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Updated: May 29, 2025
He was happy! A man who has no hobby does not know all the good to be got out of life. A hobby is the happy medium between a passion and a monomania. At this moment I understood the whole bearing of Sterne's charming passion, and had a perfect idea of the delight with which my uncle Toby, encouraged by Trim, bestrode his hobby-horse.
An inquisitive and sceptical traveller fancied he saw an inscription or date lurking behind the vine-leaves that so luxuriantly covered the old house, and sent up a man on a ladder to clear away the foliage. This operation led to the discovery of a tablet, dated two years too late for the authenticity of the building in which 'Sterne's room' was.
They bear much the same relation to conventional accounts of travel that flowers growing in a garden bear to dried plants in a herbarium. They are the most friendly and urbane things in modern English literature. They have been likened to Sterne's Sentimental Journey.
"If you take to boozing on the trip I'll fire you out," Massy cried. An obstinate silence followed that threat. Massy moved away perplexed. On the bank two figures appeared, approaching the gangway. He heard a voice tinged with contempt "I would rather doubt your word. But I shall certainly speak to him of this." The other voice, Sterne's, said with a sort of regretful formality "Thanks.
But the letters of Sterne's courtship maintain the pseudo-poetic, shepherd-and-shepherdess strain throughout; or, if the lover ever abandons it, it is only to make somewhat maudlin record of those "tears" which flowed a little too easily at all times throughout his life.
Here we gained admittance to the little church, an interesting edifice, noted for its sumptuous monuments to commemorate the Fauconbridge and Belasyse families, and for its being the scene of Sterne's curacy. A small barrel organ now graces its gallery, which responded to the morning and evening service in Yorick's day.
Poor woman!" he adds, "she was very cordial, &c." The &c. is charming. But her cordiality had evidently no tendency to deepen into any more impassioned sentiment, for she "begged to stay another year or so." As to "my Lydia" the real cause, we must suspect, of Sterne's having turned out of his road she, he says, "pleases me much. I found her greatly improved in everything I wished her."
Imagination itself, however lofty, wild, or daring its flights, cannot quit the universe matter is its prison, where, like Sterne's starling, it is 'caged and can't get out. Fortunately, however, imagination, though a prisoner, has abundance of room to legitimately exercise itself in.
There was likewise a crayon-portrait of Sterne's wife, looking so haughty and unamiable, that the wonder is, how he ever contrived to live a week with such an awful woman.
The diary of their travels for the early part of Sterne's memoirs amounts to scarcely more is the more effective for its very brevity and abruptness. Save for one interval of somewhat longer sojourn than usual at Dublin, the reader has throughout it all the feeling of the traveller who never finds time to unpack his portmanteau.
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