As _Tom_, an' please your honour, had no business at that time with the _Moorish_ girl, he passed on into the room beyond, to talk to the _Jew's_ widow about love----and this pound of sausages; and being, as I have told your honour, an open cheary-hearted lad, with his character wrote in his looks and carriage, he took a chair, and without much apology, but with great civility at the same time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat down.
There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an' please your honour, whilst she is making sausages ----So _Tom_ began a discourse upon them; first, gravely, ----"as how they were made----with what meats, herbs, and spices" --Then a little gayly, --as, "With what skins----and if they never burst ----Whether the largest were not the best?" ----and so on--taking care only as he went along, to season what he had to say upon sausages, rather under than over; ----that he might have room to act in----
It was owing to the neglect of that very precaution, said my uncle _Toby_, laying his hand upon _Trim's_ shoulder, that Count _De la Motte_ lost the battle of _Wynendale_: he pressed too speedily into the wood; which if he had not done, _Lisle_ had not fallen into our hands, nor _Ghent_ and _Bruges_, which both followed her example; it was so late in the year, continued my uncle _Toby_, and so terrible a season came on, that if things had not fallen out as they did, our troops must have perish'd in the open field.----
----Why, therefore, may not battles, an' please your honour, as well as marriages, be made in heaven? --My uncle _Toby_ mused----
Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his high idea of military skill tempted him to say another; so not being able to frame a reply exactly to his mind----my uncle _Toby_ said nothing at all; and the corporal finished his story.
As _Tom_ perceived, an' please your honour, that he gained ground, and that all he had said upon the subject of sausages was kindly taken, he went on to help her a little in making them. ----First, by taking hold of the ring of the sausage whilst she stroked the forced meat down with her hand----then by cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them in his hand, whilst she took them out one by one----then, by putting them across her mouth, that she might take them out as she wanted them----and so on from little to more, till at last he adventured to tie the sausage himself, whilst she held the snout.----
----Now a widow, an' please your honour, always chuses a second husband as unlike the first as she can: so the affair was more than half settled in her mind before _Tom_ mentioned it.

'Tom walked past the Moorish girl, and went on into the room beyond, to talk to the Jew's widow about love, and this pound of sausages; and being, as I have said, an open cheery-hearted lad, he took a chair, and with great civility placed it close to her at the table, and sat down.
'There is nothing so awkward as courting a woman whilst she is making sausages - so Tom began a discourse upon them; first, gravely, "as to how they were made - with what meats, herbs, and spices;" then a little gaily, as, "With what skins - whether the largest were not the best?" - and so on - taking care to under-season what he had to say upon sausages, rather than over-season; so that he might have room to act-'
'It was owing to the neglect of that very precaution,' said my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon Trim's shoulder, 'that Count De la Motte lost the battle of Wynnendale: he pressed too speedily into the wood, and let Lisle fall into our hands, and then Ghent and Bruges; it was so late in the year, and so terrible a season came on, that otherwise our troops might have perished-'
'Why may not battles, your honour, as well as marriages, be made in heaven?'
My uncle Toby mused-
Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his idea of military skill another. Not being able to frame a reply, he said nothing; and the corporal finished his story.
'As Tom saw that he gained ground, and that all he said upon the subject of sausages was kindly taken, he went on to help her in making them. - First, by taking hold of the ring of the sausage whilst she stroked the meat down with her hand - then by cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them whilst she took them one by one - and so on, till at last he ventured to tie the sausage himself, whilst she held the snout.
'Now a widow, your honour, always chooses a second husband as unlike the first as she can: so the affair was half settled in her mind before Tom mentioned it.


She made a feint however of defending herself, by snatching up a sausage: ----_Tom_ instantly laid hold of another------
But seeing _Tom's_ had more gristle in it------
She signed the capitulation----and _Tom_ sealed it; and there was an end of the matter.

'She made a feint however of defending herself, by snatching up a sausage: Tom instantly laid hold of another.
'But seeing Tom's had more gristle in it-
'She signed the agreement; Tom sealed it; and there was an end of the matter.'


The Fates, who certainly all foreknew of these amours of widow _Wadman_ and my uncle _Toby_, had, from the first creation of matter and motion (and with more courtesy than they usually do things of this kind), established such a chain of causes and effects hanging so fast to one another, that it was scarce possible for my uncle _Toby_ to have dwelt in any other house in the world, or to have occupied any other garden in _Christendom_, but the very house and garden which join'd and laid parallel to Mrs. _Wadman's_; this, with the advantage of a thickset arbour in Mrs. _Wadman's_ garden, but planted in the hedge-row of my uncle _Toby's_, put all the occasions into her hands which Love-militancy wanted; she could observe my uncle _Toby's_ motions, and was mistress likewise of his councils of war; and as his unsuspecting heart had given leave to the corporal, through the mediation of _Bridget_, to make her a wicker-gate of communication to enlarge her walks, it enabled her to carry on her approaches to the very door of the sentry-box; and sometimes out of gratitude, to make an attack, and endeavour to blow my uncle _Toby_ up in the very sentry-box itself.

The Fates, who certainly foresaw these amours of widow Wadman and my uncle Toby, had, from the first creation of matter, established such a chain of causes and effects, that it was scarce possible for my uncle Toby to have dwelt in any other house in the world, or to have occupied any other garden, but the very house and garden which lay next to Mrs. Wadman's.
This, with the advantage of a thickset arbour in Mrs. Wadman's garden, but planted in the hedge-row of my uncle Toby's, gave her all the occasions Love-militancy wanted. She could observe my uncle Toby's movements, and hear his councils of war; and as he had unsuspectingly given leave to the corporal, through Bridget, to make Widow Wadman a communicating wicker-gate to enlarge her walks, it enabled her to approach the very door of the sentry-box; and sometimes out of gratitude to make an attack, and try to blow my uncle Toby up in the very sentry-box itself.


Trim can repeat every word of it by heart, quoth my uncle _Toby_. --Pugh! said my father, not caring to be interrupted with _Trim's_ saying his Catechism. He can, upon my honour, replied my uncle _Toby_. --Ask him, Mr. _Yorick_, any question you please.----
--The fifth Commandment, _Trim_--said _Yorick_, speaking mildly, and with a gentle nod, as to a modest Catechumen. The corporal stood silent. --You don't ask him right, said my uncle _Toby_, raising his voice, and giving it rapidly like the word of command: ----The fifth--------cried my uncle _Toby_. --I must begin with the first, an' please your honour, said the corporal.----

'Trim can repeat every word of it by heart,' quoth my uncle Toby.
'Pugh!' said my father, not caring to be interrupted with Trim's saying his Catechism.
'He can, upon my honour,' replied my uncle. 'Ask him, Mr. Yorick, any question you please.'
'The fifth Commandment, Trim,' said Yorick mildly, with a gentle nod. The corporal stood silent.
'You don't ask him right,' said my uncle Toby. Raising his voice to a rapid tone of command, he cried: 'The fifth.'
'I must begin with the first, an' please your honour,' said the corporal.


--_Yorick_ could not forbear smiling. --Your reverence does not consider, said the corporal, shouldering his stick like a musket, and marching into the middle of the room, to illustrate his position, --that 'tis exactly the same thing, as doing one's exercise in the field.--
"_Join your right-hand to your firelock_," cried the corporal, giving the word of command, and performing the motion.--
"_Poise your firelock_," cried the corporal, doing the duty still both of adjutant and private man.
"_Rest your firelock_;" --one motion, an' please your reverence, you see leads into another. --If his honour will begin but with the _first_--
THE FIRST--cried my uncle _Toby_, setting his hand upon his side-- * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE SECOND--cried my uncle _Toby_, waving his tobacco-pipe, as he would have done his sword at the head of a regiment. --The corporal went through his _manual_ with exactness! and having _honoured his father and mother_, made a low bow, and fell back to the side of the room.

Yorick could not help smiling.
'Your reverence does not consider,' said the corporal, shouldering his stick like a musket, and marching into the middle of the room, 'that 'tis exactly the same thing as presenting arms. - "Join your right-hand to your firelock. Poise your firelock. Now rest your firelock,"' said he, demonstrating with his stick, and acting as both commander and soldier. 'You see one leads into another. If his honour will begin but with the first-'
'The First,' cried my uncle Toby, waving his tobacco-pipe like a sword.
The corporal went through his manual with exactness; and having honoured his father and mother, made a low bow, and stepped aside.


Everything in this world, said my father, is big with jest, --and has wit in it, and instruction too, --if we can but find it out.
--Here is the _scaffold work_ of INSTRUCTION, its true point of folly, without the BUILDING behind it.
--Here is the glass for pedagogues, preceptors, tutors, governors, gerund-grinders, and bear-leaders, to view themselves in, in their true dimensions.--
Oh! there is a husk and shell, _Yorick_, which grows up with learning, which their unskilfulness knows not how to fling away!
--SCIENCES MAY BE LEARNED BY ROTE, BUT WISDOM NOT.
_Yorick_ thought my father inspired. --I will enter into obligations this moment, said my father, to lay out all my aunt _Dinah's_ legacy in charitable uses (of which, by the bye, my father had no high opinion), if the corporal has any one determinate idea annexed to any one word he has repeated. --Prythee, _Trim_, quoth my father, turning round to him, --What dost thou mean, by "_honouring thy father and mother?_"

'Everything in this world,' said my father, 'is big with jest, and has wit in it, if we can but find it.
'Here in the Catechism is the scaffolding of Instruction, without the Building behind it.
'Here is the looking-glass for teachers, tutors, and gerund-grinders, to view themselves in.
'Oh! there is a husk and shell, Yorick, which grows up with learning, which they know not how to fling away!
'Sciences may be learned by rote, but wisdom not.'
Yorick thought my father was inspired.
'I will promise this moment,' said my father, 'to donate all my aunt Dinah's legacy to charitable causes' (of which, by the bye, my father had no high opinion), 'if the corporal has any one distinct idea attached to any one word he has repeated.- Prithee, Trim,' quoth my father, turning to him, 'What dost thou mean, by "honouring thy father and mother?"'


