.ig [ 0 ] .ce T H E .ce L I F E .ce A N D .ce O P I N I O N S .ce O F .ce TRISTRAM SHANDY, .ce G<4entleman>4. Si quid urbaniuscul@`e lusum a nobis, per Musas et Cha- ritas et omnium poetarum Numina, Oro te, ne me mal@`e capias. .ce V O L. IX. .ce <4L O N D O N:>4 .ce Printed for T. B<4ECKET>4 and P. A. D<4EHONDT>4, .ce in the Strand. MDCCLXVII |||||||||| .ce A .ce DEDICATION .ce TO A .ce GREAT MAN <5H>5AVING, <2a priori>2, intended to dedicate <2The Amours of my>2 <2uncle Toby>2 to Mr. *** -- I see more reasons, <2a posteriori,>2 for doing it to Lord *******. I should lament from my soul, if this exposed me to the jealousy of their Reverences; because, <2a posteri->2 V<4OL>4. IX. 2 <2ori,>2 |||||||||| .ce DEDICATION <2riori>2, in Court-latin, signifies, the kissing hands for preferment -- or any thing else -- in order to get it. My opinion of Lord ******* is neither better nor worse, than it was of Mr. ***. Honours, like im- pressions upon coin, may give an ideal and local value to a bit of base metal; but Gold and Silver will pass all the world over without any other recommendation than their own weight. The same good will that made me think of offering up half an hour's amusement to Mr. *** when out of place -- operates more forcibly at present, |||||||||| .ce DEDICATION present, as half an hour's amuse- ment will be more serviceable and refreshing after labour and sorrow, than after a philosophical repast. Nothing is so perfectly <2Amuse->2 <2ment>2 as a total change of ideas; no ideas are so totally different as those of Ministers, and inoccent Lovers: for which reason, when I come to talk of Statesmen and Patriots, and set such marks upon them as will prevent confusion and mistakes con- cerning them for the future -- I pro- pose to dedicate that Volume to some gentle Shepherd, <4Whose Thoughts proud Science never taught>4 <4to stray,>4 <4Far as the Statesman's walk or Patriot-way;>4 <4Yet>4 |||||||||| .ce DEDICATION <4Yet>4 <6simple Nature>6 <4to his hopes had given>4 <4Out of a cloud-capp'd head a humbler heaven;>4 <4Some>4 <6untam'd>6 <4World in depth of woods em->4 <4braced>4-- <4Some happier Island in the watry-waste>4-- <4And where admitted to that equal sky,>4 <4His>4 <6faithful Dogs>6 <4should bear him company.>4 In a word, by thus introducing an entire new set of objects to his Imagi- nation, I shall unavoidably give a <2Diversion>2 to his passionate and love- sick Contemplations. In the mean- time, I am, The A U T H O R. |||||||||| .ig [ 1 ] .ce T H E .ce L I F E and O P I N I O N S .ce O F .ce TRISTRAM SHANDY, Gent. __________________________________________ .ce C H A P. I. <5I>5 CALL all the powers of time and chance, which severally check us in our careers in this world, to bear me witness, that I could never yet get fairly to my uncle Toby's amours, till this very moment, that my mother's <2curiosity,>2 V<4OL>4. IX B as |||||||||| [ 2 ] as she stated the affair,-- - or a different impulse in her, as my father would have it--wished her to take a peep at them through the key-hole. ``Call it, my dear, by its right name, quoth my father, and look through the key-hole as long as you will.'' Nothing but the fermentation of that little subacid humour which I have often spoken of, in my father's habit, could have vented such an insinuation--he was however frank and generous in his nature, and at all times open to convic- tion; so that he had scarce got to the last word of this ungracious retort, when his conscience smote him. My |||||||||| [ 3 ] My mother was then conjugally swinging with her left arm twisted under his right, in such wise that the inside of her hand rested upon the back of his-- she raised her fingers, and let them fall-- it could scarce be called a tap; or if it was a tap--'twould have puzzled a casuist to say whether 'twas a tap of re- monstrance, or a tap of confession: my father, who was all sensibilities from head to foot, classed it right--Conscience re- doubled her blow -- he turned his face suddenly the other way, and my mother supposing his body was about to turn with it in order to move homewards, by a cross movement of her right leg, keeping her left as its centre, brought herself so far in front that as he turned B 2. his |||||| [ 4] head, he met her eye-2-Confu- sion again! he saw a thousand reasons to wipe out the reproach, and as many to reproach himself--a thin, blue, chill, pellucid chrystal with all its humours so at rest, the least mote or speck of desire might have been seen at the bottom of it, had it existed -- it did not - how I happen to be so lewd myself, particularly a little before the vernal and autumnal equinoxes -2- heaven above knows -2- My mother -2- madam -2- was so at no time, either by nature, by institution, or example. A temperate current of blood ran or- derly through her veins in all months of the year, and in all critical moments both of |||||||||| [ 5 ] of the day and night alike; nor did she superinduce the least heat into her hu- mours from the manual effervescencies of devotional tracts, which having little or no meaning in them, nature is oft times obliged to find one-2-And as for my father's example! 'twas so far from being either aiding or abetting thereunto, that 'twas the whole business of his life to keep all fancies of that kind out of her head -2- Nature had done her part, to have spared him this trouble; and what was not a little inconsistent, my father knew it-2-And here am I sitting, this 12th day of August, 1766, in a pur- ple jerkin and yellow pair of slippers, without either wig or cap on, a most B 3 tragi- |||||||||| [ 6 ] tragicomical completion of his predic- tion ``That I should neither think, ``nor act like any other man's child, ``upon that very account.'' The mistake of my father was in attacking my mother's motive, instead of the act itself: for certainly key-holes were made for other purposes; and considering the act as an act which interfered with a true proposition, and denied a key-hole to be what it was -2- it became a violation of na- ture; and was so far, you see, cri- minal. It is for this reason, an' please your Reverences, That key-holes are the |||||||||| [ 7 ] the occasions of more sin and wicked- ness than all other holes in this world put together. -- which leads me to my uncle Toby's amours. B 4 CHAP. |||||||||| [ 8 ] .ce C H A P. II. <5T>5hough the Corporal had been as good as his word in put- ting my uncle Toby's great ramillie-wig into pipes, yet the time was too short to produce any great effects from it: it had lain many years squeezed up in the corner of his old campaign trunk; and as bad forms are not so easy to be got the better of, and the use of candle- ends not so well understood, it was not so pliable a business as one would have wished. The Corporal with cheary eye and both arms extended, had fallen back perpendicular from it a score times, to inspire it, if possible, with a better air--had <4SPLEEN>4 given a look at it, 'twould |||||||||| [ 9 ] 'twould 'twould have cost her Ladyship a smile --it curl'd every where but where the Corporal would have it; and where a buckle or two, in his opinion, would have done it honour, he could as soon have raised the dead. Such it was--or rather such would it have seem'd upon any other brow; but the sweet look of goodness which sat upon my uncle Toby's assimilated every thing around it so sovereignly to it- self, and Nature had moreover wrote G<4ENTLEMAN>4 with so fair a hand in every line of his countenance, that even his tarnish'd gold-laced hat and huge cock- ade of flimsy taffeta became him; and though not worth a button in themselves, yet the moment my uncle Toby put them on, they became serious objects, and ||||||||||| [ 10 ] and altogether seem'd to have been picked up by the hand of Science to set him off to advantage. Nothing in this world could have co- operated more powerfully towards this, than my uncle Toby's blue and gold-- <2had not Quantity in some measure been ne- cessary to Grace:>2 in a period of fifteen or sixteen years since they had been made, by a total inactivity in my uncle Toby's life, for he seldom went further than the bowling-green--his blue and gold had become so miserably too strait for him, that it was with the utmost difficulty the Corporal was able to get him into them: the taking them up at the sleeves was of no advantage.