rate—I want to Call off my Thoughts from thee, that I may now & then
apply them to some concerns w^{ch}. 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 w^{ch}.
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 w^{ch}. 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 faithful Bramin 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 3^d. 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 M^{rs}. 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 4^{th}. Directed by M^{rs}. James how to write 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 y^r. own hands——shall write a long long Letter—& trust it
to fate & thee. was not able to say three words at M^{rs}. James, thro’
utter weakness of body & mind; & when I got home—could not get up stairs
w^{th}. 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.
* * * * *
5^{th}. writing to Eliza.—& trying _l’Extrait de Saturne_ upon
myself.—(a french Nostrum)
* * * * *
6^{th}. Dined out for the 1^{st}. time—came home to enjoy a more
harmonious evening w^{th}. my Eliza, than I could expect at Soho
Concert[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 mom^t. I think of
our future Scenes—so must grow strong upon the Idea—what shall I do upon
the Reality?—O God!—
* * * * *
8^{th}. 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.
* * * * *
9^{th}.—10^{th}.—& 11^{th}.—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!—
* * * * *
12^{th}. O Eliza! That my weary head was now laid upon thy Lap—(tis all
that’s left for 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!
* * * * *
13^{th}. Could not get the Gen^l. 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 it _now_, 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 w^{th}. L^d. & Lady Bellasis.—so beset w^{th}. 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 y^r. Portrait—caught her passions still more with that of
y^rself.—& 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 Evening
_so spent_, as the _Saturday’s w^{ch}. 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 Thing _together_
for 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 every Thing goes well with You—Surely no evil can have
befallen you—for if it had—I had felt some monitory sympathetic Shock
within me, w^{ch}. would have spoke like Revelation.—So farewell to all
tormenting _May be’s_ in regard to my Eliza—She is well—she thinks of
her Yorick w^{th}. 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 M^{rs}. 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 Acc^t. 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
y^r. 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—
* * * * *
22^d.
Left Bond Street & London w^t. it, this Morning—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—& w^d.
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.
* * * * *
23^d.[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 y^r. portrait—w^{th}. a short but interesting Story of my
friendship for the Original—kindly nursed & honourd both—arrived at my
Thatchd Cottage the 28^{th}. of May.
* * * * *
29^{th}. & 30^{th}.—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 across thy way—Alas! poor
Yorick!—“_remember thee! Pale Ghost—remember thee—“whilst Memory holds a
seat in this_ distracted 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—w^{ch}. 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 is _an
Ecclesiastic_ Rheum as the french call it—god help em! I submit as my
Uncle Toby did, in drinking Water, upon the wound he rec^d. in his
Groin—_Merely for quietness sake_.
* * * * *
June 1.
The Faculty, my dear Eliza! have mistaken my Case—why not y^{rs}.? 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
their _Ignorance of y^r. 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—w^d. my dear friend, I could ease y^{rs}., either by my
Advice—my attention—my Labour—my purse—They are all at y^r. Service,
such as they are—and that you know Eliza—or my friendship for you is not
worth a rush.
* * * * *
June 2^d.
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 given my parole of Honour—& so shall have them with
me for the Summer—from Oct^r. 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 p^{ds}. a year—& lay
out the purchase money in joint annuitys for them in the french Funds;
by this they will obtain 200 p^{ds}. 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 too strait—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—w^{ch}. 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 y^r. Portrait & Snuff Box &
y^r. 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 our _little capitals together_?—will M^r. Draper give us leave?—he
may safely—if y^r. _Virtue_ & Honour are only concerned,—’twould be safe
in Yoricks hands, as in a Brothers—I w^d. not wish M^r. Draper to allow
you above half I allow M^{rs}. 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 y^r. writing Drawer; & look’d in Yoricks face, as you took out y^r.
Journal; to tell him so—I hope he seems to smile as kindly upon you
Eliza, as ever—y^r. Attachment & Love for me, will make him do so to
eternity—if ever he sh^d. change his Air, Eliza!—I charge you catechize
your own Heart—oh! twil never happen!
* * * * *
June 3^d.—Cannot write my Travels, or give one half hours close
attention to them, upon Thy Acc^t. 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 w^t. restraint upon a
Fancy that should Sport & be in all points at its ease—O had I, my dear
Bramine this Summer, to soften—& modulate my feelings—to enrich my
fancy, & fill my heart brim full with bounty—my Book w^d. 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 y^r. _Case_ better
than all the Faculty. adieu—adieu.
* * * * *
June 4.
Hussy!—I have employ’d a full hour upon y^r. 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
w^{ch}. honour & merit have planted—I w^d. 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—has time worn out any Impression—or is Yoricks name less
Musical in Eliza’s ears?—my heart smites me, for asking the
question—’tis Treason ag^{st}. thee Eliza and Truth—Ye are dear Sisters,
and y^r. 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 the
_Sense of_ without my explanation.
I wish this Summer & Winter w^{th}. 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, be that eternal
Canopy w^{ch}. shall shelter thy head from evil _till we_
meet—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 M^r. Draper receive me?—he ought—but he will
never know what reasons make it his _Interest_ and _Duty_—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—but You never come across
me—but the perspective brightens up—& every Tree & Hill & Vale & Ruin
ab^t. 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, in thinking 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 y^{rs}., 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 w^d. 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—w^{th}. 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 know _what rights_ You have over me.—wish
to heaven I could Convey the Grant more amply than I have _done_—but
’tis the same—’tis register’d where it will longest 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 y^r. 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 y^t. I shall have more health and strength, than
I have enjoy’d these ten Years—Send me such an Acc^t. of thyself Eliza,
by the first sweet Gale—but ’tis impossible You sh^d. from Bombay—twil
be as fatal to You, as it has been to thousands of y^r. Sex—England &
Retirement in it, can only save you—Come!—Come away—
* * * * *
June 9^{th}. 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 sh^d. 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 w^{ch}. 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 w^{ch}. 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 own part, I sh^d. not be
astonished, Eliza, if you was to declare “You was up to the ears in Love
with Me.”
* * * * *
June 10^{th}.
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 w^{th}., & I never read an Acc^t. 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 y^r.
arrival in the Downs—won’t You write to me Eliza? by the first Boat?
would not you wish to be greeted by y^r. Yorick upon the Beech?—or be
met by him to hand you out of y^r. postchaise, to pay him for the
Anguish he underwent, in handing you into it?—I know your answers—my
Spirit is with You. farewel dear friend—
* * * * *
June 11.