LETTER LXXX. To Eliza.t ELIZA will receive my books with this. The sermons came all hot from the heart. I wish that I could give them any title to be offered to yours. The others came from the head: I am more indifferent about their reception. I know not how it comes about, but I am half in love with you; I ought to be wholly so; for I never valued (or saw more good qualities to value) or thought more of one of your sex than of you; so adieu. Yours faithfully, If not affectionately, L. STERNE. *This and the nine following Letters have no dates to them, but were evidently written in the months of March and April, 1767. They are therefore here placed together. The Editor of the first publication of Mr. Sterne's Letters to Eliza, gives the following account of this Lady:"Mrs. Elizabeth Draper, wife of Daniel Draper, Esq., Counsellor at Bombay, and at present (i. e. in 1775) chief of the factory at Surat, a gentleman very much respected in that quarter of the globe. She is by birth an East Indian; but the circumstance of being born in the country, not proving sufficient to defend her delicate frame against the heats of that burning climate, she came to England for the recovery of her health, when, by accident, she became acquainted with Mr. Sterne. He immediately discovered in her a mind so congenial with his own, so enlightened, so refined, and so tender, that their mutual attraction presently joined them in the closest union that purity could possibly admit of: he loved her as his friend, and prided in her as his pupil: all her concerns became presently his; her health, her circumstances, her reputation, her children, were his; his fortune, his time, his country, were at her disposal, so far as the sacrifice of all or any one of these might, in his opinion, contribute to her real happiness. If it is asked, whether the glowing heat of Mr. Sterne's affection never transported him to a flight beyond the limits of pure Platonism? the publisher will not take upon him absolutely to deny it: but this, he thinks, so far from leaving any stain upon that gentleman's memory, that it, perhaps, includes his fairest encomium; since to cherish the seeds of piety and chastity in a heart which the passions are interested to corrupt, must be allowed to be the noblest effort of a soul fraught and fortified with the justest sentiments of religion and virtue." After reading these letters, the curiosity of the public will be naturally excited to inquire concerning the fate of the lady to whom they are addressed. To this question, it will be sufficient to answer, that she has been dead some years, and that it might give pain to many worthy persons, if the circumstances which attended the latter part of her life were disclosed, as they are generally said to have reflected no credit either on her prudence or discretion. LETTER LXXXI. To the Same. I CANNOT rest, Eliza, though I shall call on you at half past twelve, till I know how you do. May thy dear face smile, as thou risest like the sun of this morning. I was much grieved to hear of your alarming indisposition yesterday; and disappointed too, at not being let in. Remember, my dear, that a friend has the same right as a physician. The etiquettes of this town (you'll say) say otherwise. No matter. Delicacy and propriety do not always consist in observing their rigid doctrines. I am going out to breakfast, but shall be at my lodgings by eleven; when I hope to read a single line under thy own hand, that thou art better, and wilt be glad to see thy Bramin. 9 o'clock. LETTER LXXXII. To the Same. I GOT thy letter last night, Eliza, on my return from Lord Bathurst's, where I dined, and where I was heard (as I talked of thee an hour without intermission) with so much pleasure and attention, that the good old lord toasted your health three different times; and now he is in his eighty-fifth year, says he hopes to live long enough to be introduced as a friend, to my fair Indian disciple, and to see her eclipse all other Nabobesses as much in wealth as she does already in exterior and (what is far better) in interior merit. I hope so too. This nobleman is an old friend of mine. You know he was always the protector of men of wit and genius; and has had those of the last century, Addison, Steele, Pope, Swift, Prior, &c., &c., always at his table. The manner in which his notice began of me, was as singular as it was polite. He came up to me, one day, as I was at the Princess of Wales's court. "I want to know you, Mr. Sterne; but it is fit you should know also, who it is that wishes this pleasure. You have heard, continued he, of an old Lord Bathurst, of whom your Popes and Swifts have sung and spoken so much. I have lived my life with geniuses of that cast; but have survived them; and despairing ever to find their equals, it is some years since I have closed my accounts, and shut up my books, with thoughts of never opening them again; but you have kindled a desire in me of opening them once more before I die; which I now do; so go home and dine with me." This nobleman, I say, is a prodigy; for at eighty-five he has all the wit and promptness of a man of thirty, a disposition to be pleased, and a power to please others beyond whatever I knew: added to which, a man of learning, courtesy, and feeling. He heard me talk of thee, Eliza, with uncommon satisfaction; for there was only a third person, and of sensibility, with us: and a most sentimental afternoon, till nine o'clock, have we passed. But thou, Eliza, wert the star that conducted and enliven'd the discourse: and when I talked not of thee, still didst thou fill my mind, and