--They were laced however down the back, and at the seams of the sides, &c., in the mode of King William's ||||||||||| [ 11 ] William's reign; and to shorten all de- scription, they shone so bright against the sun that morning, and had so metallick, and doughty an air with them, that had my uncle Toby thought of attacking in armour, nothing could have so well im- posed upon his imagination. As for the thin scarlet breeches, they had been unripp'd by the taylor between the legs, and left at <2sixes and sevens>2-- --Yes, Madam,-x-but let us go- vern our fancies. It is enough they were held impracticable the night before, and as there was no alternative in my uncle Toby's wardrobe, he sallied forth in the red plush. The Corporal had arrayed himself in poor Le Fevre's regimental coat; and with ||||||||||||||||| [ 12 ] with his hair tucked up under his Mon- tero cap, which he had furbish'd up for the occasion march'd three paces distant from his master: a whiff of mi- litary pride had puff'd out his shirt at the wrist; and upon that, in a black lea- ther thong clipped into a tassel beyond the knot, hung the Corporal's stick-- My uncle Toby carried his cane like a pike. --It looks well at least, quoth my father to himself. C H A P. ||||||||||||||||||||||||| [ 13 ] .ce C H A P. III. <5M>5Y uncle Toby turn'd his head more than once behind him, to see how he was supported by the Corpo- ral; and the Corporal, as oft as he did it, gave a slight flourish with his stick-- but not vapouringly; and with the sweet- est accent of most respectful encourage- ment, bid his honour ``never fear.'' Now my uncle Toby did fear; and grievously too: he knew not (as my fa- ther had reproach'd him) so much as the right end of a Woman from the wrong, and therefore was never altogether at his ease near any one of them--unless in sorrow or distress; then infinite was his pity; nor would the most courteous knight ||||||||||||||| knight of romance have gone further, at least upon one leg, to have wiped away a tear from a woman's eye; and yet ex- cepting once that he was beguiled into it by Mrs. Wadman, he had never looked stedfastly into one; and would often tell my father, in the simplicity of his heart, that it was almost (if not alout) as bad as talking bawdy.-- --And suppose it is? my father would say. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 15 ] .ce C H A P. IV. <5S>5HE cannot, quoth my uncle Toby, halting, when they had march'd up to within twenty paces of Mrs. Wad- man's door--she cannot, Corporal, take it amiss.-2- --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.-- -2-And how was that? quoth my uncle Toby, facing quite about to the Corporal. Your honour, replied the Corporal, knows of Tom's misfortunes; but this affair |||||||||||||||||| [ 16 ] affair has nothing to do with them any further than this, That if Tom had not married the widow--x-or had it pleased God after their marriage, that they had but put pork into their sausa- ages, the honest soul had never been taken out of his warm bed, and dragg'd to the inquisition--'Tis a cursed place-x- added the Corporal, shaking his head, --when once a poor creature is in, he is in, an' please your honour, for ever. '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 ||||||||||||||||||||| [ 17 ] Nothing, Trim--said my uncle Toby, musing-- Whilst a man is free--cried the Cor- poral, giving a flourish with his stick thus-- V<4OL>4. IX. C |||||||||||||||||| [ 18 ] A thousand of my father's most subtle syllogisms could not have said more for celibacy. My uncle Toby looked earnestly to- wards 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 unecclesiastically did the Corporal do it. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 19 ] .ce C H A P. V. <5A>5S Tom's place, an' please your honour, was easy--and the wea- ther warm--it put him upon thinking se- riously of settling himself in the world; and as it fell out about that time, that a Jew who kept a sausage shop in the same street, had the ill luck to die of a stran- gury, and leave his widow in possession of a rousing trade--Tom thought (as every body in Lisbon was doing the best he could devise for himself) there could be no harm in offering her his service to carry it on: so without any introduction to the widow, except that of buying a pound of sausages at her shop--Tom set out-- counting the matter thus within C 2 himself ||||||||| [ 20 ] himself, as he walk'd along; that let the worst come of it that could, he should at least get a pound of sausages for their worth--but, if things went well, he should be set up; inasmuch as he should get not only a pound of sausages--but a wife--and a sausage shop, an' please your honour, into the bargain. Every servant in the family, from high to low, wish'd Tom success; and I can fancy, an' please your honour, I see him this moment with his white dimity waist- coat and breeches, and hat a little o' one side, passing jollily along the street, swinging his stick, with a smile and a cheerful word for every body he met: --But alas! Tom! thou smilest no more, cried the Corporal, looking on I one |||||||||| [ 21 ] one side of him upon the ground, as if he apostrophized him in his dungeon. Poor fellow ! said my uncle Toby, feelingly. He was an honest, lighthearted lad, an' please your honour, as ever blood warmed-- --Then he resembled thee, Trim, said my uncle Toby, rapidly. The Corporal blush'd down to his fin- gers' ends -- a tear of sentimental bash- fulness -- another of gratitude to my uncle Toby -- and a tear of sorrow for his brother's misfortunes, started into his eye and ran sweetly down his cheek to- gether; my uncle Toby's kindled as one lamp |||||||||| [ 22 ] lamp does at another; and taking hold of the breast of Trim's coat (which had been that of Le Fevre's) as if to ease his lame leg, but in reality to gra- tify a finer feeling--he stood silent for a minute and a half; at the end of which he took his hand away, and the Corpo- ral, making a bow, went on with his story of his brother and the Jew's wi- dow. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 23 ] .ce C H A P. VI. <5W>5HEN Tom, an' please your ho- nour, got to the shop, there was nobody in it but a poor negro girl, with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the end of a long cane, flapping away flies--not killing them.-2-'Tis a pretty picture! said my uncle Toby--she had suffered persecution, Trim, and had learnt mercy-2- . --She was good, an' please your honour, from nature as well as from hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that poor friendless slut that would melt a heart of stone, said Trim; and some dismal winter's evening, when your honour is in the humour, they shall |||||||||| [ 24 ] shall be told you with the rest of Tom's story, for it makes a part of it-2- Then do not forget, Trim, said my uncle Toby. A Negro has a soul? an' please your honour, said the Corporal (doubt- ingly). I am not much versed, Corporal, quoth my uncle Toby, in things of that kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any more than thee or me -1- -1-It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the Corporal. It ||||||||||| [ 25 ] It would so, said my uncle Toby. Why then, an' please your honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one? I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby -2- -1-Only, cried the Corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to stand up for her-1- -1-'Tis that very thing, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby,--which recommends her to protection -- and her brethren with her; 'tis the fortune of war which has put the whip into our hands <2now>2-- where it may be hereafter, heaven knows!