June 18.
How do you like the History, of this couple, Eliza?—is it to your mind?—or shall it be written better some sentimental Evening after your return—’tis a rough sketch—but I could make it a pretty picture, as the outlines are just—we’ll put our heads together & try what we can do. This last Sheet has put it out of my power, ever to send you this Journal to India—I had been more guarded—but that You have often told me, ’twas in vain to think of writing by Ships wch. sail in March,—as you hoped to be upon yr. return again by their arrival at Bombay—If I can write a Letter I will—but this Journal must be put into Eliza’s hands by Yorick only—God grant you to read it soon.—
June 19.
I never was so well and alert, as I find myself this day—tho’ with a face as pale & clear as a Lady after her Lying in. Yet you never saw me so Young by 5 Years—& If you do not leave Bombay soon—You’ll find me as young as Yrself—at this rate of going on——Summon’d from home—adieu.
June 20.
I think my dear Bramine—That nature is turn’d upside down—for Wives go to visit Husbands, at greater perils & take longer journies to pay them this Civility now a days out of ill Will—than good—Mine is flying post a Journey of a thousand Miles—with as many miles to go back—merely to see how I do, & whether I am fat or lean—& how far are you going to see yr. Helpmate—and at such hazards to Yr. Life, as few Wives’ best affections wd. be able to surmount—But Duty & Submission Eliza govern thee—by what impulses my Rib is bent towards me—I have told you—& yet I wd. to God, Draper but recd. & treated you with half the courtesy & good nature—I wish you was with him—for the samereason I wish my Wife at Coxwould—That She might the sooner depart in peace—She is ill—of a Diarhea which she has from a weakness on her bowels ever since her paralitic Stroke—Travelling post in hot weather, is not the best remedy for her—but my girl says—she is determined to venture—She wrote me word in Winter, She wd. not leave france, till her end approach’d—surely this journey is not prophetic! but twould invert the order of Things on the other side of this Leaf—and what is to be on the nextLeaf—The Fates, Eliza only can tell us—rest satisfied.
June 21.
have left off all medicines—not caring to tear my frame to pieces with ’em—as I feel perfectly well.—set out for Crasy Castle to morrow morning—where I stay ten days—take my Sentimental Voyage—and this Journal with me, as certain as the two first Wheels of my Chariot—I cannot go on without them.—I long to see yrs.—I shall read it a thousand times over If I get it before yr. arrival—What wd. I now give for it—tho’ I know there arecircumstancesin it, That will make my heart bleed & waste within me—but if all blows over—’tis enough—we will not recount our Sorrows, but to shed tears of Joy over them—O Eliza! Eliza! Heaven nor any Being it created, never so possessed a Man’s heart—as thou possessest mine—use it kindly—Hussy—that is, eternally be true to it.
June 22. Ive been as far as York to day with no Soul with me in my Chase, but yr. Picture—for it has aSoulI think—or something like one which has talk’d to me, & been the best Company I ever took a Journey with (always excepting a Journey I once took with a friend of yrs. to Salt hill, & Enfield Wash—The pleasure I had in those Journies, have leftImpressionsupon my Mind, which will last my Life—You may tell her as much when You see her—she will not take it ill—I set out early to morrow morning to see Mr. Hall—but take my Journal along with me.
June 24th.
