A delusive, delicious consultation or two of this kind, betwixt my uncle _Toby_ and _Trim_, upon the demolition of _Dunkirk_, --for a moment rallied back the ideas of those pleasures, which were slipping from under him: ----still--still all went on heavily----the magic left the mind the weaker --STILLNESS, with SILENCE at her back, entered the solitary parlour, and drew their gauzy mantle over my uncle _Toby's_ head; ----and LISTLESSNESS, with her lax fibre and undirected eye, sat quietly down beside him in his arm-chair. ----No longer _Amberg_ and _Rhinberg_, and _Limbourg_, and _Huy_, and _Bonn_, in one year, --and the prospect of _Landen_, and _Trerebach_, and _Drusen_, and _Dendermond_, the next, --hurried on the blood: --No longer did saps, and mines, and blinds, and gabions, and palisadoes, keep out this fair enemy of man's repose: ----No more could my uncle _Toby_, after passing the _French_ lines, as he eat his egg at supper, from thence break into the heart of _France_, --cross over the _Oyes_, and with all _Picardie_ open behind him, march up to the gates of _Paris_, and fall asleep with nothing but ideas of glory: ----No more was he to dream he had fixed the royal standard upon the tower of the _Bastile_, and awake with it streaming in his head.
----Softer visions, --gentler vibrations stole sweetly in upon his slumbers; --the trumpet of war fell out of his hands, --he took up the lute, sweet instrument! of all others the most delicate! the most difficult! ----how wilt thou touch it, my dear uncle _Toby?_
A delusive, delicious consultation or two of this kind, betwixt my uncle Toby and Trim, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, for a moment recalled the ideas of those pleasures which were slipping from under him.
Yet all went on heavily. Stillness and Silence entered the solitary parlour, and drew their gauzy mantle over my uncle Toby's head; and Listlessness sat quietly down beside him in his arm-chair.
No longer did Amberg and Rhinberg and Limbourg and the rest hurry on the blood. No longer did saps, and mines, and palisades, keep out this fair enemy of man's repose. No more could my uncle Toby, after passing the French lines, as he ate his egg at supper, then break into the heart of France, march up to the gates of Paris, and fall asleep with nothing but ideas of glory. No more could he dream that he had fixed the royal standard upon the tower of the Bastille, and awake with it streaming in his head.
-Softer visions - gentler vibrations - stole sweetly in upon his slumbers. The trumpet of war fell from his hands; he took up the lute, sweet instrument! of all the most delicate! the most difficult!
- How wilt thou touch it, my dear uncle Toby?