Allowing them, an' please your honour, three half-pence a day out of my pay, when they grow old. --And didst thou do that, _Trim?_ said _Yorick_. --He did indeed, replied my uncle _Toby_. --Then, _Trim_, said _Yorick_, springing out of his chair, and taking the corporal by the hand, thou art the best commentator upon that part of the _Decalogue_; and I honour thee more for it, corporal _Trim_, than if thou hadst had a hand in the _Talmud_ itself.

'Allowing them, an' please your honour, three half-pence a day out of my pay, when they grow old.'
'And didst thou do that, Trim?' said Yorick.
'He did indeed,' replied my uncle Toby.
'Then, Trim,' said Yorick, springing out of his chair, and shaking the corporal's hand, 'thou art the best commentator upon that commandment; and I honour thee more for it, corporal Trim, than if thou hadst had a hand in the Talmud itself.'


As Mrs. _Bridget_ opened the door before the corporal had well given the rap, the interval betwixt that and my uncle _Toby's_ introduction into the parlour, was so short, that Mrs. _Wadman_ had but just time to get from behind the curtain----lay a Bible upon the table, and advance a step or two towards the door to receive him.
My uncle _Toby_ saluted Mrs. _Wadman_, after the manner in which women were saluted by men in the year of our Lord God one thousand seven hundred and thirteen----then facing about, he march'd up abreast with her to the sopha, and in three plain words----though not before he was sat down----nor after he was sat down----but as he was sitting down, told her, "_he was in love_"----so that my uncle _Toby_ strained himself more in the declaration than he needed.
Mrs. _Wadman_ naturally looked down, upon a slit she had been darning up in her apron, in expectation every moment, that my uncle _Toby_ would go on; but having no talents for amplification, and Love moreover of all others being a subject of which he was the least a master ----When he had told Mrs. _Wadman_ once that he loved her, he let it alone, and left the matter to work after its own way.
My father was always in raptures with this system of my uncle _Toby's_, as he falsely called it, and would often say, that could his brother _Toby_ to his process have added but a pipe of tobacco----he had wherewithal to have found his way, if there was faith in a _Spanish_ proverb, towards the hearts of half the women upon the globe.
My uncle _Toby_ never understood what my father meant; nor will I presume to extract more from it, than a condemnation of an error which the bulk of the world lie under----but the _French_ every one of 'em to a man, who believe in it, almost, as much as the REAL PRESENCE, "_That talking of love, is making it_."
------I would as soon set about making a black-pudding by the same receipt.
Let us go on: Mrs. _Wadman_ sat in expectation my uncle _Toby_ would do so, to almost the first pulsation of that minute, wherein silence on one side or the other, generally becomes indecent: so edging herself a little more towards him, and raising up her eyes, sub-blushing, as she did it----she took up the gauntlet----or the discourse (if you like it better) and communed with my uncle _Toby_, thus:
The cares and disquietudes of the marriage state, quoth Mrs. _Wadman_, are very great. I suppose so--said my uncle _Toby_: and therefore when a person, continued Mrs. _Wadman_, is so much at his ease as you are--so happy, captain _Shandy_, in yourself, your friends and your amusements --I wonder, what reasons can incline you to the state------
----They are written, quoth my uncle _Toby_, in the Common-Prayer Book.

As Mrs. Bridget opened the door before the corporal had properly knocked, the interval before my uncle Toby's entrance into the parlour was so short that Mrs. Wadman had just time to get from behind the curtain, - lay a Bible upon the table, and advance to receive him.
My uncle Toby saluted Mrs. Wadman in the manner of 1713 - then, turning around, he marched up abreast with her to the sofa, and in three plain words - though not before he was sat down - nor after he was sat down - but as he was sitting down, told her, 'he was in love.'
Mrs. Wadman naturally looked down, expecting that my uncle Toby would go on; but having no talents for amplification, and Love being a subject of which he had no mastery - having told her once that he loved her, he let it alone, and left the matter to work its own way.
My father was always in raptures with this system of my uncle Toby's, as he falsely called it; and would often say, that if his brother could have added a pipe of tobacco to his process, he would have found his way towards the hearts of half the women on the globe.
My uncle Toby never understood what my father meant; nor will I presume to extract more from it, than a condemnation of an error which most of the world, except the French, lie under - believing 'that talking of love, is making it.'
I would as soon set about making a black-pudding by the same recipe.
Let us go on: Mrs. Wadman expecting my uncle Toby would do so, until the silence became almost indecent: so edging herself a little more towards him, and raising up her eyes, sub-blushing, as she did it - she took up the gauntlet - or the discourse - with my uncle Toby, thus:
'The cares and worries of the marriage state,' quoth she, 'are very great.'
'I suppose so,' said my uncle Toby.
'And therefore when a person,' continued Mrs. Wadman, 'is so much at his ease as you are - so happy, captain Shandy, in yourself, your friends and your amusements - I wonder, what reasons can incline you to the state?'
'They are written,' quoth my uncle, 'in the Common-Prayer Book.'


Thus far my uncle _Toby_ went on warily, and kept within his depth, leaving Mrs. _Wadman_ to sail upon the gulph as she pleased.
----As for children--said Mrs. _Wadman_--though a principal end perhaps of the institution, and the natural wish, I suppose, of every parent--yet do not we all find, they are certain sorrows, and very uncertain comforts? and what is there, dear sir, to pay one for the heart-aches--what compensation for the many tender and disquieting apprehensions of a suffering and defenceless mother who brings them into life? I declare, said my uncle _Toby_, smit with pity, I know of none; unless it be the pleasure which it has pleased God----
A fiddlestick! quoth she.

Thus far my uncle Toby went on warily, and kept within his depth, leaving Mrs. Wadman to sail upon the gulf as she pleased.
'As for children,' said Mrs. Wadman, 'though a principal end of marriage, and the natural wish, I suppose, of every parent - yet do not we all find, they are certain sorrows, and very uncertain comforts? and what compensation is there, dear sir, for the many worries of a suffering and defenceless mother who brings them into life?'
'I declare,' said my uncle Toby, smitten with pity, 'I know of none; unless it be the pleasure which it has pleased God-'
'A fiddlestick!' quoth she.


--Now, quoth _Didius_, rising up, and laying his right hand with his fingers spread upon his breast----had such a blunder about a christian-name happened before the Reformation ------[It happened the day before yesterday, quoth my uncle _Toby_ to himself] and when baptism was administer'd in _Latin_ --['Twas all in _English_, said my uncle]------ many things might have coincided with it, and upon the authority of sundry decreed cases, to have pronounced the baptism null, with a power of giving the child a new name --Had a priest, for instance, which was no uncommon thing, through ignorance of the _Latin_ tongue, baptized a child of Tom-o'Stiles, _in nomine patri & filia & spiritum sanctos_--the baptism was held null. ----I beg your pardon, replied _Kysarcius_----in that case, as the mistake was only the _terminations_, the baptism was valid----and to have rendered it null, the blunder of the priest should have fallen upon the first syllable of each noun------and not, as in your case, upon the last.
My father delighted in subtleties of this kind, and listen'd with infinite attention.
_Gastripheres_, for example, continued _Kysarcius_, baptizes a child of _John Stradling's_ in _Gomine_ gatris, &c., &c., instead of _in Nomine_ patris, &c. ----Is this a baptism? No--say the ablest canonists; in as much as the radix of each word is hereby torn up, and the sense and meaning of them removed and changed quite to another object; for _Gomine_ does not signify a name, nor _gatris_ a father. --What do they signify? said my uncle _Toby_. --Nothing at all------quoth _Yorick_. ----Ergo, such a baptism is null, said _Kysarcius_.----
In course, answered _Yorick_, in a tone two parts jest and one part earnest.----

'Now,' quoth Didius, rising up, 'if such a blunder about a Christian name had happened before the Reformation, when baptism was administered in Latin, - many things might have occurred which would allow an authority to pronounce the baptism null, with a power of giving the child a new name. Had a priest, for instance, through ignorance of the Latin tongue, baptized a child in nomine patriae et filia et spiritum sanctos - the baptism was held null.'
'I beg your pardon,' replied Kysarcius, 'in that case, as the mistake was only the word-endings, the baptism was valid. To have rendered it null, the priest should have blundered on the first syllable of each noun, and not the last.'
My father delighted in subtleties of this kind, and listened with great attention.
'If Gastripheres, for example,' continued Kysarcius, 'baptizes a child of John Stradling's in gomine gatris, instead of in nomine patris - is this a baptism? No: for the root of each word is torn up, and it becomes meaningless; therefore, it is null.'
'Of course,' answered Yorick, in a tone part jest and part earnest.


But in the case cited, continued _Kysarcius_, where _patri_ is put for _patris_, _filia_ for _filii_, and so on----as it is a fault only in the declension, and the roots of the words continue untouch'd, the inflections of their branches either this way or that, does not in any sort hinder the baptism, inasmuch as the same sense continues in the words as before. ----But then, said _Didius_, the intention of the priest's pronouncing them grammatically must have been proved to have gone along with it. ------------Right, answered _Kysarcius_; and of this, brother _Didius_, we have an instance in a decree of the decretals of Pope _Leo_ the IIId. ----But my brother's child, cried my uncle _Toby_, has nothing to do with the Pope------'tis the plain child of a Protestant gentleman, christen'd _Tristram_ against the wills and wishes both of his father and mother, and all who are a-kin to it.----
If the wills and wishes, said _Kysarcius_, interrupting my uncle _Toby_, of those only who stand related to Mr. _Shandy's_ child, were to have weight in this matter, Mrs. _Shandy_, of all people, has the least to do in it. ----My uncle _Toby_ lay'd down his pipe, and my father drew his chair still closer to the table, to hear the conclusion of so strange an introduction.
----It has not only been a question, Captain _Shandy_, amongst the[4.10] best lawyers and civilians in this land, continued _Kysarcius_, "_Whether the mother be of kin to her child_," --but, after much dispassionate enquiry and jactitation of the arguments on all sides--it has been abjudged for the negative--namely, "_That the mother is not of kin to her child_."[4.11] My father instantly clapp'd his hand upon my uncle _Toby's_ mouth, under colour of whispering in his ear; --the truth was, he was alarmed for _Lillabullero_--and having a great desire to hear more of so curious an argument--he begg'd my uncle _Toby_, for Heaven's sake, not to disappoint him in it. --My uncle _Toby_ gave a nod--resumed his pipe, and contenting himself with whistling _Lillabullero_ inwardly----_Kysarcius_, _Didius_, and _Triptolemus_ went on with the discourse as follows.