As pleasant a Journey as I am capable of taking Eliza! without thee—Thou shalttake it with me when time & tide serve hereafter, & every other Journey wch. ever gave me pleasure, shall be rolled over again with thee besides me—Amo’s Vale shall look gay again upon Eliza’s Visit—and the Companion of her Journey, will grow young again as he sits upon her Banks with Eliza seated besides him—I have this and a thousand little parties of pleasure—& systems of living out of the common high road of Life, hourly working in my fancy for you—there wants only theDramatis Personæfor the performance—the play is wrote—the Scenes are painted—& the Curtain ready to be drawn up.—the whole Piece waits for thee, my Eliza—
June 25.—In a course of continual visits & Invitations here—Bombay-Lascellesdined here to day (his Wife yesterday brought to bed)—(he is a poor sorry soul!) but has taken a house two miles from Crasy Castle—What a Stupid, selfish, unsentimental set of Beings are the Bulk of our Sex! by Heaven! not one man out of 50, informd with feelings—or endow’d either with heads or hearts able to possess & fill the mind—ofsuch a Being as thee,—with one Vibration like its own—I never see or converse with one of my Sex—but I give this point a reflection—how wd. such a creature please my Bramine? I assure thee Eliza I have not been able to find one, whom I thought could please You—the turn of Sentiment, with wch. I left yr. Character possess’d—must improve, hourly upon You—Truth, fidelity, honour & Love mix’d up with Delicacy, garrantee one another—and a taste so improved as yrs, by so delicious fare, can never degenerate—I shall find you, my Bramine, if possible, more valuable & lovely than when you first caught my esteem and kindness for You—and tho’ I see not this change—I give you so much Credit for it—that at this moment, my heart glowes more warmly as I think of you—& I find myself more your Husband than contracts can make us—I stay here till the 29th.—had intended a longer Stay—but much company & Dissipation rob me of the only comfort my mind takes, wch. is in retirement, where I can think of You Eliza! and enjoy you quietly & without Interruption—’tis the way We must expect all that is to be had ofrealenjoyment in this vile world—which being miserable itself—seems so confederated agst. the happiness of the Happy, that they are forced to secure it in private—Vanity must still be had;—& that, Eliza! every thing wth. it, wch. Yorick’s sense, or generosity has to furnish to one he loves so much as thee—need I tell thee—Thou wilt be as much a Mistress of—as thou art eternally of thy Yorick—adieu—adieu—
June 26—eleven at night—out all the day—dined with a large Party—shewd yr. Picture from the fullness of my heart—highly admired—alas! said I did you but see the Original!—good night.—
June 27.
Ten in the morning, with my Snuff open at the Top of this sheet,—& your gentle sweet face opposite to mine, & saying “what I write will be cordially readâ€â€”possibly you may be precisely engaged at this very hour, the same way—and telling me some interesting Story abt. yr. health, yr. sufferings—yr. heart aches—and other Sensations wch. friendship—absence & uncertaintycreate within you. for my own part, my dear Eliza, I am a prey to every thing in its turn—& was it not for that sweet clew of hope wch. is perpetual opening me a way which is to lead me to thee thro’ all this Labyrinth—was it not for this, my Eliza! how could I find rest for this bewilderd heart of mine?—I shd. wait for you till September came—& if you did not arrive with it—shd. sicken & die—but I will live for thee—so count me Immortal—3 India Men arrived within ten days—will none of ’em bring me Tidings of You?—but I am foolish—but ever thine—my dear, dear Bramine.
June 28.
O what a tormenting night have my dreams led me abt. You Eliza—Mrs. Draper a Widow!—with a hand at Liberty to give!—and gave it to another!—She told me—I must acquiesce—it could not be otherwise. Acquiese! cried I, waking in agonies—God be prais’d cried I—’tis a dream—fell asleep after—dreamd You was married to the Captain of the Ship—I waked in a fever—but ’twas the Fever in my blood which broughton this painful chain of Ideas—for I am ill to day—& for want of more cheary Ideas, I torment my Eliza with these—whose Sensibility will suffer, if Yorick could dream but of her Infidelity! & I suffer Eliza in my turn, & think my self at prest. little better than an old woman or a Dreamer of Dreams in the Scripture Language—I am going to ride myself into better health & better fancies with Hall—whose Castle lying near the Sea—We have