'Tis a pity, cried my father one winter's night, after a three hours' painful translation of _Slawkenbergius_----'tis a pity, cried my father, putting my mother's thread-paper into the book for a mark, as he spoke----that truth, brother _Toby_, should shut herself up in such impregnable fastnesses, and be so obstinate as not to surrender herself sometimes up upon the closest siege.----
Now it happened then, as indeed it had often done before, that my uncle _Toby's_ fancy, during the time of my father's explanation of _Prignitz_ to him------having nothing to stay it there, had taken a short flight to the bowling-green! ------his body might as well have taken a turn there too--so that with all the semblance of a deep school-man intent upon the _medius terminus_------my uncle _Toby_ was in fact as ignorant of the whole lecture, and all its pros and cons, as if my father had been translating _Hafen Slawkenbergius_ from the _Latin_ tongue into the _Cherokee_. But the word _siege_, like a talismanic power, in my father's metaphor, wafting back my uncle _Toby's_ fancy, quick as a note could follow the touch--he open'd his ears----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--my father with great pleasure began his sentence again----changing only the plan, and dropping the metaphor of the siege of it, to keep clear of some dangers my father apprehended from it.
'Tis a pity, said my father, that truth can only be on one side, brother _Toby_------considering what ingenuity these learned men have all shewn in their solutions of noses. ----Can noses be dissolved? replied my uncle _Toby_.
------My father thrust back his chair------rose up--put on his hat------took four long strides to the door------jerked it open----thrust his head half way out----shut the door again----took no notice of the bad hinge----returned to the table--pluck'd my mother's thread-paper out of _Slawkenbergius's_ book------went hastily to his bureau--walked slowly back--twisted my mother's thread-paper about his thumb--unbutton'd his waistcoat--threw my mother's thread-paper into the fire----bit her sattin pin-cushion in two, fill'd his mouth with bran--confounded it; --but mark! --the oath of confusion was levell'd at my uncle _Toby's_ brain--which was e'en confused enough already----the curse came charged only with the bran--the bran, may it please your honours, was no more than powder to the ball.

''Tis a pity,' cried my father one winter's night, after three hours' painful translation of Slawkenbergius - ''tis a pity that truth, brother Toby, should shut herself up in such impregnable fortresses, and not surrender under the closest siege.'
Now it happened then, as indeed it had often done before, that my uncle Toby's thoughts, during my father's explanation of Prignitz, had taken a short flight to the bowling-green! His body might as well have taken a turn there too - for with all the appearance of being intent on the argument, my uncle Toby was in fact as ignorant of the whole lecture as if my father had been translating Slawkenbergius from Latin into Cherokee.
But the word siege, like a talismanic power, wafted through my uncle Toby's fancy - he opened his ears - and my father, observing that he took his pipe out of his mouth, and shuffled his chair nearer the table, - my father with great pleasure began his sentence again, only dropping the metaphor of the siege, to keep clear of some dangers he foresaw from it.
''Tis a pity,' said my father, 'that truth can only be on one side, brother, considering what ingenuity these learned men have all shown in their solutions of noses.'
'Solutions? Can then noses be dissolved?' replied my uncle Toby.
My father thrust back his chair - rose up - took four long strides to the door - jerked it open - shut it again - went hastily to his bureau - walked slowly back - threw his bookmark into the fire - bit my mother's satin pin-cushion in two, filling his mouth with bran - confounded it - but mark! the oath of confusion was levelled at my uncle Toby's brain, which was confused enough already.
