ד

or

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whom do those uglinesses not repel? | look forward with no earthly trouble If we are humane we are ashamed of but one, and that is, lest you should the repugnance, and do our best to sit think of me after I am gone, upon it, to use one of Charles's favorite should I rather say forget me? expressions; but it is as much a nat- the morose, self-concentred, curmudural birth in the breast as any other geonly old man that I doubt not you sentiment, and is never consistently have thought me, and perhaps even suppressed. Now speaking among our- fancied that I delighted to be. There selves, I may say we all know that your are such old gentlemen, I grant you; father has been one of the unfortu- so many that they are believed to be a nates, not conspicuously so, as again we common species. But I have given you shall agree, I think, but enough; and my grounds for doubting whether some that one little physical accident is an- of these are not in part home-made, swerable for a great deal. Of course it and made out of reluctant material; and has had its effects upon you, this repel- I beg of you to take me out of the lence which is so strangely felt as a category altogether. Appearances are personal offence; and, father or no strong against me, it is true; and yet I father, he would be naught of a philos- do assure you that even now, when, opher and much of a fool who dropped already on the pathway out of the city into self-pitying pathetics over that. of this life, I turn to look down on it, I And then, mark you, it has had its effect hardly know how these appearances upon me also. Again, George, I charge could have been avoided. Even if I you to bear me out, so far as your re- could have invited you, six or eight membrances allow. Did I ever put on years ago, to a consideration of the laws the airs of a buck, or set any recogniz- of our nature which are so much to able value on the modest portion of blame for the alienation of youth and good looks that was mine before the age, little good would have come of it; grey days? I think not, and indeed am and the invitation was an impossible sure. But now hear me avow that one. But there is no risk in placing when those good looks fell away and that consideration before you in this gave place to different ones, I mourned way, to think of when I am gone, and much as a beauty does when her losses to make it easier for you to believe that are too great for denial to herself or your father's later years were not quite disguise from others. And why? Be- discharged of tenderness which surely cause I hated to present myself to you you remember in the days when you a disagreeable object. I dare say it were little children. will surprise you as much as anything Before I had drawn the right deducin the world could do to learn that in tions from my natural history books, those times I often came down to there were times when I thought you breakfast quite unhappy on no other most unkind to me. Then I learned account; but however surprising, it is to know better than to cherish such true. And then upon the ugliness of thoughts; and now I would have you age came some small infirmities, such discard the corresponding idea of me as a troublesome loss of memory, a as really and truly a churlish old man, trembling hand for a soup-ladle, which more than content that his affections made matters worse; and I being are ashes, and no longer troublesome. ashamed of them, and unwilling to It was never so really and truly. All display them, shut myself out more and the four walls of my den could testify more from an intercourse which yet I to that if they had tongues as well as cannot blame myself for being the first ears.

66

liest shelter of your minds. And so, | one halfpenny, but I will pay him toGod bless you, George, and you, Charles; day." On another page we read "labor and for you the same prayer, my two takes panes," John Davie," "Bill pretty daughters. Another wish I have, Copper," the latter, no doubt, a school all for myself, but that must seem nickname. But on nearly every page strained and silly; it is that I might be dissolved into air so soon as this last drop of ink is expended, and never be seen again.

From The Cornhill Magazine.
STERNE AT HOME.

CONSIDERING how interesting and
piquant a personage Sterne was, it is
surprising that so little is known of his
curious and chequered life. An account
of him, indeed, in two volumes, ap-
peared nearly forty years ago, in which
is found all the information that was
then available. Since then many curi-
ous things have come to light, with
many letters.
Letters of Sterne are
scarce, and fetch from ten to twenty
pounds apiece in the market.

in

of this dog-eared volume is displayed
some rude drawing or sketch done after
the favorite schoolboy rules of art.
One curious, long-nosed, long-chinned
face has written over it, "This is Lor-
ence," and there is certainly a coarse
suggestion of the later chin and nose
of the humorist. There are ladies'
faces, owls, and cocks and hens, etc.;
a picture of "a gentleman," so labelled
underneath; and several, as we might
expect, of soldiers - one, especially,
the curious sugar-loaf cap seen in the
picture of the "March to Finchley,"
with the wig, short stock gun and its
strap. We find also some female faces,
early evidence, perhaps, of our hero's
later tastes. Then we come
on the
words, "A drummer," "A piper," and
this compliment, "puding John Gil-
lington." Sometimes the name which
figures everywhere is spelled "Law :
Stern — his book."

