little decent kind of an inn by the road- no way favorable to the nicety of our senside. sations:-if any thing could have added I forthwith took possession of my bed- to it, it was that the two beds were both of chamber, got a good fire, order'd supper, them so very small, as to cut us off from and was thanking Heaven it was no worse, every idea of the lady and the maid lying -when a voiturin arrived with a lady in it, and her servant-maid.

together, which in either of them, could it have been feasible, my lying beside them, though a thing not to be wish'd, yet there was nothing in it so terrible which the imagination might not have pass'd over without torment.

As there was no other bed-chamber in the house, the hostess, without much nicety, led them into mine, telling them, as she usher'd them in, that there was nobody in it but an English gentleman;-that there As for the little room within, it offer'd were two good beds in it, and a closet little or no consolation to us: 'twas a damp, within the room which held another. The cold closet, with a half-dismantled windowaccent in which she spoke of this third bed, shutter, and with a window which had did not say much for it; however, she neither glass nor oil-paper in it to keep out said there were three beds, and but three the tempest of the night. I did not enpeople,—and she durst say the gentleman deavor to stifle my cough when the lady would do any thing to accommodate mat- gave a peep into it; so it reduced the case ters. I left not the lady a moment to make in course to this alternative, That the a conjecture about it, so instantly made a lady should sacrifice her health to her feeldeclaration that I would do any thing in ings, and take up with the closet herself, my power. and abandon the bed next mine to her maid, As this did not amount to an absolute-or, that the girl should take the closet, &c. surrender of my bed-chamber, I still felt myself so much the proprietor, as to have a right to do the honors of it;-so I desired the lady to sit down, pressed her into the warmest seat, call'd for more wood, desired the hostess to enlarge the plan of the supper, and to favor us with the very best wine.

The lady was a Piedmontese of about thirty, with a glow of health in her cheeks. The maid was a Lyonoise of twenty, and as brisk and lively a French girl as ever moved. There were difficulties every way, and the obstacle of the stone in the road, which brought us into the distress, great as it appeared whilst the peasants were removing The lady had scarce warm'd herself five it, was but a pebble to what lay in our way minutes at the fire, before she began to now. I have only to add, that it did not turn her head back, and to give a look at lessen the weight which hung upon our the beds: and the oftener she cast her eyes that way, the more they return'd perplex'd. -I felt for her-and for myself; for in a few minutes, what by her looks, and the case itself, I found myself as much embarrassed as it was possible the lady could be herself.

spirits, that we were both too delicate to communicate what we felt to each other upon the occasion.

We sat down to supper; and, had we not had more generous wine to it than a little inn in Savoy could have furnish'd, our tongues had been tied up till necessity herself had set them at liberty;-but the lady having a few bottles of Burgundy in her

That the beds we were to lie in were in one and the same room, was enough simply by itself to have excited all this;—but the voiture, sent down her fille de chambre for position of them (for they stood parallel, a couple of them; so that by the time supand so very close to each other, as only to per was over, and we were left alone, we allow a space for a small wicker-chair be- felt ourselves inspired with a strength of twixt them) rendered the affair still more mind sufficient to talk, at least, without oppressive to us; they were fixed up, reserve, upon our situation. We turn'd it moreover, near the fire, and the projection every way, and debated and considered it of the chimney on one side; and a large in all kinds of lights, in the course of a two beam which cross'd the room on the other, hours' negotiation; at the end of which the form'd a kind of recess for them that was articles were settled finally betwixt us, and

stipulated for in form and manner of a treaty undress and get to bed;-there was one of peace, and, I believe, with as much way of doing it, and that I leave to the religion and good faith on both sides, as in reader to devise, protesting as I do it, if it any treaty which has yet had the honor of is not the most delicate in nature,-'tis the being handed down to posterity. fault of his own imagination,—against which this is not my first complaint.

