Sterne had no personal enmities; his faults were all on the amiable side, nor can we imagine a selfish cold-hearted sensualist writing "Dear Sensibility, source inexhausted by all that is precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows." His letters to his wife before their marriage exhibit the most tender and beautiful sentiments;--

"My L---- talks of leaving the country; may a kind angel guide thy steps. .h.i.ther--Thou sayest thou will quit the place with regret;--I think I see you looking twenty times a day at the house--almost counting every brick and pane of gla.s.s, and telling them at the same time with a sigh, you are going to leave them--Oh, happy modification of matter! they will remain insensible to thy loss.

But how wilt thou be able to part with thy garden? the recollection of so many pleasant walks must have endeared it to you. The trees, the shrubs, the flowers, which thou reared with thy own hands, will they not droop, and fade away sooner upon thy departure? Who will be thy successor to raise them in thy absence? Thou wilt leave thy name upon the myrtle tree--If trees, shrubs, and flowers could compose an elegy, I should expect a very plaintive one on this subject."

In the course of one of his sermons he writes very characteristically--

"Let the torpid monk seek heaven comfortless and alone, G.o.d speed him! For my own part, I fear I should never so find the way; let me be wise and religious, but let me be man; wherever Thy Providence places me, or whatever be the road I take to get to Thee, give me some companion in my journey, be it only to remark to. 'How our shadows lengthen as the sun goes down,' to whom I may say, 'How fresh is the face of nature! How sweet the flowers of the field!

How delicious are these fruits!'"

We believe these to have been sincere expressions--inside his motley garb he had a heart of tenderness. It went forth to all, even to the animal world--to the caged starling. Some may attribute the ebullitions of feeling in his works to affectation, but those who have read them attentively will observe the same impulses too generally predominant to be the work of design. The story of the prisoner Le Fevre and of Maria bear the brightest testimony to his character in this respect. What sentiments can surpa.s.s in poetic beauty or religious feeling that in which he commends the distraught girl to the beneficence of the Almighty who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."

We have no proof that Sterne was a dissipated man. He expressly denies it in a letter written shortly before his death, and in another, he says, "The world has imagined because I wrote 'Tristram Shandy,' that I myself was more Shandean than I really was." In his day many, not only of the laity, but of the clergy, thought little of indulging in coa.r.s.e jests, and of writing poetry which contained much more wit than decency.

Sterne having lived in retirement until 1759, must have had a feeble const.i.tution, for in the Spring of 1762 he broke a blood vessel, and again in the same Autumn he "bled the bed full," owing, as he says, to the temperature of Paris, which was "as hot as Nebuchadnezzar's oven."

He complains of the fatigue of writing and preaching, and these dangerous attacks were constantly recurring, until the time of his death.

Sterne's sermons went through seven editions. They are not doctrinal, but enjoin benevolence and charity. There is not so much humour in them as in some of the present day, but he sometimes gives point to his reflections.

On the subject of religious fanaticism he says:--

"When a poor disconsolate drooping creature is terrified from all enjoyments--prays without ceasing till his imagination is heated--fasts and mortifies and mopes till his body is in as bad a plight as his mind, is it a wonder that the mechanical disturbances and conflicts of an empty belly, interpreted by an empty head, should be mistaken for the workings of a different kind to what they are? or that in such a situation every commotion should help to fix him in this malady, and make him a fitter subject for the treatment of a physician than of a divine.

"The insolence of base minds in success is boundless--not unlike some little particles of matter struck off from the surface of the dial by the sunshine, they dance and sport there while it lasts, but the moment it is withdrawn they fall down--for dust they are, and unto dust they will return.

"When Absalom is cast down, Shimei is the first man who hastens to meet David; and had the wheel turned round a hundred times. Shimei, I dare say, at every period of its rotation, would have been uppermost. Oh, Shimei! would to heaven when thou wast slain, that all thy family had been slain with thee, and not one of thy resemblance left! but ye have multiplied exceedingly and replenished the earth; and if I prophecy rightly, ye will in the end subdue it."

