THE JOURNAL TO ELIZA
THIS Journal wrote under the fictitious names of Yorick & Draper—and sometimes of the Bramin & Bramine—but ’tis a Diary of the miserable feelings of a person separated from a Lady for whose Society he languish’d—The real Names—are foreign—& the acct. a copy from a french Manst.—in Mr. S——’s hands—but wrote as it is, to cast a Viel over them—There is a Counterpart—which is the Lady’s acct. what transactions daily happend—& what Sentiments occupied her mind, during this Separation from her admirer—these are worth reading—the translator cannot say so much in favr. of Yoricks which seem to have little merit beyond their honesty & truth.[21]
CONTINUATION OF THE BRAMINES JOURNAL.
([S]he saild 23[22])
Sunday Ap: 13.[23]
WROTE the last farewel to Eliza by Mr. Wats who sails this day for Bombay—inclosed her likewise the Journal kept from the day we parted, to this—so from hence continue it till the time we meet again—Eliza does the same, so we shall have mutual testimonies to deliver hereafter to each other, That the Sun has not more constantly rose & set upon the earth, than we have thought of & remember’d, what is more chearing than Light itself—eternal Sunshine! Eliza!—dark to me is all this world without thee! & most heavily will every hour pass over my head, till that is come wch. brings thee, dear Woman back to Albion. Dined with Hall &c. atthe brawn’s head—the whole Pandamonium assembled—supp’d together at Halls—worn out both in body & mind, & paid a severe reckoning all the night.
Ap: 14. Got up tottering & feeble—then is it Eliza, that I feel the want of thy friendly hand & friendly Council—& yet, with thee beside me, thy Bramin would lose the merit of his virtue—he could not err—but I will take thee upon any terms Eliza! I shall be happy here—& I will be so just, so kind to thee, I will deserve not to be miserable hereafter—a Day dedicated to Abstinence & reflection—& what object will employ the greatest part of mine—full well does my Eliza know.
Munday. Ap: 15.
Worn out with fevers of all kinds, but most, by that fever of the heart with wch. I’m eternally wasting, & shall waste till I see Eliza again—dreadful Suffering of 15 months!—it may be more—great Controuler of Events! surely thou wilt proportion this, to my Strength, and to that of my Eliza. Pass’d the whole afternoon in reading herLetters, & reducing them to the order in which they were wrote to me—staid the whole evening at home—no pleasure or Interest in either Society or Diversions—What a change, my dear Girl, hast thou made in me!—but the Truth is, thou hast only turn’d the tide of my passions a new way—they flow Eliza to thee—& ebb from every other Object in this world—& Reason tells me they do right—for my heart has rated thee at a Price, that all the world is not rich enough to purchase thee from me, at. In a high fever all the night.
Ap: 16. and got up so ill, I could not go to Mrs. James as I had promised her—took James’s Powder however—& leand the whole day with my head upon my hand, sitting most dejectedly at the Table with my Eliza’s Picture before me—sympathizing & soothing me—O my Bramine! my Friend! my Help-mate!—for that (if I’m a prophet) is the Lot mark’d out for thee;—& such I consider thee now, & thence it is, Eliza, I share so righteously with thee in all the evil or good which befalls thee—But all our portion is Evil now, & all our hours grief—Ilook forwards towards the Elysium we have so often and rapturously talk’d of—Cordelia’s spirit will fly to tell thee in some sweet Slumber, the moment the door is open’d for thee & The Bramin of the Vally, shall follow the track wherever it leads him, to get to his Eliza, & invite her to his Cottage—
5 in the afternoon—I have just been eating my Chicking, sitting over my repast upon it, with Tears—a bitter Sause—Eliza! but I could eat it with no other—when Molly spread the Table Cloath, my heart fainted within me—one solitary plate—one knife—one fork—one Glass!—O Eliza! ’twas painfully distressing,—I gave a thousand pensive penetrating Looks at the Arm chair thou so often graced on these quiet, sentimental Repasts—& sighed & laid down my knife & fork,—& took out my handkerchief, clap’d it across my face & wept like a child—I shall read the same affecting acct. of many a sad Dinner wch. Eliza has had no power to taste of, from the same feelings & recollections, how She and her Bramin have eat their bread in peace and Love together.
April 17. with my friend Mrs. James in Gerard street, with a present of Colours & apparatus for painting:—Long Conversation about thee my Eliza—sunk my heart w{th}. an infamous acct. of Draper & his detested Character at Bombay—for what a wretch art thou hazarding thy life, my dear friend, & what thanks is his nature capable of returning?—thou wilt be repaid with Injuries & Insults! Still there is a blessing in store for the meek and gentle, and Eliza will not be disinherited of it: her Bramin is kept alive by this hope only—otherwise he is so sunk both in Spirits and looks, Eliza would scarce know him again. Dined alone again to day; & begin to feel a pleasure in this kind of resigned misery arising from this situation of heart unsupported by aught but its own tenderness—Thou owest me much Eliza!—& I will have patience; for thou wilt pay me all—But the Demand is equal; much I owe thee, & with much shalt thou be requited.——sent for a Chart of the Atlantic Ocean, to make conjectures upon what part of it my Treasure was floating—O! ’tis but a little way off—and I could venture after it in a Boat, methinks—I’msure I could, was I to know Eliza was in distress—but fate has chalk’d out other roads for us—We must go on with many a weary step, each in his separate heartless track, till Nature——
Ap: 18.
This day set up my Carriage,—new Subject of heartache, That Eliza is not here to share it with me.
Bought Orm’s account of India—why? Let not my Bramine ask me—her heart will tell her why I do this, & every Thing—
Ap: 19—poor sick-headed, sick hearted Yorick! Eliza has made a shadow of thee—I am absolutely good for nothing, as every mortal is who can think & talk but upon one thing!—how I shall rally my powers alarms me; for Eliza thou has melted them all into one—the power of loving thee & with such ardent affection as triumphs over all other feelings—was with our faithful friend all the morning; & dined with her & James—What is the Cause, that I can never talk abt. my Elizato her, but I am rent in pieces—I burst into tears a dozen different times after dinner, & such affectionate gusts of passion, That she was ready to leave the room,—& sympathize in private for us—I weep for you both, said she (in a whisper,) for Eliza’s anguish is as sharp as yours—her heart as tender—her constancy as great—heaven join your hands I’m sure together!—James was occupied in reading a pamphlet upon the East India affairs—so I answerd her with a kind look, a heavy sigh, and a stream of tears—what was passing in Eliza’s breast, at this affecting Crisis?—something kind, and pathetic,! I will lay my Life.
8 o’clock—retired to my room, to tell my dear this—to run back the hours of Joy I have pass’d with her—& meditate upon those wch. are still in reserve for Us.—By this time Mr. James tells me, You will have got as far from me, as the Maderas—& that in two months more, you will have doubled the Cape of good hope—I shall trace thy track every day in the map, & not allow one hour for contrary Winds, or Currants—every engine of nature shall work together for us—’Tisthe Language of Love—& I can speak no other. & so, good night to thee, & may the gentlest delusions of love impose upon thy dreams, as I forbode they will, this night, on those of thy Bramine.