'But in the case cited,' continued Kysarcius, 'with patriae for patris, and so on - as it is a fault only in the declension, and the roots of the words and their meaning continue untouched, it does not hinder the baptism. We have an instance in a decree of Pope Leo the Third-'
'But my brother's child has nothing to do with the Pope,' cried my uncle Toby; ''tis the child of a Protestant gentleman, christened Tristram against the wishes of his father and mother, and all his kin.'
'If the wishes of only Mr. Shandy's family were to have weight in this matter,' said Kysarcius, 'Mrs. Shandy, of all people, has the least.'
My uncle Toby laid down his pipe, and my father drew his chair closer to the table, to hear more.
'It has been a question, Captain Shandy, amongst the best lawyers in this land,' continued Kysarcius, '"whether the mother be of kin to her child;" but, after much enquiry into all the arguments - it has been judged for the negative: namely, "That the mother is not of kin to her child."'
My father instantly clapped his hand upon my uncle Toby's mouth, under the pretence of whispering in his ear; the truth was, he was alarmed for Lillabullero, for he had a great desire to hear more of so curious an argument. My uncle Toby resumed his pipe, and contenting himself with whistling Lillabullero inwardly.


This determination, continued _Kysarcius_, how contrary soever it may seem to run to the stream of vulgar ideas, yet had reason strongly on its side; and has been put out of all manner of dispute from the famous case, known commonly by the name of the Duke of _Suffolk's_ case. ------It is cited in _Brook_, said _Triptolemus_ ------And taken notice of by Lord _Coke_, added _Didius_. --And you may find it in _Swinburn_ on Testaments, said _Kysarcius_.
The case, Mr. _Shandy_, was this.
In the reign of _Edward_ the Sixth, _Charles_ duke of _Suffolk_ having issue a son by one venter, and a daughter by another venter, made his last will, wherein he devised goods to his son, and died; after whose death the son died also----but without will, without wife, and without child--his mother and his sister by the father's side (for she was born of the former venter) then living. The mother took the administration of her son's goods, according to the statute of the 21st of _Harry_ the Eighth, whereby it is enacted, That in case any person die intestate the administration of his goods shall be committed to the next of kin.
The administration being thus (surreptitiously) granted to the mother, the sister by the father's side commenced a suit before the Ecclesiastical Judge, alledging, 1st, That she herself was next of kin; and 2dly, That the mother was not of kin at all to the party deceased; and therefore prayed the court, that the administration granted to the mother might be revoked, and be committed unto her, as next of kin to the deceased, by force of the said statute.
Hereupon, as it was a great cause, and much depending upon its issue--and many causes of great property likely to be decided in times to come, by the precedent to be then made----the most learned, as well in the laws of this realm, as in the civil law, were consulted together, whether the mother was of kin to her son, or no. --Whereunto not only the temporal lawyers----but the church lawyers--the juris-consulti--the juris-prudentes--the civilians--the advocates--the commissaries--the judges of the consistory and prerogative courts of _Canterbury_ and _York_, with the master of the faculties, were all unanimously of opinion, That the mother was not of[4.12] kin to her child.----

'This decision,' continued Kysarcius, 'however contrary it may seem to run to vulgar ideas, yet had reason strongly on its side; and has been put beyond dispute by the famous case of the Duke of Suffolk. The case, Mr. Shandy, was this.
'In the reign of Edward the Sixth, Charles duke of Suffolk, having a son by one mother, and a daughter by another, made his last will, wherein he left his goods to his son, and died. After his death the son died also - but without a will, without wife or child. Since his mother and his sister by the father's side were then living, the mother took the administration of her son's goods, according to the 21st statute of Harry the Eighth, whereby if any person should die intestate the administration of his goods shall be committed to the next of kin.
'The administration being thus granted to the mother, the sister began a suit before the Ecclesiastical Judge, alleging, first, that she herself was next of kin; and second, that the mother was not of kin at all to the deceased son; and therefore she prayed the court that the administration of the estate might be revoked from the mother and given to her.
'As it was a great cause, with much depending upon its result, the most learned lawyers were consulted as to whether the mother was of kin to her son, or no. All the lawyers and judges were unanimously of the opinion, that the mother was not of kin to her child.'


And what said the duchess of _Suffolk_ to it? said my uncle _Toby_.
The unexpectedness of my uncle _Toby's_ question, confounded _Kysarcius_ more than the ablest advocate ----He stopp'd a full minute, looking in my uncle _Toby's_ face without replying----and in that single minute _Triptolemus_ put by him, and took the lead as follows.
'Tis a ground and principle in the law, said _Triptolemus_, that things do not ascend, but descend in it; and I make no doubt 'tis for this cause, that however true it is, that the child may be of the blood and seed of its parents----that the parents, nevertheless, are not of the blood and seed of it; inasmuch as the parents are not begot by the child, but the child by the parents --For so they write, _Liberi sunt de sanguine patris & matris, sed pater & mater non sunt de sanguine liberorum_.

'And what said the duchess of Suffolk to it?' said my uncle Toby.
The unexpectedness of my uncle's question confounded Kysarcius. He paused, and Triptolemus took over.
''Tis a principle in the law,' said Triptolemus, 'that things do not ascend, but descend in it; so that however true it is, that the child is of the blood and seed of its parents - the parents, nevertheless, are not of the blood and seed of the child; for they are not begot by the child.'


----But this, _Triptolemus_, cried _Didius_, proves too much--for from this authority cited it would follow, not only what indeed is granted on all sides, that the mother is not of kin to her child--but the father likewise. ----It is held, said _Triptolemus_, the better opinion; because the father, the mother, and the child, though they be three persons, yet are they but (_una caro_[4.13]) one flesh; and consequently no degree of kindred----or any method of acquiring one _in nature_. ----There you push the argument again too far, cried _Didius_----for there is no prohibition _in nature_, though there is in the Levitical law----but that a man may beget a child upon his grandmother----in which case, supposing the issue a daughter, she would stand in relation both of ----But who ever thought, cried _Kysarcius_, of lying with his grandmother? ------The young gentleman, replied _Yorick_, whom _Selden_ speaks of----who not only thought of it, but justified his intention to his father by the argument drawn from the law of retaliation. --"You lay, Sir, with my mother," said the lad-- "why may not I lie with yours?" ----'Tis the _Argumentum commune_, added _Yorick_. ----'Tis as good, replied _Eugenius_, taking down his hat, as they deserve.
The company broke up.
[Footnote 4.10: Vide Swinburn on Testaments, Part 7, 8.]

'But Triptolemus,' cried Didius, 'from this it would follow, not only that the mother is not of kin to her child - but the father likewise.'
'It is held,' said Triptolemus, 'that the father, the mother, and the child, though they be three persons, yet are they but one flesh; and consequently no degree of kindred.'
'There you push the argument again too far,' cried Didius, 'for there is no prohibition in nature - though there is in the Bible - to prevent a man from begetting a child upon his grandmother - in which case, supposing the issue a daughter, she would stand in relation both of-'
'But who ever thought,' cried Kysarcius, 'of lying with his grandmother?'
'A young gentleman in one case,' replied Yorick, 'not only thought of it, but justified his intention to his father by the law of retaliation. "You lay, Sir, with my mother," said the lad; "why may not I lie with yours?" 'Tis the Argumentum commune - the argument of the common public.'
''Tis as good,' replied Eugenius, 'as they deserve.'
The company broke up.


[Footnote 4.11: Vide Brook, Abridg. Tit. Administr. N. 47.]
[Footnote 4.12: Mater non numeratur inter consanguineos, Bald. in ult. C. de Verb. signific.]


[Footnote 4.13: Vide Brook, Abridg. tit. Administr. N. 47.]


No matter--as an appendage to seamstressy, the thread-paper might be of some consequence to my mother--of none to my father, as a mark in _Slawkenbergius_. _Slawkenbergius_ in every page of him was a rich treasure of inexhaustible knowledge to my father--he could not open him amiss; and he would often say in closing the book, that if all the arts and sciences in the world, with the books which treated of them, were lost--should the wisdom and policies of governments, he would say, through disuse, ever happen to be forgot, and all that statesmen had wrote or caused to be written, upon the strong or the weak sides of courts and kingdoms, should they be forgot also--and _Slawkenbergius_ only left----there would be enough in him in all conscience, he would say, to set the world a-going again. A treasure therefore was he indeed! an institute of all that was necessary to be known of noses, and everything else--at _matin_, noon, and vespers was _Hafen Slawkenbergius_ his recreation and delight: 'twas for ever in his hands----you would have sworn, Sir, it had been a canon's prayer-book--so worn, so glazed, so contrited and attrited was it with fingers and with thumbs in all its parts, from one end even unto the other.
I am not such a bigot to _Slawkenbergius_ as my father; ----there is a fund in him, no doubt: but in my opinion, the best, I don't say the most profitable, but the most amusing part of _Hafen Slawkenbergius_, is his tales------and, considering he was a _German_, many of them told not without fancy: ------these take up his second book, containing nearly one half of his folio, and are comprehended in ten decads, each decad containing ten tales ------Philosophy is not built upon tales; and therefore 'twas certainly wrong in _Slawkenbergius_ to send them into the world by that name! ----there are a few of them in his eighth, ninth, and tenth decads, which I own seem rather playful and sportive, than speculative--but in general they are to be looked upon by the learned as a detail of so many independent facts, all of them turning round somehow or other upon the main hinges of his subject, and collected by him with great fidelity, and added to his work as so many illustrations upon the doctrines of noses.
As we have leisure enough upon our hands----if you give me leave, madam, I'll tell you the ninth tale of his tenth decad.
[Transcriber's Note:
Like the Excommunication, the following section was printed on facing pages. For this e-text it is given in consecutive paragraphs, with the Latin text inset.]