Dr. Johnson speaks of "the man Sterne," and was jealous of his receiving so many more invitations than himself. But the good Doctor with all his learning and intellectual endowments was not so pleasant a companion as Sterne, and, although sometimes sarcastic, had none of his talent for humour.

Johnson wrote some pretty Anacreontics, but his turn of mind was rather grave than gay. He was generally pompous, which together with his self-sufficiency led Cowper, somewhat irreverently, to call him a "prig." Among his few light and humorous s.n.a.t.c.hes, we have lines written in ridicule of certain poems published in 1777--

"Wheresoe'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong:

"Phrase that time has flung away Uncouth words in disarray, Tricked in antique ruff and bonnet Ode, and elegy, and sonnet."

An imitation--

"Hermit poor in solemn cell Wearing out life's evening grey, Strike thy bosom sage and tell Which is bliss, and which the way.

"Thus I spoke, and speaking sighed Scarce repressed the starting tear When the h.o.a.ry sage replyed 'Come my lad, and drink some beer.'"

The following is an impromptu conceit. "To Mrs. Thrale, on her completing her thirty-fifth year."

"Oft in danger, yet alive, We are come to thirty-five; Long may better years arrive Better years than thirty-five, Could philosophers contrive Life to stop at thirty-five, Time his hours should never drive O'er the bounds of thirty-five.

High to soar, and deep to dive, Nature gives at thirty-five, Ladies stock and tend your hive, Trifle not at thirty-five, For howe'er we boast and strive Life declines from thirty-five.

He that ever hopes to thrive Must begin by thirty-five, And all who wisely wish to wive Must look on Thrale at thirty-five."

There is a pleasing mixture of wisdom and humour in the following stanza written to Miss Thrale on hearing her consulting a friend as to a dress and hat she was inclined to wear--

"Wear the gown and wear the hat s.n.a.t.c.h thy pleasures while they last, Had'st thou nine lives like a cat Soon those nine lives would be past."

Johnson's friends Garrick and Foote, although so great in the mimetic art, do not deserve any particular mention as writers of comedy.

It is said that Garrick went to a school in Tichfield at which Johnson was an usher, and that master and pupil came up to London together to seek their fortunes. But although Garrick became the first of comic actors, he produced nothing literary but a few indifferent farces. The same may be said of Foote, who was also a celebrated wit in conversation. Johnson said, "For loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, I know not his equal."

One of Dr. Johnson's friends was Mrs. Charlotte Lennox to whom he gives the palm among literary ladies. Up to this time there were few lady humorists, and none of an altogether respectable description. But Mrs.

Lennox appeared as a harbinger of that refined and harmless pleasantry which has since sparkled through the pages of our best auth.o.r.esses. She wrote a comedy, poems, and novels, her most remarkable production being the Female Quixote. Here a young lady who had been reading romances, enacts the heroine with very amusing results. In plan the work is a close imitation of Don Quixote but the character is not so natural as that drawn by Cervantes.

CHAPTER VII.

Dodsley--"A Muse in Livery"--"The Devil's a Dunce"--"The Toy Shop"--Fielding--Smollett.

Robert Dodsley was born in 1703. He was the son of a schoolmaster in Mansfield, but went into domestic service as a footman, and held several respectable situations. While in this capacity, he employed his leisure time in composing poetry, and he appropriately named his first production "A Muse in Livery." The most pleasant and interesting of these early poems is that in which he gives an account of his daily life, showing how observant a footman may be. It is in the form of an epistle:--

"Dear friend, Since I am now at leisure, And in the country taking pleasure, It may be worth your while to hear A silly footman's business there; I'll try to tell in easy rhyme How I in London spent my time.

And first, As soon as laziness would let me I rise from bed, and down I sit me To cleaning gla.s.ses, knives, and plate, And such like dirty work as that, Which (by the bye) is what I hate!

This done, with expeditious care To dress myself I straight prepare, I clean my buckles, black my shoes, Powder my wig and brush my clothes, Take off my beard and wash my face, And then I'm ready for the chase.

Down comes my lady's woman straight, 'Where's Robin?' 'Here!' 'Pray take your hat And go--and go--and go--and go-- And this and that desire to know.'