Ap: 20. Easter Sunday.
was not disappointed—yet awoke in the most acute pain—Something Eliza is wrong with me—you should be ill, out of Sympathy—& yet you are too ill already—my dear friend—all day at home in extream dejection.
Ap: 21. The Loss of Eliza, and attention to that one Idea, brought on a fever—a consequence, I have for some time, forseen—but had not a sufficient Stock of cold philosophy to remedy—to satisfy my friends, call’d in a Physician—Alas! alas! the only Physician, & who carries the Balm of my Life along with her,—is Eliza.—why did I suffer thee to go from me? surely thou hast more than once call’d thyself my Eliza, to the same account—twil cost us both dear! but it could not be otherwise—We have submitted—we shall be rewarded. ’Twas aprophetic spirit, wch. dictated the acct. of Corpl. Trim’s uneasy night when the fair Beguin ran in his head,—for every night & almost every Slumber of mine, since the day we parted, is a repe[ti]tion of the same description—dear Eliza! I am very ill—very ill for thee—but I could still give thee greater proofs of my affection, parted with 12 Ounces of blood, in order to quiet what was left in me—’tis a vain experiment,—physicians cannot understand this; ’tis enough for me that Eliza does—I am worn down my dear Girl to a Shadow, & but that I’m certain thou wilt not read this, till I’m restored—thy Yorick would not let the Winds hear his Complaints——4 o’clock—sorrowful meal! for ’twas upon our old dish.—we shall live to eat it, my dear Bramine, with comfort.
8 at night, our dear friend Mrs. James, from the forbodings of a good heart, thinking I was ill; sent her maid to enquire after me—I had alarm’d her on Saturday; & not being with her on Sunday,—her friendship supposed the Condition I was in—She suffers most tenderly for Us, myEliza!—& we owe her more than all the Sex—or indeed both Sexes, if not, all the world put together—adieu! my sweet Eliza! for this night—thy Yorick is going to waste himself on a restless bed, where he will turn from side to side a thousand times—& dream by Intervals of things terrible & impossible—That Eliza is false to Yorick, or Yorick is false to Eliza.
Ap: 22d.—rose with utmost difficulty—my Physician order’d me back to bed as soon as I had got a dish of Tea—was bled again; my arm broke loose & I half bled to death in bed before I felt it. O! Eliza! how did thy Bramine mourn the want of thee to tye up his wounds, & comfort his dejected heart—still something bids me hope—and hope, I will—& it shall be the last pleasurable sensation I part with.
4 o’clock. They are making my bed—how shall I be able to continue my Journal in it?—If there remains a chasm here—think Eliza, how ill thy Yorick must have been.—this moment recd. a Card from our dear friend, beging me to take [care] ofa Life so valuable to my friends—but most so—she adds, to my poor dear Eliza.—not a word from the Newnhams! but they had no such exhortations in their harts, to send thy Bramine—adieu to em!
Ap: 23.—a poor night, and am only able to quit my bed at 4 this afternoon—to say a word to my dear—& fulfill my engagement to her, of letting no day pass over my head without some kind communication with thee—faint resemblance, my dear girl, of how our days are to pass, when one kingdom holds us—visited in bed by 40 friends, in the Course of the Day—is not one warm affectionate call, of that friend, for whom I sustain Life, worth ’em all?—What thinkest thou my Eliza.
Ap: 24.
So ill, I could not write a word all this morning—not so much, as Eliza! farewel to thee;—I’m going——am a little better.
——so shall not depart, as I apprehended—being this morning something better—& my Symptoms become milder, by a tolerable easy night.—and now, if I have strength & Spiritsto trail my pen down to the bottom of the page, I have as whimsical a Story to tell you, and as comically dis-astrous as ever befell one of our family——Shandy’s nose—his name—his Sash-Window—are fools to it. It will serve atleastto amuse you. The Injury I did myself in catching cold upon James’s pouder, fell, you must know, upon the worst part it could—the most painful, & most dangerous of any in the human Body—It was on this Crisis, I call’d in an able Surgeon & with him an able physician (both my friends) to inspect my disaster—’tis a venerial Case, cried my two Scientifick friends——’tis impossible at least to be that, replied I—for I have had no commerce whatever with the Sex—not even with my wife, added I, these 15 years—You are * * * * * however my good friend, said the Surgeon, or there is no such Case in the world—what the Devil! said I without knowing Woman—we will not reason abt. it, said the Physician, but you must undergo a course of Mercury,—I’ll lose my life first, said I—& trust to Nature, to Time—or at the worst—to Death,—so I put an end with some Indignation to the Conference; and determined to bear all the torments I underwent,& ten times more rather than, submit to be treated as aSinner, in a point where I had acted like aSaint. Now as the father of mischief wd. have it, who has no pleasure like that of dishonouring the righteous—it so fell out, That from the moment I dismiss’d my Doctors—my pains began to rage with a violence not to be express’d, or supported—every hour became more intolerable—I was got to bed—cried out & raved the whole night—& was got up so near dead, That my friends insisted upon my sending again for my Physician & Surgeon—I told them upon the word of a man of Strict honour, They were both mistaken as to my case—but tho’ they had reason’d wrong—they might act right—but that sharp as my sufferings were, I felt them not so sharp as the Imputation, wch. a venerial treatment of my case, laid me under—They answerd that these taints of the blood laid dormant 20 years—but that they would not reason with me in a matter wherein I was so delicate—but would do all the office for wch. they were call’d in—& namely, to put an end to my torment, wch. otherwise would put an end to me.—&so have I been compell’d to surrender myself—& thus Eliza is your Yorick, yr. Bramine—your friend with all his sensibilities, suffering the chastisement of the grossest Sensualist—Is it not a most ridiculous Embarassmt. as ever Yorick’s Spirit could be involved in—’Tis needless to tell Eliza, that nothing but the purest consciousness of Virtue, could have tempted Eliza’s friend to have told her this Story—Thou art too good my Eliza to love aught but Virtue—& too discerning not to distinguish the open character wch. bears it, from the artful & double one wch. affects it—This, by the way, wd. make no bad anecdote in T. Shandy’s Life—however I thought at least it would amuse you, in a country whereless Mattersserve.—This has taken me three Sittings—it ought to be a good picture—I’m more proud, That it is a true one. In ten Days I shall be able to get out—my room always full of friendly Visitors—& my rapper eternally going with Cards & enquiries after me. I shd. be glad of the Testimonies—without the Tax.
Every thing convinces me, Eliza, We shall live to meet again—So—Take care of yr. health, to add to the comfort of it.
