LI B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 St4^ 
 1898 
 V. 1
 
 Latest Dote sta4:rbeC°'"'^'°^^^'^<^
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witin funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/lifeopinionsoftr01ster
 
 THE WORKS OF LAURENCE STERNE 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 VOL. I.
 
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 rc^^, y ^^j<rar< 
 
 a^ ix/t>tY^ .
 
 nn HE LI 
 
 ^ OPINK 
 
 FE 
 ONS of 
 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 Gentleman. '^ % % % % By 
 
 LAURENCE STERNE 
 
 Edited by GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 with 
 
 Illustrations by E. J. WHEELER 
 
 In three Volumes. 
 Volume the first. 
 
 London (^ J. M. DENT & Co. 
 Aldine House, Great Eastern Street 
 Philadelphia J. B. LIPPINCOTT 
 COMPANY MDcccxcviii.
 
 ■i 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 i! 
 
 ^23 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Dr. Slop, with a wry face, though without 
 
 ANY SUSPICION, READ ALOUD . . Frontispiece 
 
 My Uncle Toby .... Page 80 
 
 Corporal Trim . , . . ,,142
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IT can hardly be said that Sterne was an unfortunate 
 person during his lifetime, though he seems to 
 have thought himself so. His childhood was 
 indeed a little necessitous, and he died early, and in 
 debt, after some years of very bad health. But from the 
 time when he went to Cambridge, things went on the 
 whole very fairly well with him in respect of fortune ; 
 his ill-health does not seem to have caused him much 
 disquiet ; his last ten years gave him fame, flirting, 
 wandering, and other pleasui'es and diversions to his 
 heart's content ; and his debts only troubled those he 
 left behind him. He delighted in his daughter ; he 
 was able to get rid of his wife, when he was more than 
 usually fatigafus et aegrotus of her, v/ith singular ease. 
 During the unknown, or almost unknown, middle of 
 his life he had friends of the kind most congenial to 
 him ; and both in his time of preparation and his time 
 of production in literature, he was able to indulge his 
 genius in a way by no means common with men of 
 letters. If his wish to die in a certain manner and 
 circumstance was only bravado — and borrowed bravado 
 — still it was granted ; and it is quite certain that to 
 I. ^'" b
 
 Vlil INTRODUCTION. 
 
 him an old age of real illness would have been un- 
 mitigated torture. Even if we admit the ghastly stories 
 of the fate of his remains, there was very little reason why 
 any one should not have anticipated Mr Swinburne's 
 words on the morrow of Sterne's death and said, " Oh ! 
 brother, the gods were good to you," though even then 
 he might have said it with a sort of mental reservation 
 on the question whether Sterne had been very good to 
 the gods. 
 
 Nemesis, for the purpose of adjusting things, played 
 him the exceptionally savage trick of using the inter- 
 vention of his idolised daughter. Little or nothing 
 seems to be known of " Lydia Sterne de Medalle," as 
 she was pleased to sign herself; "Mrs Medalle," as 
 her bluff British contemporaries call her. But that 
 she must have been either a very silly, a very stupid, 
 or an excessively callous person, appears certain. It 
 would seem, indeed, to require a combination of the 
 flightiness and lack of taste which her father too often 
 displayed, with the stolidity which (from rather unfair 
 inference through Mrs Shandy) Is sometimes supposed 
 to have characterised her mother, to prompt or permit a 
 daughter to publish such a collection of letters as those 
 which were first given to the world in 1775. Charity, 
 not unsupported by probability, has trusted that Madame 
 de Medalle could not read Latin, but she certainly 
 could read English ; and only an utterly corrupted heart, 
 or an incurably dense or feather-brained head, could 
 hide from her the fact that not a few of the English 
 letters she published were damaging to her father's 
 character. Her alleged excuse — that her mother, who 
 was then dead, had desired her, if any letters should be
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 published under her father's name, to publish these, and 
 that the " Yorick and Eliza " correspondence had 
 appeared — is utterly insufficient. For Mrs Sterne, of 
 whose conduct we know nothing unfavoui'able, and one 
 or two things decidedly to her credit, could only have 
 meant "such of these as will put your father in a 
 favourable light," else she would have published them 
 herself. Yet though Lydia could, while taking no 
 editorial trouble whatever, go out of her way to make 
 a silly missish apology for publishing a passage in which 
 her charms and merits are celebrated, she seems never 
 to have given a thought to what she was doing in other 
 ways. Nor were Sterne's misfortunes in this way over 
 with the publication of these things ; for the subse- 
 quently discovered Fourmentelle correspondence sunk 
 him, with precise judges, a little deeper. No doubt' 
 Tristram S handy ^ the Sentimental Journey , and the curious 
 stories or traditions about their author, were not exactly « 
 calculated to give Sterne a very high reputation with i 
 grave authorities. But it is these unlucky letters,' 
 which put him almost hopelessly out of court. Even 
 the slight relenting of fortune which gave him at last, in 
 Mr Percy Fitzgerald, a biographer very good-natured, 
 very indefatigable, and with a natural genius for detect- 
 ing undiscovered facts and documents, only made matters 
 worse in some ways. And the consequence is, that it 
 has become a commonplace and almost a necessity to 
 make up for praising Sterne's genius by damning his 
 character. Johnson, while declining to deny him ability, 
 seems to have been too much disgusted to talk freely 
 about him ; Scott's natural kindliness, warm admiration 
 for my Uncle Toby, and total freedom from squeamish
 
 X INTRODUCTION, 
 
 prudery, seem yet to have left him ill at case and 
 tongue-tied in discussing Sterne ; Thackeray, as is 
 well known, exceeded all measure in denouncing him ; 
 and his chief recent critical biographer, Mr Traill, 
 who is probably as free from cant, Britannic or other, 
 as any man who ever wrote in English, speaks his mind 
 in the most unsparing fashion. 
 
 For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that I do 
 not think letters of this kind ought to be published at 
 all ; and though it may seem paradoxical or foolish, I 
 am by no means sure that, if they are published, they 
 ought to be admitted as evidence. That which is not 
 written for the public, is no business of the public's ; and 
 I never read letters of this kind, published for the first 
 time, without feeling like an eavesdropper.* Un- 
 luckily, the evidence furnished by the letters fits in 
 only too well with that furnished by the published 
 works, by his favourite cronies and companions, and by 
 his general reputation, so that " what the prisoner says " 
 must, no doubt, " be used against him." 
 