a Beach as even as a mirrour of 5 miles in Length before it, where we daily run races in our Chaises; with one wheel in the Sea, & the other in the Sand—O Eliza, wth. wt. fresh ardour & impatience when I’m viewing the element, do I sigh for thy return—But I need nomemento’sof my Destitution & misery for want of thee—I carry them abt. me,—& shall not lay them down—(for I worship & I do Idolize these tender sorrows) till I meet thee upon the Beech & present the handkerchiefs staind with blood wch. broke out from my heart upon yr. departure—This token of what I felt at that Crisis, Eliza, shall never, never be wash’d out. Adieu my dear Wife—you are still mine—notwithstandingall the Dreams & Dreamers in the World.—Mr. Lascells dined wth. us—Memd. I have to tell you a Conversation—I will not write it—
June 29. am got home from Halls—to Coxwould—O ’tis a delicious retreat! both from its beauty, & air of Solitude; & so sweetly does every thing abtit invite yr. mind to rest from its Labours and be at peace with itself & the world—That ’tis the only place, Eliza, I could live in at this juncture—I hope one day, You will like it as much as yr. Bramine—It shall be decorated & made more worthy of You—by the time fate encourages me to look for you—I have made you a sweet Sitting Room (as I told You) already—and am projecting a good Bed-Chamber adjoining it, with a pretty dressing room for You, which connects them together—& when they are finish’d, will be as sweet a set of romantic apartments, as You ever beheld—the Sleeping room will be very large—The dressing room, thro’ wch. You pass into yr. Temple, will be little—but Big enough to hold a dressing Table—a couple of chairs, with room for yr. Nymphto stand at her ease both behind and on either side of you—wth. spare Room to hang a dozen petticoats—gowns, &c—& Shelves for as many Bandboxes—yr. little Temple I have described—and what it will hold—but if it ever it holds You & I, my Eliza—the Room will not be too little for us—but We shall betoo bigfor the Room.—
June 30.—’Tis now a quarter of a year (wanting 3 days) since You sail’d from the Downs—in one month more—You will be (I trust) at Madras—& there you will stay I suppose 2 long long months, before you set out for Bombay—’Tis there I shall want to hear from you,—most impatiently—because the most interesting Letters must come from Eliza when she is there—at present, I can hear of yr. health, & tho’ that of all Accts. affects me most—yet still I have hopes taking their Rise from that—& those are—What Impression you can make upon Mr. Draper, towards setting you at Liberty—& leaving you to pursue the best measures for yr. preservation—and these are points, Iwd. go to Aleppo, to know certainty[29]: I have been possess’d all day & night with an opinion, That Draper will change his behaviour totally towards you—That he will grow friendly & caressing—and as he knows yr. nature is easily to be won with gentleness, he will practice it to turn you from yr. purpose of quitting him—In short when it comes to the point of yr. going from him to England—it will have so much the face, if not the reality, of an alienation on yr. side from India for ever, as a place you cannot live at—that he will part with You by no means, he can prevent—You will be cajolled my dear Eliza thus out of yr. Life—but what serves it to write this, unless means can be found for You to read it—If you come not—I will take the Safest Cautions I can to have it got to You—& risk every thing, rather than You should not know how much I think of You—& how much stronger hold you have got of me, than ever.—Dillon has obtain’d his fair Indian—& has this post wrote a kind Letter of enquiry after Yorick and his Bramine—he is a good Soul—&interests himself much in our fate—I have wrote him a whole Sheet[30]of paper abt. us—it ought to have been copied into this Journal—but the uncertainty of yr. ever reading it, makes me omit that, with a thousand other things, which when we meet, shall beguile us of many a long winters night.—those precious Nights!—my Eliza! You rate them as high as I do—& look back upon the manner the hours glided over our heads in them, with the same Interest & Delight as the Man youspent them with—They are all that remains to us—except theExpectationof their return—the Space between us is a dismal Void—full of doubts & suspence—Heaven & its kindest Spirits, my dear rest over yr. thoughts by day—& free them from all disturbance at night adieu—adieu Eliza!—I have got over this Month—so fare wel to it, & the Sorrows it has brought with it—the next month, I prophecy will be worse.