Ap: 25. after a tolerable night, I am able, Eliza, to sit up and hold a discourse with the sweet Picture thou hast left behind thee of thyself, & tell it how much I had dreaded the catastrophe, of never seeing its dear Original more in this world—never did that look of sweet resignation appear so eloquent as now; it has said more to my heart—& cheard it up more effectually above little fears &may be’s—Than all the Lectures of philosophy I have strength to apply to it, in my present Debility of mind and body.—as for the latter—my men of Science, will set it properly agoing again—tho’ upon what principles—the Wise Men of Gotham know as much as they—If theyact right—what is it to me, howwrong they think, for finding my machine a much less tormenting one to me than before, I become reconciled to my Situation, and to their Ideas of it——but don’t you pity me, after all, my dearest and my best of friends? I know to what an amount thou wilt shed over me, this tender Tax—&’tis the Consolation springing out of that, of what a good heart it is which pours this friendly balm on mine, That has already, & will for ever heal every evil of my Life.And what is becoming, of my Eliza, all this time!—where is she sailing?—what Sickness or other evils have befallen her? I weep often my dear Girl, for thee my Imagination surrounds them with[24]—What wd. be the measure of my Sorrow, did I know thou wast distressed?—adieu—adieu—& trust my dear friend—my dear Bramine, that there still wants nothing to kill me in a few days, but the certainty, That thou wast suffering, what I am—& yet I know thou art ill—but when thou returnest back to England, all shall be set right—so heaven waft thee to us upon the wings of Mercy—that is, as speedily as the winds & tides can do thee this friendly office. This is the 7th. day That I have tasted nothing better than Water gruel—am going, at the solicitation of Hall, to eat of a boild fowl—so he dines with me on it—and a dish of Macaruls—
7 o’clock—I have drank to thy Name Eliza! everlasting peace & happiness (for my Toast) in the first glass of Wine I have adventured to drink. My friend has left me—& I am alone,—like thee in thy solitary Cabin after thy return from a tasteless meal in the round house & like thee I fly to my Journal, to tell thee, I never prized thy friendship so high, or loved thee more—or wish’d so ardently to be a Sharer of all the weights wch. Providence has laid upon thy tender frame—Than this moment—when upon taking up my pen, my poor pulse quickend—my pale face glowed—and tears stood ready in my Eyes to fall upon the paper, as I traced the word Eliza. O Eliza! Eliza! ever best & blessed of all thy Sex! blessed in thyself and in thy Virtues—& blessed and endearing to all who know thee—to Me, Eliza, most so; because Iknow moreof thee than any other—This is the true philtre by which Thou hast charm’d me & wilt for ever charm & hold me thine, whilst Virtue & faith hold this world together;’tis the simple Magic, by which I trust, I have won a place in that heart of thine on wch. I depend so satisfied, That Time & distance, or change of every thing wch. might allarm the little hearts of little men, create no uneasy suspence in mine—It scorns to doubt—& scorns to be doubted—’tisthe only exception—where Security is not the parent of Danger.
My Illness will keep me three weeks longer in town.—but a Journey in less time would be hazardous, unless a short one across the Desert wch. I should set out upon to morrow, could I carry a Medicine with me which I was sure would prolong one month of yr. Life—or should it happen——
—but why make Suppositions?—when Situations happen—’tis time enough to shew thee That thy Bramin is the truest & most friendly of mortal Spirits, & capable of doing more for his Eliza, than his pen will suffer him to promise.
Ap: 26. Slept not till three this morning—was in too delicious Society to think of it; for I was all the time with thee besides me, talking over the projess [sic] of our friendship, & turning the world into a thousand shapes to enjoy it. got up much better for the Conversation—found myself improved in body & mind & recruited beyond any thing I look’d for; my Doctors, stroked their beards, & look’d ten per Ct.wiser upon feeling my pulse, & enquiring after my Symptoms—am still to run thro’ a Course of Van Sweeten’s corrosive Mercury, or rather Van Sweeten’s Course of Mercury is to run thro’ me—I shall be sublimated to an etherial Substance by the time my Eliza sees me—she must be sublimated and uncorporated too, to be able to see me—but I was always transparent & a Being easy to be seen thro’, or Eliza had never loved me nor had Eliza been of any otherCastherself could her Bramine have heldCommunionwith her. hear every day from our worthy sentimental friend—who rejoyces to think that the Name of Eliza is still to vibrate upon Yorick’s ear—this, my dear Girl, many who loved me dispair’d off—poor Molly who is all attention to me—& every day brings in the name of poor Mrs. Draper, told me last night, that She and her Mistress had observed, I had never held up my head, since the Day you last dined with me—That I had seldom laughed or smiled—had gone to no Diversions—but twice or thrice at the most, dined out—That they thought I was broken hearted, for she never entered the room or passed by the door, but sheheard me sigh heavily—That I neither eat or slept or took pleasure in any Thing as before, except writing——The Observation will draw a sigh Eliza, from thy feeling heart—& yet, so thy heart wd. wish to have it—’tis fit in truth We suffer equally nor can it be otherwise—when the causes of anguish in two hearts are so proportion’d, as in ours.—; Surely—Surely—Thou art mine Eliza! for dear have have I bought thee!
Ap: 27. Things go better with me, Eliza! and I shall be reestablished soon, except in bodily weakness; not yet being able to rise from thy arm chair, & walk to the other corner of my room, & back to it again without fatigue—I shall double my Journey to morrow, & if the day is warm the day after be got into my Carriage & be transported into Hyde park for the advantage of air and exercise—wast thou but besides me, I could go to Salt hill, I’m sure, & feel the journey short & pleasant.—another Time! * * * * * * * —the present, alas! is not ours. I pore so much on thy Picture—I have itoff by heart—dear Girl—oh’tis sweet!’tis kind!’tis reflecting!’tis affectionate! ’tis——thine my Bramine—I say my matins & Vespers to it—I quiet my Murmurs, by the Spirit which speaks in it—“all will end well my Yorick.”—I declare my dear Bramine I am so secured & wrapt up in this Belief, That I would not part with the Imagination, of how happy I am to be with thee, for all the offers of present Interest or Happiness the whole world could tempt me with; in the loneliest cottage that Love & Humility ever dwelt in, with thee along with me, I could possess more refined Content, Than in the most glittering Court; & with thy Love & fidelity, taste truer joys, my Eliza, & make thee also partake of more, than all the senseless parade of this silly world could compensate to either of us—with this, I bound all my desires & worldly views—what are they worth without Eliza? Jesus! grant me but this, I will deserve it—I will make my Bramine as Happy, as thy goodness wills her—I will be the Instrument of her recompense for the sorrows & disappointments thou has suffer’d her to undergo; & if ever I am false, unkind or un-gentleto her, so let me be dealt with by thy Justice.
9 o’clock, I am preparing to go to bed my dear Girl, & first pray for thee, & then to Idolize thee for two wakeful hours upon my pillow—I shall after that, I find dream all night of thee, for all the day have I done nothing but think of thee—something tells, that thou hast this day, been employed in the same way. good night, fair Soul—& may the sweet God of sleep close gently thy eyelids—& govern & direct thy Slumbers—adieu—adieu, adieu!
