LETTER LXXXIV.

To the Same.

To whom should Eliza apply in her distress, but to her friend who loves her? why then, my dear, do you apologize for employing me? Yorick would be offended, and with reason, if you ever sent commissions to another which he could execute. I have been with Zumps; and your piano-forte must be tuned from the brass middle string of your guitar, which is C. I have got you a hammer too, and pair of pliers to twist your wire with; and may every one of them, my dear, vibrate sweet comfort to my hopes! I have bought you ten handsome brass screws, to hang your necessaries upon: I purchased twelve; but stole a couple from you to put up in my own cabin, at Coxwould I shall never hang, nor take my hat off one of them, but I shall thing of you. I have bought thee, moreover, a couple of iron screws, which are more to be depended on than brass, for the globes.

I have written also to Mr. Abraham Walker, pilot at Deal, that I had dispatched these in a packet directed to his care; which I desired he would seek after the moment the Deal machine arrived. I have, moreover, given him directions what sort of an arm-chair you would want, and have directed him to purchase the best that Deal could afford; and take it, with the parcel, in the first boat that went off. Would I could, Eliza, so supply all thy wants, and all thy wishes! it would be a state of happiness to me. The journal is as it should be, all but its contents. Poor, dear, patient being! I do more than pity you; for I think I lose both firmness and philosophy—as I figure to myself your distresses. Do not think I spoke last night with too much asperity of **** ; there was cause; and besides, a good heart ought not to love a bad one; and, indeed, cannot. But, adieu to the ungrateful subject.

she loves thee tenshe says thou lookShe pities thee. I

I have been this morning to see Mrs. James: derly and unfeignedly. She is alarmed for thee: ed'st most ill and melancholy on going away. shall visit her every Sunday while I am in town. As this may be my last letter, I earnestly bid thee farewell. May the God of kind.

ness be kind to thee, and approve himself thy protector, now thou art defenceless; And, for thy daily comfort, bear in thy mind this truth, That whatever measure of sorrow and distress is thy portion, it will be repaid to thee in a full measure of happiness, by the Being thou hast wisely chosen for thy eternal friend.

Farewell, farewell, Eliza! Whilst I live, count upon me as the most warm and disinterested of earthly friends.

YORICK.

MY DEAREST ELIZA:

LETTER LXXXV.

To the Same.

I BEGAN a new journal this morning; you shall see it; for if I live not till your return to England, I will leave it you as a legacy. 'Tis a sorrowful page; but I will write cheerful ones; and could I write letters to thee, they should be cheerful ones too: but few, I fear, will reach thee! However, depend upon receiving something of the kind by every post; till then, thou wavest thy hand, and bid'st me write no more.

Tell me how you are; and what sort of fortitude Heaven inspires you with. How are you accommodated, my dear? is all right? Scribble away, any thing and every thing to me. Depend upon seeing me at Deal, with the Jameses, should you be detained there by contrary winds. Indeed, Eliza, I should with pleasure fly to you, could I be the means of rendering you any service, or doing you kindness. Gracious and merciful God! consider the anguish of a poor girl! Strengthen and preserve her in all the shocks her frame must be exposed to! She is now without a protector, but thee! Save her from all accidents of a dangerous element, and give her comfort at the last!

My prayer, Eliza, I hope, is heard! for the sky seems to smile upon me, as I look up to it. I am just returned from our dear Mrs. James's, where I have been talking of thee for three hours. She has got your picture, and likes it: but Marriot, and some other judges, agree that mine is the better, and expressive of a sweeter character.

But what is that to the original? yet I acknowledge that hers is a picture for the world, and mine is calculated only to please a very sincere friend, or sentimental philosopher. In the one, you are dressed in smiles, and with all the advantages of silks, pearls and ermine; in the other, simple as a vestal, appearing the good girl Nature made you; which, to me, conveys an idea of more unaffected sweetness than Mrs. Draper, habited for conquest in a birth-day suit, with her countenance animated, and her dimples visible. If I remember right, Eliza, you endeavored to collect every charm of your person into your face, with more than common care, the day you sat for Mrs. James. Your color, too, brightened; and your eyes shone with more than usual brilliancy. I then requested you to come simple and unadorned when you sat for me; knowing (as I see with unprejudiced eyes) that you could received no addition from the silkworm's aid, or jeweller's polish. Let me now tell you a truth, which, I believe, I have uttered before. When I first saw you, I beheld you as an object of compassion, and as a very plain woman. The mode of your dress (though fashionable) disfigured you. but nothing now could render you such, but the being solicitous to make yourself admired as a handsome one. You are not handsome, Eliza, nor is yours a face that will please the tenth part of your beholders, but are something more; for I scruple not to tell you, I never saw so intelligent, so animated, so good a countenance; nor ever was there, nor ever will be, that man of sense, tenderness, and feeling, in your company three hours, that was not, or will not be, your admirer or friend, in consequence of it; that is, if you assume, no character foreign to your own, but appeared the artless being Nature designed you for. A something in your eyes and voice, you possess in a degree more persuasive than any woman I ever saw, read, or heard of. But it is that bewitching sort of nameless excellence, that men of nice sensibility alone can be touched with.