July 1.—But who can foretell what a month may produce—Eliza—I have no less than seven different chances—not one ofwch. is improbable—and any one of [’em] would set me much at Liberty—& some of ’em render me compleatly happy—as they wd. facilitate & open the road to thee—what these chances are I leave thee to conjecture, my Eliza—some of them You cannot divine—tho’ I once hinted them to You—but those are pecuniary chances arising out of my Prebend—& so not likely to stick in thy brain—nor could they occupy mine a moment, but on thy acct. … I hope before I meet thee Eliza on the Beach, to have every thing plan’d; that depends on me properly—& for what depends upon him who orders every Event for us, to him I leave & trust it—We shall be happy at last I know—’tis the Corner Stone of all my Castles—&’tis all I bargain for. I am perfectly recovered—or more than recover’d—for never did I feel such Indications of health or Strength & promptness of mind—notwithstanding the Cloud hanging over me of a Visit—& all its tormenting consequences—Hall has wrote an affecting little poem upon it—the next time I see him, I will get it, & transcribe it in this Journal, for You.... He has persuaded me to trust her with nomore than fifteen hundred pounds into Franc[e]—twil purchase 150 pds. a year—& to let the rest come annually from myself—the advice is wise enough, If I can get her off with it—I’ll summon up the Husband a little (if I can)—& keep the 500 pds. remaining for emergencies—who knows, Eliza, what sort of Emergencies may cry out for it—I conceive some—& you Eliza are not backward in Conception—so may conceive others.I wish I was in Arno’s Vale!—
July 2d.—But I am in the Vale of Coxwould & wish You saw in how princely a manner I live in it—’tis a Land of Plenty—I sit down alone to Venison, fish or wild foul—or a couple of fouls—with curds, and strawberrys & cream, (and all the simple clean plenty wch. a rich Vally can produce,—with a Bottle of wine on my right hand (as in Bond street) to drink yr. health—I have a hundred hens & chickens abtmy yard—and not a parishoner catches a hare a rabbit or a Trout—but he brings it as an offering—In short ’tis a golden Vally—& will be the golden Age when You governthe rural feast, my Bramine, & are the Mistress of my table & spread it with elegancy and that natural grace & bounty wth. wch. heaven has distinguish’d You.…
—Time goes on slowly—every thing stands still—hours seem days & days seem Years whilst you lengthen the Distance between us—from Madras to Bombay—I shall think it shortening—and then desire & expectation will be upon the rack again—come—come—
July 3d.
Hail! Hail! my dear Eliza—I steal something every day from my sentimental Journey—to obey a more sentimental impulse in writing to you—& giving you the present Picture of myself—my wishes—my Love, my sincerity—my hopes—my fears—tell me, have I varied in any one Lineament, from the first sitting—to this last—have I been less warm—less tender and affectionate than you expected or could have wish’d me in any one of ’em—or, however varied in the expressions of what I was & what I felt, have I not still presented the same air and face towards thee?—take it as a Sample of what I ever shall be—My dear Bramine—&that is—such as my honour, my Engagements & promisses & desires have fix’d me—I want You to be on the other side of my little table, to hear how sweetly yr. Voice will be in Unison to all this—I want to hear what You have to say to yr. Yorick upon this Text.—what heavenly Consolation wd. drop from yr. Lips—& how pathetically you wd. enforce yr. Truth & Love upon my heart to free it from every Aching doubt—Doubt! did I say—but I have none—and as soon wdI doubt the Scripture I have preach’d on—as question thy promisses or suppose one Thought in thy heart during thy absence from me, unworthy of my Eliza—for if thou art false, my Bramine—the whole world—and Nature itself are lyars—and I will trust to nothing on this side of heaven—but turn aside from all Commerce with expectation, & go quietly on my way alone towards a State where no disappointments can follow me—you are grieved when I talk thus; it implies what does not exist in either of us—so cross it out if thou wilt—or leave it as a part of the picture of a heart that again Languishes for Possession—and is disturbed at every Ideaof its uncertainty—So heaven bless thee—& ballance thy passions better than I have power to regulate mine—farewel my dear Girl—I sit in dread of to morrow’s post which is to bring me an acct. whenMadameis to arrive.——