Every page of Slawkenbergius was a rich treasure of knowledge to my father; and he would often say in closing the book, that if all the arts and sciences in the world were lost - should the wisdom of governments ever be forgot, and Slawkenbergius only were left - there would be enough in him, he would say, to set the world a-going again.
A treasure therefore was he indeed! an institute of all that needed to be known about noses, and everything else. All day was Hafen Slawkenbergius his recreation and delight: 'twas for ever in his hands, as worn and thumbed as a canon's prayer-book.
In my opinion, the best, or at least the most amusing part of Hafen Slawkenbergius is his tales - and, considering he was a German, many of them told quite imaginatively. These take up his second book, and are contained in ten decads, each decad having ten tales - there are a few in his eighth, ninth, and tenth decads, which I own seem rather playful - but in general they all turn somehow or other upon the main hinges of his subject, and were collected by him as so many illustrations upon the doctrines of noses.
As we have leisure upon our hands - if you give me leave, madam, I'll tell you the ninth tale of his tenth decad.


Amongst the many ill consequences of the treaty of _Utrecht_, it was within a point of giving my uncle _Toby_ a surfeit of sieges; and though he recovered his appetite afterwards, yet _Calais_ itself left not a deeper scar in _Mary's_ heart, than _Utrecht_ upon my uncle _Toby's_. To the end of his life he never could hear _Utrecht_ mentioned upon any account whatever, --or so much as read an article of news extracted out of the _Utrecht Gazette_, without fetching a sigh, as if his heart would break in twain.
My father, who was a great MOTIVE-MONGER, and consequently a very dangerous person for a man to sit by, either laughing or crying, --for he generally knew your motive for doing both, much better than you knew it yourself--would always console my uncle _Toby_ upon these occasions, in a way, which shewed plainly, he imagined my uncle _Toby_ grieved for nothing in the whole affair, so much as the loss of his _hobby-horse_. ----Never mind, brother _Toby_, he would say, --by God's blessing we shall have another war break out again some of these days; and when it does, --the belligerent powers, if they would hang themselves, cannot keep us out of play. ----I defy 'em, my dear _Toby_, he would add, to take countries without taking towns, ----or towns without sieges.
My uncle _Toby_ never took this back-stroke of my father's at his hobby-horse kindly. ----He thought the stroke ungenerous; and the more so, because in striking the horse he hit the rider too, and in the most dishonourable part a blow could fall; so that upon these occasions, he always laid down his pipe upon the table with more fire to defend himself than common.
I told the reader, this time two years, that my uncle _Toby_ was not eloquent; and in the very same page gave an instance to the contrary: ----I repeat the observation, and a fact which contradicts it again. --He was not eloquent, --it was not easy to my uncle _Toby_ to make long harangues, --and he hated florid ones; but there were occasions where the stream overflowed the man, and ran so counter to its usual course, that in some parts my uncle _Toby_, for a time, was at least equal to _Tertullus_----but in others, in my own opinion, infinitely above him.
My father was so highly pleased with one of these apologetical orations of my uncle _Toby's_, which he had delivered one evening before him and _Yorick_, that he wrote it down before he went to bed.

Amongst the many ill consequences of the treaty of Utrecht, it almost gave my uncle Toby a surfeit of sieges; and though he recovered his appetite afterwards, it left its scar upon his heart. To the end of his life he never could hear Utrecht mentioned, or even read an article of news from the Utrecht Gazette, without sighing as if his heart would break.
My father, who was a great Motive-monger, and generally knew your motive for laughing or crying much better than you knew it yourself - would always console my uncle Toby upon these occasions as if he imagined my uncle Toby grieved for nothing so much as the loss of his hobby-horse.
'Never mind, brother Toby,' he would say; 'by God's blessing we shall have another war break out again one of these days. - For I defy 'em, my dear Toby, to take countries without taking towns, or towns without sieges.'
My uncle Toby did not take this kindly. He thought the stroke at his hobby-horse ungenerous, because in striking the horse he hit the rider too, and in the most dishonourable part possible; so upon these occasions, he always laid down his pipe upon the table to defend himself with more fire than usual.
I told the reader that my uncle Toby was not eloquent. Certainly it was not easy for him to make long harangues, and he hated florid speeches; but there were times where the stream overflowed the man, and ran so counter to its usual course, that my uncle Toby, for a time, was equal to Tertullus.
My father was so highly pleased with one of these speeches of my uncle Toby's, which he delivered one evening to him and Yorick, that he wrote it down before he went to bed.


I have had the good fortune to meet with it amongst my father's papers, with here and there an insertion of his own, betwixt two crooks, thus [ ], and is endorsed,
MY BROTHER TOBY'S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS OWN PRINCIPLES AND CONDUCT IN WISHING TO CONTINUE THE WAR
I may safely say, I have read over this apologetical oration of my uncle _Toby's_ a hundred times, and think it so fine a model of defence, --and shows so sweet a temperament of gallantry and good principles in him, that I give it the world, word for word (interlineations and all), as I find it.

I have had the good fortune to find it amongst my father's papers, with here and there an insertion of his own, betwixt two crooks, thus [ ].
It is labelled,
MY BROTHER TOBY'S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS OWN PRINCIPLES AND CONDUCT IN WISHING TO CONTINUE THE WAR
I may safely say, I have read this oration of my uncle Toby's a hundred times, and think it so fine a model of defence - it shows so sweet and gallant a temperament, that I give it to the world, word for word as I find it.


I had escaped, continued the corporal, all that time from falling in love, and had gone on to the end of the chapter, had it not been predestined otherwise----there is no resisting our fate.
It was on a _Sunday_, in the afternoon, as I told your honour.
The old man and his wife had walked out----
Everything was still and hush as midnight about the house----
There was not so much as a duck or a duckling about the yard----
----When the fair _Beguine_ came in to see me.
My wound was then in a fair way of doing well----the inflammation had been gone off for some time, but it was succeeded with an itching both above and below my knee, so insufferable, that I had not shut my eyes the whole night for it.
Let me see it, said she, kneeling down upon the ground parallel to my knee, and laying her hand upon the part below it----it only wants rubbing a little, said the _Beguine_; so covering it with the bed-clothes, she began with the forefinger of her right hand to rub under my knee, guiding her forefinger backwards and forwards by the edge of the _flannel_ which kept on the dressing.
In five or six minutes I felt slightly the end of her second finger--and presently it was laid flat with the other, and she continued rubbing in that way round and round for a good while; it then came into my head, that I should fall in love --I blush'd when I saw how white a hand she had --I shall never, an' please your honour, behold another hand so white whilst I live----
----Not in that place; said my uncle _Toby_----

'On a Sunday afternoon, the old man and his wife had walked out-
'Everything was still as midnight about the house-
'There was not so much as a duck or a duckling in the yard-
-'when the fair Beguine came in to see me.
'My wound was then doing fairly well - the inflammation had gone, but I had an itch both above and below my knee, so insufferable that I had not slept for it.
'"Let me see it," said she, kneeling down, and laying her hand upon the part below my knee - "it only wants rubbing a little;" so covering it with the bed-clothes, she began with the forefinger of her right hand to rub under my knee, guiding her finger by the edge of the dressing.
'In five or six minutes I felt the end of her second finger - and presently it was laid flat with the other, and she continued rubbing in that way round and round for a good while. It then came into my head, that I should fall in love. - I blushed when I saw how white a hand she had - I shall never see another hand so white whilst I live.'
'Not in that place,' said my uncle Toby.


Though it was the most serious despair in nature to the corporal--he could not forbear smiling.
The young _Beguine_, continued the corporal, perceiving it was of great service to me--from rubbing for some time, with two fingers--proceeded to rub at length, with three--till by little and little she brought down the fourth, and then rubb'd with her whole hand: I will never say another word, an' please your honour, upon hands again--but it was softer than sattin--
----Prithee, _Trim_, commend it as much as thou wilt, said my uncle _Toby_; I shall hear thy story with the more delight ----The corporal thank'd his master most unfeignedly; but having nothing to say upon the _Beguine's_ hand but the same over again----he proceeded to the effects of it.
The fair _Beguine_, said the corporal, continued rubbing with her whole hand under my knee--till I fear'd her zeal would weary her---- "I would do a thousand times more," said she, "for the love of Christ" ----In saying which, she pass'd her hand across the flannel, to the part above my knee, which I had equally complain'd of, and rubb'd it also.
I perceived, then, I was beginning to be in love----
As she continued rub-rub-rubbing --I felt it spread from under her hand, an' please your honour, to every part of my frame.----
The more she rubb'd, and the longer strokes she took----the more the fire kindled in my veins----till at length, by two or three strokes longer than the rest----my passion rose to the highest pitch ----I seiz'd her hand----
----And then thou clapped'st it to thy lips, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_----and madest a speech.
Whether the corporal's amour terminated precisely in the way my uncle _Toby_ described it, is not material; it is enough that it contained in it the essence of all the love romances which ever have been wrote since the beginning of the world.

Though he was serious, the corporal could not help smiling.
'The young Beguine,' he continued, 'seeing the rubbing helped me greatly, proceeded to rub with three fingers - till by little and little she brought down the fourth, and rubbed with her whole hand: I will never say another word upon hands again - but it was softer than satin-'
'Prithee, Trim, commend it as much as thou wilt,' said my uncle Toby; 'I shall hear thy story with the more delight.'
The corporal thanked his master.
'The fair Beguine,' said he, 'continued rubbing with her whole hand under my knee, till I feared her zeal would weary her. "I would do a thousand times more," said she, "for the love of Christ" - In saying which, she moved her hand to the part above my knee, and rubbed it also.
'I perceived, then, I was beginning to be in love-
'As she continued rub-rub-rubbing - I felt it spread from under her hand, your honour, to every part of my frame.
'The more she rubbed, and the longer strokes she took - the more the fire kindled in my veins - till at length, by two or three strokes longer than the rest - my passion rose to the highest pitch - I seized her hand-'
'- And then thou clapped it to thy lips, Trim,' said my uncle Toby, 'and made a speech.'
Whether the corporal's amour ended precisely in that way, is not important; it is enough that it contained the essence of all the love romances which have ever been wrote since the beginning of the world.