 It may be doubted whether it was accident or his 
 usual deliberate fantasticality that made Sterne, in the 
 well-known summary of his life which (very late in it) 
 he drew up for his daughter, and which will be found 
 in the last volume but one of this edition, devote almost 
 the whole space to his childhood. Perhaps it may be 
 accounted for, reasonably enough, by supposing that of 
 his later years he thought his daughter knew quite as 
 
 * It is perhaps barely necessary to observe that the parallel 
 does not extend to a further parallel between republication and 
 tale-bearing. Once published, the thing is public.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 much as he wished her to know, while of the middle 
 period he had little or nothing to tell. In fact, of the 
 two earlier divisions we still know very little but what 
 he has chosen to tell us in one of the most character- 
 istic and not the least charming excursions of his pen. 
 Laurence Sterne was, with two sisters, the only " per- 
 manent child" (to borrow a pleasant phrase of Mr 
 Traill's) out of a very plentiful but most impermanent 
 family, borne in the most inconvenient circumstances 
 possible by Agnes Nuttle or Herbert or Sterne, a widow, 
 and daughter or stepdaughter of a sutler of our army 
 in Flanders, to Roger, second son of Simon Sterne of 
 Elvington, in Yorkshire, who was the third son of Dr 
 Richard Sterne, Archbishop of York. The Sternes 
 were of a gentle if not very distinguished family, which, 
 after being seated in Suffolk, migrated to Notting- 
 hamshire. After the promotion of the archbishop 
 (who had been a stout cavalier, as Master of Jesus at 
 Cambridge, in the bad times), they obtained, as was 
 fitting, divers establishments by marriage or benefice in 
 Yorkshire itself. Very little endowment of any kind, 
 however, fell to the lot of Roger Sterne, who was an 
 ensign in what ranked later as the 34th regiment. 
 Laurence, his eldest son, was born at Clonmel, in 
 L-eland, where his mother's relations lived, and just after 
 his father's regiment had been disbanded. It was shortly 
 re-established, however, and became the most *' march- 
 ing " of all marching corps ; for though its headquarters 
 were generally in Ireland, it was constantly being ordered 
 elsewhere, and Roger Sterne saw active service both at 
 Vigo and Gibraltar. In this latter station he fought a 
 duel of an extremely Shandean character " about a goose."
 
 XU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He was run through the body and pinned to the wall ; 
 whereupon, it is said, he requested his antagonist to be so 
 kind as to wipe the plaster off the sword before pulling 
 it out of his body. In despite of this thoughtfulness, 
 however, and of an immediate recovery, the wound 
 so weakened him that, being ordered to Jamaica, he 
 took fever and died there in March 1 73 1. As Lawrence 
 had been born on November 24, 17 13, he was nearly 
 eighteen ; and the family had meanwhile been increased 
 by four other children who all died, and a youngest 
 daughter, Catherine, who, like the eldest, Mary, lived. 
 Till he was about nine or ten the boy followed the 
 exceedingly fluctuating fortunes of his family, which he 
 diversified further on by falling through, not a millrace, 
 but a going mill. Then he was sent to school at 
 Halifax, in Yorkshire, and soon after practically adopted 
 by his cousin Sterne of Elvington, who, when the time 
 came, sent him to Jesus College at Cambridge, the 
 family connection with which had begun with his great- 
 grandfather. He was admitted there on July 6, 1733, 
 being then nearly twenty, and took his degree of B.A. 
 in 1736, and that of M.A. in 174O. The only 
 tradition of his school career is his own story that, 
 having written his name on the school ceiling, he was 
 whipped by the usher, but complimented as a " boy of 
 genius" by the master, who said the name should never 
 be effaced. This anecdote, as might be expected, has 
 not escaped the aquafortis of criticism. 
 
 We know practically nothing of Sterne's Cambridge 
 career except the dates above mentioned, the fact of 
 his being elected first to a sizarship and then as 
 founder's kin to a scholarship endowed by Archbishop
 
 INTRODUCTION. XUl 
 
 Sterne, and the Incident told by himself that he there 
 contracted his lifelong friendship with a distant relative 
 and fellow Jesus man, John Hall, or John Hall Steven- 
 son, of whom more presently. But Sterne had further 
 reason to acknowledge that his family stood together. 
 He had no sooner taken his degree, than he was taken 
 up by a brother of his father's, Jaques Sterne, a great 
 pluralist in the diocese of York, a very busy and masterful 
 person, and a strong Whig and Hanoverian. Under his 
 care, Sterne took deacon's orders In March 1736 at the 
 hands of the Bishop of Lincoln; and as soon as, two 
 years later, he had been ordained priest, he was ap- 
 pointed to the living of Sutton-on-the-Forest, eight 
 miles from York. The uncle and nephew some years 
 later quarrelled bitterly — according to the latter's ac- 
 count, because he would not write *' dirty paragraphs in 
 the newspapers," being " no party man." That Sterne • 
 would have been particularly squeamish about what he \ 
 wrote may be doubted ; but it is certain that he shows ■ 
 no partisan spirit anywhere, and very little interest In 
 politics as such.,' However, for some years his uncle 
 was certainly his active patron, and obtained for him 
 two prebends and some other special preferments in 
 connection with the diocese and chapter of York, so 
 that he became, as Tristram shows, intimately ac- 
 quainted with cathedral society there. 
 
 It has been a steady rule in the Anglican Church (if 
 not, as in the Greek, a sine qua non) that when a man 
 has been provided with a living, he should, if he has 
 not done so before, provide himself with a wife ; and 
 Sterne was a very unlikely man to break good custom 
 in this respect. Very soon at least after his ordination
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he fell In love with Elizabeth Lumley, a young lady of 
 a good Yorkshire family, and of some little fortune, 
 which, however, for a time she thought " not enough " 
 to share with him, but which, as she told him during 
 a fit of illness, she left to him In her will. On the 
 strength of two quite unauthenticated and, I believe, not 
 now traceable portraits seen by this or that person In 
 printshops or elsewhere, she Is said to have been plain. 
 Certain expressions in Sterne's letters seem to Imply 
 that she had a rather exasperatlngly steady and not too 
 Intelligent will of her own ; and some twenty or five 
 and twenty years after the marriage, M. Tollot, a 
 gossiping Frenchman, with French Ideas on the duty 
 of husbands and wives going separate ways, said that 
 she wished to have a finger In every pie, and pestered 
 " the good and agreeable Tristram " with her presence. 
 But Sterne, despite his reckless confessions of conjugal 
 indifference, and worse, says nothing serious or even 
 ill-natured of her ; and one or two traits and sayings of 
 hers, especially her refusal to listen to a meddlesome 
 person who wished to tell her tales about " Eliza," 
 seem to argue sense and dignity. That In the latter 
 years she cared little to be with a husband who had 
 long been " tired and sick " of her is not to her dis- 
 credit. Their daughter, with the almost Invariable Ill- 
 luck or Ill-judgment which seems to have attended her, 
 printed certain letters of this courtship time, though 
 she gave nothing for many years afterwards. The use 
 made of these Strephon or Damon blandishments. In 
 contrast with the expressions used by the writer of his 
 wife, and of other women, long afterwards, is nerhaps a 
 little unfair ; but It must be admitted that phough far
 
 y^.^ INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 .^.r 
 
 too characteristic and amusing to be omitted, they are 
 anything but brilliant specimens of their kind. In 
 particular, Thackeray's bitter fun on the ineffably 
 lackadaisical passage, " My L. has seen a^.polyanthus 
 blow in December," is pretty fully justified.'^ 
 
 If, however, the marriage, which, difficulties being 
 removed, took place on Easter Monday, March 30, 
 1 741, did not bring lasting happiness to Sterne, it pro- 
 bably brought him some at the time, and it certainly 
 brought him an accession of fortune ; for in addition 
 to what little money Miss Lumley had, a friend of 
 hers bestowed the additional living of Stillington on 
 her husband. These various sources of income must 
 have made a tolerable revenue, which, after the pub- 
 lication of Tristram, was further supplemented by 
 yet another benefice given him by Lord Falcon- 
 bridge at Coxwold, a living of no great value, but a 
 pleasant place of residence. Add to this the profits 
 of his books in the last eight years of his life, which 
 were for that day considerable, and it will be seen that, 
 as has been said above, Sterne might have been much 
 worse off in this world's goods than he was. He 
 seems, like other people, to have made some rather 
 costly experiments in farming ; and his way of life 
 latterly, what with his own journeys and sojourns in 
 London, and the long separate residence of his wife 
 and daughter in France, was expensive. But he com- 
 plains little of poverty ; and though he died in debt, 
 much of that debt was due to no fault of his, but to the 
 burning of the parsonage of Sutton. 
 