July 4th. Hear nothing of her—so am tortured from post to post, for I want to know certainlythe day & hour of this Judgment—She is moreover ill, as my Lydia writes me word—& I’m impatient to know whether ’tis that—or what other Cause detains her, & keeps me in this vile state of Ignorance—I’m pitied by every Soul in proportion as her Character is detested—& her Errand known—She is coming, every one says, to flea poor Yorick or stay him—& I am spirited up by every friend I have to sell my Life dear & fight valiantly in defence both of my property & Life—Now my Maxim, Eliza, is quietly [sic] in three[31]—“Spare my Life, and take all I have[â€]—If she is not content to decamp with that—One Kingdome shall not hold us—for If she will not betake herself to France—I willbut these, I verlily [sic] believe my fears & nothing more—for she will be as impatient to quit England—as I could with her—but of this—you will know more, before I have gone thro’ this month’s Journal.—I get 2000 pounds for my Estate—that is, I had the offer this morning of it—& think ’tis enough.—when that is gone—I will begin saving for thee—but in Saving myself for thee, That & every other kind Act is implied.—get on slowly with my Work—but my head is too full of other Matters—yet will I finish it before I see London—for I am of too scrupulous honour to break faith with the world—great Authors make no scruple of it—but if they are great Authors—I’m sure they are little Men.—& I’m sure also of another Point wch. concerns yrself—& that is Eliza, that You shall never find me one hair breadth a less Man than you[32]—farewell—I love thee eternally—
July 5. Two letters from the South of France by this post, by which by some fatality, I find not one of my Letters have got to them this month—This gives meconcern—because it has the aspect of an unseasonable unkindness in me—to take no notice of what has the appearance at least of a Civility in desiring to pay me a Visit—my daughter besides has not deserved ill of me—& tho’ her mother has, I wd. not ungenerously take that Opportunity, which would most overwhelm her, to give any mark of my resentment—I have besides long since forgiven her—& am the more inclined now as she proposes a plan, by which I shall never more be disquieted—in these 2 last, she renews her request to have leave to live where she has transfer’d her fortune—& purposes, with my leave she says, to end her days in the South of France—to all which I have just been writing her a Letter of Consolation & good will—& to crown my professions, intreat her to take post with my girl to be here time enough to enjoy York races—& so having done my duty to them—I continue writing, to do it to thee Eliza who art theWoman of my heart, & for whom I am ordering & planning this, & every thing else—be assured my Bramine that ere every thing is ripe for our Drama, I shall work hard to fit out & decorate alittle Theatre for us to act on—but not before a crouded house—no Eliza—it shall be as secluded as the elysian fields—retirement is the nurse of Love and kindness—& I will Woo & caress thee in it in such sort, that every thicket & grotto we pass byshallsolicit the remembrance of the mutual pledges We have exchanged of Affection with one another—oh! these expectations—make me sigh as I recite them—& many a heart-felt Interjection! do they cost me, as I saunter alone in the tracks we are to tread together hereafter—still I think thy heart is with me—& whilst I think so, I prefer it to all the Society this world can offer—&’tis in truth my dear owing to this—that tho I’ve recd. half a dozen Letters to press me to join my friends at Scarborough—that Ive found pretences not to quit Youhere—and sacrifice the many sweet occasions I have of giving my thoughts up to You—, for Company I cannot rellishsince I have tastedmy dear Girl, thesweets of thine.—
July 6.
Three long Months and three long days are passed & gone, since my Eliza sighedon taking her Leave of Albions Cliffs, & of all in Albion, which was dear to her—How oft have I smarted at the Idea, of that last longing Look by wch. thou badest adieu to all thy heart sufferd at that dismal Crisis—’twas the Separation of Soul & Body—& equal to nothing but what passes on that tremendous Moment.—& like it in one Consequence, that thou art in another world; where I wd. give a world to follow thee, or hear even an Acct. of thee—for this I shall write in a few days to our dear friend Mrs. James—she possibly may have heard a single Syllable or two abt. You—but it cannot be; the same must have been directed towards Yoricks ear, to whom you wd. have wrote the Name ofEliza, had there been no time for more. I wdalmost now compound wth. Fate—& was I sure Eliza only breathd—I wd. thank heaven & acquiesce. I kiss your Picture—your Shaul—& every trinket I exchanged with You—every day I live—alas! I shall soon be debarrd of that—in a fortnight I must lock them up & clap my seal & yrs. upon them in the most secret Cabinet of my Bureau—You may divine the reason, Eliza! adieu—adieu!
July 7.
