The corporal had array'd himself in poor _Le Fever's_ regimental coat; and with his hair tuck'd up under his _Montero_-cap, which he had furbish'd up for the occasion, march'd three paces distant from his master: a whiff of military pride had puff'd out his shirt at the wrist; and upon that in a black leather thong clipp'd into a tassel beyond the knot, hung the corporal's stick ----My uncle _Toby_ carried his cane like a pike.

The corporal had arrayed himself in poor Le Fever's regimental coat; and with his hair tucked up under his Montero-cap, marched three paces behind his master. A whiff of military pride had puffed out his shirt at the wrist; upon which, from a black leather thong, hung the corporal's stick. - My uncle Toby carried his cane like a pike.


----It looks well at least; quoth my father to himself.

'It looks well at least,' quoth my father to himself.


As I knew the geography of the Tomb of the Lovers, as well as if I had lived twenty years in _Lyons_, namely, that it was upon the turning of my right hand, just without the gate, leading to the _Fauxbourg de Vaise_ ----I dispatched _Franois_ to the boat, that I might pay the homage I so long ow'd it, without a witness of my weakness --I walk'd with all imaginable joy towards the place----when I saw the gate which intercepted the tomb, my heart glowed within me----

As I knew that the Tomb of the Lovers was just outside the gate leading to the Fauxbourg de Vaise, I sent Franois to the boat, so that I might pay homage to it without a witness of my weakness.
I walked with joy towards the place - when I saw the gate, my heart glowed within me-


cried I, addressing myself to _Amandus_ and _Amanda_--long--long have I tarried to drop this tear upon your tomb ------I come ------I come------

cried I, addressing myself to Amandus and Amanda - 'long have I waited to drop this tear upon your tomb - I come - I come-'


When I came--there was no tomb to drop it upon.

When I came - there was no tomb to drop it upon.


What would I have given for my uncle _Toby_, to have whistled Lillabullero!

What would I have given for my uncle Toby, to have whistled Lillabullero!


Doctor _Slop_ being called out to look at a cataplasm he had ordered, it gave my father an opportunity of going on with another chapter in the _Tristra-pdia_.

Doctor Slop being called out to look at a cataplasm he had ordered, it gave my father an opportunity of going on with another chapter in the Tristra-paedia.


cheer up, my lads; I'll shew you land------for when we have tugged through that chapter, the book shall not be opened again this twelve-month.

cheer up, my lads; I'll show you land - for when we have tugged through that chapter, the book shall not be opened again this twelve-month.


An eye is for all the world exactly like a cannon, in this respect; That it is not so much the eye or the cannon, in themselves, as it is the carriage of the eye----and the carriage of the cannon, by which both the one and the other are enabled to do so much execution.

An eye is exactly like a cannon, in this respect; that it is not so much the eye or the cannon, in themselves, as it is the carriage of the eye - and the carriage of the cannon, by which both are able to do execution.


I don't think the comparison a bad one; However, as 'tis made and placed at the head of the chapter, as much for use as ornament, all I desire in return is, that whenever I speak of Mrs. _Wadman's_ eyes (except once in the next period), that you keep it in your fancy.

I don't think the comparison a bad one; however, as 'tis placed at the head of the chapter, as much for use as ornament, all I desire in return is, that whenever I speak of Mrs. Wadman's eyes, you keep it in your fancy.


I protest, Madam, said my uncle _Toby_, I can see nothing whatever in your eye.

'I protest, Madam,' said my uncle Toby, 'I can see nothing in your eye.'


It is not in the white; said Mrs. _Wadman_: my uncle _Toby_ look'd with might and main into the pupil----

'It is not in the white,' said Mrs. Wadman: my uncle Toby looked with might and main into the pupil-


Now of all the eyes which ever were created----from your own, Madam, up to those of _Venus_ herself, which certainly were as venereal a pair of eyes as ever stood in a head----there never was an eye of them all, so fitted to rob my uncle _Toby_ of his repose, as the very eye, at which he was looking----it was not, Madam, a rolling eye----a romping or a wanton one--nor was it an eye sparkling--petulant or imperious--of high claims and terrifying exactions, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature, of which my uncle _Toby_ was made up----but 'twas an eye full of gentle salutations----and soft responses----speaking---- not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to, holds coarse converse----but whispering soft----like the last low accent of an expiring saint---- "How can you live comfortless, captain _Shandy_, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on----or trust your cares to?"

Now of all the eyes which ever were created, up to those of Venus herself - there never was an eye so fitted to rob my uncle Toby of his repose, as this one. It was not, Madam, a rolling, wanton eye - nor an eye petulant and imperious, of high claims and terrifying demands, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature which made up my uncle Toby.
'Twas an eye soft and gentle - speaking not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, but whispering soft like the last low accent of an expiring saint - 'How can you live comfortless, captain Shandy, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on - or to trust your cares to?'


But I shall be in love with it myself, if I say another word about it.


- It did the business for my uncle Toby.


I do not speak it with regard to the coarseness or cleanness of them--or the strength of their gussets----but pray do not night-shifts differ from day-shifts as much in this particular, as in anything else in the world; That they so far exceed the others in length, that when you are laid down in them, they fall almost as much below the feet, as the day-shifts fall short of them?

Pray, do not night-shirts differ from day-shirts in this way; that they are so much longer, that when you are laid down in them, they fall almost as far below the feet, as day-shirts fall short of them?


Widow _Wadman's_ night-shifts (as was the mode I suppose in King _William's_ and Queen _Anne's_ reigns) were cut however after this fashion; and if the fashion is changed (for in _Italy_ they are come to nothing)----so much the worse for the public; they were two _Flemish_ ells and a half in length; so that allowing a moderate woman two ells, she had half an ell to spare, to do what she would with.

Widow Wadman's night-shirts (as was the mode I suppose in Queen Anne's reign) were cut in this fashion; they were two ells and a half in length; so that allowing a moderate woman two ells, she had half an ell to spare, to do what she would with.


Now from one little indulgence gained after another, in the many bleak and decemberly nights of a seven years widowhood, things had insensibly come to this pass, and for the two last years had got establish'd into one of the ordinances of the bed-chamber --That as soon as Mrs. _Wadman_ was put to bed, and had got her legs stretched down to the bottom of it, of which she always gave _Bridget_ notice--_Bridget_, with all suitable decorum, having first open'd the bed-cloaths at the feet, took hold of the half-ell of cloth we are speaking of, and having gently, and with both her hands, drawn it downwards to its furthest extension, and then contracted it again side-long by four or five even plaits, she took a large corking pin out of her sleeve, and with the point directed towards her, pinn'd the plaits all fast together a little above the hem; which done, she tuck'd all in tight at the feet, and wish'd her mistress a good night.

Now in the many bleak and decemberly nights of a seven years widowhood, this habit had gradually got established in her bed-chamber. - That as soon as Mrs. Wadman was put to bed, and had stretched her legs down to the bottom of it, Bridget, with suitable decorum, having first opened the bed-clothes at the feet, took hold of the spare half-ell of cloth, drew it down, twisted it, pinned it above the hem, tucked all in tight, and wished her mistress a good night.


This was constant, and without any other variation than this; that on shivering and tempestuous nights, when _Bridget_ untuck'd the feet of the bed, &c., to do this----she consulted no thermometer but that of her own passions; and so performed it standing--kneeling--or squatting, according to the different degrees of faith, hope, and charity, she was in, and bore towards her mistress that night. In every other respect, the _etiquette_ was sacred, and might have vied with the most mechanical one of the most inflexible bed-chamber in _Christendom_.

Bridget did this every night; the etiquette was sacred.


The first night, as soon as the corporal had conducted my uncle _Toby_ upstairs, which was about ten ----Mrs. _Wadman_ threw herself into her arm-chair, and crossing her left knee with her right, which formed a resting-place for her elbow, she reclin'd her cheek upon the palm of her hand, and leaning forwards ruminated till midnight upon both sides of the question.

The first night, as soon as the corporal had conducted my uncle Toby upstairs, at about ten, Mrs. Wadman threw herself into her arm-chair, and reclining her cheek upon her hand, she ruminated till midnight.


The second night she went to her bureau, and having ordered _Bridget_ to bring her up a couple of fresh candles and leave them upon the table, she took out her marriage-settlement, and read it over with great devotion: and the third night (which was the last of my uncle _Toby's_ stay) when _Bridget_ had pull'd down the night-shift, and was assaying to stick in the corking pin----

The second night she went to her bureau, took out her marriage-settlement, and read it over with great devotion: and the third night (which was the last of my uncle Toby's stay) when Bridget had pulled down the night-shift, and was trying to stick in the pin-


----With a kick of both heels at once, but at the same time the most natural kick that could be kick'd in her situation----for supposing * * * * * * * * * to be the sun in its meridian, it was a north-east kick----she kick'd the pin out of her fingers----the _etiquette_ which hung upon it, down----down it fell to the ground, and was shiver'd into a thousand atoms.

- With a kick of both heels she kicked the pin out of her fingers - the etiquette fell to the ground, and was shivered into a thousand atoms.


From all which it was plain that widow _Wadman_ was in love with my uncle _Toby_.

From which it was plain that widow Wadman was in love with my uncle Toby.


When my father received the letter which brought him the melancholy account of my brother _Bobby's_ death, he was busy calculating the expence of his riding post from _Calais_ to _Paris_, and so on to _Lyons_.

When my father received the letter containing the melancholy news of my brother Bobby's death, he was busy calculating the expense of travelling from Calais to Paris and Lyons.


'Twas a most inauspicious journey; my father having had every foot of it to travel over again, and his calculation to begin afresh, when he had almost got to the end of it, by _Obadiah's_ opening the door to acquaint him the family was out of yeast--and to ask whether he might not take the great coach-horse early in the morning and ride in search of some.

My father had almost got to the end of the journey, when he had to start afresh because of Obadiah's opening the door to tell him the family was out of yeast - and to ask whether he might take the great coach-horse and ride in search of some.


--With all my heart, _Obadiah_, said my father (pursuing his journey)--take the coach-horse, and welcome.

'With all my heart, Obadiah,' said my father (pursuing his journey).