My uncle _Toby_ turn'd his head more than once behind him, to see how he was supported by the corporal; and the corporal as oft as he did it, gave a slight flourish with his stick--but not vapouringly; and with the sweetest accent of most respectful encouragement, bid his honour "never fear."
Now my uncle _Toby_ did fear; and grievously too; he knew not (as my father had reproach'd him) so much as the right end of a Woman from the wrong, and therefore was never altogether at his ease near any one of them----unless in sorrow or distress; then infinite was his pity; nor would the most courteous knight of romance have gone further, at least upon one leg, to have wiped away a tear from a woman's eye; and yet excepting once that he was beguiled into it by Mrs. _Wadman_, he had never looked stedfastly into one; and would often tell my father in the simplicity of his heart, that it was almost (if not about) as bad as talking bawdy.----
----And suppose it is? my father would say.

My uncle Toby turned his head more than once, to see how he was supported by the corporal; and the corporal gave a slight flourish with his stick - and with most respectful encouragement, bid his honour 'never fear.'
Now my uncle Toby did fear, and grievously too; he knew not so much as the right end of a Woman from the wrong, and therefore was never at his ease near one of them - unless in sorrow or distress; then infinite was his pity. Yet except when he was beguiled into it by Mrs. Wadman, he had never looked steadfastly into a woman's eye; and would often tell my father in the simplicity of his heart, that it was almost as bad as talking bawdy.
'And suppose it is?' my father would say.


To those who call vexations, VEXATIONS, as knowing what they are, there could not be a greater, than to be the best part of a day at _Lyons_, the most opulent and flourishing city in _France_, enriched with the most fragments of antiquity--and not be able to see it. To be withheld upon _any_ account, must be a vexation; but to be withheld _by_ a vexation----must certainly be, what philosophy justly calls
VEXATION upon VEXATION.
I had got my two dishes of milk coffee (which by the bye is excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and coffee together--otherwise 'tis only coffee and milk)--and as it was no more than eight in the morning, and the boat did not go off till noon, I had time to see enough of _Lyons_ to tire the patience of all the friends I had in the world with it. I will take a walk to the cathedral, said I, looking at my list, and see the wonderful mechanism of this great clock of _Lippius_ of _Basil_, in the first place----
Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechanism ----I have neither genius, or taste, or fancy--and have a brain so entirely unapt for everything of that kind, that I solemnly declare I was never yet able to comprehend the principles of motion of a squirrel cage, or a common knife-grinder's wheel--tho' I have many an hour of my life look'd up with great devotion at the one--and stood by with as much patience as any christian ever could do, at the other----
I'll go see the surprising movements of this great clock, said I, the very first thing I do: and then I will pay a visit to the great library of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a sight of the thirty volumes of the general history of _China_, wrote (not in the _Tartarean_, but) in the _Chinese_ language, and in the _Chinese_ character too.
Now I almost know as little of the _Chinese_ language, as I do of the mechanism of _Lippius's_ clock-work; so, why these should have jostled themselves into the two first articles of my list ----I leave to the curious as a problem of Nature. I own it looks like one of her ladyship's obliquities; and they who court her, are interested in finding out her humour as much as I.
When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself to my _valet de place_, who stood behind me----'twill be no hurt if we go to the church of St. _Irenus_, and see the pillar to which _Christ_ was tied----and after that, the house where _Pontius Pilate_ lived----'Twas at the next town, said the _valet de place_--at _Vienne_; I am glad of it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace---- "for so much the sooner shall I be at the _Tomb of the two lovers_."

There could not be a greater vexation than to spend the best part of a day at Lyons, the most opulent city in France, enriched with antiquities - and not be able to see it. To be withheld for any reason, must be a vexation; but to be withheld by a vexation must certainly be
VEXATION
upon
VEXATION.
I had got my two dishes of milky coffee (which by the bye is excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and coffee together - otherwise 'tis only coffee and milk) - and as it was only eight in the morning, and the boat did not go till noon, I had time to see some of Lyons.
'I will walk to the cathedral,' said I, 'and see the wonderful mechanism of this great clock of Lippius.'
Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechanism. I was never yet able to comprehend the principles of a squirrel cage, or a knife-grinder's wheel.
'First I'll see the surprising movements of this great clock,' said I; 'and then I will visit the great library of the Jesuits, and get a sight of the thirty volumes of the history of China, wrote in the Chinese language.'
Now I know as little of the Chinese language as I do of the mechanism of Lippius's clock-work; so why these two should have jostled themselves into my mind, I know not.
'When these curiosities are seen,' quoth I to my valet, 'we will go to the church of St. Ireneus, and see the pillar to which Christ was tied, and then the house where Pontius Pilate lived.'
''Twas at the next town,' said he, 'at Vienne.'
'I am glad,' said I, rising briskly, and striding across the room- 'for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers.'


What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long strides in uttering this ----I might leave to the curious too; but as no principle of clock-work is concerned in it----'twill be as well for the reader if I explain it myself.

Why I took long strides in uttering this, I will explain.


--Can you tell me, quoth _Phutatorius_, speaking to _Gastripheres_ who sat next to him----for one would not apply to a surgeon in so foolish an affair----can you tell me, _Gastripheres_, what is best to take out the fire? ----Ask _Eugenius_, said _Gastripheres_. ----That greatly depends, said _Eugenius_, pretending ignorance of the adventure, upon the nature of the part ----If it is a tender part, and a part which can conveniently be wrapt up ------It is both the one and the other, replied _Phutatorius_, laying his hand as he spoke, with an emphatical nod of his head, upon the part in question, and lifting up his right leg at the same time to ease and ventilate it. ------If that is the case, said _Eugenius_, I would advise you, _Phutatorius_, not to tamper with it by any means; but if you will send to the next printer, and trust your cure to such a simple thing as a soft sheet of paper just come off the press--you need do nothing more than twist it round. --The damp paper, quoth _Yorick_ (who sat next to his friend _Eugenius_) though I know it has a refreshing coolness in it--yet I presume is no more than the vehicle--and that the oil and lamp-black with which the paper is so strongly impregnated, does the business. --Right, said _Eugenius_, and is, of any outward application I would venture to recommend, the most anodyne and safe.

'Can you tell me,' quoth Phutatorius, '-what is best to take out the heat?'
'That greatly depends,' said Eugenius, pretending ignorance of the adventure, 'upon the nature of the part. If it is a tender part, which can easily be wrapped up-'
'It is,' replied Phutatorius, lifting up his right leg to ventilate it.
'In that case,' said Eugenius, 'I would advise you not to tamper with it; but send to the printer, and trust your cure to a soft sheet of paper just come off the press - simply twist it round.'
'Although the damp paper has a refreshing coolness,' quoth Yorick, 'yet I presume it is the oil and lamp-black with which the paper is impregnated, which does the business.'
'Right,' said Eugenius, 'and it is a remedy both anodyne and safe.'


Was it my case, said _Gastripheres_, as the main thing is the oil and lamp-black, I should spread them thick upon a rag, and clap it on directly. ------That would make a very devil of it, replied _Yorick_. ----And besides, added _Eugenius_, it would not answer the intention, which is the extreme neatness and elegance of the prescription, which the Faculty hold to be half in half; ----for consider, if the type is a very small one (which it should be) the sanative particles, which come into contact in this form, have the advantage of being spread so infinitely thin, and with such a mathematical equality (fresh paragraphs and large capitals excepted) as no art or management of the spatula can come up to. ------It falls out very luckily, replied _Phutatorius_, that the second edition of my treatise _de Concubinis retinendis_ is at this instant in the press. ------You may take any leaf of it, said _Eugenius_------no matter which. ----Provided, quoth _Yorick_, there is no bawdry in it.------
They are just now, replied _Phutatorius_, printing off the ninth chapter----which is the last chapter but one in the book. ----Pray what is the title of that chapter? said _Yorick_; making a respectful bow to _Phutatorius_ as he spoke. ------I think, answered _Phutatorius_, 'tis that _de re concubinari_.

'As the main thing is the oil and lamp-black,' said Gastripheres, 'I should spread them thick upon a rag, and clap it on directly.'
'That would not answer,' said Eugenius, 'for the neatness and elegance of the prescription is what matters. For if the type is a very small one, the useful particles have the advantage of being spread so infinitely thin, and with such a mathematical equality (large capitals excepted) as no management of the spatula can come up to.'
'It is very lucky,' replied Phutatorius, 'that the second edition of my treatise is at this instant in the press.'
'You may use any page of it,' said Eugenius.
'Provided,' quoth Yorick, 'there is no bawdry in it.'
'They are just now printing the ninth chapter,' replied Phutatorius.
'Pray what is that chapter's title?' said Yorick, bowing respectfully.
'De re concubinaria - On the Matter of Concubines.'


For Heaven's sake keep out of that chapter, quoth _Yorick_.
----By all means--added _Eugenius_.

'For Heaven's sake keep out of that chapter,' quoth Yorick.


With two strokes, the one at _Hippocrates_, the other at Lord _Verulam_, did my father achieve it.
The stroke at the prince of physicians, with which he began, was no more than a short insult upon his sorrowful complaint of the _Ars longa_, --and _Vita brevis_. ----Life short, cried my father, --and the art of healing tedious! And who are we to thank for both the one and the other, but the ignorance of quacks themselves, --and the stage-loads of chymical nostrums, and peripatetic lumber, with which, in all ages, they have first flatter'd the world, and at last deceived it?
----O my lord _Verulam!_ cried my father, turning from _Hippocrates_, and making his second stroke at him, as the principal of nostrum-mongers, and the fittest to be made an example of to the rest, ----What shall I say to thee, my great lord _Verulam?_ What shall I say to thy internal spirit, --thy opium, --thy salt-petre, ----thy greasy unctions, --thy daily purges, --thy nightly clysters, and succedaneums?
----My father was never at a loss what to say to any man, upon any subject; and had the least occasion for the exordium of any man breathing: how he dealt with his lordship's opinion, ----you shall see; ----but when --I know not; ----we must first see what his lordship's opinion was.