They were as follow:

First, As the right of the bed-chamber is Now, when we were got to bed, whether in Monsieur,—and he thinking the bed next it was the novelty of the situation, or what to the fire to be the warmest, he insists upon it was, I know not, but so it was, I could the concession on the lady's side of taking not shut my eyes; I tried this side and that, up with it. and turn'd and turn'd again, till a full hour Granted on the part of Madame; with a after midnight, when Nature and Patience proviso, That as the curtains of that bed both wearing out,-O my God! said I. are of a flimsy transparent cotton, and ap- -You have broke the treaty, Monsieur, pear likewise too scanty to draw close, that said the lady, who had no more sleep than the fille de chambre shall fasten up the myself. I begg'd a thousand pardons; but opening, either by corking-pins or needle insisted it was no more than an ejaculation. and thread, in such manner as shall be-She maintain'd it was an entire infrac deem'd a sufficient barrier on the side of tion of the treaty; I maintained it was Monsieur. provided for in the clause of the third

2dly, It is required on the part of Mad- article. ame, that Monsieur shall lie the whole night through in his robe de chambre.

The lady would by no means give up the point, though she weaken'd her barrier by it; for, in the warmth of the dispute, I could hear two or three corking-pins fall

Rejected: inasmuch as Monsieur is not worth a robe de chambre, he having nothing in his portmanteau but six shirts and a out of the curtain to the ground. black silk pair of breeches.

-Upon my word and honor, Madame,

The mentioning the silk pair of breeches said I, stretching my arm out of bed by way made an entire change of the article,-for of asseveration,— the breeches were accepted as an equivalent

(I was going to have added, that I would for the robe de chambre; and so it was not have trespass'd against the remotest stipulated and agreed upon, what I should idea of decorum for the world)— lie in my black silk breeches all night.

But the fille de chambre hearing there

3dly. It was insisted upon, and stipu- were words between us, and fearing that lated for by the lady, that after Monsieur hostilities would ensue in course, had crept was got to bed, and the candle and fire ex- silently out of her closet; and it being tinguished, that Monsieur should not speak totally dark, had stolen so close to our beds, one single word the whole night.

Granted, provided Monsieur's saying his prayers might not be deem'd an infraction of the treaty.

There was but one point forgot in this. treaty, and that was the manner in which the lady and myself should be obliged to

that she had got herself into the narrow passage which separated them, and had advanced so far up as to be in a line betwixt her mistress and me ;

So that when I stretch'd out my hand, I caught hold of the fille de chambre's—

END OF THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.

BY

LAURENCE STERNE, A. M.

LETTER I.*

TO MISS L

--

Adieu, my L. Return to one who languishes for thy society.

LETTER II.

TO THE SAME.

L. STERNE.

YES! I will steal from the world, and not a babbling tongue shall tell where I am,— Echo shall not so much as whisper my hiding place, suffer thy imagination to paint it at a little sun-gilt cottage, on the side of a romantic hill;-dost thou think I will You bid me tell you, my dear L., how I leave love and friendship behind me? No! bore your departure for S- and whether they shall be my companions in solitude, the valley where D'Estella stands, retains for they will sit down and rise up with me still its looks,-or if I think the roses or in the amiable form of my L. We will jessamines smell as sweet, as when you be as merry and as innocent as our first left it.-Alas! every thing has now lost its parents in Paradise, before the arch-fiend entered that undescribable scene.'

relish and look! The hour you left D'Estella, I took to my bed.-I was worn out The kindest affections will have room to with fevers of all kinds, but most by that shoot and expand in our retirement, and fever of the heart with which thou knowest produce such fruit as madness, and envy, well I have been wasting these two years and ambition, have always killed in the bud.—and shall continue wasting till you quit -Let the human tempest and hurricane S. The good Miss S, from the rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond forebodings of the best of hearts, thinkthe horizon of peace.— My L. has seen ing I was ill, insisted upon my going to a polyanthus blow in December, some her.. What can be the cause, my dear friendly wall has sheltered it from the L., that I have never been able to see the biting wind. No planetary influence shall face of this mutual friend, but I feel myself reach us, but that which presides and cher- rent to pieces? She made me stay an hour ishes the sweetest flowers.-God preserve with her, and in that short space, I burst us! how delightful this prospect in idea! into tears a dozen different times-and in We will build and we will plant in our own such affectionate gusts of passion, that she way, simplicity shall not be tortured by was constrained to leave the room,-and art, we will learn of Nature how to live,- sympathize in her dressing-room.—I have she shall be our alchymist to mingle all the been weeping for you both, said she, in a good of life into one salubrious draught.-tone of the sweetest pity, for poor L.'s The gloomy family of care and distrust shall heart, I have long known it-her anguish be banished from our dwelling, guarded by is as sharp as yours,-her heart as tender, thy kind and tutelary deity;—we will sing-her constancy as great,-her virtues as our choral songs of gratitude, and rejoice to heroic;-Heaven brought you not together the end of our pilgrimage.

