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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy,
Gentleman, by Laurence Sterne

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license


Title: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

Author: Laurence Sterne

Commentator: George Saintsbury

Release Date: March 26, 2012 [EBook #39270]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRISTRAM SHANDY ***




Produced by Louise Hope, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






</pre>


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<p>The text is from the 1912 Everyman edition of <i>Tristram Shandy</i>.
It reproduces the appearance of that edition, which may not be identical
in design to editions printed in Sterne’s lifetime. Where this edition
has an illustration of a tombstone, some editions have two consecutive
black pages, placed immediately after “Alas, poor Yorick!” For the
e-text, some line breaks were added to the Latin <i>Excommunicatio</i>
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<p class = "sample">
<span class = "firstword">I wish</span> either my father or my mother,
or indeed both of them,<!-- <br /> -->
as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded<!-- <br /> -->
what they were about when they begot me; had they duly<!-- <br /> -->
consider’d how much depended upon what they were then<!-- <br /> -->
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<p>The editor’s Introduction says:</p>

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All brackets are in the original.</p>

<p class = "center">
<a href = "#intro">Editor’s Introduction</a><br />
<a href = "#contents">Contents</a><br />
<a href = "#page1">Tristram Shandy</a><br />
<a href = "#endnote">Detailed Contents</a><br />
<a href = "#hyphens">Note on Hyphens</a><br /><br />
<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39270/39270-h/complex.htm"><b><big>Click 
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<div class = "prelim">

<div class = "titlepage">

<h3><span class = "extended">EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY</span><br />
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS</h3>

<p>&nbsp;<br />&nbsp;</p>

<h3><span class = "extended">FICTION</span></h3>

<p>&nbsp;<br />&nbsp;</p>

<h1>TRISTRAM SHANDY</h1>

<h2><span class = "smallest">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY</span><br />
GEORGE SAINTSBURY</h2>
</div>

<div class = "box">
<p class = "justify">
<span class = "smallroman">THIS IS NO.</span> <b>617</b> <span class =
"smallroman">OF</span> <i>EVERYMAN’S
LIBRARY</i>. <span class = "smallroman">THE PUBLISHERS WILL BE PLEASED
TO SEND FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED
VOLUMES, ARRANGED UNDER THE&nbsp;FOLLOWING SECTIONS:</span></p>
</div>

<div class = "box">
<p class = "center smaller">
TRAVEL
<img src = "images/leaf02.png" width = "14" height = "13" alt = "*" />
SCIENCE
<img src = "images/leaf02.png" width = "14" height = "13" alt = "*" />
FICTION<br />
THEOLOGY &amp; PHILOSOPHY<br />
HISTORY
<img src = "images/leaf02.png" width = "14" height = "13" alt = "*" />
CLASSICAL<br />
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE<br />
ESSAYS
<img src = "images/leaf02.png" width = "14" height = "13" alt = "*" />
ORATORY<br />
POETRY &amp; DRAMA<br />
BIOGRAPHY<br />
REFERENCE<br />
ROMANCE<br />
<img src = "images/dec002.png" width = "78" height = "43"
alt = "decoration" /></p>
</div>

<div class = "box">
<p class = "justify smaller">
IN FOUR STYLES OF BINDING: CLOTH, FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP; LEATHER,
ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP; LIBRARY BINDING IN CLOTH, &amp; QUARTER
PIGSKIN</p>
</div>

<div class = "box">
<p class = "smallcaps">London: J. M. DENT &amp; SONS, Ltd.</p>
<p class = "smallcaps">New York: E. P. DUTTON &amp; CO.</p>
</div>


<div class = "titlepage">

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/intro04.png" width = "397" height = "624"
alt = "A TALE WHICH HOLDETH CHILDREN FROM PLAY &amp; OLD MEN FROM THE CHIMNEY CORNER / SIR PHILIP SIDNEY"
title = "A TALE WHICH HOLDETH CHILDREN FROM PLAY &amp; OLD MEN FROM THE CHIMNEY CORNER / SIR PHILIP SIDNEY" /></p>

</div>

<div class = "titlepage">

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/intro05.png" width = "397" height = "626"
alt = "THE LIFE &amp; OPINIONS of TRISTRAM SHANDY * GENTLEMAN By LAURENCE * STERNE // LONDON &amp; TORONTO / J·M·DENT &amp; SONS / LTD. * NEW YORK / E·P·DUTTON &amp; CO"
title = "THE LIFE &amp; OPINIONS of TRISTRAM SHANDY * GENTLEMAN By LAURENCE * STERNE // LONDON &amp; TORONTO / J·M·DENT &amp; SONS / LTD. * NEW YORK / E·P·DUTTON &amp; CO" /></p>

</div>

<div class = "titlepage">

<p class = "center smallcaps">First Issue of this Edition &emsp; .
&emsp; 1912&nbsp; &emsp; &emsp;</p>

<p class = "center smallcaps">Reprinted &emsp; . &emsp; . &emsp; .
&emsp; . &emsp; . &emsp; 1915, 1917</p>

</div>
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<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_vii" id = "intro_vii">vii</a></span>

<h3><a name = "intro" id = "intro">INTRODUCTION</a></h3>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> can hardly be said that Sterne
was an unfortunate person during his lifetime, though he seems to have
thought himself so. His childhood was indeed a little necessitous, and
he died early, and in debt, after some years of very bad health. But
from the time when he went to Cambridge, things went on the whole very
fairly well with him in respect of fortune; his ill-health does not seem
to have caused him much disquiet; his last ten years gave him fame,
flirting, wandering, and other pleasures and diversions to his heart’s
content; and his debts only troubled those he left behind him. He
delighted in his daughter; he was able to get rid of his wife, when he
was more than usually <i>fatigatus et aegrotus</i> of her, with singular
ease. During the unknown, or almost unknown, middle of his life he had
friends of the kind most congenial to him; and both in his time of
preparation and his time of production in literature, he was able to
indulge his genius in a way by no means common with men of letters. If
his wish to die in a certain manner and circumstance was only
bravado&mdash;and borrowed bravado&mdash;still it was granted; and it is
quite certain that to him an old age of real illness would have been
unmitigated torture. Even if we admit the ghastly stories of the fate of
his remains, there was very little reason why any one should not have
anticipated Mr. Swinburne’s words on the morrow of Sterne’s death and
said, “Oh! brother, the gods were good to you,” though even then he
might have said it with a sort of mental reservation on the question
whether Sterne had been very good to the gods.</p>

<p>Nemesis, for the purpose of adjusting things, played him the
exceptionally savage trick of using the intervention of his idolised
daughter. Little or nothing seems to be known of “Lydia Sterne de
Medalle,” as she was pleased to sign herself; “Mrs. Medalle,” as her
bluff British contemporaries call her. But that she must have been
either a very silly, a&nbsp;very stupid, or an excessively callous
person, appears certain. It would seem, indeed, to require a combination
of the flightiness and lack of taste which her father too often
displayed, with the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_viii" id = "intro_viii">viii</a></span>
stolidity which (from rather unfair inference through Mrs. Shandy) is
sometimes supposed to have characterised her mother, to prompt or permit
a daughter to publish such a collection of letters as those which were
first given to the world in 1775. Charity, not unsupported by
probability, has trusted that Madame de Medalle could not read Latin,
but she certainly could read English; and only an utterly corrupted
heart, or an incurably dense or feather-brained head, could hide from
her the fact that not a few of the English letters she published were
damaging to her father’s character. Her alleged excuse&mdash;that her
mother, who was then dead, had desired her, if any letters should be
published under her father’s name, to publish these, and that the
“Yorick and Eliza” correspondence had appeared&mdash;is utterly
insufficient. For Mrs. Sterne, of whose conduct we know nothing
unfavourable, and one or two things decidedly to her credit, could only
have meant “such of these as will put your father in a favourable
light,” else she would have published them herself. Yet though Lydia
could, while taking no editorial trouble whatever, go out of her way to
make a silly missish apology for publishing a passage in which her
charms and merits are celebrated, she seems never to have given a
thought to what she was doing in other ways. Nor were Sterne’s
misfortunes in this way over with the publication of these things; for
the subsequently discovered Fourmentelle correspondence sunk him, with
precise judges, a&nbsp;little deeper. No doubt <i>Tristram Shandy</i>,
the <i>Sentimental Journey</i>, and the curious stories or traditions
about their author, were not exactly calculated to give Sterne a very
high reputation with grave authorities. But it is these unlucky letters
which put him almost hopelessly out of court. Even the slight relenting
of fortune which gave him at last, in Mr. Percy Fitzgerald,
a&nbsp;biographer very good-natured, very indefatigable, and with a
natural genius for detecting undiscovered facts and documents, only made
matters worse in some ways. And the consequence is, that it has become a
commonplace and almost a necessity to make up for praising Sterne’s
genius by damning his character. Johnson, while declining to deny him
ability, seems to have been too much disgusted to talk freely about him;
Scott’s natural kindliness, warm admiration for my Uncle Toby, and total
freedom from squeamish prudery, seem yet to have left him ill at ease
and tongue-tied in discussing Sterne; Thackeray, as is well known,
exceeded all measure in denouncing him; and his chief recent
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_ix" id = "intro_ix">ix</a></span>
critical biographer, Mr. Traill, who is probably as free from cant,
Britannic or other, as any man who ever wrote in English, speaks his
mind in the most unsparing fashion.</p>

<p>For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that I do not think letters
of this kind ought to be published at all; and though it may seem
paradoxical or foolish, I&nbsp;am by no means sure that, if they are
published, they ought to be admitted as evidence. That which is not
written for the public, is no business of the public’s; and I never read
letters of this kind, published for the first time, without feeling like
an eavesdropper.<a class = "tag" name = "tag_I_1" id = "tag_I_1" href =
"#note_I_1">1</a> Unluckily, the evidence furnished by the letters fits
in only too well with that furnished by the published works, by his
favourite cronies and companions, and by his general reputation, so that
“what the prisoner says” must, no doubt, “be used against him.”</p>

<p class = "space">
It may be doubted whether it was accident or his usual deliberate
fantasticality that made Sterne, in the well-known summary of his life
which (very late in&nbsp;it) he drew up for his daughter, devote almost
the whole space to his childhood. Perhaps it may be accounted for,
reasonably enough, by supposing that of his later years he thought his
daughter knew quite as much as he wished her to know, while of the
middle period he had little or nothing to tell. In fact, of the two
earlier divisions we still know very little but what he has chosen to
tell us in one of the most characteristic and not the least charming
excursions of his pen. Laurence Sterne was, with two sisters, the only
“permanent child” (to&nbsp;borrow a pleasant phrase of Mr. Traill’s) out
of a very plentiful but most impermanent family, borne in the most
inconvenient circumstances possible by Agnes Nuttle or Herbert or
Sterne, a&nbsp;widow, and daughter or stepdaughter of a sutler of our
army in Flanders, to Roger, second son of Simon Sterne of Elvington, in
Yorkshire, who was the third son of Dr. Richard Sterne, Archbishop of
York. The Sternes were of a gentle if not very distinguished family,
which, after being seated in Suffolk, migrated to Nottinghamshire. After
the promotion of the archbishop (who had been a stout cavalier, as
Master of Jesus at Cambridge, in the bad times), they obtained, as was
fitting, divers establishments by marriage or benefice in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_x" id = "intro_x">x</a></span>
Yorkshire itself. Very little endowment of any kind, however, fell to
the lot of Roger Sterne, who was an ensign in what ranked later as the
34th regiment. Laurence, his eldest son, was born at Clonmel, in
Ireland, where his mother’s relations lived, and just after his father’s
regiment had been disbanded. It was shortly re-established, however, and
became the most “marching” of all marching corps; for though its
headquarters were generally in Ireland, it was constantly being ordered
elsewhere, and Roger Sterne saw active service both at Vigo and
Gibraltar. In this latter station he fought a duel of an extremely
Shandean character “about a goose.” He was run through the body and
pinned to the wall; whereupon, it is said, he requested his antagonist
to be so kind as to wipe the plaster off the sword before pulling it out
of his body. In despite of this thoughtfulness, however, and of an
immediate recovery, the wound so weakened him that, being ordered to
Jamaica, he took fever and died there in March 1731. As Lawrence had
been born on November 24, 1713, he was nearly eighteen; and the family
had meanwhile been increased by four other children who all died, and a
youngest daughter, Catherine, who, like the eldest, Mary, lived. Till he
was about nine or ten the boy followed the exceedingly fluctuating
fortunes of his family, which he diversified further on by falling
through, not a millrace, but a going mill. Then he was sent to school at
Halifax, in Yorkshire, and soon after practically adopted by his cousin
Sterne of Elvington, who, when the time came, sent him to Jesus College
at Cambridge, the family connection with which had begun with his
great-grandfather. He was admitted there on July 6, 1733, being then
nearly twenty, and took his degree of B.A. in 1736, and that of M.A. in
1740. The only tradition of his school career is his own story that,
having written his name on the school ceiling, he was whipped by the
usher, but complimented as a “boy of genius” by the master, who said the
name should never be effaced. This anecdote, as might be expected, has
not escaped the <i>aqua fortis</i> of criticism.</p>

<p>We know practically nothing of Sterne’s Cambridge career except the
dates above mentioned, the fact of his being elected first to a
sizarship and then as founder’s kin to a scholarship endowed by
Archbishop Sterne, and the incident told by himself that he there
contracted his lifelong friendship with a distant relative and fellow
Jesus man, John Hall, or John
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xi" id = "intro_xi">xi</a></span>
Hall Stevenson, of whom more presently. But Sterne had further reason to
acknowledge that his family stood together. He had no sooner taken his
degree, than he was taken up by a brother of his father’s, Jaques
Sterne, a&nbsp;great pluralist in the diocese of York, a&nbsp;very busy
and masterful person, and a strong Whig and Hanoverian. Under his care,
Sterne took deacon’s orders in March 1736 at the hands of the Bishop of
Lincoln; and as soon as, two years later, he had been ordained priest,
he was appointed to the living of Sutton-on-the-Forest, eight miles from
York. The uncle and nephew some years later quarrelled
bitterly&mdash;according to the latter’s account, because he would not
write “dirty paragraphs in the newspapers,” being “no party man.” That
Sterne would have been particularly squeamish about what he wrote may be
doubted; but it is certain that he shows no partisan spirit anywhere,
and very little interest in politics as such. However, for some years
his uncle was certainly his active patron, and obtained for him two
prebends and some other special preferments in connection with the
diocese and chapter of York, so that he became, as <i>Tristram</i>
shows, intimately acquainted with cathedral society there.</p>

<p>It has been a steady rule in the Anglican Church (if not, as in the
Greek, a&nbsp;<i>sine quâ non</i>) that when a man has been provided
with a living, he should, if he has not done so before, provide himself
with a wife; and Sterne was a very unlikely man to break good custom in
this respect. Very soon at least after his ordination he fell in love
with Elizabeth Lumley, a&nbsp;young lady of a good Yorkshire family, and
of some little fortune, which, however, for a time she thought “not
enough” to share with him, but which, as she told him during a fit of
illness, she left to him in her will. On the strength of two quite
unauthenticated and, I&nbsp;believe, not now traceable portraits seen by
this or that person in printshops or elsewhere, she is said to have been
plain. Certain expressions in Sterne’s letters seem to imply that she
had a rather exasperatingly steady and not too intelligent will of her
own; and some twenty or five and twenty years after the marriage,
M.&nbsp;Tollot, a&nbsp;gossiping Frenchman, with French ideas on the
duty of husbands and wives going separate ways, said that she wished to
have a finger in every pie, and pestered “the good and agreeable
Tristram” with her presence. But Sterne, despite his reckless
confessions of conjugal indifference, and worse, says nothing serious or
even ill-natured of her; and one or two
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xii" id = "intro_xii">xii</a></span>
traits and sayings of hers, especially her refusal to listen to a
meddlesome person who wished to tell her tales about “Eliza,” seem to
argue sense and dignity. That in the latter years she cared little to be
with a husband who had long been “tired and sick” of her is not to her
discredit. Their daughter, with the almost invariable ill-luck or
ill-judgment which seems to have attended her, printed certain letters
of this courtship time, though she gave nothing for many years
afterwards. The use made of these Strephon or Damon blandishments, in
contrast with the expressions used by the writer of his wife, and of
other women, long afterwards, is perhaps a little unfair; but it must be
admitted that though far too characteristic and amusing to be omitted,
they are anything but brilliant specimens of their kind. In particular,
Thackeray’s bitter fun on the ineffably lackadaisical passage, “My L.
has seen a polyanthus blow in December,” is pretty fully justified.</p>

<p>If, however, the marriage, which, difficulties being removed, took
place on Easter Monday, March 30, 1741, did not bring lasting happiness
to Sterne, it probably brought him some at the time, and it certainly
brought him an accession of fortune; for in addition to what little
money Miss Lumley had, a&nbsp;friend of hers bestowed the additional
living of Stillington on her husband. These various sources of income
must have made a tolerable revenue, which, after the publication of
<i>Tristram</i>, was further supplemented by yet another benefice given
him by Lord Falconbridge at Coxwold, a&nbsp;living of no great value,
but a pleasant place of residence. Add to this the profits of his books
in the last eight years of his life, which were for that day
considerable, and it will be seen that, as has been said above, Sterne
might have been much worse off in this world’s goods than he was. He
seems, like other people, to have made some rather costly experiments in
farming; and his way of life latterly, what with his own journeys and
sojourns in London, and the long separate residence of his wife and
daughter in France, was expensive. But he complains little of poverty;
and though he died in debt, much of that debt was due to no fault of
his, but to the burning of the parsonage of Sutton.</p>

<p>It is all the more remarkable in one way, though the absence of any
pressure of want may explain it in another, that Sterne’s great literary
gifts should have remained so long without finding any kind of literary
expression, unless it was in the newspaper way, in respect to which he
first obliged and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xiii" id = "intro_xiii">xiii</a></span>
afterwards disobliged his uncle. There is, I&nbsp;believe, no dispute
about the fact that he distances, and that by many years, every other
man of letters of anything like his rank&mdash;except Cowper, whose
affliction puts him out of comparison&mdash;in the lateness of his
fruiting time. <ins class = "correction"
title = "‘almost’, i.e. 1736-1759">All but</ins> a quarter of a century had passed since he took
his degree when <i>Tristram Shandy</i> appeared; and, putting sermons
aside, the very earliest thing of his known, <i>The History of a Good
Watch Coat</i>, only antedated <i>Tristram</i> by two years or rather
less. He was no doubt “making himself all this time;” but the making
must have been an uncommonly slow process. Nor did he, like a good many
writers, occupy the time in preparing what he was afterwards to publish,
unless in the case of a few of his sermons. It is positively known that
<i>Tristram</i> was written merely as it was published, and the
<i>Journey</i> likewise. Nor is even the first by any means a long book.
It is as nearly as possible the same length as Fielding’s <i>Amelia</i>
when printed straight on; and even then more allowance has to be made,
not merely for its free and audacious plagiarisms, but for its
constantly broken paragraphs, stars, dashes, and other trickeries. If it
were possible to squeeze it up, as one squeezes a sponge, into the solid
texture of an ordinary book, I&nbsp;doubt whether it would be very much
longer than <i>Joseph Andrews</i>.</p>

<p>It will probably be admitted, however, that the idiosyncrasy of the
writings of Sterne’s last and incomplete decade, even if it be in part
only an idiosyncrasy of mannerism, is almost great enough to justify the
nearly three decades of <i>Lehrjahre</i> (starting from his entrance at
Cambridge) which preceded it. It is true that of the actual occupations
of these years we know extremely little&mdash;indeed, what we know as
distinguished from what is guesswork and inference is mostly summed up
by Sterne’s own current and curvetting pen thus: “I&nbsp;remained near
twenty years at Sutton, doing duty at both places [<i>i.e.</i>, Sutton
and Stillington]. I&nbsp;had then very good health. Books, painting,
fiddling, and shooting were my amusements;” to which he adds only that
he and the squire of Sutton were not very good friends, but that at
Stillington the Croft family were extremely kind and amiable. From other
sources, including, it is true, his own letters&mdash;though the dates
and allusions of these are so uncertain that they are very doubtful
guides&mdash;we find that his chief crony during this period, as during
his life, was the already-mentioned John Hall, who had
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xiv" id = "intro_xiv">xiv</a></span>
taken to the name of Stevenson, and was master of Skelton Castle,
a&nbsp;very old and curious house on the border of the Cleveland moors,
not far from the town of Guisborough. The master of “Crazy”
Castle&mdash;he liked to give his house this name, which he afterwards
used in entitling his book of <i>Crazy Tales</i>&mdash;his ways and his
library, have usually been charged with debauching Sterne’s innocent
mind, which I should imagine lent itself to that process in a most
docile and <i>morigerant</i> fashion; but whether this was the case or
not, it is clear that Stevenson bore no very good reputation. It is not
certain, but was asserted, that he had been a monk of Medmenham. He
gathered about him at Skelton a society which, though no such
imputations were made on it as on that of Wilkes and Dashwood, was of a
pretty loose kind; he was a humourist, both in the old and the modern
sense; and his <i>Crazy Tales</i> were, if not very mad, rather sad and
bad exercises of the imagination.</p>

<p>Amid all this dream- and guess-work, almost the only solid facts in
Sterne’s life are the births of two daughters, one in 1745, and the
other two years later. Both were christened Lydia; the first died soon
after she was born, the second lived to be the darling of both her
parents, the object of the most respectable emotions of Sterne’s life,
the wife of an unknown Frenchman, M.&nbsp;de Medalle, and, as has been
said, the probably unwitting destroyer of her father’s last chance of
reputation.</p>

<p>Our exuberant nescience in matters Sternian extends up to the very
publication of <i>Tristram</i>, as far as the determining causes of its
production are concerned. It is true that in passages of the letters
Sterne seems to say that his experiment with the pen was prompted by a
desire to make good some losses in farming, and elsewhere that he was
tired of employing his brains for other people’s advantage, as he had
done for some years for an ungrateful person, that is to say, his uncle.
This last passage was written just before <i>Tristram</i> came out; but
at no time was Sterne a very trustworthy reporter of his own motives,
and it would seem that the quarrel with his uncle must have been a good
deal earlier. At any rate, the year 1759 seems to have been spent in
writing the first two volumes of the book, and <i>The Life and Opinions
of Tristram Shandy, Gent.</i>, published by John Hinxham, Stonegate,
York, but obtainable also from divers London booksellers, appeared on
the 1st of January 1760. I&nbsp;wish Sterne had thought of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xv" id = "intro_xv">xv</a></span>
keeping it till the 1st of April, which he would probably then have
done.</p>

<p>The comparatively short last scenes of his life were as busy and
varied as his long middle course had been outwardly monotonous. Although
his book was nominally published at York, he had gone up to London to
superintend arrangements for its sale there, perhaps not without a hope
of triumph. If so, Fortune chose not to play him her usual tricks. In
York, the extreme personality of the book excited interest of a twofold
and dubious kind; but, to play on some words of Dryden’s, “London liked
grossly” and swallowed <i>Tristram Shandy</i> whole with singular
avidity. Its author came to town just in time to enjoy the results of
this, and was one of the chief lions of the season of 1760,
a&nbsp;position which he enjoyed with a childish frankness that is not
the least pleasant thing in his history. One, probably of the least
important, though by accident one of the best known of his innumerable
flirtations, with a Miss Fourmentelle, was apparently quenched by this
distraction when it was on the point of going such lengths that the lady
had actually come up alone to London to meet Sterne there. He was
introduced to persons as different as Garrick and Warburton, from the
latter of whom he received, in rather mysterious circumstances,
a&nbsp;present of money. He haunted Ministers and Knights of the Garter;
he was overwhelmed with invitations and callers; and, as has been said,
he received one very solid present in the shape of the living of
Coxwold. <i>Tristram</i> went into a second edition rapidly; its author
was enabled to announce a collection of “<i>Sermons</i> by Mr. Yorick”
in April; and he went to his new living in the early summer, determined
to set to work vigorously on more of the work that had been so
fortunate. By the end of the year he was ready with two more volumes,
again came up to town, and again, when vols. iii. and iv. had appeared,
at the end of January 1761, was besieged by admirers. For these two he
received £380 from Dodsley, who had fought shy of the book earlier. They
were quite as successful as the first pair; and again Sterne stayed all
the spring and earlier summer in London, returning to Yorkshire to make
more <i>Shandy</i> in the autumn. He was still quicker over the third
batch, and it was published in December 1761, when he was again in town,
but he now meditated a longer flight. His health had been really
declining, and he obtained leave from the archbishop for a year certain,
and perhaps two, that he might go to the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xvi" id = "intro_xvi">xvi</a></span>
south of France. He was warmly received in Paris, where his work had
obtained a popularity which it has never wholly lost, and the framework
of fact (including the passport difficulties) for the <i>Sentimental
Journey</i>, as well as for the seventh volume of <i>Tristram</i>, was
laid during the spring. His plans were now changed, it being determined
that his wife and daughter (who had inherited his constitution) should
join him. They did so after some difficulties, and the consumptive
novelist, having spent all the winter in one of the worst climates in
Europe, that of the French capital, started with his family in the
torrid heats of July for Toulouse, where at last they were established
about the middle of August.</p>

<p>Toulouse became Sterne’s abode for nearly a year, his headquarters
for a somewhat longer period, and the home of his wife and daughter,
with migrations to Bagnères, Montpellier, and a great many other places
in France, for about five <ins class = "correction"
title = "text has ,">years.</ins> He himself&mdash;he had been ill at Toulouse, and worse
at Montpellier&mdash;reached England again (after a short stay in Paris)
during the early summer of 1764. Nor was it till January 1765 that the
seventh and eighth volumes of <i>Tristram</i> appeared. As usual Sterne
went to town to receive the congratulations of the public, which seem to
have been fairly hearty; for though the instalment immediately preceding
had not been an entire success, the longer interval had now had its
effect not merely on the art and materials of the caterer, but on the
appetite of his guests. He followed this up with two more volumes of
Sermons, of a much more characteristic kind than his earlier venture in
this way, and published partly by subscription. These, however, were not
actually issued till 1766. Meanwhile, in October 1765, Sterne had set
out for his second attempt in travel on the Continent, which was to
supply the remaining material for the <i>Sentimental Journey</i>, and to
be prolonged as far as Naples. Little is known of his winter stay at
that city and in Rome. On his way homeward he met his wife and daughter
in Franche-Comté, but at Mrs. Sterne’s request left them there, and went
on alone to Coxwold.</p>

<p>He reached England in extremely bad health, and never left it again;
but he had still nearly two years of fairly well filled life to run. The
ninth, or last volume of <i>Tristram</i> occupied him during the autumn
of 1766, and was produced with the invariable accompaniment of its
author’s appearance in London during January 1767. This visit, which
lasted till May, saw the flirtation with “Eliza” Draper, the young wife
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xvii" id = "intro_xvii">xvii</a></span>
of an Indian official, who was at home for her health, an affair which
exalted Sterne in the eyes of eighteenth-century sensibility, especially
in France, about as much as it has depressed him in the eyes not merely
of the propriety, not merely of the common sense, but of the romance of
later times. He was very ill when he got back to Coxwold, but recovered,
and in October was joined by his wife and daughter. Even then, however,
the community was a very temporary and divided one, for he took a house
for them at York, and they were not to stay in England beyond the
spring. He himself finished what we have of the <i>Sentimental
Journey</i>, and went to London with it, where it was published rather
later than usual, on the 27th February 1768. Three weeks later its
author, at his lodgings at 41 New Bond Street, in the presence only of a
hired nurse and a footman, who had been sent by some of his friends to
inquire after him, took a journey other than sentimental, and so far
unreported. Some odd but not very well authenticated stories gathered
round his death, which occurred on Friday the 18th March. It was said,
and it is probable enough, that his gold sleeve-links were stolen by his
landlady. After his funeral, scantily attended, at the burying-ground of
St. George’s, Hanover Square, opposite Hyde Park (which used to be known
by the squalid brown of its unrestored, and afterwards made more hideous
by the bedizened red of its restored chapel), his body is said to have
been snatched by resurrection men. And the myth is rounded off by the
addition that the remains, having been sold to the professor of anatomy
at Cambridge, were dissected there in public, one of the spectators,
a&nbsp;friend of Sterne’s, recognising the face too late, and
fainting.</p>

<p>His affairs, which had never been managed in a very business-like
manner, were in considerable disorder. Some years before, the
carelessness of his curate had caused or allowed the parsonage at Sutton
to be burnt to the ground; and Sterne, besides losing valuable effects
of his own, was of course liable for the rebuilding. He managed to put
this off till his death, after which his widow and administratrix was
sued for dilapidations. These, as she was in very poor circumstances,
had to be compounded for sixty pounds only, but they probably ranked for
a much larger sum in the £1100 at which Sterne’s indebtedness was
reckoned. His widow had a little money of her own: £800 was collected
for her and her daughter at York races; there must have been profits
from
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xviii" id = "intro_xviii">xviii</a></span>
the copyrights; and a fresh collection of <i>Sermons</i> was issued by
subscription. But though very little is known about the pair, they are
said to have been ill off. They applied first to Wilkes and then to
Stevenson to write a life of Sterne to prefix to his Works, but neither
complied. Mr. Fitzgerald, who seldom deserves the curse laid on those
who use harsh judgment, is very severe on both for this. Yet surely
each, considering his own reputation, must have felt that he was the
last person to set Sterne right with the stricter part of society, and
that to write a “Crazy” or “Shandean” life of him would be a cruel
crime. It is not known exactly when Lydia married, or when either she or
her mother died. Mrs. Sterne must have been dead by 1775, the date of
the publication of the letters; Lydia is said to have perished in the
French Revolution.</p>

<p>Beginning authorship very late in life, having schooled himself to an
intensely artificial method, both in style and in construction, and not
allowed by Fate more than a few years in which to write at all, Sterne,
as is natural, displays a great uniformity throughout his work. Indeed,
it might be said that he has written but one book, <i>Tristram
Shandy</i>. The <i>Sentimental Journey</i> (as&nbsp;to the relative
merits of which, compared with the earlier and larger work, there is a
<i>polemos aspondos</i> between the Big-endians and the Little-endians
of Sternism) is after all only an expansion of the seventh book of
Tristram, with <i>fioriture</i>, variations, and new divertisements. The
sermon which occurs so early is an actual sermon of “Yorick’s,” and a
sufficient specimen of his more serious concionatory vein; many, if not
most of his letters might have been twined into <i>Tristram</i> without
being in the least degree more out of place than most of its actual
contents. And so there is more propriety than depends upon the mere fact
that <i>Tristram Shandy</i> is the earliest and the largest part of its
author’s work, in making no extremely scholastic distinction between the
specially Shandean and the generally Sternian characteristics; for,
indeed, all Sterne is in it more or less eminently.</p>

<p>No less a critic than M. Scherer has given his sanction to the idea
that in Sterne we have a special, if not even <i>the</i> special, type
of the humourist; and probably few people who have given no particular
thought or attention to the matter, would refuse to agree with him.
I&nbsp;am myself inclined rather to a demur, or, at any rate, to a
distinction, though few better
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xix" id = "intro_xix">xix</a></span>
things have been written about humour itself than a passage in
M.&nbsp;Scherer’s essay on our author. Sterne has no doubt in a very
eminent degree the sense of contrast, which all the best critics admit
to be the root of humour&mdash;the note of the humourist. But he has it
partially, occasionally, and, I&nbsp;should even go as far as to say,
not <i>greatly</i>. The <i>great</i> English humourists, I&nbsp;take it,
are Shakespeare, Swift, Fielding, Thackeray, and Carlyle. All
these&mdash;even Fielding, whose eighteenth-century manner, the
contemporary and counterpart of Sterne’s, cannot hide the
truth&mdash;apply the humourist contrast, the humourist sense of the
irony of existence, to the great things, the <i>prima et novissima</i>.
They see, and feel, and show the simultaneous sense of Death and Life,
of Love and Loss, of the Finite and the Infinite. Sterne stops a long
way short of this; <i>les grands sujets lui sont défendus</i> in another
sense than La Bruyère’s. It is scarcely too much to say that his
ostentatious preference for the <i>bagatelle</i> was a real, and not in
the least affected fact. Nowhere, not in the true pathos of the famous
deathbed letter to Mrs. James, not in the, as it seems to me, by no
means wholly true pathos of the Le Fever episode, does he pierce to “the
accepted hells beneath.” He has an unmatched command of the lesser and
lower varieties of the humorous contrast&mdash;over the odd, the petty,
the queer, above all, over what the French untranslatably call the
<i>saugrenu</i>. His forte is the foible; his <i>cheval de bataille</i>,
the hobby-horse. If you want to soar into the heights, or plunge into
the depths of humour, Sterne is not for you. But if you want what his
own generation called a frisk on middle, <i>very</i> middle-earth,
a&nbsp;hunt in curiosity-shops (especially of the technically “curious”
description), a&nbsp;peep into all manner of <i>coulisses</i> and
behind-scenes of human nature, a&nbsp;ride on a sort of intellectual
switchback, a&nbsp;view of moral, mental, religious, sentimental dancing
of all the kinds that have delighted man, from the rope to the skirt,
then have with Sterne in any direction he pleases. He may sometimes a
very little disgust you, but you will seldom have just cause to complain
that he disappoints and deceives.</p>

<p>The <i>Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gent.</i> (which, as it
has been excellently observed, is in reality based on the life of the
gent’s uncle, and the opinions of the gent’s father), is the largest and
in every way the chief field for these diversions. The apparatus, and,
so far as there can be said to have been one, the object with which
Sterne marked it out
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xx" id = "intro_xx">xx</a></span>
and filled it up, are clear, and even the former must have been clear
enough to anybody of some reading and some intelligence long before the
excellent Dr. Ferriar, in the spirit of a reverent iconoclast, set
himself to work to point out Sterne’s exact indebtedness to Rabelais,
Burton, Beroalde (if&nbsp;Beroalde wrote the <i>Moyen de Parvenir</i>),
Bruscambille, and the rest. Of this particular part of the matter I do
not think it necessary to say much. The charge of plagiarism is usually
an excessively idle one; for when a man of genius steals, he always
makes the thefts his own; and when a man steals without genius, the
thefts are mere fairy gold which turns to leaves and pebbles under his
hand. No doubt Sterne “lifted” in <i>Tristram</i>, and still more in the
<i>Sermons</i>, with rather more freedom and audacity than most men of
genius; but when we remember that he took Burton’s denunciation of the
practice and reproduced it (all but in Burton’s very words) as his own,
it must be clear to any one who is not very dull indeed that he was
playing an audacious practical joke. Where he is best, he does not steal
at all, and that is the only point of real importance.</p>

<p>It is somewhat more, I think, the business of the critic (who is here
more especially bound not to look only at the stop-watch) to note the
far more striking way in which Sterne borrowed, not actual passages and
words, but manner and style. Here, perhaps, we shall find him accountant
for a greater debt; and here also we may think that though his genius is
indisputable, he gives more reason to those who should deny him the
highest kind of genius. Beyond doubt not merely his reading, but his
temper and his characteristics of all kinds, inclined him to the style
to which the French fifteenth and sixteenth centuries gave the name of
<i>fatrasie</i>, or pillar-to-post divagation, with more or less of a
covert satiric aim. But if we compare the dealing of Swift with Cyrano
de Bergerac, the dealing of Fielding with the romance and novel as it
existed before his time, nay, the dealing of Shakespeare with the
Marlowe drama, we shall note a marked difference in Sterne’s procedure.
Nobody, even in his own day, who knew Rabelais at all could fail to
detect the almost servile following of manner in great things and in
small which <i>Tristram</i> displays. No one&mdash;a&nbsp;much smaller
designation&mdash;who knows the strange, unedifying, but very far from
commonplace book of which, as I have hinted, I&nbsp;never can quite
believe that Beroalde de Verville was the author, can fail to detect an
even closer,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxi" id = "intro_xxi">xxi</a></span>
though a somewhat less obvious and, so to speak, less verifiable
following here.</p>

<p>In another region&mdash;the purgatory of all Sterne’s
commentators&mdash;we can trace this corrupt following as distinctly at
least, though it has, I&nbsp;think, been less often definitely
attributed. Sterne’s too celebrated indecency, is, with one exception,
<i>sui generis</i>. No doubt much nonsense has been and is talked about
“indecency” in general literature. When it is indulged, as it has been,
for instance, in French of late, it becomes a nuisance of the most
loathsome kind. It is always perhaps better left alone. But if it be a
sin to laugh now and then frankly at what were once called “gentlemen’s
stories,” then not merely many a gallant, noble, and not unwise
gentleman, but I fear not a few ladies, both fair and fine, are damned,
with Shakespeare and Scott and Southey, with Margaret of Navarre and
Marie de Sévigné, to keep them in countenance. Yet to merit indulgence,
this questionable quality, in addition to being treated as genius
treats, must have certain sub-qualities, or freedoms from quality, of
its own. It must not be brutal and inhuman, since the quality of
humanity is the main thing that saves it. It must not be underhand and
sniggering. It must be frank and jovial, or frank and passionate.
Perhaps, in some cases, it may be saved, as Swift’s is to a great
extent, by the overmastering pessimism of despair, which enforces its
contempt of man and man’s fate by bringing forward these evidences of
his weakness. But Sterne can plead none of these exemptions. He has
neither the frank laughter of Aristophanes and Rabelais, nor the frank
passion of Catullus and Donne. He was incapable of feeling any <i>sæva
indignatio</i> whatever. The attraction of the thing for him was,
I&nbsp;fear, merely the attraction of the improper, because it is
improper; because it shocks people, or makes them blush, or gives them
an unholy little quiver of sordid shamefaced delectation. His famous
apology of the child playing on the floor and showing in innocence what
is not usually shown, was desperately unlucky. For his displays are
those of educated and economic un-innocency. And he took this manner,
I&nbsp;am nearly sure, wholly and directly from Voltaire, who enjoys the
unenviable copyright and patent of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The third characteristic which Sterne took from others, which dyed
his work deeply, and which injured more than it helped it, was his
famous, his unrivalled, Sensibility or Sentimentalism.
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxii" id = "intro_xxii">xxii</a></span>
A great deal has been written about this admired eighteenth-century
device, and there is no space here for discussing it. Suffice it to say,
that although Sterne certainly did not invent it&mdash;it had been
inculcated by two whole generations of French novelists before him, and
had been familiar in England for half a century&mdash;he has the glory,
such as it is, of carrying it to the farthest possible. The dead donkey
and the live donkey, the latter (as&nbsp;I humbly but proudly join
myself to Mr. Thackeray and Mr. Traill in thinking) far the finer
animal; Le Fever and La Fleur; Maria and Eliza; Uncle Toby’s fly, and
poor Mrs. Sterne’s antenuptial polyanthus; the stoics that Mr. Sterne
(with a generous sense that he was in no danger of that lash) wished to
be whipped, and the critics from whom he would have fled from Dan to
Beersheba to be delivered;&mdash;all the celebrated persons and passages
of his works, all the decorations and fireworks thereof, are directed
mainly to the exhibition of <i>Sensibility</i>, once so charming, now,
alas! hooted and contemned of the people!</p>

<p>And now it will be possible to have done with his foibles, all the
rest in Sterne being for praise, with hardly any mixture of blame. We
have seen what he borrowed from others, mostly to his hurt; let us now
see what he contributed of his own, almost wholly to his credit and
advantage. He had, in the first place, what most writers when they begin
almost invariably and almost inevitably lack, a&nbsp;long and carefully
amassed store, not merely of reading, but of observation of mankind.
Although his nearly fifty years of life had been in the ordinary sense
uneventful, they had given him opportunities which he had amply taken.
A&nbsp;“son of the regiment,” he had evidently studied with the greatest
and most loving care the ways of an army which still included a large
proportion of Marlborough’s veterans; and it has been constantly and
reasonably held that his chief study had been his father, whom he
evidently adored in a way. Roger Sterne is the admitted model of my
Uncle Toby; and I at least have no doubt that he was the original of Mr.
Shandy also, for some of the qualities which appear in his son’s
character of him are Walter’s, not Toby’s. It would have required,
perhaps, even greater genius than Sterne possessed, and an environment
less saturated with the delusive theory of the “ruling passion,” to have
given us the mixed and blended temperament instead of separating it into
two gentlemen at once, and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxiii" id = "intro_xxiii">xxiii</a></span>
making Walter Shandy all wayward intellect, and Tobias all gentle
goodness. But if it had been done&mdash;as Shakespeare perhaps alone
could have done it&mdash;we should have had a greater and more human
figure than either. Mr. Shandy would then never have come near, as he
does sometimes, to being a bore; and my Uncle Toby (if&nbsp;I may say so
without taking the wings of the morning to flee from the wrath of the
extreme Tobyolaters) would have been saved from the occasional
appearance of being something like a fool.</p>

<p>Still, these two are delightful even in their present dichotomy; and
Sterne was amply provided by his genius, working on his experience, with
company for them. His fancy portrait of himself as “Yorick” (his
unfeigned Shakespearianism is one of his best traits) is a little vague
and fantastic; and that of Eugenius, which is supposed to represent John
Hall Stevenson, is almost as slight as it is flattering. But Dr. Slop,
who is known to have been drawn (with somewhat unmerciful fidelity in
externals, but not at all unkindly when we look deeper) from Dr. Burton,
a&nbsp;well-known Jacobite practitioner who had suffered from the
Hanoverian zeal of Yorick’s uncle Jaques in the ’45, is a masterpiece.
The York dignitaries are veritable etchings in outline, more instinct
with life and individuality than a thousand elaborately painted
pictures; all the servants, Obadiah, Susannah, Bridget, and the rest,
are the equals of Fielding’s, or of Thackeray’s domestics; and though
Tristram himself is the shadow of a shade, I&nbsp;confess that I seem to
see a vivid portrait in the three or four strokes which alone give us
“my dear, dear Jenny.” Mr. Fitzgerald, succumbing to a not unnatural
temptation, considering the close juxtaposition in time, approximates
this to the “dear, dear Kitty” of the letters to Miss Catherine de
Fourmentelle. But this, taking all things together, would be a rather
serious <i>scandalum damigellarum</i>; and I do not think it necessary
to identify, though the traits seem to me to suit not ill with the few
genuine ones in the letters about Mrs. Sterne herself. That the “dear,
dear” should be ironical more or less is quite Shandean. All these, if
not drawn directly from individuals (the lower exercise), are first
generalised and then precipitated into individuality from a large
observation (which is the infinitely higher and better). I&nbsp;fear I
must except Widow Wadman, save in the sentry-box scene, from this
encomium. But then Widow Wadman is not really a real person. She is
partly an instrument to put my Uncle Toby through some
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxiv" id = "intro_xxiv">xxiv</a></span>
new motions, and partly a cue to enable Sterne to indulge in his worst
foible. As for Trim, <i>quis vituperavit</i> Trim? The lover of the
“popish clergywoman” is simply perfect, with a not much less good heart
and a much better head than his master’s, and in his own degree hardly
less of a gentleman.</p>

<p>The manner in which these delightful persons (I observe with shame
that I had omitted the modest worth of Mrs. Shandy, nearly the most
delightful of them all) are introduced to the reader, may have suffered
a little from that corrupt following of which enough has been said.
I&nbsp;can only say, that I would compound for a good deal more
corruption of the same kind, allied with a good deal less genius. It can
scarcely be doubted that there was a real pre-established harmony
between Sterne’s gifts and the <i>fatrasie</i> manner; certainly this
manner, if it sometimes exhibited his weaknesses, gave rare
opportunities to his strength. And the same may be said of his style. He
might certainly have given us less of the typographical tricks with
which he chose to bedizen and bedaub it, and sometimes in his
ultra-Rabelaisian moods&mdash;I&nbsp;do not mean of <i>gauloiserie</i>
but of sheer fooling&mdash;we feel the falsetto rather disastrously. It
is constantly forgotten by unfavourable critics of Rabelais that his
extravagances were to a great extent, at any rate, quite natural
outbursts of animal spirits. The Middle Ages, though it has become the
fashion with those who know nothing about them to represent them as ages
of gloom, were probably the merriest time of this world’s history; and
the Reformation and the Renaissance, with their pedantry and their
puritanism, and worst of all their physical science, had not quite
killed the merriment when Rabelais wrote. But though animal spirits
still survived in Sterne’s day, it cannot be said that in England, any
more than elsewhere, there was much genuine merriment of the honest,
childish, mediæval kind, and thus his manner perpetually jars. Still the
style, independently of the tricks, was excellently suited for the work.
It is a moot point how far the extremely loose and ungirt character of
this style, which sometimes, and indeed often, reaches sheer
slovenliness and solecism, was intentional. I&nbsp;think myself that it
was nearly as deliberate as the asterisks, and the black and marble
pages. We know from the <i>Sermons</i> that Sterne could write carefully
enough when he chose, and we know from the MS. of the <i>Journey</i>
that he corrected sedulously. Nor is it likely that he had the excuse of
hurry. The shortest time that he ever took over one
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxv" id = "intro_xxv">xxv</a></span>
of his two-volume batches was more than six months; and looking at the
practice, not of miracles of industry and facility like Scott, but of
rather dilatory writers like Thackeray, one would think that the
quantity (which is not more than a couple of hundred pages of one of
these present volumes) might be written in little more than six weeks.
At any rate, the style, conversational, unpretentious, too easy to be
jerky, and yet too broken to be sustained, suits subject and scheme as
few others could.</p>

<p class = "space">
But there is perhaps little need to say more about a book which, though
some say that few read it through nowadays, is thoroughly well known in
outline and in its salient passages, and which will pretty certainly lay
hold of all fit readers as soon as they take to it. Of its writer a very
little more may perhaps be said, all the more so because those who, not
understanding critical admiration, think that biographers and editors
ought not only to be just and a little kind, but extravagantly partial
to their subjects, may conceive that I have been a little unjust, or, at
any rate, a&nbsp;little unkind to Sterne. If so, they have not read his
own extremely ingenious, and in general, if not in particular, very
sound attack on the adage <i>de mortuis</i>. But if not <i>nil nisi</i>,
there is yet very much <i>bonum</i> to be said of Sterne. He was not
merely endowed with a singular and essential genius; he was not merely
the representative and mouthpiece, in a way hardly surpassed by any one,
of a certain way of thought and feeling more or less peculiar to his
time. These were his merits, his very great merits as a writer. But he
had others, and great, if not very great ones, as a man. Though never
rich, he seems to have been free from the fault of parsimony; and albeit
he died in debt, not deeply tainted with that of extravagance in money
matters. For most of his later expenditure was on others, and he might
justly calculate on his pen paying, and more than paying, his shot.
Little love as there was lost between him and his wife, he always took
the greatest care to provide for her wants in the rather costly
severance of their establishments, and never even in his most indiscreet
moments hints a grumble at her expenditure, a&nbsp;vice of which some
people of much higher general reputation have been known to be guilty.
Though he was certainly pleased at the attentions of “the great,”
I&nbsp;do not know that there is any just cause for accusing him of
truckling to, or fawning on them beyond the custom and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxvi" id = "intro_xxvi">xxvi</a></span>
courtesy of the time. For all his reckless humour, there was no
ill-nature in him. His worst enemies have admitted that his affection
for his daughter was very pretty and quite unaffected; and his letters
to and of Mrs. James show that he could think of a woman nobly and
wholesomely as a friend, for all his ignoble and unwholesome ways of
thought in regard to the sex. If it had not been for the cruel
indiscretion of his Lydia (which, however, has something of the old
virtue of conveying the balm as well as the sting), he would probably
have been much better thought of than he is. And considering the
delightful books here once more presented, I&nbsp;think we may consent
to forgive the faults which, after all, were mainly his own business,
for the merits by which we so largely benefit and for which he reaped no
over-bounteous guerdon.</p>

<p class = "right">
GEORGE SAINTSBURY.</p>

<p><a name = "biblio" id = "biblio">&nbsp;</a></p>

<p class = "small space">
<span class = "smallcaps">Works.</span>&mdash;The Life and Opinions of
Tristram Shandy, Vols. I. and II., 1759; III. and IV., 1761; V. and VI.,
1762; VII. and VIII., 1765; IX., 1767; first collected edition, 1767;
numerous later editions, chiefly of recent date. Sermons of Mr. Yorick,
Vols. I. and II., 1760; III. and IV., 1766; V., VI., and VII., 1769.
A&nbsp;Sentimental Journey, 1768; many later editions; Letters from
Yorick to Eliza, 1775; Sterne’s Letters to his Friends on Various
Occasions, 1775; Letters of Laurence Sterne to his most intimate
friends, 1775; Original Letters never before published, 1788; Letters of
Yorick and Eliza, 1807; Seven Letters written by Sterne and his Friends,
hitherto unpublished, 1844; Unpublished Letters of Laurence Sterne,
edited by J.&nbsp;Murray, 1856.</p>

<p><span class = "small">
Collected editions of the works of Laurence Sterne appeared in 1779,
1780; edited by G.&nbsp;Saintsbury, 1894; by Wilbur L. Cross,
1906.</span></p>

<p class = "small space">
<span class = "smallcaps">Life.</span>&mdash;An account of the life and
writings of the author is prefixed to the edition of his Works, 1779;
a&nbsp;life of the author written by himself in edition of works, 1780;
by Sir W. Scott in edition of Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy,
1867; by H.&nbsp;D. Traill, 1878; by P.&nbsp;H. Fitzgerald, 1896;
Laurence Sterne in Germany, by H.&nbsp;W. Thayer, 1905; Life and Times,
by Wilbur L. Cross, 1909; A&nbsp;Study, by Walter S. Sichel, 1910; Life
and Letters, by Lewis Melville, 1911.</p>

<p class = "footnote">
<a name = "note_I_1" id = "note_I_1" href = "#tag_I_1">1.</a>
It is perhaps barely necessary to observe that the parallel does not
extend to a further parallel between republication and tale-bearing.
Once published, the thing is public.</p>


<div class = "page">
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxvii" id = "intro_xxvii">xxvii</a></span>

<div class = "heading">
<p class = "ital">
⁂ <a name = "text" id = "text">The text</a> which has been here adopted
is that of the ten-volume edition, first printed in <em>1781</em>, and
reprinted several times before the end of the century, which is as near
as anything to the “standard” Sterne. It seems, however, to have had no
competent editing; and the renumbering of the chapters to suit the
<em>four</em> volumes, in which <em>Tristram</em> was printed,
completely upsets the original and important division into <em>nine</em>
volumes, or books, which has here, as in some other editions, been
restored. Another piece of thoughtlessness was that of sticking the
Dedication, which originally came between the eighth and ninth volumes,
or books, at the beginning of the <em>fourth</em> volume as reprinted,
thereby making nonsense or puzzle of Sterne’s joke about <em>à
priori</em>. It should be observed that the Dedication to Pitt, which
here leads off, was not prefixed till the <em>second</em> edition of the
original, and that sometimes in the last-century editions it appears
displaced at a later spot. No attempt has been made to correct any
oddities of spelling that are not clearly mere misprints.</p>

</div>
</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "intro_xxviii" id = "intro_xxviii">xxviii</a></span>

<h3 class = "extended">
<a name = "contents" id = "contents">CONTENTS</a></h3>

<table class = "toc" summary = "table of contents">
<tr>
<td></td>
<td class = "smallest">
PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book I.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page3">3</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
II.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page59">59</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
III.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page113">113</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
IV.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page176">176</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book V.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page251">251</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
VI.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page300">300</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
VII.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page349">349</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
VIII.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page395">395</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class = "smallcaps"><span class = "opaque">Book
IX.&nbsp;</span></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page441">441</a></td>
</tr>
</table>



<div class = "page">

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page1" id = "page1">1</a></span>

<h2><a name = "titlepage" id = "titlepage">
<span class = "small">THE LIFE AND OPINIONS</span></a><br />
<span class = "tiny">OF</span><br />
<span class = "extended">TRISTRAM SHANDY</span><br />
<span class = "smaller">GENTLEMAN</span></h2>

<div class = "heading">
<p class = "center">
<span class = "greek"
title = "Tarassei tous Anthrôpous ou ta Pragmata,">Ταράσσει τοὺς Ἀνθρώπους οὐ τὰ Πράγματα,</span><br />
<span class = "greek" title = "Alla ta peri tôn Pragmatôn Dogmata.">Ἀλλὰ
τὰ περὶ τῶν Πραγμάτων Δόγματα.</span></p>
</div>

</div>

<div class = "page">

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page2" id = "page2">2</a></span>

<h3><a name = "dedic_pitt" id = "dedic_pitt">
<span class = "smaller">TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE</span></a><br />
<span class = "extended">MR. PITT</span></h3>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">Sir</span>,&mdash;Never poor Wight of a
Dedicator had less hopes from his Dedication, than I have from this of
mine; for it is written in a bye corner of the kingdom, and in a retir’d
thatch’d house, where I live in a constant endeavour to fence against
the infirmities of ill health, and other evils of life, by mirth; being
firmly persuaded that every time a man smiles,&mdash;&mdash;but much
more so, when he laughs, it adds something to this Fragment of Life.</p>

<p>I humbly beg, Sir, that you will honour this book, by taking
it&mdash;&mdash;(not under your Protection,&mdash;&mdash;it must protect
itself, but)&mdash;&mdash;into the country with you; where, if I am ever
told, it has made you smile; or can conceive it has beguiled you of one
moment’s pain&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall think myself as happy as a
minister of state;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;perhaps much happier than any one
(one only excepted) that I have read or heard&nbsp;of.</p>

<div class = "right">
<p class = "center">
I am, <span class = "smallroman">GREAT SIR</span>,<br />
(and what is more to your Honour)<br />
I am, <span class = "smallroman">GOOD SIR</span>,<br />
Your Well-wisher, and<br />
most humble Fellow-subject,</p>
</div>

<p class = "right">
THE AUTHOR.</p>

</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page3" id = "page3">3</a></span>

<h2><span class = "small">THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF</span><br />
TRISTRAM SHANDY, GENT.</h2>




<h3><a name = "bookI" id = "bookI">BOOK I</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapI" id = "bookI_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I wish</span> either my father or my
mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound
to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly
consider’d how much depended upon what they were then doing;&mdash;that
not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but
that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps
his genius and the very cast of his mind;&mdash;and, for aught they knew
to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their
turn from the humours and dispositions which were then
uppermost;&mdash;&mdash;Had they duly weighed and considered all this,
and proceeded accordingly,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am verily persuaded I
should have made a quite different figure in the world from that in
which the reader is likely to see me.&mdash;Believe me, good folks, this
is not so inconsiderable a thing as many of you may think it;&mdash;you
have all, I&nbsp;dare say, heard of the animal spirits, as how they are
transfused from father to son, &amp;c., &amp;c.&mdash;and a great deal
to that purpose:&mdash;Well, you may take my word, that nine parts in
ten of a man’s sense or his nonsense, his successes and miscarriages in
this world depend upon their motions and activity, and the different
tracts and trains you put them into, so that when they are once set
a-going, whether right or wrong, ’tis not a halfpenny matter,&mdash;away
they go cluttering like hey-go mad; and by treading the same steps over
and over again, they presently make a road of it, as plain and as smooth
as a garden-walk, which, when they are once used to, the Devil himself
sometimes shall not be able to drive them off&nbsp;it.</p>

<p><i>Pray, my Dear</i>, quoth my mother, <i>have you not forgot to wind
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page4" id = "page4">4</a></span>
up the clock?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Good G&mdash;!</i> cried my father,
making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice at the same
time,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Did ever woman, since the creation of the world,
interrupt a man with such a silly question?</i> Pray, what was your
father saying?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Nothing.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapII" id = "bookI_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Then, positively, there is nothing in the
question that I can see, either good or bad.&mdash;&mdash;Then, let me
tell you, Sir, it was a very unseasonable question at
least,&mdash;because it scattered and dispersed the animal spirits,
whose business it was to have escorted and gone hand in hand with the
<i>HOMUNCULUS</i>, and conducted him safe to the place destined for his
reception.</p>

<p>The <span class = "smallcaps">Homunculus</span>, Sir, in however low
and ludicrous a light he may appear, in this age of levity, to the eye
of folly or prejudice;&mdash;to the eye of reason in scientifick
research, he stands confess’d&mdash;a&nbsp;<span class =
"smallcaps">Being</span> guarded and circumscribed with
rights.&mdash;&mdash;The minutest philosophers, who, by the bye, have
the most enlarged understandings (their souls being inversely as their
enquiries), shew us incontestably, that the <span class =
"smallcaps">Homunculus</span> is created by the same
hand,&mdash;engender’d in the same course of nature,&mdash;endow’d with
the same locomotive powers and faculties with us:&mdash;That he consists
as we do, of skin, hair, fat, flesh, veins, arteries, ligaments, nerves,
cartilages, bones, marrow, brains, glands, genitals, humours, and
articulations;&mdash;is a Being of as much activity,&mdash;and, in all
senses of the word, as much and as truly our fellow-creature as my Lord
Chancellor of <i>England</i>.&mdash;He may be benefited,&mdash;he may be
injured,&mdash;he may obtain redress;&mdash;in a word, he has all the
claims and rights of humanity, which <i>Tully</i>, <i>Puffendorf</i>, or
the best ethick writers allow to arise out of that state and
relation.</p>

<p>Now, dear Sir, what if any accident had befallen him in his way
alone!&mdash;or that, through terror of it, natural to so young a
traveller, my little Gentleman had got to his journey’s end miserably
spent;&mdash;his muscular strength and virility worn down to a
thread;&mdash;his own animal spirits ruffled beyond
description,&mdash;and that in this sad disordered state of nerves, he
had lain down a prey to sudden starts, or a series of melancholy dreams
and fancies, for nine long, long months together.&mdash;I
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page5" id = "page5">5</a></span>
tremble to think what a foundation had been laid for a thousand
weaknesses both of body and mind, which no skill of the physician or the
philosopher could ever afterwards have set thoroughly to rights.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapIII" id = "bookI_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">To</span> my uncle Mr. <i>Toby Shandy</i>
do I stand indebted for the preceding anecdote, to whom my father, who
was an excellent natural philosopher, and much given to close reasoning
upon the smallest matters, had oft, and heavily complained of the
injury; but once more particularly, as my uncle <i>Toby</i> well
remember’d, upon his observing a most unaccountable obliquity
(as&nbsp;he call’d&nbsp;it) in my manner of setting up my top, and
justifying the principles upon which I had done it,&mdash;the old
gentleman shook his head, and in a tone more expressive by half of
sorrow than reproach,&mdash;he said his heart all along foreboded, and
he saw it verified in this, and from a thousand other observations he
had made upon me, That I should neither think nor act like any other
man’s child:&mdash;<i>But alas!</i> continued he, shaking his head a
second time, and wiping away a tear which was trickling down his cheeks,
<i>My Tristram’s misfortunes began nine months before ever he came into
the world</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;My mother, who was sitting by, look’d up,&mdash;but she knew
no more than her backside what my father meant,&mdash;but my uncle, Mr.
<i>Toby Shandy</i>, who had been often informed of the
affair,&mdash;understood him very well.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapIV" id = "bookI_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I know</span> there are readers in the
world, as well as many other good people in it, who are no readers at
all, who find themselves ill at ease, unless they are let into the whole
secret from first to last, of everything which concerns you.</p>

<p>It is in pure compliance with this humour of theirs, and from a
backwardness in my nature to disappoint any one soul living, that I have
been so very particular already. As my life and opinions are likely to
make some noise in the world, and, if I
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page6" id = "page6">6</a></span>
conjecture right, will take in all ranks, professions, and denominations
of men whatever,&mdash;be no less read than the <i>Pilgrim’s
Progress</i> itself&mdash;and in the end, prove the very thing which
<i>Montaigne</i> dreaded his Essays should turn out, that is,
a&nbsp;book for a parlour-window;&mdash;I&nbsp;find it necessary to
consult every one a little in his turn; and therefore must beg pardon
for going on a little farther in the same way: For which cause, right
glad I am, that I have begun the history of myself in the way I have
done; and that I am able to go on, tracing everything in it, as
<i>Horace</i> says, <i>ab Ovo</i>.</p>

<p><i>Horace</i>, I know, does not recommend this fashion altogether:
But that gentleman is speaking only of an epic poem or a
tragedy;&mdash;(I&nbsp;forget which),&mdash;besides, if it was not so,
I&nbsp;should beg Mr. <i>Horace’s</i> pardon;&mdash;for in writing what
I have set about, I&nbsp;shall confine myself neither to his rules, nor
to any man’s rules that ever lived.</p>

<p>To such, however, as do not choose to go so far back into these
things, I&nbsp;can give no better advice, than that they skip over the
remaining part of this chapter; for I declare before-hand, ’tis wrote
only for the curious and inquisitive.</p>

<p><img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "70" height = "12"
alt = "----" />
Shut the door.
<img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "200" height = "12"
alt = "----" />
I was begot in the night, betwixt the first <i>Sunday</i> and the first
<i>Monday</i> in the month of <i>March</i>, in the year of our Lord one
thousand seven hundred and eighteen. I&nbsp;am positive I was.&mdash;But
how I came to be so very particular in my account of a thing which
happened before I was born, is owing to another small anecdote known
only in our own family, but now made publick for the better clearing up
this point.</p>

<p>My father, you must know, who was originally a <i>Turkey</i>
merchant, but had left off business for some years, in order to retire
to, and die upon, his paternal estate in the county of
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, was, I&nbsp;believe, one of the most regular men
in everything he did, whether ’twas matter of business, or matter of
amusement, that ever lived. As a small specimen of this extreme
exactness of his, to which he was in truth a slave,&mdash;he had made it
a rule for many years of his life,&mdash;on the first
<i>Sunday-night</i> of every month throughout the whole year,&mdash;as
certain as ever the <i>Sunday-night</i> came,&mdash;&mdash;to wind up a
large house-clock, which we had standing on the back-stairs head, with
his own hands:&mdash;And being somewhere between fifty and sixty years
of age at the time I have been speaking of,&mdash;he had likewise
gradually brought some other little family concernments to the same
period, in order, as he would often say to my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to get
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page7" id = "page7">7</a></span>
them all out of the way at one time, and be no more plagued and pestered
with them the rest of the month.</p>

<p>It was attended but with one misfortune, which, in a great measure,
fell upon myself, and the effects of which I fear I shall carry with me
to my grave; namely, that from an unhappy association of ideas, which
have no connection in nature, it so fell out at length, that my poor
mother could never hear the said clock wound up,&mdash;&mdash;but the
thoughts of some other things unavoidably popped into her head&mdash;and
<i>vice versâ</i>:&mdash;&mdash;Which strange combination of ideas, the
sagacious <i>Locke</i>, who certainly understood the nature of these
things better than most men, affirms to have produced more wry actions
than all other sources of prejudice whatsoever.</p>

<p>But this by the bye.</p>

<p>Now it appears by a memorandum in my father’s pocket-book, which now
lies upon the table, “That on <i>Lady-day</i>, which was on the 25th of
the same month in which I date my geniture,&mdash;&mdash;my father set
out upon his journey to <i>London</i>, with my eldest brother
<i>Bobby</i>, to fix him at <i>Westminster</i> school;” and, as it
appears from the same authority, “That he did not get down to his wife
and family till the <i>second week</i> in <i>May</i>
following,”&mdash;it brings the thing almost to a certainty. However,
what follows in the beginning of the next chapter, puts it beyond all
possibility of doubt.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But pray, Sir, What was your father doing all
<i>December</i>, <i>January</i>, and <i>February?</i>&mdash;&mdash;Why,
Madam,&mdash;he was all that time afflicted with a Sciatica.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapV" id = "bookI_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">On</span> the fifth day of <i>November</i>,
1718, which to the æra fixed on, was as near nine calendar months as any
husband could in reason have expected,&mdash;was I <i>Tristram
Shandy</i>, Gentleman, brought forth into this scurvy and disasterous
world of ours.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I had been born in the Moon, or
in any of the planets (except <i>Jupiter</i> or <i>Saturn</i>, because I
never could bear cold weather) for it could not well have fared worse
with me in any of them (though I will not answer for <i>Venus</i>) than
it has in this vile, dirty planet of ours,&mdash;which, o’ my
conscience, with reverence be it spoken, I&nbsp;take to be made up of
the shreds and clippings of the rest;&mdash;&mdash;not but the planet is
well enough,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page8" id = "page8">8</a></span>
provided a man could be born in it to a great title or to a great
estate; or could any how contrive to be called up to publick charges,
and employments of dignity or power;&mdash;&mdash;but that is not my
case;&mdash;&mdash;and therefore every man will speak of the fair as his
own market has gone in it;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for which cause I affirm
it over again to be one of the vilest worlds that ever was
made;&mdash;for I can truly say, that from the first hour I drew my
breath in it, to this, that I can now scarce draw it at all, for an
asthma I got in scating against the wind in
<i>Flanders</i>;&mdash;I&nbsp;have been the continual sport of what the
world calls Fortune; and though I will not wrong her by saying, She has
ever made me feel the weight of any great or signal
evil;&mdash;&mdash;yet with all the good temper in the world,
I&nbsp;affirm it of her, that in every stage of my life, and at every
turn and corner where she could get fairly at me, the ungracious duchess
has pelted me with a set of as pitiful misadventures and cross accidents
as ever small <span class = "smallcaps">Hero</span> sustained.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapVI" id = "bookI_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> the beginning of the last
chapter, I&nbsp;informed you exactly <i>when</i> I was born; but I did
not inform you <i>how. No</i>, that particular was reserved entirely for
a chapter by itself;&mdash;besides, Sir, as you and I are in a manner
perfect strangers to each other, it would not have been proper to have
let you into too many circumstances relating to myself all at
once.&mdash;You must have a little patience. I&nbsp;have undertaken, you
see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and
expecting that your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of a
mortal I am, by the one, would give you a better relish for the other:
As you proceed farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now
beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and that, unless one
of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship.&mdash;<i>O diem
præclarum!</i>&mdash;then nothing which has touched me will be thought
trifling in its nature, or tedious in its telling. Therefore, my dear
friend and companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing of my
narrative on my first setting out&mdash;bear with me,&mdash;and let me
go on, and tell my story my own way:&mdash;Or, if I should seem now and
then to trifle upon the road,&mdash;or should sometimes put on a fool’s
cap with a bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass along,&mdash;don’t
fly off,&mdash;but rather courteously
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page9" id = "page9">9</a></span>
give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my
outside;&mdash;and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in
short, do anything,&mdash;only keep your temper.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapVII" id = "bookI_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> the same village where my father
and my mother dwelt, dwelt also a thin, upright, motherly, notable, good
old body of a midwife, who with the help of a little plain good sense,
and some years full employment in her business, in which she had all
along trusted little to her own efforts, and a great deal to those of
dame Nature,&mdash;had acquired, in her way, no small degree of
reputation in the world:&mdash;&mdash;by which word <i>world</i>, need I
in this place inform your worship, that I would be understood to mean no
more of it, than a small circle described upon the circle of the great
world, of four <i>English</i> miles diameter, or thereabouts, of which
the cottage where the good old woman lived, is supposed to be the
centre?&mdash;She had been left, it seems, a&nbsp;widow in great
distress, with three or four small children, in her forty-seventh year;
and as she was at that time a person of decent carriage,&mdash;grave
deportment,&mdash;a&nbsp;woman moreover of few words, and withal an
object of compassion, whose distress, and silence under it, called out
the louder for a friendly lift: the wife of the parson of the parish was
touched with pity; and having often lamented an inconvenience, to which
her husband’s flock had for many years been exposed, inasmuch as there
was no such thing as a midwife, of any kind or degree, to be got at, let
the case have been never so urgent, within less than six or seven long
miles riding; which seven said long miles in dark nights and dismal
roads, the country thereabouts being nothing but a deep clay, was almost
equal to fourteen; and that in effect was sometimes next to having no
midwife at all; it came into her head, that it would be doing as
seasonable a kindness to the whole parish, as to the poor creature
herself, to get her a little instructed in some of the plain principles
of the business, in order to set her up in it. As no woman thereabouts
was better qualified to execute the plan she had formed than herself,
the gentlewoman very charitably undertook it; and having great influence
over the female part of the parish, she found no difficulty in effecting
it to the utmost of her wishes. In truth, the parson join’d his interest
with his wife’s in the whole affair; and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page10" id = "page10">10</a></span>
in order to do things as they should be, and give the poor soul as good
a title by law to practise, as his wife had given by
institution,&mdash;he chearfully paid the fees for the ordinary’s
licence himself, amounting in the whole, to the sum of eighteen
shillings and four pence; so that betwixt them both, the good woman was
fully invested in the real and corporal possession of her office,
together with all its <i>rights, members, and appurtenances
whatsoever</i>.</p>

<p>These last words, you must know, were not according to the old form
in which such licences, faculties, and powers usually ran, which in like
cases had heretofore been granted to the sisterhood. But it was
according to a neat <i>Formula</i> of <i>Didius</i> his own devising,
who having a particular turn for taking to pieces, and new framing over
again, all kind of instruments in that way, not only hit upon this
dainty amendment, but coaxed many of the old licensed matrons in the
neighbourhood, to open their faculties afresh, in order to have this
wham-wham of his inserted.</p>

<p>I own I never could envy <i>Didius</i> in these kinds of fancies of
his:&mdash;But every man to his own taste.&mdash;Did not Dr.
<i>Kunastrokius</i>, that great man, at his leisure hours, take the
greatest delight imaginable in combing of asses tails, and plucking the
dead hairs out with his teeth, though he had tweezers always in his
pocket? Nay, if you come to that, Sir, have not the wisest of men in all
ages, not excepting <i>Solomon</i> himself,&mdash;have they not had
their <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horses</span>;&mdash;their running
horses,&mdash;their coins and their cockle-shells, their drums and their
trumpets, their fiddles, their pallets,&mdash;their maggots and their
butterflies?&mdash;and so long as a man rides his <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> peaceably and quietly along the King’s
highway, and neither compels you or me to get up behind him,&mdash;pray,
Sir, what have either you or I to do with&nbsp;it?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapVIII" id = "bookI_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<i>De gustibus non est disputandum</i>;&mdash;that is, there
is no disputing against <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horses</span>;
and for my part, I&nbsp;seldom do; nor could I with any sort of grace,
had I been an enemy to them at the bottom; for happening, at certain
intervals and changes of the moon, to be both fidler and painter,
according as the fly stings:&mdash;Be it known to you, that I keep a
couple of pads myself, upon which, in their turns, (nor do I care who
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page11" id = "page11">11</a></span>
knows&nbsp;it) I&nbsp;frequently ride out and take the air;&mdash;though
sometimes, to my shame be it spoken, I&nbsp;take somewhat longer
journies than what a wise man would think altogether right.&mdash;But
the truth is,&mdash;I&nbsp;am not a wise man;&mdash;and besides am a
mortal of so little consequence in the world, it is not much matter what
I do: so I seldom fret or fume at all about it: Nor does it much disturb
my rest, when I see such great Lords and tall Personages as hereafter
follow;&mdash;such, for instance, as my Lord A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I,
K, L, M, N, O, P,&nbsp;Q, and so on, all of a row, mounted upon their
several horses;&mdash;some with large stirrups, getting on in a more
grave and sober pace;&mdash;&mdash;others on the contrary, tucked up to
their very chins, with whips across their mouths, scouring and
scampering it away like so many little party-coloured devils astride a
mortgage,&mdash;and as if some of them were resolved to break their
necks.&mdash;&mdash;So much the better&mdash;say I to myself;&mdash;for
in case the worst should happen, the world will make a shift to do
excellently well without them; and for the
rest,&mdash;&mdash;why&mdash;&mdash;God speed them&mdash;&mdash;e’en let
them ride on without opposition from me; for were their lordships
unhorsed this very night&mdash;’tis ten to one but that many of them
would be worse mounted by one half before to-morrow morning.</p>

<p>Not one of these instances therefore can be said to break in upon my
rest.&mdash;&mdash;But there is an instance, which I own puts me off my
guard, and that is, when I see one born for great actions, and what is
still more for his honour, whose nature ever inclines him to good
ones;&mdash;when I behold such a one, my Lord, like yourself, whose
principles and conduct are as generous and noble as his blood, and whom,
for that reason, a&nbsp;corrupt world cannot spare one
moment;&mdash;when I see such a one, my Lord, mounted, though it is but
for a minute beyond the time which my love to my country has prescribed
to him, and my zeal for his glory wishes,&mdash;then, my Lord,
I&nbsp;cease to be a philosopher, and in the first transport of an
honest impatience, I&nbsp;wish the <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>, with all his fraternity, at the
Devil.</p>

<p class = "inset">
“<span class = "smallcaps">My Lord</span>,</p>

<p>“I maintain this to be a dedication, notwithstanding its singularity
in the three great essentials of matter, form, and place: I&nbsp;beg,
therefore, you will accept it as such, and that you will permit me to
lay it, with the most respectful humility, at your Lordship’s
feet,&mdash;when you are upon them,&mdash;which
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page12" id = "page12">12</a></span>
you can be when you please;&mdash;and that is, my Lord, whenever there
is occasion for it, and I will add, to the best purposes too.
I&nbsp;have the honour to&nbsp;be,</p>

<div class = "right">

<p class = "center">
“<i>My Lord,<br />
Your Lordship’s most obedient,<br />
and most devoted,<br />
and most humble servant</i>,</p>

</div>

<p class = "right smallcaps">
Tristram Shandy.”</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapIX" id = "bookI_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I solemnly</span> declare to all mankind,
that the above dedication was made for no one Prince, Prelate, Pope, or
Potentate,&mdash;Duke, Marquis, Earl, Viscount, or Baron, of this, or
any other Realm in Christendom;&mdash;&mdash;nor has it yet been hawked
about, or offered publicly or privately, directly or indirectly, to any
one person or personage, great or small; but is honestly a true
Virgin-Dedication untried on, upon any soul living.</p>

<p>I labour this point so particularly, merely to remove any offence or
objection which might arise against it from the manner in which I
propose to make the most of it;&mdash;which is the putting it up fairly
to public sale; which I now&nbsp;do.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Every author has a way of his own in bringing his
points to bear;&mdash;for my own part, as I hate chaffering and higgling
for a few guineas in a dark entry;&mdash;I&nbsp;resolved within myself,
from the very beginning, to deal squarely and openly with your Great
Folks in this affair, and try whether I should not come off the better
by&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>If therefore there is any one Duke, Marquis, Earl, Viscount, or
Baron, in these his Majesty’s dominions, who stands in need of a tight,
genteel dedication, and whom the above will suit, (for by the bye,
unless it suits in some degree, I&nbsp;will not part
with&nbsp;it)&mdash;&mdash;it is much at his service for fifty
guineas;&mdash;&mdash;which I am positive is twenty guineas less than it
ought to be afforded for, by any man of genius.</p>

<p>My Lord, if you examine it over again, it is far from being a gross
piece of daubing, as some dedications are. The design, your Lordship
sees, is good,&mdash;the colouring transparent,&mdash;the drawing not
amiss;&mdash;or to speak more like a man of science,&mdash;and measure
my piece in the painter’s scale, divided into 20,&mdash;I&nbsp;believe,
my Lord, the outlines will turn out as 12,&mdash;the composition
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page13" id = "page13">13</a></span>
as 9,&mdash;the colouring as 6,&mdash;the expression 13 and a
half,&mdash;and the design,&mdash;if I may be allowed, my Lord, to
understand my own <i>design</i>, and supposing absolute perfection in
designing, to be as 20,&mdash;I&nbsp;think it cannot well fall short of
19. Besides all this,&mdash;there is keeping in it, and the dark strokes
in the <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>, (which is a
secondary figure, and a kind of back-ground to the whole) give great
force to the principal lights in your own figure, and make it come off
wonderfully;&mdash;&mdash;and besides, there is an air of originality in
the <i>tout ensemble</i>.</p>

<p>Be pleased, my good Lord, to order the sum to be paid into the hands
of Mr. <i>Dodsley</i>, for the benefit of the author; and in the next
edition care shall be taken that this chapter be expunged, and your
Lordship’s titles, distinctions, arms, and good actions, be placed at
the front of the preceding chapter: All which, from the words, <i>De
gustibus non est disputandum</i>, and whatever else in this book relates
to <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horses</span>, but no more, shall
stand dedicated to your Lordship.&mdash;The rest I dedicate to the <span
class = "smallcaps">Moon</span>, who, by the bye, of all the <span class
= "smallcaps">Patrons</span> or <span class = "smallcaps">Matrons</span>
I can think of, has most power to set my book a-going, and make the
world run mad after&nbsp;it.</p>

<p class = "inset">
<i>Bright Goddess</i>,</p>

<p>If thou art not too busy with <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected spelling ‘Candide’"><span class =
"smallcaps">Candid</span></ins> and Miss <span class =
"smallcaps">Cunegund’s</span> affairs,&mdash;take <i>Tristram
Shandy’s</i> under thy protection also.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapX" id = "bookI_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Whatever</span> degree of small merit the
act of benignity in favour of the midwife might justly claim, or in whom
that claim truly rested,&mdash;at first sight seems not very material to
this history;&mdash;&mdash;certain however it was, that the gentlewoman,
the parson’s wife, did run away at that time with the whole of it: And
yet, for my life, I&nbsp;cannot help thinking but that the parson
himself, though he had not the good fortune to hit upon the design
first,&mdash;yet, as he heartily concurred in it the moment it was laid
before him, and as heartily parted with his money to carry it into
execution, had a claim to some share of it,&mdash;if not to a full half
of whatever honour was due to&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The world at that time was pleased to determine the matter
otherwise.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page14" id = "page14">14</a></span>
<p>Lay down the book, and I will allow you half a day to give a probable
guess at the grounds of this procedure.</p>

<p>Be it known then, that, for about five years before the date of the
midwife’s licence, of which you have had so circumstantial an
account,&mdash;the parson we have to do with had made himself a
country-talk by a breach of all decorum, which he had committed against
himself, his station, and his office;&mdash;and that was in never
appearing better, or otherwise mounted, than upon a lean, sorry,
jack-ass of a horse, value about one pound fifteen shillings; who, to
shorten all description of him, was full brother to <i>Rosinante</i>, as
far as similitude congenial could make him; for he answered his
description to a hair-breadth in every thing,&mdash;except that I do not
remember ’tis any where said, that <i>Rosinante</i> was broken-winded;
and that, moreover, <i>Rosinante</i>, as is the happiness of most
<i>Spanish</i> horses, fat or lean,&mdash;was undoubtedly a horse at all
points.</p>

<p>I know very well that the <span class = "smallcaps">Hero’s</span>
horse was a horse of chaste deportment, which may have given grounds for
the contrary opinion: But it is as certain at the same time, that
<i>Rosinante’s</i> continency (as&nbsp;may be demonstrated from the
adventure of the <i>Yanguesian</i> carriers) proceeded from no bodily
defect or cause whatsoever, but from the temperance and orderly current
of his blood.&mdash;And let me tell you, Madam, there is a great deal of
very good chastity in the world, in behalf of which you could not say
more for your life.</p>

<p>Let that be as it may, as my purpose is to do extra justice to every
creature brought upon the stage of this dramatic
work,&mdash;I&nbsp;could not stifle this distinction in favour of Don
<i>Quixote’s</i> horse;&mdash;&mdash;in all other points, the parson’s
horse, I&nbsp;say, was just such another,&mdash;for he was as lean, and
as lank, and as sorry a jade, as <span class =
"smallcaps">Humility</span> herself could have bestrided.</p>

<p>In the estimation of here and there a man of weak judgment, it was
greatly in the parson’s power to have helped the figure of this horse of
his,&mdash;for he was master of a very handsome demi-peak’d saddle,
quilted on the seat with green plush, garnished with a double row of
silver-headed studs, and a noble pair of shining brass stirrups, with a
housing altogether suitable, of grey superfine cloth, with an edging of
black lace, terminating in a deep, black, silk fringe, <i>poudré
d’or</i>,&mdash;all which he had purchased in the pride and prime of his
life, together with a grand embossed bridle, ornamented at all points as
it should be.&mdash;&mdash;But not caring to banter his beast, he had
hung all these up behind his study door:&mdash;and, in lieu of them, had
seriously
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page15" id = "page15">15</a></span>
befitted him with just such a bridle and such a saddle, as the figure
and value of such a steed might well and truly deserve.</p>

<p>In the several sallies about his parish, and in the neighbouring
visits to the gentry who lived around him,&mdash;you will easily
comprehend, that the parson, so appointed, would both hear and see
enough to keep his philosophy from rusting. To speak the truth, he never
could enter a village, but he caught the attention of both old and
young.&mdash;&mdash;Labour stood still as he pass’d&mdash;&mdash;the
bucket hung suspended in the middle of the well,&mdash;&mdash;the
spinning-wheel forgot its round,&mdash;&mdash;even chuck-farthing and
shuffle-cap themselves stood gaping till he had got out of sight; and as
his movement was not of the quickest, he had generally time enough upon
his hands to make his observations,&mdash;to hear the groans of the
serious,&mdash;and the laughter of the light-hearted;&mdash;all which he
bore with excellent tranquillity.&mdash;His character was,&mdash;he
loved a jest in his heart&mdash;and as he saw himself in the true point
of ridicule, he would say he could not be angry with others for seeing
him in a light, in which he so strongly saw himself: So that to his
friends, who knew his foible was not the love of money, and who
therefore made the less scruple in bantering the extravagance of his
humour,&mdash;instead of giving the true cause,&mdash;he chose rather to
join in the laugh against himself; and as he never carried one single
ounce of flesh upon his own bones, being altogether as spare a figure as
his beast,&mdash;he would sometimes insist upon it, that the horse was
as good as the rider deserved;&mdash;that they were,
centaur-like,&mdash;both of a piece. At other times, and in other moods,
when his spirits were above the temptation of false wit,&mdash;he would
say, he found himself going off fast in a consumption; and, with great
gravity, would pretend, he could not bear the sight of a fat horse,
without a dejection of heart, and a sensible alteration in his pulse;
and that he had made choice of the lean one he rode upon, not only to
keep himself in countenance, but in spirits.</p>

<p>At different times he would give fifty humorous and apposite reasons
for riding a meek-spirited jade of a broken-winded horse, preferably to
one of mettle;&mdash;for on such a one he could sit mechanically, and
meditate as delightfully <i>de vanitate mundi et fugâ sæculi</i>, as
with the advantage of a death’s-head before him;&mdash;that, in all
other exercitations, he could spend his time, as he rode slowly
along,&mdash;to as much account as in his study;&mdash;that he could
draw up an argument in his sermon,&mdash;or a hole in his breeches, as
steadily on the one as in the other;&mdash;that brisk
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page16" id = "page16">16</a></span>
trotting and slow argumentation, like wit and judgment, were two
incompatible movements.&mdash;But that upon his steed&mdash;he could
unite and reconcile every thing,&mdash;he could compose his
sermon&mdash;he could compose his cough,&mdash;&mdash;and, in case
nature gave a call that way, he could likewise compose himself to
sleep.&mdash;In short, the parson upon such encounters would assign any
cause but the true cause,&mdash;and he with-held the true one, only out
of a nicety of temper, because he thought it did honour to him.</p>

<p>But the truth of the story was as follows: In the first years of this
gentleman’s life, and about the time when the superb saddle and bridle
were purchased by him, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it
what you will,&mdash;to run into the opposite extreme.&mdash;In the
language of the county where he dwelt, he was said to have loved a good
horse, and generally had one of the best in the whole parish standing in
his stable always ready for saddling; and as the nearest midwife, as I
told you, did not live nearer to the village than seven miles, and in a
vile country,&mdash;it so fell out that the poor gentleman was scarce a
whole week together without some piteous application for his beast; and
as he was not an unkind-hearted man, and every case was more pressing
and more distressful than the last,&mdash;as much as he loved his beast,
he had never a heart to refuse him; the upshot of which was generally
this, that his horse was either clapp’d, or spavin’d, or
greaz’d;&mdash;or he was twitter-bon’d, or broken-winded, or something,
in short, or other had befallen him, which would let him carry no
flesh;&mdash;so that he had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get
rid of,&mdash;and a good horse to purchase in his stead.</p>

<p>What the loss on such a balance might amount to, <i>communibus
annis</i>, I&nbsp;would leave to a special jury of sufferers in the same
traffick, to determine;&mdash;but let it be what it would, the honest
gentleman bore it for many years without a murmur, till at length, by
repeated ill accidents of the kind, he found it necessary to take the
thing under consideration; and upon weighing the whole, and summing it
up in his mind, he found it not only disproportioned to his other
expences, but withal so heavy an article in itself, as to disable him
from any other act of generosity in his parish: Besides this, he
considered that with half the sum thus galloped away, he could do ten
times as much good;&mdash;and what still weighed more with him than all
other considerations put together, was this, that it confined all his
charity into one particular channel, and where, as he fancied, it was
the least
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page17" id = "page17">17</a></span>
wanted, namely, to the child-bearing and child-getting part of his
parish; reserving nothing for the impotent,&mdash;nothing for the
aged,&mdash;nothing for the many comfortless scenes he was hourly called
forth to visit, where poverty, and sickness, and affliction dwelt
together.</p>

<p>For these reasons he resolved to discontinue the expence; and there
appeared but two possible ways to extricate him clearly out of
it;&mdash;and these were, either to make it an irrevocable law never
more to lend his steed upon any application whatever,&mdash;or else be
content to ride the last poor devil, such as they had made him, with all
his aches and infirmities, to the very end of the chapter.</p>

<p>As he dreaded his own constancy in the first&mdash;he very chearfully
betook himself to the second; and though he could very well have
explained it, as I said, to his honour,&mdash;yet, for that very reason,
he had a spirit above it; choosing rather to bear the contempt of his
enemies, and the laughter of his friends, than undergo the pain of
telling a story, which might seem a panegyrick upon himself.</p>

<p>I have the highest idea of the spiritual and refined sentiments of
this reverend gentleman, from this single stroke in his character, which
I think comes up to any of the honest refinements of the peerless knight
of <i>La Mancha</i>, whom, by the bye, with all his follies, I&nbsp;love
more, and would actually have gone farther to have paid a visit to, than
the greatest hero of antiquity.</p>

<p>But this is not the moral of my story: The thing I had in view was to
shew the temper of the world in the whole of this affair.&mdash;For you
must know, that so long as this explanation would have done the parson
credit,&mdash;the devil a soul could find it out,&mdash;I&nbsp;suppose
his enemies would not, and that his friends could not.&mdash;&mdash;But
no sooner did he bestir himself in behalf of the midwife, and pay the
expences of the ordinary’s licence to set her up,&mdash;but the whole
secret came out; every horse he had lost, and two horses more than ever
he had lost, with all the circumstances of their destruction, were known
and distinctly remembered.&mdash;The story ran like wild-fire&mdash;“The
parson had a returning fit of pride which had just seized him; and he
was going to be well mounted once again in his life; and if it was so,
’twas plain as the sun at noon-day, he would pocket the expence of the
licence, ten times told, the very first year:&mdash;So that every body
was left to judge what were his views in this act of charity.”</p>

<p>What were his views in this, and in every other action of his
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page18" id = "page18">18</a></span>
life,&mdash;or rather what were the opinions which floated in the brains
of other people concerning it, was a thought which too much floated in
his own, and too often broke in upon his rest, when he should have been
sound asleep.</p>

<p>About ten years ago this gentleman had the good fortune to be made
entirely easy upon that score,&mdash;it being just so long since he left
his parish,&mdash;and the whole world at the same time behind
him,&mdash;and stands accountable to a Judge of whom he will have no
cause to complain.</p>

<p>But there is a fatality attends the actions of some men: Order them
as they will, they pass thro’ a&nbsp;certain medium, which so twists and
refracts them from their true directions&mdash;&mdash;that, with all the
titles to praise which a rectitude of heart can give, the doers of them
are nevertheless forced to live and die without&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Of the truth of which, this gentleman was a painful
example.&mdash;&mdash;But to know by what means this came to
pass,&mdash;and to make that knowledge of use to you, I&nbsp;insist upon
it that you read the two following chapters, which contain such a sketch
of his life and conversation, as will carry its moral along with
it.&mdash;When this is done, if nothing stops us in our way, we will go
on with the midwife.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXI" id = "bookI_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Yorick</span> was this parson’s name, and,
what is very remarkable in it (as&nbsp;appears from a most ancient
account of the family, wrote upon strong vellum, and now in perfect
preservation) it had been exactly so spelt for
near,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;was within an ace of saying nine hundred
years;&mdash;&mdash;but I would not shake my credit in telling an
improbable truth, however indisputable in itself;&mdash;&mdash;and
therefore I shall content myself with only saying&mdash;&mdash;It had
been exactly so spelt, without the least variation or transposition of a
single letter, for I do not know how long; which is more than I would
venture to say of one half of the best surnames in the kingdom; which,
in a course of years, have generally undergone as many chops and changes
as their owners.&mdash;Has this been owing to the pride, or to the shame
of the respective proprietors?&mdash;In honest truth, I&nbsp;think
sometimes to the one, and sometimes to the other, just as the temptation
has wrought. But a villainous affair it is, and will one day so blend
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page19" id = "page19">19</a></span>
and confound us altogether, that no one shall be able to stand up and
swear, “That his own great grandfather was the man who did either this
or that.”</p>

<p>This evil had been sufficiently fenced against by the prudent care of
the <i>Yorick’s</i> family, and their religious preservation of these
records I quote, which do farther inform us, That the family was
originally of <i>Danish</i> extraction, and had been transplanted into
<i>England</i> as early as in the reign of <i>Horwendillus</i>, king of
<i>Denmark</i>, in whose court, it seems, an ancestor of this Mr.
<i>Yorick’s</i>, and from whom he was lineally descended, held a
considerable post to the day of his death. Of what nature this
considerable post was, this record saith not;&mdash;It only adds, That,
for near two centuries, it had been totally abolished, as altogether
unnecessary, not only in that court, but in every other court of the
Christian world.</p>

<p>It has often come into my head, that this post could be no other than
that of the king’s chief Jester;&mdash;and that <i>Hamlet’s Yorick</i>,
in our <i>Shakespeare</i>, many of whose plays, you know, are founded
upon authenticated facts, was certainly the very man.</p>

<p>I have not the time to look into <i>Saxo-Grammaticus’s Danish</i>
history, to know the certainty of this;&mdash;but if you have leisure,
and can easily get at the book, you may do it full as well yourself.</p>

<p>I had just time, in my travels through <i>Denmark</i> with Mr.
<i>Noddy’s</i> eldest son, whom, in the year 1741, I&nbsp;accompanied as
governor, riding along with him at a prodigious rate thro’ most parts of
<i>Europe</i>, and of which original journey performed by us two,
a&nbsp;most delectable narrative will be given in the progress of this
work; I&nbsp;had just time, I&nbsp;say, and that was all, to prove the
truth of an observation made by a long sojourner in that
country;&mdash;&mdash;namely, “That nature was neither very lavish, nor
was she very stingy in her gifts of genius and capacity to its
inhabitants;&mdash;but, like a discreet parent, was moderately kind to
them all; observing such an equal tenor in the distribution of her
favours, as to bring them, in those points, pretty near to a level with
each other; so that you will meet with few instances in that kingdom of
refined parts; but a great deal of good plain household understanding
amongst all ranks of people, of which everybody has a share;” which is,
I&nbsp;think, very right.</p>

<p>With us, you see, the case is quite different:&mdash;we are all ups
and downs in this matter;&mdash;you are a great genius;&mdash;or ’tis
fifty to one, Sir, you are a great dunce and a blockhead;&mdash;not that
there is a total want of intermediate steps,&mdash;no,&mdash;we are not
so irregular as that comes to;&mdash;but the two extremes are
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page20" id = "page20">20</a></span>
more common, and in a greater degree in this unsettled island, where
nature, in her gifts and dispositions of this kind, is most whimsical
and capricious; fortune herself not being more so in the bequest of her
goods and chattels than she.</p>

<p>This is all that ever staggered my faith in regard to <i>Yorick’s</i>
extraction, who, by what I can remember of him, and by all the accounts
I could ever get of him, seemed not to have had one single drop of
<i>Danish</i> blood in his whole crasis; in nine hundred years, it might
possibly have all run out:&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;will not philosophize one
moment with you about it; for happen how it would, the fact was
this:&mdash;That instead of that cold phlegm and exact regularity of
sense and humours, you would have looked for, in one so
extracted;&mdash;he was, on the contrary, as mercurial and sublimated a
composition,&mdash;as heteroclite a creature in all his
declensions;&mdash;with as much life and whim, and <i>gaité de cœur</i>
about him, as the kindliest climate could have engendered and put
together. With all this sail, poor <i>Yorick</i> carried not one ounce
of ballast; he was utterly unpractised in the world; and, at the age of
twenty-six, knew just about as well how to steer his course in it, as a
romping, unsuspicious girl of thirteen: So that upon his first setting
out, the brisk gale of his spirits, as you will imagine, ran him foul
ten times in a day of somebody’s tackling; and as the grave and more
slow-paced were oftenest in his way,&mdash;&mdash;you may likewise
imagine, ’twas with such he had generally the ill luck to get the most
entangled. For aught I know there might be some mixture of unlucky wit
at the bottom of such <i>Fracas</i>:&mdash;&mdash;For, to speak the
truth, <i>Yorick</i> had an invincible dislike and opposition in his
nature to gravity;&mdash;not to gravity as such;&mdash;for where gravity
was wanted, he would be the most grave or serious of mortal men for days
and weeks together;&mdash;but he was an enemy to the affectation of it,
and declared open war against it, only as it appeared a cloak for
ignorance, or for folly: and then, whenever it fell in his way, however
sheltered and protected, he seldom gave it much quarter.</p>

<p>Sometimes, in his wild way of talking, he would say that Gravity was
an errant scoundrel, and he would add,&mdash;of the most dangerous kind
too,&mdash;because a sly one; and that he verily believed, more honest,
well-meaning people were bubbled out of their goods and money by it in
one twelve-month, than by pocket-picking and shop-lifting in seven. In
the naked temper which a merry heart discovered, he would say, there was
no danger,&mdash;but to itself:&mdash;whereas the very essence of
gravity was
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page21" id = "page21">21</a></span>
design, and consequently deceit;&mdash;’twas a taught trick to gain
credit of the world for more sense and knowledge than a man was worth;
and that, with all its pretensions,&mdash;it was no better, but often
worse, than what a <i>French</i> wit had long ago defined
it,&mdash;<i>viz.</i> <i>A mysterious carriage of the body to cover the
defects of the mind</i>;&mdash;which definition of gravity,
<i>Yorick</i>, with great imprudence, would say, deserved to be wrote in
letters of gold.</p>

<p>But, in plain truth, he was a man unhackneyed and unpractised in the
world, and was altogether as indiscreet and foolish on every other
subject of discourse where policy is wont to impress restraint.
<i>Yorick</i> had no impression but one, and that was what arose from
the nature of the deed spoken of; which impression he would usually
translate into plain <i>English</i> without any periphrasis;&mdash;and
too oft without much distinction of either person, time, or
place;&mdash;so that when mention was made of a pitiful or an ungenerous
proceeding&mdash;&mdash;he never gave himself a moment’s time to reflect
who was the hero of the piece,&mdash;&mdash;what his
station,&mdash;&mdash;or how far he had power to hurt him
hereafter;&mdash;&mdash;but if it was a dirty action,&mdash;without more
ado,&mdash;The man was a dirty fellow,&mdash;and so on.&mdash;And as his
comments had usually the ill fate to be terminated either in a <i>bon
mot</i>, or to be enlivened throughout with some drollery or humour of
expression, it gave wings to <i>Yorick’s</i> indiscretion. In a word,
tho’ he never sought, yet, at the same time, as he seldom shunned
occasions of saying what came uppermost, and without much
ceremony;&mdash;&mdash;he had but too many temptations in life, of
scattering his wit and his humour,&mdash;his gibes and his jests about
him.&mdash;&mdash;They were not lost for want of gathering.</p>

<p>What were the consequences, and what was <i>Yorick’s</i> catastrophe
thereupon, you will read in the next chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXII" id = "bookI_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> <i>Mortgager</i> and
<i>Mortgagée</i> differ the one from the other, not more in length of
purse, than the <i>Jester</i> and <i>Jestée</i> do, in that of memory.
But in this the comparison between them runs, as the scholiasts call it,
upon all-four; which, by the bye, is upon one or two legs more than some
of the best of <i>Homer’s</i> can pretend to;&mdash;namely, That the one
raises a sum, and the other a laugh at your expence, and thinks no more
about it. Interest, however, still runs on in both cases;&mdash;the
periodical or accidental
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page22" id = "page22">22</a></span>
payments of it, just serving to keep the memory of the affair alive;
till, at length, in some evil hour,&mdash;pop comes the creditor upon
each, and by demanding principal upon the spot, together with full
interest to the very day, makes them both feel the full extent of their
obligations.</p>

<p>As the reader (for I hate your <i>ifs</i>) has a thorough knowledge
of human nature, I&nbsp;need not say more to satisfy him, that my <span
class = "smallcaps">Hero</span> could not go on at this rate without
some slight experience of these incidental mementos. To speak the truth,
he had wantonly involved himself in a multitude of small book-debts of
this stamp, which, notwithstanding <i>Eugenius’s</i> frequent advice, he
too much disregarded; thinking, that as not one of them was contracted
thro’ any malignancy;&mdash;but, on the contrary, from an honesty of
mind, and a mere jocundity of humour, they would all of them be cross’d
out in course.</p>

<p><i>Eugenius</i> would never admit this; and would often tell him,
that one day or other he would certainly be reckoned with; and he would
often add, in an accent of sorrowful apprehension,&mdash;to the
uttermost mite. To which <i>Yorick</i>, with his usual carelessness of
heart, would as often answer with a pshaw!&mdash;and if the subject was
started in the fields&mdash;with a hop, skip, and a jump at the end of
it; but if close pent up in the social chimney-corner, where the culprit
was barricado’d in, with a table and a couple of armchairs, and could
not so readily fly off in a tangent,&mdash;<i>Eugenius</i> would then go
on with his lecture upon discretion in words to this purpose, though
somewhat better put together.</p>

<p>Trust me, dear <i>Yorick</i>, this unwary pleasantry of thine will
sooner or later bring thee into scrapes and difficulties, which no
after-wit can extricate thee out of.&mdash;&mdash;In these sallies, too
oft, I&nbsp;see, it happens, that a person laughed at, considers himself
in the light of a person injured, with all the rights of such a
situation belonging to him; and when thou viewest him in that light too,
and reckons up his friends, his family, his kindred and
allies,&mdash;&mdash;and musters up with them the many recruits which
will list under him from a sense of common danger;&mdash;&mdash;’tis no
extravagant arithmetick to say, that for every ten jokes,&mdash;thou
hast got an hundred enemies; and till thou hast gone on, and raised a
swarm of wasps about thine ears, and art half stung to death by them,
thou wilt never be convinced it is&nbsp;so.</p>

<p>I cannot suspect it in the man whom I esteem, that there is the least
spur from spleen or malevolence of intent in these
sallies&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;believe and know them to be truly honest and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page23" id = "page23">23</a></span>
sportive:&mdash;But consider, my dear lad, that fools cannot distinguish
this,&mdash;and that knaves will not: and thou knowest not what it is,
either to provoke the one, or to make merry with the
other:&mdash;&mdash;whenever they associate for mutual defence, depend
upon it, they will carry on the war in such a manner against thee, my
dear friend, as to make thee heartily sick of it, and of thy life
too.</p>

<p>Revenge from some baneful corner shall level a tale of dishonour at
thee, which no innocence of heart or integrity of conduct shall set
right.&mdash;&mdash;The fortunes of thy house shall totter,&mdash;thy
character, which led the way to them, shall bleed on every side of
it,&mdash;thy faith questioned,&mdash;thy works belied,&mdash;thy wit
forgotten,&mdash;thy learning trampled on. To wind up the last scene of
thy tragedy, <span class = "smallcaps">Cruelty</span> and <span class =
"smallcaps">Cowardice</span>, twin ruffians, hired and set on by <span
class = "smallcaps">Malice</span> in the dark, shall strike together at
all thy infirmities and mistakes:&mdash;&mdash;The best of us, my dear
lad, lie open there,&mdash;&mdash;and trust me,&mdash;&mdash;trust me,
<i>Yorick, when to gratify a private appetite, it is once resolved upon,
that an innocent and an helpless creature shall be sacrificed, ’tis an
easy matter to pick up sticks enough from any thicket where it has
strayed, to make a fire to offer it up with</i>.</p>

<p><i>Yorick</i> scarce ever heard this sad vaticination of his destiny
read over to him, but with a fear stealing from his eye, and a
promissory look attending it, that he was resolved, for the time to
come, to ride his tit with more sobriety.&mdash;But, alas, too
late!&mdash;a&nbsp;grand confederacy, with ***** and ***** at the head
of it, was formed before the first prediction of it.&mdash;The whole
plan of the attack, just as <i>Eugenius</i> had foreboded, was put in
execution all at once,&mdash;with so little mercy on the side of the
allies,&mdash;and so little suspicion in <i>Yorick</i>, of what was
carrying on against him,&mdash;that when he thought, good easy man! full
surely preferment was o’ ripening,&mdash;they had smote his root, and
then he fell, as many a worthy man had fallen before him.</p>

<p><i>Yorick</i>, however, fought it out with all imaginable gallantry
for some time; till, overpowered by numbers, and worn out at length by
the calamities of the war,&mdash;but more so, by the ungenerous manner
in which it was carried on,&mdash;he threw down the sword; and though he
kept up his spirits in appearance to the last, he died, nevertheless, as
was generally thought, quite broken-hearted.</p>

<p>What inclined <i>Eugenius</i> to the same opinion was as follows:</p>

<p>A few hours before <i>Yorick</i> breathed his last, <i>Eugenius</i>
stept in with an intent to take his last sight and last farewell of him.
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page24" id = "page24">24</a></span>
Upon his drawing <i>Yorick’s</i> curtain, and asking how he felt
himself, <i>Yorick</i> looking up in his face took hold of his
hand,&mdash;and after thanking him for the many tokens of his friendship
to him, for which, he said, if it was their fate to meet
hereafter,&mdash;he would thank him again and again,&mdash;he told him,
he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the slip for
ever.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope not, answered <i>Eugenius</i>, with tears
trickling down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone that ever man
spoke.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope not, <i>Yorick</i>, said
he.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> replied, with a look up, and a gentle
squeeze of <i>Eugenius’s</i> hand, and that was all,&mdash;but it cut
<i>Eugenius</i> to his heart,&mdash;Come&mdash;come, <i>Yorick</i>,
quoth <i>Eugenius</i>, wiping his eyes, and summoning up the man within
him,&mdash;my dear lad, be comforted,&mdash;let not all thy spirits and
fortitude forsake thee at this crisis when thou most wants
them;&mdash;&mdash;who knows what resources are in store, and what the
power of God may yet do for thee?&mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> laid his
hand upon his heart, and gently shook his head;&mdash;For my part,
continued <i>Eugenius</i>, crying bitterly as he uttered the
words,&mdash;I&nbsp;declare I know not, <i>Yorick</i>, how to part with
thee, and would gladly flatter my hopes, added <i>Eugenius</i>, chearing
up his voice, that there is still enough left of thee to make a bishop,
and that I may live to see it.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beseech thee,
<i>Eugenius</i>, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, taking off his night-cap as well
as he could with his left hand,&mdash;&mdash;his right being still
grasped close in that of <i>Eugenius</i>,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beseech
thee to take a view of my head.&mdash;I&nbsp;see nothing that ails it,
replied <i>Eugenius</i>. Then, alas! my friend, said <i>Yorick</i>, let
me tell you, that ’tis so bruised and mis-shapened with the blows which
***** and *****, and some others have so unhandsomely given me, in the
dark, that I might say with <i>Sancho Pança</i>, that should I recover,
and “Mitres thereupon be suffered to rain down from heaven as thick as
hail, not one of them would fit it.”&mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick’s</i> last
breath was hanging upon his trembling lips ready to depart as he uttered
this:&mdash;&mdash;yet still it was uttered with something of a
<i>Cervantick</i> tone;&mdash;&mdash;and as he spoke it, <i>Eugenius</i>
could perceive a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his
eyes;&mdash;&mdash;faint picture of those flashes of his spirit, which
(as&nbsp;<i>Shakespeare</i> said of his ancestor) were wont to set the
table in a roar!</p>

<p><i>Eugenius</i> was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend
was broke: he squeezed his hand,&mdash;&mdash;and then walked softly out
of the room, weeping as he walked. <i>Yorick</i> followed
<i>Eugenius</i> with his eyes to the door,&mdash;he then closed
them,&mdash;and never opened them more.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page25" id = "page25">25</a></span>

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/tombstone.png" width = "300" height = "500" alt =
"black tombstone" />
</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page26" id = "page26">26</a></span>
<p>He lies buried in the corner of his churchyard, in the parish of
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, under a plain marble slab, which his friend
<i>Eugenius</i>, by leave of his executors, laid upon his grave, with no
more than these three words of inscription, serving both for his epitaph
and elegy.</p>

<div class = "box">
<p class = "center">
Alas, poor YORICK!</p></div>

<p>Ten times a day has <i>Yorick’s</i> ghost the consolation to hear his
monumental inscription read over with such a variety of plaintive tones,
as denote a general pity and esteem for
him;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;foot-way crossing the churchyard close by the
side of his grave,&mdash;not a passenger goes by without stopping to
cast a look upon it,&mdash;and sighing as he walks&nbsp;on,</p>

<p class = "center">
Alas, poor YORICK!</p>



<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page27" id = "page27">27</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXIII" id = "bookI_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is so long since the reader of
this rhapsodical work has been parted from the midwife, that it is high
time to mention her again to him, merely to put him in mind that there
is such a body still in the world, and whom, upon the best judgment I
can form upon my own plan at present,&mdash;I&nbsp;am going to introduce
to him for good and all: But as fresh matter may be started, and much
unexpected business fall out betwixt the reader and myself, which may
require immediate dispatch;&mdash;&mdash;’twas right to take care that
the poor woman should not be lost in the meantime;&mdash;because when
she is wanted, we can no way do without her.</p>

<p>I think I told you that this good woman was a person of no small note
and consequence throughout our whole village and township;&mdash;that
her fame had spread itself to the very out-edge and circumference of
that circle of importance, of which kind every soul living, whether he
has a shirt to his back or no,&mdash;&mdash;has one surrounding
him;&mdash;which said circle, by the way, whenever ’tis said that such a
one is of great weight and importance in the
<i>world</i>,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;desire may be enlarged or contracted
in your worship’s fancy, in a compound ratio of the station, profession,
knowledge, abilities, height and depth (measuring both ways) of the
personage brought before you.</p>

<p>In the present case, if I remember, I fixed it about four or five
miles, which not only comprehended the whole parish, but extended itself
to two or three of the adjacent hamlets in the skirts of the next
parish; which made a considerable thing of it. I&nbsp;must add, That she
was, moreover, very well looked on at one large grange-house, and some
other odd houses and farms within two or three miles, as I said, from
the smoke of her own chimney:&mdash;&mdash;But I must here, once for
all, inform you, that all this will be more exactly delineated and
explain’d in a map, now in the hands of the engraver, which, with many
other pieces and developements of this work, will be added to the end of
the twentieth volume,&mdash;not to swell the work,&mdash;I&nbsp;detest
the thought of such a thing;&mdash;but by way of commentary, scholium,
illustration, and key to such passages, incidents, or innuendos as shall
be thought to be either of private interpretation, or of dark or
doubtful meaning, after my life and my opinions shall have been read
over (now don’t forget the meaning of the word) by all the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page28" id = "page28">28</a></span>
<i>world</i>;&mdash;&mdash;which, betwixt you and me, and in spite of
all the gentlemen-reviewers in <i>Great Britain</i>, and of all that
their worships shall undertake to write or say to the
contrary,&mdash;I&nbsp;am determined shall be the
case.&mdash;I&nbsp;need not tell your worship, that all this is spoke in
confidence.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXIV" id = "bookI_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Upon</span> looking into my mother’s
marriage-settlement, in order to satisfy myself and reader in a point
necessary to be cleared up, before we could proceed any farther in this
history;&mdash;I&nbsp;had the good fortune to pop upon the very thing I
wanted before I had read a day and a half straight forwards,&mdash;it
might have taken me up a month;&mdash;which shews plainly, that when a
man sits down to write a history,&mdash;tho’ it be but the history of
<i>Jack Hickathrift</i> or <i>Tom Thumb</i>, he knows no more than his
heels what lets and confounded hindrances he is to meet with in his
way,&mdash;or what a dance he may be led, by one excursion or another,
before all is over. Could a historiographer drive on his history, as a
muleteer drives on his mule,&mdash;straight forward;&mdash;&mdash;for
instance, from <i>Rome</i> all the way to <i>Loretto</i>, without ever
once turning his head aside either to the right hand or to the
left,&mdash;&mdash;he might venture to foretell you to an hour when he
should get to his journey’s end;&mdash;&mdash;but the thing is, morally
speaking, impossible: For, if he is a man of the least spirit, he will
have fifty deviations from a straight line to make with this or that
party as he goes along, which he can no ways avoid. He will have views
and prospects to himself perpetually soliciting his eye, which he can no
more help standing still to look at than he can fly; he will moreover
have various</p>

<p>Accounts to reconcile:</p>

<p>Anecdotes to pick up:</p>

<p>Inscriptions to make out:</p>

<p>Stories to weave in:</p>

<p>Traditions to sift:</p>

<p>Personages to call upon:</p>

<p>Panegyricks to paste up at this door;</p>

<p>Pasquinades at that:&mdash;&mdash;All which both the man and his mule
are quite exempt from. To sum up all; there are archives at every stage
to be look’d into, and rolls, records, documents, and endless
genealogies, which justice ever and anon calls him back to stay the
reading of:&mdash;&mdash;In short, there is no end of
it;&mdash;&mdash;for
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page29" id = "page29">29</a></span>
my own part, I&nbsp;declare I had been at it these six weeks, making all
the speed I possibly could,&mdash;and am not yet born:&mdash;I&nbsp;have
just been able, and that’s all, to tell you <i>when</i> it happen’d, but
not <i>how</i>;&mdash;so that you see the thing is yet far from being
accomplished.</p>

<p>These unforeseen stoppages, which I own I had no conception of when I
first set out;&mdash;but which, I&nbsp;am convinced now, will rather
increase than diminish as I advance,&mdash;have struck out a hint which
I am resolved to follow;&mdash;&mdash;and that is,&mdash;not to be in a
hurry; but to go on leisurely, writing and publishing two volumes of my
life every year;&mdash;&mdash;which, if I am suffered to go on quietly,
and can make a tolerable bargain with my bookseller, I&nbsp;shall
continue to do as long as I live.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXV" id = "bookI_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> article in my mother’s
marriage-settlement, which I told the reader I was at the pains to
search for, and which, now that I have found it, I&nbsp;think proper to
lay before him,&mdash;is so much more fully express’d in the deed
itself, than ever I can pretend to do it, that it would be barbarity to
take it out of the lawyer’s hand:&mdash;It is as follows.</p>

<p>“<span class = "blackletter">And this Indenture further
witnesseth</span>, That the said <i>Walter Shandy</i>, merchant, in
consideration of the said intended marriage to be had, and, by God’s
blessing, to be well and truly solemnised and consummated between the
said <i>Walter Shandy</i> and <i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i> aforesaid, and
divers other good and valuable causes and considerations him thereunto
specially moving,&mdash;doth grant, covenant, condescend, consent,
conclude, bargain, and fully agree to and with <i>John Dixon</i>, and
<i>James Turner</i>, Esqrs. the above-named Trustees, <i>&amp;c.
&amp;c.</i>&mdash;<span class = "blackletter">to Wit</span>,&mdash;That
in case it should hereafter so fall out, chance, happen, or otherwise
come to pass,&mdash;That the said <i>Walter Shandy</i>, merchant, shall
have left off business before the time or times, that the said
<i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i> shall, according to the course of nature, or
otherwise, have left off bearing and bringing forth children;&mdash;and
that, in consequence of the said <i>Walter Shandy</i> having so left off
business, he shall in despight, and against the free-will, consent, and
good-liking of the said <i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i>,&mdash;make a
departure from the city of <i>London</i>, in order to retire to, and
dwell upon, his estate at <i>Shandy Hall</i>, in the county of
&mdash;&mdash;, or at any other country-seat, castle, hall,
mansion-house, messuage or
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page30" id = "page30">30</a></span>
grainge-house, now purchased, or hereafter to be purchased, or upon any
part or parcel thereof:&mdash;That then, and as often as the said
<i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i> shall happen to be enceint with child or
children severally and lawfully begot, or to be begotten, upon the body
of the said <i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i>, during her said
coverture,&mdash;he the said <i>Walter Shandy</i> shall, at his own
proper cost and charges, and out of his own proper monies, upon good and
reasonable notice, which is hereby agreed to be within six weeks of her
the said <i>Elizabeth Mollineux’s</i> full reckoning, or time of
supposed and computed delivery,&mdash;pay, or cause to be paid, the sum
of one hundred and twenty pounds of good and lawful money, to <i>John
Dixon</i>, and <i>James Turner</i>, Esqrs. or assigns,&mdash;upon <span
class = "smallroman">TRUST</span> and confidence, and for and unto the
use and uses, intent, end, and purpose following:&mdash;<span class =
"blackletter">That is to say</span>,&mdash;That the said sum of one
hundred and twenty pounds shall be paid into the hands of the said
<i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i>, or to be otherwise applied by them the said
Trustees, for the well and truly hiring of one coach, with able and
sufficient horses, to carry and convey the body of the said <i>Elizabeth
Mollineux</i>, and the child or children which she shall be then and
there enceint and pregnant with,&mdash;unto the city of <i>London</i>;
and for the further paying and defraying of all other incidental costs,
charges, and expences whatsoever,&mdash;in and about, and for, and
relating to, her said intended delivery and lying-in, in the said city
or suburbs thereof. And that the said <i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i> shall
and may, from time to time, and at all such time and times as are here
covenanted and agreed upon,&mdash;peaceably and quietly hire the said
coach and horses, and have free ingress, egress, and regress throughout
her journey, in and from the said coach, according to the tenor, true
intent, and meaning of these presents, without any let, suit, trouble,
disturbance, molestation, discharge, hindrance, forfeiture, eviction,
vexation, interruption, or incumbrance whatsoever.&mdash;And that it
shall moreover be lawful to and for the said <i>Elizabeth Mollineux</i>,
from time to time, and as oft or often as she shall well and truly be
advanced in her said pregnancy, to the time heretofore stipulated and
agreed upon,&mdash;to live and reside in such place or places, and in
such family or families, and with such relations, friends, and other
persons within the said city of <i>London</i>, as she at her own will
and pleasure, notwithstanding her present coverture, and as if she was a
<i>femme sole</i> and unmarried,&mdash;shall think fit.&mdash;<span
class = "blackletter">And this Indenture further Witnesseth</span>, That
for the more effectually carrying of the said covenant into execution,
the said <i>Walter Shandy</i>,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page31" id = "page31">31</a></span>
merchant, doth hereby grant, bargain, sell, release, and confirm unto
the said <i>John Dixon</i>, and <i>James Turner</i>, Esqrs. their heirs,
executors, and assigns, in their actual possession now being, by virtue
of an indenture of bargain and sale for a year to them the said <i>John
Dickson</i>, and <i>James Turner</i>, Esqrs. by him the said <i>Walter
Shandy</i>, merchant, thereof made; which said bargain and sale for a
year, bears date the day next before the date of these presents, and by
force and virtue of the statute for transferring of uses into
possession,&mdash;<span class = "blackletter">All</span> that the manor
and lordship of <i>Shandy</i>, in the county of &mdash;&mdash;, with all
the rights, members, and appurtenances thereof; and all and every the
messuages, houses, buildings, barns, stables, orchards, gardens,
backsides, tofts, crofts, garths, cottages, lands, meadows, feedings,
pastures, marshes, commons, woods, underwoods, drains, fisheries,
waters, and water-courses;&mdash;together with all rents, reversions,
services, annuities, fee-farms, <ins class = "correction"
title = "printed as shown: may be missing apostrophe (knights’ fees)">knights</ins> fees, views of frankpledge, escheats, reliefs,
mines, quarries, goods and chattels of felons and fugitives, felons of
themselves, and put in exigent, deodands, free warrens, and all other
royalties and seigniories, rights and jurisdictions, privileges and
hereditaments whatsoever.&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "blackletter">And
also</span> the advowson, donation, presentation, and free disposition
of the rectory or parsonage of <i>Shandy</i> aforesaid, and all and
every the tenths, tythes, glebe-lands.”&mdash;&mdash;In three
words,&mdash;&mdash;“My mother was to lay in, (if&nbsp;she
chose&nbsp;it) in <i>London</i>.”</p>

<p>But in order to put a stop to the practice of any unfair play on the
part of my mother, which a marriage-article of this nature too
manifestly opened a door to, and which indeed had never been thought of
at all, but for my uncle <i>Toby Shandy</i>;&mdash;a&nbsp;clause was
added in security of my father, which was this:&mdash;“That in case my
mother hereafter should, at any time, put my father to the trouble and
expence of a <i>London</i> journey, upon false cries and
tokens;&mdash;&mdash;that for every such instance, she should forfeit
all the right and title which the covenant gave her to the next
turn;&mdash;&mdash;but to no more,&mdash;and so on, <i>toties
quoties</i>, in as effectual a manner, as if such a covenant betwixt
them had not been made.”&mdash;This, by the way, was no more than what
was reasonable;&mdash;and yet, as reasonable as it was, I&nbsp;have ever
thought it hard that the whole weight of the article should have fallen
entirely, as it did, upon myself.</p>

<p>But I was begot and born to misfortunes:&mdash;for my poor mother,
whether it was wind or water&mdash;or a compound of both,&mdash;or
neither;&mdash;or whether it was simply the mere swell of imagination
and fancy in her;&mdash;or how far a strong wish and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page32" id = "page32">32</a></span>
desire to have it so, might mislead her judgment:&mdash;in short,
whether she was deceived or deceiving in this matter, it no way becomes
me to decide. The fact was this, That in the latter end of
<i>September</i> 1717, which was the year before I was born, my mother
having carried my father up to town much against the grain,&mdash;he
peremptorily insisted upon the clause;&mdash;so that I was doom’d, by
marriage-articles, to have my nose squeez’d as flat to my face, as if
the destinies had actually spun me without one.</p>

<p>How this event came about,&mdash;and what a train of vexatious
disappointments, in one stage or other of my life, have pursued me from
the mere loss, or rather compression, of this one single
member,&mdash;shall be laid before the reader all in due time.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXVI" id = "bookI_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father, as anybody may naturally
imagine, came down with my mother into the country, in but a pettish
kind of a humour. The first twenty or five-and-twenty miles he did
nothing in the world but fret and teaze himself, and indeed my mother
too, about the cursed expence, which he said might every shilling of it
have been saved;&mdash;then what vexed him more than everything else
was, the provoking time of the year,&mdash;which, as I told you, was
towards the end of <i>September</i>, when his wall-fruit and green gages
especially, in which he was very curious, were just ready for
pulling:&mdash;&mdash;“Had he been whistled up to <i>London</i>, upon a
<i>Tom Fool’s</i> errand, in any other month of the whole year, he
should not have said three words about&nbsp;it.”</p>

<p>For the next two whole stages, no subject would go down, but the
heavy blow he had sustain’d from the loss of a son, whom it seems he had
fully reckon’d upon in his mind, and register’d down in his pocket-book,
as a second staff for his old age, in case <i>Bobby</i> should fail him.
The disappointment of this, he said, was ten times more to a wise man,
than all the money which the journey, etc., had cost him, put
together,&mdash;rot the hundred and twenty pounds,&mdash;&mdash;he did
not mind it a rush.</p>

<p>From <i>Stilton</i>, all the way to <i>Grantham</i>, nothing in the
whole affair provoked him so much as the condolences of his friends, and
the foolish figure they should both make at church, the first
<i>Sunday</i>;&mdash;&mdash;of which, in the satirical vehemence of his
wit, now sharpen’d a little by vexation, he would give so many humorous
and provoking descriptions,&mdash;and place his rib and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page33" id = "page33">33</a></span>
self in so many tormenting lights and attitudes in the face of the whole
congregation;&mdash;that my mother declared, these two stages were so
truly tragi-comical, that she did nothing but laugh and cry in a breath,
from one end to the other of them all the way.</p>

<p>From <i>Grantham</i>, till they had cross’d the <i>Trent</i>, my
father was out of all kind of patience at the vile trick and imposition
which he fancied my mother had put upon him in this
affair&mdash;“Certainly,” he would say to himself, over and over again,
“the woman could not be deceived herself&mdash;&mdash;if she
could,&mdash;&mdash;what weakness!”&mdash;tormenting word!&mdash;which
led his imagination a thorny dance, and, before all was over, play’d the
duce and all with him;&mdash;&mdash;for sure as ever the word
<i>weakness</i> was uttered, and struck full upon his brain&mdash;so
sure it set him upon running divisions upon how many kinds of weaknesses
there were;&mdash;&mdash;that there was such a thing as weakness of the
body,&mdash;&mdash;as well as weakness of the mind,&mdash;and then he
would do nothing but syllogize within himself for a stage or two
together, How far the cause of all these vexations might, or might not,
have arisen out of himself.</p>

<p>In short, he had so many little subjects of disquietude springing out
of this one affair, all fretting successively in his mind as they rose
up in it, that my mother, whatever was her journey up, had but an uneasy
journey of it down.&mdash;&mdash;In a word, as she complained to my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, he would have tired out the patience of any flesh
alive.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXVII" id = "bookI_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> my father travelled
homewards, as I told you, in none of the best of moods,&mdash;pshawing
and pishing all the way down,&mdash;yet he had the complaisance to keep
the worst part of the story still to himself;&mdash;which was the
resolution he had taken of doing himself the justice, which my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> clause in the marriage-settlement empowered him; nor was
it till the very night in which I was begot, which was thirteen months
after, that she had the least intimation of his design: when my father,
happening, as you remember, to be a little chagrin’d and out of
temper,&mdash;&mdash;took occasion as they lay chatting gravely in bed
afterwards, talking over what was to come,&mdash;&mdash;to let her know
that she must accommodate herself as well as she could to the bargain
made between them in their marriage-deeds;
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page34" id = "page34">34</a></span>
which was to lye-in of her next child in the country, to balance the
last year’s journey.</p>

<p>My father was a gentleman of many virtues,&mdash;but he had a strong
spice of that in his temper, which might, or might not, add to the
number.&mdash;’Tis known by the name of perseverance in a good
cause,&mdash;and of obstinacy in a bad one: Of this my mother had so
much knowledge, that she knew ’twas to no purpose to make any
remonstrance,&mdash;so she e’en resolved to sit down quietly, and make
the most of&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXVIII" id = "bookI_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> the point was that night agreed,
or rather determined, that my mother should lye-in of me in the country,
she took her measures accordingly; for which purpose, when she was three
days, or thereabouts, gone with child, she began to cast her eyes upon
the midwife, whom you have so often heard me mention; and before the
week was well got round, as the famous Dr. <i>Manningham</i> was not to
be had, she had come to a final determination in her
mind,&mdash;&mdash;notwithstanding there was a scientific operator
within so near a call as eight miles of us, and who, moreover, had
expressly wrote a five shillings book upon the subject of midwifery, in
which he had exposed, not only the blunders of the sisterhood
itself,&mdash;&mdash;but had likewise superadded many curious
improvements for the quicker extraction of the fœtus in cross births,
and some other cases of danger, which belay us in getting into the
world; notwithstanding all this, my mother, I&nbsp;say, was absolutely
determined to trust her life, and mine with it, into no soul’s hand but
this old woman’s only.&mdash;Now this I like;&mdash;when we cannot get
at the very thing we wish&mdash;&mdash;never to take up with the next
best in degree to it:&mdash;no; that’s pitiful beyond
description;&mdash;it is no more than a week from this very day, in
which I am now writing this book for the edification of the
world;&mdash;which is <i>March</i> 9, 1759,&mdash;&mdash;that my dear,
dear <i>Jenny</i>, observing I looked a little grave, as she stood
cheapening a silk of five-and-twenty shillings a yard,&mdash;told the
mercer, she was sorry she had given him so much trouble;&mdash;and
immediately went and bought herself a yard-wide stuff of tenpence a
yard.&mdash;’Tis the duplication of one and the same greatness of soul;
only what lessened the honour of it, somewhat, in my mother’s case, was,
that she could not heroine it into so violent and hazardous an extreme,
as one in her
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page35" id = "page35">35</a></span>
situation might have wished, because the old widwife had really some
little claim to be depended upon,&mdash;as much, at least, as success
could give her; having, in the course of her practice of near twenty
years in the parish, brought every mother’s son of them into the world
without any one slip or accident which could fairly be laid to her
account.</p>

<p>These facts, tho’ they had their weight, yet did not altogether
satisfy some few scruples and uneasinesses which hung upon my father’s
spirits in relation to this choice.&mdash;To say nothing of the natural
workings of humanity and justice&mdash;or of the yearnings of parental
and connubial love, all which prompted him to leave as little to hazard
as possible in a case of this kind;&mdash;&mdash;he felt himself
concerned in a particular manner, that all should go right in the
present case;&mdash;from the accumulated sorrow he lay open to, should
any evil betide his wife and child in lying-in at
<i>Shandy-Hall</i>.&mdash;&mdash;He knew the world judged by events, and
would add to his afflictions in such a misfortune, by loading him with
the whole blame of it.&mdash;&mdash;“Alas, o’day;&mdash;had Mrs.
<i>Shandy</i>, poor gentlewoman! had but her wish in going up to town
just to lye-in and come down again;&mdash;which, they say, she begged
and prayed for upon her bare knees,&mdash;&mdash;and which, in my
opinion, considering the fortune which Mr. <i>Shandy</i> got with
her,&mdash;was no such mighty matter to have complied with, the lady and
her babe might both of them have been alive at this hour.”</p>

<p>This exclamation, my father knew, was unanswerable;&mdash;and yet, it
was not merely to shelter himself,&mdash;nor was it altogether for the
care of his offspring and wife that he seemed so extremely anxious about
this point;&mdash;my father had extensive views of
things,&mdash;&mdash;and stood moreover, as he thought, deeply concerned
in it for the publick good, from the dread he entertained of the bad
uses an ill-fated instance might be put&nbsp;to.</p>

<p>He was very sensible that all political writers upon the subject had
unanimously agreed and lamented, from the beginning of Queen
<i>Elizabeth’s</i> reign down to his own time, that the current of men
and money towards the metropolis, upon one frivolous errand or
another,&mdash;set in so strong,&mdash;as to become dangerous to our
civil rights,&mdash;though, by the
bye,&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;<i>current</i> was not the image he took most
delight in,&mdash;a&nbsp;<i>distemper</i> was here his favourite
metaphor, and he would run it down into a perfect allegory, by
maintaining it was identically the same in the body national as in the
body natural where the blood and spirits were driven up into the head
faster than they could find their ways
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page36" id = "page36">36</a></span>
down;&mdash;&mdash;a stoppage of circulation must ensue, which was death
in both cases.</p>

<p>There was little danger, he would say, of losing our liberties by
<i>French</i> politicks or <i>French</i> invasions;&mdash;&mdash;nor was
he so much in pain of a consumption from the mass of corrupted matter
and ulcerated humours in our constitution, which he hoped was not so bad
as it was imagined;&mdash;but he verily feared, that in some violent
push, we should go off, all at once, in a state-apoplexy;&mdash;and then
he would say, <i>The Lord have mercy upon us all</i>.</p>

<p>My father was never able to give the history of this
distemper,&mdash;without the remedy along with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>“Was I an absolute prince,” he would say, pulling up his breeches
with both his hands, as he rose from his arm-chair, “I&nbsp;would
appoint able judges, at every avenue of my metropolis, who should take
cognizance of every fool’s business who came there;&mdash;and if, upon a
fair and candid hearing, it appeared not of weight sufficient to leave
his own home, and come up, bag and baggage, with his wife and children,
farmer’s sons, &amp;c., &amp;c., at his backside, they should be all
sent back, from constable to constable, like vagrants as they were, to
the place of their legal settlements. By this means I shall take care,
that my metropolis totter’d not thro’ its own weight;&mdash;that the
head be no longer too big for the body;&mdash;that the extremes, now
wasted and pinn’d in, be restored to their due share of nourishment, and
regain with it their natural strength and beauty:&mdash;I&nbsp;would
effectually provide, That the meadows and corn-fields of my dominions,
should laugh and sing;&mdash;that good chear and hospitality flourish
once more;&mdash;and that such weight and influence be put thereby into
the hands of the Squirality of my kingdom, as should counterpoise what I
perceive my Nobility are now taking from them.</p>

<p>“Why are there so few palaces and gentlemen’s seats,” he would ask,
with some emotion, as he walked across the room, “throughout so many
delicious provinces in <i>France?</i> Whence is it that the few
remaining <i>Chateaus</i> amongst them are so dismantled,&mdash;so
unfurnished, and in so ruinous and desolate a
condition?&mdash;&mdash;Because, Sir,” (he&nbsp;would say) “in that
kingdom no man has any country-interest to support;&mdash;the little
interest of any kind which any man has anywhere in it, is concentrated
in the court, and the looks of the Grand Monarch: by the sunshine of
whose countenance, or the clouds which pass across it, every
<i>French</i> man lives or dies.”</p>

<p>Another political reason which prompted my father so strongly
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page37" id = "page37">37</a></span>
to guard against the least evil accident in my mother’s lying-in in the
country,&mdash;&mdash;was, That any such instance would infallibly throw
a balance of power, too great already, into the weaker vessels of the
gentry, in his own, or higher stations;&mdash;&mdash;which, with the
many other usurped rights which that part of the constitution was hourly
establishing,&mdash;would, in the end, prove fatal to the monarchical
system of domestick government established in the first creation of
things by God.</p>

<p>In this point he was entirely of Sir <i>Robert Filmer’s</i> opinion,
That the plans and institutions of the greatest monarchies in the
eastern parts of the world were, originally, all stolen from that
admirable pattern and prototype of this household and paternal
power;&mdash;which, for a century, he said, and more, had gradually been
degenerating away into a mix’d government;&mdash;&mdash;the form of
which, however desirable in great combinations of the
species,&mdash;&mdash;was very troublesome in small ones,&mdash;and
seldom produced anything, that he saw, but sorrow and confusion.</p>

<p>For all these reasons, private and publick, put together,&mdash;my
father was for having the man-midwife by all means,&mdash;my mother by
no means. My father begg’d and intreated she would for once recede from
her prerogative in this matter, and suffer him to choose for
her;&mdash;my mother, on the contrary, insisted upon her privilege in
this matter, to choose for herself,&mdash;and have no mortal’s help but
the old woman’s.&mdash;What could my father do? He was almost at his
wit’s end;&mdash;&mdash;talked it over with her in all
moods;&mdash;placed his arguments in all lights;&mdash;argued the matter
with her like a christian,&mdash;like a heathen,&mdash;like a
husband,&mdash;like a father,&mdash;like a patriot,&mdash;like a
man:&mdash;My mother answered everything only like a woman; which was a
little hard upon her;&mdash;for as she could not assume and fight it out
behind such a variety of characters,&mdash;’twas no fair
match:&mdash;’twas seven to one.&mdash;What could my mother
do?&mdash;&mdash;She had the advantage (otherwise she had been certainly
overpowered) of a small reinforcement of chagrin personal at the bottom,
which bore her up, and enabled her to dispute the affair with my father
with so equal an advantage,&mdash;&mdash;that both sides sung <i>Te
Deum</i>. In a word, my mother was to have the old woman,&mdash;and the
operator was to have licence to drink a bottle of wine with my father
and my uncle <i>Toby Shandy</i> in the back parlour,&mdash;for which he
was to be paid five guineas.</p>

<p>I must beg leave, before I finish this chapter, to enter a caveat in
the breast of my fair reader;&mdash;and it is this,&mdash;&mdash;Not to
take it absolutely for granted, from an unguarded word or two which
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page38" id = "page38">38</a></span>
I have dropp’d in it,&mdash;&mdash;“That I am a married man.”&mdash;I
own, the tender appellation of my dear, dear <i>Jenny</i>,&mdash;with
some other strokes of conjugal knowledge, interspersed here and there,
might, naturally enough, have misled the most candid judge in the world
into such a determination against me.&mdash;All I plead for, in this
case, Madam, is strict justice, and that you do so much of it, to me as
well as to yourself,&mdash;as not to prejudge, or receive such an
impression of me, till you have better evidence, than, I&nbsp;am
positive, at present can be produced against me.&mdash;Not that I can be
so vain or unreasonable, Madam, as to desire you should therefore think,
that my dear, dear <i>Jenny</i> is my kept
mistress;&mdash;no,&mdash;that would be flattering my character in the
other extreme, and giving it an air of freedom, which, perhaps, it has
no kind of right to. All I contend for, is the utter impossibility, for
some volumes, that you, or the most penetrating spirit upon earth,
should know how this matter really stands.&mdash;It is not impossible,
but that my dear, dear <i>Jenny!</i> tender as the appellation is, may
be my child.&mdash;&mdash;Consider,&mdash;I&nbsp;was born in the year
eighteen.&mdash;Nor is there anything unnatural or extravagant in the
supposition, that my dear <i>Jenny</i> may be my
friend.&mdash;Friend!&mdash;My friend.&mdash;Surely, Madam,
a&nbsp;friendship between the two sexes may subsist, and be supported
without&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Fy! Mr. <i>Shandy</i>:&mdash;Without
anything, Madam, but that tender and delicious sentiment, which ever
mixes in friendship, where there is a difference of sex. Let me intreat
you to study the pure and sentimental parts of the best <i>French</i>
Romances;&mdash;it will really, Madam, astonish you to see with what a
variety of chaste expressions this delicious sentiment, which I have the
honour to speak of, is dress’d out.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXIX" id = "bookI_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I would</span> sooner undertake to explain
the hardest problem in geometry, than pretend to account for it, that a
gentleman of my father’s great good sense,&mdash;&mdash;knowing, as the
reader must have observed him, and curious too in philosophy,&mdash;wise
also in political reasoning,&mdash;and in polemical (as&nbsp;he will
find) no way ignorant,&mdash;could be capable of entertaining a notion
in his head, so out of the common track,&mdash;that I fear the reader,
when I come to mention it to him, if he is the least of a cholerick
temper, will immediately throw the book by; if mercurial, he will laugh
most heartily at it;&mdash;and if he is of a grave and saturnine cast,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page39" id = "page39">39</a></span>
he will, at first sight, absolutely condemn as fanciful and extravagant;
and that was in respect to the choice and imposition of christian names,
on which he thought a great deal more depended than what superficial
minds were capable of conceiving.</p>

<p>His opinion, in this matter, was, That there was a strange kind of
magick bias, which good or bad names, as he called them, irresistibly
impressed upon our characters and conduct.</p>

<p>The hero of <i>Cervantes</i> argued not the point with more
seriousness,&mdash;&mdash;nor had he more faith,&mdash;&mdash;or more to
say on the powers of necromancy in dishonouring his deeds,&mdash;or on
<span class = "smallcaps">Dulcinea’s</span> name, in shedding lustre
upon them, than my father had on those of <span class =
"smallcaps">Trismegistus</span> or <span class =
"smallcaps">Archimedes</span>, on the one hand&mdash;or of <span class =
"smallcaps">Nyky</span> and <span class = "smallcaps">Simkin</span> on
the other. How many <span class = "smallcaps">Cæsars</span> and <span
class = "smallcaps">Pompeys</span>, he would say, by mere inspiration of
the names, have been rendered worthy of them? And how many, he would
add, are there, who might have done exceeding well in the world, had not
their characters and spirits been totally depressed and <span class =
"smallcaps">Nicomedus’d</span> into nothing?</p>

<p>I see plainly, Sir, by your looks (or as the case happened), my
father would say&mdash;that you do not heartily subscribe to this
opinion of mine,&mdash;which, to those, he would add, who have not
carefully sifted it to the bottom,&mdash;I&nbsp;own has an air more of
fancy than of solid reasoning in it;&mdash;&mdash;and yet, my dear Sir,
if I may presume to know your character, I&nbsp;am morally assured,
I&nbsp;should hazard little in stating a case to you,&mdash;not as a
party in the dispute,&mdash;but as a judge, and trusting my appeal upon
it to your own good sense and candid disquisition in this
matter;&mdash;&mdash;you are a person free from as many narrow
prejudices of education as most men;&mdash;and, if I may presume to
penetrate farther into you,&mdash;of a liberality of genius above
bearing down an opinion, merely because it wants friends. Your
son,&mdash;your dear son,&mdash;from whose sweet and open temper you
have so much to expect.&mdash;Your <span class =
"smallcaps">Billy</span>, Sir!&mdash;would you, for the world, have
called him <span class = "smallcaps">Judas</span>?&mdash;Would you, my
dear Sir, he would say, laying his hand upon your breast, with the
genteelest address,&mdash;and in that soft and irresistible <i>piano</i>
of voice, which the nature of the <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>
absolutely requires,&mdash;Would you, Sir, if a <i>Jew</i> of a
godfather had proposed the name for your child, and offered you his
purse along with it, would you have consented to such a desecration of
him?&mdash;&mdash;O my God! he would say, looking up, if I know your
temper right, Sir,&mdash;you are incapable of it;&mdash;&mdash;you would
have trampled
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page40" id = "page40">40</a></span>
upon the offer;&mdash;you would have thrown the temptation at the
tempter’s head with abhorrence.</p>

<p>Your greatness of mind in this action, which I admire, with that
generous contempt of money, which you shew me in the whole transaction,
is really noble;&mdash;and what renders it more so, is the principle of
it;&mdash;the workings of a parent’s love upon the truth and conviction
of this very hypothesis, namely, That was your son called <span class =
"smallcaps">Judas</span>,&mdash;the sordid and treacherous idea, so
inseparable from the name, would have accompanied him through life like
his shadow, and, in the end, made a miser and a rascal of him, in spite,
Sir, of your example.</p>

<p>I never knew a man able to answer this argument.&mdash;&mdash;But,
indeed, to speak of my father as he was;&mdash;he was certainly
irresistible;&mdash;both in his orations and disputations;&mdash;he was
born an orator;&mdash;<span class = "greek" title =
"Theodidaktos">Θεοδίδακτος</span>.&mdash;Persuasion hung upon his lips,
and the elements of Logick and Rhetorick were so blended up in
him,&mdash;and, withal, he had so shrewd a guess at the weaknesses and
passions of his respondent,&mdash;&mdash;that <span class =
"smallcaps">Nature</span> might have stood up and said,&mdash;“This man
is eloquent.”&mdash;In short, whether he was on the weak or the strong
side of the question, ’twas hazardous in either case to attack
him.&mdash;And yet, ’tis strange, he had never read <i>Cicero</i>, nor
<i>Quintilian de Oratore</i>, nor <i>Isocrates</i>, nor
<i>Aristotle</i>, nor <i>Longinus</i> amongst the antients;&mdash;nor
<i>Vossius</i>, nor <i>Skioppius</i>, nor <i>Ramus</i>, nor
<i>Farnaby</i> amongst the moderns;&mdash;and what is more astonishing,
he had never in his whole life the least light or spark of subtilty
struck into his mind, by one single lecture upon <i>Crackenthorp</i> or
<i>Burgersdicius</i>, or any Dutch logician or commentator;&mdash;he
knew not so much as in what the difference of an argument <i>ad
ignorantiam</i>, and an argument <i>ad hominem</i> consisted; so that I
well remember, when he went up along with me to enter my name at
<i>Jesus College</i> in ****,&mdash;it was a matter of just wonder with
my worthy tutor, and two or three fellows of that learned
society,&mdash;that a man who knew not so much as the names of his
tools, should be able to work after that fashion with them.</p>

<p>To work with them in the best manner he could, was what my father
was, however, perpetually forced upon;&mdash;&mdash;for he had a
thousand little sceptical notions of the comick kind to
defend&mdash;&mdash;most of which notions, I&nbsp;verily believe, at
first entered upon the footing of mere whims, and of a <i>vive la
Bagatelle</i>; and as such he would make merry with them for half an
hour or so, and having sharpened his wit upon them, dismiss them till
another day.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page41" id = "page41">41</a></span>
<p>I mention this, not only as matter of hypothesis or conjecture upon
the progress and establishment of my father’s many odd
opinions,&mdash;but as a warning to the learned reader against the
indiscreet reception of such guests, who, after a free and undisturbed
entrance, for some years, into our brains,&mdash;at length claim a kind
of settlement there,&mdash;&mdash;working sometimes like
yeast;&mdash;but more generally after the manner of the gentle passion,
beginning in jest,&mdash;but ending in downright earnest.</p>

<p>Whether this was the case of the singularity of my father’s
notions&mdash;or that his judgment, at length, became the dupe of his
wit;&mdash;or how far, in many of his notions, he might, though odd, be
absolutely right;&mdash;&mdash;the reader, as he comes at them, shall
decide. All that I maintain here, is, that in this one, of the influence
of christian names, however it gained footing, he was serious;&mdash;he
was all uniformity;&mdash;he was systematical, and, like all systematick
reasoners, he would move both heaven and earth, and twist and torture
everything in nature, to support his hypothesis. In a word,
I&nbsp;repeat it over again;&mdash;he was serious;&mdash;and, in
consequence of it, he would lose all kind of patience whenever he saw
people, especially of condition, who should have known
better,&mdash;&mdash;as careless and as indifferent about the name they
imposed upon their child,&mdash;or more so, than in the choice of
<i>Ponto</i> or <i>Cupid</i> for their puppy-dog.</p>

<p>This, he would say, look’d ill;&mdash;and had, moreover, this
particular aggravation in it, viz., That when once a vile name was
wrongfully or injudiciously given, ’twas not like the case of a man’s
character, which, when wrong’d, might hereafter be
cleared;&mdash;&mdash;and, possibly, some time or other, if not in the
man’s life, at least after his death,&mdash;be, somehow or other, set to
rights with the world: But the injury of this, he would say, could never
be undone;&mdash;nay, he doubted even whether an act of parliament could
reach it:&mdash;&mdash;He knew as well as you, that the legislature
assumed a power over surnames;&mdash;but for very strong reasons, which
he could give, it had never yet adventured, he would say, to go a step
farther.</p>

<p>It was observable, that tho’ my father, in consequence of this
opinion, had, as I have told you, the strongest likings and dislikings
towards certain names;&mdash;that there were still numbers of names
which hung so equally in the balance before him, that they were
absolutely indifferent to him. <i>Jack</i>, <i>Dick</i>, and <i>Tom</i>
were of this class: These my father called neutral
names;&mdash;affirming of them, without a satire, That there had been as
many knaves and fools, at least, as wise and good men, since the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page42" id = "page42">42</a></span>
world began, who had indifferently borne them;&mdash;so that, like equal
forces acting against each other in contrary directions, he thought they
mutually destroyed each other’s effects; for which reason, he would
often declare, He would not give a cherry-stone to choose amongst them.
<i>Bob</i>, which was my brother’s name, was another of these neutral
kinds of christian names, which operated very little either way; and as
my father happen’d to be at <i>Epsom</i>, when it was given
him,&mdash;he would oft-times thank Heaven it was no worse.
<i>Andrew</i> was something like a negative quantity in Algebra with
him;&mdash;’twas worse, he said, than nothing.&mdash;<i>William</i>
stood pretty high:&mdash;&mdash;<i>Numps</i> again was low with
him:&mdash;and <i>Nick</i>, he said, was the <span class =
"smallcaps">Devil</span>.</p>

<p>But, of all the names in the universe, he had the most unconquerable
aversion for <span class = "smallcaps">Tristram</span>;&mdash;he had the
lowest and most contemptible opinion of it of anything in the
world,&mdash;thinking it could possibly produce nothing in <i>rerum
naturâ</i>, but what was extremely mean and pitiful: So that in the
midst of a dispute on the subject, in which, by the bye, he was
frequently involved,&mdash;&mdash;he would sometimes break off in a
sudden and spirited <span class = "smallcaps">Epiphonema</span>, or
rather <span class = "smallcaps">Erotesis</span>, raised a third, and
sometimes a full fifth above the key of the discourse,&mdash;&mdash;and
demand it categorically of his antagonist, Whether he would take upon
him to say, he had ever remembered,&mdash;&mdash;whether he had ever
read,&mdash;or even whether he had ever heard tell of a man, called
<i>Tristram</i>, performing anything great or worth
recording?&mdash;No,&mdash;he would say,&mdash;<span class =
"smallcaps">Tristram!</span>&mdash;The thing is impossible.</p>

<p>What could be wanting in my father but to have wrote a book to
publish this notion of his to the world? Little boots it to the subtle
speculatist to stand single in his opinions,&mdash;unless he gives them
proper vent:&mdash;It was the identical thing which my father
did:&mdash;for in the year sixteen, which was two years before I was
born, he was at the pains of writing an express <span class =
"smallcaps">Dissertation</span> simply upon the word
<i>Tristram</i>,&mdash;shewing the world, with great candour and
modesty, the grounds of his great abhorrence to the name.</p>

<p>When this story is compared with the title-page,&mdash;Will not the
gentle reader pity my father from his soul?&mdash;to see an orderly and
well-disposed gentleman, who tho’ singular,&mdash;yet inoffensive in his
notions,&mdash;so played upon in them by cross purposes;&mdash;&mdash;to
look down upon the stage, and see him baffled and overthrown in all his
little systems and wishes; to behold a train of events
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page43" id = "page43">43</a></span>
perpetually falling out against him, and in so critical and cruel a way,
as if they had purposedly been plann’d and pointed against him, merely
to insult his speculations.&mdash;&mdash;In a word, to behold such a
one, in his old age, ill-fitted for troubles, ten times in a day
suffering sorrow;&mdash;ten times in a day calling the child of his
prayers <span class = "smallcaps">Tristram!</span>&mdash;Melancholy
dissyllable of sound! which, to his ears, was unison to
<i>Nincompoop</i>, and every name vituperative under
heaven.&mdash;&mdash;By his ashes! I&nbsp;swear it,&mdash;if ever
malignant spirit took pleasure, or busied itself in traversing the
purposes of mortal man,&mdash;it must have been here;&mdash;and if it
was not necessary I should be born before I was christened, I&nbsp;would
this moment give the reader an account of&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXX" id = "bookI_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">How</span> could you,
Madam, be so inattentive in reading the last chapter? I&nbsp;told you in
it, <i>That my mother was not a papist</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Papist! You
told me no such thing, Sir.&mdash;Madam, I&nbsp;beg leave to repeat it
over again, that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by direct
inference, could tell you such a thing.&mdash;Then, Sir, I&nbsp;must
have miss’d a page.&mdash;No, Madam,&mdash;you have not miss’d a
word.&mdash;&mdash;Then I was asleep, Sir.&mdash;My pride, Madam, cannot
allow you that refuge.&mdash;&mdash;Then, I&nbsp;declare, I&nbsp;know
nothing at all about the matter.&mdash;That, Madam, is the very fault I
lay to your charge; and as a punishment for it, I&nbsp;do insist upon
it, that you immediately turn back, that is, as soon as you get to the
next full stop, and read the whole chapter over again. I&nbsp;have
imposed this penance upon the lady, neither out of wantonness nor
cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore shall make her no
apology for it when she returns back:&mdash;’Tis to rebuke a vicious
taste, which has crept into thousands besides herself,&mdash;of reading
straight forwards, more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep
erudition and knowledge which a book of this cast, if read over as it
should be, would infallibly impart with them&mdash;&mdash;The mind
should be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious
conclusions as it goes along; the habitude of which made <i>Pliny</i>
the younger affirm, “That he never read a book so bad, but he drew some
profit from it.” The stories of <i>Greece</i> and <i>Rome</i>, run over
without this turn and application,&mdash;do less service, I&nbsp;affirm
it, than the history of <i>Parismus</i> and <i>Parismenus</i>, or of the
Seven Champions of <i>England</i>, read with&nbsp;it.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page44" id = "page44">44</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But here comes my fair lady. Have you read over
again the chapter, Madam, as I desired you?&mdash;You have: And did you
not observe the passage, upon the second reading, which admits the
inference?&mdash;&mdash;Not a word like it! Then, Madam, be pleased to
ponder well the last line but one of the chapter, where I take upon me
to say, “It was <i>necessary</i> I should be born before I was
christen’d.” Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence did
not follow.<a class = "tag" name = "tag_1_1" id = "tag_1_1" href =
"#note_1_1">1</a></p>