—But not Yet—for I will find means to write to you every night whilst my people are here—if I sit up till midnight, till they are asleep.—I should not dare to face you, if I was worse than my word in the smallest Item—& this Journal I promised You Eliza should be kept without a chasm of a day in it—& had I my time to myself & nothing to do but gratify my propensity—I shd. write from sun rise to sun set to thee—But a Book to write—a Wife to receive & make Treaties with—an estate to sell—a Parish to superintend—and a disquieted heart perpetually to reason with, are eternal calls upon me—& yet I have you more in my mind than ever—and in proportion as I am thus torn from yr. embraces—I cling the closer to the Idea of you. Your Figure is ever before my eyes—the sound of yr. voice vibrates with its sweetest tones the live long day in my ear—I can see & hear nothing but my Eliza, remember this, when you think my Journal too short & compare it not with thine, wch. tho’ it will exceed it in length, can do no more than equal it in Love and truth of esteem—for esteem thee I do beyond allthe powers of eloquence to tell thee how much—& I love thee my dear Girl, & prefer thy Love, to me more than the whole world—
night—have not eat or drunk all day thro’ vexation of heart at a couple of ungrateful unfeeling Letters from that Quarter, from whence, had it pleased God, I should have look’d for all my Comforts—but he has will’d they shd. come from the east—& he knows how I am satisfyed with all his Dispensations—but with none, my dear Bramine, so much as this—with wch. Cordial upon my Spirits—I go to bed, in hopes of seeing thee in my Dreams.
July 8th.
—eating my fowl, and my trouts & my cream & my strawberries, as melancholly as a Cat; for want of you—by the by, I have got one which sits quietly besides me, purring all day to my sorrows—& looking up gravely from time to time in my face, as if she knew my Situation.—how soothable my heart is Eliza, when such little things sooth it! for in some pathetic sinkings Ifeel even some support from this poor Cat—I attend to her purrings—& think they harmonize me—they arepianissimoat least, & do not disturb me.—poor Yorick! to be driven, wth. all his sensibilities, to these resources—all powerful Eliza, that has had this Magicl. authority over him; to bend him thus to the dust—But I’ll have my revenge, Hussy!
July 9. I have been all day making a sweet Pavilion in a retired Corner of my garden,—but my Partner & Companion & friend for whom I make it, is fled from me, & when she return to me again, Heaven who first brought us together, best knows—when that hour is foreknown what a Paradise will I plant for thee—till then I walk as Adam did whilst there was no help-meet found for it, and could almost wish a days Sleep would come upon me till that Moment When I can say as he did—“Behold the Woman Thou has given me for Wife.†She shall be call’d La Bramine. Indeed Indeed Eliza! my Life will be little better than a dream, till we approach nearer to each other—I live scarse conscious of myexistence—or as if I wanted a vital part; & could not live above a few hours—& yet I live, & live, & live on, for thy Sake, and the sake of thy truth to me; which I measure by my own,—& I fight agst. every evil and every danger, that I may be able to support & shelter thee from danger and evil also.—upon my word, dear Girl, thou owest me much—but ’tis cruel to dun thee when thou art not in a condition to pay—I think Eliza has not run off in her Yoricks debt—
July 10.
I cannot suffer you to be longer upon the Water—in 10 days time, You shall be at Madrass—the element roles in my head as much as yrs., & I am sick at the sight & smell of it—for all this, my Eliza, I feel in Imagination & so strongly I can bear it no longer—on the 20th. therefore Inst. I begin to write to you as a terrestrial Being—I must deceive myself—& think so I will notwithstanding all that Lascelles has told me—but there is no truth in him.—I have just kiss’d yr. picture—even that sooths many an anxiety—I have found out the Body istoo little for the head—it shall not be rectified, till I sit by the Original, & direct the Painter’s Pencil and that done, will take a Scamper toEnfield& see yr. dear children—if You tire by the Way, there areone or twoplaces to rest at.—I never stand out. God bless thee—I am thine asever
July 11.
