Though in one sense, our family was certainly a simple machine, as it consisted of a few wheels; yet there was thus much to be 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----that though it was a simple machine, it had all the honour and advantages of a complex one, ----and a number of as odd movements within it, as ever were beheld in the inside of a _Dutch_ silk-mill.
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.
Now to bring this about, whenever an extraordinary message, or letter, was delivered in the parlour--or a discourse suspended till a servant went out--or the lines of discontent were observed to hang upon the brows of my father or mother--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--as it stands just now, --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 passage was generally left, not indeed as wide as the _Dardanelles_, 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; --my mother at this moment stands profiting by it. --_Obadiah_ 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, --had _Trim_ got upon his legs, to speak his sentiments upon the subject.
A curious observer of nature, had he been worth the inventory of all Job's stock--though by the by, _your curious observers are seldom worth a groat_--would have given the half of it, to have heard Corporal _Trim_ and my father, two orators so contrasted by nature and education, haranguing over the same bier.
My father--a man of deep reading--prompt memory--with _Cato_, and _Seneca_, and _Epictetus_, at his fingers ends.--
The corporal--with nothing--to remember--of no deeper reading than his muster-roll--or greater names at his fingers end, than the contents of it.
The one proceeding from period to period, by metaphor and allusion, and striking the fancy as he went along (as men of wit and fancy do) with the entertainment and pleasantry of his pictures and images.

Though in one sense, our family was a simple machine, consisting of only a few wheels; yet these wheels were set in motion by so many different springs, and such a variety of strange principles and impulses - that although it was a simple machine, it had all the appearance of a complex one, with as many odd movements within it as ever were beheld in the inside of a Dutch silk-mill.
Amongst them was this effect: that whatever debate or dialogue was going on in the parlour, there was generally another at the same time, and upon the same subject, running parallel along with it in the kitchen.
Now to bring this about, whenever an extraordinary message or letter was delivered in the parlour - or my mother or father were observed by the servants to be arguing or discontented - in short, when there was anything worth knowing or listening to, 'twas the rule to leave the door not absolutely shut, but somewhat ajar - as it stands just now - which, under cover of the bad hinge (and that might be one of the many reasons why it was never mended) was not difficult to manage.
My mother at this moment stands profiting by this gap. - Obadiah did the same thing, as soon as he had left the letter with the news of my brother's death; so that before my father had got over his surprise, and begun his speech, Trim in the kitchen had stood up to speak his sentiments on the subject.
A curious observer would have given a great deal to have heard Corporal Trim and my father, two orators so contrasted by nature and education, haranguing over the same bier.
My father - a man of deep reading and prompt memory - with Cato and Seneca at his fingers' ends.
The corporal - with no deeper reading than his muster-roll.
The one proceeding from metaphor to allusion, and striking the fancy as he went along with the pleasantry of his images.