'But the coach-horse needs a shoe, poor creature!'


said my uncle _Toby_, vibrating the note back again, like a string in unison.

said my uncle Toby, like a string vibrating in unison.


Then ride the _Scotch_ horse, quoth my father hastily.

'Then ride the Scotch horse,' quoth my father.


--He cannot bear a saddle upon his back, quoth _Obadiah_, for the whole world.

'He cannot bear a saddle upon his back,' quoth Obadiah.


----The devil's in that horse; then take PATRIOT, cried my father, and shut the door.

'The devil's in that horse; then take Patriot,' cried my father.


cried my father, making a pause, and looking in my uncle _Toby's_ face, as if the thing had not been a matter of fact.

cried my father, as if the thing had not been a matter of fact.


--Your worship ordered me to sell him last _April_, said _Obadiah_.

'Your worship ordered me to sell him last April,' said Obadiah.


--Then go on foot for your pains, cried my father ----I had much rather walk than ride, said _Obadiah_, shutting the door.

'Then go on foot,' cried my father.
'I had much rather walk than ride,' said Obadiah, shutting the door.


What plagues, cried my father, going on with his calculation.

'What plagues,' cried my father, going on with his calculation.


----But the waters are out, said _Obadiah_, --opening the door again.

'But the roads are flooded,' said Obadiah, opening the door again.


Till that moment, my father, who had a map of _Sanson's_, and a book of the post-roads before him, had kept his hand upon the head of his compasses, with one foot of them fixed upon _Nevers_, the last stage he had paid for--purposing to go on from that point with his journey and calculation, as soon as _Obadiah_ quitted the room: but this second attack of _Obadiah's_, in opening the door and laying the whole country under water, was too much.

Till that moment, my father, who had a map and a book of the post-roads before him, had kept one foot of his compasses fixed upon Nevers, the next stage in his journey and his calculation: but this second attack of Obadiah's, in opening the door and laying the whole country under water, was too much.


----He let go his compasses--or rather with a mixed motion between accident and anger, he threw them upon the table; and then there was nothing for him to do, but to return back to _Calais_ (like many others) as wise as he had set out.

He let go his compasses - or rather, in a mixture of accident and anger, he threw them upon the table; and then he had to return all the way back to Calais.


When the letter was brought into the parlour, which contained the news of my brother's death, my father had got forwards again upon his journey to within a stride of the compasses of the very same stage of _Nevers_.

He had got forward again with his journey to within a stride of Nevers, when the letter was brought in, which contained the news of my brother's death.


----By your leave, Mons. _Sanson_, cried my father, striking the point of his compasses through _Nevers_ into the table--and nodding to my uncle _Toby_ to see what was in the letter--twice of one night, is too much for an _English_ gentleman and his son, Mons. _Sanson_, to be turned back from so lousy a town as _Nevers_ --What think'st thou, _Toby?_ added my father in a sprightly tone.

'By your leave, Monsieur,' cried my father, stabbing his compasses through Nevers into the table - and nodding to my uncle Toby to see what was in the letter.


----Unless it be a garrison town, said my uncle _Toby_----for then ----I shall be a fool, said my father, smiling to himself, as long as I live.


--So giving a second nod--and keeping his compasses still upon _Nevers_ with one hand, and holding his book of the post-roads in the other--half calculating and half listening, he leaned forwards upon the table with both elbows, as my uncle _Toby_ hummed over the letter.

Holding his compasses with one hand, and his book of post-roads in the other - half calculating and half listening - he leaned upon the table with both elbows, as my uncle Toby hummed over the letter.


----What--without leave--without money--without governor?


No: ----he is dead, my dear brother, quoth my uncle _Toby_.

'No: he is dead, my dear brother,' quoth my uncle Toby.


--I dare say not, said my uncle _Toby_, in a low voice, and fetching a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, he has been ill enough, poor lad!

'I dare say not,' said my uncle Toby, in a low voice, and sighing deeply. 'Poor lad!


When _Agrippina_ was told of her son's death, _Tacitus_ informs us, that, not being able to moderate the violence of her passions, she abruptly broke off her work.

When Agrippina was told of her son's death, Tacitus informs us that she abruptly broke off her work.


--My father stuck his compasses into _Nevers_, but so much the faster.

- My father stuck his compasses into Nevers yet more firmly.


--_Agrippina's_ must have been quite a different affair; who else could pretend to reason from history?


How my father went on, in my opinion, deserves a chapter to itself.--


Upon looking into my mother's marriage-settlement, in order to satisfy myself and reader in a point necessary to be cleared up, before we could proceed any farther in this history; --I had the good fortune to pop upon the very thing I wanted before I had read a day and a half straight forwards, --it might have taken me up a month; --which shews plainly, that when a man sits down to write a history, --tho' it be but the history of _Jack Hickathrift_ or _Tom Thumb_, he knows no more than his heels what lets and confounded hindrances he is to meet with in his way, --or what a dance he may be led, by one excursion or another, before all is over.

Upon looking into my mother's marriage-settlement, in order to clear up a point before proceeding any farther in this history - I had the good fortune to pop upon the very thing I wanted, before I had read for a day and a half. It might have taken me a month; which shows plainly, that when a man sits down to write a history, even if only the history of Tom Thumb, he has no idea what confounded hindrances he is to meet with in his way, or what a dance he may be led before all is over.


Could a historiographer drive on his history, as a muleteer drives on his mule, --straight forward; ----for instance, from _Rome_ all the way to _Loretto_, without ever once turning his head aside either to the right hand or to the left, ----he might venture to foretell you to an hour when he should get to his journey's end; ----but the thing is, morally speaking, impossible: For, if he is a man of the least spirit, he will have fifty deviations from a straight line to make with this or that party as he goes along, which he can no ways avoid.

Could a writer drive his history straight forward, as a muleteer drives on his mule, without ever once turning his head either to right or left, he could foretell to the hour when he should get to his journey's end; but the thing is, morally speaking, impossible. For, if he is a man of the least spirit, he will have fifty deviations to make as he goes along, which he cannot avoid.


He will have views and prospects to himself perpetually soliciting his eye, which he can no more help standing still to look at than he can fly; he will moreover have various

He will have views perpetually catching his eye, which he can no more help stopping to look at than he can fly; he will moreover have various


Panegyricks to paste up at this door;
Pasquinades at that: ----All which both the man and his mule are quite exempt from.

Panegyrics to paste up: - All which both the man and his mule are quite exempt from.


To sum up all; there are archives at every stage to be look'd into, and rolls, records, documents, and endless genealogies, which justice ever and anon calls him back to stay the reading of: ----In short, there is no end of it; ----for my own part, I declare I had been at it these six weeks, making all the speed I possibly could, --and am not yet born: --I have just been able, and that's all, to tell you _when_ it happen'd, but not _how_; --so that you see the thing is yet far from being accomplished.

To sum up; there are archives at every stage to be looked into, and records, documents, and endless genealogies that he must read. - In short, there is no end of it. For my own part, I declare I have been at it these six weeks, making all the speed I possibly could, - and am not yet born. I have just been able to tell you when it happened, but not how; - so that you see the thing is still far from being accomplished.


These unforeseen stoppages, which I own I had no conception of when I first set out; --but which, I am convinced now, will rather increase than diminish as I advance, --have struck out a hint which I am resolved to follow; ----and that is, --not to be in a hurry; but to go on leisurely, writing and publishing two volumes of my life every year; ----which, if I am suffered to go on quietly, and can make a tolerable bargain with my bookseller, I shall continue to do as long as I live.

These unforeseen stoppages, which I had no conception of when I first set out - but which, I am now convinced, will increase rather than diminish as I advance - have made me resolve not to be in a hurry; but to go on leisurely, writing and publishing two volumes of my life every year; - which, if I can make a tolerable bargain with my bookseller, I shall continue to do as long as I live.


There is nothing so foolish, when you are at the expence of making an entertainment of this kind, as to order things so badly, as to let your criticks and gentry of refined taste run it down: Nor is there anything so likely to make them do it, as that of leaving them out of the party, or, what is full as offensive, of bestowing your attention upon the rest of your guests in so particular a way, as if there was no such thing as a critick (by occupation) at table.

There is nothing so foolish, when you are making an entertainment of this kind, as to let your critics run it down. Nor is there anything so likely to make them do it, as leaving them out of the party, or bestowing your attention upon the rest of your guests, and ignoring the critics at your table.


----I guard against both; for, in the first place, I have left half a dozen places purposely open for them; --and in the next place, I pay them all court.

- I guard against both; for, in the first place, I have left half a dozen places purposely open for them; and in the next place, I pay them all court.


--Gentlemen, I kiss your hands, I protest no company could give me half the pleasure, --by my soul I am glad to see you ------I beg only you will make no strangers of yourselves, but sit down without any ceremony, and fall on heartily.

- Gentlemen, I kiss your hands; no company could give me half the pleasure, - by my soul I am glad to see you. - Sit down, and fall on heartily.


I said I had left six places, and I was upon the point of carrying my complaisance so far, as to have left a seventh open for them, --and in this very spot I stand on; but being told by a Critick (tho' not by occupation, --but by nature) that I had acquitted myself well enough, I shall fill it up directly, hoping, in the meantime, that I shall be able to make a great deal of more room next year.

I said I had left six places, and I was about to have left a seventh open for them; but being told by a Critic that I had acquitted myself well enough, I shall fill it up directly, and make more room next year.


could your uncle _Toby_, who, it seems, was a military man, and whom you have represented as no fool, ----be at the same time such a confused, pudding-headed, muddle-headed, fellow, as --Go look.

could your uncle Toby, a military man, whom you have represented as no fool, be such a confused, pudding-headed, muddle-brained fellow, as-'
Go look.


So, Sir Critick, I could have replied; but I scorn it.

So, Sir Critic, I could have replied; but I scorn it.


--'Tis language unurbane, --and only befitting the man who cannot give clear and satisfactory accounts of things, or dive deep enough into the first causes of human ignorance and confusion.

'Tis uncivil language, only fit for a man who cannot give clear accounts of things, or dive deep enough into the causes of human ignorance.