* This, and the three subsequent letters, were writ ten by Mr. Sterne to his wife, while she resided in Staffordshire, before their marriage.

to be tormented. I could only answer her with a kind look, and a heavy sigh,-and returned home to your lodgings (which I have hired till your return) to resign myself to misery.-Fanny had prepared me a

LETTER III.

TO THE SAME.

supper, she is all attention to me;-but I sat over it with tears; a bitter sauce, my L., but I could eat with no other:-for the moment she began to spread my little table, BEFORE now my L. has lodged an indictmy heart fainted within me.-One solitary ment against me in the high court of Friendplate, one knife, one fork, one glass!—I ship;-I plead guilty to the charge, and engave a thousand pensive penetrating looks tirely submit to the mercy of that amiable at the chair thou hadst so often graced, in tribunal.-Let this mitigate my punishment, those quiet and sentimental repasts,—then if it will not expiate my transgression,-do laid down my knife and fork, and took out not say that I shall offend again in the same my handkerchief, and clapped it across my manner, though a too easy pardon sometimes face, and wept like a child.—I do so this occasions a repetition of the same fault.—A very moment, my L.; for, as I take up my miser says, Though I do no good with my pen, my poor pulse quickens, my pale face money to-day, to-morrow shall be marked glows, and tears are trickling down upon with some deed of beneficence.-The Libthe paper, as I trace the word L. O ertine says, Let me enjoy this week in for thou blessed in thyself, and in thy virtues,- bidden and luxurious pleasures, and the blessed to all that know thee,-to me most next I will dedicate to serious thought and so, because more do I know of thee than all reflection.--The Gamester says, Let me have thy sex. This is the philtre, my L., by one more chance with the dice, and I will which thou hast charmed me, and by which never touch them more.—The Knave of thou wilt hold me thine, whilst virtue and every profession wishes to obtain but indefaith hold this world together. This, my pendency, and he will become an honest friend, is the plain and simple magic by man.- -The female Coquette triumphs in which I told Miss I have won a place tormenting her enamorato, for fear, after in that heart of thine, on which I depend so marriage, he should not pity her. satisfied, that time or distance, or change of every thing which might alarm the hearts of little men, create no uneasy suspense in welcome, as I did not expect it. Oh! my mine.-Wast thou to stay in S these L. thou art kind, indeed, to make an apoloseven years, thy friend, though he would gy for me, and thou never wilt assuredly grieve, scorns to doubt or to be doubted;- repent of one act of kindness-for being thy 'tis the only exception where security is debtor, I will pay thee with interest.—Why not the parent of danger.—I told you poor does my L. complain of the desertion of Fanny was all attention to me since your friends?-Where does the human being live departure contrives every day bringing in that will not join in this complaint?—It is the name of L. She told me last night a common observation, and perhaps too true, (upon giving me some hartshorn), she had that married people seldom extend their reobserved my illness began the very day gards beyond their own fire-side.—There is of your departure for S; that I had such a thing as parsimony in esteem, as never held up my head, had seldom or well as money-yet as one costs nothing, it scarce ever smiled, had fled from all society, might be bestowed with more liberality. -that she verily believed I was broken- We cannot gather grapes from thorns, so hearted, for she had never entered the we must not expect kind attachments from room, or passed by the door, but she heard persons who are wholly folded up in selfish me sigh heavily,-that I neither eat, or schemes. I do not know whether I must slept, or took pleasure in any thing as be- despise or pity such characters-Nature fore;-judge then, my L., can the valley never made an unkind creature-ill-usage, look so well, or the roses and jessamines and bad habits, have deformed a fair and smell so sweet as heretofore? Ah me!- lovely creation. but adieu, the vesper-bell calls me from thee to my God.