 It is all the more remarkable in one way, though 
 the absence of any pressure of want may explain it in
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 another, that Sterne's great literary gifts should have 
 remained so long without finding any kind of literary 
 expression, unless it was in the newspaper way, in 
 respect to which he first obliged and afterwards dis- 
 obliged his uncle. There is, I believe, no dispute about 
 the fact that he distances, and that by many years, 
 every other man of letters of anything like his rank — 
 except Cowper, whose affliction puts him out of 
 comparison — in the lateness of his fruiting time. All 
 but a quarter of a century had passed since he took his 
 degree when Tristram Shandy appeared ; and, putting 
 sermons aside, the very earliest thing of his known, 
 The History of a Good Watch Coat (see last volume 
 of this edition), only antedated Tristram by two years 
 or rather less. He was no doubt "making himself 
 all this time ; " but the making must have been an un- 
 commonly slow process. Nor did he, like a good 
 many writers, occupy the time in preparing what he 
 was afterwards to publish, unless in the case of a few 
 of his sermons. It is positively known uhat Tristram 
 was written merely as it was published, and the Journey 
 likewise. Nor is even the first by any means a long 
 book. It is as nearly as possible the same length as 
 Fielding's Amelia when printed straight on ; and even 
 then more allowance has to be made, not merely for 
 its free and audacious plagiarisms, but for its constantly 
 broken paragraphs, starsj dashes, and other trickeries. 
 If it were possible to squeeze it up, as one squeezes 
 a sponge, into the solid texture of an ordinary book, 
 I doubt whether it would be very much longer than 
 Joseph Andrenvs. 
 
 It will probably be admitted, however, that the
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVll 
 
 idiosyncrasy of the writings of Sterne's last and in- 
 complete decade, even if it be in part only an idiosyn- 
 crasy of mannerism, is almost great enough to justify 
 the nearly three decades of Lehrjahre (starting from 
 his entrance at Cambridge) which preceded it. It is 
 true that of the actual occupations of these years we 
 know extremely little — indeed, what we know as dis- 
 tinguished from what is guesswork and inference is 
 mostly summed up by Sterne's own current and cur- 
 vetting pen thus : " I remained near twenty years at 
 Sutton, doing duty at both places [i.^., Sutton and 
 Stillington]. I had then very good health. Books, 
 painting, fiddling, and shooting were my amusements ; " 
 to which he adds only that he and the squire of Sutton 
 were not very good friends, but that at Stillington the 
 Croft family were extremely kind and amiable. From 
 other sources, including, it is true, his own letters — 
 though the dates and allusions of these are so uncertain 
 that they are very doubtful guides — we find that his 
 chief crony during this period, as during his life, was 
 the already-mentioned John Hall, who had taken to 
 the name of Stevenson, and was master of Skelton 
 Castle, a very old and curious house on the border of 
 the Cleveland moors, not far from the town of Guis- 
 borough. The master of "Crazy" Castle — he liked 
 to give his house this name, which he afterwards used 
 in entitling his book of Cra%y Tales — his ways and his 
 library, have usually been charged with debauching 
 Sterne's innocent mind, which I should imagine lent 
 itself tqr that process in a most docile and morigerant 
 fashion^ but whether this was the case or not, it is 
 clear that Stevenson bore no very good reputation.
 
 Xvm INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is not certain, but was asserted, that he had been 
 a monk of Medmenham. He gathered about him at 
 Skelton a society which, though no such imputations 
 were made on it as on that of Wilkes and Dashwood, 
 was of a pretty loose kind ; he was a humourist, both in 
 the old and the modern sense ; and his Crazy Tales were, 
 if not very mad, rather sad and bad exercises of the 
 imagination. 
 
 Amid all this dream- and guess- work, almost the 
 only solid facts in Sterne's life are the births of two 
 daughters, one in 1745, and the other two years later. 
 Both were christened Lydia ; the first died soon after 
 she was born, the second lived to be the darling of both 
 her parents, the object of the most respectable emotions 
 of Sterne's life, the wife of an unknown Frenchman, 
 M. de Medalle, and, as has been said, the probably 
 unwitting destroyer of her father's last chance of repu- 
 tation. 
 
 Our exuberant nescience in matters Sternian extends 
 up to the very publication of Tristram^ as far as the de- 
 termining causes of its production are concerned. It is 
 true that in passages of the letters Sterne seems to say 
 that his experiment with the pen was prompted by a 
 desire to make good some losses in farming, and else- 
 where that he was tired of employing his brains for 
 other people's advantage, as he had done for some years 
 for an ungrateful person, that is to say, his uncle. This 
 last passage was written just before Tristram came out ; 
 but at no time was Sterne a very trustworthy reporter 
 of his own motives, and it would seem that the quarrel 
 with his uncle must have been a good deal earlier. At 
 any rate, the year 1759 seems to have been spent in
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 writing the first two volumes of the book, and The Life 
 and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gent., pubHshed by- 
 John Hinxham, Stonegate, York, but obtainable also 
 from divers London booksellers, appeared on the ist of 
 January 1 760. I wish Sterne had thought of keeping 
 it till the 1st of April, which he would probably then 
 have done. 
 
