e,
cousin, brother, father, show some pity for Christ's sake, pity a
sick man, an old man,' &c.; he cares not--ride on: pretend sickness,
inevitable loss of limbs, plead suretyship or shipwreck, fire,
common calamities, show thy wants and imperfections, take God
and all His angels to witness ... put up a supplication to him in
the name of a thousand orphans, an hospital, a spittle, a prison, as
he goes by ... ride on."[1]

[Footnote 1: Burton: _Anat. Mel._, p. 269.]

Hardly a casual coincidence this. But it is yet more unpleasant to
find that the mock philosophic reflections with which Mr. Shandy
consoles himself on Bobby's death, in those delightful chapters on
that event, are not taken, as they profess to be, direct from the
sages of antiquity, but have been conveyed through, and "conveyed"
from, Burton.

"When Agrippina was told of her son's death," says Sterne, "Tacitus
informs us that, not being able to moderate her passions, she abruptly
broke off her work." Tacitus does, it is true, inform us of this. But
it was undoubtedly Burton (_Anat. Mel._, p. 213) who informed Sterne
of it. So, too, when Mr. Shandy goes on to remark upon death that
"'Tis an inevitable chance--the first statute in Magna Charta--it is
an everlasting Act of Parliament, my dear brother--all must die," the
agreement of his views with those of Burton, who had himself said
of death, "'Tis an inevitable chance--the first statute in Magna
Charta--an everlasting Act of Parliament--all must die,[2]" is even
textually exact.

[Footnote 2: _Ibid._, p. 215.]

In the next passage, however, the humourist gets the better of the
plagiarist, and we are ready to forgive the theft for the happily
comic turn which he gives to it.

Burton:

"Tully was much grieved for his daughter Tulliola's death at first,
until such time that he had confirmed his mind by philosophical precepts;
then he began to triumph over fortune and grief, and for her
reception into heaven to be much more joyed than before he was
troubled for her loss."

Sterne:

"When Tully was bereft of his daughter, at first he laid it to his
heart, he listened to the voice of nature, and modulated his own unto
it. O my Tullia! my daughter! my child!--Still, still, still--'twas O
my Tullia, my Tullia! Me thinks I see my Tullia, I hear my Tullia, I
talk with my Tullia. But as soon as he began to look into the stores
of philosophy, and _consider how many excellent thin