L STERNE.

The apparition of the fifth instant (for letters may almost be called so) proved more

My L.!-thou art surrounded by all the melancholy gloom of winter! wert thou alone, the retirement would be agreeable,

-disappointed ambition might envy such a complain.-Who can paint the distress of retreat, and disappointed love would seek it an affectionate mother, made a widow in a out.-Crowded towns, and busy societies, moment, weeping in bitterness over a numay delight the unthinking and gay-but merous, helpless, and fatherless offspring! solitude is the best nurse of wisdom.-Me--God! these are thy chastisements, and thinks I see my contemplative girl now in require (hard task!) a pious acquiescence. the garden, watching the gradual approach- Forgive me this digression, and allow me es of spring. Dost not thou mark with de- to drop a tear over a departed friend; and, light the first vernal buds of the snow-drop what is more excellent, an honest man. and primrose, these early and welcome visit- My L.! thou wilt feel all that kindness can ors, spring beneath thy feet.-Flora and inspire in the death of - The event Pomona already consider thee as their hand-was sudden, and thy gentle spirit would be maid, and a little time will load thee with more alarmed on that account.-But, my L., their sweetest blessing. The feathered thou hast less to lament, as old age was race are all thy own, and with them, un- creeping on, and her period of doing good, taught harmony will soon begin to cheer and being useful, was nearly over.-At sixty thy morning and evening walks.-Sweet years of age the tenement gets fast out of as this may be, return-return-the birds repair, and the lodger with anxiety thinks of Yorkshire will tune their pipes, and sing of a discharge.-In such a situation, the poet as melodiously as those of Staffordshire.. might well say, Adieu, my beloved L.; thine too much for my peace.

LETTER IV.

TO THE SAME.

L. STERNE.

"The soul uneasy," &c.

My L. talks of leaving the country—may a kind angel guide thy steps hither!-Solitude at length grows tiresome.-Thou sayest thou wilt quit the place with regret—I think so too.-Does not something uneasy mingle with the very reflection of leaving it? It is like parting with an old friend,

I HAVE offended her whom I so tenderly whose temper and company one has long love!-what could tempt me to it! but if a been acquainted with-I think I see you beggar was to knock at thy gate, would'st looking twenty times a day at the housethou not open the door, and be melted with almost counting every brick and pane of compassion?—I know thou would'st, for Pity glass, and telling them at the same time, has erected a temple in thy bosom.-Sweet- with a sigh, you are going to leave them.— est and best of all human passions! let thy Oh, happy modification of matter! they will web of tenderness cover the pensive form remain insensible of thy loss.-But how wilt of affliction, and soften the darkest shades thou be able to part with thy garden?—The of misery!-I have reconsidered this apolo- recollection of so many pleasing walks must gy, and, alas! what will it accomplish? Ar- have endeared it to you. The trees, the guments, however finely spun, can never shrubs, the flowers, which thou reared with change the nature of things-very true-thy own hands-will they not droop and so a truce with them. fade away sooner upon thy departure?I have lost a very valuable friend by a Who will be thy successor to nurse them sad accident, and what is worse, he has left in thy absence?-Thou wilt leave thy name a widow and five young children to lament upon the myrtle-tree.-If trees, and shrubs, this sudden stroke.-If real usefulness and and flowers, could compose an elegy, I integrity of heart could have secured him should expect a very plaintive one upon from this, his friends would not now be this subject.

mourning his untimely fate.-These dark Adieu, adieu! Believe me, ever, ever and seemingly cruel dispensations of Provi- thine.

dence, often make the best of human hearts

2 R

L. STERNE.