<p>It is a terrible misfortune for this same book of mine, but more so
to the Republick of letters;&mdash;so that my own is quite swallowed up
in the consideration of it,&mdash;that this selfsame vile pruriency for
fresh adventures in all things, has got so strongly into our habit and
humour,&mdash;and so wholly intent are we upon satisfying the impatience
of our concupiscence that way,&mdash;that nothing but the gross and more
carnal parts of a composition will go down:&mdash;The subtle hints and
sly communications of science fly off, like spirits
upwards,&mdash;&mdash;the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both the
one and the other are as much lost to the world, as if they were still
left in the bottom of the ink-horn.</p>

<p>I wish the male-reader has not pass’d by many a one, as quaint and
curious as this one, in which the female-reader has been detected.
I&nbsp;wish it may have its effects;&mdash;and that all good people,
both male and female, from her example, may be taught to think as well
as read.</p>

<h5><a name = "bookI_baptism" id = "bookI_baptism"><span class =
"smallcaps">Memoire</span></a> presenté à Messieurs les Docteurs de
<span class = "smallcaps">Sorbonne</span><a class = "tag" name =
"tag_1_2" id = "tag_1_2" href = "#note_1_2">2</a></h5>

<p class = "ital">
Un Chirurgien Accoucheur, represente à Messieurs les Docteurs de <span
class = "smallcaps">Sorbonne</span>, qu’il y a des cas, quoique très
rares, où une mere ne sçauroit accoucher, &amp; même où l’enfant est
tellement renfermé
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page45" id = "page45">45</a></span>
dans le sein de sa mere, qu’il ne fait parôitre aucune partie de son
corps, ce qui seroit un cas, suivant les Rituels, de lui conférer, du
moins sous condition, le baptême. Le Chirurgien, qui consulte, prétend,
par le moyen d’une <em>petite canulle</em>, de pouvoir baptiser
immediatement l’enfant, sans faire aucun tort à la mere.&mdash;&mdash;Il
demand si ce moyen, qu’il vient de proposer, est permis &amp; légitime,
&amp; s’il peut s’en servir dans les cas qu’il vient d’exposer.</p>


<h5><a name = "bookI_reply" id = "bookI_reply">REPONSE</a></h5>

<p class = "ital">
Le Conseil estime, que la question proposée souffre de grandes
difficultés. Les Théologiens posent d’un côté pour principe, que le
baptême, qui est une naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere
naissance; il faut être né dans le monde, pour renaître en <em>Jesus
Christ</em>, comme ils l’enseignent. <em>S.&nbsp;Thomas, 3&nbsp;part,
quæst. 88, artic. II</em>, suit cette doctrine comme une verité
constante; l’on ne peut, dit ce S.&nbsp;Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui
sont renfermés dans le sein de leurs meres, &amp;
<em>S.&nbsp;Thomas</em> est fondé sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point
nés, &amp; ne peuvent être comptés parmi les autres hommes; d’où il
conclud, qu’ils ne peuvent être l’objet d’une action extérieure, pour
reçevoir par leur ministére, les sacremens nécessaires au salut:
<em>Pueri in maternis uteris existentes nondum prodierunt in lucem ut
cum aliis hominibus vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni
humanæ, ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salutem.</em>
Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les théologiens ont établi
sur les mêmes matiéres, &amp; ils deffendent tous d’une maniére
uniforme, de baptiser les enfans qui sont renfermés dans le sein de
leurs meres, s’ils ne font paroître quelque partie de leurs corps. Le
concours des théologiens, &amp; des rituels, qui sont les régles des
diocéses, paroit former une autorité qui termine la question presente;
cependant le conseil de conscience considerant d’un côté, que le
raisonnement des théologiens est uniquement fondé sur une raison de
convenance, &amp; que la deffense des rituels suppose que l’on ne peut
baptiser immediatement les enfans ainsi renfermés dans le sein de leurs
meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente; &amp; d’un autre côté,
considerant que les mêmes théologiens enseignent, que l’on peut risquer
les sacremens que <em>Jesus Christ</em> a établis comme des moyens
faciles, mais nécessaires pour sanctifier les hommes; &amp; d’ailleurs
estimant, que les enfans renfermés dans le sein de leurs meres,
pourroient être capables de salut, parcequ’ils sont capables de
damnation;&mdash;pour ces considerations, &amp; en egard à l’exposé,
suivant lequel on
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page46" id = "page46">46</a></span>
assure avoir trouvé un moyen certain de baptiser ces enfans ainsi
renfermés, sans faire aucun tort à la mere, le Conseil estime que l’on
pourroit se servir du moyen proposé, dans la confiance qu’il a, que Dieu
n’a point laissé ces sortes d’enfans sans aucuns secours, &amp;
supposant, comme il est exposé, que le moyen dont il s’agit est propre à
leur procurer le baptême; cependant comme il s’agiroit, en autorisant la
pratique proposée, de changer une regie universellement établie, le
Conseil croit que celui qui consulte doit s’addresser à son evêque,
&amp; à qui il appartient de juger de l’utilité, &amp; du danger du
moyen proposé, &amp; comme, sous le bon plaisir de l’evêque, le Conseil
estime qu’il faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le droit d’expliquer les
régles de l’eglise, &amp; d’y déroger dans le cas, ou la loi ne sçauroit
obliger, quelque sage &amp; quelque utile que paroisse la maniére de
baptiser dont il s’agit, le Conseil ne pourroit l’approuver sans le
concours de ces deux autorités. On conseile au moins à celui qui
consulte, de s’addresser à son evêque, &amp; de lui faire part de la
presente décision, afin que, si le prelat entre dans les raisons sur
lesquelles les docteurs soussignés s’appuyent, il puisse être autorisé
dans le cas de nécessité, ou il risqueroit trop d’attendre que la
permission fût demandée &amp; accordée d’employer le moyen qu’il propose
si avantageux au salut de l’enfant. Au reste, le Conseil, en estimant
que l’on pourroit s’en servir, croit cependant, que si les enfans dont
il s’agit, venoient au monde, contre l’esperance de ceux qui se seroient
servis du même moyen, il seroit nécessaire de les baptiser sous
condition; &amp; en cela le Conseil se conforme à tous les rituels, qui
en autorisant le baptême d’un enfant qui fait paroître quelque partie de
son corps, enjoignent néantmoins, &amp; ordonnent de le baptiser sous
condition, s’il vient heureusement au monde.</p>

<p>Deliberé en <i>Sorbonne</i>, le 10 <i>Avril</i>, 1733.</p>

<p class = "right smallcaps">
A. Le Moyne.<br />
L. De Romigny.<br />
De Marcilly.</p>

<p class = "space">
Mr. <i>Tristram Shandy’s</i> compliments to Messrs. <i>Le Moyne</i>,
<i>De Romigny</i>, and <i>De Marcilly</i>; hopes they all rested well
the night after so tiresome a consultation.&mdash;He begs to know,
whether after the ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation,
the baptizing all the <span class = "smallcaps">Homunculi</span> at
once, slapdash, by <i>injection</i>, would not be a shorter and safer
cut still; on condition, as above, That if the <span class =
"smallcaps">Homunculi</span> do well, and come safe into the world after
this, that each and every of them shall be baptized again (<i>sous
condition</i>)&mdash;&mdash;And provided, in the second
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page47" id = "page47">47</a></span>
place, That the thing can be done, which <i>Mr. Shandy</i> apprehends it
may, <i>par le moyen d’une</i> petite canulle, and <i>sans faire aucun
tort au pere</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXXI" id = "bookI_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;I wonder what’s all that noise, and running backwards
and forwards for, above stairs, quoth my father, addressing himself,
after an hour and a half’s silence, to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;who, you must know, was sitting on the
opposite side of the fire, smoking his social pipe all the time, in mute
contemplation of a new pair of black plush-breeches which he had got
on:&mdash;What can they be doing, brother?&mdash;quoth my
father,&mdash;we can scarce hear ourselves talk.</p>

<p>I think, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, taking his pipe from his
mouth, and striking the head of it two or three times upon the nail of
his left thumb, as he began his sentence,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think,
says he:&mdash;&mdash;But to enter rightly into my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
sentiments upon this matter, you must be made to enter first a little
into his character, the outlines of which I shall just give you, and
then the dialogue between him and my father will go on as well
again.</p>

<p>Pray what was that man’s name,&mdash;for I write in such a hurry,
I&nbsp;have no time to recollect or look for it,&mdash;&mdash;who first
made the observation, “That there was great inconstancy in our air and
climate?” Whoever he was, ’twas a just and good observation in
him.&mdash;But the corollary drawn from it, namely, “That it is this
which has furnished us with such a variety of odd and whimsical
characters;”&mdash;that was not his;&mdash;it was found out by another
man, at least a century and a half after him: Then again,&mdash;that
this copious store-house of original materials, is the true and natural
cause that our Comedies are so much better than those of <i>France</i>,
or any others that either have, or can be wrote upon the
Continent:&mdash;&mdash;that discovery was not fully made till about the
middle of King <i>William’s</i> reign,&mdash;when the great
<i>Dryden</i>, in writing one of his long prefaces, (if&nbsp;I mistake
not) most fortunately hit upon it. Indeed toward the latter end of Queen
<i>Anne</i>, the great <i>Addison</i> began to patronize the notion, and
more fully explained it to the world in one or two of his
Spectators;&mdash;but the discovery was not his.&mdash;Then, fourthly
and lastly, that this strange irregularity in our climate, producing so
strange an irregularity in our characters,&mdash;&mdash;doth thereby, in
some sort, make us amends, by giving us somewhat to make
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page48" id = "page48">48</a></span>
us merry with when the weather will not suffer us to go out of
doors,&mdash;that observation is my own;&mdash;and was struck out by me
this very rainy day, <i>March</i> 26, 1759, and betwixt the hours of
nine and ten in the morning.</p>

<p>Thus&mdash;thus, my fellow-labourers and associates in this great
harvest of our learning, now ripening before our eyes; thus it is, by
slow steps of casual increase, that our knowledge physical,
metaphysical, physiological, polemical, nautical, mathematical,
ænigmatical, technical, biographical, romantical, chemical, and
obstetrical, with fifty other branches of it, (most of ’em ending as
these do, in <i>ical</i>) have for these two last centuries and more,
gradually been creeping upwards towards that <span class = "greek" title
= "Akmê">Ἀκμὴ</span> of their perfections, from which, if we may form a
conjecture from the advances of these last seven years, we cannot
possibly be far off.</p>

<p>When that happens, it is to be hoped, it will put an end to all kind
of writings whatsoever;&mdash;the want of all kind of writing will put
an end to all kind of reading;&mdash;and that in time, <i>As war begets
poverty; poverty peace</i>,&mdash;&mdash;must, in course, put an end to
all kind of knowledge,&mdash;and then&mdash;&mdash;we shall have all to
begin over again; or, in other words, be exactly where we started.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Happy! thrice happy times! I only wish that the
æra of my begetting, as well as the mode and manner of it, had been a
little alter’d,&mdash;&mdash;or that it could have been put off, with
any convenience to my father or mother, for some twenty or
five-and-twenty years longer, when a man in the literary world might
have stood some <span class = "locked">chance.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But I forget my uncle <i>Toby</i>, whom all this while we have left
knocking the ashes out of his tobacco-pipe.</p>

<p>His humour was of that particular species, which does honour to our
atmosphere; and I should have made no scruple of ranking him amongst one
of the first-rate productions of it, had not there appeared too many
strong lines in it of a family-likeness, which shewed that he derived
the singularity of his temper more from blood, than either wind or
water, or any modifications or combinations of them whatever: And I
have, therefore, oft-times wondered, that my father, tho’ I&nbsp;believe
he had his reasons for it, upon his observing some tokens of
eccentricity, in my course, when I was a boy,&mdash;should never once
endeavour to account for them in this way: for all the <span class =
"smallcaps">Shandy Family</span> were of an original character
throughout:&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;mean the males,&mdash;the females had no
character at all,&mdash;except, indeed, my great aunt <span class =
"smallcaps">Dinah</span>, who, about sixty years ago, was married and
got with child by the coachman, for which my father, according to
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page49" id = "page49">49</a></span>
his hypothesis of christian names, would often say, She might thank her
godfathers and godmothers.</p>

<p>It will seem very strange,&mdash;&mdash;and I would as soon think of
dropping a riddle in the reader’s way, which is not my interest to do,
as set him upon guessing how it could come to pass, that an event of
this kind, so many years after it had happened, should be reserved for
the interruption of the peace and unity, which otherwise so cordially
subsisted, between my father and my uncle <i>Toby</i>. One would have
thought, that the whole force of the misfortune should have spent and
wasted itself in the family at first,&mdash;as is generally the
case.&mdash;But nothing ever wrought with our family after the ordinary
way. Possibly at the very time this happened, it might have something
else to afflict it; and as afflictions are sent down for our good, and
that as this had never done the <span class = "smallcaps">Shandy
Family</span> any good at all, it might lie waiting till apt times and
circumstances should give it an opportunity to discharge its
office.&mdash;&mdash;Observe, I&nbsp;determine nothing upon
this.&mdash;&mdash;My way is ever to point out to the curious, different
tracts of investigation, to come at the first springs of the events I
tell;&mdash;not with a pedantic <i>Fescue</i>,&mdash;or in the decisive
manner of <i>Tacitus</i>, who outwits himself and his reader;&mdash;but
with the officious humility of a heart devoted to the assistance merely
of the inquisitive;&mdash;to them I write,&mdash;&mdash;and by them I
shall be read,&mdash;&mdash;if any such reading as this could be
supposed to hold out so long,&mdash;to the very end of the world.</p>

<p>Why this cause of sorrow, therefore, was thus reserved for my father
and uncle, is undetermined by me. But how and in what direction it
exerted itself so as to become the cause of dissatisfaction between
them, after it began to operate, is what I am able to explain with great
exactness, and is as follows:</p>

<p>My uncle <span class = "smallcaps">Toby Shandy</span>, Madam, was a
gentleman, who, with the virtues which usually constitute the character
of a man of honour and rectitude,&mdash;&mdash;possessed one in a very
eminent degree, which is seldom or never put into the catalogue; and
that was a most extreme and unparallel’d modesty of
nature;&mdash;&mdash;though I correct the word nature, for this reason,
that I may not prejudge a point which must shortly come to a hearing,
and that is, Whether this modesty of his was natural or
acquir’d.&mdash;&mdash;Whichever way my uncle <i>Toby</i> came by it,
’twas nevertheless modesty in the truest sense of it; and that is,
Madam, not in regard to words, for he was so unhappy as to have very
little choice in them,&mdash;but to things;&mdash;&mdash;and this kind
of modesty so possessed him, and it arose to such a height in him, as
almost
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page50" id = "page50">50</a></span>
to equal, if such a thing could be, even the modesty of a woman: That
female nicety, Madam, and inward cleanliness of mind and fancy, in your
sex, which makes you so much the awe of ours.</p>

<p>You will imagine, Madam, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> had contracted all
this from this very source;&mdash;that he had spent a great part of his
time in converse with your sex; and that from a thorough knowledge of
you, and the force of imitation which such fair examples render
irresistible, he had acquired this amiable turn <ins class =
"correction" title = "text has ‘or’">of</ins> mind.</p>

<p>I wish I could say so,&mdash;for unless it was with his
sister-in-law, my father’s wife and my mother&mdash;&mdash;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> scarce exchanged three words with the sex in as many
years;&mdash;no, he got it, Madam, by a
blow.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;blow!&mdash;Yes, Madam, it was owing to a blow
from a stone, broke off by a ball from the parapet of a horn-work at the
siege of <i>Namur</i>, which struck full upon my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
groin.&mdash;Which way could that effect it? The story of that, Madam,
is long and interesting;&mdash;but it would be running my history all
upon heaps to give it you here.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis for an episode
hereafter; and every circumstance relating to it, in its proper place,
shall be faithfully laid before you:&mdash;’Till then, it is not in my
power to give farther light into this matter, or say more than what I
have said already,&mdash;&mdash;That my uncle <i>Toby</i> was a
gentleman of unparallel’d modesty, which happening to be somewhat
subtilized and rarified by the constant heat of a little family
pride,&mdash;&mdash;they both so wrought together within him, that he
could never bear to hear the affair of my aunt <span class =
"smallcaps">Dinah</span> touch’d upon, but with the greatest
emotion.&mdash;&mdash;The least hint of it was enough to make the blood
fly into his face;&mdash;but when my father enlarged upon the story in
mixed companies, which the illustration of his hypothesis frequently
obliged him to do,&mdash;the unfortunate blight of one of the fairest
branches of the family, would set my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> honour and
modesty o’bleeding; and he would often take my father aside, in the
greatest concern imaginable, to expostulate and tell him, he would give
him anything in the world, only to let the story rest.</p>

<p>My father, I believe, had the truest love and tenderness for my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, that ever one brother bore towards another, and would have
done any thing in nature, which one brother in reason could have desir’d
of another, to have made my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> heart easy in this, or
any other point. But this lay out of his power.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My father, as I told you, was a philosopher in
grain,&mdash;speculative,&mdash;systematical;&mdash;and my aunt
<i>Dinah’s</i> affair was a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page51" id = "page51">51</a></span>
matter of as much consequence to him, as the retrogradation of the
planets to <i>Copernicus</i>:&mdash;The backslidings of <i>Venus</i> in
her orbit fortified the <i>Copernican</i> system, called so after his
name; and the backslidings of my aunt <i>Dinah</i> in her orbit, did the
same service in establishing my father’s system, which, I&nbsp;trust,
will for ever hereafter be called the <i>Shandean System</i>, after
this.</p>

<p>In any other family dishonour, my father, I believe, had as nice a
sense of shame as any man whatever;&mdash;&mdash;and neither he, nor,
I&nbsp;dare say, <i>Copernicus</i>, would have divulged the affair in
either case, or have taken the least notice of it to the world, but for
the obligations they owed, as they thought, to truth.&mdash;<i>Amicus
Plato</i>, my father would say, construing the words to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, as he went along, <i>Amicus Plato</i>; that is, <span class
= "smallcaps">Dinah</span> was my aunt;&mdash;<i>sed magis amica
veritas</i>&mdash;&mdash;but <span class = "smallcaps">Truth</span> is
my sister.</p>

<p>This contrariety of humours betwixt my father and my uncle, was the
source of many a fraternal squabble. The one could not bear to hear the
tale of family disgrace recorded,&mdash;&mdash;and the other would
scarce ever let a day pass to an end without some hint at&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>For God’s sake, my uncle <i>Toby</i> would cry,&mdash;&mdash;and for
my sake, and for all our sakes, my dear brother <i>Shandy</i>,&mdash;do
let this story of our aunt’s and her ashes sleep in
peace;&mdash;&mdash;how can you,&mdash;&mdash;how can you have so little
feeling and compassion for the character of our
family?&mdash;&mdash;What is the character of a family to an hypothesis?
my father would reply.&mdash;&mdash;Nay, if you come to that&mdash;what
is the life of a family?&mdash;&mdash;The life of a family!&mdash;my
uncle <i>Toby</i> would say, throwing himself back in his arm chair, and
lifting up his hands, his eyes, and one leg.&mdash;&mdash;Yes, the
life,&mdash;&mdash;my father would say, maintaining his point. How many
thousands of ’em are there every year that come cast away, (in&nbsp;all
civilized countries at least)&mdash;&mdash;and considered as nothing but
common air, in competition of an hypothesis. In my plain sense of
things, my uncle <i>Toby</i> would answer,&mdash;&mdash;every such
instance is downright <span class = "smallcaps">Murder</span>, let who
will commit it.&mdash;&mdash;There lies your mistake, my father would
reply;&mdash;&mdash;for, in <i>Foro Scientiæ</i> there is no such thing
as <span class = "smallcaps">Murder</span>,&mdash;&mdash;’tis only <span
class = "smallcaps">Death</span>, brother.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> would never offer to answer this by any other
kind of argument, than that of whistling half a dozen bars of
<i>Lillabullero</i>.&mdash;&mdash;You must know it was the usual channel
thro’ which his passions got vent, when any thing shocked or surprized
him:&mdash;&mdash;but especially when any thing, which he deem’d very
absurd, was offered.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page52" id = "page52">52</a></span>
<p>As not one of our logical writers, nor any of the commentators upon
them, that I remember, have thought proper to give a name to this
particular species of argument,&mdash;I&nbsp;here take the liberty to do
it myself, for two reasons. First, That, in order to prevent all
confusion in disputes, it may stand as much distinguished for ever, from
every other species of argument&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as the <i>Argumentum
ad Verecundiam</i>, <i>ex Absurdo, ex Fortiori</i>, or any other
argument whatsoever:&mdash;&mdash;And, secondly, That it may be said by
my children’s children, when my head is laid to rest,&mdash;&mdash;that
their learn’d grandfather’s head had been busied to as much purpose
once, as other people’s;&mdash;That he had invented a name,&mdash;and
generously thrown it into the <span class = "smallcaps">Treasury</span>
of the <i>Ars Logica</i>, for one of the most unanswerable arguments in
the whole science. And, if the end of disputation is more to silence
than convince,&mdash;they may add, if they please, to one of the best
arguments too.</p>

<p>I do therefore, by these presents, strictly order and command, That
it be known and distinguished by the name and title of the <i>Argumentum
Fistulatorium</i>, and no other;&mdash;and that it rank hereafter with
the <i>Argumentum Baculinum</i> and the <i>Argumentum ad Crumenam</i>,
and for ever hereafter be treated of in the same chapter.</p>

<p>As for the <i>Argumentum Tripodium</i>, which is never used but by
the woman against the man;&mdash;and the <i>Argumentum ad Rem</i>,
which, contrarywise, is made use of by the man only against the
woman;&mdash;As these two are enough in conscience for one
lecture;&mdash;&mdash;and, moreover, as the one is the best answer to
the other,&mdash;let them likewise be kept apart, and be treated of in a
place by themselves.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXXII" id = "bookI_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> learned Bishop <i>Hall</i>, I
mean the famous Dr. <i>Joseph Hall</i>, who was Bishop of <i>Exeter</i>
in King <i>James</i> the First’s reign, tells us in one of his
<i>Decads</i>, at the end of his divine art of meditation, imprinted at
<i>London</i>, in the year 1610, by <i>John Beal</i>, dwelling in
<i>Aldersgate-street</i>, “That it is an abominable thing for a man to
commend himself;”&mdash;&mdash;and I really think it is&nbsp;so.</p>

<p>And yet, on the other hand, when a thing is executed in a masterly
kind of a fashion, which thing is not likely to be found
out;&mdash;I&nbsp;think it is full as abominable, that a man should lose
the honour of it, and go out of the world with the conceit of it rotting
in his head.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page53" id = "page53">53</a></span>
<p>This is precisely my situation.</p>

<p>For in this long digression which I was accidentally led into, as in
all my digressions (one only excepted) there is a masterstroke of
digressive skill, the merit of which has all along, I&nbsp;fear, been
overlooked by my reader,&mdash;not for want of penetration in
him,&mdash;but because ’tis an excellence seldom looked for, or expected
indeed, in a digression;&mdash;and it is this: That tho’ my digressions
are all fair, as you observe,&mdash;and that I fly off from what I am
about, as far, and as often too, as any writer in <i>Great Britain</i>;
yet I constantly take care to order affairs so that my main business
does not stand still in my absence.</p>

<p>I was just going, for example, to have given you the great outlines
of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> most whimsical character;&mdash;when my aunt
<i>Dinah</i> and the coachman came across us, and led us a vagary some
millions of miles into the very heart of the planetary system:
Notwithstanding all this, you perceive that the drawing of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> character went on gently all the time;&mdash;not the great
contours of it,&mdash;that was impossible,&mdash;but some familiar
strokes and faint designations of it, were here and there touch’d on, as
we went along, so that you are much better acquainted with my uncle
<i>Toby</i> now than you was before.</p>

<p>By this contrivance the machinery of my work is of a species by
itself; two contrary motions are introduced into it, and reconciled,
which were thought to be at variance with each other. In a word, my work
is digressive, and it is progressive too,&mdash;and at the same
time.</p>

<p>This, Sir, is a very different story from that of the earth’s moving
round her axis, in her diurnal rotation, with her progress in her
elliptick orbit which brings about the year, and constitutes that
variety and vicissitude of seasons we enjoy;&mdash;though I own it
suggested the thought,&mdash;as I believe the greatest of our boasted
improvements and discoveries have come from such trifling hints.</p>

<p>Digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine;&mdash;&mdash;they are
the life, the soul of reading!&mdash;take them out of this book, for
instance,&mdash;you might as well take the book along with
them;&mdash;one cold eternal winter would reign in every page of it;
restore them to the writer;&mdash;he steps forth like a
bridegroom,&mdash;bids All-hail; brings in variety, and forbids the
appetite to fail.</p>

<p>All the dexterity is in the good cookery and management of them, so
as to be not only for the advantage of the reader, but also of the
author, whose distress, in this matter, is truly pitiable: For, if he
begins a digression,&mdash;from that moment, I&nbsp;observe,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page54" id = "page54">54</a></span>
his whole work stands stock still;&mdash;and if he goes on with his main
work,&mdash;then there is an end of his digression.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;This is vile work.&mdash;For which reason, from the
beginning of this, you see, I&nbsp;have constructed the main work and
the adventitious parts of it with such intersections, and have so
complicated and involved the digressive and progressive movements, one
wheel within another, that the whole machine, in general, has been kept
a-going;&mdash;and, what’s more, it shall be kept a-going these forty
years, if it pleases the fountain of health to bless me so long with
life and good spirits.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXXIII" id = "bookI_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I have</span> a strong propensity in me to
begin this chapter very nonsensically, and I will not baulk my
fancy.&mdash;Accordingly I set off thus:</p>

<p>If the fixture of <i>Momus’s</i> glass in the human breast, according
to the proposed emendation of that arch-critick, had taken
place,&mdash;&mdash;first, This foolish consequence would certainly have
followed,&mdash;That the very wisest and very gravest of us all, in one
coin or other, must have paid window-money every day of our lives.</p>

<p>And, secondly, That had the said glass been there set up, nothing
more would have been wanting, in order to have taken a man’s character,
but to have taken a chair and gone softly, as you would to a dioptrical
beehive, and look’d in,&mdash;view’d the soul stark
naked;&mdash;observed all her motions,&mdash;her
machinations;&mdash;traced all her maggots from their first engendering
to their crawling forth;&mdash;watched her loose in her frisks, her
gambols, her capricios; and after some notice of her more solemn
deportment, consequent upon such frisks, etc.&mdash;&mdash;then taken
your pen and ink and set down nothing but what you had seen, and could
have sworn to:&mdash;But this is an advantage not to be had by the
biographer in this planet;&mdash;in the planet <i>Mercury</i> (belike)
it may be so, if not better still for him;&mdash;&mdash;for there the
intense heat of the country, which is proved by computators, from its
vicinity to the sun, to be more than equal to that of red-hot
iron,&mdash;must, I&nbsp;think, long ago have vitrified the bodies of
the inhabitants, (as&nbsp;the efficient cause) to suit them for the
climate (which is the final cause); so that betwixt them both, all the
tenements of their souls, from top to bottom, may be nothing else, for
aught the soundest philosophy can shew to the contrary, but one fine
transparent body of clear glass (bating the umbilical
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page55" id = "page55">55</a></span>
knot)&mdash;so that, till the inhabitants grow old and tolerably
wrinkled, whereby the rays of light, in passing through them, become so
monstrously refracted,&mdash;&mdash;or return reflected from their
surfaces in such transverse lines to the eye, that a man cannot be seen
through;&mdash;his soul might as well, unless for mere ceremony, or the
trifling advantage which the umbilical point gave her,&mdash;might, upon
all other accounts, I&nbsp;say, as well play the fool out o’doors as in
her own house.</p>

<p>But this, as I said above, is not the case of the inhabitants of this
earth;&mdash;our minds shine not through the body, but are wrapt up here
in a dark covering of uncrystalized flesh and blood; so that, if we
would come to the specific characters of them, we must go some other way
to work.</p>

<p>Many, in good truth, are the ways, which human wit has been forced to
take, to do this thing with exactness.</p>

<p>Some, for instance, draw all their characters with
wind-instruments.&mdash;<i>Virgil</i> takes notice of that way in the
affair of <i>Dido</i> and <i>Æneas</i>;&mdash;but it is as fallacious as
the breath of fame;&mdash;and, moreover, bespeaks a narrow genius.
I&nbsp;am not ignorant that the <i>Italians</i> pretend to a
mathematical exactness in their designations of one particular sort of
character among them, from the <i>forte</i> or <i>piano</i> of a certain
wind-instrument they use,&mdash;which they say is
infallible.&mdash;I&nbsp;dare not mention the name of the instrument in
this place;&mdash;’tis sufficient we have it amongst us,&mdash;but never
think of making a drawing by it;&mdash;this is ænigmatical, and intended
to be so, at least <i>ad populum</i>:&mdash;And therefore, I&nbsp;beg,
Madam, when you come here, that you read on as fast as you can, and
never stop to make any inquiry about&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>There are others again, who will draw a man’s character from no other
helps in the world, but merely from his evacuations;&mdash;but this
often gives a very incorrect outline,&mdash;unless, indeed, you take a
sketch of his repletions too; and by correcting one drawing from the
other, compound one good figure out of them both.</p>

<p>I should have no objection to this method, but that I think it must
smell too strong of the lamp,&mdash;and be render’d still more operose,
by forcing you to have an eye to the rest of his
<i>Non-naturals</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Why the most natural actions of a
man’s life should be called his Non-naturals,&mdash;is another
question.</p>

<p>There are others, fourthly, who disdain every one of these
expedients;&mdash;not from any fertility of their own, but from the
various ways of doing it, which they have borrowed from the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page56" id = "page56">56</a></span>
honourable devices which the Pentagraphic Brethren<a class = "tag" name
= "tag_1_3" id = "tag_1_3" href = "#note_1_3">3</a> of the brush have
shewn in taking copies.&mdash;These, you must know, are your great
historians.</p>

<p>One of these you will see drawing a full-length character <i>against
the light</i>;&mdash;that’s illiberal,&mdash;dishonest,&mdash;and hard
upon the character of the man who sits.</p>

<p>Others, to mend the matter, will make a drawing of you in the
<i>Camera</i>;&mdash;that is most unfair of all,&mdash;because,
<i>there</i> you are sure to be represented in some of your most
ridiculous attitudes.</p>

<p>To avoid all and every one of these errors in giving you my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> character, I&nbsp;am determined to draw it by no
mechanical help whatever;&mdash;&mdash;nor shall my pencil be guided by
any one wind-instrument which ever was blown upon, either on this, or on
the other side of the <i>Alps</i>;&mdash;nor will I consider either his
repletions or his discharges,&mdash;or touch upon his
Non-naturals&mdash;but, in a word, I&nbsp;will draw my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> character from his <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXXIV" id = "bookI_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">If</span> I was not morally sure that the
reader must be out of all patience for my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
character,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would here previously have convinced him
that there is no instrument so fit to draw such a thing with, as that
which I have pitch’d upon.</p>

<p>A man and his <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>, tho’ I
cannot say that they act and re-act exactly after the same manner in
which the soul and body do upon each other: Yet doubtless there is a
communication between them of some kind; and my opinion rather is, that
there is something in it more of the manner of electrified
bodies,&mdash;and that, by means of the heated parts of the rider, which
come immediately into contact with the back of the <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>,&mdash;by long journeys and much
friction, it so happens, that the body of the rider is at length fill’d
as full of <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horsical</span> matter as it
can hold;&mdash;&mdash;so that if you are able to give but a clear
description of the nature of the one, you may form a pretty exact notion
of the genius and character of the other.</p>

<p>Now the <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> which my uncle
<i>Toby</i> always rode upon, was in my opinion a <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> well worth giving a description of, if it
was only upon the score of his great singularity;&mdash;for
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page57" id = "page57">57</a></span>
you might have travelled from <i>York</i> to <i>Dover</i>,&mdash;from
<i>Dover</i> to <i>Penzance</i> in <i>Cornwall</i>, and from
<i>Penzance</i> to <i>York</i> back again, and not have seen such
another upon the road; or if you had seen such a one, whatever haste you
had been in, you must infallibly have stopp’d to have taken a view of
him. Indeed, the gait and figure of him was so strange, and so utterly
unlike was he, from his head to his tail, to any one of the whole
species, that it was now and then made a matter of
dispute,&mdash;&mdash;whether he was really a <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> or no: but as the Philosopher would use
no other argument to the Sceptic, who disputed with him against the
reality of motion, save that of rising up upon his legs, and walking
across the room;&mdash;so would my uncle <i>Toby</i> use no other
argument to prove his <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> was a
<span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> indeed, but by getting upon
his back and riding him about;&mdash;leaving the world, after that, to
determine the point as it thought fit.</p>

<p>In good truth, my uncle <i>Toby</i> mounted him with so much
pleasure, and he carried my uncle <i>Toby</i> so well,&mdash;&mdash;that
he troubled his head very little with what the world either said or
thought about&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>It is now high time, however, that I give you a description of
him:&mdash;But to go on regularly, I&nbsp;only beg you will give me
leave to acquaint you first, how my uncle <i>Toby</i> came by him.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookI_chapXXV" id = "bookI_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> wound in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
groin, which he received at the siege of <i>Namur</i>, rendering him
unfit for the service, it was thought expedient he should return to
<i>England</i>, in order, if possible, to be set to rights.</p>

<p>He was four years totally confined,&mdash;part of it to his bed, and
all of it to his room: and in the course of his cure, which was all that
time in hand, suffer’d unspeakable miseries,&mdash;owing to a succession
of exfoliations from the <i>os pubis</i>, and the outward edge of that
part of the <i>coxendix</i> called the <i>os
illium</i>,&mdash;&mdash;both which bones were dismally crush’d, as much
by the irregularity of the stone, which I told you was broke off the
parapet,&mdash;as by its size,&mdash;(tho’ it was pretty large) which
inclined the surgeon all along to think, that the great injury which it
had done my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> groin, was more owing to the gravity of
the stone itself, than to the projectile force of it,&mdash;which he
would often tell him was a great happiness.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page58" id = "page58">58</a></span>
<p>My father at that time was just beginning business in <i>London</i>,
and had taken a house;&mdash;and as the truest friendship and cordiality
subsisted between the two brothers,&mdash;and that my father thought my
uncle <i>Toby</i> could no where be so well nursed and taken care of as
in his own house,&mdash;&mdash;he assign’d him the very best apartment
in it.&mdash;And what was a much more sincere mark of his affection
still, he would never suffer a friend or an acquaintance to step into
the house on any occasion, but he would take him by the hand, and lead
him up stairs to see his brother <i>Toby</i>, and chat an hour by his
bedside.</p>

<p>The history of a soldier’s wound beguiles the pain of it;&mdash;my
uncle’s visitors at least thought so, and in their daily calls upon him,
from the courtesy arising out of that belief, they would frequently turn
the discourse to that subject,&mdash;and from that subject the discourse
would generally roll on to the siege itself.</p>

<p>These conversations were infinitely kind; and my uncle <i>Toby</i>
received great relief from them, and would have received much more, but
that they brought him into some unforeseen perplexities, which, for
three months together, retarded his cure greatly; and if he had not hit
upon an expedient to extricate himself out of them, I&nbsp;verily
believe they would have laid him in his grave.</p>

<p>What these perplexities of my uncle <i>Toby</i>
were,&mdash;&mdash;’tis impossible for you to guess;&mdash;if you
could,&mdash;I&nbsp;should blush; not as a relation,&mdash;not as a
man,&mdash;nor even as a woman,&mdash;but I should blush as an author;
inasmuch as I set no small store by myself upon this very account, that
my reader has never yet been able to guess at anything. And in this,
Sir, I&nbsp;am of so nice and singular a humour, that if I thought you
was able to form the least judgment or probable conjecture to yourself,
of what was to come in the next page,&mdash;I&nbsp;would tear it out of
my book.</p>

<div class = "footnote">
<p><a name = "note_1_1" id = "note_1_1" href = "#tag_1_1">1.</a>
The <i>Romish</i> Rituals direct the baptizing of the child, in cases of
danger, <i>before</i> it is born;&mdash;but upon this proviso, That some
part or other of the child’s body be seen by the
baptizer:&mdash;&mdash;But the Doctors of the <i>Sorbonne</i>, by a
deliberation held amongst them, <i>April</i> 10, 1733,&mdash;have
enlarged the powers of the midwives, by determining, That though no part
of the child’s body should appear,&mdash;&mdash;that baptism shall,
nevertheless, be administered to it by injection,&mdash;<i>par le moyen
d’une petite canulle</i>,&mdash;Anglicè <i>a
squirt</i>.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis very strange that St. <i>Thomas
Aquinas</i>, who had so good a mechanical head, both for tying and
untying the knots of school-divinity,&mdash;should, after so much pains
bestowed upon this,&mdash;give up the point at last, as a second <i>La
chose impossible</i>,&mdash;“Infantes in maternis uteris existentes
(quoth <ins class = "correction" title = ". missing">St.</ins>
<i>Thomas!</i>) baptizari possunt <i>nullo modo</i>.”&mdash;O <i>Thomas!
Thomas!</i></p>

<p>If the reader has the curiosity to see the question upon baptism
<i>by injection</i>, as presented to the Doctors of the <i>Sorbonne</i>,
with their consultation thereupon, it is as follows.</p>

<p><a name = "note_1_2" id = "note_1_2" href = "#tag_1_2">2.</a>
Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 366.</p>

<p><a name = "note_1_3" id = "note_1_3" href = "#tag_1_3">3.</a>
<ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected form is ‘pantagraph’">Pentagraph</ins>, an instrument to copy Prints and
Pictures mechanically, and in any proportion.</p>
</div>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page59" id = "page59">59</a></span>

<h3><a name = "bookII" id = "bookII">BOOK II</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapI" id = "bookII_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I have</span> begun a new book, on purpose
that I might have room enough to explain the nature of the perplexities
in which my uncle <i>Toby</i> was involved, from the many discourses and
interrogations about the siege of <i>Namur</i>, where he received his
wound.</p>

<p>I must remind the reader, in case he has read the history of King
<i>William’s</i> wars,&mdash;but if he has not,&mdash;I&nbsp;then inform
him, that one of the most memorable attacks in that siege, was that
which was made by the <i>English</i> and <i>Dutch</i> upon the point of
the advanced counterscarp, between the gate of <i>St. Nicolas</i>, which
inclosed the great sluice or water-stop, where the <i>English</i> were
terribly exposed to the shot of the counter-guard and demi-bastion of
<i>St. Roch</i>. The issue of which hot dispute, in three words, was
this; That the <i>Dutch</i> lodged themselves upon the
counter-guard,&mdash;and that the <i>English</i> made themselves masters
of the covered-way before <i>St. Nicolas</i>-gate, notwithstanding the
gallantry of the <i>French</i> officers, who exposed themselves upon the
glacis sword in hand.</p>

<p>As this was the principal attack of which my uncle <i>Toby</i> was an
eye-witness at <i>Namur</i>,&mdash;&mdash;the army of the besiegers
being cut off, by the confluence of the <i>Maes</i> and <i>Sambre</i>,
from seeing much of each other’s operations,&mdash;&mdash;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> was generally more eloquent and particular in his account of
it; and the many perplexities he was in, arose out of the almost
insurmountable difficulties he found in telling his story intelligibly,
and giving such clear ideas of the differences and distinctions between
the scarp and <ins class = "correction"
title = "anomalous hyphen may be intentional">counter-scarp</ins>,&mdash;the glacis and
covered-way,&mdash;the half-moon and ravelin,&mdash;as to make his
company fully comprehend where and what he was about.</p>

<p>Writers themselves are too apt to confound these terms; so that you
will the less wonder, if in his endeavours to explain them, and in
opposition to many misconceptions, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> did
oft-times puzzle his visitors, and sometimes himself too.</p>

<p>To speak the truth, unless the company my father led upstairs were
tolerably clear-headed, or my uncle <i>Toby</i> was in one
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page60" id = "page60">60</a></span>
of his explanatory moods, ’twas a difficult thing, do what he could, to
keep the discourse free from obscurity.</p>

<p>What rendered the account of this affair the more intricate to my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, was this,&mdash;that in the attack of the
counterscarp, before the gate of <i>St. Nicolas</i>, extending itself
from the bank of the <i>Maes</i>, quite up to the great
water-stop,&mdash;the ground was cut and cross cut with such a multitude
of dykes, drains, rivulets, and sluices, on all sides,&mdash;and he
would get so sadly bewildered, and set fast amongst them, that
frequently he could neither get backwards or forwards to save his life;
and was oft-times obliged to give up the attack upon that very account
only.</p>

<p>These perplexing rebuffs gave my uncle <i>Toby Shandy</i> more
perturbations than you would imagine: and as my father’s kindness to him
was continually dragging up fresh friends and fresh
enquirers,&mdash;&mdash;he had but a very uneasy task of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>No doubt my uncle <i>Toby</i> had great command of himself, could
guard appearances, I&nbsp;believe, as well as most men;&mdash;yet any
one may imagine, that when he could not retreat out of the ravelin
without getting into the half-moon, or get out of the covered-way
without falling down the counterscarp, nor cross the dyke without danger
of slipping into the ditch, but that he must have fretted and fumed
inwardly:&mdash;He did so; and the little and hourly vexations, which
may seem trifling and of no account to the man who has not read
<i>Hippocrates</i>, yet, whoever has read <i>Hippocrates</i>, or Dr.
<i>James Mackenzie</i>, and has considered well the effects which the
passions and affections of the mind have upon the digestion&mdash;(Why
not of a wound as well as of a dinner?)&mdash;may easily conceive what
sharp paroxysms and exacerbations of his wound my uncle <i>Toby</i> must
have undergone upon that score only.</p>

<p>&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> could not philosophize upon
it;&mdash;’twas enough he felt it was so,&mdash;and having sustained the
pain and sorrows of it for three months together, he was resolved some
way or other to extricate himself.</p>

<p>He was one morning lying upon his back in his bed, the anguish and
nature of the wound upon his groin suffering him to lie in no other
position, when a thought came into his head, that if he could purchase
such a thing, and have it pasted down upon a board, as a large map of
the fortification of the town and citadel of <i>Namur</i>, with its
environs, it might be a means of giving him ease.&mdash;I&nbsp;take
notice of his desire to have the environs along with the town and
citadel, for this reason,&mdash;because my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wound was
got in one of the traverses, about thirty toises from
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page61" id = "page61">61</a></span>
the returning angle of the trench, opposite to the salient angle of the
demi-bastion of <i>St. Roch</i>:&mdash;&mdash;so that he was pretty
confident he could stick a pin upon the identical spot of ground where
he was standing on when the stone struck him.</p>

<p>All this succeeded to his wishes, and not only freed him from a world
of sad explanations, but, in the end, it proved the happy means, as you
will read, of procuring my uncle <i>Toby</i> his <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapII" id = "bookII_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> is nothing so foolish, when
you are at the expence of making an entertainment of this kind, as to
order things so badly, as to let your criticks and gentry of refined
taste run it down: Nor is there anything so likely to make them do it,
as that of leaving them out of the party, or, what is full as offensive,
of bestowing your attention upon the rest of your guests in so
particular a way, as if there was no such thing as a critick
(by&nbsp;occupation) at table.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I guard against both; for, in the first place, I have
left half a dozen places purposely open for them;&mdash;and in the next
place, I&nbsp;pay them all court.&mdash;Gentlemen, I&nbsp;kiss your
hands, I&nbsp;protest no company could give me half the
pleasure,&mdash;by my soul I am glad to see
you&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg only you will make no strangers of
yourselves, but sit down without any ceremony, and fall on heartily.</p>

<p>I said I had left six places, and I was upon the point of carrying my
complaisance so far, as to have left a seventh open for them,&mdash;and
in this very spot I stand on; but being told by a Critick (tho’ not by
occupation,&mdash;but by nature) that I had acquitted myself well
enough, I&nbsp;shall fill it up directly, hoping, in the meantime, that
I shall be able to make a great deal of more room next year.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;How, in the name of wonder! could your uncle
<i>Toby</i>, who, it seems, was a military man, and whom you have
represented as no fool,&mdash;&mdash;be at the same time such a
confused, pudding-headed, muddle-headed, fellow, as&mdash;Go look.</p>

<p>So, Sir Critick, I could have replied; but I scorn it.&mdash;’Tis
language unurbane,&mdash;and only befitting the man who cannot give
clear and satisfactory accounts of things, or dive deep enough into the
first causes of human ignorance and confusion. It is moreover the reply
valiant&mdash;and therefore I reject it: for tho’ it might have suited
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> character as a soldier excellently
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page62" id = "page62">62</a></span>
well, and had he not accustomed himself, in such attacks, to whistle the
<i>Lillabullero</i>, as he wanted no courage, ’tis the very answer he
would have given; yet it would by no means have done for me. You see as
plain as can be, that I write as a man of erudition;&mdash;that even my
similies, my allusions, my illustrations, my metaphors, are
erudite,&mdash;and that I must sustain my character properly, and
contrast it properly too,&mdash;else what would become of me? Why, Sir,
I&nbsp;should be undone;&mdash;at this very moment that I am going here
to fill up one place against a critick,&mdash;I&nbsp;should have made an
opening for a couple.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Therefore I answer thus:</p>

<p>Pray, Sir, in all the reading which you have ever read, did you ever
read such a book as <i>Locke’s</i> Essay upon the Human
Understanding?&mdash;&mdash;Don’t answer me rashly&mdash;because many,
I&nbsp;know, quote the book, who have not read it&mdash;and many have
read it who understand it not:&mdash;If either of these is your case, as
I write to instruct, I&nbsp;will tell you in three words what the book
is.&mdash;It is a history.&mdash;A&nbsp;history! of who? what? where?
when? Don’t hurry yourself&mdash;&mdash;It is a history-book, Sir (which
may possibly recommend it to the world) of what passes in a man’s own
mind; and if you will say so much of the book, and no more, believe me,
you will cut no contemptible figure in a metaphysick circle.</p>

<p>But this by the way.</p>

<p>Now if you will venture to go along with me, and look down into the
bottom of this matter, it will be found that the cause of obscurity and
confusion, in the mind of a man, is threefold.</p>

<p>Dull organs, dear Sir, in the first place. Secondly, slight and
transient impressions made by the objects, when the said organs are not
dull. And thirdly, a&nbsp;memory like unto a sieve, not able to retain
what it has received.&mdash;Call down <i>Dolly</i> your chambermaid, and
I will give you my cap and bell along with it, if I make not this matter
so plain that <i>Dolly</i> herself should understand it as well as
<i>Malbranch</i>.&mdash;&mdash;When <i>Dolly</i> has indited her epistle
to <i>Robin</i>, and has thrust her arm into the bottom of her pocket
hanging by her right side;&mdash;take that opportunity to recollect that
the organs and faculties of perception can, by nothing in this world, be
so aptly typified and explained as by that one thing which
<i>Dolly’s</i> hand is in search of.&mdash;Your organs are not so dull
that I should inform you&mdash;’tis an inch, Sir, of red seal-wax.</p>

<p>When this is melted, and dropped upon the letter, if <i>Dolly</i>
fumbles too long for her thimble, till the wax is over hardened, it will
not receive the mark of her thimble from the usual impulse
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page63" id = "page63">63</a></span>
which was wont to imprint it. Very well. If <i>Dolly’s</i> wax, for want
of better, is bees-wax, or of a temper too soft,&mdash;tho’ it may
receive,&mdash;it will not hold the impression, how hard soever
<i>Dolly</i> thrusts against it; and last of all, supposing the wax
good, and eke the thimble, but applied thereto in careless haste, as her
Mistress rings the bell;&mdash;&mdash;in any one of these three cases
the print left by the thimble will be as unlike the prototype as a
brass-jack.</p>

<p>Now you must understand that not one of these was the true cause of
the confusion in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> discourse; and it is for that
very reason I enlarge upon them so long, after the manner of great
physiologists&mdash;to shew the world, what it did <i>not</i> arise
from.</p>

<p>What it did arise from, I have hinted above, and a fertile source of
obscurity it is,&mdash;and ever will be,&mdash;and that is the unsteady
uses of words, which have perplexed the clearest and most exalted
understandings.</p>

<p>It is ten to one (at <i>Arthur’s</i>) whether you have ever read the
literary histories of past ages;&mdash;if you have, what terrible
battles, <ins class = "correction"
title = "apostrophe in original">’yclept</ins> logomachies, have they occasioned and
perpetuated with so much gall and ink-shed,&mdash;that a good-natured
man cannot read the accounts of them without tears in his eyes.</p>

<p>Gentle critick! when thou hast weighed all this, and considered
within thyself how much of thy own knowledge, discourse, and
conversation has been pestered and disordered at one time or other, by
this, and this only:&mdash;What a pudder and racket in <span class =
"smallcaps">Councils</span> about <ins class = "correction greek" title
= "ousia [printed ούσία]">οὐσία</ins> and <span class = "greek" title =
"hupostasis">ὑπόστασις</span>; and in the <span class =
"smallcaps">Schools</span> of the learned about power and about
spirit;&mdash;about essences, and about
quintessences;&mdash;&mdash;about substances, and about
space.&mdash;&mdash;What confusion in greater <span class =
"smallcaps">Theatres</span> from words of little meaning, and as
indeterminate a sense! when thou considerest this, thou wilt not wonder
at my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> perplexities,&mdash;thou wilt drop a tear of
pity upon his scarp and his counterscarp;&mdash;his glacis and his
covered way;&mdash;his ravelin and his half-moon: ’Twas not by
ideas,&mdash;by Heaven; his life was put in jeopardy by words.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapIII" id = "bookII_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> got his
map of <i>Namur</i> to his mind, he began immediately to apply himself,
and with the utmost diligence, to the study of it; for nothing being of
more
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page64" id = "page64">64</a></span>
importance to him than his recovery, and his recovery depending, as you
have read, upon the passions and affections of his mind, it behoved him
to take the nicest care to make himself so far master of his subject, as
to be able to talk upon it without emotion.</p>

<p>In a fortnight’s close and painful application, which, by the bye,
did my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wound, upon his groin, no good,&mdash;he was
enabled, by the help of some marginal documents at the feet of the
elephant, together with <i>Gobesius’s</i> military architecture and
pyroballogy, translated from the <i>Flemish</i>, to form his discourse
with passable perspicuity; and before he was two full months
gone,&mdash;he was right eloquent upon it, and could make not only the
attack of the advanced counterscarp with great order;&mdash;&mdash;but
having, by that time, gone much deeper into the art, than what his first
motive made necessary, my uncle <i>Toby</i> was able to cross the
<i>Maes</i> and <i>Sambre</i>; make diversions as far as <i>Vauban’s</i>
line, the abbey of <i>Salsines</i>, etc., and give his visitors as
distinct a history of each of their attacks, as of that of the gate of
<i>St. Nicolas</i>, where he had the honour to receive his wound.</p>

<p>But desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, increases ever
with the acquisition of it. The more my uncle <i>Toby</i> pored over his
map, the more he took a liking to it!&mdash;by the same process and
electrical assimilation, as I told you, through which I ween the souls
of connoisseurs themselves, by long friction and incumbition, have the
happiness, at length, to get all
be-virtu’d&mdash;be-pictured,&mdash;be-butterflied, and befiddled.</p>

<p>The more my uncle <i>Toby</i> drank of this sweet fountain of
science, the greater was the heat and impatience of his thirst, so that
before the first year of his confinement had well gone round, there was
scarce a fortified town in <i>Italy</i> or <i>Flanders</i>, of which, by
one means or other, he had not procured a plan, reading over as he got
them, and carefully collating therewith the histories of their sieges,
their demolitions, their improvements, and new works, all which he would
read with that intense application and delight, that he would forget
himself, his wound, his confinement, his dinner.</p>

<p>In the second year my uncle <i>Toby</i> purchased <i>Ramelli</i> and
<i>Cataneo</i>, translated from the <i>Italian</i>;&mdash;likewise
<i>Stevinus</i>, <i>Moralis</i>, the Chevalier <i>de Ville</i>,
<i>Lorini</i>, <i>Cochorn</i>, <i>Sheeter</i>, the Count <i>de
Pagan</i>, the Marshal <i>Vauban</i>, Mons. <i>Blondel</i>, with almost
as many more books of military architecture, as Don <i>Quixote</i> was
found to have of chivalry, when the curate and barber invaded his
library.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page65" id = "page65">65</a></span>
<p>Towards the beginning of the third year, which was in <i>August</i>,
ninety-nine, my uncle <i>Toby</i> found it necessary to understand a
little of projectiles:&mdash;and having judged it best to draw his
knowledge from the fountain-head, he began with <i>N. Tartaglia</i>, who
it seems was the first man who detected the imposition of a
cannon-ball’s doing all that mischief under the notion of a right
line&mdash;This <i>N.&nbsp;Tartaglia</i> proved to my uncle <i>Toby</i>
to be an impossible thing.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Endless is the search of Truth.</p>

<p>No sooner was my uncle <i>Toby</i> satisfied which road the
cannon-ball did not go, but he was insensibly led on, and resolved in
his mind to enquire and find out which road the ball did go: For which
purpose he was obliged to set off afresh with old <i>Maltus</i>, and
studied him devoutly.&mdash;He proceeded next to <i>Galileo</i> and
<i>Torricellius</i>, wherein, by certain Geometrical rules, infallibly
laid down, he found the precise part to be a <span class =
"smallcaps">Parabola</span>&mdash;or else an <span class =
"smallcaps">Hyperbola</span>,&mdash;and that the parameter, or <i>latus
rectum</i>, of the conic section of the said path, was to the quantity
and amplitude in a direct <i>ratio</i>, as the whole line to the sine of
double the angle of incidence, formed by the breech upon an horizontal
plane;&mdash;and that the semiparameter,&mdash;&mdash;stop! my dear
uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;stop!&mdash;go not one foot farther into
this thorny and bewildered track,&mdash;intricate are the steps!
intricate are the mazes of this labyrinth! intricate are the troubles
which the pursuit of this bewitching phantom <span class =
"smallcaps">Knowledge</span> will bring upon thee.&mdash;O my
uncle;&mdash;fly&mdash;fly, fly from it as from a
serpent.&mdash;&mdash;Is it fit&mdash;&mdash;good-natured man! thou
should’st sit up, with the wound upon thy groin, whole nights baking thy
blood with hectic watchings?&mdash;&mdash;Alas! ’twill exasperate thy
symptoms,&mdash;check thy perspirations&mdash;evaporate thy
spirits&mdash;waste thy animal strength,&mdash;dry up thy radical
moisture, bring thee into a costive habit of body,&mdash;&mdash;impair
thy health,&mdash;&mdash;and hasten all the infirmities of thy old
age.&mdash;&mdash;O my uncle! my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapIV" id = "bookII_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I would</span> not give a groat for that
man’s knowledge in pencraft, who does not understand
this,&mdash;&mdash;That the best plain narrative in the world, tacked
very close to the last spirited apostrophe to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;would have felt both cold and vapid upon the
reader’s palate;&mdash;therefore I forthwith put an end to the chapter,
though I was in the middle of my story.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page66" id = "page66">66</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Writers of my stamp have one principle in common
with painters. Where an exact copying makes our pictures less striking,
we choose the less evil; deeming it even more pardonable to trespass
against truth, than beauty. This is to be understood <i>cum grano
salis</i>; but be it as it will,&mdash;as the parallel is made more for
the sake of letting the apostrophe cool, than any thing else,&mdash;’tis
not very material whether upon any other score the reader approves of it
or not.</p>

<p>In the latter end of the third year, my uncle <i>Toby</i> perceiving
that the parameter and semiparameter of the conic section angered his
wound, he left off the study of projectiles in a kind of a huff, and
betook himself to the practical part of fortification only; the pleasure
of which, like a spring held back, returned upon him with redoubled
force.</p>

<p>It was in this year that my uncle began to break in upon the daily
regularity of a clean shirt,&mdash;&mdash;to dismiss his barber
unshaven,&mdash;&mdash;and to allow his surgeon scarce time sufficient
to dress his wound, concerning himself so little about it, as not to ask
him once in seven times dressing, how it went on: when, lo!&mdash;all of
a sudden, for the change was quick as lightning, he began to sigh
heavily for his recovery,&mdash;&mdash;complained to my father, grew
impatient with the surgeon:&mdash;&mdash;and one morning, as he heard
his foot coming up stairs, he shut up his books, and thrust aside his
instruments, in order to expostulate with him upon the protraction of
the cure, which, he told him, might surely have been accomplished at
least by that time:&mdash;He dwelt long upon the miseries he had
undergone, and the sorrows of his four years melancholy
imprisonment;&mdash;adding, that had it not been for the kind looks and
fraternal chearings of the best of brothers,&mdash;he had long since
sunk under his misfortunes.&mdash;&mdash;My father was by: My uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> eloquence brought tears into his eyes;&mdash;&mdash;’twas
unexpected:&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i>, by nature was not
eloquent;&mdash;it had the greater effect:&mdash;&mdash;The surgeon was
confounded;&mdash;&mdash;not that there wanted grounds for such, or
greater marks of impatience,&mdash;but ’twas unexpected too; in the four
years he had attended him, he had never seen anything like it in my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> carriage; he had never once dropped one fretful or
discontented word;&mdash;&mdash;he had been all patience,&mdash;all
submission.</p>

<p>&mdash;We lose the right of complaining sometimes by forbearing
it;&mdash;but we often treble the force:&mdash;The surgeon was
astonished; but much more so, when he heard my uncle <i>Toby</i> go on,
and peremptorily insist upon his healing up the wound directly,&mdash;or
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page67" id = "page67">67</a></span>
sending for Monsieur <i>Ronjat</i>, the king’s serjeant-surgeon, to do
it for him.</p>

<p>The desire of life and health is implanted in man’s
nature;&mdash;&mdash;the love of liberty and enlargement is a
sister-passion to it: These my uncle <i>Toby</i> had in common with his
species;&mdash;&mdash;and either of them had been sufficient to account
for his earnest desire to get well and out of doors;&mdash;&mdash;but I
have told you before, that nothing wrought with our family after the
common way;&mdash;&mdash;and from the time and manner in which this
eager desire shewed itself in the present case, the penetrating reader
will suspect there was some other cause or crotchet for it in my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> head:&mdash;&mdash;There was so, and ’tis the subject of
the next chapter to set forth what that cause and crotchet was.
I&nbsp;own, when that’s done, ’twill be time to return back to the
parlour fire-side, where we left my uncle <i>Toby</i> in the middle of
his sentence.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapV" id = "bookII_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> a man gives himself up to the
government of a ruling passion,&mdash;or, in other words, when his <span
class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> grows
headstrong,&mdash;&mdash;farewel cool reason and fair discretion!</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wound was near well, and as soon as the
surgeon recovered his surprize, and could get leave to say as
much&mdash;&mdash;he told him, ’twas just beginning to incarnate; and
that if no fresh exfoliation happened, which there was no sign
of,&mdash;it would be dried up in five or six weeks. The sound of as
many Olympiads, twelve hours before, would have conveyed an idea of
shorter duration to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind.&mdash;&mdash;The
succession of his ideas was now rapid,&mdash;he broiled with impatience
to put his design in execution;&mdash;&mdash;and so, without consulting
farther with any soul living,&mdash;which, by the bye, I&nbsp;think is
right, when you are predetermined to take no one soul’s
advice,&mdash;&mdash;he privately ordered <i>Trim</i>, his man, to pack
up a bundle of lint and dressings, and hire a chariot-and-four to be at
the door exactly by twelve o’clock that day, when he knew my father
would be upon ’Change.&mdash;&mdash;So leaving a banknote upon the table
for the surgeon’s care of him, and a letter of tender thanks for his
brother’s&mdash;he packed up his maps, his books of fortification, his
instruments, &amp;c., and by the help of a crutch on one side, and
<i>Trim</i> on the other,&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> embarked for
<i>Shandy-Hall</i>.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page68" id = "page68">68</a></span>
<p>The reason, or rather the rise of this sudden demigration was as
follows:</p>

<p>The table in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> room, and at which, the night
before this change happened, he was sitting with his maps, &amp;c.,
about him&mdash;being somewhat of the smallest, for that infinity of
great and small instruments of knowledge which usually lay crowded upon
it&mdash;he had the accident, in reaching over for his tobacco-box, to
throw down his compasses, and in stooping to take the compasses up, with
his sleeve he threw down his case of instruments and snuffers;&mdash;and
as the dice took a run against him, in his endeavouring to catch the
snuffers in falling,&mdash;&mdash;he thrust Monsieur <i>Blondel</i> off
the table, and Count <i>de Pagan</i> o’top of him.</p>

<p>’Twas to no purpose for a man, lame as my uncle <i>Toby</i> was, to
think of redressing these evils by himself,&mdash;he rung his bell for
his man <i>Trim</i>;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, prithee see what confusion I have here been
making&mdash;I&nbsp;must have some better contrivance,
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Can’st not thou take my rule, and measure the
length and breadth of this table, and then go and bespeak me one as big
again?&mdash;&mdash;Yes, an’ please your Honour, replied <i>Trim</i>,
making a bow; but I hope your Honour will be soon well enough to get
down to your country-seat, where,&mdash;as your Honour takes so much
pleasure in fortification, we could manage this matter to a&nbsp;T.</p>

<p>I must here inform you, that this servant of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>,
who went by the name of <i>Trim</i>, had been a corporal in my uncle’s
own company,&mdash;his real name was <i>James Butler</i>,&mdash;but
having got the nick-name of <i>Trim</i> in the regiment, my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, unless when he happened to be very angry with him, would
never call him by any other name.</p>

<p>The poor fellow had been disabled for the service, by a wound on his
left knee by a musket-bullet, at the battle of <i>Landen</i>, which was
two years before the affair of <i>Namur</i>;&mdash;and as the fellow was
well-beloved in the regiment, and a handy fellow into the bargain, my
uncle <i>Toby</i> took him for his servant; and of an excellent use was
he, attending my uncle <i>Toby</i> in the camp and in his quarters as a
valet, groom, barber, cook, sempster, and nurse; and indeed, from first
to last, waited upon him and served him with great fidelity and
affection.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> loved the man in return, and what attached him
more to him still, was the similitude of their
knowledge.&mdash;&mdash;For Corporal <i>Trim</i> (for so, for the
future, I&nbsp;shall call him), by four years occasional attention to
his Master’s discourse upon
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page69" id = "page69">69</a></span>
fortified towns, and the advantage of prying and peeping continually
into his Master’s plans, &amp;c., exclusive and besides what he gained
<span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horsically</span>, as a body-servant,
<i>Non Hobby Horsical per se</i>;&mdash;&mdash;had become no mean
proficient in the science; and was thought, by the cook and
chamber-maid, to know as much of the nature of strongholds as my uncle
<i>Toby</i> himself.</p>

<p>I have but one more stroke to give to finish Corporal <i>Trim’s</i>
character,&mdash;&mdash;and it is the only dark line in it.&mdash;The
fellow loved to advise,&mdash;or rather to hear himself talk; his
carriage, however, was so perfectly respectful, ’twas easy to keep him
silent when you had him so; but set his tongue a-going,&mdash;you had no
hold of him&mdash;he was voluble;&mdash;the eternal interlardings of
<i>your Honour</i>, with the respectfulness of Corporal <i>Trim’s</i>
manner, interceding so strong in behalf of his elocution,&mdash;that
though you might have been incommoded,&mdash;&mdash;you could not well
be angry. My uncle <i>Toby</i> was seldom either the one or the other
with him,&mdash;or, at least, this fault, in <i>Trim</i>, broke no
squares with them. My uncle <i>Toby</i>, as I said, loved the
man;&mdash;&mdash;and besides, as he ever looked upon a faithful
servant,&mdash;but as an humble friend,&mdash;he could not bear to stop
his mouth.&mdash;&mdash;Such was Corporal <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>If I durst presume, continued <i>Trim</i>, to give your Honour my
advice, and speak my opinion in this matter.&mdash;Thou art welcome,
<i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;speak,&mdash;&mdash;speak
what thou thinkest upon the subject, man, without fear. Why then,
replied <i>Trim</i> (not hanging his ears and scratching his head like a
country-lout, but) stroking his hair back from his forehead, and
standing erect as before his division,&mdash;I&nbsp;think, quoth
<i>Trim</i>, advancing his left, which was his lame leg, a&nbsp;little
forwards,&mdash;and pointing with his right hand open towards a map of
<i>Dunkirk</i>, which was pinned against the
hangings,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think, quoth Corporal <i>Trim</i>, with
humble submission to your Honour’s better judgment,&mdash;&mdash;that
these ravelins, bastions, curtins, and horn-works, make but a poor,
contemptible, fiddle-faddle piece of work of it here upon paper,
compared to what your Honour and I could make of it were we in the
country by ourselves, and had but a rood, or a rood and a half of ground
to do what we pleased with: As summer is coming on, continued
<i>Trim</i>, your Honour might sit out of doors, and give me the
nography&mdash;(Call it ichnography, quoth my uncle)&mdash;&mdash;of the
town or citadel, your Honour was pleased to sit down before,&mdash;and I
will be shot by your Honour upon the glacis of it, if I did not fortify
it to your Honour’s mind&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;dare say thou would’st,
<i>Trim</i>,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page70" id = "page70">70</a></span>
quoth my uncle.&mdash;For if your Honour, continued the Corporal, could
but mark me the polygon, with its exact lines and angles&mdash;That I
could do very well, quoth my uncle.&mdash;I&nbsp;would begin with the
fossé, and if your Honour could tell me the proper depth and
breadth&mdash;I&nbsp;can to a hair’s breadth, <i>Trim</i>, replied my
uncle.&mdash;I&nbsp;would throw out the earth upon this hand towards the
town for the scarp,&mdash;and on that hand towards the campaign for the
counterscarp.&mdash;Very right, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>:&mdash;&mdash;And when I had sloped them to your
mind,&mdash;&mdash;an’ please your Honour, I&nbsp;would face the glacis,
as the finest fortifications are done in <i>Flanders</i>, with
sods,&mdash;&mdash;and as your Honour knows they should be,&mdash;and I
would make the walls and parapets with sods too.&mdash;The best
engineers call them gazons, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Whether they are gazons or sods, is not much
matter, replied <i>Trim</i>; your Honour knows they are ten times beyond
a facing either of brick or stone.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know they are,
<i>Trim</i>, in some respects,&mdash;&mdash;quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
nodding his head;&mdash;for a cannon-ball enters into the gazon right
onwards, without bringing any rubbish down with it, which might fill the
fossé (as&nbsp;was the case at <i>St. Nicolas’s</i> gate), and
facilitate the passage over&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Your Honour understands these matters, replied Corporal <i>Trim</i>,
better than any officer in his Majesty’s service;&mdash;&mdash;but would
your Honour please to let the bespeaking of the table alone, and let us
but go into the country, I&nbsp;would work under your Honour’s
directions like a horse, and make fortifications for you something like
a tansy, with all their batteries, saps, ditches, and palisadoes, that
it should be worth all the world’s riding twenty miles to go and
see&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> blushed as red as scarlet as <i>Trim</i> went
on;&mdash;but it was not a blush of guilt,&mdash;of modesty,&mdash;or of
anger,&mdash;it was a blush of joy;&mdash;he was fired with Corporal
<i>Trim’s</i> project and description.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim!</i> said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, thou hast said enough.&mdash;We might begin the
campaign, continued <i>Trim</i>, on the very day that his Majesty and
the Allies take the field, and demolish them town by town as fast
as&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, say no more. Your
Honour, continued <i>Trim</i>, might sit in your arm-chair (pointing
to&nbsp;it) this fine weather, giving me your orders, and I
would&mdash;&mdash;Say no more, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;Besides, your Honour would get not only
pleasure and good pastime,&mdash;but good air, and good exercise, and
good health,&mdash;and your Honour’s wound would be well in a month.
Thou hast said enough, <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>
(putting his
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page71" id = "page71">71</a></span>
hand into his breeches-pocket)&mdash;&mdash;I like thy project
mightily.&mdash;And if your Honour pleases, I’ll this moment go and buy
a pioneer’s spade to take down with us, and I’ll bespeak a shovel and a
pick-axe, and a couple of&mdash;&mdash;Say no more, <i>Trim</i>, quoth
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, leaping up upon one leg, quite overcome with
rapture,&mdash;and thrusting a guinea into <i>Trim’s</i>
hand,&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, say no
more;&mdash;but go down, <i>Trim</i>, this moment, my lad, and bring up
my supper this instant.</p>

<p><i>Trim</i> ran down and brought up his master’s
supper,&mdash;&mdash;to no purpose:&mdash;<i>Trim’s</i> plan of
operation ran so in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> head, he could not taste
it.&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, get me to
bed.&mdash;’Twas all one.&mdash;Corporal <i>Trim’s</i> description had
fired his imagination,&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> could not shut his
eyes.&mdash;The more he considered it, the more bewitching the scene
appeared to him;&mdash;so that, two full hours before day-light, he had
come to a final determination, and had concerted the whole plan of his
and Corporal <i>Trim’s</i> decampment.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> had a little neat country-house of his own, in
the village where my father’s estate lay at <i>Shandy</i>, which had
been left him by an old uncle, with a small estate of about one hundred
pounds a-year. Behind this house, and contiguous to it, was a
kitchen-garden of about half an acre; and at the bottom of the garden,
and cut off from it by a tall yew hedge, was a bowling-green, containing
just about as much ground as Corporal <i>Trim</i> wished for;&mdash;so
that as <i>Trim</i> uttered the words, “A&nbsp;rood and a half of ground
to do what they would with,”&mdash;this identical bowling-green
instantly presented itself, and became curiously painted all at once,
upon the retina of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> fancy;&mdash;which was the
physical cause of making him change colour, or at least of heightening
his blush, to that immoderate degree I spoke&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>Never did lover post down to a beloved mistress with more heat and
expectation, than my uncle <i>Toby</i> did, to enjoy this self-same
thing in private;&mdash;I&nbsp;say in private;&mdash;for it was
sheltered from the house, as I told you, by a tall yew hedge, and was
covered on the other three sides, from mortal sight, by rough holly and
thick-set flowering shrubs:&mdash;so that the idea of not being seen,
did not a little contribute to the idea of pleasure pre-conceived in my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind.&mdash;Vain thought! however thick it was
planted about,&mdash;&mdash;or private soever it might seem,&mdash;to
think, dear uncle <i>Toby</i>, of enjoying a thing which took up a whole
rood and a half of ground,&mdash;&mdash;and not have it known!</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page72" id = "page72">72</a></span>
<p>How my uncle <i>Toby</i> and Corporal <i>Trim</i> managed this
matter,&mdash;&mdash;with the history of their campaigns, which were no
way barren of events,&mdash;&mdash;may make no uninteresting under-plot
in the epitasis and working-up of this drama.&mdash;At present the scene
must drop,&mdash;and change for the parlour fire-side.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapVI" id = "bookII_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;What can they be doing, brother? said my
father.&mdash;I think, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;taking, as I
told you, his pipe from his mouth, and striking the ashes out of it as
he began his sentence;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think, replied he,&mdash;it
would not be amiss, brother, if we rung the bell.</p>

<p>Pray, what’s all that racket over our heads,
<i>Obadiah?</i>&mdash;&mdash;quoth my father;&mdash;&mdash;my brother
and I can scarce hear ourselves speak.</p>

<p>Sir, answered <i>Obadiah</i>, making a bow towards his left
shoulder,&mdash;my Mistress is taken very badly.&mdash;And where’s
<i>Susannah</i> running down the garden there, as if they were going to
ravish her?&mdash;&mdash;Sir, she is running the shortest cut into the
town, replied <i>Obadiah</i>, to fetch the old midwife.&mdash;Then
saddle a horse, quoth my father, and do you go directly for Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, the man-midwife, with all our services,&mdash;&mdash;and
let him know your mistress is fallen into labour&mdash;&mdash;and that I
desire he will return with you with all speed.</p>

<p>It is very strange, says my father, addressing himself to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, as <i>Obadiah</i> shut the door,&mdash;&mdash;as there is
so expert an operator as Dr. <i>Slop</i> so near,&mdash;that my wife
should persist to the very last in this obstinate humour of hers, in
trusting the life of my child, who has had one misfortune already, to
the ignorance of an old woman;&mdash;&mdash;and not only the life of my
child, brother,&mdash;&mdash;but her own life, and with it the lives of
all the children I might, peradventure, have begot out of her
hereafter.</p>

<p>Mayhap, brother, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, my sister does it to
save the expense:&mdash;A&nbsp;pudding’s end,&mdash;replied my
father,&mdash;&mdash;the Doctor must be paid the same for inaction as
action,&mdash;&mdash;if not better,&mdash;to keep him in temper.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then it can be out of nothing in the whole world, quoth
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in the simplicity of his heart,&mdash;but <span
class = "smallcaps">Modesty</span>.&mdash;My sister, I&nbsp;dare say,
added he, does not care to let a man come so near her ****. I&nbsp;will
not say whether my uncle <i>Toby</i> had
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page73" id = "page73">73</a></span>
completed the sentence or not;&mdash;&mdash;’tis for his advantage to
suppose he had,&mdash;&mdash;as, I&nbsp;think, he could have added no
<span class = "smallcaps">One Word</span> which would have
improved&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>If, on the contrary, my uncle <i>Toby</i> had not fully arrived at
the period’s end,&mdash;then the world stands indebted to the sudden
snapping of my father’s tobacco-pipe for one of the neatest examples of
that ornamental figure in oratory, which Rhetoricians stile the
<i>Aposiopesis</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Just Heaven! how does the <i>Poco
piu</i> and the <i>Poco meno</i> of the <i>Italian</i>
artists;&mdash;the insensible <span class = "smallroman">MORE OR
LESS</span>, determine the precise line of beauty in the sentence, as
well as in the statute! How do the slight touches of the chisel, the
pencil, the pen, the fiddle-stick, <i>et cætera</i>,&mdash;give the true
swell, which gives the true pleasure!&mdash;O my countrymen;&mdash;be
nice;&mdash;be cautious of your language;&mdash;and never, O! never let
it be forgotten upon what small particles your eloquence and your fame
depend.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;“My sister, mayhap,” quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, “does
not choose to let a man come so near her ****.” Make this
dash,&mdash;’tis an Aposiopesis.&mdash;Take the dash away, and write
<i>Backside</i>,&mdash;&mdash;’tis Bawdy.&mdash;Scratch Backside out,
and put <i>Cover’d way</i> in, ’tis a Metaphor;&mdash;and, I&nbsp;dare
say, as fortification ran so much in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> head, that
if he had been left to have added one word to the
sentence,&mdash;&mdash;that word was&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>But whether that was the case or not the case;&mdash;or whether the
snapping of my father’s tobacco-pipe, so critically, happened through
accident or anger, will be seen in due time.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapVII" id = "bookII_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Tho</span>’ my father was a good natural
philosopher,&mdash;yet he was something of a moral philosopher too; for
which reason, when his tobacco-pipe snapp’d short in the
middle,&mdash;he had nothing to do, as such, but to have taken hold of
the two pieces, and thrown them gently upon the back of the
fire.&mdash;&mdash;He did no such thing;&mdash;&mdash;he threw them with
all the violence in the world;&mdash;and, to give the action still more
emphasis,&mdash;he started upon both his legs to do&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>This looked something like heat;&mdash;and the manner of his reply to
what my uncle <i>Toby</i> was saying, proved it was&nbsp;so.</p>

<p>&mdash;“Not choose,” quoth my father, (repeating my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> words) “to let a man come so near her!”&mdash;&mdash;By
Heaven, brother <i>Toby!</i> you would try the patience of
<i>Job</i>;&mdash;and I think
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page74" id = "page74">74</a></span>
I have the plagues of one already without
it.&mdash;&mdash;Why?&mdash;&mdash;Where?&mdash;&mdash;Wherein?&mdash;&mdash;Wherefore?&mdash;&mdash;Upon
what account? replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in the utmost
astonishment.&mdash;To think, said my father, of a man living to your
age, brother, and knowing so little about
women!&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know nothing at all about them,&mdash;replied
my uncle <i>Toby</i>: And I think, continued he, that the shock I
received the year after the demolition of <i>Dunkirk</i>, in my affair
with widow <i>Wadman</i>;&mdash;which shock you know I should not have
received, but from my total ignorance of the sex,&mdash;has given me
just cause to say, That I neither know nor do pretend to know anything
about ’em or their concerns either.&mdash;Methinks, brother, replied my
father, you might, at least, know so much as the right end of a woman
from the wrong.</p>

<p>It is said in <i>Aristotle’s Master Piece</i>, “That when a man doth
think of anything which is past,&mdash;&mdash;he looketh down upon the
ground;&mdash;&mdash;but that when he thinketh of something that is to
come, he looketh up towards the heavens.”</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i>, I suppose, thought of neither, for he look’d
horizontally.&mdash;Right end! quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, muttering the
two words low to himself, and fixing his two eyes insensibly as he
muttered them, upon a small crevice, formed by a bad joint in the
chimney-piece&mdash;&mdash;Right end of a
woman!&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;declare, quoth my uncle, I&nbsp;know no more
which it is than the man in the moon;&mdash;&mdash;and if I was to
think, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i> (keeping his eye still fixed upon
the bad joint) this month together, I&nbsp;am sure I should not be able
to find it out.</p>

<p>Then, brother <i>Toby</i>, replied my father, I will tell you.</p>

<p>Everything in this world, continued my father (filling a fresh
pipe)&mdash;every thing in this world, my dear brother <i>Toby</i>, has
two handles.&mdash;&mdash;Not always, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;At least, replied my father, everyone has two
hands,&mdash;&mdash;which comes to the same thing.&mdash;&mdash;Now, if
a man was to sit down coolly, and consider within himself the make, the
shape, the construction, come-at-ability, and convenience of all the
parts which constitute the whole of that animal, called Woman, and
compare them analogically&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never understood rightly
the meaning of that word,&mdash;quoth my uncle <span class =
"locked"><i>Toby</i>.&mdash;</span></p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">Analogy</span>, replied my father, is the
certain relation and agreement which different&mdash;&mdash;Here a devil
of a rap at the door snapped my father’s definition (like his
tobacco-pipe) in two,&mdash;and, at the same time, crushed the head of
as notable and curious a dissertation as ever was engendered in the womb
of speculation;&mdash;it was some months before my father could get an
opportunity
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page75" id = "page75">75</a></span>
to be safely delivered of it:&mdash;And, at this hour, it is a thing
full as problematical as the subject of the dissertation
itself,&mdash;(considering the confusion and distresses of our domestick
misadventures, which are now coming thick one upon the back of another)
whether I shall be able to find a place for it in the third volume or
not.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapVIII" id = "bookII_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p>It is about an hour and a half’s tolerable good reading since my
uncle <i>Toby</i> rung the bell, when <i>Obadiah</i> was ordered to
saddle a horse, and go for Dr. <i>Slop</i>, the man-midwife;&mdash;so
that no one can say, with reason, that I have not allowed <i>Obadiah</i>
time enough, poetically speaking, and considering the emergency too,
both to go and come;&mdash;&mdash;though, morally and truly speaking,
the man perhaps has scarce had time to get on his boots.</p>

<p>If the hypercritick will go upon this; and is resolved after all to
take a pendulum, and measure the true distance betwixt the ringing of
the bell, and the rap at the door;&mdash;and, after finding it to be no
more than two minutes, thirteen seconds, and three fifths,&mdash;should
take upon him to insult over me for such a breach in the unity, or
rather probability of time;&mdash;I&nbsp;would remind him, that the idea
of duration, and of its simple modes, is got merely from the train and
succession of our ideas,&mdash;&mdash;and is the true scholastic
pendulum,&mdash;&mdash;and by which, as a scholar, I&nbsp;will be tried
in this matter,&mdash;abjuring and detesting the jurisdiction of all
other pendulums whatever.</p>

<p>I would therefore desire him to consider that it is but poor eight
miles from <i>Shandy-Hall</i> to Dr. <i>Slop</i>, the man-midwife’s
house;&mdash;and that whilst <i>Obadiah</i> has been going those said
miles and back, I&nbsp;have brought my uncle <i>Toby</i> from
<i>Namur</i>, quite across all <i>Flanders</i>, into
<i>England</i>:&mdash;That I have had him ill upon my hands near four
years;&mdash;and have since travelled him and Corporal <i>Trim</i> in a
chariot-and-four, a&nbsp;journey of near two hundred miles down into
<i>Yorkshire</i>,&mdash;&mdash;all which put together, must have
prepared the reader’s imagination for the entrance of Dr. <i>Slop</i>
upon the stage,&mdash;as much, at least (I&nbsp;hope) as a dance,
a&nbsp;song, or a concerto between the acts.</p>

<p>If my hypercritick is intractable, alledging, that two minutes and
thirteen seconds are no more than two minutes and thirteen
seconds,&mdash;when I have said all I can about them; and that this
plea, though it might save me dramatically, will damn me biographically,
rendering my book from this very moment, a&nbsp;<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page76" id = "page76">76</a></span>
professed <span class = "smallcaps">Romance</span>, which, before, was a
book apocryphal:&mdash;&mdash;If I am thus pressed&mdash;I&nbsp;then put
an end to the whole objection and controversy about it all at
once,&mdash;&mdash;by acquainting him, that <i>Obadiah</i> had not got
above threescore yards from the stable-yard before he met with Dr.
<i>Slop</i>;&mdash;and indeed he gave a dirty proof that he had met with
him, and was within an ace of giving a tragical one too.</p>

<p>Imagine to yourself;&mdash;but this had better begin a new
chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapIX" id = "bookII_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Imagine</span> to yourself a little squat,
uncourtly figure of a Doctor <i>Slop</i>, of about four feet and a half
perpendicular height, with a breadth of back, and a sesquipedality of
belly, which might have done honour to a serjeant in the
horse-guards.</p>

<p>Such were the out-lines of Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> figure, which,&mdash;if
you have read <i>Hogarth’s</i> analysis of beauty, and if you have not,
I&nbsp;wish you would;&mdash;&mdash;you must know, may as certainly be
caricatured, and conveyed to the mind by three strokes as three
hundred.</p>

<p>Imagine such a one,&mdash;&mdash;for such, I say, were the outlines
of Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> figure, coming slowly along, foot by foot, waddling
thro’ the dirt upon the vertebræ of a little diminutive pony, of a
pretty colour&mdash;&mdash;but of
strength,&mdash;&mdash;alack!&mdash;&mdash;scarce able to have made an
amble of it, under such a fardel, had the roads been in an ambling
condition.&mdash;&mdash;They were not.&mdash;&mdash;Imagine to yourself,
<i>Obadiah</i> mounted upon a strong monster of a coach-horse, pricked
into a full gallop, and making all practicable speed the adverse
way.</p>

<p>Pray, Sir, let me interest you a moment in this description.</p>

<p>Had Dr. <i>Slop</i> beheld <i>Obadiah</i> a mile off, posting in a
narrow lane directly towards him, at that monstrous
rate,&mdash;splashing and plunging like a devil thro’ thick and thin, as
he approached, would not such a phænomenon, with such a vortex of mud
and water moving along with it, round its axis,&mdash;have been a
subject of juster apprehension to Dr. <i>Slop</i> in his situation, than
the <i>worst</i> of <i>Whiston’s</i> comets?&mdash;To say nothing of the
<span class = "smallcaps">Nucleus</span>; that is, of <i>Obadiah</i> and
the coach-horse.&mdash;In my idea, the vortex alone of ’em was enough to
have involved and carried, if not the doctor, at least the doctor’s
pony, quite away with it. What then do you think must the terror and
hydrophobia of Dr. <i>Slop</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page77" id = "page77">77</a></span>
have been, when you read (which you are just going to&nbsp;do) that he
was advancing thus warily along towards <i>Shandy-Hall</i>, and had
approached to within sixty yards of it, and within five yards of a
sudden turn, made by an acute angle of the garden-wall,&mdash;and in the
dirtiest part of a dirty lane,&mdash;when <i>Obadiah</i> and his
coach-horse turned the corner, rapid, furious,&mdash;pop,&mdash;full
upon him!&mdash;Nothing, I&nbsp;think, in nature, can be supposed more
terrible than such a rencounter,&mdash;so imprompt! so ill prepared to
stand the shock of it as Dr. <i>Slop</i> was.</p>

<p>What could Dr. <i>Slop</i> do?&mdash;&mdash;he crossed himself +
&mdash;Pugh!&mdash;but the doctor, Sir, was a Papist.&mdash;No matter;
he had better have kept hold of the pummel&mdash;He had so;&mdash;nay,
as it happened, he had better have done nothing at all; for in crossing
himself he let go his whip,&mdash;&mdash;and in attempting to save his
whip betwixt his knee and his saddle’s skirt, as it slipped, he lost his
stirrup,&mdash;&mdash;in losing which he lost his seat;&mdash;&mdash;and
in the multitude of all these losses (which, by the bye, shews what
little advantage there is in crossing) the unfortunate doctor lost his
presence of mind. So that without waiting for <i>Obadiah’s</i> onset, he
left his pony to its destiny, tumbling off it diagonally, something in
the stile and manner of a pack of wool, and without any other
consequence from the fall, save that of being left (as&nbsp;it would
have been) with the broadest part of him sunk about twelve inches deep
in the mire.</p>

<p><i>Obadiah</i> pull’d off his cap twice to Dr.
<i>Slop</i>;&mdash;once as he was falling,&mdash;and then again when he
saw him seated.&mdash;&mdash;Ill-timed complaisance;&mdash;had not the
fellow better have stopped his horse, and got off and help’d
him?&mdash;Sir, he did all that his situation would allow;&mdash;but the
<span class = "smallcaps">Momentum</span> of the coach-horse was so
great, that <i>Obadiah</i> could not do it all at once; he rode in a
circle three times round Dr. <i>Slop</i>, before he could fully
accomplish it any how;&mdash;and at the last, when he did stop his
beast, ’twas done with such an explosion of mud, that <i>Obadiah</i> had
better have been a league off. In short, never was a Dr. <i>Slop</i> so
beluted, and so transubstantiated, since that affair came into
fashion.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapX" id = "bookII_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> Dr. <i>Slop</i> entered the
back parlour, where my father and my uncle <i>Toby</i> were discoursing
upon the nature of women,&mdash;&mdash;it was hard to determine whether
Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> figure, or Dr. <i>Slop’s</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page78" id = "page78">78</a></span>
presence, occasioned more surprize to them; for as the accident happened
so near the house, as not to make it worth while for <i>Obadiah</i> to
remount him,&mdash;&mdash;Obadiah had led him in as he was,
<i>unwiped</i>, <i>unappointed</i>, <i>unannealed</i>, with all his
stains and blotches on him.&mdash;He stood like <i>Hamlet’s</i> ghost,
motionless and speechless, for a full minute and a half at the
parlour-door (<i>Obadiah</i> still holding his hand) with all the
majesty of mud. His hinder parts, upon which he had received his fall,
totally besmeared,&mdash;&mdash;and in every other part of him, blotched
over in such a manner with <i>Obadiah’s</i> explosion, that you would
have sworn (without mental reservation) that every grain of it had taken
effect.</p>

<p>Here was a fair opportunity for my uncle <i>Toby</i> to have
triumphed over my father in his turn;&mdash;for no mortal, who had
beheld Dr. <i>Slop</i> in that pickle, could have dissented from so much
at least, of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> opinion, “That mayhap his sister
might not care to let such a Dr. <i>Slop</i> come so near her ****.” But
it was the <i>Argumentum ad hominem</i>; and if my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
not very expert at it, you may think, he might not care to use
it.&mdash;&mdash;No; the reason was,&mdash;’twas not his nature to
insult.</p>

<p>Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> presence at that time, was no less problematical
than the mode of it; tho’ it is certain, one moment’s reflexion in my
father might have solved it; for he had apprized Dr. <i>Slop</i> but the
week before, that my mother was at her full reckoning; and as the doctor
had heard nothing since, ’twas natural and very political too in him, to
have taken a ride to <i>Shandy-Hall</i>, as he did, merely to see how
matters went&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>But my father’s mind took unfortunately a wrong turn in the
investigation; running, like the hypercritick’s, altogether upon the
ringing of the bell and the rap upon the door,&mdash;measuring their
distance, and keeping his mind so intent upon the operation as to have
power to think of nothing else,&mdash;&mdash;common-place infirmity of
the greatest mathematicians! working with might and main at the
demonstration, and so wasting all their strength upon it, that they have
none left in them to draw the corollary, to do good with.</p>

<p>The ringing of the bell, and the rap upon the door, struck likewise
strong upon the sensorium of my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;but it excited
a very different train of thoughts;&mdash;the two irreconcileable
pulsations instantly brought <i>Stevinus</i>, the great engineer, along
with them, into my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind. What business
<i>Stevinus</i> had in this affair,&mdash;is the greatest problem of
all:&mdash;&mdash;It shall be solved,&mdash;but not in the next
chapter.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page79" id = "page79">79</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXI" id = "bookII_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Writing</span>, when properly managed (as
you may be sure I think mine is) is but a different name for
conversation. As no one, who knows what he is about in good company,
would venture to talk all;&mdash;&mdash;so no author, who understands
the just boundaries of decorum and good-breeding, would presume to think
all: The truest respect which you can pay to the reader’s understanding,
is to halve this matter amicably, and leave him something to imagine, in
his turn, as well as yourself.</p>

<p>For my own part, I am eternally paying him compliments of this kind,
and do all that lies in my power to keep his imagination as busy as my
own.</p>

<p>’Tis his turn now;&mdash;I have given an ample description of Dr.
<i>Slop’s</i> sad overthrow, and of his sad appearance in the
back-parlour;&mdash;his imagination must now go on with it for a
while.</p>

<p>Let the reader imagine then, that Dr. <i>Slop</i> has told his
tale&mdash;and in what words, and with what aggravations, his fancy
chooses;&mdash;Let him suppose, that <i>Obadiah</i> has told his tale
also, and with such rueful looks of affected concern, as he thinks best
will contrast the two figures as they stand by each
other.&mdash;&mdash;Let him imagine, that my father has stepped upstairs
to see my mother.&mdash;And, to conclude this work of
imagination&mdash;let him imagine the doctor washed,&mdash;rubbed down,
and condoled,&mdash;felicitated,&mdash;got into a pair of
<i>Obadiah’s</i> pumps, stepping forwards towards the door, upon the
very point of entering upon action.</p>

<p>Truce!&mdash;truce, good Dr. <i>Slop</i>:&mdash;stay thy obstetrick
hand;&mdash;&mdash;return it safe into thy bosom to keep it
warm;&mdash;&mdash;little dost thou know what
obstacles,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;little dost thou think what hidden
causes, retard its operation!&mdash;&mdash;Hast thou, Dr.
<i>Slop</i>,&mdash;hast thou been intrusted with the secret articles of
the solemn treaty which has brought thee into this place?&mdash;Art thou
aware that at this instant, a&nbsp;daughter of <i>Lucina</i> is put
obstetrically over thy head? Alas!&mdash;’tis too true.&mdash;Besides,
great son of <i>Pilumnus!</i> what canst thou do?&mdash;Thou hast come
forth unarm’d;&mdash;thou hast left thy <i>tire-tête</i>,&mdash;thy
new-invented <i>forceps</i>,&mdash;thy <i>crotchet</i>,&mdash;thy
<i>squirt</i>, and all thy instruments of salvation and deliverance,
behind thee,&mdash;By Heaven! at this moment they are hanging up in a
green bays bag, betwixt thy two pistols,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page80" id = "page80">80</a></span>
at the bed’s head!&mdash;Ring;&mdash;call;&mdash;send <i>Obadiah</i>
back upon the coach-horse to bring them with all speed.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Make great haste, <i>Obadiah</i>, quoth my father, and
I’ll give thee a crown!&mdash;and quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I’ll give
him another.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXII" id = "bookII_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Your</span> sudden and unexpected arrival,
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, addressing himself to Dr. <i>Slop</i> (all
three of them sitting down to the fire together, as my uncle <i>Toby</i>
began to speak)&mdash;instantly brought the great <i>Stevinus</i> into
my head, who, you must know, is a favourite author with me.&mdash;Then,
added my father, making use of the argument <i>Ad
Crumenam</i>,&mdash;I&nbsp;will lay twenty guineas to a single
crown-piece (which will serve to give away to <i>Obadiah</i> when he
gets back) that this same <i>Stevinus</i> was some engineer or
other,&mdash;or has wrote something or other, either directly or
indirectly, upon the science of fortification.</p>

<p>He has so,&mdash;replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;I knew it, said
my father, though, for the soul of me, I&nbsp;cannot see what kind of
connection there can be betwixt Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> sudden coming, and a
discourse upon fortification;&mdash;yet I fear’d it.&mdash;Talk of what
we will, brother,&mdash;&mdash;or let the occasion be never so foreign
or unfit for the subject,&mdash;you are sure to bring it in.
I&nbsp;would not, brother <i>Toby</i>, continued my
father,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;declare I would not have my head so
full of curtins and hornworks.&mdash;That I dare say you would not,
quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, interrupting him, and laughing most immoderately
at his pun.</p>

<p><i>Dennis</i> the critic could not detest and abhor a pun, or the
insinuation of a pun, more cordially than my father;&mdash;he would grow
testy upon it at any time;&mdash;but to be broke in upon by one, in a
serious discourse, was as bad, he would say, as a fillip upon the
nose;&mdash;&mdash;he saw no difference.</p>

<p>Sir, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, addressing himself to Dr.
<i>Slop</i>,&mdash;the curtins my brother <i>Shandy</i> mentions here,
have nothing to do with bedsteads;&mdash;tho’, I&nbsp;know <i>Du
Cange</i> says, “That bed-curtains, in all probability, have taken their
name from them;”&mdash;nor have the hornworks he speaks of, anything in
the world to do with the horn-works of cuckoldom:&mdash;But the
<i>Curtin</i>, Sir, is the word we use in fortification, for that part
of the wall or rampart which lies between the two bastions and joins
them&mdash;Besiegers seldom offer to carry on their attacks directly
against the curtin, for this reason, because they are so well
<i>flanked</i>.
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page81" id = "page81">81</a></span>
(’Tis the case of other curtains, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, laughing.)
However, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to make them sure, we generally
choose to place ravelins before them, taking care only to extend them
beyond the fossé or ditch:&mdash;&mdash;The common men, who know very
little of fortification, confound the ravelin and the half-moon
together,&mdash;tho’ they are very different things;&mdash;not in their
figure or construction, for we make them exactly alike, in all
points;&mdash;for they always consist of two faces, making a salient
angle, with the gorges, not straight, but in form of a
crescent:&mdash;&mdash;Where then lies the difference? (quoth my father,
a&nbsp;little testily).&mdash;In their situations, answered my uncle
<i>Toby</i>:&mdash;For when a ravelin, brother, stands before the
curtin, it is a ravelin; and when a ravelin stands before a bastion,
then the ravelin is not a ravelin;&mdash;it is a
half-moon;&mdash;a&nbsp;half-moon likewise is a half-moon, and no more,
so long as it stands before its bastion;&mdash;&mdash;but was it to
change place, and get before the curtin,&mdash;’twould be no longer a
half-moon; a&nbsp;half-moon, in that case, is not a
half-moon;&mdash;’tis no more than a ravelin.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think,
quoth my father, that the noble science of defence has its weak
sides&mdash;&mdash;as well as others.</p>

<p>&mdash;As for the horn-work (high! ho! sigh’d my father) which,
continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, my brother was speaking of, they are a
very considerable part of an outwork;&mdash;&mdash;they are called by
the <i>French</i> engineers, <i>Ouvrage à corne</i>, and we generally
make them to cover such places as we suspect to be weaker than the
rest;&mdash;’tis formed by two epaulments or demi-bastions&mdash;they
are very pretty,&mdash;and if you will take a walk, I’ll engage to shew
you one well worth your trouble.&mdash;I&nbsp;own, continued my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, when we crown them,&mdash;they are much stronger, but then
they are very expensive, and take up a great deal of ground, so that, in
my opinion, they are most of use to cover or defend the head of a camp;
otherwise the double tenaille&mdash;By the mother who bore
us!&mdash;&mdash;brother <i>Toby</i>, quoth my father, not able to hold
out any longer,&mdash;&mdash;you would provoke a
saint;&mdash;&mdash;here have you got us, I&nbsp;know not how, not only
souse into the middle of the old subject again:&mdash;But so full is
your head of these confounded works, that though my wife is this moment
in the pains of labour, and you hear her cry out, yet nothing will serve
you but to carry off the
man-midwife.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Accoucheur</i>,&mdash;if you please, quoth
Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;&mdash;With all my heart, replied my father,
I&nbsp;don’t care what they call you,&mdash;but I wish the whole science
of fortification, with all its inventors, at the devil;&mdash;it has
been the death of thousands,&mdash;and it will be mine in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page82" id = "page82">82</a></span>
the end,&mdash;I would not, I&nbsp;would not, brother <i>Toby</i>, have
my brains so full of saps, mines, blinds, gabions, pallisadoes,
ravelins, half-moons, and such trumpery, to be proprietor of
<i>Namur</i>, and of all the towns in <i>Flanders</i> with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> was a man patient of injuries;&mdash;not from
want of courage,&mdash;I&nbsp;have told you in a former chapter, “that
he was a man of courage:”&mdash;And will add here, that where just
occasions presented, or called it forth,&mdash;I&nbsp;know no man under
whose arm I would have sooner taken shelter;&mdash;&mdash;nor did this
arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellectual
parts;&mdash;for he felt this insult of my father’s as feelingly as a
man could do;&mdash;but he was of a peaceful, placid nature,&mdash;no
jarring element in it,&mdash;all was mixed up so kindly within him; my
uncle <i>Toby</i> had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly.</p>

<p>&mdash;Go&mdash;says he, one day at dinner, to an over-grown one
which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all
dinner-time,&mdash;and which after infinite attempts, he had caught at
last, as it flew by him;&mdash;I’ll not hurt thee, says my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the
fly in his hand,&mdash;&mdash;I’ll not hurt a hair of thy
head:&mdash;Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he
spoke, to let it escape;&mdash;go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should
I hurt thee?&mdash;&mdash;This world surely is wide enough to hold both
thee and&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>I was but ten years old when this happened: but whether it was, that
the action itself was more in unison to my nerves at that age of pity,
which instantly set my whole frame into one vibration of most
pleasurable sensation;&mdash;or how far the manner and expression of it
might go towards it;&mdash;or in what degree, or by what secret
magick,&mdash;a&nbsp;tone of voice and harmony of movement, attuned by
mercy, might find a passage to my heart, I&nbsp;know not;&mdash;this I
know, that the lesson of universal good-will then taught and imprinted
by my uncle <i>Toby</i>, has never since been worn out of my mind: And
tho’ I&nbsp;would not depreciate what the study of the <i>Literæ
humaniores</i>, at the university, have done for me in that respect, or
discredit the other helps of an expensive education bestowed upon me,
both at home and abroad since;&mdash;yet I often think that I owe one
half of my philanthropy to that one accidental impression.</p>

<p><img src = "images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt =
"--&gt;" /> This is to serve for parents and governors instead of a
whole volume upon the subject.</p>

<p>I could not give the reader this stroke in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
picture, by the instrument with which I drew the other parts of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page83" id = "page83">83</a></span>
it,&mdash;that taking in no more than the mere <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horsical</span> likeness:&mdash;&mdash;this is a part
of his moral character. My father, in this patient endurance of wrongs,
which I mention, was very different, as the reader must long ago have
noted; he had a much more acute and quick sensibility of nature,
attended with a little soreness of temper; tho’ this never transported
him to anything which looked like malignancy:&mdash;yet in the little
rubs and vexations of life, ’twas apt to shew itself in a drollish and
witty kind of peevishness:&mdash;&mdash;He was, however, frank and
generous in his nature;&mdash;&mdash;at all times open to conviction;
and in the little ebullitions of this subacid humour towards others, but
particularly towards my uncle <i>Toby</i>, whom he truly
loved:&mdash;&mdash;he would feel more pain, ten times told (except in
the affair of my aunt <i>Dinah</i>, or where an hypothesis was
concerned) than what he ever gave.</p>

<p>The characters of the two brothers, in this view of them, reflected
light upon each other, and appeared with great advantage in this affair
which arose about <i>Stevinus</i>.</p>

<p>I need not tell the reader, if he keeps a <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>,&mdash;&mdash;that a man’s <span class =
"smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> is as tender a part as he has about him;
and that these unprovoked strokes at my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> could not be
unfelt by him.&mdash;&mdash;No:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as I said above, my
uncle <i>Toby</i> did feel them, and very sensibly too.</p>

<p>Pray, Sir, what said he?&mdash;How did he behave?&mdash;O,
Sir!&mdash;it was great: For as soon as my father had done insulting his
<span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span>,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he
turned his head without the least emotion, from Dr. <i>Slop</i>, to whom
he was addressing his discourse, and looking up into my father’s face,
with a countenance spread over with so much good-nature;&mdash;&mdash;so
placid;&mdash;&mdash;so fraternal;&mdash;&mdash;so inexpressibly tender
towards him:&mdash;it penetrated my father to his heart: He rose up
hastily from his chair, and seizing hold of both my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
hands as he spoke:&mdash;Brother <i>Toby</i>, said he,&mdash;I&nbsp;beg
thy pardon;&mdash;&mdash;forgive, I&nbsp;pray thee, this rash humour
which my mother gave me.&mdash;&mdash;My dear, dear brother, answered my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, rising up by my father’s help, say no more about
it;&mdash;you are heartily welcome, had it been ten times as much,
brother. But ’tis ungenerous, replied my father, to hurt any
man;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;brother worse;&mdash;&mdash;but to hurt a
brother of such gentle manners,&mdash;so unprovoking,&mdash;and so
unresenting;&mdash;&mdash;’tis base:&mdash;&mdash;By Heaven, ’tis
cowardly.&mdash;You are heartily welcome, brother, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;had it been fifty times as
much.&mdash;&mdash;Besides, what have I to do, my dear <i>Toby</i>,
cried my father, either with your amusements or your pleasures,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page84" id = "page84">84</a></span>
unless it was in my power (which it is not) to increase their
measure?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Brother <i>Shandy</i>, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
looking wistfully in his face,&mdash;&mdash;you are much mistaken in
this point:&mdash;for you do increase my pleasure very much, in
begetting children for the <i>Shandy</i> family at your time of
life.&mdash;But, by that, Sir, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>
increases his own.&mdash;Not a jot, quoth my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXIII" id = "bookII_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> brother does it, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, out of <i>principle</i>.&mdash;&mdash;In a family way,
I&nbsp;suppose, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Pshaw!&mdash;said my
father,&mdash;’tis not worth talking&nbsp;of.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXIV" id = "bookII_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">At</span> the end of the last chapter, my
father and my uncle <i>Toby</i> were left both standing, like
<i>Brutus</i> and <i>Cassius</i>, at the close of the scene, making up
their accounts.</p>

<p>As my father spoke the three last words,&mdash;&mdash;he sat
down;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> exactly followed his example, only,
that before he took his chair, he rung the bell, to order Corporal
<i>Trim</i>, who was in waiting, to step home for
<i>Stevinus</i>:&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house being no farther off
than the opposite side of the way.</p>

<p>Some men would have dropped the subject of
<i>Stevinus</i>;&mdash;&mdash;but my uncle <i>Toby</i> had no resentment
in his heart, and he went on with the subject, to shew my father that he
had none.</p>

<p>Your sudden appearance, Dr. <i>Slop</i>, quoth my uncle, resuming the
discourse, instantly brought <i>Stevinus</i> into my head.
(My&nbsp;father, you may be sure, did not offer to lay any more wagers
upon <i>Stevinus’s</i> head.)&mdash;&mdash;Because, continued my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, the celebrated sailing chariot, which belonged to Prince
<i>Maurice</i>, and was of such wonderful contrivance and velocity, as
to carry half a dozen people thirty <i>German</i> miles, in I don’t know
how few minutes,&mdash;&mdash;was invented by <i>Stevinus</i>, that
great mathematician and engineer.</p>

<p>You might have spared your servant the trouble, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>
(as&nbsp;the fellow is lame) of going for <i>Stevinus’s</i> account of
it, because in my return from <i>Leyden</i> thro’ the <i>Hague</i>,
I&nbsp;walked as far as <i>Schevling</i>, which is two long miles, on
purpose to take a view of&nbsp;it.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page85" id = "page85">85</a></span>
<p>That’s nothing, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to what the learned
<i>Peireskius</i> did, who walked a matter of five hundred miles,
reckoning from <i>Paris</i> to <i>Schevling</i>, and from
<i>Schevling</i> to <i>Paris</i> back again, in order to see
it,&mdash;and nothing else.</p>

<p>Some men cannot bear to be out-gone.</p>

<p>The more fool <i>Peireskius</i>, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>. But mark,
’twas out of no contempt of <i>Peireskius</i> at all;&mdash;&mdash;but
that <i>Peireskius’s</i> indefatigable labour in trudging so far on
foot, out of love for the sciences, reduced the exploit of Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, in that affair, to nothing:&mdash;the more fool
<i>Peireskius</i>, said he again.&mdash;Why so?&mdash;replied my father,
taking his brother’s part, not only to make reparation as fast as he
could for the insult he had given him, which sat still upon my father’s
mind;&mdash;&mdash;but partly, that my father began really to interest
himself in the discourse.&mdash;&mdash;Why so?&mdash;&mdash;said he. Why
is <i>Peireskius</i>, or any man else, to be abused for an appetite for
that, or any other morsel of sound knowledge: For notwithstanding I know
nothing of the chariot in question, continued he, the inventor of it
must have had a very mechanical head; and tho’ I&nbsp;cannot guess upon
what principles of philosophy he has atchieved it;&mdash;yet certainly
his machine has been constructed upon solid ones, be they what they
will, or it could not have answered at the rate my brother mentions.</p>

<p>It answered, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as well, if not better;
for, as <i>Peireskius</i> elegantly expresses it, speaking of the
velocity of its motion, <i>Tam citus erat, quam erat ventus</i>; which,
unless I have forgot my Latin, is, <i>that it was as swift as the wind
itself</i>.</p>

<p>But pray, Dr. <i>Slop</i>, quoth my father, interrupting my uncle
(tho’ not without begging pardon for it at the same time) upon what
principles was this self-same chariot set a-going?&mdash;Upon very
pretty principles to be sure, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>:&mdash;And I have
often wondered, continued he, evading the question, why none of our
gentry, who live upon large plains like this of ours,&mdash;(especially
they whose wives are not past child-bearing) attempt nothing of this
kind; for it would not only be infinitely expeditious upon sudden calls,
to which the sex is subject,&mdash;if the wind only served,&mdash;but
would be excellent good husbandry to make use of the winds, which cost
nothing, and which eat nothing, rather than horses, which (the devil
take ’em) both cost and eat a great deal.</p>

<p>For that very reason, replied my father, “Because they cost nothing,
and because they eat nothing,”&mdash;the scheme is bad;&mdash;it is the
consumption of our products, as well as the manufactures
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page86" id = "page86">86</a></span>
of them, which gives bread to the hungry, circulates trade,&mdash;brings
in money, and supports the value of our lands:&mdash;and tho’,
I&nbsp;own, if I was a Prince, I&nbsp;would generously recompense the
scientifick head which brought forth such contrivances;&mdash;yet I
would as peremptorily suppress the use of them.</p>

<p>My father here had got into his element,&mdash;&mdash;and was going
on as prosperously with his dissertation upon trade, as my uncle
<i>Toby</i> had before, upon his of fortification;&mdash;but to the loss
of much sound knowledge, the destinies in the morning had decreed that
no dissertation of any kind should be spun by my father that
day,&mdash;&mdash;for as he opened his mouth to begin the next
sentence.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXV" id = "bookII_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> popped Corporal <i>Trim</i> with
<i>Stevinus</i>:&mdash;But ’twas too late,&mdash;all the discourse had
been exhausted without him, and was running into a new
channel.&mdash;You may take the book home again, <i>Trim</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, nodding to him.</p>

<p>But prithee, Corporal, quoth my father, drolling,&mdash;look first
into it, and see if thou canst spy aught of a sailing chariot
in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Corporal <i>Trim</i>, by being in the service, had learned to
obey,&mdash;and not to remonstrate;&mdash;so taking the book to a
side-table, and running over the leaves; An’ please your Honour, said
<i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;can see no such thing;&mdash;however, continued the
Corporal, drolling a little in his turn, I’ll make sure work of it, an’
please your Honour;&mdash;so taking hold of the two covers of the book,
one in each hand, and letting the leaves fall down, as he bent the
covers back, he gave the book a good sound shake.</p>

<p>There is something falling out, however, said <i>Trim</i>, an’ please
your Honour;&mdash;but it is not a chariot, or anything like
one:&mdash;Prithee, Corporal, said my father, smiling, what is it
then?&mdash;I&nbsp;think, answered <i>Trim</i>, stooping to take it
up,&mdash;&mdash;’tis more like a sermon,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for it
begins with a text of scripture, and the chapter and verse;&mdash;and
then goes on, not as a chariot, but like a sermon directly.</p>

<p>The company smiled.</p>

<p>I cannot conceive how it is possible, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, for
such a thing as a sermon to have got into my <i>Stevinus</i>.</p>

<p>I think ’tis a sermon, replied <i>Trim</i>;&mdash;but if it please
your Honours, as it is a fair hand, I&nbsp;will read you a
page;&mdash;for <i>Trim</i>, you must know, loved to hear himself read
almost as well as talk.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page87" id = "page87">87</a></span>
<p>I have ever a strong propensity, said my father, to look into things
which cross my way, by such strange fatalities as these;&mdash;and as we
have nothing better to do, at least till <i>Obadiah</i> gets back,
I&nbsp;shall be obliged to you, brother, if Dr. <i>Slop</i> has no
objection to it, to order the Corporal to give us a page or two of
it,&mdash;if he is as able to do it, as he seems willing. An’ please
your Honour, quoth <i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;officiated two whole campaigns,
in <i>Flanders</i>, as clerk to the chaplain of the
regiment.&mdash;&mdash;He can read it, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as
well as I can.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;assure you, was the best
scholar in my company, and should have had the next halberd, but for the
poor fellow’s misfortune. Corporal <i>Trim</i> laid his hand upon his
heart, and made an humble bow to his master;&mdash;then laying down his
hat upon the floor, and taking up the sermon in his left hand, in order
to have his right at liberty,&mdash;&mdash;he advanced, nothing
doubting, into the middle of the room, where he could best see, and be
best seen by his audience.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXVI" id = "bookII_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;If you have any objection,&mdash;said my father, addressing
himself to Dr. <i>Slop</i>. Not in the least, replied Dr.
<i>Slop</i>;&mdash;for it does not appear on which side of the question
it is wrote;&mdash;&mdash;it may be a composition of a divine of our
church, as well as yours,&mdash;so that we run equal
risques.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis wrote upon neither side, quoth <i>Trim</i>,
for ’tis only upon <i>Conscience</i>, an’ please your Honours.</p>

<p><i>Trim’s</i> reason put his audience into good-humour,&mdash;all but
Dr. <i>Slop</i>, who turning his head about towards <i>Trim</i>, looked
a little angry.</p>

<p>Begin, <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;and read distinctly, quoth my
father.&mdash;I will, an’ please your Honour, replied the Corporal,
making a bow, and bespeaking attention with a slight movement of his
right hand.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXVII" id = "bookII_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;But before the Corporal begins, I must first give you a
description of his attitude;&mdash;&mdash;otherwise he will naturally
stand represented, by your imagination, in an uneasy
posture,&mdash;stiff,&mdash;perpendicular,&mdash;dividing the weight of
his body equally upon both legs;&mdash;&mdash;his eye fixed, as if on
duty;&mdash;his look determined,&mdash;clenching the sermon in his left
hand, like his firelock.&mdash;&mdash;In
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page88" id = "page88">88</a></span>
a word, you would be apt to paint <i>Trim</i>, as if he was standing in
his platoon ready for action.&mdash;His attitude was as unlike all this
as you can conceive.</p>

<p>He stood before them with his body swayed, and bent forwards just so
far, as to make an angle of 85 degrees and a half upon the plain of the
horizon;&mdash;which sound orators, to whom I address this, know very
well to be the true persuasive angle of incidence;&mdash;in any other
angle you may talk and preach;&mdash;’tis certain;&mdash;and it is done
every day;&mdash;but with what effect,&mdash;I&nbsp;leave the world to
judge!</p>

<p>The necessity of this precise angle, of 85 degrees and a half to a
mathematical exactness,&mdash;&mdash;does it not shew us, by the way,
how the arts and sciences mutually befriend each other?</p>

<p>How the duce Corporal <i>Trim</i>, who knew not so much as an acute
angle from an obtuse one, came to hit it so exactly;&mdash;&mdash;or
whether it was chance or nature, or good sense or imitation, &amp;c.,
shall be commented upon in that part of the cyclopædia of arts and
sciences, where the instrumental parts of the eloquence of the senate,
the pulpit, and the bar, the coffee-house, the bed-chamber, and
fire-side, fall under consideration.</p>

<p>He stood,&mdash;&mdash;for I repeat it, to take the picture of him in
at one view, with his body swayed, and somewhat bent forwards,&mdash;his
right leg from under him, sustaining seven-eighths of his whole
weight,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the foot of his left leg, the defect of
which was no disadvantage to his attitude, advanced a little,&mdash;not
laterally, nor forwards, but in a line betwixt them;&mdash;his knee
bent, but that not violently,&mdash;but so as to fall within the limits
of the line of beauty;&mdash;and I add, of the line of science
too;&mdash;for consider, it had one eighth part of his body to bear
up;&mdash;so that in this case the position of the leg is
determined,&mdash;because the foot could be no farther advanced, or the
knee more bent, than what would allow him, mechanically to receive an
eighth part of his whole weight under it, and to carry it too.</p>

<p><img src = "images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt =
"--&gt;" /> This I recommend to painters:&mdash;need I add,&mdash;to
orators!&mdash;I&nbsp;think not; for unless they practise
it,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;they must fall upon their noses.</p>

<p>So much for Corporal <i>Trim’s</i> body and legs.&mdash;&mdash;He
held the sermon loosely, not carelessly, in his left hand, raised
something above his stomach, and detached a little from his
breast;&mdash;&mdash;his right arm falling negligently by his side, as
nature and the laws of gravity ordered it,&mdash;&mdash;but with the
palm of it open and turned towards his audience, ready to aid the
sentiment in case it stood in need.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page89" id = "page89">89</a></span>
<p>Corporal <i>Trim’s</i> eyes and the muscles of his face were in full
harmony with the other parts of him;&mdash;he looked
frank,&mdash;unconstrained,&mdash;something assured,&mdash;but not
bordering upon assurance.</p>

<p>Let not the critic ask how Corporal <i>Trim</i> could come by all
this.&mdash;&mdash;I’ve told him it should be explained;&mdash;but so he
stood before my father, my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and Dr.
<i>Slop</i>,&mdash;so swayed his body, so contrasted his limbs, and with
such an oratorical sweep throughout the whole
figure,&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;statuary might have modelled from
it;&mdash;&mdash;nay, I&nbsp;doubt whether the oldest Fellow of a
College,&mdash;or the <i>Hebrew</i> Professor himself, could have much
mended&nbsp;it.</p>

<p><i>Trim</i> made a bow, and read as follows:</p>


<h4><a name = "bookII_sermon" id = "bookII_sermon">
<span class = "smallcaps">The SERMON</span></a><br />
<span class = "smallcaps">Hebrews</span> xiii. 18</h4>

<h5 class = "ital">
&mdash;&mdash;For we <em>trust</em> we have a good Conscience</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">“Trust!</span>&mdash;&mdash;Trust we have a
good conscience!”</p>

<p>[Certainly, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my father, interrupting him, you give
that sentence a very improper accent; for you curl up your nose, man,
and read it with such a sneering tone, as if the Parson was going to
abuse the Apostle.</p>

<p>He is, an’ please your Honour, replied <i>Trim</i>. Pugh! said my
father, smiling.</p>

<p>Sir, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, <i>Trim</i> is certainly in the right;
for the writer (who I perceive is a Protestant) by the snappish manner
in which he takes up the apostle, is certainly going to abuse
him;&mdash;if this treatment of him has not done it already. But from
whence, replied my father, have you concluded so soon, Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
that the writer is of our church?&mdash;for aught I can see
yet,&mdash;he may be of any church.&mdash;&mdash;Because, answered Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, if he was of ours,&mdash;he durst no more take such a
licence,&mdash;than a bear by his beard:&mdash;If, in our communion,
Sir, a&nbsp;man was to insult an
apostle,&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;saint,&mdash;&mdash;or even the paring of a
saint’s nail,&mdash;he would have his eyes scratched out.&mdash;What, by
the saint? quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>. No, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>, he
would have an old house over his head. Pray is the Inquisition an
ancient building, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>, or is it a modern
one?&mdash;I&nbsp;know nothing of architecture, replied Dr.
<i>Slop</i>.&mdash;An’ please your Honours, quoth <i>Trim</i>, the
Inquisition is the vilest&mdash;&mdash;Prithee spare thy description,
<i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;hate the very name of it, said my
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page90" id = "page90">90</a></span>
father.&mdash;No matter for that, answered Dr. <i>Slop</i>,&mdash;it has
its uses; for tho’ I’m no great advocate for it, yet, in such a case as
this, he would soon be taught better manners; and I can tell him, if he
went on at that rate, would be flung into the Inquisition for his pains.
God help him then, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>. Amen, added <i>Trim</i>;
for Heaven above knows, I&nbsp;have a poor brother who has been fourteen
years a captive in it.&mdash;I&nbsp;never heard one word of it before,
said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, hastily:&mdash;How came he there,
<i>Trim?</i>&mdash;&mdash;O, Sir! the story will make your heart
bleed,&mdash;as it has made mine a thousand times;&mdash;but it is too
long to be told now;&mdash;your Honour shall hear it from first to last
some day when I am working beside you in our fortifications;&mdash;but
the short of the story is this;&mdash;That my brother <i>Tom</i> went
over a servant to <i>Lisbon</i>,&mdash;and then married a Jew’s widow,
who kept a small shop, and sold sausages, which somehow or other, was
the cause of his being taken in the middle of the night out of his bed,
where he was lying with his wife and two small children, and carried
directly to the Inquisition, where, God help him, continued <i>Trim</i>,
fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart,&mdash;the poor honest lad
lies confined at this hour; he was as honest a soul, added <i>Trim</i>,
(pulling out his handkerchief) as ever blood <span class =
"locked">warmed.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;The tears trickled down <i>Trim’s</i> cheeks faster than he
could well wipe them away.&mdash;And dead silence in the room ensued for
some minutes.&mdash;Certain proof of pity!</p>

<p>Come, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my father, after he saw the poor fellow’s
grief had got a little vent,&mdash;read on,&mdash;and put this
melancholy story out of thy head:&mdash;I&nbsp;grieve that I interrupted
thee; but prithee begin the sermon again;&mdash;for if the first
sentence in it is matter of abuse, as thou sayest, I&nbsp;have a great
desire to know what kind of provocation the apostle has given.</p>

<p>Corporal <i>Trim</i> wiped his face, and returned his handkerchief
into his pocket, and, making a bow as he did it,&mdash;he began
again.]</p>


<h4><span class = "smallcaps">The SERMON<br />
Hebrews</span> xiii. 18</h4>

<h5 class = "ital">
&mdash;&mdash;For we <em>trust</em> we have a good Conscience</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">“Trust!</span> trust we have a good
conscience! Surely if there is any thing in this life which a man may
depend upon, and to the knowledge of which he is capable of arriving
upon the most
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page91" id = "page91">91</a></span>
indisputable evidence, it must be this very thing,&mdash;whether he has
a good conscience or&nbsp;no.”</p>

<p>[I am positive I am right, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>.]</p>

<p>“If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger to the true
state of this account;&mdash;&mdash;he must be privy to his own thoughts
and desires;&mdash;he must remember his past pursuits, and know
certainly the true springs and motives, which, in general, have governed
the actions of his life.”</p>

<p>[I defy him, without an assistant, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>.]</p>

<p>“In other matters we may be deceived by false appearances; and, as
the wise man complains, <i>hardly do we guess aright at the things that
are upon the earth, and with labour do we find the things that are
before us</i>. But here the mind has all the evidence and facts within
herself;&mdash;&mdash;is conscious of the web she has
wove;&mdash;&mdash;knows its texture and fineness, and the exact share
which every passion has had in working upon the several designs which
virtue or vice has planned before her.”</p>

<p>[The language is good, and I declare <i>Trim</i> reads very well,
quoth my father.]</p>

<p>“Now,&mdash;as conscience is nothing else but the knowledge which the
mind has within herself of this; and the judgment, either of approbation
or censure, which it unavoidably makes upon the successive actions of
our lives; ’tis plain you will say, from the very terms of the
proposition,&mdash;whenever this inward testimony goes against a man,
and he stands self-accused, that he must necessarily be a guilty
man.&mdash;And, on the contrary, when the report is favourable on his
side, and his heart condemns him not:&mdash;that it is not a matter of
<i>trust</i>, as the apostle intimates, but a matter of <i>certainty</i>
and fact, that the conscience is good, and that the man must be good
also.”</p>

<p>[Then the apostle is altogether in the wrong, I suppose, quoth Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, and the Protestant divine is in the right. Sir, have
patience, replied my father, for I think it will presently appear that
St. <i>Paul</i> and the Protestant divine are both of an
opinion.&mdash;As nearly so, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, as east is to
west;&mdash;but this, continued he, lifting both hands, comes from the
liberty of the press.</p>

<p>It is no more, at the worst, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, than the
liberty of the pulpit; for it does not appear that the sermon is
printed, or ever likely to&nbsp;be.</p>

<p>Go on, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my father.]</p>

<p>“At first sight this may seem to be a true state of the case: and I
make no doubt but the knowledge of right and wrong is so truly impressed
upon the mind of man,&mdash;that did no such thing
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page92" id = "page92">92</a></span>
ever happen, as that the conscience of a man, by long habits of sin,
might (as&nbsp;the scripture assures it may) insensibly become
hard;&mdash;and, like some tender parts of his body, by much stress and
continual hard usage, lose by degrees that nice sense and perception
with which God and nature endowed it:&mdash;Did this never
happen;&mdash;or was it certain that self-love could never hang the
least bias upon the judgment;&mdash;or that the little interests below
could rise up and perplex the faculties of our upper regions, and
encompass them about with clouds and thick darkness:&mdash;&mdash;Could
no such thing as favour and affection enter this sacred Court:&mdash;Did
<span class = "smallcaps">Wit</span> disdain to take a bribe in
it;&mdash;or was ashamed to shew its face as an advocate for an
unwarrantable enjoyment: Or, lastly, were we assured that <span class =
"smallcaps">Interest</span> stood always unconcerned whilst the cause
was hearing&mdash;and that Passion never got into the judgment-seat, and
pronounced sentence in the stead of Reason, which is supposed always to
preside and determine upon the case:&mdash;Was this truly so, as the
objection must suppose;&mdash;no doubt then the religious and moral
state of a man would be exactly what he himself esteemed it:&mdash;and
the guilt or innocence of every man’s life could be known, in general,
by no better measure, than the degrees of his own approbation and
censure.</p>

<p>“I own, in one case, whenever a man’s conscience does accuse him
(as&nbsp;it seldom errs on that side) that he is guilty; and unless in
melancholy and hypocondriac cases, we may safely pronounce upon it, that
there is always sufficient grounds for the accusation.</p>

<p>“But the converse of the proposition will not hold
true;&mdash;namely, that whenever there is guilt, the conscience must
accuse; and if it does not, that a man is therefore
innocent.&mdash;&mdash;This is not fact&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;So that the
common consolation which some good christian or other is hourly
administering to himself,&mdash;that he thanks God his mind does not
misgive him; and that, consequently, he has a good conscience, because
he hath a quiet one,&mdash;is fallacious;&mdash;and as current as the
inference is, and as infallible as the rule appears at first sight, yet
when you look nearer to it, and try the truth of this rule upon plain
facts,&mdash;&mdash;you see it liable to so much error from a false
application;&mdash;&mdash;the principle upon which it goes so often
perverted;&mdash;&mdash;the whole force of it lost, and sometimes so
vilely cast away, that it is painful to produce the common examples from
human life, which confirm the account.</p>

<p>“A man shall be vicious and utterly debauched in his
principles;&mdash;exceptionable in his conduct to the world; shall
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page93" id = "page93">93</a></span>
live shameless, in the open commission of a sin which no reason or
pretence can justify,&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;sin by which, contrary to all
the workings of humanity, he shall ruin for ever the deluded partner of
his guilt;&mdash;rob her of her best dowry; and not only cover her own
head with dishonour;&mdash;but involve a whole virtuous family in shame
and sorrow for her sake. Surely, you will think conscience must lead
such a man a troublesome life; he can have no rest night or day from its
reproaches.</p>

<p>“Alas! <span class = "smallcaps">Conscience</span> had something else
to do all this time, than break in upon him; as <i>Elijah</i> reproached
the god <i>Baal</i>,&mdash;&mdash;this domestic god <i>was either
talking, or pursuing, or was in a journey, or peradventure he slept and
could not be awoke</i>.</p>

<p>“Perhaps <span class = "smallcaps">He</span> was gone out in company
with <span class = "smallcaps">Honour</span> to fight a duel: to pay off
some debt at play;&mdash;&mdash;or dirty annuity, the bargain of his
lust; Perhaps <span class = "smallcaps">Conscience</span> all this time
was engaged at home, talking aloud against petty larceny, and executing
vengeance upon some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank of life
secured him against all temptation of committing; so that he lives as
merrily”&mdash;&mdash;[If he was of our church, tho’, quoth Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, he could not]&mdash;“sleeps as soundly in his
bed;&mdash;and at last meets death as unconcernedly;&mdash;perhaps much
more so, than a much better man.”</p>

<p>[All this is impossible with us, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, turning to my
father,&mdash;the case could not happen in our church.&mdash;It happens
in ours, however, replied my father, but too
often.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;own, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, (struck a little
with my father’s frank acknowledgment)&mdash;that a man in the
<i>Romish</i> church may live as badly;&mdash;but then he cannot easily
die so.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis little matter, replied my father, with an air
of indifference,&mdash;how a rascal dies.&mdash;I&nbsp;mean, answered
Dr. <i>Slop</i>, he would be denied the benefits of the last
sacraments.&mdash;Pray how many have you in all, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;for I always forget?&mdash;&mdash;Seven,
answered Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Humph!&mdash;said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; tho’ not accented as a note of acquiescence,&mdash;but as
an interjection of that particular species of surprize, when a man in
looking into a drawer, finds more of a thing than he
expected.&mdash;&mdash;Humph! replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>. Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, who had an ear, understood my uncle <i>Toby</i> as well as
if he had wrote a whole volume against the seven
sacraments.&mdash;&mdash;Humph! replied Dr. <i>Slop</i> (stating my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> argument over again to him)&mdash;&mdash;Why, Sir,
are there not seven cardinal virtues?&mdash;&mdash;Seven mortal
sins?&mdash;&mdash;Seven golden candlesticks?&mdash;&mdash;Seven
heavens?&mdash;’Tis more than I know, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Are there not seven wonders of the
world?&mdash;&mdash;Seven
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page94" id = "page94">94</a></span>
days of the creation?&mdash;&mdash;Seven planets?&mdash;&mdash;Seven
plagues?&mdash;&mdash;That there are, quoth my father with a most
affected gravity. But prithee, continued he, go on with the rest of thy
characters, <i>Trim</i>.]</p>

<p>“Another is sordid, unmerciful,” (here <i>Trim</i> waved his right
hand) “a&nbsp;strait-hearted, selfish wretch, incapable either of
private friendship or public spirit. Take notice how he passes by the
widow and orphan in their distress, and sees all the miseries incident
to human life without a sigh or a prayer.” [An’ please your honours,
cried <i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;think this a viler man than the other.]</p>

<p>“Shall not conscience rise up and sting him on such
occasions?&mdash;&mdash;No; thank God there is no occasion,
<i>I&nbsp;pay every man his own;&mdash;I&nbsp;have no fornication to
answer to my conscience;&mdash;no faithless vows or promises to make
up;&mdash;I&nbsp;have debauched no man’s wife or child; thank God,
I&nbsp;am not as other men, adulterers, unjust, or even as this
libertine, who stands before me.</i></p>

<p>“A third is crafty and designing in his nature. View his whole
life;&mdash;’tis nothing but a cunning contexture of dark arts and
unequitable subterfuges, basely to defeat the true intent of all
laws,&mdash;&mdash;plain-dealing and the safe enjoyment of our several
properties.&mdash;&mdash;You will see such a one working out a frame of
little designs upon the ignorance and perplexities of the poor and needy
man;&mdash;shall raise a fortune upon the inexperience of a youth, or
the unsuspecting temper of his friend, who would have trusted him with
his life.</p>

<p>“When old age comes on, and repentance calls him to look back upon
this black account, and state it over again with his
conscience&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Conscience</span> looks into
the <span class = "smallcaps">Statutes at Large</span>;&mdash;finds no
express law broken by what he has done;&mdash;perceives no penalty or
forfeiture of goods and chattels incurred;&mdash;sees no scourge waving
over his head, or prison opening his gates upon him:&mdash;What is there
to affright his conscience?&mdash;Conscience has got safely entrenched
behind the Letter of the Law; sits there invulnerable, fortified with
<span class = "blackletter">Cases</span> and <span class =
"blackletter">Reports</span> so strongly on all sides;&mdash;that it is
not preaching can dispossess it of its hold.”</p>

<p>[Here Corporal <i>Trim</i> and my uncle <i>Toby</i> exchanged looks
with each other.&mdash;Aye, aye, <i>Trim!</i> quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, shaking his head,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;these are but sorry
fortifications, <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;O! very poor work,
answered <i>Trim</i>, to what your Honour and I make of
it.&mdash;&mdash;The character of this last man, said Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
interrupting <i>Trim</i>, is more detestable than all the rest; and
seems to have been taken from some pettifogging Lawyer
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page95" id = "page95">95</a></span>
amongst you:&mdash;Amongst us, a&nbsp;man’s conscience could not
possibly continue so long <i>blinded</i>,&mdash;&mdash;three times in a
year, at least, he must go to confession. Will that restore it to sight?
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Go on, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my
father, or <i>Obadiah</i> will have got back before thou hast got to the
end of thy sermon.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a very short one, replied
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish it was longer, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, for I like it hugely.&mdash;<i>Trim</i> went&nbsp;on.]</p>

<p>“A fourth man shall want even this refuge;&mdash;shall break through
all their ceremony of slow chicane;&mdash;&mdash;scorns the doubtful
workings of secret plots and cautious trains to bring about his
purpose:&mdash;&mdash;See the bare-faced villain, how he cheats, lies,
perjures, robs, murders!&mdash;Horrid!&mdash;But indeed much better was
not to be expected, in the present case&mdash;the poor man was in the
dark!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;his priest had got the keeping of his
conscience;&mdash;&mdash;and all he would let him know of it, was, That
he must believe in the Pope;&mdash;go to Mass;&mdash;cross
himself;&mdash;tell his beads;&mdash;be a good Catholic, and that this,
in all conscience, was enough to carry him to heaven. What;&mdash;if he
perjures!&mdash;Why;&mdash;he had a mental reservation in it.&mdash;But
if he is so wicked and abandoned a wretch as you represent him;&mdash;if
he robs,&mdash;if he stabs, will not conscience, on every such act,
receive a wound itself?&mdash;Aye,&mdash;but the man has carried it to
confession;&mdash;&mdash;the wound digests there, and will do well
enough, and in a short time be quite healed up by absolution.
O&nbsp;Popery! what hast thou to answer for?&mdash;&mdash;when, not
content with the too many natural and fatal ways, thro’ which the heart
of man is every day thus treacherous to itself above all
things;&mdash;thou hast wilfully set open the wide gate of deceit before
the face of this unwary traveller, too apt, God knows, to go astray of
himself; and confidently speak peace to himself, when there is no
peace.</p>

<p>“Of this the common instances which I have drawn out of life, are too
notorious to require much evidence. If any man doubts the reality of
them, or thinks it impossible for a man to be such a bubble to
himself,&mdash;I&nbsp;must refer him a moment to his own reflections,
and will then venture to trust my appeal with his own heart.</p>

<p>“Let him consider in how different a degree of detestation, numbers
of wicked actions stand <i>there</i>, tho’ equally bad and vicious in
their own natures;&mdash;he will soon find, that such of them as strong
inclination and custom have prompted him to commit, are generally
dressed out and painted with all the false beauties which a soft and a
flattering hand can give them;&mdash;and that the others, to which he
feels no propensity,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page96" id = "page96">96</a></span>
appear, at once, naked and deformed, surrounded with all the true
circumstances of folly and dishonour.</p>

<p>“When <i>David</i> surprized <i>Saul</i> sleeping in the cave, and
cut off the skirt of his robe&mdash;we read his heart smote him for what
he had done:&mdash;&mdash;But in the matter of <i>Uriah</i>, where a
faithful and gallant servant, whom he ought to have loved and honoured,
fell to make way for his lust,&mdash;where conscience had so much
greater reason to take the alarm, his heart smote him not. A&nbsp;whole
year had almost passed from the first commission of that crime, to the
time <i>Nathan</i> was sent to reprove him; and we read not once of the
least sorrow or compunction of heart which he testified, during all that
time, for what he had done.</p>

<p>“Thus conscience, this once able monitor,&mdash;&mdash;placed on high
as a judge within us, and intended by our Maker as a just and equitable
one too,&mdash;by an unhappy train of causes and impediments, takes
often such imperfect cognizance of what passes,&mdash;&mdash;does its
office so negligently,&mdash;&mdash;sometimes so corruptly&mdash;that it
is not to be trusted alone; and therefore we find there is a necessity,
an absolute necessity, of joining another principle with it, to aid, if
not govern, its determinations.</p>

<p>“So that if you would form a just judgment of what is of infinite
importance to you not to be misled in,&mdash;namely, in what degree of
real merit you stand either as an honest man, an useful citizen,
a&nbsp;faithful subject to your king, or a good servant to your
God,&mdash;&mdash;call in religion and morality.&mdash;Look, What is
written in the law of God?&mdash;&mdash;How readest thou?&mdash;Consult
calm reason and the unchangeable obligations of justice and
truth;&mdash;&mdash;what say they?</p>

<p>“Let <span class = "smallcaps">Conscience</span> determine the matter
upon these reports;&mdash;&mdash;and then if thy heart condemns thee
not, which is the case the apostle supposes,&mdash;&mdash;the rule will
be infallible;”&mdash;[Here Dr. <i>Slop</i> fell asleep]&mdash;“<i>thou
wilt have confidence towards God</i>;&mdash;&mdash;that is, have just
grounds to believe the judgment thou hast past upon thyself, is the
judgment of God; and nothing else but an anticipation of that righteous
sentence which will be pronounced upon thee hereafter by that Being, to
whom thou art finally to give an account of thy actions.</p>

<p>“<i>Blessed is the man</i>, indeed, then, as the author of the book
of <i>Ecclesiasticus</i> expresses it, <i>who is not pricked with the
multitude of his sins: Blessed is the man whose heart hath not condemned
him; whether he be rich, or whether he be poor, if he have a good
heart</i> (a&nbsp;heart thus guided and informed) <i>he shall at all
times rejoice in a chearful countenance; his mind shall tell him more
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page97" id = "page97">97</a></span>
than seven watch-men that sit above upon a tower on high</i>.”&mdash;[A
tower has no strength, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, unless ’tis
flank’d.]&mdash;“In the darkest doubts it shall conduct him safer than a
thousand casuists, and give the state he lives in, a&nbsp;better
security for his behaviour than all the causes and restrictions put
together which law-makers are forced to multiply:&mdash;<i>Forced</i>,
I&nbsp;say, as things stand; human laws not being a matter of original
choice, but of pure necessity, brought in to fence against the
mischievous effects of those consciences which are no law unto
themselves; well intending, by the many provisions made,&mdash;that in
all such corrupt and misguided cases, where principles and the checks of
conscience will not make us upright,&mdash;to supply their force, and,
by the terrors of gaols and halters, oblige us to&nbsp;it.”</p>

<p>[I see plainly, said my father, that this sermon has been composed to
be preached at the Temple,&mdash;&mdash;or at some
Assize.&mdash;I&nbsp;like the reasoning,&mdash;and am sorry that Dr.
<i>Slop</i> has fallen asleep before the time of his
conviction:&mdash;for it is now clear, that the Parson, as I thought at
first, never insulted St. <i>Paul</i> in the least;&mdash;nor has there
been, brother, the least difference between
them.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;great matter, if they had differed, replied my
uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;the best friends in the world may differ
sometimes.&mdash;&mdash;True,&mdash;brother <i>Toby</i>, quoth my
father, shaking hands with him,&mdash;we’ll fill our pipes, brother, and
then <i>Trim</i> shall go&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>Well,&mdash;&mdash;what dost thou think of it? said my father
speaking to Corporal <i>Trim</i>, as he reached his tobacco-box.</p>

<p>I think, answered the Corporal, that the seven watch-men upon the
tower, who, I&nbsp;suppose, are all centinels there,&mdash;are more, an’
please your Honour, than were necessary;&mdash;and, to go on at that
rate, would harrass a regiment all to pieces, which a commanding
officer, who loves his men, will never do, if he can help it, because
two centinels, added the Corporal, are as good as
twenty.&mdash;I&nbsp;have been a commanding officer myself in the
<i>Corps de Garde</i> a hundred times, continued <i>Trim</i>, rising an
inch higher in his figure, as he spoke,&mdash;and all the time I had the
honour to serve his Majesty King <i>William</i>, in relieving the most
considerable posts, I&nbsp;never left more than two in my
life.&mdash;&mdash;Very right, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;but you do not consider, <i>Trim</i>, that the
towers, in <i>Solomon’s</i> days, were not such things as our bastions,
flanked and defended by other works;&mdash;this, <i>Trim</i>, was an
invention since <i>Solomon’s</i> death; nor had they horn-works, or
ravelins before the curtin, in his time;&mdash;&mdash;or such a fossé as
we make with a cuvette in the middle of it, and with covered ways and
counterscarps pallisadoed along it, to guard
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page98" id = "page98">98</a></span>
against a <i>Coup de main</i>:&mdash;So that the seven men upon the
tower were a party, I&nbsp;dare say, from the <i>Corps de Garde</i>, set
there, not only to look out, but to defend it.&mdash;They could be no
more, an’ please your Honour, than a Corporal’s Guard.&mdash;My father
smiled inwardly, but not outwardly;&mdash;the subject being rather too
serious, considering what had happened, to make a jest of.&mdash;So
putting his pipe into his mouth, which he had just lighted,&mdash;he
contented himself with ordering <i>Trim</i> to read on. He read on as
follows:]</p>

<p>“To have the fear of God before our eyes, and, in our mutual dealings
with each other, to govern our actions by the eternal measures of right
and wrong:&mdash;&mdash;The first of these will comprehend the duties of
religion;&mdash;the second, those of morality, which are so inseparably
connected together, that you cannot divide these two <i>tables</i>, even
in imagination (tho’ the attempt is often made in practice) without
breaking and mutually destroying them both.</p>

<p>“I said the attempt is often made; and so it is;&mdash;&mdash;there
being nothing more common than to see a man who has no sense at all of
religion, and indeed has so much honesty as to pretend to none, who
would take it as the bitterest affront, should you but hint at a
suspicion of his moral character,&mdash;&mdash;or imagine he was not
conscientiously just and scrupulous to the uttermost mite.</p>

<p>“When there is some appearance that it is so,&mdash;tho’ one is
unwilling even to suspect the appearance of so amiable a virtue as moral
honesty, yet were we to look into the grounds of it, in the present
case, I&nbsp;am persuaded we should find little reason to envy such a
one the honour of his motive.</p>

<p>“Let him declaim as pompously as he chooses upon the subject, it will
be found to rest upon no better foundation than either his interest, his
pride, his ease, or some such little and changeable passion as will give
us but small dependence upon his actions in matters of great
distress.</p>

<p>“I will illustrate this by an example.</p>

<p>“I know the banker I deal with, or the physician I usually call
in”&mdash;[There is no need, cried Dr. <i>Slop</i> (waking), to call in
any physician in this case]&mdash;&mdash;“to be neither of them men of
much religion: I&nbsp;hear them make a jest of it every day, and treat
all its sanctions with so much scorn, as to put the matter past doubt.
Well;&mdash;notwithstanding this, I&nbsp;put my fortune into the hands
of the one:&mdash;and what is dearer still to me, I&nbsp;trust my life
to the honest skill of the other.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page99" id = "page99">99</a></span>
<p>“Now let me examine what is my reason for this great confidence. Why,
in the first place, I&nbsp;believe there is no probability that either
of them will employ the power I put into their hands to my
disadvantage;&mdash;I&nbsp;consider that honesty serves the purposes of
this life:&mdash;I&nbsp;know their success in the world depends upon the
fairness of their characters.&mdash;In a word, I’m persuaded that they
cannot hurt me without hurting themselves more.</p>

<p>“But put it otherwise, namely, that interest lay, for once, on the
other side; that a case should happen, wherein the one, without stain to
his reputation, could secrete my fortune, and leave me naked in the
world;&mdash;or that the other could send me out of it, and enjoy an
estate by my death, without dishonour to himself or his art:&mdash;In
this case, what hold have I of either of them?&mdash;Religion, the
strongest of all motives, is out of the question;&mdash;Interest, the
next most powerful motive in the world, is strongly against
me:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What have I left to cast into the opposite scale
to balance this temptation?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Alas! I&nbsp;have
nothing,&mdash;&mdash;nothing but what is lighter than a
bubble&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;must lie at the mercy of <span class =
"smallcaps">Honour</span>, or some such capricious
principle&mdash;Strait security for two of the most valuable
blessings!&mdash;my property and myself.</p>

<p>“As, therefore, we can have no dependence upon morality without
religion;&mdash;so, on the other hand, there is nothing better to be
expected from religion without morality; nevertheless, ’tis no prodigy
to see a man whose real moral character stands very low, who yet
entertains the highest notion of himself in the light of a religious
man.</p>

<p>“He shall not only be covetous, revengeful, implacable,&mdash;but
even wanting in points of common honesty; yet inasmuch as he talks aloud
against the infidelity of the age,&mdash;&mdash;is zealous for some
points of religion,&mdash;&mdash;goes twice a day to
church,&mdash;attends the sacraments,&mdash;and amuses himself with a
few instrumental parts of religion,&mdash;shall cheat his conscience
into a judgment, that, for this, he is a religious man, and has
discharged truly his duty to God: And you will find such a man, through
force of this delusion, generally looks down with spiritual pride upon
every other man who has less affectation of piety,&mdash;though,
perhaps, ten times more real honesty than himself.</p>

<p>“<i>This likewise is a sore evil under the sun</i>; and I believe,
there is no one mistaken principle, which, for its time, has wrought
more serious mischiefs.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;For a general proof of
this,&mdash;examine the history of the <i>Romish</i>
church;”&mdash;[Well, what can you make of that? cried Dr.
<i>Slop</i>]&mdash;“see what scenes
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page100" id = "page100">100</a></span>
of cruelty, murder, rapine, bloodshed,”&mdash;&mdash;[They may thank
their own obstinacy, cried Dr. <i>Slop</i>]&mdash;&mdash;“have all been
sanctified by a religion not strictly governed by morality.</p>

<p>“In how many kingdoms of the world”&mdash;[Here <i>Trim</i> kept
waving his right hand from the sermon to the extent of his arm,
returning it backwards and forwards to the conclusion of the
paragraph.]</p>

<p>“In how many kingdoms of the world has the crusading sword of this
misguided saint-errant, spared neither age nor merit, or sex, or
condition?&mdash;and, as he fought under the banners of a religion which
set him loose from justice and humanity, he shewed none; mercilessly
trampled upon both,&mdash;heard neither the cries of the unfortunate,
nor pitied their distresses.”</p>

<p>[I have been in many a battle, an’ please your Honour, quoth
<i>Trim</i>, sighing, but never in so melancholy a one as
this,&mdash;I&nbsp;would not have drawn a tricker in it against these
poor souls,&mdash;&mdash;to have been made a general
officer.&mdash;&mdash;Why? what do you understand of the affair? said
Dr. <i>Slop</i>, looking towards <i>Trim</i>, with something more of
contempt than the Corporal’s honest heart deserved.&mdash;&mdash;What do
you know, friend, about this battle you talk of?&mdash;I&nbsp;know,
replied <i>Trim</i>, that I never refused quarter in my life to any man
who cried out for it;&mdash;&mdash;but to a woman or a child, continued
<i>Trim</i>, before I would level my musket at them, I&nbsp;would lose
my life a thousand times.&mdash;&mdash;Here’s a crown for thee,
<i>Trim</i>, to drink with <i>Obadiah</i> to-night, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and I’ll give <i>Obadiah</i> another too.&mdash;God bless
your Honour, replied <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had rather these
poor women and children had it.&mdash;&mdash;Thou art an honest fellow,
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;My father nodded his head, as
much as to say,&mdash;and so he <span class =
"locked">is.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But prithee, <i>Trim</i>, said my father, make an end,&mdash;for I
see thou hast but a leaf or two left.</p>

<p>Corporal <i>Trim</i> read on.]</p>

<p>“If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not
sufficient,&mdash;consider at this instant, how the votaries of that
religion are every day thinking to do service and honour to God, by
actions which are a dishonour and scandal to themselves.</p>

<p>“To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of
the Inquisition.”&mdash;[God help my poor brother
<i>Tom</i>.]&mdash;“Behold <i>Religion</i>, with <i>Mercy</i> and
<i>Justice</i> chained down under her feet,&mdash;&mdash;there sitting
ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page101" id = "page101">101</a></span>
up with racks and instruments of torment. Hark!&mdash;hark! what a
piteous groan!”&mdash;[Here <i>Trim’s</i> face turned as pale as
ashes.]&mdash;&mdash;“See the melancholy wretch who uttered
it”&mdash;[Here the tears began to trickle down.]&mdash;&mdash;“just
brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial, and endure the
utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been able to
invent.”&mdash;[D&mdash;n them all, quoth <i>Trim</i>, his colour
returning into his face as red as blood.]&mdash;“Behold this helpless
victim delivered up to his tormentors,&mdash;his body so wasted with
sorrow and confinement.”&mdash;&mdash;[Oh! ’tis my brother, cried poor
<i>Trim</i> in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon
the ground, and clapping his hands together&mdash;I&nbsp;fear ’tis poor
<i>Tom</i>. My father’s and my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> heart yearned with
sympathy for the poor fellow’s distress; even <i>Slop</i> himself
acknowledged pity for him.&mdash;&mdash;Why, <i>Trim</i>, said my
father, this is not a history,&mdash;&mdash;’tis a sermon thou art
reading; prithee begin the sentence again.]&mdash;&mdash;“Behold this
helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,&mdash;his body so wasted
with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it
suffers.</p>

