Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytic stroke, and that my speech was taken from me.  I had no pain, and so little dejection in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered that perhaps death itself, when it should come, would excite less horror than seems now to attend it.

In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams.  Wine has been celebrated for the production of eloquence.  I put myself into violent motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain.  I then went to bed, and strange as it may seem, I slept.  When I saw light, it was time to contrive what I should do.  Though God stopped my speech, he left me my hands; I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend Lawrence, who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and rejoices that I have what he wanted.  My first note was necessarily to my servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why he should read what I put into his hands.  I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at hand, to act as occasion should require.  In penning this note I had some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters.  I then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden:  and I sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour.  My physicians are very friendly, and give me great hopes; but you may imagine my situation.  I have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to repeat the Lord’s Prayer with no very imperfect articulation.  My memory, I hope, yet remains as it was! but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of every faculty.

LAURENCE STERNE

1713-1768

To Miss LUMLEY

The disconsolate lover

[1740-1]

You bid me tell you, my dear L., how I bore your departure for S——­, and whether the valley, where D’Estella stands, retains still its looks, or if I think the roses or jessamines smell as sweet as when you left it.  Alas! everything has now lost its relish and look!  The hour you left D’Estella I took to my bed.  I was worn out with fevers of all kinds, but most by that fever of the heart with which thou knowest well I have been wasting these two years—­and shall continue wasting till you quit S——.  The good Miss S——­, from the forebodings of the best of hearts, thinking I was ill, insisted upon my going to her.  What can be the cause, my dear L., that I never have been able to see the face of this mutual friend, but I feel myself rent to pieces?  She made me stay an hour with her, and in that short space I burst into tears a dozen different times, and in such affectionate gusts of passion, that she was constrained to leave the room, and sympathize in her dressing-room.  I have been weeping for you both, said she, in a tone of the sweetest pity—­for poor L.’s heart, I have long known it—­her anguish