1831.] [ 361 : 



STEllNE AND THE DDKE OF WHARTON : A DRAMATIC SCENE. 



[The Duke of Wharton, author of " Crazy Tales/' and " The Senti- 

 mental Journey continued," had a peculiar and unconquerable aversion 

 to the north-east wind ; so much so, that he had a weathercock placed 

 in such a situation before his bed-room window, that he could imme- 

 diately apprize himself of the quarter from which his dreaded enemy 

 issued ; if it was from the north-east the duke confined himself to his 

 room, and partially to his bed, for the whole day. His friend and 

 companion, Laurence Sterne, is reported to have played oiF the joke upon 

 which the following sketch is founded.] 



Dramatis Personce. 

 Laurence Sterne — The Duke op Wharton. 



Scene. — A room in Skelton Castle, Yorkshire ; through a windaiv is 

 perceptible the vane of a weathercock, pointing due south. — Sterne 

 is seated at a table covered with books. 



Sterne. The very demon of mischief has possessed me this morning. 

 By the soul of IMomus 'tis a lucky hit ! A pestilent north-east wind is 

 stirring. Now, Eugenius, rise from thy couch, draw the curtains of 

 thy window, look on thy trusty weathercock, count the vibrations of 

 thy placid pulse, and come down to bi-eakfast. Assist me, hypocrisy ; 

 and, assuming that moody garb I am too often doomed to wear, beshrew 

 me if I convince not Eugenius that I am the most melancholy man of 

 the two ! INIental delusion ! thou dubious devil ! — what a bugbear 

 art thou, to chain down to his pillow for the live-long day a man like 

 Eugenius ! 



Enter Wharton. 



Wharton. Good morrow, Yorick : thou hast been up betimes ; for, 

 missing thee at breakfast table, inquiry elicited that thou wert stirring 

 with the lark. What can have transpired to disturb so light-hearted a 

 repose as thine ? 



Sierne. Be serious, and I wiU tell thee. Last night I had a terrific 

 dream, in which thyself wert a shadowy actor, Eugenius. Methought 

 I had been strolling with thee through the balmy meads and gardens 

 of Skelton Castle, on a summer's afternoon, enraptured with earthly and 

 aerial beauty, when suddenly the heavens became overcast — the wind 

 shifted to the north-east. 



Wharton. Pshaw ! 



Sterne. Mock me not, for I am already a half-convert to thy nervous 

 creed. — I say, the wind shifted to the north-east, and arose with 

 tremendous power, blighting the trees and flowers, and driving the 

 cattle to phrenzy. Looking upwards, I beheld in the air shapes of 

 monstrous proportions and awful visages ; and dismal shrieks and yells 

 were heard on the boisterous hurricane. I turned to look at the castle, 

 but its embattled walls and clustering towers had supernaturally 

 changed — nay, even the very earth and its objects became impalpable — 

 and in the midst of the appalling metamorphose stood the lord and 

 master of the unearthly mansion, (his head enveloped in a triple night- 

 cap, and with " Burton's Anatomic of Melancholic" under one arm, and 

 a copy of his own "Crazy Tales" under the other,) petrified with fear — the 

 precise personation of an Egyptian mummy. Such a scene was toa 



M.M. New Series.— Vol. XIL No. 70. 2 I 



