Now, whether we observe it or no, continued my father, in every sound man's head, there is a regular succession of ideas of one sort or other, which follow each other in train just like ------A train of artillery? said my uncle _Toby_ ----A train of a fiddle-stick! --quoth my father--which follow and succeed one another in our minds at certain distances, just like the images in the inside of a lanthorn turned round by the heat of a candle. --I declare, quoth my uncle _Toby_, mine are more like a smoak-jack. ------Then, brother _Toby_, I have nothing more to say to you upon that subject, said my father.

'In every man's head, there is a regular succession of ideas which follow each other in train just like-'
'A train of artillery?' said my uncle Toby.
'A train of a fiddle-stick!' quoth my father. '- which follow and succeed one another in our minds like the images in the inside of a lantern turned round by the heat of a candle.'
'I declare,' quoth my uncle, 'mine are more like a smoke-jack that turns a spit in a chimney.'
'Then, brother Toby, I have nothing more to say to you upon the subject,' said my father.