole away to converse a few minutes with thee, and in thy own dressing room—for I make every thing thine & call it so, before hand, that thou art to be mistress of hereafter. This Hereafter, Eliza, is but a melancholly term—but the Certainty of its coming to us, brightens it up—pray do not forget my prophecy in the Dedication of the Almanack—I have the utmost faith in it myself—but by what impulse my mind was struck with 3 Years—heaven whom I believe it’s author, best knows—but I shall see y^r. face before—but that I leave to You—& to the Influence such a Being must have over all inferior ones—We are 143going to dine with the Arch Bishop^[33] to morrow—& from thence to Harrogate for three days, whilst thou dear Soul art pent up in sultry Nastiness—without Variety or change of face or Conversation—Thou shalt have enough of both when I cater for thy happiness Eliza—& if an Affectionate husband & 400 p^ds. a year in a sweeter Vally than that of Jehosophat will do—less thou shalt never have—but I hope more—& were it millions ’tis the same—twould be laid at thy feet—Hall is come in in raptures with every thing—& so I shut up my Journal for to day & to morrow for I shall not be able to open it where I go—adieu my dear Girl—

18—was yesterday all the day with our A. Bishop—this good Prelate who is one of our most refined Wits & the most of a gentleman of our order—oppresses me with his kindness—he shews in his treatment of me, what he told me upon taking my Leave—that he loves me, & has a high Value for me—his Chaplains tell me, he is 144perpetually talking of me—& has such an opinion of my head & heart that he begs to stand Godfather for my next Literary production—so has done me the hon^r. of putting his name in a List which I am most proud of because my Eliza’s name is in it. I have just a moment to scrawl this to thee, being at York—where I want to be employed in taking you a little house, where the prophet may be accommodated with a “Chamber in the Wall apart with a stool & a Candlestick”—where his Soul can be at rest from the distractions of the world, & lean only upon his kind hostesse. & repose all his Cares, & melt them along with hers on her sympathetic bosom.

July 19. Harrogate Spaws.—drinking the waters here till the 26^th.—to no effect, but a cold dislike of every one of your sex—I did nothing, but make comparisons betwixt thee my Eliza, & every woman I saw and talk’d to—thou hast made me so unfit for every one else—than^[34] I am thine as much from necessity, as Love—I am thine by a 145thousand sweet ties, the least of which shall never be relax’d—be assured my dear Bramine of this—& repay me in so doing, the Confidence I repose in thee—y^r. absence, y^r. distresses, your sufferings; your conflicts, all make me rely but the more upon that fund in you, w^ch. is able to sustain so much weight—Providence I know will relieve you from one part of it—and it shall be the pleasure of my days to ease, my dear friend of the other—I Love thee Eliza, more than the heart of Man ever loved Woman’s—I even love thee more than I did, the day thou badest me Farewell—Farewell!—Farewell! to thee again—I’m going from hence to York Races.—

July 27. arrived at York.—where I had not been 2 hours before My heart was overset with a pleasure, w^ch. beggard every other, that fate could give me—save thyself—It was thy dear Packets from Iago—I cannot give vent to all the emotions I felt even before I opend them—for I knew thy hand—& my seal—w^ch. was only in thy possession—O ’tis from my Eliza, said I.—I instantly shut the door of my Bed-chamber, 146& orderd myself to be denied—& spent the whole evening, and till dinner the next day, in reading over and over again the most interesting Acc^t.—& the most endearing one that ever tried the tenderness of man—I read & wept—and wept and read till I was blind—then grew sick, & went to bed—& in an hour call’d again for the Candle—to read it once more—as for my dear Girls pains & her dangers I cannot write ab^t. them—because I cannot write my feelings or express them any how to my mind—O Eliza! but I will talk them over with thee with a sympathy that shall woo thee, so much better than I have ever done—That we will both be gainers in the end—I’ll love thee for the dangers thou hast past—and thy Affection shall go hand in hand w^th. me, because I’ll pity thee—as no man ever pitied Woman—but Love like mine is never satisfied—else y^r. 2^d. Letter from Iago—is a Letter so warm, so simple, so tender! I defy the world to produce such another—by all that’s kind & gracious! I will entreat thee Eliza so kindly—that thou shalt say, I merit much of it—nay all—for my merit to thee, is my truth.