It

As is known, Sterne was a prebendary of York, and held a small vicarage at Coxwold, some miles from that city. His house was a rustic-looking edifice which he had dubbed "Shandy Hall," high-roofed, and with gable ends. now belongs to Sir George Wombwell, who has put it in repair and has placed an inscription on it recording the tenancy of the former owner. Unluckily it has been thought good to divide it into laborers' cottages, but the regular outline of the place is preserved, and on the entrance gate is to be read :

As we all know, Laurence was sent to the Halifax Free School, where, like little Jack Sheppard, he wrote his name up high on the ceiling. Many years ago there was placed in the writer's hands an interesting curio- no other, indeed, than one of Laurence's schoolbooks. A more characteristic evidence of the erratic character of the boy could not be imagined. It was a soiled, dirty book, every page scrawled over with writing, sketches, repetitions of his own name and those of his fellows. Everywhere is repeated "L. S., 1728," the letters being sometimes twisted together in the shape of a monogram. On the title-page, in faint, brown characters, was written, in straggling fashion, the owner's name: "Law: Sterne, September ye 6, 1725." We also find some of his schoolfellows' names, such as "Christopher Welbery," "John Turn- Here, too, he danced and "fiddled," er" (a Yorkshire name), "Richard as he tells us, and wrote, coming to Carre, ejus liber," "John Walker,' "York for his term of residence. He with "Nickibus Nunkebus," 99 66 rorum, lived in rooms in Stonegate. Long rarum," etc. Then there is a stave of after- -some thirty year after the hunotes, with the "sol fa," etc. written morist's death a young and struggling below, and signed "L. S." Then we actor the first Charles Mathews come on this: "I owe Samuel Thorpe found himself in York, a member of

"Here dwelt Laurence Sterne, for many years incumbent of Coxwold. Here he wrote Tristram Shandy' and the 'Sentimental Journey.' Died in London in 1768, aged 55 years.”

af

But they had previously made a second appearance, and the fair" Bramine," Mrs. Draper, the divine Eliza, actually received them from the admiring Sterne. This shows that he was either too indolent to compose new letters, or, what is more likely, fancied that these were in a more genuine strain than he could at the moment tune himself to. Some suitable changes and variations were, of course, made.

Tate Williams's company. With his | to say that "if Mr. Wilkes would be so wife, he was lodging in an old house in good as to write a few letters in imitaStonegate which was known to be the tion of her father's style it would do house which Sterne occupied when he just as well, and she would insert came to stay in York. The local tradi- them." tion was that he had written his "Tristram Shandy" here, but this, of course, was hardly likely. It was difficult, however, to find a tenant for these quarters, as they had the reputation of being haunted; but the actor and wife, being D very poor, could not afford to despise the accommodation, which was excellent and also cheap. On the first night of their occupation, as the minster clock tolled midnight, they were startled by three vivid knocks on the panel, and this visitation continued every night, until they at last became quite accustomed to it. No examination, however minute, could discover the cause; it at last ceased, and, curiously enough, simultaneously with the death of an old strolling actor named "Billy Leng," who lodged in the house. It turned out that this man, being bedridden, every night when he heard the minster clock used to strike three blows with his crutch on the floor to summon his wife to attend on him.

be by

How many have laughed over the love-letters which Sterne wrote when courting Miss Lumley 66 my L" which might have come from the pen of the love-lorn Werther! These letters were taken due care of, put by for years, but were destined to do double service. When the widow and daughter were trying to get together some volumes of "Remains" (what befell

the humorist's

his own officially named "remains" is

well known

who

Sterne's patron and relative was Dr. Jaques Sterne, the Archdeacon of York, a pushing, scheming clergyman, obtained preferment for his nephew as well as for himself. With this influential person the latter soon quarrelled, because, as the nephew said, "he would not write paragraphs in the papers dirty work," he called it. "He became," he adds, "my bitterest enemy."