 The comparatively short last scenes of his life were 
 as busy and varied as his long middle course had 
 been outwardly monotonous. Although his book was 
 nominally published at York, he had gone up to London 
 to superintend arrangements for its sale there, perhaps 
 not without a hope of triumph. If so, Fortune chose 
 not to play him her usual tricks. In York, the ex- 
 treme personaHty of the book excited interest of a two- 
 fold and dubious kind ; but, to play on some words of 
 Dryden's, "London liked grossly" and swallowed 
 Tristram Shandy whole with singular avidity. Its 
 author came to town just in time to enjoy the results of 
 this, and was one of the chief lions of the season of 
 1760, a position which he enjoyed with a childish 
 frankness that is not the least pleasant thing in his 
 history. One, probably of the least important, though 
 by accident one of the best known of his innumerable 
 flirtations, with a Miss Fourmentelle, was apparently 
 quenched by this distraction when it was on the point 
 of going such lengths that the lady had actually come 
 up alone to London to meet Sterne there. He was 
 introduced to persons as different as Garrick and War- 
 burton, from the latter of whom he received, in rather 
 mysterious circumstances, a present of money. He 
 haunted Ministers and Knights of the Garter ; he was
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 overwhelmed with invitations and callers ; and, as has 
 been said, he received one very solid present in the 
 shape of the living of Coxwold. Tristram went into 
 a second edition rapidly ; its author was enabled to 
 announce a collection of " Sermons by Mr Yorick" in 
 April ; and he went to his new living in the early 
 summer, determined to set to work vigorously on more 
 of the work that had been so fortunate. By the end 
 of the year he was ready with two more volumes, again 
 came up to town, and again, v/hen vols. Hi. and iv. 
 had appeared, at the end of January 1761, was besieged 
 by admirers. For these two he received ,^380 from 
 Dodsley, who had fought shy of the book earlier. 
 They were quite as successful as the first pair ; and 
 again Sterne stayed all the spring and earlier summer in 
 London, returning to Yorkshire to make more Shandy ^ 
 in the autumn. He was still quicker over the third j 
 batch, and it was pubHshed in December 1761, when/ 
 he was again in town, but he now meditated a longer! 
 flight. His health had been really declining, and he 
 obtained leave from the archbishop for a year certain, 
 and perhaps two, that he might go to the south of 
 France. He was warmly received in Paris, where his 
 work had obtained a popularity which it has never 
 wholly lost, and the framework of fact (including the 
 passport difficulties) for the Sentimental Journey ^ as well 
 as for the seventh volume of Tristram, was laid during 
 the spring. His plans were now changed, it being de- 
 termined that his wife and daughter (who had inherited 
 his constitution) should join him. They did so after 
 some difficulties, and the consumptive novelist, having 
 spent all the winter in one of the worst climates in
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 Europe, that of the French capital, started with his 
 family in the torrid heats of July for Toulouse, where 
 at last they were established about the middle of 
 August. 
 
 Toulouse became Sterne's abode for nearly a year, 
 his headquarters for a somewhat longer period, and the 
 home of his wife and daughter, with migrations to Bag- 
 neres, Montpellier, and a great many other places in 
 France, for about five years. He himself — he had 
 been ill at Toulouse, and worse at Montpellier — reached 
 England again (after a short stay in Paris) during the 
 early summer of T764. Nor was it tiil January 1765 I 
 that the seventh and eighth volumes of Tristram ap- 
 peared. As usual Sterne went to town to receive the j 
 congratulations of the public, which seem to have been 
 fairly hearty ; for though the instalment immediately 
 preceding had not been an entire success, the longer 
 interval had now had its effect not merely on the art 
 and materials of the caterer, but on the appetite of his 
 guests. He followed this up with two more volumes 
 of Sermons, of a much more characteristic kind than his 
 earlier venture in this way, and published partly by sub- 
 scription. These, however, were not actually issued 
 till 1766. Meanwhile, in October 1765, Sterne had 
 set out for his second attempt in travel on the Continent, 
 which was to supply the remaining material for the 
 Sentimental Journey^ and to be prolonged as far as 
 Naples. Little is known of his winter stay at that 
 city and in Rome. On his way homeward he met 
 his wife and daughter in Franche-Comte, but at Mrs 
 Sterne's request left them there, and went on alone to 
 Coxwold.
 
 XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He reached England in extremely bad health, and 
 never left it again ; but he had still nearly two years of 
 fairly well filled life to run. The ninth, or last volume 
 o£ Tristram occupied him during the autumn of 1766, 
 and was produced with the invariable accompaniment 
 of its author's appearance in London during January 
 1767. This visit, which lasted till May, saw the 
 flirtation with " Eliza '' Draper, the young wife of an 
 Indian official, who was at home for her health, an 
 affair which exalted Sterne in the eyes of eighteenth- 
 century sensibility, especially in France, about as much 
 as it has depressed him in the eyes, not merely of the 
 propriety, not merely of the common sense, but of the 
 romance of later times. He was very ill when he 
 got back to Coxwold, but recovered, and in October 
 was joined by his wife and daughter. Even then, 
 however, the community was a very temporary and 
 divided one, for he took a house for them at York, 
 and they were not to stay in England beyond the 
 spring. He himself finished what we have of the 
 Sentimental Journey^ and went to London with it, where 
 it was published rather later than usual, on the 27th 
 February 1768. Three weeks later its author, at his 
 ; lodgings at 41 New Bond Street, in the presence only of 
 1 a hired nurse and a footman, who had been sent by some 
 of his friends to inquire after him, took a journey other 
 than sentimental, and so far unreported. Some odd 
 but not very well authenticated stories gathered round 
 his death, which occurred on Friday the 1 8th March. 
 It was said, and it is probable enough, that his gold 
 sleeve-links were stolen by his landlady. After his 
 flmeral, scantily attended, at the burying-ground of St
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIU 
 
 George's, Hanover Square, opposite Hyde Park (which 
 used to be known by the squalid brown of its unre- 
 stored, and is now made more hideous by the new 
 bedizened red of its restored chapel), his body is said 
 to have been snatched by resurrection men. And the 
 myth is rounded off by the addition that the remains, 
 having been sold to the professor of anatomy at 
 Cambridge, were dissected there in public, one of the 
 spectators, a friend of Sterne's, recognising the face 
 too late, and fainting. 
 
 His affairs, which had never been managed in a very 
 business-Hke manner, were in considerable disorder. 
 Some years before, the carelessness of his curate had 
 caused or allowed the parsonage at Sutton to be burnt 
 to the ground ; and Sterne, besides losing valuable effects 
 of his own, was of course liable for the rebuilding. 
 He managed to put this off till his death, after which 
 his widow and administratrix was sued for dilapida- 
 tions. These, as she was in very poor circumstances, 
 had to be compounded for sixty pounds only, but 
 they probably ranked for a much larger sum in the 
 ^"'iicx) at which Sterne's indebtedness was reckoned. 
 His widow had a little money of her own : ^800 was 
 collected for her and her daughter at York races ; 
 there must have been profits from the copyrights ; and a 
 fresh collection of Sermons was issued by subscription. 
 But though very little is known about the pair, they are 
 said to have been ill off. They applied first to Wilkes 
 and then to Stevenson to write a life of Sterne to prefix 
 to his Works, but neither complied. Mr Fitzgerald, 
 who seldom deserves the curse laid on those who 
 use harsh judgment, is very severe on both for this.
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Yet surely each, considering his own reputation, must 
 have felt that he was the last person to set Sterne right 
 with the stricter part of society, and that to write a 
 " Crazy " or " Shandean " life of him would be a 
 cruel crime. It is not known exactly when Lydia 
 married, or when either she or her mother died. Mrs 
 Sterne must have been dead by 1775, the date of the 
 publication of the letters ; Lydia is said to have perished 
 in the French Revolution. 
 