--but be it where it will, the |||||||||| [ 26 ] the brave, Trim! will not use it un- kindly. -2-God forbid, said the Corporal. Amen, responded my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon his heart. The Corporal returned to his story, and went on--but with an embar- rassment in doing it, which here and there a reader in this world will not be able to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions all along, from one kind and cordial passion to another, in getting thus far on his way, he had lost the sportable key of his voice which gave sense and spirit to his tale: he attempted twice to resume it, but could not |||||||||| [ 27 ] not please himself; so giving a stout hem! to rally back the retreating spirits, and aiding Nature at the same time with his left arm a-kimbo on one side, and with his right a little extended, support- ing her on the other--the Corporal got as near the note as he could; and in that attitude, continued his story. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 28 ] .ce C H A P. VII. <5A>5S Tom, an' please your honour, had no business at that time with the Moorish girl, he passed on into the room beyond to talk to the Jew's widow about love--and his pound of saus- ages; and being, as I have told your honour, an open, cheery-hearted lad, with his character wrote in his looks and carriage, he took a chair, and without much apology, but with great civi- lity at the same time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat down. There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an' please your ho- nour, whilst she is making sausages-- So Tom began a discourse upon them; first |||||||||| [ 29 ] first gravely, -- `` as how they were `` made--with what meats, herbs `` and spices''-- Then a little gayly-x- as, ``With what shins--and if they `` never burst--Whether the largest `` were not the best''-- and so on-x- taking care only, as he went along, to season what he had to say upon sausages rather under, than over; --that he might have room to act in-- lt was owing to the neglect of that very precaution, said my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon Trim's shoulder, That Count de la Motte lost the battle of Wynendale: he pressed too speedily into the wood; which if he had not done, Lisle had not fallen into our hands, nor Ghent and Bruges, which both followed her ||||||||||| [ 30 ] her example; it was so late in the year, continued my uncle Toby, and so terrible a season came on, that if things had not fallen out as they did, our troops must have perished in the open field.-1- -- Why, therefore, may not battles, an' please your honour, as well as mar- riages, be made in heaven?--My uncle Toby mused.-1- Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his high idea of military skill tempt- ed him to say another; so not being able to frame a reply exactly to his mind --my uncle Toby said nothing at all; and the Corporal finished his story. As |||||||||| [ 31 ] As Tom perceived, an' please your honour, that he gained ground, and that all he had said upon the subject of saus- ages was kindly taken, he went on to help her a little in making them.-1- First, by taking hold of the ring of the sausage whilst she stroked the forced meat down with her hand--then by cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them in his hand, whilst she took them out one by one--then, by putting them across her mouth, that she might take them out as she wanted them--and so on from little to more, till at last he adventured to tie the sausage himself, whilst she held the snout.-- --Now a widow, an' please your honour, always chuses a second husband 4 as |||||||||| [ 32 ] as unlike the first as she can: so the affair was more than half settled in her mind before Tom mentioned it. She made a feint however of defend- ing herself, by snatching up a sausage: --Tom instantly laid hold of ano- ther -1- But seeing Tom's had more gristle in it -1- She signed the capitulation -- and Tom sealed it; and there was an end of the matter. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 33 ] .ce C H A P. VIII. <5A>5LL 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 choose 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.-1- -1-I like the comparison, said my uncle Toby, better than the thing it self-1- --Because your honour, quoth the Corporal, loves glory, more than plea- sure. V<4OL>4. IX. D I hope, |||||||||| [ 34 ] 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 A<4MBITION>4, and intrench the lives and fortunes of the <2few>2, from the plunderings of the <2many>2 --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. 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 |||||||||| [ 35 ] and striking his hand upon his coat-skirt as he took his first step--march'd close behind him down the avenue. --Now what can their two noddles be about? cried my father to my mother --by all that's strange, they are be- sieging Mrs. Wadman in form, and are marching round her house to mark out the lines of circumvallation. I dare say, quoth my mother-- --But stop, dear Sir-x-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, com- mented and discanted upon -- or to say it all in a word, shall be thumbed over D 2 by |||||||||| [ 36 ] 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 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 -- every thing presses on -- whilst thou are twisting that lock, -- see! it grows grey; and every |||||||||| [ 37 ] 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.-1- --Heaven have mercy upon us both! D 3 C H A P. |||||||||| [ 38 ] .ce C H A P. IX. <5N>5OW, for what the world thinks of that ejaculation -- I would not give a groat. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 39 ] .ce C H A P X. <5M>5Y mother had gone with her left arm twisted in my father's right, till they had got to the fatal angle of the old garden wall, where Doctor Slop was overthrown by Obadiah on the coach- horse: as this was directly opposite to the front of Mrs. Wadman's house, when my father came to it, he gave a look across; and seeing my uncle Toby and the Corporal within ten paces of the door, he turned about -- `` Let us `` just stop a moment, quoth my father, `` and see with what ceremonies my bro- `` ther Toby and his man Trim make `` their first entry -- it will not detain D 4 `` us, |||||||||| `` us, added my father, a single minute:'' -- No matter if it be ten minutes, quoth my mother. -- It will not detain us half a one, said my father. The Corporal was just then setting in with the story of his brother Tom and the Jew's widow: the story went on -- and on -- it had episodes in it -x- it came back, and went on -- and on again; there was no end of it -- the reader found it very long -2- -2-G-- help my father! he pish'd fifty times at every new attitude, and gave the corporal's stick, with all its flourishings and danglings, to as many devils as chose to accept of them. When |||||||||| [ 41 ] When issues of events like these my father is waiting for are hanging in the scales of fate, the mind has the advan- tage of changing the principle of expec- tation three times, without which it would not have power to see it out. Curiosity governs the <2first moment>2; and the second moment is all economy to justify the expense of the first-- and for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth moments, and so on to the day of judg- ment--'tis a point of H<4ONOUR>4. I need not be told, that the ethic writers have assigned this all to Patience; but that V<4IRTUE>4, methinks, has extent of dominion sufficient of her own, and enough to do in it, without invading the few |||||||||| [ 42 ] few dismantled castles which H<4ONOUR>4 has left him upon the earth. My father stood it out as well as he could with these three auxiliaries to the end of Trim's story; and from thence to the end of my uncle Toby's panegyric upon arms, in the chapter following it; when seeing that instead of marching up to Mrs. Wadman's door, they both faced about and march'd down the ave- nue diametrically opposite to his expecta- tion--he broke out at once with that little subacid soreness of humour which, in certain situations, distinguished his cha- racter from that of all other men. 4 C H A P. ||||||||||| [ 43 ] .ce C H A P. XI --``<5N>5OW what can their two noddles be about?'' cried my father - - &c. - - - - I dare say, said my mother, they are making fortifications-2- --Not on Mrs. Wadman's premis- es! cried my father, stepping back-- I suppose not: quoth my mother. I wish, said my father, raising his voice, the whole science of fortification at the devil, with all its trumpery of saps, mines, blinds, gabions, fausse-brayes, and cuvettes-2- --They are foolish things-x-said my mother. Now |||||||||| [ 44 ] Now she had a way, which by the bye, I would this moment give away my pur- ple jerkin, and my yellow slippers into the bargain, if some of your reverences would imitate --and that was never to re- fuse her assent and consent to any propo- sition my father laid before her, merely because she did not understand it, or had no ideas to the principal word, or term of art, upon which the tenet or proposition rolled. She contented her- self with doing all that her godfathers and godmothers promised for her--but no more; and so would go on using a hard word twenty years together--and reply- ing to it too, if it was a verb, in all its moods and tenses, without giving herself any trouble to enquire about it. 3 This |||||||||| [ 45 ] This was an eternal source of misery to my father, and broke the neck, at the first setting out, of more good dialogues between them, than could have done the most petulant contradiction--the few which survived were the better for the <2cuvetts>2-1- --``They are foolish things;'' said my mother. --Particularly the <2cuvetts>2; replied my father. 'Twas enough--he tasted the sweet of triumph-1-and went on. --Not that they are, properly speak- ing, Mrs. Wadman's premises, said my father, partly correcting himself--because she is but tenant for life-2- -1-That ||||||||||| [ 46 ] --That makes a great difference-x- said my mother-1- --In a fool's head, replied my fa- ther-- Unless she should happen to have a child--said my mother-x- --But she must persuade my brother Toby first to get her one-- --To be sure, Mr. Shandy, quoth my mother. --Though if it comes to persuasion --said my father-x-Lord have mercy up- on them. Amen: said my mother, <2piano>2. Amen: cried my father, <2fortissim@`e>2. Amen: |||||||||| [ 47 ] Amen: said my mother again--but with such a sighing cadence of personal pity at the end of it, as discomfited every fibre about my father--he instantly took out his almanac; but before he could untie it, Yorick's congregation coming out of church became a full answer to one half of his business with it--and my mother telling him it was a sacrament day--left him as little in doubt as to the other part--He put his almanac into his pocket. The first Lord of the Treasury, think- ing of <2ways and means>2, could not have returned home, with a more embarrassed look. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 48 ] .ce C H A P. XII. <5U>5PON 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 five following, a good quantity of hete- rogeneous 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. The |||||||||| [ 49 ] The only difficulty is raising powers suitable to the nature of the service: F<4ANCY>4 is capricious--W<4IT>4 must not be searched for--and P<4LEASANTRY>4 (good- natured slut as she is) will not come in at a call, was an empire to be laid at her feet. --The best way for a man is to say his prayers-- Only if it puts him in mind of his in- firmities 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. For my own part there is not a way either moral or mechanical under heaven that |||||||||| [ 50 ] that I could think of, which I have not taken with myself in this case: some- times by ad-dressing myself directly to the soul herself, and arguing the point over and over again with her upon the extent of her own faculties-1- --I never could make them an inch the wider-1- 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 them- selves--they are good, absolutely;-x-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-1- In |||||||||| [ 51 ] In short, they were good for every thing 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 snive- ling virtue of 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-1- --Certainly, if there is any depend- ence 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 E 2 I hit |||||||||| [ 52 ] I hit upon any invention or device which tendeth to the furtherance of good writ- ing, but I instantly make it public; willing that all mankind should write as well as myself. --Which they certainly will, when they think as little. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 53 ] .ce C H A P. XIII. <5N>5OW in ordinary cases, that is, when I am only stupid, and the thoughts rise heavily and pass gummous through my pen-- Or that I am got, I know not how, into a cold unmetaphorical vein of infa- mous writing, and cannot take a plumb- lift out of it <2for my soul>2; so must be obliged to go on writing like a Dutch commentator to the end of the chapter, unless something be done-- --I never stand conferring with pen and ink one moment; for if a pinch of snuff or a stride or two across the room will not do the business for me--I take a razor at once; and having tried the edge E 3 of |||||||||| [ 54 ] of it upon the palm of my hand, with- out further ceremony, except that of first lathering my beard, I shave it off; tak- ing care only if I do leave a hair, that it be not a grey one: this done, I change my shirt--put on a better coat-x-send for my last wig--put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself from one end to the other of me, after my best fashion. Now the devil in hell must be in it, if this does not do: for consider, Sir, as every man chooses to be present at the shaving of his own beard (though there is no rule without an exception) and un- avoidably sits over against himself the whole time it is doing, in case he has a hand in it--the Situation, like all others, has |||||||||| has notions of her own to put into the brain.-1- --I maintain it, the conceits of a rough-bearded man are seven years more terse and juvenile for one single opera- tion; and if they did not run a risk of being quite shaved away, might be carried up by continual shavings to the highest pitch of sublimity--How Homer could write with so long a beard, I don't know -- and as it makes against my hypothesis, I as little care -- But let us return to the Toilet. Ludovicus Sorbonensis makes this en- tirely an affair of the body <9(@.ecwterik@`y>9 <9pr@^aci@ts)>9 as he calls it--but he is de- ceived: the soul and body are joint- E 4 sharers |||||||||| sharers in everything they get: A man cannot dress, but his ideas get cloath'd at the same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him--so that he has nothing to do but take his pen, and write like himself. For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress's bill, as my book: there was one single month in which I can make it appear that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more abus'd, curs'd, cri- ticis'd and confounded, and had more mystic |||||||||| [ 57 ] mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put to- gether. --But their honours and reverences had not seen my <2bills>2. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 58 ] .ce C H A P. XIV. <5A>5S I ever had any intention of be- ginning the Digression, I am making all this preparation for, till I come to the 15th chapter -- I have this chapter to put to whatever use I think proper -- I have twenty this moment ready for it -- I could write my chapter of Button-holes in it-2- Or my chapter of <2Pishes,>2 which should follow them-2- Or my chapter of <2Knots,>2 in case their reverences have done with them-- they might lead me into mischief: the safest way is to follow the tract of the learned, |||||||||| [ 59 ] learned, and raise objections against what I have been writing, tho'I declare before- hand, I know no more than my heels how to answer them. And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of <2thersitical>2 satire, as black as the very ink 'tis wrote with--(and by the bye, whoever says so is indebted to the muster-master general of the Gre- cian army, for suffering the name of so ugly and foul-mouth'd a man as <2Thersites>2 to continue upon his roll-- for it has furnished him with an epithet) -- in these productions, he will urge, all the personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a sinking genius no sort of good--but just the contrary, inas- 4 much |||||||||| [ 60 ] much as the dirtier the fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in it. To this, I have no other answer-- at least ready--but that the Arch- bishop of Benevento wrote his <2nasty>2 Ro- mance of the Galatea, as all the world knows, in a purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the penance set him of writing a commen- tary upon the book of the Revelations, as severe as it was look'd upon by one part of the world, was far from being deemed so, by the other, upon the single account of that <2Investment.>2 Another objection to all this remedy, is its want of universality; forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much |||||||||| [ 61 ] much stress is laid, by an unalterable law of nature excludes one half of the spe- cies entirely from its use: all I can say is, that female writers, whether of England, or of France, must e'en go without it-- As for the Spanish ladies--I am in no sort of distress-- C H A P. |||||||||| [ 62 ] .ce C H A P. XV. <5T>5HE fifteenth chapter is come at last; and brings nothing with it but a sad signature of ``How our plea- `` sures slip from under us in this world;'' For in talking of my digression-- I declare before heaven I have made it! What a strange creature is mortal man! said she. 'Tis very true, said I--but 'twere better to get all these things out of our heads, and return to my uncle Toby. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 63 ] .ce C H A P. XVI. <5W>5HEN my uncle Toby and the Corporal had marched down to the bottom of the avenue, they recollect- ed their business lay the other way; so they faced about and marched up streight to Mrs. Wadman's door. I warrant your honour, said the Cor- poral, touching his Montero-cap with his hand, as he passed him in order to give a knock at the door--My uncle Toby, contrary to his invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said nothing good or bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshall'd his ideas; he wish'd for another conference, and as the Cor- poral |||||||||| [ 64 ] poral was mounting up the three steps before the door -- he hemmed twice -x- a portion of my uncle Toby's most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards the Corporal; he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full minute in his hand, he scarce knew why. Bridget stood perdue within, with her finger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb'd with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with an eye ready to be de- flowered again sat breathless behind the window curtain of her bed-chamber, watching their approach. Trim! said my uncle Toby--but as he articulated the word, the minute expired, and Trim let fall the rapper. My |||||||||| [ 65 ] My uncle Toby, perceiving that all hopes of a conference were knock'd on the head by it -- whistled Lilla- bullero. V<4OL>4. IX. F C H A P. |||||||||| [ 66 ] .ce C H A P. XVII. <5A>5S Mrs. Bridget's finger and thumb were upon the latch, the Corporal did not knock as oft as perchance your honour's taylor -- I might have taken my example something nearer home; for I owe mine some five and twenty pounds at least, and wonder at the man's pa- tience-- --But this is nothing at all to the world: only 'tis a cursed thing to be in debt; and there seems to be a fatality in the exchequers of some poor princes, particularly those of our house, which no Economy can bind down in irons: for my own part, I'm persuaded there is not |||||||||| [ 67 ] not any one prince, prelate, pope, or po- tentate, great or small, upon earth, more desirous in his heart of keeping streight with the world than I am -- or who takes more likely means for it. I never give above half a guinea -- or walk with boots -- or cheapen tooth-picks -- or lay out a shilling upon a band- box the year round; and for the six months I'm in the country, I'm upon so small a scale that with all the good temper in the world, I out-do Rousseau, a bar length -- for I keep neither man or boy, or horse, or cow, or dog, or cat, or anything that can eat or drink, except a thin poor piece of a Vestal (to keep my fire in) and who has generally as bad an appetite as myself--but if you think this makes R2 a phi- |||||||||| [ 68 ] a philosopher of me -- I would not, my good people! give a rush for your judgments. True philosophy--but there is no treating the subject whilst my uncle is whistling Lillabullero. --Let us go into the house. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 69 ] .ce C H A P. XVIII. F 3 C H A P. |||||||||| [ 70 ] .ce C H A P. XIX. C H A P. |||||||||||||||| [ 71 ] .ce C H A P. XX. -- * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -- --You shall see the very place, Madam, said my uncle Toby. Mrs. Wadman blushed--look'd towards the door -- turned pale-x- blushed slightly again -- recovered her natural colour -- blushed worse than ever; which for the sake of the unlearned reader, I translate thus-- F 4 ``<2L-1-d!>2 |||||||||| [ 72 ] `` <2L-1-d! I cannot look at it-1->2 `` <2What would the world say if I look'd `` at it?>2 `` <2I should drop down, if I looked at it>2-1- `` <2I wish I could look at it-1->2 `` <2There can be no sin in looking at it.>2 --``<2I will look at it.''>2 Whilst all this was running through Mrs. Wadman's imagination, my uncle Toby had risen from the sopha, and got to the other side of the parlour-door, to give Trim an order about it in the passage-- * * * * * * * * * * * * * * --I believe it is in the gar- ret, said my uncle Toby -- I saw it there an' please your honour, this morn- ing, answered Trim -- Then prithee, 3 step |||||||||| [ 73 ] step directly for it, Trim, said my uncle Toby, and bring it into the parlour. The Corporal did not approve of the orders, but most chearfully obeyed them. The first was not an act of his will--the second was; so he put on his Montero cap, and went as fast as his lame knee would let him. My uncle Toby re- turned into the parlour, and sat him- self down again upon the sopha. --You shall lay your finger upon the place--said my uncle Toby.