The earliest editor of this journal, Mr. Thackeray, was inclined to take the severest view of the humorist's conduct to his mother. In an unpublished letter which lately came into the possession of the British Museum, Sterne has vindicated himself, and, it would seem, successfully. It was addressed to his uncle, who was only too glad to take up the mother's cause with the view of annoying or harassing the nephew. In this curious document the poor curate states his case with a force and particularity which carry conviction, and gives the whole history of his relations with

his troublesome parent. It is dated

they were sold also) they April 5, 1751, nearly ten years before were glad to eke out their slender he became famous. materials with these relics. More, Hannah's sister, had heard that verely indicting his mother, but it must "Sterne's Lydia sent to all the corre- be considered that the unlucky curate spondents of her deceased father beg- was harassed to death almost by this ging the letters which he had written ceaseless persecution, and that the deto them; among other wits she sent to fence was addressed to the most influWilkes with the same request." He ential member of his family.

Martha It is strange to read of a son thus se

returned for

answer "that, as there

""Tis now three years since I troubled

happened to be nothing extraordinary you with a letter in vindication of myin those he had received, he had burnt self in regard of my mother, in which

or lost them."

editor of her father's works sent back conviction how barbarously she had

On which the faithful that I might give you all imaginable

dealt by me, and at the same time how | self justice this way without doing grossly she had deceived you by the myself an injury at the same time by misrepresentation which I found she laying open the nakedness of my cirhad made of my behavior towards her, cumstances." He then goes back to I desired my wife might have leave to the death of his father. "In this last wait upon you to lay the state of our application she came recommended to circumstances fairly before you, and your compassion with a complaint with that the account of what we had against me. In the former she had done for my mother, that from a view nothing to move you but the real disof both together you might be convinced tress of her condition. But this by the how much my mother has complained way. without reason."

And so rife were these stories of filial neglect in the neighborhood and among his parishioners that he actually thought of laying his case before the public.

"From my father's death to the time I settled in the world, which was eleven years, my mother lived in Ireland, and as during all that time I was not in a condition to furnish her with money, I My father, as you remember, died seldom heard from her, and when I did in the king's service in the West Indies. the account I severally had was, that by My mother was then with her own rela- the help of an embroidery school that tions in Ireland, and upon the first she kept, and by the punctual payment news of his death came over to En- of her pension, which is 201. a year, gland. She was then in some difficul- she lived well, and would have done so ties about her pension, and her business to this hour had not the news that I was with you to solicit your interest to had married a woman of fortune hasprocure it for her upon the English es-tened her over to England. She has tablishment. told you, it seems, that she left Ireland "But I well remember she was forced then upon my express invitation." to turn back without having so much This, it seems, was not the case. Her interest as to obtain the favor of being son "represented to her the inhumanity admitted to your presence (not being of a mother able to maintain herself, suffered even to reach York). When thus forcing herself as a burden upon a she came this second time from Ireland to Chester, and from thence to York, to raise this clamor against me, she found no difficulties of this kind. - was openly received by you; which I have put you in mind of to observe to you, from the different reception she met with from you. But being told of late by some of my friends that this clamor has been kept up against me, and by as singular a stroke of ill-design as could be levelled against a defenceless man, who lives retired in the country and has" turn up" at York, in default of her few opportunities of disabusing the mother, to the further persecution of world; that my mother has moreover the poor vicar. been fixed in that very place where a hard report might do me (as a clergyman) the most real disservice -I was roused by the advice of my friends to think of some way of defending myself, which I own I should have set about immediately by telling my story publickly to the world, but for the following inconvenience, that I could not do my

son who was scarce able to support himself without breaking in upon the future support of another person whom she might imagine was much dearer to me. In short, I summed up all those arguments with making her a present of twenty guineas, with a present of cloathes, &c., which I had given her the day before." His sister now comes upon the scene, a relative who, he says, was estranged from him by the hatred of his uncle. She, however, began to