 jTlBeginning authorship very late in life, having schooled 
 himself to an intensely artificial method, both in style 
 and in construction, and not allowed by Fate more 
 than a few years in which to write at all, Sterne, as_is 
 natural, displays a great uniformity throughout his worLf 
 Indeed, it might be said that he has written but one 
 book, Tristram Shandy. The Sentimental Journey (as to 
 the relative merits of which, compared with the earlier 
 and larger work, there is a polemos aspondos between the 
 Big-endians and the Little-endians of Sternism) is 
 after all only an expansion of the seventh book of 
 Tristram, with fiorlture, variations, and new divertise- 
 ments. The sermon which occurs so early is an actual 
 sermon of " Yorick's," and a sufficient specimen of his 
 more serious concionatory vein ; many, if not most of his 
 letters, might have been twined into Tristram without 
 being in the least degree more out of place than most of 
 its actual contents!; And so there is more propriety than 
 depends upon the mere fact that Tristram Shandy is 
 the earliest and the largest part of its author's work, 
 not merely in making an introduction to it serve as an 
 introduction to the whole of that work, but in making 
 no extremely scholastic distinction between the specially
 
 INTRODUCTION, XXV 
 
 Shandean and the generally Sternian characteristics. 
 For, indeed, all Sterne is in it more or less eminently ; 
 and the points about him that are more eminent else- 
 where, can be conveniently retouched in the special 
 introductions to the Journey, and to a selection of 
 Miscellanies, which will give what is most interesting 
 in the rest. 
 
 No less a critic than M. Scherer has given his 
 sanction to the idea that in Sterne we have a special, 
 if not even the special, type of the humourist ; and 
 probably few people who have given no particular 
 thought or attention to the matter, would refuse to 
 agree with him. I am myself inclined rather to a 
 demur, or, at any rate, to a distinction, though few 
 better things have been written about humour itself 
 than a passage in M. Scherer's essay on our author. 
 Sterne has no doubt in a very eminent degree the sense 
 of contrast, which all the best critics admit to be the 
 root of humour — the note of the humourist. But he 
 has it partially, occasionally, and, I should even go so far 
 as to say, not greatly. The great English humourists, I 
 take it, are Shakespeare, Swift, Fielding, Thackeray, and 
 Carlyle. All these — even Fielding, whose eighteenth- 
 century manner, the contemporary and counterpart of ! 
 Sterne's, cannot hide the truth — apply the humourist : 
 contrast, the humourist sense of the irony of existence, { 
 to the great things, the prima et novissima. They see, 
 and feel, and show the simultaneous sense of Death and 
 Life, of Love and Loss, of the Finite and the Infinite. 
 Sterne stops a long way short of this ; les grands sujets 
 lui sont defendus in another sense than La Bruyere's. 
 It is scarcely too much to say that his ostentatious pre-
 
 XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ference for the bagatelle was a real, and not in the least 
 / affected fact. Nowhere, not in the true pathos of the 
 famous deathbed letter to Mrs James, not in the, as 
 it seems to me, by no means wholly true pathos of the 
 Le Fever episode, does he pierce to "the accepted 
 hells beneath." He has an unmatched command of 
 the lesser and lower varieties of the humorous contrast 
 — over the odd, the petty, the queer, above all, over 
 what the French untranslatably call the saugrenu. His 
 forte is the foible ; his cheval de lataille, the hobby- 
 ; horse. If you want to soar into the heights, or plunge 
 \into the depths of humour, Sterne is not for you. But 
 if you want what his own generation called a frisk on 
 middle, itery middle-earth, a hunt in curiosity- shops 
 (especially of the technically " curious " description), a 
 peep into all manner of coulisses and behind-scenes of 
 human nature, a ride on a sort of intellectual switchback, 
 a view of moral, mental, religious, sentimental dancing 
 of all the kinds that have delighted man, from the rope 
 to the skirt, then have with Sterne in any direction he 
 pleases. He may sometimes a very little disgust you, 
 but you will seldom have just cause to complain that he 
 disappoints and deceives. 
 
 The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy^ Gent, 
 (which, as it has been excellently observed, is in reality 
 based on the life of the gent's uncle, and the opinions 
 of the gent's father), is the largest and in every way the 
 chief field for these diversions. The apparatus, and, so 
 far as there can be said to have been one, the object 
 with which Sterne marked it out and filled it up, are 
 clear, and even the former must have been clear enough 
 to anybody of some reading and some intelligence long
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXVll 
 
 beforefthe excellent Dr Ferriar, in the spirit of a reverent 
 iconoclast, set himself to work to point out Sterne's 
 exact indebtedness to Rabelais, Burton, Beroalde (if 
 B^eroalde wrote the Moyen de Parvenir), Bruscambille, 
 and the rest. Of this particular part of the matter I 
 do not think it necessary to say much. The charge 
 of plagiarism is usually an excessively idle one ; for 
 when a man of genius steals, he always makes the thefts 
 his own ; and when a man steals without genius, the 
 thefts are mere fairy gold which turns to leaves and 
 pebbles under his hand. No doubt Sterne " lifted " in 
 Tristram, and still more in the Sermons, with rather 
 more freedom and audacity than most men of genius ; 
 but when we remember that he took Burton's denun- 
 ciation of the practice and reproduced it (all but in 
 Burton's very words) as his own, it must be clear to any 
 one who is not very dull indeed that he was playing 
 an audacious practical joke. Where he is best, he does 
 not steal at all, and that is the only point of real im- 
 portance. 
 
 It is somewhat more, I think, the business of the 
 critic (who is here more especially bound not to look 
 only at the stop-watch) to note the far more striking 
 way in which Sterne borrowed, not actual passages 
 and words, but manner and style. Here, perhaps, we 
 shall find him accountant for a greater debt ; and here 
 also we may think that though his genius is indisputable, 
 he gives more reason to those who should deny him 
 the highest kind of genius. Beyond doubt not merely 
 his reading, but his temper and his characteristics of 
 all kinds, inclined him to the style to which the French 
 fifteenth and sixteenth centuries gave the name of
 
 XXVUl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fatras'ie^ or pillar-to-post divagation, with more or less 
 of a covert satiric aim. But if we compare the dealing 
 of Swift with Cyrano de Bergerac, the dealing of 
 Fielding with the romance and novel as it existed 
 before his time, nay, the dealing of Shakespeare with 
 the Marlowe drama, we ^all note a marked difference 
 in Sterne's procedure. ^^^ Nobody, even in his own day, 
 who knew Rabelais at all could fail to detect the almost 
 servile following of manner in great things and in small 
 which Tristram displays. No one — a much smaller 
 designation — who knows the strange, unedifying, but 
 very far from commonplace book of which, as I have 
 hinted, I never can quite believe that Beroalde de 
 Verviile was the author, can fail to detect an even 
 closer, though a somewhat less obvious and, so to speak, 
 less verifiable following here. 
 