<p>“Observe the last movement of that horrid engine!”&mdash;[I would
rather face a cannon, quoth <i>Trim</i>, stamping.]&mdash;“See what
convulsions it has thrown him into!&mdash;&mdash;Consider the nature of
the posture in which he now lies stretched,&mdash;what exquisite
tortures he endures by it!”&mdash;[I hope ’tis not in
<i>Portugal</i>.]&mdash;“’Tis all nature can bear! Good God! see how it
keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips!” [I&nbsp;would not
read another line of it, quoth <i>Trim</i>, for all this
<i>world</i>;&mdash;I&nbsp;fear, an’ please your Honours, all this is in
<i>Portugal</i>, where my poor brother <i>Tom</i> is. I&nbsp;tell thee,
<i>Trim</i>, again, quoth my father, ’tis not an historical
account,&mdash;’tis a description.&mdash;’Tis only a description, honest
man, quoth <i>Slop</i>, there’s not a word of truth in
it.&mdash;&mdash;That’s another story, replied my father.&mdash;However,
as <i>Trim</i> reads it with so much concern,&mdash;’tis cruelty to
force him to go on with it.&mdash;Give me hold of the sermon,
<i>Trim</i>,&mdash;I’ll finish it for thee, and thou may’st go.
I&nbsp;must stay and hear it, too, replied <i>Trim</i>, if your Honour
will allow me;&mdash;tho’ I&nbsp;would not read it myself for a
Colonel’s pay.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Poor <i>Trim!</i> quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>. My father went <span class =
"locked">on.]&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“&mdash;&mdash;Consider the nature of the posture in which he now
lies stretched,&mdash;what exquisite torture he endures by
it!&mdash;’Tis all nature can bear! Good God! See how it keeps his weary
soul hanging upon his trembling lips,&mdash;willing to take its
leave,&mdash;&mdash;but not suffered to depart!&mdash;Behold the unhappy
wretch
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page102" id = "page102">102</a></span>
led back to his cell!”&mdash;&mdash;[Then, thank God, however, quoth
<i>Trim</i>, they have not killed him.]&mdash;“See him dragged out of it
again to meet the flames, and the insults in his last agonies, which
this principle,&mdash;this principle, that there can be religion without
mercy, has prepared for him.”&mdash;&mdash;[Then, thank
God,&mdash;&mdash;he is dead, quoth <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;he is out of his
pain,&mdash;and they have done their worst at him.&mdash;O
Sirs!&mdash;Hold your peace, <i>Trim</i>, said my father, going on with
the sermon, lest <i>Trim</i> should incense Dr. <i>Slop</i>,&mdash;we
shall never have done at this rate.]</p>

<p>“The surest way to try the merit of any disputed notion is, to trace
down the consequences such a notion has produced, and compare them with
the spirit of Christianity;&mdash;&mdash;’tis the short and decisive
rule which our Saviour hath left us, for these and such like cases, and
it is worth a thousand arguments&mdash;&mdash;<i>By their fruits ye
shall know them.</i></p>

<p>“I will add no farther to the length of this sermon, than by two or
three short and independent rules deducible from&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>“<i>First</i>, Whenever a man talks loudly against religion, always
suspect that it is not his reason, but his passions, which have got the
better of his <span class = "smallcaps">Creed</span>. A&nbsp;bad life
and a good belief are disagreeable and troublesome neighbours, and where
they separate, depend upon it, ’tis for no other cause but quietness’
sake.</p>

<p>“<i>Secondly</i>, When a man, thus represented, tells you in any
particular instance,&mdash;&mdash;That such a thing goes against his
conscience,&mdash;&mdash;always believe he means exactly the same thing,
as when he tells you such a thing goes <i>against</i> his
stomach;&mdash;a&nbsp;present want of appetite being generally the true
cause of both.</p>

<p>“In a word,&mdash;trust that man in nothing, who has not a <span
class = "smallcaps">Conscience</span> in everything.</p>

<p>“And, in your own case, remember this plain distinction, a mistake in
which has ruined thousands,&mdash;that your conscience is not a
law:&mdash;No, God and reason made the law, and have placed conscience
within you to determine;&mdash;&mdash;not, like an <i>Asiatic</i> Cadi,
according to the ebbs and flows of his own passions,&mdash;but like a
<i>British</i> judge in this land of liberty and good sense, who makes
no new law, but faithfully declares that law which he knows already
written.”</p>

<h5 class = "final ital">FINIS</h5>


<p>Thou hast read the sermon extremely well, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my
father.&mdash;If he had spared his comments, replied Dr.
<i>Slop</i>,&mdash;&mdash;he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page103" id = "page103">103</a></span>
would have read it much better. I&nbsp;should have read it ten times
better, Sir, answered <i>Trim</i>, but that my heart was so
full.&mdash;That was the very reason, <i>Trim</i>, replied my father,
which has made thee read the sermon as well as thou hast done; and if
the clergy of our church, continued my father, addressing himself to Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, would take part in what they deliver as deeply as this poor
fellow has done,&mdash;as their compositions are fine;&mdash;[I deny it,
quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>]&mdash;I&nbsp;maintain it,&mdash;that the
eloquence of our pulpits, with such subjects to enflame it, would be a
model for the whole world:&mdash;&mdash;But alas! continued my father,
and I own it, Sir, with sorrow, that, like <i>French</i> politicians in
this respect, what they gain in the cabinet they lose in the
field.&mdash;&mdash;’Twere a pity, quoth my uncle, that this should be
lost. I&nbsp;like the sermon well, replied my father,&mdash;&mdash;’tis
dramatick,&mdash;and there is something in that way of writing, when
skilfully managed, which catches the attention.&mdash;&mdash;We preach
much in that way with us, said Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;know that
very well, said my father,&mdash;&mdash;but in a tone and manner which
disgusted Dr. <i>Slop</i>, full as much as his assent, simply, could
have pleased him.&mdash;&mdash;But in this, added Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
a&nbsp;little piqued,&mdash;our sermons have greatly the advantage, that
we never introduce any character into them below a patriarch or a
patriarch’s wife, or a martyr or a saint.&mdash;There are some very bad
characters in this, however, said my father, and I do not think the
sermon a jot the worse for ’em.&mdash;&mdash;But pray, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;who’s can this be?&mdash;How could it get into my
<i>Stevinus?</i> A&nbsp;man must be as great a conjurer as
<i>Stevinus</i>, said my father, to resolve the second
question:&mdash;The first, I&nbsp;think, is not so difficult;&mdash;for
unless my judgment greatly deceives me,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know the
author, for ’tis wrote, certainly, by the parson of the parish.</p>

<p>The similitude of the stile and manner of it, with those my father
constantly had heard preached in his parish-church, was the ground of
his conjecture,&mdash;proving it as strongly, as an argument <i>à
priori</i> could prove such a thing to a philosophic mind, That it was
<i>Yorick’s</i> and no one’s else:&mdash;It was proved to be so,
<i>à&nbsp;posteriori</i>, the day after, when <i>Yorick</i> sent a
servant to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house to enquire after&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>It seems that <i>Yorick</i>, who was inquisitive after all kinds of
knowledge, had borrowed <i>Stevinus</i> of my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and had
carelessly popped his sermon, as soon as he had made it, into the middle
of <i>Stevinus</i>; and by an act of forgetfulness, to which he was ever
subject, he had sent <i>Stevinus</i> home, and his sermon to keep him
company.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page104" id = "page104">104</a></span>
<p>Ill-fated sermon! Thou wast lost, after this recovery of thee,
a&nbsp;second time, dropped thro’ an unsuspected fissure in thy master’s
pocket, down into a treacherous and a tattered lining,&mdash;trod deep
into the dirt by the left hind-foot of his Rosinante inhumanly stepping
upon thee as thou falledst;&mdash;buried ten days in the
mire,&mdash;&mdash;raised up out of it by a beggar,&mdash;sold for a
halfpenny to a parish-clerk,&mdash;&mdash;transferred to his
parson,&mdash;&mdash;lost for ever to thy own, the remainder of his
days,&mdash;&mdash;nor restored to his restless <span class =
"smallcaps">Manes</span> till this very moment, that I tell the world
the story.</p>

<p>Can the reader believe, that this sermon of <i>Yorick’s</i> was
preached at an assize, in the cathedral of <i>York</i>, before a
thousand witnesses, ready to give oath of it, by a certain prebendary of
that church, and actually printed by him when he had
done,&mdash;&mdash;and within so short a space as two years and three
months after <i>Yorick’s</i> death?&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> indeed, was
never better served in his life;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but it was a little
hard to maltreat him after, and plunder him after he was laid in his
grave.</p>

<p>However, as the gentleman who did it was in perfect charity with
<i>Yorick</i>,&mdash;and, in conscious justice, printed but a few copies
to give away;&mdash;and that I am told he could moreover have made as
good a one himself, had he thought fit,&mdash;I&nbsp;declare I would not
have published this anecdote to the world;&mdash;&mdash;nor do I publish
it with an intent to hurt his character and advancement in the
church;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;leave that to others;&mdash;but I find
myself impelled by two reasons, which I cannot withstand.</p>

<p>The first is, That in doing justice, I may give rest to
<i>Yorick’s</i> ghost;&mdash;&mdash;which&mdash;as the country-people,
and some others, believe,&mdash;&mdash;<i>still walks</i>.</p>

<p>The second reason is, That, by laying open this story to the world,
I&nbsp;gain an opportunity of informing it,&mdash;That in case the
character of parson <i>Yorick</i>, and this sample of his sermons, is
liked,&mdash;&mdash;there are now in the possession of the <i>Shandy</i>
family, as many as will make a handsome volume, at the world’s
service,&mdash;&mdash;and much good may they do&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXVIII" id = "bookII_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Obadiah</span> gained the two crowns
without dispute; for he came in jingling, with all the instruments in
the green bays bag we spoke of, slung across his body, just as Corporal
<i>Trim</i> went out of the room.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page105" id = "page105">105</a></span>
<p>It is now proper, I think, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i> (clearing up his
looks), as we are in a condition to be of some service to Mrs.
<i>Shandy</i>, to send upstairs to know how she goes&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>I have ordered, answered my father, the old midwife to come down to
us upon the least difficulty;&mdash;for you must know, Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
continued my father, with a perplexed kind of a smile upon his
countenance, that by express treaty, solemnly ratified between me and my
wife, you are no more than an auxiliary in this affair,&mdash;and not so
much as that,&mdash;unless the lean old mother of a midwife above stairs
cannot do without you.&mdash;Women have their particular fancies, and in
points of this nature, continued my father, where they bear the whole
burden, and suffer so much acute pain for the advantage of our families,
and the good of the species,&mdash;they claim a right of deciding, <i>en
Souveraines</i>, in whose hands, and in what fashion, they choose to
undergo&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>They are in the right of it,&mdash;&mdash;quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.
But, Sir, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>, not taking notice of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> opinion, but turning to my father,&mdash;they had better
govern in other points;&mdash;&mdash;and a father of a family, who
wishes its perpetuity, in my opinion, had better exchange this
prerogative with them, and give up some other rights in lieu of
it.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know not, quoth my father, answering a little
too testily, to be quite dispassionate in what he
said,&mdash;I&nbsp;know not, quoth he, what we have left to give up, in
lieu of who shall bring our children into the world, unless
that,&mdash;of who shall beget them.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;One would
almost give up anything, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;beg your
pardon,&mdash;&mdash;answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Sir, replied
Dr. <i>Slop</i>, it would astonish you to know what improvements we have
made of late years in all branches of obstetrical knowledge, but
particularly in that one single point of the safe and expeditious
extraction of the <i>fœtus</i>,&mdash;&mdash;which has received such
lights, that, for my part (holding up his hands) I&nbsp;declare I wonder
how the world has&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
you had seen what prodigious armies we had in <i>Flanders</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookII_chapXIX" id = "bookII_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I have</span> dropped the curtain over this
scene for a minute,&mdash;&mdash;to remind you of one
thing,&mdash;&mdash;and to inform you of another.</p>

<p>What I have to inform you, comes, I own, a little out of its due
course;&mdash;&mdash;for it should have been told a hundred and fifty
pages ago, but that I foresaw then ’twould come in pat hereafter,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page106" id = "page106">106</a></span>
and be of more advantage here than elsewhere.&mdash;Writers had need
look before them, to keep up the spirit and connection of what they have
in hand.</p>

<p>When these two things are done,&mdash;the curtain shall be drawn up
again, and my uncle <i>Toby</i>, my father, and Dr. <i>Slop</i>, shall
go on with their discourse, without any more interruption.</p>

<p>First, then, the matter which I have to remind you of, is
this;&mdash;&mdash;that from the specimens of singularity in my father’s
notions in the point of christian-names, and that other previous point
thereto,&mdash;you was led, I&nbsp;think, into an opinion (and I am sure
I said as much), that my father was a gentleman altogether as odd and
whimsical in fifty other opinions. In truth, there was not a stage in
the life of man, from the very first act of his
begetting,&mdash;&mdash;down to the lean and slippered pantaloon in his
second childishness, but he had some favourite notion to himself,
springing out of it, as sceptical, and as far out of the highway of
thinking, as these two which have been explained.</p>

<p>&mdash;Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, my father, Sir, would see nothing in the
light in which others placed it;&mdash;he placed things in his own
light;&mdash;he would weigh nothing in common scales;&mdash;no, he was
too refined a researcher to lie open to so gross an imposition.&mdash;To
come at the exact weight of things in the scientific steel-yard, the
fulcrum, he would say, should be almost invisible, to avoid all friction
from popular tenets;&mdash;without this the minutiæ of philosophy, which
would always turn the balance, will have no weight at all. Knowledge,
like matter, he would affirm, was divisible <i>in
infinitum</i>;&mdash;&mdash;that the grains and scruples were as much a
part of it, as the gravitation of the whole world.&mdash;In a word, he
would say, error was error,&mdash;no matter where it
fell,&mdash;&mdash;whether in a fraction,&mdash;or a pound,&mdash;’twas
alike fatal to truth, and she was kept down at the bottom of her well,
as inevitably by a mistake in the dust of a butterfly’s
wings,&mdash;&mdash;as in the disk of the sun, the moon, and all the
stars of heaven put together.</p>

<p>He would often lament that it was for want of considering this
properly, and of applying it skilfully to civil matters, as well as to
speculative truths, that so many things in this world were out of
joint;&mdash;&mdash;that the political arch was giving
way;&mdash;&mdash;and that the very foundations of our excellent
constitution, in church and state, were so sapped as estimators had
reported.</p>

<p>You cry out, he would say, we are a ruined, undone people. Why? he
would ask, making use of the sorites or syllogism of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page107" id = "page107">107</a></span>
<i>Zeno</i> and <i>Chrysippus</i>, without knowing it belonged to
them.&mdash;Why? why are we a ruined people?&mdash;Because we are
corrupted.&mdash;Whence is it, dear Sir, that we are
corrupted?&mdash;&mdash;Because we are needy;&mdash;&mdash;our poverty,
and not our wills, consent.&mdash;&mdash;And wherefore, he would add,
are we needy?&mdash;From the neglect, he would answer, of our pence and
our halfpence:&mdash;Our bank notes, Sir, our guineas,&mdash;nay, our
shillings take care of themselves.</p>

<p>’Tis the same, he would say, throughout the whole circle of the
sciences;&mdash;the great, the established points of them, are not to be
broke in upon.&mdash;The laws of nature will defend
themselves;&mdash;but error&mdash;&mdash;(he&nbsp;would add, looking
earnestly at my mother)&mdash;&mdash;error, Sir, creeps in thro’ the
minute holes and small crevices which human nature leaves unguarded.</p>

<p>This turn of thinking in my father, is what I had to remind you
of:&mdash;The point you are to be informed of, and which I have reserved
for this place, is as follows.</p>

<p>Amongst the many and excellent reasons, with which my father had
urged my mother to accept of Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> assistance preferably to
that of the old woman,&mdash;&mdash;there was one of a very singular
nature; which, when he had done arguing the manner with her as a
Christian, and came to argue it over again with her as a philosopher, he
had put his whole strength to, depending indeed upon it as his
sheet-anchor.&mdash;&mdash;It failed him; tho’ from no defect in the
argument itself; but that, do what he could, he was not able for his
soul to make her comprehend the drift of it.&mdash;&mdash;Cursed
luck!&mdash;&mdash;said he to himself, one afternoon, as he walked out
of the room, after he had been stating it for an hour and a half to her,
to no manner of purpose;&mdash;cursed luck! said he, biting his lip as
he shut the door,&mdash;&mdash;for a man to be master of one of the
finest chains of reasoning in nature,&mdash;and have a wife at the same
time with such a headpiece, that he cannot hang up a single inference
within side of it, to save his soul from destruction.</p>

<p>This argument, though it was entirely lost upon my
mother,&mdash;&mdash;had more weight with him, than all his other
arguments joined together:&mdash;I&nbsp;will therefore endeavour to do
it justice,&mdash;and set it forth with all the perspicuity I am
master&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>My father set out upon the strength of these two following
axioms:</p>

<p><i>First</i>, That an ounce of a man’s own wit, was worth a ton of
other people’s; and,</p>

<p><i>Secondly</i> (Which by the bye, was the ground-work of the first
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page108" id = "page108">108</a></span>
axiom,&mdash;&mdash;tho’ it comes last), That every man’s wit must come
from every man’s own soul,&mdash;&mdash;and no other body’s.</p>

<p>Now, as it was plain to my father, that all souls were by nature
equal,&mdash;&mdash;and that the great difference between the most acute
and the most obtuse understanding&mdash;&mdash;was from no original
sharpness or bluntness of one thinking substance above or below
another,&mdash;&mdash;but arose merely from the lucky or unlucky
organisation of the body, in that part where the soul principally took
up her residence,&mdash;&mdash;he had made it the subject of his enquiry
to find out the identical place.</p>

<p>Now, from the best accounts he had been able to get of this matter,
he was satisfied it could not be where <i>Des Cartes</i> had fixed it,
upon the top of the <i>pineal</i> gland of the brain; which, as he
philosophized, formed a cushion for her about the size of a marrow pea;
tho’, to speak the truth, as so many nerves did terminate all in that
one place,&mdash;’twas no bad conjecture;&mdash;&mdash;and my father had
certainly fallen with that great philosopher plumb into the centre of
the mistake, had it not been for my uncle <i>Toby</i>, who rescued him
out of it, by a story he told him of a <i>Walloon</i> officer at the
battle of <i>Landen</i>, who had one part of his brain shot away by a
musket-ball,&mdash;and another part of it taken out after by a
<i>French</i> surgeon; and after all, recovered, and did his duty very
well without&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>If death, said my father, reasoning with himself, is nothing but the
separation of the soul from the body; and if it is true that people can
walk about and do their business without brains,&mdash;then certes the
soul does not inhabit there. Q.&nbsp;E.&nbsp;D.</p>

<p>As for that certain, very thin, subtle and very fragrant juice which
<i>Coglionissimo Borri</i>, the great <i>Milanese</i> physician affirms,
in a letter to <i>Bartholine</i>, to have discovered in the cellulæ of
the occipital parts of the cerebellum, and which he likewise affirms to
be the principal seat of the reasonable soul (for, you must know, in
these latter and more enlightened ages, there are two souls in every man
living,&mdash;the one, according to the great <i>Metheglingius</i>,
being called the <i>Animus</i>, the other, the <i>Anima</i>;)&mdash;as
for the opinion, I&nbsp;say, of <i>Borri</i>,&mdash;my father could
never subscribe to it by any means; the very idea of so noble, so
refined, so immaterial, and so exalted a being as the <i>Anima</i>, or
even the <i>Animus</i>, taking up her residence, and sitting dabbling,
like a tadpole all day long, both summer and winter, in a
puddle,&mdash;&mdash;or in a liquid of any kind, how thick or thin
soever, he would say, shocked his imagination; he would scarce give the
doctrine a hearing.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page109" id = "page109">109</a></span>
<p>What, therefore, seemed the least liable to objections of any, was
that the chief sensorium, or head-quarters of the soul, and to which
place all intelligences were referred, and from whence all her mandates
were issued,&mdash;was in, or near, the cerebellum,&mdash;or rather
somewhere about the <i>medulla oblongata</i>, wherein it was generally
agreed by <i>Dutch</i> anatomists, that all the minute nerves from all
the organs of the seven senses concentered, like streets and winding
alleys, into a square.</p>

<p>So far there was nothing singular in my father’s opinion,&mdash;he
had the best of philosophers, of all ages and climates, to go along with
him.&mdash;&mdash;But here he took a road of his own, setting up another
<i>Shandean</i> hypothesis upon these corner-stones they had laid for
him;&mdash;&mdash;and which said hypothesis equally stood its ground;
whether the subtilty and fineness of the soul depended upon the
temperature and clearness of the said liquor, or of the finer network
and texture in the cerebellum itself; which opinion he favoured.</p>

<p>He maintained, that next to the due care to be taken in the act of
propagation of each individual, which required all the thought in the
world, as it laid the foundation of this incomprehensible contexture, in
which wit, memory, fancy, eloquence, and what is usually meant by the
name of good natural parts, do consist;&mdash;that next to this and his
christian-name, which were the two original and most efficacious causes
of all;&mdash;&mdash;that the third cause, or rather what logicians call
the <i>Causa sine quâ non</i>, and without which all that was done was
of no manner of significance,&mdash;&mdash;was the preservation of this
delicate and fine-spun web, from the havock which was generally made in
it by the violent compression and crush which the head was made to
undergo, by the nonsensical method of bringing us into the world by that
foremost.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;This requires explanation.</p>

<p>My father, who dipped into all kinds of books, upon looking into
<i>Lithopædus Senonesis de Partu difficili</i>,<a class = "tag" name =
"tag_2_1" id = "tag_2_1" href = "#note_2_1">1</a> published by
<i>Adrianus Smelvgot</i>, had found out, that the lax and pliable state
of a child’s head in parturition, the bones of the cranium having no
sutures at that time, was such,&mdash;&mdash;that by force of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page110" id = "page110">110</a></span>
the woman’s efforts, which, in strong labour-pains, was equal, upon an
average, to the weight of 470 pounds <ins class = "correction" title =
"text unchanged: expected form ‘avoirdupois’">averdupois</ins> acting
perpendicularly upon it;&mdash;it so happened, that in 49 instances out
of 50, the said head was compressed and moulded into the shape of an
oblong conical piece of dough, such as a pastry-cook generally rolls up
in order to make a pye of.&mdash;Good God! cried my father, what havock
and destruction must this make in the infinitely fine and tender texture
of the cerebellum!&mdash;Or if there is such a juice as <i>Borri</i>
pretends,&mdash;is it not enough to make the clearest liquid in the
world both feculent and mothery?</p>

<p>But how great was his apprehension, when he farther understood, that
this force acting upon the very vertex of the head, not only injured the
brain itself, or cerebrum,&mdash;but that it necessarily squeezed and
propelled the cerebrum towards the cerebellum, which was the immediate
seat of the understanding!&mdash;&mdash;Angels and ministers of grace
defend us! cried my father,&mdash;&mdash;can any soul withstand this
shock?&mdash;No wonder the intellectual web is so rent and tattered as
we see it; and that so many of our best heads are no better than a
puzzled skein of silk,&mdash;&mdash;all perplexity,&mdash;&mdash;all
confusion within-side.</p>

<p>But when my father read on, and was let into the secret, that when a
child was turned topsy-turvy, which was easy for an operator to do, and
was extracted by the feet;&mdash;that instead of the cerebrum being
propelled towards the cerebellum, the cerebellum, on the contrary, was
propelled simply towards the cerebrum, where it could do no manner of
hurt:&mdash;&mdash;By heavens! cried he, the world is in conspiracy to
drive out what little wit God has given us,&mdash;&mdash;and the
professors of the obstetric art are lifted into the same
conspiracy.&mdash;What is it to me which end of my son comes foremost
into the world, provided all goes right after, and his cerebellum
escapes uncrushed?</p>

<p>It is the nature of an hypothesis, when once a man has conceived it,
that it assimilates every thing to itself, as proper nourishment; and,
from the first moment of your begetting it, it generally grows the
stronger by every thing you see, hear, read, or understand. This is of
great use.</p>

<p>When my father was gone with this about a month, there was scarce a
phænomenon of stupidity or of genius, which he could not readily solve
by it;&mdash;it accounted for the eldest son being the greatest
blockhead in the family.&mdash;&mdash;Poor devil, he would say,&mdash;he
made way for the capacity of his younger brothers.&mdash;&mdash;It
unriddled the observations of drivellers and monstrous
heads,&mdash;&mdash;shewing <i>à&nbsp;priori</i>, it could not be
otherwise,&mdash;&mdash;unless
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page111" id = "page111">111</a></span>
**** I don’t know what. It wonderfully explained and accounted for the
acumen of the <i>Asiatic</i> genius, and that sprightlier turn, and a
more penetrating intuition of minds, in warmer climates; not from the
loose and common-place solution of a clearer sky, and a more perpetual
sunshine, &amp;c.&mdash;which for aught he knew, might as well rarefy
and dilute the faculties of the soul into nothing, by one
extreme,&mdash;as they are condensed in colder climates by the
other;&mdash;&mdash;but he traced the affair up to its
spring-head;&mdash;shewed that, in warmer climates, nature had laid a
lighter tax upon the fairest parts of the creation;&mdash;their
pleasures more;&mdash;the necessity of their pains less, insomuch that
the pressure and resistance upon the vertex was so slight, that the
whole organisation of the cerebellum was preserved;&mdash;&mdash;nay, he
did not believe, in natural births, that so much as a single thread of
the net-work was broke or displaced,&mdash;&mdash;so that the soul might
just act as she liked.</p>

<p>When my father had got so far,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;what a blaze of
light did the accounts of the <i>Cæsarian</i> section, and of the
towering geniuses who had come safe into the world by it, cast upon this
hypothesis? Here you see, he would say, there was no injury done to the
sensorium;&mdash;no pressure of the head against the
pelvis;&mdash;&mdash;no propulsion of the cerebrum towards the
cerebellum, either by the <i>os pubis</i> on this side, or the <i>os
coxygis</i> on that;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and pray, what were the happy
consequences? Why, Sir, your <i>Julius Cæsar</i>, who gave the operation
a name;&mdash;and your <i>Hermes Trismegistus</i>, who was born so
before ever the operation had a name;&mdash;&mdash;your <i>Scipio
Africanus</i>; your <i>Manlius Torquatus</i>; our <i>Edward</i> the
Sixth,&mdash;who, had he lived, would have done the same honour to the
hypothesis:&mdash;&mdash;These, and many more who figured high in the
annals of fame,&mdash;all came <i>side-way</i>, Sir, into the world.</p>

<p>The incision of the <i>abdomen</i> and <i>uterus</i> ran for six
weeks together in my father’s head;&mdash;&mdash;he had read, and was
satisfied, that wounds in the <i>epigastrium</i>, and those in the
<i>matrix</i>, were not mortal;&mdash;so that the belly of the mother
might be opened extremely well to give a passage to the child.&mdash;He
mentioned the thing one afternoon to my
mother,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;merely as a matter of fact; but seeing her
turn as pale as ashes at the very mention of it, as much as the
operation flattered his hopes,&mdash;he thought it as well to say no
more of it,&mdash;&mdash;contenting himself with admiring,&mdash;what he
thought was to no purpose to propose.</p>

<p>This was my father Mr. <i>Shandy’s</i> hypothesis; concerning which I
have only to add, that my brother <i>Bobby</i> did as great
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page112" id = "page112">112</a></span>
honour to it (whatever he did to the family) as any one of the great
heroes we spoke of: For happening not only to be christened, as I told
you, but to be born too, when my father was at
<i>Epsom</i>,&mdash;&mdash;being moreover my mother’s <i>first</i>
child,&mdash;coming into the world with his head
<i>foremost</i>,&mdash;and turning out afterwards a lad of wonderful
slow parts,&mdash;&mdash;my father spelt all these together into his
opinion: and as he had failed at one end,&mdash;he was determined to try
the other.</p>

<p>This was not to be expected from one of the sisterhood, who are not
easily to be put out of their way,&mdash;&mdash;and was therefore one of
my father’s great reasons in favour of a man of science, whom he could
better deal with.</p>

<p>Of all men in the world, Dr. <i>Slop</i> was the fittest for my
father’s purpose;&mdash;&mdash;for though this new-invented forceps was
the armour he had proved, and what he maintained to be the safest
instrument of deliverance, yet, it seems, he had scattered a word or two
in his book, in favour of the very thing which ran in my father’s
fancy;&mdash;&mdash;tho’ not with a view to the soul’s good in
extracting by the feet, as was my father’s system,&mdash;but for reasons
merely obstetrical.</p>

<p>This will account for the coalition betwixt my father and Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, in the ensuing discourse, which went a little hard against
my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;In what manner a plain man, with
nothing but common sense, could bear up against two such allies in
science,&mdash;is hard to conceive.&mdash;You may conjecture upon it, if
you please,&mdash;&mdash;and whilst your imagination is in motion, you
may encourage it to go on, and discover by what causes and effects in
nature it could come to pass, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> got his modesty
by the wound he received upon his groin.&mdash;You may raise a system to
account for the loss of my nose by marriage-articles,&mdash;and shew the
world how it could happen, that I should have the misfortune to be
called <span class = "smallcaps">Tristam</span>, in opposition to my
father’s hypothesis, and the wish of the whole family, Godfathers and
Godmothers not excepted.&mdash;These, with fifty other points left yet
unravelled, you may endeavour to solve if you have
time;&mdash;&mdash;but I tell you beforehand it will be in vain, for not
the sage <i>Alquife</i>, the magician in Don <i>Belianis</i> of
<i>Greece</i>, nor the no less famous <i>Urganda</i>, the sorceress his
wife, (were they alive), could pretend to come within a league of the
truth.</p>

<p>The reader will be content to wait for a full explanation of these
matters till the next year,&mdash;&mdash;when a series of things will be
laid open which he little expects.</p>


<p class = "footnote">
<a name = "note_2_1" id = "note_2_1" href = "#tag_2_1">1.</a>
The author is here twice mistaken; for <i>Lithopædus</i> should be wrote
thus, <i>Lithopædii Senonensis Icon</i>. The second mistake is, that
this <i>Lithopædus</i> is not an author, but a drawing of a petrified
child. The account of this, published by <i>Athosius</i> 1580, may be
seen at the end of <i>Cordæus’s</i> works in <i>Spachius</i>. Mr.
<i>Tristram Shandy</i> has been led into this error, either from seeing
<i>Lithopædus’s</i> name of late in a catalogue of learned writers in
Dr. &mdash;&mdash;, or by mistaking <i>Lithopædus</i> for
<i>Trinecavellius</i>,&mdash;&mdash;from the too great similitude of the
names.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page113" id = "page113">113</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookIII" id = "bookIII">BOOK III</a></h3>

<p class = "deephang small">
Multitudinis imperitæ non formido judicia; meis tamen, rogo, parcant
opusculis&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;in quibus fuit propositi semper,
a&nbsp;jocis ad seria, a&nbsp;seriis vicissim ad jocos transire.
</p>

<p class = "right small">
&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Joan. Saresberiensis</span>,
<i>Episcopus Lugdun.</i></p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapI" id = "bookIII_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“<i>I WISH, Dr. Slop</i>,” quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
(repeating his wish for Dr. <i>Slop</i> a second time, and with a degree
of more zeal and earnestness in his manner of wishing, than he had
wished at first<a class = "tag" name = "tag_3_1" id = "tag_3_1" href =
"#note_3_1">1</a>)&mdash;&mdash;“<i>I wish, Dr. Slop</i>,” quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, “<i>you had seen what prodigious armies we had in</i>
Flanders.”</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wish did Dr. <i>Slop</i> a disservice which
his heart never intended any man,&mdash;Sir, it confounded
him&mdash;&mdash;and thereby putting his ideas first into confusion, and
then to flight, he could not rally them again for the soul of him.</p>

<p>In all disputes,&mdash;&mdash;male or female,&mdash;&mdash;whether
for honour, for profit, or for love,&mdash;it makes no difference in the
case;&mdash;nothing is more dangerous, Madam, than a wish coming
sideways in this unexpected manner upon a man: the safest way in general
to take off the force of the wish, is for the party wish’d at, instantly
to get upon his legs&mdash;and wish the <i>wisher</i> something in
return, of pretty near the same value,&mdash;&mdash;so balancing the
account upon the spot, you stand as you were&mdash;nay sometimes gain
the advantage of the attack by&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>This will be fully illustrated to the world in my chapter of
wishes.&mdash;</p>

<p>Dr. <i>Slop</i> did not understand the nature of this
defence;&mdash;he was puzzled with it, and it put an entire stop to the
dispute for four minutes and a half;&mdash;five had been fatal to
it:&mdash;my father saw the danger&mdash;the dispute was one of the most
interesting disputes in the world, “Whether the child of his prayers and
endeavours should be born without a head or with one:”&mdash;he waited
to the last moment, to allow Dr. <i>Slop</i>, in whose behalf the wish
was made, his right of returning it; but perceiving, I&nbsp;say, that he
was confounded, and continued looking with that
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page114" id = "page114">114</a></span>
perplexed vacuity of eye which puzzled souls generally stare
with&mdash;first in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> face&mdash;then in
his&mdash;then up&mdash;then down&mdash;then east&mdash;east and by
east, and so on,&mdash;&mdash;coasting it along by the plinth of the
wainscot till he had got to the opposite point of the
compass,&mdash;&mdash;and that he had actually begun to count the brass
nails upon the arm of his chair,&mdash;my father thought there was no
time to be lost with my uncle <i>Toby</i>, so took up the discourse as
follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapII" id = "bookIII_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p>“&mdash;<span class = "firstword">What</span> prodigious armies you
had in <i>Flanders!</i>”&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Brother <i>Toby</i>, replied my father, taking his wig from off his
head with his right hand, and with his <i>left</i> pulling out a striped
<i>India</i> handkerchief from his right coat pocket, in order to rub
his head, as he argued the point with my uncle <span class =
"locked"><i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now, in this I think my father was much to blame; and I
will give you my reasons for&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Matters of no more seeming consequence in themselves than,
“<i>Whether my father should have taken off his wig with his right hand
or with his left</i>,”&mdash;&mdash;have divided the greatest kingdoms,
and made the crowns of the monarchs who governed them, to totter upon
their heads.&mdash;&mdash;But need I tell you, Sir, that the
circumstances with which every thing in this world is begirt, give every
thing in this world its size and shape!&mdash;and by tightening it, or
relaxing it, this way or that, make the thing to be, what it
is&mdash;great&mdash;little&mdash;good&mdash;bad&mdash;indifferent or
not indifferent, just as the case happens?</p>

<p>As my father’s <i>India</i> handkerchief was in his right coat
pocket, he should by no means have suffered his right hand to have got
engaged: on the contrary, instead of taking off his wig with it, as he
did, he ought to have committed that entirely to the left; and then,
when the natural exigency my father was under of rubbing his head,
called out for his handkerchief, he would have had nothing in the world
to have done, but to have put his right hand into his right coat pocket
and taken it out;&mdash;&mdash;which he might have done without any
violence, or the least ungraceful twist in any one tendon or muscle of
his whole body</p>

<p>In this case, (unless, indeed, my father had been resolved to make a
fool of himself by holding the wig stiff in his left
hand&mdash;&mdash;or by making some nonsensical angle or other at his
elbow-joint, or arm-pit)&mdash;his whole attitude had been
easy&mdash;natural&mdash;unforced:
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page115" id = "page115">115</a></span>
<i>Reynolds</i> himself, as great and gracefully as he paints, might
have painted him as he sat.</p>

<p>Now as my father managed this matter,&mdash;consider what a devil of
a figure my father made of himself.</p>

<p>In the latter end of Queen <i>Anne’s</i> reign, and in the beginning
of the reign of King <i>George</i> the first&mdash;“<i>Coat pockets were
cut very low down in the skirt</i>.”&mdash;I&nbsp;need say no
more&mdash;the father of mischief, had he been hammering at it a month,
could not have contrived a worse fashion for one in my father’s
situation.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapIII" id = "bookIII_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was not an easy matter in any
king’s reign (unless you were as lean a subject as myself) to have
forced your hand diagonally, quite across your whole body, so as to gain
the bottom of your opposite coat pocket.&mdash;&mdash;In the year one
thousand seven hundred and eighteen, when this happened, it was
extremely difficult; so that when my uncle <i>Toby</i> discovered the
transverse zig-zaggery of my father’s approaches towards it, it
instantly brought into his mind those he had done duty in, before the
gate of <i>St. Nicolas</i>;&mdash;&mdash;the idea of which drew off his
attention so entirely from the subject in debate, that he had got his
right hand to the bell to ring up <i>Trim</i> to go and fetch his map of
<i>Namur</i>, and his compasses and sector along with it, to measure the
returning angles of the traverses of that attack,&mdash;but particularly
of that one, where he received his wound upon his groin.</p>

<p>My father knit his brows, and as he knit them, all the blood in his
body seemed to rush up into his face&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i>
dismounted immediately.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I did not apprehend your uncle <i>Toby</i> was o’
horseback.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapIV" id = "bookIII_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">A man</span>’s body and his mind, with the
utmost reverence to both I speak it, are exactly like a jerkin, and a
jerkin’s lining;&mdash;rumple the one,&mdash;you rumple the other. There
is one certain exception however in this case, and that is, when you are
so fortunate a fellow, as to have had your jerkin made of gum-taffeta,
and the body-lining to it of a sarcenet, or thin persian.</p>

<p><i>Zeno</i>, <i>Cleanthes</i>, <i>Diogenes Babylonius</i>,
<i>Dionysius</i>, <i>Heracleotes</i>, <i>Antipater</i>, <i>Panætius</i>,
and <i>Posidonius</i> amongst the
<i>Greeks</i>;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Cato</i> and <i>Varro</i> and
<i>Seneca</i> amongst the <i>Romans</i>;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Pantæonus</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page116" id = "page116">116</a></span>
and <i>Clemens Alexandrinus</i> and <i>Montaigne</i> amongst the
Christians; and a score and a half of good, honest, unthinking
<i>Shandean</i> people as ever lived, whose names I can’t
recollect,&mdash;all pretended that their jerkins were made after this
fashion,&mdash;you might have rumpled and crumpled, and doubled and
creased, and fretted and fridged the outside of them all to
pieces;&mdash;&mdash;in short, you might have played the very devil with
them, and at the same time, not one of the insides of them would have
been one button the worse, for all you had done to them.</p>

<p>I believe in my conscience that mine is made up somewhat after this
sort:&mdash;&mdash;for never poor jerkin has been tickled off at such a
rate as it has been these last nine months together,&mdash;&mdash;and
yet I declare, the lining to it,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as far as I am a
judge of the matter,&mdash;&mdash;is not a three-penny piece the
worse;&mdash;pell-mell, helter-skelter, ding-dong, cut and thrust, back
stroke and fore stroke, side way and long way, have they been trimming
it for me:&mdash;had there been the least gumminess in my
lining,&mdash;by heaven! it had all of it long ago been frayed and
fretted to a thread.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;You Messrs. the Monthly
reviewers!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;how could you cut and slash my jerkin as
you did?&mdash;&mdash;how did you know but you would cut my lining
too?</p>

<p>Heartily and from my soul, to the protection of that Being who will
injure none of us, do I recommend you and your affairs,&mdash;so God
bless you;&mdash;only next month, if any one of you should gnash his
teeth, and storm and rage at me, as some of you did last <span class =
"smallcaps">May</span> (in&nbsp;which I remember the weather was very
hot)&mdash;don’t be exasperated, if I pass it by again with good
temper,&mdash;being determined as long as I live or write (which in my
case means the same thing) never to give the honest gentleman a worse
word or a worse wish than my uncle <i>Toby</i> gave the fly which buzz’d
about his nose all
<i>dinner-time</i>,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“Go,&mdash;go, poor devil,”
quoth he,&mdash;“get thee gone,&mdash;why should I hurt thee? This world
is surely wide enough to hold both thee and&nbsp;me.”</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapV" id = "bookIII_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Any</span> man, Madam, reasoning upwards,
and observing the prodigious suffusion of blood in my father’s
countenance,&mdash;by means of which (as&nbsp;all the blood in his body
seemed to rush into his face, as I told you) he must have reddened,
pictorically and scientifically speaking, six whole tints and a half, if
not a full octave
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page117" id = "page117">117</a></span>
above his natural colour:&mdash;any man, Madam, but my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, who had observed this, together with the violent knitting
of my father’s brows, and the extravagant contortion of his body during
the whole affair,&mdash;would have concluded my father in a rage; and
taking that for granted,&mdash;had he been a lover of such kind of
concord as arises from two such instruments being put in exact
tune,&mdash;he would instantly have skrew’d up his, to the same
pitch;&mdash;and then the devil and all had broke loose&mdash;the whole
piece, Madam, must have been played off like the sixth of Avison
Scarlatti&mdash;<i>con furia</i>,&mdash;like mad.&mdash;Grant me
patience!&mdash;&mdash;What has <i>con furia</i>,&mdash;&mdash;<i>con
strepito</i>,&mdash;&mdash;or any other hurly burly whatever to do with
harmony?</p>

<p>Any man, I say, Madam, but my uncle <i>Toby</i>, the benignity of
whose heart interpreted every motion of the body in the kindest sense
the motion would admit of, would have concluded my father angry, and
blamed him too. My uncle <i>Toby</i> blamed nothing but the taylor who
cut the pocket-hole;&mdash;&mdash;so sitting still till my father had
got his handkerchief out of it, and looking all the time up in his face
with inexpressible good-will&mdash;&mdash;my father, at length, went on
as follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapVI" id = "bookIII_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p>“<span class = "firstword">What</span> prodigious armies you had in
<i>Flanders!</i>”&mdash;&mdash;Brother <i>Toby</i>, quoth my father,
I&nbsp;do believe thee to be as honest a man, and with as good and as
upright a heart as ever God created;&mdash;nor is it thy fault, if all
the children which have been, may, can, shall, will, or ought to be
begotten, come with their heads foremost into the
world:&mdash;&mdash;but believe me, dear <i>Toby</i>, the accidents
which unavoidably waylay them, not only in the article of our begetting
’em&mdash;&mdash;though these, in my opinion, are well worth
considering,&mdash;&mdash;but the dangers and difficulties our children
are beset with, after they are got forth into the world, are
enow&mdash;little need is there to expose them to unnecessary ones in
their passage to it.&mdash;&mdash;Are these dangers, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, laying his hand upon my father’s knee, and looking up
seriously in his face for an answer,&mdash;&mdash;are these dangers
greater now o’ days, brother, than in times past? Brother <i>Toby</i>,
answered my father, if a child was but fairly begot, and born alive, and
healthy, and the mother did well after it,&mdash;our forefathers never
looked farther.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> instantly withdrew his
hand from off my father’s knee, reclined his body gently back in his
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page118" id = "page118">118</a></span>
chair, raised his head till he could just see the cornice of the room,
and then directing the buccinatory muscles along his cheeks, and the
orbicular muscles around his lips to do their duty&mdash;he whistled
<i>Lillabullero</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapVII" id = "bookIII_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Whilst</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
whistling <i>Lillabullero</i> to my father,&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> was
stamping, and cursing and damning at <i>Obadiah</i> at a most dreadful
rate,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;it would have done your heart good, and cured
you, Sir, for ever of the vile sin of swearing, to have heard him;
I&nbsp;am determined therefore to relate the whole affair to you.</p>

<p>When Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> maid delivered the green bays bag with her
master’s instruments in it, to <i>Obadiah</i>, she very sensibly
exhorted him to put his head and one arm through the strings, and ride
with it slung across his body: so undoing the bow-knot, to lengthen the
strings for him, without any more ado, she helped him on with it.
However, as this, in some measure, unguarded the mouth of the bag, lest
anything should bolt out in galloping back, at the speed <i>Obadiah</i>
threatened, they consulted to take it off again: and in the great care
and caution of their hearts, they had taken the two strings and tied
them close (pursing up the mouth of the bag first) with half a dozen
hard knots, each of which <i>Obadiah</i>, to make all safe, had twitched
and drawn together with all the strength of his body.</p>

<p>This answered all that <i>Obadiah</i> and the maid intended; but was
no remedy against some evils which neither he or she foresaw. The
instruments, it seems, as tight as the bag was tied above, had so much
room to play in it, towards the bottom (the shape of the bag being
conical) that <i>Obadiah</i> could not make a trot of it, but with such
a terrible jingle, what with the <i>tire tête</i>, <i>forceps</i>, and
<i>squirt</i>, as would have been enough, had <i>Hymen</i> been taking a
jaunt that way, to have frightened him out of the country; but when
<i>Obadiah</i> accelerated his motion, and from a plain trot assayed to
prick his coach-horse into a full gallop&mdash;&mdash;by Heaven! Sir,
the jingle was incredible.</p>

<p>As <i>Obadiah</i> had a wife and three children&mdash;&mdash;the
turpitude of fornication, and the many other political ill consequences
of this jingling, never once entered his brain,&mdash;&mdash;he had
however his objection, which came home to himself, and weighed with him,
as it has oft-times done with the greatest
patriots.&mdash;&mdash;“<i>The poor fellow, Sir, was not able to hear
himself whistle.</i>”</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page119" id = "page119">119</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapVIII" id = "bookIII_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> <i>Obadiah</i> loved wind-music
preferably to all the instrumental music he carried with him,&mdash;he
very considerately set his imagination to work, to contrive and to
invent by what means he should put himself in a condition of
enjoying&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>In all distresses (except musical) where small cords are wanted,
nothing is so apt to enter a man’s head as his
hat-band:&mdash;&mdash;the philosophy of this is so near the
surface&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;scorn to enter into&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>As <i>Obadiah’s</i> was a mix’d case&mdash;&mdash;mark,
Sirs,&mdash;&mdash;I say, a&nbsp;mixed case; for it was
obstetrical,&mdash;&mdash;<i>scrip</i>tical, squirtical,
papistical&mdash;&mdash;and as far as the coach-horse was concerned in
it,&mdash;&mdash;caballistical&mdash;&mdash;and only partly
musical;&mdash;<i>Obadiah</i> made no scruple of availing himself of the
first expedient which offered; so taking hold of the bag and
instruments, and <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected form ‘gripping’">griping</ins> them hard together with one
hand, and with the finger and thumb of the other putting the end of the
hat-band betwixt his teeth, and then slipping his hand down to the
middle of it,&mdash;he tied and cross-tied them all fast together from
one end to the other (as&nbsp;you would cord a trunk) with such a
multiplicity of roundabouts and intricate cross turns, with a hard knot
at every intersection or point where the strings met,&mdash;that Dr.
<i>Slop</i> must have had three-fifths of <i>Job’s</i> patience at least
to have unloosed them.&mdash;I&nbsp;think in my conscience, that had
<span class = "smallcaps">Nature</span> been in one of her nimble moods,
and in humour for such a contest&mdash;&mdash;and she and Dr.
<i>Slop</i> both fairly started together&mdash;&mdash;there is no man
living who had seen the bag with all that <i>Obadiah</i> had done to
it,&mdash;&mdash;and known likewise the great speed the Goddess can make
when she thinks proper, who would have had the least doubt remaining in
his mind&mdash;which of the two would have carried off the prize. My
mother, Madam, had been delivered sooner than the green bag
infallibly&mdash;&mdash;at least by twenty
<i>knots</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Sport of small accidents, <i>Tristram
Shandy!</i> that thou art, and ever will be! had that trial been for
thee, and it was fifty to one but it had,&mdash;&mdash;thy affairs had
not been so depress’d&mdash;(at&nbsp;least by the depression of thy
nose) as they have been; nor had the fortunes of thy house and the
occasions of making them, which have so often presented themselves in
the course of thy life, to thee, been so often, so vexatiously, so
tamely, so irrecoverably abandoned&mdash;as thou hast been forced to
leave them;&mdash;&mdash;but ’tis over,&mdash;&mdash;all but the account
of ’em, which cannot be given to the curious till I am got out into the
world.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page120" id = "page120">120</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapIX" id = "bookIII_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Great</span> wits jump: for the moment Dr.
<i>Slop</i> cast his eyes upon his bag (which he had not done till the
dispute with my uncle <i>Toby</i> about midwifery put him in mind
of&nbsp;it)&mdash;the very same thought occurred.&mdash;’Tis God’s
mercy, quoth he (to&nbsp;himself) that Mrs. <i>Shandy</i> has had so bad
a time of it,&mdash;&mdash;else she might have been brought to bed seven
times told, before one half of these knots could have got
untied.&mdash;&mdash;But here you must distinguish&mdash;the thought
floated only in Dr. <i>Slop’s</i> mind, without sail or ballast to it,
as a simple proposition; millions of which, as your worship knows, are
every day swimming quietly in the middle of the thin juice of a man’s
understanding, without being carried backwards or forwards, till some
little gusts of passion or interest drive them to one side.</p>

<p>A sudden trampling in the room above, near my mother’s bed, did the
proposition the very service I am speaking of. By all that’s
unfortunate, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, unless I make haste, the thing will
actually befall me as it&nbsp;is.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapX" id = "bookIII_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> the case of
<i>knots</i>,&mdash;by which, in the first place, I&nbsp;would not be
understood to mean slip-knots&mdash;because in the course of my life and
opinions&mdash;my opinions concerning them will come in more properly
when I mention the catastrophe of my great uncle Mr. <i>Hammond
Shandy</i>,&mdash;a&nbsp;little man,&mdash;but of high fancy:&mdash;he
rushed into the duke of <i>Monmouth’s</i> affair:&mdash;&mdash;nor,
secondly, in this place, do I mean that particular species of knots
called bow-knots;&mdash;there is so little address, or skill, or
patience required in the unloosing them, that they are below my giving
any opinion at all about them.&mdash;But by the knots I am speaking of,
may it please your reverences to believe, that I mean good, honest,
devilish tight, hard knots, made <i>bona fide</i>, as <i>Obadiah</i>
made his;&mdash;&mdash;in which there is no quibbling provision made by
the duplication and return of the two ends of the strings thro’ the
annulus or noose made by the second <i>implication</i> of them&mdash;to
get them slipp’d and undone by.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope you
apprehend&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>In the case of these <i>knots</i> then, and of the several
obstructions, which, may it please your reverences, such knots cast in
our way in getting through life&mdash;&mdash;every hasty man can whip
out his
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page121" id = "page121">121</a></span>
penknife and cut through them.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis wrong. Believe me,
Sirs, the most virtuous way, and which both reason and conscience
dictate&mdash;&mdash;is to take our teeth or our fingers to
them.&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> had lost his teeth&mdash;his
favourite instrument, by extracting in a wrong direction, or by some
misapplication of it, unfortunately slipping, he had formerly, in a hard
labour, knock’d out three of the best of them with the handle of
it:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he tried his fingers&mdash;alas; the nails of
his fingers and thumbs were cut close.&mdash;&mdash;The duce take it!
I&nbsp;can make nothing of it either way, cried Dr.
<i>Slop</i>.&mdash;&mdash;The trampling overhead near my mother’s
bedside increased.&mdash;Pox take the fellow! I&nbsp;shall never get the
knots untied as long as I live.&mdash;&mdash;My mother gave a
groan.&mdash;&mdash;Lend me your penknife&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;must e’en
cut the knots at last&mdash;&mdash;pugh!&mdash;&mdash;psha!&mdash;Lord!
I&nbsp;have cut my thumb quite across to the very
bone&mdash;&mdash;curse the fellow&mdash;if there was not another
man-midwife within fifty miles&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am undone for this
bout&mdash;I&nbsp;wish the scoundrel hang’d&mdash;I&nbsp;wish he was
shot&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish all the devils in hell had him for a <span
class = "locked">blockhead!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My father had a great respect for <i>Obadiah</i>, and could not bear
to hear him disposed of in such a manner&mdash;he had moreover some
little respect for himself&mdash;and could as ill bear with the
indignity offered to himself in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Had Dr. <i>Slop</i> cut any part about him, but his
thumb&mdash;&mdash;my father had pass’d it by&mdash;his prudence had
triumphed: as it was, he was determined to have his revenge.</p>

<p>Small curses, Dr. <i>Slop</i>, upon great occasions, quoth my father
(condoling with him first upon the accident), are but so much waste of
our strength and soul’s health to no manner of purpose.&mdash;I&nbsp;own
it, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;They are like sparrow-shot, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i> (suspending his whistling), fired against a
bastion.&mdash;&mdash;They serve, continued my father, to stir the
humours&mdash;&mdash;but carry off none of their acrimony:&mdash;for my
own part, I&nbsp;seldom swear or curse at all&mdash;I&nbsp;hold it
bad&mdash;&mdash;but if I fall into it by surprize, I&nbsp;generally
retain so much presence of mind (right, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>) as
to make it answer my purpose&mdash;&mdash;that is, I&nbsp;swear on till
I find myself easy. A&nbsp;wise and a just man however would always
endeavour to proportion the vent given to these humours, not only to the
degree of them stirring within himself&mdash;but to the size and ill
intent of the offence upon which they are to fall.&mdash;“<i>Injuries
come only from the heart</i>,”&mdash;quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>. For
this reason, continued my father, with the most <i>Cervantick</i>
gravity, I&nbsp;have the greatest veneration in the world for that
gentleman, who, in distrust of his own discretion
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page122" id = "page122">122</a></span>
in this point, sat down and composed (that is at his leisure) fit forms
of swearing suitable to all cases, from the lowest to the highest
provocation which could possibly happen to him&mdash;&mdash;which forms
being well considered by him, and such moreover as he could stand to, he
kept them ever by him on the chimney-piece, within his reach, ready for
use.&mdash;I&nbsp;never apprehended, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>, that such
a thing was ever thought of&mdash;&mdash;much less executed. I&nbsp;beg
your pardon, answered my father; I&nbsp;was reading, though not using,
one of them to my brother <i>Toby</i> this morning, whilst he pour’d out
the tea&mdash;’tis here upon the shelf over my head;&mdash;but if I
remember right, ’tis too violent for a cut of the thumb.&mdash;Not at
all, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>&mdash;the devil take the
fellow.&mdash;&mdash;Then, answered my father, ’Tis much at your
service, Dr. <i>Slop</i>&mdash;on condition you will read it
aloud;&mdash;&mdash;so rising up and reaching down a form of
excommunication of the church of <i>Rome</i>, a&nbsp;copy of which, my
father (who was curious in his collections) had procured out of the
leger-book of the church of <i>Rochester</i>, writ by <span class =
"smallcaps">Ernulphus</span> the bishop&mdash;&mdash;with a most
affected seriousness of look and voice, which might have cajoled <span
class = "smallcaps">Ernulphus</span> himself&mdash;he put it into Dr.
<i>Slop’s</i> hands.&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> wrapt his thumb up in
the corner of his handkerchief, and with a wry face, though without any
suspicion, read aloud, as follows&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> whistling <i>Lillabullero</i> as loud as he could all the
time.</p>


<h5><a name = "bookIII_excomm" id = "bookIII_excomm">
Textus de Ecclesiâ Roffensi, per Ernulfum Episcopum.</a></h5>

<table class = "parallel" summary = "parallel text">
<tr>
<td>
<h4>CAP. XI<br />
EXCOMMUNICATIO<a class = "tag" name = "tag_3_2" id = "tag_3_2" href =
"#note_3_2">2</a></h4>
</td>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page123" id = "page123">123</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXI" id = "bookIII_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "firstword">Ex</span> auctoritate Dei omnipotentis,
Patris, et Filij, et Spiritus Sancti, et sanctorum canonum, sanctæque et
intemeratæ Virginis Dei genetricis <span class =
"locked">Mariæ,&mdash;</span></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>“<span class = "firstword">By</span> the authority of God Almighty,
the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the holy canons, and of the
undefiled Virgin <i>Mary</i>, mother and patroness of our Saviour.”</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>I think there is no necessity, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, dropping the
paper down to his knee, and addressing himself to my
father&mdash;&mdash;as you have read it over, Sir, so lately, to read it
aloud&mdash;&mdash;and as Captain <i>Shandy</i> seems to have no great
inclination to hear it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;may as well read it to
myself. That’s contrary to treaty, replied my
father:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;besides, there is something so whimsical,
especially in the latter part of it, I&nbsp;should grieve to lose the
pleasure of a second reading. Dr. <i>Slop</i> did not altogether like
it,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but my uncle <i>Toby</i> offering at that
instant to give over whistling, and read it himself to
them;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> thought he might as well read
it under the cover of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
whistling&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as suffer my uncle <i>Toby</i> to read it
alone;&mdash;&mdash;so raising up the paper to his face, and holding it
quite parallel to it, in order to hide his
chagrin&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he read it aloud as
follows&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> whistling
<i>Lillabullero</i>, though not quite so loud as before.</p>

<table class = "parallel" summary = "parallel text">
<tr>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page124" id = "page124">124</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Atque omnium cœlestium virtutum, angelorum,
archangelorum, thronorum, dominationum, potestatuum, cherubin ac
seraphin, &amp; sanctorum patriarchum, prophetarum, &amp; omnium
apostolorum &amp; evangelistarum, &amp; sanctorum innocentum, qui in
conspectu Agni soli digni inventi sunt canticum cantare novum, et
sanctorum martyrum et sanctorum confessorum, et sanctarum virginum,
atque omnium simul sanctorum et electorum Dei,</p>
</td>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page125" id = "page125">125</a></span>
<p>“By the authority of God Almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
and of the undefiled Virgin <i>Mary</i>, mother and patroness of our
Saviour, and of all the celestial virtues, angels, archangels, thrones,
dominions, powers, cherubins and seraphins, and of all the holy
patriarchs, prophets, and of all the apostles and evangelists, and of
the holy innocents, who in the sight of the Holy Lamb, are found worthy
to sing the new song of the holy martyrs and holy confessors, and of the
holy virgins, and of all the saints, together with the holy and elect of
God,&mdash;&mdash;May he” (<i>Obadiah</i>) “be damn’d” (for tying these
knots)</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;Excommunicamus, et anathematizamus<br />
<i>vel</i> os&nbsp;<span class = "invisible"> fure</span>s<span class =
"invisible">, vel </span><i>vel</i> os&nbsp;<span class = "invisible">
malefactore</span>s<br />
hunc furem, vel hunc malefactorem, N. N. et a liminibus sanctæ Dei
ecclesiæ sequestramus, et æternis suppliciis<br />

<span class = "invisible">excrucia</span><i>vel</i> i <span class =
"invisible">, mancipe</span>n<br />
excruciandus, mancipetur, cum Dathan et Abiram, et cum his qui dixerunt
Domino Deo, Recede à nobis, scientiam viarum tuarum nolumus: et sicut
aquâ ignis extinguitur, sic extinguatur<br />
&emsp; <i>vel</i> eorum<br />
lucerna ejus in secula seculorum nisi<br />
<span class = "invisible">resipuer</span>n, <span class = "invisible">et
ad satisfactionem vener</span>n<br />
resipuerit, et ad satisfactionem venerit. Amen.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;“We excommunicate, and anathematize him, and from the
thresholds of the holy church of God Almighty we sequester him, that he
may be tormented, disposed, and delivered over with <i>Dathan</i> and
<i>Abiram</i>, and with those who say unto the Lord God, Depart from us,
we desire none of thy ways. And as fire is quenched with water, so let
the light of him be put out for evermore, unless it shall repent him”
(<i>Obadiah</i>, of the knots which he has tied) “and make satisfaction”
(for them) “Amen.”</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum Deus Pater qui hominem creavit.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum Dei Filius qui pro homine passus est.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum Spiritus Sanctus qui in baptismo effusus est.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum sancta crux, quam Christus pro nostrâ salute hostem
triumphans ascendit.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>“May the Father who created man, curse him.&mdash;&mdash;May the Son
who suffered for us, curse him.&mdash;&mdash;May the Holy Ghost, who was
given to us in baptism, curse him (<i>Obadiah</i>)&mdash;&mdash;May the
holy cross which Christ, for our salvation triumphing over his enemies,
ascended, curse him.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum sancta Dei genetrix et perpetua Virgo Maria.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum sanctus Michael, animarum susceptor sacrarum.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicant ill</span>os<br />
Maledicant illum omnes angeli et archangeli, principatus et potestates,
omnisque militia cœlestis.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>“May the holy and eternal Virgin <i>Mary</i>, mother of God, curse
him.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;May St. <i>Michael</i>, the advocate of holy
souls, curse him.&mdash;&mdash;May all the angels and archangels,
principalities and powers, and all the heavenly armies, curse him.” [Our
armies swore terribly in <i>Flanders</i>, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but nothing to
this.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;For my own part I could not have a heart to
curse my dog&nbsp;so.]</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum patriarcharum et prophetarum laudabilis numerus.<br
/>
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum sanctus Johannes Præcusor et Baptista Christi, et
sanctus Petrus, et sanctus Paulus, atque sanctus Andreas, omnesque
Christi apostoli, simul et cæteri</p>

<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page126" id = "page126">126</a></span>

<p>discipuli, quatuor quoque evangelistæ, qui sua prædicatione mundum
universum converterunt.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicat ill</span>os<br />
Maledicat illum cuneus martyrum et confessorum mirificus, qui Deo bonis
operibus placitus inventus est.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>“May St. John, the Præcursor, and St. John the Baptist, and St. Peter
and St. Paul, and St. Andrew, and all other Christ’s apostles, together
curse him. And may the rest of his disciples and four evangelists, who
by their preaching converted the universal world, and may the holy and
wonderful company of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page127" id = "page127">127</a></span>
martyrs and confessors who by their holy works are found pleasing to God
Almighty, curse him” (<i>Obadiah</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledicant ill</span>os<br />
Maledicant illum sacrarum virginum chori, quæ mundi vana causa
honoris Christi respuenda contempserunt.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledicant ill</span>os<br />
Maledicant illum omnes sancti qui ab initio mundi usque in finem seculi
Deo dilecti inveniuntur.</p>

<p><span class = "invisible">Maledicant ill</span>os<br />
Maledicant illum cœli et terra, et omnia sancta in eis manentia.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>“May the holy choir of the holy virgins, who for the honour of Christ
have despised the things of the world, damn him&mdash;&mdash;May all the
saints, who from the beginning of the world to everlasting ages are
found to be beloved of God, damn him&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;May the heavens
and earth, and all the holy things remaining therein, damn him”
(<i>Obadiah</i>) “or her” (or&nbsp;whoever else had a hand in tying
these knots).</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n <span class =
"invisible">ubicunque fuer</span>n<br />
Maledictus sit ubicunque fuerit, sive in domo, sive in agro, sive in
viâ, sive in semitâ, sive in silvâ, sive in aquâ, sive in ecclesiâ.</p>

<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
Maledictus sit vivendo, moriendo,
<img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "200" height = "12"
alt = "--" /><br />
<span class = "space25">&nbsp; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
&nbsp; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
&nbsp; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
manducando, bibendo, esuriendo, sitiendo, jejunando, dormitando,
dormiendo, vigilando, ambulando, stando, sedendo, jacendo, operando,
quiescendo, mingendo, cacando, flebotomando.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>“May he (<i>Obadiah</i>) be damn’d wherever he
be&mdash;&mdash;whether in the house or the stables, the garden or the
field, or the highway, or in the path, or in the wood, or in the water,
or in the church.&mdash;&mdash;May he be cursed in living, in dying.”
[Here my uncle <i>Toby</i>, taking the advantage of a <i>minim</i> in
the second bar of his tune, kept whistling one continued note to the end
of the sentence.&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i>, with his division of
curses moving under him, like a running bass all the way.] “May he be
cursed in eating, and drinking, in being hungry, in being thirsty, in
fasting, in sleeping, in slumbering, in walking, in standing, in
sitting, in lying, in working, in resting, in pissing, in shitting, and
in blood-letting!”</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
Maledictus sit in totis viribus corporis,</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>“May he” (<i>Obadiah</i>) “be cursed in all the faculties of his
body!</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
Maledictus sit intus et exterius.</p>

<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
Maledictus sit in capillis;</p>

<p><span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
maledictus sit in cerebro.<br />
<span class = "invisible">Maledict </span>i&emsp;n<br />
Maledictus sit in vertice, in temporibus, in fronte, in auriculis, in
superciliis, in oculis, in genis, in maxillis, in naribus, in dentibus,
mordacibus, sive molaribus, in labiis, in guttere, in humeris, in
harnis, in brachiis, in manubus, in digitis, in pectore, in corde, et in
omnibus interioribus stomacho tenus, in renibus, in inguinibus, in
femore, in genitalibus, in coxis, in genubus, in cruribus, in pedibus,
et in inguibus.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>“May he be cursed inwardly and outwardly!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;May he
be cursed in the hair of his head!&mdash;&mdash;May he be cursed in his
brains, and in his vertex” (that is a sad curse, quoth my father), “in
his temples, in his forehead, in his ears, in his eye-brows, in his
cheeks, in his jaw-bones, in his nostrils, in his fore-teeth and
grinders, in his lips, in his throat, in his shoulders, in his wrists,
in his arms, in his hands, in his fingers!</p>

<p>“May he be damn’d in his mouth, in his breast, in his heart and
purtenance, down to the very stomach!</p>

<p>“May he be cursed in his <ins class = "correction"
title = "not an error: _renibus_ = kidneys)">reins</ins>, and in his groin” (God in
heaven forbid! quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>), “in his thighs, in his
genitals” (my&nbsp;father shook his head), “and in his hips, and in his
knees, his legs, and feet, and toe-nails!</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page128" id = "page128">128</a></span>
<p>Maledictus sit in totis compagibus membrorum, a vertice capitis,
usque ad plantam pedis&mdash;non sit in eo sanitas.</p>
</td>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page129" id = "page129">129</a></span>
<p>“May he be cursed in all the joints and articulations of his members,
from the top of his head to the sole of his foot! May there be no
soundness in him!</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p>Maledicat illum Christus Filius Dei vivi toto suæ majestatis <span
class = "locked">imperio.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>“May the Son of the living God, with all the glory of his
Majesty”&mdash;&mdash;</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>[Here my uncle <i>Toby</i>, throwing back his head, gave a monstrous,
long, loud Whew&mdash;w&mdash;w&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;something
betwixt the interjectional whistle of <i>Hay-day!</i> and the word <span
class = "locked">itself.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;By the golden beard of <i>Jupiter</i>&mdash;and of
<i>Juno</i> (if&nbsp;her majesty wore one) and by the beards of the rest
of your heathen worships, which by the bye was no small number, since
what with the beards of your celestial gods, and gods aerial and
aquatick&mdash;to say nothing of the beards of town-gods and
country-gods, or of the celestial goddesses your wives, or of the
infernal goddesses your whores and concubines (that is in case they wore
them)&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;all which beards, as <i>Varro</i> tells me,
upon his word and honour, when mustered up together, made no less than
thirty thousand effective beards upon the Pagan
establishment;&mdash;&mdash;every beard of which claimed the rights and
privileges of being stroken and sworn by&mdash;by all these beards
together then&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;vow and protest, that of the two bad
cassocks I am worth in the world, I&nbsp;would have given the better of
them, as freely as ever <i>Cid Hamet</i> offered his&mdash;&mdash;to
have stood by, and heard my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> accompanyment.]</p>

<table class = "parallel" summary = "parallel text">
<tr>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;et insurgat adversus illum cœlum cum omnibus virtutibus
quæ in eo moventur ad <i>damnandum</i> eum, nisi penituerit et ad
satisfactionem venerit. Amen. Fiat, fiat. Amen.</p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;“curse him!” continued Dr. <i>Slop</i>,&mdash;“and may
heaven, with all the powers which move therein, rise up against <ins
class = "correction" title = "invisible , at line-end">him,</ins> curse
and damn him” (<i>Obadiah</i>) “unless he repent and make satisfaction!
Amen. So be it,&mdash;so be it. Amen.”</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>I declare, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, my heart would not let me
curse the devil himself with so much bitterness.&mdash;He is the father
of curses, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;&mdash;So am not I, replied my
uncle.&mdash;&mdash;But he is cursed, and damn’d already, to all
eternity, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>.</p>

<p>I am sorry for it, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Dr. <i>Slop</i> drew up his mouth, and was just beginning to return
my uncle <i>Toby</i> the compliment of his Whu&mdash;u&mdash;u&mdash;or
interjectional whistle&mdash;&mdash;when the door hastily opening in the
next chapter but one&mdash;&mdash;put an end to the affair.</p>



<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page130" id = "page130">130</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXII" id = "bookIII_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> don’t let us give ourselves a
parcel of airs, and pretend that the oaths we make free with in this
land of liberty of ours are our own; and because we have the spirit to
swear them,&mdash;&mdash;imagine that we have had the wit to invent them
too.</p>

<p>I’ll undertake this moment to prove it to any man in the world,
except to a connoisseur:&mdash;&mdash;though I declare I object only to
a connoisseur in swearing,&mdash;&mdash;as I would do to a connoisseur
in painting, &amp;c., &amp;c., the whole set of ’em are so hung round
and <i>befetish’d</i> with the bobs and trinkets of
criticism,&mdash;&mdash;or to drop my metaphor, which by the bye is a
pity,&mdash;&mdash;for I have fetch’d it as far as from the coast of
<i>Guiney</i>;&mdash;their heads, Sir, are stuck so full of rules and
compasses, and have that eternal propensity to apply them upon all
occasions, that a work of genius had better go to the devil at once,
than stand to be prick’d and tortured to death by ’em.</p>

<p>&mdash;And how did <i>Garrick</i> speak the soliloquy last
night?&mdash;Oh, against all rule, my lord,&mdash;most ungrammatically!
betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree together
in <i>number</i>, <i>case</i>, and <i>gender</i>, he made a breach
thus,&mdash;stopping, as if the point wanted settling;&mdash;and betwixt
the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb,
he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times three seconds and
three-fifths by a stop-watch, my lord, each time,&mdash;Admirable
grammarian!&mdash;&mdash;But in suspending his voice&mdash;&mdash;was
the sense suspended likewise? Did no expression of attitude or
countenance fill up the chasm?&mdash;&mdash;Was the eye silent? Did you
narrowly look?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;look’d only at the stop-watch,
my lord.&mdash;Excellent observer!</p>

<p>And what of this new book the whole world makes such a rout
about?&mdash;&mdash;Oh! ’tis out of all plumb, my
lord,&mdash;&mdash;quite an irregular thing!&mdash;not one of the angles
at the four corners was a right angle.&mdash;I&nbsp;had my rule and
compasses, &amp;c., my lord, in my pocket.&mdash;Excellent critick!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And for the epick poem your lordship bid me look
at&mdash;&mdash;upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of
it, and trying them at home upon an exact scale of
<i>Bossu’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;’tis out, my lord, in every one of its
dimensions.&mdash;Admirable connoisseur!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And did you step in, to take a look at the grand
picture in your way back?&mdash;’Tis a melancholy daub! my lord; not one
principle of the <i>pyramid</i> in any one group!&mdash;&mdash;and what
a price!&mdash;&mdash;for
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page131" id = "page131">131</a></span>
there is nothing of the colouring of <i>Titian</i>&mdash;the expression
of <i>Rubens</i>&mdash;the grace of <i>Raphael</i>&mdash;the purity of
<i>Dominichino</i>&mdash;the <i>corregiescity</i> of
<i>Corregio</i>&mdash;the learning of <i>Poussin</i>&mdash;the airs of
<i>Guido</i>&mdash;the taste of the <i>Carrachis</i>&mdash;or the grand
contour of <i>Angela</i>.&mdash;Grant me patience, just Heaven!&mdash;Of
all the cants which are canted in this canting world&mdash;though the
cant of hypocrites may be the worst&mdash;&mdash;the cant of criticism
is the most tormenting!</p>

<p>I would go fifty miles on foot, for I have not a horse worth riding
on, to kiss the hand of that man whose generous heart will give up the
reins of his imagination into his author’s hands&mdash;&mdash;be pleased
he knows not why, and cares not wherefore.</p>

<p>Great <i>Apollo!</i> if thou art in a giving humour&mdash;give
me&mdash;I ask no more, but one stroke of native humour, with a single
spark of thy own fire along with it&mdash;&mdash;and send
<i>Mercury</i>, with the <i>rules and compasses</i>, if he can be
spared, with my compliments to&mdash;no matter.</p>

<p>Now to any one else I will undertake to prove, that all the oaths and
imprecations which we have been puffing off upon the world for these two
hundred and fifty years last past as originals&mdash;&mdash;except St.
<i>Paul’s thumb</i>&mdash;&mdash;<i>God’s flesh and God’s fish</i>,
which were oaths monarchical, and, considering who made them, not much
amiss; and as kings’ oaths, ’tis not much matter whether they were fish
or flesh;&mdash;else I say, there is not an oath, or at least a curse
amongst them, which has not been copied over and over again out of
<i>Ernulphus</i> a thousand times: but, like all other copies, how
infinitely short of the force and spirit of the original!&mdash;It is
thought to be no bad oath&mdash;&mdash;and by itself passes very
well&mdash;“<i>G&mdash;d damn you.</i>”&mdash;Set it beside
<i>Ernulphus’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;“God Almighty the Father damn
you&mdash;God the Son damn you&mdash;God the Holy Ghost damn
you”&mdash;you see ’tis nothing.&mdash;There is an orientality in his,
we cannot rise up to: besides, he is more copious in his
invention&mdash;possess’d more of the excellencies of a
swearer&mdash;&mdash;had such a thorough knowledge of the human frame,
its membranes, nerves, ligaments, knittings of the joints, and
articulations,&mdash;&mdash;that when <i>Ernulphus</i> cursed&mdash;no
part escaped him.&mdash;’Tis true there is something of a
<i>hardness</i> in his manner&mdash;&mdash;and, as in <i>Michael
Angelo</i>, a&nbsp;want of <i>grace</i>&mdash;&mdash;but then there is
such a greatness of <i>gusto!</i></p>

<p>My father, who generally look’d upon everything in a light very
different from all mankind, would, after all, never allow this to be an
original.&mdash;&mdash;He considered rather, <i>Ernulphus’s</i>
anathema, as an institute of swearing, in which, as he suspected, upon
the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page132" id = "page132">132</a></span>
decline of <i>swearing</i> in some milder pontificate, <i>Ernulphus</i>,
by order of the succeeding pope, had with great learning and diligence
collected together all the laws of it;&mdash;for the same reason that
<i>Justinian</i>, in the decline of the empire, had ordered his
chancellor <i>Tribonian</i> to collect the <i>Roman</i> or civil laws
all together into one code or digest&mdash;&mdash;lest, through the rust
of time&mdash;&mdash;and the fatality of all things committed to oral
tradition&mdash;they should be lost to the world for ever.</p>

<p>For this reason my father would oft-times affirm, there was not an
oath, from the great and tremendous oath of <i>William</i> the Conqueror
(<i>By&nbsp;the splendour of God</i>) down to the lowest oath of a
scavenger (<i>Damn your eyes</i>) which was not to be found in
<i>Ernulphus</i>.&mdash;In short, he would add&mdash;I&nbsp;defy a man
to swear <i>out</i> of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The hypothesis is, like most of my father’s, singular and ingenious
too;&mdash;&mdash;nor have I any objection to it, but that it overturns
my own.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXIII" id = "bookIII_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Bless</span> my
soul!&mdash;my poor mistress is ready to faint&mdash;&mdash;and her
pains are gone&mdash;and the drops are done&mdash;and the bottle of
julap is broke&mdash;&mdash;and the nurse has cut her arm&mdash;(and I,
my thumb, cried Dr. <i>Slop</i>,) and the child is where it was,
continued <i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;and the midwife has fallen backwards
upon the edge of the fender, and bruised her hip as black as your
hat.&mdash;I’ll look at it, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;There is no
need of that, replied <i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;you had better look at my
mistress&mdash;but the midwife would gladly first give you an account
how things are, so desires you would go up stairs and speak to her this
moment.</p>

<p>Human nature is the same in all professions.</p>

<p>The midwife had just before been put over Dr. <i>Slop’s</i>
head&mdash;He had not digested it,&mdash;No, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
’twould be full as proper, if the midwife came down to
me.&mdash;I&nbsp;like subordination, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;and but for it, after the reduction of <i>Lisle</i>,
I&nbsp;know not what might have become of the garrison of <i>Ghent</i>,
in the mutiny for bread, in the year Ten.&mdash;Nor, replied Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, (parodying my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> hobby-horsical
reflection; though full as hobby-horsical
himself)&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;do I know, Captain <i>Shandy</i>, what
might have become of the garrison above stairs, in the mutiny and
confusion I find all things are in at present, but for the subordination
of fingers and thumbs to ******&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page133" id = "page133">133</a></span>
application of which, Sir, under this accident of mine, comes in so <i>à
propos</i>, that without it, the cut upon my thumb might have been felt
by the <i>Shandy</i> family, as long as the <i>Shandy</i> family had a
name.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXIV" id = "bookIII_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Let</span> us go back to the
******&mdash;&mdash;in the last chapter.</p>

<p>It is a singular stroke of eloquence (at least it was so, when
eloquence flourished at <i>Athens</i> and <i>Rome</i>, and would be so
now, did orators wear mantles) not to mention the name of a thing, when
you had the thing about you <i>in petto</i>, ready to produce, pop, in
the place you want it. A&nbsp;scar, an axe, a&nbsp;sword, a&nbsp;pink’d
doublet, a&nbsp;rusty helmet, a&nbsp;pound and a half of pot-ashes in an
urn, or a three-halfpenny pickle pot&mdash;but above all, a&nbsp;tender
infant royally accoutred.&mdash;Tho’ if it was too young, and the
oration as long as <i>Tully’s</i> second <i>Philippick</i>&mdash;it must
certainly have beshit the orator’s mantle.&mdash;And then again, if too
old,&mdash;it must have been unwieldy and incommodious to his
action&mdash;so as to make him lose by his child almost as much as he
could gain by it.&mdash;Otherwise, when a state orator has hit the
precise age to a minute&mdash;&mdash;hid his BAMBINO in his mantle so
cunningly that no mortal could smell it&mdash;&mdash;and produced it so
critically, that no soul could say, it came in by head and
shoulders&mdash;Oh Sirs! it has done wonders&mdash;It has open’d the
sluices, and turn’d the brains, and shook the principles, and unhinged
the politicks of half a nation.</p>

<p>These feats however are not to be done, except in those states and
times, I&nbsp;say, where orators wore mantles&mdash;&mdash;and pretty
large ones too, my brethren, with some twenty or five-and-twenty yards
of good purple, superfine, marketable cloth in them&mdash;with large
flowing folds and doubles, and in a great style of design.&mdash;All
which plainly shews, may it please your worships, that the decay of
eloquence, and the little good service it does at present, both within
and without doors, is owing to nothing else in the world, but short
coats, and the disuse of <i>trunk-hose</i>.&mdash;&mdash;We can conceal
nothing under ours, Madam, worth shewing.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXV" id = "bookIII_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Dr</span>. <i>Slop</i> was within an ace of
being an exception to all this argumentation: for happening to have his
green bays bag upon
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page134" id = "page134">134</a></span>
his knees, when he began to parody my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;’twas as
good as the best mantle in the world to him: for which purpose, when he
foresaw the sentence would end in his new-invented <i>forceps</i>, he
thrust his hand into the bag in order to have them ready to clap in,
when your reverences took so much notice of the ***, which had he
managed&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> had certainly been overthrown:
the sentence and the argument in that case jumping closely in one point,
so like the two lines which form the salient angle of a
ravelin,&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> would never have given them
up;&mdash;and my uncle <i>Toby</i> would as soon have thought of flying,
as taking them by force: but Dr. <i>Slop</i> fumbled so vilely in
pulling them out, it took off the whole effect, and what was a ten times
worse evil (for they seldom come alone in this life) in pulling out his
<i>forceps</i>, his <i>forceps</i> unfortunately drew out the
<i>squirt</i> along with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>When a proposition can be taken in two senses&mdash;’tis a law in
disputation, That the respondent may reply to which of the two he
pleases, or finds most convenient for him.&mdash;&mdash;This threw the
advantage of the argument quite on my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
side.&mdash;&mdash;“Good God!” cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, “<i>are
children brought into the world with a squirt?</i>”</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXVI" id = "bookIII_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Upon</span> my honour, Sir, you have
tore every bit of skin quite off the back of both my hands with your
forceps, cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;and you have crush’d all my
knuckles into the bargain with them to a jelly. ’Tis your own fault,
said Dr. <i>Slop</i>&mdash;&mdash;you should have clinch’d your two
fists together into the form of a child’s head as I told you, and sat
firm. I&nbsp;did so, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Then
the points of my forceps have not been sufficiently arm’d, or the rivet
wants closing&mdash;or else the cut in my thumb has made me a little
aukward&mdash;or possibly&mdash;’Tis well, quoth my father, interrupting
the detail of possibilities&mdash;that the experiment was not first made
upon my child’s head-piece.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;It would not have been a
cherry-stone the worse, answered Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;maintain
it, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, it would have broke the cerebellum
(unless indeed the skull had been as hard as a granado) and turn’d it
all into a perfect posset.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Pshaw! replied Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, a&nbsp;child’s head is naturally as soft as the pap of an
apple;&mdash;the sutures give way&mdash;and besides, I&nbsp;could have
extracted by the feet after.&mdash;Not you, said
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page135" id = "page135">135</a></span>
she.&mdash;&mdash;I rather wish you would begin that way, quoth my
father.</p>

<p>Pray do, added my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXVII" id = "bookIII_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> pray, good woman,
after all, will you take upon you to say, it may not be the child’s hip,
as well as the child’s head?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis most certainly the
head, replied the midwife. <ins class = "correction"
title = ", missing">Because,</ins> continued Dr. <i>Slop</i> (turning to my father)
as positive as these old ladies generally are&mdash;’tis a point very
difficult to know&mdash;and yet of the greatest consequence to be
known;&mdash;&mdash;because, Sir, if the hip is mistaken for the
head&mdash;there is a possibility (if&nbsp;it is a boy) that the forceps
*&nbsp;*&nbsp;*&nbsp;*&nbsp;*&nbsp;*</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What the possibility was, Dr. <i>Slop</i> whispered
very low to my father, and then to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;There is no such danger, continued he, with
the head.&mdash;No, in truth, quoth my father&mdash;but when your
possibility has taken place at the hip&mdash;you may as well take off
the head too.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It is morally impossible the reader should understand
this&mdash;&mdash;’tis enough Dr. <i>Slop</i> understood
it;&mdash;&mdash;so taking the green bays bag in his hand, with the help
of <i>Obadiah’s</i> pumps, he tripp’d pretty nimbly, for a man of his
size, across the room to the door&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and from the door
was shewn the way, by the good old midwife, to my mother’s
apartments.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXVIII" id = "bookIII_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is two hours, and ten
minutes&mdash;and no more&mdash;cried my father, looking at his watch,
since Dr. <i>Slop</i> and <i>Obadiah</i> arrived&mdash;and I know not
how it happens, brother <i>Toby</i>&mdash;but to my imagination it seems
almost an age.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Here&mdash;pray, Sir, take hold of my cap&mdash;nay,
take the bell along with it, and my pantoufles too.</p>

<p>Now, Sir, they are all at your service; and I freely make you a
present of ’em, on condition you give me all your attention to this
chapter.</p>

<p>Though my father said, “<i>he knew not how it
happen’d</i>,”&mdash;yet he knew very well how it
happen’d;&mdash;&mdash;and at the instant he spoke it, was
pre-determined in his mind to give my uncle <i>Toby</i> a clear account
of the matter by a metaphysical dissertation upon the subject of
<i>duration and its simple modes</i>, in order to
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page136" id = "page136">136</a></span>
shew my uncle <i>Toby</i> by what mechanism and mensurations in the
brain it came to pass, that the rapid succession of their ideas, and the
eternal scampering of the discourse from one thing to another, since Dr.
<i>Slop</i> had come into the room, had lengthened out so short a period
to so inconceivable an extent.&mdash;&mdash;“I&nbsp;know not how it
happens&mdash;cried my father,&mdash;but it seems an age.”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis owing entirely, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to the
succession of our ideas.</p>

<p>My father, who had an itch, in common with all philosophers, of
reasoning upon everything which happened, and accounting for it
too&mdash;proposed infinite pleasure to himself in this, of the
succession of ideas, and had not the least apprehension of having it
snatch’d out of his hands by my uncle <i>Toby</i>, who (honest man!)
generally took everything as it happened;&mdash;&mdash;and who, of all
things in the world, troubled his brain the least with abstruse
thinking;&mdash;the ideas of time and space&mdash;or how we came by
those ideas&mdash;or of what stuff they were made&mdash;&mdash;or
whether they were born with us&mdash;or we picked them up afterwards as
we went along&mdash;or whether we did it in frocks&mdash;&mdash;or not
till we had got into breeches&mdash;with a thousand other inquiries and
disputes about <span class = "smallroman">INFINITY</span>, <span class =
"smallroman">PRESCIENCE</span>, <span class =
"smallroman">LIBERTY</span>, <span class =
"smallroman">NECESSITY</span>, and so forth, upon whose desperate and
unconquerable theories so many fine heads have been turned and
cracked&mdash;&mdash;never did my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> the least injury
at all; my father knew it&mdash;and was no less surprized than he was
disappointed, with my uncle’s fortuitous solution.</p>

<p>Do you understand the theory of that affair? replied my father.</p>

<p>Not I, quoth my uncle.</p>

<p>&mdash;But you have some ideas, said my father, of what you talk
about?&mdash;</p>

<p>No more than my horse, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Gracious heaven! cried my father, looking upwards, and clasping his
two hands together&mdash;&mdash;there is a worth in thy honest
ignorance, brother <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;’twere almost a pity to
exchange it for a knowledge.&mdash;But I’ll tell <span class =
"locked">thee.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>To understand what <i>time</i> is aright, without which we never can
comprehend <i>infinity</i>, insomuch as one is a portion of the
other&mdash;&mdash;we ought seriously to sit down and consider what idea
it is we have of <i>duration</i>, so as to give a satisfactory account
how we came by it.&mdash;&mdash;What is that to anybody? quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>. <a class = "tag" name = "tag_3_3" id = "tag_3_3" href =
"#note_3_3">3</a><i>For if you will turn your eyes inwards upon your
mind</i>, continued my father, <i>and observe attentively, you will
perceive,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page137" id = "page137">137</a></span>
brother, that whilst you and I are talking together, and thinking, and
smoking our pipes, or whilst we receive successively ideas in our minds,
we know that we do exist, and so we estimate the existence, or the
continuation of the existence of ourselves, or anything else,
commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the duration
of ourselves, or any such other thing co-existing with our
thinking&mdash;&mdash;and so according to that
preconceived</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;You puzzle me to death, cried my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis owing to this, replied my father, that in
our computations of <i>time</i>, we are so used to minutes, hours,
weeks, and months&mdash;&mdash;and of clocks (I&nbsp;wish there was not
a clock in the kingdom) to measure out their several portions to us, and
to those who belong to us&mdash;&mdash;that ’twill be well, if in time
to come, the <i>succession of our ideas</i> be of any use or service to
us at all.</p>

<p>Now, whether we observe it or no, continued my father, in every sound
man’s head, there is a regular succession of ideas of one sort or other,
which follow each other in train just
like&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;train of artillery? said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;train of a fiddle-stick!&mdash;quoth my
father&mdash;which follow and succeed one another in our minds at
certain distances, just like the images in the inside of a lanthorn
turned round by the heat of a candle.&mdash;I&nbsp;declare, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, mine are more like a
smoak-jack.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Then, brother <i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;have
nothing more to say to you upon that subject, said my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXIX" id = "bookIII_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">What</span> a conjecture was
here lost!&mdash;&mdash;My father in one of his best explanatory
moods&mdash;in eager pursuit of a metaphysical point into the very
regions, where clouds and thick darkness would soon have encompassed it
about;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> in one of the finest dispositions for
it in the world;&mdash;his head like a smoak-jack;&mdash;&mdash;the
funnel unswept, and the ideas whirling round and round about in it, all
obfuscated and darkened over with fuliginous matter!&mdash;By the
tomb-stone of <i>Lucian</i>&mdash;&mdash;if it is in
being&mdash;&mdash;if not, why then by his ashes! by the ashes of my
dear <i>Rabelais</i>, and dearer
<i>Cervantes!</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my father and my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> discourse upon <span class = "smallroman">TIME</span> and
<span class = "smallroman">ETERNITY</span>&mdash;&mdash;was a discourse
devoutly to be wished for! and the petulancy of my father’s humour, in
putting a stop to it as he did, was a robbery of the <i>Ontologic
Treasury</i> of such a jewel, as no coalition of great occasions and
great men are ever likely to restore to it again.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page138" id = "page138">138</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXX" id = "bookIII_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Tho</span>’ my father persisted in not
going on with the discourse&mdash;yet he could not get my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> smoak-jack out of his head&mdash;piqued as he was at first
with it;&mdash;there was something in the comparison at the bottom,
which hit his fancy; for which purpose, resting his elbow upon the
table, and reclining the right side of his head upon the palm of his
hand&mdash;&mdash;but looking first stedfastly in the
fire&mdash;&mdash;he began to commune with himself, and philosophize
about it: but his spirits being wore out with the fatigues of
investigating new tracts, and the constant exertion of his faculties
upon that variety of subjects which had taken their turn in the
discourse&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the idea of the smoak-jack soon turned all
his ideas upside down&mdash;so that he fell asleep almost before he knew
what he was about.</p>

<p>As for my uncle <i>Toby</i>, his smoak-jack had not made a dozen
revolutions, before he fell asleep also.&mdash;&mdash;Peace be with them
both!&mdash;&mdash;Dr. <i>Slop</i> is engaged with the midwife and my
mother above stairs.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> is busy in turning an old
pair of jackboots into a couple of mortars, to be employed in the siege
of <i>Messina</i> next summer&mdash;and is this instant boring the
touch-holes with the point of a hot poker.&mdash;&mdash;All my heroes
are off my hands;&mdash;’tis the first time I have had a moment to
spare&mdash;and I’ll make use of it, and write my preface.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_preface" id = "bookIII_preface">
THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">No</span>, I’ll not say a word about
it&mdash;&mdash;here it is;&mdash;in publishing it&mdash;I&nbsp;have
appealed to the world&mdash;&mdash;and to the world I leave it;&mdash;it
must speak for itself.</p>

<p>All I know of the matter is&mdash;when I sat down, my intent was to
write a good book; and as far as the tenuity of my understanding would
hold out&mdash;a&nbsp;wise, aye, and a discreet&mdash;taking care only,
as I went along, to put into it all the wit and the judgment (be&nbsp;it
more or less) which the great Author and Bestower of them had thought
fit originally to give me&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;so that, as your worships
see&mdash;’tis just as God pleases.</p>

<p>Now, <i>Agelastes</i> (speaking dispraisingly) sayeth, That there may
be some wit in it, for aught he knows&mdash;&mdash;but no judgment at
all. And <i>Triptolemus</i> and <i>Phutatorius</i> agreeing thereto,
ask, How is it possible there should? for that wit and judgment in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page139" id = "page139">139</a></span>
this world never go together; inasmuch as they are two operations
differing from each other as wide as east from
west&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;So, says <i>Locke</i>&mdash;&mdash;so are
farting and hickuping, say&nbsp;I. But in answer to this, <i>Didius</i>
the great church lawyer, in his code <i>de fartendi et illustrandi
fallaciis</i>, doth maintain and make fully appear, That an illustration
is no argument&mdash;&mdash;nor do I maintain the wiping of a
looking-glass clean to be a syllogism;&mdash;&mdash;but you all, may it
please your worships, see the better for it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;so that
the main good these things do is only to clarify the understanding,
previous to the application of the argument itself, in order to free it
from any little motes, or specks of opacular matter, which, if left
swimming therein, might hinder a conception and spoil all.</p>

<p>Now, my dear anti-Shandeans, and thrice able criticks, and
fellow-labourers (for to you I write this
Preface)&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and to you, most subtle statesmen and
discreet doctors (do&mdash;pull off your beards) renowned for gravity
and wisdom;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Monopolus</i>, my
politician&mdash;<i>Didius</i>, my counsel; <i>Kysarcius</i>, my
friend;&mdash;<i>Phutatorius</i>, my
guide;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Gastripheres</i>, the preserver of my life;
<i>Somnolentius</i>, the balm and repose of it&mdash;&mdash;not
forgetting all others, as well sleeping as waking, ecclesiastical as
civil, whom for brevity, but out of no resentment to you, I&nbsp;lump
all together.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Believe me, right worthy,</p>

<p>My most zealous wish and fervent prayer in your behalf, and in my own
too, in case the thing is not done already for us&mdash;&mdash;is, that
the great gifts and endowments both of wit and judgment, with everything
which usually goes along with them&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;such as memory,
fancy, genius, eloquence, quick parts, and what not, may this precious
moment, without stint or measure, let or hindrance, be poured down warm
as each of us could bear it&mdash;scum and sediment and all (for I would
not have a drop lost) into the several receptacles, cells, cellules,
domiciles, dormitories, refectories, and spare places of our
brains&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;in such sort, that they might continue to be
injected and tunn’d into, according to the true intent and meaning of my
wish, until every vessel of them, both great and small, be so
replenish’d, saturated, and filled up therewith, that no more, would it
save a man’s life, could possibly be got either in or out.</p>

<p>Bless us!&mdash;what noble work we should make!&mdash;&mdash;how
should I tickle it off!&mdash;&mdash;and what spirits should I find
myself in, to be writing away for such readers!&mdash;&mdash;and
you&mdash;just heaven!&mdash;&mdash;with what raptures would you sit and
read&mdash;but oh!&mdash;’tis too much&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am
sick&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;faint away deliciously at the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page140" id = "page140">140</a></span>
thoughts of it&mdash;’tis more than nature can bear!&mdash;lay hold of
me&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am giddy&mdash;I&nbsp;am stone blind&mdash;I’m
dying&mdash;I&nbsp;am gone.&mdash;Help! Help! Help!&mdash;But
hold&mdash;I&nbsp;grow something better again, for I am beginning to
foresee, when this is over, that as we shall all of us continue to be
great wits&mdash;we should never agree amongst ourselves, one day to an
end:&mdash;&mdash;there would be so much satire and
sarcasm&mdash;&mdash;scoffing and flouting, with raillying and
reparteeing of it&mdash;thrusting and parrying in one corner or
another&mdash;&mdash;there would be nothing but mischief among
us&mdash;&mdash;Chaste stars! what biting and scratching, and what a
racket and a clatter we should make, what with breaking of heads,
rapping of knuckles, and hitting of sore places&mdash;there would be no
such thing as living for&nbsp;us.</p>

<p>But then again, as we should all of us be men of great judgment, we
should make up matters as fast as ever they went wrong; and though we
should abominate each other ten times worse than so many devils or
devilesses, we should nevertheless, my dear creatures, be all courtesy
and kindness, milk and honey&mdash;’twould be a second land of
promise&mdash;a&nbsp;paradise upon earth, if there was such a thing to
be had&mdash;so that upon the whole we should have done well enough.</p>

<p>All I fret and fume at, and what most distresses my invention at
present, is how to bring the point itself to bear; for as your worships
well know, that of these heavenly emanations of <i>wit</i> and
<i>judgment</i>, which I have so bountifully wished both for your
worships and myself&mdash;there is but a certain <i>quantum</i> stored
up for us all, for the use and behoof of the whole race of mankind; and
such small <i>modicums</i> of ’em are only sent forth into this wide
world, circulating here and there in one bye corner or another&mdash;and
in such narrow streams, and at such prodigious intervals from each
other, that one would wonder how it holds out, or could be sufficient
for the wants and emergencies of so many great estates, and populous
empires.</p>

<p>Indeed there is one thing to be considered, that in <i>Nova
Zembla</i>, <i>North Lapland</i>, and in all those cold and dreary
tracts of the globe, which lie more directly under the arctick and
antarctick circles, where the whole province of a man’s concernments
lies for near nine months together within the narrow compass of his
cave&mdash;where the spirits are compressed almost to nothing&mdash;and
where the passions of a man, with everything which belongs to them, are
as frigid as the zone itself&mdash;there the least quantity of
<i>judgment</i> imaginable does the business&mdash;and of
<i>wit</i>&mdash;&mdash;there is a total and an absolute
saving&mdash;for as
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page141" id = "page141">141</a></span>
not one spark is wanted&mdash;so not one spark is given. Angels and
ministers of grace defend us! what a dismal thing would it have been to
have governed a kingdom, to have fought a battle, or made a treaty, or
run a match, or wrote a book, or got a child, or held a provincial
chapter there, with so <i>plentiful a lack</i> of wit and judgment about
us! For mercy’s sake, let us think no more about it, but travel on as
fast as we can southwards into <i>Norway</i>&mdash;crossing over
<i>Swedeland</i>, if you please, through the small triangular province
of <i>Angermania</i> to the lake of <i>Bothnia</i>; coasting along it
through east and west <i>Bothnia</i>, down to <i>Carelia</i>, and so on,
through all those states and provinces which border upon the far side of
the <i>Gulf of Finland</i>, and the north-east of the <i>Baltick</i>, up
to <i>Petersbourg</i>, and just stepping into <i>Ingria</i>;&mdash;then
stretching over directly from thence through the north parts of the
<i>Russian</i> empire&mdash;leaving <i>Siberia</i> a little upon the
left hand, till we got into the very heart of <i>Russian</i> and
<i>Asiatick Tartary</i>.</p>

<p>Now throughout this long tour which I have led you, you observe the
good people are better off by far, than in the polar countries which we
have just left:&mdash;for if you hold your hand over your eyes, and look
very attentively, you may perceive some small glimmerings (as&nbsp;it
were) of wit, with a comfortable provision of good plain
<i>household</i> judgment, which, taking the quality and quantity of it
together, they make a very good shift with&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and had
they more of either the one or the other, it would destroy the proper
balance betwixt them, and I am satisfied moreover they would want
occasions to put them to use.</p>

<p>Now, Sir, if I conduct you home again into this warmer and more
luxuriant island, where you perceive the spring-tide of our blood and
humours runs high&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;where we have more ambition, and
pride, and envy, and lechery, and other whoreson passions upon our hands
to govern and subject to reason&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the <i>height</i> of
our wit, and the <i>depth</i> of our judgment, you see, are exactly
proportioned to the <i>length</i> and <i>breadth</i> of our
necessities&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and accordingly we have them sent down
amongst us in such a flowing kind of descent and creditable plenty, that
no one thinks he has any cause to complain.</p>

<p>It must however be confessed on this head, that, as our air blows hot
and cold&mdash;wet and dry, ten times in a day, we have them in no
regular and settled way;&mdash;so that sometimes for near half a century
together, there shall be very little wit or judgment either to be seen
or heard of amongst us:&mdash;&mdash;the small channels
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page142" id = "page142">142</a></span>
of them shall seem quite dried up&mdash;&mdash;then all of a sudden the
sluices shall break out, and take a fit of running again like
fury&mdash;&mdash;you would think they would never
stop:&mdash;&mdash;and then it is, that in writing, and fighting, and
twenty other gallant things, we drive all the world before&nbsp;us.</p>

<p>It is by these observations, and a wary reasoning by analogy in that
kind of argumentative process, which <i>Suidas</i> calls <i>dialectick
induction</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that I draw and set up this position
as most true and veritable;</p>

<p>That of these two luminaries so much of their irradiations are
suffered from time to time to shine down upon us, as he, whose infinite
wisdom which dispenses everything in exact weight and measure, knows
will just serve to light us on our way in this night of our obscurity;
so that your reverences and worships now find out, nor is it a moment
longer in my power to conceal it from you, That the fervent wish in your
behalf with which I set out, was no more than the first insinuating
<i>How d’ye</i> of a caressing prefacer, stifling his reader, as a lover
sometimes does a coy mistress, into silence. For alas! could this
effusion of light have been as easily procured, as the exordium wished
it&mdash;I&nbsp;tremble to think how many thousands for it, of benighted
travellers (in&nbsp;the learned sciences at least) must have groped and
blundered on in the dark, all the nights of their
lives&mdash;&mdash;running their heads against posts, and knocking out
their brains without ever getting to their journies
end;&mdash;&mdash;some falling with their noses perpendicularly into
sinks&mdash;&mdash;others horizontally with their tails into kennels.
Here one half of a learned profession tilting full but against the other
half of it, and then tumbling and rolling one over the other in the dirt
like hogs.&mdash;Here the brethren of another profession, who should
have run in opposition to each other, flying on the contrary like a
flock of wild geese, all in a row the same way.&mdash;What
confusion!&mdash;what mistakes!&mdash;&mdash;fiddlers and painters
judging by their eyes and ears&mdash;admirable!&mdash;trusting to the
passions excited&mdash;in an air sung, or a story painted to the
heart&mdash;&mdash;instead of measuring them by a quadrant.</p>

<p>In the fore-ground of this picture, a <i>statesman</i> turning the
political wheel, like a brute, the wrong way
round&mdash;&mdash;<i>against</i> the stream of corruption&mdash;by
Heaven!&mdash;&mdash;instead of <i>with</i>&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>In this corner, a son of the divine <i>Esculapius</i>, writing a book
against predestination; perhaps worse&mdash;feeling his patient’s pulse,
instead of his apothecary’s&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;brother of the Faculty
in the back-ground upon his knees in tears&mdash;drawing the curtains
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page143" id = "page143">143</a></span>
of a mangled victim to beg his forgiveness;&mdash;offering a
fee&mdash;instead of taking one.</p>

<p>In that spacious <span class = "smallroman">HALL</span>, a coalition
of the gown, from all the bars of it, driving a damn’d, dirty, vexatious
cause before them, with all their might and main, the wrong
way!&mdash;&mdash;kicking it <i>out</i> of the great doors, instead of
<i>in</i>&mdash;&mdash;and with such fury in their looks, and such a
degree of inveteracy in their manner of kicking it, as if the laws had
been originally made for the peace and preservation of
mankind:&mdash;&mdash;perhaps a more enormous mistake committed by them
still&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;litigated point fairly hung
up;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for instance, Whether <i>John o’Nokes</i> his
nose could stand in <i>Tom o’Stiles</i> his face, without a trespass, or
not&mdash;rashly determined by them in five-and-twenty minutes, which,
with the cautious pros and cons required in so intricate a proceeding,
might have taken up as many months&mdash;&mdash;and if carried on upon a
military plan, as your honours know an <span class =
"smallroman">ACTION</span> should be, with all the stratagems
practicable therein,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;such as
feints,&mdash;&mdash;forced
marches,&mdash;&mdash;surprizes&mdash;&mdash;ambuscades&mdash;&mdash;mask-batteries,
and a thousand other strokes of generalship, which consist in catching
at all advantages on both sides&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;might reasonably
have lasted them as many years, finding food and raiment all that term
for a centumvirate of the profession.</p>

<p>As for the Clergy&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;No&mdash;&mdash;if I say a word
against them, I’ll be shot.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have no
desire;&mdash;and besides, if I had&mdash;I&nbsp;durst not for my soul
touch upon the subject&mdash;&mdash;with such weak nerves and spirits,
and in the condition I am in at present, ’twould be as much as my life
was worth, to deject and contrist myself with so bad and melancholy an
account&mdash;and therefore ’tis safer to draw a curtain across, and
hasten from it, as fast as I can, to the main and principal point I have
undertaken to clear up&mdash;&mdash;and that is, How it comes to pass,
that your men of least <i>wit</i> are reported to be men of most
judgment.&mdash;&mdash;But mark&mdash;I&nbsp;say, <i>reported to
be</i>&mdash;for it is no more, my dear Sirs, than a report, and which,
like twenty others taken up every day upon trust, I&nbsp;maintain to be
a vile and a malicious report into the bargain.</p>

<p>This by the help of the observation already premised, and I hope
already weighed and perpended by your reverences and worships,
I&nbsp;shall forthwith make appear.</p>

<p>I hate set dissertations&mdash;&mdash;and above all things in the
world, ’tis one of the silliest things in one of them, to darken your
hypothesis by placing a number of tall, opake words, one before another,
in a right line, betwixt your own and your reader’s
conception&mdash;when in all likelihood, if you had looked about, you
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page144" id = "page144">144</a></span>
might have seen something standing, or hanging up, which would have
cleared the point at once&mdash;“for what hindrance, hurt, or harm doth
the laudable desire of knowledge bring to any man, if even from a sot,
a&nbsp;pot, a&nbsp;fool, a&nbsp;stool, a&nbsp;winter-mittain,
a&nbsp;truckle for a pully, the lid of a goldsmith’s crucible, an oil
bottle, an old slipper, or a cane chair?”&mdash;I&nbsp;am this moment
sitting upon one. Will you give me leave to illustrate this affair of
wit and judgment, by the two knobs on the top of the back of
it?&mdash;they are fastened on, you see, with two pegs stuck slightly
into two gimlet-holes, and will place what I have to say in so clear a
light, as to let you see through the drift and meaning of my whole
preface, as plainly as if every point and particle of it was made up of
sun-beams.</p>

<p>I enter now directly upon the point.</p>

<p>&mdash;Here stands <i>wit</i>&mdash;and there stands <i>judgment</i>,
close beside it, just like the two knobs I’m speaking of, upon the back
of this self-same chair on which I am sitting.</p>

<p>&mdash;You see, they are the highest and most ornamental parts of its
<i>frame</i>&mdash;as wit and judgment are of <i>ours</i>&mdash;and like
them too, indubitably both made and fitted to go together, in order, as
we say in all such cases of duplicated
embellishments&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<i>to answer one
another</i>.</p>

<p>Now for the sake of an experiment, and for the clearer illustrating
this matter&mdash;let us for a moment take off one of these two curious
ornaments (I&nbsp;care not which) from the point or pinnacle of the
chair it now stands on&mdash;nay, don’t laugh at it,&mdash;but did you
ever see, in the whole course of your lives, such a ridiculous business
as this has made of it?&mdash;Why, ’tis as miserable a sight as a sow
with one ear; and there is just as much sense and symmetry in the one as
in the other:&mdash;&mdash;do&mdash;&mdash;pray, get off your seats only
to take a view of it.&mdash;&mdash;Now would any man who valued his
character a straw, have turned a piece of work out of his hand in such a
condition?&mdash;nay, lay your hands upon your hearts, and answer this
plain question, Whether this one single knob, which now stands here like
a blockhead by itself, can serve any purpose upon earth, but to put one
in mind of the want of the other?&mdash;and let me farther ask, in case
the chair was your own, if you would not in your consciences think,
rather than be as it is, that it would be ten times better without any
knob at all?</p>

<p>Now these two knobs&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;or top ornaments of the mind
of man, which crown the whole entablature&mdash;&mdash;being, as I said,
wit and judgment, which of all others, as I have proved it, are
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page145" id = "page145">145</a></span>
the most needful&mdash;&mdash;the most priz’d&mdash;the most calamitous
to be without, and consequently the hardest to come at&mdash;for all
these reasons put together, there is not a mortal among us, so destitute
of a love of good fame or feeding&mdash;&mdash;or so ignorant of what
will do him good therein&mdash;who does not wish and stedfastly resolve
in his own mind, to be, or to be thought at least, master of the one or
the other, and indeed of both of them, if the thing seems any way
feasible, or likely to be brought to pass.</p>

<p>Now your graver gentry having little or no kind of chance in aiming
at the one&mdash;unless they laid hold of the other,&mdash;&mdash;pray
what do you think would become of them?&mdash;&mdash;Why, Sirs, in spite
of all their <i>gravities</i>, they must e’en have been contented to
have gone with their insides naked&mdash;&mdash;this was not to be
borne, but by an effort of philosophy not to be supposed in the case we
are upon&mdash;&mdash;so that no one could well have been angry with
them, had they been satisfied with what little they could have snatched
up and secreted under their cloaks and great perriwigs, had they not
raised a <i>hue</i> and <i>cry</i> at the same time against the lawful
owners.</p>

<p>I need not tell your worships, that this was done with so much
cunning and artifice&mdash;&mdash;that the great <i>Locke</i>, who was
seldom outwitted by false sounds&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;was nevertheless
bubbled here. The cry, it seems, was so deep and solemn a one, and what
with the help of great wigs, grave faces, and other implements of
deceit, was rendered so general a one against the <i>poor wits</i> in
this matter, that the philosopher himself was deceived by it&mdash;it
was his glory to free the world from the lumber of a thousand vulgar
errors;&mdash;&mdash;but this was not of the number; so that instead of
sitting down coolly, as such a philosopher should have done, to have
examined the matter of fact before he philosophised upon
it&mdash;&mdash;on the contrary he took the fact for granted, and so
joined in with the cry, and halloo’d it as boisterously as the rest.</p>

<p>This has been made the <i>Magna Charta</i> of stupidity ever
since&mdash;&mdash;but your reverences plainly see, it has been obtained
in such a manner, that the title to it is not worth a
groat:&mdash;&mdash;which by the bye is one of the many and vile
impositions which gravity and grave folks have to answer for
hereafter.</p>

<p>As for great wigs, upon which I may be thought to have spoken my mind
too freely&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg leave to qualify whatever has
been unguardedly said to their dispraise or prejudice, by one general
declaration&mdash;&mdash;That I have no abhorrence whatever, nor do I
detest and abjure either great wigs or long beards,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page146" id = "page146">146</a></span>
any farther than when I see they are bespoke and let grow on purpose to
carry on this self-same imposture&mdash;for any
purpose&mdash;&mdash;peace be with them!&mdash;<img src =
"images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt = "--&gt;" /> mark
only&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;write not for them.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXI" id = "bookIII_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Every</span> day for at least ten years
together did my father resolve to have it mended&mdash;’tis not mended
yet;&mdash;no family but ours would have borne with it an
hour&mdash;&mdash;and what is most astonishing, there was not a subject
in the world upon which my father was so eloquent, as upon that of
door-hinges.&mdash;&mdash;And yet at the same time, he was certainly one
of the greatest bubbles to them, I&nbsp;think, that history can produce:
his rhetorick and conduct were at perpetual handy-cuffs.&mdash;Never did
the parlour-door open&mdash;but his philosophy or his principles fell a
victim to it;&mdash;&mdash;three drops of oil with a feather, and a
smart stroke of a hammer, had saved his honour for ever.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Inconsistent soul that man is!&mdash;&mdash;languishing
under wounds, which he has the power to heal!&mdash;his whole life a
contradiction to his knowledge!&mdash;his reason, that precious gift of
God to him&mdash;(instead of pouring in oil) serving but to sharpen his
sensibilities&mdash;to multiply his pains, and render him more
melancholy and uneasy under them&mdash;Poor unhappy creature, that he
should do so!&mdash;&mdash;Are not the necessary causes of misery in
this life enow, but he must add voluntary ones to his stock of
sorrow;&mdash;struggle against evils which cannot be avoided, and submit
to others, which a tenth part of the trouble they create him would
remove from his heart for ever?</p>

<p>By all that is good and virtuous, if there are three drops of oil to
be got, and a hammer to be found within ten miles of <i>Shandy
Hall</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the parlour door hinge shall be mended this
reign.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXII" id = "bookIII_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> Corporal <i>Trim</i> had
brought his two mortars to bear, he was delighted with his handy-work
above measure; and knowing what a pleasure it would be to his master to
see them, he was not able to resist the desire he had of carrying them
directly into his parlour.</p>

<p>Now next to the moral lesson I had in view in mentioning
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page147" id = "page147">147</a></span>
the affair of <i>hinges</i>, I had a speculative consideration arising
out of it, and it is this.</p>

<p>Had the parlour door opened and turn’d upon its hinges, as a door
should <span class = "locked">do&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Or for example, as cleverly as our government has been turning upon
its hinges&mdash;&mdash;(that is, in case things have all along gone
well with your worship,&mdash;otherwise I give up my simile)&mdash;in
this case, I&nbsp;say, there had been no danger either to master or man,
in Corporal <i>Trim’s</i> peeping in: the moment he had beheld my father
and my uncle <i>Toby</i> fast asleep&mdash;the respectfulness of his
carriage was such, he would have retired as silent as death, and left
them both in their arm-chairs, dreaming as happy as he had found them:
but the thing was, morally speaking, so very impracticable, that for the
many years in which this hinge was suffered to be out of order, and
amongst the hourly grievances my father submitted to upon its
account&mdash;this was one; that he never folded his arms to take his
nap after dinner, but the thoughts of being unavoidably awakened by the
first person who should open the door, was always uppermost in his
imagination, and so incessantly stepp’d in betwixt him and the first
balmy presage of his repose, as to rob him, as he often declared, of the
whole sweets of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>“<i>When things move upon bad hinges</i>, an’ please your lordships,
<i>how can it be otherwise?</i>”</p>

<p>Pray what’s the matter? Who is there? cried my father, waking, the
moment the door began to creak.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish the smith would
give a peep at that confounded hinge.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis nothing, an’
please your honour, said <i>Trim</i>, but two mortars I am bringing
in.&mdash;They shan’t make a clatter with them here, cried my father
hastily.&mdash;If Dr. <i>Slop</i> has any drugs to pound, let him do it
in the kitchen.&mdash;May it please your honour, cried <i>Trim</i>, they
are two mortar-pieces for a siege next summer, which I have been making
out of a pair of jack-boots, which <i>Obadiah</i> told me your honour
had left off wearing.&mdash;By Heaven! cried my father, springing out of
his chair, as he swore&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have not one appointment
belonging to me, which I set so much store by as I do by these
jack-boots&mdash;&mdash;they were our great grandfather’s, brother
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;they were <i>hereditary</i>. Then I fear, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, <i>Trim</i> has cut off the entail.&mdash;I&nbsp;have
only cut off the tops, an’ please your honour, cried
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hate <i>perpetuities</i> as much as any
man alive, cried my father&mdash;&mdash;but these jack-boots, continued
he (smiling, though very angry at the same time) have been in the
family, brother, ever since the civil wars;&mdash;&mdash;Sir
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page148" id = "page148">148</a></span>
<i>Roger Shandy</i> wore them at the battle of
<i>Marston-Moor</i>.&mdash;I declare I would not have taken ten pounds
for them.&mdash;&mdash;I’ll pay you the money, brother <i>Shandy</i>,
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking at the two mortars with infinite
pleasure, and putting his hand into his breeches pocket as he viewed
them&mdash;&mdash;I’ll pay you the ten pounds this moment with all my
heart and <span class = "locked">soul.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Brother <i>Toby</i>, replied my father, altering his tone, you care
not what money you dissipate and throw away, provided, continued he,
’tis but upon a <span class =
"smallroman">SIEGE</span>.&mdash;&mdash;Have I not one hundred and
twenty pounds a year, besides my half pay? cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;What is that&mdash;replied my father hastily&mdash;to
ten pounds for a pair of jack-boots?&mdash;twelve guineas for your
<i>pontoons?</i>&mdash;half as much for your <i>Dutch</i>
draw-bridge?&mdash;to say nothing of the train of little brass artillery
you bespoke last week, with twenty other preparations for the siege of
<i>Messina</i>: believe me, dear brother <i>Toby</i>, continued my
father, taking him kindly by the hand&mdash;these military operations of
yours are above your strength;&mdash;you mean well,
brother&mdash;&mdash;but they carry you into greater expences than you
were first aware of;&mdash;and take my word, dear <i>Toby</i>, they will
in the end quite ruin your fortune, and make a beggar of you.&mdash;What
signifies it if they do, brother, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, so long
as we know ’tis for the good of the <span class =
"locked">nation?&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My father could not help smiling for his soul&mdash;his anger at the
worst was never more than a spark;&mdash;and the zeal and simplicity of
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;and the generous (though hobby-horsical) gallantry of
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, brought him into perfect good humour with them in
an instant.</p>

<p>Generous souls!&mdash;God prosper you both, and your mortar-pieces
too! quoth my father to himself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXIII" id = "bookIII_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">All</span> is quiet and hush, cried my
father, at least above stairs&mdash;I&nbsp;hear not one foot
stirring.&mdash;Prithee, <i>Trim</i>, who’s in the kitchen? There is no
one soul in the kitchen, answered <i>Trim</i>, making a low bow as he
spoke, except Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;Confusion! cried my father (getting
up upon his legs a second time)&mdash;not one single thing was gone
right this day! had I faith in astrology, brother (which, by the bye, my
father had), I&nbsp;would have sworn some retrograde planet was hanging
over this unfortunate house of mine, and turning every individual thing
in it out of its place.&mdash;&mdash;Why,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page149" id = "page149">149</a></span>
I thought Dr. <i>Slop</i> had been above stairs with my wife, and so
said you.&mdash;&mdash;What can the fellow be puzzling about in the
kitchen!&mdash;He is busy, an’ please your honour, replied <i>Trim</i>,
in making a bridge.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis very obliging in him, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;pray, give my humble service to
Dr. <i>Slop</i>, <i>Trim</i>, and tell him I thank him heartily.</p>

<p>You must know, my uncle <i>Toby</i> mistook the bridge&mdash;as
widely as my father mistook the mortars;&mdash;&mdash;but to understand
how my uncle <i>Toby</i> could mistake the bridge&mdash;I&nbsp;fear I
must give you an exact account of the road which led to it;&mdash;or to
drop my metaphor (for there is nothing more dishonest in an historian
than the use of one)&mdash;&mdash;in order to conceive the probability
of this error in my uncle <i>Toby</i> aright, I&nbsp;must give you some
account of an adventure of <i>Trim’s</i>, though much against my will,
I&nbsp;say much against my will, only because the story, in one sense,
is certainly out of its place here; for by right it should come in,
either amongst the anecdotes of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> amours with widow
<i>Wadman</i>, in which corporal <i>Trim</i> was no mean actor&mdash;or
else in the middle of his and my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> campaigns on the
bowling-green&mdash;for it will do very well in either place;&mdash;but
then if I reserve it for either of those parts of my
story&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;ruin the story I’m upon;&mdash;&mdash;and if I
tell it here&mdash;I&nbsp;anticipate matters, and ruin it there.</p>

<p>&mdash;What would your worships have me to do in this case?</p>

<p>&mdash;Tell it, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, by all means.&mdash;You are a
fool, <i>Tristram</i>, if you&nbsp;do.</p>

<p>O ye powers! (for powers ye are, and great ones too)&mdash;which
enable mortal man to tell a story worth the
hearing&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that kindly shew him, where he is to begin
it&mdash;and where he is to end it&mdash;&mdash;what he is to put into
it&mdash;&mdash;and what he is to leave out&mdash;how much of it he is
to cast into a shade&mdash;and whereabouts he is to throw his
light!&mdash;Ye, who preside over this vast empire of biographical
freebooters, and see how many scrapes and plunges your subjects hourly
fall into;&mdash;&mdash;will you do one thing?</p>

<p>I beg and beseech you (in case you will do nothing better
for&nbsp;us) that wherever in any part of your dominions it so falls
out, that three several roads meet in one point, as they have done just
here&mdash;&mdash;that at least you set up a guide-post in the centre of
them, in mere charity, to direct an uncertain devil which of the three
he is to take.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page150" id = "page150">150</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXIV" id = "bookIII_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Tho</span>’ the shock my uncle <i>Toby</i>
received the year after the demolition of <i>Dunkirk</i>, in his affair
with widow <i>Wadman</i>, had fixed him in a resolution never more to
think of the sex&mdash;or of aught which belonged to it;&mdash;yet
corporal <i>Trim</i> had made no such bargain with himself. Indeed in my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> case there was a strange and unaccountable
concurrence of circumstances, which insensibly drew him in, to lay siege
to that fair and strong citadel.&mdash;&mdash;In <i>Trim’s</i> case
there was a concurrence of nothing in the world, but of him and
<i>Bridget</i> in the kitchen;&mdash;though in truth, the love and
veneration he bore his master was such, and so fond was he of imitating
him in all he did, that had my uncle <i>Toby</i> employed his time and
genius in tagging of points&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am persuaded the honest
corporal would have laid down his arms, and followed his example with
pleasure. When therefore my uncle <i>Toby</i> sat down before the
mistress&mdash;corporal <i>Trim</i> incontinently took ground before the
maid.</p>

<p>Now, my dear friend <i>Garrick</i>, whom I have so much cause to
esteem and honour&mdash;(why, or wherefore, ’tis no matter)&mdash;can it
escape your penetration&mdash;I&nbsp;defy it&mdash;that so many
playwrights, and opificers of chit-chat have ever since been working
upon <i>Trim’s</i> and my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
pattern.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;care not what <i>Aristotle</i>, or
<i>Pacuvius</i>, or <i>Bossu</i>, or <i>Ricaboni</i> say&mdash;(though I
never read one of them)&mdash;&mdash;there is not a greater difference
between a single-horse chair and madam <i>Pompadour’s vis-à-vis</i>;
than betwixt a single amour, and an amour thus nobly doubled, and going
upon all four, prancing throughout a grand drama&mdash;&mdash;Sir,
a&nbsp;simple, single, silly affair of that kind&mdash;is quite lost in
five acts;&mdash;but that is neither here nor there.</p>

<p>After a series of attacks and repulses in a course of nine months on
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> quarter, a&nbsp;most minute account of every
particular of which shall be given in its proper place, my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, honest man! found it necessary to draw off his forces and
raise the siege somewhat indignantly.</p>

<p>Corporal <i>Trim</i>, as I said, had made no such bargain either with
himself&mdash;&mdash;or with any one else&mdash;&mdash;the fidelity
however of his heart not suffering him to go into a house which his
master had forsaken with disgust&mdash;&mdash;he contented himself with
turning his part of the siege into a blockade;&mdash;that is, he kept
others off;&mdash;for though he never after went to the house, yet he
never
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page151" id = "page151">151</a></span>
met <i>Bridget</i> in the village, but he would either nod or wink, or
smile, or look kindly at her&mdash;or (as&nbsp;circumstances directed)
he would shake her by the hand&mdash;or ask her lovingly how she
did&mdash;or would give her a ribbon&mdash;and now-and-then, though
never but when it could be done with decorum, would give <span class =
"locked"><i>Bridget</i>&nbsp;a&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Precisely in this situation, did these things stand for five years;
that is, from the demolition of <i>Dunkirk</i> in the year 13, to the
latter end of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> campaign in the year 18, which was
about six or seven weeks before the time I’m speaking
of.&mdash;&mdash;When <i>Trim</i>, as his custom was, after he had put
my uncle <i>Toby</i> to bed, going down one moonshiny night to see that
everything was right at his fortifications&mdash;&mdash;in the lane
separated from the bowling-green with flowering shrubs and
holly&mdash;he espied his <i>Bridget</i>.</p>

<p>As the corporal thought there was nothing in the world so well worth
shewing as the glorious works which he and my uncle <i>Toby</i> had
made, <i>Trim</i> courteously and gallantly took her by the hand, and
led her in: this was not done so privately, but that the foul-mouth’d
trumpet of Fame carried it from ear to ear, till at length it reach’d my
father’s, with this untoward circumstance along with it, that my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> curious drawbridge, constructed and painted after the
<i>Dutch</i> fashion, and which went quite across the ditch&mdash;was
broke down, and somehow or other crushed all to pieces that very
night.</p>

<p>My father, as you have observed, had no great esteem for my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> hobby-horse, he thought it the most ridiculous horse that
ever gentleman mounted; and indeed unless my uncle <i>Toby</i> vexed him
about it, could never think of it once, without smiling at
it&mdash;&mdash;so that it could never get lame or happen any mischance,
but it tickled my father’s imagination beyond measure; but this being an
accident much more to his humour than any one which had yet befall’n it,
it proved an inexhaustible fund of entertainment to
him.&mdash;&mdash;Well&mdash;&mdash;but dear <i>Toby!</i> my father
would say, do tell me seriously how this affair of the bridge
happened.&mdash;&mdash;How can you tease me so much about it? my uncle
<i>Toby</i> would reply&mdash;I&nbsp;have told it you twenty times, word
for word as <i>Trim</i> told it me.&mdash;Prithee, how was it then,
corporal? my father would cry, turning to <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;It was a
mere misfortune, an’ please your honour;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;was shewing
Mrs. <i>Bridget</i> our fortifications, and in going too near the edge
of the fosse, I&nbsp;unfortunately slipp’d in&mdash;&mdash;Very well,
<i>Trim!</i> my father would cry&mdash;&mdash;(smiling mysteriously, and
giving a nod&mdash;but without interrupting him)&mdash;&mdash;and being
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page152" id = "page152">152</a></span>
link’d fast, an’ please your honour, arm in arm with Mrs.
<i>Bridget</i>, I&nbsp;dragg’d her after me, by means of which she fell
backwards soss against the bridge&mdash;&mdash;and <i>Trim’s</i> foot
(my&nbsp;uncle <i>Toby</i> would cry, taking the story out of his mouth)
getting into the cuvette, he tumbled full against the bridge
too.&mdash;It was a thousand to one, my uncle <i>Toby</i> would add,
that the poor fellow did not break his leg.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Ay
truly, my father would say&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;limb is soon broke,
brother <i>Toby</i>, in such encounters.&mdash;&mdash;And so, an’ please
your honour, the bridge, which your honour knows was a very slight one,
was broke down betwixt us, and splintered all to pieces.</p>

<p>At other times, but especially when my uncle <i>Toby</i> was so
unfortunate as to say a syllable about cannons, bombs, or
petards&mdash;my father would exhaust all the stores of his eloquence
(which indeed were very great) in a panegyric upon the <span class =
"smallroman">BATTERING-RAMS</span> of the ancients&mdash;the <span class
= "smallroman">VINEA</span> which <i>Alexander</i> made use of at the
siege of <i>Troy</i>.&mdash;He would tell my uncle <i>Toby</i> of the
<span class = "smallroman">CATAPULTÆ</span> of the <i>Syrians</i>, which
threw such monstrous stones so many hundred feet, and shook the
strongest bulwarks from their very foundation:&mdash;he would go on and
describe the wonderful mechanism of the <span class =
"smallroman">BALLISTA</span> which <i>Marcellinus</i> makes so much rout
about!&mdash;the terrible effects of the <span class =
"smallroman">PYROBOLI</span>, which cast fire;&mdash;&mdash;the danger
of the <span class = "smallroman">TEREBRA</span> and <span class =
"smallroman">SCORPIO</span>, which cast javelins.&mdash;&mdash;But what
are these, would he say, to the destructive machinery of corporal
<i>Trim?</i>&mdash;&mdash;Believe me, brother <i>Toby</i>, no bridge, or
bastion, or sally-port, that ever was constructed in this world, can
hold out against such artillery.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> would never attempt any defence against the
force of this ridicule, but that of redoubling the vehemence of smoaking
his pipe; in doing which, he raised so dense a vapour one night after
supper, that it set my father, who was a little phthisical, into a
suffocating fit of violent coughing: my uncle <i>Toby</i> leap’d up
without feeling the pain upon his groin&mdash;and, with infinite pity,
stood beside his brother’s chair, tapping his back with one hand, and
holding his head with the other, and from time to time wiping his eyes
with a clean cambrick handkerchief, which he pulled out of his
pocket.&mdash;&mdash;The affectionate and endearing manner in which my
uncle <i>Toby</i> did these little offices&mdash;cut my father thro’ his
reins, for the pain he had just been giving him.&mdash;&mdash;May my
brains be knock’d out with a battering-ram or a catapulta, I&nbsp;care
not which, quoth my father to himself&mdash;if ever I insult this worthy
soul more!</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page153" id = "page153">153</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXV" id = "bookIII_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> draw-bridge being held
irreparable, <i>Trim</i> was ordered directly to set about
another&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but not upon the same model: for cardinal
<i>Alberoni’s</i> intrigues at that time being discovered, and my uncle
<i>Toby</i> rightly foreseeing that a flame would inevitably break out
betwixt <i>Spain</i> and the Empire, and that the operations of the
ensuing campaign must in all likelihood be either in <i>Naples</i> or
<i>Sicily</i>&mdash;&mdash;he determined upon an <i>Italian</i>
bridge&mdash;(my&nbsp;uncle <i>Toby</i>, by the bye, was not far out of
his conjectures)&mdash;&mdash;but my father, who was infinitely the
better politician, and took the lead as far of my uncle <i>Toby</i> in
the cabinet, as my uncle <i>Toby</i> took it of him in the
field&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;convinced him, that if the king of
<i>Spain</i> and the Emperor went together by the ears, <i>England</i>
and <i>France</i> and <i>Holland</i> must, by force of their
pre-engagements, all enter the lists too;&mdash;&mdash;and if so, he
would say, the combatants, brother <i>Toby</i>, as sure as we are alive,
will fall to it again, pell-mell, upon the old prizefighting stage of
<i>Flanders</i>;&mdash;then what will you do with your <i>Italian</i>
bridge?</p>

<p>&mdash;We will go on with it then upon the old model, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>When Corporal <i>Trim</i> had about half finished it in that
style&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> found out a capital defect in
it, which he had never thoroughly considered before. It turned, it
seems, upon hinges at both ends of it, opening in the middle, one half
of which turning to one side of the fosse, and the other to the other;
the advantage of which was this, that by dividing the weight of the
bridge into two equal portions, it impowered my uncle <i>Toby</i> to
raise it up or let it down with the end of his crutch, and with one
hand, which, as his garrison was weak, was as much as he could well
spare&mdash;but the disadvantages of such a construction were
insurmountable;&mdash;&mdash;for by this means, he would say,
I&nbsp;leave one half of my bridge in my enemy’s
possession&mdash;&mdash;and pray of what use is the other?</p>

<p>The natural remedy for this was, no doubt, to have his bridge fast
only at one end with hinges, so that the whole might be lifted up
together, and stand bolt upright&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but that was
rejected for the reason given above.</p>

<p>For a whole week after he was determined in his mind to have one of
that particular construction which is made to draw back horizontally, to
hinder a passage; and to thrust forwards again
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page154" id = "page154">154</a></span>
to gain a passage&mdash;of which sorts your worship might have seen
three famous ones at <i>Spires</i> before its destruction&mdash;and one
now at <i>Brisac</i>, if I mistake not;&mdash;but my father advising my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, with great earnestness, to have nothing more to do
with thrusting bridges&mdash;and my uncle foreseeing moreover that it
would but perpetuate the memory of the Corporal’s misfortune&mdash;he
changed his mind for that of the marquis <i>d’Hôpital’s</i> invention,
which the younger <i>Bernouilli</i> has so well and learnedly described,
as your worships may see&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Act. Erud. Lips.</i> an.
1695&mdash;to these a lead weight is an eternal balance, and keeps watch
as well as a couple of centinels, inasmuch as the construction of them
was a curve line approximating to a cycloid&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;if not a
cycloid itself.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> understood the nature of a parabola as well as
any man in <i>England</i>&mdash;but was not quite such a master of the
cycloid;&mdash;&mdash;he talked however about it every
day&mdash;&mdash;the bridge went not forwards.&mdash;&mdash;We’ll ask
somebody about it, cried my uncle <i>Toby</i> to <i>Trim</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXVI" id = "bookIII_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> <i>Trim</i> came in and told my
father, that Dr. <i>Slop</i> was in the kitchen, and busy in making a
bridge&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;the affair of the
jack-boots having just then raised a train of military ideas in his
brain&mdash;&mdash;took it instantly for granted that Dr. <i>Slop</i>
was making a model of the marquis <i>d’Hôpital’s</i>
bridge.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis very obliging in him, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>;&mdash;pray give my humble service to Dr. <i>Slop</i>,
<i>Trim</i>, and tell him I thank him heartily.</p>

<p>Had my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> head been a <i>Savoyard’s</i> box, and my
father peeping in all the time at one end of it&mdash;&mdash;it could
not have given him a more distinct conception of the operations of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> imagination, than what he had; so, notwithstanding
the catapulta and battering-ram, and his bitter imprecation about them,
he was just beginning to <span class =
"locked">triumph&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>When <i>Trim’s</i> answer, in an instant, tore the laurel from his
brows, and twisted it to pieces.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXVII" id = "bookIII_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">This</span> unfortunate
draw-bridge of yours, quoth my father&mdash;&mdash;God bless your
honour, cried <i>Trim</i>, ’tis a bridge for master’s
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page155" id = "page155">155</a></span>
nose.&mdash;&mdash;In bringing him into the world with his vile
instruments, he has crushed his nose, <i>Susannah</i> says, as flat as a
pancake to his face, and he is making a false bridge with a piece of
cotton and a thin piece of whalebone out of <i>Susannah’s</i> stays, to
raise it&nbsp;up.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Lead me, brother <i>Toby</i>, cried my father, to my
room this instant.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXVIII" id = "bookIII_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">From</span> the first moment I sat down to
write my life for the amusement of the world, and my opinions for its
instruction, has a cloud insensibly been gathering over my
father.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;tide of little evils and distresses has been
setting in against him.&mdash;Not one thing, as he observed himself, has
gone right: and now is the storm thicken’d and going to break, and pour
down full upon his head.</p>

<p>I enter upon this part of my story in the most pensive and melancholy
frame of mind that ever sympathetic breast was touched
with.&mdash;&mdash;My nerves relax as I tell it.&mdash;&mdash;Every line
I write, I&nbsp;feel an abatement of the quickness of my pulse, and of
that careless alacrity with it, which every day of my life prompts me to
say and write a thousand things I should not.&mdash;&mdash;And this
moment that I last dipp’d my pen into my ink, I&nbsp;could not help
taking notice what a cautious air of sad composure and solemnity there
appear’d in my manner of doing it.&mdash;&mdash;Lord! how different from
the rash jerks and hair-brain’d squirts thou art wont, <i>Tristram</i>,
to transact it with in other humours&mdash;dropping thy
pen&mdash;&mdash;spurting thy ink about thy table and thy books&mdash;as
if thy pen and thy ink, thy books and furniture cost thee nothing!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXIX" id = "bookIII_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">I won</span>’t go about to
argue the point with you&mdash;’tis so&mdash;&mdash;and I am persuaded
of it, madam, as much as can be, “That both man and woman bear pain or
sorrow (and, for aught I know, pleasure too) best in a horizontal
position.”</p>

<p>The moment my father got up into his chamber, he threw himself
prostrate across the bed in the wildest disorder imaginable, but at the
same time in the most lamentable attitude of a man borne down with
sorrows, that ever the eye of pity dropp’d a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page156" id = "page156">156</a></span>
tear for.&mdash;&mdash;The palm of his right hand, as he fell upon the
bed, receiving his forehead, and covering the greatest part of both his
eyes, gently sunk down with his head (his elbow giving way backwards)
till his nose touch’d the quilt;&mdash;&mdash;his left arm hung
insensible over the side of the bed, his knuckles reclining upon the
handle of the chamber-pot, which peep’d out beyond the valance&mdash;his
right leg (his left being drawn up towards his body) hung half over the
side of the bed, the edge of it pressing upon his shin-bone&mdash;He
felt it not. A&nbsp;fix’d, inflexible sorrow took possession of every
line of his face.&mdash;He sigh’d once&mdash;&mdash;heaved his breast
often&mdash;but uttered not a word.</p>

<p>An old set-stitch’d chair, valanced and fringed around with
party-coloured worsted bobs, stood at the bed’s head, opposite to the
side where my father’s head reclined.&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> sat him
down in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Before an affliction is digested&mdash;consolation ever comes too
soon;&mdash;and after it is digested&mdash;it comes too late: so that
you see, madam, there is but a mark between these two, as fine almost as
a hair, for a comforter to take aim at: my uncle <i>Toby</i> was always
either on this side, or on that of it, and would often say, he believed
in his heart he could as soon hit the longitude; for this reason, when
he sat down in the chair, he drew the curtain a little forwards, and
having a tear at every one’s service&mdash;&mdash;he pull’d out a
cambrick handkerchief&mdash;&mdash;gave a low sigh&mdash;&mdash;but held
his peace.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXX" id = "bookIII_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“<i>All is not gain that is got into the
purse.</i>”&mdash;So that notwithstanding my father had the happiness of
reading the oddest books in the universe, and had moreover, in himself,
the oddest way of thinking that ever man in it was bless’d with, yet it
had this drawback upon him after all&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that it laid
him open to some of the oddest and most whimsical distresses; of which
this particular one, which he sunk under at present, is as strong an
example as can be given.</p>

<p>No doubt, the breaking down of the bridge of a child’s nose, by the
edge of a pair of forceps&mdash;however scientifically
applied&mdash;would vex any man in the world, who was at so much pains
in begetting a child, as my father was&mdash;yet it will not account for
the extravagance of his affliction, nor will it justify the unchristian
manner he abandoned and surrendered him self up&nbsp;to.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page157" id = "page157">157</a></span>
<p>To explain this, I must leave him upon the bed for half an
hour&mdash;and my uncle <i>Toby</i> in his old fringed chair sitting
beside him.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXI" id = "bookIII_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">I think</span> it a very
unreasonable demand&mdash;cried my great-grandfather, twisting up the
paper, and throwing it upon the table.&mdash;&mdash;By this account,
madam, you have but two thousand pounds fortune, and not a shilling
more&mdash;and you insist upon having three hundred pounds a year
jointure for <span class = "locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;“Because,” replied my great-grandmother, “you have little or
no nose, <span class = "locked">Sir.”&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now before I venture to make use of the word <i>Nose</i> a second
time&mdash;to avoid all confusion in what will be said upon it, in this
interesting part of my story, it may not be amiss to explain my own
meaning, and define, with all possible exactness and precision, what I
would willingly be understood to mean by the term: being of opinion,
that ’tis owing to the negligence and perverseness of writers in
despising this precaution, and to nothing else&mdash;&mdash;that all the
polemical writings in divinity are not as clear and demonstrative as
those upon <i>a Will o’ the Wisp</i>, or any other sound part of
philosophy, and natural pursuit; in order to which, what have you to do,
before you set out, unless you intend to go puzzling on to the day of
judgment&mdash;&mdash;but to give the world a good definition, and stand
to it, of the main word you have most occasion for&mdash;&mdash;changing
it, Sir, as you would a guinea, into small coin?&mdash;which
done&mdash;let the father of confusion puzzle you, if he can; or put a
different idea either into your head, or your reader’s head, if he knows
how.</p>

<p>In books of strict morality and close reasoning, such as this I am
engaged in&mdash;the neglect is inexcusable; and Heaven is witness, how
the world has revenged itself upon me for leaving so many openings to
equivocal strictures&mdash;and for depending so much as I have done, all
along, upon the cleanliness of my readers’ imaginations.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Here are two senses, cried <i>Eugenius</i>, as we
walk’d along, pointing with the forefinger of his right hand to the word
<i>Crevice</i>, in the one hundred and seventy-eighth page of the first
volume of this book of books;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;here are two
senses&mdash;quoth he&mdash;And here are two roads, replied I, turning
short upon him&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;dirty and a clean
one&mdash;&mdash;which shall we take?&mdash;The clean, by all means,
replied <i>Eugenius</i>. <i>Eugenius</i>, said&nbsp;I,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page158" id = "page158">158</a></span>
stepping before him, and laying my hand upon his breast&mdash;&mdash;to
define&mdash;is to distrust.&mdash;&mdash;Thus I triumph’d over
<i>Eugenius</i>; but I triumph’d over him as I always do, like a
fool.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis my comfort, however, I&nbsp;am not an obstinate
one: therefore</p>

<p>I define a nose as follows&mdash;intreating only beforehand, and
beseeching my readers, both male and female, of what age, complexion,
and condition soever, for the love of God and their own souls, to guard
against the temptations and suggestions of the devil, and suffer him by
no art or wile to put any other ideas into their minds, than what I put
into my definition&mdash;For by the word <i>Nose</i>, throughout all
this long chapter of noses, and in every other part of my work, where
the word <i>Nose</i> occurs&mdash;I&nbsp;declare, by that word I mean a
nose, and nothing more, or less.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXII" id = "bookIII_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“<span class = "firstword">Because</span>,” quoth my
great-grandmother, repeating the words again&mdash;“you have little or
no nose, <span class = "locked">Sir.”&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>S’death! cried my great-grandfather, clapping his hand upon his
nose,&mdash;’tis not so small as that comes to;&mdash;&mdash;’tis a full
inch longer than my father’s.&mdash;Now, my great-grandfather’s nose was
for all the world like unto the noses of all the men, women, and
children, whom <i>Pantagruel</i> found dwelling upon the island of <span
class = "smallcaps">Ennasin</span>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;By the way, if
you would know the strange way of getting a-kin amongst so flat-nosed a
people&mdash;&mdash;you must read the book;&mdash;&mdash;find it out
yourself, you never <span class = "locked">can.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;’Twas shaped, Sir, like an ace of clubs.</p>

<p>&mdash;’Tis a full inch, continued my grandfather, pressing up the
ridge of his nose with his finger and thumb; and repeating his
assertion&mdash;&mdash;’tis a full inch longer, madam, than my
father’s&mdash;&mdash;You must mean your uncle’s, replied my
great-grandmother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;My great-grandfather was convinced.&mdash;He
untwisted the paper, and signed the article.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXIII" id = "bookIII_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">What</span> an unconscionable
jointure, my dear, do we pay out of this small estate of ours, quoth my
grandmother to my grandfather.</p>

<p>My father, replied my grandfather, had no more nose, my dear, saving
the mark, than there is upon the back of my hand.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page159" id = "page159">159</a></span>
<p>&mdash;Now, you must know, that my great-grandmother outlived my
grandfather twelve years; so that my father had the jointure to pay,
a&nbsp;hundred and fifty pounds
half-yearly&mdash;(on&nbsp;<i>Michaelmas</i> and
<i>Lady-day</i>),&mdash;during all that time.</p>

<p>No man discharged pecuniary obligations with a better grace than my
father.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And as far as a hundred pounds went, he
would fling it upon the table, guinea by guinea, with that spirited jerk
of an honest welcome, which generous souls, and generous souls only, are
able to fling down money: but as soon as ever he enter’d upon the odd
fifty&mdash;he generally gave a loud <i>Hem!</i> rubb’d the side of his
nose leisurely with the flat part of his fore
finger&mdash;&mdash;inserted his hand cautiously betwixt his head and
the cawl of his wig&mdash;look’d at both sides of every guinea as he
parted with it&mdash;&mdash;and seldom could get to the end of the fifty
pounds, without pulling out his handkerchief, and wiping his
temples.</p>

<p>Defend me, gracious Heaven! from those persecuting spirits who make
no allowances for these workings within us.&mdash;Never&mdash;O never
may I lay down in their tents, who cannot relax the engine, and feel
pity for the force of education, and the prevalence of opinions long
derived from ancestors!</p>

<p>For three generations at least this <i>tenet</i> in favour of long
noses had gradually been taking root in our
family.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Tradition</span>
was all along on its side, and <span class = "smallcaps">Interest</span>
was every half-year stepping in to strengthen it; so that the
whimsicality of my father’s brain was far from having the whole honour
of this, as it had of almost all his other strange notions.&mdash;For in
a great measure he might be said to have suck’d this in with his
mother’s milk. He did his part however.&mdash;&mdash;If education
planted the mistake (in&nbsp;case it was one) my father watered it, and
ripened it to perfection.</p>

<p>He would often declare, in speaking his thoughts upon the subject,
that he did not conceive how the greatest family in <i>England</i> could
stand it out against an uninterrupted succession of six or seven short
noses.&mdash;And for the contrary reason, he would generally add, That
it must be one of the greatest problems in civil life, where the same
number of long and jolly noses, following one another in a direct line,
did not raise and hoist it up into the best vacancies in the
kingdom.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;He would often boast that the <i>Shandy</i>
family rank’d very high in King <i>Harry</i> the VIIIth’s time, but owed
its rise to no state engine&mdash;he would say&mdash;but to that
only;&mdash;&mdash;but that, like other families, he would
add&mdash;&mdash;it had felt the turn of the wheel, and had never
recovered
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page160" id = "page160">160</a></span>
the blow of my great-grandfather’s nose.&mdash;&mdash;It was an ace of
clubs indeed, he would cry, shaking his head&mdash;and as vile a one for
an unfortunate family as ever turn’d up trumps.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Fair and softly, gentle
reader!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;where is thy fancy carrying
thee?&mdash;&mdash;If there is truth in man, by my great-grandfather’s
nose, I&nbsp;mean the external organ of smelling, or that part of man
which stands prominent in his face&mdash;&mdash;and which painters say,
in good jolly noses and well-proportioned faces, should comprehend a
full third&mdash;&mdash;that is, measured downwards from the setting on
of the <span class = "locked">hair.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What a life of it has an author, at this pass!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXIV" id = "bookIII_chapXXXIV">
CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is a singular blessing, that
nature has form’d the mind of man with the same happy backwardness and
renitency against conviction, which is observed in old dogs&mdash;“of
not learning new tricks.”</p>

<p>What a shuttlecock of a fellow would the greatest philosopher that
ever existed be whisk’d into at once, did he read such books, and
observe such facts, and think such thoughts, as would eternally be
making him change sides!</p>

<p>Now, my father, as I told you last year, detested all this&mdash;He
pick’d up an opinion, Sir, as a man in a state of nature picks up an
apple.&mdash;It becomes his own&mdash;and if he is a man of spirit, he
would lose his life rather than give it&nbsp;up.</p>

<p>I am aware that <i>Didius</i>, the great civilian, will contest this
point; and cry out against me, Whence comes this man’s right to this
apple? <i>ex confesso</i>, he will say&mdash;things were in a state of
nature&mdash;The apple, as much <i>Frank’s</i> apple as <i>John’s</i>.
Pray, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, what patent has he to shew for it? and how did
it begin to be his? was it, when he set his heart upon it? or when he
gathered it? or when he chew’d it? or when he roasted it? or when he
peel’d, or when he brought it home? or when he digested?&mdash;or when
he&mdash;&mdash;?&mdash;&mdash;For ’tis plain, Sir, if the first picking
up of the apple, made it not his&mdash;that no subsequent act could.</p>

<p>Brother <i>Didius</i>, <i>Tribonius</i> will answer&mdash;(now
<i>Tribonius</i> the civilian and church lawyer’s beard being three
inches and a half and three eighths longer than <i>Didius</i> his
beard&mdash;I’m glad he takes up the cudgels for me, so I give myself no
farther trouble about the answer).&mdash;Brother <i>Didius</i>,
<i>Tribonius</i> will say, it is a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page161" id = "page161">161</a></span>
decreed case, as you may find it in the fragments of <i>Gregorius</i>
and <i>Hermogines’s</i> codes, and in all the codes from
<i>Justinian’s</i> down to the codes of <i>Louis</i> and <i>Des
Eaux</i>&mdash;That the sweat of a man’s brows, and the exsudations of a
man’s brains, are as much a man’s own property as the breeches upon his
backside;&mdash;which said exsudations, &amp;c., being dropp’d upon the
said apple by the labour of finding it, and picking it up; and being
moreover indissolubly wasted, and as indissolubly annex’d, by the picker
up, to the thing pick’d up, carried home, roasted, peel’d, eaten,
digested, and so on;&mdash;&mdash;’tis evident that the gatherer of the
apple, in so doing, has mix’d up something which was his own, with the
apple which was not his own, by which means he has acquired a
property;&mdash;or, in other words, the apple is <i>John’s</i>
apple.</p>

<p>By the same learned chain of reasoning my father stood up for all his
opinions; he had spared no pains in picking them up, and the more they
lay out of the common way, the better still was his
title.&mdash;&mdash;No mortal claimed them; they had cost him moreover
as much labour in cooking and digesting as in the case above, so that
they might well and truly be said to be of his own goods and
chattles.&mdash;Accordingly he held fast by ’em, both by teeth and
claws&mdash;would fly to whatever he could lay his hands on&mdash;and,
in a word, would intrench and fortify them round with as many
circumvallations and breast-works, as my uncle <i>Toby</i> would a
citadel.</p>