-x-I will not touch it, however, quoth Mrs. Wadman to herself. This requires a second translation:-- it shows what little knowledge is got by mere words--we must go up to the first springs. Now |||||||||| [ 74 ] Now in order to clear up the mist which hangs upon these three pages, I must endeavour to be as clear as possible myself. Rub your hands thrice across your foreheads--blow your noses-x-cleanse your emunctories--sneeze, my good people! -2-God bless you-2- Now give me all the help you can. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 75 ] .ce C H A P. XXI. <5A>5S there are fifty different ends (counting all ends in--as well civil as religious) for which a woman takes a husband, she first sets about and carefully weighs, then separates and dis- tinguishes in her mind which of all that number of ends is hers: then by dis- course, enquiry, argumentation, and in- ference, she investigates and finds out whether she has got hold of the right one--and if she has-x-then, by pul- ling it gently this way and that way, she further forms a judgment, whether it will not break in the drawing. The imagery under which <2Slawkenber->2 <2gius>2 impresses this upon his reader's fancy, in |||||||||| [ 76 ] in the beginning of his third Decad, is so ludicrous that the honour I bear the sex will not suffer me to quote it-- otherwise 'tis not destitute of humour. `` She first, saith Slawkenbergius, stops the asse and holding his halter in her left hand (lest he should get away) she thrusts her right hand into the very bottom of his pannier to search for it-- For what?--you'll not know the sooner, quoth Slawkenbergius, for interrupting me-- `` I have nothing, good Lady, but `` empty bottles,'' says the asse. ``I'm loaded with tripes,'' says the second. --And thou art little better, quoth she to the third; for nothing is there in thy |||||||||| [ 77 ] thy panniers but trunk hose and pan- tofles--and so to the fourth and fifth, go- ing on one by one through the whole string, till coming to the asse which car- ries it, she turns the pannier upside down, looks at it--considers it-x-samples it-x- measures it--stretches it-x-wets it-x-dries it--then takes her teeth both to the warp and weft of it-1- --Of what? for the love of Christ! I am determined, answered <2Slawkenber->2 <2gius>2, that all the powers upon earth shall never wring that secret from my breast. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 78 ] .ce C H A P. XXII. <5W>5E live in a world beset on all sides with mysteries and riddles-- and so 'tis no matter--else it seems strange that Nature, who makes every thing so well to answer its destination, and seldom or never errs, unless for pas- time, in giving such forms and aptitudes to whatever passes through her hands, that whether she designs for the plough, the caravan, the cart--or whatever other creature she models, be it but an asse's foal, you are sure to have the thing you wanted; and yet at the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so simple a thing as a married man. Whether |||||||||| [ 79 ] Whether it is in the choice of the clay--or that it is frequently spoiled in the baking; by an excess of which a husband may turn out too crusty (you know) on one hand--or not enough so, through defect of heat, on the other --or whether this great Artificer is not so attentive to the little Platonic exigen- ces <2of that part>2 of the species for whose use she is fabricating <2this>2--or that her Ladyship sometimes scarce knows what sort of a husband will do-- I know not: we will discourse about it after sup- per. It is enough that neither the observa- tion itself, or the reasoning upon it, are at all to the purpose--but rather against it; since with regard to my uncle Toby's |||||||||| [ 80 ] Toby's fitness for the marriage state, no- thing was ever better: she had formed him of the best and kindliest clay-- had tempered it with her own milk, and breathed into it the sweetest spirit--she had made him all gentle, generous, and humane--she had filled his heart with trust and confidence, and disposed every passage which led to it for the commu- nication of the tenderest offices--she had moreover considered the other causes for which matrimony was ordained-- And accordingly * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The D<4ONATION>4 was not defended by my uncle Toby's wound. Now |||||||||| [ 81 ] Now this last article was somewhat apocryphal; and the devil, who is the great disturber of our faiths in this world, had raised scruples in Mrs. Wadman's brain about it; and like a true devil as he was, had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle Toby's Virtue thereupon into nothing but <2empty>2 <2bottles, tripes, trunk hose,>2 and <2pantofles.>2 V<4OL>4. IX G. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 82 ] .ce C H A P. XXIII <5M>5RS. Bridget had pawn'd all the little stock of honour a poor chambermaid was worth in the world, that she would get to the bottom of the affair in ten days; and it was built upon one of the most concessible <2postulatum>2 in nature: namely, that whilst my uncle Toby was making love to her mistress, the Corporal could find nothing better to do than make love to her-2-`` <2And>2 `` <2I'll let him as much as he will,''>2 said Bridget, ``<2to get it out of him.>2'' Friendship has two garments; an outer, and an under one. Bridget was 3 serving |||||||||| [ 83 ] serving her mistress's interests in the one --and doing the thing which most pleased herself in the other; so had as many stakes depending upon my uncle Toby's wound as the devil himself--Mrs. Wadman had but one--and as it possibly might be her last (without discouraging Mrs. Bridget, or discrediting her talents) was determined to play her cards her- self. She wanted not encouragement: a child might have look'd into his hand --there was such a plainness and sim- plicity in his playing out what trumps he had--with such an unmistrusting ignorance of the <2ten-ace>2--and so na- ked and defenceless did he sit upon the G 2 same ||||||||||| [ 84 ] same sopha with widow Wadman, that a generous heart would have wept to have won the game of him. Let us drop the metaphor. C H A P. ||||||||||| [ 85 ] .ce C H A P. XXIV --<5A>5ND the story too--if you please: for though I have all along been hastening towards this part of it, with so much earnest desire, as well knowing it to be the choicest morsel of what I had to offer to the world, yet now that I am got to it, anyone is welcome to take my pen, and go on with the story for me that will--I see the difficulties of the descriptions I'm going to give--and feel my want of powers. It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces of blood this week in a most uncritical fever which G 3 attacked |||||||||| [ 86 ] attacked me at the beginning of this chapter; so that I have still some hopes remaining it may be more in the se- rous or globular parts of the blood, than in the subtile <2aura>2 of the brain--be it which it will--an Invocation can do no hurt--and I leave the affair entirely to the <2invoked,>2 to inspire or to inject me ac- cording as he sees good. THE ||||||||||| [ 87 ] .ce THE INVOCATION <5G>5ENTLE Spirit of sweetest hu- mour, who erst didst sit upon the easy pen of my beloved C<4ERVANTES>4; Thou who glided'st daily through his lat- tice, and turned'st the twilight of his prison into noonday brightness by thy presence--tinged'st his little urn of water with heaven-sent Nectar, and all the time he wrote of Sancho and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o'er his withered * stump, and wide extended it to all the evils of his life-2- <6* He lost his hand at the battle of Lepanto.