 In another region — the purgatory of all Sterne's com- 
 mentators — we can trace this corrupt following as dis- 
 tinctly at least, though it has, I think, been less often 
 I definitely attributed. Sterne's too celebrated indecency, 
 lis, with one exception, su'i generis.. No doubt much 
 Inonsense has been and is talked about " indecency " in 
 general literature. When it is indulged, as it has been, 
 for instance, in French of late, it becomes a nuisance of 
 the most loathsome kind. It is always perhaps better 
 left alone. But if it be a sin to laugh now and then 
 frankly at what were once called " gentlemen's stories," 
 then not merely many a gallant, noble, and not unwise 
 gentleman, but I fear not a few ladies, both fair and fine, 
 are damned, with Shakespeare and Scott and Southey, 
 with Margaret of Navarre and Marie de Sevigne, to 
 keep them in countenance, ^^et to merit indulgence,
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 this questionable quality, in addition to being treated as 
 genius treats, must have certain sub- qualities, or freedoms 
 from quality, of its ownT^ It must not be brutal and 
 inhuman, since the quality of humanity is the main 
 thing that saves it. ^t must not be underhand and 
 sniggering. It must be frank and jovial, or frank and 
 passionate^ Perhaps, In some cases, it may be saved, 
 as Swift's is to a great extent, by the overmastering 
 pessimism of despair, which enforces its contempt of 
 man and man's fate_J)y bringing forward these evidences 
 of his weakness. jJBut Sterne can plead none of these 
 exemptions. He has neither the frank laughter of 
 Aristophanes and Rabelais, nor the frank passion of 
 Catullus and Donne. \ He was incapable of feeling any 
 sava indignatio whatever. ; The attraction of the thing 
 for him was, I fear, merefy the attraction of the im- 
 proper, because it is improper ; because it shocks people, 
 or makes them blusfi^ or gives them an unholy little 
 quiver of sordid shaniefaced delectation. (^ His famous 
 apology of the child playing on the floor and showing 
 in innocence what is not usually shown, was desperately 
 unlucky. For his displays are those of educated and 
 economic un-innocency. And he took this manner, 
 I am nearly sure, wholly and directly from Voltaire, 
 who enjoys the unenviable copyright and patent oftt. J 
 The third characteristic which Sterne took from 
 others, which dyed his work deeply, and which injured 
 more than it helped it, was his famous, his unrivalled. 
 Sensibility or Sentimentallsm. A great deal has been 
 written about this admired eighteenth-century device, 
 and there is no space here for discussing it. Suffice it 
 to say, that although Sterne certainly did not invent it — ■
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it had been Inculcated by two whole generations of 
 French novelists before him, and had been familiar in 
 England for half a century — he has the glory, such 
 as it is, of carrying it to the farthest possible. The 
 dead donkey and the live donkey, the latter (as I 
 humbly but proudly join myself to Mr Thackeray and 
 Mr Traill in thinking) far the finer animal ; Le Fever 
 and La Fleur ; Maria and EHza ; Uncle Toby's fly, 
 and poor Mrs Sterne's ante-nuptial polyanthus ; the 
 stoics that Mr Sterne (with a generous sense that he 
 was in no danger of that lash) wished to be whipped, 
 and the critics from whom he would have fled from 
 Dan to Beersheba to be delivered ; — all the celebrated 
 persons and passages of his works, all the decorations 
 and fireworks thereof, are directed mainly to the exhibi- 
 tion of " Sensibility," once so charming, now, alas ! 
 hooted and contemned of the people ! 
 
 And now it will be possible to have done with 
 his foibles, all the rest in Sterne being for praise, with 
 hardly any mixture of blame. We have seen what he 
 borrowed from others, mostly to his hurt ; let us now 
 see what he contributed of his own, almost wholly to 
 his credit and advantage. He liad, in the first place, 
 what most writers when they begin almost invariably 
 and almost inevitably lack, a long and carefully amassed 
 store, not merely of reading, but of observation of man- 
 kind. Although his nearly fifty years of life had been 
 in the ordinary sense uneventful, they had given him 
 opportunities which he had amply taken. A "son 
 of the regiment," he had evidently studied with the 
 greatest and most loving care the ways of an army 
 which still included a large proportion of Marlborough's
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 veterans ; and it has been constantly and reasonably 
 held that his chief study had been his father, whom 
 he evidently adored in a way. Roger Sterne is the 
 admitted model of my Uncle Toby ; and I at least 
 have no doubt that he was the original of Mr Shandy 
 also, for some of the qualities which appear in his son's 
 character of him are Walter's, not Toby's. It would 
 have required, perhaps, even greater genius than Sterne 
 possessed, and an environment less saturated with the 
 delusive theory of the " ruling passion," to have given 
 us the mixed and blended temperament instead of 
 separating it into two gentlemen at once, and making 
 Walter Shandy all wayward intellect, and Tobias all 
 gentle goodness. But if it had been done — as Shake- 
 speare perhaps alone could have done it — we should have 
 had a greater and more human figure than either. Mr 
 Shandy would then never have come near, as he does 
 sometimes, to being a bore ; and my Uncle Toby (if 
 I may say so without taking the wings of the morning 
 to flee from the wrath of the extreme Tobyolaters) 
 would have been saved from the occasional appearance 
 of being something like a fool. 
 
 Still, these two are delightful even in their present 
 dichotomy ; and Sterne was amply provided by his 
 genius, working on his experience, with company for 
 them. His fancy portrait of himself as "Yorick" (his 
 unfeigned Shakespearianism is one of his best traits) 
 is a little vague and fantastic ; and that of Eugenius, 
 which is supposed to represent John Hall Stevenson, 
 is almost as slight as it is flattering. But Dr Slop, 
 who is known to have been drawn (with somewhat 
 unmerciful fidelity in externals, but not at all unkindly
 
 XXXU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 when we look deeper) from Dr Burton, a well-known 
 Jacobite practitioner who had suffered from the 
 Hanoverian zeal of Yorick's uncle Jaques in the '45, 
 is a masterpiece. The York dignitaries are veritable 
 etchings in outline, more Instinct with life and Indivi- 
 duality than a thousand elaborately painted pictures ; all 
 the servants, Obadlah, Susannah, Bridget, and the rest, 
 are the equals of Fielding's, or of Thackeray's domestics ; 
 and though Tristram himself Is the shadow of a shade, 
 I confess that I seem to see a vivid portrait in the 
 three or four strokes which alone give us " my dear, 
 dear Jenny." Mr Fitzgerald, succumbing to a not un- 
 natural temptation, considering the close juxtaposition 
 in time, approximates this to the " dear, dear Kitty " 
 of the letters to Miss Catherine de Fourmentelle. But 
 this, taking all things together, would be a rather 
 serious scandalum damigellarum ; and I do not think it 
 necessary to Identify, though the traits seem to me to 
 suit not 111 with the few genuine ones In the letters 
 about Mrs Sterne herself. That the ''dear, dear" 
 should be ironical more or less Is quite Shandean. 
 All these. If not drawn directly from individuals (the 
 lower exercise), are first generalised and then pre- 
 cipitated Into individuality from a large observation 
 (which Is the Infinitely higher and better). I fear I 
 must except Widow Wadman, save in the sentry- 
 box scene, from this encomium. But then Widow 
 Wadman Is not really a real person. She Is partly an 
 instrument to put my Uncle Toby through some new 
 motions, and partly a cue to enable Sterne to Indulge 
 in his worst foible. As for Trim, quis 'vituperavit 
 Trim ? The lover of the " popish clergywoman " is
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXlll 
 
 simply perfect, with a not much less good heart and a 
 much better head than his master's, and in his own 
 degree hardly less of a gentleman. 
 