Ap: 28. I was not deceived Eliza! by my presentiment that I should find thee out in my dreams; for I have been with thee almost the whole night, alternately soothing Thee, or telling thee my sorrows—I have rose up comforted & strengthened—& found myself so much better, that I orderd my Carriage, to carry me to our mutual friend—Tears ran down her cheeks when she saw how pale & wan I was—never gentle creature sympathized more tenderly—I beseech you, cried the good Soul,not to regard either difficulties or expences, but fly to Eliza directly—I see you will dye without her—save yrself for her—how shall I look her in the face? What can I say to her, when on her return I have to tell her, That her Yorick is no more!—Tell her my dear friend, said I, That I will meet her in a better world—& that I have left this, because I could not live without her; tell Eliza, my dear friend, added I—That I died broken hearted—and that you were a Witness to it—as I said this, She burst into the most pathetic flood of Tears—that ever kindly Nature shed. You never beheld so affecting a Scene—’twas too much for Nature! oh! she is good—I love her as my Sister!—& could Eliza have been a witness, hers would have melted down to Death & scarse have been brought back, an Extacy so celestial & savouring of another world.—I had like to have fainted, & to that Degree was my heart & soul affected, it was wth. difficulty I could reach the street door; I have got home, & shall lay all day upon my Sopha—& to morrow morning my dear Girl write again to thee; for I have not strength to drag my pen—
Ap: 29.
I am so ill to day, my dear, I can only tell you so—I wish I was put into a Ship for Bombay—I wish I may otherwise hold out till the hour We might otherwise have met—I have too many evils upon me at once—& yet I will not faint under them—Come!—Come to me soon my Eliza & save me!
Ap: 30. Better to day—but am too much visited & find my strength wasted by the attention I must give to all concern’d for me—I will go Eliza, be it but by ten mile Journeys, home to my thatched Cottage—& there I shall have no respit—for I shall do nothing but think of thee—and burn out this weak Taper of Life by the flame thou hast superadded to it—fare well my dear * * * * —to morrow begins a new month—& I hope to give thee in it, a more sunshiny side of myself—Heaven! how is it with my Eliza—
May 1.
got out into the park to day—Sheba there on Horseback; pass’d twice by herwithout knowing her—she stop’d the 3d. time—to ask me how I did—I wd. not have askd you, Solomon! said She, but yr. Looks affected me—for you’re half dead I fear—I thank’d Sheba very kindly, but wthout any emotion but what sprung from gratitude—Love alas! was fled with thee Eliza!—I did not think Sheba could have changed so much in grace & beauty—Thou hadst shrunk poor Sheba away into Nothing, but a good natured girl, without powers or charms—Ifearyour wife is dead; quoth Sheba—no, you don’tfearit Sheba said I—Upon my word Solomon! I would quarrel with You, was you not so ill—If you knew the cause of my Illness, Sheba, replied I, you wd. quarrel but the more with me—You lie, Solomon! answerd Sheba, for I know the Cause already—& am so little out of Charity with You upon it—That I give you leave to come & drink Tea with me before you leave Town—you’re a good honest Creature Sheba—no! you Rascal, I am not—but I’m in Love, as much as you can be for yr. Life—I’m glad of it Sheba! said I—You Lie, said Sheba, & so canter’d away.—O my Eliza, had I ever truely lovedanother (wch. I never did) Thou hast long ago, cut the Root of all Affection in me—& planted & waterd & nourish’d it, to bear fruit only for thyself—Continue to give me proofs I have had and shall preserve the same rights over thee my Eliza! and if I ever murmur at the sufferings of Life after that, Let me be numbered with the ungrateful.—I look now forwards with Impatience for the day thou art to get to Madras—& from thence shall I want to hasten thee to Bombay—where heaven will make all things Conspire to lay the Basis of thy health & future happiness—be true my dear girl, to thy self—& the rights of Self preservation which Nature has given thee—persevere—be firm—be pliant—be placid—be courteous—but still be true to thy self—& never give up yr. Life,—or suffer the disquieting altercations, or small outrages you may undergo in this momentous point, to weigh a Scruple in the Ballance—Firmness—& fortitude & perseverance gain almost impossibilities—&SkinforSkin, saith Job,nay all that a Man has, will he givefor his Life—oh my Eliza! That I could take the Wings of the Morning, & fly to aid thee inthisvirtuousStruggle. went to Ranelagh at 8 this night, and sat still till ten—came home ill.
May 2d.
I fear I have relapsed—sent afresh for my Doctor—who has confined me to my sopha—being able neither to walk, stand or sit upright, without aggravating my Symptoms—I’m still to be treated as if I was a Sinner—& in truth have some appearances so strongly implying it, That was I not conscious I had had no Commerce with the Sex these 15 Years, I would decamp to morrow for Montpellier in the South of France, where Maladies of this sort are better treated & all taints more radically driven out of the Blood—than in this Country; but If I continue long ill—I am still determined to repair there—not to undergo a Cure of a distemper I cannot have, but for the bettering my Constitution by a better Climate.—I write this as I lie upon my back—in wch. posture I must continue, I fear some days—If I am able—will take up my pen again before night—
4 o’clock.—an hour dedicated to Eliza! forI have dined alone—& ever since the Cloath has been laid, have done nothing but call upon thy dear Name—and ask why ’tis not permitted thou shouldst sit down, & share my Macarel & fowl—there would be enough, said Molly as she placed it upon the Table to have served both You & poor Mrs. Draper—I never bring in the knives & forks, added she, but I think of her—There was no more trouble with you both, than wth. one of You—I never heard a high or a hasty word from either of You—You were surely made, added Molly, for one another, you are both so kind so quiet & so friendly—Molly furnished me with Sause to my Meat—for I wept my plate full, Eliza! & now I have begun, could shed tears till Supper again—& then go to bed weeping for thy absence till morning. Thou hast bewitch’d me with powers, my dear Girl, from which no power shall unlose me—and if fate can put this Journel of my Love into thy hands, before we meet, I know with what warmth it will inflame the kindest of hearts, to receive me. peace be with thee, my Eliza, till that happy moment!