"In the year '44 my sister was sent from Chester by order of my mother to York, that she might make her complaint to you, and engage you to second them in these unreasonable claims upon us.

"This was the intent of her coming, though the pretence of her journey (of which I bore the expenses) was to make a

right, and though after this the tokens of our kindness were neither so great nor so frequent as before, yet nevertheless we continued sending what we could conveniently spare. This rather truculent lady now resorted to other devices not so justifiable.

month's visit to me or rather a month's | folly, which might have disengaged me experiment of my further weakness. from any further concern, yet I perShe stayed her time or longer, was sisted in doing what I thought was received by us with all kindness, was sent back at my own charge with my own servant and horses, with five guineas which I gave her in her pocket, and a six-and-thirty piece which my wife put into her hand as she took horse." His relatives seem to have borne their visitation with wonderful "It is not usual to take receipts for patience, striving to soothe and bring to presents made, so that I have not many reason these troublesome people. "My vouchers of that kind, and as my mother wife and self took no small pains, the has more than once denyed the money time she was with us, to turn her I have sent her, even to my own face, thoughts to some way of depending I have little expectation of such acupon her own industry, in which we knowledgements as she ought to make. offered her all imaginable assistance, But this I solemnly declare, upon the first by proposing to her that, if she nearest computation we can make, that would set herself to learn the business in money, cloaths, and other presents, of a mantua-maker, as soon as she could we are more than 901. poorer for what get insight enough into it to make a we have given and remitted to them. gown and set up for herself, that we In one of the remittances (during the would give her 301. to begin the world summer of my sister's visit), and which, and support her till business fell in, or, as I remember, was a small bill drawn if she would go into a milliner's shop in for 31. by Mr. Ricord upon Mr. Baldeso, London, my wife engaged not only to after my mother had got the money in get her into a shop where she should Chester for the bill she peremptorily have 107. a year wages, but to equip denied the receipt of it. I naturally her with cloathes, &c. properly for the supposed some mistake of Mr. Ricord place; or lastly, if she liked it better, in directing. However, that she might as my wife had then an opportunity of not be a sufferer by the disappointment, recommending her to the family of one I immediately sent another bill for as of the first of our nobility, she under- much more, but withal said, as Mr. took to get her a creditable place in it Ricord could prove his sending her the where she would receive no less than 87. bill, I was determined to trace out who or 101. a year wages, with other advan- had got my money, upon which she tages. My sister showed no seeming wrote word back that she had received opposition to either of the two last pro- it herself but had forgot it. You will posals till my wife had wrote and got a the more readily believe this when I favorable answer to the one and an im- inform you that in December, '47, when mediate offer of the other." Any one my mother went to your house to comwho is familiar with the Irish character | plain she could not get a farthing and its curious mixture of pride, often from me, that she carried with her ten coupled with mendicancy, will anticipate the reception these proposals met with.

"It will astonish you, sir, when I tell you she rejected them with the utmost scorn, telling me I might send my own children to service when I had any, but for her part, as she was the daughter of a gentleman, she would not disgrace herself, but would live as such. Notwithstanding so absurd an instance of her

guineas in her pocket which I had given her but two days before. If she could forget such a sum, I had reason to remember it, for when I gave it I did not leave myself one guinea in the house to befriend my wife, though then within one day of her labor, and under an apparent necessity of a man midwife to attend her.

"What uses she made of this ungenerous concealment I refer again to your