But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every idea, sensible and insensible, gets vent--in this land, my dear _Eugenius_--in this fertile land of chivalry and romance, where I now sit, unskrewing my ink-horn to write my uncle _Toby's_ amours, and with all the meanders of JULIA'S track in quest of her DIEGO, in full view of my study window--if thou comest not and takest me by the hand----

But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every idea gets vent - in this fertile land of chivalry and romance, where I now sit, unscrewing my ink-horn to write my uncle Toby's amours, with all the meanders of Julia's track in quest of her Diego in full view of my study window - if thou comest not and takest me by the hand-