9 at night. I shall never get possession of myself, Eliza! at this rate—I want to Call off my Thoughts from thee, that I may now & then apply them to some concerns wch. require both my attention & genius, but to no purpose—I had a Letter to write to Lord Shelburn—& had got my apparatus in order to begin—when a Map of India coming in my Way—I begun to study the length & dangers of my Eliza’s Voyage to it, and have been amusing & frightening myself by turns, as I traced the path-way of the Earl of Chatham, the whole afternoon—good god! what a voyage for any one!—but for the poor relax’d frame of my tender Bramine to cross the Line twice, & be subject to the Intolerant heats, & the hazards wch. must be the consequence of em to such an unsupported Being! O Eliza! ’tis too much—& if thou conquerest these, and all the other difficulties of so tremendous an alienation from thy Country, thy Children & thy friends,’tis the hand of Providence wch. watches over thee for most merciful purposes—Let this persuasion, my dear Eliza! stick close to thee in all thy tryals—as it shall in those thy faithfulBramin is put to—till the mark’d hour of deliverance comes. I’m going to sleep upon this religious Elixir—may the Infusion of it distil into the gentlest of hearts—for that Eliza! is thine—sweet, dear, faithful Girl, most kindly does thy Yorick greet thee with the wishes of a good night & of Millions yet to come——
May 3d. Sunday. What can be the matter with me! Something is wrong, Eliza! in every part of me—I do not gain strength; nor have I the feelings of health returning back to me; even my best moments seem merely the efforts of my mind to get well again, because I cannot reconcile myself to the thoughts of never seeing thee Eliza more.—for something is out of tune in every Chord of me—still with thee to nurse & sooth me, I should soon do well—The want of thee is half my distemper—but not the whole of it—I must see Mrs. James to night, tho’ I know not how to get there—but I shall not sleep, if I don’t talk of you to her—so shall finish this Days Journal on my return—
May 4th. Directed by Mrs. James how towrite Over-Land to thee, my Eliza!—would gladly tear out thus much of my Journal to send to thee—but the Chances are too many against it’s getting to Bombay—or of being deliverd into yr. own hands——shall write a long long Letter—& trust it to fate & thee. was not able to say three words at Mrs. James, thro’ utter weakness of body & mind; & when I got home—could not get up stairs wth. Molly’s aid—have rose a little better, my dear girl—& will live for thee—do the same for thy Bramin, I beseech thee. a Line from thee now, in this state of my Dejection,—would be worth a kingdome to me!—
May 4. Writing by way of Vienna & Bussorah My Eliza.—this & Company took up the day.
5th. writing to Eliza.—& tryingl’Extrait de Saturneupon myself.—(a french Nostrum)
6th. Dined out for the 1st. time—came home to enjoy a more harmonious evening wth. my Eliza, than I could expect at SohoConcert[25]—every Thing my dear Girl, has lost its former relish to me—& for thee eternally does it quicken! writing to thee over Land all day.
7. continue poorly, my dear!—but my blood warms every momt. I think of our future Scenes—so must grow strong upon the Idea—what shall I do upon the Reality?—O God!—
8th. employ’d in writing to my Dear all day—& in projecting happiness for her—tho in misery myself. O! I have undergone Eliza!—but the worst is over—(I hope)—so adieu to those Evils, & let me haste the happiness to come.
9th.—10th.—& 11th.—so unaccountably disorder’d—I cannot say more—but that I w. suffer ten times more & with wishes for my Eliza—adieu bless’d Woman!—
12th. O Eliza! That my weary head was now laid upon thy Lap—(tis all that’s leftfor it)—or that I had thine, reclining upon my bosome, and there resting all its disquietudes;—my Bramine—the world or Yorick must perish, before that foundation shall fail thee!—I continue poorly—but I turn my Eyes Eastward the oftener, & with more earnestness for it——Great God of Mercy! shorten the Space betwixt us,—Shorten the space of our miseries!
13th. Could not get the Genl. post office to take charge of my Letters to You—so gave thirty shillings to a Merchant to further them to Aleppo & from thence to Bassorah—so you will receive ’em (I hope in god) say by Christmas—Surely ’tis not impossible, but I may be made as happy as my Eliza, by some transcript from her, by that time—If not I shall hope—& hope every week, and every hour of it, for Tidings of Comfort—we taste not of itnow, my dear Bramine—but we will make full meals upon it hereafter.—Cards from 7 or 8 of our Grandies to dine with them before I leave Town—shall go like a Lamb to the Slaughter—“Man delights not me—nor Woman”
14. a little better to day—& would look pert, if my heart would but let me—dined wth. Ld. & Lady Bellasis.—so beset wth. Company—not a moment to write.
15. Undone with too much Society yesterday,—You scarse can Conceive my dear Eliza what a poor Soul I am—how I shall be got down to Cox only heaven knows—for I am as weak as a Child—You would not like me the worse for it, Eliza, if you was here—My friends like me, the more,—& Swear I shew more true fortitude & eveness of temper in my Suffering than Seneca, or Socrates—I am, my Bramin,[26]resigned.
16. Taken up all day with worldly matters, just as my Eliza was the week before her departure.—breakfasted with Lady Spencer—caught her with the character of yr. Portrait—caught her passions still more with that of yrself.—& my Attachment to the most amiable of Beings—drove at night to Ranelagh—staid an hour—returned to my Lodgings, dissatisfied.
17. At Court—every thing in this world seems in Masquerade, but thee dear Woman—and therefore I am sick of all the world but thee—one Eveningso spent, as theSaturday’s wch. preeceeded our Separation—would sicken all the Conversation of the world—I relish no Converse since—when will the like return?—’tis hidden from us both, for the wisest ends—and the hour will come my Eliza! when We shall be convinced, that every event has been order’d for the best for Us—our fruit is not ripend—the accidents of time & Seasons will ripen every Thingtogetherfor Us—a little better to day—or could not have wrote this. dear Bramine rest thy Sweet Soul in peace!
18. Laid sleepless all night, with thinking of the many dangers & sufferings, my dear Girl! that thou art exposed to—from the Voiage & thy sad state of health—but I find I must think no more upon them—I have rose wan and trembling with the Havock they have made upon my nerves—’tis death to me to apprehend for you—I must flatter my Imagination, That everyThing goes well with You—Surely no evil can have befallen you—for if it had—I had felt some monitory sympathetic Shock within me, wch. would have spoke like Revelation.—So farewell to all tormentingMay be’sin regard to my Eliza—She is well—she thinks of her Yorick wth. as much Affection and true esteem as ever—and values him as much above the World, as he values his Bramine.
19. Packing up, or rather Molly for me, the whole day—tormenting! had not Molly all the time talk’d of poor Mrs. Draper—& recounted every Visit She had made me, and every repast she had shared with me—how good a Lady!—How sweet a temper!—how beautiful!—how genteel!—how gentle a Carriage—& how soft & engaging a look!—the poor girl is bewitch’d with us both—infinitely interested in our Story, tho’ She knows nothing of it but from her penetration and Conjectures.—She says however,’tis Impossible not to be in Love with her—In heart-felt truth, Eliza! I’m of Molly’s opinion.
20. Taking Leave of all the Town, before my departure to morrow.
21. detaind by Lord & Lady Spencer who had made a party to dine & sup on my Acct. Impatient to set out for my Solitude—there the Mind, Eliza! gains strength, & learns to lean upon herself—and seeks refuge in its own Constancy & Virtue—in the world it seeks or accepts of a few treacherous supports—the feign’d Compassion of one—the flattery of a second—the Civilities of a third—the friendship of a fourth—they all deceive—& bring the Mind back to where mine is retreating—that is Eliza! to itself—to thee who art my second self, to retirement, reflection & Books—when The Stream of Things, dear Bramine, Brings Us both together to this Haven—will not your heart take up its rest for ever? & will not yr. head Leave the world to those who can make a better thing of it—if there are any who know how.—Heaven take thee Eliza! under it’s Wing—adieu! adieu—
22d.