With two strokes, the one at Hippocrates, the other at Lord Verulam, my father achieved it.
The stroke at Hippocrates the physician, with which he began, was no more than a short insult upon his sorrowful complaint of Ars longa and Vita brevis.
'Life is short,' cried my father, 'and the art of healing tedious! And who are we to thank for both, but the ignorance of quacks themselves, and the coach-loads of chemical cure-alls, with which they have deceived the world?
'O my lord Verulam!' cried my father, turning from Hippocrates, and making his second stroke at the principal peddler of cure-alls. 'What shall I say to thee, my great lord Verulam? What shall I say to thy opium, thy salt-petre, thy greasy unctions, thy daily purges and nightly enemas, and bogus medicines?'
My father was never at a loss what to say to any man, upon any subject; and had the least excuse for this beginning of any man breathing. How he dealt with lord Verulam's opinion, you shall see - but when, I know not - we must first see what his lordship's opinion was.


Any man, Madam, reasoning upwards, and observing the prodigious suffusion of blood in my father's countenance, --by means of which (as all the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face, as I told you) he must have reddened, pictorically and scientifically speaking, six whole tints and a half, if not a full octave above his natural colour: --any man, Madam, but my uncle _Toby_, who had observed this, together with the violent knitting of my father's brows, and the extravagant contortion of his body during the whole affair, --would have concluded my father in a rage; and taking that for granted, --had he been a lover of such kind of concord as arises from two such instruments being put in exact tune, --he would instantly have skrew'd up his, to the same pitch; --and then the devil and all had broke loose--the whole piece, Madam, must have been played off like the sixth of Avison Scarlatti--_con furia_, --like mad. --Grant me patience! ----What has _con furia_, ----_con strepito_, ----or any other hurly burly whatever to do with harmony?
Any man, I say, Madam, but my uncle _Toby_, the benignity of whose heart interpreted every motion of the body in the kindest sense the motion would admit of, would have concluded my father angry, and blamed him too. My uncle _Toby_ blamed nothing but the taylor who cut the pocket-hole; ----so sitting still till my father had got his handkerchief out of it, and looking all the time up in his face with inexpressible good-will----my father, at length, went on as follows.

Any man, Madam, observing the rush of blood to my father's face, so that he reddened six whole tints and a half: - any man but my uncle Toby, who had observed this, together with the violent knitting of my father's brows, and the contortion of his body, would have concluded my father was in a rage; and he would then have screwed himself up to the same pitch; - and then the devil would have broke loose.
Any man, I say, but my uncle Toby, whose benign heart interpreted every motion in the kindest sense possible, would have concluded my father was angry, and blamed him too. My uncle Toby blamed no one but the tailor who cut the pocket; so sitting still while my father got his handkerchief out, he looked at him with inexpressible good-will - until my father went on as follows.


Which shows, let your reverences and worships say what you will of it (for as for _thinking_----all who do think--think pretty much alike both upon it and other matters) ----Love is certainly, at least alphabetically speaking, one of the most
A gitating B ewitching C onfounded D evilish affairs of life--the most E xtravagant F utilitous G alligaskinish H andy-dandyish I racundulous (there is no K to it) and L yrical of all human passions: at the same time, the most M isgiving N innyhammering O bstipating P ragmatical S tridulous R idiculous--though by the bye the R should have gone first --But in short 'tis of such a nature, as my father once told my uncle _Toby_ upon the close of a long dissertation upon the subject---- "You can scarce," said he, "combine two ideas together upon it, brother _Toby_, without an hypallage" ----What's that? cried my uncle _Toby_.
The cart before the horse, replied my father----
----And what is he to do there? cried my uncle _Toby_----
Nothing, quoth my father, but to get in----or let it alone.
Now widow _Wadman_, as I told you before, would do neither the one or the other.
She stood however ready harnessed and caparisoned at all points, to watch accidents.

Which shows, let your worships say what you will, Love is certainly, at least alphabetically speaking, one of the most
A gitating
B ewitching
C onfounded
D evilish affairs of life - the most
E xtravagant
F utilitous
G alligaskinish
H andy-dandyish
I racundulous (there is no K to it) and
L yrical of all human passions: at the same time, the most
M isgiving
N innyhammering
O bstipating
P ragmatical
S tridulous
R idiculous - though by the bye the R should have gone first - but in short 'tis of such a nature, as my father once told my uncle Toby upon the close of a long speech on the subject - 'You can scarce,' said he, 'combine two ideas together upon it, brother Toby, without an hypallage.'
'What's that?' cried my uncle Toby.
'The cart before the horse,' replied my father.
'And what is he to do there?' cried my uncle Toby.
'Nothing,' quoth my father, 'but to get in - or let it alone.'
Now widow Wadman, as I told you before, would do neither the one or the other.
She stood, however, ready harnessed at all points.


I wish my uncle _Toby_ had been a water-drinker; for then the thing had been accounted for, That the first moment Widow _Wadman_ saw him, she felt something stirring within her in his favour --Something! --something.
--Something perhaps more than friendship--less than love--something--no matter what--no matter where --I would not give a single hair off my mule's tail, and be obliged to pluck it off myself (indeed the villain has not many to spare, and is not a little vicious into the bargain), to be let by your worships into the secret----
But the truth is, my uncle _Toby_ was not a water-drinker; he drank it neither pure nor mix'd, or any how, or any where, except fortuitously upon some advanced posts, where better liquor was not to be had----or during the time he was under cure; when the surgeon telling him it would extend the fibres, and bring them sooner into contact----my uncle _Toby_ drank it for quietness sake.
Now as all the world knows, that no effect in nature can be produced without a cause, and as it is as well known, that my uncle _Toby_ was neither a weaver--a gardener, or a gladiator----unless as a captain, you will needs have him one--but then he was only a captain of foot--and besides, the whole is an equivocation ----There is nothing left for us to suppose, but that my uncle _Toby's_ leg----but that will avail us little in the present hypothesis, unless it had proceeded from some ailment _in the foot_--whereas his leg was not emaciated from any disorder in his foot--for my uncle _Toby's_ leg was not emaciated at all. It was a little stiff and awkward, from a total disuse of it, for the three years he lay confined at my father's house in town; but it was plump and muscular, and in all other respects as good and promising a leg as the other.
I declare, I do not recollect any one opinion or passage of my life, where my understanding was more at a loss to make ends meet, and torture the chapter I had been writing, to the service of the chapter following it, than in the present case: one would think I took a pleasure in running into difficulties of this kind, merely to make fresh experiments of getting out of 'em ----Inconsiderate soul that thou art! What! are not the unavoidable distresses with which, as an author and a man, thou art hemm'd in on every side of thee----are they, _Tristram_, not sufficient, but thou must entangle thyself still more?
Is it not enough that thou art in debt, and that thou hast ten cart-loads of thy fifth and sixth volumes[8.3] still--still unsold, and art almost at thy wit's ends, how to get them off thy hands?

I wish my uncle Toby had been a water-drinker; for that would have accounted for Widow Wadman feeling something stirring within her in his favour, the first time she saw him. - Something! something.
- Something perhaps more than friendship - less than love - something - no matter what - no matter where-
But the truth is, my uncle Toby was not a water-drinker; he drank it neither pure nor mixed, except where better drink was not to be had - or while he was under cure. When the surgeon told him it would extend the fibres, and mend them sooner - my uncle Toby drank it for quietness sake.
Now as no effect in nature can be produced without a cause, and as my uncle Toby was neither a weaver, a gardener, or a gladiator - unless by that you mean a captain of foot - we can only suppose that my uncle Toby's leg - but that will not aid us in this hypothesis, unless it proceeded from some ailment in the foot, which it did not - for my uncle Toby's leg was not emaciated at all. It was a little stiff and awkward, from total disuse for the three years he lay confined at my father's house; but it was plump and muscular, and in all other respects as good a leg as the other.
I declare, I do not recollect any time of my life, where my understanding was more at a loss how to torture the chapter I had been writing, to the service of the chapter following it, than in this present case. One would think I enjoyed running into difficulties of this kind, merely to make fresh experiments in getting out of them.
- Are the distresses of an author not sufficient, Tristram, but thou must entangle thyself still more?
Is it not enough that thou art in debt, and that thou hast ten cart-loads of thy fifth and sixth volumes still unsold, and art almost at thy wit's ends, how to get them off thy hands?


To this hour art thou not tormented with the vile asthma that thou gattest in skating against the wind in _Flanders?_ and is it but two months ago, that in a fit of laughter, on seeing a cardinal make water like a quirister (with both hands) thou brakest a vessel in thy lungs, whereby, in two hours, thou lost as many quarts of blood; and hadst thou lost as much more, did not the faculty tell thee------it would have amounted to a gallon?------
[Footnote 8.3: Alluding to the first edition.]

To this hour art thou not tormented with the vile asthma that thou got skating in Flanders? and is it but two months ago, that in a fit of laughter on seeing a cardinal make water like a chorister, with both hands, thou brakest a vessel in thy lungs, and lost two quarts of blood; which is full half a gallon?


My father's collection was not great, but to make amends, it was curious; and consequently he was some time in making it; he had the great good fortune however, to set off well, in getting _Bruscambille's_ prologue upon long noses, almost for nothing--for he gave no more for _Bruscambille_ than three half-crowns; owing indeed to the strong fancy which the stall-man saw my father had for the book the moment he laid his hands upon it. ----There are not three _Bruscambilles_ in _Christendom_--said the stall-man, except what are chain'd up in the libraries of the curious. My father flung down the money as quick as lightning----took _Bruscambille_ into his bosom----hied home from _Piccadilly_ to _Coleman_-street with it, as he would have hied home with a treasure, without taking his hand once off from _Bruscambille_ all the way.
To those who do not yet know of which gender _Bruscambille_ is------inasmuch as a prologue upon long noses might easily be done by either------'twill be no objection against the simile--to say, That when my father got home, he solaced himself with _Bruscambille_ after the manner in which, 'tis ten to one, your worship solaced yourself with your first mistress------that is, from morning even unto night: which, by the bye, how delightful soever it may prove to the inamorato--is of little or no entertainment at all to by-standers. ----Take notice, I go no farther with the simile--my father's eye was greater than his appetite--his zeal greater than his knowledge--he cool'd--his affections became divided----he got hold of _Prignitz_--purchased _Scroderus_, _Andrea Parus_, _Bouchet's_ Evening Conferences, and above all, the great and learned _Hafen Slawkenbergius_; of which, as I shall have much to say by and by --I will say nothing now.