It is moreover the reply valiant--and therefore I reject it: for tho' it might have suited my uncle _Toby's_ character as a soldier excellently well, and had he not accustomed himself, in such attacks, to whistle the _Lillabullero_, as he wanted no courage, 'tis the very answer he would have given; yet it would by no means have done for me.

It is moreover the reply valiant - and therefore I reject it: for though it might have suited my uncle Toby's character as a soldier excellently well, (had he not accustomed himself, in such attacks, to whistle Lillabullero,) yet it would not do for me.


You see as plain as can be, that I write as a man of erudition; --that even my similies, my allusions, my illustrations, my metaphors, are erudite, --and that I must sustain my character properly, and contrast it properly too, --else what would become of me?

You see plainly, that I write as a man of learning; - that even my similes, my allusions, my metaphors, are erudite, - and that I must sustain my character properly, or what would become of me?


Why, Sir, I should be undone; --at this very moment that I am going here to fill up one place against a critick, --I should have made an opening for a couple.

Why, Sir, I should be undone; at the very moment that I filled up one place against a critic, I should have made an opening for a couple more.


Pray, Sir, in all the reading which you have ever read, did you ever read such a book as _Locke's_ Essay upon the Human Understanding?

Pray, Sir, did you ever read Locke's Essay upon the Human Understanding?


----Don't answer me rashly--because many, I know, quote the book, who have not read it--and many have read it who understand it not: --If either of these is your case, as I write to instruct, I will tell you in three words what the book is.

- Don't answer me rashly - because many, I know, quote the book, who have not read it - and many have read it who do not understand it. If either of these is your case, I will tell you in three words what the book is.


Don't hurry yourself ----It is a history-book, Sir (which may possibly recommend it to the world) of what passes in a man's own mind; and if you will say so much of the book, and no more, believe me, you will cut no contemptible figure in a metaphysick circle.

It is a history-book, Sir, of what passes in a man's own mind; and if you will say so much of the book, and no more, believe me, you will cut no contemptible figure in a metaphysic circle.


Now if you will venture to go along with me, and look down into the bottom of this matter, it will be found that the cause of obscurity and confusion, in the mind of a man, is threefold.

Now if you will venture to go along with me, and look into the bottom of this matter, it will be found that the cause of confusion in a man's mind is threefold.


Dull organs, dear Sir, in the first place.


Secondly, slight and transient impressions made by the objects, when the said organs are not dull.

Secondly, slight impressions made by the objects.


And thirdly, a memory like unto a sieve, not able to retain what it has received.


--Call down _Dolly_ your chambermaid, and I will give you my cap and bell along with it, if I make not this matter so plain that _Dolly_ herself should understand it as well as _Malbranch_.

Call down Dolly your chambermaid, and I will make this matter so plain that Dolly herself should understand it.


----When _Dolly_ has indited her epistle to _Robin_, and has thrust her arm into the bottom of her pocket hanging by her right side; --take that opportunity to recollect that the organs and faculties of perception can, by nothing in this world, be so aptly typified and explained as by that one thing which _Dolly's_ hand is in search of. --Your organs are not so dull that I should inform you--'tis an inch, Sir, of red seal-wax.

When Dolly has written her letter to Robin, and has thrust her arm into her pocket;- recollect that the organs of perception can by nothing in this world, be so aptly explained as by that thing which Dolly's hand is in search of: - an inch, Sir, of red sealing-wax.


When this is melted, and dropped upon the letter, if _Dolly_ fumbles too long for her thimble, till the wax is over hardened, it will not receive the mark of her thimble from the usual impulse which was wont to imprint it.

When this is melted, and dropped upon the letter, if Dolly fumbles too long for her thimble, the wax will be too hard, and it will not receive the thimble's mark.


If _Dolly's_ wax, for want of better, is bees-wax, or of a temper too soft, --tho' it may receive, --it will not hold the impression, how hard soever _Dolly_ thrusts against it; and last of all, supposing the wax good, and eke the thimble, but applied thereto in careless haste, as her Mistress rings the bell; ----in any one of these three cases the print left by the thimble will be as unlike the prototype as a brass-jack.

If Dolly's wax is too soft, - though it may take the impression, it will not hold it; and last of all, supposing the wax good, and also the thimble, but applied too hastily - in any of these three cases, the print left by the thimble will not be true.


Now you must understand that not one of these was the true cause of the confusion in my uncle _Toby's_ discourse; and it is for that very reason I enlarge upon them so long, after the manner of great physiologists--to shew the world, what it did _not_ arise from.

Now you must understand that not one of these was the cause of the confusion in my uncle Toby's discourse; and it is for that very reason I enlarge upon them for so long, - to show the world what it did not arise from.


What it did arise from, I have hinted above, and a fertile source of obscurity it is, --and ever will be, --and that is the unsteady uses of words, which have perplexed the clearest and most exalted understandings.

What it did arise from, I have hinted above, is the unsteady uses of words, which have perplexed the clearest understandings.


It is ten to one (at _Arthur's_) whether you have ever read the literary histories of past ages; --if you have, what terrible battles, 'yclept logomachies, have they occasioned and perpetuated with so much gall and ink-shed, --that a good-natured man cannot read the accounts of them without tears in his eyes.
Gentle critick!

If you have ever read the literary histories of past ages; - what terrible battles of words they have perpetuated, with so much gall and ink shed that a good-natured man cannot read them without tears in his eyes - gentle critic!


when thou hast weighed all this, and considered within thyself how much of thy own knowledge, discourse, and conversation has been pestered and disordered at one time or other, by this, and this only: --What a pudder and racket in COUNCILS about and ; and in the SCHOOLS of the learned about power and about spirit; --about essences, and about quintessences; ----about substances, and about space.


----What confusion in greater THEATRES from words of little meaning, and as indeterminate a sense!


when thou considerest this, thou wilt not wonder at my uncle _Toby's_ perplexities, --thou wilt drop a tear of pity upon his scarp and his counterscarp; --his glacis and his covered way; --his ravelin and his half-moon: 'Twas not by ideas, --by Heaven; his life was put in jeopardy by words.

when thou hast considered all this, thou wilt not wonder at my uncle Toby's perplexities. Thou wilt drop a tear of pity upon his scarp and his counterscarp; his glacis and his covered way; his ravelin and his half-moon. His life was put in jeopardy not by ideas, but by words.


My mother was going very gingerly in the dark along the passage which led to the parlour, as my uncle _Toby_ pronounced the word _wife_.

My mother was going very gingerly in the dark along the passage which led to the parlour, as my uncle Toby pronounced the word wife.


--'Tis a shrill penetrating sound of itself, and _Obadiah_ had helped it by leaving the door a little a-jar, so that my mother heard enough of it to imagine herself the subject of the conversation; so laying the edge of her finger across her two lips--holding in her breath, and bending her head a little downwards, with a twist of her neck--(not towards the door, but from it, by which means her ear was brought to the chink)--she listened with all her powers: ----the listening slave, with the Goddess of Silence at his back, could not have given a finer thought for an intaglio.

Obadiah had left the door a little ajar, so that my mother heard enough to imagine herself the subject of the conversation. Laying her finger across her lips, and holding her breath, she put her ear to the chink in the door and listened with all her powers.


In this attitude I am determined to let her stand for five minutes: till I bring up the affairs of the kitchen (as _Rapin_ does those of the church) to the same period.

In this attitude I am determined to let her stand for five minutes: till I bring the affairs of the kitchen up to date.


No ----I think, I said, I would write two volumes every year, provided the vile cough which then tormented me, and which to this hour I dread worse than the devil, would but give me leave--and in another place--(but where, I can't recollect now) speaking of my book as a _machine_, and laying my pen and ruler down cross-wise upon the table, in order to gain the greater credit to it --I swore it should be kept a going at that rate these forty years, if it pleased but the fountain of life to bless me so long with health and good spirits.

No - I think, I said, I would write two volumes every year, provided the vile cough which then tormented me, and which I dread worse than the devil, would allow me - and in another place (but where, I can't recollect now) I swore it should be kept going at that rate these forty years, if I were blessed so long with health and good spirits.


Now as for my spirits, little have I to lay to their charge--nay so very little (unless the mounting me upon a long stick and playing the fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, be accusations) that on the contrary, I have much--much to thank 'em for: cheerily have ye made me tread the path of life with all the burthens of it (except its cares) upon my back; in no one moment of my existence, that I remember, have ye once deserted me, or tinged the objects which came in my way, either with sable, or with a sickly green; in dangers ye gilded my horizon with hope, and when DEATH himself knocked at my door--ye bad him come again; and in so gay a tone of careless indifference did ye do it, that he doubted of his commission----

Now as for my spirits, apart from playing the fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, I have much to thank 'em for. Cheerily have ye made me tread the path of life with all its burdens upon my back; ye have never once deserted me. In dangers ye gilded my horizon with hope, and when Death himself knocked at my door - ye bade him come again, in so gay and careless a tone that he doubted his mission-


"--There must certainly be some mistake in this matter," quoth he.

'There must certainly be some mistake,' quoth he.


Now there is nothing in this world I abominate worse, than to be interrupted in a story----and I was that moment telling _Eugenius_ a most tawdry one in my way, of a nun who fancied herself a shell-fish, and of a monk damn'd for eating a muscle, and was shewing him the grounds and justice of the procedure----

Now there is nothing in this world I hate worse, than to be interrupted in a story - and I was that moment telling Eugenius a most tawdry one, of a nun who fancied herself a shell-fish, and of a monk damned for eating a mussel, and was showing him the justice of the procedure-


"--Did ever so grave a personage get into so vile a scrape?"

'Did ever so grave a person get into so vile a scrape?'


Thou hast had a narrow escape, _Tristram_, said _Eugenius_, taking hold of my hand as I finished my story----

'Thou hast had a narrow escape, Tristram,' said Eugenius, taking my hand as I finished my story.


But there is no _living_, _Eugenius_, replied I, at this rate; for as this _son of a whore_ has found out my lodgings----

'But there is no living, Eugenius,' replied I, 'now that this son of a whore has found out my lodgings.