<p>There was one plaguy rub in the way of this&mdash;&mdash;the scarcity
of materials to make anything of a defence with, in case of a smart
attack; inasmuch as few men of great genius had exercised their parts in
writing books upon the subject of great noses: by the trotting of my
lean horse, the thing is incredible! and I am quite lost in my
understanding, when I am considering what a treasure of precious time
and talents together has been wasted upon worse subjects&mdash;and how
many millions of books in all languages, and in all possible types and
bindings, have been fabricated upon points not half so much tending to
the unity and peace-making of the world. What was to be had, however, he
set the greater store by; and though my father would oft-times sport
with my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> library&mdash;which, by the bye, was
ridiculous enough&mdash;yet at the very same time he did it, he
collected every book and treatise which had been systematically wrote
upon noses, with as much care as my honest uncle <i>Toby</i> had done
those upon military architecture.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis true, a&nbsp;much
less table would
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page162" id = "page162">162</a></span>
have held them&mdash;but that was not thy transgression, my dear <span
class = "locked">uncle.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Here&mdash;&mdash;but why here&mdash;&mdash;rather than in any other
part of my story&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am not able to
tell:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but here it is&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my heart
stops me to pay to thee, my dear uncle <i>Toby</i>, once for all, the
tribute I owe thy goodness.&mdash;&mdash;Here let me thrust my chair
aside, and kneel down upon the ground, whilst I am pouring forth the
warmest sentiment of love for thee, and veneration for the excellency of
thy character, that ever virtue and nature kindled in a nephew’s
bosom.&mdash;&mdash;Peace and comfort rest for evermore upon thy
head!&mdash;Thou enviedst no man’s comforts&mdash;&mdash;insultedst no
man’s opinions&mdash;&mdash;Thou blackenedst no man’s
character&mdash;devouredst no man’s bread: gently, with faithful
<i>Trim</i> behind thee, didst thou amble round the little circle of thy
pleasures, jostling no creature in thy way:&mdash;for each one’s sorrow
thou hadst a tear,&mdash;for each man’s need, thou hadst a shilling.</p>

<p>Whilst I am worth one, to pay a weeder&mdash;thy path from thy door
to thy bowling-green shall never be grown up.&mdash;&mdash;Whilst there
is a rood and a half of land in the <i>Shandy</i> family, thy
fortifications, my dear uncle <i>Toby</i>, shall never be
demolish’d.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXV" id = "bookIII_chapXXXV">
CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father’s collection was not
great, but to make amends, it was curious; and consequently he was some
time in making it; he had the great good fortune however, to set off
well, in getting <i>Bruscambille’s</i> prologue upon long noses, almost
for nothing&mdash;for he gave no more for <i>Bruscambille</i> than three
half-crowns; owing indeed to the strong fancy which the stall-man saw my
father had for the book the moment he laid his hands upon
it.&mdash;&mdash;There are not three <i>Bruscambilles</i> in
<i>Christendom</i>&mdash;said the stall-man, except what are chain’d up
in the libraries of the curious. My father flung down the money as quick
as lightning&mdash;&mdash;took <i>Bruscambille</i> into his
bosom&mdash;&mdash;hied home from <i>Piccadilly</i> to
<i>Coleman</i>-street with it, as he would have hied home with a
treasure, without taking his hand once off from <i>Bruscambille</i> all
the way.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page163" id = "page163">163</a></span>
<p>To those who do not yet know of which gender <i>Bruscambille</i>
is&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;inasmuch as a prologue upon long noses might
easily be done by either&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’twill be no objection
against the simile&mdash;to say, That when my father got home, he
solaced himself with <i>Bruscambille</i> after the manner in which, ’tis
ten to one, your worship solaced yourself with your first
mistress&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that is, from morning even unto night:
which, by the bye, how delightful soever it may prove to the
inamorato&mdash;is of little or no entertainment at all to
by-standers.&mdash;&mdash;Take notice, I&nbsp;go no farther with the
simile&mdash;my father’s eye was greater than his appetite&mdash;his
zeal greater than his knowledge&mdash;he cool’d&mdash;his affections
became divided&mdash;&mdash;he got hold of
<i>Prignitz</i>&mdash;purchased <i>Scroderus</i>, <i>Andrea Paræus</i>,
<i>Bouchet’s</i> Evening Conferences, and above all, the great and
learned <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i>; of which, as I shall have much to
say by and by&mdash;I&nbsp;will say nothing now.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXVI" id = "bookIII_chapXXXVI">
CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Of</span> all the tracts my father was at
the pains to procure and study in support of his hypothesis, there was
not any one wherein he felt a more cruel disappointment at first, than
in the celebrated dialogue between <i>Pamphagus</i> and <i>Cocles</i>,
written by the chaste pen of the great and venerable <i>Erasmus</i>,
upon the various uses and seasonable applications of long
noses.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Now don’t let Satan, my dear girl, in this
chapter, take advantage of any one spot of rising ground to get astride
of your imagination, if you can any ways help it; or if he is so nimble
as to slip on&mdash;let me beg of you, like an unback’d filly, <i>to
frisk it, to squirt it, to jump it, to rear it, to bound it&mdash;and to
kick it, with long kicks and short kicks</i>, till, like
<i>Tickletoby’s</i> mare, you break a strap or a crupper and throw his
worship into the dirt.&mdash;You need not kill <span class =
"locked">him.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;And pray who was <i>Tickletoby’s</i> mare?&mdash;’tis just as
discreditable and unscholarlike a question, Sir, as to have asked what
year (<i>ab.&nbsp;urb. con.</i>) the second Punic war broke
out.&mdash;Who was <i>Tickletoby’s</i> mare?&mdash;&mdash;Read, read,
read, read, my unlearned reader! read&mdash;or by the knowledge of the
great saint <i>Paraleipomenon</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;tell you before-hand, you
had better throw
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page164" id = "page164">164</a></span>
down the book at once; for without <i>much reading</i>, by which your
reverence knows I mean <i>much knowledge</i>, you will no more be able
to penetrate the moral of the next marbled page (motly emblem of my
work!) than the world with all its sagacity has been able to unravel the
many opinions, transactions, and truths which still lie mystically hid
under the dark veil of the black one.</p>

<div class = "page">

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page165" id = "page165">165</a></span>

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/pg165.jpg" width = "333" height = "549"
alt = "marbled page" /></p>

</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page166" id = "page166">166</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXVII" id = "bookIII_chapXXXVII">
CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4>


<p>“<i>Nihil me pœnitet hujus nasi</i>,” quoth
<i>Pamphagus</i>;&mdash;&mdash;that is&mdash;“My nose has been the
making of me.”&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“<i>Nec est cur
pœniteat</i>,” replies <i>Cocles</i>; that is, “How the duce should such
a nose fail?”</p>

<p>The doctrine, you see, was laid down by <i>Erasmus</i>, as my father
wished it, with the utmost plainness; but my father’s disappointment
was, in finding nothing more from so able a pen, but the bare fact
itself; without any of that speculative subtilty or ambidexterity of
argumentation upon it, which Heaven had bestow’d upon man on purpose to
investigate truth, and fight for her on all sides.&mdash;&mdash;My
father pish’d and pugh’d at first most terribly&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’tis
worth something to have a good name. As the dialogue was of
<i>Erasmus</i>, my father soon came to himself, and read it over and
over again with great application, studying every word and every
syllable of it thro’ and thro’ in its most strict and literal
interpretation&mdash;he could still make nothing of it, that way. Mayhap
there is more meant, than is said in it, quoth my
father.&mdash;&mdash;Learned men, brother <i>Toby</i>, don’t write
dialogues upon long noses for nothing.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I’ll study
the mystick and the allegorick sense&mdash;&mdash;here is some room to
turn a man’s self in, brother.</p>

<p>My father read on.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Now I find it needful to
inform your reverences and worships, that besides the many nautical uses
of long noses enumerated by <i>Erasmus</i>, the dialogist affirmeth that
a long nose is not without its domestic conveniencies also; for that in
a case of distress&mdash;and for want of a pair of bellows, it will do
excellently well, <i>ad <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected form is ‘excitandum’">ixcitandum</ins> focum</i>
(to&nbsp;stir up the fire).</p>

<p>Nature had been prodigal in her gifts to my father beyond measure,
and had sown the seeds of verbal criticism as deep within him, as she
had done the seeds of all other knowledge&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;so that he
had got out his penknife, and was trying experiments upon the sentence,
to see if he could not scratch some better sense into
it.&mdash;&mdash;I’ve got within a single letter, brother <i>Toby</i>,
cried my father, of <i>Erasmus</i> his mystic meaning.&mdash;You are
near enough, brother, replied my uncle, in all
conscience.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Pshaw! cried my father, scratching
on&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;might as well be seven miles off.&mdash;I’ve done
it&mdash;said my father, snapping his fingers&mdash;See, my dear brother
<i>Toby</i>, how I have mended the sense.&mdash;&mdash;But you have
marr’d a word, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;My father put
on his spectacles&mdash;&mdash;bit his lip&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and tore
out the leaf in a passion.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page167" id = "page167">167</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXVIII" id = "bookIII_chapXXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4>


<p><i>O Slawkenbergius!</i> thou faithful analyzer of my
<i>Disgrazias</i>&mdash;thou sad foreteller of so many of the whips and
short turns which in one stage or other of my life have come slap upon
me from the shortness of my nose, and no other cause, that I am
conscious of.&mdash;Tell me, <i>Slawkenbergius!</i> what secret impulse
was it? what intonation of voice? whence came it? how did it sound in
thy ears?&mdash;&mdash;art thou sure thou heard’st
it?&mdash;&mdash;which first cried out to
thee&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;go&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;go,
<i>Slawkenbergius!</i> dedicate the labours of thy
life&mdash;&mdash;neglect thy pastimes&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;call forth
all the powers and faculties of thy nature&mdash;&mdash;macerate thyself
in the service of mankind, and write a grand <span class =
"smallroman">FOLIO</span> for them, upon the subject of their noses.</p>

<p>How the communication was conveyed into <i>Slawkenbergius’s</i>
sensorium&mdash;&mdash;so that <i>Slawkenbergius</i> should know whose
finger touch’d the key&mdash;and whose hand it was that blew the
bellows&mdash;&mdash;as <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i> has been dead and
laid in his grave above fourscore and ten years&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;we
can only raise conjectures.</p>

<p><i>Slawkenbergius</i> was play’d upon, for aught I know, like one of
<i>Whitefield’s</i> disciples&mdash;&mdash;that is, with such a distinct
intelligence, Sir, of which of the two <i>masters</i> it was that had
been practising upon his <i>instrument</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as to
make all reasoning upon it needless.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;For in the account which <i>Hafen
Slawkenbergius</i> gives the world of his motives and occasions for
writing, and spending so many years of his life upon this one
work&mdash;towards the end of his prolegomena, which by the bye should
have come first&mdash;&mdash;but the bookbinder has most injudiciously
placed it betwixt the analytical contents of the book, and the book
itself&mdash;he informs his reader, that ever since he had arrived at
the age of discernment, and was able to sit down coolly, and consider
within himself the true state and condition of man, and distinguish the
main end and design of his being;&mdash;&mdash;or&mdash;to shorten my
translation, for <i>Slawkenbergius’s</i> book is in <i>Latin</i>, and
not a little prolix in this passage&mdash;ever since I understood, quoth
<i>Slawkenbergius</i>, any thing&mdash;&mdash;or rather <i>what was
what</i>&mdash;&mdash;and could perceive that the point of long noses
had been too loosely handled by all who had gone
before;&mdash;&mdash;have&nbsp;I, <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, felt a strong
impulse, with a mighty and unresistible call within me, to gird up
myself to this undertaking.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page168" id = "page168">168</a></span>
<p>And to do justice to <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, he has entered the list
with a stronger lance, and taken a much larger career in it than any one
man who had ever entered it before him&mdash;&mdash;and indeed, in many
respects, deserves to be <i>en-nich’d</i> as a prototype for all
writers, of voluminous works at least, to model their books
by&mdash;&mdash;for he has taken in, Sir, the whole
subject&mdash;examined every part of it
<i>dialectically</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;then brought it into full day;
dilucidating it with all the light which either the collision of his own
natural parts could strike&mdash;or the profoundest knowledge of the
sciences had impowered him to cast upon it&mdash;collating, collecting,
and compiling&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;begging, borrowing, and stealing, as
he went along, all that had been wrote or wrangled thereupon in the
schools and porticos of the learned: so that <i>Slawkenbergius</i> his
book may properly be considered, not only as a model&mdash;but as a
thorough-stitched <span class = "smallroman">DIGEST</span> and regular
institute of <i>noses</i>, comprehending in it all that is or can be
needful to be known about them.</p>

<p>For this cause it is that I forbear to speak of so many (otherwise)
valuable books and treatises of my father’s collecting, wrote either,
plump upon noses&mdash;&mdash;or collaterally touching
them;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;such for instance as <i>Prignitz</i>, now
lying upon the table before me, who with infinite learning, and from the
most candid and scholar-like examination of above four thousand
different skulls, in upwards of twenty charnel-houses in <i>Silesia</i>,
which he had rummaged&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;has informed us, that the
mensuration and configuration of the osseous or bony parts of human
noses, in any <i>given</i> tract of country, except <i>Crim Tartary</i>,
where they are all crush’d down by the thumb, so that no judgment can be
formed upon them&mdash;are much nearer alike, than the world
imagines;&mdash;the difference amongst them being, he says, a&nbsp;mere
trifle, not worth taking notice of;&mdash;&mdash;but that the size and
jollity of every individual nose, and by which one nose ranks above
another, and bears a higher price, is owing to the cartilaginous and
muscular parts of it, into whose ducts and sinuses the blood and animal
spirits being impell’d and driven by the warmth and force of the
imagination, which is but a step from it (bating the case of idiots,
whom <i>Prignitz</i>, who had lived many years in <i>Turky</i>, supposes
under the more immediate tutelage of Heaven)&mdash;it so happens, and
ever must, says <i>Prignitz</i>, that the excellency of the nose is in a
direct arithmetical proportion to the excellency of the wearer’s
fancy.</p>

<p>It is for the same reason, that is, because ’tis all comprehended in
<i>Slawkenbergius</i>, that I say nothing likewise of <i>Scroderus</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page169" id = "page169">169</a></span>
(<i>Andrea</i>) who, all the world knows, set himself to oppugn
<i>Prignitz</i> with great violence&mdash;proving it in his own way,
first <i>logically</i>, and then by a series of stubborn facts, “That so
far was <i>Prignitz</i> from the truth, in affirming that the fancy
begat the nose, that on the contrary&mdash;the nose begat the
fancy.”</p>

<p>&mdash;The learned suspected <i>Scroderus</i> of an indecent sophism
in this&mdash;and <i>Prignitz</i> cried out aloud in the dispute, that
<i>Scroderus</i> had shifted the idea upon him&mdash;&mdash;but
<i>Scroderus</i> went on, maintaining his thesis.</p>

<p>My father was just balancing within himself, which of the two sides
he should take in this affair; when <i>Ambrose Paræus</i> decided it in
a moment, and by overthrowing the systems, both of <i>Prignitz</i> and
<i>Scroderus</i>, drove my father out of both sides of the controversy
at once.</p>

<p>Be witness&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>I don’t acquaint the learned reader&mdash;in saying it, I mention it
only to shew the learned, I&nbsp;know the fact <span class =
"locked">myself&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>That this <i>Ambrose Paræus</i> was chief surgeon and nose-mender to
<i>Francis</i> the ninth of <i>France</i>, and in high credit with him
and the two preceding, or succeeding kings (I&nbsp;know not
which)&mdash;and that, except in the slip he made in his story of
<i>Taliacotius’s</i> noses, and his manner of setting them on&mdash;he
was esteemed by the whole college of physicians at that time, as more
knowing in matters of noses, than any one who had ever taken them in
hand.</p>

<p>Now <i>Ambrose Paræus</i> convinced my father, that the true and
efficient cause of what had engaged so much the attention of the world,
and upon which <i>Prignitz</i> and <i>Scroderus</i> had wasted so much
learning and fine parts&mdash;&mdash;was neither this nor
that&mdash;&mdash;but that the length and goodness of the nose was owing
simply to the softness and flaccidity in the nurse’s
breast&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as the flatness and shortness of
<i>puisne</i> noses was to the firmness and elastic repulsion of the
same organ of nutrition in the hale and lively&mdash;which, tho’ happy
for the woman, was the undoing of the child, inasmuch as his nose was so
snubb’d, so rebuff’d, so rebated, and so refrigerated thereby, as never
to arrive <i>ad mensuram suam legitimam</i>;&mdash;&mdash;but that in
case of the flaccidity and softness of the nurse or mother’s
breast&mdash;by sinking into it, quoth <i>Paræus</i>, as into so much
butter, the nose was comforted, nourish’d, plump’d up, refresh’d,
refocillated, and set a growing for ever.</p>

<p>I have but two things to observe of <i>Paræus</i>; first, That he
proves and explains all this with the utmost chastity and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page170" id = "page170">170</a></span>
decorum of expression:&mdash;for which may his soul for ever rest in
peace!</p>

<p>And, secondly, that besides the systems of <i>Prignitz</i> and
<i>Scroderus</i>, which <i>Ambrose Paræus</i> his hypothesis effectually
overthrew&mdash;it overthrew at the same time the system of peace and
harmony of our family; and for three days together, not only embroiled
matters between my father and my mother, but turn’d likewise the whole
house and everything in it, except my uncle <i>Toby</i>, quite upside
down.</p>

<p>Such a ridiculous tale of a dispute between a man and his wife, never
surely in any age or country got vent through the key-hole of a
street-door.</p>

<p>My mother, you must know&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but I have fifty things
more necessary to let you know first&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have a hundred
difficulties which I have promised to clear up, and a thousand
distresses and domestick misadventures crowding in upon me thick and
threefold, one upon the neck of another. A&nbsp;cow broke in (to-morrow
morning) to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> fortifications, and eat up two
rations and a half of dried grass, tearing up the sods with it, which
faced his horn-work and covered way.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> insists
upon being tried by a court-martial&mdash;the cow to be
shot&mdash;<i>Slop</i> to be <i>crucifix’d</i>&mdash;myself to be
<i>tristram’d</i> and at my very baptism made a martyr
of;&mdash;&mdash;poor unhappy devils that we all
are!&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;want swaddling&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but there is
no time to be lost in exclamations&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have left
my father lying across his bed, and my uncle <i>Toby</i> in his old
fringed chair, sitting beside him, and promised I would go back to them
in half an hour; and five-and-thirty minutes are laps’d
already.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Of all the perplexities a mortal author was
ever seen in&mdash;&mdash;this certainly is the greatest, for I have
<i>Hafen Slawkenbergius’s</i> folio, Sir, to
finish&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;dialogue between my father and my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, upon the solution of <i>Prignitz</i>, <i>Scroderus</i>,
<i>Ambrose Paræus</i>, <i>Ponocrates</i>, and <i>Grangousier</i> to
relate&mdash;a&nbsp;tale out of <i>Slawkenbergius</i> to translate, and
all this in five minutes less than no time at
all;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;such a head!&mdash;would to Heaven my enemies
only saw the inside of&nbsp;it!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXXXIX" id = "bookIII_chapXXXIX">
CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> was not any one scene more
entertaining in our family&mdash;and to do it justice in this
point;&mdash;&mdash;and I here put off my cap and lay it upon the table
close beside my ink-horn, on
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page171" id = "page171">171</a></span>
purpose to make my declaration to the world concerning this one article
the more solemn&mdash;&mdash;that I believe in my soul (unless my love
and partiality to my understanding blinds&nbsp;me) the hand of the
supreme Maker and first Designer of all things never made or put a
family together (in&nbsp;that period at least of it which I have sat
down to write the story&nbsp;of)&mdash;&mdash;where the characters of it
were cast or contrasted with so dramatick a felicity as ours was, for
this end; or in which the capacities of affording such exquisite scenes,
and the powers of shifting them perpetually from morning to night, were
lodged and intrusted with so unlimited a confidence, as in the <span
class = "smallcaps">Shandy Family</span>.</p>

<p>Not any one of these was more diverting, I say, in this whimsical
theatre of ours&mdash;&mdash;than what frequently arose out of this
self-same chapter of long noses&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;especially when my
father’s imagination was heated with the enquiry, and nothing would
serve him but to heat my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> too.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> would give my father all possible fair play in
this attempt; and with infinite patience would sit smoaking his pipe for
whole hours together, whilst my father was practising upon his head, and
trying every accessible avenue to drive <i>Prignitz</i> and
<i>Scroderus’s</i> solutions into&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Whether they were above my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
reason&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;or contrary to it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;or that
his brain was like <i>damp</i> timber, and no spark could possibly take
hold&mdash;&mdash;or that it was so full of saps, mines, blinds,
curtins, and such military disqualifications to his seeing clearly into
<i>Prignitz</i> and <i>Scroderus’s</i> doctrines&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;say
not&mdash;let schoolmen&mdash;scullions, anatomists, and engineers,
fight for it among <span class =
"locked">themselves&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>’Twas some misfortune, I make no doubt, in this affair, that my
father had every word of it to translate for the benefit of my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and render out of <i>Slawkenbergius’s Latin</i>, of which,
as he was no great master, his translation was not always of the
purest&mdash;&mdash;and generally least so where ’twas most
wanted.&mdash;This naturally open’d a door to a second
misfortune;&mdash;&mdash;that in the warmer paroxysms of his zeal to
open my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> eyes&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my father’s ideas
ran on as much faster than the translation, as the translation outmoved
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;neither the one or the other
added much to the perspicuity of my father’s lecture.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page172" id = "page172">172</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXL" id = "bookIII_chapXL">
CHAPTER XL</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> gift of ratiocination and making
syllogisms&mdash;&mdash;I mean in man&mdash;for in superior classes of
being, such as angels and spirits&mdash;&mdash;’tis all done, may it
please your worships, as they tell me, by <span class =
"smallcaps">Intuition</span>;&mdash;and beings inferior, as your
worships all know&mdash;&mdash;syllogize by their noses: though there is
an island swimming in the sea (though not altogether at its ease) whose
inhabitants, if my intelligence deceives me not, are so wonderfully
gifted, as to syllogize after the same fashion, and oft-times to make
very well out too:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but that’s neither here nor <span
class = "locked">there&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The gift of doing it as it should be, amongst us, or&mdash;the great
and principal act of ratiocination in man, as logicians tell us, is the
finding out the agreement or disagreement of two ideas one with another,
by the intervention of a third (called the <i>medius terminus</i>); just
as a man, as <i>Locke</i> well observes, by a yard, finds two men’s
nine-pin-alleys to be of the same length, which could not be brought
together, to measure their equality, by <i>juxta-position</i>.</p>

<p>Had the same great reasoner looked on, as my father illustrated his
systems of noses, and observed my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
deportment&mdash;what great attention he gave to every word&mdash;and as
oft as he took his pipe from his mouth, with what wonderful seriousness
he contemplated the length of it&mdash;&mdash;surveying it transversely
as he held it betwixt his finger and his thumb&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;then
fore-right&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;then this way, and then that, in all its
possible directions and foreshortenings&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he would
have concluded my uncle <i>Toby</i> had got hold of the <i>medius
terminus</i>, and was syllogizing and measuring with it the truth of
each hypothesis of long noses, in order, as my father laid them before
him. This, by the bye, was more than my father wanted&mdash;&mdash;his
aim in all the pains he was at in these philosophick lectures&mdash;was
to enable my uncle <i>Toby</i> not to <i>discuss</i>&mdash;&mdash;but
<i>comprehend</i>&mdash;&mdash;to <i>hold</i> the grains and scruples of
learning&mdash;&mdash;not to <i>weigh</i> them.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle
<i>Toby</i>, as you will read in the next chapter, did neither the one
or the other.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXLI" id = "bookIII_chapXLI">
CHAPTER XLI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">’Tis</span> a pity, cried my father one
winter’s night, after a three hours’ painful translation of
<i>Slawkenbergius</i>&mdash;&mdash;’tis a pity, cried
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page173" id = "page173">173</a></span>
my father, putting my mother’s thread-paper into the book for a mark, as
he spoke&mdash;&mdash;that truth, brother <i>Toby</i>, should shut
herself up in such impregnable fastnesses, and be so obstinate as not to
surrender herself sometimes up upon the closest <span class =
"locked">siege.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now it happened then, as indeed it had often done before, that my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> fancy, during the time of my father’s explanation of
<i>Prignitz</i> to him&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;having nothing to stay it
there, had taken a short flight to the
bowling-green!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;his body might as well have taken a
turn there too&mdash;so that with all the semblance of a deep school-man
intent upon the <i>medius terminus</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> was in fact as ignorant of the whole lecture, and all its
pros and cons, as if my father had been translating <i>Hafen
Slawkenbergius</i> from the <i>Latin</i> tongue into the
<i>Cherokee</i>. But the word <i>siege</i>, like a talismanic power, in
my father’s metaphor, wafting back my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> fancy, quick
as a note could follow the touch&mdash;he open’d his
ears&mdash;&mdash;and my father observing that he took his pipe out of
his mouth, and shuffled his chair nearer the table, as with a desire to
profit&mdash;my father with great pleasure began his sentence
again&mdash;&mdash;changing only the plan, and dropping the metaphor of
the siege of it, to keep clear of some dangers my father apprehended
from&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>’Tis a pity, said my father, that truth can only be on one side,
brother <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;considering what ingenuity these
learned men have all shewn in their solutions of noses.&mdash;&mdash;Can
noses be dissolved? replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;My father thrust back his
chair&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;rose up&mdash;put on his
hat&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;took four long strides to the
door&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;jerked it open&mdash;&mdash;thrust his head
half way out&mdash;&mdash;shut the door again&mdash;&mdash;took no
notice of the bad hinge&mdash;&mdash;returned to the table&mdash;pluck’d
my mother’s thread-paper out of <i>Slawkenbergius’s</i>
book&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;went hastily to his bureau&mdash;walked slowly
back&mdash;twisted my mother’s thread-paper about his
thumb&mdash;unbutton’d his waistcoat&mdash;threw my mother’s
thread-paper into the fire&mdash;&mdash;bit her sattin pin-cushion in
two, fill’d his mouth with bran&mdash;confounded it;&mdash;but
mark!&mdash;the oath of confusion was levell’d at my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
brain&mdash;which was e’en confused enough already&mdash;&mdash;the
curse came charged only with the bran&mdash;the bran, may it please your
honours, was no more than powder to the ball.</p>

<p>’Twas well my father’s passions lasted not long; for so long as they
did last, they led him a busy life on’t; and it is one of the most
unaccountable problems that ever I met with in my observations of human
nature, that nothing should prove my father’s
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page174" id = "page174">174</a></span>
mettle so much, or make his passions go off so like gunpowder, as the
unexpected strokes his science met with from the quaint simplicity of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> questions.&mdash;&mdash;Had ten dozen of hornets
stung him behind in so many different places all at one time&mdash;he
could not have exerted more mechanical functions in fewer
seconds&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;or started half so much, as with one single
<i>quære</i> of three words unseasonably popping in full upon him in his
hobby-horsical career.</p>

<p>’Twas all one to my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he smoaked
his pipe on with unvaried composure&mdash;&mdash;his heart never
intended offence to his brother&mdash;and as his head could seldom find
out where the sting of it lay&mdash;&mdash;he always gave my father the
credit of cooling by himself.&mdash;&mdash;He was five minutes and
thirty-five seconds about it in the present case.</p>

<p>By all that’s good! said my father, swearing, as he came to himself,
and taking the oath out of <i>Ernulphus’s</i> digest of
curses&mdash;&mdash;(though to do my father justice it was a fault
(as&nbsp;he told Dr. <i>Slop</i> in the affair of <i>Ernulphus</i>)
which he as seldom committed as any man upon
earth)&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;By all that’s good and great! brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father, if it was not for the aids of philosophy,
which befriend one so much as they do&mdash;you would put a man beside
all temper.&mdash;&mdash;Why, by the <i>solutions</i> of noses, of which
I was telling you, I&nbsp;meant, as you might have known, had you
favoured me with one grain of attention, the various accounts which
learned men of different kinds of knowledge have given the world of the
causes of short and long noses.&mdash;&mdash;There is no cause but one,
replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;why one man’s nose is longer
than another’s, but because that God pleases to have it
so.&mdash;&mdash;That is <i>Grangousier’s</i> solution, said my
father.&mdash;’Tis he, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking up, and
not regarding my father’s interruption, who makes us all, and frames and
puts us together in such forms and proportions, and for such ends, as is
agreeable to his infinite wisdom.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a pious account,
cried my father, but not philosophical&mdash;&mdash;there is more
religion in it than sound science. ’Twas no inconsistent part of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> character&mdash;&mdash;that he feared God, and
reverenced religion.&mdash;&mdash;So the moment my father finished his
remark&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> fell a whistling
<i>Lillabullero</i> with more zeal (though more out of tune) than <span
class = "locked">usual.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>What is become of my wife’s thread-paper?</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page175" id = "page175">175</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIII_chapXLII" id = "bookIII_chapXLII">
CHAPTER XLII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">No</span> matter&mdash;as an appendage to
seamstressy, the thread-paper might be of some consequence to my
mother&mdash;of none to my father, as a mark in <i>Slawkenbergius</i>.
<i>Slawkenbergius</i> in every page of him was a rich treasure of
inexhaustible knowledge to my father&mdash;he could not open him amiss;
and he would often say in closing the book, that if all the arts and
sciences in the world, with the books which treated of them, were
lost&mdash;should the wisdom and policies of governments, he would say,
through disuse, ever happen to be forgot, and all that statesmen had
wrote or caused to be written, upon the strong or the weak sides of
courts and kingdoms, should they be forgot also&mdash;and
<i>Slawkenbergius</i> only left&mdash;&mdash;there would be enough in
him in all conscience, he would say, to set the world a-going again.
A&nbsp;treasure therefore was he indeed! an institute of all that was
necessary to be known of noses, and everything else&mdash;at
<i>matin</i>, noon, and vespers was <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i> his
recreation and delight: ’twas for ever in his hands&mdash;&mdash;you
would have sworn, Sir, it had been a canon’s prayer-book&mdash;so worn,
so glazed, so contrited and attrited was it with fingers and with thumbs
in all its parts, from one end even unto the other.</p>

<p>I am not such a bigot to <i>Slawkenbergius</i> as my
father;&mdash;&mdash;there is a fund in him, no doubt: but in my
opinion, the best, I&nbsp;don’t say the most profitable, but the most
amusing part of <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i>, is his
tales&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and, considering he was a <i>German</i>, many
of them told not without fancy:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;these take up his
second book, containing nearly one half of his folio, and are
comprehended in ten decads, each decad containing ten
tales&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Philosophy is not built upon tales; and
therefore ’twas certainly wrong in <i>Slawkenbergius</i> to send them
into the world by that name!&mdash;&mdash;there are a few of them in his
eighth, ninth, and tenth decads, which I own seem rather playful and
sportive, than speculative&mdash;but in general they are to be looked
upon by the learned as a detail of so many independent facts, all of
them turning round somehow or other upon the main hinges of his subject,
and collected by him with great fidelity, and added to his work as so
many illustrations upon the doctrines of noses.</p>

<p>As we have leisure enough upon our hands&mdash;&mdash;if you give me
leave, madam, I’ll tell you the ninth tale of his tenth decad.</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_3_1" id = "note_3_1" href = "#tag_3_1">1.</a>
Vide <a href = "#page105">page 105</a>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_3_2" id = "note_3_2" href = "#tag_3_2">2.</a>
As the genuineness of the consultation of the <i>Sorbonne</i> upon the
question of baptism, was doubted by some, and denied by
others&mdash;&mdash;’twas thought proper to print the original of this
excommunication; for the copy of which Mr. <i>Shandy</i> returns thanks
to the chapter clerk of the dean and chapter of <i>Rochester</i>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_3_3" id = "note_3_3" href = "#tag_3_3">3.</a>
Vide Locke.</p>
</div>


<table class = "parallel" summary = "parallel text">
<tr>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page176" id = "page176">176</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookIV" id = "bookIV">BOOK IV</a></h3>

<h4><a name = "bookIV_slawkenberg" id = "bookIV_slawkenberg">
SLAWKENBERGII FABELLA</a><a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_1" id =
"tag_4_1" href = "#note_4_1">1</a></h4>
</td>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page177" id = "page177">177</a></span>

<h3>BOOK IV</h3>

<h4>SLAWKENBERGIUS’S TALE</h4>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Vespera quâdam frigidulâ, posteriori in parte mensis
<em>Augusti</em>, peregrinus, mulo fusco colore insidens, manticâ a
tergo, paucis indusiis, binis calceis, braccisque sericis coccineis
repleta, <em>Argentoratum</em> ingressus est.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>It was one cool refreshing evening, at the close of a very sultry
day, in the latter end of the month of <i>August</i>, when a stranger,
mounted upon a dark mule, with a small cloak-bag behind him, containing
a few shirts, a&nbsp;pair of shoes, and a crimson-sattin pair of
breeches, entered the town of <i>Strasburg</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Militi eum percontanti, quum portas intraret dixit, se apud
Nasorum promontorium fuisse, Francofurtum proficisci, et Argentoratum,
transitu ad fines Sarmatiæ mensis intervallo, reversurum.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>He told the centinel, who questioned him as he entered the gates,
that he had been at the Promontory of <span class =
"smallcaps">Noses</span>&mdash;was going on to
<i>Frankfort</i>&mdash;&mdash;and should be back again at
<i>Strasburg</i> that day month, in his way to the borders of <i>Crim
Tartary</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Miles peregrini in faciem suspexit&mdash;&mdash;Dî boni, nova
forma nasi!</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>The centinel looked up into the stranger’s face&mdash;&mdash;he never
saw such a Nose in his life!</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>At multum mihi profuit, inquit peregrinus, carpum amento
extrahens, e&nbsp;quo pependit acinaces: Loculo manum inseruit; et magnâ
cum urbanitate, pilei parte anteriore tactâ manu sinistrâ, ut extendit
dextram, militi florinum dedit et processit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;I have made a very good venture of it, quoth the
stranger&mdash;so slipping his wrist out of the loop of a black ribbon,
to which a short scymetar was hung, he put his hand into his pocket, and
with great courtesy touching the fore part of his cap with his left
hand, as he extended his right&mdash;&mdash;he put a florin into the
centinel’s hand, and passed&nbsp;on.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Dolet mihi, ait miles, tympanistam nanum et valgum alloquens,
virum adeo urbanum vaginam perdidisse: itinerari haud poterit nudâ
acinaci; neque vaginam toto <em>Argentorato</em>, habilem
inveniet.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Nullam unquam habui, respondit peregrinus
respiciens&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;seque comiter inclinans&mdash;hoc more
gesto, nudam acinacem elevans, mulo lentò progrediente, ut nasum tueri
possim.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>It grieves me, said the centinel, speaking to a little dwarfish
bandy-legg’d drummer, that so courteous a soul should have lost his
scabbard&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he cannot travel without one to his
scymetar, and will not be able to get a scabbard to fit it in all
<i>Strasburg</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never had one, replied the
stranger, looking back to the centinel, and putting his hand up to his
cap as he spoke&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;carry it, continued he,
thus&mdash;&mdash;holding up his naked scymetar, his mule moving on
slowly all the time&mdash;on purpose to defend my nose.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Non immerito, benigne peregrine, respondit miles.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>It is well worth it, gentle stranger, replied the centinel.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Nihili æstimo, ait ille tympanista, e pergamenâ factitius
est.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis not worth a single stiver, said the bandy-legg’d
drummer&mdash;&mdash;’tis a nose of parchment.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Prout christianus sum, inquit miles, nasus ille, ni sexties major
sit, meo esset conformis.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>As I am a true catholic&mdash;except that it is six times as
big&mdash;’tis a nose, said the centinel, like my own.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Crepitare audivi ait tympanista.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;I heard it crackle, said the drummer.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page178" id = "page178">178</a></span>
<p><i>Mehercule! sanguinem emisit, respondit miles.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page179" id = "page179">179</a></span>
<p>By dunder, said the centinel, I saw it bleed.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Miseret me, inquit tympanista, qui non ambo tetigimus!</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>What a pity, cried the bandy-legg’d drummer, we did not both touch
it!</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Eodem temporis puncto, quo hæc res argumentata fuit inter militem
et tympanistam, disceptabatur ibidem tubicine et uxore suâ qui tunc
accesserunt, et peregrino prætereunte, restiterunt.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>At the very time that this dispute was maintaining by the centinel
and the drummer&mdash;was the same point debating betwixt a trumpeter
and a trumpeter’s wife, who were just then coming up, and had stopped to
see the stranger pass&nbsp;by.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Quantus nasus! æque longus est, ait tubicina, ac tuba.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p><i>Benedicity!</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What a nose! ’tis as long,
said the trumpeter’s wife, as a trumpet.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Et ex eodem metallo, ait tubicen, velut sternutamento
audias.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>And of the same metal, said the trumpeter, as you hear by its
sneezing.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Tantum abest, respondit illa, quod fistulam dulcedine
vincit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis as soft as a flute, said she.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Æneus est, ait tubicen.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;’Tis brass, said the trumpeter.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Nequaquam, respondit uxor.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;’Tis a pudding’s end, said his wife.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Rursum affirmo, ait tubicen, quod æneus est.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>I tell thee again, said the trumpeter, ’tis a brazen nose.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Rem penitus explorabo; prius, enim digito tangam, ait uxor, quam
dormivero.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>I’ll know the bottom of it, said the trumpeter’s wife, for I will
touch it with my finger before I sleep.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Mulus peregrini gradu lento progressus est, ut unumquodque verbum
controversiæ, non tantum inter militem et tympanistam, verum etiam inter
tubicinem et uxorem ejus, audiret.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>The stranger’s mule moved on at so slow a rate, that he heard every
word of the dispute, not only betwixt the centinel and the drummer, but
betwixt the trumpeter and trumpeter’s wife.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Nequaquam, ait ille, in muli collum fræna demittens, et manibus
ambabus in pectus positis, (mulo lentè progrediente) nequaquam, ait ille
respiciens, non necesse est ut res isthæc dilucidata foret. Minime
gentium! meus nasus nunquam tangetur, dum spiritus hos reget
artus&mdash;Ad quid agendum? ait uxor burgomagistri.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>No! said he, dropping his reins upon his mule’s neck, and laying both
his hands upon his breast, the one over the other, in a saint-like
position (his mule going on easily all the time) No! said he, looking
up&mdash;I&nbsp;am not such a debtor to the world&mdash;&mdash;slandered
and disappointed as I have been&mdash;as to give it that
conviction&mdash;&mdash;no! said he, my nose shall never be touched
whilst Heaven gives me strength&mdash;&mdash;To do what? said a
burgomaster’s wife.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Peregrinus illi non respondit. Votum faciebat tunc temporis sancto
Nicolao; quo facto, in sinum dextrum inserens, e&nbsp;quâ negligenter
pependit acinaces, lento gradu processit per plateam Argentorati latam
quæ ad diversorium templo ex adversum ducit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>The stranger took no notice of the burgomaster’s
wife&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he was making a vow to <i>Saint Nicolas</i>;
which done, having uncrossed his arms with the same solemnity with which
he crossed them, he took up the reins of his bridle with his left hand,
and putting his right hand into his bosom, with his scymetar hanging
loosely to the wrist of it, he rode on, as slowly as one foot of the
mule could follow another, thro’ the principal streets of
<i>Strasburg</i>, till chance brought him to the great inn in the
market-place over against the church.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Peregrinus mulo descendens stabulo includi, et manticam inferri
jussit: quâ apertâ et coccineis sericis femoralibus extractis cum
argenteo laciniato <ins class = "correction greek"
title = "Perizômata [printed Περιζώμαυτὲ Perizômaute]">Περιζώματα</ins>, his sese induit,
statimque, acinaci in manu, ad forum deambulavit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>The moment the stranger alighted, he ordered his mule to be led into
the stable, and his cloak-bag to be brought in; then opening, and taking
out of it his crimson-sattin breeches, with a
silver-fringed&mdash;(appendage to them, which I dare not
translate)&mdash;he put his breeches, with his fringed codpiece on, and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page181" id = "page181">181</a></span>
forthwith, with his short scymetar in his hand, walked out on to the
grand parade.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<span class = "pagenum left">
<a name = "page180" id = "page180">180</a></span>
<p><i>Quod ubi peregrinus esset ingressus, uxorem tubicinis obviam
euntem aspicit; illico cursum flectit, metuens ne nasus suus
exploraretur, atque ad diversorium regressus est&mdash;exuit se
vestibus; braccas coccineas sericas manticæ imposuit mulumque educi
jussit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>The stranger had just taken three turns upon the parade, when he
perceived the trumpeter’s wife at the opposite side of it&mdash;so
turning short, in pain lest his nose should be attempted, he instantly
went back to his inn&mdash;undressed himself, packed up his
crimson-sattin breeches, &amp;c., in his cloak-bag, and called for his
mule.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Francofurtum proficiscor, ait ille, et Argentoratum quatuor abhinc
hebdomadis revertar.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>I am going forwards, said the stranger, for
<i>Frankfort</i>&mdash;&mdash;and shall be back at <i>Strasburg</i> this
day month.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Bene curasti hoc jumentum? (ait) muli faciem manu
demulcens&mdash;me, manticamque mean, plus sexcentis mille passibus
portavit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>I hope, continued the stranger, stroking down the face of his mule
with his left hand as he was going to mount it, that you have been kind
to this faithful slave of mine&mdash;it has carried me and my cloak-bag,
continued he, tapping the mule’s back, above six hundred leagues.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Longa via est! respondet hospes, nisi plurimum esset
negoti.&mdash;Enimvero, ait peregrinus, a&nbsp;Nasorum promontorio
redii, et nasum speciosissimum, egregiosissimumque quem unquam quisquam
sortitus est, acquisivi.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a long journey, Sir, replied the master of the
inn&mdash;&mdash;unless a man has great business.&mdash;&mdash;Tut! tut!
said the stranger, I&nbsp;have been at the Promontory of Noses; and have
got me one of the goodliest, thank Heaven, that ever fell to a single
man’s lot.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Dum peregrinus hanc miram rationem de seipso reddit, hospes et
uxor ejus, oculis intentis, peregrini nasum
contemplantur&mdash;&mdash;Per sanctos sanctasque omnes, ait hospitis
uxor, nasis duodecim maximis in toto Argentorato major est!&mdash;estne,
ait illa mariti in aurem insusurrans, nonne est nasus
prægrandis?</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>Whilst the stranger was giving this odd account of himself, the
master of the inn and his wife kept both their eyes fixed full upon the
stranger’s nose&mdash;&mdash;By saint <i>Radagunda</i>, said the
inn-keeper’s wife to herself, there is more of it than in any dozen of
the largest noses put together in all <i>Strasburg!</i> is it not, said
she, whispering her husband in his ear, is it not a noble nose?</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Dolus inest, anime mî, ait hospes&mdash;nasus est falsus.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis an imposture, my dear, said the master of the
inn&mdash;&mdash;’tis a false nose.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Verus est, respondit uxor&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis a true nose, said his wife.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Ex abiete factus est, ait ille, terebinthinum
olet&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis made of fir-tree, said he, I smell the <span class =
"locked">turpentine.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Carbunculus inest, ait uxor.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>There’s a pimple on it, said she.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Mortuus est nasus, respondit hospes.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis a dead nose, replied the inn-keeper.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Vivus est ait illa,&mdash;et si ipsa vivam tangam.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>’Tis a live nose, and if I am alive myself, said the inn-keeper’s
wife, I&nbsp;will touch&nbsp;it.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Votum feci sancto Nicolao, ait peregrinus, nasum meum intactum
fore usque ad&mdash;Quodnam tempus? illico respondit illa.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>I have made a vow to saint <i>Nicolas</i> this day, said the
stranger, that my nose shall not be touched till&mdash;Here the
stranger, suspending his voice, looked up.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Till
when? said she hastily.</p>
</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td>
<p><i>Minimo tangetur, inquit ille (manibus in pectus compositis) usque
ad illam horam&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Quam horam? ait
illa&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Nullam, respondit peregrinus, donec pervenio
ad&mdash;Quem locum,&mdash;obsecro? ait illa&mdash;&mdash;Peregrinus nil
respondens mulo conscenso discessit.</i></p>
</td>
<td>
<p>It never shall be touched, said he, clasping his hands and bringing
them close to his breast, till that hour&mdash;What hour? cried the
inn-keeper’s wife.&mdash;Never!&mdash;never! said the stranger, never
till I am got&mdash;For Heaven’s sake, into what place? said
she&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The stranger rode away without saying a
word.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page182" id = "page182">182</a></span>
<p>The stranger had not got half a league on his way towards
<i>Frankfort</i> before all the city of <i>Strasburg</i> was in an
uproar about his nose. The <i>Compline</i> bells were just ringing to
call the <i>Strasburgers</i> to their devotions, and shut up the duties
of the day in prayer:&mdash;no soul in all <i>Strasburg</i> heard
’em&mdash;the city was like a swarm of bees&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;men,
women, and children (the <i>Compline</i> bells tinkling all the time)
flying here and there&mdash;in at one door, out at
another&mdash;&mdash;this way and that way&mdash;long ways and cross
ways&mdash;up one street, down another street&mdash;&mdash;in at this
alley, out of that&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;did you see it? did you see it?
did you see it? O! did you see it?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;who saw it? who
did see it? for mercy’s sake, who saw&nbsp;it?</p>

<p>Alack o’day! I was at vespers!&mdash;I was washing, I was starching,
I&nbsp;was scouring, I&nbsp;was quilting&mdash;&mdash;God help me!
I&nbsp;never saw it&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never touch’d
it!&mdash;&mdash;would I had been a centinel, a&nbsp;bandy-legg’d
drummer, a&nbsp;trumpeter, a&nbsp;trumpeter’s wife, was the general cry
and lamentation in every street and corner of <i>Strasburg</i>.</p>

<p>Whilst all this confusion and disorder triumphed throughout the great
city of <i>Strasburg</i>, was the courteous stranger going on as gently
upon his mule in his way to <i>Frankfort</i>, as if he had no concern at
all in the affair&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;talking all the way he rode in
broken sentences, sometimes to his mule&mdash;sometimes to
himself&mdash;sometimes to his Julia.</p>

<p>O Julia, my lovely Julia!&mdash;nay, I cannot stop to let thee bite
that thistle&mdash;&mdash;that ever the suspected tongue of a rival
should have robbed me of enjoyment when I was upon the point of tasting
<span class = "locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Pugh!&mdash;’tis nothing but a thistle&mdash;never mind
it&mdash;&mdash;thou shalt have a better supper at night.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Banish’d from my country&mdash;&mdash;my
friends&mdash;&mdash;from thee.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Poor devil, thou’rt sadly tired with thy
journey!&mdash;&mdash;come&mdash;get on a little faster&mdash;there’s
nothing in my cloak-bag but two
shirts&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;crimson-sattin pair of breeches, and a
fringed&mdash;&mdash;Dear Julia.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But why to <i>Frankfort</i>&mdash;is it that there is a
hand unfelt, which secretly is conducting me through these meanders and
unsuspected tracts?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Stumbling! by saint <i>Nicolas!</i> every
step&mdash;why, at this rate we shall be all night in getting <span
class = "locked">in&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;To happiness&mdash;&mdash;or am I to be the sport of
fortune and slander&mdash;destined to be driven forth
unconvicted&mdash;&mdash;unheard&mdash;&mdash;untouch’d&mdash;&mdash;if
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page183" id = "page183">183</a></span>
so, why did I not stay at <i>Strasburg</i>, where justice&mdash;but I
had sworn! Come, thou shalt drink&mdash;to <i>St.
Nicolas</i>&mdash;O&nbsp;Julia!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What dost thou prick
up thy ears at?&mdash;&mdash;’tis nothing but a man, &amp;c.</p>

<p>The stranger rode on communing in this manner with his mule and
Julia&mdash;till he arrived at his inn, where, as soon as he arrived, he
alighted&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;saw his mule, as he had promised it, taken
good care of&mdash;&mdash;took off his cloak-bag, with his
crimson-sattin breeches, &amp;c., in it&mdash;called for an omelet to
his supper, went to his bed about twelve o’clock, and in five minutes
fell fast asleep.</p>

<p>It was about the same hour when the tumult in <i>Strasburg</i> being
abated for that night,&mdash;the <i>Strasburgers</i> had all got quietly
into their beds&mdash;but not like the stranger, for the rest either of
their minds or bodies; queen <i>Mab</i>, like an elf as she was, had
taken the stranger’s nose, and without reduction of its bulk, had that
night been at the pains of slitting and dividing it into as many noses
of different cuts and fashions, as there were heads in <i>Strasburg</i>
to hold them. The abbess of <i>Quedlingberg</i>, who with the four great
dignitaries of her chapter, the prioress, the deaness, the
sub-chantress, and senior canoness, had that week come to
<i>Strasburg</i> to consult the university upon a case of conscience
relating to their placket-holes&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;was ill all the
night.</p>

<p>The courteous stranger’s nose had got perched upon the top of the
pineal gland of her brain, and made such rousing work in the fancies of
the four great dignitaries of her chapter, they could not get a wink of
sleep the whole night thro’ for it&mdash;&mdash;there was no keeping a
limb still amongst them&mdash;&mdash;in short, they got up like so many
ghosts.</p>

<p>The penitentiaries of the third order of saint
<i>Francis</i>&mdash;&mdash;the nuns of mount
<i>Calvary</i>&mdash;&mdash;the <i>Præmonstratenses</i>&mdash;&mdash;the
<i>Clunienses</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_2" id = "tag_4_2" href =
"#note_4_2">2</a>&mdash;&mdash;the <i>Carthusians</i>, and all the
severer orders of nuns who lay that night in blankets or hair-cloth,
were still in a worse condition than the abbess of
<i>Quedlingberg</i>&mdash;by tumbling and tossing, and tossing and
tumbling from one side of their beds to the other the whole night
long&mdash;&mdash;the several sisterhoods had scratch’d and maul’d
themselves all to death&mdash;&mdash;they got out of their beds almost
flay’d alive&mdash;everybody thought saint <i>Antony</i> had visited
them for probation with his fire&mdash;&mdash;they had never once, in
short, shut their eyes the whole night long from vespers to matins.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page184" id = "page184">184</a></span>
<p>The nuns of saint <i>Ursula</i> acted the wisest&mdash;they never
attempted to go to bed at all.</p>

<p>The dean of <i>Strasburg</i>, the prebendaries, the capitulars and
domiciliars (capitularly assembled in the morning to consider the case
of butter’d buns) all wished they had followed the nuns of saint
<i>Ursula’s</i> <span class =
"locked">example.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In the hurry and confusion everything had been in the night before,
the bakers had all forgot to lay their leaven&mdash;there were no
butter’d buns to be had for breakfast in all <i>Strasburg</i>&mdash;the
whole close of the cathedral was in one eternal
commotion&mdash;&mdash;such a cause of restlessness and disquietude, and
such a zealous inquiry into the cause of that restlessness, had never
happened in <i>Strasburg</i>, since <i>Martin Luther</i>, with his
doctrines, had turned the city upside down.</p>

<p>If the stranger’s nose took this liberty of thrusting himself thus
into the dishes<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_3" id = "tag_4_3" href =
"#note_4_3">3</a> of religious orders, &amp;c., what a carnival did his
nose make of it, in those of the laity!&mdash;’tis more than my pen,
worn to the stump as it is, has power to describe; tho’
I&nbsp;acknowledge, (<i>cries <em>Slawkenbergius</em>, with more gaiety
of thought than I could have expected from him</i>) that there is many a
good simile now subsisting in the world which might give my countrymen
some idea of it; but at the close of such a folio as this, wrote for
their sakes, and in which I have spent the greatest part of my
life&mdash;&mdash;tho’ I&nbsp;own to them the simile is in being, yet
would it not be unreasonable in them to expect I should have either time
or inclination to search for it? Let it suffice to say, that the riot
and disorder it occasioned in the <i>Strasburgers’</i> fantasies was so
general&mdash;such an overpowering mastership had it got of all the
faculties of the <i>Strasburgers’</i> minds&mdash;so many strange
things, with equal confidence on all sides, and with equal eloquence in
all places, were spoken and sworn to concerning it, that turned the
whole stream of all discourse and wonder towards it&mdash;every soul,
good and bad&mdash;rich and poor&mdash;learned and
unlearned&mdash;&mdash;doctor and student&mdash;&mdash;mistress and
maid&mdash;&mdash;gentle and simple&mdash;&mdash;nun’s flesh and woman’s
flesh, in <i>Strasburg</i> spent their time in hearing tidings about
it&mdash;every eye in <i>Strasburg</i> languished to see
it&mdash;&mdash;every finger&mdash;&mdash;every thumb in
<i>Strasburg</i> burned to touch&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Now what might add, if anything may be thought necessary to add, to
so vehement a desire&mdash;was this, that the centinel, the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page185" id = "page185">185</a></span>
bandy-legg’d drummer, the trumpeter, the trumpeter’s wife, the
burgomaster’s widow, the master of the inn, and the master of the inn’s
wife, how widely soever they all differed every one from another in
their testimonies and description of the stranger’s nose&mdash;they all
agreed together in two points&mdash;namely, that he was gone to
<i>Frankfort</i>, and would not return to <i>Strasburg</i> till that day
month; and secondly, whether his nose was true or false, that the
stranger himself was one of the most perfect paragons of
beauty&mdash;the finest-made man&mdash;the most genteel!&mdash;the most
generous of his purse&mdash;the most courteous in his carriage that had
ever entered the gates of <i>Strasburg</i>&mdash;that as he rode, with
scymetar slung loosely to his wrist, thro’ the streets&mdash;and walked
with his crimson-sattin breeches across the parade&mdash;’twas with so
sweet an air of careless modesty, and so manly withal&mdash;&mdash;as
would have put the heart in jeopardy (had his nose not stood in his way)
of every virgin who had cast her eyes upon him.</p>

<p>I call not upon that heart which is a stranger to the throbs and
yearnings of curiosity, so excited, to justify the abbess of
<i>Quedlingberg</i>, the prioress, the deaness, and sub-chantress, for
sending at noon-day for the trumpeter’s wife: she went through the
streets of <i>Strasburg</i> with her husband’s trumpet in her
hand,&mdash;&mdash;the best apparatus the straitness of the time would
allow her, for the illustration of her theory&mdash;she staid no longer
than three days.</p>

<p>The centinel and bandy-legg’d drummer!&mdash;&mdash;nothing on this
side of old <i>Athens</i> could equal them! they read their lectures
under the city-gates to comers and goers, with all the pomp of a
<i>Chrysippus</i> and a <i>Crantor</i> in their porticos.</p>

<p>The master of the inn, with his ostler on his left-hand, read his
also in the same stile&mdash;under the portico or gateway of his
stable-yard&mdash;his wife, hers more privately in a back room: all
flocked to their lectures; not promiscuously&mdash;but to this or that,
as is ever the way, as faith and credulity marshal’d
them&mdash;&mdash;in a word, each <i>Strasburger</i> came crouding for
intelligence&mdash;&mdash;and every <i>Strasburger</i> had the
intelligence he wanted.</p>

<p>’Tis worth remarking, for the benefit of all demonstrators in natural
philosophy, &amp;c., that as soon as the trumpeter’s wife had finished
the abbess of <i>Quedlingberg’s</i> private lecture, and had begun to
read in public, which she did upon a stool in the middle of the great
parade,&mdash;&mdash;she incommoded the other demonstrators mainly, by
gaining incontinently the most fashionable part of the city of
<i>Strasburg</i> for her auditory&mdash;&mdash;But when a demonstrator
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page186" id = "page186">186</a></span>
in philosophy (cries <i>Slawkenbergius</i>) has a <i>trumpet</i> for an
apparatus, pray what rival in science can pretend to be heard besides
him?</p>

<p>Whilst the unlearned, thro’ these conduits of intelligence, were all
busied in getting down to the bottom of the well, where <span class =
"smallcaps">Truth</span> keeps her little court&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;were
the learned in their way as busy in pumping her up thro’ the conduits of
dialect induction&mdash;&mdash;they concerned themselves not with
facts&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;they <span class =
"locked">reasoned&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Not one profession had thrown more light upon this subject than the
Faculty&mdash;had not all their disputes about it run into the affair of
<i>Wens</i> and œdematous swellings, they could not keep clear of them
for their bloods and souls&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the stranger’s nose had
nothing to do either with wens or œdematous swellings.</p>

<p>It was demonstrated however very satisfactorily, that such a
ponderous mass of heterogeneous matter could not be congested and
conglomerated to the nose, whilst the infant was <i>in Utero</i>,
without destroying the statical balance of the fœtus, and throwing it
plump upon its head nine months before the <span class =
"locked">time.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The opponents granted the theory&mdash;&mdash;they
denied the consequences.</p>

<p>And if a suitable provision of veins, arteries, &amp;c., said they,
was not laid in, for the due nourishment of such a nose, in the very
first stamina and rudiments of its formation, before it came into the
world (bating the case of Wens) it could not regularly grow and be
sustained afterwards.</p>

<p>This was all answered by a dissertation upon nutriment, and the
effect which nutriment had in extending the vessels, and in the increase
and prolongation of the muscular parts of the greatest growth and
expansion imaginable&mdash;In the triumph of which theory, they went so
far as to affirm, that there was no cause in nature, why a nose might
not grow to the size of the man himself.</p>

<p>The respondents satisfied the world this event could never happen to
them so long as a man had but one stomach and one pair of
lungs&mdash;&mdash;For the stomach, said they, being the only organ
destined for the reception of food, and turning it into chyle&mdash;and
the lungs the only engine of sanguification&mdash;it could possibly work
off no more, than what the appetite brought it: or admitting the
possibility of a man’s overloading his stomach, nature had set bounds
however to his lungs&mdash;the engine was of a determined size and
strength, and could elaborate but a certain
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page187" id = "page187">187</a></span>
quantity in a given time&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that is, it could produce
just as much blood as was sufficient for one single man, and no more; so
that, if there was as much nose as man&mdash;&mdash;they proved a
mortification must necessarily ensue; and forasmuch as there could not
be a support for both, that the nose must either fall off from the man,
or the man inevitably fall off from his nose.</p>

<p>Nature accommodates herself to these emergencies, cried the
opponents&mdash;else what do you say to the case of a whole
stomach&mdash;a&nbsp;whole pair of lungs, and but <i>half</i> a man,
when both his legs have been unfortunately shot off?</p>

<p>He dies of a plethora, said they&mdash;or must spit blood, and in a
fortnight or three weeks go off in a <span class =
"locked">consumption.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It happens otherwise&mdash;replied the
opponents.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>It ought not, said they.</p>

<p>The more curious and intimate inquirers after nature and her doings,
though they went hand in hand a good way together, yet they all divided
about the nose at last, almost as much as the Faculty itself.</p>

<p>They amicably laid it down, that there was a just and geometrical
arrangement and proportion of the several parts of the human frame to
its several destinations, offices, and functions which could not be
transgressed but within certain limits&mdash;that nature, though she
sported&mdash;&mdash;she sported within a certain circle;&mdash;and they
could not agree about the diameter of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The logicians stuck much closer to the point before them than any of
the classes of the literati;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;they began and ended
with the word Nose; and had it not been for a <i>petitio principii</i>,
which one of the ablest of them ran his head against in the beginning of
the combat, the whole controversy had been settled at once.</p>

<p>A nose, argued the logician, cannot bleed without blood&mdash;and not
only blood&mdash;but blood circulating in it to supply the phænomenon
with a succession of drops&mdash;(a&nbsp;stream being but a quicker
succession of drops, that is included, said&nbsp;he).&mdash;&mdash;Now
death, continued the logician, being nothing but the stagnation of the
<span class = "locked">blood&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I deny the definition&mdash;&mdash;Death is the separation of the
soul from the body, said his antagonist&mdash;&mdash;Then we don’t agree
about our weapons, said the logician&mdash;Then there is an end of the
dispute, replied the antagonist.</p>

<p>The civilians were still more concise: what they offered being more
in the nature of a decree&mdash;&mdash;than a dispute.</p>

<p>Such a monstrous nose, said they, had it been a true nose,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page188" id = "page188">188</a></span>
could not possibly have been suffered in civil society&mdash;&mdash;and
if false&mdash;to impose upon society with such false signs and tokens,
was a still greater violation of its rights, and must have had still
less mercy shewn&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The only objection to this was, that if it proved anything, it proved
the stranger’s nose was neither true nor false.</p>

<p>This left room for the controversy to go on. It was maintained by the
advocates of the ecclesiastic court, that there was nothing to inhibit a
decree, since the stranger <i>ex mero motu</i> had confessed he had been
at the Promontory of Noses, and had got one of the goodliest, &amp;c.
&amp;c.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;To this it was answered, it was impossible
there should be such a place as the Promontory of Noses, and the learned
be ignorant where it lay. The commissary of the bishop of
<i>Strasburg</i> undertook the advocates, explained this matter in a
treatise upon proverbial phrases, shewing them, that the Promontory of
Noses was a mere allegorick expression, importing no more than that
nature had given him a long nose: in proof of which, with great
learning, he cited the underwritten authorities,<a class = "tag" name =
"tag_4_4" id = "tag_4_4" href = "#note_4_4">4</a> which had decided the
point incontestably, had it not appeared that a dispute about some
franchises of dean and chapter-lands had been determined by it nineteen
years before.</p>

<p>It happened&mdash;&mdash;I must not say unluckily for Truth, because
they were giving her a lift another way in so doing; that the two
universities of <i>Strasburg</i>&mdash;&mdash;the <i>Lutheran</i>,
founded in the year 1538 by <i>Jacobus Surmis</i>, counsellor of the
senate,&mdash;&mdash;and the <i>Popish</i>, founded by <i>Leopold</i>,
arch-duke of <i>Austria</i>, were, during all this time, employing the
whole depth of their knowledge (except just what the affair of the
abbess of <i>Quedlingberg’s</i> placket-holes required)&mdash;&mdash;in
determining the point of <i>Martin Luther’s</i> damnation.</p>

<p>The <i>Popish</i> doctors had undertaken to demonstrate <i>à
priori</i>, that from the necessary influence of the planets on the
twenty-second day of <i>October</i> 1483&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;when the
moon was in the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page189" id = "page189">189</a></span>
twelfth house, <i>Jupiter</i>, <i>Mars</i>, and <i>Venus</i> in the
third, the <i>Sun</i>, <i>Saturn</i>, and <i>Mercury</i>, all got
together in the fourth&mdash;that he must in course, and unavoidably, be
a damn’d man&mdash;and that his doctrines, by a direct corollary, must
be damn’d doctrines too.</p>

<p>By inspection into his horoscope, where five planets were in coition
all at once with Scorpio<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_5" id = "tag_4_5"
href = "#note_4_5">5</a> (in&nbsp;reading this my father would always
shake his head) in the ninth house, which the <i>Arabians</i> allotted
to religion&mdash;it appeared that <i>Martin Luther</i> did not care one
stiver about the matter&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and that from the horoscope
directed to the conjunction of <i>Mars</i>&mdash;they made it plain
likewise he must die cursing and blaspheming&mdash;&mdash;with the blast
of which his soul (being steep’d in guilt) sailed before the wind, in
the lake of hell-fire.</p>

<p>The little objection of the <i>Lutheran</i> doctors to this, was,
that it must certainly be the soul of another man, born <i>Oct.</i> 22,
83, which was forced to sail down before the wind in that
manner&mdash;inasmuch as it appeared from the register of <i>Islaben</i>
in the county of <i>Mansfelt</i>, that <i>Luther</i> was not born in the
year 1483, but in 84; and not on the 22d day of <i>October</i>, but on
the 10th of <i>November</i>, the eve of <i>Martinmas</i> day, from
whence he had the name of <i>Martin</i>.</p>

<p>[&mdash;&mdash;I must break off my translation for a moment; for if I
did not, I&nbsp;know I should no more be able to shut my eyes in bed,
than the abbess of <i>Quedlingberg</i>&mdash;&mdash;It is to tell the
reader, that my father never read this passage of <i>Slawkenbergius</i>
to my uncle <i>Toby</i>, but with triumph&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;not over
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, for he never opposed him in it&mdash;&mdash;but
over the whole world.</p>

<p>&mdash;Now you see, brother <i>Toby</i>, he would say, looking up,
“that christian names are not such indifferent
things;”&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;had <i>Luther</i> here been called by any
other name but Martin, he would have been damn’d to all
eternity&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Not that I look upon <i>Martin</i>, he
would add, as a good name&mdash;&mdash;far from it&mdash;&mdash;’tis
something better than a neutral, and but a little&mdash;&mdash;yet
little as it is, you see it was of some service to him.</p>

<p>My father knew the weakness of this prop to his hypothesis, as well
as the best logician could shew him&mdash;&mdash;yet so strange is the
weakness of man at the same time, as it fell in his way, he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page190" id = "page190">190</a></span>
could not for his life but make use of it; and it was certainly for this
reason, that though there are many stories in <i>Hafen
Slawkenbergius’s</i> Decads full as entertaining as this I am
translating, yet there is not one amongst them which my father read over
with half the delight&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;it flattered two of his
strangest hypotheses together&mdash;&mdash;his <span class =
"smallcaps">Names</span> and his <span class =
"smallcaps">Noses</span>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;will be bold to say, he
might have read all the books in the <i>Alexandrian</i> Library, had not
fate taken other care of them, and not have met with a book or passage
in one, which hit two such nails as these upon the head at one
stroke.]</p>

<p>The two universities of <i>Strasburg</i> were hard tugging at this
affair of <i>Luther’s</i> navigation. The Protestant doctors had
demonstrated, that he had not sailed right before the wind, as the
Popish doctors had pretended; and as every one knew there was no sailing
full in the teeth of it&mdash;they were going to settle, in case he had
sailed, how many points he was off; whether <i>Martin</i> had doubled
the cape, or had fallen upon a lee-shore; and no doubt, as it was an
enquiry of much edification, at least to those who understood this sort
of <span class = "smallroman">NAVIGATION</span>, they had gone on with
it in spite of the size of the stranger’s nose, had not the size of the
stranger’s nose drawn off the attention of the world from what they were
about&mdash;&mdash;it was their business to follow.</p>

<p>The abbess of <i>Quedlingberg</i> and her four dignitaries was no
stop; for the enormity of the stranger’s nose running full as much in
their fancies as their case of conscience&mdash;&mdash;the affair of
their placket-holes kept cold&mdash;in a word, the printers were ordered
to distribute their types&mdash;&mdash;all controversies dropp’d.</p>

<p>’Twas a square cap with a silver tassel upon the crown of it&mdash;to
a nut-shell&mdash;to have guessed on which side of the nose the two
universities would split.</p>

<p>’Tis above reason, cried the doctors on one side.</p>

<p>’Tis below reason, cried the others.</p>

<p>’Tis faith, cried one.</p>

<p>’Tis a fiddle-stick, said the other.</p>

<p>’Tis possible, cried the one.</p>

<p>’Tis impossible, said the other.</p>

<p>God’s power is infinite, cried the Nosarians, he can do anything.</p>

<p>He can do nothing, replied the Antinosarians, which implies
contradictions.</p>

<p>He can make matter think, said the Nosarians.</p>

<p>As certainly as you can make a velvet cap out of a sow’s ear, replied
the Antinosarians.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page191" id = "page191">191</a></span>
<p>He cannot make two and two five, replied the Popish
doctors.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis false, said their other <span class =
"locked">opponents.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Infinite power is infinite power, said the doctors who maintained the
<i>reality</i> of the nose.&mdash;It extends only to all possible
things, replied the <i>Lutherans</i>.</p>

<p>By God in heaven, cried the Popish doctors, he can make a nose, if he
thinks fit, as big as the steeple of <i>Strasburg</i>.</p>

<p>Now the steeple of <i>Strasburg</i> being the biggest and the tallest
church-steeple to be seen in the whole world, the Antinosarians denied
that a nose of 575 geometrical feet in length could be worn, at least by
a middle-siz’d man&mdash;&mdash;The Popish doctors swore it
could&mdash;The <i>Lutheran</i> doctors said No;&mdash;it could not.</p>

<p>This at once started a new dispute, which they pursued a great way,
upon the extent and limitation of the moral and natural attributes of
God&mdash;That controversy led them naturally into <i>Thomas
Aquinas</i>, and <i>Thomas Aquinas</i> to the devil.</p>

<p>The stranger’s nose was no more heard of in the dispute&mdash;it just
served as a frigate to launch them into the gulph of
school-divinity&mdash;&mdash;and then they all sailed before the
wind.</p>

<p>Heat is in proportion to the want of true knowledge.</p>

<p>The controversy about the attributes, &amp;c., instead of cooling, on
the contrary had inflamed the <i>Strasburgers’</i> imaginations to a
most inordinate degree&mdash;&mdash;The less they understood of the
matter, the greater was their wonder about it&mdash;they were left in
all the distresses of desire unsatisfied&mdash;&mdash;saw their doctors,
the <i>Parchmentarians</i>, the <i>Brassarians</i>, the
<i>Turpentarians</i>, on one side&mdash;the Popish doctors on the other,
like <i>Pantagruel</i> and his companions in quest of the oracle of the
bottle, all embarked out of sight.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The poor <i>Strasburgers</i> left upon the beach!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What was to be done?&mdash;No delay&mdash;the uproar
increased&mdash;&mdash;every one in disorder&mdash;&mdash;the city gates
set <span class = "locked">open.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Unfortunate <i>Strasburgers!</i> was there in the storehouse of
nature&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;was there in the lumber-rooms of
learning&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;was there in the great arsenal of chance,
one single engine left undrawn forth to torture your curiosities, and
stretch your desires, which was not pointed by the hand of Fate to play
upon your hearts?&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;dip not my pen into my ink to
excuse the surrender of yourselves&mdash;’tis to write your panegyrick.
Shew me a city so macerated with expectation&mdash;&mdash;who neither
eat, or drank, or slept, or prayed, or hearkened to the calls either of
religion or nature for seven-and-twenty days together, who could have
held out one day longer.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page192" id = "page192">192</a></span>
<p>On the twenty-eighth the courteous stranger had promised to return to
<i>Strasburg</i>.</p>

<p>Seven thousand coaches (<i>Slawkenbergius</i> must certainly have
made some mistake in his numerical characters) 7000
coaches&mdash;&mdash;15,000 single-horse chairs&mdash;20,000 waggons,
crowded as full as they could all hold with senators, counsellors,
syndicks&mdash;beguines, widows, wives, virgins, canons, concubines, all
in their coaches&mdash;The abbess of <i>Quedlingberg</i>, with the
prioress, the deaness and sub-chantress, leading the procession in one
coach, and the dean of <i>Strasburg</i>, with the four great dignitaries
of his chapter, on her left-hand&mdash;the rest following
higglety-pigglety as they could; some on horseback&mdash;&mdash;some on
foot&mdash;&mdash;some led&mdash;&mdash;some driven&mdash;&mdash;some
down the <i>Rhine</i>&mdash;&mdash;some this way&mdash;&mdash;some
that&mdash;&mdash;all set out at sun-rise to meet the courteous stranger
on the road.</p>

<p>Haste we now towards the catastrophe of my tale&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I
say <i>Catastrophe</i> (cries <i>Slawkenbergius</i>) inasmuch as a tale,
with parts rightly disposed, not only rejoiceth (<i>gaudet</i>) in the
<i>Catastrophe</i> and <i>Peripetia</i> of a <span class =
"smallcaps">Drama</span>, but rejoiceth moreover in all the essential
and integrant parts of it&mdash;&mdash;it has its <i>Protasis</i>,
<i>Epitasis</i>, <i>Catastasis</i>, its <i>Catastrophe</i> or
<i>Peripetia</i> growing one out of the other in it, in the order
<i>Aristotle</i> first planted them&mdash;&mdash;without which a tale
had better never be told at all, says <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, but be kept
to a man’s self.</p>

<p>In all my ten tales, in all my ten decads, have I
<i>Slawkenbergius</i> tied down every tale of them as tightly to this
rule, as I have done this of the stranger and his nose.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;From his first parley with the sentinel, to his leaving
the city of <i>Strasburg</i>, after pulling off his crimson-sattin pair
of breeches, is the <i>Protasis</i> or first entrance&mdash;&mdash;where
the characters of the <i>Personæ Dramatis</i> are just touched in, and
the subject slightly begun.</p>

<p>The <i>Epitasis</i>, wherein the action is more fully entered upon
and heightened, till it arrives at its state or height called the
<i>Catastasis</i>, and which usually takes up the 2d and 3d act, is
included within that busy period of my tale, betwixt the first night’s
uproar about the nose, to the conclusion of the trumpeter’s wife’s
lectures upon it in the middle of the grand parade: and from the first
embarking of the learned in the dispute&mdash;to the doctors finally
sailing away, and leaving the <i>Strasburgers</i> upon the beach in
distress, is the <i>Catastasis</i> or the ripening of the incidents and
passions for their bursting forth in the fifth act.</p>

<p>This commences with the setting out of the <i>Strasburgers</i> in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page193" id = "page193">193</a></span>
the <i>Frankfort</i> road, and terminates in unwinding the labyrinth and
bringing the hero out of a state of agitation (as&nbsp;<i>Aristotle</i>
calls&nbsp;it) to a state of rest and quietness.</p>

<p>This, says <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i>, constitutes the
<i>Catastrophe</i> or <i>Peripetia</i> of my tale&mdash;and that is the
part of it I am going to relate.</p>

<p>We left the stranger behind the curtain asleep&mdash;&mdash;he enters
now upon the stage.</p>

<p>&mdash;What dost thou prick up thy ears at?&mdash;’tis nothing but a
man upon a horse&mdash;&mdash;was the last word the stranger uttered to
his mule. It was not proper then to tell the reader, that the mule took
his master’s word for it; and without any more <i>ifs</i> or
<i>ands</i>, let the traveller and his horse pass&nbsp;by.</p>

<p>The traveller was hastening with all diligence to get to
<i>Strasburg</i> that night. What a fool am I, said the traveller to
himself, when he had rode about a league farther, to think of getting
into <i>Strasburg</i> this
night.&mdash;<i>Strasburg!</i>&mdash;&mdash;the great
<i>Strasburg!</i>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Strasburg</i>, the capital of all
<i>Alsatia!</i> <i>Strasburg</i>, an imperial city! <i>Strasburg</i>,
a&nbsp;sovereign state! <i>Strasburg</i>, garrisoned with five thousand
of the best troops in all the world!&mdash;Alas! if I was at the gates
of <i>Strasburg</i> this moment, I&nbsp;could not gain admittance into
it for a ducat&mdash;nay a ducat and half&mdash;’tis too
much&mdash;&mdash;better go back to the last inn I have
passed&mdash;&mdash;than lie I know not where&mdash;&mdash;or give I
know not what. The traveller, as he made these reflections in his mind,
turned his horse’s head about, and three minutes after the stranger had
been conducted into his chamber, he arrived at the same inn.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;We have bacon in the house, said the host, and
bread&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and till eleven o’clock this night had three
eggs in it&mdash;&mdash;but a stranger, who arrived an hour ago, has had
them dressed into an omelet, and we have <span class =
"locked">nothing.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Alas! said the traveller, harassed as I am, I want nothing but a
bed.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have one as soft as is in
<i>Alsatia</i>, said the host.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The stranger, continued he, should have slept in it,
for ’tis my best bed, but upon the score of his
nose.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;He has got a defluxion, said the
traveller.&mdash;&mdash;Not that I know, cried the
host.&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis a camp-bed, and <i>Jacinta</i>, said he,
looking towards the maid, imagined there was not room in it to turn his
nose in.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Why so? cried the traveller, starting
back.&mdash;It is so long a nose, replied the host.&mdash;&mdash;The
traveller fixed his eyes upon <i>Jacinta</i>, then upon the
ground&mdash;kneeled upon his right knee&mdash;had just got his hand
laid upon his breast
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page194" id = "page194">194</a></span>
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Trifle not with my anxiety, said he, rising up
again.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis no trifle, said <i>Jacinta</i>, ’tis the most
glorious nose!&mdash;&mdash;The traveller fell upon his knee
again&mdash;laid his hand upon his breast&mdash;then, said he, looking
up to heaven, thou hast conducted me to the end of my
pilgrimage.&mdash;’Tis <i>Diego</i>.</p>

<p>The traveller was the brother of the <i>Julia</i>, so often invoked
that night by the stranger as he rode from <i>Strasburg</i> upon his
mule; and was come, on her part, in quest of him. He had accompanied his
sister from <i>Valadolid</i> across the <i>Pyrenean</i> mountains
through <i>France</i>, and had many an entangled skein to wind off in
pursuit of him through the many meanders and abrupt turnings of a
lover’s thorny tracks.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Julia</i> had sunk under it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and
had not been able to go a step farther than to <i>Lyons</i>, where, with
the many disquietudes of a tender heart, which all talk
of&mdash;&mdash;but few feel&mdash;she sicken’d, but had just strength
to write a letter to <i>Diego</i>; and having conjured her brother never
to see her face till he had found him out, and put the letter into his
hands, <i>Julia</i> took to her bed.</p>

<p><i>Fernandez</i> (for that was her brother’s name)&mdash;&mdash;tho’
the camp-bed was as soft as any one in <i>Alsace</i>, yet he could not
shut his eyes in it.&mdash;&mdash;As soon as it was day he rose, and
hearing <i>Diego</i> was risen too, he entered his chamber, and
discharged his sister’s commission.</p>

<p>The letter was as follows:</p>


<p class = "inset">
“Seig. <span class = "smallcaps">Diego</span>,</p>

<p>“Whether my suspicions of your nose were justly excited or
not&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’tis not now to inquire&mdash;it is enough I
have not had firmness to put them to farther tryal.</p>

<p>“How could I know so little of myself, when I sent my <i>Duenna</i>
to forbid your coming more under my lattice? or how could I know so
little of you, <i>Diego</i>, as to imagine you would not have staid one
day in <i>Valadolid</i> to have given ease to my doubts?&mdash;Was I to
be abandoned, <i>Diego</i>, because I was deceived? or was it kind to
take me at my word, whether my suspicions were just or no, and leave me,
as you did, a&nbsp;prey to much uncertainty and sorrow?</p>

<p>“In what manner <i>Julia</i> has resented this&mdash;&mdash;my
brother, when he puts this letter into your hands, will tell you; He
will tell you in how few moments she repented of the rash message she
had sent you&mdash;&mdash;in what frantic haste she flew to her lattice,
and how many days and nights together she leaned
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page195" id = "page195">195</a></span>
immoveably upon her elbow, looking through it towards the way which
<i>Diego</i> was wont to come.</p>

<p>“He will tell you, when she heard of your departure&mdash;how her
spirits deserted her&mdash;&mdash;how her heart
sicken’d&mdash;&mdash;how piteously she mourned&mdash;&mdash;how low she
hung her head. O&nbsp;<i>Diego!</i> how many weary steps has my
brother’s pity led me by the hand languishing to trace out yours; how
far has desire carried me beyond strength&mdash;&mdash;and how oft have
I fainted by the way, and sunk into his arms, with only power to cry
out&mdash;O my <i>Diego!</i></p>

<p>“If the gentleness of your carriage has not belied your heart, you
will fly to me, almost as fast as you fled from me&mdash;haste as you
will&mdash;&mdash;you will arrive but to see me
expire.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a bitter draught, <i>Diego</i>, but oh!
’tis embitter’d still more by dying
<i>un</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;”</p>


<p class = "space">
She could proceed no farther.</p>

<p><i>Slawkenbergius</i> supposes the word intended was
<i>unconvinced</i>, but her strength would not enable her to finish her
letter.</p>

<p>The heart of the courteous <i>Diego</i> overflowed as he read the
letter&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he ordered his mule forthwith and
<i>Fernandez’s</i> horse to be saddled; and as no vent in prose is equal
to that of poetry in such conflicts&mdash;&mdash;chance, which as often
directs us to remedies as to <i>diseases</i>, having thrown a piece of
charcoal into the window&mdash;&mdash;<i>Diego</i> availed himself of
it, and whilst the hostler was getting ready his mule, he eased his mind
against the wall as follows.</p>

<div class = "verse ital">
<h5>ODE</h5>

<p>Harsh and untuneful are the notes of love,</p>
<p class = "indent">Unless my <em>Julia</em> strikes the key,</p>
<p>Her hand alone can touch the part,</p>
<p class = "indent">Whose dulcet move-</p>
<p class = "indent2">ment charms the heart,</p>
<p>And governs all the man with sympathetick sway.</p>

<h5 class = "final">2d</h5>
</div>

<p>O Julia!</p>

<p class = "space">
The lines were very natural&mdash;&mdash;for they were nothing at all to
the purpose, says <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, and ’tis a pity there were no
more of them; but whether it was that Seig. <i>Diego</i> was slow in
composing verses&mdash;or the hostler quick in saddling
mules&mdash;&mdash;is
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page196" id = "page196">196</a></span>
not averred; certain it was, that <i>Diego’s</i> mule and
<i>Fernandez’s</i> horse were ready at the door of the inn, before
<i>Diego</i> was ready for his second stanza; so without staying to
finish his ode, they both mounted, sallied forth, passed the
<i>Rhine</i>, traversed <i>Alsace</i>, shaped their course towards
<i>Lyons</i>, and before the <i>Strasburgers</i> and the abbess of
<i>Quedlingberg</i> had set out on their cavalcade, had
<i>Fernandez</i>, <i>Diego</i>, and his <i>Julia</i>, crossed the
<i>Pyrenean</i> mountains, and got safe to <i>Valadolid</i>.</p>

<p>’Tis needless to inform the geographical reader, that when
<i>Diego</i> was in <i>Spain</i>, it was not possible to meet the
courteous stranger in the <i>Frankfort</i> road; it is enough to say,
that of all restless desires, curiosity being the
strongest&mdash;&mdash;the <i>Strasburgers</i> felt the full force of
it; and that for three days and nights they were tossed to and fro in
the <i>Frankfort</i> road, with the tempestuous fury of this passion,
before they could submit to return home.&mdash;&mdash;When alas! an
event was prepared for them, of all other, the most grievous that could
befal a free people.</p>

<p>As this revolution of the <i>Strasburgers’</i> affairs is often
spoken of, and little understood, I&nbsp;will, in ten words, says
<i>Slawkenbergius</i>, give the world an explanation of it, and with it
put an end to my tale.</p>

<p>Every body knows of the grand system of Universal Monarchy, wrote by
order of Mons. <i>Colbert</i>, and put in manuscript into the hands of
<i>Lewis</i> the fourteenth, in the year 1664.</p>

<p>’Tis as well known, that one branch out of many of that system, was
the getting possession of <i>Strasburg</i>, to favour an entrance at all
times into <i>Suabia</i>, in order to disturb the quiet of
<i>Germany</i>&mdash;&mdash;and that in consequence of this plan,
<i>Strasburg</i> unhappily fell at length into their hands.</p>

<p>It is the lot of a few to trace out the true springs of this and such
like revolutions&mdash;The vulgar look too high for them&mdash;Statesmen
look too low&mdash;&mdash;Truth (for once) lies in the middle.</p>

<p>What a fatal thing is the popular pride of a free city! cries one
historian&mdash;The <i>Strasburgers</i> deemed it a diminution of their
freedom to receive an imperial garrison&mdash;&mdash;so fell a prey to a
<i>French</i> one.</p>

<p>The fate, says another, of the <i>Strasburgers</i>, may be a warning
to all free people to save their money.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;They
anticipated their revenues&mdash;&mdash;brought themselves under taxes,
exhausted their strength, and in the end became so weak a people, they
had not strength to keep their gates shut, and so the <i>French</i>
pushed them open.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page197" id = "page197">197</a></span>
<p>Alas! alas! cries <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, ’twas not the
<i>French</i>,&mdash;&mdash;’twas <span class =
"smallroman">CURIOSITY</span> pushed them open&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The
<i>French</i> indeed, who are ever upon the catch, when they saw the
<i>Strasburgers</i>, men, women, and children, all marched out to follow
the stranger’s nose&mdash;&mdash;each man followed his own, and
marched&nbsp;in.</p>

<p>Trade and manufactures have decayed and gradually grown down ever
since&mdash;but not from any cause which commercial heads have assigned;
for it is owing to this only, that Noses have ever so run in their
heads, that the <i>Strasburgers</i> could not follow their business.</p>

<p>Alas! alas! cries <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, making an
exclamation&mdash;it is not the first&mdash;&mdash;and I fear will not
be the last fortress that has been either won&mdash;&mdash;or lost by
<span class = "smallcaps">Noses</span>.</p>

<h5 class = "final">
<span class = "smallroman">THE END OF</span><br />
<i>Slawkenbergius’s</i> <span class = "smallcaps">Tale</span></h5>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapI" id = "bookIV_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">With</span> all this learning upon Noses
running perpetually in my father’s fancy&mdash;&mdash;with so many
family prejudices&mdash;and ten decads of such tales running on for ever
along with them&mdash;&mdash;how was it possible with such
exquisite&mdash;&mdash;was it a true nose?&mdash;&mdash;That a man with
such exquisite feelings as my father had, could bear the shock at all
below stairs&mdash;&mdash;or indeed above stairs, in any other posture,
but the very posture I have described?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Throw yourself down upon the bed, a dozen
times&mdash;&mdash;taking care only to place a looking-glass first in a
chair on one side of it, before you do it&mdash;But was the stranger’s
nose a true nose, or was it a false one?</p>

<p>To tell that before-hand, madam, would be to do injury to one of the
best tales in the Christian-world; and that is the tenth of the tenth
decad, which immediately follows this.</p>

<p>This tale, cried <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, somewhat exultingly, has been
reserved by me for the concluding tale of my whole work; knowing right
well, that when I shall have told it, and my reader shall have read it
thro’&mdash;’twould be even high time for both of us to shut up the
book; inasmuch, continues <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, as I know of no tale
which could possibly ever go down after&nbsp;it.</p>

<p class = "indent">
’Tis a tale indeed!</p>

<p>This sets out with the first interview in the inn at <i>Lyons</i>,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page198" id = "page198">198</a></span>
when <i>Fernandez</i> left the courteous stranger and his sister
<i>Julia</i> alone in her chamber, and is over-written</p>

<h5><span class = "smallcaps extended">The Intricacies</span><br />
<span class = "smallcaps">of</span><br />
<i>Diego</i> and <i>Julia</i></h5>

<p>Heavens! thou art a strange creature, <i>Slawkenbergius!</i> what a
whimsical view of the involutions of the heart of woman hast thou
opened! how this can ever be translated, and yet if this specimen of
<i>Slawkenbergius’s</i> tales, and the exquisitiveness of his moral,
should please the world&mdash;translated shall a couple of volumes
be.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Else, how this can ever be translated into good
<i>English</i>, I&nbsp;have no sort of conception.&mdash;There seems in
some passages to want a sixth sense to do it rightly.&mdash;&mdash;What
can he mean by the lambent pupilability of slow, low, dry chat, five
notes below the natural tone&mdash;&mdash;which you know, madam, is
little more than a whisper? The moment I pronounced the words,
I&nbsp;could perceive an attempt towards a vibration in the strings,
about the region of the heart.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The brain made no
acknowledgment.&mdash;&mdash;There’s often no good understanding betwixt
’em&mdash;I&nbsp;felt as if I understood it.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had no
ideas.&mdash;&mdash;The movement could not be without cause.&mdash;I’m
lost. I&nbsp;can make nothing of it&mdash;unless, may it please your
worships, the voice, in that case being little more than a whisper,
unavoidably forces the eyes to approach not only within six inches of
each other&mdash;but to look into the pupils&mdash;is not that
dangerous?&mdash;&mdash;But it can’t be avoided&mdash;for to look up to
the ceiling, in that case the two chins unavoidably
meet&mdash;&mdash;and to look down into each other’s lap, the foreheads
come to immediate contact, which at once puts an end to the
conference&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;mean to the sentimental part of
it.&mdash;&mdash;What is left, madam, is not worth stooping for.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapII" id = "bookIV_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father lay stretched across the
bed as still as if the hand of death had pushed him down, for a full
hour and a half before he began to play upon the floor with the toe of
that foot which hung over the bed-side; my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> heart was
a pound lighter for it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;In a few moments, his
left-hand, the knuckles of which had all the time reclined upon the
handle of the chamber-pot,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page199" id = "page199">199</a></span>
came to its feeling&mdash;he thrust it a little more within the
valance&mdash;drew up his hand, when he had done, into his
bosom&mdash;gave a hem! My good uncle <i>Toby</i>, with infinite
pleasure, answered it; and full gladly would have ingrafted a sentence
of consolation upon the opening it afforded: but having no talents, as I
said, that way, and fearing moreover that he might set out with
something which might make a bad matter worse, he contented himself with
resting his chin placidly upon the cross of his crutch.</p>

<p>Now whether the compression shortened my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> face
into a more pleasurable oval&mdash;or that the philanthropy of his
heart, in seeing his brother beginning to emerge out of the sea of his
afflictions, had braced up his muscles&mdash;&mdash;so that the
compression upon his chin only doubled the benignity which was there
before, is not hard to decide.&mdash;&mdash;My father, in turning his
eyes, was struck with such a gleam of sunshine in his face, as melted
down the sullenness of his grief in a moment.</p>

<p>He broke silence as follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapIII" id = "bookIV_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Did</span> ever man, brother <i>Toby</i>,
cried my father, raising himself upon his elbow, and turning himself
round to the opposite side of the bed, where my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
sitting in his old fringed chair, with his chin resting upon his
crutch&mdash;&mdash;did ever a poor unfortunate man, brother
<i>Toby</i>, cried my father, receive so many lashes?&mdash;&mdash;The
most I ever saw given, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i> (ringing the bell at
the bed’s head for <i>Trim</i>) was to a grenadier, I&nbsp;think in
<i>Mackay’s</i> regiment.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Had my uncle <i>Toby</i> shot a bullet through
my father’s heart, he could not have fallen down with his nose upon the
quilt more suddenly.</p>

<p>Bless me! said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapIV" id = "bookIV_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Was</span> it <i>Mackay’s</i> regiment,
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, where the poor grenadier was so unmercifully
whipp’d at <i>Bruges</i> about the ducats?&mdash;O Christ! he was
innocent! cried <i>Trim</i>, with a deep sigh.&mdash;And he was whipp’d,
may it please your honour, almost to death’s door.&mdash;They had better
have shot him outright,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page200" id = "page200">200</a></span>
as he begg’d, and he had gone directly to heaven, for he was as innocent
as your honour.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;thank thee, <i>Trim</i>,
quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never think of his,
continued <i>Trim</i>, and my poor brother <i>Tom’s</i> misfortunes, for
we were all three school-fellows, but I cry like a
coward.&mdash;&mdash;Tears are no proof of cowardice,
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;drop them oft-times myself, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know your honour does, replied
<i>Trim</i>, and so am not ashamed of it myself.&mdash;But to think, may
it please your honour, continued <i>Trim</i>, a&nbsp;tear stealing into
the corner of his eye as he spoke&mdash;to think of two virtuous lads
with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as God could make
them&mdash;the children of honest people, going forth with gallant
spirits to seek their fortunes in the world&mdash;and fall into such
evils!&mdash;poor <i>Tom!</i> to be tortured upon a rack for
nothing&mdash;but marrying a Jew’s widow who sold sausages&mdash;honest
<i>Dick Johnson’s</i> soul to be scourged out of his body, for the
ducats another man put into his knapsack!&mdash;O!&mdash;these are
misfortunes, cried <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;pulling out his
handkerchief&mdash;these are misfortunes, may it please your honour,
worth lying down and crying over.</p>

<p>&mdash;My father could not help blushing.</p>

<p>’Twould be a pity, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, thou
shouldst ever feel sorrow of thy own&mdash;thou feelest it so tenderly
for others.&mdash;Alack-o-day, replied the corporal, brightening up his
face&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;your honour knows I have neither wife or
child&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;can have no sorrows in this
world.&mdash;&mdash;My father could not help smiling.&mdash;As few as
any man, <i>Trim</i>, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>; nor can I see how a
fellow of thy light heart can suffer, but from the distress of poverty
in thy old age&mdash;when thou art passed all services,
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;and hast outlived thy friends.&mdash;&mdash;An’ please
your honour, never fear, replied <i>Trim</i>, chearily.&mdash;&mdash;But
I would have thee never fear, <i>Trim</i>, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
and therefore, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, throwing down his crutch,
and getting up upon his legs as he uttered the word
<i>therefore</i>&mdash;in recompence, <i>Trim</i>, of thy long fidelity
to me, and that goodness of thy heart I have had such proofs
of&mdash;whilst thy master is worth a shilling&mdash;&mdash;thou shalt
never ask elsewhere, <i>Trim</i>, for a penny. <i>Trim</i> attempted to
thank my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;but had not power&mdash;&mdash;tears
trickled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them off&mdash;He
laid his hands upon his breast&mdash;&mdash;made a bow to the ground,
and shut the door.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I have left <i>Trim</i> my bowling-green, cried my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;My father
smiled.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have left him moreover a pension,
continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;My father looked grave.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page201" id = "page201">201</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapV" id = "bookIV_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Is</span> this a fit time, said my father
to himself, to talk of <span class = "smallroman">PENSIONS</span> and
<span class = "smallroman">GRENADIERS</span>?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapVI" id = "bookIV_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> first
mentioned the grenadier, my father, I&nbsp;said, fell down with his nose
flat to the quilt, and as suddenly as if my uncle <i>Toby</i> had shot
him; but it was not added that every other limb and member of my father
instantly relapsed with his nose into the same precise attitude in which
he lay first described; so that when corporal <i>Trim</i> left the room,
and my father found himself disposed to rise off the bed&mdash;he had
all the little preparatory movements to run over again, before he could
do it. Attitudes are nothing, madam&mdash;&mdash;’tis the transition
from one attitude to another&mdash;&mdash;like the preparation and
resolution of the discord into harmony, which is all in all.</p>

<p>For which reason my father played the same jig over again with his
toe upon the floor&mdash;&mdash;pushed the chamber-pot still a little
farther within the valance&mdash;gave a hem&mdash;raised himself up upon
his elbow&mdash;and was just beginning to address himself to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;when recollecting the unsuccessfulness of his first
effort in that attitude&mdash;&mdash;he got upon his legs, and in making
the third turn across the room, he stopped short before my uncle
<i>Toby</i>: and laying the three first fingers of his right-hand in the
palm of his left, and stooping a little, he addressed himself to my
uncle <i>Toby</i> as follows:</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapVII" id = "bookIV_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> I reflect, brother <i>Toby</i>,
upon <span class = "smallroman">MAN</span>; and take a view of that dark
side of him which represents his life as open to so many causes of
trouble&mdash;when I consider, brother <i>Toby</i>, how oft we eat the
bread of affliction, and that we are born to it, as to the portion of
our inheritance&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;was born to nothing, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, interrupting my father&mdash;but my commission.
Zooks! said my father, did not my uncle leave you a hundred and twenty
pounds a year?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What could I have done without
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page202" id = "page202">202</a></span>
it? replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;That’s another
concern, said my father testily&mdash;But I say, <i>Toby</i>, when one
runs over the catalogue of all the cross-reckonings and sorrowful
<i>Items</i> with which the heart of man is overcharged, ’tis wonderful
by what hidden resources the mind is enabled to stand out, and bear
itself up, as it does, against the impositions laid upon our
nature.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis by the assistance of Almighty God,
cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking up, and pressing the palms of his
hands close together&mdash;&mdash;’tis not from our own strength,
brother <i>Shandy</i>&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;centinel in a wooden
centry-box might as well pretend to stand it out against a detachment of
fifty men.&mdash;&mdash;We are upheld by the grace and the assistance of
the best of Beings.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That is cutting the knot, said my father, instead of
untying it.&mdash;&mdash;But give me leave to lead you, brother
<i>Toby</i>, a&nbsp;little deeper into the mystery.</p>

<p>With all my heart, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>My father instantly exchanged the attitude he was in, for that in
which <i>Socrates</i> is so finely painted by <i>Raffael</i> in his
school of <i>Athens</i>; which your connoisseurship knows is so
exquisitely imagined, that even the particular manner of the reasoning
of <i>Socrates</i> is expressed by it&mdash;for he holds the forefinger
of his left hand between the forefinger and the thumb of his right, and
seems as if he was saying to the libertine he is
reclaiming&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“<i>You grant me</i>
this&mdash;&mdash;and this: and this, and this, I&nbsp;don’t ask of
you&mdash;they follow of themselves in course.”</p>

<p>So stood my father, holding fast his forefinger betwixt his finger
and his thumb, and reasoning with my uncle <i>Toby</i> as he sat in his
old fringed chair, valanced around with party-coloured worsted
bobs&mdash;&mdash;O <i>Garrick!</i>&mdash;what a rich scene of this
would thy exquisite powers make! and how gladly would I write such
another to avail myself of thy immortality, and secure my own
behind&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapVIII" id = "bookIV_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> man is of all others the most
curious vehicle, said my father, yet at the same time ’tis of so slight
a frame, and so totteringly put together, that the sudden jerks and hard
jostlings it unavoidably meets with in this rugged journey, would
overset and tear it to pieces a dozen times a day&mdash;&mdash;was it
not, brother <i>Toby</i>, that there is a secret spring within
us.&mdash;Which spring, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;take to be
Religion.&mdash;Will that set my
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page203" id = "page203">203</a></span>
child’s nose on? cried my father, letting go his finger, and striking
one hand against the other.&mdash;&mdash;It makes everything straight
for us, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Figuratively
speaking, dear <i>Toby</i>, it may, for aught I know, said my father;
but the spring I am speaking of, is that great and elastic power within
us of counterbalancing evil, which, like a secret spring in a
well-ordered machine, though it can’t prevent the shock&mdash;&mdash;at
least it imposes upon our sense of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Now, my dear brother, said my father, replacing his forefinger, as he
was coming closer to the point&mdash;&mdash;had my child arrived safe
into the world, unmartyr’d in that precious part of him&mdash;fanciful
and extravagant as I may appear to the world in my opinion of christian
names, and of that magic bias which good or bad names irresistibly
impress upon our characters and conducts&mdash;Heaven is witness! that
in the warmest transports of my wishes for the prosperity of my child,
I&nbsp;never once wished to crown his head with more glory and honour
than what <span class = "smallcaps">George</span> or <span class =
"smallcaps">Edward</span> would have spread around&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>But alas! continued my father, as the greatest evil has befallen
him&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;must counteract and undo it with the greatest
good.</p>

<p>He shall be christened <i>Trismegistus</i>, brother.</p>

<p>I wish it may answer&mdash;&mdash;replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
rising&nbsp;up.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapIX" id = "bookIV_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> a chapter of chances, said my
father, turning himself about upon the first landing, as he and my uncle
<i>Toby</i> were going downstairs&mdash;what a long chapter of chances
do the events of this world lay open to us! Take pen and ink in hand,
brother <i>Toby</i>, and calculate it fairly&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know no
more of calculation than this balluster, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>
(striking short of it with his crutch, and hitting my father a desperate
blow souse upon his shin-bone)&mdash;&mdash;’Twas a hundred to
one&mdash;cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;thought, quoth my
father (rubbing his shin), you had known nothing of calculations,
brother <i>Toby</i>. ’Tis a mere chance, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Then it adds one to the
chapter&mdash;&mdash;replied my father.</p>

<p>The double success of my father’s repartees tickled off the pain of
his shin at once&mdash;it was well it so fell out&mdash;(chance!
again)&mdash;or the world to this day had never known the subject of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page204" id = "page204">204</a></span>
my father’s calculation&mdash;&mdash;to guess it&mdash;there was no
chance&mdash;&mdash;What a lucky chapter of chances has this turned out!
for it has saved me the trouble of writing one express, and in truth I
have enough already upon my hands without it.&mdash;Have not I promised
the world a chapter of knots? two chapters upon the right and the wrong
end of a woman? a&nbsp;chapter upon whiskers? a&nbsp;chapter upon
wishes?&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;chapter of noses?&mdash;No, I&nbsp;have done
that&mdash;a&nbsp;chapter upon my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> modesty? to say
nothing of a chapter upon chapters, which I will finish before I
sleep&mdash;by my great-grandfather’s whiskers, I&nbsp;shall never get
half of ’em through this year.</p>

<p>Take pen and ink in hand, and calculate it fairly, brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father, and it will turn out a million to one, that
of all the parts of the body, the edge of the forceps should have the
ill luck just to fall upon and break down that one part, which should
break down the fortunes of our house with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>It might have been worse, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I don’t comprehend, said my
father.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Suppose the hip had presented, replied my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, as Dr. <i>Slop</i> foreboded.</p>

<p>My father reflected half a minute&mdash;looked
down&mdash;&mdash;touched the middle of his forehead slightly with his
<span class = "locked">finger&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;True, said he.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapX" id = "bookIV_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Is</span> it not a shame to make two
chapters of what passed in going down one pair of stairs? for we are got
no farther yet than to the first landing, and there are fifteen more
steps down to the bottom; and for aught I know, as my father and my
uncle <i>Toby</i> are in a talking humour, there may be as many chapters
as steps:&mdash;&mdash;let that be as it will, Sir, I&nbsp;can no more
help it than my destiny:&mdash;A&nbsp;sudden impulse comes across
me&mdash;&mdash;drop the curtain, <i>Shandy</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;drop
it&mdash;Strike a line here across the paper,
<i>Tristram</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;strike it&mdash;and hey for a new
chapter.</p>

<p>The deuce of any other rule have I to govern myself by in this
affair&mdash;and if I had one&mdash;as I do all things out of all
rule&mdash;I&nbsp;would twist it and tear it to pieces, and throw it
into the fire when I had done&mdash;Am I warm? I&nbsp;am, and the cause
demands it&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;pretty story! is a man to follow
rules&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;or rules to follow him?</p>

<p>Now this, you must know, being my chapter upon chapters, which I
promised to write before I went to sleep, I&nbsp;thought it
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page205" id = "page205">205</a></span>
meet to ease my conscience entirely before I laid down, by telling the
world all I knew about the matter at once: Is not this ten times better
than to set out dogmatically with a sententious parade of wisdom, and
telling the world a story of a roasted horse&mdash;&mdash;that chapters
relieve the mind&mdash;that they assist&mdash;or impose upon the
imagination&mdash;and that in a work of this dramatic cast they are as
necessary as the shifting of scenes&mdash;&mdash;with fifty other cold
conceits, enough to extinguish the fire which roasted him?&mdash;O! but
to understand this, which is a puff at the fire of <i>Diana’s</i>
temple&mdash;you must read <i>Longinus</i>&mdash;read away&mdash;if you
are not a jot the wiser by reading him the first time over&mdash;never
fear&mdash;read him again&mdash;<i>Avicenna</i> and <i>Licetus</i> read
<i>Aristotle’s</i> metaphysicks forty times through apiece, and never
understood a single word.&mdash;But mark the
consequence&mdash;<i>Avicenna</i> turned out a desperate writer at all
kinds of writing&mdash;for he wrote books <i>de omni scribili</i>; and
for <i>Licetus</i> (<i>Fortunio</i>) though all the world knows he was
born a fœtus,<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_6" id = "tag_4_6" href =
"#note_4_6">6</a> of no more than five inches and a half in length, yet
he grew to that astonishing height in literature, as to write a book
with a title as long as himself&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the learned know I
mean his <i>Gonopsychanthropologia</i>, upon the origin of the human
soul.</p>

<p>So much for my chapter upon chapters, which I hold to be the best
chapter in my whole work; and take my word, whoever reads it, is full as
well employed, as in picking straws.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page206" id = "page206">206</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXI" id = "bookIV_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">We</span> shall bring all things to rights,
said my father, setting his foot upon the first step from the
landing.&mdash;This <i>Trismegistus</i>, continued my father, drawing
his leg back and turning to my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;was the
greatest (<i>Toby</i>) of all earthly beings&mdash;he was the greatest
king&mdash;&mdash;the greatest law-giver&mdash;&mdash;the greatest
philosopher&mdash;&mdash;and the greatest priest&mdash;&mdash;and
engineer&mdash;said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;In course, said my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXII" id = "bookIV_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> how does your mistress?
cried my father, taking the same step over again from the landing, and
calling to <i>Susannah</i>, whom he saw passing by the foot of the
stairs with a huge pincushion in her hand&mdash;how does your mistress?
As well, said <i>Susannah</i>, tripping by, but without looking up, as
can be expected.&mdash;What a fool am I! said my father, drawing his leg
back again&mdash;let things be as they will, brother <i>Toby</i>, ’tis
ever the precise answer&mdash;&mdash;And how is the child,
pray?&mdash;&mdash;No answer. And where is Dr. <i>Slop?</i> added my
father, raising his voice aloud, and looking over the
ballusters&mdash;<i>Susannah</i> was out of hearing.</p>

<p>Of all the riddles of a married life, said my father, crossing the
landing in order to set his back against the wall, whilst he propounded
it to my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;of all the puzzling riddles,
said he, in a marriage state,&mdash;&mdash;of which you may trust me,
brother <i>Toby</i>, there are more asses loads than all <i>Job’s</i>
stock of asses could have carried&mdash;&mdash;there is not one that has
more intricacies in it than this&mdash;that from the very moment the
mistress of the house is brought to bed, every female in it, from my
lady’s gentlewoman down to the cinder-wench, becomes an inch taller for
it; and give themselves more airs upon that single inch, than all their
other inches put together.</p>

<p>I think rather, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, that ’tis we who sink
an inch lower.&mdash;If I meet but a woman with child&mdash;I&nbsp;do
it.&mdash;’Tis a heavy tax upon that half of our fellow-creatures,
brother <i>Shandy</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;’Tis a piteous
burden upon ’em, continued he, shaking his head&mdash;Yes, yes, ’tis a
painful thing&mdash;said
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page207" id = "page207">207</a></span>
my father, shaking his head too&mdash;&mdash;but certainly since shaking
of heads came into fashion, never did two heads shake together, in
concert, from two such different springs.</p>

<table class = "inline" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td>
God bless<br />
Deuce take</td>
<td class = "bracket">
’em all&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;said my uncle <i>Toby</i> and my father,
each to himself.
</td>
</tr>
</table>





<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXIII" id = "bookIV_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Holla</span>!&mdash;&mdash;you,
chairman!&mdash;&mdash;here’s sixpence&mdash;&mdash;do step into that
bookseller’s shop, and call me a <i>day-tall</i> critick. I&nbsp;am very
willing to give any one of ’em a crown to help me with his tackling, to
get my father and my uncle <i>Toby</i> off the stairs, and to put them
to bed.</p>

<p>&mdash;’Tis even high time; for except a short nap, which they both
got whilst <i>Trim</i> was boring the jack-boots&mdash;and which, by the
bye, did my father no sort of good, upon the score of the bad
hinge&mdash;they have not else shut their eyes, since nine hours before
the time that Dr. <i>Slop</i> was led into the back parlour in that
dirty pickle by <i>Obadiah</i>.</p>

<p>Was every day of my life to be as busy a day as this&mdash;and to
take up&mdash;Truce.</p>

<p>I will not finish that sentence till I have made an observation upon
the strange state of affairs between the reader and myself, just as
things stand at present&mdash;an observation never applicable before to
any one biographical writer since the creation of the world, but to
myself&mdash;and I believe, will never hold good to any other, until its
final destruction&mdash;and therefore, for the very novelty of it alone,
it must be worth your worships attending&nbsp;to.</p>

<p>I am this month one whole year older than I was this time
twelve-month; and having got, as you perceive, almost into the middle of
my fourth volume<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_7" id = "tag_4_7" href =
"#note_4_7">7</a>&mdash;and no farther than to my first day’s
life&mdash;’tis demonstrative that I have three hundred and sixty-four
days more life to write just now, than when I first set out; so that
instead of advancing, as a common writer, in my work with what I have
been doing at it&mdash;on the contrary, I&nbsp;am just thrown so many
volumes back&mdash;was every day of my life to be as busy a day as
this&mdash;And why not?&mdash;&mdash;and the transactions and opinions
of it to take up as much description&mdash;And for what reason should
they be cut short? as at this rate I should just live 364 times faster
than I should write&mdash;It must
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page208" id = "page208">208</a></span>
follow, an’ please your worships, that the more I write, the more I
shall have to write&mdash;and consequently, the more your worships read,
the more your worships will have to read.</p>

<p>Will this be good for your worships’ eyes?</p>

<p>It will do well for mine; and, was it not that my <span class =
"smallcaps">Opinions</span> will be the death of me, I&nbsp;perceive I
shall lead a fine life of it out of this self-same life of mine; or, in
other words, shall lead a couple of fine lives together.</p>

<p>As for the proposal of twelve volumes a year, or a volume a month, it
no way alters my prospect&mdash;write as I will, and rush as I may into
the middle of things, as <i>Horace</i> advises&mdash;I&nbsp;shall never
overtake myself whipp’d and driven to the last pinch; at the worst I
shall have one day the start of my pen&mdash;and one day is enough for
two volumes&mdash;&mdash;and two volumes will be enough for one <span
class = "locked">year.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Heaven prosper the manufacturers of paper under this propitious
reign, which is now opened to us&mdash;&mdash;as I trust its providence
will prosper everything else in it that is taken in <span class =
"locked">hand.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As for the propagation of Geese&mdash;I give myself no
concern&mdash;Nature is all bountiful&mdash;I&nbsp;shall never want
tools to work with.</p>

<p>&mdash;So then, friend! you have got my father and my uncle
<i>Toby</i> off the stairs, and seen them to
bed?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And how did you manage it?&mdash;&mdash;You
dropp’d a curtain at the stair-foot&mdash;I&nbsp;thought you had no
other way for it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Here’s a crown for your
trouble.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXIV" id = "bookIV_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Then</span> reach me my breeches off
the chair, said my father to <i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;There is not
a moment’s time to dress you, Sir, cried <i>Susannah</i>&mdash;the child
is as black in the face as my&mdash;&mdash;As your what? said my father,
for like all orators, he was a dear searcher into
comparisons.&mdash;Bless me, Sir, said <i>Susannah</i>, the child’s in a
fit.&mdash;And where’s Mr. <i>Yorick?</i>&mdash;Never where he should
be, said <i>Susannah</i>, but his curate’s in the dressing-room, with
the child upon his arm, waiting for the name&mdash;and my mistress bid
me run as fast as I could to know, as captain <i>Shandy</i> is the
godfather, whether it should not be called after him.</p>

<p>Were one sure, said my father to himself, scratching his eyebrow,
that the child was expiring, one might as well compliment
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page209" id = "page209">209</a></span>
my brother <i>Toby</i> as not&mdash;and it would be a pity, in such a
case, to throw away so great a name as <i>Trismegistus</i> upon
him&mdash;&mdash;but he may recover.</p>

<p>No, no,&mdash;&mdash;said my father to <i>Susannah</i>, I’ll get
up&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;There is no time, cried <i>Susannah</i>, the
child’s as black as my shoe. <i>Trismegistus</i>, said my
father&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But stay&mdash;thou art a leaky vessel,
<i>Susannah</i>, added my father; canst thou carry <i>Trismegistus</i>
in thy head, the length of the gallery without
scattering?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Can I? cried <i>Susannah</i>, shutting
the door in a huff.&mdash;&mdash;If she can, I’ll be shot, said my
father, bouncing out of bed in the dark, and groping for his
breeches.</p>

<p><i>Susannah</i> ran with all speed along the gallery.</p>

<p>My father made all possible speed to find his breeches.</p>

<p><i>Susannah</i> got the start, and kept it&mdash;’Tis
<i>Tris</i>&mdash;something, cried <i>Susannah</i>&mdash;There is no
christian-name in the world, said the curate, beginning with
<i>Tris</i>&mdash;but <i>Tristram</i>. Then ’tis <i>Tristram-gistus</i>,
quoth <i>Susannah</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There is no <i>gistus</i> to it, noodle!&mdash;’tis my
own name, replied the curate, dipping his hand, as he spoke, into the
bason&mdash;<i>Tristram!</i> said he, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.,
so <i>Tristram</i> was I called, and <i>Tristram</i> shall I be to the
day of my death.</p>

<p>My father followed <i>Susannah</i>, with his night-gown across his
arm, with nothing more than his breeches on, fastened through haste with
but a single button, and that button through haste thrust only half into
the button-hole.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She has not forgot the name? cried my father, half
opening the door.&mdash;&mdash;No, no, said the curate, with a tone of
intelligence.&mdash;&mdash;And the child is better, cried
<i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;And how does your mistress? As well, said
<i>Susannah</i>, as can be expected.&mdash;Pish! said my father, the
button of his breeches slipping out of the button-hole&mdash;So that
whether the interjection was levelled at <i>Susannah</i>, or the
button-hole&mdash;whether Pish was an interjection of contempt or an
interjection of modesty, is a doubt, and must be a doubt till I shall
have time to write the three following favourite chapters, that is, my
chapter of <i>chamber-maids</i>, my chapter of <i>pishes</i>, and my
chapter of <i>button-holes</i>.</p>

<p>All the light I am able to give the reader at present is this, that
the moment my father cried Pish! he whisk’d himself about&mdash;and with
his breeches held up by one hand, and his night-gown thrown across the
arm of the other, he turned along the gallery to bed, something slower
than he came.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page210" id = "page210">210</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXV" id = "bookIV_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I wish</span> I could write a chapter upon
sleep.</p>

<p>A fitter occasion could never have presented itself, than what this
moment offers, when all the curtains of the family are drawn&mdash;the
candles put out&mdash;and no creature’s eyes are open but a single one,
for the other has been shut these twenty years, of my mother’s
nurse.</p>

<p>It is a fine subject!</p>

<p>And yet, as fine as it is, I would undertake to write a dozen
chapters upon button-holes, both quicker and with more fame, than a
single chapter upon this.</p>

<p>Button-holes! there is something lively in the very idea of
’em&mdash;&mdash;and trust me, when I get amongst ’em&mdash;&mdash;You
gentry with great beards&mdash;&mdash;look as grave as you
will&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I’ll make merry work with my
button-holes&mdash;I&nbsp;shall have ’em all to myself&mdash;’tis a
maiden subject&mdash;I&nbsp;shall run foul of no man’s wisdom or fine
sayings in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>But for sleep&mdash;&mdash;I know I shall make nothing of it before I
begin&mdash;I&nbsp;am no dab at your fine sayings in the first
place&mdash;and in the next, I&nbsp;cannot for my soul set a grave face
upon a bad matter, and tell the world&mdash;’tis the refuge of the
unfortunate&mdash;the enfranchisement of the prisoner&mdash;the downy
lap of the hopeless, the weary, and the broken-hearted; nor could I set
out with a lye in my mouth, by affirming, that of all the soft and
delicious functions of our nature, by which the great Author of it, in
his bounty, has been pleased to recompense the sufferings wherewith his
justice and his good pleasure has wearied us&mdash;&mdash;that this is
the chiefest (I&nbsp;know pleasures worth ten of&nbsp;it); or what a
happiness it is to man, when the anxieties and passions of the day are
over, and he lies down upon his back, that his soul shall be so seated
within him, that whichever way she turns her eyes, the heavens shall
look calm and sweet above her&mdash;no desire&mdash;or fear&mdash;or
doubt that troubles the air, nor any difficulty past, present, or to
come, that the imagination may not pass over without offence, in that
sweet secession.</p>

<p>“God’s blessing,” said <i>Sancho Pança</i>, “be upon the man who
first invented this self-same thing called sleep&mdash;it covers a man
all over like a cloak.” Now there is more to me in this, and it speaks
warmer to my heart and affections, than all the dissertations squeez’d
out of the heads of the learned together upon the subject.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page211" id = "page211">211</a></span>
<p>&mdash;Not that I altogether disapprove of what <i>Montaigne</i>
advances upon it&mdash;’tis admirable in its way&mdash;(I&nbsp;quote by
memory).</p>

<p>The world enjoys other pleasures, says he, as they do that of sleep,
without tasting or feeling it as it slips and passes by.&mdash;We should
study and ruminate upon it, in order to render proper thanks to him who
grants it to us.&mdash;For this end I cause myself to be disturbed in my
sleep, that I may the better and more sensibly relish
it.&mdash;&mdash;And yet I see few, says he again, who live with less
sleep, when need requires; my body is capable of a firm, but not of a
violent and sudden agitation&mdash;I&nbsp;evade of late all violent
exercises&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am never weary with
walking&mdash;&mdash;but from my youth, I&nbsp;never liked to ride upon
pavements. I&nbsp;love to lie hard and alone, and even without my
wife&mdash;&mdash;This last word may stagger the faith of the
world&mdash;&mdash;but remember, “La Vraisemblance (as&nbsp;<i>Bayle</i>
says in the affair of <i>Liceti</i>) n’est pas toujours du Côté de la
Verité.” And so much for sleep.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXVI" id = "bookIV_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">If</span> my wife will but venture
him&mdash;brother <i>Toby</i>, <i>Trismegistus</i> shall be dress’d and
brought down to us, whilst you and I are getting our breakfasts <span
class = "locked">together.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Go, tell <i>Susannah</i>, <i>Obadiah</i>, to step
here.</p>

<p>She is run upstairs, answered <i>Obadiah</i>, this very instant,
sobbing and crying, and wringing her hands as if her heart would
break.</p>

<p>We shall have a rare month of it, said my father, turning his head
from <i>Obadiah</i>, and looking wistfully in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
face for some time&mdash;we shall have a devilish month of it, brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father, setting his arms a-kimbo, and shaking his
head; fire, water, women, wind&mdash;brother <i>Toby!</i>&mdash;’Tis
some misfortune, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;That it is,
cried my father&mdash;to have so many jarring elements breaking loose,
and riding triumph in every corner of a gentleman’s house&mdash;Little
boots it to the peace of a family, brother <i>Toby</i>, that you and I
possess ourselves, and sit here silent and unmoved&mdash;&mdash;whilst
such a storm is whistling over our <span class =
"locked">heads.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And what’s the matter, <i>Susannah?</i> They have called the child
<i>Tristram</i>&mdash;&mdash;and my mistress is just got out of an
hysterick fit about it&mdash;&mdash;No&mdash;&mdash;’tis not my fault,
said <i>Susannah</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;told him it was
<i>Tristram-gistus</i>.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page212" id = "page212">212</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;Make tea for yourself, brother <i>Toby</i>, said my
father, taking down his hat&mdash;&mdash;but how different from the
sallies and agitations of voice and members which a common reader would
imagine!</p>

<p>&mdash;For he spake in the sweetest modulation&mdash;and took down
his hat with the genteelest movement of limbs, that ever affliction
harmonized and attuned together.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Go to the bowling-green for corporal <i>Trim</i>, said
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, speaking to <i>Obadiah</i>, as soon as my father
left the room.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXVII" id = "bookIV_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> the misfortune of my <span
class = "smallcaps">Nose</span> fell so heavily upon my father’s
head;&mdash;the reader remembers that he walked instantly up stairs, and
cast himself down upon his bed; and from hence, unless he has a great
insight into human nature, he will be apt to expect a rotation of the
same ascending and descending movements from him, upon his misfortune of
my <span class = "smallcaps">Name</span>;&mdash;&mdash;no.</p>

<p>The different weight, dear Sir&mdash;&mdash;nay even the different
package of two vexations of the same weight&mdash;&mdash;makes a very
wide difference in our manner of bearing and getting through with
them.&mdash;&mdash;It is not half an hour ago, when (in&nbsp;the great
hurry and precipitation of a poor devil’s writing for daily bread)
I&nbsp;threw a fair sheet, which I had just finished, and carefully
wrote out, slap into the fire, instead of the foul one.</p>

<p>Instantly I snatch’d off my wig, and threw it perpendicularly, with
all imaginable violence, up to the top of the room&mdash;indeed I caught
it as it fell&mdash;&mdash;but there was an end of the matter; nor do I
think anything else in <i>Nature</i> would have given such immediate
ease: She, dear Goddess, by an instantaneous impulse, in all
<i>provoking cases</i>, determines us to a sally of this or that
member&mdash;or else she thrusts us into this or that place or posture
of body, we know not why&mdash;&mdash;But mark, madam, we live amongst
riddles and mysteries&mdash;&mdash;the most obvious things, which come
in our way, have dark sides, which the quickest sight cannot penetrate
into; and even the clearest and most exalted understandings amongst us
find ourselves puzzled and at a loss in almost every cranny of nature’s
works: so that this, like a thousand other things, falls out for us in a
way, which tho’ we cannot reason upon it&mdash;yet we find the good of
it, may it please your reverences and your worships&mdash;&mdash;and
that’s enough for&nbsp;us.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page213" id = "page213">213</a></span>
<p>Now, my father could not lie down with this affliction for his
life&mdash;&mdash;nor could he carry it up stairs like the
other&mdash;he walked composedly out with it to the fish-pond.</p>

<p>Had my father leaned his head upon his hand, and reasoned an hour
which way to have gone&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;reason, with all her force,
could not have directed him to anything like it: there is something,
Sir, in fish-ponds&mdash;&mdash;but what it is, I&nbsp;leave to
system-builders and fish-pond-diggers betwixt ’em to find out&mdash;but
there is something, under the first disorderly transport of the humours,
so unaccountably becalming in an orderly and a sober walk towards one of
them, that I have often wondered that neither <i>Pythagoras</i>, nor
<i>Plato</i>, nor <i>Solon</i>, nor <i>Lycurgus</i>, nor <i>Mahomet</i>,
nor any one of your noted lawgivers, ever gave order about them.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXVIII" id = "bookIV_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Your</span> honour, said <i>Trim</i>,
shutting the parlour-door before he began to speak, has heard,
I&nbsp;imagine, of this unlucky accident&mdash;&mdash;O yes,
<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and it gives me great
concern.&mdash;I&nbsp;am heartily concerned too, but I hope your honour,
replied <i>Trim</i>, will do me the justice to believe, that it was not
in the least owing to me.&mdash;&mdash;To
thee&mdash;<i>Trim?</i>&mdash;cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking kindly
in his face&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’twas <i>Susannah’s</i> and the curate’s
folly betwixt them.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What business could they have
together, an’ please your honour, in the garden?&mdash;&mdash;In the
gallery thou meanest, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p><i>Trim</i> found he was upon a wrong scent, and stopped short with a
low bow&mdash;&mdash;Two misfortunes, quoth the corporal to himself, are
twice as many at least as are needful to be talked over at one
time;&mdash;&mdash;the mischief the cow has done in breaking into the
fortifications, may be told his honour
hereafter.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim’s</i> casuistry and address, under the
cover of his low bow, prevented all suspicion in my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
so he went on with what he had to say to <i>Trim</i> as follows:</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;For my own part, <i>Trim</i>, though I can see
little or no difference betwixt my nephew’s being called <i>Tristram</i>
or <i>Trismegistus</i>&mdash;yet as the thing sits so near my brother’s
heart, <i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would freely have given a
hundred pounds rather than it should have
happened.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;hundred pounds, an’ please your honour!
replied <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would not give a cherry-stone
to boot.&mdash;&mdash;Nor would&nbsp;I, <i>Trim</i>, upon my own
account, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but my
brother, whom there is no arguing
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page214" id = "page214">214</a></span>
with in this case&mdash;maintains that a great deal more depends,
<i>Trim</i>, upon christian-names, than what ignorant people
imagine&mdash;&mdash;for he says there never was a great or heroic
action performed since the world began by one called
<i>Tristram</i>&mdash;nay, he will have it, <i>Trim</i>, that a man can
neither be learned, or wise, or brave.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis all fancy, an’
please your honour&mdash;I&nbsp;fought just as well, replied the
corporal, when the regiment called me <i>Trim</i>, as when they called
me <i>James Butler</i>.&mdash;&mdash;And for my own part, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, though I should blush to boast of myself,
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;yet had my name been <i>Alexander</i>,
I&nbsp;could have done no more at <i>Namur</i> than my duty.&mdash;Bless
your honour! cried <i>Trim</i>, advancing three steps as he spoke, does
a man think of his christian-name when he goes upon the
attack?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Or when he stands in the trench,
<i>Trim?</i> cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking firm.&mdash;&mdash;Or
when he enters a breach? said <i>Trim</i>, pushing in between two
chairs.&mdash;&mdash;Or forces the lines? cried my uncle, rising up, and
pushing his crutch like a pike.&mdash;&mdash;Or facing a platoon? cried
<i>Trim</i>, presenting his stick like a fire-lock.&mdash;&mdash;Or when
he marches up the glacis? cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking warm and
setting his foot upon his <span class =
"locked">stool.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXIX" id = "bookIV_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father was returned from his walk
to the fish-pond&mdash;&mdash;and opened the parlour-door in the very
height of the attack, just as my uncle <i>Toby</i> was marching up the
glacis&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> recovered his arms&mdash;&mdash;never
was my uncle <i>Toby</i> caught in riding at such a desperate rate in
his life! Alas! my uncle <i>Toby!</i> had not a weightier matter called
forth all the ready eloquence of my father&mdash;how hadst thou then and
thy poor <span class = "smallcaps">Hobby-Horse</span> too been
insulted!</p>

<p>My father hung up his hat with the same air he took it down; and
after giving a slight look at the disorder of the room, he took hold of
one of the chairs which had formed the corporal’s breach, and placing it
over-against my uncle <i>Toby</i>, he sat down in it, and as soon as the
tea-things were taken away, and the door shut, he broke out in a
lamentation as follows.</p>


<h5 class = "smallcaps"><a name = "bookIV_lament" id = "bookIV_lament">
My Father’s Lamentation</a></h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is in vain longer, said my
father, addressing himself as much to <i>Ernulphus’s</i> curse, which
was laid upon the corner of the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page215" id = "page215">215</a></span>
chimney-piece&mdash;&mdash;as to my uncle <i>Toby</i> who sat under
it&mdash;&mdash;it is in vain longer, said my father, in the most
querulous monotony imaginable, to struggle as I have done against this
most uncomfortable of human persuasions&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;see it
plainly, that either for my own sins, brother <i>Toby</i>, or the sins
and follies of the <i>Shandy</i> family, Heaven has thought fit to draw
forth the heaviest of its artillery against me; and that the prosperity
of my child is the point upon which the whole force of it is directed to
play.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Such a thing would batter the whole universe
about our ears, brother <i>Shandy</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;if it was so&mdash;Unhappy <i>Tristram</i>: child of
wrath! child of decrepitude! interruption! mistake! and discontent! What
one misfortune or disaster in the book of embryotic evils, that could
unmechanize thy frame, or entangle thy filaments! which has not fallen
upon thy head, or ever thou camest into the world&mdash;&mdash;what
evils in thy passage into it!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;what evils
since!&mdash;&mdash;produced into being, in the decline of thy father’s
days&mdash;&mdash;when the powers of his imagination and of his body
were waxing feeble&mdash;&mdash;when radical heat and radical moisture,
the elements which should have temper’d thine, were drying up; and
nothing left to found thy stamina in, but negations&mdash;’tis
pitiful&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;brother <i>Toby</i>, at the best, and called
out for all the little helps that care and attention on both sides could
give it. But how were we defeated! You know the event, brother
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;’tis too melancholy a one to be repeated
now&mdash;&mdash;when the few animal spirits I was worth in the world,
and with which memory, fancy, and quick parts should have been
convey’d&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;were all dispersed, confused, confounded,
scattered, and sent to the <span class =
"locked">devil.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Here then was the time to have put a stop to this persecution against
him;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and tried an experiment at
least&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;whether calmness and serenity of mind in your
sister, with a due attention, brother <i>Toby</i>, to her evacuations
and repletions&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and the rest of her non-naturals,
might not, in a course of nine months gestation, have set all things to
rights.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;My child was bereft of
these!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What a teazing life did she lead herself, and
consequently her fœtus too, with that nonsensical anxiety of hers about
lying-in in town? I&nbsp;thought my sister submitted with the greatest
patience, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never heard her utter one
fretful word about it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;She fumed inwardly, cried my
father; and that, let me tell you, brother, was ten times worse for the
child&mdash;and then! what battles did she fight with me, and what
perpetual storms
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page216" id = "page216">216</a></span>
about the midwife.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;There she gave vent, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Vent! cried my father,
looking&nbsp;up.</p>

<p>But what was all this, my dear <i>Toby</i>, to the injuries done us
by my child’s coming head foremost into the world, when all I wished, in
this general wreck of his frame, was to have saved this little casket
unbroke, <span class =
"locked">unrifled.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>With all my precautions, how was my system turned topside-turvy in
the womb with my child! his head exposed to the hand of violence, and a
pressure of 470 pounds avoirdupois weight acting so perpendicularly upon
its apex&mdash;that at this hour ’tis ninety <i>per Cent.</i> insurance,
that the fine net-work of the intellectual web be not rent and torn to a
thousand tatters.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Still we could have done.&mdash;&mdash;Fool, coxcomb,
puppy&mdash;&mdash;give him but a <span class =
"smallcaps">Nose</span>&mdash;&mdash;Cripple, Dwarf, Driveller,
Goosecap&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;(shape him as you will) the door of fortune
stands open&mdash;<i>O Licetus! Licetus!</i> had I been blest with a
fœtus five inches long and a half, like thee&mdash;Fate might have done
her worst.</p>

<p>Still, brother <i>Toby</i>, there was one cast of the dye left for
our child after all&mdash;<i>O Tristram! Tristram! Tristram!</i></p>

<p>We will send for Mr. <i>Yorick</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You may send for whom you will, replied my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXX" id = "bookIV_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> a rate have I gone on at,
curvetting and frisking it away, two up and two down for four volumes<a
class = "tag" name = "tag_4_8" id = "tag_4_8" href = "#note_4_8">8</a>
together, without looking once behind, or even on one side of me, to see
whom I trod upon!&mdash;I’ll tread upon no one&mdash;&mdash;quoth I to
myself when I mounted&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I’ll take a good rattling
gallop; but I’ll not hurt the poorest jackass upon the
road.&mdash;&mdash;So off I set&mdash;&mdash;up one
lane&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;down another, through this
turnpike&mdash;&mdash;over that, as if the arch-jockey of jockeys had
got behind&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>Now ride at this rate with what good intention and resolution you
<ins class = "correction"
title = "text reads ‘way’">may</ins>&mdash;&mdash;’tis a million to one you’ll do some one a
mischief, if not yourself&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;He’s flung&mdash;he’s
off&mdash;he’s lost his hat&mdash;he’s down&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;he’ll
break his neck&mdash;&mdash;see!&mdash;&mdash;if he has not galloped
full among the scaffolding of the undertaking
criticks!&mdash;&mdash;he’ll knock his brains out against some of their
posts&mdash;he’s bounced out!&mdash;look&mdash;he’s now riding like a
mad-cap full tilt through a whole crowd of painters, fiddlers, poets,
biographers, physicians, lawyers, logicians, players, schoolmen,
churchmen,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page217" id = "page217">217</a></span>
statesmen, soldiers, casuists, connoisseurs, prelates, popes, and
engineers.&mdash;Don’t fear, said I&mdash;I’ll not hurt the poorest
jack-ass upon the king’s highway.&mdash;But your horse throws dirt; see
you’ve splash’d a bishop.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hope in God, ’twas only
<i>Ernulphus</i>, said I.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But you have squirted full
in the faces of Mess. <i>Le Moyne</i>, <i>De Romigny</i>, and <i>De
Marcilly</i>, doctors of the <i>Sorbonne</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;That
was last year, replied I.&mdash;But you have trod this moment upon a
king.&mdash;&mdash;Kings have bad times on’t, said I, to be trod upon by
such people as&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>You have done it, replied my accuser.</p>

<p>I deny it, quoth I, and so have got off, and here am I standing with
my bridle in one hand, and with my cap in the other, to tell my
story.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And what is it? You shall hear in the next
chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXI" id = "bookIV_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> <i>Francis</i> the first of
<i>France</i> was one winterly night warming himself over the embers of
a wood fire, and talking with his first minister of sundry things for
the good of the state<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_9" id = "tag_4_9"
href = "#note_4_9">9</a>&mdash;It would not be amiss, said the king,
stirring up the embers with his cane, if this good understanding betwixt
ourselves and <i>Switzerland</i> was a little strengthened.&mdash;There
is no end, Sire, replied the minister, in giving money to these
people&mdash;they would swallow up the treasury of
<i>France</i>.&mdash;Poo! poo! answered the king&mdash;there are more
ways, Mons. <i>le Premier</i>, of bribing states, besides that of giving
money&mdash;I’ll pay <i>Switzerland</i> the honour of standing godfather
for my next child.&mdash;&mdash;Your majesty, said the minister, in so
doing, would have all the grammarians in <i>Europe</i> upon your
back;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Switzerland</i>, as a republick, being a female,
can in no construction be godfather.&mdash;She may be godmother, replied
<i>Francis</i> hastily&mdash;so announce my intentions by a courier
to-morrow morning.</p>

<p>I am astonished, said <i>Francis</i> the First, (that day fortnight)
speaking to his minister as he entered the closet, that we have had no
answer from <i>Switzerland</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Sire, I&nbsp;wait upon you
this moment, said Mons. <i>le Premier</i>, to lay before you my
dispatches upon that business.&mdash;They take it kindly, said the
king.&mdash;They do, Sire, replied the minister, and have the highest
sense of the honour your majesty has done them&mdash;&mdash;but the
republick, as godmother, claims her right, in this case, of naming the
child.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page218" id = "page218">218</a></span>
<p>In all reason, quoth the king&mdash;&mdash;she will christen him
<i>Francis</i>, or <i>Henry</i>, or <i>Lewis</i>, or some name that she
knows will be agreeable to us. Your majesty is deceived, replied the
minister&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have this hour received a dispatch from our
resident, with the determination of the republick on that point
also.&mdash;&mdash;And what name has the republick fixed upon for the
Dauphin?&mdash;&mdash;<i>Shadrach</i>, <i>Meshech</i>, <i>Abed-nego</i>,
replied the minister.&mdash;By Saint <i>Peter’s</i> girdle, I&nbsp;will
have nothing to do with the <i>Swiss</i>, cried <i>Francis</i> the
First, pulling up his breeches and walking hastily across the floor.</p>

<p>Your majesty, replied the minister calmly, cannot bring yourself
off.</p>

<p>We’ll pay them in money&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;said the king.</p>

<p>Sire, there are not sixty thousand crowns in the treasury, answered
the minister.&mdash;&mdash;I’ll pawn the best jewel in my crown, quoth
<i>Francis</i> the First.</p>

<p>Your honour stands pawn’d already in this matter, answered Monsieur
<i>le Premier</i>.</p>

<p>Then, Mons. <i>le Premier</i>, said the king,
by&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;we’ll go to war with ’em.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXII" id = "bookIV_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Albeit</span>, gentle reader, I have lusted
earnestly, and endeavoured carefully (according to the measure of such a
slender skill as God has vouchsafed me, and as convenient leisure from
other occasions of needful profit and healthful pastime have permitted)
that these little books which I here put into thy hands, might stand
instead of many bigger books&mdash;yet have I carried myself towards
thee in such fanciful guise of careless disport, that right sore am I
ashamed now to intreat thy lenity seriously&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;in
beseeching thee to believe it of me, that in the story of my father and
his christian-names&mdash;I&nbsp;have no thoughts of treading upon
<i>Francis</i> the First&mdash;&mdash;nor in the affair of the
nose&mdash;upon <i>Francis</i> the Ninth&mdash;nor in the character of
my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;of characterizing the militiating
spirits of my country&mdash;the wound upon his groin, is a wound to
every comparison of that kind&mdash;nor by <i>Trim</i>&mdash;that I
meant the duke of <i>Ormond</i>&mdash;&mdash;or that my book is wrote
against predestination, or free-will, or taxes&mdash;If ’tis wrote
against any thing,&mdash;&mdash;’tis wrote, an’ please your worships,
against the spleen! in order, by a more frequent and a more convulsive
elevation and depression of the diaphragm, and the succussations of the
intercostal and abdominal muscles
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page219" id = "page219">219</a></span>
in laughter, to drive the <i>gall</i> and other <i>bitter juices</i>
from the gallbladder, liver, and sweet-bread of his majesty’s subjects,
with all the inimicitious passions which belong to them, down into their
duodenums.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXIII" id = "bookIV_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> can the thing be undone,
<i>Yorick?</i> said my father&mdash;for in my opinion, continued he, it
cannot. I&nbsp;am a vile canonist, replied <i>Yorick</i>&mdash;but of
all evils, holding suspense to be the most tormenting, we shall at least
know the worst of this matter. I&nbsp;hate these great
dinners&mdash;&mdash;said my father&mdash;The size of the dinner is not
the point, answered <i>Yorick</i>&mdash;&mdash;we want, Mr.
<i>Shandy</i>, to dive into the bottom of this doubt, whether the name
can be changed or not&mdash;and as the beards of so many commissaries,
officials, advocates, proctors, registers, and of the most eminent of
our school-divines, and others, are all to meet in the middle of one
table, and <i>Didius</i> has so pressingly invited you&mdash;who in your
distress would miss such an occasion? All that is requisite, continued
<i>Yorick</i>, is to apprize <i>Didius</i>, and let him manage a
conversation after dinner so as to introduce the subject.&mdash;Then my
brother <i>Toby</i>, cried my father, clapping his two hands together,
shall go with&nbsp;us.</p>

<p class = "space">
&mdash;&mdash;Let my old tye-wig, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and my
laced regimentals, be hung to the fire all night, <i>Trim</i>.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page230" id = "page230">230</a></span>

<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXV" id = "bookIV_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">No</span> doubt, Sir,&mdash;there is
a whole chapter wanting here&mdash;and a chasm of ten pages made in the
book by it&mdash;but the bookbinder is neither a fool, or a knave, or a
puppy&mdash;nor is the book a jot more imperfect (at&nbsp;least upon
that score)&mdash;&mdash;but, on the contrary, the book is more perfect
and complete by wanting the chapter, than having it, as I shall
demonstrate to your reverences in this manner.&mdash;I&nbsp;question
first, by the bye, whether the same experiment might not be made as
successfully upon sundry other chapters&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but there is
no end, an’ please your reverences, in trying experiments upon
chapters&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;we have had enough of it&mdash;&mdash;So
there’s an end of that matter.</p>

<p class = "space">
But before I begin my demonstration, let me only tell you, that the
chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would all have
been reading just now, instead of this&mdash;&mdash;was the description
of my father’s, my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>, <i>Trim’s</i>, and
<i>Obadiah’s</i> setting out and journeying to the visitation at
****.</p>

<p>We’ll go in the coach, said my father&mdash;Prithee, have the arms
been altered, <i>Obadiah?</i>&mdash;It would have made my story much
better to have begun with telling you, that at the time my mother’s arms
were added to the <i>Shandy’s</i>, when the coach was re-painted upon my
father’s marriage, it had so fallen out, that the coach-painter, whether
by performing all his works with the left-hand, like <i>Turpilius</i>
the <i>Roman</i>, or <i>Hans Holbein</i> of <i>Basil</i>&mdash;&mdash;or
whether ’twas more from the blunder of his head than
hand&mdash;&mdash;or whether, lastly, it was from the sinister turn
which every thing relating to our family was apt to take&mdash;&mdash;it
so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the
<i>bend-dexter</i>, which since <i>Harry</i> the Eighth’s reign was
honestly our due&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;<i>bend-sinister</i>, by
some of these fatalities, had been drawn quite across the field of the
<i>Shandy</i> arms. ’Tis scarce credible that the mind of so wise a man
as my father was, could be so much incommoded with so small a matter.
The word coach&mdash;let it be whose it would&mdash;or coach-man, or
coach-horse, or coach-hire, could never be named in the family, but he
constantly complained of carrying this vile mark of illegitimacy upon
the door of his own; he never once was able to step into the coach, or
out of it, without turning round to take a view of the arms, and making
a vow at the same time, that it was the last time he would ever set his
foot in it again, till the <i>bend-sinister</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page231" id = "page231">231</a></span>
was taken out&mdash;but like the affair of the hinge, it was one of the
many things which the <i>Destinies</i> had set down in their books ever
to be grumbled at (and in wiser families than ours)&mdash;&mdash;but
never to be mended.</p>

<p>&mdash;Has the <i>bend-sinister</i> been brush’d out, I say? said my
father.&mdash;&mdash;There has been nothing brush’d out, Sir, answered
<i>Obadiah</i>, but the lining. We’ll go o’horseback, said my father,
turning to <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Of all things in the world,
except politicks, the clergy know the least of heraldry, said
<i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;No matter for that, cried my
father&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;should be sorry to appear with a blot in my
escutcheon before them.&mdash;Never mind the <i>bend-sinister</i>, said
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, putting on his tye-wig.&mdash;&mdash;No, indeed,
said my father&mdash;you may go with my aunt <i>Dinah</i> to a
visitation with a <i>bend-sinister</i>, if you think fit&mdash;My poor
uncle <i>Toby</i> blush’d. My father was vexed at
himself.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;No&mdash;&mdash;my dear brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father, changing his tone&mdash;&mdash;but the damp
of the coach-lining about my loins, may give me the sciatica again, as
it did <i>December</i>, <i>January</i>, and <i>February</i> last
<i>winter</i>&mdash;so if you please you shall ride my wife’s
pad&mdash;&mdash;and as you are to preach, <i>Yorick</i>, you had better
make the best of your way before&mdash;&mdash;and leave me to take care
of my brother <i>Toby</i>, and to follow at our own rates.</p>

<p>Now the chapter I was obliged to tear out, was the description of
this cavalcade, in which Corporal <i>Trim</i> and <i>Obadiah</i>, upon
two coach-horses a-breast, led the way as slow as a
patrole&mdash;&mdash;whilst my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in his laced
regimentals and tye-wig, kept his rank with my father, in deep roads and
dissertations alternately upon the advantage of learning and arms, as
each could get the start.</p>

<p>&mdash;But the painting of this journey, upon reviewing it, appears
to be so much above the stile and manner of anything else I have been
able to paint in this book, that it could not have remained in it,
without depreciating every other scene; and destroying at the same time
that necessary equipoise and balance, (whether of good or bad) betwixt
chapter and chapter, from whence the just proportions and harmony of the
whole work results. For my own part, I&nbsp;am but just set up in the
business, so know little about it&mdash;but, in my opinion, to write a
book is for all the world like humming a song&mdash;but in tune with
yourself, madam, ’tis no matter how high or how low you
take&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;This is the reason, may it please your reverences, that some
of the lowest and flattest compositions pass off very
well&mdash;&mdash;(as&nbsp;<i>Yorick</i> told my uncle <i>Toby</i> one
night) by siege.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page232" id = "page232">232</a></span>
<i>Toby</i> looked brisk at the sound of the word <i>siege</i>, but
could make neither head or tail of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>I’m to preach at court next Sunday, said
<i>Homenas</i>&mdash;&mdash;run over my notes&mdash;&mdash;so I humm’d
over doctor <i>Homenas’s</i> notes&mdash;the modulation’s very
well&mdash;&mdash;’twill do, <i>Homenas</i>, if it holds on at this
rate&mdash;&mdash;so on I humm’d&mdash;&mdash;and a tolerable tune I
<ins class = "correction" title = "text reads ‘though’">thought</ins> it
was; and to this hour, may it please your reverences, had never found
out how low, how flat, how spiritless and jejune it was, but that all of
a sudden, up started an air in the middle of it, so fine, so rich, so
heavenly,&mdash;it carried my soul up with it into the other world; now
had I (as&nbsp;<i>Montaigne</i> complained in a parallel
accident)&mdash;had I found the declivity easy, or the ascent
accessible&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;certes I had been
outwitted.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Your notes, <i>Homenas</i>, I&nbsp;should
have said, are good notes;&mdash;&mdash;but it was so perpendicular a
precipice&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;so wholly cut off from the rest of the
work, that by the first note I humm’d I found myself flying into the
other world, and from thence discovered the vale from whence I came, so
deep, so low, and dismal, that I shall never have the heart to descend
into it again.</p>

<p><img src = "images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt =
"--&gt;" /> A dwarf who brings a standard along with him to measure his
own size&mdash;take my word, is a <ins class = "correction" title =
"text reads ‘drawf’">dwarf</ins> in more articles than one.&mdash;And so
much for tearing out of chapters.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXVI" id = "bookIV_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">See</span> if he is not
cutting it into slips, and giving them about him to light their
pipes!&mdash;&mdash;’Tis abominable, answered <i>Didius</i>; it should
not go unnoticed, said doctor <i>Kysarcius</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; <img
src = "images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt = "--&gt;"
/>&nbsp;he was of the <i>Kysarcii</i> of the Low Countries.</p>

<p>Methinks, said <i>Didius</i>, half rising from his chair, in order to
remove a bottle and a tall decanter, which stood in a direct line
betwixt him and <i>Yorick</i>&mdash;&mdash;you might have spared this
sarcastic stroke, and have hit upon a more proper place, Mr.
<i>Yorick</i>&mdash;or at least upon a more proper occasion to have
shewn your contempt of what we have been about: If the sermon is of no
better worth than to light pipes with&mdash;&mdash;’twas certainly, Sir,
not good enough to be preached before so learned a body; and if ’twas
good enough to be preached before so learned a body&mdash;&mdash;’twas
certainly, Sir, too good to light their pipes with afterwards.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I have got him fast hung up, quoth <i>Didius</i> to
himself, upon one of the two horns of my dilemma&mdash;&mdash;let him
get off as he can.</p>

<p>I have undergone such unspeakable torments, in bringing forth this
sermon, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, upon this occasion&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;that
I
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page233" id = "page233">233</a></span>
declare, <i>Didius</i>, I would suffer martyrdom&mdash;and if it was
possible my horse with me, a&nbsp;thousand times over, before I would
sit down and make such another: I&nbsp;was delivered of it at the wrong
end of me&mdash;&mdash;it came from my head instead of my
heart&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and it is for the pain it gave me, both in the
writing and preaching of it, that I revenge myself of it, in this
manner&mdash;To preach, to shew the extent of our reading, or the
subtleties of our wit&mdash;to parade in the eyes of the vulgar with the
beggarly accounts of a little learning, tinsel’d over with a few words
which glitter, but convey little light and less warmth&mdash;&mdash;is a
dishonest use of the poor single half hour in a week which is put into
our hands&mdash;’Tis not preaching the gospel&mdash;but
ourselves&mdash;&mdash;For my own part, continued <i>Yorick</i>,
I&nbsp;had rather direct five words point-blank to the <span class =
"locked">heart.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As <i>Yorick</i> pronounced the word <i>point-blank</i>, my uncle
<i>Toby</i> rose up to say something upon projectiles&mdash;&mdash;when
a single word and no more uttered from the opposite side of the table
drew every one’s ears towards it&mdash;a&nbsp;word of all others in the
dictionary the last in that place to be expected&mdash;a&nbsp;word I am
ashamed to write&mdash;yet must be written&mdash;&mdash;must be
read&mdash;illegal&mdash;uncanonical&mdash;guess ten thousand guesses,
multiplied into themselves&mdash;rack&mdash;torture your invention for
ever, you’re where you was&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;In short, I’ll
tell it in the next chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXVII" id = "bookIV_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Zounds!</span>
<img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "450" height = "12"
alt = "----" />
<br />
<img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "500" height = "12" alt = "----"
/><br />
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Z&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;ds!
cried <i>Phutatorius</i>, partly to himself&mdash;&mdash;and yet high
enough to be heard&mdash;and what seemed odd, ’twas uttered in a
construction of look, and in a tone of voice, somewhat between that of a
man in amazement and one in bodily pain.</p>

<p>One or two who had very nice ears, and could distinguish the
expression and mixture of the two tones as plainly as a <i>third</i> or
a <i>fifth</i>, or any other chord in musick&mdash;were the most puzzled
and perplexed with it&mdash;the concord was good in itself&mdash;but
then ’twas quite out of the key, and no way applicable to the subject
started;&mdash;&mdash;so that with all their knowledge, they could not
tell what in the world to make of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Others who knew nothing of musical expression, and merely lent their
ears to the plain import of the <i>word</i>, imagined that
<i>Phutatorius</i>, who was somewhat of a cholerick spirit, was just
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page234" id = "page234">234</a></span>
going to snatch the cudgels out of <i>Didius’s</i> hands, in order to
bemaul <i>Yorick</i> to some purpose&mdash;and that the desperate
monosyllable Z&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;ds was the exordium to an oration,
which, as they judged from the sample, presaged but a rough kind of
handling of him; so that my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> good-nature felt a pang
for what <i>Yorick</i> was about to undergo. But seeing
<i>Phutatorius</i> stop short, without any attempt or desire to go
on&mdash;a&nbsp;third party began to suppose, that it was no more than
an involuntary respiration, casually forming itself into the shape of a
twelve-penny oath&mdash;without the sin or substance of one.</p>

<p>Others, and especially one or two who sat next him, looked upon it on
the contrary as a real and substantial oath, propensly formed against
<i>Yorick</i>, to whom he was known to bear no good liking&mdash;which
said oath, as my father philosophized upon it, actually lay fretting and
fuming at that very time in the upper regions of <i>Phutatorius’s</i>
purtenance; and so was naturally, and according to the due course of
things, first squeezed out by the sudden influx of blood which was
driven into the right ventricle of <i>Phutatorius’s</i> heart, by the
stroke of surprize which so strange a theory of preaching had
excited.</p>