147I now want to have this week of nonsensical Festivity over—that I may get back, with my picture w^ch. I ever carry ab^t. me—to my retreat and to Cordelia—when the days of our Afflictions are over, I oft amuse my fancy, w^th. an Idea, that thou wilt come down to me by Stealth, & hearing where I have walk’d out to—surprize me some sweet Shiney night at Cordelia’s grave, & catch me in thy Arms over it—O my Bramin! my Bramin!——

July 31—am tired to death with the hurrying pleasures of these Races—I want still & silent ones—so return home to morrow, in search of them—I shall find them as I sit contemplating over thy passive picture; sweet Shadow! of what is to come! for ’tis all I can now grasp—first and best of woman kind! remember me, as I remember thee—’tis asking a great deal my Bramine!—but I cannot be satisfied with less—farewell—fare—happy till fate will let me cherish thee myself.—O my Eliza! thou writest to me with an Angels pen—& thou wouldst win me by thy Letters, had I never seen thy face or known thy heart.

148Aug^st. 1. what a sad Story thou hast told me of thy Sufferings & Despondences from S^t. Iago, till thy meeting w^th. the Dutch Ship—’twas a sympathy above Tears—I trembled every Nerve as I went from line to line—& every moment the Acc^t. comes across me—I suffer all I felt, over & over again—will providence suffer all this anguish without end—& without pity?—“it no can be”—I am tried my dear Bramine in the furnace of Affliction as much as thou—by the time we meet, We shall be fit only for each other—& should cast away upon any other Harbour.

Aug^st. 2. my wife uses me most unmercifully—every Soul advises me to fly from her—but where can I fly If I fly not to thee? The Bishop of Cork & Ross^[35] has made me great offers in Ireland—but I will take no step without thee—& till heaven opens us some track—He is the best of feeling tender hearted men—knows our Story—sends You his Blessing—and says if the Ship you return in touches at 149Cork (w^ch. many India men do)—he will take you to his palace, till he can send for me to join You—he only hopes, he says, to join us together for ever—but more of this good man, and his attachment to me—hereafter and of and [sic] couple of Ladies in the family &c.—&c.

Aug^t. 3. I have had an offer of exchanging two pieces of preferment I hold here (but sweet Cordelia’s Parish is not one of ’em) for a living of 350 p^ds. a year in Surry^[36] ab^t. 30 miles from London—& retaining Coxwould & my Prebendaryship—w^ch. are half as much more—the Country also is sweet—but I will not—I cannot take any step unless I had thee my Eliza for whose sake I live, to consult with—& till the road is open for me as my heart wishes to advance—with thy sweet light Burden in my Arms, I could get up fast the hill of preferment, if I chose it—but without thee I feel Lifeless—and if a Mitre was offer’d me, I would not have it, till I could have thee too, to make it sit easy upon my brow—I 150want kindly to smooth thine, & not only wipe away thy tears but dry up the Source of them for ever—

Aug^st. 4. Hurried backwards & forwards ab^t. the arrival of Madame, this whole week—& then farewel I fear to this journal—till I get up to London—& can pursue it as I wish—at present all I can write would be but the History of my miserable feelings—She will be ever present—& if I take up my pen for thee—something will jarr within me as I do it—that I must lay it down again—I will give you one gen^l. Acc^t. of all my sufferings together—but not in Journals—I shall set my wounds a-bleeding every day afresh by it—& the Story cannot be too short—so worthiest best, kindest & affec^te. of Souls farewell—every Moment will I have thee present—& sooth my sufferings with the looks my fancy shall cloath thee in—Thou shalt lye down & rise up with me—ab^t. my bed & ab^t. my paths, & shalt see out all my Ways.—adieu—adieu—& remember one eternal truth, My dear Bramine, w^ch. is not the worse, because I have told it thee a thousand times before—That 151 I am thine—& thine only, & for ever.

L. Sterne.

[Postscript.]

Nov: 1^st. All my dearest Eliza has turned out more favourable than my hopes—M^rs. S.—& my dear Girl have been 2 Months with me and they have this day left me to go to spend the Winter at York, after having settled every thing to their hearts content—M^rs. Sterne retires into france, whence she purposes not to stir, till her death.—& never, has she vow’d, will give me another sorrowful or discontented hour—I have conquerd her, as I w^d. every one else, by humanity & Generosity—& she leaves me, more than half in Love w^th. me—She goes into the South of france, her health being insupportable in England—& her age, as she now confesses ten Years more, than I thought being on the edge of sixty—so God bless—& make the remainder of her Life happy—in order to w^ch. I am to remit her three hundred guineas a year—& give my dear Girl two thousand p^ds.—w^th. w^ch. all 152Joy, I agree to,—but ’tis to be sunk into an annuity in the french Loans—

—And now Eliza! Let me talk to thee—But What can I say, What can I write—But the Yearnings of heart wasted with looking & wishing for thy Return—Return—Return! my dear Eliza! May heaven smooth the Way for thee to send thee safely to us, & joy for Ever.

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