--You call him rightly, said _Eugenius_, --for by sin, we are told, he enter'd the world ----I care not which way he enter'd, quoth I, provided he be not in such a hurry to take me out with him--for I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things to say and do which no body in the world will say and do for me, except thyself; and as thou seest he has got me by the throat (for _Eugenius_ could scarce hear me speak across the table), and that I am no match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these few scatter'd spirits remain, and these two spider legs of mine (holding one of them up to him) are able to support me--had I not better, _Eugenius_, fly for my life?

I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things to say and do which nobody in the world will say and do for me; and as thou seest, Death has got me by the throat (for Eugenius could scarce hear me speak). As I am no match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these two spider legs of mine are able to support me - had I not better fly for my life?'


'Tis my advice, my dear _Tristram_, said _Eugenius_ --Then by heaven!

''Tis my advice, my dear Tristram,' said Eugenius.
'Then by heaven!


I will lead him a dance he little thinks of----for I will gallop, quoth I, without looking once behind me, to the banks of the _Garonne_; and if I hear him clattering at my heels ----I'll scamper away to mount _Vesuvius_----from thence to _Joppa_, and from _Joppa_ to the world's end; where, if he follows me, I pray God he may break his neck----

I will lead him a dance - for I will gallop to the banks of the Garonne,' quoth I, 'and if I hear him clattering at my heels I'll scamper away to Mount Vesuvius, and from there to the world's end. If he follows me, I pray God he may break his neck.'


--He runs more risk _there_, said _Eugenius_, than thou.

'He runs more risk there,' said Eugenius, 'than thou.'


_Eugenius's_ wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from whence it had been some months banish'd----'twas a vile moment to bid adieu in; he led me to my chaise----_Allons!_ said I; the postboy gave a crack with his whip----off I went like a cannon, and in half a dozen bounds got into _Dover_.

Eugenius's wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from whence it had been some months banished. - 'Twas a vile moment to bid adieu; he led me to my chaise.
'Allons!' said I; the postboy cracked his whip - off I went like a cannon, and in half a dozen bounds got into Dover.


----Now this is the most puzzled skein of all----for in this last chapter, as far at least as it has help'd me through _Auxerre_, I have been getting forwards in two different journies together, and with the same dash of the pen--for I have got entirely out of _Auxerre_ in this journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of _Auxerre_ in that which I shall write hereafter ----There is but a certain degree of perfection in everything; and by pushing at something beyond that, I have brought myself into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood before me; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of _Auxerre_ with my father and my uncle _Toby_, in our way back to dinner----and I am this moment also entering _Lyons_ with my post-chaise broke into a thousand pieces--and I am moreover this moment in a handsome pavillion built by _Pringello_,[7.4] upon the banks of the _Garonne_, which Mons.

Now this is the most puzzled skein of all - for in this last chapter, I have been getting forwards in two different journeys together - for I have got entirely out of Auxerre in this journey which I am writing now, and I am only half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write hereafter.
In pushing for perfection, I have brought myself into such a situation as no traveller ever stood in before; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my father and my uncle Toby - and also entering Lyons with my post-chaise broke into a thousand pieces - and I am moreover this instant in a handsome pavilion built by Pringello upon the banks of the Garonne, which Mons.


_Sligniac_ has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all these affairs.

Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising on all these affairs.


----Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.

- Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.


[Footnote 7.4: The same Don _Pringello_, the celebrated _Spanish_ architect, of whom my cousin _Antony_ has made such honourable mention in a scholium to the Tale inscribed to his name.


In the same village where my father and my mother dwelt, dwelt also a thin, upright, motherly, notable, good old body of a midwife, who with the help of a little plain good sense, and some years full employment in her business, in which she had all along trusted little to her own efforts, and a great deal to those of dame Nature, --had acquired, in her way, no small degree of reputation in the world: ----by which word _world_, need I in this place inform your worship, that I would be understood to mean no more of it, than a small circle described upon the circle of the great world, of four _English_ miles diameter, or thereabouts, of which the cottage where the good old woman lived, is supposed to be the centre?

In the village where my father and my mother dwelt, lived a thin, upright, motherly, good old body of a midwife, who, with the help of a little plain good sense, and some years employment in her business, in which she trusted little to her own efforts, and a great deal to those of dame Nature, had acquired a reputation in the world: - by the word world, I mean a small circle of about four English miles diameter, with the good old woman's cottage at its centre.


--She had been left, it seems, a widow in great distress, with three or four small children, in her forty-seventh year; and as she was at that time a person of decent carriage, --grave deportment, --a woman moreover of few words, and withal an object of compassion, whose distress, and silence under it, called out the louder for a friendly lift: the wife of the parson of the parish was touched with pity; and having often lamented an inconvenience, to which her husband's flock had for many years been exposed, inasmuch as there was no such thing as a midwife, of any kind or degree, to be got at, let the case have been never so urgent, within less than six or seven long miles riding; which seven said long miles in dark nights and dismal roads, the country thereabouts being nothing but a deep clay, was almost equal to fourteen; and that in effect was sometimes next to having no midwife at all; it came into her head, that it would be doing as seasonable a kindness to the whole parish, as to the poor creature herself, to get her a little instructed in some of the plain principles of the business, in order to set her up in it.

She had been left a widow in distress, with three or four small children, in her forty-seventh year; and as she was a grave and decent woman of few words, the parson's wife pitied her; and having often lamented that there was no midwife within seven long miles riding - which was more like fourteen in dark nights and dismal roads, our countryside being all deep clay - it came into her head, that it would be doing a kindness to the whole parish and the poor creature herself, to get her instructed in the business, and set her up in it.


As no woman thereabouts was better qualified to execute the plan she had formed than herself, the gentlewoman very charitably undertook it; and having great influence over the female part of the parish, she found no difficulty in effecting it to the utmost of her wishes.


In truth, the parson join'd his interest with his wife's in the whole affair; and in order to do things as they should be, and give the poor soul as good a title by law to practise, as his wife had given by institution, --he chearfully paid the fees for the ordinary's licence himself, amounting in the whole, to the sum of eighteen shillings and four pence; so that betwixt them both, the good woman was fully invested in the real and corporal possession of her office, together with all its _rights, members, and appurtenances whatsoever_.

The parson cheerfully paid the fees for the midwife's licence, amounting to eighteen shillings and four pence; so that betwixt them both, the good woman was fully invested in the real and corporal possession of her office, together with all its rights, members, and appurtenances whatsoever.


These last words, you must know, were not according to the old form in which such licences, faculties, and powers usually ran, which in like cases had heretofore been granted to the sisterhood.

These last words, you must know, were not according to the old form in which such licences usually ran.


But it was according to a neat _Formula_ of _Didius_ his own devising, who having a particular turn for taking to pieces, and new framing over again, all kind of instruments in that way, not only hit upon this dainty amendment, but coaxed many of the old licensed matrons in the neighbourhood, to open their faculties afresh, in order to have this wham-wham of his inserted.

But they follow a neat Formula devised by Didius, who having a particular turn for taking apart and re-framing all kind of instruments, not only hit upon this dainty amendment, but coaxed many of the old licensed matrons in the neighbourhood to open their faculties afresh, in order to have this wham-wham of his inserted.


I own I never could envy _Didius_ in these kinds of fancies of his: --But every man to his own taste.

I own I never could envy Didius his fancies. But every man to his own taste.


--Did not Dr. _Kunastrokius_, that great man, at his leisure hours, take the greatest delight imaginable in combing of asses tails, and plucking the dead hairs out with his teeth, though he had tweezers always in his pocket?

Did not Dr. Kunastrokius, that great man, at his leisure hours, take the greatest delight in combing asses' tails, and plucking the dead hairs out with his teeth?


Nay, if you come to that, Sir, have not the wisest of men in all ages, not excepting _Solomon_ himself, --have they not had their HOBBY-HORSES; --their running horses, --their coins and their cockle-shells, their drums and their trumpets, their fiddles, their pallets, --their maggots and their butterflies?

Nay, Sir, have not the wisest men in all ages, even Solomon himself - have they not had their Hobby-Horses; - for example, their race-horses, their coins and cockle-shells, their drums and trumpets, their fiddles, their palettes, their maggots and their butterflies?


--and so long as a man rides his HOBBY-HORSE peaceably and quietly along the King's highway, and neither compels you or me to get up behind him, --pray, Sir, what have either you or I to do with it?

So long as a man rides his Hobby-Horse peaceably along the King's highway, and compels neither you nor me to get up behind him - pray, Sir, what have you or I to do with it?


Whatever degree of small merit the act of benignity in favour of the midwife might justly claim, or in whom that claim truly rested, --at first sight seems not very material to this history; ----certain however it was, that the gentlewoman, the parson's wife, did run away at that time with the whole of it: And yet, for my life, I cannot help thinking but that the parson himself, though he had not the good fortune to hit upon the design first, --yet, as he heartily concurred in it the moment it was laid before him, and as heartily parted with his money to carry it into execution, had a claim to some share of it, --if not to a full half of whatever honour was due to it.

Whatever merit that benign act to the midwife might have, at first sight seems not very relevant to this history; it was certain, however, that the parson's wife gained all of it. And yet I cannot help thinking that the parson himself - though he did not hit upon the idea, yet heartily agreed with it, and as heartily parted with his money to see it carried out - had a claim to some share of the honour.


The world at that time was pleased to determine the matter otherwise.

The world at that time was pleased to decide otherwise.


Lay down the book, and I will allow you half a day to give a probable guess at the grounds of this procedure.

Lay down the book, and I will allow you half a day to guess at the reason for this.


Be it known then, that, for about five years before the date of the midwife's licence, of which you have had so circumstantial an account, --the parson we have to do with had made himself a country-talk by a breach of all decorum, which he had committed against himself, his station, and his office; --and that was in never appearing better, or otherwise mounted, than upon a lean, sorry, jack-ass of a horse, value about one pound fifteen shillings; who, to shorten all description of him, was full brother to _Rosinante_, as far as similitude congenial could make him; for he answered his description to a hair-breadth in every thing, --except that I do not remember 'tis any where said, that _Rosinante_ was broken-winded; and that, moreover, _Rosinante_, as is the happiness of most _Spanish_ horses, fat or lean, --was undoubtedly a horse at all points.