Left Bond Street & London wt. it, thisMorning—What a Creature I am! my heart has ached this week to get away—& still was ready to bleed in quiting a Place where my Connection with my dear dear Eliza began—Adieu to it! till I am summon’d up to the Downs by a Message, to fly to her—for I think I shall not be able to support Town without you—& wd. chuse rather to sit solitary here till the end of the next Summer—to be made happy altogether—then seek for happiness—or even suppose I can have it, but in Eliza’s Society.
23d.[27]bear my Journey badly—ill—& dispirited all the Way—staid two days on the road at the A-Bishops of Yorks—shewd his Grace & his Lady and Sister yr. portrait—wth. a short but interesting Story of my friendship for the Original—kindly nursed & honourd both—arrived at my Thatchd Cottage the 28th. of May.
29th. & 30th.—confined to my bed—so emaciated, and unlike what I was, I could scarse be angry with thee Eliza, if thou Coulds not remember me, did heaven send me acrossthy way—Alas! poor Yorick!—“remember thee! Pale Ghost—remember thee—“whilst Memory holds a seat in thisdistracted World—Remember thee—Yes from the Table of her Memory,” shall just Eliza wipe away all trivial men—& leave a throne for Yorick—adieu dear constant Girl—adieu—adieu—& Remember my Truth and eternal fidelity—Remember how I Love—remember what I suffer.—Thou art mine Eliza by Purchace—had I not earn’d thee with a bitter price.
31.
Going this day upon a long course of Corrosive Mercury—wch. in itself, is deadly poyson, but given in a certain preparation, not very dangerous—I was forced to give it up in Town, from the terrible Cholicks both in Stomach & Bowels—but the Faculty thrust it down my Throat again—These Gentry have got it into their Nodelles, That mine isan EcclesiasticRheum as the french call it—god help em! I submit as my Uncle Toby did, in drinking Water, upon the wound he recd. in his Groin—Merely for quietness sake.
June 1.
The Faculty, my dear Eliza! have mistaken my Case—why not yrs.? I wish I could fly to you & attend you but one month as a physician—You’ll Languish & dye where you are,—(if not by the climate)—most certainly by theirIgnorance of yr. Case, & the unskilful Treatment you must be a martyr to in such a place as Bombay.—I’m Languishing here myself with every Aid & help—& tho’ I shall conquer it—yet have had a cruel Struggle—wd. my dear friend, I could ease yrs., either by my Advice—my attention—my Labour—my purse—They are all at yr. Service, such as they are—and that you know Eliza—or my friendship for you is not worth a rush.
June 2d.
This morning surpriz’d with a Letter from my Lydia—that She and her Mama, are coming to pay me a Visit—but on Condition I promise not to detain them in England beyond next April—when, they purpose, by my Consent, to retire into France, & establish themselves for Life—To all which I have freely givenmy parole of Honour—& so shall have them with me for the Summer—from Octr. to April—they take Lodgings in York—when they Leave me for good & all I suppose.
☞——Every thing for the best! Eliza. This unexpected visit, is neither a visit of friendship or form—but ’tis a visit, such as I know you will never make me,—of pure Interest—to pillage what they can from me. In the first place to sell a small estate I have of sixty pds. a year—& lay out the purchase money in joint annuitys for them in the french Funds; by this they will obtain 200 pds. a year, to be continued to the longer Liver—and as it rids me of all future care—& moreover transfers their Income to the Kingdom where they purpose to live—I’m truely acquiescent—tho’ I lose the Contingency of surviving them—but ’tis no matter—I shall have enough—& a hundred or two hundred Pounds for Eliza when ever She will honour me with putting her hand into my Purse——In the main time, I am not sorry for this Visit, as every Thing will be finally settled between us by it—only as their Annuity will be toostrait—I shall engage to remit them a 100 Guineas a year more, during my Wife’s Life—& then, I will think, Eliza, of living for myself & the Being I love as much. But I shall be pillaged in a hundred small Item’s by them—wch. I have a Spirit above saying,no—to; as Provisions of all sorts of Linnens—for house use—Body use—printed Linnens for Gowns—Mazareens of Teas—Plate, (all I have, but 6 Silver Spoons)—In short I shall be pluck’d bare—all but of yr. Portrait & Snuff Box & yr. other dear Presents—& the neat furniture of my thatched Palace—& upon these I set up Stock again, Eliza. What say you, Eliza! shall we join ourlittle capitals together?—will Mr. Draper give us leave?—he may safely—if yr.Virtue& Honour are only concerned,—’twould be safe in Yoricks hands, as in a Brothers—I wd. not wish Mr. Draper to allow you above half I allow Mrs. Sterne—Our Capital would be too great, & tempt us from the Society of poor Cordelia—who begins to wish for you.
By this time, I trust you have doubled the Cape of good hope—& sat down to yr. writing Drawer; & look’d in Yoricks face,as you took out yr. Journal; to tell him so—I hope he seems to smile as kindly upon you Eliza, as ever—yr. Attachment & Love for me, will make him do so to eternity—if ever he shd. change his Air, Eliza!—I charge you catechize your own Heart—oh! twil never happen!
June 3d.—Cannot write my Travels, or give one half hours close attention to them, upon Thy Acct. my dearest friend—Yet write I must, & what to do with You, whilst I write—I declare I know not—I want to have you ever before my Imagination—& cannot keep you out of my heart or head—In short thou enterst my Library Eliza! (as thou one day shalt) without tapping—or sending for—by thy own Right of ever being close to thy Bramine—now I must shut you out sometimes—or meet you Eliza! with an empty purse upon the Beach—pity my entanglements from other passions—my Wife with me every moment of the Summer—think wt. restraint upon a Fancy that should Sport & be in all points at its ease—O had I, my dear Bramine this Summer, to soften—& modulatemy feelings—to enrich my fancy, & fill my heart brim full with bounty—my Book wd. be worth the reading—
It will be by stealth if I am able to go on with my Journal at all—It will have many Interruptions—& Heyho’s! most sentimentally utter’d—Thou must take it as it pleases God.—as thou must take the Writer—eternal Blessings be about You Eliza! I am a little better, & now find I shall be set right in all points—my only anxiety is about You—I want to prescribe for you My Eliza—for I think I understand yr.Casebetter than all the Faculty. adieu—adieu.
June 4.
Hussy!—I have employ’d a full hour upon yr. sweet sentimental Picture—and a couple of hours upon yourself—& with as much kind friendship, as the hour You left me—I deny it—Time lessens no Affections wch. honour & merit have planted—I wd. give more, and hazard more now for your happiness than in any one period, since I first learn’d to esteem you—is it so with thee my friend? has absence weakened my Interest—hastime worn out any Impression—or is Yoricks name less Musical in Eliza’s ears?—my heart smites me, for asking the question—’tis Treason agst. thee Eliza and Truth—Ye are dear Sisters, and yr. Brother Bramin Can never live to see a Separation amongst Us.—What a similitude in our Trials whilst asunder!—Providence has order’d every Step better, than we could have order’d them,—for the particular good we wish each other—This you will comment upon & find theSense ofwithout my explanation.