<p>How finely we argue upon mistaken facts!</p>

<p>There was not a soul busied in all these various reasonings upon the
monosyllable which <i>Phutatorius</i> uttered&mdash;&mdash;who did not
take this for granted, proceeding upon it as from an axiom, namely, that
<i>Phutatorius’s</i> mind was intent upon the subject of debate which
was arising between <i>Didius</i> and <i>Yorick</i>; and indeed as he
looked first towards the one and then towards the other, with the air of
a man listening to what was going forwards&mdash;who would not have
thought the same? But the truth was, that <i>Phutatorius</i> knew not
one word or one syllable of what was passing&mdash;but his whole
thoughts and attention were taken up with a transaction which was going
forwards at that very instant within the precincts of his own
<i>Galligaskins</i>, and in a part of them, where of all others he stood
most interested to watch accidents: So that notwithstanding he looked
with all the attention in the world, and had gradually skrewed up every
nerve and muscle in his face, to the utmost pitch the instrument would
bear, in order, as it was thought, to give a sharp reply to
<i>Yorick</i>, who sat over-against him&mdash;&mdash;yet, I&nbsp;say,
was <i>Yorick</i> never once in any one domicile of <i>Phutatorius’s</i>
brain&mdash;&mdash;but the true cause of his exclamation lay at least a
yard below.</p>

<p>This I will endeavour to explain to you with all imaginable
decency.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page235" id = "page235">235</a></span>
<p>You must be informed then, that <i>Gastripheres</i>, who had taken a
turn into the kitchen a little before dinner, to see how things went
on&mdash;observing a wicker-basket of fine chesnuts standing upon the
dresser, had ordered that a hundred or two of them might be roasted and
sent in, as soon as dinner was over&mdash;&mdash;<i>Gastripheres</i>
inforcing his orders about them, that <i>Didius</i>, but
<i>Phutatorius</i> especially, were particularly fond of ’em.</p>

<p>About two minutes before the time that my uncle <i>Toby</i>
interrupted <i>Yorick’s</i> harangue&mdash;<i>Gastripheres’s</i>
chesnuts were brought in&mdash;and as <i>Phutatorius’s</i> fondness for
’em was uppermost in the waiter’s head, he laid them directly before
<i>Phutatorius</i>, wrapt up hot in a clean damask napkin.</p>

<p>Now whether it was physically impossible, with half a dozen hands all
thrust into the napkin at a time&mdash;but that some one chesnut, of
more life and rotundity than the rest, must be put in motion&mdash;it so
fell out, however, that one was actually sent rolling off the table; and
as <i>Phutatorius</i> sat straddling under&mdash;&mdash;it fell
perpendicularly into that particular aperture of <i>Phutatorius’s</i>
breeches, for which, to the shame and indelicacy of our language be it
spoke, there is no chaste word throughout all <i>Johnson’s</i>
dictionary&mdash;&mdash;let it suffice to say&mdash;&mdash;it was that
particular aperture which, in all good societies, the laws of decorum do
strictly require, like the temple of <i>Janus</i> (in&nbsp;peace at
least) to be universally shut&nbsp;up.</p>

<p>The neglect of this punctilio in <i>Phutatorius</i> (which by the bye
should be a warning to all mankind) had opened a door to this <span
class = "locked">accident.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Accident I call it, in compliance to a received mode of
speaking&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but in no opposition to the opinion either
of <i>Acrites</i> or <i>Mythogeras</i> in this matter; I&nbsp;know they
were both prepossessed and fully persuaded of it&mdash;and are so to
this hour, That there was nothing of accident in the whole
event&mdash;&mdash;but that the chesnut’s taking that particular course
and in a manner of its own accord&mdash;and then falling with all its
heat directly into that one particular place, and no
other&mdash;&mdash;was a real judgment upon <i>Phutatorius</i>, for that
filthy and obscene treatise <i>de Concubinis retinendis</i>, which
<i>Phutatorius</i> had published about twenty years ago&mdash;&mdash;and
was that identical week going to give the world a second
edition&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>It is not my business to dip my pen in this
controversy&mdash;&mdash;much undoubtedly may be wrote on both sides of
the question&mdash;all that concerns me as an historian, is to represent
the matter of fact, and render it credible to the reader, that the
hiatus in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page236" id = "page236">236</a></span>
<i>Phutatorius’s</i> breeches was sufficiently wide to receive the
chesnut;&mdash;&mdash;and that the chesnut, somehow or other, did fall
perpendicularly and piping hot into it, without <i>Phutatorius’s</i>
perceiving it, or any one else at that time.</p>

<p>The genial warmth which the chesnut imparted, was not undelectable
for the first twenty or five-and-twenty seconds&mdash;&mdash;and did no
more than gently solicit <i>Phutatorius’s</i> attention towards the
part:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But the heat gradually increasing, and in a
few seconds more getting beyond the point of all sober pleasure, and
then advancing with all speed into the regions of pain, the soul of
<i>Phutatorius</i>, together with all his ideas, his thoughts, his
attention, his imagination, judgment, resolution, deliberation,
ratiocination, memory, fancy, with ten battalions of animal spirits, all
tumultuously crowded down, through different defiles and circuits, to
the place of danger, leaving all his upper regions, as you may imagine,
as empty as my purse.</p>

<p>With the best intelligence which all these messengers could bring him
back, <i>Phutatorius</i> was not able to dive into the secret of what
was going forwards below, nor could he make any kind of conjecture, what
the devil was the matter with it: However, as he knew not what the true
cause might turn out, he deemed it most prudent, in the situation he was
in at present, to bear it, if possible, like a Stoick; which, with the
help of some wry faces and compursions of the mouth, he had certainly
accomplished, had his imagination continued neuter;&mdash;&mdash;but the
sallies of the imagination are ungovernable in things of this
kind&mdash;a&nbsp;thought instantly darted into his mind, that tho’ the
anguish had the sensation of glowing heat&mdash;it might,
notwithstanding that, be a bite as well as a burn; and if so, that
possibly a <i>Newt</i> or an <i>Asker</i>, or some such detested
reptile, had crept up, and was fastening his teeth&mdash;&mdash;the
horrid idea of which, with a fresh glow of pain arising that instant
from the chesnut, seized <i>Phutatorius</i> with a sudden panick, and in
the first terrifying disorder of the passion, it threw him, as it has
done the best generals upon earth, quite off his guard:&mdash;&mdash;the
effect of which was this, that he leapt incontinently up, uttering as he
rose that interjection of surprise so much descanted upon, with the
aposiopestic break after it, marked thus,
Z&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;ds&mdash;which, though not strictly canonical, was
still as little as any man could have said upon the
occasion;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and which, by the bye, whether canonical
or not, <i>Phutatorius</i> could no more help than he could the cause
of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Though this has taken up some time in the narrative, it took
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page237" id = "page237">237</a></span>
up little more time in the transaction, than just to allow for
<i>Phutatorius</i> to draw forth the chesnut, and throw it down with
violence upon the floor&mdash;and for <i>Yorick</i> to rise from his
chair, and pick the chesnut&nbsp;up.</p>

<p>It is curious to observe the triumph of slight incidents over the
mind:&mdash;&mdash;What incredible weight they have in forming and
governing our opinions, both of men and things&mdash;&mdash;that
trifles, light as air, shall waft a belief into the soul, and plant it
so immoveably within it&mdash;&mdash;that <i>Euclid’s</i>
demonstrations, could they be brought to batter it in breach, should not
all have power to overthrow&nbsp;it.</p>

<p><i>Yorick</i>, I said, picked up the chesnut which
<i>Phutatorius’s</i> wrath had flung down&mdash;&mdash;the action was
trifling&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am ashamed to account for it&mdash;he did
it, for no reason, but that he thought the chesnut not a jot worse for
the adventure&mdash;and that he held a good chesnut worth stooping
for.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But this incident, trifling as it was, wrought
differently in <i>Phutatorius’s</i> head: He considered this act of
<i>Yorick’s</i> in getting off his chair and picking up the chesnut, as
a plain acknowledgment in him, that the chesnut was originally
his&mdash;and in course, that it must have been the owner of the
chesnut, and no one else, who could have played him such a prank with
it: What greatly confirmed him in this opinion, was this, that the table
being parallelogramical and very narrow, it afforded a fair opportunity
for <i>Yorick</i>, who sat directly over against <i>Phutatorius</i>, of
slipping the chesnut in&mdash;&mdash;and consequently that he did it.
The look of something more than suspicion, which <i>Phutatorius</i> cast
full upon <i>Yorick</i> as these thoughts arose, too evidently spoke his
opinion&mdash;&mdash;and as <i>Phutatorius</i> was naturally supposed to
know more of the matter than any person besides, his opinion at once
became the general one;&mdash;&mdash;and for a reason very different
from any which have been yet given&mdash;&mdash;in a little time it was
put out of all manner of dispute.</p>

<p>When great or unexpected events fall out upon the stage of this
sublunary world&mdash;&mdash;the mind of man, which is an inquisitive
kind of substance, naturally takes a flight behind the scenes to see
what is the cause and first spring of them.&mdash;The search was not
long in this instance.</p>

<p>It was well known that <i>Yorick</i> had never a good opinion of the
treatise which <i>Phutatorius</i> had wrote <i>de Concubinis
retinendis</i>, as a thing which he feared had done hurt in the
world&mdash;&mdash;and ’twas easily found out, that there was a mystical
meaning in <i>Yorick’s</i> prank&mdash;and that his chucking the chesnut
hot into
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page238" id = "page238">238</a></span>
<i>Phutatorius’s</i> ***&mdash;&mdash;*****, was a sarcastical fling at
his book&mdash;the doctrines of which, they said, had enflamed many an
honest man in the same place.</p>

<p>This conceit awaken’d <i>Somnolentus</i>&mdash;&mdash;made
<i>Agelastes</i> smile&mdash;&mdash;and if you can recollect the precise
look and air of a man’s face intent in finding out a
riddle&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;it threw <i>Gastripheres’s</i> into that
form&mdash;and in short was thought by many to be a master-stroke of
arch-wit.</p>

<p>This, as the reader has seen from one end to the other, was as
groundless as the dreams of philosophy: <i>Yorick</i>, no doubt, as
<i>Shakespeare</i> said of his ancestor&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“<i>was a
man of jest</i>,” but it was temper’d with something which withheld him
from that, and many other ungracious pranks, of which he as undeservedly
bore the blame;&mdash;but it was his misfortune all his life long to
bear the imputation of saying and doing a thousand things, of which
(unless my esteem blinds&nbsp;me) his nature was incapable. All I blame
him for&mdash;&mdash;or rather, all I blame and alternately like him
for, was that singularity of his temper, which would never suffer him to
take pains to set a story right with the world, however in his power. In
every ill usage of that sort, he acted precisely as in the affair of his
lean horse&mdash;&mdash;he could have explained it to his honour, but
his spirit was above it; and besides, he ever looked upon the inventor,
the propagator and believer of an illiberal report alike so injurious to
him&mdash;he could not stoop to tell his story to them&mdash;and so
trusted to time and truth to do it for him.</p>

<p>This heroic cast produced him inconveniences in many
respects&mdash;in the present it was followed by the fixed resentment of
<i>Phutatorius</i>, who, as <i>Yorick</i> had just made an end of his
chesnut, rose up from his chair a second time, to let him know
it&mdash;which indeed he did with a smile; saying only&mdash;that he
would endeavour not to forget the obligation.</p>

<p>But you must mark and carefully separate and distinguish these two
things in your mind.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The smile was for the company.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The threat was for <i>Yorick</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXVIII" id = "bookIV_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Can</span> you tell me, quoth
<i>Phutatorius</i>, speaking to <i>Gastripheres</i> who sat next to
him&mdash;&mdash;for one would not apply to a surgeon in so foolish an
affair&mdash;&mdash;can you tell me, <i>Gastripheres</i>, what is
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page239" id = "page239">239</a></span>
best to take out the fire?&mdash;&mdash;Ask <i>Eugenius</i>, said
<i>Gastripheres</i>.&mdash;&mdash;That greatly depends, said
<i>Eugenius</i>, pretending ignorance of the adventure, upon the nature
of the part&mdash;&mdash;If it is a tender part, and a part which can
conveniently be wrapt up&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;It is both the one and the
other, replied <i>Phutatorius</i>, laying his hand as he spoke, with an
emphatical nod of his head, upon the part in question, and lifting up
his right leg at the same time to ease and ventilate
it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;If that is the case, said <i>Eugenius</i>,
I&nbsp;would advise you, <i>Phutatorius</i>, not to tamper with it by
any means; but if you will send to the next printer, and trust your cure
to such a simple thing as a soft sheet of paper just come off the
press&mdash;you need do nothing more than twist it round.&mdash;The damp
paper, quoth <i>Yorick</i> (who sat next to his friend <i>Eugenius</i>)
though I know it has a refreshing coolness in it&mdash;yet I presume is
no more than the vehicle&mdash;and that the oil and lamp-black with
which the paper is so strongly impregnated, does the
business.&mdash;Right, said <i>Eugenius</i>, and is, of any outward
application I would venture to recommend, the most anodyne and safe.</p>

<p>Was it my case, said <i>Gastripheres</i>, as the main thing is the
oil and lamp-black, I&nbsp;should spread them thick upon a rag, and clap
it on directly.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;That would make a very devil of it,
replied <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;And besides, added <i>Eugenius</i>,
it would not answer the intention, which is the extreme neatness and
elegance of the prescription, which the Faculty hold to be half in
half;&mdash;&mdash;for consider, if the type is a very small one (which
it should&nbsp;be) the sanative particles, which come into contact in
this form, have the advantage of being spread so infinitely thin, and
with such a mathematical equality (fresh paragraphs and large capitals
excepted) as no art or management of the spatula can come up
to.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;It falls out very luckily, replied
<i>Phutatorius</i>, that the second edition of my treatise <i>de
Concubinis retinendis</i> is at this instant in the
press.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;You may take any leaf of it, said
<i>Eugenius</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;no matter
which.&mdash;&mdash;Provided, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, there is no bawdry in
<span class = "locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>They are just now, replied <i>Phutatorius</i>, printing off the ninth
chapter&mdash;&mdash;which is the last chapter but one in the
book.&mdash;&mdash;Pray what is the title of that chapter? said
<i>Yorick</i>; making a respectful bow to <i>Phutatorius</i> as he
spoke.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think, answered <i>Phutatorius</i>,
’tis that <i>de re concubinariâ</i>.</p>

<p>For Heaven’s sake keep out of that chapter, quoth <i>Yorick</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;By all means&mdash;added <i>Eugenius</i>.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page240" id = "page240">240</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXIX" id = "bookIV_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Now</span>, quoth <i>Didius</i>,
rising up, and laying his right hand with his fingers spread upon his
breast&mdash;&mdash;had such a blunder about a christian-name happened
before the Reformation&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;[It happened the day before
yesterday, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i> to himself] and when baptism was
administer’d in <i>Latin</i>&mdash;[’Twas all in <i>English</i>, said my
uncle]&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;many things might have coincided with it, and
upon the authority of sundry decreed cases, to have pronounced the
baptism null, with a power of giving the child a new name&mdash;Had a
priest, for instance, which was no uncommon thing, through ignorance of
the <i>Latin</i> tongue, baptized a child of Tom-o’Stiles, <i>in nomine
patriæ &amp; filia &amp; spiritum sanctos</i>&mdash;the baptism was held
null.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg your pardon, replied
<i>Kysarcius</i>&mdash;&mdash;in that case, as the mistake was only the
<i>terminations</i>, the baptism was valid&mdash;&mdash;and to have
rendered it null, the blunder of the priest should have fallen upon the
first syllable of each noun&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and not, as in your
case, upon the last.</p>

<p>My father delighted in subtleties of this kind, and listen’d with
infinite attention.</p>

<p><i>Gastripheres</i>, for example, continued <i>Kysarcius</i>,
baptizes a child of <i>John Stradling’s</i> in <i>Gomine</i> gatris,
&amp;c., &amp;c., instead of <i>in Nomine</i> patris,
&amp;c.&mdash;&mdash;Is this a baptism? No&mdash;say the ablest
canonists; in as much as the radix of each word is hereby torn up, and
the sense and meaning of them removed and changed quite to another
object; for <i>Gomine</i> does not signify a name, nor <i>gatris</i> a
father.&mdash;What do they signify? said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Nothing at all&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;quoth
<i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Ergo, such a baptism is null, said <span
class = "locked"><i>Kysarcius</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In course, answered <i>Yorick</i>, in a tone two parts jest and one
part <span class = "locked">earnest.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But in the case cited, continued <i>Kysarcius</i>, where
<i>patriæ</i> is put for <i>patris</i>, <i>filia</i> for <i>filii</i>,
and so on&mdash;&mdash;as it is a fault only in the declension, and the
roots of the words continue untouch’d, the inflections of their branches
either this way or that, does not in any sort hinder the baptism,
inasmuch as the same sense continues in the words as
before.&mdash;&mdash;But then, said <i>Didius</i>, the intention of the
priest’s pronouncing them grammatically must have been proved to have
gone along with it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Right,
answered <i>Kysarcius</i>; and of this, brother <i>Didius</i>, we have
an instance in a decree of the decretals of Pope <i>Leo</i> the
IIId.&mdash;&mdash;But my brother’s child, cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
has nothing to do
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page241" id = "page241">241</a></span>
with the Pope&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’tis the plain child of a Protestant
gentleman, christen’d <i>Tristram</i> against the wills and wishes both
of his father and mother, and all who are a-kin to <span class =
"locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>If the wills and wishes, said <i>Kysarcius</i>, interrupting my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, of those only who stand related to Mr. <i>Shandy’s</i>
child, were to have weight in this matter, Mrs. <i>Shandy</i>, of all
people, has the least to do in it.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i>
lay’d down his pipe, and my father drew his chair still closer to the
table, to hear the conclusion of so strange an introduction.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It has not only been a question, Captain <i>Shandy</i>,
amongst the<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_10" id = "tag_4_10" href =
"#note_4_10">10</a> best lawyers and civilians in this land, continued
<i>Kysarcius</i>, “<i>Whether the mother be of kin to her
child</i>,”&mdash;but, after much dispassionate enquiry and jactitation
of the arguments on all sides&mdash;it has been abjudged for the
negative&mdash;namely, “<i>That the mother is not of kin to her
child</i>.”<a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_11" id = "tag_4_11" href =
"#note_4_11">11</a> My father instantly clapp’d his hand upon my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> mouth, under colour of whispering in his ear;&mdash;the
truth was, he was alarmed for <i>Lillabullero</i>&mdash;and having a
great desire to hear more of so curious an argument&mdash;he begg’d my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, for Heaven’s sake, not to disappoint him in
it.&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> gave a nod&mdash;resumed his pipe, and
contenting himself with whistling <i>Lillabullero</i>
inwardly&mdash;&mdash;<i>Kysarcius</i>, <i>Didius</i>, and
<i>Triptolemus</i> went on with the discourse as follows.</p>

<p>This determination, continued <i>Kysarcius</i>, how contrary soever
it may seem to run to the stream of vulgar ideas, yet had reason
strongly on its side; and has been put out of all manner of dispute from
the famous case, known commonly by the name of the Duke of
<i>Suffolk’s</i> case.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;It is cited in <i>Brook</i>,
said <i>Triptolemus</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And taken notice of by Lord
<i>Coke</i>, added <i>Didius</i>.&mdash;And you may find it in
<i>Swinburn</i> on Testaments, said <i>Kysarcius</i>.</p>

<p>The case, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, was this.</p>

<p>In the reign of <i>Edward</i> the Sixth, <i>Charles</i> duke of
<i>Suffolk</i> having issue a son by one venter, and a daughter by
another venter, made his last will, wherein he devised goods to his son,
and died; after whose death the son died also&mdash;&mdash;but without
will, without wife, and without child&mdash;his mother and his sister by
the father’s side (for she was born of the former venter) then living.
The mother took the administration of her son’s goods, according to the
statute of the 21st of <i>Harry</i> the Eighth, whereby it is enacted,
That in case any person die intestate the administration of his goods
shall be committed to the next of kin.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page242" id = "page242">242</a></span>
<p>The administration being thus (surreptitiously) granted to the
mother, the sister by the father’s side commenced a suit before the
Ecclesiastical Judge, alledging, 1st, That she herself was next of kin;
and 2dly, That the mother was not of kin at all to the party deceased;
and therefore prayed the court, that the administration granted to the
mother might be revoked, and be committed unto her, as next of kin to
the deceased, by force of the said statute.</p>

<p>Hereupon, as it was a great cause, and much depending upon its
issue&mdash;and many causes of great property likely to be decided in
times to come, by the precedent to be then made&mdash;&mdash;the most
learned, as well in the laws of this realm, as in the civil law, were
consulted together, whether the mother was of kin to her son, or
no.&mdash;Whereunto not only the temporal lawyers&mdash;&mdash;but the
church lawyers&mdash;the juris-consulti&mdash;the
juris-prudentes&mdash;the civilians&mdash;the advocates&mdash;the
commissaries&mdash;the judges of the consistory and prerogative courts
of <i>Canterbury</i> and <i>York</i>, with the master of the faculties,
were all unanimously of opinion, That the mother was not of<a class =
"tag" name = "tag_4_12" id = "tag_4_12" href = "#note_4_12">12</a> kin
to her <span class = "locked">child.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And what said the duchess of <i>Suffolk</i> to it? said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>The unexpectedness of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> question, confounded
<i>Kysarcius</i> more than the ablest advocate&mdash;&mdash;He stopp’d a
full minute, looking in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> face without
replying&mdash;&mdash;and in that single minute <i>Triptolemus</i> put
by him, and took the lead as follows.</p>

<p>’Tis a ground and principle in the law, said <i>Triptolemus</i>, that
things do not ascend, but descend in it; and I make no doubt ’tis for
this cause, that however true it is, that the child may be of the blood
and seed of its parents&mdash;&mdash;that the parents, nevertheless, are
not of the blood and seed of it; inasmuch as the parents are not begot
by the child, but the child by the parents&mdash;For so they write,
<i>Liberi sunt de sanguine patris &amp; matris, sed pater &amp; mater
non sunt de sanguine liberorum</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But this, <i>Triptolemus</i>, cried <i>Didius</i>,
proves too much&mdash;for from this authority cited it would follow, not
only what indeed is granted on all sides, that the mother is not of kin
to her child&mdash;but the father likewise.&mdash;&mdash;It is held,
said <i>Triptolemus</i>, the better opinion; because the father, the
mother, and the child, though they be three persons, yet are they but
(<i>una caro</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_4_13" id = "tag_4_13" href
= "#note_4_13">13</a>) one flesh; and consequently no degree of
kindred&mdash;&mdash;or any
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page243" id = "page243">243</a></span>
method of acquiring one <i>in nature</i>.&mdash;&mdash;There you push
the argument again too far, cried <i>Didius</i>&mdash;&mdash;for there
is no prohibition <i>in nature</i>, though there is in the Levitical
law&mdash;&mdash;but that a man may beget a child upon his
grandmother&mdash;&mdash;in which case, supposing the issue a daughter,
she would stand in relation both of&mdash;&mdash;But who ever thought,
cried <i>Kysarcius</i>, of lying with his
grandmother?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The young gentleman, replied
<i>Yorick</i>, whom <i>Selden</i> speaks of&mdash;&mdash;who not only
thought of it, but justified his intention to his father by the argument
drawn from the law of retaliation.&mdash;“You lay, Sir, with my mother,”
said the lad&mdash;“why may not I lie with yours?”&mdash;&mdash;’Tis the
<i>Argumentum commune</i>, added <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis as
good, replied <i>Eugenius</i>, taking down his hat, as they deserve.</p>

<p>The company broke up.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXX" id = "bookIV_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> pray, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, leaning upon <i>Yorick</i>, as he and my father were
helping him leisurely down the stairs&mdash;&mdash;don’t be terrified,
madam, this stair-case conversation is not so long as the
last&mdash;&mdash;And pray, <i>Yorick</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
which way is this said affair of <i>Tristram</i> at length settled by
these learned men? Very satisfactorily, replied <i>Yorick</i>; no
mortal, Sir, has any concern with it&mdash;&mdash;for Mrs. <ins class =
"correction"
title = "printed in Roman (non-italic) type"><i>Shandy</i></ins> the mother is nothing at all a-kin to
him&mdash;&mdash;and as the mother’s is the surest side&mdash;&mdash;Mr.
<i>Shandy</i>, in course, is still less than
nothing&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;In short, he is not as much a-kin to him,
Sir, as I <span class = "locked">am.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That may well be, said my father, shaking his head.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Let the learned say what they will, there must
certainly, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, have been some sort of
consanguinity betwixt the duchess of <i>Suffolk</i> and her son.</p>

<p>The vulgar are of the same opinion, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, to this
hour.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXXI" id = "bookIV_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> my father was hugely tickled
with the subtleties of these learned
discourses&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’twas still but like the anointing of a
broken bone&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The moment he got home, the weight of
his afflictions returned upon him but so much the heavier, as is ever
the case when the staff we lean on slips from under us.&mdash;He became
pensive&mdash;walked frequently forth to the fish-pond&mdash;let down
one loop of his hat&mdash;&mdash;sigh’d often&mdash;&mdash;forbore to
snap&mdash;and, as the hasty sparks of temper, which occasion snapping,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page244" id = "page244">244</a></span>
so much assist perspiration and digestion, as <i>Hippocrates</i> tells
us&mdash;he had certainly fallen ill with the extinction of them, had
not his thoughts been critically drawn off, and his health rescued by a
fresh train of disquietudes left him, with a legacy of a thousand
pounds, by my aunt <i>Dinah</i>.</p>

<p>My father had scarce read the letter, when taking the thing by the
right end, he instantly began to plague and puzzle his head how to lay
it out mostly to the honour of his
family.&mdash;A&nbsp;hundred-and-fifty odd projects took possession of
his brains by turns&mdash;he would do this, and that, and
t’other&mdash;He would go to <i>Rome</i>&mdash;&mdash;he would go to
law&mdash;&mdash;he would buy stock&mdash;&mdash;he would buy <i>John
Hobson’s</i> farm&mdash;he would new fore-front his house, and add a new
wing to make it even&mdash;&mdash;There was a fine water-mill on this
side, and he would build a wind-mill on the other side of the river in
full view to answer it&mdash;But above all things in the world, he would
inclose the great <i>Ox-moor</i>, and send out my brother <i>Bobby</i>
immediately upon his travels.</p>

<p>But as the sum was <i>finite</i>, and consequently could not do
everything&mdash;&mdash;and in truth very few of these to any
purpose&mdash;of all the projects which offered themselves upon this
occasion, the two last seemed to make the deepest impression; and he
would infallibly have determined upon both at once, but for the small
inconvenience hinted at above, which absolutely put him under a
necessity of deciding in favour either of the one or the other.</p>

<p>This was not altogether so easy to be done; for though ’tis certain
my father had long before set his heart upon this necessary part of my
brother’s education, and like a prudent man had actually determined to
carry it into execution, with the first money that returned from the
second creation of actions in the <i>Missisippi</i>-scheme, in which he
was an adventurer&mdash;&mdash;yet the <i>Ox-moor</i>, which was a fine,
large, whinny, undrained, unimproved common, belonging to the
<i>Shandy</i>-estate, had almost as old a claim upon him: he had long
and affectionately set his heart upon turning it likewise to some
account.</p>

<p>But having never hitherto been pressed with such a conjuncture of
things, as made it necessary to settle either the priority or justice of
their claims&mdash;&mdash;like a wise man he had refrained entering into
any nice or critical examination about them: so that upon the dismission
of every other project at this crisis&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the two old
projects, the <span class = "smallcaps">Ox-moor</span> and my <span
class = "smallcaps">Brother</span>, divided him again; and so equal a
match were they for each other, as to become the occasion of no small
contest in the old gentleman’s mind&mdash;which of the two should be set
o’going first.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page245" id = "page245">245</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;People may laugh as they will&mdash;but the case was
this.</p>

<p>It had ever been the custom of the family, and by length of time was
almost become a matter of common right, that the eldest son of it should
have free ingress, egress, and regress into foreign parts before
marriage&mdash;not only for the sake of bettering his own private parts,
by the benefit of exercise and change of so much air&mdash;but simply
for the mere delectation of his fancy, by the feather put into his cap,
of having been abroad&mdash;<i>tantum valet</i>, my father would say,
<i>quantum sonat</i>.</p>

<p>Now as this was a reasonable, and in course a most christian
indulgence&mdash;&mdash;to deprive him of it, without why or
wherefore&mdash;&mdash;and thereby make an example of him, as the first
<i>Shandy</i> unwhirl’d about <i>Europe</i> in a post-chaise, and only
because he was a heavy lad&mdash;&mdash;would be using him ten times
worse than a Turk.</p>

<p>On the other hand, the case of the <i>Ox-moor</i> was full as
hard.</p>

<p>Exclusive of the original purchase-money, which was eight hundred
pounds&mdash;&mdash;it had cost the family eight hundred pounds more in
a law-suit about fifteen years before&mdash;besides the Lord knows what
trouble and vexation.</p>

<p>It had been moreover in possession of the <i>Shandy</i>-family ever
since the middle of the last century; and though it lay full in view
before the house, bounded on one extremity by the water-mill, and on the
other by the projected wind-mill, spoken of above&mdash;and for all
these reasons seemed to have the fairest title of any part of the estate
to the care and protection of the family&mdash;yet by an unaccountable
fatality, common to men, as well as the ground they tread
on&mdash;&mdash;it had all along most shamefully been overlook’d; and to
speak the truth of it, had suffered so much by it, that it would have
made any man’s heart have bled (<i>Obadiah</i> said) who understood the
value of the land, to have rode over it, and only seen the condition it
was&nbsp;in.</p>

<p>However, as neither the purchasing this tract of
ground&mdash;&mdash;nor indeed the placing of it where it lay, were
either of them, properly speaking, of my father’s doing&mdash;&mdash;he
had never thought himself any way concerned in the
affair&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;till the fifteen years before, when the
breaking out of that cursed law-suit mentioned above (and which had
arose about its boundaries)&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;which being altogether
my father’s own act and deed, it naturally awakened every other argument
in its favour, and upon summing them all up together, he saw, not merely
in interest, but in honour, he was bound to do something for
it&mdash;&mdash;and that now or never was the time.</p>

<p>I think there must certainly have been a mixture of ill-luck
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page246" id = "page246">246</a></span>
in it, that the reasons on both sides should happen to be so equally
balanced by each other; for though my father weigh’d them in all humours
and conditions&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;spent many an anxious hour in the
most profound and abstracted meditation upon what was best to be
done&mdash;reading books of farming one day&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;books of
travels another&mdash;&mdash;laying aside all passion
whatever&mdash;viewing the arguments on both sides in all their lights
and circumstances&mdash;communing every day with my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;arguing with <i>Yorick</i>, and talking over the whole
affair of the <i>Ox-moor</i> with <i>Obadiah</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;yet
nothing in all that time appeared so strongly in behalf of the one,
which was not either strictly applicable to the other, or at least so
far counterbalanced by some consideration of equal weight, as to keep
the scales even.</p>

<p>For to be sure, with proper helps, and in the hands of some people,
tho’ the <i>Ox-moor</i> would undoubtedly have made a different
appearance in the world from what it did, or ever could do in the
condition it lay&mdash;&mdash;yet every tittle of this was true, with
regard to my brother <i>Bobby</i>&mdash;&mdash;let <i>Obadiah</i> say
what he <span class = "locked">would.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In point of interest&mdash;&mdash;the contest, I own, at first sight,
did not appear so undecisive betwixt them; for whenever my father took
pen and ink in hand, and set about calculating the simple expence of
paring and burning, and fencing in the <i>Ox-moor</i> &amp;c.
&amp;c.&mdash;with the certain profit it would bring him in
return&mdash;&mdash;the latter turned out so prodigiously in his way of
working the account, that you would have sworn the <i>Ox-moor</i> would
have carried all before it. For it was plain he should reap a hundred
lasts of rape, at twenty pounds a last, the very first
year&mdash;&mdash;besides an excellent crop of wheat the year
following&mdash;&mdash;and the year after that, to speak within bounds,
a&nbsp;hundred&mdash;&mdash;but in all likelihood, a&nbsp;hundred and
fifty&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;if not two hundred quarters of pease and
beans&mdash;&mdash;besides potatoes without end.&mdash;&mdash;But then,
to think he was all this while breeding up my brother, like a hog to eat
them&mdash;&mdash;knocked all on the head again, and generally left the
old gentleman in such a state of suspence&mdash;&mdash;that, as he often
declared to my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;he knew no more than his
heels what to&nbsp;do.</p>

<p>No body, but he who has felt it, can conceive what a plaguing thing
it is to have a man’s mind torn asunder by two projects of equal
strength, both obstinately pulling in a contrary direction at the same
time: for to say nothing of the havock, which by a certain consequence
is unavoidably made by it all over the finer system of the nerves, which
you know convey the animal
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page247" id = "page247">247</a></span>
spirits and more subtle juices from the heart to the head, and so
on&mdash;&mdash;it is not to be told in what a degree such a wayward
kind of friction works upon the more gross and solid parts, wasting the
fat and impairing the strength of a man every time as it goes backwards
and forwards.</p>

<p>My father had certainly sunk under this evil, as certainly as he had
done under that of my <span class = "smallroman">CHRISTIAN
NAME</span>&mdash;&mdash;had he not been rescued out of it, as he was
out of that, by a fresh evil&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;the misfortune of my
brother <i>Bobby’s</i> death.</p>

<p>What is the life of man! Is it not to shift from side to
side?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;from sorrow to sorrow?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;to
button up one cause of vexation&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and unbutton
another?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIV_chapXXXII" id = "bookIV_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">From</span> this moment I am to be
considered as heir-apparent to the <i>Shandy</i> family&mdash;&mdash;and
it is from this point properly, that the story of my <span class =
"smallcaps">Life</span> and my <span class = "smallcaps">Opinions</span>
sets out. With all my hurry and precipitation, I&nbsp;have but been
clearing the ground to raise the building&mdash;&mdash;and such a
building do I foresee it will turn out, as never was planned, and as
never was executed since <i>Adam</i>. In less than five minutes I shall
have thrown my pen into the fire, and the little drop of thick ink which
is left remaining at the bottom of my ink-horn, after
it&mdash;I&nbsp;have but half a score things to do in the
time&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have a thing to name&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thing
to lament&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thing to hope&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thing to
promise, and a thing to threaten&mdash;I&nbsp;have a thing to
suppose&mdash;a&nbsp;thing to declare&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thing to
conceal&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thing to choose, and a thing to pray
for&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;This chapter, therefore, I&nbsp;<i>name</i> the
chapter of <span class =
"smallcaps">Things</span>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;and my next chapter to it,
that is, the first chapter of my next volume, if I live, shall be my
chapter upon <span class = "smallroman">WHISKERS</span>, in order to
keep up some sort of connection in my works.</p>

<p>The thing I lament is, that things have crowded in so thick upon me,
that I have not been able to get into that part of my work, towards
which I have all the way looked forwards, with so much earnest desire;
and that is the Campaigns, but especially the amours of my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, the events of which are of so singular a nature, and so
Cervantick a cast, that if I can so manage it, as to convey but the same
impressions to every other brain, which the occurrences themselves
excite in my own&mdash;I&nbsp;will answer for it the book shall make its
way in the world, much better than its master has done before
it.&mdash;&mdash;Oh <i>Tristram! Tristram!</i> can this but be once
brought about&mdash;&mdash;the credit,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page248" id = "page248">248</a></span>
which will attend thee as an author, shall counterbalance the many evils
which have befallen thee as a man&mdash;&mdash;thou wilt feast upon the
one&mdash;&mdash;when thou hast lost all sense and remembrance of the
<span class = "locked">other!&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>No wonder I itch so much as I do, to get at these amours&mdash;They
are the choicest morsel of my whole story! and when I do get at
’em&mdash;&mdash;assure yourselves, good folks&mdash;(nor do I value
whose squeamish stomach takes offence at&nbsp;it) I&nbsp;shall not be at
all nice in the choice of my words!&mdash;&mdash;and that’s the thing I
have to <i>declare</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall never get all
through in five minutes, that I fear&mdash;&mdash;and the thing I
<i>hope</i> is, that your worships and reverences are not
offended&mdash;if you are, depend upon’t I’ll give you something, my
good gentry, next year to be offended at&mdash;&mdash;that’s my dear
<i>Jenny’s</i> way&mdash;but who my <i>Jenny</i> is&mdash;and which is
the right and which the wrong end of a woman, is the thing to be
<i>concealed</i>&mdash;it shall be told you in the next chapter but one
to my chapter of Button-holes&mdash;&mdash;and not one chapter
before.</p>

<p>And now that you have just got to the end of these<a class = "tag"
name = "tag_4_14" id = "tag_4_14" href = "#note_4_14">14</a> four
volumes&mdash;&mdash;the thing I have to <i>ask</i> is, how you feel
your heads? my own akes dismally!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;as for your
healths, I&nbsp;know, they are much better.&mdash;True <i>Shandeism</i>,
think what you will against it, opens the heart and lungs, and like all
those affections which partake of its nature, it forces the blood and
other vital fluids of the body to run freely through its channels, makes
the wheel of life run long and chearfully round.</p>

<p>Was I left, like <i>Sancho Panca</i>, to choose my kingdom, it should
not be maritime&mdash;or a kingdom of blacks to make a penny
of;&mdash;no, it should be a kingdom of hearty laughing subjects: And as
the bilious and more saturnine passions, by creating disorders in the
blood and humours, have as bad an influence, I&nbsp;see, upon the body
politick as body natural&mdash;&mdash;and as nothing but a habit of
virtue can fully govern those passions, and subject them to
reason&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;should add to my prayer&mdash;that God
would give my subjects grace to be as <span class =
"smallroman">WISE</span> as they were <span class =
"smallroman">MERRY</span>; and then should I be the happiest monarch,
and they the happiest people under heaven.</p>

<p>And so, with this moral for the present, may it please your worships
and your reverences, I&nbsp;take my leave of you till this time
twelve-month, when, (unless this vile cough kills me in the meantime)
I’ll have another pluck at your beards, and lay open a story to the
world you little dream&nbsp;of.</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_4_1" id = "note_4_1" href = "#tag_4_1">1.</a>
As <i>Hafen Slawkenbergius de Nasis</i> is extremely scarce, it may not
be unacceptable to the learned reader to see the specimen of a few pages
of his original; I&nbsp;will make no reflection upon it, but that his
story-telling Latin is much more concise than his philosophic&mdash;and,
I&nbsp;think, has more of Latinity in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_2" id = "note_4_2" href = "#tag_4_2">2.</a>
<i>Hafen Slawkenbergius</i> means the Benedictine nuns of <i>Cluny</i>,
founded in the year 940, by <i>Odo</i>, abbé de <i>Cluny</i>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_3" id = "note_4_3" href = "#tag_4_3">3.</a>
Mr. <i>Shandy’s</i> compliments to orators&mdash;&mdash;is very sensible
that <i>Slawkenbergius</i> has here changed his
metaphor&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;which he is very guilty
of:&mdash;&mdash;that as a translator, Mr. <i>Shandy</i> has all along
done what he could to make him stick to it&mdash;but that here ’twas
impossible.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_4" id = "note_4_4" href = "#tag_4_4">4.</a>
Nonnulli ex nostratibus eadem loquendi formulâ utun. Quinimo &amp;
Logistæ &amp; Canonistæ&mdash;&mdash;Vid. Parce Barne Jas in d.&nbsp;L.
Provincial. Constitut. de conjec. vid. Vol. Lib. 4. Titul. 1. n. 7. quâ
etiam in re conspir. Om de Promontorio Nas. Tichmak. ff. d. tit. 3. fol.
189. passim. Vid. Glos. de contrahend. empt, &amp;c. necnon J. Scrudr,
in cap. § refut. per totum. Cum his cons. Rever. J. Tubal, Sentent.
&amp; Prov. cap. 9. ff. 11, 12. obiter. V. &amp; Librum, cui Tit. de
Terris &amp; Phras. Belg. ad finem, cum comment, N. Bardy Belg. Vid.
Scrip. Argentotarens. de Antiq. Ecc. in Episc. Archiv. fid coll. per Von
Jacobum Koinshoven Folio Argent. 1583. præcip. ad finem. Quibus add.
Rebuff in L. obvenire de Signif. Nom. ff. fol. &amp; de jure Gent. &amp;
Civil. de protib. aliena feud. per federa, test. Joha. Luxius in
prolegom, quem velim videas, de Analy. Cap. 1, 2, 3. Vid. Idea.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_5" id = "note_4_5" href = "#tag_4_5">5.</a>
Hæc mira, satisque horrenda. Planetarum coitio sub Scorpio Asterismo in
nona cœli statione, quam Arabes religioni deputabant efficit <i>Martinum
Lutherum</i> sacrilegum hereticum, Christianæ religionis hostem
acerrimum atque prophanum, ex horoscopi directione ad Martis coitum,
religiosissimus obiit, ejus Anima scelestissima ad infernos
navigavit&mdash;ab Alecto, Tisiphone &amp; Megara flagellis igneis
cruciata perenniter.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Lucas Gaurieus in Tractatu astrologico de præteritis
multorum hominum accidentibus per genituras examinatis.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_6" id = "note_4_6" href = "#tag_4_6">6.</a>
<i>Ce Fœtus</i> n’étoit pas plus grand que la paume de la main; mais son
pere l’ayant éxaminé en qualité de Médecin, &amp; ayant trouvé que
c’etoit quâlque chose de plus qu’un Embryon, le fit transporter tout
vivant à Rapallo, ou il le fit voir à Jerôme Bardi &amp; à d’autres
Médecins du lieu. On trouva qu’il ne lui manquoit rien d’essentiel à la
vie; &amp; son pere pour faire voir un essai de son experience,
entreprit d’achever l’ouvrage de la Nature, &amp; de travailler à la
formation de l’Enfant avec le même artifice que celui dont on se sert
pour faire écclorre les Poulets en Egypte. Il instruisit une Nourisse de
tout ce qu’elle avoit à faire, &amp; ayant fait mettre son fils dans un
pour proprement accommodé, il reussit à l’élever &amp; à lui faire
prendre ses accroissemens necessaires, par l’uniformité d’une chaleur
étrangere mesurée éxactement sur les dégrés d’un Thermométre, ou d’un
autre instrument équivalent. (Vide Mich. Giustinian, ne gli Scritt.
Liguri à Cart. 223. 488.)</p>

<p>On auroit toujours été très satisfait de l’industrie d’un pere si
experimenté dans l’Art de la Generation, quand il n’auroit pû prolonger
la vie à son fils que pour quelques mois, ou pour peu d’années.</p>

<p>Mais quand on se represente que l’Enfant a vecu près de quatre-vingts
ans, &amp; qu’il a composé quatre-vingts Ouvrages differents tous fruits
d’une longue lecture&mdash;il faut convenir que tout ce qui est
incroyable n’est pas toujours faux, &amp; que la <i>Vraisemblance n’est
pas toujours du côté de la Verité</i>.</p>

<p>Il n’avoit que dix neuf ans lorsqu’il composa Gonopsychanthropologia
de Origine Animæ humanæ.</p>

<p>(Les Enfans celebres, revûs &amp; corrigés par M. de la Monnoye de
l’Academie Françoise.)</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_7" id = "note_4_7" href = "#tag_4_7">7.</a>
According to the original Editions.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_8" id = "note_4_8" href = "#tag_4_8">8.</a>
According to the original Editions.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_9" id = "note_4_9" href = "#tag_4_9">9.</a>
Vide Menagiana, Vol. I.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_10" id = "note_4_10" href = "#tag_4_10">10.</a>
Vide Swinburn on Testaments, Part 7, §8.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_11" id = "note_4_11" href = "#tag_4_11">11.</a>
Vide Brook, Abridg. Tit. Administr. N. 47.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_12" id = "note_4_12" href = "#tag_4_12">12.</a>
Mater non numeratur inter consanguineos, Bald. in ult. C. de Verb.
signific.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_13" id = "note_4_13" href = "#tag_4_13">13.</a>
Vide Brook, Abridg. tit. Administr. N. 47.</p>

<p><a name = "note_4_14" id = "note_4_14" href = "#tag_4_14">14.</a>
According to the original Editions.</p>
</div>




<div class = "page">
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page249" id = "page249">249</a></span>

<h2><a name = "bookV_title" id = "bookV_title">
<span class = "small">THE LIFE AND OPINIONS</span></a><br />
<span class = "tiny">OF</span><br />
<span class = "extended">TRISTRAM SHANDY</span><br />
<span class = "smaller">GENTLEMAN</span></h2>

<div class = "heading">

<div class = "verse small">
<p>Dixero si quid fortè jocosius, hoc mihi juris</p>
<p>Cum venia dabis.&mdash;&mdash;</p>
<p class = "right smallcaps">Hor.</p>
</div>

<p class = "deephang small">
&mdash;Si quis calumnietur levius esse quam decet theologum, aut
mordacius quam deceat Christianum&mdash;non Ego, sed Democritus
dixit.&mdash;</p>
<p class = "right small smallcaps">Erasmus.</p>

<p class = "deephang small">
Si quis Clericus, aut Monachus, verba joculatoria, risum moventia,
sciebat, anathema esto.&mdash;</p>

<p class = "right small smallcaps">Second Council of Carthage.</p>

</div>
</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page250" id = "page250">250</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookV_dedic" id = "bookV_dedic">
<span class = "small">TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE</span></a><br />
<span class = "extended">JOHN,</span><br />
<span class = "small extended">LORD VISCOUNT SPENCER</span></h3>


<p class = "inset smallcaps">My Lord,</p>

<p><span class = "firstword">I humbly</span> beg leave to offer you
these two Volumes;<a class = "tag" name = "tag_D_1" id = "tag_D_1" href
= "#note_D_1">1</a> they are the best my talents, with such bad health
as I have, could produce:&mdash;had Providence granted me a larger stock
of either, they had been a much more proper present to your
Lordship.</p>

<p>I beg your Lordship will forgive me, if, at the same time I dedicate
this work to you, I&nbsp;join Lady <span class =
"smallcaps">Spencer</span>, in the liberty I take of inscribing the
story of <i>Le Fever</i> to her name; for which I have no other motive,
which my heart has informed me of, but that the story is a humane
one.</p>

<p class = "center">
I am,</p>

<div class = "right">
<p class = "center">
<span class = "smallcaps">My Lord,</span><br />
Your Lordship’s most devoted<br />
and most humble Servant,</p>
<p class = "right">
LAUR. STERNE.</p>
</div>

<p class = "footnote">
<a name = "note_D_1" id = "note_D_1" href = "#tag_D_1">1.</a>
Volumes V. and VI. in the first Edition.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page251" id = "page251">251</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookV" id = "bookV">BOOK V</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapI" id = "bookV_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">If</span> it had not been for those two
mettlesome tits, and that madcap of a postillion who drove them from
Stilton to Stamford, the thought had never entered my head. He flew like
lightning&mdash;&mdash;there was a slope of three miles and a
half&mdash;&mdash;we scarce touched the ground&mdash;&mdash;the motion
was most rapid&mdash;&mdash;most impetuous&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’twas
communicated to my brain&mdash;my heart partook of it&mdash;&mdash;“By
the great God of day,” said I, looking towards the sun, and thrusting my
arm out of the fore-window of the chaise, as I made my vow, “I&nbsp;will
lock up my study-door the moment I get home, and throw the key of it
ninety feet below the surface of the earth, into the draw-well at the
back of my house.”</p>

<p>The London waggon confirmed me in my resolution; it hung tottering
upon the hill, scarce progressive, drag’d&mdash;drag’d up by eight
<i>heavy beasts</i>&mdash;“by main strength!&mdash;&mdash;quoth I,
nodding&mdash;&mdash;but your betters draw the same way&mdash;&mdash;and
something of everybody’s!&mdash;&mdash;O rare!”</p>

<p>Tell me, ye learned, shall we for ever be adding so much to the
<i>bulk</i>&mdash;so little to the <i>stock?</i></p>

<p>Shall we for ever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures,
by pouring only out of one vessel into another?</p>

<p>Are we for ever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope? for
ever in the same track&mdash;for ever at the same pace?</p>

<p>Shall we be destined to the days of eternity, on holy-days, as well
as working-days, to be shewing the <i>relicks of learning</i>, as monks
do the relicks of their saints&mdash;without working one&mdash;one
single miracle with them?</p>

<p>Who made Man, with powers which dart him from earth to heaven in a
moment&mdash;that great, that most excellent, and most noble creature of
the world&mdash;the <i>miracle</i> of nature, as Zoroaster in his book
<span class = "greek"
title = "peri phuseôs [missing accent as printed]">περι φύσεως</span> called him&mdash;the <span class =
"smallcaps">Shekinah</span> of the divine presence, as
Chrysostom&mdash;&mdash;the <i>image</i> of God, as
Moses&mdash;&mdash;the <i>ray</i> of divinity, as Plato&mdash;the
<i>marvel</i> of <i>marvels</i>, as Aristotle&mdash;to go sneaking on at
this pitiful&mdash;pimping&mdash;pettifogging rate?</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page252" id = "page252">252</a></span>
<p>I scorn to be as abusive as Horace upon the
occasion&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;but if there is no catachresis in the wish,
and no sin in it, I&nbsp;wish from my soul, that every imitator in
<i>Great Britain</i>, <i>France</i>, and <i>Ireland</i>, had the farcy
for his pains; and that there was a good farcical house, large enough to
hold&mdash;aye&mdash;and sublimate them, <i>shag rag and bob-tail</i>,
male and female, all together: and this leads me to the affair of
<i>Whiskers</i>&mdash;&mdash;but, by what chain of
ideas&mdash;I&nbsp;leave as a legacy in <i>mort-main</i> to Prudes and
Tartufs, to enjoy and make the most&nbsp;of.</p>


<h5 class = "smallroman">
<a name = "bookV_whiskers" id = "bookV_whiskers">UPON WHISKERS</a></h5>

<p>I’m sorry I made it&mdash;&mdash;’twas as inconsiderate a promise as
ever entered a man’s head&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;chapter upon whiskers!
alas! the world will not bear it&mdash;’tis a delicate
world&mdash;&mdash;but I knew not of what mettle it was made&mdash;nor
had I ever seen the underwritten fragment; otherwise, as surely as noses
are noses, and whiskers are whiskers still (let the world say what it
will to the contrary); so surely would I have steered clear of this
dangerous chapter.</p>


<h5 class = "smallroman">THE FRAGMENT</h5>

<p><span class = "space25">* * * * * * * * * * * *<br />
* * * * * * * * * * * *</span><br />
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;You are half asleep, my good lady, said the old
gentleman, taking hold of the old lady’s hand, and giving it a gentle
squeeze, as he pronounced the word <i>Whiskers</i>&mdash;&mdash;shall we
change the subject? By no means, replied the old lady&mdash;I&nbsp;like
your account of those matters; so throwing a thin gauze handkerchief
over her head, and leaning it back upon the chair with her face turned
towards him, and advancing her two feet as she reclined
herself&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;desire, continued she, you will
go&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>The old gentleman went on as follows:&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Whiskers!
cried the queen of <i>Navarre</i>, dropping her knotting ball, as <i>La
Fosseuse</i> uttered the word&mdash;&mdash;Whiskers, madam, said <i>La
Fosseuse</i>, pinning the ball to the queen’s apron, and making a
courtesy as she repeated&nbsp;it.</p>

<p><i>La Fosseuse’s</i> voice was naturally soft and low, yet ’twas an
articulate voice: and every letter of the word <i>Whiskers</i> fell
distinctly upon the queen of <i>Navarre’s</i> ear&mdash;Whiskers! cried
the queen, laying a greater stress upon the word, and as if she had
still distrusted her ears&mdash;&mdash;Whiskers! replied <i>La
Fosseuse</i>, repeating the word a third time&mdash;&mdash;There is not
a cavalier,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page253" id = "page253">253</a></span>
madam, of his age in <i>Navarre</i>, continued the maid of honour,
pressing the page’s interest upon the queen, that has so gallant a
pair&mdash;&mdash;Of what? cried <i>Margaret</i>, smiling&mdash;Of
whiskers, said <i>La Fosseuse</i>, with infinite modesty.</p>

<p>The word <i>Whiskers</i> still stood its ground, and continued to be
made use of in most of the best companies throughout the little kingdom
of <i>Navarre</i>, notwithstanding the indiscreet use which <i>La
Fosseuse</i> had made of it: the truth was, <i>La Fosseuse</i> had
pronounced the word, not only before the queen, but upon sundry other
occasions at court, with an accent which always implied something of a
mystery&mdash;And as the court of <i>Margaret</i>, as all the world
knows, was at that time a mixture of gallantry and
devotion&mdash;&mdash;and whiskers being as applicable to the one, as
the other, the word naturally stood its ground&mdash;&mdash;it gain’d
full as much as it lost; that is, the clergy were for
it&mdash;&mdash;the laity were against it&mdash;&mdash;and for the
women,&mdash;&mdash;<i>they</i> were divided.</p>

<p>The excellency of the figure and mien of the young Sieur <i>De
Croix</i>, was at that time beginning to draw the attention of the maids
of honour towards the terrace before the palace gate, where the guard
was mounted. The lady <i>De Baussiere</i> fell deeply in love with
him,&mdash;&mdash;<i>La Battarelle</i> did the same&mdash;it was the
finest weather for it, that ever was remembered in
<i>Navarre</i>&mdash;&mdash;<i>La Guyol</i>, <i>La Maronette</i>, <i>La
Sabatiere</i>, fell in love with the Sieur <i>De Croix</i>
also&mdash;&mdash;<i>La Rebours</i> and <i>La Fosseuse</i> knew
better&mdash;&mdash;<i>De Croix</i> had failed in an attempt to
recommend himself to <i>La Rebours</i>; and <i>La Rebours</i> and <i>La
Fosseuse</i> were inseparable.</p>

<p>The queen of <i>Navarre</i> was sitting with her ladies in the
painted bow-window, facing the gate of the second court, as <i>De
Croix</i> passed through it&mdash;He is handsome, said the Lady
<i>Baussiere</i>.&mdash;&mdash;He has a good mien, said <i>La
Battarelle</i>&mdash;&mdash;He is finely shaped, said <i>La
Guyol</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;never saw an officer of the horse-guards in my
life, said <i>La Maronette</i>, with two such legs&mdash;&mdash;Or who
stood so well upon them, said <i>La
Sabatiere</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But he has no whiskers, cried <i>La
Fosseuse</i>&mdash;&mdash;Not a pile, said <i>La Rebours</i>.</p>

<p>The queen went directly to her oratory, musing all the way, as she
walked through the gallery, upon the subject; turning it this way and
that way in her fancy&mdash;<i>Ave Maria!</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;what
can <i>La Fosseuse</i> mean? said she, kneeling down upon the
cushion.</p>

<p><i>La Guyol</i>, <i>La Battarelle</i>, <i>La Maronette</i>, <i>La
Sabatiere</i>, retired instantly to their
chambers&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Whiskers! said all four of them to
themselves, as they bolted their doors on the inside.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page254" id = "page254">254</a></span>
<p>The Lady <i>Carnavallette</i> was counting her beads with both hands,
unsuspected, under her farthingal&mdash;&mdash;from St. <i>Antony</i>
down to St. <i>Ursula</i> inclusive, not a saint passed through her
fingers without whiskers; St. <i>Francis</i>, St. <i>Dominick</i>, St.
<i>Bennet</i>, St. <i>Basil</i>, St. <i>Bridget</i>, had all
whiskers.</p>

<p>The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> had got into a wilderness of conceits, with
moralizing too intricately upon <i>La Fosseuse’s</i>
text&mdash;&mdash;She mounted her palfrey, her page followed
her&mdash;&mdash;the host passed by&mdash;the Lady <i>Baussiere</i>
rode&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>One denier, cried the order of mercy&mdash;one single denier, in
behalf of a thousand patient captives, whose eyes look towards heaven
and you for their redemption.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> rode on.</p>

<p>Pity the unhappy, said a devout, venerable, hoary-headed man, meekly
holding up a box, begirt with iron, in his withered
hands&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg for the unfortunate&mdash;good my Lady,
’tis for a prison&mdash;for an hospital&mdash;’tis for an old
man&mdash;a&nbsp;poor man undone by shipwreck, by suretyship, by
fire&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;call God and all his angels to
witness&mdash;&mdash;’tis to clothe the naked&mdash;&mdash;to feed the
hungry&mdash;&mdash;’tis to comfort the sick and the broken-hearted.</p>

<p>The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> rode on.</p>

<p>A decayed kinsman bowed himself to the ground.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> rode on.</p>

<p>He ran begging bare-headed on one side of her palfrey, conjuring her
by the former bonds of friendship, alliance, consanguinity,
etc.&mdash;&mdash;Cousin, aunt, sister, mother,&mdash;&mdash;for
virtue’s sake, for your own, for mine, for Christ’s sake, remember
me&mdash;&mdash;pity&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> rode on.</p>

<p>Take hold of my whiskers, said the Lady
<i>Baussiere</i>&mdash;&mdash;The page took hold of her palfrey. She
dismounted at the end of the terrace.</p>

<p>There are some trains of certain ideas which leave prints of
themselves about our eyes and eye-brows; and there is a consciousness of
it, somewhere about the heart, which serves but to make these etchings
the stronger&mdash;we see, spell, and put them together without a
dictionary.</p>

<p>Ha, ha! he, hee! cried <i>La Guyol</i> and <i>La Sabatiere</i>,
looking close at each other’s prints&mdash;&mdash;Ho, ho! cried <i>La
Battarelle</i> and <i>Maronette</i>, doing the same:&mdash;Whist! cried
one&mdash;st, st,&mdash;said a second&mdash;hush, quoth a
third&mdash;poo, poo, replied a fourth&mdash;gramercy! cried the Lady
<i>Carnavallette</i>;&mdash;&mdash;’twas she who bewhisker’d St.
<i>Bridget</i>.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page255" id = "page255">255</a></span>
<p><i>La Fosseuse</i> drew her bodkin from the knot of her hair, and
having traced the outline of a small whisker, with the blunt end of it,
upon one side of her upper lip, put it into <i>La Rebours’</i>
hand&mdash;<i>La Rebours</i> shook her head.</p>

<p>The Lady <i>Baussiere</i> coughed thrice into the inside of her
muff&mdash;<i>La Guyol</i> smiled&mdash;Fy, said the Lady
<i>Baussiere</i>. The queen of <i>Navarre</i> touched her eye with the
tip of her fore-finger&mdash;as much as to say, I&nbsp;understand you
all.</p>

<p>’Twas plain to the whole court the word was ruined: <i>La
Fosseuse</i> had given it a wound, and it was not the better for passing
through all these defiles&mdash;&mdash;It made a faint stand, however,
for a few months, by the expiration of which, the Sieur <i>De Croix</i>,
finding it high time to leave <i>Navarre</i> for want of
whiskers&mdash;&mdash;the word in course became indecent, and (after a
few efforts) absolutely unfit for use.</p>

<p>The best word, in the best language of the best world, must have
suffered under such combinations.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The curate of
<i>d’Estella</i> wrote a book against them, setting forth the dangers of
accessory ideas, and warning the <i>Navarois</i> against them.</p>

<p>Does not all the world know, said the curate <i>d’Estella</i> at the
conclusion of his work, that Noses ran the same fate some centuries ago
in most parts of <i>Europe</i>, which Whiskers have now done in the
kingdom of <i>Navarre?</i>&mdash;The evil indeed spread no farther
then&mdash;but have not beds and bolsters, and nightcaps and
chamber-pots stood upon the brink of destruction ever since? Are not
trouse, and placket-holes, and pump-handles&mdash;and spigots and
faucets, in danger still from the same
association?&mdash;&mdash;Chastity, by nature, the gentlest of all
affections&mdash;give it but its head&mdash;&mdash;’tis like a ramping
and a roaring lion.</p>

<p>The drift of the curate <i>d’Estella’s</i> argument was not
understood.&mdash;They ran the scent the wrong way.&mdash;The world
bridled his ass at the tail.&mdash;And when the <i>extremes</i> of <span
class = "smallroman">DELICACY</span>, and the <i>beginnings</i> of <span
class = "smallroman">CONCUPISCENCE</span>, hold their next provincial
chapter together, they may decree that bawdy also.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapII" id = "bookV_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my father received the letter
which brought him the melancholy account of my brother <i>Bobby’s</i>
death, he was busy calculating the expence of his riding post from
<i>Calais</i> to <i>Paris</i>, and so on to <i>Lyons</i>.</p>

<p>’Twas a most inauspicious journey; my father having had
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page256" id = "page256">256</a></span>
every foot of it to travel over again, and his calculation to begin
afresh, when he had almost got to the end of it, by <i>Obadiah’s</i>
opening the door to acquaint him the family was out of yeast&mdash;and
to ask whether he might not take the great coach-horse early in the
morning and ride in search of some.&mdash;With all my heart,
<i>Obadiah</i>, said my father (pursuing his journey)&mdash;take the
coach-horse, and welcome.&mdash;&mdash;But he wants a shoe, poor
creature! said <i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Poor creature! said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, vibrating the note back again, like a string in unison.
Then ride the <i>Scotch</i> horse, quoth my father hastily.&mdash;He
cannot bear a saddle upon his back, quoth <i>Obadiah</i>, for the whole
world.&mdash;&mdash;The devil’s in that horse; then take <span class =
"smallcaps">Patriot</span>, cried my father, and shut the
door.&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Patriot</span> is sold,
said <i>Obadiah</i>. Here’s for you! cried my father, making a pause,
and looking in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> face, as if the thing had not been
a matter of fact.&mdash;Your worship ordered me to sell him last
<i>April</i>, said <i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;Then go on foot for your pains,
cried my father&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had much rather walk than ride, said
<i>Obadiah</i>, shutting the door.</p>

<p>What plagues, cried my father, going on with his
calculation.&mdash;&mdash;But the waters are out, said
<i>Obadiah</i>,&mdash;opening the door again.</p>

<p>Till that moment, my father, who had a map of <i>Sanson’s</i>, and a
book of the post-roads before him, had kept his hand upon the head of
his compasses, with one foot of them fixed upon <i>Nevers</i>, the last
stage he had paid for&mdash;purposing to go on from that point with his
journey and calculation, as soon as <i>Obadiah</i> quitted the room: but
this second attack of <i>Obadiah’s</i>, in opening the door and laying
the whole country under water, was too much.&mdash;&mdash;He let go his
compasses&mdash;or rather with a mixed motion between accident and
anger, he threw them upon the table; and then there was nothing for him
to do, but to return back to <i>Calais</i> (like many others) as wise as
he had set out.</p>

<p>When the letter was brought into the parlour, which contained the
news of my brother’s death, my father had got forwards again upon his
journey to within a stride of the compasses of the very same stage of
<i>Nevers</i>.&mdash;&mdash;By your leave, Mons. <i>Sanson</i>, cried my
father, striking the point of his compasses through <i>Nevers</i> into
the table&mdash;and nodding to my uncle <i>Toby</i> to see what was in
the letter&mdash;twice of one night, is too much for an <i>English</i>
gentleman and his son, Mons. <i>Sanson</i>, to be turned back from so
lousy a town as <i>Nevers</i>&mdash;What think’st thou, <i>Toby?</i>
added my father in a sprightly tone.&mdash;&mdash;Unless it be a
garrison town, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;for
then&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall be a fool, said
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page257" id = "page257">257</a></span>
my father, smiling to himself, as long as I live.&mdash;So giving a
second nod&mdash;and keeping his compasses still upon <i>Nevers</i> with
one hand, and holding his book of the post-roads in the other&mdash;half
calculating and half listening, he leaned forwards upon the table with
both elbows, as my uncle <i>Toby</i> hummed over the letter.</p>

<p>
<span class = "space25">&nbsp; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash;<br />
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;<br />
&mdash;&mdash;&ensp; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
&mdash;&mdash; &nbsp; &mdash;&mdash; &nbsp; &mdash;&mdash; &nbsp;
&mdash;&mdash; &nbsp; &mdash;he’s gone! said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Where&mdash;&mdash;Who? cried my
father.&mdash;&mdash;My nephew, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;What&mdash;without leave&mdash;without
money&mdash;without governor? cried my father in amazement.
No:&mdash;&mdash;he is dead, my dear brother, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Without being ill? cried my father
again.&mdash;I&nbsp;dare say not, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in a low
voice, and fetching a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, he has
been ill enough, poor lad! I’ll answer for him&mdash;&mdash;for he is
dead.</p>

<p>When <i>Agrippina</i> was told of her son’s death, <i>Tacitus</i>
informs us, that, not being able to moderate the violence of her
passions, she abruptly broke off her work.&mdash;My father stuck his
compasses into <i>Nevers</i>, but so much the faster.&mdash;What
contrarieties! his, indeed, was matter of
calculation!&mdash;<i>Agrippina’s</i> must have been quite a different
affair; who else could pretend to reason from history?</p>

<p>How my father went on, in my opinion, deserves a chapter to
itself.&mdash;</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapIII" id = "bookV_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash; &nbsp; &mdash;&mdash;And a chapter it shall have, and
a devil of a one too&mdash;so look to yourselves.</p>

<p>’Tis either <i>Plato</i>, or <i>Plutarch</i>, or <i>Seneca</i>, or
<i>Xenophon</i>, or <i>Epictetus</i>, or <i>Theophrastus</i>, or
<i>Lucian</i>&mdash;or some one perhaps of later date&mdash;either
<i>Cardan</i>, or <i>Budæus</i>, or <i>Petrarch</i>, or
<i>Stella</i>&mdash;or possibly it may be some divine or father of the
church, St. <i>Austin</i>, or St. <i>Cyprian</i>, or <i>Barnard</i>, who
affirms that it is an irresistible and natural passion to weep for the
loss of our friends or children&mdash;and <i>Seneca</i> (I’m positive)
tells us somewhere, that such griefs evacuate themselves best by that
particular channel&mdash;And accordingly we find, that <i>David</i> wept
for his son <i>Absalom</i>&mdash;<i>Adrian</i> for his
<i>Antinous</i>&mdash;<i>Niobe</i> for her children, and that
<i>Apollodorus</i> and <i>Crito</i> both shed tears for <i>Socrates</i>
before his death.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page258" id = "page258">258</a></span>
<p>My father managed his affliction otherwise; and indeed differently
from most men either ancient or modern; for he neither wept it away, as
the <i>Hebrews</i> and the <i>Romans</i>&mdash;or slept it off, as the
<i>Laplanders</i>&mdash;or hanged it, as the <i>English</i>, or drowned
it, as the <i>Germans</i>&mdash;nor did he curse it, or damn it, or
excommunicate it, or rhyme it, or lillabullero <span class =
"locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;He got rid of it, however.</p>

<p>Will your worships give me leave to squeeze in a story between these
two pages?</p>

<p>When <i>Tully</i> was bereft of his dear daughter <i>Tullia</i>, at
first he laid it to his heart,&mdash;he listened to the voice of nature,
and modulated his own unto it.&mdash;O my <i>Tullia!</i> my daughter! my
child!&mdash;still, still, still,&mdash;’twas O my
<i>Tullia!</i>&mdash;my <i>Tullia!</i> Methinks I see my <i>Tullia</i>,
I&nbsp;hear my <i>Tullia</i>, I&nbsp;talk with my
<i>Tullia</i>.&mdash;But as soon as he began to look into the stores of
philosophy, and consider how many excellent things might be said upon
the occasion&mdash;nobody upon earth can conceive, says the great
orator, how happy, how joyful it made&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>My father was as proud of his eloquence as <span class =
"smallcaps">Marcus Tullius Cicero</span> could be for his life, and, for
aught I am convinced of to the contrary at present, with as much reason:
it was indeed his strength&mdash;and his weakness too.&mdash;&mdash;His
strength&mdash;for he was by nature eloquent; and his weakness&mdash;for
he was hourly a dupe to it; and, provided an occasion in life would but
permit him to shew his talents, or say either a wise thing,
a&nbsp;witty, or a shrewd one&mdash;(bating the case of a systematic
misfortune)&mdash;he had all he wanted.&mdash;A&nbsp;blessing which tied
up my father’s tongue, and a misfortune which let it loose with a good
grace, were pretty equal: sometimes, indeed, the misfortune was the
better of the two; for instance, where the pleasure of the harangue was
as <i>ten</i>, and the pain of the misfortune but as
<i>five</i>&mdash;my father gained half in half, and consequently was as
well again off, as if it had never befallen him.</p>

<p>This clue will unravel what otherwise would seem very inconsistent in
my father’s domestic character; and it is this, that, in the
provocations arising from the neglects and blunders of servants, or
other mishaps unavoidable in a family, his anger or rather the duration
of it, eternally ran counter to all conjecture.</p>

<p>My father had a favourite little mare, which he had consigned over to
a most beautiful Arabian horse, in order to have a pad out of her for
his own riding: he was sanguine in all his projects; so talked about his
pad every day with as absolute a security, as if it had been reared,
broke,&mdash;and bridled and saddled at his
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page259" id = "page259">259</a></span>
door ready for mounting. By some neglect or other in <i>Obadiah</i>, it
so fell out, that my father’s expectations were answered with nothing
better than a mule, and as ugly a beast of the kind as ever was
produced.</p>

<p>My mother and my uncle <i>Toby</i> expected my father would be the
death of <i>Obadiah</i>&mdash;and that there never would be an end of
the disaster.&mdash;&mdash;See here! you rascal, cried my father,
pointing to the mule, what you have done!&mdash;&mdash;It was not me,
said <i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;How do I know that? replied my
father.</p>

<p>Triumph swam in my father’s eyes, at the repartee&mdash;the
<i>Attic</i> salt brought water into them&mdash;and so <i>Obadiah</i>
heard no more about&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Now let us go back to my brother’s death.</p>

<p>Philosophy has a fine saying for everything.&mdash;For <i>Death</i>
it has an entire set; the misery was, they all at once rushed into my
father’s head, that ’twas difficult to string them together, so as to
make anything of a consistent show out of them.&mdash;He took them as
they came.</p>

<p>“’Tis an inevitable chance&mdash;the first statute in <i>Magna
Charta</i>&mdash;it is an everlasting act of parliament, my dear
brother,&mdash;&mdash;<i>All must die.</i></p>

<p>“If my son could not have died, it had been matter of
wonder,&mdash;not that he is dead.</p>

<p>“Monarchs and princes dance in the same ring with us.</p>

<p>“&mdash;<i>To die</i>, is the great debt and tribute due unto nature:
tombs and monuments, which should perpetuate our memories, pay it
themselves; and the proudest pyramid of them all, which wealth and
science have erected, has lost its apex, and stands obtruncated in the
traveller’s horizon.” (My&nbsp;father found he got great ease, and
went&nbsp;on)&mdash;“Kingdoms and provinces, and towns and cities, have
they not their periods? and when those principles and powers, which at
first cemented and put them together, have performed their several
evolutions, they fall back.”&mdash;Brother <i>Shandy</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, laying down his pipe at the word
<i>evolutions</i>&mdash;Revolutions, I&nbsp;meant, quoth my
father,&mdash;by heaven! I&nbsp;meant revolutions, brother
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;evolutions is nonsense.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis not
nonsense,&mdash;said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;But is it not
nonsense to break the thread of such a discourse upon such an occasion?
cried my father&mdash;do not&mdash;dear <i>Toby</i>, continued he,
taking him by the hand, do not&mdash;do not, I&nbsp;beseech thee,
interrupt me at this crisis.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> put his
pipe into his mouth.</p>

<p>“Where is <i>Troy</i> and <i>Mycenæ</i>, and <i>Thebes</i> and
<i>Delos</i>, and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page260" id = "page260">260</a></span>
<i>Persepolis</i> and <i>Agrigentum?</i>”&mdash;continued my father,
taking up his book of post-cards, which he had laid down.&mdash;“What is
become, brother <i>Toby</i>, of <i>Nineveh</i> and <i>Babylon</i>, of
<i>Cizicum</i> and <i>Mitylenæ?</i> The fairest towns that ever the sun
rose upon, are now no more; the names only are left, and those (for many
of them are wrong spelt) are falling themselves by piece-meals to decay,
and in length of time will be forgotten, and involved with everything in
a perpetual night: the world itself, brother <i>Toby</i>,
must&mdash;must come to an end.</p>

<p>“Returning out of <i>Asia</i>, when I sailed from <i>Ægina</i>
towards <i>Megara</i>,” (<i>when can this have been? thought my uncle
Toby</i>) “I&nbsp;began to view the country round about. <i>Ægina</i>
was behind me, <i>Megara</i> was before, <i>Pyræus</i> on the right
hand, <i>Corinth</i> on the left.&mdash;What flourishing towns now
prostrate upon the earth! Alas! alas! said I to myself, that man should
disturb his soul for the loss of a child, when so much as this lies
awfully buried in his presence&mdash;&mdash;Remember, said I to myself
again&mdash;remember thou art a <span class =
"locked">man.”&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now my uncle <i>Toby</i> knew not that this last paragraph was an
extract of <i>Servius Sulpicius’s</i> consolatory letter to
<i>Tully</i>.&mdash;He had as little skill, honest man, in the
fragments, as he had in the whole pieces of antiquity.&mdash;And as my
father, whilst he was concerned in the <i>Turkey</i> trade, had been
three or four different times in the <i>Levant</i>, in one of which he
had staid a whole year and an half at <i>Zant</i>, my uncle <i>Toby</i>
naturally concluded, that, in some one of these periods, he had taken a
trip across the <i>Archipelago</i> into <i>Asia</i>; and that all this
sailing affair with <i>Ægina</i> behind, and <i>Megara</i> before, and
<i>Pyræus</i> on the right hand, &amp;c., &amp;c., was nothing more than
the true course of my father’s voyage and reflections.&mdash;’Twas
certainly in his <i>manner</i>, and many an undertaking critic would
have built two stories higher upon worse foundations.&mdash;And pray,
brother, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, laying the end of his pipe upon my
father’s hand in a kindly way of interruption&mdash;but waiting till he
finished the account&mdash;what year of our Lord was this?&mdash;’Twas
no year of our Lord, replied my father.&mdash;That’s impossible, cried
my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Simpleton! said my father,&mdash;’twas forty
years before Christ was born.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> had but two things for it; either to suppose his
brother to be the wandering <i>Jew</i>, or that his misfortunes had
disordered his brain.&mdash;“May the Lord God of heaven and earth
protect him and restore him,” said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, praying
silently for my father, and with tears in his eyes.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page261" id = "page261">261</a></span>
<p>&mdash;My father placed the tears to a proper account, and went on
with his harangue with great spirit.</p>

<p>“There is not such great odds, brother <i>Toby</i>, betwixt good and
evil, as the world imagines”&mdash;&mdash;(this way of setting off, by
the bye, was not likely to cure my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
suspicions.)&mdash;&mdash;“Labour, sorrow, grief, sickness, want, and
woe, are the sauces of life.”&mdash;Much good may it do them&mdash;said
my uncle <i>Toby</i> to <span class =
"locked">himself.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“My son is dead!&mdash;so much the better;&mdash;’tis a shame in such
a tempest to have but one anchor.”</p>

<p>“But he is gone for ever from us!&mdash;be it so. He is got from
under the hands of his barber before he was bald&mdash;he is but risen
from a feast before he was surfeited&mdash;from a banquet before he had
got drunken.”</p>

<p>“The <i>Thracians</i> wept when a child was born”&mdash;(and we were
very near it, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>)&mdash;“and feasted and made
merry when a man went out of the world; and with
reason.&mdash;&mdash;Death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the gate of
envy after it,&mdash;it unlooses the chain of the captive, and puts the
bondsman’s task into another man’s hands.”</p>

<p>“Shew me the man, who knows what life is, who dreads it, and I’ll
shew thee a prisoner who dreads his liberty.”</p>

<p>Is it not better, my dear brother <i>Toby</i>, (for mark&mdash;our
appetites are but diseases)&mdash;is it not better not to hunger at all,
than to eat?&mdash;not to thirst, than to take physic to
cure&nbsp;it?</p>

<p>Is it not better to be freed from cares and agues, from love and
melancholy, and the other hot and cold fits of life, than, like a galled
traveller, who comes weary to his inn, to be bound to begin his journey
afresh?</p>

<p>There is no terrour, brother <i>Toby</i>, in its looks, but what it
borrows from groans and convulsions&mdash;and the blowing of noses and
the wiping away of tears with the bottoms of curtains, in a dying man’s
room.&mdash;Strip it of these, what is it?&mdash;’Tis better in battle
than in bed, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Take away its herses, its
mutes, and its mourning,&mdash;its plumes, scutcheons, and other
mechanic aids&mdash;What is it?&mdash;&mdash;<i>Better in battle!</i>
continued my father, smiling, for he had absolutely forgot my brother
<i>Bobby</i>&mdash;’tis terrible no way&mdash;for consider, brother
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;when we <i>are</i>&mdash;death is
<i>not</i>;&mdash;and when death <i>is</i>&mdash;we are <i>not</i>. My
uncle <i>Toby</i> laid down his pipe to consider the proposition; my
father’s eloquence was too rapid to stay for any man&mdash;away it
went,&mdash;and hurried my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> ideas along with <span
class = "locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>For this reason, continued my father, ’tis worthy to recollect
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page262" id = "page262">262</a></span>
how little alteration, in great men, the approaches of death have
made.&mdash;<i>Vespasian</i> died in a jest upon his
close-stool&mdash;<i>Galba</i> with a sentence&mdash;<i>Septimus
Severus</i> in a dispatch&mdash;<i>Tiberius</i> in dissimulation, and
<i>Cæsar Augustus</i> in a compliment.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope ’twas a sincere
one&mdash;quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;’Twas to his wife,&mdash;said my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapIV" id = "bookV_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;And lastly&mdash;for all the choice anecdotes which
history can produce of this matter, continued my father,&mdash;this,
like the gilded dome which covers in the fabric&mdash;crowns <span class
= "locked">all.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>’Tis of <i>Cornelius Gallus</i>, the prætor&mdash;which, I dare say,
brother <i>Toby</i>, you have read,&mdash;I&nbsp;dare say I have not,
replied my uncle.&mdash;&mdash;He died, said my father, as
*************** &mdash;And if it was with his wife, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;there could be no hurt in it&mdash;That’s more than I
know&mdash;replied my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapV" id = "bookV_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> mother was going very gingerly in
the dark along the passage which led to the parlour, as my uncle
<i>Toby</i> pronounced the word <i>wife</i>.&mdash;’Tis a shrill
penetrating sound of itself, and <i>Obadiah</i> had helped it by leaving
the door a little a-jar, so that my mother heard enough of it to imagine
herself the subject of the conversation; so laying the edge of her
finger across her two lips&mdash;holding in her breath, and bending her
head a little downwards, with a twist of her neck&mdash;(not towards the
door, but from it, by which means her ear was brought to the
chink)&mdash;she listened with all her powers:&mdash;&mdash;the
listening slave, with the Goddess of Silence at his back, could not have
given a finer thought for an intaglio.</p>

<p>In this attitude I am determined to let her stand for five minutes:
till I bring up the affairs of the kitchen (as&nbsp;<i>Rapin</i> does
those of the church) to the same period.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapVI" id = "bookV_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> in one sense, our family was
certainly a simple machine, as it consisted of a few wheels; yet there
was thus much to be
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page263" id = "page263">263</a></span>
said for it, that these wheels were set in motion by so many different
springs, and acted one upon the other from such a variety of strange
principles and impulses&mdash;&mdash;that though it was a simple
machine, it had all the honour and advantages of a complex
one,&mdash;&mdash;and a number of as odd movements within it, as ever
were beheld in the inside of a <i>Dutch</i> silk-mill.</p>

<p>Amongst these there was one, I am going to speak of, in which,
perhaps, it was not altogether so singular, as in many others; and it
was this, that whatever motion, debate, harangue, dialogue, project, or
dissertation, was going forwards in the parlour, there was generally
another at the same time, and upon the same subject, running parallel
along with it in the kitchen.</p>

<p>Now to bring this about, whenever an extraordinary message, or
letter, was delivered in the parlour&mdash;or a discourse suspended till
a servant went out&mdash;or the lines of discontent were observed to
hang upon the brows of my father or mother&mdash;or, in short, when
anything was supposed to be upon the tapis worth knowing or listening
to, ’twas the rule to leave the door, not absolutely shut, but somewhat
a-jar&mdash;as it stands just now,&mdash;which, under covert of the bad
hinge (and that possibly might be one of the many reasons why it was
never mended), it was not difficult to manage; by which means, in all
these cases, a&nbsp;passage was generally left, not indeed as wide as
the <i>Dardanelles</i>, but wide enough, for all that, to carry on as
much of this wind-ward trade, as was sufficient to save my father the
trouble of governing his house;&mdash;my mother at this moment stands
profiting by it.&mdash;<i>Obadiah</i> did the same thing, as soon as he
had left the letter upon the table which brought the news of my
brother’s death, so that before my father had well got over his
surprise, and entered upon this harangue,&mdash;had <i>Trim</i> got upon
his legs, to speak his sentiments upon the subject.</p>

<p>A curious observer of nature, had he been worth the inventory of all
Job’s stock&mdash;though by the by, <i>your curious observers are seldom
worth a groat</i>&mdash;would have given the half of it, to have heard
Corporal <i>Trim</i> and my father, two orators so contrasted by nature
and education, haranguing over the same bier.</p>

<p>My father&mdash;a man of deep reading&mdash;prompt memory&mdash;with
<i>Cato</i>, and <i>Seneca</i>, and <i>Epictetus</i>, at his fingers
<span class = "locked">ends.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The corporal&mdash;with nothing&mdash;to remember&mdash;of no deeper
reading than his muster-roll&mdash;or greater names at his fingers end,
than the contents of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The one proceeding from period to period, by metaphor and allusion,
and striking the fancy as he went along (as&nbsp;men of wit
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page264" id = "page264">264</a></span>
and fancy&nbsp;do) with the entertainment and pleasantry of his pictures
and images.</p>

<p>The other, without wit or antithesis, or point, or turn, this way or
that; but leaving the images on one side, and the picture on the other,
going straight forwards as nature could lead him, to the heart.
O&nbsp;<i>Trim!</i> would to heaven thou had’st a better
historian!&mdash;would thy historian had a better pair of
breeches!&mdash;&mdash;O ye critics! will nothing melt you?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapVII" id = "bookV_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;My young master in <i>London</i> is dead! said
<i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;A green sattin night-gown of my mother’s which
had been twice scoured, was the first idea which <i>Obadiah’s</i>
exclamation brought into <i>Susannah’s</i> head.&mdash;Well might
<i>Locke</i> write a chapter upon the imperfection of words.&mdash;Then,
quoth <i>Susannah</i>, we must all go into mourning.&mdash;But note a
second time: the word <i>mourning</i>, notwithstanding <i>Susannah</i>
made use of it herself&mdash;failed also of doing its office; it excited
not one single idea, tinged either with grey or black,&mdash;all was
green.&mdash;&mdash;The green sattin night-gown hung there still.</p>

<p>&mdash;O! ’twill be the death of my poor mistress, cried
<i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;My mother’s whole wardrobe followed.&mdash;What a
procession! her red damask,&mdash;her orange tawney,&mdash;her white and
yellow lutestrings,&mdash;her brown taffata,&mdash;her bone-laced caps,
her bed-gowns, and comfortable under-petticoats.&mdash;Not a rag was
left behind.&mdash;“<i>No,&mdash;she will never look up again</i>,” said
<i>Susannah</i>.</p>

<p>We had a fat, foolish scullion&mdash;my father, I think, kept her for
her simplicity;&mdash;she had been all autumn struggling with a
dropsy.&mdash;He is dead, said <i>Obadiah</i>,&mdash;he is certainly
dead!&mdash;So am not I, said the foolish scullion.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Here is sad news, <i>Trim</i>, cried <i>Susannah</i>,
wiping her eyes as <i>Trim</i> stepp’d into the kitchen,&mdash;master
<i>Bobby</i> is dead and <i>buried</i>&mdash;the funeral was an
interpolation of <i>Susannah’s</i>&mdash;we shall have all to go into
mourning, said <i>Susannah</i>.</p>

<p>I hope not, said <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;You hope not! cried
<i>Susannah</i> earnestly.&mdash;The mourning ran not in <i>Trim’s</i>
head, whatever it did in <i>Susannah’s</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope&mdash;said
<i>Trim</i>, explaining himself, I&nbsp;hope in God the news is not
true.&mdash;I&nbsp;heard the letter read with my own ears, answered
<i>Obadiah</i>; and we shall have a terrible piece of work of it in
stubbing the Ox-moor.&mdash;Oh! he’s dead, said
<i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;As sure, said the scullion, as I’m alive.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page265" id = "page265">265</a></span>
<p>I lament for him from my heart and my soul, said <i>Trim</i>,
fetching a sigh.&mdash;Poor creature!&mdash;poor boy!&mdash;poor
gentleman.</p>

<p>&mdash;He was alive last <i>Whitsontide!</i> said the
coachman.&mdash;<i>Whitsontide!</i> alas! cried <i>Trim</i>, extending
his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he
read the sermon,&mdash;what is <i>Whitsontide</i>, <i>Jonathan</i> (for
that was the coachman’s name), or <i>Shrovetide</i>, or any tide or time
past, to this? Are we not here now, continued the corporal (striking the
end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea
of health and stability)&mdash;and are we not&mdash;(dropping his hat
upon the ground) gone! in a moment!&mdash;’Twas infinitely striking!
<i>Susannah</i> burst into a flood of tears.&mdash;We are not stocks and
stones.&mdash;<i>Jonathan</i>, <i>Obadiah</i>, the cook-maid, all
melted.&mdash;The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a
fish-kettle upon her knees, was rous’d with it.&mdash;The whole kitchen
crowded about the corporal.</p>

<p>Now, as I perceive plainly, that the preservation of our constitution
in church and state,&mdash;and possibly the preservation of the whole
world&mdash;or what is the same thing, the distribution and balance of
its property and power, may in time to come depend greatly upon the
right understanding of this stroke of the corporal’s
eloquence&mdash;I&nbsp;do demand your attention&mdash;your worships and
reverences, for any ten pages together, take them where you will in any
other part of the work, shall sleep for it at your ease.</p>

<p>I said, “we were not stocks and stones”&mdash;’tis very well. I
should have added, nor are we angels, I&nbsp;wish we were,&mdash;but men
clothed with bodies, and governed by our imaginations;&mdash;and what a
junketing piece of work of it there is, betwixt these and our seven
senses, especially some of them, for my own part, I&nbsp;own it,
I&nbsp;am ashamed to confess. Let it suffice to affirm, that of all the
senses, the eye (for I absolutely deny the touch, though most of your
<i>Barbati</i>, I&nbsp;know, are for&nbsp;it) has the quickest commerce
with the soul,&mdash;gives a smarter stroke, and leaves something more
inexpressible upon the fancy, than words can either convey&mdash;or
sometimes, get rid&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>&mdash;I’ve gone a little about&mdash;no matter, ’tis for
health&mdash;let us only carry it back in our mind to the mortality of
<i>Trim’s</i> hat.&mdash;“Are we not here now,&mdash;and gone in a
moment?”&mdash;There was nothing in the sentence&mdash;’twas one of your
self-evident truths we have the advantage of hearing every day; and if
<i>Trim</i> had not trusted more to his hat than his head&mdash;he had
made nothing at all of&nbsp;it.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page266" id = "page266">266</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“Are we not here now;” continued the corporal,
“and are we not”&mdash;(dropping his hat plump upon the ground&mdash;and
pausing, before he pronounced the word)&mdash;“gone! in a moment?” The
descent of the hat was as if a heavy lump of clay had been kneeded into
the crown of it.&mdash;&mdash;Nothing could have expressed the sentiment
of mortality, of which it was the type and fore-runner, like
it,&mdash;his hand seemed to vanish from under it,&mdash;it fell
dead,&mdash;the corporal’s eye fixed upon it, as upon a
corpse,&mdash;and <i>Susannah</i> burst into a flood of tears.</p>

<p>Now&mdash;Ten thousand, and ten thousand times ten thousand (for
matter and motion are infinite) are the ways by which a hat may be
dropped upon the ground, without any effect.&mdash;&mdash;Had he flung
it, or thrown it, or cast it, or skimmed it, or squirted it, or let it
slip or fall in any possible direction under heaven,&mdash;or in the
best direction that could be given to it,&mdash;had he dropped it like a
goose&mdash;like a puppy&mdash;like an ass&mdash;or in doing it, or even
after he had done, had he looked like a fool&mdash;like a
ninny&mdash;like a nincompoop&mdash;it had fail’d, and the effect upon
the heart had been lost.</p>

<p>Ye who govern this mighty world and its mighty concerns with the
<i>engines</i> of eloquence,&mdash;who heat it, and cool it, and melt
it, and mollify it,&mdash;&mdash;and then harden it again to <i>your
purpose</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Ye who wind and turn the passions with this great windlass, and,
having done it, lead the owners of them, whither ye think <span class =
"locked">meet&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Ye, lastly, who drive&mdash;&mdash;and why not, Ye also who are
driven, like turkeys to market with a stick and a red
clout&mdash;meditate&mdash;meditate, I&nbsp;beseech you, upon
<i>Trim’s</i> hat.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapVIII" id = "bookV_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Stay</span>&mdash;&mdash;I have a small
account to settle with the reader before <i>Trim</i> can go on with his
harangue.&mdash;It shall be done in two minutes.</p>

<p>Amongst many other book-debts, all of which I shall discharge in due
time,&mdash;I&nbsp;own myself a debtor to the world for two
items,&mdash;a&nbsp;chapter upon <i>chamber-maids and button-holes</i>,
which, in the former part of my work, I&nbsp;promised and fully intended
to pay off this year: but some of your worships and reverences telling
me, that the two subjects, especially so connected together, might
endanger the morals of the world,&mdash;I&nbsp;pray the chapter
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page267" id = "page267">267</a></span>
upon chamber-maids and button-holes may be forgiven me,&mdash;and that
they will accept of the last chapter in lieu of it; which is nothing,
an’t please your reverences, but a chapter of <i>chamber-maids, green
gowns, and old hats</i>.</p>

<p><i>Trim</i> took <ins class = "correction"
title = "missing ‘hat’ may be intentional">his</ins> off the ground,&mdash;put it upon his
head,&mdash;and then went on with his oration upon death, in manner and
form following.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapIX" id = "bookV_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;To us, <i>Jonathan</i>, who know not what want
or care is&mdash;who live here in the service of two of the best of
masters&mdash;(bating in my own case his majesty King <i>William</i> the
Third, whom I had the honour to serve both in <i>Ireland</i> and
<i>Flanders</i>)&mdash;I&nbsp;own it, that from <i>Whitsontide</i> to
within three weeks of <i>Christmas</i>,&mdash;’tis not long&mdash;’tis
like nothing;&mdash;but to those, <i>Jonathan</i>, who know what death
is, and what havock and destruction he can make, before a man can well
wheel about&mdash;’tis like a whole age.&mdash;O <i>Jonathan!</i>
’twould make a good-natured man’s heart bleed, to consider, continued
the corporal (standing perpendicularly), how low many a brave and
upright fellow has been laid since that time!&mdash;And trust me,
<i>Susy</i>, added the corporal, turning to <i>Susannah</i>, whose eyes
were swimming in water,&mdash;before that time comes round
again,&mdash;many a bright eye will be dim.&mdash;<i>Susannah</i> placed
it to the right side of the page&mdash;she wept&mdash;but she court’sied
too.&mdash;Are we not, continued <i>Trim</i>, looking still at
<i>Susannah</i>&mdash;are we not like a flower of the
field&mdash;a&nbsp;tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of
humiliation&mdash;else no tongue could have described <i>Susannah’s</i>
affliction&mdash;is not all flesh grass?&mdash;’Tis clay,&mdash;’tis
dirt.&mdash;They all looked directly at the scullion,&mdash;the scullion
had just been scouring a fish-kettle.&mdash;It was not <span class =
"locked">fair.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;What is the finest face that ever man looked at!&mdash;I could
hear <i>Trim</i> talk so for ever, cried <i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;what is
it! (<i>Susannah</i> laid her hand upon <i>Trim’s</i>
shoulder)&mdash;but corruption?&mdash;&mdash;<i>Susannah</i> took it
off.</p>

<p>Now I love you for this&mdash;and ’tis this delicious mixture within
you which makes you dear creatures what you are&mdash;and he who hates
you for it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;all I can say of the matter is&mdash;That
he has either a pumpkin for his head&mdash;or a pippin for his
heart,&mdash;and whenever he is dissected ’twill be found&nbsp;so.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page268" id = "page268">268</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookV_chapX" id = "bookV_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Whether</span> <i>Susannah</i>, by taking
her hand too suddenly from off the corporal’s shoulder (by&nbsp;the
whisking about of her passions)&mdash;&mdash;broke a little the chain of
his <span class = "locked">reflexions&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Or whether the corporal began to be suspicious, he had got into the
doctor’s quarters, and was talking more like the chaplain than <span
class = "locked">himself&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>
Or whether - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; -
&nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp;
- &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp; - &nbsp;
-<br />
Or whether&mdash;&mdash;for in all such cases a man of invention and
parts may with pleasure fill a couple of pages with
suppositions&mdash;&mdash;which of all these was the cause, let the
curious physiologist, or the curious anybody determine&mdash;&mdash;’tis
certain, at least, the corporal went on thus with his harangue.</p>

<p>For my own part, I declare it, that out of doors, I value not death
at all:&mdash;not this ... added the corporal, snapping his
fingers,&mdash;but with an air which no one but the corporal could have
given to the sentiment.&mdash;In battle, I&nbsp;value death not this
.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. and let him not take me cowardly, like poor <i>Joe
Gibbins</i>, in scouring his gun&mdash;What is he? A&nbsp;pull of a
trigger&mdash;a&nbsp;push of a bayonet an inch this way or
that&mdash;makes the difference.&mdash;Look along the line&mdash;to the
right&mdash;see! <i>Jack’s</i> down! well,&mdash;’tis worth a regiment
of horse to him.&mdash;No&mdash;’tis <i>Dick</i>. Then <i>Jack’s</i> no
worse.&mdash;Never mind which,&mdash;we pass on,&mdash;in hot pursuit
the wound itself which brings him is not felt,&mdash;the best way is to
stand up to him,&mdash;the man who flies, is in ten times more danger
than the man who marches up into his jaws.&mdash;I’ve look’d him, added
the corporal, an hundred times in the face,&mdash;and know what he
is.&mdash;He’s nothing, <i>Obadiah</i>, at all in the field.&mdash;But
he’s very frightful in a house, quoth
<i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never mind it myself, said
<i>Jonathan</i>, upon a coach-box.&mdash;It must, in my opinion, be most
natural in bed, replied <i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;And could I escape him by
creeping into the worst calf’s skin that ever was made into a knapsack,
I&nbsp;would do it there&mdash;said <i>Trim</i>&mdash;but that is
nature.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Nature is nature, said <i>Jonathan</i>.&mdash;And that
is the reason, cried <i>Susannah</i>, I&nbsp;so much pity my
mistress.&mdash;She will never get the better of it.&mdash;Now I pity
the captain the most of any one in the family, answered
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Madam will get ease of heart in
weeping,&mdash;and the Squire in talking about it,&mdash;but my poor
master will keep it all in silence to himself,&mdash;I&nbsp;shall hear
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page269" id = "page269">269</a></span>
him sigh in his bed for a whole month together, as he did for lieutenant
<i>Le Fever</i>.&mdash;An’ please your honour, do not sigh so piteously,
I&nbsp;would say to him as I laid besides him. I&nbsp;cannot help it,
<i>Trim</i>, my master would say,&mdash;&mdash;’tis so melancholy an
accident&mdash;I&nbsp;cannot get it off my heart.&mdash;Your honour
fears not death yourself.&mdash;I&nbsp;hope, <i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;fear
nothing, he would say, but the doing a wrong thing.&mdash;&mdash;Well,
he would add, whatever betides, I&nbsp;will take care of <i>Le
Fever’s</i> boy.&mdash;And with that, like a quieting draught, his
honour would fall asleep.</p>

<p>I like to hear <i>Trim’s</i> stories about the captain, said
<i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;He is a kindly-hearted gentleman, said
<i>Obadiah</i>, as ever lived.&mdash;Aye, and as brave a one too, said
the corporal, as ever stept before a platoon.&mdash;There never was a
better officer in the king’s army,&mdash;or a better man in God’s world;
for he would march up to the mouth of a cannon, though he saw the
lighted match at the very touch-hole,&mdash;and yet, for all that, he
has a heart as soft as a child for other people.&mdash;&mdash;He would
not hurt a chicken.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would sooner, quoth
<i>Jonathan</i>, drive such a gentleman for seven pounds a
year&mdash;than some for eight.&mdash;Thank thee, <i>Jonathan!</i> for
thy twenty shillings,&mdash;as much, <i>Jonathan</i>, said the corporal,
shaking him by the hand, as if thou hadst put the money into my own
pocket.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would serve him to the day of my death out
of love. He is a friend and a brother to me,&mdash;and could I be sure
my poor brother <i>Tom</i> was dead,&mdash;continued the corporal,
taking out his handkerchief,&mdash;was I worth ten thousand pounds,
I&nbsp;would leave every shilling of it to the
captain.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> could not refrain from tears at this
testamentary proof he gave of his affection to his
master.&mdash;&mdash;The whole kitchen was affected.&mdash;Do tell us
the story of the poor lieutenant, said
<i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;With all my heart, answered the
corporal.</p>

<p><i>Susannah</i>, the cook, <i>Jonathan</i>, <i>Obadiah</i>, and
corporal <i>Trim</i>, formed a circle about the fire; and as soon as the
scullion had shut the kitchen door,&mdash;the corporal begun.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXI" id = "bookV_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I am</span> a <i>Turk</i> if I had not as
much forgot my mother, as if Nature had plaistered me up, and set me
down naked upon the banks of the river <i>Nile</i>, without
one.&mdash;&mdash;Your most obedient servant, Madam&mdash;I’ve cost you
a great deal of trouble,&mdash;I&nbsp;wish it may answer;&mdash;but you
have left a crack in my back,&mdash;and here’s a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page270" id = "page270">270</a></span>
great piece fallen off here before,&mdash;and what must I do with this
foot?&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall never reach <i>England</i>
with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>For my own part, I never wonder at any thing;&mdash;and so often has
my judgment deceived me in my life, that I always suspect it, right or
wrong,&mdash;at least I am seldom hot upon cold subjects. For all this,
I&nbsp;reverence truth as much as any body; and when it has slipped us,
if a man will but take me by the hand, and go quietly and search for it,
as for a thing we have both lost, and can neither of us do well
without,&mdash;I’ll go to the world’s end with him:&mdash;&mdash;But I
hate disputes,&mdash;and therefore (bating religious points, or such as
touch society) I&nbsp;would almost subscribe to any thing which does not
choak me in the first passage, rather than be drawn into
one.&mdash;&mdash;But I cannot bear suffocation,&mdash;&mdash;and bad
smells worst of all.&mdash;&mdash;For which reasons, I&nbsp;resolved
from the beginning, That if ever the army of martyrs was to be
augmented,&mdash;or a new one raised,&mdash;I&nbsp;would have no hand in
it, one way or t’other.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXII" id = "bookV_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> to return to my
mother.</p>

<p class = "space">
My uncle <i>Toby’s</i> opinion, Madam, “that there could be no harm in
<i>Cornelius Gallus</i>, the <i>Roman</i> prætor’s lying with his
wife;”&mdash;&mdash;or rather the last word of that opinion,&mdash;(for
it was all my mother heard of&nbsp;it) caught hold of her by the weak
part of the whole sex:&mdash;&mdash;You shall not mistake
me,&mdash;I&nbsp;mean her curiosity,&mdash;she instantly concluded
herself the subject of the conversation, and with that prepossession
upon her fancy, you will readily conceive every word my father said, was
accommodated either to herself, or her family concerns.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Pray, Madam, in what street does the lady live, who
would not have done the same?</p>

<p>From the strange mode of <i>Cornelius’s</i> death, my father had made
a transition to that of <i>Socrates</i>, and was giving my uncle
<i>Toby</i> an abstract of his pleading before his
judges;&mdash;&mdash;’twas irresistible:&mdash;&mdash;not the oration of
<i>Socrates</i>,&mdash;but my father’s temptation to it.&mdash;&mdash;He
had wrote the Life of <i>Socrates</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_5_1"
id = "tag_5_1" href = "#note_5_1">1</a> himself the year before he left
off trade, which, I&nbsp;fear, was the means of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page271" id = "page271">271</a></span>
hastening him out of it;&mdash;&mdash;so that no one was able to set out
with so full a sail, and in so swelling a tide of heroic loftiness upon
the occasion, as my father was. Not a period in <i>Socrates’s</i>
oration, which closed with a shorter word than <i>transmigration</i>, or
<i>annihilation</i>,&mdash;or a worse thought in the middle of it than
<i>to be&mdash;or not to be</i>,&mdash;the entering upon a new and
untried state of things,&mdash;or, upon a long, a&nbsp;profound and
peaceful sleep, without dreams, without
disturbance?&mdash;&mdash;<i>That we and our children were born to
die,&mdash;but neither of us born to be
slaves</i>.&mdash;&mdash;No&mdash;there I mistake; that was part of
<i>Eleazer’s</i> oration, as recorded by <i>Josephus</i>
(<i>de&nbsp;Bell. Judaic.</i>)&mdash;&mdash;<i>Eleazer</i> owns he had
it from the philosophers of <i>India</i>; in all likelihood
<i>Alexander</i> the Great, in his irruption into <i>India</i>, after he
had over-run <i>Persia</i>, amongst the many things he
stole,&mdash;stole that sentiment also; by which means it was carried,
if not all the way by himself (for we all know he died at
<i>Babylon</i>), at least by some of his maroders, into
<i>Greece</i>,&mdash;from <i>Greece</i> it got to
<i>Rome</i>,&mdash;from <i>Rome</i> to <i>France</i>,&mdash;and from
<i>France</i> to <i>England</i>:&mdash;&mdash;So things come <span class
= "locked">round.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>By land carriage, I can conceive no other way.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>By water the sentiment might easily have come down the <i>Ganges</i>
into the <i>Sinus Gangeticus</i>, or <i>Bay of Bengal</i>, and so into
the <i>Indian Sea</i>; and following the course of trade (the way from
<i>India</i> by the <i>Cape of Good Hope</i> being then unknown), might
be carried with other drugs and spices up the <i>Red Sea</i> to
<i>Joddah</i>, the port of <i>Mekka</i>, or else to <i>Tor</i> or
<i>Sues</i>, towns at the bottom of the gulf; and from thence by
karrawans to <i>Coptos</i>, but three days’ journey distant, so down the
<i>Nile</i> directly to <i>Alexandria</i>, where the <span class =
"smallroman">SENTIMENT</span> would be landed at the very foot of the
great stair-case of the <i>Alexandrian</i> library,&mdash;&mdash;and
from that store-house it would be fetched.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Bless me!
what a trade was driven by the learned in those days!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXIII" id = "bookV_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Now</span> my father had a
way, a little like that of <i>Job’s</i> (in&nbsp;case there ever was
such a man&mdash;&mdash;if not, there’s an end of the <span class =
"locked">matter.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Though, by the bye, because your learned men find some difficulty in
fixing the precise æra in which so great a man lived;&mdash;whether, for
instance, before or after the patriarchs, &amp;c.&mdash;&mdash;to vote,
therefore, that he never lived <i>at all</i>, is a little
cruel,&mdash;’tis not doing as they would be done by,&mdash;happen that
as it
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page272" id = "page272">272</a></span>
may)&mdash;&mdash;My father, I&nbsp;say, had a way, when things went
extremely wrong with him, especially upon the first sally of his
impatience,&mdash;of wondering why he was begot,&mdash;wishing himself
dead;&mdash;sometimes worse:&mdash;&mdash;And when the provocation ran
high, and grief touched his lips with more than ordinary
powers&mdash;Sir, you scarce could have distinguished him from
<i>Socrates</i> himself.&mdash;&mdash;Every word would breathe the
sentiments of a soul disdaining life, and careless about all its issues;
for which reason, though my mother was a woman of no deep reading, yet
the abstract of <i>Socrates’s</i> oration, which my father was giving my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, was not altogether new to her.&mdash;She listened to
it with composed intelligence, and would have done so to the end of the
chapter, had not my father plunged (which he had no occasion to have
done) into that part of the pleading where the great philosopher reckons
up his connections, his alliances, and children; but renounces a
security to be so won by working upon the passions of his
judges.&mdash;“I&nbsp;have friends&mdash;I&nbsp;have
relations,&mdash;I&nbsp;have three desolate children,”&mdash;says <span
class = "locked"><i>Socrates</i>.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then, cried my mother, opening the
door,&mdash;&mdash;you have one more, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, than I
know&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>By heaven! I have one less,&mdash;said my father, getting up and
walking out of the room.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXIV" id = "bookV_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;They are <i>Socrates’s</i> children, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>. He has been dead a hundred years ago, replied my
mother.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> was no chronologer&mdash;so not caring to
advance one step but upon safe ground, he laid down his pipe
deliberately upon the table, and rising up, and taking my mother most
kindly by the hand, without saying another word, either good or bad, to
her, he led her out after my father, that he might finish the
ecclaircissement himself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXV" id = "bookV_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Had</span> this volume been a farce, which,
unless every one’s life and opinions are to be looked upon as a farce as
well as mine, I&nbsp;see no reason to suppose&mdash;the last chapter,
Sir, had finished the first act of it, and then this chapter must have
set off thus.</p>

<p>Ptr..r..r..ing&mdash;twing&mdash;twang&mdash;prut&mdash;trut&mdash;&mdash;’tis
a cursed bad
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page273" id = "page273">273</a></span>
fiddle.&mdash;Do you know whether my fiddle’s in tune or
no?&mdash;trut..prut..&mdash;They should be
<i>fifths</i>.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis wickedly
strung&mdash;tr...a.e.i.o.u.-twang.&mdash;The bridge is a mile too high,
and the sound post absolutely down,&mdash;else&mdash;trut .&nbsp;.
prut&mdash;hark! ’tis not so bad a tone.&mdash;Diddle diddle, diddle
diddle, diddle diddle, dum. There is nothing in playing before good
judges,&mdash;but there’s a man there&mdash;no&mdash;not him with the
bundle under his arm&mdash;the grave man in black.&mdash;’Sdeath! not
the gentleman with the sword on.&mdash;Sir, I&nbsp;had rather play a
<i>Caprichio</i> to <i>Calliope</i> herself, than draw my bow across my
fiddle before that very man; and yet I’ll stake my <i>Cremona</i> to a
<i>Jew’s</i> trump, which is the greatest musical odds that ever were
laid, that I will this moment stop three hundred and fifty leagues out
of tune upon my fiddle, without punishing one single nerve that belongs
to him&mdash;Twaddle diddle, tweddle diddle,&mdash;twiddle
diddle,&mdash;&mdash;twoddle diddle,&mdash;twuddle
diddle,&mdash;&mdash;prut
trut&mdash;krish&mdash;krash&mdash;krush.&mdash;I’ve undone you,
Sir,&mdash;but you see he’s no worse,&mdash;and was <i>Apollo</i> to
take his fiddle after me, he can make him no better.</p>

<p>Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle
diddle&mdash;hum&mdash;dum&mdash;drum.</p>

<p>&mdash;Your worships and your reverences love music&mdash;and God has
made you all with good ears&mdash;and some of you play delightfully
yourselves&mdash;trut-prut,&mdash;prut-trut.</p>

<p>O! there is&mdash;whom I could sit and hear whole days,&mdash;whose
talents lie in making what he fiddles to be felt,&mdash;who inspires me
with his joys and hopes, and puts the most hidden springs of my heart
into motion.&mdash;If you would borrow five guineas of me,
Sir,&mdash;which is generally ten guineas more than I have to
spare&mdash;or you Messrs. Apothecary and Taylor, want your bills
paying,&mdash;that’s your time.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXVI" id = "bookV_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> first thing which entered my
father’s head, after affairs were a little settled in the family, and
<i>Susannah</i> had got possession of my mother’s green sattin
night-gown,&mdash;was to sit down coolly, after the example of
<i>Xenophon</i>, and write a <span class =
"smallcaps">Tristra</span>-pædia, or system of education for me;
collecting first for that purpose his own scattered thoughts, counsels,
and notions; and binding them together, so as to form an <span class =
"smallroman">INSTITUTE</span> for the government of my childhood and
adolescence. I&nbsp;was my father’s
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page274" id = "page274">274</a></span>
last stake&mdash;he had lost my brother <i>Bobby</i> entirely,&mdash;he
had lost, by his own computation, full three-fourths of me&mdash;that
is, he had been unfortunate in his three first great casts for
me&mdash;my geniture, nose, and name,&mdash;there was but this one left;
and accordingly my father gave himself up to it with as much devotion as
ever my uncle <i>Toby</i> had done to his doctrine of
projectils.&mdash;The difference between them was, that my uncle
<i>Toby</i> drew his whole knowledge of projectils from <i>Nicholas
Tartaglia</i>&mdash;My father spun his, every thread of it, out of his
own brain,&mdash;or reeled and cross-twisted what all other spinners and
spinsters had spun before him, that ’twas pretty near the same torture
to him.</p>

<p>In about three years, or something more, my father had got advanced
almost into the middle of his work.&mdash;Like all other writers, he met
with disappointments.&mdash;He imagined he should be able to bring
whatever he had to say, into so small a compass, that when it was
finished and bound, it might be rolled up in my mother’s
hussive.&mdash;Matter grows under our hands.&mdash;Let no man
say,&mdash;“Come&mdash;I’ll write a duodecimo.”</p>

<p>My father gave himself up to it, however, with the most painful
diligence, proceeding step by step in every line, with the same kind of
caution and circumspection (though I cannot say upon quite so religious
a principle) as was used by <i>John de la Casse</i>, the lord archbishop
of <i>Benevento</i>, in compassing his <i>Galatea</i>; in which his
Grace of <i>Benevento</i> spent near forty years of his life; and when
the thing came out, it was not of above half the size or the thickness
of a <i>Rider’s</i> Almanack.&mdash;How the holy man managed the affair,
unless he spent the greatest part of his time in combing his whiskers,
or playing at <i>primero</i> with his chaplain,&mdash;would pose any
mortal not let into the true secret;&mdash;and therefore ’tis worth
explaining to the world, was it only for the encouragement of those few
in it, who write not so much to be fed&mdash;as to be famous.</p>

<p>I own had <i>John de la Casse</i>, the archbishop of
<i>Benevento</i>, for whose memory (notwithstanding his <i>Galatea</i>)
I&nbsp;retain the highest veneration,&mdash;had he been, Sir,
a&nbsp;slender clerk&mdash;of dull wit&mdash;slow parts&mdash;costive
head, and so forth,&mdash;he and his <i>Galatea</i> might have jogged on
together to the age of <i>Methuselah</i> for me,&mdash;the phænomenon
had not been worth a <span class =
"locked">parenthesis.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But the reverse of this was the truth: <i>John de la Casse</i> was a
genius of fine parts and fertile fancy; and yet with all these
advantages of nature, which should have pricked him forwards with his
<i>Galatea</i>, he lay under an impuissance at the same time
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page275" id = "page275">275</a></span>
of advancing above a line and a half in the compass of a whole summer’s
day: this disability in his Grace arose from an opinion he was afflicted
with,&mdash;which opinion was this,&mdash;<i>viz.</i> that whenever a
Christian was writing a book (not for his private amusement, but) where
his intent and purpose was, <i>bonâ fide</i>, to print and publish it to
the world, his first thoughts were always the temptations of the evil
one.&mdash;This was the state of ordinary writers: but when a personage
of venerable character and high station, either in church or state, once
turned author,&mdash;he maintained, that from the very moment he took
pen in hand&mdash;all the devils in hell broke out of their holes to
cajole him.&mdash;’Twas Term-time with them,&mdash;every thought, first
and last, was captious;&mdash;how specious and good soever,&mdash;’twas
all one;&mdash;in whatever form or colour it presented itself to the
imagination,&mdash;’twas still a stroke of one or other of ’em levell’d
at him, and was to be fenced off.&mdash;So that the life of a writer,
whatever he might fancy to the contrary, was not so much a state of
<i>composition</i>, as a state of <i>warfare</i>; and his probation in
it, precisely that of any other man militant upon earth,&mdash;both
depending alike, not half so much upon the degrees of his <span class =
"smallroman">WIT</span>&mdash;as his <span class =
"smallroman">RESISTANCE</span>.</p>

<p>My father was hugely pleased with this theory of <i>John de la
Casse</i>, archbishop of <i>Benevento</i>; and (had it not cramped him a
little in his creed) I&nbsp;believe would have given ten of the best
acres in the <i>Shandy</i> estate, to have been the broacher of
it.&mdash;How far my father actually believed in the devil, will be
seen, when I come to speak of my father’s religious notions, in the
progress of this work: ’tis enough to say here, as he could not have the
honour of it, in the literal sense of the doctrine&mdash;he took up with
the allegory of it; and would often say, especially when his pen was a
little retrograde, there was as much good meaning, truth, and knowledge,
couched under the veil of <i>John de la Casse’s</i> parabolical
representation,&mdash;as was to be found in any one poetic fiction or
mystic record of antiquity.&mdash;Prejudice of education, he would say,
<i>is the devil</i>,&mdash;and the multitudes of them which we suck in
with our mother’s milk&mdash;<i>are the devil and
all</i>.&mdash;&mdash;We are haunted with them, brother <i>Toby</i>, in
all our lucubrations and researches; and was a man fool enough to submit
tamely to what they obtruded upon him,&mdash;what would his book be?
Nothing,&mdash;he would add, throwing his pen away with a
vengeance,&mdash;nothing but a farrago of the clack of nurses, and of
the nonsense of the old women (of&nbsp;both sexes) throughout the
kingdom.</p>

<p>This is the best account I am determined to give of the slow
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page276" id = "page276">276</a></span>
progress my father made in his <i>Tristra-pædia</i>; at which (as&nbsp;I
said) he was three years, and something more, indefatigably at work,
and, at last, had scarce completed, by his own reckoning, one half of
his undertaking: the misfortune was, that I was all that time totally
neglected and abandoned to my mother: and what was almost as bad, by the
very delay, the first part of the work, upon which my father had spent
the most of his pains, was rendered entirely useless,&mdash;&mdash;every
day a page or two became of no <span class =
"locked">consequence.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Certainly it was ordained as a scourge upon the pride
of human wisdom, That the wisest of us all should thus outwit ourselves,
and eternally forego our purposes, in the intemperate act of pursuing
them.</p>

<p>In short, my father was so long in all his acts of
resistance,&mdash;or in other words,&mdash;he advanced so very slow with
his work, and I began to live and get forwards at such a rate, that if
an event had not happened,&mdash;&mdash;which, when we get to it, if it
can be told with decency, shall not be concealed a moment from the
reader&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;verily believe, I&nbsp;had put by my father,
and left him drawing a sun-dial, for no better purpose than to be buried
underground.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXVII" id = "bookV_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">’Twas</span> nothing,&mdash;I
did not lose two drops of blood by it&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;’twas
not worth calling in a surgeon, had he lived next door to
us&mdash;&mdash;thousands suffer by choice, what I did by
accident.&mdash;&mdash;Doctor <i>Slop</i> made ten times more of it,
than there was occasion:&mdash;&mdash;some men rise, by the art of
hanging great weights upon small wires,&mdash;and I am this day
(<i>August</i> the 10th, 1761) paying part of the price of this man’s
reputation.&mdash;&mdash;O ’twould provoke a stone, to see how things
are carried on in this world!&mdash;&mdash;The chamber-maid had left no
******* *** under the bed:&mdash;&mdash;Cannot you contrive, master,
quoth <i>Susannah</i>, lifting up the sash with one hand, as she spoke,
and helping me up into the window-seat with the other,&mdash;cannot you
manage, my dear, for a single time, to **** *** ** *** ******?</p>

<p>I was five years old.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Susannah</i> did not consider
that nothing was well hung in our family,&mdash;&mdash;so slap came the
sash down like lightning upon us;&mdash;Nothing is left,&mdash;cried
<i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;nothing is left&mdash;for me, but to run my <span
class = "locked">country.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house was a much kinder sanctuary; and so
<i>Susannah</i> fled to&nbsp;it.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page277" id = "page277">277</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXVIII" id = "bookV_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> <i>Susannah</i> told the
corporal the misadventure of the sash, with all the circumstances which
attended the <i>murder</i> of me,&mdash;(as&nbsp;she
called&nbsp;it)&mdash;the blood forsook his cheeks,&mdash;all
accessaries in murder being principals,&mdash;<i>Trim’s</i> conscience
told him he was as much to blame as <i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;and if the
doctrine had been true, my uncle <i>Toby</i> had as much of the
bloodshed to answer for to heaven, as either of ’em;&mdash;so that
neither reason or instinct, separate or together, could possibly have
guided <i>Susannah’s</i> steps to so proper an asylum. It is in vain to
leave this to the Reader’s imagination:&mdash;to form any kind of
hypothesis that will render these propositions feasible, he must cudgel
his brains sore,&mdash;and to do it without,&mdash;he must have such
brains as no reader ever had before him.&mdash;&mdash;Why should I put
them either to trial or to torture? ’Tis my own affair: I’ll explain it
myself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXIX" id = "bookV_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">’Tis</span> a pity, <i>Trim</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, resting with his hand upon the corporal’s shoulder,
as they both stood surveying their works,&mdash;that we have not a
couple of field-pieces to mount in the gorge of that new
redoubt;&mdash;&mdash;’twould secure the lines all along there, and make
the attack on that side quite complete:&mdash;&mdash;get me a couple
cast, <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>Your honour shall have them, replied <i>Trim</i>, before to-morrow
morning.</p>

<p>It was the joy of <i>Trim’s</i> heart,&mdash;nor was his fertile head
ever at a loss for expedients in doing it, to supply my uncle
<i>Toby</i> in his campaigns, with whatever his fancy called for; had it
been his last crown, he would have sate down and hammered it into a
paderero, to have prevented a single wish in his Master. The corporal
had already,&mdash;what with cutting off the ends of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> spouts&mdash;hacking and chiseling up the sides of his
leaden gutters,&mdash;melting down his pewter shaving-bason,&mdash;and
going at last, like <i>Lewis</i> the Fourteenth, on to the top of the
church, for spare ends, &amp;c.&mdash;&mdash;he had that very campaign
brought no less than eight new battering cannons, besides three
demi-culverins, into the field; my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> demand for two
more pieces for the redoubt, had set the corporal at work again; and no
better resource offering, he had taken the two leaden
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page278" id = "page278">278</a></span>
weights from the nursery window: and as the sash pullies, when the lead
was gone, were of no kind of use, he had taken them away also, to make a
couple of wheels for one of their carriages.</p>

<p>He had dismantled every sash-window in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house
long before, in the very same way,&mdash;though not always in the same
order; for sometimes the pullies have been wanted, and not the
lead,&mdash;so then he began with the pullies,&mdash;and the pullies
being picked out, then the lead became useless,&mdash;and so the lead
went to pot too.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;A great <span class = "smallroman">MORAL</span> might
be picked handsomely out of this, but I have not time&mdash;’tis enough
to say, wherever the demolition began, ’twas equally fatal to the sash
window.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXX" id = "bookV_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> corporal had not taken his
measures so badly in this stroke of artilleryship, but that he might
have kept the matter entirely to himself, and left <i>Susannah</i> to
have sustained the whole weight of the attack, as she could;&mdash;true
courage is not content with coming off so.&mdash;&mdash;The corporal,
whether as general or comptroller of the train,&mdash;’twas no
matter,&mdash;&mdash;had done that, without which, as he imagined, the
misfortune could never have happened,&mdash;<i>at least in</i>
Susannah’s <i>hands</i>;&mdash;&mdash;How would your honours have
behaved?&mdash;&mdash;He determined at once, not to take shelter behind
<i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;but to give it; and with this resolution upon his
mind, he marched upright into the parlour, to lay the whole
<i>manœuvre</i> before my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> had just then been giving <i>Yorick</i> an
account of the battle of <i>Steenkirk</i>, and of the strange conduct of
count <i>Solmes</i> in ordering the foot to halt, and the horse to march
where it could not act; which was directly contrary to the king’s
commands, and proved the loss of the day.</p>

<p>There are incidents in some families so pat to the purpose of what is
going to follow,&mdash;they are scarce exceeded by the invention of a
dramatic writer;&mdash;I&nbsp;mean of ancient <span class =
"locked">days.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>Trim</i>, by the help of his forefinger, laid flat upon the table,
and the edge of his hand striking across it at right angles, made a
shift to tell his story so, that priests and virgins might have listened
to it;&mdash;and the story being told,&mdash;the dialogue went on as
follows.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page279" id = "page279">279</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXI" id = "bookV_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;I would be picquetted to death, cried the corporal, as
he concluded <i>Susannah’s</i> story, before I would suffer the woman to
come to any harm,&mdash;’twas my fault, an’ please your
honour,&mdash;not hers.</p>

<p>Corporal <i>Trim</i>, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, putting on his
hat which lay upon the table,&mdash;&mdash;if anything can be said to be
a fault, when the service absolutely requires it should be
done,&mdash;’tis I certainly who deserve the blame,&mdash;&mdash;you
obeyed your orders.</p>

<p>Had count <i>Solmes</i>, <i>Trim</i>, done the same at the battle of
<i>Steenkirk</i>, said <i>Yorick</i>, drolling a little upon the
corporal, who had been run over by a dragoon in the
retreat,&mdash;&mdash;he had saved thee;&mdash;&mdash;Saved! cried
<i>Trim</i>, interrupting <i>Yorick</i>, and finishing the sentence for
him after his own fashion,&mdash;&mdash;he had saved five battalions,
an’ please your reverence, every soul of them:&mdash;&mdash;there was
<i>Cutts’s</i>&mdash;continued the corporal, clapping the forefinger of
his right hand upon the thumb of his left, and counting round his
hand,&mdash;&mdash;there was
<i>Cutts’s</i>,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Mackay’s</i>,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Angus’s</i>,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Graham’s</i>,&mdash;&mdash;and
<i>Leven’s</i>, all cut to pieces;&mdash;&mdash;and so had the
<i>English</i> life-guards too, had it not been for some regiments upon
the right, who marched up boldly to their relief, and received the
enemy’s fire in their faces, before any one of their own platoons
discharged a musket,&mdash;&mdash;they’ll go to heaven for
it,&mdash;added <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;<i>Trim</i> is right, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, nodding to <i>Yorick</i>,&mdash;&mdash;he’s perfectly
right. What signified his marching the horse, continued the corporal,
where the ground was so straight, that the <i>French</i> had such a
nation of hedges, and copses, and ditches, and fell’d trees laid this
way and that to cover them; (as&nbsp;they always
have).&mdash;&mdash;Count <i>Solmes</i> should have sent
us,&mdash;&mdash;we would have fired muzzle to muzzle with them for
their lives.&mdash;&mdash;There was nothing to be done for the
horse:&mdash;&mdash;he had his foot shot off however for his pains,
continued the corporal, the very next campaign at
<i>Landen</i>.&mdash;Poor <i>Trim</i> got his wound there, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;’Twas owing, an’ please your honour,
entirely to count <i>Solmes</i>,&mdash;&mdash;had he drubb’d them
soundly at <i>Steenkirk</i>, they would not have fought us at
<i>Landen</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Possibly not,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i>, said
my uncle <i>Toby</i>;&mdash;&mdash;though if they have the advantage of
a wood, or you give them a moment’s time to intrench themselves, they
are a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page280" id = "page280">280</a></span>
nation which will pop and pop for ever at you.&mdash;&mdash;There is no
way but to march coolly up to them,&mdash;&mdash;receive their fire, and
fall in upon them, pell-mell&mdash;&mdash;Ding dong, added
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Horse and foot, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Helter skelter, said
<i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Right and left, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Blood an’ ounds, shouted the
corporal;&mdash;&mdash;the battle raged,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> drew
his chair a little to one side for safety, and after a moment’s pause,
my uncle <i>Toby</i> sinking his voice a note,&mdash;resumed the
discourse as follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXII" id = "bookV_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">King</span> <i>William</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, addressing himself to <i>Yorick</i>, was so terribly
provoked at count <i>Solmes</i> for disobeying his orders, that he would
not suffer him to come into his presence for many months
after.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;fear, answered <i>Yorick</i>, the squire will
be as much provoked at the corporal, as the King at the
count.&mdash;&mdash;But ’twould be singularly hard in this case,
continued he, if corporal <i>Trim</i>, who has behaved so diametrically
opposite to count <i>Solmes</i>, should have the fate to be rewarded
with the same disgrace:&mdash;&mdash;too oft in this world, do things
take that train.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would spring a mine, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, rising up,&mdash;&mdash;and blow up my fortifications, and
my house with them, and we would perish under their ruins, ere I would
stand by and see it.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> directed a
slight,&mdash;&mdash;but a grateful bow towards his
master,&mdash;&mdash;and so the chapter ends.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXIII" id = "bookV_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then, <i>Yorick</i>, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, you
and I will lead the way abreast,&mdash;&mdash;and do you, corporal,
follow a few paces behind us.&mdash;&mdash;And <i>Susannah</i>, an’
please your honour, said <i>Trim</i>, shall be put in the
rear.&mdash;&mdash;’Twas an excellent disposition,&mdash;and in this
order, without either drums beating, or colours flying, they marched
slowly from my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house to <i>Shandy-hall</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I wish, said <i>Trim</i>, as they entered the
door,&mdash;instead of the sash weights, I&nbsp;had cut off the church
spout, as I once thought to have done.&mdash;You have cut off spouts
enow, replied <span class =
"locked"><i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page281" id = "page281">281</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXIV" id = "bookV_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> many pictures as have been given
of my father, how like him soever in different airs and
attitudes,&mdash;not one, or all of them, can ever help the reader to
any kind of preconception of how my father would think, speak, or act,
upon any untried occasion or occurrence of life.&mdash;There was that
infinitude of oddities in him, and of chances along with it, by which
handle he would take a thing,&mdash;it baffled, Sir, all
calculations.&mdash;&mdash;The truth was, his road lay so very far on
one side, from that wherein most men travelled,&mdash;that every object
before him presented a face and section of itself to his eye, altogether
different from the plan and elevation of it seen by the rest of
mankind.&mdash;In other words, ’twas a different object, and in course
was differently considered:</p>

<p>This is the true reason, that my dear <i>Jenny</i> and I, as well as
all the world besides us, have such eternal squabbles about
nothing.&mdash;She looks at her outside,&mdash;I, at her in&mdash;. How
is it possible we should agree about her value?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXV" id = "bookV_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">’Tis</span> a point settled,&mdash;and I
mention it for the comfort of <i>Confucius</i>,<a class = "tag" name =
"tag_5_2" id = "tag_5_2" href = "#note_5_2">2</a> who is apt to get
entangled in telling a plain story&mdash;that provided he keeps along
the line of his story,&mdash;he may go backwards and forwards as he
will,&mdash;’tis still held to be no digression.</p>

<p>This being premised, I take the benefit of the <i>act of going
backwards</i> myself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXVI" id = "bookV_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Fifty</span> thousand pannier loads of
devils&mdash;(not of the Archbishop of
<i>Benevento’s</i>,&mdash;I&nbsp;mean of <i>Rabelais’s</i> devils) with
their tails chopped off by their rumps, could not have made so
diabolical a scream of it, as I did&mdash;when the accident befel me: it
summoned up my mother instantly into the nursery,&mdash;so that
<i>Susannah</i> had but just time to make her escape down the back
stairs, as my mother came up the fore.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page282" id = "page282">282</a></span>
<p>Now, though I was old enough to have told the story myself,&mdash;and
young enough, I&nbsp;hope, to have done it without malignity; yet
<i>Susannah</i>, in passing by the kitchen, for fear of accidents, had
left it in shorthand with the cook&mdash;the cook had told it with a
commentary to <i>Jonathan</i>, and <i>Jonathan</i> to <i>Obadiah</i>; so
that by the time my father had rung the bell half a dozen times, to know
what was the matter above,&mdash;was <i>Obadiah</i> enabled to give him
a particular account of it, just as it had
happened.&mdash;I&nbsp;thought as much, said my father, tucking up his
night-gown;&mdash;and so walked up stairs.</p>

<p>One would imagine from this&mdash;&mdash;(though for my own part I
somewhat question&nbsp;it)&mdash;that my father, before that time, had
actually wrote that remarkable character in the <i>Tristra-pædia</i>,
which to me is the most original and entertaining one in the whole
book;&mdash;and that is the <i>chapter upon sash-windows</i>, with a
bitter <i>Philippick</i> at the end of it, upon the forgetfulness of
chamber-maids.&mdash;I&nbsp;have but two reasons for thinking
otherwise.</p>

<p>First, Had the matter been taken into consideration, before the event
happened, my father certainly would have nailed up the sash window for
good an’ all;&mdash;which, considering with what difficulty he composed
books,&mdash;he might have done with ten times less trouble, than he
could have wrote the chapter: this argument I foresee holds good against
his writing a chapter, even after the event; but ’tis obviated under the
second reason, which I have the honour to offer to the world in support
of my opinion, that my father did not write the chapter upon
sash-windows and chamber-pots, at the time supposed,&mdash;and it is
this.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That, in order to render the <i>Tristra-pædia</i>
complete,&mdash;I&nbsp;wrote the chapter myself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXVII" id = "bookV_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father put on his
spectacles&mdash;looked,&mdash;took them off,&mdash;put them into the
case&mdash;all in less than a statutable minute; and without opening his
lips, turned about and walked precipitately down stairs: my mother
imagined he had stepped down for lint and basilicon; but seeing him
return with a couple of folios under his arm, and <i>Obadiah</i>
following him with a large reading-desk, she took it for granted ’twas
an herbal, and so drew him a chair to the bedside, that he might consult
upon the case at his ease.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page283" id = "page283">283</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;If it be but right done,&mdash;said my father, turning
to the <i>Section&mdash;de sede vel subjecto
circumcisionis</i>,&mdash;&mdash;for he had brought up <i>Spenser de
Legibus Hebræorum Ritualibus</i>&mdash;and <i>Maimonides</i>, in order
to confront and examine us <span class =
"locked">altogether.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;If it be but right done, quoth he:&mdash;only tell us,
cried my mother, interrupting him, what herbs?&mdash;&mdash;For that,
replied my father, you must send for Dr. <i>Slop</i>.</p>

<p>My mother went down, and my father went on, reading the section as
follows,</p>

<p><span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * *<br />
* * * * * * * * *<br />
* * * </span>* &nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Very well,&mdash;said my
father,<br />
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * *<br />
* * * * * * * * *</span><br />
<span class = "space35">* </span>* &emsp; &mdash;nay, if it has that
convenience&mdash;&mdash;and so without stopping a moment to settle it
first in his mind, whether the <i>Jews</i> had it from the
<i>Egyptians</i>, or the <i>Egyptians</i> from the <i>Jews</i>,&mdash;he
rose up, and rubbing his forehead two or three times across with the
palm of his hand, in the manner we rub out the footsteps of care, when
evil has trod lighter upon us than we foreboded,&mdash;he shut the book,
and walked down stairs.&mdash;Nay, said he, mentioning the name of a
different great nation upon every step as he set his foot upon
it&mdash;if the <span class = "smallcaps">Egyptians</span>,&mdash;the
<span class = "smallcaps">Syrians</span>,&mdash;the <span class =
"smallcaps">Phoenicians</span>,&mdash;the <span class =
"smallcaps">Arabians</span>,&mdash;the <span class =
"smallcaps">Cappadocians</span>,&mdash;&mdash;if the <span class =
"smallcaps">Colchi</span>, and <span class =
"smallcaps">Troglodytes</span> did it&mdash;&mdash;if <span class =
"smallcaps">Solon</span> and <span class = "smallcaps">Pythagoras</span>
submitted,&mdash;what is <span class =
"smallcaps">Tristram</span>?&mdash;&mdash;Who am I, that I should fret
or fume one moment about the matter?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXVIII" id = "bookV_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Dear</span> <i>Yorick</i>, said my father,
smiling (for <i>Yorick</i> had broke his rank with my uncle <i>Toby</i>
in coming through the narrow entry, and so had stept first into the
parlour)&mdash;this <i>Tristram</i> of ours, I&nbsp;find, comes very
hardly by all his religious rites.&mdash;Never was the son of
<i>Jew</i>, <i>Christian</i>, <i>Turk</i>, or <i>Infidel</i> initiated
into them in so oblique and slovenly a manner.&mdash;But he is no worse,
I&nbsp;trust, said <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;There has been certainly,
continued my father, the deuce and all to do in some part or other of
the ecliptic, when this offspring of mine was formed.&mdash;That, you
are a better judge of than I, replied <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;Astrologers,
quoth my father, know better than us both:&mdash;the trine and sextil
aspects have jumped awry,&mdash;or the opposite of their ascendants
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page284" id = "page284">284</a></span>
have not hit it, as they should,&mdash;or the lords of the genitures
(as&nbsp;they call them) have been at <i>bo-peep</i>,&mdash;or something
has been wrong above, or below with&nbsp;us.</p>

<p>’Tis possible, answered <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;But is the child, cried
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, the worse?&mdash;The <i>Troglodytes</i> say not,
replied my father. And your theologists, <i>Yorick</i>, tell
us&mdash;Theologically? said <i>Yorick</i>,&mdash;or speaking after the
manner of apothecaries?<a class = "tag" name = "tag_5_3" id = "tag_5_3"
href = "#note_5_3">3</a>&mdash;statesmen?<a class = "tag" name =
"tag_5_4" id = "tag_5_4" href = "#note_5_4">4</a>&mdash;or
washer-women?<a class = "tag" name = "tag_5_5" id = "tag_5_5" href =
"#note_5_5">5</a></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I’m not sure, replied my father,&mdash;but they tell
us, brother <i>Toby</i>, he’s the better for it.&mdash;&mdash;Provided,
said <i>Yorick</i>, you travel him into <i>Egypt</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Of
that, answered my father, he will have the advantage, when he sees the
<span class = "locked"><i>Pyramids</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now every word of this, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, is <i>Arabick</i>
to me.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish, said <i>Yorick</i>, ’twas so, to half
the world.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Ilus</span>,<a class = "tag"
name = "tag_5_6" id = "tag_5_6" href = "#note_5_6">6</a> continued my
father, circumcised his whole army one morning.&mdash;Not without a
court martial? cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Though the
learned, continued he, taking no notice of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
remark, but turning to <i>Yorick</i>,&mdash;are greatly divided still
who <i>Ilus</i> was;&mdash;some say <i>Saturn</i>;&mdash;some the
Supreme Being;&mdash;others, no more than a brigadier general under
<i>Pharaoh-neco</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Let him be who he will, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;know not by what article of war he could
justify&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The controvertists, answered my father, assign two-and-twenty
different reasons for it:&mdash;others, indeed, who have drawn their
pens on the opposite side of the question, have shewn the world the
futility of the greatest part of them.&mdash;But then again, our best
polemic divines&mdash;I&nbsp;wish there was not a polemic divine, said
<i>Yorick</i>, in the kingdom;&mdash;one ounce of practical
divinity&mdash;is worth a painted ship-load of all their reverences have
imported these fifty years.&mdash;Pray, Mr. <i>Yorick</i>, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;do tell me what a polemic divine
is?&mdash;&mdash;The best description, captain <i>Shandy</i>,
I&nbsp;have ever read, is of a couple of ’em, replied <i>Yorick</i>, in
the account of the battle fought single hands betwixt <i>Gymnast</i> and
captain <i>Tripet</i>; which I have in my
pocket.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg I may hear it, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i> earnestly.&mdash;You shall, said <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;And as
the corporal is waiting for me at the door,&mdash;and I know the
description of a battle will do the poor fellow more good than his
supper,&mdash;I&nbsp;beg,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page285" id = "page285">285</a></span>
brother, you’ll give him leave to come in.&mdash;With all my soul, said
my father.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> came in, erect and happy as an
emperor; and having shut the door, <i>Yorick</i> took a book from his
right-hand coat-pocket, and read, or pretended to read, as follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXIX" id = "bookV_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“which words being heard by all the soldiers which were
there, divers of them being inwardly terrified, did shrink back and make
room for the assailant: all this did <i>Gymnast</i> very well remark and
consider; and therefore, making as if he would have alighted from off
his horse, as he was poising himself on the mounting side, he most
nimbly (with his short sword by his thigh) shifting his feet in the
stirrup, and performing the stirrup-leather feat, whereby, after the
inclining of his body downwards, he forthwith launched himself aloft
into the air, and placed both his feet together upon the saddle,
standing upright, with his back turned towards his horse’s
head,&mdash;Now (said&nbsp;he) my case goes forward. Then suddenly in
the same posture wherein he was, he fetched a gambol upon one foot, and
turning to the left-hand, failed not to carry his body perfectly round,
just into his former position, without missing one jot.&mdash;&mdash;Ha!
said <i>Tripet</i>, I&nbsp;will not do that at this time,&mdash;and not
without cause. Well, said <i>Gymnast</i>, I&nbsp;have
failed,&mdash;I&nbsp;will undo this leap; then with a marvellous
strength and agility, turning towards the right-hand, he fetched another
frisking gambol as before; which done, he set his right-hand thumb upon
the bow of the saddle, raised himself up, and sprung into the air,
poising and upholding his whole weight upon the muscle and nerve of the
said thumb, and so turned and whirled himself about three times: at the
fourth, reversing his body, and overturning it upside down, and foreside
back, without <i>touching anything</i>, he brought himself betwixt the
horse’s two ears, and then giving himself a jerking swing, he seated
himself upon the crupper&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

<p>(This can’t be fighting, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;The
corporal shook his head at it.&mdash;&mdash;Have patience, said
<i>Yorick</i>.)</p>

<p>“Then (<i>Tripet</i>) pass’d his right leg over his saddle, and
placed himself <i>en croup</i>.&mdash;But, said he, ’twere better for me
to get into the saddle; then putting the thumbs of both hands upon the
crupper before him, and thereupon leaning himself, as upon the only
supporters of his body, he incontinently turned heels over head in the
air, and strait found himself betwixt the bow of the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page286" id = "page286">286</a></span>
saddle in a tolerable seat; then springing into the air with a
summerset, he turned him about like a wind-mill, and made above a
hundred frisks, turns, and demi-pommadas.”&mdash;Good God! cried
<i>Trim</i>, losing all patience,&mdash;one home thrust of a bayonet is
worth it all.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think so too, replied <span class =
"locked"><i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I am of a contrary opinion, quoth my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXX" id = "bookV_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">No</span>,&mdash;I think I
have advanced nothing, replied my father, making answer to a question
which <i>Yorick</i> had taken the liberty to put to
him,&mdash;I&nbsp;have advanced nothing in the <i>Tristra-pædia</i>, but
what is as clear as any one proposition in <i>Euclid</i>.&mdash;Reach
me, <i>Trim</i>, that book from off the scrutoir:&mdash;&mdash;it has
oft-times been in my mind, continued my father, to have read it over
both to you, <i>Yorick</i>, and to my brother <i>Toby</i>, and I think
it a little unfriendly in myself, in not having done it long
ago:&mdash;&mdash;shall we have a short chapter or two now,&mdash;and a
chapter or two hereafter, as occasions serve; and so on, till we get
through the whole? My uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Yorick</i> made the
obeisance which was proper; and the corporal, though he was not included
in the compliment, laid his hand upon his breast, and made his bow at
the same time.&mdash;&mdash;The company smiled. <i>Trim</i>, quoth my
father, has paid the full price for staying out the
<i>entertainment</i>.&mdash;&mdash;He did not seem to relish the play,
replied <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;’Twas a Tom-fool-battle, an’ please
your reverence, of captain <i>Tripet’s</i> and that other officer,
making so many summersets, as they advanced;&mdash;&mdash;the
<i>French</i> come on capering now and then in that way,&mdash;but not
quite so much.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> never felt the consciousness of his existence
with more complacency than what the corporal’s, and his own reflections,
made him do at that moment;&mdash;&mdash;he lighted his
pipe,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> drew his chair closer to the
table,&mdash;<i>Trim</i> snuff’d the candle,&mdash;my father stirr’d up
the fire,&mdash;took up the book,&mdash;cough’d twice, and begun.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXI" id = "bookV_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> first thirty pages, said my
father, turning over the leaves,&mdash;are a little dry; and as they are
not closely connected with the subject,&mdash;&mdash;for the present
we’ll pass them by: ’tis a prefatory
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page287" id = "page287">287</a></span>
introduction, continued my father, or an introductory preface (for I am
not determined which name to give&nbsp;it) upon political or civil
government; the foundation of which being laid in the first conjunction
betwixt male and female, for procreation of the
species&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;was insensibly led into
it.&mdash;&mdash;’Twas natural, said <i>Yorick</i>.</p>

<p>The original of society, continued my father, I’m satisfied is, what
<i>Politian</i> tells us, <i>i.e.</i>, merely conjugal; and nothing more
than the getting together of one man and one woman;&mdash;to which,
(according to <i>Hesiod</i>) the philosopher adds a
servant:&mdash;&mdash;but supposing in the first beginning there were no
men servants born&mdash;&mdash;he lays the foundation of it, in a
man,&mdash;a&nbsp;woman&mdash;and a bull.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;believe
’tis an ox, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, quoting the passage (<span class =
"greek" title = "oikon men prôtista, gunaika te, boun t’ arotêra">οἶκον
μὲν πρώτιστα, <ins class = "correction"
title = "printed γυνᾶικα">γυναῖκα</ins> τε, βοῦν τ’ <ins class = "correction" title =
"printed ἀροτὴρα">ἀροτῆρα</ins></span>).&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;bull must
have given more trouble than his head was worth.&mdash;&mdash;But there
is a better reason still, said my father (dipping his pen into his ink);
for the ox being the most patient of animals, and the most useful withal
in tilling the ground for their nourishment,&mdash;was the properest
instrument, and emblem too, for the new joined couple, that the creation
could have associated with them.&mdash;And there is a stronger reason,
added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, than them all for the ox.&mdash;My father
had not power to take his pen out of his ink-horn, till he had heard my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> reason.&mdash;For when the ground was tilled, said
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and made worth inclosing, then they began to
secure it by walls and ditches, which was the origin of
fortification.&mdash;&mdash;True, true, dear <i>Toby</i>, cried my
father, striking out the bull, and putting the ox in his place.</p>

<p>My father gave <i>Trim</i> a nod, to snuff the candle, and resumed
his discourse.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I enter upon this speculation, said my father
carelessly, and half shutting the book, as he went on, merely to shew
the foundation of the natural relation between a father and his child;
the right and jurisdiction over whom he acquires these several <span
class = "locked">ways&mdash;</span></p>

<p>1st, by marriage.</p>

<p>2d, by adoption.</p>

<p>3d, by legitimation.</p>

<p>And 4th, by procreation; all which I consider in their order.</p>

<p>I lay a slight stress upon one of them, replied
<i>Yorick</i>&mdash;&mdash;the act, especially where it ends there, in
my opinion lays as little obligation upon the child, as it conveys power
to the father.&mdash;You
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page288" id = "page288">288</a></span>
are wrong,&mdash;said my father argutely, and for this plain reason
<span class = "space35"> &nbsp;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span>
&mdash;I&nbsp;own, added my father, that the offspring, upon this
account, is not so under the power and jurisdiction of the
mother.&mdash;But the reason, replied <i>Yorick</i>, equally holds good
for her.&mdash;&mdash;She is under authority herself, said my
father:&mdash;and besides, continued my father, nodding his head, and
laying his finger upon the side of his nose, as he assigned his
reason,&mdash;<i>she is not the principal agent,</i> Yorick.&mdash;In
what, quoth my uncle <i>Toby?</i> stopping his pipe.&mdash;Though by all
means, added my father (not attending to my uncle <i>Toby</i>) “<i>The
son ought to pay her respect</i>,” as you may read, <i>Yorick</i>, at
large in the first book of the Institutes of <i>Justinian</i>, at the
eleventh title and the tenth section,&mdash;I&nbsp;can read it as well,
replied <i>Yorick</i>, in the Catechism.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXII" id = "bookV_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Trim</span> can repeat every word of it by
heart, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Pugh! said my father, not
caring to be interrupted with <i>Trim’s</i> saying his Catechism. He
can, upon my honour, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Ask him, Mr.
<i>Yorick</i>, any question you <span class =
"locked">please.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;The fifth Commandment, <i>Trim</i>&mdash;said <i>Yorick</i>,
speaking mildly, and with a gentle nod, as to a modest Catechumen. The
corporal stood silent.&mdash;You don’t ask him right, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, raising his voice, and giving it rapidly like the word of
command:&mdash;&mdash;The fifth&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;cried my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;I&nbsp;must begin with the first, an’ please
your honour, said the <span class =
"locked">corporal.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;<i>Yorick</i> could not forbear smiling.&mdash;Your reverence
does not consider, said the corporal, shouldering his stick like a
musket, and marching into the middle of the room, to illustrate his
position,&mdash;that ’tis exactly the same thing, as doing one’s
exercise in the <span class = "locked">field.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“<i>Join your right-hand to your firelock</i>,” cried the corporal,
giving the word of command, and performing the <span class =
"locked">motion.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“<i>Poise your firelock</i>,” cried the corporal, doing the duty
still both of adjutant and private man.</p>

<p>“<i>Rest your firelock</i>;”&mdash;one motion, an’ please your
reverence, you see leads into another.&mdash;If his honour will begin
but with the <span class = "locked"><i>first</i>&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page289" id = "page289">289</a></span>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">The first</span>&mdash;cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, setting his hand upon his side&mdash;
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span></p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">The second</span>&mdash;cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, waving his tobacco-pipe, as he would have done his sword at
the head of a regiment.&mdash;The corporal went through his
<i>manual</i> with exactness! and having <i>honoured his father and
mother</i>, made a low bow, and fell back to the side of the room.</p>

<p>Everything in this world, said my father, is big with jest,&mdash;and
has wit in it, and instruction too,&mdash;if we can but find it out.</p>

<p>&mdash;Here is the <i>scaffold work</i> of <span class =
"smallcaps">Instruction</span>, its true point of folly, without the
<span class = "smallroman">BUILDING</span> behind&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;Here is the glass for pedagogues, preceptors, tutors,
governors, gerund-grinders, and bear-leaders, to view themselves in, in
their true <span class = "locked">dimensions.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Oh! there is a husk and shell, <i>Yorick</i>, which grows up with
learning, which their unskilfulness knows not how to fling away!</p>

<p>&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Sciences may be learned by rote, but
Wisdom not.</span></p>

<p><i>Yorick</i> thought my father inspired.&mdash;I will enter into
obligations this moment, said my father, to lay out all my aunt
<i>Dinah’s</i> legacy in charitable uses (of&nbsp;which, by the bye, my
father had no high opinion), if the corporal has any one determinate
idea annexed to any one word he has repeated.&mdash;Prythee,
<i>Trim</i>, quoth my father, turning round to him,&mdash;What dost thou
mean, by “<i>honouring thy father and mother?</i>”</p>

<p>Allowing them, an’ please your honour, three half-pence a day out of
my pay, when they grow old.&mdash;And didst thou do that, <i>Trim?</i>
said <i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;He did indeed, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;Then, <i>Trim</i>, said <i>Yorick</i>, springing out
of his chair, and taking the corporal by the hand, thou art the best
commentator upon that part of the <i>Decalogue</i>; and I honour thee
more for it, corporal <i>Trim</i>, than if thou hadst had a hand in the
<i>Talmud</i> itself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXIII" id = "bookV_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">O blessed</span> health! cried my father,
making an exclamation, as he turned over the leaves to the next chapter,
thou art above all gold and treasure; ’tis thou who enlargest the
soul,&mdash;and openest all its powers to receive instruction and to
relish virtue.&mdash;He that has thee, has little more to wish
for;&mdash;and he that is so wretched as to want thee,&mdash;wants
everything with thee.</p>

