------'Tis owing to this, replied my father, that in our computations of _time_, we are so used to minutes, hours, weeks, and months----and of clocks (I wish there was not a clock in the kingdom) to measure out their several portions to us, and to those who belong to us----that 'twill be well, if in time to come, the _succession of our ideas_ be of any use or service to us at all.
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 ------A train of artillery? said my uncle _Toby_ ----A train of a fiddle-stick! --quoth my father--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. --I declare, quoth my uncle _Toby_, mine are more like a smoak-jack. ------Then, brother _Toby_, I have nothing more to say to you upon that subject, said my father.
[Footnote 3.3: Vide Locke.]
'In every man's head, there is a regular succession of ideas which follow each other in train just like-'
'A train of artillery?' said my uncle Toby.
'A train of a fiddle-stick!' quoth my father. '- which follow and succeed one another in our minds like the images in the inside of a lantern turned round by the heat of a candle.'
'I declare,' quoth my uncle, 'mine are more like a smoke-jack that turns a spit in a chimney.'
'Then, brother Toby, I have nothing more to say to you upon the subject,' said my father.