I wish this Summer & Winter wth. all I am to go through with in them, in business & Labour & Sorrow, well over—I have much to compose—& much to discompose me—have my Wife’s projects—& my own Views arising out of them, to harmonize and turn to account—I have Millions of heart aches to suffer & reason with—& in all this Storm of Passions, I have but one small Anchor, Eliza! to keep this weak Vessel of mine from perishing—I trust all I have to it—as I trust Heaven, which cannot leave me, without a fault, to perish.—may the same just Heaven my Eliza, bethat eternal Canopy wch. shall shelter thy head from eviltill wemeet—Adieu—adieu—adieu.
June 5.
I sit down to write this day, in good earnest—so read Eliza! quietly besides me—I’ll not give you a Look—except one of kindness—dear Girl! if thou lookest so bewitching once more—I’ll turn thee out of my Study—You may bid me defiance, Eliza.—You cannot conceive how much & how universally I’m pitied, upon the Score of this unexpected Visit from france—my friends think it will kill me—If I find myself in danger I’ll fly to you to Bombay—will Mr. Draper receive me?—he ought—but he will never know what reasons make it hisInterestandDuty—We must leave all all to that Being who is infinitely removed above all Straitness of heart ... & is a friend to the friendly, as well as to the friendless.
June 6.—am quite alone in the depth of that sweet Recess, I have so often described to You—’tis sweet in itself—butYou never come across me—but the perspective brightens up—& every Tree & Hill & Vale & Ruin abt. me—smiles as if you was amidst ’em—delusive moments!—how pensive a price do I pay for you—fancy sustains the Vision whilst She has strength—but Eliza! Eliza is not with me!—I sit down upon the first Hillock Solitary as a sequester’d Bramin—I wake from my delusion to a thousand Disquietudes, which many talk of—my Eliza!—but few feel—then weary my Spirit with thinking, plotting, & projecting—& when I’ve brought my System to my mind—am only Doubly miserable, That I cannot execute it—
Thus—Thus my dear Bramine are we lost at present in this tempest—Some Haven of rest will open to us assuredly—God made us not for Misery! and Ruin—he has orderd all our Steps—& influenced our Attachments for what is worthy of them—It must end well—Eliza!—
June 7
I have this week finish’d a sweet little apartment which all the time it was doing, I flatter’d the most delicious of Ideas, inthinking I was making it for You—’Tis a neat little simple elegant room, overlook’d only by the Sun—just big enough to hold a Sopha; for us—a Table, four Chairs, a Bureau, & a Book case—They are to be all yrs., Room & all—& there Eliza! shall I enter ten times a day to give thee Testimonies of my Devotion—Wast thou this moment sat down, it wd. be the sweetest of earthly Tabernacles—I shall enrich it, from time to time, for thee—till Fate lets me lead thee, by the hand Into it—& then it can want no Ornament.—’tis a little oblong room—with a large Sash at the end—a little elegant fireplace—wth. as much room to dine around it, as in Bond street—But in sweetness & Simplicity; & silence beyond any thing—oh my Eliza!—I shall see thee surely Goddesse of this Temple,—and the most sovereign one, of all I have—& of all the powers heaven has trusted me with—They were lent me, Eliza! only for thee—& for thee my dear Girl shall be kept & employ’d.—You knowwhat rightsYou have over me.—wish to heaven I could Convey the Grant more amply than I havedone—but ’tis the same—’tis register’d where it willlongest last—& that is in the feeling & most sincere of human hearts—You know I mean this reciprocally—& whenever I mention the Word Fidelity & Truth,—in Speaking of yr. Reliance on mine—I always Imply the same Reliance upon the same Virtues in my Eliza.—I love thee Eliza! & will love thee for ever—Adieu.—
June 8.
Begin to recover, and sensibly to gain strength every day—and have such an appetite as I have not had for some Years—I prophecy I shall be the better, for the very Accident which has occasioned my Illness—& that the Medicines & Regimen I have submitted to will make a thorough Regeneration of me, and yt. I shall have more health and strength, than I have enjoy’d these ten Years—Send me such an Acct. of thyself Eliza, by the first sweet Gale—but ’tis impossible You shd. from Bombay—twil be as fatal to You, as it has been to thousands of yr. Sex—England & Retirement in it, can only save you—Come!—Come away—
June 9th. I keep a post chaise & a couple of fine horses, & take the Air every day in it—I go out—& return to my Cottage Eliza! alone—’tis melancholly, what shd. be matter of enjoyment; & the more so for that reason—I have a thousand things to remark & say as I roll along—but I want you to say them to—I could some times be wise—& often Witty—but I feel it a reproach to be the latter whilst Eliza is so far from hearing me—& what is Wisdom to a foolish weak heart like mine! Tis like the Song of Melody to a broken Spirit—You must teach me fortitude my dear Bramine—for with all the tender qualities wch. make you the most precious of Women—& most wanting of all other Women of a kind of protector—yet you have a passive kind of sweet Courage wch. bears you up—more than any one Virtue I can summon up in my own Case—We were made with Tempers for each other Eliza! and you are bless’d with such a certain turn of Mind & reflection—that if Self love does not blind me—I resemble no Being in the world so nearly as I do you—do you wonder then I have such friendship for you?—for my ownpart, I shd. not be astonished, Eliza, if you was to declare “You was up to the ears in Love with Me.”
June 10th.
You are stretching over now in the Trade Winds from the Cape to Madrass—(I hope)—but I know it not, some friendly Ship you possibly have met wth., & I never read an Acct. of an India Man arrived—but I expect that it is the Messenger of the news my heart is upon the rack for.—I calculate, That you will arrive at Bombay by the beginning of October—by February, I shall surely hear from you thence—but from Madrass sooner.—I expect you Eliza in person, by September—& shall scarse go to London till March—for what have I to do there, when (except printing my Books) I have no Interest or Passion to gratify—I shall return in June to Coxwould—& there wait for the glad Tidings of yr. arrival in the Downs—won’t You write to me Eliza? by the first Boat? would not you wish to be greeted by yr. Yorick upon the Beech?—or be met by him to hand you out of yr. postchaise, to pay him for the Anguish heunderwent, in handing you into it?—I know your answers—my Spirit is with You. farewel dear friend—
June 11.
