As [xxiii] S Mr. Sterne, in the foregoing narrative, hath brought down the account of himself until within a few months of his death, it remains only to mention that he left York about the end of the year 1767, and came to London in order to publish The Sentimental Journey, which he had written during the preceding summer at his fa vourite living at Coxwold. His health had been for fome time declining, but he continued to visit his friends, and retained his usual flow of spirits. In February, 1768, he began to perceive the approaches of death, and with the concern of a good man, and the folicitude of an affectionate parent, devoted his attention to the future welfare of his daughter. His letters at this period reflect fo much credit to his character, that it is to be lamented fome others in the collection are not permitted to fee the light. After a fhort ftruggle with his diforder, his debilitated and worn out frame fubmitted to fate on the 18th day of March, 1768, at his lodgings in Bond-ftreet. He was buried at the new burying-ground, belonging to the parish of St. George, Hanover-square, on the 22d of the fame month, in the most private manner; and hath fince been indebted to ftrangers for a monument very unworthy of his memory; on which the following lines are infcribed: "Near to this Place The Reverend Laurence Sterne, A.M. "Ah! molliter offa quiefcant." If a found Head, warm Heart, and Breast humane, This monumental ftone was erected by two brother mafons; for although he did not live to be a member of their fociety, yet as his all incomparable performances evidently prove him to have acted by rule and fquare, they rejoice in this opportunity of perpetuating his high and irreproach able character to after ages. W. & S." It is fcarcely neceffary to observe that this date is erroneous. THE BEAUTIES OF STERNE. ON WRITING. RITING, when properly managed (as you may be fure I think mine is), is but a differAs no one, who knows WRITING, when ent name for conversation. what he is about in good company, would venture to talk all;-fo no author, who understands the juft boundaries of decorum and good-breeding, would prefume to think all: The trueft respect which you can pay to the reader's understanding, is to halve this matter amicably, and leave him something to imagine, in his turn, as well as yourself. For my own part, I am eternally paying him compliments of this kind, and do all that lies in my power to keep his imagination as bufy as my own. B SPECIMENS OF STERNE'S EPISTOLARY WRITING, OR, FAMILIAR LETTERS. TO MY WITTY WIDOW, MRS. F MADAM, W Coxwould, Aug. 3, 1760. THEN a man's brains are as dry as a fqueez'd Orange-and he feels he has no more conceit in him than a mallet, 'tis in vain to think of fitting down, and writing a letter to a lady of your wit, unlefs in the honeft John-Trot-Stile of, yours of the 15th inftant come fafe to hand, &c. which, by the bye, looks like a letter of business; and you know very well, from the first letter I had the honour to write to you, I am a man of no business at all. This vile plight I found my genius in was the reafon I have told Mr. I would not write to you till the next poft-hoping by that time to get fome recruit, at least of vivacity, if not wit, to fet out with;--but upon fecond thoughts, thinking a bad letter in season-to be better than a good one out of it-this fcrawl is the confequence, which, if you will burn the moment you get it promise to fend you a fine fet effay in the style of your female epiftolizers, cut and trimm'd at all points.-GOD defend me from fuch, who never yet knew what it was to fay or write one premeditated word in my whole life-for this reafon I fend you with pleasure, because wrote with the-careless irre gularity of an eafy heart.-Who told you, Garrick wrote the medley for Beard?-'Twas wrote in his houfe, however, and before I left town.—I deny it-I was not loft two days before I left town.-I was loft ail the time I was there, and never found 'till I got to this Shandy-caftle of mine.-Next winter I intend to fojourn amongst you with more decorum, and will neither be loft nor found any where. Now, I wish to God I was at your elbow-I have just finished one volume of Shandy, and I want to read it to fome one who I know can tafte and relish humour-this, by the way, is a little impudent in me -for I take the thing for granted, which their high mightineffes the world have yet to determine-but I mean no fuch thing-I could wifh only to have your opinion-fhall I, in truth, give you mine?-I dare not-but I will; provided you keep it to yourself— know then, that I think there is more laughable humour, with equal degree of Cervantic fatire-if not more than in the laft-but we are bad judges of the merit of our children. I return you a thousand thanks for your friendly congratulations upon my habitation-and I will take care you fhall never with me but well, for I am, Madam, With great esteem and truth, Your most obliged, L. STERNE. |