Be it known then, that about five years before the date of the midwife's licence, this very parson had made himself the talk of the country by a breach of all decorum - which he had committed by appearing mounted upon a lean, sorry, jack-ass of a horse, value about one pound fifteen shillings; who was full brother to Rosinante, Don Quixote's old nag. He matched his description in everything, except that I do not remember that Rosinante was broken-winded; and, moreover, Rosinante was undoubtedly a horse at all points.


I know very well that the HERO'S horse was a horse of chaste deportment, which may have given grounds for the contrary opinion: But it is as certain at the same time, that _Rosinante's_ continency (as may be demonstrated from the adventure of the _Yanguesian_ carriers) proceeded from no bodily defect or cause whatsoever, but from the temperance and orderly current of his blood.


--And let me tell you, Madam, there is a great deal of very good chastity in the world, in behalf of which you could not say more for your life.


Let that be as it may, as my purpose is to do extra justice to every creature brought upon the stage of this dramatic work, --I could not stifle this distinction in favour of Don _Quixote's_ horse; ----in all other points, the parson's horse, I say, was just such another, --for he was as lean, and as lank, and as sorry a jade, as HUMILITY herself could have bestrided.

The parson's horse was as lean, and as lank, and as sorry a jade, as Humility herself could have ridden.


In the estimation of here and there a man of weak judgment, it was greatly in the parson's power to have helped the figure of this horse of his, --for he was master of a very handsome demi-peak'd saddle, quilted on the seat with green plush, garnished with a double row of silver-headed studs, and a noble pair of shining brass stirrups, with a housing altogether suitable, of grey superfine cloth, with an edging of black lace, terminating in a deep, black, silk fringe, _poudr d'or_, --all which he had purchased in the pride and prime of his life, together with a grand embossed bridle, ornamented at all points as it should be.

Now, the parson owned a very handsome demi-peaked saddle, quilted with green plush, garnished with a double row of silver-headed studs, and a noble pair of shining brass stirrups; with a housing of grey superfine cloth, an edging of black lace and a black silk fringe, - all which he had purchased in the pride and prime of his life, together with a grand embossed bridle.


----But not caring to banter his beast, he had hung all these up behind his study door: --and, in lieu of them, had seriously befitted him with just such a bridle and such a saddle, as the figure and value of such a steed might well and truly deserve.

But he had hung all these up behind his study door: and, instead, he used just such a bridle and saddle as his steed truly deserved.


In the several sallies about his parish, and in the neighbouring visits to the gentry who lived around him, --you will easily comprehend, that the parson, so appointed, would both hear and see enough to keep his philosophy from rusting. To speak the truth, he never could enter a village, but he caught the attention of both old and young.

In riding about his parish, the parson never could enter a village without catching the attention of both old and young.


----Labour stood still as he pass'd----the bucket hung suspended in the middle of the well, ----the spinning-wheel forgot its round, ----even chuck-farthing and shuffle-cap themselves stood gaping till he had got out of sight; and as his movement was not of the quickest, he had generally time enough upon his hands to make his observations, --to hear the groans of the serious, --and the laughter of the light-hearted; --all which he bore with excellent tranquillity.

Work ceased as he passed - the bucket hung suspended in the middle of the well - the spinning-wheel forgot its round - even chuck-farthing and shuffle-cap players stood gaping till he rode out of sight; and as his movement was not quick, he had time to hear the groans of the serious, and the laughter of the light-hearted; all which he bore with excellent tranquillity.


--His character was, --he loved a jest in his heart--and as he saw himself in the true point of ridicule, he would say he could not be angry with others for seeing him in a light, in which he so strongly saw himself: So that to his friends, who knew his foible was not the love of money, and who therefore made the less scruple in bantering the extravagance of his humour, --instead of giving the true cause, --he chose rather to join in the laugh against himself; and as he never carried one single ounce of flesh upon his own bones, being altogether as spare a figure as his beast, --he would sometimes insist upon it, that the horse was as good as the rider deserved; --that they were, centaur-like, --both of a piece.

He loved a jest - and as he saw himself as ridiculous, he would say he could not be angry with others for seeing him in the same light.
So to his friends, he chose rather to join in the laugh against himself; and since he was as thin as his beast, he would sometimes insist that the horse was as good as the rider deserved; that they were, centaur-like, both of a piece.


At other times, and in other moods, when his spirits were above the temptation of false wit, --he would say, he found himself going off fast in a consumption; and, with great gravity, would pretend, he could not bear the sight of a fat horse, without a dejection of heart, and a sensible alteration in his pulse; and that he had made choice of the lean one he rode upon, not only to keep himself in countenance, but in spirits.

At other times, and in other moods, he would say that he found himself going off fast in a consumption; and, with great gravity, would pretend he could not bear the sight of a fat horse; and that he had chosen the lean one to keep himself in spirits.


At different times he would give fifty humorous and apposite reasons for riding a meek-spirited jade of a broken-winded horse, preferably to one of mettle; --for on such a one he could sit mechanically, and meditate as delightfully _de vanitate mundi et fug sculi_, as with the advantage of a death's-head before him; --that, in all other exercitations, he could spend his time, as he rode slowly along, --to as much account as in his study; --that he could draw up an argument in his sermon, --or a hole in his breeches, as steadily on the one as in the other; --that brisk trotting and slow argumentation, like wit and judgment, were two incompatible movements.

At different times he would give fifty humorous reasons for riding a meek-spirited, broken-winded horse: that on such a one he could sit and meditate; that he could spend his time, as he rode slowly along, as usefully as in his study; that he could draw up a long argument in his sermon that brisk trotting would not allow.


--But that upon his steed--he could unite and reconcile every thing, --he could compose his sermon--he could compose his cough, ----and, in case nature gave a call that way, he could likewise compose himself to sleep.

Upon his steed he could compose his sermon, and even compose himself to sleep.


--In short, the parson upon such encounters would assign any cause but the true cause, --and he with-held the true one, only out of a nicety of temper, because he thought it did honour to him.

In short, the parson would name any cause but the true one, which he withheld out of modesty.


But the truth of the story was as follows: In the first years of this gentleman's life, and about the time when the superb saddle and bridle were purchased by him, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it what you will, --to run into the opposite extreme.

But the true story was this: in the gentleman's youth, when he bought the superb saddle and bridle, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it what you will, to go to the opposite extreme.


--In the language of the county where he dwelt, he was said to have loved a good horse, and generally had one of the best in the whole parish standing in his stable always ready for saddling; and as the nearest midwife, as I told you, did not live nearer to the village than seven miles, and in a vile country, --it so fell out that the poor gentleman was scarce a whole week together without some piteous application for his beast; and as he was not an unkind-hearted man, and every case was more pressing and more distressful than the last, --as much as he loved his beast, he had never a heart to refuse him; the upshot of which was generally this, that his horse was either clapp'd, or spavin'd, or greaz'd; --or he was twitter-bon'd, or broken-winded, or something, in short, or other had befallen him, which would let him carry no flesh; --so that he had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get rid of, --and a good horse to purchase in his stead.

He was said to have loved a good horse, and generally had one of the best in the whole parish in his stable. As the nearest midwife, as I told you, lived seven miles distant from the village, every week the poor gentleman received some piteous application for his beast; and as he was not unkind, he had never the heart to refuse.
The upshot generally was, that his horse was either clapped, or spavined, or lamed; or he was twitter-boned, or broken-winded, or something or other; so that the parson had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get rid of, and a good horse to buy in his stead.


What the loss on such a balance might amount to, _communibus annis_, I would leave to a special jury of sufferers in the same traffick, to determine; --but let it be what it would, the honest gentleman bore it for many years without a murmur, till at length, by repeated ill accidents of the kind, he found it necessary to take the thing under consideration; and upon weighing the whole, and summing it up in his mind, he found it not only disproportioned to his other expences, but withal so heavy an article in itself, as to disable him from any other act of generosity in his parish: Besides this, he considered that with half the sum thus galloped away, he could do ten times as much good; --and what still weighed more with him than all other considerations put together, was this, that it confined all his charity into one particular channel, and where, as he fancied, it was the least wanted, namely, to the child-bearing and child-getting part of his parish; reserving nothing for the impotent, --nothing for the aged, --nothing for the many comfortless scenes he was hourly called forth to visit, where poverty, and sickness, and affliction dwelt together.

Despite the cost of this, the honest gentleman bore it for many years without a murmur, till at length, after repeated ill accidents of this kind, he found it necessary to consider the matter. Upon weighing up the whole, he found it so heavy a cost as to disable him from any other act of generosity in his parish. He considered that with half the sum thus galloped away, he could do ten times as much good; but as it was, it confined all charity into the child-bearing part of his parish, where he fancied it was least needed; leaving nothing for the aged, or poor, or sick.


For these reasons he resolved to discontinue the expence; and there appeared but two possible ways to extricate him clearly out of it; --and these were, either to make it an irrevocable law never more to lend his steed upon any application whatever, --or else be content to ride the last poor devil, such as they had made him, with all his aches and infirmities, to the very end of the chapter.

There appeared but two possible ways to extricate him from this expense; either to make it a rule to never lend out his steed again - or else to be content to ride the last poor devil, with all his aches and infirmities, to the very end of the chapter.


As he dreaded his own constancy in the first--he very chearfully betook himself to the second; and though he could very well have explained it, as I said, to his honour, --yet, for that very reason, he had a spirit above it; choosing rather to bear the contempt of his enemies, and the laughter of his friends, than undergo the pain of telling a story, which might seem a panegyrick upon himself.

He cheerfully took this second path; and though he could easily have explained it with honour, yet out of humility he chose rather to bear the contempt of his enemies, and the laughter of his friends, than tell the story.


I have the highest idea of the spiritual and refined sentiments of this reverend gentleman, from this single stroke in his character, which I think comes up to any of the honest refinements of the peerless knight of _La Mancha_, whom, by the bye, with all his follies, I love more, and would actually have gone farther to have paid a visit to, than the greatest hero of antiquity.