<p>I have concentrated all that can be said upon this important
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page290" id = "page290">290</a></span>
head, said my father, into a very little room, therefore we’ll read the
chapter quite through.</p>

<p>My father read as follows:</p>

<p>“The whole secret of health depending upon the due contention for
mastery betwixt the radical heat and the radical moisture”&mdash;You
have proved that matter of fact, I&nbsp;suppose, above, said
<i>Yorick</i>. Sufficiently, replied my father.</p>

<p>In saying this, my father shut the book,&mdash;not as if he resolved
to read no more of it, for he kept his forefinger in the
chapter:&mdash;&mdash;nor pettishly,&mdash;for he shut the book slowly;
his thumb resting, when he had done it, upon the upper-side of the
cover, as his three fingers supported the lower side of it, without the
least compressive <span class =
"locked">violence.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I have demonstrated the truth of that point, quoth my father, nodding
to <i>Yorick</i>, most sufficiently in the preceding chapter.</p>

<p>Now could the man in the moon be told, that a man in the earth had
wrote a chapter, sufficiently demonstrating, That the secret of all
health depended upon the due contention for mastery betwixt the
<i>radical heat</i> and the <i>radical moisture</i>,&mdash;and that he
had managed the point so well, that there was not one single word wet or
dry upon radical heat or radical moisture, throughout the whole
chapter,&mdash;or a single syllable in it, <i>pro</i> or <i>con</i>,
directly or indirectly, upon the contention betwixt these two powers in
any part of the animal <span class =
"locked">œconomy&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“O thou eternal Maker of all beings!”&mdash;he would cry, striking
his breast with his right hand (in&nbsp;case he had one)&mdash;“Thou
whose power and goodness can enlarge the faculties of thy creatures to
this infinite degree of excellence and perfection,&mdash;What have we
<span class = "smallcaps">Moonites</span> done?”</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXIV" id = "bookV_chapXXXIV">
CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">With</span> two strokes, the one at
<i>Hippocrates</i>, the other at Lord <i>Verulam</i>, did my father
achieve&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The stroke at the prince of physicians, with which he began, was no
more than a short insult upon his sorrowful complaint of the <i>Ars
longa</i>,&mdash;and <i>Vita brevis</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Life short, cried
my father,&mdash;and the art of healing tedious! And who are we to thank
for both the one and the other, but the ignorance of quacks
themselves,&mdash;and the stage-loads of chymical nostrums, and
peripatetic lumber, with which, in all ages, they have first flatter’d
the world, and at last deceived&nbsp;it?</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page291" id = "page291">291</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;O my lord <i>Verulam!</i> cried my father, turning from
<i>Hippocrates</i>, and making his second stroke at him, as the
principal of nostrum-mongers, and the fittest to be made an example of
to the rest,&mdash;&mdash;What shall I say to thee, my great lord
<i>Verulam?</i> What shall I say to thy internal spirit,&mdash;thy
opium,&mdash;thy salt-petre,&mdash;&mdash;thy greasy unctions,&mdash;thy
daily purges,&mdash;thy nightly clysters, and succedaneums?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My father was never at a loss what to say to any man,
upon any subject; and had the least occasion for the exordium of any man
breathing: how he dealt with his lordship’s opinion,&mdash;&mdash;you
shall see;&mdash;&mdash;but when&mdash;I&nbsp;know not;&mdash;&mdash;we
must first see what his lordship’s opinion was.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXV" id = "bookV_chapXXXV">
CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4>


<p>“<span class = "firstword">The</span> two great causes, which
conspire with each other to shorten life, says lord <i>Verulam</i>, are
<span class = "locked">first&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“The internal spirit, which, like a gentle flame, wastes the body
down to death:&mdash;And secondly, the external air, that parches the
body up to ashes:&mdash;which two enemies attacking us on both sides of
our bodies together, at length destroy our organs, and render them unfit
to carry on the functions of life.”</p>

<p>This being the state of the case, the road to Longevity was plain;
nothing more being required, says his lordship, but to repair the waste
committed by the internal spirit, by making the substance of it more
thick and dense, by a regular course of opiates on one side, and by
refrigerating the heat of it on the other, by three grains and a half of
salt-petre every morning before you got <span class =
"locked">up.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Still this frame of ours was left exposed to the inimical assaults of
the air without;&mdash;but this was fenced off again by a course of
greasy unctions, which so fully saturated the pores of the skin, that no
spicula could enter;&mdash;&mdash;nor could any one get
out.&mdash;&mdash;This put a stop to all perspiration, sensible and
insensible, which being the cause of so many scurvy
distempers&mdash;a&nbsp;course of clysters was requisite to carry off
redundant humours,&mdash;and render the system complete.</p>

<p>What my father had to say to my lord of <i>Verulam’s</i> opiates, his
salt-petre, and greasy unctions and clysters, you shall read,&mdash;but
not to-day&mdash;or to-morrow: time presses upon me,&mdash;my reader is
impatient&mdash;I&nbsp;must get forwards.&mdash;&mdash;You shall read
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page292" id = "page292">292</a></span>
the chapter at your leisure (if&nbsp;you chuse&nbsp;it), as soon as ever
the <i>Tristra-pædia</i> is <span class =
"locked">published.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Sufficeth it at present, to say, my father levelled the hypothesis
with the ground, and in doing that, the learned know, he built up and
established his <span class = "locked">own.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXVI" id = "bookV_chapXXXVI">
CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> whole secret of health, said my
father, beginning the sentence again, depending evidently upon the due
contention betwixt the radical heat and radical moisture within
us;&mdash;the least imaginable skill had been sufficient to have
maintained it, had not the schoolmen confounded the talk, merely
(as&nbsp;<i>Van Helmont</i>, the famous chymist, has proved) by all
along mistaking the radical moisture for the tallow and fat of animal
bodies.</p>

<p>Now the radical moisture is not the tallow or fat of animals, but an
oily and balsamous substance; for the fat and tallow, as also the phlegm
or watery parts, are cold; whereas the oily and balsamous parts are of a
lively heat and spirit, which accounts for the observation of
<i>Aristotle</i>, “<i>Quod omne animal post coitum est</i> triste.”</p>

<p>Now it is certain, that the radical heat lives in the radical
moisture, but whether <i>vice versâ</i>, is a doubt: however, when the
one decays, the other decays also; and then is produced, either an
unnatural heat, which causes an unnatural dryness&mdash;&mdash;or an
unnatural moisture, which causes dropsies.&mdash;&mdash;So that if a
child, as he grows up, can but be taught to avoid running into fire or
water, as either of ’em threaten his destruction,&mdash;&mdash;’twill be
all that is needful to be done upon that <span class =
"locked">head.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXVII" id = "bookV_chapXXXVII">
CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> description of the siege of
<i>Jericho</i> itself, could not have engaged the attention of my uncle
<i>Toby</i> more powerfully than the last chapter;&mdash;his eyes were
fixed upon my father throughout it;&mdash;he never mentioned radical
heat and radical moisture, but my uncle <i>Toby</i> took his pipe out of
his mouth, and shook his head; and as soon as the chapter was finished,
he beckoned to the corporal to come close to his chair, to ask him the
following question,&mdash;<i>aside</i>.&mdash;&mdash;
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>
It was at the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page293" id = "page293">293</a></span>
siege of <i>Limerick</i>, an’ please your honour, replied the corporal,
making a bow.</p>

<p>The poor fellow and I, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, addressing himself
to my father, were scarce able to crawl out of our tents, at the time
the siege of <i>Limerick</i> was raised, upon the very account you
mention.&mdash;&mdash;Now what can have got into that precious noddle of
thine, my dear brother <i>Toby?</i> cried my father,
mentally.&mdash;&mdash;By Heaven! continued he, communing still with
himself, it would puzzle an <i>Œdipus</i> to bring it in <span class =
"locked">point.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I believe, an’ please your honour, quoth the corporal, that if it had
not been for the quantity of brandy we set fire to every night, and the
claret and cinnamon with which I plyed your honour off;&mdash;And the
geneva, <i>Trim</i>, added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, which did us more good
than all&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;verily believe, continued the corporal, we
had both, an’ please your honour, left our lives in the trenches, and
been buried in them too.&mdash;&mdash;The noblest grave, corporal! cried
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, his eyes sparkling as he spoke, that a soldier
could wish to lie down in.&mdash;&mdash;But a pitiful death for him! an’
please your honour, replied the corporal.</p>

<p>All this was as much <i>Arabick</i> to my father, as the rites of the
<i>Colchi</i> and <i>Troglodites</i> had been before to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; my father could not determine whether he was to frown or to
<span class = "locked">smile.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i>, turning to <i>Yorick</i>, resumed the case at
<ins class = "correction"
title = "printed in Roman (non-italic) type"><i>Limerick</i></ins>, more intelligibly than he had begun
it,&mdash;and so settled the point for my father at once.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXVIII" id = "bookV_chapXXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was undoubtedly, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, a great happiness for myself and the corporal, that we had
all along a burning fever, attended with a most raging thirst, during
the whole five-and-twenty days the flux was upon us in the camp;
otherwise what my brother calls the radical moisture, must, as I
conceive it, inevitably have got the better.&mdash;&mdash;My father drew
in his lungs top-full of air, and looking up, blew it forth again, as
slowly as he possibly <span class =
"locked">could.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;It was Heaven’s mercy to us, continued my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, which put it into the corporal’s head to maintain that due
contention betwixt the radical heat and the radical moisture, by
reinforcing the fever, as he did all along, with hot wine and spices;
whereby the corporal kept up (as&nbsp;it were) a&nbsp;continual
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page294" id = "page294">294</a></span>
firing, so that the radical heat stood its ground from the beginning to
the end, and was a fair match for the moisture, terrible as it
was.&mdash;&mdash;Upon my honour, added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, you might
have heard the contention within our bodies, brother <i>Shandy</i>,
twenty toises.&mdash;If there was no firing, said <i>Yorick</i>.</p>

<p>Well&mdash;said my father, with a full aspiration, and pausing a
while after the word&mdash;Was I a judge, and the laws of the country
which made me one permitted it, I&nbsp;would condemn some of the worst
malefactors, provided they had had their
clergy&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;<i>Yorick</i>,
foreseeing the sentence was likely to end with no sort of mercy, laid
his hand upon my father’s breast, and begged he would respite it for a
few minutes, till he asked the corporal a
question.&mdash;&mdash;Prithee, <i>Trim</i>, said <i>Yorick</i>, without
staying for my father’s leave,&mdash;tell us honestly&mdash;what is thy
opinion concerning this self-same radical heat and radical moisture?</p>

<p>With humble submission to his honour’s better judgment, quoth the
corporal, making a bow to my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;Speak thy opinion
freely, corporal, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;The poor fellow is my
servant,&mdash;not my slave,&mdash;added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, turning
to my <span class = "locked">father.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The corporal put his hat under his left arm, and with his stick
hanging upon the wrist of it, by a black thong split into a tassel about
the knot, he marched up to the ground where he had performed his
catechism; then touching his under-jaw with the thumb and fingers of his
right-hand before he opened his mouth,&mdash;&mdash;he delivered his
notion thus.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXXXIX" id = "bookV_chapXXXIX">
CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Just</span> as the corporal was humming, to
begin&mdash;in waddled Dr. <i>Slop</i>.&mdash;’Tis not two-pence
matter&mdash;the corporal shall go on in the next chapter, let who will
come <span class = "locked">in.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Well, my good doctor, cried my father sportively, for the transitions
of his passions were unaccountably sudden,&mdash;and what has this whelp
of mine to say to the matter?</p>

<p>Had my father been asking after the amputation of the tail of a
puppy-dog&mdash;he could not have done it in a more careless air: the
system which Dr. <i>Slop</i> had laid down, to treat the accident by, no
way allowed of such a mode of enquiry.&mdash;He sat down.</p>

<p>Pray, Sir, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in a manner which could
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page295" id = "page295">295</a></span>
not go unanswered,&mdash;in what condition is the boy?&mdash;’Twill end
in a <i>phimosis</i>, replied Dr. <i>Slop</i>.</p>

<p>I am no wiser than I was, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;returning
his pipe into his mouth.&mdash;&mdash;Then let the corporal go on, said
my father, with his medical lecture.&mdash;The corporal made a bow to
his old friend, Dr. <i>Slop</i>, and then delivered his opinion
concerning radical heat and radical moisture, in the following
words.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXL" id = "bookV_chapXL">
CHAPTER XL</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> city of <i>Limerick</i>, the
siege of which was begun under his majesty king <i>William</i> himself,
the year after I went into the army&mdash;lies, an’ please your honours,
in the middle of a devilish wet, swampy country.&mdash;’Tis quite
surrounded, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, with the <i>Shannon</i>, and is,
by its situation, one of the strongest fortified places in <span class =
"locked"><i>Ireland</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I think this is a new fashion, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, of beginning a
medical lecture.&mdash;’Tis all true, answered <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;Then I
wish the faculty would follow the cut of it, said
<i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;’Tis all cut through, an’ please your reverence,
said the corporal, with drains and bogs; and besides, there was such a
quantity of rain fell during the siege, the whole country was like a
puddle,&mdash;’twas that, and nothing else, which brought on the flux,
and which had like to have killed both his honour and myself; now there
was no such thing, after the first ten days, continued the corporal, for
a soldier to lie dry in his tent, without cutting a ditch round it, to
draw off the water;&mdash;nor was that enough, for those who could
afford it, as his honour could, without setting fire every night to a
pewter dish full of brandy, which took off the damp of the air, and made
the inside of the tent as warm as a <span class =
"locked">stove.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And what conclusion dost thou draw, corporal <i>Trim</i>, cried my
father, from all these premises?</p>

<p>I infer, an’ please your worship, replied <i>Trim</i>, that the
radical moisture is nothing in the world but ditch-water&mdash;and that
the radical heat, of those who can go to the expence of it, is burnt
brandy,&mdash;the radical heat and moisture of a private man, an’ please
your honour, is nothing but ditch-water&mdash;and a dram of
geneva&mdash;&mdash;and give us but enough of it, with a pipe of
tobacco, to give us spirits, and drive away the vapours&mdash;we know
not what it is to fear death.</p>

<p>I am at a loss, Captain <i>Shandy</i>, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, to
determine
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page296" id = "page296">296</a></span>
in which branch of learning your servant shines most, whether in
physiology or divinity.&mdash;<i>Slop</i> had not forgot <i>Trim’s</i>
comment upon the <span class = "locked">sermon.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It is but an hour ago, replied <i>Yorick</i>, since the corporal was
examined in the latter, and pass’d muster with great <span class =
"locked">honour.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The radical heat and moisture, quoth Dr. <i>Slop</i>, turning to my
father, you must know, is the basis and foundation of our being&mdash;as
the root of a tree is the source and principle of its
vegetation.&mdash;It is inherent in the seeds of all animals, and may be
preserved sundry ways, but principally in my opinion by
<i>consubstantials</i>, <i>impriments</i>, and
<i>occludents</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Now this poor fellow, continued Dr.
<i>Slop</i>, pointing to the corporal, has had the misfortune to have
heard some superficial empiric discourse upon this nice
point.&mdash;&mdash;That he has,&mdash;said my father.&mdash;&mdash;Very
likely, said my uncle.&mdash;I’m sure of it&mdash;quoth <span class =
"locked"><i>Yorick</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXLI" id = "bookV_chapXLI">
CHAPTER XLI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Doctor</span> <i>Slop</i> being called out
to look at a cataplasm he had ordered, it gave my father an opportunity
of going on with another chapter in the
<i>Tristra-pædia</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Come! cheer up, my lads; I’ll shew
you land&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for when we have tugged through that
chapter, the book shall not be opened again this <span class =
"locked">twelve-month.&mdash;Huzza!&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXLII" id = "bookV_chapXLII">
CHAPTER XLII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Five</span> years with a bib
under his chin;</p>

<p>Four years in travelling from Christ-cross-row to <i>Malachi</i>;</p>

<p>A year and a half in learning to write his own name;</p>

<p>Seven long years and more <span class = "greek" title =
"tuptô">τυπτω</span>-ing it, at Greek and Latin;</p>

<p>Four years at his <i>probations</i> and his
<i>negations</i>&mdash;the fine statue still lying in the middle of the
marble block,&mdash;and nothing done, but his tools sharpened to hew it
out!&mdash;’Tis a piteous delay!&mdash;Was not the great <i>Julius
Scaliger</i> within an ace of never getting his tools sharpened at
all?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Forty-four years old was he before he could
manage his Greek;&mdash;and <i>Peter Damianus</i>, lord bishop of
<i>Ostia</i>, as all the world knows, could not so much as read, when he
was of man’s estate.&mdash;And <i>Baldus</i> himself, as eminent as he
turned out after, entered upon the law so late in life, that everybody
imagined he intended to be an advocate in
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page297" id = "page297">297</a></span>
the other world: no wonder, when <i>Eudamidas</i>, the son of
<i>Archidamas</i>, heard <i>Xenocrates</i> at seventy-five disputing
about <i>wisdom</i>, that he asked gravely,&mdash;<i>If the old man be
yet disputing and enquiring concerning wisdom,&mdash;what time will he
have to make use of it?</i></p>

<p><i>Yorick</i> listened to my father with great attention; there was a
seasoning of wisdom unaccountably mixed up with his strangest whims, and
he had sometimes such illuminations in the darkest of his eclipses, as
almost atoned for them:&mdash;be wary, Sir, when you imitate him.</p>

<p>I am convinced, <i>Yorick</i>, continued my father, half reading and
half discoursing, that there is a North-west passage to the intellectual
world; and that the soul of man has shorter ways of going to work, in
furnishing itself with knowledge and instruction, than we generally take
with it.&mdash;&mdash;But, alack! all fields have not a river or a
spring running besides them;&mdash;every child, <i>Yorick</i>, has not a
parent to point it out.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The whole entirely depends, added my father, in a low
voice, upon the <i>auxiliary verbs</i>, Mr. <i>Yorick</i>.</p>

<p>Had <i>Yorick</i> trod upon <i>Virgil’s</i> snake, he could not have
looked more surprised.&mdash;I&nbsp;am surprised too, cried my father,
observing it,&mdash;and I reckon it as one of the greatest calamities
which ever befel the republic of letters, That those who have been
entrusted with the education of our children, and whose business it was
to open their minds, and stock them early with ideas, in order to set
the imagination loose upon them, have made so little use of the
auxiliary verbs in doing it, as they have done&mdash;&mdash;So that,
except <i>Raymond Lullius</i>, and the elder <i>Pelegrini</i>, the last
of which arrived to such perfection in the use of ’em, with his topics,
that, in a few lessons, he could teach a young gentleman to discourse
with plausibility upon any subject, <i>pro</i> and <i>con</i>, and to
say and write all that could be spoken or written concerning it, without
blotting a word, to the admiration of all who beheld
him.&mdash;I&nbsp;should be glad, said <i>Yorick</i>, interrupting my
father, to be made to comprehend this matter. You shall, said my
father.</p>

<p>The highest stretch of improvement a single word is capable of, is a
high metaphor,&mdash;&mdash;for which, in my opinion, the idea is
generally the worse, and not the better;&mdash;&mdash;but be that as it
may,&mdash;when the mind has done that with it&mdash;there is an
end,&mdash;the mind and the idea are at rest,&mdash;until a second idea
enters;&mdash;&mdash;and so&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>Now the use of the <i>Auxiliaries</i> is, at once to set the soul
a-going
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page298" id = "page298">298</a></span>
by herself upon the materials as they are brought her; and by the
versability of this great engine, round which they are twisted, to open
new tracts of enquiry, and make every idea engender millions.</p>

<p>You excite my curiosity greatly, said <i>Yorick</i>.</p>

<p>For my own part, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I have given it
up.&mdash;&mdash;The <i>Danes</i>, an’ please your honour, quoth the
corporal, who were on the left at the siege of <i>Limerick</i>, were all
auxiliaries.&mdash;&mdash;And very good ones, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;But the auxiliaries, <i>Trim</i>, my brother is
talking about,&mdash;I&nbsp;conceive to be different <span class =
"locked">things.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You do? said my father, rising up.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookV_chapXLIII" id = "bookV_chapXLIII">
CHAPTER XLIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father took a single turn across
the room, then sat down, and finished the chapter.</p>

<p>The verbs auxiliary we are concerned in here, continued my father,
are, <i>am</i>; <i>was</i>; <i>have</i>; <i>had</i>; <i>do</i>;
<i>did</i>; <i>make</i>; <i>made</i>; <i>suffer</i>; <i>shall</i>;
<i>should</i>; <i>will</i>; <i>would</i>; <i>can</i>; <i>could</i>;
<i>owe</i>; <i>ought</i>; <i>used</i>; or <i>is wont</i>.&mdash;And
these varied with tenses, <i>present</i>, <i>past</i>, <i>future</i>,
and conjugated with the verb <i>see</i>,&mdash;or with these questions
added to them;&mdash;<i>Is it? Was it? Will it be? Would it be? May it
be? Might it be?</i> And these again put negatively, <i>Is it not? Was
it not? Ought it not?</i>&mdash;Or affirmatively,&mdash;<i>It is</i>;
<i>It was</i>; <i>It ought to be</i>. Or chronologically,&mdash;<i>Has
it been always? Lately? How long ago?</i>&mdash;Or
hypothetically,&mdash;<i>If it was? If it was not?</i> What would
follow?&mdash;&mdash;If the <i>French</i> should beat the
<i>English?</i> If the <i>Sun</i> go out of the <i>Zodiac?</i></p>

<p>Now, by the right use and application of these, continued my father,
in which a child’s memory should be exercised, there is no one idea can
enter his brain, how barren soever, but a magazine of conceptions and
conclusions may be drawn forth from it.&mdash;&mdash;Didst thou ever see
a white bear? cried my father, turning his head round to <i>Trim</i>,
who stood at the back of his chair:&mdash;No, an’ please your honour,
replied the corporal.&mdash;&mdash;But thou couldst discourse about one,
<i>Trim</i>, said my father, in case of need?&mdash;How is it possible,
brother, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, if the corporal never saw
one?&mdash;&mdash;’Tis the fact I want, replied my father,&mdash;and the
possibility of it is as follows.</p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">A white bear!</span> Very well. Have I ever
seen one? Might
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page299" id = "page299">299</a></span>
I ever have seen one? Am I ever to see one? Ought I ever to have seen
one? Or can I ever see one?</p>

<p>Would I had seen a white bear! (for how can I imagine it?)</p>

<p>If I should see a white bear, what would I say? If I should never see
a white bear, what then?</p>

<p>If I never have, can, must, or shall see a white bear alive; have I
ever seen the skin of one? Did I ever see one painted?&mdash;described?
Have I never dreamed of one?</p>

<p>Did my father, mother, uncle, aunt, brothers or sisters, ever see a
white bear? What would they give? How would they behave? How would the
white bear have behaved? Is he wild? Tame? Terrible? Rough? Smooth?</p>

<p>&mdash;Is the white bear worth seeing?&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;Is there no sin in it?&mdash;</p>

<p>Is it better than a <span class = "smallroman">BLACK ONE</span>?</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_5_1" id = "note_5_1" href = "#tag_5_1">1.</a>
This book my father would never consent to publish; ’tis in manuscript,
with some other tracts of his, in the family, all, or most of which will
be printed in due time.</p>

<p><a name = "note_5_2" id = "note_5_2" href = "#tag_5_2">2.</a>
Mr. <i>Shandy</i> is supposed to mean ******** *** Esq.; member for
******, &mdash;&mdash;and not the <i>Chinese</i> Legislator.</p>

<p><a name = "note_5_3" id = "note_5_3" href = "#tag_5_3">3.</a>
<span class = "greek"
title = "Chalepês nosou, kai dusiatou apallagên, hên anthraka kalousin.">Χαλεπῆς νόσου, καὶ δυσιάτου <ins class =
"correction" title = "printed ἀπαλλαγὴ [apallagê]">ἀπαλλαγὴν</ins>, ἣν
ἄνθρακα καλοῦσιν.</span>&mdash;<span class =
"smallcaps">Philo</span>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_5_4" id = "note_5_4" href = "#tag_5_4">4.</a>
<span class = "greek"
title = "Ta temnomena tôn ethnôn polugonôtata, kai poluanthrôpotata einai.">Τὰ τεμνόμενα τῶν ἐθνῶν τολυγονώτατα, καὶ
πολυανθρωπότατα εἶναι.</span></p>

<p><a name = "note_5_5" id = "note_5_5" href = "#tag_5_5">5.</a>
<span class = "greek" title = "Kathariotêtos heineken.">Καθαριότητος
εἵνεκεν.</span>&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Bochart</span>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_5_6" id = "note_5_6" href = "#tag_5_6">6.</a>
<span class = "greek"
title = "Ho Ilos, ta aidoia peritemnetai, tauto poiêsai kai tous ham’ autô summachous katanankasas.">Ὁ Ἶλος, τὰ αἰδοῖα
περιτέμνεται, ταὐτὸ ποιῆσαι καὶ τοὺς ἅμ’ αυτῷ συμμάχους
καταναγκάσας.</span>&mdash;<span class =
"smallcaps">Sanchuniatho.</span></p>

<p class = "mynote">
Note 6 as printed: Ὁ Ιλος, τὰ ἀιδοῖα περιτέμνεται, τἀυτὸ ποῖησαι καὶ
τοὺς ἅμ’ αυτῷ συμμὰχους καταναγκάσας. The errors in the diacritics do
not affect the transliteration.</p>

</div>



<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page300" id = "page300">300</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookVI" id = "bookVI">BOOK VI</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapI" id = "bookVI_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">We</span>’ll not stop two
moments, my dear Sir,&mdash;only, as we have got through these five
volumes,<a class = "tag" name = "tag_6_1" id = "tag_6_1" href =
"#note_6_1">1</a> (do,&nbsp;Sir, sit down upon a set&mdash;&mdash;they
are better than nothing) let us just look back upon the country we have
pass’d <span class = "locked">through.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What a wilderness has it been! and what a mercy that we
have not both of us been lost, or devoured by wild beasts
in&nbsp;it!</p>

<p>Did you think the world itself, Sir, had contained such a number of
Jack Asses?&mdash;&mdash;How they view’d and review’d us as we passed
over the rivulet at the bottom of that little valley!&mdash;&mdash;and
when we climbed over that hill, and were just getting out of
sight&mdash;good God! what a braying did they all set up together!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Prithee, shepherd! who keeps all those Jack Asses? * *
*</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Heaven be their comforter&mdash;&mdash;What! are they
never curried?&mdash;&mdash;Are they never taken in in
winter?&mdash;&mdash;Bray bray&mdash;bray. Bray on,&mdash;the world is
deeply your debtor;&mdash;&mdash;louder still&mdash;that’s
nothing:&mdash;in good sooth, you are ill-used:&mdash;&mdash;Was I a
Jack Asse, I&nbsp;solemnly declare, I&nbsp;would bray in G-fol-re-ut
from morning, even unto night.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapII" id = "bookVI_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my father had danced his white
bear backwards and forwards through half a dozen pages, he closed the
book for good an’ all,&mdash;and in a kind of triumph redelivered it
into <i>Trim’s</i> hand, with a nod to lay it upon the ’scrutoire, where
he found it.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Tristram</i>, said he, shall be made to
conjugate every word in the dictionary, backwards and forwards the same
way;&mdash;&mdash;every word, <i>Yorick</i>, by this means, you see, is
converted into a thesis or an hypothesis;&mdash;every thesis and
hypothesis have an offspring of propositions;&mdash;and each proposition
has its own consequences
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page301" id = "page301">301</a></span>
and conclusions; every one of which leads the mind on again, into fresh
tracks of enquiries and doubtings.&mdash;&mdash;The force of this
engine, added my father, is incredible in opening a child’s
head.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis enough, brother <i>Shandy</i>, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, to burst it into a thousand <span class =
"locked">splinters.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I presume, said <i>Yorick</i>, smiling,&mdash;it must be owing to
this,&mdash;&mdash;(for let logicians say what they will, it is not to
be accounted for sufficiently from the bare use of the ten
predicaments)&mdash;&mdash;That the famous <i>Vincent Quirino</i>,
amongst the many other astonishing feats of his childhood, of which the
Cardinal <i>Bembo</i> has given the world so exact a story,&mdash;should
be able to paste up in the public schools at <i>Rome</i>, so early as in
the eighth year of his age, no less than four thousand five hundred and
fifty different theses, upon the most abstruse points of the most
abstruse theology;&mdash;and to defend and maintain them in such sort,
as to cramp and dumbfound his opponents.&mdash;&mdash;What is that,
cried my father, to what is told us of <i>Alphonsus Tostatus</i>, who,
almost in his nurse’s arms, learned all the sciences and liberal arts
without being taught any one of them?&mdash;&mdash;What shall we say of
the great <i>Piereskius?</i>&mdash;That’s the very man, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;once told you of, brother <i>Shandy</i>, who walked
a matter of five hundred miles, reckoning from <i>Paris</i> to
<i>Shevling</i>, and from <i>Shevling</i> back again, merely to see
<i>Stevinus’s</i> flying chariot.&mdash;&mdash;He was a very great man!
added my uncle <i>Toby</i> (meaning <i>Stevinus</i>)&mdash;He was so,
brother <i>Toby</i>, said my father (meaning
<i>Piereskius</i>)&mdash;&mdash;and had multiplied his ideas so fast,
and increased his knowledge to such a prodigious stock, that, if we may
give credit to an anecdote concerning him, which we cannot withhold
here, without shaking the authority of all anecdotes whatever&mdash;at
seven years of age, his father committed entirely to his care the
education of his younger brother, a&nbsp;boy of five years
old,&mdash;with the sole management of all his concerns.&mdash;Was the
father as wise as the son? quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>:&mdash;I&nbsp;should think not, said
<i>Yorick</i>:&mdash;But what are these, continued my
father&mdash;(breaking out in a kind of enthusiasm)&mdash;what are
these, to those prodigies of childhood in <i>Grotius</i>,
<i>Scioppius</i>, <i>Heinsius</i>, <i>Politian</i>, <i>Pascal</i>,
<i>Joseph Scaliger</i>, <i>Ferdinand de Cordouè</i>, and
others&mdash;some of which left off their <i>substantial forms</i> at
nine years old, or sooner, and went on reasoning without
them;&mdash;others went through their classics at seven;&mdash;wrote
tragedies at eight;&mdash;<i>Ferdinand de Cordouè</i> was so wise at
nine,&mdash;’twas thought the Devil was in him;&mdash;and at
<i>Venice</i> gave such proofs of his knowledge and goodness, that the
monks imagined he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page302" id = "page302">302</a></span>
was <i>Antichrist</i>, or nothing.&mdash;&mdash;Others were masters of
fourteen languages at ten,&mdash;finished the course of their rhetoric,
poetry, logic, and ethics, at eleven,&mdash;put forth their commentaries
upon <i>Servius</i> and <i>Martianus Capella</i> at twelve,&mdash;and at
thirteen received their degrees in philosophy, laws, and
divinity:&mdash;&mdash;But you forget the great <i>Lipsius</i>, quoth
<i>Yorick</i>, who composed a work<a class = "tag" name = "tag_6_2" id =
"tag_6_2" href = "#note_6_2">2</a> the day he was
born:&mdash;&mdash;They should have wiped it up, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and said no more about&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapIII" id = "bookVI_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> the cataplasm was ready, a
scruple of <i>decorum</i> had unseasonably rose up in <i>Susannah’s</i>
conscience about holding the candle, whilst <i>Slop</i> tied it on;
<i>Slop</i> had not treated <i>Susannah’s</i> distemper with
anodynes,&mdash;and so a quarrel had ensued betwixt them.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Oh! oh!&mdash;&mdash;said <i>Slop</i>, casting a glance
of undue freedom in <i>Susannah’s</i> face, as she declined the
office;&mdash;&mdash;then, I&nbsp;think I know you,
madam&mdash;&mdash;You know me, Sir! cried <i>Susannah</i> fastidiously,
and with a toss of her head, levelled evidently, not at his profession,
but at the doctor himself,&mdash;&mdash;you know me! cried
<i>Susannah</i> again.&mdash;&mdash;Doctor <i>Slop</i> clapped his
finger and his thumb instantly upon his
nostrils;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Susannah’s</i> spleen was ready to burst at
it;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis false, said <i>Susannah</i>.&mdash;Come, come,
Mrs. Modesty, said <i>Slop</i>, not a little elated with the success of
his last thrust,&mdash;&mdash;If you won’t hold the candle, and
look&mdash;you may hold it and shut your eyes:&mdash;That’s one of your
popish shifts, cried <i>Susannah</i>:&mdash;’Tis better, said
<i>Slop</i>, with a nod, than no shift at all, young
woman;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;defy you, Sir, cried <i>Susannah</i>, pulling
her shift sleeve below her elbow.</p>

<p>It was almost impossible for two persons to assist each other in a
surgical case with a more splenetic cordiality.</p>

<p><i>Slop</i> snatched up the cataplasm,&mdash;&mdash;<i>Susannah</i>
snatched up the candle;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;little this way, said
<i>Slop</i>; <i>Susannah</i> looking one way, and rowing another,
instantly set fire to <i>Slop’s</i> wig, which being somewhat bushy and
unctuous withal, was burnt out
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page303" id = "page303">303</a></span>
before it was well kindled.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;You impudent whore!
cried <i>Slop</i>,&mdash;(for what is passion, but a wild
beast?)&mdash;you impudent whore, cried <i>Slop</i>, getting upright,
with the cataplasm in his hand;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never was the
destruction of anybody’s nose, said <i>Susannah</i>,&mdash;which is more
than you can say:&mdash;&mdash;Is it? cried <i>Slop</i>, throwing the
cataplasm in her face;&mdash;&mdash;Yes, it is, cried <i>Susannah</i>,
returning the compliment with what was left in the pan.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapIV" id = "bookVI_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Doctor</span> <i>Slop</i> and
<i>Susannah</i> filed cross-bills against each other in the parlour;
which done, as the cataplasm had failed, they retired into the kitchen
to prepare a fomentation for me;&mdash;and whilst that was doing, my
father determined the point as you will read.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapV" id = "bookVI_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">You</span> see ’tis high time, said my
father, addressing himself equally to my uncle <i>Toby</i> and
<i>Yorick</i>, to take this young creature out of these women’s hands,
and put him into those of a private governor. <i>Marcus Antoninus</i>
provided fourteen governors all at once to superintend his son
<i>Commodus’s</i> education,&mdash;and in six weeks he cashiered five of
them;&mdash;I&nbsp;know very well, continued my father, that
<i>Commodus’s</i> mother was in love with a gladiator at the time of her
conception, which accounts for a great many of <i>Commodus’s</i>
cruelties when he became emperor;&mdash;but still I am of opinion, that
those five whom <i>Antoninus</i> dismissed, did <i>Commodus’s</i>
temper, in that short time, more hurt than the other nine were able to
rectify all their lives long.</p>

<p>Now as I consider the person who is to be about my son, as the mirror
in which he is to view himself from morning to night, and by which he is
to adjust his looks, his carriage, and perhaps the inmost sentiments of
his heart;&mdash;I&nbsp;would have one, <i>Yorick</i>, if possible,
polished at all points, fit for my child to look into.&mdash;&mdash;This
is very good sense, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i> to himself.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There is, continued my father, a certain mien and
motion of the body and all its parts, both in acting and speaking, which
argues a man <i>well within</i>; and I am not at all surprised that
<i>Gregory</i> of <i>Nazianzum</i>, upon observing the hasty and
untoward gestures of <i>Julian</i>, should foretel he would one day
become an apostate;&mdash;&mdash;or that St. <i>Ambrose</i> should turn
his <i>Amanuensis</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page304" id = "page304">304</a></span>
out of doors, because of an indecent motion of his head, which went
backwards and forwards like a flail;&mdash;&mdash;or that
<i>Democritus</i> should conceive <i>Protagoras</i> to be a scholar,
from seeing him bind up a faggot, and thrusting, as he did it, the small
twigs inwards.&mdash;&mdash;There are a thousand unnoticed openings,
continued my father, which let a penetrating eye at once into a man’s
soul; and I maintain it, added he, that a man of sense does not lay down
his hat in coming into a room,&mdash;or take it up in going out of it,
but something escapes, which discovers him.</p>

<p>It is for these reasons, continued my father, that the governor I
make choice of shall neither<a class = "tag" name = "tag_6_3" id =
"tag_6_3" href = "#note_6_3">3</a> lisp, or squint, or wink, or talk
loud, or look fierce, or foolish;&mdash;&mdash;or bite his lips, or
grind his teeth, or speak through his nose, or pick it, or blow it with
his <span class = "locked">fingers.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>He shall neither walk fast,&mdash;or slow, or fold his
arms,&mdash;for that is laziness;&mdash;or hang them down,&mdash;for
that is folly; or hide them in his pocket, for that is <span class =
"locked">nonsense.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>He shall neither strike, or pinch, or tickle,&mdash;or bite, or cut
his nails, or hawk, or spit, or snift, or drum with his feet or fingers
in company;&mdash;&mdash;nor (according to <i>Erasmus</i>) shall he
speak to any one in making water,&mdash;nor shall he point to carrion or
excrement.&mdash;&mdash;Now this is all nonsense again, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i> to <span class = "locked">himself.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I will have him, continued my father, chearful, faceté, jovial; at
the same time, prudent, attentive to business, vigilant, acute, argute,
inventive, quick in resolving doubts and speculative
questions;&mdash;&mdash;he shall be wise, and judicious, and
learned:&mdash;&mdash;And why not humble, and moderate, and
gentle-tempered, and good? said <i>Yorick</i>:&mdash;&mdash;And why not,
cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, free, and generous, and bountiful, and
brave?&mdash;&mdash;He shall, my dear <i>Toby</i>, replied my father,
getting up and shaking him by the hand.&mdash;Then, brother
<i>Shandy</i>, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>, raising himself off the
chair, and laying down his pipe to take hold of my father’s other
hand,&mdash;I&nbsp;humbly beg I may recommend poor <i>Le Fever’s</i> son
to you;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;tear of joy of the first water sparkled in
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> eye, and another, the fellow to it, in the
corporal’s, as the proposition was made;&mdash;&mdash;you will see why
when you read <i>Le Fever’s</i> story:&mdash;&mdash;fool that I was! nor
can I recollect (nor perhaps you) without turning back to the place,
what it was that hindered me from letting the corporal tell it in his
own words;&mdash;but the occasion is lost,&mdash;I&nbsp;must tell it now
in my own.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page305" id = "page305">305</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapVI" id = "bookVI_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>

<h5><a name = "bookVI_lefever" id = "bookVI_lefever">
THE STORY OF LE FEVER</a></h5>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was some time in the summer of
that year in which <i>Dendermond</i> was taken by the
allies,&mdash;which was about seven years before my father came into the
country,&mdash;and about as many, after the time, that my uncle
<i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i> had privately decamped from my father’s
house in town, in order to lay some of the finest sieges to some of the
finest fortified cities in <i>Europe</i>&mdash;&mdash;when my uncle
<i>Toby</i> was one evening getting his supper, with <i>Trim</i> sitting
behind him at a small sideboard,&mdash;I&nbsp;say, sitting&mdash;for in
consideration of the corporal’s lame knee (which sometimes gave him
exquisite pain)&mdash;when my uncle <i>Toby</i> dined or supped alone,
he would never suffer the corporal to stand; and the poor fellow’s
veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my
uncle <i>Toby</i> could have taken <i>Dendermond</i> itself, with less
trouble than he was able to gain this point over him; for many a time
when my uncle <i>Toby</i> supposed the corporal’s leg was at rest, he
would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most
dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all
other causes for five-and-twenty years together&mdash;But this is
neither here nor there&mdash;why do I mention it?&mdash;&mdash;Ask my
pen,&mdash;it governs me,&mdash;I&nbsp;govern not&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a
little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an empty phial in
his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack; ’Tis for a poor
gentleman,&mdash;I&nbsp;think, of the army, said the landlord, who has
been taken ill at my house four days ago, and has never held up his head
since, or had a desire to taste anything, till just now, that he has a
fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast,&mdash;&mdash;<i>I think</i>,
says he, taking his hand from his forehead, <i>it would comfort
me</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy such a
thing&mdash;added the landlord,&mdash;I&nbsp;would almost steal it for
the poor gentleman, he is so ill.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hope in God he
will still mend, continued he,&mdash;we are all of us concerned for
him.</p>

<p>Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman’s health in a glass
of sack thyself,&mdash;and take a couple of bottles with my service, and
tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they
will do him good.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page306" id = "page306">306</a></span>
<p>Though I am persuaded, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as the landlord
shut the door, he is a very compassionate
fellow&mdash;<i>Trim</i>,&mdash;yet I cannot help entertaining a high
opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in
him, that in so short a time should win so much upon the affections of
his host;&mdash;&mdash;And of his whole family, added the corporal, for
they are all concerned for him.&mdash;&mdash;Step after him, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;do, <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;and ask if he knows his
name.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I have quite forgot it truly, said the landlord, coming
back into the parlour with the corporal,&mdash;but I can ask his son
again:&mdash;&mdash;Has he a son with him then? said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.&mdash;A&nbsp;boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or
twelve years of age;&mdash;but the poor creature has tasted almost as
little as his father; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night
and day:&mdash;&mdash;He has not stirred from the bed-side these two
days.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his
plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and
<i>Trim</i>, without being ordered, took away, without saying one word,
and in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Stay in the room a little, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p><i>Trim!</i>&mdash;&mdash;said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, after he lighted
his pipe, and smoak’d about a dozen whiffs.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i>
came in front of his master, and made his bow;&mdash;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> smoak’d on, and said no more.&mdash;&mdash;Corporal! said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;the corporal made his
bow.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> proceeded no farther, but
finished his pipe.</p>

<p><i>Trim!</i> said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I have a project in my head,
as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and
paying a visit to this poor gentleman.&mdash;&mdash;Your honour’s
roquelaure, replied the corporal, has not once been had on, since the
night before your honour received your wound, when we mounted guard in
the trenches before the gate of St. <i>Nicolas</i>;&mdash;&mdash;and
besides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure,
and what with the weather, ’twill be enough to give your honour your
death, and bring on your honour’s torment in your groin. I&nbsp;fear so,
replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>; but I am not at rest in my mind,
<i>Trim</i>, since the account the landlord has given
me.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I had not known so much of this
affair,&mdash;added my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;or that I had known more
of it:&mdash;&mdash;How shall we manage it? Leave it, an’t please your
honour, to me, quoth the corporal;&mdash;&mdash;I’ll take my hat and
stick and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page307" id = "page307">307</a></span>
go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring
your honour a full account in an hour.&mdash;&mdash;Thou shalt go,
<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and here’s a shilling for thee
to drink with his servant.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall get it all out of
him, said the corporal, shutting the door.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> filled his second pipe; and had it not been,
that he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether
it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tenaille a straight
line, as a crooked one,&mdash;he might be said to have thought of
nothing else but poor <i>Le Fever</i> and his boy the whole time he
smoaked&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapVII" id = "bookVI_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>

<h5>THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED</h5>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was not till my uncle <i>Toby</i>
had knocked the ashes out of his third pipe, that corporal <i>Trim</i>
returned from the inn, and gave him the following account.</p>

<p>I despaired, at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring back
your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick
lieutenant&mdash;Is he in the army, then? said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;He is, said the corporal&mdash;&mdash;And in
what regiment? said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;I’ll tell your
honour, replied the corporal, everything straight forwards, as I learnt
it.&mdash;Then, <i>Trim</i>, I’ll fill another pipe, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and not interrupt thee till thou hast done; so sit down at
thy ease, <i>Trim</i>, in the window-seat, and begin thy story again.
The corporal made his old bow, which generally spoke as plain as a bow
could speak it&mdash;<i>Your honour is good</i>:&mdash;&mdash;And having
done that, he sat down, as he was ordered,&mdash;and began the story to
my uncle <i>Toby</i> over again in pretty near the same words.</p>

<p>I despaired at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring back
any intelligence to your honour, about the lieutenant and his son; for
when I asked where his servant was, from whom I made myself sure of
knowing everything which was proper to be asked,&mdash;That’s a right
distinction, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;was
answered, an’ please your honour, that he had no servant with
him;&mdash;&mdash;that he had come to the inn with hired horses, which,
upon finding himself unable to proceed (to&nbsp;join, I&nbsp;suppose,
the regiment), he had dismissed the morning after he came.&mdash;If I
get better, my dear, said he, as he gave his purse to his son to pay the
man,&mdash;we can hire horses from hence.&mdash;&mdash;But
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page308" id = "page308">308</a></span>
alas! the poor gentleman will never get from hence, said the landlady to
me,&mdash;for I heard the death-watch all night long;&mdash;&mdash;and
when he dies, the youth, his son, will certainly die with him, for he is
broken-hearted already.</p>

<p>I was hearing this account, continued the corporal, when the youth
came into the kitchen, to order the thin toast the landlord spoke
of;&mdash;&mdash;but I will do it for my father myself, said the
youth.&mdash;&mdash;Pray let me save you the trouble, young gentleman,
said I, taking up a fork for the purpose, and offering him my chair to
sit down upon by the fire, whilst I did it.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;believe,
Sir, said he, very modestly, I&nbsp;can please him best
myself.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am sure, said I, his honour will not like
the toast the worse for being toasted by an old
soldier.&mdash;&mdash;The youth took hold of my hand, and instantly
burst into tears.&mdash;&mdash;Poor youth! said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;he has been bred up from an infant in the army, and
the name of a soldier, <i>Trim</i>, sounded in his ears like the name of
a friend;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I had him here.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I never, in the longest march, said the corporal, had
so great a mind to my dinner, as I had to cry with him for
company:&mdash;What could be the matter with me, an’ please your honour?
Nothing in the world, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, blowing
his nose,&mdash;but that thou art a good-natured fellow.</p>

<p>When I gave him the toast, continued the corporal, I thought it was
proper to tell him I was captain <i>Shandy’s</i> servant, and that your
honour (though a stranger) was extremely concerned for his
father;&mdash;and that if there was any thing in your house or
cellar&mdash;&mdash;(And thou might’st have added my purse too, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>)&mdash;&mdash;he was heartily welcome to
it:&mdash;&mdash;He made a very low bow (which was meant to your
honour), but no answer&mdash;for his heart was full&mdash;so he went up
stairs with the toast;&mdash;I&nbsp;warrant you, my dear, said I, as I
opened the kitchen-door, your father will be well
again.&mdash;&mdash;Mr. <i>Yorick’s</i> curate was smoaking a pipe by
the kitchen fire,&mdash;but said not a word good or bad to comfort the
youth.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;thought it wrong; added the
corporal&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think so too, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>When the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toast, he felt
himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen, to let me
know, that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I would step up
stairs.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;believe, said the landlord, he is going to
say his prayers,&mdash;&mdash;for there was a book laid upon the chair
by his bed-side, and as I shut the door, I&nbsp;saw his son take up a
<span class = "locked">cushion.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I thought, said the curate, that you gentlemen of the army,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page309" id = "page309">309</a></span>
Mr. <i>Trim</i>, never said your prayers at all.&mdash;&mdash;I heard
the poor gentleman say his prayers last night, said the landlady, very
devoutly, and with my own ears, or I could not have believed
it.&mdash;&mdash;Are you sure of it? replied the
curate.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;soldier, an’ please your reverence, said I,
prays as often (of&nbsp;his own accord) as a parson;&mdash;&mdash;and
when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for his
honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one in the
whole world&mdash;&mdash;’Twas well said of thee, <i>Trim</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;But when a soldier, said I, an’ please
your reverence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the
trenches, up to his knees in cold water,&mdash;or engaged, said I, for
months together in long and dangerous marches;&mdash;harassed, perhaps,
in his rear to-day;&mdash;harassing others to-morrow;&mdash;detached
here;&mdash;countermanded there;&mdash;resting this night out upon his
arms;&mdash;beat up in his shirt the next;&mdash;benumbed in his
joints;&mdash;perhaps without straw in his tent to kneel on;&mdash;must
say his prayers <i>how</i> and <i>when</i> he can.&mdash;I&nbsp;believe,
said I,&mdash;for I was piqued, quoth the corporal, for the reputation
of the army,&mdash;I&nbsp;believe, an’ please your reverence, said I,
that when a soldier gets time to pray,&mdash;he prays as heartily as a
parson,&mdash;though not with all his fuss and
hypocrisy.&mdash;&mdash;Thou shouldst not have said that, <i>Trim</i>,
said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;for God only knows who is a hypocrite,
and who is not:&mdash;&mdash;At the great and general review of us all,
corporal, at the day of judgment (and not till then)&mdash;it will be
seen who has done their duties in this world,&mdash;and who has not; and
we shall be advanced, <i>Trim</i>, accordingly.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hope
we shall, said <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;It is in the Scripture, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>; and I will shew it thee to-morrow:&mdash;In the mean
time we may depend upon it, <i>Trim</i>, for our comfort, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, that God Almighty is so good and just a governor of the
world, that if we have but done our duties in it,&mdash;it will never be
enquired into, whether we have done them in a red coat or a black
one:&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hope not, said the corporal&mdash;&mdash;But go
on, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, with thy story.</p>

<p>When I went up, continued the corporal, into the lieutenant’s room,
which I did not do till the expiration of the ten minutes,&mdash;he was
lying in his bed with his head raised upon his hand, with his elbow upon
the pillow, and a clean white cambrick handkerchief beside
it:&mdash;&mdash;The youth was just stooping down to take up the
cushion, upon which I supposed he had been kneeling,&mdash;the book was
laid upon the bed,&mdash;and, as he rose, in taking up the cushion with
one hand, he reached out his other to take it away
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page310" id = "page310">310</a></span>
at the same time.&mdash;&mdash;Let it remain there, my dear, said the
lieutenant.</p>

<p>He did not offer to speak to me, till I had walked up close to his
bed-side:&mdash;If you are captain <i>Shandy’s</i> servant, said he, you
must present my thanks to your master, with my little boy’s thanks along
with them, for his courtesy to me;&mdash;if he was of
<i>Leven’s</i>&mdash;said the lieutenant.&mdash;I&nbsp;told him your
honour was&mdash;Then, said he, I&nbsp;served three campaigns with him
in <i>Flanders</i>, and remember him,&mdash;but ’tis most likely, as I
had not the honour of any acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing
of me.&mdash;&mdash;You will tell him, however, that the person his
good-nature has laid under obligations to him, is one <i>Le Fever</i>,
a&nbsp;lieutenant in <i>Angus’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;but he knows me
not,&mdash;said he, a&nbsp;second time, musing;&mdash;&mdash;possibly he
may my story&mdash;added he&mdash;pray tell the captain, I&nbsp;was the
ensign at <i>Breda</i>, whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a
musket-shot, as she lay in my arms in my
tent.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;remember the story, an’t please your honour,
said I, very well.&mdash;&mdash;Do you so? said he, wiping his eyes with
his handkerchief,&mdash;then well may I.&mdash;In saying this, he drew a
little ring out of his bosom, which seemed tied with a black ribband
about his neck, and kiss’d it twice&mdash;&mdash;Here, <i>Billy</i>,
said he,&mdash;&mdash;the boy flew across the room to the
bed-side,&mdash;and falling down upon his knee, took the ring in his
hand, and kissed it too,&mdash;then kissed his father, and sat down upon
the bed and wept.</p>

<p>I wish, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, with a deep sigh,&mdash;I wish,
<i>Trim</i>, I&nbsp;was asleep.</p>

<p>Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned;&mdash;shall
I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe?&mdash;&mdash;Do,
<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>I remember, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, sighing again, the story of
the ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty
omitted;&mdash;and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some
account or other (I&nbsp;forget what) was universally pitied by the
whole regiment;&mdash;but finish the story thou art upon:&mdash;’Tis
finished already, said the corporal,&mdash;for I could stay no
longer,&mdash;so wished his honour a good night; young <i>Le Fever</i>
rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we
went down together, told me, they had come from <i>Ireland</i>, and were
on their route to join the regiment in <i>Flanders</i>.&mdash;&mdash;But
alas! said the corporal,&mdash;the lieutenant’s last day’s march is
over.&mdash;Then what is to become of his poor boy? cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page311" id = "page311">311</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapVIII" id = "bookVI_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>

<h5>THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED</h5>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
eternal honour,&mdash;&mdash;though I tell it only for the sake of
those, who, when coop’d in betwixt a natural and a positive law, know
not, for their souls, which way in the world to turn
themselves&mdash;&mdash;That notwithstanding my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the siege of
<i>Dendermond</i>, parallel with the allies, who pressed theirs on so
vigorously, that they scarce allowed him time to get his
dinner&mdash;&mdash;that nevertheless he gave up <i>Dendermond</i>,
though he had already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp;&mdash;and
bent his whole thoughts towards the private distresses at the inn; and
except that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which he
might be said to have turned the siege of <i>Dendermond</i> into a
blockade,&mdash;he left <i>Dendermond</i> to itself&mdash;to be relieved
or not by the <i>French</i> king, as the <i>French</i> king thought
good; and only considered how he himself should relieve the poor
lieutenant and his son.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That kind <span class = "smallcaps">Being</span>, who
is a friend to the friendless, shall recompence thee for this.</p>

<p>Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle <i>Toby</i> to the
corporal, as he was putting him to bed,&mdash;&mdash;and I will tell
thee in what, <i>Trim</i>.&mdash;&mdash;In the first place, when thou
madest an offer of my services to <i>Le Fever</i>,&mdash;&mdash;as
sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou knowest he was but
a poor lieutenant, with a son to subsist as well as himself out of his
pay,&mdash;that thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse;
because, had he stood in need, thou knowest, <i>Trim</i>, he had been as
welcome to it as myself.&mdash;&mdash;Your honour knows, said the
corporal, I&nbsp;had no orders;&mdash;&mdash;True, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;thou didst very right, <i>Trim</i>, as a
soldier,&mdash;but certainly very wrong as a man.</p>

<p>In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse,
continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;when thou offeredst him
whatever was in my house,&mdash;&mdash;thou shouldst have offered him my
house too:&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;sick brother officer should have the best
quarters, <i>Trim</i>, and if we had him with us,&mdash;we could tend
and look to him:&mdash;&mdash;Thou art an excellent nurse thyself,
<i>Trim</i>,&mdash;and what with thy care of him, and the old woman’s,
and his boy’s, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once,
and set him upon his <span class =
"locked">legs.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page312" id = "page312">312</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, smiling,&mdash;&mdash;he might march.&mdash;&mdash;He will
never march; an’ please your honour, in this world, said the
corporal:&mdash;&mdash;He will march; said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, rising
up, from the side of the bed, with one shoe off:&mdash;&mdash;An’ please
your honour, said the corporal, he will never march but to his
grave:&mdash;&mdash;He shall march, cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, marching
the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch,&mdash;he
shall march to his regiment.&mdash;&mdash;He cannot stand it, said the
corporal;&mdash;&mdash;He shall be supported, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>;&mdash;&mdash;He’ll drop at last, said the corporal, and
what will become of his boy?&mdash;&mdash;He shall not drop, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, firmly.&mdash;&mdash;A-well-o’-day,&mdash;do what we
can for him, said <i>Trim</i>, maintaining his point,&mdash;the poor
soul will die:&mdash;&mdash;He shall not die, by G&mdash;, cried my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;The <span class = "smallroman">ACCUSING SPIRIT</span>, which
flew up to heaven’s chancery with the oath, blush’d as he gave it
in;&mdash;and the <span class = "smallroman">RECORDING ANGEL</span>, as
he wrote it down, dropp’d a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for
ever.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapIX" id = "bookVI_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i>
went to his bureau,&mdash;put his purse into his breeches pocket, and
having ordered the corporal to go early in the morning for a
physician,&mdash;he went to bed, and fell asleep.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapX" id = "bookVI_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>

<h5>THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED</h5>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> sun looked bright the morning
after, to every eye in the village but <i>Le Fever’s</i> and his
afflicted son’s; the hand of death press’d heavy upon his
eye-lids,&mdash;&mdash;and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn
round its circle,&mdash;when my uncle <i>Toby</i>, who had rose up an
hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant’s room, and without
preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side,
and, independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain in the
manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked
him how he did,&mdash;how he had rested in the night,&mdash;what was his
complaint,&mdash;where was his pain,&mdash;and what he could do to help
him:&mdash;&mdash;and without giving him time to answer any one of the
enquiries, went on, and told him of the little plan which he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page313" id = "page313">313</a></span>
had been concerting with the corporal the night before for <span class =
"locked">him.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You shall go home directly, <i>Le Fever</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, to my house,&mdash;and we’ll send for a doctor to see
what’s the matter,&mdash;and we’ll have an apothecary,&mdash;and the
corporal shall be your nurse;&mdash;&mdash;and I’ll be your servant,
<i>Le Fever</i>.</p>

<p>There was a frankness in my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;not the
<i>effect</i> of familiarity,&mdash;but the <i>cause</i> of
it,&mdash;which let you at once into his soul, and shewed you the
goodness of his nature; to this, there was something in his looks, and
voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the
unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle
<i>Toby</i> had half finished the kind offers he was making to the
father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had
taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards
him.&mdash;&mdash;The blood and spirits of <i>Le Fever</i>, which were
waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last
citadel, the heart&mdash;rallied back,&mdash;the film forsook his eyes
for a moment,&mdash;he looked up wishfully in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
face,&mdash;then cast a look upon his boy,&mdash;&mdash;and that
<i>ligament</i>, fine as it was,&mdash;was never <span class =
"locked">broken.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Nature instantly ebb’d again,&mdash;the film returned to its
place,&mdash;&mdash;the pulse
fluttered&mdash;&mdash;stopp’d&mdash;&mdash;went
on&mdash;&mdash;throbb’d&mdash;&mdash;stopp’d
again&mdash;&mdash;moved&mdash;&mdash;stopp’d&mdash;&mdash;shall I go
on?&mdash;&mdash;No.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXI" id = "bookVI_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I am</span> so impatient to return to my
own story, that what remains of young <i>Le Fever’s</i>, that is, from
this turn of his fortune, to the time my uncle <i>Toby</i> recommended
him for my preceptor, shall be told in a very few words in the next
chapter.&mdash;All that is necessary to be added to this chapter is as
<span class = "locked">follows.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>That my uncle <i>Toby</i>, with young <i>Le Fever</i> in his hand,
attended the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave.</p>

<p>That the governor of <i>Dendermond</i> paid his obsequies all
military honours,&mdash;and that <i>Yorick</i>, not to be
behind-hand&mdash;paid him all ecclesiastic&mdash;for he buried him in
his chancel:&mdash;And it appears likewise, he preached a funeral sermon
over him&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;say it <i>appears</i>,&mdash;for it was
<i>Yorick’s</i> custom, which I suppose a general one with those of his
profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which he composed, to
chronicle down the time, the place, and the occasion of its being
preached: to this,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page314" id = "page314">314</a></span>
he was ever wont to add some short comment or stricture upon the sermon
itself, seldom, indeed, much to its credit:&mdash;For instance, <i>This
sermon upon the Jewish dispensation&mdash;I&nbsp;don’t like it at
all;&mdash;Though I own there is a world of <span class =
"smallroman">WATER-LANDISH</span> knowledge in it,&mdash;but ’tis all
tritical, and most tritically put together.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;This is
but a flimsy kind of a composition; what was in my head when I made
it?</i></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;N. B. <i>The excellency of this text is, that it will
suit any sermon,&mdash;and of this sermon,&mdash;&mdash;that it will
suit any text.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>

<p><i>&mdash;&mdash;For this sermon I shall be hanged,&mdash;for I have
stolen the greatest part of it. Doctor <em>Paidagunes</em> found me out.
<img src = "images/finger.gif" width = "30" height = "13" alt = "--&gt;"
/> Set a thief to catch a thief.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>

<p>On the back of half a dozen I find written, <i>So, so</i>, and no
more&mdash;&mdash;and upon a couple <i>Moderato</i>; by which, as far as
one may gather from <i>Altieri’s Italian</i> dictionary,&mdash;but
mostly from the authority of a piece of green whipcord, which seemed to
have been the unravelling of <i>Yorick’s</i> whip-lash, with which he
has left us the two sermons marked <i>Moderato</i>, and the half dozen
of <i>So, so</i>, tied fast together in one bundle by
themselves,&mdash;one may safely suppose he meant pretty near the same
thing.</p>

<p>There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjecture, which is
this, that the <i>moderato’s</i> are five times better than the <i>so,
so’s</i>;&mdash;show ten times more knowledge of the human
heart;&mdash;have seventy times more wit and spirit in them;&mdash;(and,
to rise properly in my climax)&mdash;discovered a thousand times more
genius;&mdash;and to crown all, are infinitely more entertaining than
those tied up with them:&mdash;for which reason, whene’er
<i>Yorick’s</i> <i>dramatic</i> sermons are offered to the world, though
I shall admit but one out of the whole number of the <i>so, so’s</i>,
I&nbsp;shall, nevertheless, adventure to print the two <i>moderato’s</i>
without any sort of scruple.</p>

<p>What <i>Yorick</i> could mean by the words
<i>lentamente</i>,&mdash;<i>tenutè</i>,&mdash;<i>grave</i>,&mdash;and
sometimes <i>adagio</i>,&mdash;as applied to <i>theological</i>
compositions, and with which he has characterised some of these sermons,
I&nbsp;dare not venture to guess.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am more puzzled
still upon finding <i>a&nbsp;l’octava alta!</i> upon
one;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Con strepito</i> upon the back of
another;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Siciliana</i> upon a
third;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Alla capella</i> upon a
fourth;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Con l’arco</i> upon this;&mdash;&mdash;<i>Senza
l’arco</i> upon that.&mdash;&mdash;All I know is, that they are musical
terms, and have a meaning;&mdash;&mdash;and as he was a musical man,
I&nbsp;will make no doubt, but that by some quaint application of such
metaphors to the compositions in hand, they impressed very distinct
ideas
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page315" id = "page315">315</a></span>
of their several characters upon his fancy,&mdash;whatever they may do
upon that of others.</p>

<p>Amongst these, there is that particular sermon which has
unaccountably led me into this digression&mdash;&mdash;The funeral
sermon upon poor <i>Le Fever</i>, wrote out very fairly, as if from a
hasty copy.&mdash;I&nbsp;take notice of it the more, because it seems to
have been his favourite composition&mdash;&mdash;It is upon mortality;
and is tied lengthways and cross-ways with a yarn thrum, and then rolled
up and twisted round with a half-sheet of dirty blue paper, which seems
to have been once the cast cover of a general review, which to this day
smells horribly of horse drugs.&mdash;&mdash;Whether these marks of
humiliation were designed,&mdash;I&nbsp;something
doubt;&mdash;&mdash;because at the end of the sermon (and not at the
beginning of&nbsp;it)&mdash;very different from his way of treating the
rest, he had <span class = "locked">wrote&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p class = "center">
Bravo!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Though not very offensively,&mdash;&mdash;for it is at
two inches, at least, and a half’s distance from, and below the
concluding line of the sermon, at the very extremity of the page, and in
that right hand corner of it, which, you know, is generally covered with
your thumb; and, to do it justice, it is wrote besides with a crow’s
quill so faintly in a small <i>Italian</i> hand, as scarce to solicit
the eye towards the place, whether your thumb is there or not,&mdash;so
that from the <i>manner of it</i>, it stands half excused; and being
wrote moreover with very pale ink, diluted almost to nothing,&mdash;’tis
more like a <i>ritratto</i> of the shadow of vanity, than of <span class
= "smallcaps">Vanity</span> herself&mdash;of the two; resembling rather
a faint thought of transient applause, secretly stirring up in the heart
of the composer; than a gross mark of it, coarsely obtruded upon the
world.</p>

<p>With all these extenuations, I am aware, that in publishing this,
I&nbsp;do no service to <i>Yorick’s</i> character as a modest
man;&mdash;but all men have their failings! and what lessens this still
farther, and almost wipes it away, is this; that the word was struck
through sometime afterwards (as&nbsp;appears from a different tint of
the ink) with a line quite across it in this manner, <s>BRAVO</s>
&mdash;&mdash;as if he had retracted, or was ashamed of the opinion he
had once entertained of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>These short characters of his sermons were always written, excepting
in this one instance, upon the first leaf of his sermon, which served as
a cover to it; and usually upon the inside of it, which was turned
towards the text;&mdash;but at the end of his discourse, where, perhaps,
he had five or six pages, and sometimes,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page316" id = "page316">316</a></span>
perhaps, a&nbsp;whole score to turn himself in,&mdash;he took a large
circuit, and, indeed, a&nbsp;much more mettlesome one;&mdash;as if he
had snatched the occasion of unlacing himself with a few more
frolicksome strokes at vice, than the straitness of the pulpit
allowed.&mdash;These, though hussar-like, they skirmish lightly and out
of all order, are still auxiliaries on the side of virtue;&mdash;tell me
then, Mynheer Vander Blonederdondergewdenstronke, why they should not be
printed together?</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXII" id = "bookVI_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> had turned
everything into money, and settled all accounts betwixt the agent of the
regiment and <i>Le Fever</i>, and betwixt <i>Le Fever</i> and all
mankind,&mdash;&mdash;there remained nothing more in my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> hands, than an old regimental coat and a sword; so that my
uncle <i>Toby</i> found little or no opposition from the world in taking
administration. The coat my uncle <i>Toby</i> gave the
corporal;&mdash;&mdash;Wear it, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
as long as it will hold together, for the sake of the poor
lieutenant&mdash;&mdash;And this,&mdash;&mdash;said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, taking up the sword in his hand, and drawing it out of the
scabbard as he spoke&mdash;&mdash;and this, <i>Le Fever</i>, I’ll save
for thee,&mdash;’tis all the fortune, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
hanging it up upon a crook, and pointing to it,&mdash;’tis all the
fortune, my dear <i>Le Fever</i>, which God has left thee; but if he has
given thee a heart to fight thy way with it in the world,&mdash;and thou
doest it like a man of honour,&mdash;’tis enough for&nbsp;us.</p>

<p>As soon as my uncle <i>Toby</i> had laid a foundation, and taught him
to inscribe a regular polygon in a circle, he sent him to a public
school, where, excepting <i>Whitsontide</i> and <i>Christmas</i>, at
which times the corporal was punctually dispatched for him,&mdash;he
remained to the spring of the year, seventeen; when the stories of the
emperor’s sending his army into <i>Hungary</i> against the <i>Turks</i>,
kindling a spark of fire in his bosom, he left his <i>Greek</i> and
<i>Latin</i> without leave, and throwing himself upon his knees before
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, begged his father’s sword, and my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> leave along with it, to go and try his fortune under
<i>Eugene</i>.&mdash;Twice did my uncle <i>Toby</i> forget his wound and
cry out, <i>Le Fever!</i> I will go with thee, and thou shalt fight
beside me&mdash;&mdash;And twice he laid his hand upon his groin, and
hung down his head in sorrow and <span class =
"locked">disconsolation.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> took down the sword from the crook, where
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page317" id = "page317">317</a></span>
it had hung untouched ever since the lieutenant’s death, and delivered
it to the corporal to brighten up;&mdash;&mdash;and having detained
<i>Le Fever</i> a single fortnight to equip him, and contract for his
passage to <i>Leghorn</i>,&mdash;he put the sword into his
hand.&mdash;&mdash;If thou art brave, <i>Le Fever</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, this will not fail thee,&mdash;&mdash;but Fortune, said he
(musing a little),&mdash;&mdash;Fortune may&mdash;&mdash;And if she
does,&mdash;added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, embracing him, come back again
to me, <i>Le Fever</i>, and we will shape thee another course.</p>

<p>The greatest injury could not have oppressed the heart of <i>Le
Fever</i> more than my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> paternal
kindness;&mdash;&mdash;he parted from my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as the best
of sons from the best of fathers&mdash;&mdash;both dropped
tears&mdash;&mdash;and as my uncle <i>Toby</i> gave him his last kiss,
he slipped sixty guineas, tied up in an old purse of his father’s, in
which was his mother’s ring, into his hand,&mdash;&mdash;and bid God
bless him.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXIII" id = "bookVI_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Le Fever</span> got up to the Imperial army
just time enough to try what metal his sword was made of, at the defeat
of the <i>Turks</i> before <i>Belgrade</i>; but a series of unmerited
mischances had pursued him from that moment, and trod close upon his
heels for four years together after; he had withstood these buffetings
to the last, till sickness overtook him at <i>Marseilles</i>, from
whence he wrote my uncle <i>Toby</i> word, he had lost his time, his
services, his health, and, in short, everything but his
sword;&mdash;&mdash;and was waiting for the first ship to return back to
him.</p>

<p>As this letter came to hand about six weeks before <i>Susannah’s</i>
accident, <i>Le Fever</i> was hourly expected; and was uppermost in my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind all the time my father was giving him and
<i>Yorick</i> a description of what kind of a person he would chuse for
a preceptor to me: but as my uncle <i>Toby</i> thought my father at
first somewhat fanciful in the accomplishments he required, he forebore
mentioning <i>Le Fever’s</i> name,&mdash;&mdash;till the character, by
<i>Yorick’s</i> interposition, ending unexpectedly, in one, who should
be gentle-tempered, and generous, and good, it impressed the image of
<i>Le Fever</i>, and his interest, upon my uncle <i>Toby</i> so
forcibly, he rose instantly off his chair; and laying down his pipe, in
order to take hold of both my father’s hands&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg,
brother <i>Shandy</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;may recommend
poor <i>Le Fever’s</i> son to you&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beseech you do,
added <i>Yorick</i>&mdash;&mdash;He
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page318" id = "page318">318</a></span>
has a good heart, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;And a brave one
too, an’ please your honour, said the corporal.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The best hearts, <i>Trim</i>, are ever the bravest,
replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;And the greatest cowards, an’
please your honour, in our regiment, were the greatest rascals in
it.&mdash;&mdash;There was serjeant <i>Kumber</i>, and <span class =
"locked">ensign&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;We’ll talk of them, said my father, another time.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXIV" id = "bookVI_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> a jovial and a merry world
would this be, may it please your worships, but for that inextricable
labyrinth of debts, cares, woes, want, grief, discontent, melancholy,
large jointures, impositions, and lies!</p>

<p>Doctor <i>Slop</i>, like a son of a w&mdash;&mdash;, as my father
called him for it,&mdash;to exalt himself,&mdash;debased me to
death,&mdash;and made ten thousand times more of <i>Susannah’s</i>
accident, than there was any grounds for; so that in a week’s time, or
less, it was in everybody’s mouth, <i>That poor Master Shandy</i>
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * </span>* &emsp;
entirely.&mdash;And <span class = "smallcaps">Fame</span>, who loves to
double everything,&mdash;in three days more, had sworn, positively she
saw it,&mdash;and all the world, as usual, gave credit to her
evidence&mdash;&mdash;“That the nursery window had not only
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>*
&emsp; ;&mdash;&mdash;but that
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
</span>*&nbsp;’s also.”</p>

<p>Could the world have been sued like a <span class =
"smallroman">BODY-CORPORATE</span>,&mdash;my father had brought an
action upon the case, and trounced it sufficiently; but to fall foul of
individuals about it&mdash;&mdash;as every soul who had mentioned the
affair, did it with the greatest pity imaginable;&mdash;&mdash;’twas
like flying in the very face of his best friends:&mdash;&mdash;And yet
to acquiesce under the report, in silence&mdash;was to acknowledge it
openly,&mdash;at least in the opinion of one half of the world; and to
make a bustle again, in contradicting it,&mdash;was to confirm it as
strongly in the opinion of the other <span class =
"locked">half.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Was ever poor devil of a country gentleman so hampered?
said my father.</p>

<p>I would shew him publickly, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, at the market
cross.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Twill have no effect, said my father.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page319" id = "page319">319</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXV" id = "bookVI_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;I’ll put him, however, into breeches, said my
father,&mdash;let the world say what it will.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXVI" id = "bookVI_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> are a thousand resolutions,
Sir, both in church and state, as well as in matters, Madam, of a more
private concern;&mdash;which though they have carried all the appearance
in the world of being taken, and entered upon in a hasty, hare-brained,
and unadvised manner, were, notwithstanding this (and could you or I
have got into the cabinet, or stood behind the curtain, we should have
found it was&nbsp;so), weighed, poized, and
perpended&mdash;&mdash;argued upon&mdash;canvassed
through&mdash;&mdash;entered into, and examined on all sides with so
much coolness, that the <span class = "smallroman">GODDESS</span> of
<span class = "smallroman">COOLNESS</span> herself (I&nbsp;do not take
upon me to prove her existence) could neither have wished it, or done it
better.</p>

<p>Of the number of these was my father’s resolution of putting me into
breeches; which, though determined at once,&mdash;in a kind of huff, and
a defiance of all mankind, had, nevertheless, been <i>pro’d</i> and
<i>conn’d</i>, and judicially talked over betwixt him and my mother
about a month before, in two several <i>beds of justice</i>, which my
father had held for that purpose. I&nbsp;shall explain the nature of
these beds of justice in my next chapter; and in the chapter following
that, you shall step with me, Madam, behind the curtain, only to hear in
what kind of manner my father and my mother debated between themselves,
this affair of the breeches,&mdash;from which you may form an idea, how
they debated all lesser matters.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXVII" id = "bookVI_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> ancient <i>Goths</i> of
<i>Germany</i>, who (the learned <i>Cluverius</i> is positive) were
first seated in the country between the <i>Vistula</i> and the
<i>Oder</i>, and who afterwards incorporated the <i>Herculi</i>, the
<i>Bugians</i>, and some other <i>Vandallick</i> clans to ’em&mdash;had
all of them a wise custom of debating everything of importance to their
state, twice; that is,&mdash;once drunk, and once
sober:&mdash;&mdash;Drunk,&mdash;that
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page320" id = "page320">320</a></span>
their councils might not want vigour;&mdash;&mdash;and sober&mdash;that
they might not want discretion.</p>

<p>Now my father being entirely a water-drinker,&mdash;was a long time
gravelled almost to death, in turning this as much to his advantage, as
he did every other thing which the ancients did or said; and it was not
till the seventh year of his marriage, after a thousand fruitless
experiments and devices, that he hit upon an expedient which answered
the purpose;&mdash;&mdash;and that was, when any difficult and momentous
point was to be settled in the family, which required great sobriety,
and great spirit too, in its determination,&mdash;&mdash;he fixed and
set apart the first <i>Sunday</i> night in the month, and the
<i>Saturday</i> night which immediately preceded it, to argue it over,
in bed, with my mother: By which contrivance, if you consider, Sir, with
yourself,
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>
</p>

<p>These my father, humorously enough, called his <i>beds of
justice</i>;&mdash;&mdash;for from the two different counsels taken in
these two different humours, a&nbsp;middle one was generally found out
which touched the point of wisdom as well, as if he had got drunk and
sober a hundred times.</p>

<p>It must not be made a secret of to the world, that this answers full
as well in literary discussions, as either in military or conjugal; but
it is not every author that can try the experiment as the <i>Goths</i>
and <i>Vandals</i> did it&mdash;&mdash;or, if he can, may it be always
for his body’s health; and to do it, as my father did it,&mdash;am I
sure it would be always for his soul’s.</p>

<p>My way is this:&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>In all nice and ticklish discussions&mdash;(of which, heaven knows,
there are but too many in my book),&mdash;where I find I cannot take a
step without the danger of having either their worships or their
reverences upon my back&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;write one-half
<i>full</i>,&mdash;and t’other <i>fasting</i>;&mdash;&mdash;or write it
all full,&mdash;and correct it fasting:&mdash;&mdash;or write it
fasting,&mdash;and correct it full, for they all come to the same
thing:&mdash;&mdash;So that with a less variation from my father’s plan,
than my father’s from the <i>Gothick</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;feel myself
upon a par with him in his first bed of justice,&mdash;and no way
inferior to him in his second.&mdash;&mdash;These different and almost
irreconcileable effects, flow uniformly from the wise and wonderful
mechanism of nature,&mdash;of which,&mdash;be her’s the
honour.&mdash;&mdash;All that we can do, is to turn and work the machine
to the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page321" id = "page321">321</a></span>
improvement and better manufactory of the arts and <span class =
"locked">sciences.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now, when I write full,&mdash;I write as if I was never to write
fasting again as long as I live;&mdash;&mdash;that is, I&nbsp;write free
from the cares as well as the terrors of the
world.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;count not the number of my scars,&mdash;nor
does my fancy go forth into dark entries and bye-corners to antedate my
stabs.&mdash;&mdash;In a word, my pen takes its course; and I write on
as much from the fulness of my heart, as my <span class =
"locked">stomach.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But when, an’ please your honours, I indite fasting, ’tis a different
history.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;pay the world all possible attention and
respect,&mdash;and have as great a share (whilst it lasts) of that
under-strapping virtue of discretion as the best of you.&mdash;&mdash;So
that betwixt both, I&nbsp;write a careless kind of a civil, nonsensical,
good-humoured <i>Shandean</i> book, which will do all your hearts <span
class = "locked">good&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And all your heads too,&mdash;provided you understand
it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXVIII" id = "bookVI_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">We</span> should begin, said my father,
turning himself half round in bed, and shifting his pillow a little
towards my mother’s, as he opened the debate&mdash;&mdash;We should
begin to think, Mrs. <i>Shandy</i>, of putting this boy into <span class
= "locked">breeches.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>We should so,&mdash;said my mother.&mdash;&mdash;We defer it, my
dear, quoth my father, <span class =
"locked">shamefully.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I think we do, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>,&mdash;said my mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Not but the child looks extremely well, said my
father<ins class = "correction" title = ", invisible at line-end">,
</ins>in his vests and <span class =
"locked">tunicks.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;He does look very well in them,&mdash;replied my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And for that reason it would be almost a sin, added my
father, to take him out of <span class =
"locked">’em.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It would so,&mdash;said my mother:&mdash;&mdash;But
indeed he is growing a very tall lad,&mdash;rejoined my father.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;He is very tall for his age, indeed,&mdash;said my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I can not (making two syllables of it) imagine, quoth
my father, who the deuce he takes <span class =
"locked">after.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I cannot conceive, for my life,&mdash;said my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Humph!&mdash;&mdash;said my father.</p>

<p>(The dialogue ceased for a moment.)</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I am very short myself,&mdash;continued my father
gravely.</p>

<p>You are very short, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>,&mdash;said my mother.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page322" id = "page322">322</a></span>
<p>Humph! quoth my father to himself, a second time: in muttering which,
he plucked his pillow a little further from my mother’s&mdash;and
turning about again, there was an end of the debate for three minutes
and a half.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;When he gets these breeches made, cried my father in a
higher tone, he’ll look like a beast in ’em.</p>

<p>He will be very awkward in them at first, replied my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And ’twill be lucky, if that’s the worst on’t, added my
father.</p>

<p>It will be very lucky, answered my mother.</p>

<p>I suppose, replied my father,&mdash;making some pause
first,&mdash;he’ll be exactly like other people’s <span class =
"locked">children.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Exactly, said my mother.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Though I shall be sorry for that, added my father: and
so the debate stopp’d again.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They should be of leather, said my father, turning him
about <span class = "locked">again.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>They will last him, said my mother, the longest.</p>

<p>But he can have no linings to ’em, replied my
father.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>He cannot, said my mother.</p>

<p>’Twere better to have them of fustian, quoth my father.</p>

<p>Nothing can be better, quoth my mother.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;Except dimity,&mdash;replied my father:&mdash;&mdash;’Tis best
of all,&mdash;replied my mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;One must not give him his death,
however,&mdash;interrupted my father.</p>

<p>By no means, said my mother:&mdash;&mdash;and so the dialogue stood
still again.</p>

<p>I am resolved, however, quoth my father, breaking silence the fourth
time, he shall have no pockets in <span class =
"locked">them.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There is no occasion for any, said my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>I mean in his coat and waistcoat,&mdash;cried my father.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I mean so too,&mdash;replied my mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Though if he gets a gig or top&mdash;&mdash;Poor souls!
it is a crown and a sceptre to them,&mdash;they should have where to
secure <span class = "locked">it.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Order it as you please, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, replied my
mother.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But don’t you think it right? added my father, pressing
the point home to her.</p>

<p>Perfectly, said my mother, if it pleases you, Mr.
<i>Shandy</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There’s for you! cried my father, losing
temper&mdash;&mdash;Pleases me!&mdash;&mdash;You never will distinguish,
Mrs. <i>Shandy</i>, nor shall I ever teach you to do it, betwixt a point
of pleasure and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page323" id = "page323">323</a></span>
a point of convenience.&mdash;&mdash;This was on the <i>Sunday</i>
night:&mdash;&mdash;and further this chapter sayeth not.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXIX" id = "bookVI_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">After</span> my father had debated the
affair of the breeches with my mother,&mdash;he consulted <i>Albertus
Rubenius</i> upon it; and <i>Albertus Rubenius</i> used my father ten
times worse in the consultation (if&nbsp;possible) than even my father
had used my mother: For as <i>Rubenius</i> had wrote a quarto
<i>express</i>, <i>De re Vestiaria Veterum</i>,&mdash;it was
<i>Rubenius’s</i> business to have given my father some lights.&mdash;On
the contrary, my father might as well have thought of extracting the
seven cardinal virtues out of a long beard,&mdash;as of extracting a
single word out of <i>Rubenius</i> upon the subject.</p>

<p>Upon every other article of ancient dress, <i>Rubenius</i> was very
communicative to my father;&mdash;gave him a full and satisfactory
account&nbsp;of</p>

<div class = "inset">
<p>The Toga, or loose gown.</p>
<p>The Chlamys.</p>
<p>The Ephod.</p>
<p>The Tunica, or Jacket.</p>
<p>The Synthesis.</p>
<p>The Pænula.</p>
<p>The Lacema, with its Cucullus.</p>
<p>The Paludamentum.</p>
<p>The Prætexta.</p>
<p>The Sagum, or soldier’s jerkin.</p>
<p>The Trabea: of which, according to <i>Suetonius</i>, there were three
<span class = "locked">kinds.&mdash;</span></p>
</div>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But what are all these to the breeches? said my
father.</p>

<p><i>Rubenius</i> threw him down upon the counter all kinds of shoes
which had been in fashion with the <span class =
"locked"><i>Romans</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>There was,</p>

<div class = "inset">
<div class = "inset">
<p>The open shoe.</p>
<p>The close shoe.</p>
<p>The slip shoe.</p>
<p>The wooden shoe.</p>
<p>The soc.</p>
<p>The buskin.</p>
</div>
<p>And The military shoe with hobnails in it, which <i>Juvenal</i> takes
notice of.</p>
</div>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page324" id = "page324">324</a></span>
<p>There were, The clogs.</p>
<div class = "inset">
<div class = "inset">
<p>The pattins.</p>
<p>The pantoufles.</p>
<p>The brogues.</p>
<p>The sandals, with latchets to them.</p>
</div>
</div>

<p>There was, The felt shoe.</p>
<div class = "inset">
<div class = "inset">
<p>The linen shoe.</p>
<p>The laced shoe.</p>
<p>The braided shoe.</p>
<p>The calceus incisus.</p>
</div>
<p>And The calceus rostratus.</p>
</div>

<p><i>Rubenius</i> shewed my father how well they all fitted,&mdash;in
what manner they laced on,&mdash;with what points, straps, thongs,
latchets, ribbands, jaggs, and <span class =
"locked">ends.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But I want to be informed about the breeches, said my
father.</p>

<p><i>Albertus Rubenius</i> informed my father that the <i>Romans</i>
manufactured stuffs of various fabrics,&mdash;&mdash;some
plain,&mdash;some striped,&mdash;others diapered throughout the whole
contexture of the wool, with silk and gold&mdash;&mdash;That linen did
not begin to be in common use till towards the declension of the empire,
when the <i>Egyptians</i> coming to settle amongst them, brought it into
vogue.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That persons of quality and fortune distinguished
themselves by the fineness and whiteness of their clothes; which colour
(next to purple, which was appropriated to the great offices) they most
affected, and wore on their birthdays and public
rejoicings.&mdash;&mdash;That it appeared from the best historians of
those times, that they frequently sent their clothes to the fuller, to
be clean’d and whitened:&mdash;&mdash;but that the inferior people, to
avoid that expence, generally wore brown clothes, and of a something
coarser texture,&mdash;till towards the beginning of <i>Augustus’s</i>
reign, when the slave dressed like his master, and almost every
distinction of habiliment was lost, but the <i>Latus Clavus</i>.</p>

<p>And what was the <i>Latus Clavus?</i> said my father.</p>

<p><i>Rubenius</i> told him, that the point was still litigating amongst
the learned:&mdash;&mdash;That <i>Egnatius</i>, <i>Sigonius</i>,
<i>Bossius Ticinensis</i>, <i>Bayfius</i>, <i>Budæus</i>,
<i>Salmasius</i>, <i>Lipsius</i>, <i>Lazius</i>, <i>Isaac Casaubon</i>,
and <i>Joseph Scaliger</i>, all differed from each other,&mdash;and he
from them: That some took it to be the button,&mdash;some the coat
itself,&mdash;others only the colour of it:&mdash;That the great
<i>Bayfius</i>, in his Wardrobe of the Ancients, chap. 12&mdash;honestly
said, he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page325" id = "page325">325</a></span>
knew not what it was,&mdash;whether a tibula,&mdash;a stud,&mdash;a
button,&mdash;a&nbsp;loop,&mdash;a&nbsp;buckle,&mdash;or clasps and
<span class = "locked">keepers.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My father lost the horse, but not the
saddle&mdash;&mdash;They are <i>hooks and eyes</i>, said my
father&mdash;&mdash;and with hooks and eyes he ordered my breeches to be
made.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXX" id = "bookVI_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">We</span> are now going to enter upon a new
scene of events.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Leave we then the breeches in the taylor’s hands, with
my father standing over him with his cane, reading him as he sat at work
a lecture upon the <i>latus clavus</i>, and pointing to the precise part
of the waistband, where he was determined to have it sewed <span class =
"locked">on.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Leave we my mother&mdash;(truest of all the <i>Pococurantes</i> of
her sex!)&mdash;careless about it, as about everything else in the world
which concerned her;&mdash;that is,&mdash;indifferent whether it was
done this way or that,&mdash;provided it was but done at <span class =
"locked">all.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Leave we <i>Slop</i> likewise to the full profits of all my
dishonours.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Leave we poor <i>Le Fever</i> to recover, and get home from
<i>Marseilles</i> as he can.&mdash;&mdash;And last of all,&mdash;because
the hardest of <span class = "locked">all&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Let us leave, if possible, <i>myself</i>:&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis
impossible,&mdash;I&nbsp;must go along with you to the end of the
work.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXI" id = "bookVI_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">If</span> the reader has not a clear
conception of the rood and the half of ground which lay at the bottom of
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> kitchen-garden, and which was the scene of so
many of his delicious hours,&mdash;the fault is not in me,&mdash;but in
his imagination;&mdash;for I am sure I gave him so minute a description,
I&nbsp;was almost ashamed of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>When <span class = "smallcaps">Fate</span> was looking forwards one
afternoon, into the great transactions of future times,&mdash;and
recollected for what purposes this little plot, by a decree fast bound
down in iron, had been destined,&mdash;&mdash;she gave a nod to <span
class = "smallcaps">Nature</span>,&mdash;’twas enough&mdash;Nature threw
half a spade full of her kindliest compost upon it, with just so
<i>much</i> clay in it, as to retain the forms of angles and
indentings,&mdash;and so <i>little</i> of it too, as not to cling to the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page326" id = "page326">326</a></span>
spade, and render works of so much glory, nasty in foul weather.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> came down, as the reader has been informed, with
plans along with him, of almost every fortified town in <i>Italy</i> and
<i>Flanders</i>; so let the Duke of <i>Marlborough</i>, or the allies,
have set down before what town they pleased, my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
prepared for them.</p>

<p>His way, which was the simplest one in the world, was this; as soon
as ever a town was invested&mdash;(but sooner when the design was known)
to take the plan of it (let it be what town it would), and enlarge it
upon a scale to the exact size of his bowling-green; upon the surface of
which, by means of a large role of packthread, and a number of small
piquets driven into the ground, at the several angles and redans, he
transferred the lines from his paper; then taking the profile of the
place, with its works, to determine the depths and slopes of the
ditches,&mdash;the talus of the glacis, and the precise height of the
several banquets, parapets, &amp;c.&mdash;he set the corporal to
work&mdash;&mdash;and sweetly went it on:&mdash;&mdash;The nature of the
soil,&mdash;the nature of the work itself,&mdash;and above all, the
good-nature of my uncle <i>Toby</i> sitting by from morning to night,
and chatting kindly with the corporal upon past-done deeds,&mdash;left
<span class = "smallroman">LABOUR</span> little else but the ceremony of
the name.</p>

<p>When the place was finished in this manner, and put into a proper
posture of defence,&mdash;it was invested,&mdash;and my uncle
<i>Toby</i> and the corporal began to run their first
parallel.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beg I may not be interrupted in my story,
by being told, <i>That the first parallel should be at least three
hundred toises distant from the main body of the place,&mdash;and that I
have not left a single inch for it</i>;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for my uncle
<i>Toby</i> took the liberty of incroaching upon his kitchen-garden, for
the sake of enlarging his works on the bowling-green, and for that
reason generally ran his first and second parallels betwixt two rows of
his cabbages and his cauliflowers; the conveniences and inconveniences
of which will be considered at large in the history of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> and the corporal’s campaigns, of which, this I’m now
writing is but a sketch, and will be finished, if I conjecture right, in
three pages (but there is no guessing)&mdash;&mdash;The campaigns
themselves will take up as many books; and therefore I apprehend it
would be hanging too great a weight of one kind of matter in so flimsy a
performance as this, to rhapsodize them, as I once intended, into the
body of the work&mdash;&mdash;surely they had better be printed
apart,&mdash;&mdash;we’ll consider the affair&mdash;&mdash;so take the
following sketch of them in the meantime.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page327" id = "page327">327</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXII" id = "bookVI_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> the town, with its works, was
finished, my uncle <i>Toby</i> and the corporal began to run their first
parallel&mdash;&mdash;not at random, or any how&mdash;&mdash;but from
the same points and distances the allies had begun to run theirs; and
regulating their approaches and attacks, by the accounts my uncle
<i>Toby</i> received from the daily papers,&mdash;they went on, during
the whole siege, step by step with the allies.</p>

<p>When the duke of <i>Marlborough</i> made a lodgment,&mdash;&mdash;my
uncle <i>Toby</i> made a lodgment too,&mdash;&mdash;And when the face of
a bastion was battered down, or a defence ruined,&mdash;the corporal
took his mattock and did as much,&mdash;and so on;&mdash;&mdash;gaining
ground, and making themselves masters of the works one after another,
till the town fell into their hands.</p>

<p>To one who took pleasure in the happy state of others,&mdash;there
could not have been a greater sight in the world, than, on a
post-morning, in which a practicable breach had been made by the duke of
<i>Marlborough</i>, in the main body of the place,&mdash;to have stood
behind the horn-beam hedge, and observed the spirit with which my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, with <i>Trim</i> behind him, sallied
forth;&mdash;&mdash;the one with the <i>Gazette</i> in his
hand,&mdash;the other with a spade on his shoulder to execute the
contents.&mdash;&mdash;What an honest triumph in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
looks as he marched up to the ramparts! What intense pleasure swimming
in his eye as he stood over the corporal, reading the paragraph ten
times over to him, as he was at work, lest, peradventure, he should make
the breach an inch too wide,&mdash;or leave it an inch too
narrow.&mdash;&mdash;But when the <i>chamade</i> was beat, and the
corporal helped my uncle up it, and followed with the colours in his
hand, to fix them upon the ramparts&mdash;Heaven! Earth!
Sea!&mdash;&mdash;but what avails apostrophes?&mdash;&mdash;with all
your elements, wet or dry, ye never compounded so intoxicating a
draught.</p>

<p>In this track of happiness for many years, without one interruption
to it, except now and then when the wind continued to blow due west for
a week or ten days together, which detained the <i>Flanders</i> mail,
and kept them so long in torture,&mdash;but still ’twas the torture of
the happy&mdash;&mdash;In this track, I&nbsp;say, did my uncle
<i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i> move for many years, every year of which,
and sometimes every month, from the invention of either the one or the
other of them, adding some new conceit or quirk of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page328" id = "page328">328</a></span>
improvement to their operations, which always opened fresh springs of
delight in carrying them&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>The first year’s campaign was carried on from beginning to end, in
the plain and simple method I’ve related.</p>

<p>In the second year, in which my uncle <i>Toby</i> took <i>Liege</i>
and <i>Ruremond</i>, he thought he might afford the expence of four
handsome draw-bridges, of two of which I have given an exact description
in the former part of my work.</p>

<p>At the latter end of the same year he added a couple of gates with
portcullises:&mdash;&mdash;These last were converted afterwards into
orgues, as the better thing; and during the winter of the same year, my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, instead of a new suit of clothes, which he always had
at <i>Christmas</i>, treated himself with a handsome sentry-box, to
stand at the corner of the bowling-green, betwixt which point and the
foot of the glacis, there was left a little kind of an esplanade for him
and the corporal to confer and hold councils of war upon.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The sentry-box was in case of rain.</p>

<p>All these were painted white three times over the ensuing spring,
which enabled my uncle <i>Toby</i> to take the field with great
splendour.</p>

<p>My father would often say to <i>Yorick</i>, that if any mortal in the
whole universe had done such a thing, except his brother <i>Toby</i>, it
would have been looked upon by the world as one of the most refined
satires upon the parade and prancing manner in which <i>Lewis</i> XIV.
from the beginning of the war, but particularly that very year, had
taken the field&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis not my brother <i>Toby’s</i>
nature, kind soul! my father would add, to insult any one.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But let us go on.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXIII" id = "bookVI_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I must</span> observe, that although in the
first year’s campaign, the word <i>town</i> is often
mentioned,&mdash;yet there was no town at that time within the polygon;
that addition was not made till the summer following the spring in which
the bridges and sentry-box were painted, which was the third year of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> campaigns,&mdash;when upon his taking <i>Amberg</i>,
<i>Bonn</i>, and <i>Rhinberg</i>, and <i>Huy</i> and <i>Limbourg</i>,
one after another, a&nbsp;thought came into the corporal’s head, that to
talk of taking so many towns, <i>without one <span class =
"smallroman">TOWN</span> to shew for it</i>,&mdash;was a very
nonsensical way of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page329" id = "page329">329</a></span>
going to work, and so proposed to my uncle <i>Toby</i>, that they should
have a little model of a town built for them,&mdash;to be run up
together of slit deals, and then painted, and clapped within the
interior polygon to serve for all.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> felt the good of the project instantly, and
instantly agreed to it, but with the addition of two singular
improvements, of which he was almost as proud as if he had been the
original inventor of the project itself.</p>

<p>The one was, to have the town built exactly in the style of those of
which it was most likely to be the representative:&mdash;&mdash;with
grated windows, and the gable ends of the houses, facing the streets,
&amp;c. &amp;c.&mdash;as those in <i>Ghent</i> and <i>Bruges</i>, and
the rest of the towns in <i>Brabant</i> and <i>Flanders</i>.</p>

<p>The other was, not to have the houses run up together, as the
corporal proposed, but to have every house independent, to hook on, or
off, so as to form into the plan of whatever town they pleased. This was
put directly into hand, <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: probably not an error">and many and many</ins> a look of
mutual congratulation was exchanged between my uncle <i>Toby</i> and the
corporal, as the carpenter did the work.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It answered prodigiously the next
summer&mdash;&mdash;the town was a perfect
<i>Proteus</i>&mdash;&mdash;It was <i>Landen</i>, and <i>Trerebach</i>,
and <i>Santvliet</i>, and <i>Drusen</i>, and <i>Hagenau</i>,&mdash;and
then it was <i>Ostend</i> and <i>Menin</i>, and <i>Aeth</i> and
<i>Dendermond</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Surely never did any <span class =
"smallroman">TOWN</span> act so many parts, since <i>Sodom</i> and
<i>Gomorah</i>, as my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> town did.</p>

<p>In the fourth year, my uncle <i>Toby</i> thinking a town looked
foolishly without a church, added a very fine one with a
steeple.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim</i> was for having bells in
it;&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> said, the metal had better be cast
into cannon.</p>

<p>This led the way the next campaign for half a dozen brass
field-pieces, to be planted three and three on each side of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> sentry-box; and in a short time, these led the way for a
train of somewhat larger,&mdash;and so on&mdash;(as&nbsp;must always be
the case in hobby-horsical affairs) from pieces of half an inch bore,
till it came at last to my father’s jack boots.</p>

<p>The next year, which was that in which <i>Lisle</i> was besieged, and
at the close of which both <i>Ghent</i> and <i>Bruges</i> fell into our
hands,&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> was sadly put to it for <i>proper</i>
ammunition;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;say proper
ammunition&mdash;&mdash;because his great artillery would not bear
powder; and ’twas well for the <i>Shandy</i> family they would
not&mdash;&mdash;For so full were the papers, from the beginning to the
end of the siege, of the incessant firings kept up by the
besiegers,&mdash;&mdash;and so heated was my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
imagination
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page330" id = "page330">330</a></span>
with the accounts of them, that he had infallibly shot away all his
estate.</p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">Something</span> therefore was wanting as a
<i>succedaneum</i>, especially in one or two of the more violent
paroxysms of the siege, to keep up something like a continual firing in
the imagination,&mdash;&mdash;and this <i>something</i>, the corporal,
whose principal strength lay in invention, supplied by an entire new
system of battering of his own,&mdash;without which, this had been
objected to by military critics, to the end of the world, as one of the
great <i>desiderata</i> of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> apparatus.</p>

<p>This will not be explained the worse, for setting off, as I generally
do, at a little distance from the subject.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXIV" id = "bookVI_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">With</span> two or three other trinkets,
small in themselves, but of great regard, which poor <i>Tom</i>, the
corporal’s unfortunate brother, had sent him over, with the account of
his marriage with the <i>Jew’s</i> widow&mdash;&mdash;there was</p>

<p>A <i>Montero</i>-cap and two <i>Turkish</i> tobacco-pipes.</p>

<p>The <i>Montero</i>-cap I shall describe by and bye.&mdash;&mdash;The
<i>Turkish</i> tobacco-pipes had nothing particular in them, they were
fitted up and ornamented as usual, with flexible tubes of <i>Morocco</i>
leather and gold wire, and mounted at their ends, the one of them with
ivory,&mdash;the other with black ebony, tipp’d with silver.</p>

<p>My father, who saw all things in lights different from the rest of
the world, would say to the corporal, that he ought to look upon these
two presents more as tokens of his brother’s nicety, than his
affection.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Tom</i> did not care, <i>Trim</i>, he would
say, to put on the cap, or to smoke in the tobacco-pipe of a
<i>Jew</i>.&mdash;&mdash;God bless your honour, the corporal would say,
(giving a strong reason to the contrary)&mdash;how can that&nbsp;be?</p>

<p>The Montero-cap was scarlet, of a superfine <i>Spanish</i> cloth,
dyed in grain, and mounted all round with fur, except about four inches
in the front, which was faced with a light blue, slightly
embroidered,&mdash;and seemed to have been the property of a
<i>Portuguese</i> quartermaster, not of foot, but of horse, as the word
denotes.</p>

<p>The corporal was not a little proud of it, as well for its own sake,
as the sake of the giver, so seldom or never put it on but upon <span
class = "smallcaps">Gala</span>-days; and yet never was a Montero-cap
put to so
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page331" id = "page331">331</a></span>
many uses; for in all controverted points, whether military or culinary,
provided the corporal was sure he was in the right,&mdash;it was either
his <i>oath</i>,&mdash;his <i>wager</i>,&mdash;or his <i>gift</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Twas his gift in the present case.</p>

<p>I’ll be bound, said the corporal, speaking to himself, to <i>give</i>
away my Montero-cap to the first beggar who comes to the door, if I do
not manage this matter to his honour’s satisfaction.</p>

<p>The completion was no further off than the very next morning; which
was that of the storm of the counterscarp betwixt the <i>Lower
Deule</i>, to the right, and the gate <i>St. Andrew</i>,&mdash;and on
the left, between St. <i>Magdalen’s</i> and the river.</p>

<p>As this was the most memorable attack in the whole war,&mdash;the
most gallant and obstinate on both sides,&mdash;and I must add the most
bloody too, for it cost the allies themselves that morning above eleven
hundred men,&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> prepared himself for it with a
more than ordinary solemnity.</p>

<p>The eve which preceded, as my uncle <i>Toby</i> went to bed, he
ordered his ramallie wig, which had laid inside out for many years in
the corner of an old <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected form is ‘campaigning’">compaigning</ins> trunk, which stood by
his bedside, to be taken out and laid upon the lid of it, ready for the
morning;&mdash;and the very first thing he did in his shirt, when he had
stepped out of bed, my uncle <i>Toby</i>, after he had turned the rough
side outwards,&mdash;put it on:&mdash;&mdash;This done, he proceeded
next to his breeches, and having buttoned the waistband, he forthwith
buckled on his sword-belt, and had got his sword half way in,&mdash;when
he considered he should want shaving, and that it would be very
inconvenient doing it with his sword on,&mdash;so took it
off:&mdash;&mdash;In assaying to put on his regimental coat and
waistcoat, my uncle <i>Toby</i> found the same objection in his
wig,&mdash;so that went off too:&mdash;So that what with one thing and
what with another, as always falls out when a man is in the most
haste,&mdash;’twas ten o’clock, which was half an hour later than his
usual time, before my uncle <i>Toby</i> sallied out.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXV" id = "bookVI_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i> had scarce
turned the corner of his yew hedge, which separated his kitchen-garden
from his bowling-green, when he perceived the corporal had begun the
attack without <span class =
"locked">him.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Let me stop and give you a picture of the corporal’s apparatus; and
of the corporal himself in the height of his attack, just as it
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page332" id = "page332">332</a></span>
struck my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as he turned towards the sentry-box, where
the corporal was at work,&mdash;&mdash;for in nature there is not such
another,&mdash;&mdash;nor can any combination of all that is grotesque
and whimsical in her works produce its equal.</p>

<p>The corporal&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Tread lightly on his ashes, ye men of
genius,&mdash;&mdash;for he was your kinsman:</p>

<p>Weed his grave clean, ye men of goodness,&mdash;for he was your
brother.&mdash;Oh corporal! had I thee, but now,&mdash;now, that I am
able to give thee a dinner and protection,&mdash;how would I cherish
thee! thou should’st wear thy Montero-cap every hour of the day, and
every day of the week,&mdash;and when it was worn out, I&nbsp;would
purchase thee a couple like it:&mdash;&mdash;But alas! alas! alas! now
that I can do this in spite of their reverences&mdash;the occasion is
lost&mdash;for thou art gone;&mdash;thy genius fled up to the stars from
whence it came;&mdash;and that warm heart of thine, with all its
generous and open vessels, compressed into a <i>clod of the
valley!</i></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But what&mdash;&mdash;what is this, to that future and
dreaded page, where I look towards the velvet pall, decorated with the
military ensigns of thy master&mdash;the first&mdash;the foremost of
created beings;&mdash;&mdash;where, I&nbsp;shall see thee, faithful
servant! laying his sword and scabbard with a trembling hand across his
coffin, and then returning pale as ashes to the door, to take his
mourning horse by the bridle, to follow his hearse, as he directed
thee;&mdash;&mdash;where&mdash;all my father’s systems shall be baffled
by his sorrows; and, in spite of his philosophy, I&nbsp;shall behold
him, as he inspects the lackered plate, twice taking his spectacles from
off his nose, to wipe away the dew which nature has shed upon
them&mdash;&mdash;When I see him cast in the rosemary with an air of
disconsolation, which cries through my ears,&mdash;&mdash;O <i>Toby!</i>
in what corner of the world shall I seek thy fellow?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Gracious powers! which erst have opened the lips of the
dumb in his distress, and made the tongue of the stammerer speak
plain&mdash;&mdash;when I shall arrive at this dreaded page, deal not
with me, then, with a stinted hand.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXVI" id = "bookVI_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> corporal, who the night before
had resolved in his mind to supply the grand <i>desideratum</i>, of
keeping up something like an incessant firing upon the enemy during the
heat of the attack,&mdash;had no further idea in his fancy at that time,
than a contrivance
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page333" id = "page333">333</a></span>
of smoking tobacco against the town, out of one of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> six field-pieces, which were planted on each side of his
sentry-box; the means of effecting which occurring to his fancy at the
time same, though he had pledged his cap, he thought it in no danger
from the miscarriage of his projects.</p>

<p>Upon turning it this way, and that, a little in his mind, he soon
began to find out, that by means of his two <i>Turkish</i>
tobacco-pipes, with the supplement of three smaller tubes of
wash-leather at each of their lower ends, to be tagg’d by the same
number of tin-pipes fitted to the touch-holes, and sealed with clay next
the cannon, and then tied hermetically with waxed silk at their several
insertions into the <i>Morocco</i> tube,&mdash;he should be able to fire
the six field-pieces all together, and with the same ease as to fire
<span class = "locked">one.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Let no man say from what taggs and jaggs hints may not
be cut out for the advancement of human knowledge. Let no man, who has
read my father’s first and second <i>beds of justice</i>, ever rise up
and say again, from collision of what kinds of bodies light may or may
not be struck out, to carry the arts and sciences up to
perfection.&mdash;&mdash;Heaven! thou knowest how I love
them;&mdash;&mdash;thou knowest the secrets of my heart, and that I
would this moment give my shirt&mdash;&mdash;Thou art a fool,
<i>Shandy</i>, says <i>Eugenius</i>, for thou hast but a dozen in the
world,&mdash;and ’twill break thy <span class =
"locked">set.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>No matter for that, <i>Eugenius</i>; I would give the shirt off my
back to be burned into tinder, were it only to satisfy one feverish
enquirer, how many sparks at one good stroke, a&nbsp;good flint and
steel could strike into the tail of it.&mdash;&mdash;Think ye not that
in striking these <i>in</i>,&mdash;he might, peradventure, strike
something <i>out?</i> as sure as a <span class =
"locked">gun.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But this project, by the bye.</p>

<p>The corporal sat up the best part of the night, in bringing
<i>his</i> to perfection; and having made a sufficient proof of his
cannon, with charging them to the top with tobacco,&mdash;he went with
contentment to bed.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXVII" id = "bookVI_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> corporal had slipped out about
ten minutes before my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in order to fix his apparatus,
and just give the enemy a shot or two before my uncle <i>Toby</i>
came.</p>

<p>He had drawn the six field-pieces for this end, all close up
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page334" id = "page334">334</a></span>
together in front of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> sentry-box, leaving only an
interval of about a yard and a half betwixt the three, on the right and
left, for the convenience of charging, &amp;c.&mdash;and the sake
possibly of two batteries, which he might think double the honour of
one.</p>

<p>In the rear and facing this opening, with his back to the door of the
sentry-box, for fear of being flanked, had the corporal wisely taken his
post:&mdash;&mdash;He held the ivory pipe, appertaining to the battery
on the right, betwixt the finger and thumb of his right hand,&mdash;and
the ebony pipe tipp’d with silver, which appertained to the battery on
the left, betwixt the finger and thumb of the other&mdash;&mdash;and
with his right knee fixed firm upon the ground, as if in the front rank
of his platoon, was the corporal with his Montero-cap upon his head,
furiously playing off his two cross batteries at the same time against
the counter-guard, which faced the counter-scarp, where the attack was
to be made that morning. His first intention, as I said, was no more
than giving the enemy a single puff or two;&mdash;but the pleasure of
the <i>puffs</i>, as well as the <i>puffing</i>, had insensibly got hold
of the corporal, and drawn him on from puff to puff, into the very
height of the attack, by the time my uncle <i>Toby</i> joined him.</p>

<p>’Twas well for my father, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> had not his will
to make that day.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXVIII" id = "bookVI_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i> took the ivory
pipe out of the corporal’s hand,&mdash;looked at it for half a minute,
and returned&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>In less than two minutes, my uncle <i>Toby</i> took the pipe from the
corporal again, and raised it half way to his mouth&mdash;&mdash;then
hastily gave it back a second time.</p>

<p>The corporal redoubled the attack,&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i>
smiled,&mdash;&mdash;then looked grave,&mdash;&mdash;then smiled for a
moment,&mdash;&mdash;then looked serious for a long
time;&mdash;&mdash;Give me hold of the ivory pipe, <i>Trim</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> put it to his
lips,&mdash;&mdash;drew it back directly,&mdash;gave a peep over the
horn-beam hedge;&mdash;&mdash;never did my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mouth
water so much for a pipe in his life.&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i>
retired into the sentry-box with the pipe in his <span class =
"locked">hand.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Dear uncle <i>Toby!</i> don’t go into the sentry-box
with the pipe,&mdash;there’s no trusting a man’s self with such a thing
in such a corner.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page335" id = "page335">335</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXIX" id = "bookVI_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I beg</span> the reader will assist me
here, to wheel off my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> ordnance behind the
scenes,&mdash;&mdash;to remove his sentry-box, and clear the theatre,
<i>if possible</i>, of horn-works and half moons, and get the rest of
his military apparatus out of the way;&mdash;&mdash;that done, my dear
friend <i>Garrick</i>, we’ll snuff the candles bright,&mdash;sweep the
stage with a new broom,&mdash;draw up the curtain, and exhibit my uncle
<i>Toby</i> dressed in a new character, throughout which the world can
have no idea how he will act: and yet, if pity be a-kin to
love,&mdash;and bravery no alien to it, you have seen enough of my uncle
<i>Toby</i> in these, to trace these family likenesses betwixt the two
passions (in&nbsp;case there is one) to your heart’s content.</p>

<p>Vain science! thou assistest us in no case of this kind&mdash;and
thou puzzlest us in every one.</p>

<p>There was, Madam, in my uncle <i>Toby</i>, a singleness of heart
which misled him so far out of the little serpentine tracks in which
things of this nature usually go on; you can&mdash;you can have no
conception of it: with this, there was a plainness and simplicity of
thinking, with such an unmistrusting ignorance of the plies and foldings
of the heart of woman;&mdash;&mdash;and so naked and defenceless did he
stand before you (when a siege was out of his head), that you might have
stood behind any one of your serpentine walks, and shot my uncle
<i>Toby</i> ten times in a day, through his liver, if nine times in a
day, Madam, had not served your purpose.</p>

<p>With all this, Madam,&mdash;and what confounded everything as much on
the other hand, my uncle <i>Toby</i> had that unparalleled modesty of
nature I once told you of, and which, by the bye, stood eternal sentry
upon his feelings, that you might as soon&mdash;&mdash;But where am I
going? these reflections crowd in upon me ten pages at least too soon,
and take up that time, which I ought to bestow upon facts.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXX" id = "bookVI_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Of</span> the few legitimate sons of
<i>Adam</i> whose breasts never felt what the sting of love
was,&mdash;(maintaining first, all mysogynists to be bastards)&mdash;the
greatest heroes of ancient and modern story have carried off amongst
them nine parts in ten of the honour;
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page336" id = "page336">336</a></span>
and I wish for their sakes I had the key of my study, out of my
draw-well, only for five minutes, to tell you their
names&mdash;recollect them I cannot&mdash;so be content to accept of
these, for the present, in their <span class =
"locked">stead.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>There was the great king <i>Aldrovandus</i>, and <i>Bosphorus</i>,
and <i>Cappadocius</i>, and <i>Dardanus</i>, and <i>Pontus</i>, and
<i>Asius</i>,&mdash;&mdash;to say nothing of the iron-hearted
<i>Charles</i> the XIIth, whom the Countess of K***** herself could make
nothing of.&mdash;&mdash;There was <i>Babylonicus</i>, and
<i>Mediterraneus</i>, and <i>Polixenes</i>, and <i>Persicus</i>, and
<i>Prusicus</i>, not one of whom (except <i>Cappadocius</i> and
<i>Pontus</i>, who were both a little suspected) ever once bowed down
his breast to the goddess&mdash;&mdash;The truth is, they had all of
them something else to do&mdash;and so had my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;till Fate&mdash;till Fate I say, envying his name the
glory of being handed down to posterity with <i>Aldrovandus’s</i> and
the rest,&mdash;she basely patched up the peace of <i>Utrecht</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Believe me, Sirs, ’twas the worst deed she did that
year.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXI" id = "bookVI_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Amongst</span> the many ill consequences of
the treaty of <i>Utrecht</i>, it was within a point of giving my uncle
<i>Toby</i> a surfeit of sieges; and though he recovered his appetite
afterwards, yet <i>Calais</i> itself left not a deeper scar in
<i>Mary’s</i> heart, than <i>Utrecht</i> upon my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>. To
the end of his life he never could hear <i>Utrecht</i> mentioned upon
any account whatever,&mdash;or so much as read an article of news
extracted out of the <i>Utrecht Gazette</i>, without fetching a sigh, as
if his heart would break in twain.</p>

<p>My father, who was a great <span class =
"smallroman">MOTIVE-MONGER</span>, and consequently a very dangerous
person for a man to sit by, either laughing or crying,&mdash;for he
generally knew your motive for doing both, much better than you knew it
yourself&mdash;would always console my uncle <i>Toby</i> upon these
occasions, in a way, which shewed plainly, he imagined my uncle
<i>Toby</i> grieved for nothing in the whole affair, so much as the loss
of his <i>hobby-horse</i>.&mdash;&mdash;Never mind, brother <i>Toby</i>,
he would say,&mdash;by God’s blessing we shall have another war break
out again some of these days; and when it does,&mdash;the belligerent
powers, if they would hang themselves, cannot keep us out of
play.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;defy ’em, my dear <i>Toby</i>, he would add,
to take countries without taking towns,&mdash;&mdash;or towns without
sieges.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> never took this back-stroke of my father’s at
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page337" id = "page337">337</a></span>
his hobby-horse kindly.&mdash;&mdash;He thought the stroke ungenerous;
and the more so, because in striking the horse he hit the rider too, and
in the most dishonourable part a blow could fall; so that upon these
occasions, he always laid down his pipe upon the table with more fire to
defend himself than common.</p>

<p>I told the reader, this time two years, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> was
not eloquent; and in the very same page gave an instance to the
contrary:&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;repeat the observation, and a fact which
contradicts it again.&mdash;He was not eloquent,&mdash;it was not easy
to my uncle <i>Toby</i> to make long harangues,&mdash;and he hated
florid ones; but there were occasions where the stream overflowed the
man, and ran so counter to its usual course, that in some parts my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, for a time, was at least equal to
<i>Tertullus</i>&mdash;&mdash;but in others, in my own opinion,
infinitely above him.</p>

<p>My father was so highly pleased with one of these apologetical
orations of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>, which he had delivered one evening
before him and <i>Yorick</i>, that he wrote it down before he went to
bed.</p>

<p>I have had the good fortune to meet with it amongst my father’s
papers, with here and there an insertion of his own, betwixt two crooks,
thus [&emsp;&emsp;], and is endorsed,</p>

<h5>MY BROTHER TOBY’S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS OWN PRINCIPLES AND CONDUCT IN
WISHING TO CONTINUE THE WAR</h5>

<p>I may safely say, I have read over this apologetical oration of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> a hundred times, and think it so fine a model of
defence,&mdash;and shows so sweet a temperament of gallantry and good
principles in him, that I give it the world, word for word
(interlineations and all), as I find&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXII" id = "bookVI_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>

<h5><a name = "bookVI_apology" id = "bookVI_apology">
MY UNCLE TOBY’S APOLOGETICAL ORATION</a></h5>


<p><span class = "firstword">I am</span> not insensible, brother
<i>Shandy</i>, that when a man whose profession is arms, wishes, as I
have done, for war,&mdash;it has an ill aspect to the
world;&mdash;&mdash;and that, how just and right soever his motives and
intentions may be,&mdash;he stands in an uneasy posture in vindicating
himself from private views in doing&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>For this cause, if a soldier is a prudent man, which he may be
without being a jot the less brave, he will be sure not to utter his
wish in the hearing of an enemy; for say what he will, an
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page338" id = "page338">338</a></span>
enemy will not believe him.&mdash;&mdash;He will be cautious of doing it
even to a friend,&mdash;lest he may suffer in his
esteem:&mdash;&mdash;But if his heart is overcharged, and a secret sigh
for arms must have its vent, he will reserve it for the ear of a
brother, who knows his character to the bottom, and what his true
notions, dispositions, and principles of honour are: What,
I&nbsp;<i>hope</i>, I&nbsp;have been in all these, brother
<i>Shandy</i>, would be unbecoming in me to say:&mdash;&mdash;much
worse, I&nbsp;know, have I been than I ought,&mdash;and something worse,
perhaps, than I think: But such as I am, you, my dear brother
<i>Shandy</i>, who have sucked the same breasts with me,&mdash;and with
whom I have been brought up from my cradle,&mdash;and from whose
knowledge, from the first hours of our boyish pastimes, down to this,
I&nbsp;have concealed no one action of my life, and scarce a thought in
it&mdash;&mdash;Such as I am, brother, you must by this time know me,
with all my vices, and with all my weaknesses too, whether of my age, my
temper, my passions, or my understanding.</p>

<p>Tell me then, my dear brother <i>Shandy</i>, upon which of them it
is, that when I condemned the peace of <i>Utrecht</i>, and grieved the
war was not carried on with vigour a little longer, you should think
your brother did it upon unworthy views; or that in wishing for war, he
should be bad enough to wish more of his fellow-creatures
slain,&mdash;more slaves made, and more families driven from their
peaceful habitations, merely for his own pleasure:&mdash;&mdash;Tell me,
brother <i>Shandy</i>, upon what one deed of mine do you ground it?
[<i>The devil a deed do I know of, dear <em>Toby</em>, but one for a
hundred pounds, which I lent thee to carry on these cursed
sieges.</i>]</p>

<p>If, when I was a school-boy, I could not hear a drum beat, but my
heart beat with it&mdash;was it my fault? Did I plant the propensity
there?&mdash;&mdash;Did I sound the alarm within, or Nature?</p>

<p>When <i>Guy</i>, Earl of <i>Warwick</i>, and <i>Parismus</i> and
<i>Parismenus</i>, and <i>Valentine</i> and <i>Orson</i>, and the
<i>Seven Champions of England</i>, were handed around the
school,&mdash;were they not all purchased with my own pocket-money? Was
that selfish, brother <i>Shandy?</i> When we read over the siege of
<i>Troy</i>, which lasted ten years and eight
months,&mdash;&mdash;though with such a train of artillery as we had at
<i>Namur</i>, the town might have been carried in a week&mdash;was I not
as much concerned for the destruction of the <i>Greeks</i> and
<i>Trojans</i> as any boy of the whole school? Had I not three strokes
of a ferula given me, two on my right hand, and one on my left, for
calling <i>Helena</i> a bitch for it? Did any one of you shed more tears
for <i>Hector?</i> And when king <i>Priam</i> came to
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page339" id = "page339">339</a></span>
the camp to beg his body, and returned weeping back to <i>Troy</i>
without it,&mdash;you know, brother, I&nbsp;could not eat my <span class
= "locked">dinner.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Did that bespeak me cruel? Or because, brother
<i>Shandy</i>, my blood flew out into the camp, and my heart panted for
war,&mdash;was it a proof it could not ache for the distresses of war
too?</p>

<p>O brother! ’tis one thing for a soldier to gather laurels,&mdash;and
’tis another to scatter cypress.&mdash;&mdash;[<i>Who told thee, my dear
<em>Toby</em>, that cypress was used by the antients on mournful
occasions?</i>]</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis one thing, brother <i>Shandy</i>, for a soldier to
hazard his own life&mdash;to leap first down into the trench, where he
is sure to be cut in pieces:&mdash;&mdash;’Tis one thing, from public
spirit and a thirst of glory, to enter the breach the first
man,&mdash;To stand in the foremost rank, and march bravely on with
drums and trumpets, and colours flying about his ears:&mdash;&mdash;’Tis
one thing, I&nbsp;say, brother <i>Shandy</i>, to do this,&mdash;and ’tis
another thing to reflect on the miseries of war;&mdash;to view the
desolations of whole countries, and consider the intolerable fatigues
and hardships which the soldier himself, the instrument who works them,
is forced (for sixpence a day, if he can get&nbsp;it) to undergo.</p>

<p>Need I be told, dear <i>Yorick</i>, as I was by you, in <i>Le
Fever’s</i> funeral sermon, <i>That so soft and gentle a creature, born
to love, to mercy, and kindness, as man is, was not shaped for
this?</i>&mdash;&mdash;But why did you not add, <i>Yorick</i>,&mdash;if
not by <span class = "smallroman">NATURE</span>&mdash;that he is so by
<span class = "smallroman">NECESSITY</span>?&mdash;&mdash;For what is
war? what is it, <i>Yorick</i>, when fought as ours has been, upon
principles of <i>liberty</i>, and upon principles of
<i>honour</i>&mdash;&mdash;what is it, but the getting together of quiet
and harmless people, with their swords in their hands, to keep the
ambitious and the turbulent within bounds? And heaven is my witness,
brother <i>Shandy</i>, that the pleasure I have taken in these
things,&mdash;and that infinite delight, in particular, which has
attended my sieges in my bowling-green, has arose within me, and I hope
in the corporal too, from the consciousness we both had, that in
carrying them on, we were answering the great ends of our creation.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXIII" id = "bookVI_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I told</span> the Christian
reader&mdash;&mdash;I say <i>Christian</i>&mdash;&mdash;hoping he is
one&mdash;&mdash;and if he is not, I&nbsp;am sorry for
it&mdash;&mdash;and only beg he will consider the matter with himself,
and not lay the blame entirely upon this <span class =
"locked">book&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I told him, Sir&mdash;&mdash;for in good truth, when a man is telling
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page340" id = "page340">340</a></span>
a story in the strange way I do mine, he is obliged continually to be
going backwards and forwards to keep all tight together in the reader’s
fancy&mdash;&mdash;which, for my own part, if I did not take heed to do
more than at first, there is so much unfixed and equivocal matter
starting up, with so many breaks and gaps in it,&mdash;and so little
service do the stars afford, which, nevertheless, I&nbsp;hang up in some
of the darkest passages, knowing that the world is apt to lose its way,
with all the lights the sun itself at noon-day can give
it&mdash;&mdash;and now you see, I&nbsp;am lost <span class =
"locked">myself!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis my father’s fault; and whenever my brains come
to be dissected, you will perceive, without spectacles, that he has left
a large uneven thread, as you sometimes see in an unsaleable piece of
cambrick, running along the whole length of the web, and so untowardly,
you cannot so much as cut out a *&nbsp;*, (here I hang up a couple of
lights again)&mdash;&mdash;or a fillet, or a thumb-stall, but it is seen
or <span class = "locked">felt.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>Quanto id diligentius in liberis procreandis cavendum</i>, sayeth
<i>Cardan</i>. All which being considered, and that you see ’tis morally
impracticable for me to wind this round to where I set <span class =
"locked">out&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I begin the chapter over again.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXIV" id = "bookVI_chapXXXIV">
CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I told</span> the Christian reader in the
beginning of the chapter which preceded my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
apologetical oration,&mdash;though in a different trope from what I
should make use of now, That the peace of <i>Utrecht</i> was within an
ace of creating the same shyness betwixt my uncle <i>Toby</i> and his
hobby-horse, as it did betwixt the queen and the rest of the
confederating powers.</p>

<p>There is an indignant way in which a man sometimes dismounts his
horse, which as good as says to him, “I’ll go afoot, Sir, all the days
of my life, before I would ride a single mile upon your back again.” Now
my uncle <i>Toby</i> could not be said to dismount his horse in this
manner; for in strictness of language, he could not be said to dismount
his horse at all&mdash;&mdash;his horse rather flung
him&mdash;&mdash;and somewhat <i>viciously</i>, which made my uncle
<i>Toby</i> take it ten times more unkindly. Let this matter be settled
by state-jockies as they like.&mdash;&mdash;It created, I&nbsp;say,
a&nbsp;sort of shyness betwixt my uncle <i>Toby</i> and his
hobby-horse.&mdash;&mdash;He had no occasion for him from the month of
<i>March</i>
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page341" id = "page341">341</a></span>
to <i>November</i>, which was the summer after the articles were signed,
except it was now and then to take a short ride out, just to see that
the fortifications and harbour of <i>Dunkirk</i> were demolished,
according to stipulation.</p>

<p>The <i>French</i> were so backwards all that summer in setting about
that affair, and Monsieur <i>Tugghe</i>, the Deputy from the magistrates
of <i>Dunkirk</i>, presented so many affecting petitions to the
queen,&mdash;beseeching her majesty to cause only her thunder-bolts to
fall upon the martial works, which might have incurred her
displeasure,&mdash;but to spare&mdash;to spare the mole, for the mole’s
sake; which, in its naked situation, could be no more than an object of
pity&mdash;&mdash;and the queen (who was but a woman) being of a pitiful
disposition,&mdash;and her ministers also, they not wishing in their
hearts to have the town dismantled, for these private reasons,
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>
&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&emsp;
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>
; so that the whole went heavily on with my uncle <i>Toby</i>; insomuch,
that it was not within three full months, after he and the corporal had
constructed the town, and put it in a condition to be destroyed, that
the several commandants, commissaries, deputies, negociators, and
intendants, would permit him to set about it.&mdash;&mdash;Fatal
interval of inactivity!</p>

<p>The corporal was for beginning the demolition, by making a breach in
the ramparts, or main fortifications of the
town&mdash;&mdash;No,&mdash;that will never do, corporal, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, for in going that way to work with the town, the
<i>English</i> garrison will not be safe in it an hour; because if the
<ins class = "correction"
title = "printed in Roman (non-italic) type"><i>French</i></ins> are treacherous&mdash;&mdash;They are as
treacherous as devils, an’ please your honour, said the
corporal&mdash;&mdash;It gives me concern always when I hear it,
<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;for they don’t want
personal bravery; and if a breach is made in the ramparts, they may
enter it, and make themselves masters of the place when they
please:&mdash;&mdash;Let them enter it, said the corporal, lifting up
his pioneer’s spade in both his hands, as if he was going to lay about
him with it,&mdash;let them enter, an’ please your honour, if they
dare.&mdash;&mdash;In cases like this, corporal, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, slipping his right hand down to the middle of his cane, and
holding it afterwards truncheon-wise with his forefinger
extended,&mdash;&mdash;’tis no part of the consideration of a
commandant, what the enemy dare,&mdash;or what they dare not do; he must
act with prudence. We will begin with the outworks both towards the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page342" id = "page342">342</a></span>
sea and the land, and particularly with fort <i>Louis</i>, the most
distant of them all, and demolish it first,&mdash;and the rest, one by
one, both on our right and left, as we retreat towards the
town;&mdash;&mdash;then we’ll demolish the mole,&mdash;next fill up the
harbour,&mdash;then retire into the citadel, and blow it up into the
air: and having done that, corporal, we’ll embark for
<i>England</i>.&mdash;&mdash;We are there, quoth the corporal,
recollecting himself&mdash;&mdash;Very true, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;looking at the church.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXV" id = "bookVI_chapXXXV">
CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">A delusive</span>, delicious consultation
or two of this kind, betwixt my uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i>, upon
the demolition of <i>Dunkirk</i>,&mdash;for a moment rallied back the
ideas of those pleasures, which were slipping from under
him:&mdash;&mdash;still&mdash;still all went on heavily&mdash;&mdash;the
magic left the mind the weaker&mdash;<span class =
"smallcaps">Stillness</span>, with <span class =
"smallcaps">Silence</span> at her back, entered the solitary parlour,
and drew their gauzy mantle over my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
head;&mdash;&mdash;and <span class = "smallcaps">Listlessness</span>,
with her lax fibre and undirected eye, sat quietly down beside him in
his arm-chair.&mdash;&mdash;No longer <i>Amberg</i> and <i>Rhinberg</i>,
and <i>Limbourg</i>, and <i>Huy</i>, and <i>Bonn</i>, in one
year,&mdash;and the prospect of <i>Landen</i>, and <i>Trerebach</i>, and
<i>Drusen</i>, and <i>Dendermond</i>, the next,&mdash;hurried on the
blood:&mdash;No longer did saps, and mines, and blinds, and gabions, and
palisadoes, keep out this fair enemy of man’s repose:&mdash;&mdash;No
more could my uncle <i>Toby</i>, after passing the <i>French</i> lines,
as he eat his egg at supper, from thence break into the heart of
<i>France</i>,&mdash;cross over the <i>Oyes</i>, and with all
<i>Picardie</i> open behind him, march up to the gates of <i>Paris</i>,
and fall asleep with nothing but ideas of glory:&mdash;&mdash;No more
was he to dream he had fixed the royal standard upon the tower of the
<i>Bastile</i>, and awake with it streaming in his head.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Softer visions,&mdash;gentler vibrations stole sweetly
in upon his slumbers;&mdash;the trumpet of war fell out of his
hands,&mdash;he took up the lute, sweet instrument! of all others the
most delicate! the most difficult!&mdash;&mdash;how wilt thou touch it,
my dear uncle <i>Toby?</i></p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXVI" id = "bookVI_chapXXXVI">
CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span>, because I have once or twice
said, in my inconsiderate way of talking, That I was confident the
following memoirs of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> courtship of widow
<i>Wadman</i>, whenever I got time to write them, would turn out one of
the most complete systems,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page343" id = "page343">343</a></span>
both of the elementary and practical part of love and love-making, that
ever was addressed to the world&mdash;&mdash;are you to imagine from
thence, that I shall set out with a description of <i>what love is?</i>
whether part God and part Devil, as <i>Plotinus</i> will have <span
class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Or by a more critical equation, and supposing the whole
of love to be as ten&mdash;&mdash;to determine with <i>Ficinus</i>,
“<i>How many parts of it&mdash;the one,&mdash;and how many the
other</i>;”&mdash;or whether it is <i>all of it one great Devil</i>,
from head to tail, as <i>Plato</i> has taken upon him to pronounce;
concerning which conceit of his, I&nbsp;shall not offer my
opinion:&mdash;but my opinion of <i>Plato</i> is this; that he appears,
from this instance, to have been a man of much the same temper and way
of reasoning with doctor <i>Baynyard</i>, who being a great enemy to
blisters, as imagining that half a dozen of ’em at once, would draw a
man as surely to his grave, as a herse and six&mdash;rashly concluded,
that the Devil himself was nothing in the world, but one great bouncing
<span class =
"locked"><i>Canthari[di]s</i>.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I have nothing to say to people who allow themselves this monstrous
liberty in arguing, but what <i>Nazianzen</i> cried out (<i>that is,
polemically</i>) to <span class =
"locked"><i>Philagrius</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“<ins class = "correction greek"
title = "Euge! [printed ῏Ευγε!]">Εὖγε!</ins>” <i>O rare! ’tis fine reasoning, Sir,
indeed!</i>&mdash;“<span class = "greek"
title = "hoti philosopheis en Pathesi">ὅτι <ins class = "correction"
title = "printed ‘φιλοσοφεἶς’">φιλοσοφεῖς</ins> ἐν Πάθεσι</span>”&mdash;<i>and most nobly
do you aim at truth, when you philosophize about it in your moods and
passions.</i></p>

<p>Nor is it to be imagined, for the same reason, I should stop to
inquire, whether love is a disease,&mdash;&mdash;or embroil myself with
<i>Rhasis</i> and <i>Dioscorides</i>, whether the seat of it is in the
brain or liver;&mdash;because this would lead me on, to an examination
of the two very opposite manners, in which patients have been
treated&mdash;&mdash;the one, of <ins class = "correction"
title = "text unchanged: expected form ‘Æetius’"><i>Aætius</i></ins>, who always begun
with a cooling clyster of hempseed and bruised cucumbers;&mdash;and
followed on with thin potations of water-lillies and purslane&mdash;to
which he added a pinch of snuff of the herb <i>Hanea</i>;&mdash;and
where <i>Aætius</i> durst venture it,&mdash;his topaz-ring.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The other, that of <i>Gordonius</i>, who (in his cap.
15. <i>de Amore</i><ins class = "correction"
title = "close parenthesis missing at line-end">) </ins>directs they should be thrashed, “<i>ad
putorem usque</i>,”&mdash;&mdash;till they stink again.</p>

<p>These are disquisitions, which my father, who had laid in a great
stock of knowledge of this kind, will be very busy with in the progress
of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> affairs: I&nbsp;must anticipate thus much,
That from his theories of love, (with which, by the way, he contrived to
crucify my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind, almost as much as his amours
themselves)&mdash;he took a single step into practice;&mdash;and by
means of a camphorated cerecloth, which he found
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page344" id = "page344">344</a></span>
means to impose upon the taylor for buckram, whilst he was making my
uncle <i>Toby</i> a new pair of breeches, he produced <i>Gordonius’s</i>
effect upon my uncle <i>Toby</i> without the disgrace.</p>

<p>What changes this produced, will be read in its proper place: all
that is needful to be added to the anecdote, is this&mdash;&mdash;That
whatever effect it had upon my uncle <i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;it had a
vile effect upon the house;&mdash;&mdash;and if my uncle <i>Toby</i> had
not smoaked it down as he did, it might have had a vile effect upon my
father too.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXVII" id = "bookVI_chapXXXVII">
CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">’Twill</span> come out of
itself by and bye.&mdash;&mdash;All I contend for is, that I am not
obliged to set out with a definition of what love is; and so long as I
can go on with my story intelligibly, with the help of the word itself,
without any other idea to it, than what I have in common with the rest
of the world, why should I differ from it a moment before the
time?&mdash;&mdash;When I can get on no further,&mdash;&mdash;and find
myself entangled on all sides of this mystic labyrinth,&mdash;my Opinion
will then come in, in course,&mdash;and lead me out.</p>

<p>At present, I hope I shall be sufficiently understood, in telling the
reader, my uncle <i>Toby fell in love</i>:</p>

<p>&mdash;Not that the phrase is at all to my liking: for to say a man
is <i>fallen</i> in love,&mdash;or that he is <i>deeply</i> in
love,&mdash;or <ins class = "correction"
title = "printed in plain (non-italic) type">up to the ears</ins> in love,&mdash;and sometimes
even <i>over head and ears in it</i>,&mdash;carries an idiomatical kind
of implication, that love is a thing <i>below</i> a man:&mdash;this is
recurring again to <i>Plato’s</i> opinion, which, with all his
divinityship,&mdash;I&nbsp;hold to be damnable and heretical:&mdash;and
so much for that.</p>

<p>Let love therefore be what it will,&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> fell
into&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And possibly, gentle reader, with such a
temptation&mdash;so wouldst thou: For never did thy eyes behold, or thy
concupiscence covet anything in this world, more concupiscible than
widow <i>Wadman</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXVIII" id = "bookVI_chapXXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">To</span> conceive this right,&mdash;call
for pen and ink&mdash;here’s paper ready to your hand.&mdash;&mdash;Sit
down, Sir, paint her to your own mind&mdash;&mdash;as like your mistress
as you can&mdash;&mdash;as unlike your wife as your conscience will let
you&mdash;’tis all one to me&mdash;&mdash;please but your own fancy
in&nbsp;it.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page345" id = "page345">345</a></span>

<img src = "images/onedot.gif" width = "12" height = "500"
alt = "[blank space]" />


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page346" id = "page346">346</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Was ever any thing in Nature so sweet!&mdash;so
exquisite!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then, dear Sir, how could my uncle <i>Toby</i> resist
it?</p>

<p>Thrice happy book! thou wilt have one page, at least, within thy
covers, which <span class = "smallcaps">Malice</span> will not blacken,
and which <span class = "smallcaps">Ignorance</span> cannot
misrepresent.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXXXIX" id = "bookVI_chapXXXIX">
CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> <i>Susannah</i> was informed by
an express from Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> falling
in love with her mistress fifteen days before it happened,&mdash;the
contents of which express, <i>Susannah</i> communicated to my mother the
next day,&mdash;it has just given me an opportunity of entering upon my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> amours a fortnight before their existence.</p>

<p>I have an article of news to tell you, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, quoth my
mother, which will surprise you <span class =
"locked">greatly.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now my father was then holding one of his second beds of justice, and
was musing within himself about the hardships of matrimony, as my mother
broke <span class = "locked">silence.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“&mdash;&mdash;My brother <i>Toby</i>, quoth she, is going to be
married to Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>.”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then he will never, quoth my father, be able to lie
<i>diagonally</i> in his bed again as long as he lives.</p>

<p>It was a consuming vexation to my father, that my mother never asked
the meaning of a thing she did not understand.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That she is not a woman of science, my father would
say&mdash;is her misfortune&mdash;but she might ask a <span class =
"locked">question.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My mother never did.&mdash;&mdash;In short, she went out of the world
at last without knowing whether it turned <i>round</i>, or stood
<i>still</i>.&mdash;&mdash;My father had officiously told her above a
thousand times which way it was,&mdash;but she always forgot.</p>

<p>For these reasons, a discourse seldom went on much further betwixt
them, than a proposition,&mdash;a&nbsp;reply, and a rejoinder; at the
end of which, it generally took breath for a few minutes (as&nbsp;in the
affair of the breeches), and then went on again.</p>

<p>If he marries, ’twill be the worse for us,&mdash;quoth my mother.</p>

<p>Not a cherry-stone, said my father,&mdash;he may as well batter away
his means upon that, as any thing else.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;To be sure, said my mother: so here ended the
proposition,&mdash;the reply,&mdash;and the rejoinder, I&nbsp;told
you&nbsp;of.</p>

<p>It will be some amusement to him, too,&mdash;&mdash;said my
father.</p>

<p>A very great one, answered my mother, if he should have
children.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page347" id = "page347">347</a></span>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Lord have mercy upon me,&mdash;said my father to
himself&mdash;&mdash;
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>
</p>



<h4><a name = "bookVI_chapXL" id = "bookVI_chapXL">
CHAPTER XL</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I am</span> now beginning to get fairly
into my work; and by the help of a vegetable diet, with a few of the
cold seeds, I&nbsp;make no doubt but I shall be able to go on with my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> story, and my own, in a tolerable strait line.
Now,</p>

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/pg347a.png" width = "466" height = "353"
alt = "squiggly lines captioned ‘Inv. T. S. / Scul. T. S.’"
title = "Inv. T. S. / Scul. T. S." /></p>

<p>These were the four lines I moved in through my first, second, third,
and fourth volumes.<a class = "tag" name = "tag_6_4" id = "tag_6_4" href
= "#note_6_4">4</a>&mdash;In the fifth volume I have been very
good,&mdash;&mdash;the precise line I have described in it being
this:</p>

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/pg347b.png" width = "471" height = "134"
alt = "squiggly line marked A, B, CC CCC, D"
title = "A B CC CCC D" /></p>

<p>By which it appears, that except at the curve, marked A, where
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page348" id = "page348">348</a></span>
I took a trip to <i>Navarre</i>,&mdash;and the indented curve <i>B</i>,
which is the short airing when I was there with the Lady
<i>Baussiere</i> and her page,&mdash;I&nbsp;have not taken the least
frisk of a digression, till <i>John de la Casse’s</i> devils led me the
round you see marked D.&mdash;for as for
<i>c&nbsp;c&nbsp;c&nbsp;c&nbsp;c</i> they are nothing but parentheses,
and the common <i>ins</i> and <i>outs</i> incident to the lives of the
greatest ministers of state; and when compared with what men have
done,&mdash;or with my own transgressions at the letters
A&nbsp;B&nbsp;D&mdash;they vanish into nothing.</p>

<p>In this last volume I have done better still&mdash;for from the end
of <i>Le Fever’s</i> episode, to the beginning of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
campaigns,&mdash;I&nbsp;have scarce stepped a yard out of my way.</p>

<p>If I mend at this rate, it is not impossible&mdash;&mdash;by the good
leave of his grace of <i>Benevento’s</i> devils&mdash;&mdash;but I may
arrive hereafter at the excellency of going on even thus:</p>

<hr class = "solid" />

<p class = "continue">
which is a line drawn as straight as I could draw it, by a
writing-master’s ruler (borrowed for that purpose), turning neither to
the right hand or to the left.</p>

<p>This <i>right line</i>,&mdash;the path-way for Christians to walk in!
say <span class = "locked">divines&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The emblem of moral rectitude! says
<i>Cicero</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The <i>best line!</i> say cabbage
planters&mdash;&mdash;is the shortest line, says <i>Archimedes</i>,
which can be drawn from one given point to <span class =
"locked">another.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I wish your ladyships would lay this matter to heart, in your next
birth-day suits!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What a journey!</p>

<p>Pray can you tell me,&mdash;that is, without anger, before I write my
chapter upon straight lines&mdash;&mdash;by what
mistake&mdash;&mdash;who told them so&mdash;&mdash;or how it has come to
pass, that your men of wit and genius have all along confounded this
line, with the line of <span class =
"smallroman">GRAVITATION</span>?</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_6_1" id = "note_6_1" href = "#tag_6_1">1.</a>
In the first edition, the sixth volume began with this chapter.</p>

<p><a name = "note_6_2" id = "note_6_2" href = "#tag_6_2">2.</a>
Nous aurions quelque interêt, says <i>Baillet</i>, de montrer qu’il n’a
rien de ridicule s’il étoit veritable, au moins dans le sens énigmatique
que <i>Nicius Erythræus</i> a tâché de lui donner. Cet auteur dit que
pour comprendre comme <i>Lipse</i>, il a pû composer un ouvrage le
premier jour de sa vie, il faut s’imaginer, que ce premier jour n’est
pas celui de sa naissance charnelle, mais celui au quel il a commencé
d’user de la raison; il veut que ç’ait été à l’âge de <i>neuf</i> ans;
et il nous veut persuader que ce fut en cet âge, que <i>Lipse</i> fit un
poëme.&mdash;&mdash;Le tour est ingénieux, &amp;c. &amp;c.</p>

<p><a name = "note_6_3" id = "note_6_3" href = "#tag_6_3">3.</a>
Vid. <i>Pellegrina</i>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_6_4" id = "note_6_4" href = "#tag_6_4">4.</a>
Alluding to the first edition.</p>

</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page349" id = "page349">349</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookVII" id = "bookVII">BOOK VII</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapI" id = "bookVII_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">No</span>&mdash;&mdash;I think, I said, I
would write two volumes every year, provided the vile cough which then
tormented me, and which to this hour I dread worse than the devil, would
but give me leave&mdash;and in another place&mdash;(but where,
I&nbsp;can’t recollect now) speaking of my book as a <i>machine</i>, and
laying my pen and ruler down cross-wise upon the table, in order to gain
the greater credit to it&mdash;I&nbsp;swore it should be kept a going at
that rate these forty years, if it pleased but the fountain of life to
bless me so long with health and good spirits.</p>

<p>Now as for my spirits, little have I to lay to their charge&mdash;nay
so very little (unless the mounting me upon a long stick and playing the
fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, be accusations) that
on the contrary, I&nbsp;have much&mdash;much to thank ’em for: cheerily
have ye made me tread the path of life with all the burthens of it
(except its cares) upon my back; in no one moment of my existence, that
I remember, have ye once deserted me, or tinged the objects which came
in my way, either with sable, or with a sickly green; in dangers ye
gilded my horizon with hope, and when <span class =
"smallcaps">Death</span> himself knocked at my door&mdash;ye bad him
come again; and in so gay a tone of careless indifference did ye do it,
that he doubted of his <span class =
"locked">commission&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“&mdash;There must certainly be some mistake in this matter,” quoth
he.</p>

<p>Now there is nothing in this world I abominate worse, than to be
interrupted in a story&mdash;&mdash;and I was that moment telling
<i>Eugenius</i> a most tawdry one in my way, of a nun who fancied
herself a shell-fish, and of a monk damn’d for eating a muscle, and was
shewing him the grounds and justice of the <span class =
"locked">procedure&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“&mdash;Did ever so grave a personage get into so vile a scrape?”
quoth Death. Thou hast had a narrow escape, <i>Tristram</i>, said
<i>Eugenius</i>, taking hold of my hand as I finished my <span class =
"locked">story&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But there is no <i>living</i>, <i>Eugenius</i>, replied I, at this
rate; for as this <i>son of a whore</i> has found out my <span class =
"locked">lodgings&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;You call him rightly, said <i>Eugenius</i>,&mdash;for by sin,
we are
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page350" id = "page350">350</a></span>
told, he enter’d the world&mdash;&mdash;I care not which way he enter’d,
quoth I, provided he be not in such a hurry to take me out with
him&mdash;for I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things
to say and do which no body in the world will say and do for me, except
thyself; and as thou seest he has got me by the throat (for
<i>Eugenius</i> could scarce hear me speak across the table), and that I
am no match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these
few scatter’d spirits remain, and these two spider legs of mine (holding
one of them up to him) are able to support me&mdash;had I not better,
<i>Eugenius</i>, fly for my life? ’Tis my advice, my dear
<i>Tristram</i>, said <i>Eugenius</i>&mdash;Then by heaven! I&nbsp;will
lead him a dance he little thinks of&mdash;&mdash;for I will gallop,
quoth I, without looking once behind me, to the banks of the
<i>Garonne</i>; and if I hear him clattering at my
heels&mdash;&mdash;I’ll scamper away to mount
<i>Vesuvius</i>&mdash;&mdash;from thence to <i>Joppa</i>, and from
<i>Joppa</i> to the world’s end; where, if he follows me, I&nbsp;pray
God he may break his <span class =
"locked">neck&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;He runs more risk <i>there</i>, said <i>Eugenius</i>, than
thou.</p>

<p><i>Eugenius’s</i> wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from
whence it had been some months banish’d&mdash;&mdash;’twas a vile moment
to bid adieu in; he led me to my chaise&mdash;&mdash;<i>Allons!</i> said
I; the postboy gave a crack with his whip&mdash;&mdash;off I went like a
cannon, and in half a dozen bounds got into <i>Dover</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapII" id = "bookVII_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> hang it! quoth I, as I look’d
towards the <i>French</i> coast&mdash;a&nbsp;man should know something
of his own country too, before he goes abroad&mdash;&mdash;and I never
gave a peep into <i>Rochester</i> church, or took notice of the dock of
<i>Chatham</i>, or visited St. <i>Thomas</i> at <i>Canterbury</i>,
though they all three laid in my <span class =
"locked">way&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;But mine, indeed, is a particular case&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>So without arguing the matter further with <i>Thomas o’ Becket</i>,
or any one else&mdash;I&nbsp;skip’d into the boat, and in five minutes
we got under sail, and scudded away like the wind.</p>

<p>Pray, captain, quoth I, as I was going down into the cabin, is a man
never overtaken by <i>Death</i> in this passage?</p>

<p>Why, there is not time for a man to be sick in it, replied
he&mdash;&mdash;What a cursed lyar! for I am sick as a horse, quoth I,
already&mdash;&mdash;what a brain!&mdash;&mdash;upside
down!&mdash;&mdash;hey-day! the cells are broke loose one into another,
and the blood, and the lymph, and the nervous juices, with the fix’d and
volatile salts,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page351" id = "page351">351</a></span>
are all jumbled into one mass&mdash;&mdash;good G&mdash;! everything
turns round in it like a thousand whirlpools&mdash;&mdash;I’d give a
shilling to know if I shan’t write the clearer for <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Sick! sick! sick! sick!&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;When shall we get to land? captain&mdash;they have hearts like
stones&mdash;&mdash;O I am deadly sick!&mdash;&mdash;reach me that
thing, boy&mdash;&mdash;’tis the most discomfiting
sickness&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I was at the bottom&mdash;Madam! how
is it with you? Undone! undone! un&mdash;&mdash;O! undone!
sir&mdash;&mdash;What the first time?&mdash;&mdash;No, ’tis the second,
third, sixth, tenth time, sir,&mdash;&mdash;hey-day!&mdash;what a
trampling over head!&mdash;hollo! cabin boy! what’s the <span class =
"locked">matter?&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The wind chopp’d about! s’Death!&mdash;then I shall meet him full in
the face.</p>