The charge received, away run I And here and there, and yonder fly, With services and 'how d'ye does,'

Then home return well fraught with news.

Here some short time does interpose Till warm effluvias greet my nose, Which from the spits and kettles fly, Declaring dinner time is nigh.

To lay the cloth I now prepare With uniformity and care; In order knives and forks are laid, With folded napkins, salt, and bread: The sideboards glittering too appear With plate and gla.s.s and china-ware.

Then ale and beer and wine decanted, And all things ready which are wanted.

The smoking dishes enter in, To stomachs sharp a grateful scene; Which on the table being placed, And some few ceremonies past, They all sit down and fall to eating, Whilst I behind stand silent waiting.

This is the only pleasant hour Which I have in the twenty-four.

For whilst I unregarded stand, With ready salver in my hand, And seem to understand no more Than just what's called for out to pour, I hear and mark the courtly phrases, And all the elegance that pa.s.ses; Disputes maintained without digression, With ready wit and fine expression; The laws of true politeness stated, And what good breeding is, debated.

This happy hour elapsed and gone, The time for drinking tea comes on, The kettle filled, the water boiled, The cream provided, biscuits piled, And lamp prepared, I straight engage The Lilliputian equipage, Of dishes, saucers, spoons and tongs, And all the et cetera which thereto belongs; Which ranged in order and decorum I carry in and set before 'em, Then pour the green or bohea out, And as commanded hand about."

After the early dinner and "dish" of tea, his mistress goes out visiting in the evening, and Dodsley precedes her with a flambeau.

Another fancy was ent.i.tled "The Devil's a Dunce," was directed against the Pope.[11] Two friends apply to him for absolution, one rich and the other poor. The rich man obtained the pardon, but the poor sued in vain, the Pope replying:--

"I cannot save you if I would, Nor would I do it if I could."

"Home goes the man in deep despair, And died soon after he came there, And went 'tis said to h.e.l.l: but sure He was not there for being poor!

But long he had not been below Before he saw his friend come too.

At this he was in great surprise And scarcely could believe his eyes, 'What! friend,' said he, 'are you come too?

I thought the Pope had pardoned you.'

'Yes,' quoth the man, 'I thought so too, But I was by the Pope trepanned, _The devil couldn't read his hand_.'"

The footman's next literary attempt was in a dramatic poem named "The Toy-Shop," and he had the courage to send it to Pope. Why he selected this poet does not plainly appear; by some it is said that his then mistress introduced her servant's poems to Pope's notice, but it is not improbable that Dodsley had heard of him from his brother, who was gardener to Mr. Allen of Prior Park, Bath, where Pope was often on a visit. However this may have been, he received a very kind letter from the poet, and an introduction to Mr. Rich, whose approval of the piece led to its being performed at Covent Garden.[12] This play was the foundation of Dodsley's fortune. By means of the money thus obtained, he set himself up as a bookseller in Pall Mall, and became known to the world of rank and genius. He produced successively "The King and the Miller of Mansfield," and "The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green." He published for Pope, and in 1738, Samuel Johnson sold his first original publication to him for ten guineas. He suggested to Dr. Johnson the scheme of writing an English Dictionary, and also, in conjunction with Edmund Burke, commenced the "Annual Register." Dodsley's princ.i.p.al work was the "Economy of Human Life," written in an aphoristic style, and ascribed to Lord Chesterfield. He also made a collection of six volumes of contemporary poems, and they show how much rarer humour was than sentiment, for Dodsley was not a man to omit anything sparkling. The following imitation of Ambrose Philips--a general b.u.t.t--has merit:

A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Little tube of mighty power, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire Lip of wax, and eye of fire, And thy snowy taper waist With my finger gently braced, And thy pretty smiling crest With my little stopper pressed, And the sweetest bliss of blisses Breathing from thy balmy kisses, Happy thrice and thrice again Happiest he of happy men, Who, when again the night returns, When again the taper burns, When again the cricket's gay, (Little cricket full of play), Can afford his tube to feed With the fragrant Indian weed.

Pleasures for a nose divine Incense of the G.o.d of wine, Happy thrice and thrice again, Happiest he of happy men.