>6 <6G4 Turn>6 |||||||||| [ 88 ] --Turn in hither, I beseech thee! --behold these breeches!--they are all I have in the world--that piteous rent was given them at Ly- ons-2- My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happened amongst 'em--for the laps are in Lombardy, and the rest of 'em here--I never had but six, and a cun- ning gypsy of a laundress at Milan cut me off the <2fore>2-laps of five--To do her justice, she did it with some considera- tion--for I was returning <2out>2 of Italy. And yet notwithstanding all this, and a pistol tinder-box which was more- over filched from me at Siena, and twice |||||||||| [ 89 ] twice that I pay'd five Pauls for two hard eggs, once at Raddicoffini, and a second time at Capua--I do not think a journey through France and Italy, pro- vided a man keeps his temper all the way, so bad a thing as some people would make you believe: there must be <2ups>2 and <2downs,>2 or how the deuce should we get into vallies where Nature spreads so many tables of entertainment.--'Tis nonsense to imagine they will lend you their voitures to be shaken to pieces for nothing; and unless you pay twelve sous for greasing your wheels, how should the poor peasant get butter to his bread? --We really expect too much--and for the livre or two above par for your sup- pers and bed--at the most they are but one shilling and ninepence half- penny |||||||||| [ 90 ] penny--who would embroil their phi- losophy for it? for heaven's and for your own sake, pay it -- pay it with both hands open, rather than leave <2Disappoint- ment>2 sitting drooping upon the eye of your fair Hostess and her Damsels in the gate-way, at your departure -- and besides, my dear Sir, you get a sisterly kiss of each of 'em worth a pound -- at least I did -2- --For, my uncle Toby's amours running all the way in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my own--I was in the most per- fect state of bounty and good will; and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating with- in me, with every oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were |||||||||| [ 91 ] were rough or smooth, it made no dif- ference; everything I saw, or had to do with, touch'd upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture. --They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I instantly let down the foreglass to hear them more distinctly --'Tis Maria, said the postillion, observing I was listening--Poor Maria, continued he, (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us), is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat beside her. The young fellow utter'd this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made vow, |||||||||| [ 92 ] a vow, I would give him a four and twenty sous piece, when I got to Moulins-2- --And who is <2poor Maria?>2 said I. The love and pity of all the villages around us, said the postillion -- it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did <2Maria>2 deserve than to have her Banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them -- He was going on, when Maria, who had made a short pause, put the pipe to her mouth and began the air again -1- -1- they |||||||||| [ 93 ] --they were the same notes;--yet were ten times sweeter: It is the evening service to the Virgin, said the young man--but who has taught her to play it--or how she came by her pipe, no one knows; we think that Heaven has assisted her in both; for ever since she has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her only consulation--she has never once had the pipe out of her hand, but plays that <2service>2 upon it almost night and day. The postillion delivered this with so much discretion and natural eloquence, that I could not help decyphering some- thing in his face above his condition, and should have sifted out his history, 2 had |||||||||| [ 94 ] had not poor Maria's taken such full possession of me. We had got up by this time almost to the bank where Maria was sitting: she was in a thin white jacket with her hair, all but two tresses, drawn up into a silk net, with a few olive leaves twisted a little fantastically on one side--she was beautiful; and if ever I felt the full force of an honest heart-ache, it was the moment I saw her-- --God help her! poor damsel! above a hundred masses, said the postil- lion, have been said in the several parish churches and convents around, for her, --but without effect; we have still hopes, as she is sensible for short intervals, that |||||||||| [ 95 ] that the Virgin at last will restore her to herself; but her parents, who know her best, are hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are lost for ever. As the postillion spoke this, M<4ARIA>4 made a cadence so melancholy, so tender and querulous, that I sprung out of the chaise to help her, and found myself sitting betwixt her and her goat before I relapsed from my enthusiasm. M<4ARIA>4 look'd wistfully for some time at me, and then at her goat--and then at me -- and then at her goat again, and so on, alternately-- -- Well, Maria, said I softly-- What resemblance do you find? I do |||||||||| [ 96 ] I do intreat the candid reader to believe me, that it was from the humblest con- viction of what a <2Beast>2 man is,--that I ask'd the question; and that I would not have let fallen an unseasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of Misery, to be entitled to all the wit that ever Rabelais scatter'd--and yet I own my heart smote me, and that I so smarted at the very idea of it, that I swore I would set up for Wisdom and utter grave sentences the rest of my days -- and never -- never attempt again to commit mirth with man, woman, or child, the longest day I had to live. As for writing nonsense to them-- I believe there was a reserve--but that I leave to the world. Adieu, |||||||||| [ 97] Adieu, Maria!--adieu, poor hapless damsel!--some time, but not <2now,>2 I may hear thy sorrows from thy own lips -- but I was deceived; for that mo- ment she took her pipe and told me such a tale of woe with it, that I rose up, and with broken and irregular steps walk'd softly to my chaise. --What an excellent inn at Moulins! V<4OL>4. IX. H C H A P. |||||||||| [ 98 ] .ce C H A P. XXV. <5W>5HEN we have got to the end of this chapter (but not before) we must all turn back to the two blank chapters, on the account of which my honour has lain bleeding this half hour --I stop it, by pulling off one of my yellow slippers and throwing it with all my violence to the opposite side of my room, with a declaration at the heel of it-- --That whatever resemblance it may bear to half the chapters which are written in the world, or, for aught I know, may be now writing in it--that it was as casual as the foam of Zeuxis his horse: besides, I look upon a chapter which ||||||||||| [ 99 ] which has <2only nothing in it>2 with re- spect; and considering what worse things there are in the world--That it is no way a proper subject for sa- tire-- --Why then was it left so? And here, without staying for my reply, shall I be called as many blockheads, num- skulls, doddypoles, dunderheads, ninny- hammers, goosecaps, joltheads, nincom- poops, and sh--t-a-beds--and other unsavory appellations, as ever the cake- bakers of Lern@'e, cast in the teeth of King Gargantua's shepherds--And I'll let them do it, as Bridget said, as much as they please; for how was it pos- sible they should foresee the necessity I .ra H 2 was 7 |||||||||| [ 100 ] was under of writing the 25th chapter of my book before the 18th, &c. --So I don't take it amiss-- All I wish is that it may be a lesson to the world, `` <2to let people tell their stories>2 `` <2their own way.