 The manner in which these delightful persons (I 
 observe with shame that I had omitted the modest 
 worth of Mrs Shandy, nearly the most delightful of 
 them all) are introduced to the reader, may have 
 suffered a little from that corrupt following of which 
 enough has been said. I can only say, that I would 
 compound for a good deal more corruption of the same 
 kind, allied with a good deal less genius. It can 
 scarcely be doubted that there was a real pre-estab- 
 lished harmony between Sterne's gifts and the fafrasie 
 manner ; certainly this manner, if it sometimes ex- 
 hibited his weaknesses, gave rare opportunities to his 
 strength. And the same may be said of' his style. 
 He might certainly have given us less of the typo- 
 graphical tricks with which he chose to bedizen and 
 bedaub it, and sometimes in his ultra- Rabelaisian 
 moods — I do not mean of gauloiserie but of sheer 
 fooling — we feel the falsetto rather disastrously. It is 
 constantly forgotten by unfavourable critics of Rabelais 
 that his extravagances were to a great extent, at any 
 rate, quite natural outbursts of animal spiritsJi The 
 Middle Ages, though it has become the fashiDn with 
 those who know nothing about them to represent them 
 as ages of gloom, were probably the merriest time of 
 this world's history ; and the Reformation and the 
 Renaissance, with their pedantry and their puritanism, 
 and worst of all their physical science, had not quite 
 killed the merriment when Rabelais wrote. But 
 ^'IHiough animal spirits still sui'vived in Sterne's day, it
 
 KXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cannot be said that in England, any more than else- 
 where, there was much genuine merriment of the 
 honest, childish, mediasval kind, and thus his manner 
 perpetually jars. Still the style, independently of the 
 tricks, was excellently suited for the work. It is a 
 moot point how far the extremely loose and ungirt 
 character of this style, which sometimes, and indeed 
 often, reaches sheer slovenliness and solecism, was in- 
 tentional. I think myself that it was nearly as de- 
 liberate as the asterisks, and the black and marbled 
 pages. We know from the Sermons that Sterne could 
 write carefully enough when he chose, and we know 
 from the MS. of the Journey that he corrected sedu- 
 lously. Nor is it likely that he had the excuse of 
 hurry. The shortest time that he ever took over one 
 of his two-volume batches was more than six months ; 
 and looking at the practice, not of miracles of industry 
 and facility like Scott, but of rather dilatory writers 
 like Thackeray, one would think that the quantity 
 (which is not more than a couple of hundred pages of 
 one of these present volumes) might be written in little 
 more than six weeks. At any rate, the style, conversa- 
 tional, unpretentious, too easy to be jerky, and yet too 
 broken to be sustained, suits subject and scheme as 
 few others could. 
 
 But there is perhaps little need to say more about a 
 book which, though some say that few read it through 
 nowadays, is thoroughly well known in outline and in 
 its salient passages, and which will pretty certainly lay 
 hold of all fit readers as soon as they take to it. Of 
 its writer a very little more may perhaps be said, all the
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 more so because those who, not understanding critical ad- 
 miration, think that biographers and editors ought not 
 only to be just and a little kind, but extravagantly- 
 partial to their subjects, may conceive that I have been 
 a little unjust, or, at any rate, a little unkind to Sterne. 
 If so, they have not read his own extremely ingenious, 
 and in general, if not in particular, very sound attack on 
 the adage de mortuis. But if not nil n'tst, there is yet 
 very much bonum to be said of Sterne. He was not 
 merely endowed with a singular and essential genius ; 
 he was not merely the representative and mouthpiece, in 
 a way hardly surpassed by any one, of a certain way of 
 thought and feeling more or less peculiar to his time. 
 These were his merits, his very great merits as a 
 writer. But he had others, and great, if not very 
 great ones, as a man. Though never rich, he seems 
 to have been free from the fault of parsimony ; and 
 albeit he died in debt, not deeply tainted with that of 
 extravagance in money matters. For most of his later 
 expenditure was on others, and he might justly calcu- 
 late on his pen paying, and more than paying, his shot. 
 Little love as there was lost between him and his wife, 
 he always took the greatest care to provide for her 
 wants in the rather costly severance of their establish- 
 ments, and never even in his most indiscreet moments 
 hints a grumble at her expenditure, a vice of which some 
 people of much higher general reputation have been 
 known to be guilty. Though he was certainly pleased 
 at the attentions of" the great," I do not know that there 
 is any just cause for accusing him of truckling to, or 
 fawning on them beyond the custom and courtesy of 
 the time. For all his reckless humour, there was no
 
 XXXVl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ill-nature in him. His worst enemies have admitted 
 that his affection for his daughter was very pretty and 
 quite unaffected ; and his letters to and of Mrs James 
 show that he could think of a woman nobly and whole- 
 somely as a friend, for all his ignoble and unwholesome 
 ways of thought in regard to the sex. If it had not 
 been for the cruel indiscretion of his Lydia (which, 
 however, has something of the old virtue of conveying 
 the balm as well as the sting), he would probably have 
 been much better thought of than he is. And consider- 
 ing the delightful books here once more presented, I 
 think we may consent to forgive the faults which, after 
 all, were mainly his own business, for the merits by 
 which we so largely benefit, and for which he reaped 
 no over-bounteous guerdon.
 
 r * 
 * 
 
 The text ivhicb has leen here adopted is that of 
 the ten-volume edition^ Jirst printed in 1781, and re- 
 printed several times before the end of the century, tuhich is 
 as near as anything to the " standard^' Sterne. It seems, 
 hrmtever, to have had no competent editing ; and the re- 
 numbering of the chapters to suit the four volumes, in 
 nvhich Tristram ivas printed, completely upsets the 
 original and important division into nine volumes, or 
 boohs, tuhich has here, as in some other editions, been 
 restored. Another piece of thoughtlessness nvas that 
 of sticking the Dedication, which originally came between 
 the eighth and ninth volumes, or books, at the beginning 
 of the fourth volume as reprinted, thereby making 
 nonsense or puzzle of Sterne's joke about a priori. // 
 should be observed that the Dedication to Pitt, which 
 here leads off, was not prefixed till the second edition 
 of the original, and that sometimes in the last-century 
 editions it appears displaced at a later spot. No attempt 
 has been made to correct any oddities of spelling that 
 are not clearly mere misprints ; and the black and marbled 
 pages, isfc, which diversify the original, have been care- 
 fully retained.
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY, 
 
 GENTLEMAN. 
 