Sooth me—calm me—pour thy healing Balm Eliza, into the sorest of hearts—I’m pierced with the Ingratitude and unquiet Spirit of a restless unreasonable Wife whom neither gentleness or generosity can conquer—She has now entered upon a new plan of waging War with me, a thousand miles—thrice a week this last month, has the quietest man under heaven been outraged by her Letters—I have offer’d to give her every Shilling I was worth except my preferment, to be let alone & left in peace by her—Bad Woman! nothing must now purchace this, unless I borrow 400 pds. to give her & carry into france—more—I wd. perish first, my Eliza! ’ere I would give her a shilling of another man’s, wch. I must do if I give her a shillg. more than I am worth.—HowI now feel the want of thee! my dear Bramine—my generous unworldly honest creature—I shall die for want of thee for a thousand reasons—every emergency & every Sorrow each day brings along with it—tells me what a Treasure I am bereft off,—whilst I want thy friendship & Love to keep my head up sinking—Gods will be done, but I think she will send me to my grave.—She will now keep me in torture till the end of Septr.—& writes me word to day—She will delay her Journey two Months beyond her 1st. Intention—it keeps me in eternal suspence all the while—for she will come unawars at last upon me—& then adieu to the dear sweets of my retirement.
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 disapptment I drop blood for thine, I call thee in to my Aid—& thou wantest mine as much—Were we together we shd. recover—but never, never till thennor by any other Recipe.—
July 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 abt. 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—Mr. Garrick &c beening [sic] there; & Mr. Coleman & many other men of Wit & Learning being every day expectedâ€â€”when I get there, wch. will be to morrow night, my Eliza will hearfrom her Yorick—her Yorick—who loves her more than ever.
July 13. Skelton Castle. Your picture has gone round the Table after supper—& yr. 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—& wd. 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 takecare of thyself—keep this prospect before thy eyes—have a view to it in all yr. 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 Mr. Turner’s—his Lady a fine Woman herself, in love wth. 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—abt. my neck—I do not like the place ’tis in—it shall be nearer my heart—Thou art ever in its centre—good night—
July 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 Mr. 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. ThisHereafter, 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 yr. face before—but that I leave to You—& to the Influence such a Being must have over all inferior ones—We aregoing 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 pds. 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 isperpetually 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 honr. 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 Candlestickâ€â€”where his Soul can be at rest from the distractions of the world, & lean only upon his kind hostesse. & repose all his Cares, & melt themalong with herson her sympathetic bosom.
July 19. Harrogate Spaws.—drinking the waters here till the 26th.—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 athousand 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—yr. absence, yr. distresses, your sufferings; your conflicts, all make me rely but the more upon that fund in you, wch. 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, wch. 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—wch. was only in thy possession—O ’tis from my Eliza, said I.—I instantly shut the door of my Bed-chamber,& orderd myself to be denied—& spent the whole evening, and till dinner the next day, in reading over and over again the most interesting Acct.—& 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 abt. 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 wth. me, because I’ll pity thee—as no man ever pitied Woman—but Love like mine is never satisfied—else yr. 2d. 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.
I now want to have this week of nonsensical Festivity over—that I may get back, with my picture wch. I ever carry abt. me—to my retreat and to Cordelia—when the days of our Afflictions are over, I oft amuse my fancy, wth. 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 &silentones—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.
Augst. 1. what a sad Story thou hast told me of thy Sufferings & Despondences from St. Iago, till thy meeting wth. the Dutch Ship—’twas a sympathy above Tears—I trembled every Nerve as I went from line to line—& every moment the Acct. comes across me—I suffer all I felt, over & over again—will providence suffer all this anguish without end—& without pity?—“it no can beâ€â€”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.
Augst. 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 atCork (wch. 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.
Augt. 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 pds. a year in Surry[36]abt. 30 miles from London—& retaining Coxwould & my Prebendaryship—wch. 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—Iwant kindly to smooth thine, & not only wipe away thy tears but dry up the Source of them for ever—
Augst. 4. Hurried backwards & forwards abt. 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 genl. Acct. 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 & affecte. 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—abt. my bed & abt. my paths, & shalt see out all my Ways.—adieu—adieu—& remember one eternal truth, My dear Bramine, wch. is not the worse, because I have told it thee a thousand times before—ThatI am thine—& thine only, & for ever.