My father's collection on noses was not great, but it was curious; he had the good fortune, moreover, to start well, in getting Bruscambille's prologue upon long noses for only three half-crowns, owing to the stall-man seeing my father had a strong fancy for the book the moment he laid his hands upon it.
'There are not three Bruscambilles in Christendom,' said the stall-man, 'except those chained up in libraries.'
My father flung down the money - took Bruscambille and hurried home from Piccadilly to Coleman-street with it, as if it were a treasure.
Once home, he solaced himself with Bruscambille after the manner in which, 'tis ten to one, your worship solaced yourself with your first mistress - that is, from morning unto night.
Take note, I go no farther with the simile. My father's eye was greater than his appetite - he cooled - his affections became divided - he purchased Prignitz, Scroderus, Paraeus, Bouchet's Evening Conferences, and above all, the great and learned Hafen Slawkenbergius; about which, as I shall have much to say by and by - I will say nothing now.


---- ----And a chapter it shall have, and a devil of a one too--so look to yourselves.
'Tis either _Plato_, or _Plutarch_, or _Seneca_, or _Xenophon_, or _Epictetus_, or _Theophrastus_, or _Lucian_--or some one perhaps of later date--either _Cardan_, or _Budus_, or _Petrarch_, or _Stella_--or possibly it may be some divine or father of the church, St. _Austin_, or St. _Cyprian_, or _Barnard_, who affirms that it is an irresistible and natural passion to weep for the loss of our friends or children--and _Seneca_ (I'm positive) tells us somewhere, that such griefs evacuate themselves best by that particular channel --And accordingly we find, that _David_ wept for his son _Absalom_--_Adrian_ for his _Antinous_--_Niobe_ for her children, and that _Apollodorus_ and _Crito_ both shed tears for _Socrates_ before his death.
My father managed his affliction otherwise; and indeed differently from most men either ancient or modern; for he neither wept it away, as the _Hebrews_ and the _Romans_--or slept it off, as the _Laplanders_--or hanged it, as the _English_, or drowned it, as the _Germans_--nor did he curse it, or damn it, or excommunicate it, or rhyme it, or lillabullero it.----
----He got rid of it, however.
Will your worships give me leave to squeeze in a story between these two pages?
When _Tully_ was bereft of his dear daughter _Tullia_, at first he laid it to his heart, --he listened to the voice of nature, and modulated his own unto it. --O my _Tullia!_ my daughter! my child! --still, still, still, --'twas O my _Tullia!_--my _Tullia!_ Methinks I see my _Tullia_, I hear my _Tullia_, I talk with my _Tullia_. --But as soon as he began to look into the stores of philosophy, and consider how many excellent things might be said upon the occasion--nobody upon earth can conceive, says the great orator, how happy, how joyful it made me.

And a chapter it shall have, and a devil of a one too - so look out.
'Tis either Plato, or Plutarch, or Seneca, or Xenophon - or perhaps Cardan or Petrarch or Stella - or possibly it may be some church father, St. Austin or St. Cyprian, who affirms that it is an irresistible and natural passion to weep for the loss of our friends or children. And so we find that David wept for his son Absalom, Adrian for his Antinous, Niobe for her children, and Apollodorus shed tears for Socrates.
My father managed his affliction differently from most men; for he neither wept it away, or slept it off, as the Laplanders do, or hanged it, like the English; nor did he curse it, or damn it, or rhyme it, or lillabullero it.
He got rid of it, however.
Will your worships allow me to squeeze in a story?
When Tully was bereft of his dear daughter Tullia, at first he took it to heart, grieving, 'O my Tullia! my child! Methinks I see her, I hear her, I talk with my Tullia.'
But when he began to look into the stores of philosophy, and realise how many excellent things might be said upon the occasion - 'nobody can conceive,' says the great orator, 'how happy and joyful it made me.'


My father was as proud of his eloquence as MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO could be for his life, and, for aught I am convinced of to the contrary at present, with as much reason: it was indeed his strength--and his weakness too. ----His strength--for he was by nature eloquent; and his weakness--for he was hourly a dupe to it; and, provided an occasion in life would but permit him to shew his talents, or say either a wise thing, a witty, or a shrewd one--(bating the case of a systematic misfortune)--he had all he wanted. --A blessing which tied up my father's tongue, and a misfortune which let it loose with a good grace, were pretty equal: sometimes, indeed, the misfortune was the better of the two; for instance, where the pleasure of the harangue was as _ten_, and the pain of the misfortune but as _five_--my father gained half in half, and consequently was as well again off, as if it had never befallen him.
This clue will unravel what otherwise would seem very inconsistent in my father's domestic character; and it is this, that, in the provocations arising from the neglects and blunders of servants, or other mishaps unavoidable in a family, his anger or rather the duration of it, eternally ran counter to all conjecture.
My father had a favourite little mare, which he had consigned over to a most beautiful Arabian horse, in order to have a pad out of her for his own riding: he was sanguine in all his projects; so talked about his pad every day with as absolute a security, as if it had been reared, broke, --and bridled and saddled at his door ready for mounting. By some neglect or other in _Obadiah_, it so fell out, that my father's expectations were answered with nothing better than a mule, and as ugly a beast of the kind as ever was produced.

My father was proud of his eloquence, and with reason: it was indeed his strength - and his weakness too, for if an occasion would permit him to say either a wise thing, a witty, or a shrewd one - he had all he wanted. A blessing which tied up my father's tongue, and a misfortune which let it loose, were pretty equal: sometimes, indeed, the misfortune was the better. For instance, if the pleasure of the harangue was 10 and the pain of the misfortune only 5, my father gained from it.
This clue will unravel what otherwise would seem very inconsistent in my father's character; that when provoked by the blunders of servants and other family mishaps, his anger, or rather the duration of it, ran contrary to all conjecture.
My father had a favourite little mare, which he had bred with a most beautiful Arabian horse, in order to have a foal out of her for his own riding: he talked about this foal every day as if it had already been reared, broke, and saddled. By some neglect or other in Obadiah, it so fell out that my father's expectations were answered with nothing better than a mule, and as ugly a beast as ever was produced.


My mother and my uncle _Toby_ expected my father would be the death of _Obadiah_--and that there never would be an end of the disaster. ----See here! you rascal, cried my father, pointing to the mule, what you have done! ----It was not me, said _Obadiah_. ----How do I know that? replied my father.
Triumph swam in my father's eyes, at the repartee--the _Attic_ salt brought water into them--and so _Obadiah_ heard no more about it.
Now let us go back to my brother's death.

My mother and my uncle Toby expected my father would be the death of Obadiah - and that there would never be an end of it.
'See here! you rascal,' cried my father, pointing to the mule, 'what you have done!'
'It was not me,' said Obadiah.
'How do I know that?' replied my father.
Triumph swam in my father's eyes at this repartee - and so Obadiah heard no more about it.
Now let us go back to my brother's death.


Philosophy has a fine saying for everything. --For _Death_ it has an entire set; the misery was, they all at once rushed into my father's head, that 'twas difficult to string them together, so as to make anything of a consistent show out of them. --He took them as they came.
"'Tis an inevitable chance--the first statute in _Magna Charta_--it is an everlasting act of parliament, my dear brother, ----_All must die._
"If my son could not have died, it had been matter of wonder, --not that he is dead.
"Monarchs and princes dance in the same ring with us.

Philosophy has a fine saying for everything. - For Death it has an entire set; the trouble was, they all rushed at once into my father's head, so that 'twas difficult to set them in order. - He took them as they came.
''Tis inevitable - the first statute in Magna Carta - it is an everlasting act of parliament, my dear brother. All must die.
'If my son could not have died, that would have been a matter of wonder.
'Monarchs and princes dance in the same ring with us.


"--_To die_, is the great debt and tribute due unto nature: tombs and monuments, which should perpetuate our memories, pay it themselves; and the proudest pyramid of them all, which wealth and science have erected, has lost its apex, and stands obtruncated in the traveller's horizon." (My father found he got great ease, and went on)-- "Kingdoms and provinces, and towns and cities, have they not their periods? and when those principles and powers, which at first cemented and put them together, have performed their several evolutions, they fall back." --Brother _Shandy_, said my uncle _Toby_, laying down his pipe at the word _evolutions_ --Revolutions, I meant, quoth my father, --by heaven! I meant revolutions, brother _Toby_--evolutions is nonsense. ----'Tis not nonsense, --said my uncle _Toby_. ----But is it not nonsense to break the thread of such a discourse upon such an occasion? cried my father--do not--dear _Toby_, continued he, taking him by the hand, do not--do not, I beseech thee, interrupt me at this crisis. ----My uncle _Toby_ put his pipe into his mouth.

'To die is the great debt and tribute due unto nature: tombs and monuments pay it; the proudest pyramid of all has lost its apex, and stands obtruncated in the traveller's horizon.' (My father found he got great ease, and went on.)
'Kingdoms, towns and cities, have they not their ends? and when those powers, which at first cemented them together, have performed their evolutions, they fall back.'
'Brother Shandy,' said my uncle Toby, laying down his pipe.
'Revolutions, I meant,' quoth my father, 'evolutions is nonsense.'
''Tis not nonsense,' said my uncle Toby.
'But is it not nonsense to break the thread of such a discourse upon such an occasion?' cried my father. '-Do not, dear Toby, I beseech thee, interrupt me at this crisis.'
My uncle put his pipe into his mouth.


