--No doubt, Sir, --there is a whole chapter wanting here--and a chasm of ten pages made in the book by it--but the bookbinder is neither a fool, or a knave, or a puppy--nor is the book a jot more imperfect (at least upon that score)----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. --I question first, by the bye, whether the same experiment might not be made as successfully upon sundry other chapters------but there is no end, an' please your reverences, in trying experiments upon chapters------we have had enough of it ----So there's an end of that matter.
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----was the description of my father's, my uncle _Toby's_, _Trim's_, and _Obadiah's_ setting out and journeying to the visitation at ****.
We'll go in the coach, said my father --Prithee, have the arms been altered, _Obadiah?_ --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 _Shandy's_, 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 _Turpilius_ the _Roman_, or _Hans Holbein_ of _Basil_----or whether 'twas more from the blunder of his head than hand----or whether, lastly, it was from the sinister turn which every thing relating to our family was apt to take----it so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the _bend-dexter_, which since _Harry_ the Eighth's reign was honestly our due------a _bend-sinister_, by some of these fatalities, had been drawn quite across the field of the _Shandy_ 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--let it be whose it would--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 _bend-sinister_ was taken out--but like the affair of the hinge, it was one of the many things which the _Destinies_ had set down in their books ever to be grumbled at (and in wiser families than ours)----but never to be mended.

- No doubt, Sir - there is a whole chapter (number 24) missing here - and a chasm of ten pages made in the book by it - but the bookbinder is neither a fool, or a knave, nor is the book a jot more imperfect - but, on the contrary, is more perfect by missing the chapter, than having it, as I shall demonstrate.
- I question, by the bye, whether the same experiment might not be made successfully upon various other chapters - but there is no end in trying experiments upon chapters - so enough.
But before I begin my demonstration, let me just tell you, that the chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would be reading now, was the description of my father's, my uncle Toby's, Trim's, and Obadiah's setting out and journeying to the visit at ****.
'We'll go in the coach,' said my father - 'Prithee, has the coat of arms been altered, Obadiah?'
It would have made my story much better to have begun with telling you that at the time my mother's heraldic arms were added to the Shandy's, when the coach was re-painted upon their marriage, it had so happened that the coach-painter - whether by painting all his works with the left-hand, like Hans Holbein - or whether 'twas a blunder - or the sinister turn which everything relating to our family was apt to take - it happened that, instead of the bend-dexter, which since Harry the Eighth's reign was honestly our due, a bend-sinister, the emblem of a child born out of wedlock, had been drawn across the field of the Shandy coat of arms.
'Tis scarce credible that a man as wise as my father, could be so much incommoded with so small a matter. The word coach, or coach-man, or coach-horse, could never be named, without him complaining of carrying this vile mark of illegitimacy upon his own coach; he was never able to step in or out of it, without turning round to view the arms, and vowing that it was the last time he would ever set his foot in it, till the bend-sinister was removed. But like the hinge, it was destined ever to be grumbled at, and never to be mended.