I have the highest idea of the sentiments of this reverend gentleman from this stroke in his character, which I think comes up to any of the honest refinements of Don Quixote himself, whom, by the bye, with all his follies, I love more, and would actually have gone farther to have paid a visit to than the greatest hero of antiquity.


But this is not the moral of my story: The thing I had in view was to shew the temper of the world in the whole of this affair.

But this is not the moral of my story. I wished to show the nature of the world in this affair.


--For you must know, that so long as this explanation would have done the parson credit, --the devil a soul could find it out, --I suppose his enemies would not, and that his friends could not.

For so long as this explanation would have done the parson credit, nobody could find it out.


----But no sooner did he bestir himself in behalf of the midwife, and pay the expences of the ordinary's licence to set her up, --but the whole secret came out; every horse he had lost, and two horses more than ever he had lost, with all the circumstances of their destruction, were known and distinctly remembered.

But no sooner did he bestir himself on behalf of the midwife, and pay the expenses of her licence, than the whole secret came out; every horse he had lost was distinctly remembered.


--The story ran like wild-fire-- "The parson had a returning fit of pride which had just seized him; and he was going to be well mounted once again in his life; and if it was so, 'twas plain as the sun at noon-day, he would pocket the expence of the licence, ten times told, the very first year: --So that every body was left to judge what were his views in this act of charity."

The story ran like wild-fire - 'The parson had been seized by a fit of pride, and he was going to be well mounted once again; and he would pocket the expense of the licence ten times over, the very first year.'


What were his views in this, and in every other action of his life, --or rather what were the opinions which floated in the brains of other people concerning it, was a thought which too much floated in his own, and too often broke in upon his rest, when he should have been sound asleep.

The opinions of other people concerning this often disturbed his rest.


About ten years ago this gentleman had the good fortune to be made entirely easy upon that score, --it being just so long since he left his parish, --and the whole world at the same time behind him, --and stands accountable to a Judge of whom he will have no cause to complain.

But about ten years ago this gentleman had the good fortune to be made entirely easy upon that score, and stands accountable to a Judge of whom he will have no cause to complain.


But there is a fatality attends the actions of some men: Order them as they will, they pass thro' a certain medium, which so twists and refracts them from their true directions----that, with all the titles to praise which a rectitude of heart can give, the doers of them are nevertheless forced to live and die without it.

There is a fatality attends the actions of some men: order them as they will, they become twisted from their true directions.


Of the truth of which, this gentleman was a painful example.

Of this, the parson was a painful example.


----But to know by what means this came to pass, --and to make that knowledge of use to you, I insist upon it that you read the two following chapters, which contain such a sketch of his life and conversation, as will carry its moral along with it.

But to know how this came to pass, I insist that you read the two following chapters, which contain such a sketch of his life and conversation as will prove its moral.


--When this is done, if nothing stops us in our way, we will go on with the midwife.

- When this is done, if nothing stops us in our way, we will go on with the midwife.


Upon looking back from the end of the last chapter, and surveying the texture of what has been wrote, it is necessary, that upon this page and the three following, a good quantity of heterogeneous matter be inserted to keep up that just balance betwixt wisdom and folly, without which a book would not hold together a single year: nor is it a poor creeping digression (which but for the name of, a man might continue as well going on in the king's highway) which will do the business----no; if it is to be a digression, it must be a good frisky one, and upon a frisky subject too, where neither the horse or his rider are to be caught, but by rebound.

Upon looking back from the end of the last chapter, and surveying the texture of what has been wrote, it is necessary that upon this page and the next three, a good quantity of assorted matter should be inserted to keep up that balance betwixt wisdom and folly, without which a book would not hold together: nor will a poor creeping digression do the business - no; it must be a good frisky one, and upon a frisky subject too.


The only difficulty, is raising powers suitable to the nature of the service: FANCY is capricious --WIT must not be searched for--and PLEASANTRY (good-natured slut as she is) will not come in at a call, was an empire to be laid at her feet.

The only difficulty is raising powers suitable to the nature of the service: Fancy is capricious - Wit should be spontaneous - and Pleasantry (good-natured slut though she is) will not come at a call, even if an empire were laid at her feet.


----The best way for a man is to say his prayers----

- The best way is for a man to say his prayers-


Only if it puts him in mind of his infirmities and defects as well ghostly as bodily--for that purpose, he will find himself rather worse after he has said them than before--for other purposes, better.

Only, if it reminds him of his infirmities and defects, he will find himself rather worse after he has said them than before.


For my own part, there is not a way either moral or mechanical under heaven that I could think of, which I have not taken with myself in this case: sometimes by addressing myself directly to the soul herself, and arguing the point over and over again with her upon the extent of her own faculties----
----I never could make them an inch the wider----
Then by changing my system, and trying what could be made of it upon the body, by temperance, soberness, and chastity: These are good, quoth I, in themselves--they are good, absolutely; --they are good, relatively; --they are good for health--they are good for happiness in this world--they are good for happiness in the next----

For my own part, there is not a way either moral or mechanical under heaven that I could think of, which I have not taken in his case: sometimes addressing myself directly to the soul, and then by trying what could be made of it upon the body, by temperance, soberness, and chastity.
'These are good,' quoth I, 'for health - for happiness in this world - and for happiness in the next-'


In short, they were good for everything but the thing wanted; and there they were good for nothing, but to leave the soul just as heaven made it: as for the theological virtues of faith and hope, they give it courage; but then that snivelling virtue of Meekness (as my father would always call it) takes it quite away again, so you are exactly where you started.

In short, they were good for everything but the thing wanted; and there they were good for nothing, but to leave the soul just as heaven made it. As for the virtues of faith and hope, they give it courage; but then that snivelling virtue Meekness (as my father would always call it) takes it quite away again, so you are exactly where you started.


Now in all common and ordinary cases, there is nothing which I have found to answer so well as this----

Now in all ordinary cases, there is nothing which I have found to inspire the author's wit and fancy so well as this-


----Certainly, if there is any dependence upon Logic, and that I am not blinded by self-love, there must be something of true genius about me, merely upon this symptom of it, that I do not know what envy is: for never do I hit upon any invention or device which tendeth to the furtherance of good writing, but I instantly make it public; willing that all mankind should write as well as myself.

- Certainly, if I am not blinded by self-love, there must be something of true genius about me, because I do not know what envy is: for never do I hit upon any invention for the furtherance of good writing, without instantly making it public; wishing that all mankind should write as well as myself.


----Which they certainly will, when they think as little.

- Which they certainly will, when they think as little.


My father took a single turn across the room, then sat down, and finished the chapter.

My father took a turn across the room, sat down, and finished the chapter.


The verbs auxiliary we are concerned in here, continued my father, are, _am_; _was_; _have_; _had_; _do_; _did_; _make_; _made_; _suffer_; _shall_; _should_; _will_; _would_; _can_; _could_; _owe_; _ought_; _used_; or _is wont_.

'The auxiliary verbs we are concerned in here,' he continued, 'are, am; was; have; had; do; did; make; made; shall; should; will; would; can; could; owe; ought; used; or is wont.


--And these varied with tenses, _present_, _past_, _future_, and conjugated with the verb _see_, --or with these questions added to them; --_Is it?_ _Was it?_ _Will it be?_ _Would it be?_ _May it be?_ _Might it be?_ And these again put negatively, _Is it not?_ _Was it not?_ _Ought it not?_ --Or affirmatively, --_It is_; _It was_; _It ought to be_.

And these varied with tenses, present, past, or future, or with these questions added to them - Is it? Was it? Will it be? Would it be? May it be? Might it be? And these again put negatively: Is it not? Was it not?


Or chronologically, --_Has it been always?_ _Lately?_ _How long ago?_ --Or hypothetically, --_If it was?_ _If it was not?_ What would follow?

Or chronologically - Has it been always? Lately? How long ago? Or hypothetically: If it was? If it was not?


----If the _French_ should beat the _English?_ If the _Sun_ go out of the _Zodiac?_

- if the French should beat the English? If the Sun should go out of the Zodiac?


Now, by the right use and application of these, continued my father, in which a child's memory should be exercised, there is no one idea can enter his brain, how barren soever, but a magazine of conceptions and conclusions may be drawn forth from it.

'Now, by the right use of these,' continued my father, 'no idea can enter a child's brain, without a crowd of ideas being drawn forth from it.


cried my father, turning his head round to _Trim_, who stood at the back of his chair: --No, an' please your honour, replied the corporal.

he cried, turning to Trim.
'No, your honour,' replied the corporal.


----But thou couldst discourse about one, _Trim_, said my father, in case of need?

'But thou couldst talk about one, Trim,' said my father, 'if needed?


--How is it possible, brother, quoth my uncle _Toby_, if the corporal never saw one?

'How is it possible, brother,' quoth my uncle Toby, 'if the corporal never saw one?'


----'Tis the fact I want, replied my father, --and the possibility of it is as follows.

'That is the fact I want,' replied my father. 'The possibility of it is as follows.


'If I should see a white bear, what would I say?


If I should never see a white bear, what then?


'If I never have, can, must, or shall see a white bear alive; have I ever seen the skin of one?


'Did my father, mother, uncle, aunt, brothers or sisters, ever see a white bear?


She cannot, quoth my uncle _Toby_, halting, when they had march'd up to within twenty paces of Mrs. _Wadman's_ door--she cannot, corporal, take it amiss.----

'She cannot,' quoth my uncle Toby, halting twenty paces from Mrs. Wadman's door - 'she cannot take it amiss.'


----She will take it, an' please your honour, said the corporal, just as the _Jew's_ widow at _Lisbon_ took it of my brother _Tom_.----

'She will take it, your honour,' said the corporal, 'just as the Jew's widow at Lisbon took it from my brother Tom.'


quoth my uncle _Toby_, facing quite about to the corporal.

quoth my uncle Toby, turning round to face him.


Your honour, replied the corporal, knows of _Tom's_ misfortunes; but this affair has nothing to do with them any further than this, That if _Tom_ had not married the widow----or had it pleased God after their marriage, that they had but put pork into their sausages, the honest soul had never been taken out of his warm bed, and dragg'd to the inquisition----'Tis a cursed place--added the corporal, shaking his head, --when once a poor creature is in, he is in, an' please your honour, for ever.