<p>What luck!&mdash;’tis chopp’d about again, master&mdash;&mdash;O the
devil chop <span class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Captain, quoth she, for heaven’s sake, let us get ashore.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapIII" id = "bookVII_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is a great inconvenience to a man
in a haste, that there are three distinct roads between <i>Calais</i>
and <i>Paris</i>, in behalf of which there is so much to be said by the
several deputies from the towns which lie along them, that half a day is
easily lost in settling which you’ll take.</p>

<p>First, the road by <i>Lisle</i> and <i>Arras</i>, which is the most
about&mdash;&mdash;but most interesting and instructing.</p>

<p>The second, that by <i>Amiens</i>, which you may go, if you would see
<span class = "locked"><i>Chantilly</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And that by <i>Beauvais</i>, which you may go, if you will.</p>

<p>For this reason a great many chuse to go by <i>Beauvais</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapIV" id = "bookVII_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p>“<span class = "firstword">Now</span> before I quit <i>Calais</i>,” a
travel-writer would say, “it would not be amiss to give some account of
it.”&mdash;Now I think it very much amiss&mdash;that a man cannot go
quietly through a town and let it alone, when it does not meddle with
him, but that he must be turning about and drawing his pen at every
kennel he crosses over, merely o’ my conscience for the sake of drawing
it; because, if we may judge from what has been wrote of these things,
by all who have <i>wrote and gallop’d</i>&mdash;or who have
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page352" id = "page352">352</a></span>
<i>gallop’d and wrote</i>, which is a different way still; or who, for
more expedition than the rest, have <i>wrote galloping</i>, which is the
way I do at present&mdash;&mdash;from the great <i>Addison</i>, who did
it with his satchel of school books hanging at his a&mdash;, and galling
his beast’s crupper at every stroke&mdash;there is not a gallopper of us
all who might not have gone on ambling quietly in his own ground
(in&nbsp;case he had any), and have wrote all he had to write, dryshod,
as well as not.</p>

<p>For my own part, as heaven is my judge, and to which I shall ever
make my last appeal&mdash;I&nbsp;know no more of <i>Calais</i> (except
the little my barber told me of it as he was whetting his razor), than I
do this moment of <i>Grand Cairo</i>; for it was dusky in the evening
when I landed, and dark as pitch in the morning when I set out, and yet
by merely knowing what is what, and by drawing this from that in one
part of the town, and by spelling and putting this and that together in
another&mdash;I&nbsp;would lay any travelling odds, that I this moment
write a chapter upon <i>Calais</i> as long as my arm; and with so
distinct and satisfactory a detail of every item, which is worth a
stranger’s curiosity in the town&mdash;that you would take me for the
town-clerk of <i>Calais</i> itself&mdash;and where, sir, would be the
wonder? was not <i>Democritus</i>, who laughed ten times more than
I&mdash;town-clerk of <i>Abdera?</i> and was not (I&nbsp;forget his
name) who had more discretion than us both, town-clerk of
<i>Ephesus?</i>&mdash;&mdash;it should be penn’d moreover, sir, with so
much knowledge and good sense, and truth, and <span class =
"locked">precision&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;Nay&mdash;if you don’t believe me, you may read the chapter
for your pains.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapV" id = "bookVII_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Calais</span>, <i>Calatium</i>,
<i>Calusium</i>, <i>Calesium</i>.</p>

<p>This town, if we may trust its archives, the authority of which I see
no reason to call in question in this place&mdash;was <i>once</i> no
more than a small village belonging to one of the first Counts de
<i>Guignes</i>; and as it boasts at present of no less than fourteen
thousand inhabitants, exclusive of four hundred and twenty distinct
families in the <i>basse ville</i>, or suburbs&mdash;&mdash;it must have
grown up by little and little, I&nbsp;suppose, to its present size.</p>

<p>Though there are four convents, there is but one parochial church in
the whole town; I&nbsp;had not an opportunity of taking its exact
dimensions, but it is pretty easy to make a tolerable conjecture of
’em&mdash;for as there are fourteen thousand inhabitants
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page353" id = "page353">353</a></span>
in the town, if the church holds them all it must be considerably
large&mdash;and if it will not&mdash;’tis a very great pity they have
not another&mdash;it is built in form of a cross, and dedicated to the
Virgin <i>Mary</i>; the steeple, which has a spire to it, is placed in
the middle of the church, and stands upon four pillars elegant and light
enough, but sufficiently strong at the same time&mdash;it is decorated
with eleven altars, most of which are rather fine than beautiful. The
great altar is a masterpiece in its kind; ’tis of white marble, and, as
I was told, near sixty feet high&mdash;had it been much higher, it had
been as high as mount <i>Calvary</i> itself&mdash;therefore,
I&nbsp;suppose it must be high enough in all conscience.</p>

<p>There was nothing struck me more than the great <i>Square</i>; tho’
I&nbsp;cannot say ’tis either well paved or well built; but ’tis in the
heart of the town, and most of the streets, especially those in that
quarter, all terminate in it; could there have been a fountain in all
<i>Calais</i>, which it seems there cannot, as such an object would have
been a great ornament, it is not to be doubted, but that the inhabitants
would have had it in the very centre of this square,&mdash;not that it
is properly a square,&mdash;because ’tis forty feet longer from east to
west, than from north to south; so that the <i>French</i> in general
have more reason on their side in calling them <i>Places</i> than
<i>Squares</i>, which, strictly speaking, to be sure, they are not.</p>

<p>The town-house seems to be but a sorry building, and not to be kept
in the best repair; otherwise it had been a second great ornament to
this place; it answers however its destination, and serves very well for
the reception of the magistrates, who assemble in it from time to time;
so that ’tis presumable, justice is regularly distributed.</p>

<p>I have heard much of it, but there is nothing at all curious in the
<i>Courgain</i>; ’tis a distinct quarter of the town, inhabited solely
by sailors and fishermen; it consists of a number of small streets,
neatly built and mostly of brick; ’tis extremely populous, but as that
may be accounted for, from the principles of their diet,&mdash;there is
nothing curious in that neither.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;traveller may see
it to satisfy himself&mdash;he must not omit however taking notice of
<i>La Tour de Guet</i>, upon any account; ’tis so called from its
particular destination, because in war it serves to discover and give
notice of the enemies which approach the place, either by sea or
land;&mdash;&mdash;but ’tis monstrous high, and catches the eye so
continually, you cannot avoid taking notice of it if you would.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page354" id = "page354">354</a></span>
<p>It was a singular disappointment to me, that I could not have
permission to take an exact survey of the fortifications, which are the
strongest in the world, and which, from first to last, that is, from the
time they were set about by <i>Philip</i> of <i>France</i>, Count of
<i>Boulogne</i>, to the present war, wherein many reparations were made,
have cost (as&nbsp;I learned afterwards from an engineer in
<i>Gascony</i>)&mdash;above a hundred millions of livres. It is very
remarkable, that at the <i>Tête de Gravelenes</i>, and where the town is
naturally the weakest, they have expended the most money; so that the
out-works stretch a great way into the campaign, and consequently occupy
a large tract of ground&mdash;However, after all that is <i>said</i> and
<i>done</i>, it must be acknowledged that <i>Calais</i> was never upon
any account so considerable from itself, as from its situation, and that
easy entrance which it gave our ancestors, upon all occasions, into
<i>France</i>: it was not without its inconveniences also; being no less
troublesome to the <i>English</i> in those times, than <i>Dunkirk</i>
has been to us, in ours; so that it was deservedly looked upon as the
key to both kingdoms, which no doubt is the reason that there have
arisen so many contentions who should keep it: of these, the siege of
<i>Calais</i>, or rather the blockade (for it was shut up both by land
and sea), was the most memorable, as it withstood the efforts of
<i>Edward</i> the Third a whole year, and was not terminated at last but
by famine and extreme misery; the gallantry of <i>Eustace de St.
Pierre</i>, who first offered himself a victim for his fellow-citizens,
has rank’d his name with heroes. As it will not take up above fifty
pages, it would be injustice to the reader, not to give him a minute
account of that romantic transaction, as well as of the siege itself, in
<i>Rapin’s</i> own words:</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapVI" id = "bookVII_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> courage! gentle
reader!&mdash;&mdash;I scorn it&mdash;&mdash;’tis enough to have thee in
my power&mdash;&mdash;but to make use of the advantage which the fortune
of the pen has now gained over thee, would be too
much&mdash;&mdash;No&mdash;&mdash;! by that all-powerful fire which
warms the visionary brain, and lights the spirits through unwordly
tracts! ere I would force a helpless creature upon this hard service,
and make thee pay, poor soul! for fifty pages, which I have no right to
sell thee,&mdash;&mdash;naked as I am, I&nbsp;would browse upon the
mountains, and smile that the north wind brought me neither my tent or
my supper.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page355" id = "page355">355</a></span>
<p>&mdash;So put on, my brave boy! and make the best of thy way to
<i>Boulogne</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapVII" id = "bookVII_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class =
"firstword">Boulogne</span>!&mdash;&mdash;hah!&mdash;&mdash;so we are
all got together&mdash;&mdash;debtors and sinners before heaven;
a&nbsp;jolly set of us&mdash;but I can’t stay and quaff it off with
you&mdash;I’m pursued myself like a hundred devils, and shall be
overtaken, before I can well change horses:&mdash;&mdash;for heaven’s
sake, make haste&mdash;&mdash;’Tis for high-treason, quoth a very little
man, whispering as low as he could to a very tall man, that stood next
him&mdash;&mdash;Or else for murder; quoth the tall
man&mdash;&mdash;Well thrown, <i>Size-ace!</i> quoth&nbsp;I. No; quoth a
third, the gentleman has been committing&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p><i>Ah! ma chere fille!</i> said I, as she tripp’d by from her
matins&mdash;you look as rosy as the morning (for the sun was rising,
and it made the compliment the more gracious)&mdash;No; it can’t be
that, quoth a fourth&mdash;&mdash;(she made a curt’sy to
me&mdash;I&nbsp;kiss’d my hand) ’tis debt, continued he: ’Tis certainly
for debt; quoth a fifth; I&nbsp;would not pay that gentleman’s debts,
quoth <i>Ace</i>, for a thousand pounds; nor would I, quoth <i>Size</i>,
for six times the sum&mdash;Well thrown, <i>Size-ace</i>, again! quoth
I;&mdash;but I have no debt but the debt of <span class =
"smallcaps">Nature</span>, and I want but patience of her, and I will
pay her every farthing I owe her&mdash;&mdash;How can you be so
hard-hearted, <span class = "smallcaps">Madam</span>, to arrest a poor
traveller going along without molestation to any one upon his lawful
occasions? do stop that death-looking, long-striding scoundrel of a
scare-sinner, who is posting after me&mdash;&mdash;he never would have
followed me but for you&mdash;&mdash;if it be but for a stage or two,
just to give me start of him, I&nbsp;beseech you, madam&mdash;&mdash;do,
dear <span class = "locked">lady&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now, in troth, ’tis a great pity, quoth mine
<i>Irish</i> host, that all this good courtship should be lost; for the
young gentlewoman has been after going out of hearing of it all <span
class = "locked">along.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Simpleton! quoth I.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;So you have nothing <i>else</i> in <i>Boulogne</i>
worth seeing?</p>

<p>&mdash;By Jasus! there is the finest <span class =
"smallcaps">Seminary</span> for the <span class =
"smallcaps">Humanities</span>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;There cannot be a finer; quoth I.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page356" id = "page356">356</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapVIII" id = "bookVII_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> the precipitancy of a man’s
wishes hurries on his ideas ninety times faster than the vehicle he
rides in&mdash;woe be to truth! and woe be to the vehicle and its
tackling (let ’em be made of what stuff you will) upon which he breathes
forth the disappointment of his soul!</p>

<p>As I never give general characters either of men or things in choler,
“<i>the most haste the worst speed</i>,” was all the reflection I made
upon the affair, the first time it happen’d;&mdash;the second, third,
fourth, and fifth time, I&nbsp;confined it respectively to those times,
and accordingly blamed only the second, third, fourth, and fifth
post-boy for it, without carrying my reflections further; but the event
continuing to befal me from the fifth, to the sixth, seventh, eighth,
ninth, and tenth time, and without one exception, I&nbsp;then could not
avoid making a national reflection of it, which I do in these words;</p>

<p><i>That something is always wrong in a French post-chaise, upon first
setting out.</i></p>

<p>Or the proposition may stand thus:</p>

<p><i>A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three
hundred yards out of town.</i></p>

<p>What’s wrong now?&mdash;&mdash;Diable!&mdash;&mdash;a rope’s
broke!&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;knot has slipt!&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;staple’s
drawn!&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;bolt’s to whittle!&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;tag,
a&nbsp;rag, a&nbsp;jag, a&nbsp;strap, a&nbsp;buckle, or a buckle’s
tongue, want altering.</p>

<p>Now true as all this is, I never think myself impowered to
excommunicate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its
driver&mdash;&mdash;nor do I take it into my head to swear by the
living&nbsp;G&mdash;, I&nbsp;would rather go a-foot ten thousand
times&mdash;&mdash;or that I will be damn’d, if ever I get into
another&mdash;&mdash;but I take the matter coolly before me, and
consider, that some tag, or rag, or jag, or bolt, or buckle, or buckle’s
tongue, will ever be a wanting, or want altering, travel where I
will&mdash;so I never chaff, but take the good and the bad as they fall
in my road, and get on:&mdash;&mdash;Do so, my lad! said I; he had lost
five minutes already, in alighting in order to get at a luncheon of
black bread, which he had cramm’d into the chaise-pocket, and was
remounted, and going leisurely on, to relish it the
better&mdash;&mdash;Get on, my lad, said I, briskly&mdash;but in the
most persuasive tone imaginable, for I jingled a four-and-twenty sous
piece against the glass, taking
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page357" id = "page357">357</a></span>
care to hold the flat side towards him, as he look’d back: the dog
grinn’d intelligence from his right ear to his left, and behind his
sooty muzzle discovered such a pearly row of teeth, that
<i>Sovereignty</i> would have pawn’d her jewels for <span class =
"locked">them.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<table class = "inline" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td class = "bracket rgt">
Just heaven!</td>
<td>
What masticators!&mdash;<br />
What bread!&mdash;
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>and so as he finished the last mouthful of it, we entered the town of
<i>Montreuil</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapIX" id = "bookVII_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> is not a town in all
<i>France</i>, which, in my opinion, looks better in the map, than <span
class = "smallcaps">Montreuil</span>;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;own, it does
not look so well in the book of post-roads; but when you come to see
it&mdash;to be sure it looks most pitifully.</p>

<p>There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; and that
is, the inn-keeper’s daughter: She has been eighteen months at
<i>Amiens</i>, and six at <i>Paris</i>, in going through her classes; so
knits, and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very <span
class = "locked">well.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I
have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in a
white thread stocking&mdash;&mdash;yes, yes&mdash;I&nbsp;see, you
cunning gipsy!&mdash;’tis long and taper&mdash;you need not pin it to
your knee&mdash;and that ’tis your own&mdash;and fits you <span class =
"locked">exactly.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That Nature should have told this creature a word about
a <i>statue’s thumb!</i></p>

<p>&mdash;But as this sample is worth all their
thumbs&mdash;&mdash;besides, I&nbsp;have her thumbs and fingers in at
the bargain, if they can be any guide to me,&mdash;and as
<i>Janatone</i> withal (for that is her name) stands so well for a
drawing&mdash;&mdash;may I never draw more, or rather may I draw like a
draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life,&mdash;if I do
not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a pencil, as
if I had her in the wettest <span class =
"locked">drapery.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length,
breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or drawing
of the façade of the abbey of Saint <i>Austerberte</i> which has been
transported from <i>Artois</i> hither&mdash;everything is just I suppose
as the masons and carpenters left them,&mdash;and if the belief in
<i>Christ</i> continues so long, will be so these fifty years to
come&mdash;so your worships and reverences may all measure them
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page358" id = "page358">358</a></span>
at your leisures&mdash;&mdash;but he who measures thee, <i>Janatone</i>,
must do it now&mdash;thou carriest the principles of change within thy
frame; and considering the chances of a transitory life, I&nbsp;would
not answer for thee a moment; ere twice twelve months are passed and
gone, thou mayest grow out like a pumpkin, and lose thy
shapes&mdash;&mdash;or thou mayest go off like a flower, and lose thy
beauty&mdash;nay, thou mayest go off like a hussy&mdash;and lose
thyself.&mdash;I&nbsp;would not answer for my aunt <i>Dinah</i>, was she
alive&mdash;&mdash;’faith, scarce for her picture&mdash;&mdash;were it
but painted by <span class = "locked"><i>Reynolds</i>&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But if I go on with my drawing, after naming that son of
<i>Apollo</i>, I’ll be <span class =
"locked">shot&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>So you must e’en be content with the original; which, if the evening
is fine in passing thro’ <i>Montreuil</i>, you will see at your
chaise-door, as you change horses: but unless you have as bad a reason
for haste as I have&mdash;you had better stop:&mdash;&mdash;She has a
little of the <i>devote</i>: but that, sir, is a terce to a nine in your
<span class = "locked">favour&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;L&mdash;help me! I could not count a single point: so had been
piqued and repiqued, and capotted to the devil.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapX" id = "bookVII_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">All</span> which being considered, and that
Death moreover might be much nearer me than I
imagined&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I was at <i>Abbeville</i>, quoth I,
were it only to see how they card and spin&mdash;&mdash;so off we
set.</p>

<p><a class = "tag" name = "tag_7_1" id = "tag_7_1" href =
"#note_7_1">1</a><i>de Montreuil à Nampont - poste et demi</i><br />
<i>de Nampont</i> à Bernay &nbsp; - - - poste<br />
de Bernay à Nouvion &nbsp; - - - poste<br />
de Nouvion à <span class = "smallcaps">Abbeville</span> &nbsp;- -
poste</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;but the carders and spinners were all gone to bed.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXI" id = "bookVII_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> a vast advantage is travelling!
only it heats one; but there is a remedy for that, which you may pick
out of the next chapter.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page359" id = "page359">359</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXII" id = "bookVII_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Was</span> I in a condition to stipulate
with Death, as I am this moment with my apothecary, how and where I will
take his clyster&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;should certainly declare against
submitting to it before my friends; and therefore I never seriously
think upon the mode and manner of this great catastrophe, which
generally takes up and torments my thoughts as much as the catastrophe
itself; but I constantly draw the curtain across it with this wish, that
the Disposer of all things may so order it, that it happen not to me in
my own house&mdash;&mdash;but rather in some decent inn&mdash;&mdash;at
home, I&nbsp;know it,&mdash;&mdash;the concern of my friends, and the
last services of wiping my brows, and smoothing my pillow, which the
quivering hand of pale affection shall pay me, will so crucify my soul;
that I shall die of a distemper which my physician is not aware of: but
in an inn, the few cold offices I wanted, would be purchased with a few
guineas, and paid me with an undisturbed, but punctual
attention&mdash;&mdash;but mark. This inn should not be the inn at
<i>Abbeville</i>&mdash;&mdash;if there was not another inn in the
universe, I&nbsp;would strike that inn out of the
capitulation:&nbsp;so</p>

<p>Let the horses be in the chaise exactly by four in the
morning&mdash;&mdash;Yes, by four, Sir,&mdash;&mdash;or by
<i>Genevieve!</i> I’ll raise a clatter in the house shall wake the
dead.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXIII" id = "bookVII_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p>“<i><span class = "firstword">Make</span> them like unto a
wheel</i>,” is a bitter sarcasm, as all the learned know, against the
<i>grand tour</i>, and that restless spirit for making it, which
<i>David</i> prophetically foresaw would haunt the children of men in
the latter days; and therefore, as thinketh the great bishop
<i>Hall</i>, ’tis one of the severest imprecations which <i>David</i>
ever utter’d against the enemies of the Lord&mdash;and, as if he had
said, “I&nbsp;wish them no worse luck than always to be rolling
about”&mdash;So much motion, continues he (for he was very
corpulent)&mdash;is so much unquietness; and so much of rest, by the
same analogy, is so much of heaven.</p>

<p>Now, I (being very thin) think differently; and that so much of
motion, is so much of life, and so much of joy&mdash;&mdash;and that to
stand still, or get on but slowly, is death and the <span class =
"locked">devil&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page360" id = "page360">360</a></span>
<p>Hollo! Ho!&mdash;&mdash;the whole world’s asleep!&mdash;&mdash;bring
out the horses&mdash;&mdash;grease the wheels&mdash;tie on the
mail&mdash;&mdash;and drive a nail into that moulding&mdash;&mdash;I’ll
not lose a <span class = "locked">moment&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now the wheel we are talking of, and <i>whereinto</i> (but not
<i>whereunto</i>, for that would make an Ixion’s wheel of&nbsp;it) he
curseth his enemies, according to the bishop’s habit of body, should
certainly be a post-chaise wheel, whether they were set up in
<i>Palestine</i> at that time or not&mdash;&mdash;and my wheel, for the
contrary reasons, must as certainly be a cart-wheel groaning round its
revolution once in an age; and of which sort, were I to turn
commentator, I&nbsp;should make no scruple to affirm, they had great
store in that hilly country.</p>

<p>I love the Pythagoreans (much more than ever I dare tell my dear
<i>Jenny</i>) for their “<span class = "greek"
title = "chôrismon apo tou Sômatos, eis to kalôs philosophein">χωρισμὸν ἀπὸ τοῦ Σώματος, εἰς τὸ
καλῶς φιλοσοφεῖν</span>”&mdash;&mdash;[their] “<i>getting out of the
body, in order to think well</i>.” No man thinks right, whilst he is in
it; blinded as he must be, with his congenial humours, and drawn
differently aside, as the bishop and myself have been, with too lax or
too tense a fibre&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Reason</span>
is, half of it, <span class = "smallcaps">Sense</span>; and the measure
of heaven itself is but the measure of our present appetites and <span
class = "locked">concoctions&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But which of the two, in the present case, do you think
to be mostly in the wrong?</p>

<p>You, certainly: quoth she, to disturb a whole family so early.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXIV" id = "bookVII_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;But she did not know I was under a vow not to shave my
beard till I got to <i>Paris</i>;&mdash;&mdash;yet I hate to make
mysteries of nothing;&mdash;&mdash;’tis the cold cautiousness of one of
those little souls from which <i>Lessius</i> (<i>lib.</i> 13, <i>de
moribus divinis, cap.</i>&nbsp;24) hath made his estimate, wherein he
setteth forth, That one <i>Dutch</i> mile, cubically multiplied, will
allow room enough, and to spare, for eight hundred thousand millions,
which he supposes to be as great a number of souls (counting from the
fall of <i>Adam</i>) as can possibly be damn’d to the end of the
world.</p>

<p>From what he has made this second estimate&mdash;&mdash;unless from
the parental goodness of God&mdash;I&nbsp;don’t know&mdash;I&nbsp;am
much more at a loss what could be in <i>Franciscus Ribbera’s</i> head,
who pretends that no less a space than one of two hundred <i>Italian</i>
miles multiplied into itself, will be sufficient to hold the like
number&mdash;&mdash;he certainly must have gone upon some of the old
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page361" id = "page361">361</a></span>
<i>Roman</i> souls, of which he had read, without reflecting how much,
by a gradual and most tabid decline, in the course of eighteen hundred
years, they must unavoidably have shrunk so as to have come, when he
wrote, almost to nothing.</p>

<p>In <i>Lessius’s</i> time, who seems the cooler man, they were as
little as can be <span class =
"locked">imagined&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;We find them less <i>now</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>And next winter we shall find them less again; so that if we go on
from little to less, and from less to nothing, I&nbsp;hesitate not one
moment to affirm, that in half a century, at this rate, we shall have no
souls at all; which being the period beyond which I doubt likewise of
the existence of the Christian faith, ’twill be one advantage that both
of ’em will be exactly worn out together.</p>

<p>Blessed <i>Jupiter!</i> and blessed every other heathen god and
goddess! for now ye will all come into play again, and with
<i>Priapus</i> at your tails&mdash;&mdash;what jovial
times!&mdash;&mdash;but where am I? and into what a delicious riot of
things am I rushing? I&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;who must be cut short in the
midst of my days, and taste no more of ’em than what I borrow from my
imagination&mdash;&mdash;peace to thee, generous fool! and let me
go&nbsp;on.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXV" id = "bookVII_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“<span class = "firstword">So</span> hating, I
say, to make mysteries of <i>nothing</i>”&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;intrusted
it with the post-boy, as soon as ever I got off the stones; he gave a
crack with his whip to balance the compliment; and with the thill-horse
trotting, and a sort of an up and a down of the other, we danced it
along to <i>Ailly au clochers</i>, famed in days of yore for the finest
chimes in the world; but we danced through it without music&mdash;the
chimes being greatly out of order&mdash;(as&nbsp;in truth they were
through all <i>France</i>).</p>

<p>And so making all possible speed, from</p>

<p><i>Ailly au clochers</i>, I got to <i>Hixcourt</i>,</p>
<p>from <i>Hixcourt</i>, I got to <i>Pequignay</i>, and</p>
<p>from <i>Pequignay</i>, I got to <span class =
"smallcaps">Amiens</span>,</p>

<p>concerning which town I have nothing to inform you, but what I have
informed you once before&mdash;&mdash;and that was&mdash;that
<i>Janatone</i> went there to school.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page362" id = "page362">362</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXVI" id = "bookVII_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> the whole catalogue of those
whiffling vexations which come puffing across a man’s canvass, there is
not one of a more teasing and tormenting nature, than this particular
one which I am going to describe&mdash;&mdash;and for which (unless you
travel with an avance-courier, which numbers do in order to
prevent&nbsp;it)&mdash;&mdash;there is no help: and it is this.</p>

<p>That be you in never so kindly a propensity to
sleep&mdash;&mdash;tho’ you are passing perhaps through the finest
country&mdash;upon the best roads, and in the easiest carriage for doing
it in the world&mdash;&mdash;nay, was you sure you could sleep fifty
miles straight forwards, without once opening your eyes&mdash;nay, what
is more, was you as demonstratively satisfied as you can be of any truth
in <i>Euclid</i>, that you should upon all accounts be full as well
asleep as awake&mdash;&mdash;nay, perhaps better&mdash;&mdash;Yet the
incessant returns of paying for the horses at every
stage,&mdash;&mdash;with the necessity thereupon of putting your hand
into your pocket, and counting out from thence three livres fifteen sous
(sous by sous), puts an end to so much of the project, that you cannot
execute above six miles of it (or&nbsp;supposing it is a post and a
half, that is but nine)&mdash;&mdash;were it to save your soul from
destruction.</p>

<p>&mdash;I’ll be even with ’em, quoth I, for I’ll put the precise sum
into a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: “Now I
shall have nothing to do,” said I (composing myself to rest), “but to
drop this gently into the post-boy’s hat, and not say a
word.”&mdash;&mdash;Then there wants two sous more to
drink&mdash;&mdash;or there is a twelve sous piece of <i>Louis</i> XIV.
which will not pass&mdash;or a livre and some odd liards to be brought
over from the last stage, which Monsieur had forgot; which altercations
(as&nbsp;a man cannot dispute very well asleep) rouse him: still is
sweet sleep retrievable; and still might the flesh weigh down the
spirit, and recover itself of these blows&mdash;but then, by heaven! you
have paid but for a single post&mdash;whereas ’tis a post and a half;
and this obliges you to pull out your book of post-roads, the print of
which is so very small, it forces you to open your eyes, whether you
will or no: Then Monsieur <i>le Curé</i> offers you a pinch of
snuff&mdash;&mdash;or a poor soldier shews you his leg&mdash;&mdash;or a
shaveling his box&mdash;&mdash;or the priestess of the cistern will
water your wheels&mdash;&mdash;they do not want it&mdash;&mdash;but she
swears by her <i>priesthood</i> (throwing it back) that they
do:&mdash;&mdash;then you have all these points to argue, or consider
over in your mind; in doing of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page363" id = "page363">363</a></span>
which, the rational powers get so thoroughly awakened&mdash;&mdash;you
may get ’em to sleep again as you can.</p>

<p>It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass’d
clean by the stables of <span class =
"locked"><i>Chantilly</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But the postilion first affirming, and then persisting
in it to my face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece,
I&nbsp;open’d my eyes to be convinced&mdash;and seeing the mark upon it
as plain as my nose&mdash;I&nbsp;leap’d out of the chaise in a passion,
and so saw everything at <i>Chantilly</i> in
spite.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;tried it but for three posts and a half, but
believe ’tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon;
for as few objects look very inviting in that mood&mdash;you have little
or nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I passed through St.
<i>Dennis</i>, without turning my head so much as on one side towards
the <span class = "locked">Abby&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Richness of their treasury! stuff and
nonsense!&mdash;&mdash;bating their jewels, which are all false,
I&nbsp;would not give three sous for any one thing in it, but
<i>Jaidas’s lantern</i>&mdash;&mdash;nor for that either, only as it
grows dark, it might be of use.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXVII" id = "bookVII_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Crack</span>, crack&mdash;&mdash;crack,
crack&mdash;&mdash;crack, crack&mdash;&mdash;so this is <i>Paris!</i>
quoth I (continuing in the same mood)&mdash;and this is
<i>Paris!</i>&mdash;&mdash;humph!&mdash;&mdash;<i>Paris!</i> cried I,
repeating the name the third <span class =
"locked">time&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The first, the finest, the most brilliant&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>The streets however are nasty.</p>

<p>But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells&mdash;&mdash;crack,
crack&mdash;&mdash;crack, crack&mdash;&mdash;what a fuss thou
makest!&mdash;as if it concerned the good people to be informed, that a
man with pale face and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into
<i>Paris</i> at nine o’clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yellow
jerkin, turned up with red calamanco&mdash;crack,
crack&mdash;&mdash;crack, crack&mdash;&mdash;crack,
crack,&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish thy <span class =
"locked">whip&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack&mdash;crack
on.</p>

<p>Ha!&mdash;&mdash;and no one gives the wall!&mdash;&mdash;but in the
<span class = "smallcaps">School</span> of <span class =
"smallcaps">Urbanity</span> herself, if the walls are besh-t&mdash;how
can you do otherwise?</p>

<p>And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?&mdash;never in the
summer months!&mdash;&mdash;Ho! ’tis the time of sallads.&mdash;&mdash;O
rare! sallad and soup&mdash;soup and sallad&mdash;sallad and soup, <span
class = "locked"><i>encore</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis <i>too much</i> for sinners.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page364" id = "page364">364</a></span>
<p>Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that unconscionable
coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse? don’t you see, friend,
the streets are so villainously narrow, that there is not room in all
<i>Paris</i> to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandest city of the whole
world, it would not have been amiss, if they had been left a thought
wider; nay, were it only so much in every single street, as that a man
might know (was it only for satisfaction) on which side of it he was
walking.</p>

<p>One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;four&mdash;five&mdash;six&mdash;seven&mdash;eight&mdash;nine&mdash;ten.&mdash;Ten
cook’s shops! and twice the number of barbers! and all within three
minutes driving! one would think that all the cooks in the world, on
some great merry-meeting with the barbers, by joint consent had
said&mdash;Come, let us all go live at <i>Paris</i>: the <i>French</i>
love good eating&mdash;&mdash;they are all
<i>gourmands</i>&mdash;&mdash;we shall rank high; if their god is their
belly&mdash;&mdash;their cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as
<i>the periwig maketh the man</i>, and the periwig-maker maketh the
periwig&mdash;<i>ergo</i>, would the barbers say, we shall rank higher
still&mdash;we shall be above you all&mdash;we shall be
<i>Capitouls</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_7_2" id = "tag_7_2" href =
"#note_7_2">2</a> at least&mdash;<i>pardi!</i> we shall all wear <span
class = "locked">swords&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;And so, one would swear (that is, by candle light,&mdash;but
there is no depending upon&nbsp;it) they continue to do, to this
day.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXVIII" id = "bookVII_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> <i>French</i> are certainly
misunderstood:&mdash;&mdash;but whether the fault is theirs, in not
sufficiently explaining themselves; or speaking with that exact
limitation and precision which one would expect on a point of such
importance, and which, moreover, is so likely to be contested by
us&mdash;&mdash;or whether the fault may not be altogether on our side,
in not understanding their language always so critically as to know
“what they would be at”&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall not decide; but ’tis
evident to me, when they affirm, “<i>That they who have seen
<em>Paris</em>, have seen everything</i>,” they must mean to speak of
those who have seen it by day-light.</p>

<p>As for candle-light&mdash;I give it up&mdash;&mdash;I have said
before, there was no depending upon it&mdash;and I repeat it again; but
not because the lights and shades are too sharp&mdash;or the tints
confounded&mdash;or that there is neither beauty or keeping, &amp;c.
.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. for that’s not truth&mdash;but it is an uncertain light
in this respect, That in all the five hundred grand Hôtels, which they
number up
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page365" id = "page365">365</a></span>
to you in <i>Paris</i>&mdash;and the five hundred good things, at a
modest computation (for ’tis only allowing one good thing to a Hôtel),
which by candle-light are best to be <i>seen</i>, <i>felt</i>,
<i>heard</i>, and <i>understood</i> (which, by the bye, is a quotation
from <i>Lilly</i>)&mdash;&mdash;the devil a one of us out of fifty, can
get our heads fairly thrust in amongst them.</p>

<p>This is no part of the <i>French</i> computation: ’tis simply
this,</p>

<p>That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven hundred
and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable
argumentations, <i>Paris</i> doth contain nine hundred streets;
(viz.)</p>

<p>In the quarter called the <i>City</i>&mdash;there are fifty-three
streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>James</i> of the Shambles, fifty-five streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Oportune</i>, thirty-four streets.</p>

<p>In the quarter of the <i>Louvre</i>, twenty-five streets.</p>

<p>In the <i>Palace Royal</i>, or St. <i>Honorius</i>, forty-nine
streets.</p>

<p>In <i>Mont. Martyr</i>, forty-one streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Eustace</i>, twenty-nine streets.</p>

<p>In the <i>Halles</i>, twenty-seven streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Dennis</i>, fifty-five streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Martin</i>, fifty-four streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Paul</i>, or the <i>Mortellerie</i>, twenty-seven
streets.</p>

<p>The <i>Greve</i>, thirty-eight streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Avoy</i>, or the <i>Verrerie</i>, nineteen streets.</p>

<p>In the <i>Marais</i>, or the <i>Temple</i>, fifty-two streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Antony’s</i>, sixty-eight streets.</p>

<p>In the <i>Place Maubert</i>, eighty-one streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Bennet</i>, sixty streets.</p>

<p>In St. <i>Andrews de Arcs</i>, fifty-one streets.</p>

<p>In the quarter of the <i>Luxembourg</i>, sixty-two streets.</p>

<p>And in that of St. Germain, fifty-five streets, into any of which you
may walk; and that when you have seen them with all that belongs to
them, fairly by day-light&mdash;their gates, their bridges, their
squares, their statues - - - and have crusaded it moreover, through all
their parish-churches, by no means omitting St. <i>Roche</i> and
<i>Sulpice</i> - - - and to crown all, have taken a walk to the four
palaces, which you may see, either with or without the statues and
pictures, just as you <span class = "locked">chuse&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then you will have seen&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;but, ’tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will
read of it yourself upon the portico of the <i>Louvre</i>, in these
words,</p>

<div class = "verse smallroman">
<p><a class = "tag" name = "tag_7_3" id = "tag_7_3" href =
"#note_7_3">3</a>EARTH <ins class = "correction"
title = "text reads ‘N O’">NO</ins> SUCH FOLKS!&mdash;NO FOLKS E’ER SUCH A TOWN</p>
<p>AS PARIS IS!&mdash;SING, DERRY, DERRY, DOWN.</p>
</div>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page366" id = "page366">366</a></span>
<p>The <i>French</i> have a <i>gay</i> way of treating everything that
is Great; and that is all can be said upon&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXIX" id = "bookVII_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> mentioning the word <i>gay</i>
(as in the close of the last chapter) it puts one (<i>i.e.</i> an
author) in mind of the word <i>spleen</i>&mdash;&mdash;especially if he
has anything to say upon it: not that by any analysis&mdash;or that from
any table of interest or genealogy, there appears much more ground of
alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light and darkness, or any two of
the most unfriendly opposites in nature&mdash;&mdash;only ’tis an
undercraft of authors to keep up a good understanding amongst words, as
politicians do amongst men&mdash;not knowing how near they may be under
a necessity of placing them to each other&mdash;&mdash;which point being
now gain’d, and that I may place mine exactly to my mind, I&nbsp;write
it down <span class = "locked">here&mdash;</span></p>

<h5>SPLEEN</h5>

<p>This, upon leaving <i>Chantilly</i>, I declared to be the best
principle in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as
matter of opinion. I&nbsp;still continue in the same
sentiments&mdash;only I had not then experience enough of its working to
add this, that though you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on
but uneasily to yourself at the same time; for which reason I here quit
it entirely, and for ever, and ’tis heartily at any one’s
service&mdash;it has spoiled me the digestion of a good supper, and
brought on a bilious diarrhœa, which has brought me back again to my
first principle on which I set out&mdash;&mdash;and with which I shall
now scamper it away to the banks of the <span class =
"locked"><i>Garonne</i>&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;No;&mdash;&mdash;I cannot stop a moment to give you the
character of the people&mdash;their genius&mdash;&mdash;their
manners&mdash;their customs&mdash;their laws&mdash;&mdash;their
religion&mdash;their government&mdash;their manufactures&mdash;their
commerce&mdash;their finances, with all the resources and hidden springs
which sustain them: qualified as I may be, by spending three days and
two nights amongst them, and during all that time making these things
the entire subject of my enquiries and <span class =
"locked">reflections&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Still&mdash;still I must away&mdash;&mdash;the roads are
paved&mdash;the posts are short&mdash;the days are long&mdash;’tis no
more than noon&mdash;I&nbsp;shall be at <i>Fontainbleau</i> before the
<span class = "locked">king&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;Was he going there? not that I know&mdash;&mdash;</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page367" id = "page367">367</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXX" id = "bookVII_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> I hate to hear a person,
especially if he be a traveller, complain that we do not get on so fast
in <i>France</i> as we do in <i>England</i>; whereas we get on much
faster, <i>consideratis considerandis</i>; thereby always meaning, that
if you weigh their vehicles with the mountains of baggage which you lay
both before and behind upon them&mdash;and then consider their puny
horses, with the very little they give them&mdash;’tis a wonder they get
on at all: their suffering is most unchristian, and ’tis evident
thereupon to me, that a <i>French</i> post-horse would not know what in
the world to do, was it not for the two words ******
and ****** in which there is as much sustenance, as if you gave him a
peck of corn: now as these words cost nothing, I&nbsp;long from my soul
to tell the reader what they are; but here is the question&mdash;they
must be told him plainly, and with the most distinct articulation, or it
will answer no end&mdash;and yet to do it in that plain way&mdash;though
their reverences may laugh at it in the bed-chamber&mdash;fell well I
wot, they will abuse it in the parlour: for which cause, I&nbsp;have
been volving and revolving in my fancy some time, but to no purpose, by
what clean device or facette contrivance I might so modulate them, that
whilst I satisfy <i>that ear</i> which the reader chuses to <i>lend</i>
me&mdash;I&nbsp;might not dissatisfy the other which he keeps to
himself.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My ink burns my finger to try&mdash;&mdash;and when I
have&mdash;&mdash;’twill have a worse consequence&mdash;&mdash;it will
burn (I&nbsp;fear) my paper.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;No;&mdash;&mdash;I dare not&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But if you wish to know how the <i>abbess</i> of <i>Andoüillets</i>
and a novice of her convent got over the difficulty (only first wishing
myself all imaginable success)&mdash;I’ll tell you without the least
scruple. <!-- no scruples maybe, but at least 1,000 emdashes --></p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXI" id = "bookVII_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> abbess of <i>Andoüillets</i>,
which, if you look into the large set of provincial maps now publishing
at <i>Paris</i>, you will find situated amongst the hills which divide
<i>Burgundy</i> from <i>Savoy</i>, being in danger of an
<i>Anchylosis</i> or stiff joint (the <i>sinovia</i> of her knee
becoming hard by long matins), and having tried every
remedy&mdash;&mdash;first, prayers and thanksgiving; then invocations
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page368" id = "page368">368</a></span>
to all the saints in heaven promiscuously&mdash;&mdash;then particularly
to every saint who had ever had a stiff leg, before
her&mdash;&mdash;then touching it with all the reliques of the convent,
principally with the thigh-bone of the man of <i>Lystra</i>, who had
been impotent from his youth&mdash;&mdash;then wrapping it up in her
veil when she went to bed&mdash;then cross-wise her rosary&mdash;then
bringing in to her aid the secular arm, and anointing it with oils and
hot fat of animals&mdash;&mdash;then treating it with emollient and
resolving fomentations&mdash;&mdash;then with poultices of
marsh-mallows, mallows, bonus Henricus, white lillies and
fenugreek&mdash;then taking the woods, I&nbsp;mean the smoak of ’em,
holding her scapulary across her lap&mdash;&mdash;then decoctions of
wild chicory, water-cresses, chervil, sweet cecily and
cochlearia&mdash;&mdash;and nothing all this while answering, was
prevailed on at last to try the hot baths of
<i>Bourbon</i>&mdash;&mdash;so having first obtain’d leave of the
visitor-general to take care of her existence&mdash;she ordered all to
be got ready for her journey: a&nbsp;novice of the convent of about
seventeen, who had been troubled with a whitloe in her middle finger, by
sticking it constantly into the abbess’s cast poultices,
&amp;c.&mdash;had gained such an interest, that overlooking a sciatical
old nun, who might have been set up for ever by the hot-baths of
<i>Bourbon</i>, <i>Margarita</i>, the little novice, was elected as the
companion of the journey.</p>

<p>An old calesh, belonging to the abbesse, lined with green frize, was
ordered to be drawn out into the sun&mdash;the gardener of the convent
being chosen muleteer&mdash;led out the two old mules, to clip the hair
from the rump-ends of their tails, whilst a couple of lay-sisters were
busied, the one in darning the lining, and the other in sewing on the
shreads of yellow binding, which the teeth of time had
unravelled&mdash;&mdash;the under-gardener dress’d the muleteer’s hat in
hot wine-lees&mdash;&mdash;and a taylor sat musically at it, in a shed
over-against the convent, in assorting four dozen of bells for the
harness, whistling to each bell, as he tied it on with a <span class =
"locked">thong.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The carpenter and the smith of <i>Andoüillets</i> held
a council of wheels; and by seven, the morning after, all look’d spruce,
and was ready at the gate of the convent for the hot-baths of
<i>Bourbon</i>&mdash;two rows of the unfortunate stood ready there an
hour before.</p>

<p>The abbess of <i>Andoüillets</i>, supported by <i>Margarita</i> the
novice, advanced slowly to the calesh, both clad in white, with their
black rosaries hanging at their <span class =
"locked">breasts&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There was a simple solemnity in the contrast: they
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page369" id = "page369">369</a></span>
entered the calesh; and nuns in the same uniform, sweet emblem of
innocence, each occupied a window, and as the abbess and
<i>Margarita</i> look’d up&mdash;each (the sciatical poor nun
excepted)&mdash;each stream’d out the end of her veil in the
air&mdash;then kiss’d the lilly hand which let it go: the good abbess
and <i>Margarita</i> laid their hands saint-wise upon their
breasts&mdash;look’d up to heaven&mdash;then to them&mdash;and look’d
“God bless you, dear sisters.”</p>

<p>I declare I am interested in this story, and wish I had been
there.</p>

<p>The gardener, whom I shall now call the muleteer, was a little,
hearty, broad-set, good-natured, chattering, toping kind of a fellow,
who troubled his head very little with the <i>hows</i> and <i>whens</i>
of life; so had mortgaged a month of his conventical wages in a
borrachio, or leathern cask of wine, which he had disposed behind the
calesh, with a large russet-coloured riding-coat over it, to guard it
from the sun; and as the weather was hot, and he not a niggard of his
labours, walking ten times more than he rode&mdash;he found more
occasions than those of nature, to fall back to the rear of his
carriage; till by frequent coming and going, it had so happen’d, that
all his wine had leak’d out at the <i>legal</i> vent of the borrachio,
before one half of the journey was finish’d.</p>

<p>Man is a creature born to habitudes. The day had been
sultry&mdash;the evening was delicious&mdash;the wine was
generous&mdash;the <i>Burgundian</i> hill on which it grew was
steep&mdash;a&nbsp;little tempting bush over the door of a cool cottage
at the foot of it, hung vibrating in full harmony with the
passions&mdash;a&nbsp;gentle air rustled distinctly through the
leaves&mdash;“Come&mdash;come, thirsty muleteer&mdash;come&nbsp;in.”</p>

<p>&mdash;The muleteer was a son of <i>Adam</i>; I need not say a word
more. He gave the mules, each of ’em, a&nbsp;sound lash, and looking in
the abbess’s and <i>Margarita’s</i> faces (as&nbsp;he
did&nbsp;it)&mdash;as much as to say “here I am”&mdash;he gave a second
good crack&mdash;as much as to say to his mules, “get
on”&mdash;&mdash;so slinking behind, he enter’d the little inn at the
foot of the hill.</p>

<p>The muleteer, as I told you, was a little, joyous, chirping fellow,
who thought not of to-morrow, nor of what had gone before, or what was
to follow it, provided he got but his scantling of Burgundy, and a
little chit-chat along with it; so entering into a long conversation, as
how he was chief gardener to the convent of <i>Andoüillets</i>, &amp;c.
&amp;c., and out of friendship for the abbess and Mademoiselle
<i>Margarita</i>, who was only in her
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page370" id = "page370">370</a></span>
noviciate, he had come along with them from the confines of
<i>Savoy</i>, &amp;c. &amp;c.&mdash;and as how she had got a white
swelling by her devotions&mdash;and what a nation of herbs he had
procured to mollify her humours, &amp;c. &amp;c., and that if the waters
of <i>Bourbon</i> did not mend that leg&mdash;she might as well be lame
of both&mdash;&amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.&mdash;He so contrived his story,
as absolutely to forget the heroine of it&mdash;and with her the little
novice, and what was a more ticklish point to be forgot than
both&mdash;the two mules; who being creatures that take advantage of the
world, inasmuch as their parents took it of them&mdash;and they not
being in a condition to return the obligation <i>downwards</i>
(as&nbsp;men and women and beasts are)&mdash;they do it side-ways, and
long-ways, and back-ways&mdash;and up hill, and down hill, and which way
they can.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Philosophers, with all their ethicks, have
never considered this rightly&mdash;how should the poor muleteer, then
in his cups, consider it at all? he did not in the least&mdash;’tis time
we do; let us leave him then in the vortex of his element, the happiest
and most thoughtless of mortal men&mdash;&mdash;and for a moment let us
look after the mules, the abbess, and <i>Margarita</i>.</p>

<p>By virtue of the muleteer’s two last strokes the mules had gone
quietly on, following their own consciences up the hill, till they had
conquer’d about one half of it; when the elder of them, a&nbsp;shrewd
crafty old devil, at the turn of an angle, giving a side glance, and no
muleteer behind <span class = "locked">them&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>By my fig! said she, swearing, I’ll go no further&mdash;&mdash;And if
I do, replied the other, they shall make a drum of my <span class =
"locked">hide.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And so with one consent they stopp’d thus&mdash;&mdash;</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXII" id = "bookVII_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;Get on with you, said the abbess.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Wh - - - - ysh&mdash;&mdash;ysh&mdash;&mdash;cried
<i>Margarita</i>.</p>

<p>Sh - - - a&mdash;&mdash;suh - u&mdash;&mdash;shu - - u&mdash;sh - -
aw&mdash;&mdash;shaw’d the abbess.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Whu&mdash;v&mdash;w&mdash;&mdash;whew&mdash;w&mdash;w&mdash;whuv’d
<i>Margarita</i> pursing up her sweet lips betwixt a hoot and a
whistle.</p>

<p>Thump&mdash;thump&mdash;thump&mdash;obstreperated the abbess of
<i>Andoüillets</i> with the end of her gold-headed cane against the
bottom of the <span class = "locked">calesh&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The old mule let a f&mdash;</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page371" id = "page371">371</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXIII" id = "bookVII_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">We</span> are ruin’d and undone, my child,
said the abbess to <i>Margarita</i>,&mdash;&mdash;we shall be here all
night&mdash;&mdash;we shall be plunder’d&mdash;&mdash;we shall be <span
class = "locked">ravish’d&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;We shall be ravish’d, said <i>Margarita</i>, as sure as
a gun.</p>

<p><i>Sancta Maria!</i> cried the abbess (forgetting the
<i>O!</i>)&mdash;why was I govern’d by this wicked stiff joint? why did
I leave the convent of <i>Andoüillets?</i> and why didst thou not suffer
thy servant to go unpolluted to her tomb?</p>

<p>O my finger! my finger! cried the novice, catching fire at the word
<i>servant</i>&mdash;why was I not content to put it here, or there, any
where rather than be in this strait?</p>

<p>Strait! said the abbess.</p>

<p>Strait&mdash;&mdash;said the novice; for terror had struck their
understandings&mdash;&mdash;the one knew not what she
said&mdash;&mdash;the other what she answer’d.</p>

<p>O my virginity! virginity! cried the abbess.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;inity!&mdash;&mdash;inity! said the novice,
sobbing.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXIV" id = "bookVII_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> dear mother, quoth the novice,
coming a little to herself,&mdash;&mdash;there are two certain words,
which I have been told will force any horse, or ass, or mule, to go up a
hill whether he will or no; be he never so obstinate or ill-will’d, the
moment he hears them utter’d, he obeys. They are words magic! cried the
abbess in the utmost horror&mdash;No; replied <i>Margarita</i>
calmly&mdash;but they are words sinful&mdash;What are they? quoth the
abbess, interrupting her: They are sinful in the first degree, answered
<i>Margarita</i>,&mdash;they are mortal&mdash;and if we are ravish’d and
die unabsolved of them, we shall both&mdash;&mdash;but you may pronounce
them to me, quoth the abbess of <i>Andoüillets</i>&mdash;&mdash;They
cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be pronounced at all; they will
make all the blood in one’s body fly up into one’s face&mdash;But you
may whisper them in my ear, quoth the abbess.</p>

<p>Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at the
bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit
unemployed&mdash;&mdash;no agent in nature, by some monitory shivering,
creeping along the artery which led to his heart, to
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page372" id = "page372">372</a></span>
rouse the muleteer from his banquet?&mdash;&mdash;no sweet minstrelsy to
bring back the fair idea of the abbess and <i>Margarita</i>, with their
black rosaries!</p>

<p>Rouse! rouse!&mdash;&mdash;but ’tis too late&mdash;the horrid words
are pronounced this <span class =
"locked">moment&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;and how to tell them&mdash;Ye, who can speak of
everything existing, with unpolluted lips, instruct
me&mdash;&mdash;guide <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXV" id = "bookVII_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">All</span> sins whatever, quoth the abbess,
turning casuist in the distress they were under, are held by the
confessor of our convent to be either mortal or venial: there is no
further division. Now a venial sin being the slightest and least of all
sins&mdash;being halved&mdash;by taking either only the half of it, and
leaving the rest&mdash;or, by taking it all, and amicably halving it
betwixt yourself and another person&mdash;in course becomes diluted into
no sin at all.</p>

<p>Now I see no sin in saying, <i>bou</i>, <i>bou</i>, <i>bou</i>,
<i>bou</i>, <i>bou</i>, a&nbsp;hundred times together; nor is there any
turpitude in pronouncing the syllable <i>ger</i>, <i>ger</i>,
<i>ger</i>, <i>ger</i>, <i>ger</i>, were it from our matins to our
vespers: Therefore, my dear daughter, continued the abbess of
<i>Andoüillets</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;will say <i>bou</i>, and thou shalt say
<i>ger</i>; and then alternately, as there is no more sin in <i>fou</i>
than in <i>bou</i>&mdash;Thou shalt say <i>fou</i>&mdash;and I will come
in (like fa, sol, la, re, mi, ut, at our complines) with <i>ter</i>. And
accordingly the abbess, giving the pitch note, set off thus:</p>

<table class = "inline" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td>
Abbess,<br />
<i>Margarita</i>,</td>
<td class = "bracket">
Bou - - bou - - bou - -<br />
&mdash;&mdash;ger, - - ger, - - ger.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<i>Margarita</i>,<br />
Abbess,</td>
<td class = "bracket">
Fou - - fou - - fou - -<br />
&mdash;&mdash;ter, - - ter, - - ter.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>The two mules acknowledged the notes by a mutual lash of their tails;
but it went no further&mdash;&mdash;’Twill answer by an’ by, said the
novice.</p>

<table class = "inline" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td>
Abbess,<br />
<i>Margarita</i>,</td>
<td class = "bracket">
Bou- bou- bou- bou- bou- bou-<br />
&mdash;ger, &nbsp;ger, &nbsp;ger, &nbsp;ger, &nbsp;ger, &nbsp;ger.</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>Quicker still, cried <i>Margarita</i>.</p>

<p>Fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou.</p>

<p>Quicker still, cried <i>Margarita</i>.</p>

<p>Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou,</p>

<p>Quicker still&mdash;God preserve me; said the abbess&mdash;They do
not understand us, cried <i>Margarita</i>&mdash;But the Devil does, said
the abbess of <i>Andoüillets</i>.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page373" id = "page373">373</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXVI" id = "bookVII_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> a tract of country have I
run!&mdash;how many degrees nearer to the warm sun am I advanced, and
how many fair and goodly cities have I seen, during the time you have
been reading, and reflecting, Madam, upon this story! There’s <span
class = "smallcaps">Fontainbleau</span>, and <span class =
"smallcaps">Sens</span>, and <span class = "smallcaps">Joigny</span>,
and <span class = "smallcaps">Auxerre</span>, and <span class =
"smallcaps">Dijon</span> the capital of <i>Burgundy</i>, and <span class
= "smallcaps">Challon</span>, and <i>Mâcon</i> the capital of the
<i>Mâconese</i>, and a score more upon the road to <span class =
"smallcaps">Lyons</span>&mdash;&mdash;and now I have run them
over&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;might as well talk to you of so many market
towns in the moon, as tell you one word about them: it will be this
chapter at the least, if not both this and the next entirely lost, do
what I <span class = "locked">will&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Why, ’tis a strange story! <i>Tristram.</i></p>

<p><span class = "invisible">&mdash;&mdash;Why, ’tis a strange
story!</span> &mdash;&mdash;Alas! Madam, had it been upon some
melancholy lecture of the cross&mdash;the peace of meekness, or the
contentment of resignation&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had not been incommoded:
or had I thought of writing it upon the purer abstractions of the soul,
and that food of wisdom and holiness and contemplation, upon which the
spirit of man (when separated from the body) is to subsist for
ever&mdash;&mdash;You would have come with a better appetite from <span
class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I wish I never had wrote it: but as I never blot
anything out&mdash;&mdash;let us use some honest means to get it out of
our heads directly.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Pray reach me my fool’s cap&mdash;&mdash;I fear you sit
upon it, Madam&mdash;&mdash;’tis under the cushion&mdash;&mdash;I’ll put
it <span class = "locked">on&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Bless me! you have had it upon your head this half
hour.&mdash;&mdash;There then let it stay, with&nbsp;a</p>

<p>Fa-ra diddle di</p>
<p>and a fa-ri diddle d</p>
<p>and a high-dum&mdash;dye-dum</p>
<p class = "indent">
fiddle - - - dumb - c.</p>

<p>And now, Madam, we may venture, I hope, a little to go on.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXVII" id = "bookVII_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;All you need say of <i>Fontainbleau</i> (in case you
are ask’d) is, that it stands about forty miles (south <i>something</i>)
from <i>Paris</i>, in the middle of a large forest&mdash;&mdash;That
there is something great in it&mdash;&mdash;That the king goes there
once every two or three years,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page374" id = "page374">374</a></span>
with his whole court, for the pleasure of the chase&mdash;and that,
during that carnival of sporting, any <i>English</i> gentleman of
fashion (you need not forget yourself) may be accommodated with a nag or
two, to partake of the sport, taking care only not to out-gallop the
<span class = "locked">king&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Though there are two reasons why you need not talk loud of this to
every one.</p>

<p>First, Because ’twill make the said nags the harder to be got;
and</p>

<p>Secondly, ’Tis not a word of it true.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Allons!</i></p>

<p>As for <span class = "smallcaps">Sens</span>&mdash;&mdash;you may
dispatch&mdash;in a word&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;“<i>’Tis an archiepiscopal
see</i>.”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;For <span class = "smallcaps">Joigny</span>&mdash;the
less, I&nbsp;think, one says of it the better.</p>

<p>But for <span class = "smallcaps">Auxerre</span>&mdash;I could go on
for ever: for in my <i>grand tour</i> through <i>Europe</i>, in which,
after all, my father (not caring to trust me with any one) attended me
himself, with my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and <i>Trim</i>, and <i>Obadiah</i>,
and indeed most of the family, except my mother, who being taken up with
a project of knitting my father a pair of large worsted
breeches&mdash;(the thing is common sense)&mdash;and she not caring to
be put out of her way, she staid at home, at <span class =
"smallcaps">Shandy Hall</span>, to keep things right during the
expedition; in which, I&nbsp;say, my father stopping us two days at
<i>Auxerre</i>, and his researches being ever of such a nature, that
they would have found fruit even in a desert&mdash;&mdash;he has left me
enough to say upon <span class = "smallcaps">Auxerre</span>: in short,
wherever my father went&mdash;&mdash;but ’twas more remarkably so, in
this journey through <i>France</i> and <i>Italy</i>, than in any other
stages of his life&mdash;&mdash;his road seemed to lie so much on one
side of that, wherein all other travellers have gone before him&mdash;he
saw kings and courts and silks of all colours, in such strange
lights&mdash;&mdash;and his remarks and reasonings upon the characters,
the manners, and customs, of the countries we pass’d over, were so
opposite to those of all other mortal men, particularly those of my
uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i>&mdash;(to&nbsp;say nothing of
myself)&mdash;and to crown all&mdash;the occurrences and scrapes which
we were perpetually meeting and getting into, in consequence of his
systems and opiniatry&mdash;they were of so odd, so mix’d and
tragi-comical a contexture&mdash;That the whole put together, it appears
of so different a shade and tint from any tour of <i>Europe</i>, which
was ever executed&mdash;that I will venture to pronounce&mdash;the fault
must be mine and mine only&mdash;if it be not read by all travellers and
travel-readers, till travelling is no more,&mdash;or which comes to the
same point&mdash;till the world, finally, takes it into its head to
stand <span class = "locked">still.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page375" id = "page375">375</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;But this rich bale is not to be open’d now; except a
small thread or two of it, merely to unravel the mystery of my father’s
stay at <span class = "smallcaps">Auxerre</span>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;As I have mentioned it&mdash;’tis too slight to be kept
suspended; and when ’tis wove in, there is an end of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>We’ll go, brother <i>Toby</i>, said my father, whilst dinner is
coddling&mdash;to the abby of Saint <i>Germain</i>, if it be only to see
these bodies, of which Monsieur <i>Sequier</i> has given such a
recommendation.&mdash;&mdash;I’ll go see any body, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; for he was all compliance through every step of the
journey&mdash;&mdash;Defend me! said my father&mdash;they are all
mummies&mdash;&mdash;Then one need not shave; quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;Shave! no&mdash;cried my father&mdash;’twill be
more like relations to go with our beards on&mdash;So out we sallied,
the corporal lending his master his arm, and bringing up the rear, to
the abby of Saint <i>Germain</i>.</p>

<p>Everything is very fine, and very rich, and very superb, and very
magnificent, said my father, addressing himself to the sacristan, who
was a younger brother of the order of <i>Benedictines</i>&mdash;but our
curiosity has led us to see the bodies, of which Monsieur <i>Sequier</i>
has given the world so exact a description.&mdash;The sacristan made a
bow, and lighting a torch first, which he had always in the vestry ready
for the purpose; he led us into the tomb of St.
<i>Heribald</i>&mdash;&mdash;This, said the sacristan, laying his hand
upon the tomb, was a renowned prince of the house of <i>Bavaria</i>, who
under the successive reigns of <i>Charlemagne</i>, <i>Louis le
Debonnair</i>, and <i>Charles the Bald</i>, bore a great sway in the
government, and had a principal hand in bringing everything into order
and <span class = "locked">discipline&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Then he has been as great, said my uncle, in the field, as in the
cabinet&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;dare say he has been a gallant
soldier&mdash;&mdash;He was a monk&mdash;said the sacristan.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i> sought comfort in each other’s
faces&mdash;but found it not: my father clapped both his hands upon his
cod-piece, which was a way he had when anything hugely tickled him: for
though he hated a monk and the very smell of a monk worse than all the
devils in hell&mdash;&mdash;yet the shot hitting my uncle <i>Toby</i>
and <i>Trim</i> so much harder than him, ’twas a relative triumph; and
put him into the gayest humour in the world.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And pray what do you call this gentleman? quoth my
father, rather sportingly: This tomb, said the young <i>Benedictine</i>,
looking downwards, contains the bones of Saint <span class =
"smallcaps">Maxima</span>, who came from <i>Ravenna</i> on purpose to
touch the <span class = "locked">body&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page376" id = "page376">376</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;Of Saint <span class = "smallcaps">Maximus</span>, said
my father, popping in with his saint before him,&mdash;they were two of
the greatest saints in the whole martyrology, added my
father&mdash;&mdash;Excuse me, said the
sacristan&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’twas to touch the bones of Saint
<i>Germain</i>, the builder of the abby&mdash;&mdash;And what did she
get by it? said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;What does any woman
get by it? said my father&mdash;&mdash;<span class =
"smallcaps">Martyrdome</span>; replied the young <i>Benedictine</i>,
making a bow down to the ground, and uttering the word with so humble
but decisive a cadence, it disarmed my father for a moment. ’Tis
supposed, continued the <i>Benedictine</i>, that St. <i>Maxima</i> has
lain in this tomb four hundred years, and two hundred before her
canonization&mdash;&mdash;’Tis but a slow rise, brother <i>Toby</i>,
quoth my father, in this self-same army of
martyrs.&mdash;&mdash;A&nbsp;desperate slow one, an’ please your honour,
said <i>Trim</i>, unless one could purchase&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;should
rather sell out entirely, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am pretty much of your opinion, brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Poor St. <i>Maxima!</i> said my uncle <i>Toby</i> low
to himself, as we turn’d from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and
most beautiful ladies either of <i>Italy</i> or <i>France</i>, continued
the sacristan&mdash;&mdash;But who the duce has got lain down here,
besides her? quoth my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as
we walked on&mdash;&mdash;It is Saint <i>Optat</i>, Sir, answered the
sacristan&mdash;&mdash;And properly is Saint <i>Optat</i> plac’d! said
my father: And what is Saint <i>Optat’s</i> story? continued he. Saint
<i>Optat</i>, replied the sacristan, was a <span class =
"locked">bishop&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting
him&mdash;&mdash;Saint <i>Optat!</i>&mdash;&mdash;how should Saint
<i>Optat</i> fail? so snatching out his pocket-book, and the young
<i>Benedictine</i> holding him the torch as he wrote, he set it down as
a new prop to his system of Christian names, and I will be bold to say,
so disinterested was he in the search of truth, that had he found a
treasure in Saint <i>Optat’s</i> tomb, it would not have made him half
so rich: ’Twas as successful a short visit as ever was paid to the dead;
and so highly was his fancy pleas’d with all that had passed in
it,&mdash;that he determined at once to stay another day in
<i>Auxerre</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;I’ll see the rest of these good gentry <ins class =
"correction" title = ", missing">to-morrow,</ins> said my father, as we
cross’d over the square&mdash;And while you are paying that visit,
brother <i>Shandy</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;the corporal and
I will mount the ramparts.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page377" id = "page377">377</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXVIII" id = "bookVII_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">Now</span> this is the most
puzzled skein of all&mdash;&mdash;for in this last chapter, as far at
least as it has help’d me through <i>Auxerre</i>, I&nbsp;have been
getting forwards in two different journies together, and with the same
dash of the pen&mdash;for I have got entirely out of <i>Auxerre</i> in
this journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of
<i>Auxerre</i> in that which I shall write hereafter&mdash;&mdash;There
is but a certain degree of perfection in everything; and by pushing at
something beyond that, I&nbsp;have brought myself into such a situation,
as no traveller ever stood before me; for I am this moment walking
across the market-place of <i>Auxerre</i> with my father and my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, in our way back to dinner&mdash;&mdash;and I am this moment
also entering <i>Lyons</i> with my post-chaise broke into a thousand
pieces&mdash;and I am moreover this moment in a handsome pavillion built
by <i>Pringello</i>,<a class = "tag" name = "tag_7_4" id = "tag_7_4"
href = "#note_7_4">4</a> upon the banks of the <i>Garonne</i>, which
Mons. <i>Sligniac</i> has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all
these affairs.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXIX" id = "bookVII_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I am</span> glad of it, said I, settling
the account with myself, as I walk’d into <i>Lyons</i>&mdash;&mdash;my
chaise being all laid higgledy-piggledy with my baggage in a cart, which
was moving slowly before me&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;am heartily glad, said
I, that ’tis all broke to pieces; for now I can go directly by water to
<i>Avignon</i>, which will carry me on a hundred and twenty miles of my
journey, and not cost me seven livres&mdash;&mdash;and from thence,
continued I, bringing forwards the account, I&nbsp;can hire a couple of
mules&mdash;or asses, if I like (for nobody knows&nbsp;me) and cross the
plains of <i>Languedoc</i> for almost nothing&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;shall
gain four hundred livres by the misfortune clear into my purse: and
pleasure! worth&mdash;worth double the money by it. With what velocity,
continued I, clapping my two hands together, shall I fly down the rapid
<i>Rhone</i>, with the <span class = "smallcaps">Vivares</span> on my
right hand, and <span class = "smallcaps">Dauphiny</span> on my left,
scarce seeing the ancient cities of <span class =
"smallcaps">Vienne</span>, <i>Valence</i>, and <i>Vivieres</i>.
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page378" id = "page378">378</a></span>
What a flame will it rekindle in the lamp, to snatch a blushing grape
from the <i>Hermitage</i> and <i>Côte roti</i>, as I shoot by the foot
of them! and what a fresh spring in the blood! to behold upon the banks
advancing and retiring, the castles of romance, whence courteous knights
have whilome rescued the distress’d&mdash;&mdash;and see vertiginous,
the rocks, the mountains, the cataracts, and all the hurry which Nature
is in with all her great works about her.</p>

<p>As I went on thus, methought my chaise, the wreck of which look’d
stately enough at the first, insensibly grew less and less in its size;
the freshness of the painting was no more&mdash;the gilding lost its
lustre&mdash;and the whole affair appeared so poor in my eyes&mdash;so
sorry!&mdash;so contemptible! and, in a word, so much worse than the
abbess of <ins class = "correction"
title = "apostrophe in original"><i>Andoüillets’</i></ins> itself&mdash;that I was just opening
my mouth to give it to the devil&mdash;when a pert vamping
chaise-undertaker, stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if
Monsieur would have his chaise refitted&mdash;&mdash;No, no, said I,
shaking my head sideways&mdash;Would Monsieur chuse to sell it? rejoined
the undertaker.&mdash;With all my soul, said I&mdash;the iron work is
worth forty livres&mdash;and the glasses worth forty more&mdash;and the
leather you may take to live&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>What a mine of wealth, quoth I, as he counted me the money, has this
post-chaise brought me in? And this is my usual method of book-keeping,
at least with the disasters of life&mdash;making a penny of every one of
’em as they happen to <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Do, my dear <i>Jenny</i>, tell the world for me, how I
behaved under one, the most oppressive of its kind, which could befal me
as a man, proud as he ought to be of his <span class =
"locked">manhood&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>’Tis enough, saidst thou, coming close up to me, as I stood with my
garters in my hand, reflecting upon what had <i>not</i>
pass’d&mdash;&mdash;’Tis enough, <i>Tristram</i>, and I am satisfied,
saidst thou, whispering these words in my ear, **** ** **** ***
******;&mdash;**** ** **&mdash;&mdash;any other man would have sunk down
to the <span class = "locked">center&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Everything is good for something, quoth I.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I’ll go into <i>Wales</i> for six weeks, and drink
goat’s whey&mdash;and I’ll gain seven years longer life for the
accident. For which reason I think myself inexcusable, for blaming
fortune so often as I have done, for pelting me all my life long, like
an ungracious duchess, as I call’d her, with so many small evils:
surely, if I have any cause to be angry with her, ’tis that she has not
sent me great ones&mdash;a&nbsp;score of good cursed, bouncing losses,
would have been as good as a pension to&nbsp;me.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page379" id = "page379">379</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;One of a hundred a year, or so, is all I wish&mdash;I
would not be at the plague of paying land-tax for a larger.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXX" id = "bookVII_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">To</span> those who call vexations, <span
class = "smallroman">VEXATIONS</span>, as knowing what they are, there
could not be a greater, than to be the best part of a day at
<i>Lyons</i>, the most opulent and flourishing city in <i>France</i>,
enriched with the most fragments of antiquity&mdash;and not be able to
see it. To be withheld upon <i>any</i> account, must be a vexation; but
to be withheld <i>by</i> a vexation&mdash;&mdash;must certainly be, what
philosophy justly calls</p>

<h5 class = "final">
VEXATION<br />
<span class = "smallroman">UPON</span><br />
VEXATION.</h5>

<p>I had got my two dishes of milk coffee (which by the bye is
excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and
coffee together&mdash;otherwise ’tis only coffee and milk)&mdash;and as
it was no more than eight in the morning, and the boat did not go off
till noon, I&nbsp;had time to see enough of <i>Lyons</i> to tire the
patience of all the friends I had in the world with it. I&nbsp;will take
a walk to the cathedral, said I, looking at my list, and see the
wonderful mechanism of this great clock of <i>Lippius</i> of
<i>Basil</i>, in the first <span class =
"locked">place&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of
mechanism&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have neither genius, or taste, or
fancy&mdash;and have a brain so entirely unapt for everything of that
kind, that I solemnly declare I was never yet able to comprehend the
principles of motion of a squirrel cage, or a common knife-grinder’s
wheel&mdash;tho’ I&nbsp;have many an hour of my life look’d up with
great devotion at the one&mdash;and stood by with as much patience as
any christian ever could do, at the <span class =
"locked">other&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I’ll go see the surprising movements of this great clock, said I, the
very first thing I do: and then I will pay a visit to the great library
of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a&nbsp;sight of the thirty
volumes of the general history of <i>China</i>, wrote (not in the
<i>Tartarean</i>, but) in the <i>Chinese</i> language, and in the
<i>Chinese</i> character too.</p>

<p>Now I almost know as little of the <i>Chinese</i> language, as I do
of the mechanism of <i>Lippius’s</i> clock-work; so, why these should
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page380" id = "page380">380</a></span>
have jostled themselves into the two first articles of my
list&mdash;&mdash;I leave to the curious as a problem of Nature.
I&nbsp;own it looks like one of her ladyship’s obliquities; and they who
court her, are interested in finding out her humour as much
as&nbsp;I.</p>

<p>When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself to
my <i>valet de place</i>, who stood behind me&mdash;&mdash;’twill be no
hurt if we go to the church of St. <i>Irenæus</i>, and see the pillar to
which <i>Christ</i> was tied&mdash;&mdash;and after that, the house
where <i>Pontius Pilate</i> lived&mdash;&mdash;’Twas at the next town,
said the <i>valet de place</i>&mdash;at <i>Vienne</i>; I&nbsp;am glad of
it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking across the room
with strides twice as long as my usual pace&mdash;&mdash;“for so much
the sooner shall I be at the <i>Tomb of the two lovers</i>.”</p>

<p>What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long strides
in uttering this&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;might leave to the curious too; but
as no principle of clock-work is concerned in it&mdash;&mdash;’twill be
as well for the reader if I explain it myself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXI" id = "bookVII_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">O there</span> is a sweet æra in the life
of man, when (the brain being tender and fibrillous, and more like pap
than anything else)&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;story read of two fond lovers,
separated from each other by cruel parents, and by still more cruel
<span class = "locked">destiny&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p class = "super">
<i>Amandus</i>&mdash;&mdash;He<br />
<i>Amanda</i>&mdash;&mdash;She&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>each ignorant of the other’s course,</p>


<p class = "super">
He&mdash;&mdash;east<br />
She&mdash;&mdash;west</p>

<p><i>Amandus</i> taken captive by the <i>Turks</i>, and carried to the
emperor of <i>Morocco’s</i> court, where the princess of <i>Morocco</i>
falling in love with him, keeps him twenty years in prison for the love
of his <span class = "locked"><i>Amanda</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>She&mdash;(<i>Amanda</i>) all the time wandering barefoot, and with
dishevell’d hair, o’er rocks and mountains, enquiring for
<i>Amandus!</i>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Amandus! Amandus!</i>&mdash;making every
hill and valley to echo back his <span class =
"locked">name&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p class = "super">
<i>Amandus! Amandus!</i></p>

<p>at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the
gate&mdash;&mdash;Has <i>Amandus!</i>&mdash;has my <i>Amandus</i>
enter’d?&mdash;&mdash;till,&mdash;&mdash;going round, and round, and
round the world&mdash;&mdash;chance unexpected bringing them at the same
moment of the night, though by different
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page381" id = "page381">381</a></span>
ways, to the gate of <i>Lyons</i>, their native city, and each in
well-known accents calling out aloud,</p>

<table class = "inline super" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td>
Is <i>Amandus</i><br />
Is my <i>Amanda</i></td>
<td class = "bracket">
still alive?
</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>they fly into each other’s arms, and both drop down dead for joy.</p>

<p>There is a soft æra in every gentle mortal’s life, where such a story
affords more <i>pabulum</i> to the brain, than all the <i>Frusts</i>,
and <i>Crusts</i>, and <i>Rusts</i> of antiquity, which travellers can
cook up for&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cullender
in my own, of what <i>Spon</i> and others, in their accounts of
<i>Lyons</i>, had <i>strained</i> into it; and finding, moreover, in
some Itinerary, but in what God knows&mdash;&mdash;That sacred to the
fidelity of <i>Amandus</i> and <i>Amanda</i>, a&nbsp;tomb was built
without the gates, where, to this hour, lovers called upon them to
attest their truths&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never could get into a scrape of
that kind in my life, but this <i>tomb of the lovers</i> would, somehow
or other, come in at the close&mdash;&mdash;nay such a kind of empire
had it establish’d over me, that I could seldom think or speak of
<i>Lyons</i>&mdash;and sometimes not so much as see even a
<i>Lyons-waistcoat</i>, but this remnant of antiquity would present
itself to my fancy; and I have often said in my wild way of running
on&mdash;&mdash;tho’ I&nbsp;fear with some
irreverence&mdash;&mdash;“I&nbsp;thought this shrine (neglected as it
was) as valuable as that of <i>Mecca</i>, and so little short, except in
wealth, of the <i>Santa Casa</i> itself, that some time or other,
I&nbsp;would go a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at
<i>Lyons</i>) on purpose to pay it a visit.”</p>

<p>In my list, therefore, of <i>Videnda</i> at <i>Lyons</i>, this, tho’
<i>last</i>,&mdash;was not, you see, <i>least</i>; so taking a dozen or
two of longer strides than usual across my room, just whilst it passed
my brain, I&nbsp;walked down calmly into the <i>Basse Cour</i>, in order
to sally forth; and having called for my bill&mdash;as it was uncertain
whether I should return to my inn, I&nbsp;had paid it&mdash;&mdash;had
moreover given the maid ten sous, and was just receiving the dernier
compliments of Monsieur <i>Le Blanc</i>, for a pleasant voyage down the
<i>Rhône</i>&mdash;&mdash;when I was stopped at the <span class =
"locked">gate&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXII" id = "bookVII_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">’Twas</span> by a poor ass,
who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, to
collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious,
with his two fore-feet
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page382" id = "page382">382</a></span>
on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the
street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in or&nbsp;no.</p>

<p>Now, ’tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to
strike&mdash;&mdash;there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so
unaffectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for
him, that it always disarms me; and to that degree, that I do not like
to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I
will&mdash;whether in town or country&mdash;in cart or under
panniers&mdash;whether in liberty or bondage&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have
ever something civil to say to him on my part; and as one word begets
another (if&nbsp;he has as little to do
as&nbsp;I)&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;generally fall into conversation with
him; and surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his
responses from the etchings of his countenance&mdash;and where those
carry me not deep enough&mdash;&mdash;in flying from my own heart into
his, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think&mdash;as well as a
man, upon the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the
classes of beings below me, with whom I can do this: for parrots,
jackdaws, &amp;c.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never exchange a word with
them&mdash;&mdash;nor with the apes, &amp;c., for pretty near the same
reason; they act by rote, as the others speak by it, and equally make me
silent: nay my dog and my cat, though I value them
both&mdash;&mdash;(and for my dog he would speak if he could)&mdash;yet
somehow or other, they neither of them possess the talents for
conversation&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;can make nothing of a discourse with
them, beyond the <i>proposition</i>, the <i>reply</i>, and
<i>rejoinder</i>, which terminated my father’s and my mother’s
conversations, in his beds of justice&mdash;&mdash;and those
utter’d&mdash;&mdash;there’s an end of the <span class =
"locked">dialogue&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;But with an ass, I can commune for ever.</p>

<p>Come, <i>Honesty!</i> said I,&mdash;&mdash;seeing it was
impracticable to pass betwixt him and the gate&mdash;&mdash;art thou for
coming in, or going out?</p>

<p>The ass twisted his head round to look up the
street&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Well&mdash;replied I&mdash;we’ll wait a minute for thy driver:</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked
wistfully the opposite <span class =
"locked">way&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I understand thee perfectly, answered I&mdash;&mdash;If thou takest a
wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to
death&mdash;&mdash;Well! a&nbsp;minute is but a minute, and if it saves
a fellow-creature a drubbing, it shall not be set down as ill spent.</p>

<p>He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, and
in the little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page383" id = "page383">383</a></span>
and unsavouriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, and
pick’d it up again&mdash;&mdash;God help thee, <i>Jack!</i> said I, thou
hast a bitter breakfast on’t&mdash;and many a bitter day’s
labour,&mdash;and many a bitter blow, I&nbsp;fear, for its
wages&mdash;&mdash;’tis all&mdash;all bitterness to thee, whatever life
is to others.&mdash;&mdash;And now thy mouth, if one knew the truth of
it, is as bitter, I&nbsp;dare say, as soot&mdash;(for he had cast aside
the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this world, that
will give thee a macaroon.&mdash;&mdash;In saying this, I&nbsp;pull’d
out a paper of ’em, which I had just purchased, and gave him
one&mdash;and at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me,
that there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing <i>how</i>
an ass would eat a macaroon&mdash;&mdash;than of benevolence in giving
him one, which presided in the act.</p>

<p>When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I press’d him to come
in&mdash;the poor beast was heavy loaded&mdash;&mdash;his legs seem’d to
tremble under him&mdash;&mdash;he hung rather backwards, and as I pull’d
at his halter, it broke short in my hand&mdash;&mdash;he look’d up
pensive in my face&mdash;“Don’t thrash me with it&mdash;but if you will,
you may”&mdash;&mdash;If I do, said&nbsp;I, I’ll be
d&mdash;&mdash;d.</p>

<p>The word was but one-half of it pronounced, like the abbess of
<i>Andoüillets’</i>&mdash;(so&nbsp;there was no sin
in&nbsp;it)&mdash;when a person coming in, let fall a thundering
bastinado upon the poor devil’s crupper, which put an end to the
ceremony.</p>

<p class = "indent">
<i>Out upon it!</i></p>

<p>cried I&mdash;&mdash;but the interjection was
equivocal&mdash;&mdash;and, I&nbsp;think, wrong placed too&mdash;for the
end of an osier which had started out from the contexture of the ass’s
pannier, had caught hold of my breeches pocket, as he rush’d by me, and
rent it in the most disastrous direction you can imagine&mdash;&mdash;so
that the</p>

<p><i>Out upon it!</i> in my opinion, should have come in
here&mdash;&mdash;but this I leave to be settled&nbsp;by</p>

<p class = "center smallroman">
THE<br />
REVIEWERS<br />
OF<br />
MY BREECHES,</p>

<p>which I have brought over along with me for that purpose.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page384" id = "page384">384</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXIII" id = "bookVII_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> all was set to rights, I came
down stairs again into the <i>basse cour</i> with my <i>valet de
place</i>, in order to sally out towards the tomb of the two lovers,
&amp;c.&mdash;and was a second time stopp’d at the gate&mdash;&mdash;not
by the ass&mdash;but by the person who struck him; and who, by that
time, had taken possession (as&nbsp;is not uncommon after a defeat) of
the very spot of ground where the ass stood.</p>

<p>It was a commissary sent to me from the post-office, with a rescript
in his hand for the payment of some six livres odd sous.</p>

<p>Upon what account? said I.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis upon the part of the
king, replied the commissary, heaving up both his <span class =
"locked">shoulders&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My good friend, quoth I&mdash;&mdash;as sure as I am
I&mdash;and you are <span class = "locked">you&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And who are you? said he.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Don’t
puzzle me; said&nbsp;I.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXIV" id = "bookVII_chapXXXIV">
CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;But it is an indubitable verity, continued I,
addressing myself to the commissary, changing only the form of my
asseveration&mdash;&mdash;that I owe the king of <i>France</i> nothing
but my good-will; for he is a very honest man, and I wish him all health
and pastime in the <span class = "locked">world&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>Pardonnez moi</i>&mdash;replied the commissary, you are indebted
to him six livres four sous, for the next post from hence to St.
<i>Fons</i>, in your route to <i>Avignon</i>&mdash;which being a post
royal, you pay double for the horses and postillion&mdash;otherwise
’twould have amounted to no more than three livres two <span class =
"locked">sous&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But I don’t go by land; said I.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You may if you please; replied the
commissary&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Your most obedient servant&mdash;&mdash;said I, making him a low
bow&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>The commissary, with all the sincerity of grave good
breeding&mdash;made me one, as low again.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never was
more disconcerted with a bow in my life.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The devil take the serious character of these people!
quoth I&mdash;(aside) they understand no more of <span class =
"smallroman">IRONY</span> than <span class =
"locked">this&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The comparison was standing close by with his panniers&mdash;but
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page385" id = "page385">385</a></span>
something seal’d up my lips&mdash;I could not pronounce the <span class
= "locked">name&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Sir, said I, collecting myself&mdash;it is not my intention to take
post&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;But you may&mdash;said he, persisting in his first
reply&mdash;you may take post if you <span class =
"locked">chuse&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;And I may take salt to my pickled herring, said I, if I
chuse&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;But I do not chuse&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;But you must pay for it, whether you do or no.</p>

<p>Aye! for the salt; said I (I know)&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;And for the post too; added he. Defend me! cried
I&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>I travel by water&mdash;I am going down the <i>Rhône</i> this very
afternoon&mdash;my baggage is in the boat&mdash;and I have actually paid
nine livres for my <span class =
"locked">passage&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>C’est tout egal</i>&mdash;’tis all one; said he.</p>

<p><i>Bon Dieu!</i> what, pay for the way I go! and for the way I do
<i>not</i>&nbsp;go!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;<i>C’est tout egal</i>; replied the
commissary&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The devil it is! said I&mdash;but I will go to ten
thousand Bastiles <span class = "locked">first&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>O England! England!</i> thou land of liberty, and climate of good
sense, thou tenderest of mothers&mdash;and gentlest of nurses, cried I,
kneeling upon one knee, as I was beginning my apostrophe.</p>

<p>When the director of Madam <i>Le Blanc’s</i> conscience coming in at
that instant, and seeing a person in black, with a face as pale as
ashes, at his devotions&mdash;looking still paler by the contrast and
distress of his drapery&mdash;ask’d, if I stood in want of the aids of
the <span class = "locked">church&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I go by <span class = "smallroman">WATER</span>&mdash;said
I&mdash;and here’s another will be for making me pay for going by <span
class = "smallroman">OIL</span>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXV" id = "bookVII_chapXXXV">
CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> I perceived the commissary of the
post-office would have his six livres four sous, I&nbsp;had nothing else
for it, but to say some smart thing upon the occasion, worth the
money:</p>

<p>And so I set off thus:&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And pray, Mr. Commissary, by what law of courtesy is a
defenceless stranger to be used just the reverse from what you use a
<i>Frenchman</i> in this matter?</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page386" id = "page386">386</a></span>
<p>By no means; said he.</p>

<p>Excuse me; said I&mdash;for you have begun, Sir, with first tearing
off my breeches&mdash;and now you want my <span class =
"locked">pocket&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Whereas&mdash;had you first taken my pocket, as you do with your own
people&mdash;and then left me bare a&mdash;’d after&mdash;I&nbsp;had
been a beast to have <span class =
"locked">complain’d&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As it is&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis contrary to the <i>law of nature</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis contrary to <i>reason</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis contrary to the <span class =
"smallroman">GOSPEL</span>.</p>

<p>But not to this&mdash;&mdash;said he&mdash;putting a printed paper
into my hand,</p>

<h5 class = "smallcaps">Par le Roy.</h5>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a pithy prolegomenon, quoth
I&mdash;and so read on
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;
&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash; <span class =
"locked">&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;By all which it appears, quoth I, having read it over,
a little too rapidly, that if a man sets out in a post-chaise from
<i>Paris</i>&mdash;he must go on travelling in one, all the days of his
life&mdash;or pay for it.&mdash;Excuse me, said the commissary, the
spirit of the ordinance is this&mdash;That if you set out with an
intention of running post from <i>Paris</i> to <i>Avignon</i>, &amp;c.,
you shall not change that intention or mode of travelling, without first
satisfying the fermiers for two posts further than the place you repent
at&mdash;and ’tis founded, continued he, upon this, that the <span class
= "smallroman">REVENUES</span> are not to fall short through your <span
class = "locked"><i>fickleness</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;O by heavens! cried I&mdash;if fickleness is taxable in
<i>France</i>&mdash;we have nothing to do but to make the best peace
with you we <span class = "locked">can&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><span class = "smallroman">AND SO THE PEACE WAS MADE</span>;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And if it is a bad one&mdash;as <i>Tristram Shandy</i>
laid the corner-stone of it&mdash;nobody but <i>Tristram Shandy</i>
ought to be hanged.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXVI" id = "bookVII_chapXXXVI">
CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> I was sensible I had said as
many clever things to the commissary as came to six livres four sous,
yet I was determined to note down the imposition amongst my remarks
before I retired
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page387" id = "page387">387</a></span>
from the place; so putting my hand into my coat-pocket for my
remarks&mdash;(which, by the bye, may be a caution to travellers to take
a little more care of <i>their</i> remarks for the future) “my remarks
were <i>stolen</i>”&mdash;&mdash;Never did sorry traveller make such a
pother and racket about his remarks as I did about mine, upon the
occasion.</p>

<p>Heaven! earth! sea! fire! cried I, calling in everything to my aid
but what I should&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;My remarks are stolen!&mdash;what
shall I do?&mdash;&mdash;Mr. Commissary! pray did I drop any remarks, as
I stood besides <span class =
"locked">you?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>You dropp’d a good many very singular ones; replied
he&mdash;&mdash;Pugh! said I, those were but a few, not worth above six
livres two sous&mdash;but these are a large parcel&mdash;&mdash;He shook
his head&mdash;&mdash;Monsieur <i>Le Blanc!</i> Madam <i>Le Blanc!</i>
did you see any papers of mine?&mdash;you maid of the house! run up
stairs&mdash;<i>François!</i> run up after <span class =
"locked">her&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;I must have my remarks&mdash;&mdash;they were the best
remarks, cried I, that ever were made&mdash;the wisest&mdash;the
wittiest&mdash;What shall I do?&mdash;which way shall I turn myself?</p>

<p><i>Sancho Pança</i>, when he lost his ass’s <span class =
"smallroman">FURNITURE</span>, did not exclaim more bitterly.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXVII" id = "bookVII_chapXXXVII">
CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> the first transport was over,
and the registers of the brain were beginning to get a little out of the
confusion into which this jumble of cross accidents had cast
them&mdash;it then presently occurr’d to me, that I had left my remarks
in the pocket of the chaise&mdash;and that in selling my chaise,
I&nbsp;had sold my remarks along with it, to the chaise-vamper.
<img src = "images/onedot.gif" width = "200" height = "12"
alt = "[blank space]" />
I&nbsp;leave this void space that the reader may swear into it any oath
that he is most accustomed to&mdash;&mdash;For my own part, if ever I
swore a <i>whole</i> oath into a vacancy in my life, I&nbsp;think it was
into that&mdash;&mdash;*********, said I&mdash;and so my remarks through
<i>France</i>, which were as full of wit, as an egg is full of meat, and
as well worth four hundred guineas, as the said egg is worth a
penny&mdash;have I been selling here to a chaise-vamper&mdash;for four
<i>Louis d’Ors</i>&mdash;and giving him a post-chaise (by&nbsp;heaven)
worth six into the bargain; had it been to <i>Dodsley</i>, or
<i>Becket</i>, or any creditable bookseller, who was either leaving off
business, and wanted a post-chaise&mdash;or who was beginning
it&mdash;and wanted my remarks, and two or three guineas along with
them&mdash;I&nbsp;could have borne it&mdash;&mdash;but to a
chaise-vamper!&mdash;shew me to him this moment,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page388" id = "page388">388</a></span>
<i>François</i>,&mdash;said I&mdash;The valet de place put on his hat,
and led the way&mdash;and I pull’d off mine, as I pass’d the commissary,
and followed him.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXVIII" id = "bookVII_chapXXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> we arrived at the
Chaise-vamper’s House, Both the House and the shop were shut up; it was
the eighth of <i>September</i>, the nativity of the blessed Virgin
<i>Mary</i>, mother of <span class = "locked">God&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi&mdash;&mdash;the whole world was
gone out a May-poling&mdash;frisking here&mdash;capering
there&mdash;&mdash;nobody cared a button for me or my remarks; so I sat
me down upon a bench by the door, philosophating upon my condition: by a
better fate than usually attends me, I&nbsp;had not waited half an hour,
when the mistress came in to take the papilliotes from off her hair,
before she went to the <span class =
"locked">May-poles&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The <i>French</i> women, by the bye, love May-poles, <i>à la
folie</i>&mdash;that is, as much as their matins&mdash;&mdash;give ’em
but a May-pole, whether in <i>May</i>, <i>June</i>, <i>July</i>, or
<i>September</i>&mdash;they never count the times&mdash;&mdash;down it
goes&mdash;&mdash;’tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging to
’em&mdash;&mdash;and had we but the policy, an’ please your worships
(as&nbsp;wood is a little scarce in <i>France</i>), to send them but
plenty of <span class = "locked">May-poles&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The women would set them up; and when they had done, they would dance
round them (and the men for company) till they were all blind.</p>

<p>The wife of the chaise-vamper stepp’d in, I told you, to take the
papilliotes from off her hair&mdash;&mdash;the toilet stands still for
no man&mdash;&mdash;so she jerk’d off her cap, to begin with them as she
open’d the door, in doing which, one of them fell upon the
ground&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;instantly saw it was my own <span class =
"locked">writing&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>O Seigneur! cried I&mdash;you have got all my remarks upon your head,
Madam!&mdash;&mdash;<i>J’en suis bien mortifiée</i>, said
she&mdash;&mdash;’tis well, thinks I, they have stuck there&mdash;for
could they have gone deeper, they would have made such confusion in a
<i>French</i> woman’s noddle&mdash;She had better have gone with it
unfrizled, to the day of eternity.</p>

<p><i>Tenez</i>&mdash;said she&mdash;so without any idea of the nature
of my suffering, she took them from her curls, and put them gravely one
by one into my hat&mdash;&mdash;one was twisted this
way&mdash;&mdash;another twisted that&mdash;&mdash;ey! by my faith; and
when they are published, <span class =
"locked">quoth&nbsp;I,&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>They will be worse twisted still.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page389" id = "page389">389</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXXXIX" id = "bookVII_chapXXXIX">
CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">And</span> now for <i>Lippius’s</i> clock!
said I, with the air of a man, who had got thro’ all his
difficulties&mdash;&mdash;nothing can prevent us seeing that, and the
<i>Chinese</i> history, &amp;c., except the time, said
<i>François</i>&mdash;&mdash;for ’tis almost eleven&mdash;Then we must
speed the faster, said I, striding it away to the cathedral.</p>

<p>I cannot say, in my heart, that it gave me any concern in being told
by one of the minor canons, as I was entering the west door,&mdash;That
<i>Lippius’s</i> great clock was all out of joints, and had not gone for
some years&mdash;&mdash;It will give me the more time, thought I, to
peruse the <i>Chinese</i> history; and besides I shall be able to give
the world a better account of the clock in its decay, than I could have
done in its flourishing <span class =
"locked">condition&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And so away I posted to the college of the Jesuits.</p>

<p>Now it is with the project of getting a peep at the history of
<i>China</i> in <i>Chinese</i> characters&mdash;as with many others I
could mention, which strike the fancy only at a distance; for as I came
nearer and nearer to the point&mdash;my blood cool’d&mdash;the freak
gradually went off, till at length I would not have given a cherrystone
to have it gratified&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;The truth was, my time was
short, and my heart was at the Tomb of the
Lovers&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish to God, said I, as I got the rapper in
my hand, that the key of the library may be but lost; it fell out as
<span class = "locked">well&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>For all the <span class = "smallcaps">Jesuits</span> had got the
cholic</i>&mdash;and to that degree, as never was known in the memory of
the oldest practitioner.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXL" id = "bookVII_chapXL">
CHAPTER XL</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> I knew the geography of the Tomb
of the Lovers, as well as if I had lived twenty years in <i>Lyons</i>,
namely, that it was upon the turning of my right hand, just without the
gate, leading to the <i>Fauxbourg de
Vaise</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;dispatched <i>François</i> to the boat,
that I might pay the homage I so long ow’d it, without a witness of my
weakness&mdash;I&nbsp;walk’d with all imaginable joy towards the
place&mdash;&mdash;when I saw the gate which intercepted the tomb, my
heart glowed within <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;Tender and faithful spirits! cried I, addressing myself to
<i>Amandus</i> and <i>Amanda</i>&mdash;long&mdash;long have I tarried to
drop this tear upon your <span class =
"locked">tomb&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;come&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;come&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page390" id = "page390">390</a></span>
<p>When I came&mdash;there was no tomb to drop it upon.</p>

<p>What would I have given for my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to have whistled
Lillabullero!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXLI" id = "bookVII_chapXLI">
CHAPTER XLI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">No</span> matter how, or in what
mood&mdash;but I flew from the tomb of the lovers&mdash;or rather I did
not fly <i>from</i> it&mdash;(for there was no such thing existing) and
just got time enough to the boat to save my passage;&mdash;and ere I had
sailed a hundred yards, the <i>Rhône</i> and the <i>Saôn</i> met
together, and carried me down merrily betwixt them.</p>

<p>But I have described this voyage down the <i>Rhône</i>, before I made
<span class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;So now I am at <i>Avignon</i>, and as there is nothing
to see but the old house, in which the duke of <i>Ormond</i> resided,
and nothing to stop me but a short remark upon the place, in three
minutes you will see me crossing the bridge upon a mule, with
<i>François</i> upon a horse with my portmanteau behind him, and the
owner of both, striding the way before us, with a long gun upon his
shoulder, and a sword under his arm, lest peradventure we should run
away with his cattle. Had you seen my breeches in entering
<i>Avignon</i>,&mdash;&mdash;Though you’d have seen them better,
I&nbsp;think, as I mounted&mdash;you would not have thought the
precaution amiss, or found in your heart to have taken it in dudgeon;
for my own part, I&nbsp;took it most kindly; and determined to make him
a present of them, when we got to the end of our journey, for the
trouble they had put him to, of arming himself at all points against
them.</p>

<p>Before I go further, let me get rid of my remark upon <i>Avignon</i>,
which is this: That I think it wrong, merely because a man’s hat has
been blown off his head by chance the first night he comes to
<i>Avignon</i>,&mdash;&mdash;that he should therefore say,
“<i>Avignon</i> is more subject to high winds than any town in all
<i>France</i>:” for which reason I laid no stress upon the accident till
I had enquired of the master of the inn about it, who telling me
seriously it was so&mdash;&mdash;and hearing, moreover, the windiness of
<i>Avignon</i> spoke of in the country about as a
proverb&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;set it down, merely to ask the learned what
can be the cause&mdash;&mdash;the consequence I saw&mdash;for they are
all Dukes, Marquisses, and Counts, there&mdash;&mdash;the duce a Baron,
in all <i>Avignon</i>&mdash;&mdash;so that there is scarce any talking
to them on a windy day.</p>

<p>Prithee, friend, said I, take hold of my mule for a
moment&mdash;&mdash;for
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page391" id = "page391">391</a></span>
I wanted to pull off one of my jack-boots, which hurt my heel&mdash;the
man was standing quite idle at the door of the inn, and as I had taken
it into my head, he was someway concerned about the house or stable,
I&nbsp;put the bridle into his hand&mdash;so begun with the
boot:&mdash;when I had finished the affair, I&nbsp;turned about to take
the mule from the man, and thank <span class =
"locked">him&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But <i>Monsieur le Marquis</i> had walked
in&mdash;&mdash;</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXLII" id = "bookVII_chapXLII">
CHAPTER XLII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I had</span> now the whole south of
<i>France</i>, from the banks of the <i>Rhône</i> to those of the
<i>Garonne</i>, to traverse upon my mule at my own leisure&mdash;<i>at
my own leisure</i>&mdash;&mdash;for I had left Death, the Lord
knows&mdash;&mdash;and He only&mdash;how far behind
me&mdash;&mdash;“I&nbsp;have followed many a man thro’ <i>France</i>,
quoth he&mdash;but never at this mettlesome rate.”&mdash;&mdash;Still he
followed,&mdash;&mdash;and still I fled him&mdash;&mdash;but I fled him
chearfully&mdash;&mdash;still he pursued&mdash;&mdash;but, like one who
pursued his prey without hope&mdash;&mdash;as he lagg’d, every step he
lost, soften’d his looks&mdash;&mdash;why should I fly him at this
rate?</p>

<p>So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said,
I&nbsp;changed the <i>mode</i> of my travelling once more; and, after so
precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I&nbsp;flattered my
fancy with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich
plains of <i>Languedoc</i> upon his back, as slowly as foot could
fall.</p>

<p>There is nothing more pleasing to a traveller&mdash;&mdash;or more
terrible to travel-writers, than a large rich plain; especially if it is
without great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but
one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, that
’tis delicious! or delightful! (as&nbsp;the case happens)&mdash;that the
soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, &amp;c.
.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. they have then a large plain upon their hands, which
they know not what to do with&mdash;and which is of little or no use to
them but to carry them to some town; and that town, perhaps of little
more, but a new place to start from to the next plain&mdash;&mdash;and
so&nbsp;on.</p>

<p>&mdash;This is most terrible work; judge if I don’t manage my plains
better.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page392" id = "page392">392</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVII_chapXLIII" id = "bookVII_chapXLIII">
CHAPTER XLIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I had</span> not gone above two leagues and
a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming.</p>

<p>I had three several times loiter’d <i>terribly</i> behind; half a
mile at least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker,
who was making drums for the fairs of <i>Baucaira</i> and
<i>Tarascone</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;did not understand the <span class =
"locked">principles&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp’d&mdash;&mdash;for
meeting a couple of <i>Franciscans</i> straitened more for time than
myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was
about&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had turn’d back with <span class =
"locked">them&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of
<i>Provence</i> figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at
once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs
were paid for, it turn’d out, that there were two dozen of eggs cover’d
over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket&mdash;as I had no
intention of buying eggs&mdash;I&nbsp;made no sort of claim of
them&mdash;as for the space they had occupied&mdash;what signified it?
I&nbsp;had figs enow for my <span class =
"locked">money&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;But it was my intention to have the basket&mdash;it was the
gossip’s intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with
her eggs&mdash;&mdash;and unless I had the basket, I&nbsp;could do as
little with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of ’em burst
at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated in
sundry proposals, what we should both <span class =
"locked">do&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or
the Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was),
to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of
it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;not this year, for I am hastening to the story of
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> amours&mdash;but you will read it in the
collection of those which have arose out of the journey across this
plain&mdash;and which, therefore, I&nbsp;call&nbsp;my</p>

<h5 class = "smaller extended">PLAIN STORIES.</h5>

<p>How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, in
this journey of it, over so barren a track&mdash;the world must
judge&mdash;but the traces of it, which are now all set o’ vibrating
together this moment, tell me ’tis the most fruitful and busy period of
my life; for as I had made no convention with
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page393" id = "page393">393</a></span>
my man with the gun, as to time&mdash;by stopping and talking to every
soul I met, who was not in a full trot&mdash;joining all parties before
me&mdash;waiting for every soul behind&mdash;hailing all those who were
coming through cross-roads&mdash;arresting all kinds of beggars,
pilgrims, fiddlers, friars&mdash;&mdash;not passing by a woman in a
mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into
conversation with a pinch of snuff&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;In short, by
seizing every handle, of what size or shape soever, which chance held
out to me in this journey&mdash;I&nbsp;turned my <i>plain</i> into a
<i>city</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;was always in company, and with great variety
too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some
proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he
met&mdash;I&nbsp;am confident we could have passed through
<i>Pall-Mall</i>, or St. <i>James’s</i>-Street for a month together,
with fewer adventures&mdash;and seen less of human nature.</p>

<p>O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every
plait of a <i>Languedocian’s</i> dress&mdash;that whatever is beneath
it, it looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better
days&mdash;I&nbsp;will delude my fancy, and believe it is&nbsp;so.</p>

<p>’Twas in the road betwixt <i>Nismes</i> and <i>Lunel</i>, where there
is the best <i>Muscatto</i> wine in all <i>France</i>, and which by the
bye belongs to the honest canons of <span class =
"smallcaps">Montpellier</span>&mdash;and foul befal the man who has
drank it at their table, who grudges them a drop of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The sun was set&mdash;they had done their work; the
nymphs had tied up their hair afresh&mdash;and the swains were preparing
for a carousal&mdash;&mdash;my mule made a dead point&mdash;&mdash;’Tis
the fife and tabourin, said I&mdash;&mdash;I’m frighten’d to death,
quoth he&mdash;&mdash;They are running at the ring of pleasure, said I,
giving him a prick&mdash;&mdash;By saint <i>Boogar</i>, and all the
saints at the backside of the door of purgatory, said he&mdash;(making
the same resolution with the abbesse of <i>Andoüillets</i>) I’ll not go
a step further&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;’Tis very well, sir, said
I&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never will argue a point with one of your family,
as long as I live; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot
into this ditch, and t’other into that&mdash;I’ll take a dance, said
I&mdash;so stay you here.</p>

<p>A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to meet me, as
I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark chesnut approaching
rather to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a single tress.</p>

<p>We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to
offer them&mdash;And a cavalier ye shall have; said I, taking hold of
both of them.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page394" id = "page394">394</a></span>
<p>Hadst thou, <i>Nannette</i>, been array’d like a dutchesse!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But that cursed slit in thy petticoat!</p>

<p><i>Nannette</i> cared not for it.</p>

<p>We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one hand,
with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other.</p>

<p>A lame youth, whom <i>Apollo</i> had recompensed with a pipe, and to
which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly over the
prelude, as he sat upon the bank&mdash;&mdash;Tie me up this tress
instantly, said <i>Nannette</i>, putting a piece of string into my
hand&mdash;It taught me to forget I was a stranger&mdash;&mdash;The
whole knot fell down&mdash;&mdash;We had been seven years
acquainted.</p>

<p>The youth struck the note upon the tabourin&mdash;his pipe followed,
and off we bounded&mdash;&mdash;“the duce take that slit!”</p>

<p>The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, sung
alternately with her brother&mdash;&mdash;’twas a <i>Gascoigne</i>
roundelay.</p>

<p class = "super smallroman">
VIVA LA JOIA!<br />
FIDON LA TRISTESSA!</p>

<p>The nymphs join’d in unison, and their swains an octave below
them&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>I would have given a crown to have it sew’d up&mdash;<i>Nannette</i>
would not have given a <span class =
"smallroman">SOUS</span>&mdash;<i>Viva la joia!</i> was in her
lips&mdash;<i>Viva la joia!</i> was in her eyes. A&nbsp;transient spark
of amity shot across the space betwixt us&mdash;&mdash;She look’d
amiable!&mdash;&mdash;Why could I not live, and end my days thus? Just
Disposer of our joys and sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down
in the lap of content here&mdash;&mdash;and dance, and sing, and say his
<ins class = "correction" title = "text has .">prayers,</ins> and go to
heaven with this nut-brown maid? Capriciously did she bend her head on
one side, and dance up insidious&mdash;&mdash;Then ’tis time to dance
off, quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I&nbsp;danced it away
from <i>Lunel</i> to <i>Montpellier</i>&mdash;&mdash;from thence to
<i>Pesçnas</i>, <i>Beziers</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;danced it along
through <i>Narbonne</i>, <i>Carcasson</i>, and <i>Castle Naudairy</i>,
till at last I danced myself into <i>Perdrillo’s</i> pavillion, where
pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight
forwards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
<span class = "locked">amours&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I begun thus&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_7_1" id = "note_7_1" href = "#tag_7_1">1.</a>
Vid. Book of French post roads, page 36, edition of 1762.</p>

<p><a name = "note_7_2" id = "note_7_2" href = "#tag_7_2">2.</a>
Chief Magistrate in Toulouse, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.</p>

<p><a name = "note_7_3" id = "note_7_3" href = "#tag_7_3">3.</a>
Non orbis gentem, non urbem gens habet ullam</p>
<p><img src = "images/onedash.gif" width = "95" height = "12"
alt = "----" /> ulla parem.</p>

<p><a name = "note_7_4" id = "note_7_4" href = "#tag_7_4">4.</a>
The same Don <i>Pringello</i>, the celebrated <i>Spanish</i> architect,
of whom my cousin <i>Antony</i> has made such honourable mention in a
scholium to the Tale inscribed to his name.&mdash;Vid. p. 129, small
edit.</p>
</div>



<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page395" id = "page395">395</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookVIII" id = "bookVIII">BOOK VIII</a></h3>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapI" id = "bookVIII_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span>
softly&mdash;&mdash;for in these sportive plains, and under this genial
sun, where at this instant all flesh is running out piping, fiddling,
and dancing to the vintage, and every step that’s taken, the judgment is
surprised by the imagination, I&nbsp;defy, notwithstanding all that has
been said upon <i>straight lines</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_8_1" id
= "tag_8_1" href = "#note_8_1">1</a> in sundry pages of my
book&mdash;I&nbsp;defy the best cabbage planter that ever existed,
whether he plants backwards or forwards, it makes little difference in
the account (except that he will have more to answer for in the one case
than in the other)&mdash;I&nbsp;defy him to go on coolly, critically,
and canonically, planting his cabbages one by one, in straight lines,
and stoical distances, especially if slits in petticoats are unsew’d
up&mdash;without ever and anon straddling out, or sidling into some
bastardly digression&mdash;&mdash;In <i>Freeze-land</i>,
<i>Fog-land</i>, and some other lands I wot of&mdash;it may be <span
class = "locked">done&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every
idea, sensible and insensible, gets vent&mdash;in this land, my dear
<i>Eugenius</i>&mdash;in this fertile land of chivalry and romance,
where I now sit, unskrewing my ink-horn to write my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
amours, and with all the meanders of <span class =
"smallcaps">Julia’s</span> track in quest of her <span class =
"smallcaps">Diego</span>, in full view of my study window&mdash;if thou
comest not and takest me by the <span class =
"locked">hand&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>What a work it is likely to turn out!</p>

<p>Let us begin it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapII" id = "bookVIII_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is with <span class =
"smallroman">LOVE</span> as with <span class =
"smallroman">CUCKOLDOM</span>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But now I am talking of beginning a book, and have long had a thing
upon my mind to be imparted to the reader, which, if not imparted now,
can never be imparted to him as long as I live (whereas the <span class
= "smallroman">COMPARISON</span> may be imparted to him any hour
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page396" id = "page396">396</a></span>
in the day)&mdash;&mdash;I’ll just mention it, and begin in good
earnest.</p>

<p>The thing is this.</p>

<p>That of all the several ways of beginning a book which are now in
practice throughout the known world, I&nbsp;am confident my own way of
doing it is the best&mdash;&mdash;I’m sure it is the most
religious&mdash;&mdash;for I begin with writing the first
sentence&mdash;&mdash;and trusting to Almighty God for the second.</p>

<p>’Twould cure an author for ever of the fuss and folly of opening his
street-door, and calling in his neighbours and friends, and kinsfolk,
with the devil and all his imps, with their hammers and engines,
&amp;c., only to observe how one sentence of mine follows another, and
how the plan follows the whole.</p>

<p>I wish you saw me half starting out of my chair, with what
confidence, as I grasp the elbow of it, I&nbsp;look
up&mdash;&mdash;catching the idea, even sometimes before it half way
reaches <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I believe in my conscience I intercept many a thought which heaven
intended for another man.</p>

<p><i>Pope</i> and his Portrait<a class = "tag" name = "tag_8_2" id =
"tag_8_2" href = "#note_8_2">2</a> are fools to me&mdash;&mdash;no
martyr is ever so full of faith or fire&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;wish I could
say of good works too&mdash;&mdash;but I have&nbsp;no</p>

<p class = "super">
Zeal or Anger&mdash;&mdash;or<br />
Anger or Zeal&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>And till gods and men agree together to call it by the same
name&mdash;&mdash;the errantest <span class =
"smallcaps">Tartuffe</span>, in science&mdash;in politics&mdash;or in
religion, shall never kindle a spark within me, or have a worse word, or
a more unkind greeting, than what he will read in the next chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapIII" id = "bookVIII_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;Bonjour!&mdash;&mdash;good morrow!&mdash;&mdash;so you
have got your cloak on betimes!&mdash;&mdash;but ’tis a cold morning,
and you judge the matter rightly&mdash;&mdash;’tis better to be well
mounted, than go o’ foot&mdash;&mdash;and obstructions in the glands are
dangerous&mdash;&mdash;And how goes it with thy concubine&mdash;thy
wife,&mdash;and thy little ones o’ both sides? and when did you hear
from the old gentleman and lady&mdash;your sister, aunt, uncle, and
cousins&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;hope they have got better of their colds,
coughs, claps, toothaches, fevers, stranguries, sciaticas, swellings,
and sore eyes.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;What a devil of an apothecary! to take so much
blood&mdash;give such a vile
purge&mdash;puke&mdash;poultice&mdash;plaister&mdash;night-draught&mdash;clyster&mdash;blister?&mdash;&mdash;And
why so many grains of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page397" id = "page397">397</a></span>
calomel? santa Maria! and such a dose of opium! periclitating, pardi!
the whole family of ye, from head to tail&mdash;&mdash;By my great-aunt
<i>Dinah’s</i> old black velvet mask! I&nbsp;think there was no occasion
for&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Now this being a little bald about the chin, by frequently putting
off and on, <i>before</i> she was got with child by the
coachman&mdash;not one of our family would wear it after. To cover the
<span class = "smallroman">MASK</span> afresh, was more than the mask
was worth&mdash;&mdash;and to wear a mask which was bald, or which could
be half seen through, was as bad as having no mask at <span class =
"locked">all&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>This is the reason, may it please your reverences, that in all our
numerous family, for these four generations, we count no more than one
archbishop, a&nbsp;<i>Welch</i> judge, some three or four aldermen, and
a single <span class = "locked">mountebank&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In the sixteenth century, we boast of no less than a dozen
alchymists.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapIV" id = "bookVIII_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p>“<span class = "firstword">It</span> is with Love as with
Cuckoldom”&mdash;&mdash;the suffering party is at least the
<i>third</i>, but generally the last in the house who knows anything
about the matter: this comes, as all the world knows, from having half a
dozen words for one thing; and so long, as what in this vessel of the
human frame, is <i>Love</i>&mdash;may be <i>Hatred</i>, in
that&mdash;&mdash;<i>Sentiment</i> half a yard higher&mdash;&mdash;and
<i>Nonsense</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;no, Madam,&mdash;not
there&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;mean at the part I am now pointing to with my
forefinger&mdash;&mdash;how can we help ourselves?</p>

<p>Of all mortal, and immortal men too, if you please, who ever
soliloquized upon this mystic subject, my uncle <i>Toby</i> was the
worst fitted, to have push’d his researches, thro’ such a contention of
feelings; and he had infallibly let them all run on, as we do worse
matters, to see what they would turn out&mdash;&mdash;had not
<i>Bridget’s</i> pre-notification of them to <i>Susannah</i>, and
<i>Susannah’s</i> repeated manifestoes thereupon to all the world, made
it necessary for my uncle <i>Toby</i> to look into the affair.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapV" id = "bookVIII_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Why</span> weavers, gardeners, and
gladiators&mdash;or a man with a pined leg (proceeding from some ailment
in the <i>foot</i>)&mdash;should ever have had some tender nymph
breaking her heart in secret
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page398" id = "page398">398</a></span>
for them, are points well and duly settled and accounted for by ancient
and modern physiologists.</p>

<p>A water-drinker, provided he is a profess’d one, and does it without
fraud or covin, is precisely in the same predicament: not that, at first
sight, there is any consequence, or show of logic in it, “That a rill of
cold water dribbling through my inward parts, should light up a torch in
my <i>Jenny’s</i>&mdash;”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The proposition does not strike one; on the contrary,
it seems to run opposite to the natural workings of causes and <span
class = "locked">effects&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But it shews the weakness and imbecility of human reason.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;“And in perfect good health with it?”</p>

<p>&mdash;The most perfect,&mdash;Madam, that friendship herself could
wish <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“And drink nothing!&mdash;nothing but water?”</p>

<p>&mdash;Impetuous fluid! the moment thou pressest against the
flood-gates of the brain&mdash;&mdash;see how they give <span class =
"locked">way!&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In swims <span class = "smallcaps">Curiosity</span>, beckoning to her
damsels to follow&mdash;they dive into the centre of the <span class =
"locked">current&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">Fancy</span> sits musing upon the bank, and
with her eyes following the stream, turns straws and bulrushes into
masts and bowsprits&mdash;&mdash;And <span class =
"smallcaps">Desire</span>, with vest held up to the knee in one hand,
snatches at them, as they swim by her with the <span class =
"locked">other&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>O ye water-drinkers! is it then by this delusive fountain, that ye
have so often governed and turn’d this world about like a
mill-wheel&mdash;grinding the faces of the impotent&mdash;bepowdering
their ribs&mdash;bepeppering their noses, and changing sometimes even
the very frame and face of <span class =
"locked">nature&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>If I was you, quoth <i>Yorick</i>, I would drink more water,
<i>Eugenius</i>&mdash;And, if I was you, <i>Yorick</i>, replied
<i>Eugenius</i>, so would&nbsp;I.</p>

<p>Which shews they had both read <i>Longinus</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>For my own part, I am resolved never to read any book but my own, as
long as I live.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapVI" id = "bookVIII_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I wish</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> had been
a water-drinker; for then the thing had been accounted for, That the
first moment Widow <i>Wadman</i> saw him, she felt something stirring
within her in his favour&mdash;Something!&mdash;something.</p>

<p>&mdash;Something perhaps more than friendship&mdash;less than
love&mdash;something&mdash;no
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page399" id = "page399">399</a></span>
matter what&mdash;no matter where&mdash;I would not give a single hair
off my mule’s tail, and be obliged to pluck it off myself (indeed the
villain has not many to spare, and is not a little vicious into the
bargain), to be let by your worships into the <span class =
"locked">secret&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But the truth is, my uncle <i>Toby</i> was not a water-drinker; he
drank it neither pure nor mix’d, or any how, or any where, except
fortuitously upon some advanced posts, where better liquor was not to be
had&mdash;&mdash;or during the time he was under cure; when the surgeon
telling him it would extend the fibres, and bring them sooner into
contact&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> drank it for quietness
sake.</p>

<p>Now as all the world knows, that no effect in nature can be produced
without a cause, and as it is as well known, that my uncle <i>Toby</i>
was neither a weaver&mdash;a&nbsp;gardener, or a
gladiator&mdash;&mdash;unless as a captain, you will needs have him
one&mdash;but then he was only a captain of foot&mdash;and besides, the
whole is an equivocation&mdash;&mdash;There is nothing left for us to
suppose, but that my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> leg&mdash;&mdash;but that will
avail us little in the present hypothesis, unless it had proceeded from
some ailment <i>in the foot</i>&mdash;whereas his leg was not emaciated
from any disorder in his foot&mdash;for my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> leg was
not emaciated at all. It was a little stiff and awkward, from a total
disuse of it, for the three years he lay confined at my father’s house
in town; but it was plump and muscular, and in all other respects as
good and promising a leg as the other.</p>

<p>I declare, I do not recollect any one opinion or passage of my life,
where my understanding was more at a loss to make ends meet, and torture
the chapter I had been writing, to the service of the chapter following
it, than in the present case: one would think I took a pleasure in
running into difficulties of this kind, merely to make fresh experiments
of getting out of ’em&mdash;&mdash;Inconsiderate soul that thou art!
What! are not the unavoidable distresses with which, as an author and a
man, thou art hemm’d in on every side of thee&mdash;&mdash;are they,
<i>Tristram</i>, not sufficient, but thou must entangle thyself still
more?</p>

<p>Is it not enough that thou art in debt, and that thou hast ten
cart-loads of thy fifth and sixth volumes<a class = "tag" name =
"tag_8_3" id = "tag_8_3" href = "#note_8_3">3</a> still&mdash;still
unsold, and art almost at thy wit’s ends, how to get them off thy
hands?</p>

<p>To this hour art thou not tormented with the vile asthma that thou
gattest in skating against the wind in <i>Flanders?</i> and is it but
two months ago, that in a fit of laughter, on seeing a
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page400" id = "page400">400</a></span>
cardinal make water like a quirister (with both hands) thou brakest a
vessel in thy lungs, whereby, in two hours, thou lost as many quarts of
blood; and hadst thou lost as much more, did not the faculty tell
thee&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;it would have amounted to a <span class =
"locked">gallon?&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapVII" id = "bookVIII_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> for heaven’s sake,
let us not talk of quarts or gallons&mdash;&mdash;let us take the story
straight before us; it is so nice and intricate a one, it will scarce
bear the transposition of a single tittle; and, somehow or other, you
have got me thrust almost into the middle of <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;I beg we may take more care.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapVIII" id = "bookVIII_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i> and the
corporal had posted down with so much heat and precipitation, to take
possession of the spot of ground we have so often spoke of, in order to
open their campaign as early as the rest of the allies; that they had
forgot one of the most necessary articles of the whole affair; it was
neither a pioneer’s spade, a&nbsp;pickax, or a <span class =
"locked">shovel&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;It was a bed to lie on: so that as <i>Shandy-Hall</i> was at
that time unfurnished; and the little inn where poor <i>Le Fever</i>
died, not yet built; my uncle <i>Toby</i> was constrained to accept of a
bed at Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i>, for a night or two, till corporal
<i>Trim</i> (who to the character of an excellent valet, groom, cook,
sempster, surgeon, and engineer, superadded that of an excellent
upholsterer too), with the help of a carpenter and a couple of taylors,
constructed one in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house.</p>

<p>A daughter of <i>Eve</i>, for such was widow <i>Wadman</i>, and ’tis
all the character I intend to give of <span class =
"locked">her&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;“<i>That she was a perfect woman</i>&mdash;” had better be
fifty leagues off&mdash;or in her warm bed&mdash;or playing with a
case-knife&mdash;or anything you please&mdash;than make a man the object
of her attention, when the house and all the furniture is her own.</p>

<p>There is nothing in it out of doors and in broad day-light, where a
woman has a power, physically speaking, of viewing a man in more lights
than one&mdash;but here, for her soul, she can see him in no light
without mixing something of her own goods and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page401" id = "page401">401</a></span>
chattels along with him&mdash;&mdash;till by reiterated acts of such
combination, he gets foisted into her <span class =
"locked">inventory&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;And then good night.</p>

<p>But this is not matter of <span class = "smallcaps">System</span>;
for I have delivered that above&mdash;&mdash;nor is it matter of <span
class = "smallcaps">Breviary</span>&mdash;&mdash;for I make no man’s
creed but my own&mdash;&mdash;nor matter of <span class =
"smallcaps">Fact</span>&mdash;&mdash;at least that I know of; but ’tis
matter copulative and introductory to what follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapIX" id = "bookVIII_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I do</span> not speak it with regard to the
coarseness or cleanness of them&mdash;or the strength of their
gussets&mdash;&mdash;but pray do not night-shifts differ from day-shifts
as much in this particular, as in anything else in the world; That they
so far exceed the others in length, that when you are laid down in them,
they fall almost as much below the feet, as the day-shifts fall short of
them?</p>

<p>Widow <i>Wadman’s</i> night-shifts (as was the mode I suppose in King
<i>William’s</i> and Queen <i>Anne’s</i> reigns) were cut however after
this fashion; and if the fashion is changed (for in <i>Italy</i> they
are come to nothing)&mdash;&mdash;so much the worse for the public; they
were two <i>Flemish</i> ells and a half in length; so that allowing a
moderate woman two ells, she had half an ell to spare, to do what she
would with.</p>

<p>Now from one little indulgence gained after another, in the many
bleak and decemberly nights of a seven years widowhood, things had
insensibly come to this pass, and for the two last years had got
establish’d into one of the ordinances of the bed-chamber&mdash;That as
soon as Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> was put to bed, and had got her legs
stretched down to the bottom of it, of which she always gave
<i>Bridget</i> notice&mdash;<i>Bridget</i>, with all suitable decorum,
having first open’d the bed-cloaths at the feet, took hold of the
half-ell of cloth we are speaking of, and having gently, and with both
her hands, drawn it downwards to its furthest extension, and then
contracted it again side-long by four or five even plaits, she took a
large corking pin out of her sleeve, and with the point directed towards
her, pinn’d the plaits all fast together a little above the hem; which
done, she tuck’d all in tight at the feet, and wish’d her mistress a
good night.</p>

<p>This was constant, and without any other variation than this; that on
shivering and tempestuous nights, when <i>Bridget</i> untuck’d the feet
of the bed, &amp;c., to do this&mdash;&mdash;she consulted no
thermometer but that of her own passions; and so performed it
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page402" id = "page402">402</a></span>
standing&mdash;kneeling&mdash;or squatting, according to the different
degrees of faith, hope, and charity, she was in, and bore towards her
mistress that night. In every other respect, the <i>etiquette</i> was
sacred, and might have vied with the most mechanical one of the most
inflexible bed-chamber in <i>Christendom</i>.</p>

<p>The first night, as soon as the corporal had conducted my uncle
<i>Toby</i> upstairs, which was about ten&mdash;&mdash;Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i> threw herself into her arm-chair, and crossing her left
knee with her right, which formed a resting-place for her elbow, she
reclin’d her cheek upon the palm of her hand, and leaning forwards
ruminated till midnight upon both sides of the question.</p>

<p>The second night she went to her bureau, and having ordered
<i>Bridget</i> to bring her up a couple of fresh candles and leave them
upon the table, she took out her marriage-settlement, and read it over
with great devotion: and the third night (which was the last of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> stay) when <i>Bridget</i> had pull’d down the night-shift,
and was assaying to stick in the corking <span class =
"locked">pin&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;With a kick of both heels at once, but at the same time
the most natural kick that could be kick’d in her
situation&mdash;&mdash;for supposing &nbsp;* &nbsp; * &nbsp; * &nbsp; *
&nbsp; * &nbsp; * &nbsp; * &nbsp; * &nbsp; *&nbsp; to be the sun in its
<ins class = "correction" title = "text reads ‘meridan’">meridian</ins>,
it was a north-east kick&mdash;&mdash;she kick’d the pin out of her
fingers&mdash;&mdash;the <i>etiquette</i> which hung upon it,
down&mdash;&mdash;down it fell to the ground, and was shiver’d into a
thousand atoms.</p>

<p>From all which it was plain that widow <i>Wadman</i> was in love with
my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapX" id = "bookVIII_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby’s</i> head at that
time was full of other matters, so that it was not till the demolition
of <i>Dunkirk</i>, when all the other civilities of <i>Europe</i> were
settled, that he found leisure to return this.</p>

<p>This made an armistice (that is, speaking with regard to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;but with respect to Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>,
a&nbsp;vacancy)&mdash;of almost eleven years. But in all cases of this
nature, as it is the second blow, happen at what distance of time it
will, which makes the fray&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;chuse for that reason to
call these the amours of my uncle <i>Toby</i> with Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>,
rather than the amours of Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> with my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>This is not a distinction without a difference.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page403" id = "page403">403</a></span>
<p>It is not like the affair of <i>an old hat
cock’d</i>&mdash;&mdash;and <i>a cock’d old hat</i>, about which your
reverences have so often been at odds with one another&mdash;&mdash;but
there is a difference here in the nature of <span class =
"locked">things&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And let me tell you, gentry, a wide one too.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXI" id = "bookVIII_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> as widow <i>Wadman</i> did love
my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;and my uncle <i>Toby</i> did not love
widow <i>Wadman</i>, there was nothing for widow <i>Wadman</i> to do,
but to go on and love my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;or let it
alone.</p>

<p>Widow <i>Wadman</i> would do neither the one or the other.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Gracious heaven!&mdash;&mdash;but I forget I am a
little of her temper myself; for whenever it so falls out, which it
sometimes does about the equinoxes, that an earthly goddess is so much
this, and that, and t’other, that I cannot eat my breakfast for
her&mdash;&mdash;and that she careth not three halfpence whether I eat
my breakfast or <span class = "locked">no&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Curse on her! and so I send her to <i>Tartary</i>, and
from <i>Tartary</i> to <i>Terra del <ins class = "correction" title =
"spelling unchanged">Fuogo</ins></i>, and so on to the devil: in short,
there is not an infernal nitch where I do not take her divinityship and
stick&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>But as the heart is tender, and the passions in these tides ebb and
flow ten times in a minute, I&nbsp;instantly bring her back again; and
as I do all things in extremes, I&nbsp;place her in the very centre of
the <span class = "locked">milky-way&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Brightest of stars! thou wilt shed thy influence upon some
one&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The duce take her and her influence
too&mdash;&mdash;for at that word I lose all patience&mdash;&mdash;much
good may it do him!&mdash;&mdash;By all that is hirsute and gashly!
I&nbsp;cry, taking off my furr’d cap, and twisting it round my
finger&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would not give sixpence for a dozen such!</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But ’tis an excellent cap too (putting it upon my head,
and pressing it close to my ears)&mdash;and warm&mdash;and soft;
especially if you stroke it the right way&mdash;but alas! that will
never be my luck&mdash;&mdash;(so&nbsp;here my philosophy is shipwreck’d
again).</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;No; I shall never have a finger in the pye (so here I
break my metaphor)&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Crust and Crumb</p>

<p>Inside and out</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page404" id = "page404">404</a></span>
<p>Top and bottom&mdash;&mdash;I detest it, I hate it, I repudiate
it&mdash;&mdash;I’m sick at the sight of <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>’Tis all pepper,</p>
<p><span class = "invisible">’Tis all </span>garlick,</p>
<p><span class = "invisible">’Tis all </span>staragen,</p>
<p><span class = "invisible">’Tis all </span>salt, and</p>
<p><span class = "invisible">’Tis all </span>devil’s
dung&mdash;&mdash;by the great arch-cook of cooks, who does nothing,
I&nbsp;think, from morning to night, but sit down by the fire-side and
invent inflammatory dishes for us, I&nbsp;would not touch it for the
world&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;<i>O Tristram! Tristram!</i> cried <i>Jenny</i>.</p>

<p><i>O Jenny! Jenny!</i> replied I, and so went on with the twelfth
chapter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXII" id = "bookVIII_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“Not touch it for the world,” did I
say&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Lord, how I have heated my imagination with this metaphor!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXIII" id = "bookVIII_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Which</span> shows, let your reverences and
worships say what you will of it (for as for
<i>thinking</i>&mdash;&mdash;all who do think&mdash;think pretty much
alike both upon it and other matters)&mdash;&mdash;Love is certainly, at
least alphabetically speaking, one of the most</p>

<table class = "inline" summary = "aligned text">
<tr>
<td>A</td><td>gitating</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>B</td><td>ewitching</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>C</td><td>onfounded</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D</td><td>evilish affairs of life&mdash;the most</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>E</td><td>xtravagant</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>F</td><td>utilitous</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>G</td><td>alligaskinish</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>H</td><td>andy-dandyish</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>I</td><td>racundulous (there is no K to it) and</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>L</td><td>yrical of all human passions: at the same time, the
most</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>M&nbsp;</td><td>isgiving</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>N</td><td>innyhammering</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>O</td><td>bstipating</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>P</td><td>ragmatical</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>S</td><td>tridulous</td>
</tr>
</table>

<p>R&nbsp; idiculous&mdash;though by the bye the R should have gone
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page405" id = "page405">405</a></span>
first&mdash;But in short ’tis of such a nature, as my father once told
my uncle <i>Toby</i> upon the close of a long dissertation upon the
subject&mdash;&mdash;“You can scarce,” said he, “combine two ideas
together upon it, brother <i>Toby</i>, without an
hypallage”&mdash;&mdash;What’s that? cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>The cart before the horse, replied my father&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And what is he to do there? cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Nothing, quoth my father, but to get in&mdash;&mdash;or let it
alone.</p>

<p>Now widow <i>Wadman</i>, as I told you before, would do neither the
one or the other.</p>

<p>She stood however ready harnessed and caparisoned at all points, to
watch accidents.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXIV" id = "bookVIII_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> Fates, who certainly all
foreknew of these amours of widow <i>Wadman</i> and my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, had, from the first creation of matter and motion (and with
more courtesy than they usually do things of this kind), established
such a chain of causes and effects hanging so fast to one another, that
it was scarce possible for my uncle <i>Toby</i> to have dwelt in any
other house in the world, or to have occupied any other garden in
<i>Christendom</i>, but the very house and garden which join’d and laid
parallel to Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i>; this, with the advantage of a thickset
arbour in Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> garden, but planted in the hedge-row of
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>, put all the occasions into her hands which
Love-militancy wanted; she could observe my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> motions,
and was mistress likewise of his councils of war; and as his
unsuspecting heart had given leave to the corporal, through the
mediation of <i>Bridget</i>, to make her a wicker-gate of communication
to enlarge her walks, it enabled her to carry on her approaches to the
very door of the sentry-box; and sometimes out of gratitude, to make an
attack, and endeavour to blow my uncle <i>Toby</i> up in the very
sentry-box itself.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXV" id = "bookVIII_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is a great pity&mdash;&mdash;but
’tis certain from every day’s observation of man, that he may be set on
fire like a candle, at either end&mdash;provided there is a sufficient
wick standing out; if there is not&mdash;there’s an end of the affair;
and if there is&mdash;by lighting
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page406" id = "page406">406</a></span>
it at the bottom, as the flame in that case has the misfortune generally
to put out itself&mdash;there’s an end of the affair again.</p>

<p>For my part, could I always have the ordering of it which way I would
be burnt myself&mdash;for I cannot bear the thoughts of being burnt like
a beast&mdash;I&nbsp;would oblige a housewife constantly to light me at
the top; for then I should burn down decently to the socket; that is,
from my head to my heart, from my heart to my liver, from my liver to my
bowels, and so on by the meseraick veins and arteries, through all the
turns and lateral insertions of the intestines and their tunicles to the
blind <span class = "locked">gut&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I beseech you, doctor <i>Slop</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, interrupting him as he mentioned the <i>blind gut</i>, in a
discourse with my father the night my mother was brought to bed of
me&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;beseech you, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to tell
me which is the blind gut; for, old as I am, I&nbsp;vow I do not know to
this day where it lies.</p>

<p>The <i>blind gut</i>, answered doctor <i>Slop</i>, lies betwixt the
<i>Ilion</i> and <i>Colon</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>In a man? said my father.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis precisely the same, cried doctor <i>Slop</i>, in a
woman.&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>That’s more than I know; quoth my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXVI" id = "bookVIII_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> so to make sure of
both systems, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> predetermined to light my uncle
<i>Toby</i> neither at this end or that; but, like a prodigal’s candle,
to light him, if possible, at both ends at once.</p>

<p>Now, through all the lumber rooms of military furniture, including
both of horse and foot, from the great arsenal of <i>Venice</i> to the
<i>Tower</i> of <i>London</i> (exclusive), if Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had
been rummaging for seven years together, and with <i>Bridget</i> to help
her, she could not have found any one <i>blind</i> or <i>mantelet</i> so
fit for her purpose, as that which the expediency of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> affairs had fix’d up ready to her hands.</p>

<p>I believe I have not told you&mdash;&mdash;but I don’t
know&mdash;&mdash;possibly I have&mdash;&mdash;be it as it will, ’tis
one of the number of those many things, which a man had better do over
again, than dispute about it&mdash;That whatever town or fortress the
corporal was at work upon, during the course of their campaign, my uncle
<i>Toby</i> always took care, on the inside of his sentry-box, which was
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page407" id = "page407">407</a></span>
towards his left hand, to have a plan of the place, fasten’d up with two
or three pins at the top, but loose at the bottom, for the conveniency
of holding it up to the eye, &amp;c. .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. as occasions
required; so that when an attack was resolved upon, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>
had nothing more to do, when she had got advanced to the door of the
sentry-box, but to extend her right hand; and edging in her left foot at
the same movement, to take hold of the map or plan, or upright, or
whatever it was, and with out-stretched neck meeting it half
way,&mdash;to advance it towards her; on which my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
passions were sure to catch fire&mdash;&mdash;for he would instantly
take hold of the other corner of the map in his left hand, and with the
end of his pipe in the other, begin an explanation.</p>

<p>When the attack was advanced to this point;&mdash;&mdash;the world
will naturally enter into the reasons of Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> next
stroke of generalship&mdash;&mdash;which was, to take my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> tobacco-pipe out of his hand as soon as she possibly
could; which, under one pretence or other, but generally that of
pointing more distinctly at some redoubt or breastwork in the map, she
would effect before my uncle <i>Toby</i> (poor soul!) had well march’d
above half a dozen toises with&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;It obliged my uncle <i>Toby</i> to make use of his
forefinger.</p>

<p>The difference it made in the attack was this; That in going upon it,
as in the first case, with the end of her forefinger against the end of
my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> tobacco-pipe, she might have travelled with it,
along the lines, from <i>Dan</i> to <i>Beersheba</i>, had my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> lines reach’d so far, without any effect: For as there was
no arterial or vital heat in the end of the tobacco-pipe, it could
excite no sentiment&mdash;&mdash;it could neither give fire by
pulsation&mdash;&mdash;or receive it by sympathy&mdash;&mdash;’twas
nothing but smoke.</p>

<p>Whereas, in following my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> forefinger with hers,
close thro’ all the little turns and indentings of his
works&mdash;pressing sometimes against the side of it&mdash;&mdash;then
treading upon its nail&mdash;&mdash;then tripping it
up&mdash;&mdash;then touching it here&mdash;&mdash;then there, and so
on&mdash;&mdash;it set something at least in motion.</p>

<p>This, tho’ slight skirmishing, and at a distance from the main body,
yet drew on the rest; for here, the map usually falling with the back of
it, close to the side of the sentry-box, my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in the
simplicity of his soul, would lay his hand flat upon it, in order to go
on with his explanation; and Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, by a manœuvre as quick
as thought, would as certainly place her’s close beside it; this at once
opened a communication,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page408" id = "page408">408</a></span>
large enough for any sentiment to pass or repass, which a person skill’d
in the elementary and practical part of love-making, has occasion <span
class = "locked">for&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>By bringing up her forefinger parallel (as before) to my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;it unavoidably brought the thumb into
action&mdash;&mdash;and the forefinger and thumb being once engaged, as
naturally brought in the whole hand. Thine, dear uncle <i>Toby!</i> was
never now in its right place&mdash;&mdash;Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had it ever
to take up, or, with the gentlest pushings, protrusions, and equivocal
compressions, that a hand to be removed is capable of
receiving&mdash;&mdash;to get it press’d a hair breadth of one side out
of her way.</p>

<p>Whilst this was doing, how could she forget to make him sensible,
that it was her leg (and no one’s else) at the bottom of the sentry-box,
which slightly press’d against the calf of his&mdash;&mdash;So that my
uncle <i>Toby</i> being thus attacked and sore push’d on both his
wings&mdash;&mdash;was it a wonder, if now and then, it put his centre
into <span class = "locked">disorder?&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The duce take it! said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXVII" id = "bookVIII_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">These</span> attacks of Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>,
you will readily conceive to be of different kinds; varying from each
other, like the attacks which history is full of, and from the same
reasons. A&nbsp;general looker-on would scarce allow them to be attacks
at all&mdash;&mdash;or if he did, would confound them all
together&mdash;&mdash;but I write not to them: it will be time enough to
be a little more exact in my descriptions of them, as I come up to them,
which will not be for some chapters; having nothing more to add in this,
but that in a bundle of original papers and drawings which my father
took care to roll up by themselves, there is a plan of <i>Bouchain</i>
in perfect preservation (and shall be kept so, whilst I have power to
preserve anything), upon the lower corner of which, on the right hand
side, there is still remaining the marks of a snuffy finger and thumb,
which there is all the reason in the world to imagine, were Mrs.
<i>Wadman’s</i>; for the opposite side of the margin, which I suppose to
have been my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>, is absolutely clean: This seems an
authenticated record of one of these attacks; for there are vestigia of
the two punctures partly grown up, but still visible on the opposite
corner of the map, which are unquestionably the very holes, through
which it has been pricked up in the <span class =
"locked">sentry-box&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page409" id = "page409">409</a></span>
<p>By all that is priestly! I value this precious relick, with its
<i>stigmata</i> and <i>pricks</i>, more than all the relicks of the
<i>Romish</i> church&mdash;&mdash;always excepting, when I am writing
upon these matters, the pricks which entered the flesh of St.
<i>Radagunda</i> in the desert, which in your road from <span class =
"smallcaps">Fesse</span> to <span class = "smallcaps">Cluny</span>, the
nuns of that name will shew you for love.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXVIII" id = "bookVIII_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I think</span>, an’ please your honour,
quoth <i>Trim</i>, the fortifications are quite
destroyed&mdash;&mdash;and the bason is upon a level with the
mole&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think so too; replied my uncle <i>Toby</i> with
a sigh half suppress’d&mdash;&mdash;but step into the parlour,
<i>Trim</i>, for the stipulation&mdash;&mdash;it lies upon the
table.</p>

<p>It has lain there these six weeks, replied the corporal, till this
very morning that the old woman kindled the fire with <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, there is no further
occasion for our services. The more, an’ please your honour, the pity,
said the corporal; in uttering which he cast his spade into the
wheel-barrow, which was beside him, with an air the most expressive of
disconsolation that can be imagined, and was heavily turning about to
look for his pickax, his pioneer’s shovel, his picquets, and other
little military stores, in order to carry them off the
field&mdash;&mdash;when a heigh-ho! from the sentry-box, which being
made of thin slit deal, reverberated the sound more sorrowfully to his
ear, forbad him.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;No; said the corporal to himself, I’ll do it before his
honour rises to-morrow morning; so taking his spade out of the
wheel-barrow again, with a little earth in it, as if to level something
at the foot of the glacis&mdash;&mdash;but with a real intent to
approach nearer to his master, in order to divert him&mdash;&mdash;he
loosen’d a sod or two&mdash;&mdash;pared their edges with his spade, and
having given them a gentle blow or two with the back of it, he sat
himself down close by my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> feet, and began as
follows.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXIX" id = "bookVIII_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was a thousand
pities&mdash;&mdash;though I believe, an’ please your honour, I&nbsp;am
going to say but a foolish kind of a thing for a <span class =
"locked">soldier&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page410" id = "page410">410</a></span>
<p>A soldier, cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, interrupting the corporal, is
no more exempt from saying a foolish thing, <i>Trim</i>, than a man of
letters&mdash;&mdash;But not so often, an’ please your honour, replied
the corporal&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> gave a nod.</p>

<p>It was a thousand pities then, said the corporal, casting his eye
upon <i>Dunkirk</i>, and the mole, as <i>Servius Sulpicius</i>, in
returning out of <i>Asia</i> (when he sailed from <i>Ægina</i> towards
<i>Megara</i>), did upon <i>Corinth</i> and <span class =
"locked"><i>Pyreus</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;“It was a thousand pities, an’ please your honour, to destroy
these works&mdash;&mdash;and a thousand pities to have let them <span
class = "locked">stood.”&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Thou art right, <i>Trim</i>, in both cases; said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;This, continued the corporal, is the
reason, that from the beginning of their demolition to the
end&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have never once whistled, or sung, or laugh’d,
or cry’d, or talk’d of past done deeds, or told your honour one story
good or <span class = "locked">bad&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Thou hast many excellencies, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and I hold it not the least of them, as thou happenest to
be a story-teller, that of the number thou hast told me, either to amuse
me in my painful hours, or divert me in my grave ones&mdash;thou hast
seldom told me a bad <span class = "locked">one&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Because, an’ please your honour, except one of a
<i>King of Bohemia and his seven castles</i>,&mdash;they are all true;
for they are about <span class =
"locked">myself&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I do not like the subject the worse, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, on that score: But prithee what is this story? thou hast
excited my curiosity.</p>

<p>I’ll tell it your honour, quoth the corporal,
directly&mdash;Provided, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking earnestly
towards <i>Dunkirk</i> and the mole again&mdash;&mdash;provided it is
not a merry one; to such, <i>Trim</i>, a&nbsp;man should ever bring one
half of the entertainment along with him; and the disposition I am in at
present would wrong both thee, <i>Trim</i>, and thy
story&mdash;&mdash;It is not a merry one by any means, replied the
corporal&mdash;Nor would I have it altogether a grave one, added my
uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;It is neither the one nor the other,
replied the corporal, but will suit your honour
exactly&mdash;&mdash;Then I’ll thank thee for it with all my heart,
cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>; so prithee begin it, <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>The corporal made his reverence; and though it is not so easy a
matter as the world imagines, to pull off a lank <i>Montero</i>-cap with
grace&mdash;&mdash;or a whit less difficult, in my conceptions, when a
man is sitting squat upon the ground, to make a bow so teeming with
respect as the corporal was wont; yet by suffering the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page411" id = "page411">411</a></span>
palm of his right hand, which was towards his master, to slip backwards
upon the grass, a&nbsp;little beyond his body, in order to allow it the
greater sweep&mdash;&mdash;and by an unforced compression, at the same
time, of his cap with the thumb and the two forefingers of his left, by
which the diameter of the cap became reduced, so that it might be said,
rather to be insensibly squeez’d&mdash;than pull’d off with a
flatus&mdash;&mdash;the corporal acquitted himself of both in a better
manner than the posture of his affairs promised; and having hemmed
twice, to find in what key his story would best go, and best suit his
master’s humour,&mdash;he exchanged a single look of kindness with him,
and set off thus.</p>


<h5><a name = "bookVIII_bohemia" id = "bookVIII_bohemia">
THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES</a></h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> was a certain king of Bo - -
he&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>As the corporal was entering the confines of <i>Bohemia</i>, my uncle
<i>Toby</i> obliged him to halt for a single moment; he had set out
bare-headed, having, since he pull’d off his <i>Montero</i>-cap in the
latter end of the last chapter, left it lying beside him on the
ground.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The eye of Goodness espieth all things&mdash;&mdash;so
that before the corporal had well got through the first five words of
his story, had my uncle <i>Toby</i> twice touch’d his <i>Montero</i>-cap
with the end of his cane, interrogatively&mdash;&mdash;as much as to
say, Why don’t you put it on, <i>Trim?</i> <i>Trim</i> took it up with
the most respectful slowness, and casting a glance of humiliation as he
did it, upon the embroidery of the fore-part, which being dismally
tarnish’d and fray’d moreover in some of the principal leaves and
boldest parts of the pattern, he lay’d it down again between his two
feet, in order to moralise upon the subject.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis every word of it but too true, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, that thou art about to <span class =
"locked">observe&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“<i>Nothing in this world, Trim, is made to last for ever.</i>”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But when tokens, dear <i>Tom</i>, of thy love and
remembrance wear out, said <i>Trim</i>, what shall we say?</p>

<p>There is no occasion, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, to say
anything else; and was a man to puzzle his brains till Doom’s day,
I&nbsp;believe, <i>Trim</i>, it would be impossible.</p>

<p>The corporal, perceiving my uncle <i>Toby</i> was in the right, and
that it would be in vain for the wit of man to think of extracting a
purer moral from his cap, without further attempting it, he put it on;
and passing his hand across his forehead to rub out
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page412" id = "page412">412</a></span>
a pensive wrinkle, which the text and the doctrine between them had
engender’d, he return’d, with the same look and tone of voice, to his
story of the king of <i>Bohemia</i> and his seven castles.</p>


<h5>THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES,
CONTINUED</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> was a certain king of
<i>Bohemia</i>, but in whose reign, except his own, I&nbsp;am not able
to inform your <span class = "locked">honour&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I do not desire it of thee, <i>Trim</i>, by any means, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It was a little before the time, an’ please your
honour, when giants were beginning to leave off breeding:&mdash;but in
what year of our Lord that <span class =
"locked">was&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I would not give a halfpenny to know, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Only, an’ please your honour, it makes a story look the
better in the <span class = "locked">face&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis thy own, <i>Trim</i>, so ornament it after thy own
fashion; and take any date, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking
pleasantly upon him&mdash;take any date in the whole world thou chusest,
and put it to&mdash;thou art heartily <span class =
"locked">welcome&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The corporal bowed; for of every century, and of every year of that
century, from the first creation of the world down to <i>Noah’s</i>
flood; and from <i>Noah’s</i> flood to the birth of <i>Abraham</i>;
through all the pilgrimages of the patriarchs, to the departure of the
<i>Israelites</i> out of <i>Egypt</i>&mdash;&mdash;and throughout all
the Dynasties, Olympiads, Urbeconditas, and other memorable epochas of
the different nations of the world, down to the coming of Christ, and
from thence to the very moment in which the corporal was telling his
story&mdash;&mdash;had my uncle <i>Toby</i> subjected this vast empire
of time and all its abysses at his feet; but as <span class =
"smallroman">MODESTY</span> scarce touches with a finger what <span
class = "smallroman">LIBERALITY</span> offers her with both hands
open&mdash;the corporal contented himself with the very <i>worst
year</i> of the whole bunch; which, to prevent your honours of the
Majority and Minority from tearing the very flesh off your bones in
contestation, ‘Whether that year is not always the last cast-year of the
last cast-almanack’&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;tell you plainly it was; but
from a different reason than you wot <span class =
"locked">of&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It was the year next him&mdash;&mdash;which being, the
year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twelve, when the Duke of
<i>Ormond</i> was playing the devil in <i>Flanders</i>&mdash;&mdash;the
corporal took it, and set out with it afresh on his expedition to
<i>Bohemia</i>.</p>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page413" id = "page413">413</a></span>

<h5>THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES,
CONTINUED</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> the year of our Lord one thousand
seven hundred and twelve, there was, an’ please your <span class =
"locked">honour&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;To tell thee truly, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, any other date would have pleased me much better, not only
on account of the sad stain upon our history that year, in marching off
our troops, and refusing to cover the siege of <i>Quesnoi</i>, though
<i>Fagel</i> was carrying on the works with such incredible
vigour&mdash;but likewise on the score, <i>Trim</i>, of thy own story;
because if there are&mdash;and which, from what thou hast dropt,
I&nbsp;partly suspect to be the fact&mdash;if there are giants in <span
class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>There is but one, an’ please your honour&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis as bad as twenty, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;thou should’st have carried him back some seven
or eight hundred years out of harm’s way, both of critics and other
people: and therefore I would advise thee, if ever thou tellest it <span
class = "locked">again&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;If I live, an’ please your honour, but once to get
through it, I&nbsp;will never tell it again, quoth <i>Trim</i>, either
to man, woman, or child&mdash;&mdash;Poo&mdash;poo! said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;but with accents of such sweet encouragement did he
utter it, that the corporal went on with his story with more alacrity
than ever.</p>