warmed every thought I uttered; for I am not ashamed to acknowledge, I greatly miss thee. Best of all girls! the sufferings I have sustained the whole night on account of thine, Eliza, are beyond my power of words. Assuredly does Heaven give strength `proportioned to the weight he lays upon us! Thou hast been bowed down, my child, with every burden that sorrow of heart and pain of body could inflict upon a poor being; and still thou tellest me, thou art beginning to get ease; thy fever gone, thy sickness, the pain in thy side vanishing also. May every evil so vanish that thwarts Eliza's happiness, or but awakens thy fears for a moment! Fear nothing, my dear! hope every thing; and the balm of this passion will shed its influence on thy health, and make thee enjoy a spring of youth and cheerfulness more than thou hast hardly yet tasted! And so thou hast fixed thy Bramin's portrait over thy writingdesk; and wilt consult it in all doubts and difficulties. Grateful and good girl! Yorick smiles contentedly over all thou dost: his picture does not do justice to his own complacency! Thy sweet little plan and distribution of thy time, how worthy of thee! Indeed, Eliza, thou leavest me nothing to direct thee in! thou leavest me nothing to require, nothing to ask, but a continuation of that conduct which won my esteem, and has made me thy friend for ever! May the roses come quick back to thy cheeks, and the rubies to thy lips! But trust my declaration, Eliza, that thy husband (if he is the good feeling man I wish him) will press thee to him with more honest warmth and affection, and kiss thy pale, poor dejected face with more transport than he would be able to do in the best bloom of all thy beauty! and so he ought, or I pity him. He must have strange feelings if he knows not the value of such a creature as thou art! I am glad Miss Light* t* goes with you. She may relieve you from many anxious moments. I am glad your shipmates are friendly beings. You could least dispense with what is contrary to your own nature, which is soft and gentle, Eliza. It would civilize savages! though pity were it thou should'st be tainted with the office! How canst thou make apologies for thy last letter? 'tis most delicious to me, for the very reason you excuse it. Write to me, my child, only such. Let them speak the easy carelessness of a heart that opens itself any how, and every how, to a man you ought to esteem and trust. Such, Eliza, I write to thee; and so I should ever live with thee, most artlessly, most affectionately, if Providence permitted thy residence in the same section of the globe: for I am, all that honor and affection can make me, THY BRAMIN. LETTER LXXXIII. To the Same. I WRITE this, Eliza, at Mr. James's whilst he is dressing, and the dear girl, his wife, is writing beside me, to thee. I got your melancholy billet before we sat down to dinner. 'Tis melancholy indeed, my dear, to hear so piteous an account of thy sickness? Thou art encountered with evils enow, without that additional weight! I fear it will sink thy poor soul, and body with it, past recovery: Heaven supply thee with fortitude! We have talked of nothing but thee, * Miss Light afterwards married George Stratton, Esq., late in the service of the East India Company at Madras. She is since dead. Eliza, and of thy sweet virtues and endearing conduct, all the afternoon. Mrs. James and thy Bramin have mixed their tears a hun dred times, in speaking of thy hardships, thy goodness, and thy graces. The ****s, by heavens, are worthless! I have heard enough to tremble at the articulation of the name; How could you, Eliza, leave them (or suffer them to leave you rather) with impressions the least favorable? I have told thee enough to plant disgust against their treachery to thee, to the last hour of thy life! Yet still, thou toldest Mrs. James at last, that thou believest they affectionately loved thee. Her delicacy to my Eliza, and true regard to her ease of mind, have saved thee from hearing more glaring proofs of their baseness. For God's sake, write not to them; nor foul thy fair character with such polluted hearts. They love thee! what proof? Is it their actions that say so? or their zeal for those attachments, which do thee honor, and make thee happy? or their tenderness for thy fame? No; but they weep, and say tender things. Adieu to all such for ever. Mrs. James's honest heart revolts against the idea of ever returning them one visit. I honor her, and I honor thee, for almost every act of thy life, but this blind partiality for an unworthy being. Forgive my zeal, dear girl, and allow me a right which arises only out of that fund of affection I have, and shall preserve for thee to the hour of my death! Reflect, Eliza, what are my motives for perpetually advising thee? think whether I can have any, but what proceed from the cause I have mentioned! I think you are a very deserving woman; and that you want nothing but firmness and a better opinion of yourself, to be the best female character I know. I wish I could inspire you with a share of that vanity your enemies lay to your charge (though to me it has never been visible) because I think, in a well-turned mind it will produce good effects. I probably shall never see you more: yet I flatter myself, you'll sometimes think of me with pleasure! because you must be convinced I love you, and so interest myself in your rectitude, that I had rather hear of any evil befalling you, than your want of reverence for yourself. I had not power to keep this remonstrance in my breast. It's now out; so adieu. Heaven watch over my Eliza ! Thine, YORICK. |