'Your honour,' replied the corporal, 'knows of Tom's misfortunes; if he had not married the widow - or if they had only put pork into their sausages - the honest soul would never have been taken out of his warm bed, and dragged to the inquisition. 'Tis a cursed place; when once a poor creature is in, he is in for ever.'


'Tis very true; said my uncle _Toby_, looking gravely at Mrs. _Wadman's_ house, as he spoke.

''Tis very true,' said my uncle Toby, looking gravely at Mrs. Wadman's house as he spoke.


Nothing, continued the corporal, can be so sad as confinement for life--or so sweet, an' please your honour, as liberty.

'Nothing,' continued the corporal, 'can be so sad as confinement for life - or so sweet as liberty.'


Nothing, _Trim_----said my uncle _Toby_, musing----


Whilst a man is free, --cried the corporal, giving a flourish with his stick thus----

'Whilst a man is free -' cried the corporal, giving a flourish with his stick thus:


A thousand of my father's most subtle syllogisms could not have said more for celibacy.


My uncle _Toby_ look'd earnestly towards his cottage and his bowling-green.

My uncle Toby looked earnestly towards his cottage and his bowling-green.


The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with his wand; and he had nothing to do, but to conjure him down again with his story, and in this form of Exorcism, most un-ecclesiastically did the corporal do it.

The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with his wand; so he then began to conjure him down again with his story.


When the cataplasm was ready, a scruple of _decorum_ had unseasonably rose up in _Susannah's_ conscience about holding the candle, whilst _Slop_ tied it on; _Slop_ had not treated _Susannah's_ distemper with anodynes, --and so a quarrel had ensued betwixt them.

When Dr Slop's cataplasm, or poultice, was ready, an untimely scruple of decorum made Susannah refuse to hold the candle, whilst Slop put the cataplasm on. Slop had not given Susannah any pain relief for her distemper, and so a quarrel had strung up betwixt them.


----said _Slop_, casting a glance of undue freedom in _Susannah's_ face, as she declined the office; ----then, I think I know you, madam ----You know me, Sir!

said Slop, casting a glance at Susannah; 'then, I think I know you, madam.'
'You know me, Sir!'


cried _Susannah_ fastidiously, and with a toss of her head, levelled evidently, not at his profession, but at the doctor himself, ----you know me!

cried Susannah fastidiously, with a toss of her head.


----Doctor _Slop_ clapped his finger and his thumb instantly upon his nostrils; ----_Susannah's_ spleen was ready to burst at it; ----'Tis false, said _Susannah_.

Doctor Slop clapped his finger and his thumb instantly upon his nostrils.
Susannah was ready to burst with anger. ''Tis false,' she said.


--Come, come, Mrs. Modesty, said _Slop_, not a little elated with the success of his last thrust, ----If you won't hold the candle, and look--you may hold it and shut your eyes: --That's one of your popish shifts, cried _Susannah_: --'Tis better, said _Slop_, with a nod, than no shift at all, young woman; ----I defy you, Sir, cried _Susannah_, pulling her shift sleeve below her elbow.

'Come, come, Mrs. Modesty,' said Slop, somewhat elated with his success, 'if you won't hold the candle and look - hold it and shut your eyes.'
'That's one of your popish shifts,' cried Susannah.
''Tis better,' said Slop, 'than no shift at all, young woman.'
'I defy you, Sir,' cried Susannah, pulling her shift sleeve into sight below her elbow.


It was almost impossible for two persons to assist each other in a surgical case with a more splenetic cordiality.

It was almost impossible for two persons to assist each other in a surgical case with more bad-tempered cordiality.


_Slop_ snatched up the cataplasm, ----_Susannah_ snatched up the candle; ----a little this way, said _Slop_; _Susannah_ looking one way, and rowing another, instantly set fire to _Slop's_ wig, which being somewhat bushy and unctuous withal, was burnt out before it was well kindled.

Slop snatched up the cataplasm; Susannah snatched up the candle.
'This way,' said Slop. Susannah, looking one way, and moving another, instantly set fire to Slop's wig, which being somewhat bushy and greasy, burnt out before it was well kindled.


cried _Slop_, --(for what is passion, but a wild beast?)--you impudent whore, cried _Slop_, getting upright, with the cataplasm in his hand; ----I never was the destruction of anybody's nose, said _Susannah_, --which is more than you can say: ----Is it?

cried Slop, straightening up with the cataplasm in his hand.
'I never destroyed anybody's nose,' said Susannah, 'which is more than you can say!'
'Is it?'


cried _Slop_, throwing the cataplasm in her face; ----Yes, it is, cried _Susannah_, returning the compliment with what was left in the pan.

cried Slop, throwing the cataplasm in her face.
'Yes, it is,' cried Susannah, returning the compliment with what was left in the pan.


All womankind, continued _Trim_, (commenting upon his story) from the highest to the lowest, an' please your honour, love jokes; the difficulty is to know how they chuse to have them cut; and there is no knowing that, but by trying, as we do with our artillery in the field, by raising or letting down their breeches, till we hit the mark.----

'All womankind,' continued Trim, 'from the highest to the lowest, love jokes; the difficulty is to know what sort; and there is no knowing that, but by trying, as we do with our artillery in the field, by raising or letting down their breeches, till we hit the mark.'


----I like the comparison, said my uncle _Toby_, better than the thing itself----

'I like the comparison,' said my uncle Toby, 'better than the thing itself.'


----Because your honour, quoth the corporal, loves glory, more than pleasure.

'Because your honour,' quoth the corporal, 'loves glory more than pleasure.'


I hope, _Trim_, answered my uncle _Toby_, I love mankind more than either; and as the knowledge of arms tends so apparently to the good and quiet of the world----and particularly that branch of it which we have practised together in our bowling-green, has no object but to shorten the strides of AMBITION, and intrench the lives and fortunes of the _few_, from the plunderings of the _many_----whenever that drum beats in our ears, I trust, corporal, we shall neither of us want so much humanity and fellow-feeling, as to face about and march.

'I hope, Trim,' answered my uncle, 'I love mankind more than either; and as the knowledge of arms tends to the good and quiet of the world - particularly that branch of it which we have practised together on our bowling-green - and keeps the lives of the few, from the plunderings of the many - whenever that drum beats, I trust, corporal, we shall neither of us lack the humanity and fellow-feeling to face about and march.'


In pronouncing this, my uncle _Toby_ faced about, and march'd firmly as at the head of his company----and the faithful corporal, shouldering his stick, and striking his hand upon his coat-skirt as he took his first step----march'd close behind him down the avenue.

In pronouncing this, my uncle Toby turned around, and marched firmly as if at the head of his company - and the faithful corporal, shouldering his stick, marched close behind him down the avenue.


----Now what can their two noddles be about?

'Now what can their two noddles be about?'


cried my father to my mother----by all that's strange, they are besieging Mrs. _Wadman_ in form, and are marching round her house to mark out the lines of circumvallation.

cried my father to my mother; 'by all that's strange, they are besieging Mrs. Wadman, and are marching round her house to mark out the surrounding lines.'


I dare say, quoth my mother ------------But stop, dear Sir----for what my mother dared to say upon the occasion----and what my father did say upon it----with her replies and his rejoinders, shall be read, perused, paraphrased, commented, and descanted upon--or to say it all in a word, shall be thumb'd over by Posterity in a chapter apart ----I say, by Posterity--and care not, if I repeat the word again--for what has this book done more than the Legation of _Moses_, or the Tale of a Tub, that it may not swim down the gutter of Time along with them?

'I dare say-' quoth my mother-
- But stop, dear Sir - for what my mother dared to say upon the occasion - and what my father did say, with her replies, shall be read, perused, commented on, and in short, thumbed over by Posterity in a separate chapter. - I say, by Posterity - for what has this book done more than the Legation of Moses, or the Tale of a Tub, that it may not swim down the gutter of Time along with them?


I will not argue the matter: Time wastes too fast: every letter I trace tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen; the days and hours of it, more precious, my dear _Jenny!_ than the rubies about thy neck, are flying over our heads like light clouds of a windy day, never to return more----everything presses on----whilst thou art twisting that lock, ----see!

I will not argue the matter: Time wastes too fast: every letter I write tells me how rapidly Life follows my pen; the days of it, more precious, my dear Jenny! than the rubies about thy neck, are flying over our heads like light clouds on a windy day, never to return - everything presses on - whilst thou art twisting that lock of hair, see!


it grows grey; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to make.----

it grows grey; and every adieu, and every absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to make.


When my uncle _Toby_ got his map of _Namur_ to his mind, he began immediately to apply himself, and with the utmost diligence, to the study of it; for nothing being of more importance to him than his recovery, and his recovery depending, as you have read, upon the passions and affections of his mind, it behoved him to take the nicest care to make himself so far master of his subject, as to be able to talk upon it without emotion.

When my uncle Toby got his map of Namur, he began immediately to study it diligently; for since his recovery depended upon the passions of his mind, he needed to make himself master of his subject, so as to be able to talk of it without emotion.


In a fortnight's close and painful application, which, by the bye, did my uncle _Toby's_ wound, upon his groin, no good, --he was enabled, by the help of some marginal documents at the feet of the elephant, together with _Gobesius's_ military architecture and pyroballogy, translated from the _Flemish_, to form his discourse with passable perspicuity; and before he was two full months gone, --he was right eloquent upon it, and could make not only the attack of the advanced counterscarp with great order; ----but having, by that time, gone much deeper into the art, than what his first motive made necessary, my uncle _Toby_ was able to cross the _Maes_ and _Sambre_; make diversions as far as _Vauban's_ line, the abbey of _Salsines_, etc., and give his visitors as distinct a history of each of their attacks, as of that of the gate of _St. Nicolas_, where he had the honour to receive his wound.