Were your husband in England, I would freely give him five hundred pounds, if money could purchase the acquisition, to let you sit by me two hours in the day, while I wrote my Sentimental Journey. I am sure the work would sell so much the better for it, that I should be reimbursed the sum more than seven times told. I would not give nine-pence for the picture of you the Newnhams have got executed: it is the resemblance of a conceited, made-up coquette. Your

eyes, and the shape of your face (the latter the most perfect oval I ever saw) which are perfections that must strike the most indifferent judge, because they are equal to any of God's works in a similar way, and finer than any I beheld in all my travels, are manifestly injured by the affected leer of the one, and strange appearance of the other; owing to the attitude of the head, which is a proof of the artist's or your friend's false taste. The ****s, who verify the character I once gave of teasing, or sticking like pitch or birdlime, sent a card that they would wait on Mrs. **** on Friday. She sent back she was engaged. Then to meet at Ranelagh to-night. She answered, she did not go. She says, if she allows the least footing, she never shall get rid of the acquaintance; which she is resolved to drop at once. She knows them: she knows they are not her friends, nor yours: and the first use they would make of being with her, would be to sacrifice you to her, if they could, a second time. Let her not then; let her not, my dear, be a greater friend to thee than thou art to thyself. She begs I will reiterate my request to you, that you will not write to them. It will give her, and thy Bramin, inexpressible pain. Be assured, all this is not without reason on her side. I have my reasons too; the first of which is that I should grieve to excess, if Eliza wanted that fortitude her Yorick has built so high upon. I said I never more would mention the name to thee; and had I not received it as a kind of charge from a dear woman that loves you, I should not have broke my word. I will write again to-morrow to thee, thou best and most endearing of girls! A peaceful night to thee. My spirit will be with thee through every watch of it. Adieu.

LETTER LXXXVI.

To the Same.

I THINK you could act no otherwise than you did with the young soldier. There was no shutting the door against him either in politeness or humanity. Thou tellest me he seems susceptible of tender impressions; and that before Miss Light has sailed a fortnight,

he will be in love with her.

Now I think it a thousand times more

like that he attaches himself to thee, Eliza; because thou art a thousand times more amiable. Five months with Eliza, and in the same room, and an amorous son of Mars besides! "It can no be, Masser." The sun, if he could avoid it, would not shine upon a dunghill: but his rays are so pure, Eliza, and celestial, I never heard that they were polluted by it. Just such will thine be, dearest child, in this, and every such situation you will be exposed to, till thou art fixed for life. But thy discretion, thy wisdom, thy honor, the spirit of thy Yorick, and thy own spirit which is equal to it, will be thy ablest counsellors.

Surely, by this time, something is doing for thy accommodation. But why may not clean washing and rubbing do instead of painting your cabin, as it is to be hung? Paint is so pernicious, both to your nerves and lungs, and will keep you so much longer, too, out of your apartment; where, I hope, you will pass some of your happiest hours.

I fear the best of your shipmates are only genteel by comparison with the contrasted crew, which thou must behold them. So was -you know who!-from the same fallacy that was put upon the judgment, when-but I will not mortify you. If they are decent and distant, it is enough: and as much as is to be expected. If any of them are more, I rejoice; thou wilt want every aid: and 'tis thy due to have them. Be cautious only, my dear, of intimacies. Good hearts are open, and fall naturally into them. Heaven inspire thine with fortitude in this, and every deadly trial. Best of God's works, farewell! Love me, I beseech the; and remember me for ever!

I am, my Eliza, and will ever be, in the most comprehensive sense,

Thy friend,

YORICK.

P. S. Probably you will have an opportunity of writing to me by some Dutch or French ship, or from the Cape de Verd Islands. It will reach me somehow.