"Where is _Troy_ and _Mycen_, and _Thebes_ and _Delos_, and _Persepolis_ and _Agrigentum?_" --continued my father, taking up his book of post-cards, which he had laid down. --"What is become, brother _Toby_, of _Nineveh_ and _Babylon_, of _Cizicum_ and _Mitylen?_ The fairest towns that ever the sun rose upon, are now no more; the names only are left, and those (for many of them are wrong spelt) are falling themselves by piece-meals to decay, and in length of time will be forgotten, and involved with everything in a perpetual night: the world itself, brother _Toby_, must--must come to an end.
"Returning out of _Asia_, when I sailed from _gina_ towards _Megara_," (_when can this have been? thought my uncle Toby_) "I began to view the country round about. _gina_ was behind me, _Megara_ was before, _Pyrus_ on the right hand, _Corinth_ on the left. --What flourishing towns now prostrate upon the earth! Alas! alas! said I to myself, that man should disturb his soul for the loss of a child, when so much as this lies awfully buried in his presence ----Remember, said I to myself again--remember thou art a man."--

'Where is Troy and Mycenae, and Thebes and Delos?' continued my father. 'What is become of Nineveh and Babylon? The fairest towns that ever the sun rose upon, are now no more; the names only are left, and those in time will be forgotten, and lost in a perpetual night: the world itself, brother Toby, must come to an end.
'Returning out of Asia, when I sailed from Aegina towards Megara,' ('when can this have been?' thought my uncle Toby) 'I began to view the country round about. Aegina was behind me, Megara was before, Piraeus on the right hand, Corinth on the left. What flourishing towns, now prostrate upon the earth! Alas! said I to myself, that man should disturb his soul for the loss of a child, when all this lies buried - remember, said I - remember thou art a man.'


Now my uncle _Toby_ knew not that this last paragraph was an extract of _Servius Sulpicius's_ consolatory letter to _Tully_. --He had as little skill, honest man, in the fragments, as he had in the whole pieces of antiquity. --And as my father, whilst he was concerned in the _Turkey_ trade, had been three or four different times in the _Levant_, in one of which he had staid a whole year and an half at _Zant_, my uncle _Toby_ naturally concluded, that, in some one of these periods, he had taken a trip across the _Archipelago_ into _Asia_; and that all this sailing affair with _gina_ behind, and _Megara_ before, and _Pyrus_ on the right hand, &c., &c., was nothing more than the true course of my father's voyage and reflections. --'Twas certainly in his _manner_, and many an undertaking critic would have built two stories higher upon worse foundations. --And pray, brother, quoth my uncle _Toby_, laying the end of his pipe upon my father's hand in a kindly way of interruption--but waiting till he finished the account--what year of our Lord was this? --'Twas no year of our Lord, replied my father. --That's impossible, cried my uncle _Toby_. --Simpleton! said my father, --'twas forty years before Christ was born.

Now my uncle Toby did not know that this last paragraph was an extract of Sulpicius's letter to Tully. And as my father, when he did business in the Turkey trade, had been three or four times in the Levant, and had once stayed a whole year and an half, my uncle Toby naturally concluded that, in one of these visits, he had taken a trip into Asia; and that all this sailing affair with Aegina behind, and Megara before, &c., &c., was nothing more than the course of my father's voyage.
'Pray, brother,' quoth my uncle in a kindly way, 'what year of our Lord was this?'
''Twas no year of our Lord,' replied my father.
'That's impossible,' cried my uncle Toby.
'Simpleton!' said my father, ''twas forty years before Christ was born.'


My uncle _Toby_ had but two things for it; either to suppose his brother to be the wandering _Jew_, or that his misfortunes had disordered his brain. --"May the Lord God of heaven and earth protect him and restore him," said my uncle _Toby_, praying silently for my father, and with tears in his eyes.
--My father placed the tears to a proper account, and went on with his harangue with great spirit.
"There is not such great odds, brother _Toby_, betwixt good and evil, as the world imagines"----(this way of setting off, by the bye, was not likely to cure my uncle _Toby's_ suspicions.)---- "Labour, sorrow, grief, sickness, want, and woe, are the sauces of life." --Much good may it do them--said my uncle _Toby_ to himself.------
"My son is dead! --so much the better; --'tis a shame in such a tempest to have but one anchor."

My uncle Toby had only two things for it; either to suppose his brother to be the wandering Jew, or that his misfortunes had disordered his brain.
'May the Lord God protect and restore him,' said he silently, with tears in his eyes.
My father placed the tears to a proper account, and went on with spirit.
'There is not such great odds, brother Toby, betwixt good and evil, as the world imagines.' (This, by the bye, was not likely to cure my uncle Toby's suspicions.) 'Labour, sorrow, grief, sickness and woe, are the sauces of life.
'My son is dead! - so much the better; 'tis a shame in such a tempest to have but one anchor.


"But he is gone for ever from us! --be it so. He is got from under the hands of his barber before he was bald--he is but risen from a feast before he was surfeited--from a banquet before he had got drunken."
"The _Thracians_ wept when a child was born"--(and we were very near it, quoth my uncle _Toby_)-- "and feasted and made merry when a man went out of the world; and with reason. ----Death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the gate of envy after it, --it unlooses the chain of the captive, and puts the bondsman's task into another man's hands."
"Shew me the man, who knows what life is, who dreads it, and I'll shew thee a prisoner who dreads his liberty."
Is it not better, my dear brother _Toby_, (for mark--our appetites are but diseases)--is it not better not to hunger at all, than to eat? --not to thirst, than to take physic to cure it?
Is it not better to be freed from cares and agues, from love and melancholy, and the other hot and cold fits of life, than, like a galled traveller, who comes weary to his inn, to be bound to begin his journey afresh?

'But he is gone for ever from us! - be it so. He is got from under the hands of his barber before he was bald - he is but risen from a feast before he was surfeited. The Thracians wept when a child was born' ('and we were very near it,' quoth my uncle Toby) '-and feasted and made merry when a man died. For death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the gate of envy; it unlooses the captive's chain.
'Show me the man who dreads death, and I'll show thee a prisoner who dreads liberty.
'Is it not better, my dear brother Toby, not to hunger at all, than to eat?
'Is it not better to be freed from cares and melancholy, than be like a traveller, who comes weary to his inn, only to have to start his journey afresh?


There is no terrour, brother _Toby_, in its looks, but what it borrows from groans and convulsions--and the blowing of noses and the wiping away of tears with the bottoms of curtains, in a dying man's room. --Strip it of these, what is it? --'Tis better in battle than in bed, said my uncle _Toby_. --Take away its herses, its mutes, and its mourning, --its plumes, scutcheons, and other mechanic aids --What is it? ----_Better in battle!_ continued my father, smiling, for he had absolutely forgot my brother _Bobby_--'tis terrible no way--for consider, brother _Toby_, --when we _are_--death is _not_; --and when death _is_--we are _not_. My uncle _Toby_ laid down his pipe to consider the proposition; my father's eloquence was too rapid to stay for any man--away it went, --and hurried my uncle _Toby's_ ideas along with it.----
For this reason, continued my father, 'tis worthy to recollect how little alteration, in great men, the approaches of death have made. --_Vespasian_ died in a jest upon his close-stool--_Galba_ with a sentence--_Septimus Severus_ in a dispatch--_Tiberius_ in dissimulation, and _Csar Augustus_ in a compliment. --I hope 'twas a sincere one--quoth my uncle _Toby_.
--'Twas to his wife, --said my father.

'There is no terror, brother Toby, in death's looks, except what it borrows from groans and convulsions, and the wiping away of tears with the bottoms of curtains, in a dying man's room. Strip it of these, and what is it?'
''Tis better in battle than in bed,' said my uncle Toby.
'Better in battle!' continued my father, smiling, for he had absolutely forgot my brother Bobby. ''Tis not terrible - for when we are, death is not; and when death is, we are not.'
My uncle Toby laid down his pipe to consider this.
'For this reason,' continued my father, ''tis worthy to recollect how little change, in great men, the approaches of death have made. Vespasian died in a jest; Galba with a sentence - Tiberius in concealment, and Augustus in a compliment.'
'I hope 'twas a sincere one,' quoth my uncle Toby.
''Twas to his wife,' said my father.


----I'll put him, however, into breeches, said my father, --let the world say what it will.

'I'll put him, however, into breeches,' said my father, 'let the world say what it will.'


----And the story too--if you please: for though I have all along been hastening towards this part of it, with so much earnest desire, as well knowing it to be the choicest morsel of what I had to offer to the world, yet now that I am got to it, any one is welcome to take my pen, and go on with the story for me that will --I see the difficulties of the descriptions I'm going to give--and feel my want of powers.
It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces of blood this week in a most uncritical fever which attacked me at the beginning of this chapter; so that I have still some hopes remaining, it may be more in the serous or globular parts of the blood, than in the subtile _aura_ of the brain----be it which it will--an Invocation can do no hurt----and I leave the affair entirely to the _invoked_, to inspire or to inject me according as he sees good.
THE INVOCATION
Gentle Spirit of sweetest humour, who erst did sit upon the easy pen of my beloved CERVANTES; Thou who glided'st daily through his lattice, and turned'st the twilight of his prison into noonday brightness by thy presence----tinged'st his little urn of water with heaven-sent nectar, and all the time he wrote of _Sancho_ and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o'er his wither'd stump,[9.1] and wide extended it to all the evils of his life------
----Turn in hither, I beseech thee! ----behold these breeches! ----they are all I have in the world----that piteous rent was given them at _Lyons_------
My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happen'd amongst 'em--for the laps are in _Lombardy_, and the rest of 'em here --I never had but six, and a cunning gypsey of a laundress at _Milan_ cut me off the _fore_-laps of five --To do her justice, she did it with some consideration--for I was returning out of _Italy_.

- And the story too if you please: for though I have all along been hastening earnestly towards this part of it, knowing it to be the choicest morsel I had to offer to the world, yet now that I am got to it, anyone who wishes is welcome to take my pen, and go on with the story. I foresee the difficulties of description - and feel my want of powers.
It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces of blood this week in a fever which attacked me at the beginning of this chapter; so that I hope it may be more in the globular parts of the blood, rather than in the subtle aura of the brain - whichever it is, an Invocation can do no hurt.
THE INVOCATION
Gentle Spirit of sweetest humour, who formerly did sit upon the easy pen of my beloved Cervantes; thou who glided'st daily through his window, and turned the twilight of his prison into noonday brightness by thy presence - tinged his little urn of water with heaven-sent nectar, and all the time he wrote of Sancho and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o'er the evils of his life-
- Turn hither, I beseech thee! behold these breeches! - they are all I have in the world - that piteous rent was given them at Lyons-
My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happened amongst 'em - for the tails are in Lombardy, and the rest of 'em here - I only had six, and a cunning gypsy of a laundress at Milan cut off the tails of five.