>2'' |||||||||| [ 101 ] .ce <3The Eighteenth Chapter>3 <5A>5S Mrs. Bridget opened the door before the Corporal had well given the rap, the interval betwixt that and my uncle Toby's introduction into the parlour was so short that Mrs. Wad- man had but just time to get from be- hind the curtain -- lay a Bible upon the table, and advance a step or two to- wards the door to receive him. My uncle Toby saluted Mrs. Wad- man, after the manner in which women were saluted by men in the year of our Lord God one thousand seven hundred and thirteen--then facing about, he marched up abreast with her to the H 3 sopha, |||||||||| [ 102 ] sopha, and in three plain words-- though not before he was sat down -- nor after he was sat down-- but as he was sitting down, told her, `` <2he was in love>2''--so that my uncle Toby strained himself more in the de- claration than he needed. Mrs. Wadman naturally looked down, upon a slit she had been darning up in her apron, in expectation, every moment, that my uncle Toby would go on; but having no talents for amplification, and L<4OVE>4 moreover of all others being a subject of which he was the least a mas- ter--When he had told Mrs. Wad- man once that he loved her, he let it alone, and left the matter to work after its own way. My |||||||||| [ 103 ] My father was always in raptures with this system of my uncle Toby's, as he falsely called it, and would often say, that could his brother Toby to his processe have added but a pipe of tobacco-- he had wherewithal to have found his way, if there was faith in a Spanish pro- verb, towards the hearts of half the women upon the globe. My uncle Toby never understood what my father meant; nor will I pre- sume to extract more from it than a condemnation of an error which the bulk of the world lie under-- but the French, every one of 'em to a man, who believe in it, almost as much as the <4REAL PRESENCE>4, `` <2That talking of `` <2love, is making it.>2'' H 4 -1-I |||||||||| [ 104 ] --I would as soon set about making a black-pudding by the same receipt. Let us go on: Mrs. Wadman sat in expectation my uncle Toby would do so, to almost the first pulsation of that mi- nute, wherein silence on one side or the other, generally becomes indecent: so edging herself a little more towards him, and raising up her eyes, sub-blushing, as she did it--she took up the gauntlet --or the discourse (if you like it bet- ter) and communed with my uncle Toby, thus. The cares and disquietudes of the marriage state, quoth Mrs. Wadman, are |||||||||| [ 105 ] are very great. I suppose so--said my uncle Toby; and therefore when a per- son, continued Mrs. Wadman, is so much at his ease as you are--so happy, captain Shandy, in yourself, your friends, and your amusements--I wonder what rea- sons can incline you to the state-- --They are written, quoth my un- cle Toby, in the Common-Prayer Book. Thus far my uncle Toby went on warily, and kept within his depth, leav- ing Mrs. Wadman to sail upon the gulph as she pleased. --As for children--said Mrs. Wad- man--though a principal end perhaps of the institution, and the natural wish, I sup- pose, of every parent--yet do not we all find they are certain sorrows, and very 2 uncertain |||||||||| [ 106 ] uncertain comforts? and what is there, dear sir, to pay one for the heart-achs-- what compensation for the many tender and disquieting apprehensions of a suf- fering and defenceless mother who brings them into life? I declare, said my uncle Toby, smit with pity, I know of none; unless it be the pleasure which it has pleased God-1- -1-A fiddlestick! quoth she. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 107 ] .ce <3Chapter the Nineteenth>3 <5N>5OW there are such an infinitude of notes, tunes, cants, chants, airs, looks, and accents with which the word <2fiddlestick>2 may be pronounced in all such causes as this, every one of 'em im- pressing a sense and meaning as different from the other, as <2dirt>2 from <2cleanliness>2 --That Casuists (for it is an affair of conscience on that score) reckon up no less than fourteen thousand in which you may do either right or wrong. Mrs. Wadman hit upon the <2fiddlestick>2, which summoned up all my uncle Toby's modest blood into his cheeks--so feeling within himself that he had somehow or other got beyond his depth, he stopt short; |||||||||| [ 108 ] short; and without entering further either into the pains or pleasures of matrimony, he laid his hand upon his heart, and made an offer to take them as they were, and share them along with her. When my uncle Toby had said this, he did not care to say it again; so cast- ing his eye upon the Bible which Mrs. Wadman had laid upon the table, he took it up; and popping, dear soul! upon a passage in it, of all others the most interesting to him--which was the siege of Jericho--he set himself to read it over--leaving his proposal of marriage, as he had done his declaration of love, to work with her after its own way. Now it wrought neither as an astringent or a loosener; nor like opium, or bark, or mercury, or buckthorn, or any one drug |||||||||| [ 109 ] drug which nature had bestowed upon the world--in short, it work'd not at all in her; and the cause of that was, that there was something working there before--Babbler that I am! I have anticipated what it was a dozen times; but there is fire still in the subject-- allons. C H A P. |||||||||| [ 110 ] .ce C H A P. XXVI. <5I>5T is natural for a perfect stranger who is going from London to Edin- burgh to enquire, before he sets out, how many miles to York; which is about the half way--nor does any body wonder, if he goes on and asks about the Corporation, &c. - - It was just as natural for Mrs. Wad- man, whose first husband was all his time afflicted with a Sciatica, to wish to know how far from the hip to the groin; and how far she was likely to suffer more or less in her feelings in the one case than in the other. She had accordingly read <2Drake's>2 ana- tomy from one end to the other. She had |||||||||| [ 111 ] had peeped into <2Wharton>2 upon the brain, and borrowed * Graaf upon the bones and muscles; but could make nothing of it. She had reasoned likewise from her own powers--laid down theorems --drawn consequences, and come to no conclusion. To clear up all, she had twice asked Dr. Slop, `` if poor Captain Shandy `` was ever likely to recover of his `` wound-2-?'' --He is recovered, Dr. Slop would say-- * <6 This must be a mistake in Mr. Shandy; for Graaf wrote upon the pancreatick juice, and the parts of generation. What! |||||||||| [ 112 ] What! quite ? -1-Quite, Madam-1- But what do you mean by a recovery? Mrs. Wadman would say. Dr. Slop was the worst man alive at definitions; and so Mrs. Wadman could get no knowledge: in short, there was no way to extract it, but from my uncle Toby himself. There is an accent of humanity in an enquiry of this kind which lulls S<4USPI->4 <4CION>4 to rest--and I am half persuaded the serpent got pretty near it, in his dis- course with Eve; for the propensity in the sex to be deceived could not be so great that she should have boldness to hold chat with the devil without it-- But |||||||||| [ 113 ] But there is an accent of humanity-- how shall I describe it?--'tis an accent which covers the part with a garment, and gives the enquirer a right to be as particular with it as your body-surgeon. ``--Was it without remission?-- ``--Was it more tolerable in bed? ``--Could he lie on both sides ``alike with it? ``--Was he able to mount a horse? ``--Was motion bad for it?'' et cetera. were so tenderly spoke to, and so directed towards my uncle Toby's heart, that every item of them sunk ten times deeper into it than the evils themselves--but when Mrs. Wadman went round about by Namur to get at my uncle Toby's groin; and engaged him to attack the point of the advanced counterscarp, and <2p@^ele-m@^ele>2 V