I am every day negociating to sell my little Estate besides me—to send the money into France to purchace peace to myself—& a certainty of never having it interrupted by Mrs. Sterne—who when She is sensible I have given her all I can part with—will be at rest herself—Indeed her plan to purchace annuities in france—is a pledge of Security to me—That She will live her days out there—otherwise She could have no end in transporting this two thousand pounds out of England—nor wd. I consent but upon that plan—but I may be at rest!—if my imagination will but let me—Hall says ’tis no matter where she lives; If we are but separate,’tis as good as if the Ocean rolled between us—& so I should argue to another Man—but,’tis an Idea wch. won’t do so well for me—& tho’ nonsensical enough—Yet I shall be most at rest when there is that Bar between Us—was I never so sure, I shd. never be interrupted by her, in England—butI may be at rest I say, on that head—for they have left all their Cloaths & plate and Linen behind them in france—& have joined in the most earnest Entreaty, That they may return & fix in france—to wch. I have give my word & honour—You will be bound with me Eliza! I hope, for performance of my promise—I never yet broke it, in cases where Interest or pleasure could have tempted me,—and shall hardly do it now, when tempted only by misery.—In Truth Eliza! thou art the Object to wch. every act of mine is directed—You interfere in every Project—I rise—I go to sleep with this on my Brain—how will my dear Bramine approve of this?—wch. way will it conduce to make her happy? and how will it be a proof of my affection to her? are all the Enquiries I make—yr. Honour, yr. Conduct, yr. Truth & regard for my esteem—I know will equally direct every Step—& movement of yr. Desires—& with that Assurance, is it, my dear Girl, That I sustain Life.—But when will those Sweet eyes of thine, run over these Declarations?—how—& with whom are they to be entrusted; to be conveyed to You?—unless Mrs. James’sfriendship to us, finds some expedient—I must wait—till the first evening I’m with You—when I shall present You wth. them as a better Picture of me, than Cosway could do for You …—have been dismally ill all day—owing to my course of Medicines wch. are too strong & forcing for this gawsy Constitution of mine—I mend with them however—good God! how is it with You?——
June 12. I have return’d from a delicious walk of Romance, my Bramine, which I am to tread a thousand times over with You swinging upon my arm—’tis to my Convent—& I have pluckd up a score [of] Bryars by the roots wch. grew near the edge of the foot way, that they might not scratch or incommode you—had I been sure of yr. taking that walk with me the very next day, I could not have been more serious in my employmt.—dear Enthusiasm?—thou bringst things forward in a moment, wch. Time keeps for Ages back—I have you ten times a day besides me—I talk to you Eliza, for hours together—I take yr. Council—I hear your reasons—I admire you forthem!—to this magic of a warm Mind, I owe all that’s worth living for, during this State of our Trial—Every Trinket you gave or exchanged wth. me has its force—yr. Picture is Yrself—all Sentiment, Softness & Truth—It speaks—it listens—’tis concerned—it resignes—Dearest Original! how like unto thee does it seem—& will seem—till thou makest it vanish, by thy presence—I’m but so, so—but advancing in health—to meet you—to nurse you, to nourish you agst. you come—for I fear, You will not arrive, but in a State that calls out to Yorick for support—Thou art Mistress, Eliza, of all the powers he has to sooth & protect thee—for thou art Mistress of his heart; his affections; and his reason—& beyond that, except a paltry purse, he has nothing worth giving thee—.
June 13.
This has been a year of presents to me—my Bramine—How many presents have I recd. from You in the first place?—Ld. Spencer has loaded me with a grand Ecritoire of 40 Guineas—I am to receive this week a fourty Guinea-present of a gold Snuff Box,as fine as Paris can fabricate one with an Inscription on it, more valuable, than the Box itself—I have a present of a portrait, (which by the by I have immortalized in my Sentimental Journey) worth them both—I say nothing of a gold Stock buccle & Buttons—tho’ I rate them above rubies, because they were Consecrated by the hand of Friendship, as She fitted them to me.—I have a present of the Sculptures upon poor Ovid’s Tomb, who died in Exile, tho’ he wrote so well upon the Art of Love—These are in six beautiful Pictures executed on Marble at Rome—& these Eliza, I keep sacred as Ornaments for yr. Cabinet, on Condition I hang them up.—and last of all, I have had a present, Eliza! this Year, of a Heart so finely set—with such rich materials—& Workmanship—That Nature must have had the chief hand in it—If I am able to keep it—I shall be a rich Man—If I lose it—I shall be poor indeed—so poor! I shall stand begging at yr. gates.—But what can all these presents portend—That it will turn out a fortunate earnest, of what is to be given me hereafter.
June 14.
I want you to comfort me my dear Bramine—& reconcile my mind to 3 months misery—some days I think lightly of it—on others—my heart sinks down to the earth—but ’tis the last Trial of conjugal Misery—& I wish it was to begin this moment, That it might run its period the faster—for sitting as I do, expecting sorrow—is suffering it—I am going to Hall to be philosophizd with for a week or ten Days on this point—but one hour with you would calm me more & furnish me with stronger Supports under this weight upon my Spirits, than all the world put together—Heaven! to what distressful Encountres hast thou thought fit to expose me—& was it not, that thou hast bless’d me with a chearfulness of disposition—& thrown an object in my way, That is to render that Sun Shine perpetual—Thy dealings with me, would be a mystery.
June 15—from morning to night every momt. of this day held in Bondage at my friend Ld. ffauconberg’s—so have but a moment left to close the day, as I do every one—with wishing thee a sweet nights rest—wouldI was at the feet of yr. Bed fanning breezes to You, in yr. Slumbers—Mark!—you will dream of me this night—& if it is not recorded in your Journal—I’ll say, you could not recollect it the day following—adieu.—
June 16.
My Chaise is so large—so high—so long—so wide—so Crawford’s-like, That I am building a coach house on purpose for it—do you dislike it for this gigantick size?—now I remember, I heard you once say—You hated a small post Chaise—wch. you must know determined my Choice to this—because I hope to make you a present of it—& if you are squeamish I shall be as squeamish as You, & return you all yr. presents,—but one—wch. I cannot part with—and what that is—I defy you to guess. I have bought a milch Asse this afternoon—& purpose to live by Suction, to save the expences of houskeeping—& have a Score or two guineas in my purse, next
June 17.
I have brought yr. nameEliza!and Pictureinto my work[28]—where they will remain—when You & I are at rest for ever—Some Annotator or explainer of my works in this place will take occasion, to speak of the Friendship wch. subsisted so long & faithfully betwixt Yorick & the Lady he speaks of—Her Name he will tell the world was Draper—a Native of India—married there to a gentleman in the India Service of that Name—who brought her over to England for the recovery of her health in the Year 65—where She continued to April the Year 1767. It was abt. three months before her Return to India, That our Author’s acquaintance & hers began. Mrs. Draper had a great thirst for knowledge—was handsome—genteel—engaging—and of such gentle dispositions & so enlightened an understanding,—That Yorick (whether he made much opposition is not known) from an acquaintance—soon became her Admirer—they caught fire, at each other at the same time—& they wd. often say, without reserve to the world, & without any Idea of saying wrong in it, That their Affections for each other wereunbounded—Mr. Draper dying inthe Year * * * * * This Lady return’d to England & Yorick the Year after becoming a Widower—They were married—& retiring to one of his Livings in Yorkshire, where was a most romantic Situation—they lived & died happily—and are spoke of with honour in the parish to this day—