<h5>THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES,
CONTINUED</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> was, an’ please your honour,
said the corporal, raising his voice and rubbing the palms of his two
hands cheerily together as he begun, a&nbsp;certain king of <span class
= "locked"><i>Bohemia</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Leave out the date entirely, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, leaning forwards, and laying his hand gently upon the
corporal’s shoulder to temper the interruption&mdash;leave it out
entirely, <i>Trim</i>; a&nbsp;story passes very well without these
niceties, unless one is pretty sure of ’em&mdash;&mdash;Sure of ’em!
said the corporal, shaking his <span class =
"locked">head&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Right; answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>, it is not easy, <i>Trim</i>,
for one, bred up as thou and I have been to arms, who seldom looks
further forward than to the end of his musket, or backwards beyond his
knapsack, to know much about this matter&mdash;&mdash;God bless your
honour! said the corporal, won by the <i>manner</i> of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> reasoning, as much as by the reasoning itself, he
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page414" id = "page414">414</a></span>
has something else to do; if not on action, or a march, or upon duty in
his garrison&mdash;he has his firelock, an’ please your honour, to
furbish&mdash;his accoutrements to take care of&mdash;his regimentals to
mend&mdash;himself to shave and keep clean, so as to appear always like
what he is upon the parade; what business, added the corporal
triumphantly, has a soldier, an’ please your honour, to know anything at
all of <i>geography?</i></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Thou would’st have said <i>chronology</i>, <i>Trim</i>,
said my uncle <i>Toby</i>; for as for geography, ’tis of absolute use to
him; he must be acquainted intimately with every country and its
boundaries where his profession carries him; he should know every town
and city, and village and hamlet, with the canals, the roads, and hollow
ways which lead up to them; there is not a river or a rivulet he passes,
<i>Trim</i>, but he should be able at first sight to tell thee what is
its name&mdash;in what mountains it takes its rise&mdash;what is its
course&mdash;how far it is navigable&mdash;where fordable&mdash;where
not; he should know the fertility of every valley, as well as the hind
who ploughs it; and be able to describe, or, if it is required, to give
thee an exact map of all the plains and defiles, the forts, the
acclivities, the woods and morasses, thro’ and by which his army is to
march; he should know their produce, their plants, their minerals, their
waters, their animals, their seasons, their climates, their heats and
cold, their inhabitants, their customs, their language, their policy,
and even their religion.</p>

<p>Is it else to be conceived, corporal, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
rising up in his sentry-box, as he began to warm in this part of his
discourse&mdash;how <i>Marlborough</i> could have marched his army from
the banks of the <i>Maes</i> to <i>Belburg</i>; from <i>Belburg</i> to
<i>Kerpenord</i>&mdash;(here the corporal could sit no longer) from
<i>Kerpenord</i>, <i>Trim</i>, to <i>Kalsaken</i>; from <i>Kalsaken</i>
to <i>Newdorf</i>; from <i>Newdorf</i> to <i>Landenbourg</i>; from
<i>Landenbourg</i> to <i>Mildenheim</i>; from <i>Mildenheim</i> to
<i>Elchingen</i>; from <i>Elchingen</i> to <i>Gingen</i>; from
<i>Gingen</i> to <i>Balmerchoffen</i>; from <i>Balmerchoffen</i> to
<i>Skellenburg</i>, where he broke in upon the enemy’s works; forced his
passage over the <i>Danube</i>; cross’d the <i>Lech</i>&mdash;push’d on
his troops into the heart of the empire, marching at the head of them
through <i>Fribourg</i>, <i>Hokenwert</i>, and <i>Schonevelt</i>, to the
plains of <i>Blenheim</i> and <i>Hochstet?</i>&mdash;&mdash;Great as he
was, corporal, he could not have advanced a step, or made one single
day’s march without the aids of <i>Geography</i>.&mdash;&mdash;As for
<i>Chronology</i>, I&nbsp;own, <i>Trim</i>, continued my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, sitting down again coolly in his sentry-box, that of all
others, it seems a science which the soldier might
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page415" id = "page415">415</a></span>
best spare, was it not for the lights which that science must one day
give him, in determining the invention of powder; the furious execution
of which, renversing everything like thunder before it, has become a new
æra to us of military improvements, changing so totally the nature of
attacks and defences both by sea and land, and awakening so much art and
skill in doing it, that the world cannot be too exact in ascertaining
the precise time of its discovery, or too inquisitive in knowing what
great man was the discoverer, and what occasions gave birth
to&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>I am far from controverting, continued my uncle <i>Toby</i>, what
historians agree in, that in the year of our Lord 1380, under the reign
of <i>Wencelaus</i>, son of <i>Charles</i> the
Fourth&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;certain priest, whose name was
<i>Schwartz</i>, show’d the use of powder to the <i>Venetians</i>, in
their wars against the <i>Genoese</i>; but ’tis certain he was not the
first; because if we are to believe Don <i>Pedro</i>, the bishop of
<i>Leon</i>&mdash;How came priests and bishops, an’ please your honour,
to trouble their heads so much about gunpowder? God knows, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;his providence brings good out of
everything&mdash;and he avers, in his chronicle of King
<i>Alphonsus</i>, who reduced <i>Toledo</i>, That in the year 1343,
which was full thirty-seven years before that time, the secret of powder
was well known, and employed with success, both by Moors and Christians,
not only in their sea-combats, at that period, but in many of their most
memorable sieges in <i>Spain</i> and <i>Barbary</i>&mdash;And all the
world knows, that Friar <i>Bacon</i> had wrote expressly about it, and
had generously given the world a receipt to make it by, above a hundred
and fifty years before even <i>Schwartz</i> was born&mdash;And that the
<i>Chinese</i>, added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, embarrass us, and all
accounts of it, still more, by boasting of the invention some hundreds
of years even before <span class = "locked">him&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;They are a pack of liars, I believe, cried
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They are somehow or other deceived, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, in this matter, as is plain to me from the present
miserable state of military architecture amongst them; which consists of
nothing more than a fossé with a brick wall without flanks&mdash;and for
what they gave us as a bastion at each angle of it, ’tis so barbarously
constructed, that it looks for all the
world&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Like one of my seven
castles, an’ please your honour, quoth <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i>, tho’ in the utmost distress for a comparison,
most courteously refused <i>Trim’s</i> offer&mdash;till <i>Trim</i>
telling him, he had half a dozen more in <i>Bohemia</i>, which he knew
not how to get off his hands&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> was so
touch’d with the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page416" id = "page416">416</a></span>
pleasantry of heart of the corporal&mdash;&mdash;that he discontinued
his dissertation upon gunpowder&mdash;&mdash;and begged the corporal
forthwith to go on with his story of the King of <i>Bohemia</i> and his
seven castles.</p>


<h5>THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES,
CONTINUED</h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">This</span> <i>unfortunate</i> King of
<i>Bohemia</i>, said <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;&mdash;Was he unfortunate, then?
cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, for he had been so wrapt up in his
dissertation upon gunpowder, and other military affairs, that tho’ he
had desired the corporal to go on, yet the many interruptions he had
given, dwelt not so strong upon his fancy as to account for the
epithet&mdash;&mdash;Was he <i>unfortunate</i>, then, <i>Trim?</i> said
my uncle <i>Toby</i>, pathetically&mdash;&mdash;The corporal, wishing
first the <i>word</i> and all its synonimas at the devil, forthwith
began to run back in his mind, the principal events in the King of
<i>Bohemia’s</i> story; from every one of which, it appearing that he
was the most fortunate man that ever existed in the
world&mdash;&mdash;it put the corporal to a stand: for not caring to
retract his epithet&mdash;&mdash;and less to explain it&mdash;&mdash;and
least of all, to twist his tale (like men of lore) to serve a
system&mdash;&mdash;he looked up in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> face for
assistance&mdash;&mdash;but seeing it was the very thing my uncle
<i>Toby</i> sat in expectation of himself&mdash;&mdash;after a hum and a
haw, he went <span class = "locked">on&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The King of <i>Bohemia</i>, an’ please your honour, replied the
corporal, was <i>unfortunate</i>, as thus&mdash;&mdash;That taking great
pleasure and delight in navigation and all sort of sea
affairs&mdash;&mdash;and there <i>happening</i> throughout the whole
kingdom of <i>Bohemia</i>, to be no seaport town <span class =
"locked">whatever&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>How the duce should there&mdash;<i>Trim?</i> cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; for <i>Bohemia</i> being totally inland, it could have
happen’d no otherwise&mdash;&mdash;It might, said <i>Trim</i>, if it had
pleased <span class = "locked">God&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> never spoke of the being and natural attributes
of God, but with diffidence and <span class =
"locked">hesitation&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I believe not, replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>, after some
pause&mdash;&mdash;for being inland, as I said, and having
<i>Silesia</i> and <i>Moravia</i> to the east; <i>Lusatia</i> and
<i>Upper Saxony</i> to the north; <i>Franconia</i> to the west;
<i>Bavaria</i> to the south; <i>Bohemia</i> could not have been
propell’d to the sea without ceasing to be
<i>Bohemia</i>&mdash;&mdash;nor could the sea, on the other hand, have
come up to <i>Bohemia</i>, without overflowing a great part of
<i>Germany</i>, and destroying millions of unfortunate inhabitants who
could make no defence
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page417" id = "page417">417</a></span>
against it&mdash;&mdash;Scandalous! cried <i>Trim</i>&mdash;Which would
bespeak, added my uncle <i>Toby</i>, mildly, such a want of compassion
in him who is the father of it&mdash;&mdash;that, I&nbsp;think,
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;the thing could have happen’d no way.</p>

<p>The corporal made the bow of unfeigned conviction; and went on.</p>

<p>Now the King of <i>Bohemia</i> with his queen and courtiers
<i>happening</i> one fine summer’s evening to walk out&mdash;&mdash;Aye!
there the word <i>happening</i> is right, <i>Trim</i>, cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; for the King of <i>Bohemia</i> and his queen might have
walk’d out or let it alone:&mdash;&mdash;’twas a matter of contingency,
which might happen, or not, just as chance ordered&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>King <i>William</i> was of an opinion, an’ please your honour, quoth
<i>Trim</i>, that everything was predestined for us in this world;
insomuch, that he would often say to his soldiers, that “every ball had
its billet.” He was a great man, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;And I believe, continued <i>Trim</i>, to this
day, that the shot which disabled me at the battle of <i>Landen</i>, was
pointed at my knee for no other purpose, but to take me out of his
service, and place me in your honour’s, where I should be taken so much
better care of in my old age&mdash;&mdash;It shall never, <i>Trim</i>,
be construed otherwise, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>The heart, both of the master and the man, were alike subject to
sudden overflowings;&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;short silence ensued.</p>

<p>Besides, said the corporal, resuming the discourse&mdash;but in a
gayer accent&mdash;&mdash;if it had not been for that single shot,
I&nbsp;had never, an’ please your honour, been in <span class =
"locked">love&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>So, thou wast once in love, <i>Trim!</i> said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
smiling&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Souse! replied the corporal&mdash;over head and ears! an’ please your
honour. Prithee when? where?&mdash;and how came it to
pass?&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;never heard one word of it before; quoth my
uncle <i>Toby</i>:&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;dare say, answered <i>Trim</i>,
that every drummer and serjeant’s son in the regiment knew of
it&mdash;&mdash;It’s high time I should&mdash;&mdash;said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Your honour remembers with concern, said the corporal, the total rout
and confusion of our camp and army at the affair of <i>Landen</i>; every
one was left to shift for himself; and if it had not been for the
regiments of <i>Wyndham</i>, <i>Lumley</i>, and <i>Galway</i>, which
covered the retreat over the bridge of <i>Neerspeeken</i>, the king
himself could scarce have gained it&mdash;&mdash;he was press’d hard, as
your honour knows, on every side of <span class =
"locked">him&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Gallant mortal! cried my uncle <i>Toby</i>, caught up with
enthusiasm&mdash;this
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page418" id = "page418">418</a></span>
moment, now that all is lost, I&nbsp;see him galloping across me,
corporal, to the left, to bring up the remains of the English horse
along with him to support the right, and tear the laurel from
<i>Luxembourg’s</i> brows, if yet ’tis possible&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;see
him with the knot of his scarfe just shot off, infusing fresh spirits
into poor <i>Galway’s</i> regiment&mdash;riding along the
line&mdash;then wheeling about, and charging <i>Conti</i> at the head of
it&mdash;&mdash;Brave! brave, by heaven! cried my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;he deserves a crown&mdash;&mdash;As richly, as a thief
a halter; shouted <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> knew the corporal’s loyalty;&mdash;otherwise the
comparison was not at all to his mind&mdash;&mdash;it did not altogether
strike the corporal’s fancy when he had made it&mdash;&mdash;but it
could not be recall’d&mdash;&mdash;so he had nothing to do, but
proceed.</p>

<p>As the number of wounded was prodigious, and no one had time to think
of anything but his own safety&mdash;Though <i>Talmash</i>, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, brought off the foot with great
prudence&mdash;&mdash;But I was left upon the field, said the corporal.
Thou wast so; poor fellow! replied my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;So
that it was noon the next day, continued the corporal, before I was
exchanged, and put into a cart with thirteen or fourteen more, in order
to be convey’d to our hospital.</p>

<p>There is no part of the body, an’ please your honour, where a wound
occasions more intolerable anguish than upon the <span class =
"locked">knee&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Except the groin; said my uncle <i>Toby</i>. An’ please your honour,
replied the corporal, the knee, in my opinion, must certainly be the
most acute, there being so many tendons and what-d’ye-call-’ems all
about&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>It is for that reason, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, that the groin is
infinitely more sensible&mdash;&mdash;there being not only as many
tendons and what-d’ye-call-’ems (for I know their names as little as
thou dost)&mdash;&mdash;about it&mdash;&mdash;but moreover <span class =
"locked">*&nbsp;*&nbsp;*&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, who had been all the time in her
arbour&mdash;instantly stopp’d her breath&mdash;unpinn’d her mob at the
chin, and stood up upon one <span class =
"locked">leg&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The dispute was maintained with amicable and equal force betwixt my
uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i> for some time; till <i>Trim</i> at
length recollecting that he had often cried at his master’s sufferings,
but never shed a tear at his own&mdash;was for giving up the point,
which my uncle <i>Toby</i> would not allow&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a proof of
nothing, <i>Trim</i>, said he, but the generosity of thy <span class =
"locked">temper&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>So that whether the pain of a wound in the groin (cæteris paribus) is
greater than the pain of a wound in the knee&mdash;&mdash;or</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page419" id = "page419">419</a></span>
<p>Whether the pain of a wound in the knee is not greater than the pain
of a wound in the groin&mdash;&mdash;are points which to this day remain
unsettled.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXX" id = "bookVIII_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> anguish of my knee, continued
the corporal, was excessive in itself; and the uneasiness of the cart,
with the roughness of the roads, which were terribly cut up&mdash;making
bad still worse&mdash;every step was death to me: so that with the loss
of blood, and the want of care-taking of me, and a fever I felt coming
on besides&mdash;&mdash;(Poor soul! said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>)&mdash;&mdash;all together, an’ please your honour, was more
than I could sustain.</p>

<p>I was telling my sufferings to a young woman at a peasant’s house,
where our cart, which was the last of the line, had halted; they had
help’d me in, and the young woman had taken a cordial out of her pocket
and dropp’d it upon some sugar, and seeing it had cheer’d me, she had
given it me a second and a third time&mdash;&mdash;So I was telling her,
an’ please your honour, the anguish I was in, and was saying it was so
intolerable to me, that I had much rather lie down upon the bed, turning
my face towards one which was in the corner of the room&mdash;and die,
than go on&mdash;&mdash;when, upon her attempting to lead me to it,
I&nbsp;fainted away in her arms. She was a good soul! as your honour,
said the corporal, wiping his eyes, will hear.</p>

<p>I thought <i>love</i> had been a joyous thing, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>’Tis the most serious thing, an’ please your honour (sometimes), that
is in the world.</p>

<p>By the persuasion of the young woman, continued the corporal, the
cart with the wounded men set off without me: she had assured them I
should expire immediately if I was put into the cart. So when I came to
myself&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;found myself in a still quiet cottage, with
no one but the young woman, and the peasant and his wife. I&nbsp;was
laid across the bed in the corner of the room, with my wounded leg upon
a chair, and the young woman beside me, holding the corner of her
handkerchief dipp’d in vinegar to my nose with one hand, and rubbing my
temples with the other.</p>

<p>I took her at first for the daughter of the peasant (for it was no
inn)&mdash;so had offer’d her a little purse with eighteen florins,
which my poor brother <i>Tom</i> (here <i>Trim</i> wip’d his eyes) had
sent me as a token, by a recruit, just before he set out for <span class
= "locked"><i>Lisbon</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page420" id = "page420">420</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;I never told your honour that piteous story
yet&mdash;&mdash;here <i>Trim</i> wiped his eyes a third time.</p>

<p>The young woman call’d the old man and his wife into the room, to
show them the money, in order to gain me credit for a bed and what
little necessaries I should want, till I should be in a condition to be
got to the hospital&mdash;&mdash;Come then! said she, tying up the
little purse&mdash;I’ll be your banker&mdash;but as that office alone
will not keep me employ’d, I’ll be your nurse too.</p>

<p>I thought by her manner of speaking this, as well as by her dress,
which I then began to consider more attentively&mdash;&mdash;that the
young woman could not be the daughter of the peasant.</p>

<p>She was in black down to her toes, with her hair conceal’d under a
cambric border, laid close to her forehead: she was one of those kind of
nuns, an’ please your honour, of which, your honour knows, there are a
good many in <i>Flanders</i>, which they let go loose&mdash;&mdash;By
thy description, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;dare say
she was a young <i>Beguine</i>, of which there are none to be found
anywhere but in the <i>Spanish Netherlands</i>&mdash;except at
<i>Amsterdam</i>&mdash;&mdash;they differ from nuns in this, that they
can quit their cloister if they choose to marry; they visit and take
care of the sick by profession&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;had rather, for my
own part, they did it out of good-nature.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She often told me, quoth <i>Trim</i>, she did it for
the love of Christ&mdash;I&nbsp;did not like
it.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;believe, <i>Trim</i>, we are both wrong, said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;we’ll ask Mr. <i>Yorick</i> about it to-night at
my brother <i>Shandy’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;so put me in mind; added my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>The young <i>Beguine</i>, continued the corporal, had scarce given
herself time to tell me “she would be my nurse,” when she hastily turned
about to begin the office of one, and prepare something for
me&mdash;&mdash;and in a short time&mdash;though I thought it a long
one&mdash;she came back with flannels, &amp;c. &amp;c., and having
fomented my knee soundly for a couple of hours, &amp;c., and made me a
thin bason of gruel for my supper&mdash;she wish’d me rest, and promised
to be with me early in the morning.&mdash;&mdash;She wished me, an’
please your honour, what was not to be had. My fever ran very high that
night&mdash;her figure made sad disturbance within me&mdash;I&nbsp;was
every moment cutting the world in two&mdash;to give her half of
it&mdash;and every moment was I crying, That I had nothing but a
knapsack and eighteen florins to share with her&mdash;&mdash;The whole
night long was the fair <i>Beguine</i>, like an angel, close by my
bedside, holding back the curtain and offering me cordials&mdash;and I
was only awakened from my dream by her
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page421" id = "page421">421</a></span>
coming there at the hour promised, and giving them in reality. In truth,
she was scarce ever from me; and so accustomed was I to receive life
from her hands, that my heart sickened, and I lost colour when she left
the room: and yet, continued the corporal (making one of the strangest
reflections upon it in the <span class =
"locked">world)&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;“<i>It was not love</i>”&mdash;&mdash;for during the
three weeks she was almost constantly with me, fomenting my knee with
her hand, night and day&mdash;I&nbsp;can honestly say, an’ please your
honour&mdash;that
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </span>*
&emsp;once.</p>

<p>That was very odd, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>I think so too&mdash;said Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>.</p>

<p>It never did, said the corporal.</p>


<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXI" id = "bookVIII_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> ’tis no marvel,
continued the corporal&mdash;seeing my uncle <i>Toby</i> musing upon
it&mdash;for Love, an’ please your honour, is exactly like war, in this;
that a soldier, though he has escaped three weeks complete o’
<i>Saturday</i> night,&mdash;may nevertheless be shot through his heart
on <i>Sunday</i> morning&mdash;&mdash;<i>It happened so here</i>, an’
please your honour, with this difference only&mdash;that it was on
<i>Sunday</i> in the afternoon, when I fell in love all at once with a
sisserara&mdash;&mdash;It burst upon me, an’ please your honour, like a
bomb&mdash;&mdash;scarce giving me time to say, “God bless&nbsp;me.”</p>

<p>I thought, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, a man never fell
in love so very suddenly.</p>

<p>Yes, an’ please your honour, if he is in the way of
it&mdash;&mdash;replied <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>I prithee, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, inform me how this matter
happened.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;With all pleasure, said the corporal, making a bow.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I had</span> escaped, continued the
corporal, all that time from falling in love, and had gone on to the end
of the chapter, had it not been predestined otherwise&mdash;&mdash;there
is no resisting our fate.</p>

<p>It was on a <i>Sunday</i>, in the afternoon, as I told your
honour.</p>

<p>The old man and his wife had walked out&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page422" id = "page422">422</a></span>
<p>Everything was still and hush as midnight about the
house&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>There was not so much as a duck or a duckling about the
yard&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;When the fair <i>Beguine</i> came in to see me.</p>

<p>My wound was then in a fair way of doing well&mdash;&mdash;the
inflammation had been gone off for some time, but it was succeeded with
an itching both above and below my knee, so insufferable, that I had not
shut my eyes the whole night for&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>Let me see it, said she, kneeling down upon the ground parallel to my
knee, and laying her hand upon the part below it&mdash;&mdash;it only
wants rubbing a little, said the <i>Beguine</i>; so covering it with the
bed-clothes, she began with the forefinger of her right hand to rub
under my knee, guiding her forefinger backwards and forwards by the edge
of the <i>flannel</i> which kept on the dressing.</p>

<p>In five or six minutes I felt slightly the end of her second
finger&mdash;and presently it was laid flat with the other, and she
continued rubbing in that way round and round for a good while; it then
came into my head, that I should fall in love&mdash;I&nbsp;blush’d when
I saw how white a hand she had&mdash;I&nbsp;shall never<ins class =
"correction" title = "comma missing at line-end">,&nbsp;</ins>an’ please
your honour, behold another hand so white whilst I <span class =
"locked">live&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Not in that place; said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Though it was the most serious despair in nature to the
corporal&mdash;he could not forbear smiling.</p>

<p>The young <i>Beguine</i>, continued the corporal, perceiving it was
of great service to me&mdash;from rubbing for some time, with two
fingers&mdash;proceeded to rub at length, with three&mdash;till by
little and little she brought down the fourth, and then rubb’d with her
whole hand: I&nbsp;will never say another word, an’ please your honour,
upon hands again&mdash;but it was softer than <span class =
"locked">sattin&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Prithee, <i>Trim</i>, commend it as much as thou wilt,
said my uncle <i>Toby</i>; I&nbsp;shall hear thy story with the more
delight&mdash;&mdash;The corporal thank’d his master most unfeignedly;
but having nothing to say upon the <i>Beguine’s</i> hand but the same
over again&mdash;&mdash;he proceeded to the effects of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>The fair <i>Beguine</i>, said the corporal, continued rubbing with
her whole hand under my knee&mdash;till I fear’d her zeal would weary
her&mdash;&mdash;“I&nbsp;would do a thousand times more,” said she, “for
the love of Christ”&mdash;&mdash;In saying which, she pass’d her hand
across the flannel, to the part above my knee, which I had equally
complain’d of, and rubb’d it also.</p>

<p>I perceived, then, I was beginning to be in love&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page423" id = "page423">423</a></span>
<p>As she continued rub-rub-rubbing&mdash;I felt it spread from under
her hand, an’ please your honour, to every part of my <span class =
"locked">frame.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The more she rubb’d, and the longer strokes she took&mdash;&mdash;the
more the fire kindled in my veins&mdash;&mdash;till at length, by two or
three strokes longer than the rest&mdash;&mdash;my passion rose to the
highest pitch&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;seiz’d her <span class =
"locked">hand&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And then thou clapped’st it to thy lips, <i>Trim</i>,
said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;and madest a speech.</p>

<p>Whether the corporal’s amour terminated precisely in the way my uncle
<i>Toby</i> described it, is not material; it is enough that it
contained in it the essence of all the love romances which ever have
been wrote since the beginning of the world.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXIII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> soon as the corporal had finished
the story of his amour&mdash;or rather my uncle <i>Toby</i> for
him&mdash;Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> silently sallied forth from her arbour,
replaced the pin in her mob, pass’d the wicker-gate, and advanced slowly
towards my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> sentry-box: the disposition which
<i>Trim</i> had made in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> mind, was too favourable
a crisis to be let <span class =
"locked">slipp’d&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The attack was determin’d upon: it was facilitated
still more by my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> having ordered the corporal to
wheel off the pioneer’s shovel, the spade, the pick-axe, the picquets,
and other military stores which lay scatter’d upon the ground where
<i>Dunkirk</i> stood&mdash;the corporal had march’d&mdash;the field was
clear.</p>

<p>Now, consider, sir, what nonsense it is, either in fighting, or
writing, or anything else (whether in rhyme to it, or not) which a man
has occasion to do&mdash;to act by plan: for if ever Plan, independent
of all circumstances, deserved registering in letters of gold
(I&nbsp;mean in the archives of <i>Gotham</i>)&mdash;it was certainly
the <span class = "smallcaps">Plan</span> of Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> attack
of my uncle <i>Toby</i> in his sentry-box, <span class = "smallcaps">by
Plan</span>&mdash;&mdash;Now the plan hanging up in it at this juncture,
being the Plan of <i>Dunkirk</i>&mdash;and the tale of <i>Dunkirk</i> a
tale of relaxation, it opposed every impression she could make: and
besides, could she have gone upon it&mdash;the manœuvre of fingers and
hands in the attack of the sentry-box, was so outdone by that of the
fair <i>Beguine’s</i>, in <i>Trim’s</i> story&mdash;that just then, that
particular attack, however successful before&mdash;became the most
heartless attack that could be <span class =
"locked">made&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page424" id = "page424">424</a></span>
<p>O! let woman alone for this. Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had scarce open’d the
wicket-gate, when her genius sported with the change of
circumstances.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She formed a new attack in a moment.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXIV" id = "bookVIII_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;I am half distracted, captain <i>Shandy</i>, said Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i>, holding up her cambrick handkerchief to her left eye, as
she approach’d the door of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
sentry-box&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;mote&mdash;&mdash;or sand&mdash;&mdash;or
something&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know not what, has got into this eye of
mine&mdash;&mdash;do look into it&mdash;it is not in the <span class =
"locked">white&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In saying which, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> edged herself close in beside my
uncle <i>Toby</i>, and squeezing herself down upon the corner of his
bench, she gave him an opportunity of doing it without rising
up&mdash;&mdash;Do look into it&mdash;said she.</p>

<p>Honest soul! thou didst look into it with as much innocency of heart,
as ever child look’d into a raree-shew-box; and ’twere as much a sin to
have hurt thee.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;If a man will be peeping of his own accord into things
of that nature&mdash;&mdash;I’ve nothing to say to <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> never did: and I will answer for him, that he
would have sat quietly upon a sofa from <i>June</i> to <i>January</i>
(which, you know, takes in both the hot and cold months), with an eye as
fine as the <i>Thracian</i><a class = "tag" name = "tag_8_4" id =
"tag_8_4" href = "#note_8_4">4</a> <i>Rodope’s</i> beside him, without
being able to tell, whether it was a black or blue one.</p>

<p>The difficulty was to get my uncle <i>Toby</i> to look at one at
all.</p>

<p>’Tis surmounted. And</p>

<p>I see him yonder with his pipe pendulous in his hand, and the ashes
falling out of it&mdash;looking&mdash;and looking&mdash;then rubbing his
eyes&mdash;and looking again, with twice the good-nature that ever
<i>Gallileo</i> look’d for a spot in the sun.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;In vain! for by all the powers which animate the
organ&mdash;&mdash;Widow <i>Wadman’s</i> left eye shines this moment as
lucid as her right&mdash;&mdash;there is neither mote, or sand, or dust,
or chaff, or speck, or particle of opake matter floating in
it&mdash;There is nothing, my dear paternal uncle! but one lambent
delicious fire, furtively shooting out from every part of it, in all
directions, into <span class = "locked">thine&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page425" id = "page425">425</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;If thou lookest, uncle <i>Toby</i>, in search of this
mote one moment longer&mdash;&mdash;thou art undone.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXV" id = "bookVIII_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">An</span> eye is for all the world exactly
like a cannon, in this respect; That it is not so much the eye or the
cannon, in themselves, as it is the carriage of the eye&mdash;&mdash;and
the carriage of the cannon, by which both the one and the other are
enabled to do so much execution. I&nbsp;don’t think the comparison a bad
one; However, as ’tis made and placed at the head of the chapter, as
much for use as ornament, all I desire in return is, that whenever I
speak of Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> eyes (except once in the next period),
that you keep it in your fancy.</p>

<p>I protest, Madam, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I can see nothing
whatever in your eye.</p>

<p>It is not in the white; said Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>: my uncle <i>Toby</i>
look’d with might and main into the <span class =
"locked">pupil&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now of all the eyes which ever were created&mdash;&mdash;from your
own, Madam, up to those of <i>Venus</i> herself, which certainly were as
venereal a pair of eyes as ever stood in a head&mdash;&mdash;there never
was an eye of them all, so fitted to rob my uncle <i>Toby</i> of his
repose, as the very eye, at which he was looking&mdash;&mdash;it was
not, Madam, a&nbsp;rolling eye&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;romping or a wanton
one&mdash;nor was it an eye sparkling&mdash;petulant or
imperious&mdash;of high claims and terrifying exactions, which would
have curdled at once that milk of human nature, of which my uncle
<i>Toby</i> was made up&mdash;&mdash;but ’twas an eye full of gentle
salutations&mdash;&mdash;and soft
responses&mdash;&mdash;speaking&mdash;&mdash;not like the trumpet stop
of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to, holds coarse
converse&mdash;&mdash;but whispering soft&mdash;&mdash;like the last low
accent of an expiring saint&mdash;&mdash;“How can you live comfortless,
captain <i>Shandy</i>, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head
on&mdash;&mdash;or trust your cares&nbsp;to?”</p>

<p>It was an eye&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But I shall be in love with it myself, if I say another word about
it.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It did my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> business.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page426" id = "page426">426</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXVI" id = "bookVIII_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> is nothing shews the character
of my father and my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in a more entertaining light,
than their different manner of deportment, under the same
accident&mdash;&mdash;for I call not love a misfortune, from a
persuasion, that a man’s heart is ever the better for
it&mdash;&mdash;Great God! what must my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> have been,
when ’twas all benignity without&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>My father, as appears from many of his papers, was very subject to
this passion, before he married&mdash;&mdash;but from a little subacid
kind of drollish impatience in his nature, whenever it befell him, he
would never submit to it like a christian; but would pish, and huff, and
bounce, and kick, and play the Devil, and write the bitterest
Philippicks against the eye that ever man wrote&mdash;&mdash;there is
one in verse upon somebody’s eye or other, that for two or three nights
together, had put him by his rest; which in his first transport of
resentment against it, he begins thus:</p>

<div class = "verse">
<p>“A Devil ’tis&mdash;&mdash;and mischief such doth work</p>
<p>As never yet did <i>Pagan</i>, <i>Jew</i>, or <i>Turk</i>.”<a class =
"tag" name = "tag_8_5" id = "tag_8_5" href = "#note_8_5">5</a></p>
</div>

<p>In short, during the whole paroxism, my father was all abuse and foul
language, approaching rather towards malediction&mdash;&mdash;only he
did not do it with as much method as <i>Ernulphus</i>&mdash;&mdash;he
was too impetuous; nor with <i>Ernulphus’s</i> policy&mdash;&mdash;for
tho’ my father, with the most intolerant spirit, would curse both this
and that, and every thing under heaven, which was either aiding or
abetting to his love&mdash;&mdash;yet never concluded his chapter of
curses upon it, without cursing himself in at the bargain, as one of the
most egregious fools and coxcombs, he would say, that ever was let loose
in the world.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i>, on the contrary, took it like a
lamb&mdash;&mdash;sat still and let the poison work in his veins without
resistance&mdash;&mdash;in the sharpest exacerbations of his wound (like
that on his groin) he never dropt one fretful or discontented
word&mdash;&mdash;he blamed neither heaven nor earth&mdash;&mdash;or
thought or spoke an injurious thing of any body, or any part of it; he
sat solitary and pensive with his pipe&mdash;&mdash;looking at his lame
leg&mdash;&mdash;then whiffing out a sentimental heigh ho! which mixing
with the smoke, incommoded no one mortal.</p>

<p>He took it like a lamb&mdash;&mdash;I say.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page427" id = "page427">427</a></span>
<p>In truth he had mistook it at first; for having taken a ride with my
father, that very morning, to save if possible a beautiful wood, which
the dean and chapter were hewing down to give to the poor;<a class =
"tag" name = "tag_8_6" id = "tag_8_6" href = "#note_8_6">6</a> which
said wood being in full view of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> house, and of
singular service to him in his description of the battle of
<i>Wynnendale</i>&mdash;by trotting on too hastily to save
it&mdash;&mdash;upon an uneasy saddle&mdash;&mdash;worse horse, &amp;c.
&amp;c.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. it had so happened, that the serous part of the
blood had got betwixt the two skins, in the nethermost part of my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;the first shootings of which (as&nbsp;my uncle
<i>Toby</i> had no experience of love) he had taken for a part of the
passion&mdash;till the blister breaking in the one case&mdash;and the
other remaining&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> was presently convinced, that
his wound was not a skin-deep wound&mdash;&mdash;but that it had gone to
his heart.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXVII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> world is ashamed of being
virtuous&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> knew little of the world; and
therefore when he felt he was in love with widow <i>Wadman</i>, he had
no conception that the thing was any more to be made a mystery of, than
if Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had given him a cut with a gap’d knife across his
finger: Had it been otherwise&mdash;&mdash;yet as he ever look’d upon
<i>Trim</i> as a humble friend; and saw fresh reasons every day of his
life, to treat him as such&mdash;&mdash;it would have made no variation
in the manner in which he informed him of the affair.</p>

<p>“I am in love, corporal!” quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXVIII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">In</span> love!&mdash;&mdash;said the
corporal&mdash;your honour was very well the day before yesterday, when
I was telling your honour the story of the King of
<i>Bohemia</i>&mdash;<i>Bohemia!</i> said my uncle <i>Toby</i>
-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;- musing a long time -&nbsp;-&nbsp;- What became of
that story, <i>Trim?</i></p>

<p>&mdash;We lost it, an’ please your honour, somehow betwixt
us&mdash;but your honour was as free from love then, as I
am&mdash;&mdash;’twas just whilst thou went’st off with the
wheel-barrow&mdash;&mdash;with Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;She has left a ball here&mdash;added my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;pointing to his <span class =
"locked">breast&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page428" id = "page428">428</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;She can no more, an’ please your honour, stand a siege,
than she can fly&mdash;cried the <span class =
"locked">corporal&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But as we are neighbours, <i>Trim</i>,&mdash;the best
way I think is to let her know it civilly first&mdash;quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Now if I might presume, said the corporal, to differ from your
honour&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;Why else do I talk to thee, <i>Trim?</i> said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, <span class = "locked">mildly&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;Then I would begin, an’ please your honour, with making a good
thundering attack upon her, in return&mdash;and telling her civilly
afterwards&mdash;for if she knows anything of your honour’s being in
love, before hand&mdash;&mdash;L&mdash;d help her!&mdash;she knows no
more at present of it, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;than
the child <span class = "locked">unborn&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Precious souls!&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had told it, with all its circumstances, to Mrs.
<i>Bridget</i> twenty-four hours before; and was at that very moment
sitting in council with her, touching some slight misgivings with regard
to the issue of the affairs, which the Devil, who never lies dead in a
ditch, had put into her head&mdash;before he would allow half time, to
get quietly through her <i>Te Deum</i>.</p>

<p>I am terribly afraid, said widow <i>Wadman</i>, in case I should
marry him, <i>Bridget</i>&mdash;that the poor captain will not enjoy his
health, with the monstrous wound upon his <span class =
"locked">groin&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It may not, Madam, be so very large, replied <i>Bridget</i>, as you
think&mdash;&mdash;and I believe, besides, added she&mdash;that ’tis
dried <span class = "locked">up&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I could like to know&mdash;merely for his sake, said
Mrs. <span class = "locked"><i>Wadman</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;We’ll know the long and the broad of it, in ten
days&mdash;answered Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, for whilst the captain is
paying his addresses to you&mdash;I’m confident Mr. <i>Trim</i> will be
for making love to me&mdash;and I’ll let him as much as he
will&mdash;added <i>Bridget</i>&mdash;to get it all out of <span class =
"locked">him&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The measures were taken at once&mdash;&mdash;and my uncle <i>Toby</i>
and the corporal went on with theirs.</p>

<p>Now, quoth the corporal, setting his left hand a-kimbo, and giving
such a flourish with his right, as just promised success&mdash;and no
more&mdash;&mdash;if your honour will give me leave to lay down the plan
of this <span class = "locked">attack&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Thou wilt please me by it, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, exceedingly&mdash;and as I foresee thou must act in it as
my <i>aid de camp</i>, here’s a crown, corporal, to begin with, to steep
thy commission.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page429" id = "page429">429</a></span>
<p>Then, an’ please your honour, said the corporal (making a bow first
for his commission)&mdash;we will begin with getting your honour’s laced
cloaths out of the great campaign-trunk, to be well air’d, and have the
blue and gold taken up at the sleeves&mdash;and I’ll put your white
ramallie-wig fresh into pipes&mdash;and send for a taylor, to have your
honour’s thin scarlet breeches <span class =
"locked">turn’d&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;I had better take the red plush ones, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;They will be too clumsy&mdash;said the
corporal.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXIX" id = "bookVIII_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;Thou wilt get a brush and a little chalk to my
sword&mdash;&mdash;’Twill be only in your honour’s way, replied
<i>Trim</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXX" id = "bookVIII_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">But</span> your honour’s two
razors shall be new set&mdash;and I will get my <i>Montero</i>-cap
furbish’d up, and put on poor lieutenant <i>Le Fever’s</i> regimental
coat, which your honour gave me to wear for his sake&mdash;and as soon
as your honour is clean shaved&mdash;and has got your clean shirt on,
with your blue and gold, or your fine scarlet&mdash;&mdash;sometimes one
and sometimes t’other&mdash;and everything is ready for the
attack&mdash;we’ll march up boldly, as if ’twas to the face of a
bastion; and whilst your honour engages Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> in the
parlour, to the right&mdash;&mdash;I’ll attack Mrs. <i>Bridget</i> in
the kitchen, to the left; and having seiz’d the pass, I’ll answer for
it, said the corporal, snapping his fingers over his head&mdash;that the
day is our own.</p>

<p>I wish I may but manage it right; said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;but
I declare, corporal, I&nbsp;had rather march up to the very edge of a
<span class = "locked">trench&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;A woman is quite a different thing&mdash;said the
corporal.</p>

<p>&mdash;I suppose so, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXXI" id = "bookVIII_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">If</span> anything in this world, which my
father said, could have provoked my uncle <i>Toby</i>, during the time
he was in love, it was the perverse use my father was always making of
an expression
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page430" id = "page430">430</a></span>
of <i>Hilarion</i> the hermit; who, in speaking of his abstinence, his
watchings, flagellations, and other instrumental parts of his
religion&mdash;would say&mdash;tho’ with more facetiousness than became
an hermit&mdash;“That they were the means he used, to make his
<i>ass</i> (meaning his body) leave off kicking.”</p>

<p>It pleased my father well; it was not only a laconick way of
expressing&mdash;&mdash;but of libelling, at the same time, the desires
and appetites of the lower part of us; so that for many years of my
father’s life, ’twas his constant mode of expression&mdash;he never used
the word <i>passions</i> once&mdash;but <i>ass</i> always instead of
them&mdash;&mdash;So that he might be said truly, to have been upon the
bones, or the back of his own ass, or else of some other man’s, during
all that time.</p>

<p>I must here observe to you the difference betwixt</p>

<p class = "indent">
My father’s ass</p>

<p class = "indent">
and my hobby-horse&mdash;in order to keep characters as separate as may
be, in our fancies as we go along.</p>

<p>For my hobby-horse, if you recollect a little, is no way a vicious
beast; he has scarce one hair or lineament of the ass about
him&mdash;&mdash;’Tis the sporting little filly-folly which carries you
out for the present hour&mdash;a&nbsp;maggot, a&nbsp;butterfly,
a&nbsp;picture, a&nbsp;fiddlestick&mdash;an uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
siege&mdash;or an <i>anything</i>, which a man makes a shift to get
a-stride on, to canter it away from the cares and solicitudes of
life&mdash;’Tis as useful a beast as is in the whole creation&mdash;nor
do I really see how the world would do without <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But for my father’s ass&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;oh! mount
him&mdash;mount him&mdash;mount him&mdash;(that’s three times, is it
not?)&mdash;mount him not:&mdash;’tis a beast concupiscent&mdash;and
foul befal the man, who does not hinder him from kicking.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXXII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Well</span>! dear brother <i>Toby</i>, said
my father, upon his first seeing him after he fell in love&mdash;and how
goes it with your <span class = "smallcaps">Asse</span>?</p>

<p>Now my uncle <i>Toby</i> thinking more of the <i>part</i> where he
had had the blister, than of <i>Hilarion’s</i> metaphor&mdash;and our
preconceptions having (you know) as great a power over the sounds of
words as the shapes of things, he had imagined, that my father, who was
not very ceremonious in his choice of words, had enquired after the part
by its proper name; so notwithstanding my mother, doctor <i>Slop</i>,
and Mr. <i>Yorick</i>, were sitting in the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page431" id = "page431">431</a></span>
parlour, he thought it rather civil to conform to the term my father had
made use of than not. When a man is hemm’d in by two indecorums, and
must commit one of ’em&mdash;I&nbsp;always observe&mdash;let him chuse
which he will, the world will blame him&mdash;so I should not be
astonished if it blames my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>My A&mdash;e, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, is much
better&mdash;brother <i>Shandy</i>&mdash;My father had formed great
expectations from his Asse in this onset; and would have brought him on
again; but doctor <i>Slop</i> setting up an intemperate laugh&mdash;and
my mother crying out L&mdash; bless us!&mdash;it drove my father’s Asse
off the field&mdash;and the laugh then becoming general&mdash;there was
no bringing him back to the charge, for some <span class =
"locked">time&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And so the discourse went on without him.</p>

<p>Everybody, said my mother, says you are in love, brother
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;and we hope it is true.</p>

<p>I am as much in love, sister, I believe, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, as any man usually is&mdash;&mdash;Humph! said my
father&mdash;&mdash;and when did you know it? quoth my <span class =
"locked">mother&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;When the blister broke; replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby’s</i> reply put my father into good temper&mdash;so
he charg’d o’ foot.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXXIII" id = "bookVIII_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> the ancients agree, brother
<i>Toby</i>, said my father, that there are two different and distinct
kinds of <i>love</i>, according to the different parts which are
affected by it&mdash;the Brain or Liver&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;think when a
man is in love, it behoves him a little to consider which of the two he
is fallen into.</p>

<p>What signifies it, brother <i>Shandy</i>, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, which of the two it is, provided it will but make a man
marry, and love his wife, and get a few children?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;A few children! cried my father, rising out of his
chair, and looking full in my mother’s face, as he forced his way
betwixt her’s and doctor <i>Slop’s</i>&mdash;a&nbsp;few children! cried
my father, repeating my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> words as he walk’d to and
<span class = "locked">fro&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Not, my dear brother <i>Toby</i>, cried my father,
recovering himself all at once, and coming close up to the back of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> chair&mdash;not that I should be sorry hadst thou a
score&mdash;on the contrary, I&nbsp;should rejoice&mdash;and be as kind,
<i>Toby</i>, to every one of them as a <span class =
"locked">father&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> stole his hand unperceived behind his chair, to
give my father’s a <span class =
"locked">squeeze&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page432" id = "page432">432</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;Nay, moreover, continued he, keeping hold of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> hand&mdash;so much dost thou possess, my dear <i>Toby</i>,
of the milk of human nature, and so little of its asperities&mdash;’tis
piteous the world is not peopled by creatures which resemble thee; and
was I an <i>Asiatic</i> monarch, added my father, heating himself with
his new project&mdash;I&nbsp;would oblige thee, provided it would not
impair thy strength&mdash;or dry up thy radical moisture too
fast&mdash;or weaken thy memory or fancy, brother <i>Toby</i>, which
these gymnics inordinately taken are apt to do&mdash;else, dear
<i>Toby</i>, I&nbsp;would procure thee the most beautiful women in my
empire, and I would oblige thee, <i>nolens, volens</i>, to beget for me
one subject every <span class =
"locked"><i>month</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As my father pronounced the last word of the sentence&mdash;my mother
took a pinch of snuff.</p>

<p>Now I would not, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, get a child, <i>nolens,
volens</i>, that is, whether I would or no, to please the greatest
prince upon <span class = "locked">earth&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And ’twould be cruel in me, brother <i>Toby</i>, to
compel thee; said my father&mdash;but ’tis a case put to show thee, that
it is not thy begetting a child&mdash;in case thou should’st be
able&mdash;but the system of Love and Marriage thou goest upon, which I
would set thee right <span class = "locked">in&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>There is at least, said <i>Yorick</i>, a great deal of reason and
plain sense in captain <i>Shandy’s</i> opinion of love; and ’tis amongst
the ill-spent hours of my life, which I have to answer for, that I have
read so many flourishing poets and rhetoricians in my time, from whom I
never could extract so <span class =
"locked">much&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I wish, <i>Yorick</i>, said my father, you had read <i>Plato</i>; for
there you would have learnt that there are two <span class =
"smallcaps">Loves</span>&mdash;I&nbsp;know there were two <span class =
"smallcaps">Religions</span>, replied <i>Yorick</i>, amongst the
ancients&mdash;&mdash;one&mdash;for the vulgar, and another for the
learned;&mdash;but I think <span class = "smallcaps">one Love</span>
might have served both of them very <span class =
"locked">well&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It could not; replied my father&mdash;and for the same reasons: for
of these Loves, according to <i>Ficinus’s</i> comment upon
<i>Velasius</i>, the one is <span class =
"locked">rational&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;the other is <i>natural</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>the first ancient&mdash;&mdash;without mother&mdash;&mdash;where
<i>Venus</i> had nothing to do: the second, begotten of <i>Jupiter</i>
and <span class = "locked"><i>Dione</i>&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Pray, brother, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, what has a
man who believes in God to do with this? My father could not stop to
answer, for fear of breaking the thread of his <span class =
"locked">discourse&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>This latter, continued he, partakes wholly of the nature of
<i>Venus</i>.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page433" id = "page433">433</a></span>
<p>The first, which is the golden chain let down from heaven, excites to
love heroic, which comprehends in it, and excites to the desire of
philosophy and truth&mdash;&mdash;the second, excites to <i>desire</i>,
<span class = "locked">simply&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I think the procreation of children as beneficial to
the world, said <i>Yorick</i>, as the finding out of the <span class =
"locked">longitude&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;To be sure, said my mother, <i>love</i> keeps peace in
the <span class = "locked">world&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;In the <i>house</i>&mdash;my dear, I own&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It replenishes the earth; said my
mother&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But it keeps heaven empty&mdash;my dear; replied my father.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis Virginity, cried <i>Slop</i>, triumphantly, which
fills paradise.</p>

<p>Well push’d, nun! quoth my father.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXXIV" id = "bookVIII_chapXXXIV">
CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> father had such a skirmishing,
cutting kind of a slashing way with him, in his disputations, thrusting
and ripping, and giving every one a stroke to remember him by in his
turn&mdash;that if there were twenty people in company&mdash;in less
than half an hour he was sure to have every one of ’em against him.</p>

<p>What did not a little contribute to leave him thus without an ally,
was, that if there was any one post more untenable than the rest, he
would be sure to throw himself into it; and to do him justice, when he
was once there, he would defend it so gallantly, that ’twould have been
a concern, either to a brave man or a good-natured one, to have seen him
driven out.</p>

<p><i>Yorick</i>, for this reason, though he would often attack
him&mdash;yet could never bear to do it with all his force.</p>

<p>Doctor <i>Slop’s</i> <span class = "smallcaps">Virginity</span>, in
the close of the last chapter, had got him for once on the right side of
the rampart; and he was beginning to blow up all the convents in
<i>Christendom</i> about <i>Slop’s</i> ears, when corporal <i>Trim</i>
came into the parlour to inform my uncle <i>Toby</i>, that his thin
scarlet breeches, in which the attack was to be made upon Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i>, would not do; for that the taylor, in ripping them up, in
order to turn them, had found they had been turn’d
before&mdash;&mdash;Then turn them again, brother, said my father,
rapidly, for there will be many a turning of ’em yet before all’s done
in the affair&mdash;&mdash;They are as rotten as dirt, said the
corporal&mdash;&mdash;Then by all means, said my father, bespeak a new
pair, brother&mdash;&mdash;for though I know, continued
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page434" id = "page434">434</a></span>
my father, turning himself to the company, that widow <i>Wadman</i> has
been deeply in love with my brother <i>Toby</i> for many years, and has
used every art and circumvention of woman to outwit him into the same
passion, yet now that she has caught him&mdash;&mdash;her fever will be
pass’d its <span class = "locked">height&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She has gain’d her point.</p>

<p>In this case, continued my father, which <i>Plato</i>, I am
persuaded<ins class = "correction" title = "comma missing at line-end">,
</ins>never thought of&mdash;&mdash;Love, you see, is not so much a
<span class = "smallcaps">Sentiment</span> as a <span class =
"smallcaps">Situation</span>, into which a man enters, as my brother
<i>Toby</i> would do, into a <i>corps</i>&mdash;&mdash;no matter whether
he loves the service or no&mdash;&mdash;being once in it&mdash;he acts
as if he did; and takes every step to shew himself a man of
prowesse.</p>

<p>The hypothesis, like the rest of my father’s, was plausible enough,
and my uncle <i>Toby</i> had but a single word to object to it&mdash;in
which <i>Trim</i> stood ready to second him&mdash;&mdash;but my father
had not drawn his <span class =
"locked">conclusion&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>For this reason, continued my father (stating the case over
again)&mdash;notwithstanding all the world knows, that Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i> <i>affects</i> my brother <i>Toby</i>&mdash;and my brother
<i>Toby</i> contrariwise <i>affects</i> Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, and no
obstacle in nature to forbid the music striking up this very night, yet
will I answer for it, that this self-same tune will not be play’d this
twelvemonth.</p>

<p>We have taken our measures badly, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking
up interrogatively in <i>Trim’s</i> face.</p>

<p>I would lay my <i>Montero</i>-cap, said <i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;Now
<i>Trim’s</i> <i>Montero</i>-cap, as I once told you, was his constant
wager; and having furbish’d it up that very night, in order to go upon
the attack&mdash;it made the odds look more
considerable&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would lay, an’ please your honour, my
<i>Montero</i>-cap to a shilling&mdash;was it proper, continued
<i>Trim</i> (making a bow), to offer a wager before your <span class =
"locked">honours&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;There is nothing improper in it, said my
father&mdash;’tis a mode of expression; for in saying thou would’st lay
thy <i>Montero</i>-cap to a shilling&mdash;all thou meanest is
this&mdash;that thou <span class = "locked">believest&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now, What do’st thou believe?</p>

<p>That widow <i>Wadman</i>, an’ please your worship, cannot hold it out
ten <span class = "locked">days&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And whence, cried <i>Slop</i>, jeeringly, hast thou all this
knowledge of woman, friend?</p>

<p>By falling in love with a popish clergywoman; said <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>’Twas a <i>Beguine</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Doctor <i>Slop</i> was too much in wrath to listen to the
distinction; and my father taking that very crisis to fall in
helter-skelter
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page435" id = "page435">435</a></span>
upon the whole order of Nuns and <i>Beguines</i>, a set of silly, fusty,
baggages&mdash;&mdash;<i>Slop</i> could not stand it&mdash;&mdash;and my
uncle <i>Toby</i> having some measures to take about his
breeches&mdash;and <i>Yorick</i> about his fourth general
division&mdash;in order for their several attacks next day&mdash;the
company broke up: and my father being left alone, and having half an
hour upon his hands betwixt that and bed-time; he called for pen, ink,
and paper, and wrote my uncle <i>Toby</i> the following letter of
instructions:</p>

<p class = "space">
<span class = "smallcaps">My dear brother</span> <i>Toby</i>,</p>

<p><span class = "firstword">What</span> I am going to say to thee is
upon the nature of women, and of love-making to them; and perhaps it is
as well for thee&mdash;tho’ not so well for me&mdash;that thou hast
occasion for a letter of instructions upon that head, and that I am able
to write it to thee.</p>

<p>Had it been the good pleasure of him who disposes of our
lots&mdash;and thou no sufferer by the knowledge, I&nbsp;had been well
content that thou should’st have dipp’d the pen this moment into the
ink, instead of myself; but that not being the
case&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Mrs. <i>Shandy</i> being
now close beside me, preparing for bed&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have thrown
together without order, and just as they have come into my mind, such
hints and documents as I deem may be of use to thee; intending, in this,
to give thee a token of my love; not doubting, my dear <i>Toby</i>, of
the manner in which it will be accepted.</p>

<p>In the first place, with regard to all which concerns religion in the
affair&mdash;&mdash;though I perceive from a glow in my cheek, that I
blush as I begin to speak to thee upon the subject, as well knowing,
notwithstanding thy unaffected secrecy, how few of its offices thou
neglectest&mdash;yet I would remind thee of one (during the continuance
of thy courtship) in a particular manner, which I would not have
omitted; and that is, never to go forth upon the enterprize, whether it
be in the morning or the afternoon, without first recommending thyself
to the protection of Almighty God, that he may defend thee from the evil
one.</p>

<p>Shave the whole top of thy crown clean once at least every four or
five days, but oftener if convenient; lest in taking off thy wig before
her, thro’ absence of mind, she should be able to discover how much has
been cut away by Time&mdash;&mdash;how much by <i>Trim</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;’Twere better to keep ideas of baldness out of her fancy.</p>

<p>Always carry it in thy mind, and act upon it as a sure maxim,
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page436" id = "page436">436</a></span>
<p>“<i>That women are timid:</i>” And ’tis well they
are&mdash;&mdash;else there would be no dealing with them.</p>

<p>Let not thy breeches be too tight, or hang too loose about thy
thighs, like the trunk-hose of our ancestors.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;A just medium prevents all conclusions.</p>

<p>Whatever thou hast to say, be it more or less, forget not to utter it
in a low soft tone of voice. Silence, and whatever approaches it, weaves
dreams of midnight secrecy into the brain: For this cause, if thou canst
help it, never throw down the tongs and poker.</p>

<p>Avoid all kinds of pleasantry and facetiousness in thy discourse with
her, and do whatever lies in thy power at the same time, to keep from
her all books and writings which tend thereto: there are some devotional
tracts, which if thou canst entice her to read over&mdash;it will be
well: but suffer her not to look into <i>Rabelais</i>, or
<i>Scarron</i>, or <i>Don Quixote</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They are all books which excite laughter; and thou
knowest, dear <i>Toby</i>, that there is no passion so serious as
lust.</p>

<p>Stick a pin in the bosom of thy shirt, before thou enterest her
parlour.</p>

<p>And if thou art permitted to sit upon the same sopha with her, and
she gives thee occasion to lay thy hand upon hers&mdash;beware of taking
it&mdash;&mdash;thou canst not lay thy hand on hers, but she will feel
the temper of thine. Leave that and as many other things as thou canst,
quite undetermined; by so doing, thou wilt have her curiosity on thy
side; and if she is not conquered by that, and thy <span class =
"smallcaps">Asse</span> continues still kicking, which there is great
reason to suppose&mdash;&mdash;Thou must begin, with first losing a few
ounces of blood below the ears, according to the practice of the ancient
<i>Scythians</i>, who cured the most intemperate fits of the appetite by
that means.</p>

<p><i>Avicenna</i>, after this, is for having the part anointed with the
syrup of hellebore, using proper evacuations and purges&mdash;&mdash;and
I believe rightly. But thou must eat little or no goat’s flesh, nor red
deer&mdash;&mdash;nor even foal’s flesh by any means; and carefully
abstain&mdash;&mdash;that is, as much as thou canst, from peacocks,
cranes, coots, didappers, and <span class =
"locked">water-hens&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As for thy drink&mdash;I need not tell thee, it must be the infusion
of <span class = "smallcaps">Vervain</span> and the herb <span class =
"smallcaps">Hanea</span>, of which <i>Ælian</i> relates such
effects&mdash;but if thy stomach palls with it&mdash;discontinue it from
time to time, taking cucumbers, melons, purslane, water-lillies,
woodbine, and lettice, in the stead of them.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page437" id = "page437">437</a></span>
<p>There is nothing further for thee, which occurs to me at
present&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Unless the breaking out of a fresh war&mdash;&mdash;So
wishing everything, dear <i>Toby</i>, for the best,</p>

<p>I rest thy affectionate brother,</p>

<p class = "right smallcaps">
Walter Shandy</p>




<h4><a name = "bookVIII_chapXXXV" id = "bookVIII_chapXXXV">
CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Whilst</span> my father was writing his
letter of instructions, my uncle <i>Toby</i> and the corporal were busy
in preparing everything for the attack. As the turning of the thin
scarlet breeches was laid aside (at&nbsp;least for the present), there
was nothing which should put it off beyond the next morning; so
accordingly it was resolved upon, for eleven o’clock.</p>

<p>Come, my dear, said my father to my mother&mdash;’twill be but like a
brother and sister, if you and I take a walk down to my brother
<i>Toby’s</i>&mdash;&mdash;to countenance him in this attack of his.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> and the corporal had been accoutred both some
time, when my father and mother enter’d, and the clock striking eleven,
were that moment in motion to sally forth&mdash;but the account of this
is worth more than to be wove into the fag end of the eighth<a class =
"tag" name = "tag_8_7" id = "tag_8_7" href = "#note_8_7">7</a> volume of
such a work as this.&mdash;&mdash;My father had no time but to put the
letter of instructions into my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
coat-pocket&mdash;&mdash;and join with my mother in wishing his attack
prosperous.</p>

<p>I could like, said my mother, to look through the key-hole out of
curiosity&mdash;&mdash;Call it by its right name, my dear, quoth my
<span class = "locked">father&mdash;</span></p>

<p><i>And look through the key-hole</i> as long as you will.</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_8_1" id = "note_8_1" href = "#tag_8_1">1.</a>
Vid. <a href = "#page347">pp. 347-348</a>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_2" id = "note_8_2" href = "#tag_8_2">2.</a>
Vid. <i>Pope’s</i> Portrait.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_3" id = "note_8_3" href = "#tag_8_3">3.</a>
Alluding to the first edition.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_4" id = "note_8_4" href = "#tag_8_4">4.</a>
<i>Rodope Thracia</i> tam inevitabili fascino instructa, tam exactè
oculus intuens attraxit, ut si in illam quis incidisset, fieri non
posset, quin caperetur.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know not who.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_5" id = "note_8_5" href = "#tag_8_5">5.</a>
This will be printed with my father’s Life of <i>Socrates</i>, &amp;c.
&amp;c.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_6" id = "note_8_6" href = "#tag_8_6">6.</a>
Mr. <i>Shandy</i> must mean the poor <i>in spirit</i>; inasmuch as they
divided the money amongst themselves.</p>

<p><a name = "note_8_7" id = "note_8_7" href = "#tag_8_7">7.</a>
Alluding to the first edition.</p>

</div>


<div class = "page">

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page438" id = "page438">438</a></span>

</div>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page439" id = "page439">439</a></span>

<h2><a name = "bookIX_title" id = "bookIX_title">
<span class = "small">THE LIFE AND OPINIONS</span></a><br />
<span class = "tiny">OF</span><br />
<span class = "extended">TRISTRAM SHANDY</span><br />
<span class = "smaller">GENTLEMAN</span></h2>

<div class = "heading">
<p>Non enim excursus hic ejus, sed opus ipsum est.</p>
<p class = "right"><span class = "smallcaps">Plin.</span> Lib. v. Epist.
6.</p>

<p class = "deephang">
Si quid urbaniusculè lusum a nobis, per Musas et Charitas et omnium
poëtarum Numina, Oro te, ne me malè capias.</p>

</div>

<div class = "page">

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page440" id = "page440">440</a></span>

<h3><a name = "bookIX_dedic" id = "bookIX_dedic">A DEDICATION</a><br />
<span class = "small extended">TO A GREAT MAN</span></h3>

<p><span class = "firstword">Having</span>, <i>a priori</i>, intended to
dedicate <i>The Amours of my Uncle Toby</i> to Mr.
***&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;see more reasons, <i>a&nbsp;posteriori</i>, for
doing it <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads ‘too’">to</ins>
Lord *******.</p>

<p class = "space">
I should lament from my soul, if this exposed me to the jealousy of
their Reverences; because <i>a&nbsp;posteriori</i>, in Court-latin,
signifies the kissing hands for preferment&mdash;or anything
else&mdash;in order to get&nbsp;it.</p>

<p class = "space">
My opinion of Lord ******* is neither better nor worse, than it was of
Mr. ***. Honours, like impressions upon coin, may give an ideal and
local value to a bit of base metal; but Gold and Silver will pass all
the world over without any other recommendation than their own
weight.</p>

<p class = "space">
The same good-will that made me think of offering up half an hour’s
amusement to Mr. *** when out of place&mdash;operates more forcibly at
present, as half an hour’s amusement will be more serviceable and
refreshing after labour and sorrow, than after a philosophical
repast.</p>

<p class = "space">
Nothing is so perfectly <i>amusement</i> as a total change of ideas; no
ideas are so totally different as those of Ministers, and innocent
Lovers: for which reason, when I come to talk of Statesmen and Patriots,
and set such marks upon them as will prevent confusion and mistakes
concerning them for the future&mdash;I&nbsp;propose to dedicate that
Volume to some gentle Shepherd,</p>

<div class = "verse">
<p>Whose thoughts proud Science never taught to stray,</p>
<p>Far as the Statesman’s walk or Patriot-way;</p>
<p>Yet <i>simple Nature</i> to his hopes had given</p>
<p>Out of a cloud-capp’d head a humbler heaven;</p>
<p>Some <i>untam’d</i> World in depths of wood embraced&mdash;</p>
<p>Some happier Island in the watry-waste&mdash;</p>
<p>And where admitted to that equal sky,</p>
<p>His <i>faithful Dog</i> should bear him company.</p>
</div>

<p class = "space">
In a word, by thus introducing an entire new set of objects to his
Imagination, I&nbsp;shall unavoidably give a <i>Diversion</i> to his
passionate and love-sick Contemplations. In the meantime,</p>

<p class = "center">
I am</p>

<p class = "right">
THE AUTHOR.</p>

</div>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page441" id = "page441">441</a></span>
<h3><a name = "bookIX" id = "bookIX">BOOK IX</a></h3>


<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapI" id = "bookIX_chapI">
CHAPTER I</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">I call</span> all the powers of time and
chance, which severally check us in our careers in this world, to bear
me witness, that I could never yet get fairly to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
amours, till this very moment, that my mother’s <i>curiosity</i>, as she
stated the affair,&mdash;&mdash;or a different impulse in her, as my
father would have it&mdash;&mdash;wished her to take a peep at them
through the key-hole.</p>

<p>“Call it, my dear, by its right name, quoth my father, and look
through the key-hole as long as you will.”</p>

<p>Nothing but the fermentation of that little subacid humour, which I
have often spoken of, in my father’s habit, could have vented such an
insinuation&mdash;&mdash;he was however frank and generous in his
nature, and at all times open to conviction; so that he had scarce got
to the last word of this ungracious retort, when his conscience smote
him.</p>

<p>My mother was then conjugally swinging with her left arm twisted
under his right, in such wise, that the inside of her hand rested upon
the back of his&mdash;she raised her fingers, and let them fall&mdash;it
could scarce be call’d a tap; or if it was a tap&mdash;&mdash;’twould
have puzzled a casuist to say, whether ’twas a tap of remonstrance, or a
tap of confession: my father, who was all sensibilities from head to
foot, class’d it right&mdash;Conscience redoubled her blow&mdash;he
turn’d his face suddenly the other way, and my mother supposing his body
was about to turn with it in order to move homewards, by a cross
movement of her right leg, keeping her left as its centre, brought
herself so far in front, that as he turned his head, he met her
eye&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Confusion again! he saw a thousand reasons to
wipe out the reproach, and as many to reproach
himself&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;thin, blue, chill, pellucid chrystal with
all its humours so at rest, the least mote or speck of desire might have
been seen, at the bottom of it, had it existed&mdash;&mdash;it did
not&mdash;&mdash;and how I happen to be so lewd myself, particularly a
little before the vernal and autumnal equinoxes&mdash;&mdash;Heaven
above knows&mdash;&mdash;My mother&mdash;&mdash;madam&mdash;&mdash;was
so at no time, either by nature, by institution, or example.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page442" id = "page442">442</a></span>
<p>A temperate current of blood ran orderly through her veins in all
months of the year, and in all critical moments both of the day and
night alike; nor did she superinduce the least heat into her humours
from the manual effervescencies of devotional tracts, which having
little or no meaning in them, nature is oft-times obliged to find
one&mdash;&mdash;And as for my father’s example! ’twas so far from being
either aiding or abetting thereunto, that ’twas the whole business of
his life to keep all fancies of that kind out of her
head&mdash;&mdash;Nature had done her part, to have spared him this
trouble; and what was not a little inconsistent, my father knew
it&mdash;&mdash;And here am I sitting, this 12th day of <i>August</i>
1766, in a purple jerkin and yellow pair of slippers, without either wig
or cap on, a&nbsp;most tragicomical completion of his prediction, “That
I should neither think, nor act like any other man’s child, upon that
very account.”</p>

<p>The mistake in my father, was in attacking my mother’s motive,
instead of the act itself; for certainly key-holes were made for other
purposes; and considering the act, as an act which interfered with a
true proposition, and denied a key-hole to be what it
was&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;it became a violation of nature; and was so far,
you see, criminal.</p>

<p>It is for this reason, an’ please your Reverences, That key-holes are
the occasions of more sin and wickedness, than all other holes in this
world put together.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;which leads me to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i>
amours.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapII" id = "bookIX_chapII">
CHAPTER II</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Though</span> the corporal had been as good
as his word in putting my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> great ramallie-wig into
pipes, yet the time was too short to produce any great effects from it:
it had lain many years squeezed up in the corner of his old campaign
trunk; and as bad forms are not so easy to be got the better of, and the
use of candle-ends not so well understood, it was not so pliable a
business as one would have wished. The corporal with cheary eye and both
arms extended, had fallen back perpendicular from it a score times, to
inspire it, if possible, with a better air&mdash;&mdash;had <span class
= "smallroman">SPLEEN</span> given a look at it, ’twould have cost her
ladyship a smile&mdash;&mdash;it curl’d everywhere but where the
corporal would have it; and where a buckle or two, in his opinion, would
have done it honour, he could as soon have raised the dead.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page443" id = "page443">443</a></span>
<p>Such it was&mdash;&mdash;or rather such would it have seem’d upon any
other brow; but the sweet look of goodness which sat upon my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i>, assimilated everything around it so sovereignly to
itself, and Nature had moreover wrote <span class =
"smallcaps">Gentleman</span> with so fair a hand in every line of his
countenance, that even his tarnish’d gold-laced hat and huge cockade of
flimsy taffeta became him; and though not worth a button in themselves,
yet the moment my uncle <i>Toby</i> put them on, they became serious
objects, and altogether seem’d to have been picked up by the hand of
Science to set him off to advantage.</p>

<p>Nothing in this world could have co-operated more powerfully towards
this, than my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> blue and gold&mdash;&mdash;<i>had not
Quantity in some measure been necessary to Grace</i>: in a period of
fifteen or sixteen years since they had been made, by a total inactivity
in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> life, for he seldom went further than the
bowling-green&mdash;his blue and gold had become so miserably too strait
for him, that it was with the utmost difficulty the corporal was able to
get him into them; the taking them up at the sleeves, was of no
advantage.&mdash;&mdash;They were laced however down the back, and at
the seams of the sides, &amp;c., in the mode of King <i>William’s</i>
reign; and to shorten all description, they shone so bright against the
sun that morning, and had so metallick and doughty an air with them,
that had my uncle <i>Toby</i> thought of attacking in armour, nothing
could have so well imposed upon his imagination.</p>

<p>As for the thin scarlet breeches, they had been unripp’d by the
taylor between the legs, and left at <i>sixes and
sevens</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Yes, Madam,&mdash;&mdash;but let us govern our fancies.
It is enough they were held impracticable the night before, and as there
was no alternative in my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wardrobe, he sallied forth
in the red plush.</p>

<p>The corporal had array’d himself in poor <i>Le Fever’s</i> regimental
coat; and with his hair tuck’d up under his <i>Montero</i>-cap, which he
had furbish’d up for the occasion, march’d three paces distant from his
master: a&nbsp;whiff of military pride had puff’d out his shirt at the
wrist; and upon that in a black leather thong clipp’d into a tassel
beyond the knot, hung the corporal’s stick&mdash;&mdash;My uncle
<i>Toby</i> carried his cane like a pike.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It looks well at least; quoth my father to himself.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page444" id = "page444">444</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapIII" id = "bookIX_chapIII">
CHAPTER III</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i> turn’d his head
more than once behind him, to see how he was supported by the corporal;
and the corporal as oft as he did it, gave a slight flourish with his
stick&mdash;but not vapouringly; and with the sweetest accent of most
respectful encouragement, bid his honour “never fear.”</p>

<p>Now my uncle <i>Toby</i> did fear; and grievously too; he knew not
(as&nbsp;my father had reproach’d him) so much as the right end of a
Woman from the wrong, and therefore was never altogether at his ease
near any one of them&mdash;&mdash;unless in sorrow or distress; then
infinite was his pity; nor would the most courteous knight of romance
have gone further, at least upon one leg, to have wiped away a tear from
a woman’s eye; and yet excepting once that he was beguiled into it by
Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, he had never looked stedfastly into one; and would
often tell my father in the simplicity of his heart, that it was almost
(if&nbsp;not about) as bad as talking <span class =
"locked">bawdy.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And suppose it is? my father would say.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapIV" id = "bookIX_chapIV">
CHAPTER IV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">She</span> cannot, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, halting, when they had march’d up to within twenty paces of
Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> door&mdash;she cannot, corporal, take it <span
class = "locked">amiss.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She will take it, an’ please your honour, said the
corporal, just as the <i>Jew’s</i> widow at <i>Lisbon</i> took it of my
brother <span class = "locked"><i>Tom</i>.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And how was that? quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, facing
quite about to the corporal.</p>

<p>Your honour, replied the corporal, knows of <i>Tom’s</i> misfortunes;
but this affair has nothing to do with them any further than this, That
if <i>Tom</i> had not married the widow&mdash;&mdash;or had it pleased
God after their marriage, that they had but put pork into their
sausages, the honest soul had never been taken out of his warm bed, and
dragg’d to the inquisition&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a cursed place&mdash;added
the corporal, shaking his head,&mdash;when once a poor creature is in,
he is in, an’ please your honour, for ever.</p>

<p>’Tis very true; said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, looking gravely at Mrs.
<i>Wadman’s</i> house, as he spoke.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page445" id = "page445">445</a></span>
<p>Nothing, continued the corporal, can be so sad as confinement for
life&mdash;or so sweet, an’ please your honour, as liberty.</p>

<p>Nothing, <i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
musing&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Whilst a man is free,&mdash;cried the corporal, giving a flourish
with his stick <span class = "locked">thus&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/pg445.png" width = "365" height = "333"
alt = "flourish" /></p>

<p>A thousand of my father’s most subtle syllogisms could not have said
more for celibacy.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> look’d earnestly towards his cottage and his
bowling-green.</p>

<p>The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with
his wand; and he had nothing to do, but to conjure him down again with
his story, and in this form of Exorcism, most un-ecclesiastically did
the corporal do&nbsp;it.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapV" id = "bookIX_chapV">
CHAPTER V</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> <i>Tom’s</i> place, an’ please
your honour, was easy&mdash;and the weather warm&mdash;it put him upon
thinking seriously of settling himself in the world; and as it fell out
about that time, that a <i>Jew</i> who kept a sausage shop in the same
street, had the ill luck to die of a strangury, and leave his widow in
possession of a rousing trade&mdash;&mdash;<i>Tom</i> thought
(as&nbsp;everybody in <i>Lisbon</i> was doing the best he could devise
for himself) there could be no
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page446" id = "page446">446</a></span>
harm in offering her his service to carry it on: so without any
introduction to the widow, except that of buying a pound of sausages at
her shop&mdash;<i>Tom</i> set out&mdash;counting the matter thus within
himself, as he walk’d along; that let the worst come of it that could,
he should at least get a pound of sausages for their worth&mdash;but, if
things went well, he should be set up; inasmuch as he should get not
only a pound of sausages&mdash;but a wife and&mdash;a&nbsp;sausage shop,
an’ please your honour, into the bargain.</p>

<p>Every servant in the family, from high to low, wish’d <i>Tom</i>
success; and I can fancy, an’ please your honour, I&nbsp;see him this
moment with his white dimity waistcoat and breeches, and hat a little o’
one side, passing jollily along the street, swinging his stick, with a
smile and a chearful word for everybody he met:&mdash;&mdash;But alas!
<i>Tom!</i> thou smilest no more, cried the corporal, looking on one
side of him upon the ground, as if he apostrophised him in his
dungeon.</p>

<p>Poor fellow! said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, feelingly.</p>

<p>He was an honest, light-hearted lad, an’ please your honour, as ever
blood <span class = "locked">warm’d&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Then he resembled thee, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, rapidly.</p>

<p>The corporal blush’d down to his fingers ends&mdash;a tear of
sentimental bashfulness&mdash;another of gratitude to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;and a tear of sorrow for his brother’s misfortunes,
started into his eye, and ran sweetly down his cheek together; my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> kindled as one lamp does at another; and taking hold of
the breast of <i>Trim’s</i> coat (which had been that of <i>Le
Fever’s</i>) as if to ease his lame leg, but in reality to gratify a
finer feeling&mdash;&mdash;he stood silent for a minute and a half; at
the end of which he took his hand away, and the corporal making a bow,
went on with his story of his brother and the <i>Jew’s</i> widow.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapVI" id = "bookIX_chapVI">
CHAPTER VI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> <i>Tom</i>, an’ please your
honour, got to the shop, there was nobody in it, but a poor negro girl,
with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the end of a long cane,
flapping away flies&mdash;not killing them.&mdash;&mdash;’Tis a pretty
picture! said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;she had suffered persecution,
<i>Trim</i>, and had learnt <span class =
"locked">mercy&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;She was good, an’ please your honour, from nature, as
well as from hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that
poor friendless slut, that would melt a heart of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page447" id = "page447">447</a></span>
stone, said <i>Trim</i>; and some dismal winter’s evening, when your
honour is in the humour, they shall be told you with the rest of
<i>Tom’s</i> story, for it makes a part of <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Then do not forget, <i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>A negro has a soul? an’ please your honour, said the corporal
(doubtingly).</p>

<p>I am not much versed, corporal, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in things
of that kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any
more than thee or <span class = "locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It would be putting one sadly over the head of another,
quoth the corporal.</p>

<p>It would so; said my uncle <i>Toby</i>. Why then, an’ please your
honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one?</p>

<p>I can give no reason, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she
has no one to stand up for <span class =
"locked">her&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;’Tis that very thing, <i>Trim</i>, quoth my uncle
<i>Toby</i>,&mdash;&mdash;which recommends her to
protection&mdash;&mdash;and her brethren with her; ’tis the fortune of
war which has put the whip into our hands <i>now</i>&mdash;&mdash;where
it may be hereafter, heaven knows!&mdash;&mdash;but be it where it will,
the brave, <i>Trim!</i> will not use it unkindly.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;God forbid, said the corporal.</p>

<p>Amen, responded my uncle <i>Toby</i>, laying his hand upon his
heart.</p>

<p>The corporal returned to his story, and went on&mdash;&mdash;but with
an embarrassment in doing it, which here and there a reader in this
world will not be able to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions
all along, from one kind and cordial passion to another, in getting thus
far on his way, he had lost the sportable key of his voice, which gave
sense and spirit to his tale: he attempted twice to resume it, but could
not please himself; so giving a stout hem! to rally back the retreating
spirits, and aiding nature at the same time with his left arm a-kimbo on
one side, and with his right a little extended, supporting her on the
other&mdash;the corporal got as near the note as he could; and in that
attitude, continued his story.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapVII" id = "bookIX_chapVII">
CHAPTER VII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> <i>Tom</i>, an’ please your
honour, had no business at that time with the <i>Moorish</i> girl, he
passed on into the room beyond, to talk to the <i>Jew’s</i> widow about
love&mdash;&mdash;and this pound of
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page448" id = "page448">448</a></span>
sausages; and being, as I have told your honour, an open cheary-hearted
lad, with his character wrote in his looks and carriage, he took a
chair, and without much apology, but with great civility at the same
time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat down.</p>

<p>There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an’ please your
honour, whilst she is making sausages&mdash;&mdash;So <i>Tom</i> began a
discourse upon them; first, gravely,&mdash;&mdash;“as how they were
made&mdash;&mdash;with what meats, herbs, and spices”&mdash;Then a
little gayly,&mdash;as, “With what skins&mdash;&mdash;and if they never
burst&mdash;&mdash;Whether the largest were not the
best?”&mdash;&mdash;and so on&mdash;taking care only as he went along,
to season what he had to say upon sausages, rather under than
over;&mdash;&mdash;that he might have room to act <span class =
"locked">in&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It was owing to the neglect of that very precaution, said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, laying his hand upon <i>Trim’s</i> shoulder, that Count
<i>De la Motte</i> lost the battle of <i>Wynendale</i>: he pressed too
speedily into the wood; which if he had not done, <i>Lisle</i> had not
fallen into our hands, nor <i>Ghent</i> and <i>Bruges</i>, which both
followed her example; it was so late in the year, continued my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, and so terrible a season came on, that if things had not
fallen out as they did, our troops must have perish’d in the open <span
class = "locked">field.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Why, therefore, may not battles, an’ please your
honour, as well as marriages, be made in heaven?&mdash;My uncle
<i>Toby</i> <span class = "locked">mused&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his high idea of military
skill tempted him to say another; so not being able to frame a reply
exactly to his mind&mdash;&mdash;my uncle <i>Toby</i> said nothing at
all; and the corporal finished his story.</p>

<p>As <i>Tom</i> perceived, an’ please your honour, that he gained
ground, and that all he had said upon the subject of sausages was kindly
taken, he went on to help her a little in making
them.&mdash;&mdash;First, by taking hold of the ring of the sausage
whilst she stroked the forced meat down with her hand&mdash;&mdash;then
by cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them in his
hand, whilst she took them out one by one&mdash;&mdash;then, by putting
them across her mouth, that she might take them out as she wanted
them&mdash;&mdash;and so on from little to more, till at last he
adventured to tie the sausage himself, whilst she held the <span class =
"locked">snout.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now a widow, an’ please your honour, always chuses a
second husband as unlike the first as she can: so the affair was more
than half settled in her mind before <i>Tom</i> mentioned&nbsp;it.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page449" id = "page449">449</a></span>
<p>She made a feint however of defending herself, by snatching up a
sausage:&mdash;&mdash;<i>Tom</i> instantly laid hold of <span class =
"locked">another&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>But seeing <i>Tom’s</i> had more gristle in
it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>She signed the capitulation&mdash;&mdash;and <i>Tom</i> sealed it;
and there was an end of the matter.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapVIII" id = "bookIX_chapVIII">
CHAPTER VIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">All</span> womankind, continued
<i>Trim</i>, (commenting upon his story) from the highest to the lowest,
an’ please your honour, love jokes; the difficulty is to know how they
chuse to have them cut; and there is no knowing that, but by trying, as
we do with our artillery in the field, by raising or letting down their
breeches, till we hit the <span class =
"locked">mark.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I like the comparison, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>,
better than the thing <span class =
"locked">itself&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Because your honour, quoth the corporal, loves glory,
more than pleasure.</p>

<p>I hope, <i>Trim</i>, answered my uncle <i>Toby</i>, I love mankind
more than either; and as the knowledge of arms tends so apparently to
the good and quiet of the world&mdash;&mdash;and particularly that
branch of it which we have practised together in our bowling-green, has
no object but to shorten the strides of <span class =
"smallcaps">Ambition</span>, and intrench the lives and fortunes of the
<i>few</i>, from the plunderings of the
<i>many</i>&mdash;&mdash;whenever that drum beats in our ears,
I&nbsp;trust, corporal, we shall neither of us want so much humanity and
fellow-feeling, as to face about and march.</p>

<p>In pronouncing this, my uncle <i>Toby</i> faced about, and march’d
firmly as at the head of his company&mdash;&mdash;and the faithful
corporal, shouldering his stick, and striking his hand upon his
coat-skirt as he took his first step&mdash;&mdash;march’d close behind
him down the avenue.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now what can their two noddles be about? cried my
father to my mother&mdash;&mdash;by all that’s strange, they are
besieging Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> in form, and are marching round her house
to mark out the lines of circumvallation.</p>

<p>I dare say, quoth my
mother&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;But stop, dear
Sir&mdash;&mdash;for what my mother dared to say upon the
occasion&mdash;&mdash;and what my father did say upon
it&mdash;&mdash;with her replies and his rejoinders, shall be read,
perused, paraphrased, commented, and descanted upon&mdash;or to say it
all in a word, shall be thumb’d over by Posterity in a chapter
apart&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;say, by Posterity&mdash;and
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page450" id = "page450">450</a></span>
care not, if I repeat the word again&mdash;for what has this book done
more than the Legation of <i>Moses</i>, or the Tale of a Tub, that it
may not swim down the gutter of Time along with them?</p>

<p>I will not argue the matter: Time wastes too fast: every letter I
trace tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen; the days and
hours of it, more precious, my dear <i>Jenny!</i> than the rubies about
thy neck, are flying over our heads like light clouds of a windy day,
never to return more&mdash;&mdash;everything presses
on&mdash;&mdash;whilst thou art twisting that lock,&mdash;&mdash;see! it
grows grey; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every
absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which
we are shortly to <span class = "locked">make.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Heaven have mercy upon us both!</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapIX" id = "bookIX_chapIX">
CHAPTER IX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span>, for what the world thinks of
that ejaculation&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would not give a groat.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapX" id = "bookIX_chapX">
CHAPTER X</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> mother had gone with her left arm
twisted in my father’s right, till they had got to the fatal angle of
the old garden wall, where Doctor <i>Slop</i> was overthrown by
<i>Obadiah</i> on the coach-horse: as this was directly opposite to the
front of Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> house, when my father came to it, he gave
a look across; and seeing my uncle <i>Toby</i> and the corporal within
ten paces of the door, he turn’d about&mdash;&mdash;“Let us just stop a
moment, quoth my father, and see with what ceremonies my brother
<i>Toby</i> and his man <i>Trim</i> make their first
entry&mdash;&mdash;it will not detain us, added my father, a&nbsp;single
minute:”&mdash;&mdash;No matter, if it be ten minutes, quoth my
mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It will not detain us half one; said my father.</p>

<p>The corporal was just then setting in with the story of his brother
<i>Tom</i> and the <i>Jew’s</i> widow: the story went on&mdash;and
on&mdash;&mdash;it had episodes in it&mdash;&mdash;it came back, and
went on&mdash;&mdash;and on again; there was no end of
it&mdash;&mdash;the reader found it very <span class =
"locked">long&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;G&mdash; help my father! he pish’d fifty times at every
new attitude, and gave the corporal’s stick, with all its flourishings
and dangling, to as many devils as chose to accept of them.</p>

<p>When issues of events like these my father is waiting for, are
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page451" id = "page451">451</a></span>
hanging in the scales of fate, the mind has the advantage of changing
the principle of expectation three times, without which it would not
have power to see it out.</p>

<p>Curiosity governs the <i>first moment</i>; and the second moment is
all œconomy to justify the expence of the first&mdash;&mdash;and for the
third, fourth, fifth, and sixth moments, and so on to the day of
judgment&mdash;’tis a point of <span class =
"smallcaps">Honour</span>.</p>

<p>I need not be told, that the ethic writers have assigned this all to
Patience; but that <span class = "smallcaps">Virtue</span>, methinks,
has extent of dominion sufficient of her own, and enough to do in it,
without invading the few dismantled castles which <span class =
"smallcaps">Honour</span> has left him upon the earth.</p>

<p>My father stood it out as well as he could with these three
auxiliaries to the end of <i>Trim’s</i> story; and from thence to the
end of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> panegyrick upon arms, in the chapter
following it; when seeing, that instead of marching up to Mrs.
<i>Wadman’s</i> door, they both faced about and march’d down the avenue
diametrically opposite to his expectation&mdash;he broke out at once
with that little subacid soreness of humour which, in certain
situations, distinguished his character from that of all other men.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXI" id = "bookIX_chapXI">
CHAPTER XI</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;“<span class = "firstword">Now</span> what can their
two noddles be about?” cried my father -&nbsp;- &amp;c.
-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-</p>

<p>I dare say, said my mother, they are making
fortifications&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Not on Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> premises! cried my
father, stepping <span class = "locked">back&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>I suppose not: quoth my mother.</p>

<p>I wish, said my father, raising his voice, the whole science of
fortification at the devil, with all its trumpery of saps, mines,
blinds, gabions, fausse-brays and <span class =
"locked">cuvetts&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They are foolish things&mdash;&mdash;said my
mother.</p>

<p>Now she had a way, which, by the bye, I would this moment give away
my purple jerkin, and my yellow slippers into the bargain, if some of
your reverences would imitate&mdash;and that was, never to refuse her
assent and consent to any proposition my father laid before her, merely
because she did not understand it, or had no ideas of the principal word
or term of art, upon which the tenet or proposition rolled. She
contented herself with doing all that her godfathers and godmothers
promised for
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page452" id = "page452">452</a></span>
her&mdash;but no more; and so would go on using a hard word twenty years
together&mdash;and replying to it too, if it was a verb, in all its
moods and tenses, without giving herself any trouble to enquire
about&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>This was an eternal source of misery to my father, and broke the
neck, at the first setting out, of more good dialogues between them,
than could have done the most petulant contradiction&mdash;&mdash;the
few which survived were the better for the <span class =
"locked"><i>cuvetts</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;“They are foolish things;” said my mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Particularly the <i>cuvetts</i>; replied my father.</p>

<p>’Tis enough&mdash;he tasted the sweet of triumph&mdash;and went
on.</p>

<p>&mdash;Not that they are, properly speaking, Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i>
premises, said my father, partly correcting himself&mdash;because she is
but tenant for <span class = "locked">life&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;That makes a great difference&mdash;said my
mother&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;In a fool’s head, replied my father&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Unless she should happen to have a child&mdash;said my
mother&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But she must persuade my brother <i>Toby</i> first to
get her <span class = "locked">one&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;To be sure, Mr. <i>Shandy</i>, quoth my mother.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Though if it comes to persuasion&mdash;said my
father&mdash;Lord have mercy upon them.</p>

<p>Amen: said my mother, <i>piano</i>.</p>

<p>Amen: cried my father, <i>fortissimè</i>.</p>

<p>Amen: said my mother again&mdash;&mdash;but with such a sighing
cadence of personal pity at the end of it, as discomfited every fibre
about my father&mdash;he instantly took out his almanack; but before he
could untie it, <i>Yorick’s</i> congregation coming out of church,
became a full answer to one half of his business with it&mdash;and my
mother telling him it was a sacrament day&mdash;left him as little in
doubt, as to the other part&mdash;He put his almanack into his
pocket.</p>

<p>The first Lord of the Treasury thinking of <i>ways and means</i>,
could not have returned home with a more embarrassed look.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXII" id = "bookIX_chapXII">
CHAPTER XII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Upon</span> looking back from the end of
the last chapter, and surveying the texture of what has been wrote, it
is necessary, that upon this page and the three following, a&nbsp;good
quantity of heterogeneous matter be inserted to keep up that just
balance betwixt wisdom and folly, without which a book would not hold
together
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page453" id = "page453">453</a></span>
a single year: nor is it a poor creeping digression (which but for the
name of, a&nbsp;man might continue as well going on in the king’s
highway) which will do the business&mdash;&mdash;no; if it is to be a
digression, it must be a good frisky one, and upon a frisky subject too,
where neither the horse or his rider are to be caught, but by
rebound.</p>

<p>The only difficulty, is raising powers suitable to the nature of the
service: <span class = "smallcaps">Fancy</span> is
capricious&mdash;<span class = "smallcaps">Wit</span> must not be
searched for&mdash;and <span class = "smallcaps">Pleasantry</span>
(good-natured slut as she&nbsp;is) will not come in at a call, was an
empire to be laid at her feet.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The best way for a man is to say his
prayers&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Only if it puts him in mind of his infirmities and defects as well
ghostly as bodily&mdash;for that purpose, he will find himself rather
worse after he has said them than before&mdash;for other purposes,
better.</p>

<p>For my own part, there is not a way either moral or mechanical under
heaven that I could think of, which I have not taken with myself in this
case: sometimes by addressing myself directly to the soul herself, and
arguing the point over and over again with her upon the extent of her
own <span class = "locked">faculties&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I never could make them an inch the
wider&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Then by changing my system, and trying what could be made of it upon
the body, by temperance, soberness, and chastity: These are good, quoth
I, in themselves&mdash;they are good, absolutely;&mdash;they are good,
relatively;&mdash;they are good for health&mdash;they are good for
happiness in this world&mdash;they are good for happiness in the <span
class = "locked">next&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>In short, they were good for everything but the thing wanted; and
there they were good for nothing, but to leave the soul just as heaven
made it: as for the theological virtues of faith and hope, they give it
courage; but then that snivelling virtue of Meekness (as&nbsp;my father
would always call&nbsp;it) takes it quite away again, so you are exactly
where you started.</p>

<p>Now in all common and ordinary cases, there is nothing which I have
found to answer so well as <span class =
"locked">this&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Certainly, if there is any dependence upon Logic, and
that I am not blinded by self-love, there must be something of true
genius about me, merely upon this symptom of it, that I do not know what
envy is: for never do I hit upon any invention or device which tendeth
to the furtherance of good writing, but I instantly make it public;
willing that all mankind should write as well as myself.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Which they certainly will, when they think as
little.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page454" id = "page454">454</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXIII" id = "bookIX_chapXIII">
CHAPTER XIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> in ordinary cases, that is, when
I am only stupid, and the thoughts rise heavily and pass gummous through
my <span class = "locked">pen&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Or that I am got, I know not how, into a cold unmetaphorical vein of
infamous writing, and cannot take a plumb-lift out of it <i>for my
soul</i>; so must be obliged to go on writing like a <i>Dutch</i>
commentator to the end of the chapter, unless something be <span class =
"locked">done&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I never stand conferring with pen and ink one moment;
for if a pinch of snuff, or a stride or two across the room will not do
the business for me&mdash;I&nbsp;take a razor at once; and having tried
the edge of it upon the palm of my hand, without further ceremony,
except that of first lathering my beard, I&nbsp;shave it off; taking
care only if I do leave a hair, that it be not a grey one: this done,
I&nbsp;change my shirt&mdash;put on a better coat&mdash;send for my last
wig&mdash;put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself
from one end to the other of me, after my best fashion.</p>

<p>Now the devil in hell must be in it, if this does not do: for
consider, Sir, as every man chuses to be present at the shaving of his
own beard (though there is no rule without an exception), and
unavoidably sits over-against himself the whole time it is doing, in
case he has a hand in it&mdash;the Situation, like all others, has
notions of her own to put into the <span class =
"locked">brain.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;I maintain it, the conceits of a rough-bearded man, are
seven years more terse and juvenile for one single operation; and if
they did not run a risk of being quite shaved away, might be carried up
by continual shavings, to the highest pitch of sublimity&mdash;How
<i>Homer</i> could write with so long a beard, I&nbsp;don’t
know&mdash;&mdash;and as it makes against my hypothesis, I&nbsp;as
little care&mdash;&mdash;But let us return to the Toilet.</p>

<p><i>Ludovicus Sorbonensis</i> makes this entirely an affair of the
body (<span class = "greek" title = "exôterikê praxis">ἐξωτερικὴ
πρᾶξις</span>) as he calls it&mdash;&mdash;but he is deceived: the soul
and body are joint-sharers in everything they get: A&nbsp;man cannot
dress, but his ideas get cloath’d at the same time; and if he dresses
like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination,
genteelized along with him&mdash;so that he has nothing to do, but take
his pen, and write like himself.</p>

<p>For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I
writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page455" id = "page455">455</a></span>
to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress’s bill, as my book:
there was one single month in which I can make it appear, that I dirtied
one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more
abus’d, cursed, criticis’d, and confounded, and had more mystic heads
shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the
other months of that year put together.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But their honours and reverences had not seen my
bills.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXIV" id = "bookIX_chapXIV">
CHAPTER XIV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> I never had any intention of
beginning the Digression I am making all this preparation for, till I
come to the 15th chapter&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have this chapter to put to
whatever use I think proper&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;have twenty this moment
ready for it&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;could write my chapter of Button-holes
in <span class = "locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Or my chapter of <i>Pishes</i>, which should follow
them&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Or my chapter of <i>Knots</i>, in case their reverences have done
with them&mdash;&mdash;they might lead me into mischief: the safest way
is to follow the track of the learned, and raise objections against what
I have been writing, tho’ I&nbsp;declare beforehand, I&nbsp;know no more
than my heels how to answer them.</p>

<p>And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of
<i>thersitical</i> satire, as black as the very ink ’tis wrote
with&mdash;&mdash;(and by the bye, whoever says so, is indebted to the
muster-master general of the <i>Grecian</i> army, for suffering the name
of so ugly and foul-mouth’d a man as <i>Thersites</i> to continue upon
his roll&mdash;&mdash;for it has furnish’d him with an
epithet)&mdash;&mdash;in these productions he will urge, all the
personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a sinking genius no sort
of good&mdash;&mdash;but just the contrary, inasmuch as the dirtier the
fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>To this, I have no other answer&mdash;&mdash;at least
ready&mdash;&mdash;but that the Archbishop of <i>Benevento</i> wrote his
<i>nasty</i> Romance of the <i>Galatea</i>, as all the world knows, in a
purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the
penance set him of writing a commentary upon the book of the
<i>Revelations</i>, as severe as it was look’d upon by one part of the
world, was far from being deem’d so by the other, upon the single
account of that <i>Investment</i>.</p>

<p>Another objection, to all this remedy, is its want of universality;
forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much stress is laid,
by an unalterable law of nature excludes
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page456" id = "page456">456</a></span>
one half of the species entirely from its use: all I can say is, that
female writers, whether of <i>England</i>, or of <i>France</i>, must
e’en go without <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>As for the <i>Spanish</i> ladies&mdash;&mdash;I am in no sort of
distress&mdash;&mdash;</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXV" id = "bookIX_chapXV">
CHAPTER XV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">The</span> fifteenth chapter is come at
last; and brings nothing with it but a sad signature of “How our
pleasures slip from under us in this world!”</p>

<p>For in talking of my digression&mdash;&mdash;I declare before heaven
I have made it! What a strange creature is mortal man! said she.</p>

<p>’Tis very true, said I&mdash;&mdash;but ’twere better to get all
these things out of our heads, and return to my uncle <i>Toby</i>.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXVI" id = "bookIX_chapXVI">
CHAPTER XVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> and the
corporal had marched down to the bottom of the avenue, they recollected
their business lay the other way; so they faced about and marched up
straight to Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> door.</p>

<p>I warrant your honour; said the corporal, touching his
<i>Montero</i>-cap with his hand, as he passed him in order to give a
knock at the door&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i>, contrary to his
invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said nothing good or
bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshal’d his ideas; he wish’d
for another conference, and as the corporal was mounting up the three
steps before the door&mdash;he hem’d twice&mdash;a&nbsp;portion of my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards
the corporal; he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full
minute in his hand, he scarce knew why. <i>Bridget</i> stood perdue
within, with her finger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb’d with
expectation; and Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, with an eye ready to be deflowered
again, sat breathless behind the window-curtain of her bed-chamber,
watching their approach.</p>

<p><i>Trim!</i> said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;but as he
articulated the word, the minute expired, and <i>Trim</i> let fall the
rapper.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> perceiving that all hopes of a conference were
knock’d on the head by it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;whistled Lillabullero.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page457" id = "page457">457</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXVII" id = "bookIX_chapXVII">
CHAPTER XVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> Mrs. <i>Bridget’s</i> finger and
thumb were upon the latch, the corporal did not knock as oft as
perchance your honour’s taylor&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;might have taken my
example something nearer home; for I owe mine, some five and twenty
pounds at least, and wonder at the man’s <span class =
"locked">patience&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But this is nothing at all to the world: only ’tis a
cursed thing to be in debt, and there seems to be a fatality in the
exchequers of some poor princes, particularly those of our house, which
no Economy can bind down in irons: for my own part, I’m persuaded there
is not any one prince, prelate, pope, or potentate, great or small upon
earth, more desirous in his heart of keeping straight with the world
than I am&mdash;&mdash;or who takes more likely means for it.
I&nbsp;never give above half a guinea&mdash;&mdash;or walk with
boots&mdash;&mdash;or cheapen tooth-picks&mdash;&mdash;or lay out a
shilling upon a band-box the year round; and for the six months I’m in
the country, I’m upon so small a scale, that with all the good temper in
the world, I&nbsp;outdo <i>Rousseau</i>, a&nbsp;bar
length&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;for I keep neither man or boy, or horse, or
cow, or dog, or cat, or anything that can eat or drink, except a thin
poor piece of a Vestal (to&nbsp;keep my fire&nbsp;in), and who has
generally as bad an appetite as myself&mdash;&mdash;but if you think
this makes a philosopher of me&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would not my good
people! give a rush for your judgments.</p>

<p>True philosophy&mdash;&mdash;but there is no treating the subject
whilst my uncle is whistling Lillabullero.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Let us go into the house.</p>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page458" id = "page458">458</a></span>

<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXVIII" id = "bookIX_chapXVIII">
CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4>

<p><img src = "images/onedot.gif" width = "12" height = "450" alt =
"[blank space]" /></p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page459" id = "page459">459</a></span>

<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXIX" id = "bookIX_chapXIX">
CHAPTER XIX</a></h4>
<p><img src = "images/onedot.gif" width = "12" height = "450" alt =
"[blank space]" /></p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page460" id = "page460">460</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXX" id = "bookIX_chapXX">
CHAPTER XX</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span></p>

<p>* &emsp; &emsp; <span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *</span>
.&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You shall see the very place, Madam; said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>.</p>

<p>Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> blush’d&mdash;&mdash;look’d towards the
door&mdash;&mdash;turn’d pale&mdash;&mdash;blush’d slightly
again&mdash;&mdash;recover’d her natural colour&mdash;&mdash;blush’d
worse than ever; which, for the sake of the unlearned reader,
I&nbsp;translate <span class = "locked">thus&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<div class = "ital">
<p>“L&mdash;d! I cannot look at it&mdash;&mdash;</p>
<p>&nbsp; What would the world say if I look’d at it?</p>
<p>&nbsp; I should drop down, if I look’d at it&mdash;</p>
<p>&nbsp; I wish I could look at it&mdash;&mdash;</p>
<p>&nbsp; There can be no sin in looking at it.</p>
<p>&nbsp; &mdash;&mdash;I will look at it.”</p>
</div>

<p>Whilst all this was running through Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> imagination,
my uncle <i>Toby</i> had risen from the sopha, and got to the other side
of the parlour door, to give <i>Trim</i> an order about it in the <span
class = "locked">passage&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>*&emsp; &emsp; &emsp; <span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *</span></p>

<p><span class = "space35">* </span>*&mdash;&mdash;I believe it is in
the garret, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;saw it there,
an’ please your honour, this morning, answered
<i>Trim</i>&mdash;&mdash;Then prithee, step directly for it,
<i>Trim</i>, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and bring it into the
parlour.</p>

<p>The corporal did not approve of the orders, but most chearfully
obeyed them. The first was not an act of his will&mdash;the second was;
so he put on his <i>Montero</i>-cap, and went as fast as his lame knee
would let him. My uncle <i>Toby</i> returned into the parlour, and sat
himself down again upon the sopha.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;You shall lay your finger upon the place&mdash;said my
uncle <i>Toby</i>.&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;will not touch it, however, quoth
Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> to herself.</p>

<p>This requires a second translation:&mdash;it shews what little
knowledge is got by mere words&mdash;we must go up to the first
springs.</p>

<p>Now in order to clear up the mist which hangs upon
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page461" id = "page461">461</a></span>
these three pages, I&nbsp;must endeavour to be as clear as possible
myself.</p>

<p>Rub your hands thrice across your foreheads&mdash;blow your
noses&mdash;cleanse your emunctories&mdash;sneeze, my good
people!&mdash;&mdash;God bless <span class =
"locked">you&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Now give me all the help you can.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXI" id = "bookIX_chapXXI">
CHAPTER XXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> there are fifty different ends
(counting all ends in&mdash;&mdash;as well civil as religious) for which
a woman takes a husband, she first sets about and carefully weighs, then
separates and distinguishes in her mind, which of all that number of
ends is hers: then by discourse, enquiry, argumentation, and inference,
she investigates and finds out whether she has got hold of the right
one&mdash;&mdash;and if she has&mdash;&mdash;then, by pulling it gently
this way and that way, she further forms a judgment, whether it will not
break in the drawing.</p>

<p>The imagery under which <i>Slawkenbergius</i> impresses this upon the
reader’s fancy, in the beginning of his third Decad, is so ludicrous,
that the honour I bear the sex, will not suffer me to quote
it&mdash;&mdash;otherwise it is not destitute of humour.</p>

<p>“She first, saith <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, stops the asse, and holding
his halter in her left hand (lest he should get away) she thrusts her
right hand into the very bottom of his pannier to search for
it&mdash;For what?&mdash;you’ll not know the sooner, quoth
<i>Slawkenbergius</i>, for interrupting <span class =
"locked">me&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“I have nothing, good Lady, but empty bottles;” says the asse.</p>

<p>“I’m loaded with tripes;” says the second.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And thou art little better, quoth she to the third; for
nothing is there in thy panniers but trunk-hose and pantofles&mdash;and
so to the fourth and fifth, going on one by one through the whole
string, till coming to the asse which carries it, she turns the pannier
upside down, looks at it&mdash;considers it&mdash;samples
it&mdash;measures it&mdash;stretches it&mdash;wets it&mdash;dries
it&mdash;then takes her teeth both to the warp and weft of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Of what? for the love of Christ!</p>

<p>I am determined, answered <i>Slawkenbergius</i>, that all the powers
upon earth shall never wring that secret from my breast.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page462" id = "page462">462</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXII" id = "bookIX_chapXXII">
CHAPTER XXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">We</span> live in a world beset on all
sides with mysteries and riddles&mdash;and so ’tis no
matter&mdash;&mdash;else it seems strange, that Nature, who makes
everything so well to answer its destination, and seldom or never errs,
unless for pastime, in giving such forms and aptitudes to whatever
passes through her hands, that whether she designs for the plough, the
caravan, the cart&mdash;or whatever other creature she models, be it but
an asse’s foal, you are sure to have the thing you wanted; and yet at
the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so
simple a thing as a married man.</p>

<p>Whether it is in the choice of the clay&mdash;&mdash;or that it is
frequently spoiled in the baking; by an excess of which a husband may
turn out too crusty (you know) on one hand&mdash;&mdash;or not enough
so, through defect of heat, on the other&mdash;&mdash;or whether this
great Artificer is not so attentive to the little Platonic exigences
<i>of that part</i> of the species, for whose use she is fabricating
<i>this</i>&mdash;&mdash;or that her Ladyship sometimes scarce knows
what sort of a husband will do&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;know not: we will
discourse about it after supper.</p>

<p>It is enough, that neither the observation itself, or the reasoning
upon it, are at all to the purpose&mdash;&mdash;but rather against it;
since with regard to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> fitness for the marriage
state, nothing was ever better: she had formed him of the best and
kindliest clay&mdash;&mdash;had temper’d it with her own milk, and
breathed into it the sweetest spirit&mdash;&mdash;she had made him all
gentle, generous, and humane&mdash;&mdash;she had filled his heart with
trust and confidence, and disposed every passage which led to it, for
the communication of the tenderest offices&mdash;&mdash;she had moreover
considered the other causes for which matrimony was <span class =
"locked">ordained&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>And accordingly
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span>
.</p>

<p>The <span class = "smallroman">DONATION</span> was not defeated by my
uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wound.</p>

<p>Now this last article was somewhat apocryphal; and the Devil, who is
the great disturber of our faiths in this world, had raised scruples in
Mrs. <i>Wadman’s</i> brain about it; and like a true devil as he was,
had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> Virtue thereupon into nothing but <i>empty bottles</i>,
<i>tripes</i>, <i>trunk-hose</i>, and <i>pantofles</i>.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page463" id = "page463">463</a></span>
<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXIII" id = "bookIX_chapXXIII">
CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Mrs</span>. <i>Bridget</i> had pawn’d all
the little stock of honour a poor chambermaid was worth in the world,
that she would get to the bottom of the affair in ten days; and it was
built upon one of the most concessible <i>postulata</i> in nature:
namely, that whilst my uncle <i>Toby</i> was making love to her
mistress, the corporal could find nothing better to do, than make love
to her&mdash;&mdash;“<i>And I’ll let him as much as he will</i>, said
<i>Bridget</i>, <i>to get it out of him</i>.”</p>

<p>Friendship has two garments; an outer and an under one.
<i>Bridget</i> was serving her mistress’s interests in the one&mdash;and
doing the thing which most pleased herself in the other; so had as many
stakes depending upon my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> wound, as the Devil
himself&mdash;&mdash;Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had but one&mdash;and as it
possibly might be her last (without discouraging Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, or
discrediting her talents) was determined to play her cards herself.</p>

<p>She wanted not encouragement: a child might have look’d into his
hand&mdash;&mdash;there was such a plainness and simplicity in his
playing out what trumps he had&mdash;&mdash;with such an unmistrusting
ignorance of the <i>ten-ace</i>&mdash;&mdash;and so naked and
defenceless did he sit upon the same sopha with widow <i>Wadman</i>,
that a generous heart would have wept to have won the game of him.</p>

<p>Let us drop the metaphor.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXIV" id = "bookIX_chapXXIV">
CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> the story
too&mdash;if you please: for though I have all along been hastening
towards this part of it, with so much earnest desire, as well knowing it
to be the choicest morsel of what I had to offer to the world, yet now
that I am got to it, any one is welcome to take my pen, and go on with
the story for me that will&mdash;I&nbsp;see the difficulties of the
descriptions I’m going to give&mdash;and feel my want of powers.</p>

<p>It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces
of blood this week in a most uncritical fever which attacked me at the
beginning of this chapter; so that I have still some hopes remaining, it
may be more in the serous or globular parts of the blood, than in the
subtile <i>aura</i> of the brain&mdash;&mdash;be it which it
will&mdash;an Invocation can do no hurt&mdash;&mdash;and I leave the
affair entirely to the <i>invoked</i>, to inspire or to inject me
according as he sees good.</p>


<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page464" id = "page464">464</a></span>

<h5><a name = "bookIX_invoc" id = "bookIX_invoc">THE INVOCATION</a></h5>

<p><span class = "firstword">Gentle</span> Spirit of sweetest humour,
who erst did sit upon the easy pen of my beloved <span class =
"smallcaps">Cervantes</span>; Thou who glided’st daily through his
lattice, and turned’st the twilight of his prison into noonday
brightness by thy presence&mdash;&mdash;tinged’st his little urn of
water with heaven-sent nectar, and all the time he wrote of
<i>Sancho</i> and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o’er his
wither’d stump,<a class = "tag" name = "tag_9_1" id = "tag_9_1" href =
"#note_9_1">1</a> and wide extended it to all the evils of his <span
class = "locked">life&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Turn in hither, I beseech thee!&mdash;&mdash;behold
these breeches!&mdash;&mdash;they are all I have in the
world&mdash;&mdash;that piteous rent was given them at <span class =
"locked"><i>Lyons</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happen’d amongst
’em&mdash;for the laps are in <i>Lombardy</i>, and the rest of ’em
here&mdash;I&nbsp;never had but six, and a cunning gypsey of a laundress
at <i>Milan</i> cut me off the <i>fore</i>-laps of five&mdash;To do her
justice, she did it with some consideration&mdash;for I was returning
out of <i>Italy</i>.</p>

<p>And yet, notwithstanding all this, and a pistol tinderbox which was
moreover filch’d from me at <i>Sienna</i>, and twice that I pay’d five
Pauls for two hard eggs, once at <i>Raddicoffini</i>, and a second time
at <i>Capua</i>&mdash;I&nbsp;do not think a journey through
<i>France</i> and <i>Italy</i>, provided a man keeps his temper all the
way, so bad a thing as some people would make you believe: there must be
<i>ups</i> and <i>downs</i>, or how the duce should we get into vallies
where Nature spreads so many tables of entertainment.&mdash;’Tis
nonsense to imagine they will lend you their voitures to be shaken to
pieces for nothing; and unless you pay twelve sous for greasing your
wheels, how should the poor peasant get butter to his bread?&mdash;We
really expect too much&mdash;and for the livre or two above par for your
suppers and bed&mdash;at the most they are but one shilling and
ninepence halfpenny&mdash;&mdash;who would embroil their philosophy for
it? for heaven’s and for your own sake, pay it&mdash;&mdash;pay it with
both hands open, rather than leave <i>Disappointment</i> sitting
drooping upon the eye of your fair Hostess and her Damsels in the
gateway, at your departure&mdash;&mdash;and besides, my dear Sir, you
get a sisterly kiss of each of ’em worth a pound&mdash;&mdash;at least I
<span class = "locked">did&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;For my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> amours running all the way
in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my
own&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;was in the most perfect state of bounty and
good-will;
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page465" id = "page465">465</a></span>
and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating within me, with every
oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were rough or
smooth, it made no difference; everything I saw or had to do with,
touch’d upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I
instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more
distinctly&mdash;&mdash;’Tis <i>Maria</i>; said the postillion,
observing I was listening&mdash;&mdash;Poor <i>Maria</i>, continued he
(leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line
betwixt&nbsp;us), is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her
pipe, with her little goat beside her.</p>

<p>The young fellow utter’d this with an accent and a look so perfectly
in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow, I&nbsp;would
give him a four-and-twenty sous piece, when I got to <span class =
"locked"><i>Moulins</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And who is <i>poor Maria?</i> said I.</p>

<p>The love and piety of all the villages around us; said the
postillion&mdash;&mdash;it is but three years ago, that the sun did not
shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate
did <i>Maria</i> deserve, than to have her Banns forbid, by the
intrigues of the curate of the parish who published <span class =
"locked">them&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>He was going on, when <i>Maria</i>, who had made a short pause, put
the pipe to her mouth, and began the air again&mdash;&mdash;they were
the same notes;&mdash;&mdash;yet were ten times sweeter: It is the
evening service to the Virgin, said the young man&mdash;&mdash;but who
has taught her to play it&mdash;or how she came by her pipe, no one
knows; we think that heaven has assisted her in both; for ever since she
has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her only
consolation&mdash;&mdash;she has never once had the pipe out of her
hand, but plays that <i>service</i> upon it almost night and day.</p>

<p>The postillion delivered this with so much discretion and natural
eloquence, that I could not help decyphering something in his face above
his condition, and should have sifted out his history, had not poor
<i>Maria</i> taken such full possession of&nbsp;me.</p>

<p>We had got up by this time almost to the bank where <i>Maria</i> was
sitting: she was in a thin white jacket, with her hair, all but two
tresses, drawn up into a silk-net, with a few olive leaves twisted a
little fantastically on one side&mdash;&mdash;she was beautiful; and if
ever I felt the full force of an honest heart-ache, it was the moment I
saw <span class = "locked">her&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;God help her! poor damsel! above a hundred masses,
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page466" id = "page466">466</a></span>
said the postillion, have been said in the several parish churches and
convents around, for her,&mdash;&mdash;but without effect; we have still
hopes, as she is sensible for short intervals, that the Virgin at last
will restore her to herself; but her parents, who know her best, are
hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are lost for ever.</p>

<p>As the postillion spoke this, <span class = "smallcaps">Maria</span>
made a cadence so melancholy, so tender and querulous, that I sprung out
of the chaise to help her, and found myself sitting betwixt her and her
goat before I relapsed from my enthusiasm.</p>

<p><span class = "smallcaps">Maria</span> look’d wistfully for some time
at me, and then at her goat&mdash;&mdash;and then at me&mdash;&mdash;and
then at her goat again, and so on, <span class =
"locked">alternately&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Well, <i>Maria</i>, said I softly&mdash;&mdash;What
resemblance do you find?</p>

<p>I do entreat the candid reader to believe me, that it was from the
humblest conviction of what a <i>Beast</i> man is,&mdash;&mdash;that I
asked the question; and that I would not have let fallen an unseasonable
pleasantry in the venerable presence of Misery, to be entitled to all
the wit that ever <i>Rabelais</i> scatter’d&mdash;&mdash;and yet I own
my heart smote me, and that I so smarted at the very idea of it, that I
swore I would set up for Wisdom, and utter grave sentences the rest of
my days&mdash;&mdash;and never&mdash;&mdash;never attempt again to
commit mirth with man, woman, or child, the longest day I had to
live.</p>

<p>As for writing nonsense to them&mdash;&mdash;I believe, there was a
reserve&mdash;but that I leave to the world.</p>

<p>Adieu, <i>Maria!</i>&mdash;adieu, poor hapless
damsel!&mdash;&mdash;some time, but not <i>now</i>, I&nbsp;may hear thy
sorrows from thy own lips&mdash;&mdash;but I was deceived; for that
moment she took her pipe and told me such a tale of woe with it, that I
rose up, and with broken and irregular steps walk’d softly to my
chaise.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;What an excellent inn at <i>Moulins!</i></p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXV" id = "bookIX_chapXXV">
CHAPTER XXV</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">When</span> we have got to the end of this
chapter (but not before) we must all turn back to the two blank
chapters, on the account of which my honour has lain bleeding this half
hour&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;stop it, by pulling off one of my yellow
slippers and throwing it with all my violence to the opposite side of my
room, with a declaration at the heel of <span class =
"locked">it&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page467" id = "page467">467</a></span>
<p>&mdash;&mdash;That whatever resemblance it may bear to half the
chapters which are written in the world, or for aught I know may be now
writing in it&mdash;that it was as casual as the foam of <i>Zeuxis</i>
his horse; besides, I&nbsp;look upon a chapter which has <i>only nothing
in it</i>, with respect; and considering what worse things there are in
the world&mdash;&mdash;That it is no way a proper subject for <span
class = "locked">satire&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Why then was it left so? And here without staying for
my reply, shall I be called as many blockheads, numsculs, doddypoles,
dunderheads, ninny-hammers, goosecaps, joltheads, nincompoops, and
sh-&nbsp;-t-a-beds&mdash;&mdash;and other unsavoury appellations, as
ever the cake-bakers of <i>Lernè</i> cast in the teeth of King
<i>Garangantan’s</i> shepherds&mdash;&mdash;And I’ll let them do it, as
<i>Bridget</i> said, as much as they please; for how was it possible
they should foresee the necessity I was under of writing the 25th
chapter of my book, before the 18th, &amp;c.?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;So I don’t take it amiss&mdash;&mdash;All I wish
is, that it may be a lesson to the world, “<i>to let people tell their
stories their own way</i>.”</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXVIIIb" id = "bookIX_chapXVIIIb">
THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">As</span> Mrs. <i>Bridget</i> opened the
door before the corporal had well given the rap, the interval betwixt
that and my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> introduction into the parlour, was so
short, that Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had but just time to get from behind the
curtain&mdash;&mdash;lay a Bible upon the table, and advance a step or
two towards the door to receive him.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> saluted Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, after the manner in
which women were saluted by men in the year of our Lord God one thousand
seven hundred and thirteen&mdash;&mdash;then facing about, he march’d up
abreast with her to the sopha, and in three plain
words&mdash;&mdash;though not before he was sat down&mdash;&mdash;nor
after he was sat down&mdash;&mdash;but as he was sitting down, told her,
“<i>he was in love</i>”&mdash;&mdash;so that my uncle <i>Toby</i>
strained himself more in the declaration than he needed.</p>

<p>Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> naturally looked down, upon a slit she had been
darning up in her apron, in expectation every moment, that my uncle
<i>Toby</i> would go on; but having no talents for amplification, and
Love moreover of all others being a subject of which he was the least a
master&mdash;&mdash;When he had told Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> once that he
loved her, he let it alone, and left the matter to work after its own
way.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page468" id = "page468">468</a></span>
<p>My father was always in raptures with this system of my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i>, as he falsely called it, and would often say, that could
his brother <i>Toby</i> to his process have added but a pipe of
tobacco&mdash;&mdash;he had wherewithal to have found his way, if there
was faith in a <i>Spanish</i> proverb, towards the hearts of half the
women upon the globe.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> never understood what my father meant; nor will
I presume to extract more from it, than a condemnation of an error which
the bulk of the world lie under&mdash;&mdash;but the <i>French</i> every
one of ’em to a man, who believe in it, almost, as much as the <span
class = "smallroman">REAL PRESENCE</span>, “<i>That talking of love, is
making it</i>.”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;I would as soon set about making a black-pudding
by the same receipt.</p>

<p>Let us go on: Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> sat in expectation my uncle
<i>Toby</i> would do so, to almost the first pulsation of that minute,
wherein silence on one side or the other, generally becomes indecent: so
edging herself a little more towards him, and raising up her eyes,
sub-blushing, as she did it&mdash;&mdash;she took up the
gauntlet&mdash;&mdash;or the discourse (if&nbsp;you like it better) and
communed with my uncle <i>Toby</i>, thus:</p>

<p>The cares and disquietudes of the marriage state, quoth Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i>, are very great. I&nbsp;suppose so&mdash;said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>: and therefore when a person, continued Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>,
is so much at his ease as you are&mdash;so happy, captain <i>Shandy</i>,
in yourself, your friends and your amusements&mdash;I&nbsp;wonder, what
reasons can incline you to the <span class =
"locked">state&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;They are written, quoth my uncle <i>Toby</i>, in the
Common-Prayer Book.</p>

<p>Thus far my uncle <i>Toby</i> went on warily, and kept within his
depth, leaving Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> to sail upon the gulph as she
pleased.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;As for children&mdash;said Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i>&mdash;though a principal end perhaps of the institution,
and the natural wish, I&nbsp;suppose, of every parent&mdash;yet do not
we all find, they are certain sorrows, and very uncertain comforts? and
what is there, dear sir, to pay one for the heart-aches&mdash;what
compensation for the many tender and disquieting apprehensions of a
suffering and defenceless mother who brings them into life?
I&nbsp;declare, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, smit with pity, I&nbsp;know
of none; unless it be the pleasure which it has pleased <span class =
"locked">God&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>A fiddlestick! quoth she.</p>




<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page469" id = "page469">469</a></span>

<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXIXb" id = "bookIX_chapXIXb">
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> there are such an infinitude of
notes, tunes, cants, chants, airs, looks, and accents with which the
word <i>fiddlestick</i> may be pronounced in all such causes as this,
every one of ’em impressing a sense and meaning as different from the
other, as <i>dirt</i> from <i>cleanliness</i>&mdash;That Casuists (for
it is an affair of conscience on that score) reckon up no less than
fourteen thousand in which you may do either right or wrong.</p>

<p>Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> hit upon the <i>fiddlestick</i>, which summoned up
all my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> modest blood into his cheeks&mdash;so feeling
within himself that he had somehow or other got beyond his depth, he
stopt short; and without entering further either into the pains or
pleasures of matrimony, he laid his hand upon his heart, and made an
offer to take them as they were, and share them along with her.</p>

<p>When my uncle <i>Toby</i> had said this, he did not care to say it
again; so casting his eye upon the Bible which Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had
laid upon the table, he took it up; and popping, dear soul! upon a
passage in it, of all others the most interesting to him&mdash;which was
the siege of <i>Jericho</i>&mdash;he set himself to read it
over&mdash;leaving his proposal of marriage, as he had done his
declaration of love, to work with her after its own way. Now it wrought
neither as an astringent or a loosener; nor like opium, or bark, or
mercury, or buckthorn, or any one drug which nature had bestowed upon
the world&mdash;in short, it work’d not at all in her; and the cause of
that was, that there was something working there
before&mdash;&mdash;Babbler that I am! I&nbsp;have anticipated what it
was a dozen times; but there is fire still in the
subject&mdash;&mdash;allons.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXVI" id = "bookIX_chapXXVI">
CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> is natural for a perfect stranger
who is going from <i>London</i> to <i>Edinburgh</i>, to enquire before
he sets out, how many miles to <i>York</i>; which is about the half
way&mdash;&mdash;nor does anybody wonder, if he goes on and asks about
the corporation, <span class = "locked">&amp;c.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It was just as natural for Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, whose first husband
was all his time afflicted with a Sciatica, to wish to know how far from
the hip to the groin; and how far she was likely to suffer more or less
in her feelings, in the one case than in the other.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page470" id = "page470">470</a></span>
<p>She had accordingly read <i>Drake’s</i> anatomy from one end to the
other. She had peeped into <i>Wharton</i> upon the brain, and borrowed<a
class = "tag" name = "tag_9_2" id = "tag_9_2" href = "#note_9_2">2</a>
<i>Graaf</i> upon the bones and muscles; but could make nothing
of&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>She had reason’d likewise from her own powers&mdash;&mdash;laid down
theorems&mdash;&mdash;drawn consequences, and come to no conclusion.</p>

<p>To clear up all, she had twice asked Doctor <i>Slop</i>, “if poor
captain <i>Shandy</i> was ever likely to recover of his
wound&mdash;&mdash;?”</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;He is recovered, Doctor <i>Slop</i> would
say&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>What! quite?</p>

<p>Quite: madam&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But what do you mean by a recovery? Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> would say.</p>

<p>Doctor <i>Slop</i> was the worst man alive at definitions; and so
Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> could get no knowledge: in short, there was no way to
extract it, but from my uncle <i>Toby</i> himself.</p>

<p>There is an accent of humanity in an enquiry of this kind which lulls
<span class = "smallcaps">Suspicion</span> to rest&mdash;&mdash;and I am
half persuaded the serpent got pretty near it, in his discourse with
Eve; for the propensity in the sex to be deceived could not be so great,
that she should have boldness to hold chat with the devil, without
it&mdash;&mdash;But there is an accent of humanity&mdash;&mdash;how
shall I describe it?&mdash;’tis an accent which covers the part with a
garment, and gives the enquirer a right to be as particular with it, as
your body-surgeon.</p>

<p>“&mdash;&mdash;Was it without remission?&mdash;</p>

<p>“&mdash;&mdash;Was it more tolerable in bed?</p>

<p>“&mdash;&mdash;Could he lie on both sides alike with it?</p>

<p>“&mdash;Was he able to mount a horse?</p>

<p>“&mdash;Was motion bad for it?” <i>et cætera</i>, were so tenderly
spoke to, and so directed towards my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> heart, that
every item of them sunk ten times deeper into it than the evils
themselves&mdash;&mdash;but when Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> went round about by
<i>Namur</i> to get at my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> groin; and engaged him to
attack the point of the advanced counterscarp, and <i>pêle mêle</i> with
the <i>Dutch</i> to take the counterguard of St. <i>Roch</i> sword in
hand&mdash;and then with tender notes playing upon his ear, led him all
bleeding by the hand out of the trench, wiping her eye, as he was
carried to his tent&mdash;&mdash;Heaven! Earth! Sea!&mdash;all was
lifted up&mdash;the springs of nature rose above their levels&mdash;an
angel of mercy sat besides him on the sopha&mdash;his heart glow’d with
fire&mdash;and had he been
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page471" id = "page471">471</a></span>
worth a thousand, he had lost every heart of them to Mrs.
<i>Wadman</i>.</p>

<p>&mdash;And whereabouts, dear Sir, quoth Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>, a little
categorically, did you receive this sad blow?&mdash;&mdash;In asking
this question, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> gave a slight glance towards the
waistband of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> red plush breeches, expecting
naturally, as the shortest reply to it, that my uncle <i>Toby</i> would
lay his forefinger upon the place&mdash;&mdash;It fell out
otherwise&mdash;&mdash;for my uncle <i>Toby</i> having got his wound
before the gate of St. <i>Nicolas</i>, in one of the traverses of the
trench opposite to the salient angle of the demibastion of St.
<i>Roch</i>; he could at any time stick a pin upon the identical spot of
ground where he was standing when the stone struck him: this struck
instantly upon my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> sensorium&mdash;&mdash;and with
it, struck his large map of the town and citadel of <i>Namur</i> and its
environs, which he had purchased and pasted down upon a board, by the
corporal’s aid, during his long illness&mdash;&mdash;it had lain with
other military lumber in the garret ever since, and accordingly the
corporal was detached into the garret to fetch&nbsp;it.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> measured off thirty toises, with Mrs.
<i>Wadman’s</i> scissars, from the returning angle before the gate of
St. <i>Nicolas</i>; and with such a virgin modesty laid her finger upon
the place, that the goddess of Decency, if then in being&mdash;if not,
’twas her shade&mdash;shook her head, and with a finger wavering across
her eyes&mdash;forbid her to explain the mistake.</p>

<p>Unhappy Mrs. <i>Wadman!</i></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;For nothing can make this chapter go off with spirit
but an apostrophe to thee&mdash;&mdash;but my heart tells me, that in
such a crisis an apostrophe is but an insult in disguise, and ere I
would offer one to a woman in distress&mdash;let the chapter go to the
devil; provided any damn’d critic <i>in keeping</i> will be but at the
trouble to take it with him.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXVII" id = "bookIX_chapXXVII">
CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby’s</i> Map is
carried down into the kitchen.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXVIII" id = "bookIX_chapXXVIII">
CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">And</span> here is the
<i>Maes</i>&mdash;and this is the <i>Sambre</i>; said the corporal,
pointing with his right hand extended a little towards
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page472" id = "page472">472</a></span>
the map and his left upon Mrs. <i>Bridget’s</i>
shoulder&mdash;&mdash;but not the shoulder next him&mdash;and this, said
he, is the town of <i>Namur</i>&mdash;and this the citadel&mdash;and
there lay the <i>French</i>&mdash;and here lay his honour and
myself&mdash;&mdash;and in this cursed trench, Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>,
quoth the corporal, taking her by the hand, did he receive the wound
which crush’d him so miserably <i>here</i>.&mdash;&mdash;In pronouncing
which, he slightly press’d the back of her hand towards the part he felt
for&mdash;&mdash;and let it fall.</p>

<p>We thought, Mr. <i>Trim</i>, it had been more in the
middle,&mdash;&mdash;said Mrs. <span class =
"locked"><i>Bridget</i>&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>That would have undone us for ever&mdash;said the corporal.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;And left my poor mistress undone too, said
<i>Bridget</i>.</p>

<p>The corporal made no reply to the repartee, but by giving Mrs.
<i>Bridget</i> a kiss.</p>

<p>Come&mdash;come&mdash;said <i>Bridget</i>&mdash;holding the palm of
her left hand parallel to the plane of the horizon, and sliding the
fingers of the other over it, in a way which could not have been done,
had there been the least wart or protuberance&mdash;&mdash;’Tis every
syllable of it false, cried the corporal, before she had half finished
the <span class = "locked">sentence&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;I know it to be fact, said <i>Bridget</i>, from credible
witnesses.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Upon my honour, said the corporal, laying his
hand upon his heart and blushing, as he spoke, with honest
resentment&mdash;’tis a story, Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, as false as
hell&mdash;&mdash;Not, said <i>Bridget</i>, interrupting him, that
either I or my mistress care a halfpenny about it, whether ’tis so or
no&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;only that when one is married, one would chuse to
have such a thing by one at <span class =
"locked">least&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>It was somewhat unfortunate for Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, that she had
begun the attack with her manual exercise; for the corporal instantly
<span class = "space35">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span>
.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXIX" id = "bookIX_chapXXIX">
CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">It</span> was like the momentary contest in
the moist eye-lids of an <i>April</i> morning, “Whether <i>Bridget</i>
should laugh or cry.”</p>

<p>She snatched up a rolling-pin&mdash;&mdash;’twas ten to one, she had
laugh’d&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>She laid it down&mdash;&mdash;she cried; and had one single tear of
’em but tasted of bitterness, full sorrowful would the corporal’s
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page473" id = "page473">473</a></span>
heart have been that he had used the argument; but the corporal
understood the sex, a&nbsp;<i>quart major to a terce</i> at least,
better than my uncle <i>Toby</i>, and accordingly he assailed Mrs.
<i>Bridget</i> after this manner.</p>

<p>I know, Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, said the corporal, giving her a most
respectful kiss, that thou art good and modest by nature, and art withal
so generous a girl in thyself, that, if I know thee rightly, thou
would’st not wound an insect, much less the honour of so gallant and
worthy a soul as my master, wast thou sure to be made a countess
of&mdash;&mdash;but thou hast been set on, and deluded, dear
<i>Bridget</i>, as is often a woman’s case, “to please others more than
themselves&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

<p><i>Bridget’s</i> eyes poured down at the sensations the corporal
excited.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Tell me&mdash;&mdash;tell me, then, my dear
<i>Bridget</i>, continued the corporal, taking hold of her hand, which
hung down dead by her side,&mdash;&mdash;and, giving a second
kiss&mdash;&mdash;whose suspicion has misled thee?</p>

<p><i>Bridget</i> sobb’d a sob or two&mdash;&mdash;then open’d her
eyes&mdash;&mdash;the corporal wiped ’em with the bottom of her
apron&mdash;&mdash;she then open’d her heart and told him all.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXX" id = "bookIX_chapXXX">
CHAPTER XXX</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">My</span> uncle <i>Toby</i> and the
corporal had gone on separately with their operations the greatest part
of the campaign, and as effectually cut off from all communication of
what either the one or the other had been doing, as if they had been
separated from each other by the <i>Maes</i> or the <i>Sambre</i>.</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i>, on his side, had presented himself every
afternoon in his red and silver, and blue and gold alternately, and
sustained an infinity of attacks in them, without knowing them to be
attacks&mdash;and so had nothing to <span class =
"locked">communicate&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The corporal, on his side, in taking <i>Bridget</i>, by it had gain’d
considerable advantages&mdash;&mdash;and consequently had much to
communicate&mdash;&mdash;but what were the advantages&mdash;&mdash;as
well as what was the manner by which he had seiz’d them, required so
nice an historian, that the corporal durst not venture upon it; and as
sensible as he was of glory, would rather have been contented to have
gone bareheaded and without laurels for ever, than torture his master’s
modesty for a single <span class =
"locked">moment&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Best of honest and gallant servants!&mdash;&mdash;But I
have
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page474" id = "page474">474</a></span>
apostrophiz’d thee, <i>Trim!</i> once before&mdash;&mdash;and could I
apotheosize thee also (that is to say) with good
company&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;would do it <i>without ceremony</i> in the
very next page.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXXI" id = "bookIX_chapXXXI">
CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">Now</span> my uncle <i>Toby</i> had one
evening laid down his pipe upon the table, and was counting over to
himself upon his finger ends (beginning at his thumb) all Mrs.
<i>Wadman’s</i> perfections one by one; and happening two or three times
together, either by omitting some, or counting others twice over, to
puzzle himself sadly before he could get beyond his middle
finger&mdash;&mdash;Prithee, <i>Trim!</i> said he, taking up his pipe
again,&mdash;&mdash;bring me a pen and ink: <i>Trim</i> brought paper
also.</p>

<p>Take a full sheet&mdash;&mdash;<i>Trim!</i> said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, making a sign with his pipe at the same time to take a
chair and sit down close by him at the table. The corporal
obeyed&mdash;&mdash;placed the paper directly before
him&mdash;&mdash;took a pen, and dipp’d it in the ink.</p>

<p>&mdash;She has a thousand virtues, <i>Trim!</i> said my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Am I to set them down, an’ please your honour? quoth the
corporal.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But they must be taken in their ranks, replied my uncle
<i>Toby</i>; for of them all, <i>Trim</i>, that which wins me most, and
which is a security for all the rest, is the compassionate turn and
singular humanity of her character&mdash;I&nbsp;protest, added my uncle
<i>Toby</i>, looking up, as he protested it, towards the top of the <ins
class = "correction"
title = "text reads ‘cieling’ [word occurs elsewhere]">ceiling</ins>&mdash;&mdash;That was I her brother,
<i>Trim</i>, a&nbsp;thousand fold, she could not make more constant or
more tender enquiries after my sufferings&mdash;&mdash;though now no
more.</p>

<p>The corporal made no reply to my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> protestation,
but by a short cough&mdash;he dipp’d the pen a second time into the
inkhorn; and my uncle <i>Toby</i>, pointing with the end of his pipe as
close to the top of the sheet at the left hand corner of it, as he could
get it&mdash;&mdash;the corporal wrote down the word HUMANITY
-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;- thus.</p>

<p>Prithee, corporal, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, as soon as <i>Trim</i>
had done it&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;how often does Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>
enquire after the wound on the cap of thy knee, which thou received’st
at the battle of <i>Landen?</i></p>

<p>She never, an’ please your honour, enquires after it at all.</p>

<p>That, corporal, said my uncle <i>Toby</i>, with all the triumph the
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page475" id = "page475">475</a></span>
goodness of his nature would permit&mdash;&mdash;That shews the
difference in the character of the mistress and maid&mdash;&mdash;had
the fortune of war allotted the same mischance to me, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>
would have enquired into every circumstance relating to it a hundred
times&mdash;&mdash;She would have enquired, an’ please your honour, ten
times as often about your honour’s groin&mdash;&mdash;The pain,
<i>Trim</i>, is equally excruciating,&mdash;&mdash;and Compassion has as
much to do with the one as the <span class =
"locked">other&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;God bless your honour! cried the
corporal&mdash;&mdash;what has a woman’s compassion to do with a wound
upon the cap of a man’s knee? had your honour’s been shot into ten
thousand splinters at the affair of <i>Landen</i>, Mrs. <i>Wadman</i>
would have troubled her head as little about it as <i>Bridget</i>;
because, added the corporal, lowering his voice, and speaking very
distinctly, as he assigned his <span class =
"locked">reason&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>“The knee is such a distance from the main body&mdash;&mdash;whereas
the groin, your honour knows, is upon the very <i>curtain</i> of the
<i>place</i>.”</p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> gave a long whistle&mdash;&mdash;but in a note
which could scarce be heard across the table.</p>

<p>The corporal had advanced too far to retire&mdash;&mdash;in three
words he told the <span class = "locked">rest&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My uncle <i>Toby</i> laid down his pipe as gently upon the fender, as
if it had been spun from the unravellings of a spider’s <span class =
"locked">web&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;Let us go to my brother <i>Shandy’s</i>, said
he.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXXII" id = "bookIX_chapXXXII">
CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4>


<p><span class = "firstword">There</span> will be just time, whilst my
uncle <i>Toby</i> and <i>Trim</i> are walking to my father’s, to inform
you that Mrs. <i>Wadman</i> had, some moons before this, made a
confident of my mother; and that Mrs. <i>Bridget</i>, who had the burden
of her own, as well as her mistress’s secret to carry, had got happily
delivered of both to <i>Susannah</i> behind the garden-wall.</p>

<p>As for my mother, she saw nothing at all in it, to make the least
bustle about&mdash;&mdash;but <i>Susannah</i> was sufficient by herself
for all the ends and purposes you could possibly have, in exporting a
family secret; for she instantly imparted it by signs to
<i>Jonathan</i>&mdash;&mdash;and <i>Jonathan</i> by tokens to the cook
as she was basting a loin of mutton; the cook sold it with some
kitchen-fat to the postillion for a groat, who truck’d it with the dairy
maid for something of about the same value&mdash;&mdash;and though
whisper’d
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page476" id = "page476">476</a></span>
in the hay-loft, <span class = "smallcaps">Fame</span> caught the notes
with her brazen trumpet, and sounded them upon the house-top&mdash;In a
word, not an old woman in the village or five miles round, who did not
understand the difficulties of my uncle <i>Toby’s</i> siege, and what
were the secret articles which had delayed the <span class =
"locked">surrender.&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>My father, whose way was to force every event in nature into an
hypothesis, by which means never man crucified <span class =
"smallcaps">Truth</span> at the rate he did&mdash;&mdash;had but just
heard of the report as my uncle <i>Toby</i> set out; and catching fire
suddenly at the trespass done his brother by it, was demonstrating to
<i>Yorick</i>, notwithstanding my mother was sitting by&mdash;&mdash;not
only, “That the devil was in women, and that the whole of the affair was
lust;” but that every evil and disorder in the world, of what kind or
nature soever, from the first fall of <i>Adam</i>, down to my uncle
<i>Toby’s</i> (inclusive), was owing one way or other to the same unruly
appetite.</p>

<p><i>Yorick</i> was just bringing my father’s hypothesis to some
temper, when my uncle <i>Toby</i> entering the room with marks of
infinite benevolence and forgiveness in his looks, my father’s eloquence
rekindled against the passion&mdash;&mdash;and as he was not very nice
in the choice of his words when he was wroth&mdash;&mdash;as soon as my
uncle <i>Toby</i> was seated by the fire, and had filled his pipe, my
father broke out in this manner.</p>




<h4><a name = "bookIX_chapXXXIII" id = "bookIX_chapXXXIII">
CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4>


<p>&mdash;&mdash;<span class = "firstword">That</span> provision should
be made for continuing the race of so great, so exalted and godlike a
Being as man&mdash;I&nbsp;am far from denying&mdash;but philosophy
speaks freely of everything; and therefore I still think and do maintain
it to be a pity, that it should be done by means of a passion which
bends down the faculties, and turns all the wisdom, contemplations, and
operations of the soul backwards&mdash;&mdash;a&nbsp;passion, my dear,
continued my father, addressing himself to my mother, which couples and
equals wise men with fools, and makes us come out of our caverns and
hiding-places more like satyrs and four-footed beasts than men.</p>

<p>I know it will be said, continued my father (availing himself of the
<i>Prolepsis</i>), that in itself, and simply taken&mdash;&mdash;like
hunger, or thirst, or sleep&mdash;&mdash;’tis an affair neither good or
bad&mdash;or shameful or otherwise.&mdash;&mdash;Why then did the
delicacy of <i>Diogenes</i> and <i>Plato</i> so recalcitrate against it?
and wherefore, when we go
<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page477" id = "page477">477</a></span>
about to make and plant a man, do we put out the candle? and for what
reason is it, that all the parts thereof&mdash;the
congredients&mdash;the preparations&mdash;the instruments, and whatever
serves thereto, are so held as to be conveyed to a cleanly mind by no
language, translation, or periphrasis whatever?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;The act of killing and destroying a man, continued my
father, raising his voice&mdash;and turning to my uncle
<i>Toby</i>&mdash;you see, is glorious&mdash;and the weapons by which we
do it are honourable&mdash;&mdash;We march with them upon our
shoulders&mdash;&mdash;We strut with them by our sides&mdash;&mdash;We
gild them&mdash;&mdash;We carve them&mdash;&mdash;We in-lay
them&mdash;&mdash;We enrich them&mdash;&mdash;Nay, if it be but a
<i>scoundrel</i> cannon, we cast an ornament upon the breach of <span
class = "locked">it.&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;My uncle <i>Toby</i> laid down his pipe to intercede
for a better epithet&mdash;&mdash;and <i>Yorick</i> was rising up to
batter the whole hypothesis to <span class =
"locked">pieces&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;When <i>Obadiah</i> broke into the middle of the room
with a complaint, which cried out for an immediate hearing.</p>

<p>The case was this:</p>

<p>My father, whether by ancient custom of the manor, or as impropriator
of the great tythes, was obliged to keep a Bull for the service of the
Parish, and <i>Obadiah</i> had led his cow upon a <i>pop-visit</i> to
him one day or other the preceding summer&mdash;&mdash;I&nbsp;say, one
day or other&mdash;because as chance would have it, it was the day on
which he was married to my father’s housemaid&mdash;&mdash;so one was a
reckoning to the other. Therefore when <i>Obadiah’s</i> wife was brought
to bed&mdash;<i>Obadiah</i> thanked <span class =
"locked">God&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Now, said <i>Obadiah</i>, I shall have a calf: so
<i>Obadiah</i> went daily to visit his cow.</p>

<p>She’ll calve on <i>Monday</i>&mdash;on <i>Tuesday</i>&mdash;on
<i>Wednesday</i> at the <span class =
"locked">farthest&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>The cow did not calve&mdash;&mdash;no&mdash;she’ll not calve till
next week&mdash;&mdash;the cow put it off terribly&mdash;&mdash;till at
the end of the sixth week <i>Obadiah’s</i> suspicions (like a good
man’s) fell upon the Bull.</p>

<p>Now the parish being very large, my father’s Bull, to speak the truth
of him, was no way equal to the department; he had, however, got
himself, somehow or other, thrust into employment&mdash;and as he went
through the business with a grave face, my father had a high opinion of
him.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;Most of the townsmen, an’ please your worship, quoth
<i>Obadiah</i>, believe that ’tis all the Bull’s <span class =
"locked">fault&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;But may not a cow be barren? replied my father, turning
to Doctor <i>Slop</i>.</p>

<span class = "pagenum">
<a name = "page478" id = "page478">478</a></span>
<p>It never happens: said Dr. <i>Slop</i>, but the man’s wife may have
come before her time naturally enough&mdash;&mdash;Prithee has the child
hair upon his head?&mdash;added Dr. <span class =
"locked"><i>Slop</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash;It is as hairy as I am; said
<i>Obadiah</i>.&mdash;&mdash;<i>Obadiah</i> had not been shaved for
three weeks&mdash;&mdash;Wheu -&nbsp;- u -&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;- u
-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;- cried my father;
beginning the sentence with an exclamatory whistle&mdash;&mdash;and so,
brother <i>Toby</i>, this poor Bull of mine, who is as good a Bull as
ever p&mdash;ss’d, and might have done for <i>Europa</i> herself in
purer times&mdash;&mdash;had he but two legs less, might have been
driven into Doctors Commons and lost his character&mdash;&mdash;which to
a Town Bull, brother <i>Toby</i>, is the very same thing as his <span
class = "locked">life&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>

<p>L&mdash;d! said my mother, what is all this story
about?&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>A <span class = "smallroman">COCK</span> and a <span class =
"smallroman">BULL</span>, said <i>Yorick</i>&mdash;&mdash;And one of the
best of its kind, I&nbsp;ever heard.</p>

<div class = "footnote">

<p><a name = "note_9_1" id = "note_9_1" href = "#tag_9_1">1.</a>
He lost his hand at the battle of <i>Lepanto</i>.</p>

<p><a name = "note_9_2" id = "note_9_2" href = "#tag_9_2">2.</a>
This must be a mistake in Mr. <i>Shandy</i>; for <i>Graaf</i> wrote upon
the pancreatick juice, and the parts of generation.</p>

</div>

<div class = "page">

<p class = "illustration">
<img src = "images/pg478.png" width = "94" height = "112"
alt = "The Temple Press LETCHWORTH ENGLAND"
title = "The Temple Press LETCHWORTH ENGLAND" /></p>

</div>


<div class = "endnote">

<h4><a name = "endnote" id = "endnote">Detailed Contents</a><br />
<span class = "smaller">(added by transcriber)</span></h4>

<table class = "detail" summary = "detailed contents">
<tr class = "small">
<td>Book</td>
<td></td>
<td class = "number">Page</td>
</tr>
<tr class = "book">
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#intro">Introduction</a> (1912)</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#intro_vii">vii</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#biblio">Bibliography</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#intro_xxvi">xxvi</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#text">Note on Text</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#intro_xxvii">xxvii</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>I</td>
<td><a href = "#titlepage">Title Page</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page1">1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#dedic_pitt">Dedication</a> “to Mr. Pitt”</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page2">2</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookI">main text begins</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page3">3</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookI_baptism">baptism before birth</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page44">44</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>II</td>
<td><a href = "#bookII">Book II</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page59">59</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookII_sermon">The Sermon</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page89">89</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>III</td>
<td><a href = "#bookIII">Book III</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page113">113</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><p><a href = "#bookIII_excomm">Excommunicatio</a><br />
(Latin and English on facing pages)</p></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page122">122</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><p><a href = "#bookIII_preface">The Author’s Preface</a><br />
(between chaps. XX and XXI)</p></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page138">138</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>IV</td>
<td><a href = "#bookIV">Book IV</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page176">176</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><p><a href = "#bookIV_slawkenberg">Slawkenbergii Fabella</a><br />
(Latin and English on facing pages)</p></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page176">176</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIV_lament">My Father’s Lamentation</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page214">214</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>V</td>
<td><a href = "#bookV_title">Book V Title Page</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page249">249</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookV_dedic">Dedication</a> to Viscount Spencer</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page250">250</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookV">main text begins</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page251">251</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookV_whiskers">Upon Whiskers</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page252">252</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>VI</td>
<td><a href = "#bookVI">Book VI</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page300">300</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookVI_lefever">The Story of Le Fever</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page305">305</a>-<a href =
"#page312">312</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookVI_apology">My Uncle Toby’s Apologetical
Oration</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page337">337</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>VII</td>
<td><a href = "#bookVII">Book VII</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page349">349</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>VIII</td>
<td><a href = "#bookVIII">Book VIII</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page395">395</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookVIII_bohemia">The Story of the King of Bohemia and
His Seven Castles</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page411">411</a>-<a href =
"#page416">416</a></td>
</tr>

<tr class = "book">
<td>IX</td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_title">Book IX Title Page</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page439">439</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_dedic">Dedication</a> “to a Great Man”</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page440">440</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX">main text begins</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page441">441</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_chapXVIII">Chapter XVIII</a> (header)</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page458">458</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_chapXIX">Chapter XIX</a> (header)</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page459">459</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_invoc">The Invocation</a></td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page464">464</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_chapXVIIIb">The Eighteenth Chapter</a>
(content)</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page467">467</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td><a href = "#bookIX_chapXIXb">The Nineteenth Chapter</a>
(content)</td>
<td class = "number"><a href = "#page469">469</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<h4><a name = "hyphens" id = "hyphens">Hyphens and Spaces</a></h4>

<p>Inconsistent hyphenization or spacing has not been regularized. Words
found only at line break were handled on a “best guess” basis.</p>

<div class = "hanging">
<p>anywhere and any where:<br />
both forms occur</p>

<p>beforehand and before-hand:<br />
both forms occur at mid-line</p>

<p>hornworks and horn-works<br />
both forms occur at mid-line; line-end occurrences have hyphen</p>

<p>christian (Christian) name and christian-name:<br />
both forms occur more than once; the inconsistent capitalization of
“Christian” or “christian” is unchanged.</p>

<p>be-virtu’d:<br />
the only occurrence of this word is at line-break</p>

<p>shall not be opened again this twelve-/month:<br />
all other occurrences of this word are at mid-line: the three preceding
have a hyphen; the one following does not</p>
</div>

</div>

</div>
<!-- end div maintext -->








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