In a fortnight's close application, which, by the bye, did my uncle Toby's wound upon his groin no good, - he was able, with the help of Gobesius's military architecture and pyroballogy, translated from the Flemish, to form his discourse with passable clarity; and after two months, he was right eloquent upon it, and could not only attack the advanced counterscarp, but was able to cross the Maes and Sambre, make diversions as far as Vauban's line, and give his visitors as distinct a history of these attacks, as of that of the gate of St. Nicolas, where he had received his wound.


But desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, increases ever with the acquisition of it.

But desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, increases with the acquisition of it.


The more my uncle _Toby_ pored over his map, the more he took a liking to it!

The more my uncle Toby pored over his map, the more he took a liking to it!


--by the same process and electrical assimilation, as I told you, through which I ween the souls of connoisseurs themselves, by long friction and incumbition, have the happiness, at length, to get all be-virtu'd--be-pictured, --be-butterflied, and befiddled.


The more my uncle _Toby_ drank of this sweet fountain of science, the greater was the heat and impatience of his thirst, so that before the first year of his confinement had well gone round, there was scarce a fortified town in _Italy_ or _Flanders_, of which, by one means or other, he had not procured a plan, reading over as he got them, and carefully collating therewith the histories of their sieges, their demolitions, their improvements, and new works, all which he would read with that intense application and delight, that he would forget himself, his wound, his confinement, his dinner.

The more he drank of this sweet fountain of science, the greater was his thirst, so that before the first year of his confinement had ended, there was scarce a fortified town in Italy or Flanders of which he had not procured a plan, carefully collecting the histories of their sieges, their demolitions, and their improvements, which he would read with such intense delight that he would forget himself, his wound, his confinement and his dinner.


In the second year my uncle _Toby_ purchased _Ramelli_ and _Cataneo_, translated from the _Italian_; --likewise _Stevinus_, _Moralis_, the Chevalier _de Ville_, _Lorini_, _Cochorn_, _Sheeter_, the Count _de Pagan_, the Marshal _Vauban_, Mons. _Blondel_, with almost as many more books of military architecture, as Don _Quixote_ was found to have of chivalry, when the curate and barber invaded his library.

In the second year my uncle Toby purchased Ramelli and Cataneo, translated from the Italian; Stevinus, Moralis, the Chevalier de Ville, Lorini, Cochorn, Sheeter, the Count de Pagan, the Marshal Vauban, and Monsignor Blondel, with almost as many books of military architecture as Don Quixote had of chivalry in his library.


Towards the beginning of the third year, which was in _August_, ninety-nine, my uncle _Toby_ found it necessary to understand a little of projectiles: --and having judged it best to draw his knowledge from the fountain-head, he began with _N.

Towards the beginning of the third year, in 1699, my uncle Toby found it necessary to understand a little of projectiles.


Tartaglia_, who it seems was the first man who detected the imposition of a cannon-ball's doing all that mischief under the notion of a right line --This _N.

He began with Tartaglia, the first man who detected that a cannon-ball could not do its mischief along a right line.


Tartaglia_ proved to my uncle _Toby_ to be an impossible thing.

- This Tartaglia proved to be impossible.


No sooner was my uncle _Toby_ satisfied which road the cannon-ball did not go, but he was insensibly led on, and resolved in his mind to enquire and find out which road the ball did go: For which purpose he was obliged to set off afresh with old _Maltus_, and studied him devoutly.

No sooner was my uncle Toby satisfied which road the cannon-ball did not go, but he resolved to find out which road the ball did go. For this purpose he was obliged to set off afresh with old Maltus, and studied him devoutly.


--He proceeded next to _Galileo_ and _Torricellius_, wherein, by certain Geometrical rules, infallibly laid down, he found the precise part to be a PARABOLA--or else an HYPERBOLA, --and that the parameter, or _latus rectum_, of the conic section of the said path, was to the quantity and amplitude in a direct _ratio_, as the whole line to the sine of double the angle of incidence, formed by the breech upon an horizontal plane; --and that the semiparameter, ----stop!

Next came Galileo and Torricellius, wherein, by certain Geometrical rules, he found the precise part to be a Parabola - or else an Hyperbola - and that the parameter of the conic section of the said path was to the quantity and amplitude in a direct ratio as the whole line to the sine of double the angle of incidence formed by the breech upon an horizontal plane; and that the semiparameter-
Stop!


--go not one foot farther into this thorny and bewildered track, --intricate are the steps!

Go not one foot farther into this thorny and bewildered track!


intricate are the mazes of this labyrinth!


intricate are the troubles which the pursuit of this bewitching phantom KNOWLEDGE will bring upon thee.

intricate are the troubles which the pursuit of this bewitching phantom Knowledge will bring upon thee.


--O my uncle; --fly--fly, fly from it as from a serpent.

O my uncle - fly, fly from it as from a serpent.


----Is it fit----good-natured man! thou should'st sit up, with the wound upon thy groin, whole nights baking thy blood with hectic watchings?

Is it fit that thou should'st sit up, with the wound upon thy groin, whole nights baking thy blood with hectic watchings?


'twill exasperate thy symptoms, --check thy perspirations--evaporate thy spirits--waste thy animal strength, --dry up thy radical moisture, bring thee into a costive habit of body, ----impair thy health, ----and hasten all the infirmities of thy old age.

'twill exasperate thy symptoms - evaporate thy spirits - waste thy strength - impair thy health - and hasten all the infirmities of thy old age.


If the reader has not a clear conception of the rood and the half of ground which lay at the bottom of my uncle _Toby's_ kitchen-garden, and which was the scene of so many of his delicious hours, --the fault is not in me, --but in his imagination; --for I am sure I gave him so minute a description, I was almost ashamed of it.

If the reader has not a clear idea of the quarter-acre of ground which lay at the bottom of my uncle Toby's kitchen-garden, and which was the scene of so many of his delicious hours - the fault is not in me, but in the reader's imagination; for I gave him a minute description.


When FATE was looking forwards one afternoon, into the great transactions of future times, --and recollected for what purposes this little plot, by a decree fast bound down in iron, had been destined, ---she gave a nod to NATURE, --'twas enough --Nature threw half a spade full of her kindliest compost upon it, with just so _much_ clay in it, as to retain the forms of angles and indentings, --and so _little_ of it too, as not to cling to the spade, and render works of so much glory, nasty in foul weather.

Nature blessed this plot with her kindliest compost, just enough to keep shape, but not so much as to cling to the spade, and render such glorious works nasty in foul weather.


My uncle _Toby_ came down, as the reader has been informed, with plans along with him, of almost every fortified town in _Italy_ and _Flanders_; so let the Duke of _Marlborough_, or the allies, have set down before what town they pleased, my uncle _Toby_ was prepared for them.

My uncle Toby came down, as the reader has been informed, with the plans of almost every fortified town in Italy and Flanders. The Duke of Marlborough, or the allies, might go where they pleased; my uncle Toby was prepared for them.


His way, which was the simplest one in the world, was this; as soon as ever a town was invested--(but sooner when the design was known) to take the plan of it (let it be what town it would), and enlarge it upon a scale to the exact size of his bowling-green; upon the surface of which, by means of a large role of packthread, and a number of small piquets driven into the ground, at the several angles and redans, he transferred the lines from his paper; then taking the profile of the place, with its works, to determine the depths and slopes of the ditches, --the talus of the glacis, and the precise height of the several banquets, parapets, &c. --he set the corporal to work----and sweetly went it on: ----The nature of the soil, --the nature of the work itself, --and above all, the good-nature of my uncle _Toby_ sitting by from morning to night, and chatting kindly with the corporal upon past-done deeds, --left LABOUR little else but the ceremony of the name.

He would take the plan of a town, and enlarge it upon a scale to the exact size of his bowling-green; upon the surface of which, by means of a large roll of thread, and many small pickets driven into the ground, he transferred the lines from his paper. Then, on deciding the depths and slopes of the ditches, the height of the parapets, &c., he set the corporal to work - and sweetly went it on.
The nature of the soil, the nature of the work itself, and above all, the good-nature of my uncle Toby sitting by from morning to night, and chatting kindly with the corporal upon past deeds, left Labour little else but the ceremony of the name.


When the place was finished in this manner, and put into a proper posture of defence, --it was invested, --and my uncle _Toby_ and the corporal began to run their first parallel.

When the place was finished in this manner, my uncle Toby and the corporal began to run their first parallel.


----I beg I may not be interrupted in my story, by being told, _That the first parallel should be at least three hundred toises distant from the main body of the place, --and that I have not left a single inch for it_; ------for my uncle _Toby_ took the liberty of incroaching upon his kitchen-garden, for the sake of enlarging his works on the bowling-green, and for that reason generally ran his first and second parallels betwixt two rows of his cabbages and his cauliflowers; the conveniences and inconveniences of which will be considered at large in the history of my uncle _Toby's_ and the corporal's campaigns, of which, this I'm now writing is but a sketch, and will be finished, if I conjecture right, in three pages (but there is no guessing) ----The campaigns themselves will take up as many books; and therefore I apprehend it would be hanging too great a weight of one kind of matter in so flimsy a performance as this, to rhapsodize them, as I once intended, into the body of the work----surely they had better be printed apart, ----we'll consider the affair----so take the following sketch of them in the meantime.

- I beg you not to interrupt by telling me 'That the first parallel should be at least six hundred yards distant - and that I have not left a single inch for it'; for my uncle Toby extended his works from the bowling-green onto his kitchen-garden, so that his first and second parallels ran betwixt two rows of cabbages and cauliflowers; the inconveniences of which will be considered in the history of my uncle Toby's campaigns, of which this is but a sketch, and will be finished in perhaps three pages (but there is no guessing).
- The campaigns themselves will take three books; and therefore had better be printed apart - but we'll take the following sketch of them in the meantime.


'Tis a point settled, --and I mention it for the comfort of _Confucius_,[5.2] who is apt to get entangled in telling a plain story--that provided he keeps along the line of his story, --he may go backwards and forwards as he will, --'tis still held to be no digression.

'Tis a settled thing that, provided an author keeps along the line of his story, he may go backwards and forwards as he wishes; 'tis not considered to be a digression.


This being premised, I take the benefit of the _act of going backwards_ myself.

Therefore I take the benefit of going backwards myself.