 TapdffaeL rois 'AyOpdjirovs ov to, UpdyfiaTaf 
 'AXXd TO. irepl tCjv UpayfidTUv Aoy/iara.
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 Mr PITT. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 NEVER poor Wight of a Dedicator had less hopes 
 from his Dedication, than I have from this of 
 mine ; for it is written in a bye corner of the king- 
 dom, and in a retir'd thatch' d house, where I Hve in 
 a constant endeavour to fence against the infirmities 
 of ill health, and other evils of life, by mirth ; being 
 
 firmly persuaded that every time a man smiles, but 
 
 much more so, when he laughs, it adds something to 
 this Fragment of Life. 
 
 I humbly beg. Sir, that you will honour this book, 
 
 by taking it (not under your Protection, it 
 
 must protect itself, but) into the country with 
 
 you ; where, if I am ever told, it has made you smile ; 
 
 3
 
 4 DEDICATION. 
 
 or can conceive it has beguiled you of one moment's 
 
 pain 1 shall think myself as happy as a minister of 
 
 state ; perhaps much happier than any one (one 
 
 only excepted) that I have read or heard of. 
 
 I am, GREAT SIR, 
 
 (and what is more to your Honour) 
 
 I am, GOOD SIR, 
 
 Your Well-wisher, and 
 
 most humble Fellow-subject, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY, Gent. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Copter t. 
 
 I WISH either my father or my mother, or Indeed 
 both of them, as they were in duty both equally 
 bound to it, had minded what they were about 
 when they begot me ; had they duly consider'd how 
 much depended upon what they were then doing ; — 
 that not only the production of a rational Being was 
 concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation 
 and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the 
 very cast of his mind ; — and, for aught they knew to 
 the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might 
 take their turn from the humours and dispositions which 
 
 were then uppermost; Had they duly weighed and 
 
 considered all this, and proceeded accordingly, 1
 
 6 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different 
 figure in the world, from that in which the reader is 
 likely to see me. — BeHeve me, good folks, this is not 
 so inconsiderable a thing as many of you may think it ; 
 — you have all, I dare say, heard of the animal spirits, 
 as how they are transfused from father to son, &c. &c. 
 — and a great deal to that purpose : — ^Well, you may 
 take my word, that nine parts in ten of a man's sense 
 or his nonsense, his successes and miscarriages in this 
 world depend upon their motions and activity, and the 
 different tracts and trains you put them into, so that 
 when they are once set a-going, whether right or 
 wrong, 'tis not a half-penny matter, — away they go 
 cluttering like hey-go mad ; and by treading the same 
 steps over and over again, they presently make a road 
 of it, as plain and as smooth as a garden-walk, which, 
 when they are once used to, the Devil himself some- 
 times shall not be able to drive them off it. 
 
 Pray, my Dear, quoth my mother, hai^e you not 
 
 forgot to ivind up the clock P Good G — / cried 
 
 my father, making an exclamation, but taking care 
 
 to moderate his voice at the same time, Did ever 
 
 nvoman^ since the creation of the luorld^ interrupt a man 
 ivith such a silly question ? Pray, what was your father 
 saying ? Nothing. 
 
 Chapter iu 
 
 Then, positively, there is nothing in the 
 
 question that I can see, either good or bad. Then, 
 
 let me tell you. Sir, it was a very unseasonable ques- 
 tion at least, — because it scattered and dispersed the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 7 
 
 animal spirits, whose business it was to have escorted 
 and gone hand in hand with the HOMUNCULUS, 
 and conducted him safe to the place destined for his 
 reception. 
 
 The HoMUNCULUS, Sir, in however low and ludicrous 
 a light he may appear, in this age of levity, to the eye 
 of folly or prejudice; — to the eye of reason in scien- 
 tifick research, he stands confess'd — a Being guarded 
 and circumscribed with rights. The minutest phi- 
 losophers, who, by the bye, have the most enlarged 
 understandings, (their souls being inversely as their 
 enquiries) shew us incontestably, that the Homunculus 
 is created by the same hand, — engender'd in the same 
 course of nature, — endow'd with the same loco-motive 
 powers and faculties with us : — That he consists as we 
 do, of skin, hair, fat, flesh, veins, arteries, ligaments, 
 nerves, cartilages, bones, marrow, brains, glands, geni- 
 tals, humours, and articulations ; — is a Being of as 
 much activity, — and, in all senses of the word, as 
 much and as truly our fellow-creature as my Lord 
 Chancellor of England. — He may be benefited, — he 
 may be injured, — he may obtain redress ; — in a word, 
 he has all the claims and rights of humanity, which 
 Tully, Puff'endorf, or the best ethick writers allow to 
 arise out of that state and relation. 
 
 Now, dear Sir, what if any accident had befallen 
 him in his way alone! — or that, through terror of it, 
 natural to so young a traveller, my little Gentleman had 
 got to his journey's end miserably spent ; — his mus- 
 cular strength and virility worn down to a thread ; — 
 his own animal spirits ruffled beyond description, — and 
 that in this sad disordered state of nerves, he had lain 
 down a prey to sudden starts, or a series of melancholy 
 dreams and fancies, for nine long, long months to- 
 gether. — I tremble to think what a foundation had 
 been laid for a thousand weaknesses both of body
 
 8 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 and mind, which no skill of the physician or the 
 philosopher could ever afterwards have set thoroughly 
 to lights. 
 
 (JD^aptcr iiU 
 
 TO my uncle Mr Tol^y Shandy do I stand in- 
 debted for the preceding anecdote, to whom 
 my father, who was an excellent natural philo- 
 sopher, and much given to close reasoning upon the 
 smallest matters, had oft, and heavily complained of 
 the injury ; but once more particularly, as my uncle 
 Toby well remember'd, upon his observing a most un- 
 accountable obliquity, (as he call'd it) in my manner 
 of setting up my top, and justifying the principles upon 
 which I had done it, — the old gentleman shook his 
 head, and in a tone more expressive by half of sorrow 
 than reproach, — he said his heart all along foreboded, 
 and he saw it verified in this, and from a thousand other 
 observations he had made upon me. That I should 
 neither think nor act like any other man's child :-^ 
 Bui alas ! continued he, shaking his head a second 
 time, and wiping away a tear which was trickling 
 down his cheeks. My Tristram s misfortunes began nine 
 months before ever he came into the nvorld. 
 
 — My mother, who was sitting by, look'd up, — but 
 she knew no more than her backside what my father 
 meant, — but my uncle, Mr Toby Shandy, who had 
 been often informed of the affair, — understood him 
 very well.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 Cj^apter tb. 
 
 I KNOW there are readers in the world, as well as 
 many other good people in it, who are no readers 
 at all, — who find themselves ill at ease, unless 
 they are let into the whole secret from first to last, of 
 every thing which concerns you. 
 
 It is in pure compliance with this humour of theirs, 
 and from a backwardness in my nature to disappoint 
 any one soul living, that I have been so very particular 
 already. As my life and opinions are likely to make 
 some noise in the world, and, if I conjecture right, 
 will take in all ranks, professions, and denominations 
 of men whatever, — be no less read than the Pilgrim s 
 Progress itself — and in the end, prove the very thing 
 which Montaigne dreaded his Essays should turn 
 out, that is, a book for a parlour- window ; — I 
 find it necessary to consult every one a little in his 
 turn ; and therefore must beg pardon for going on 
 a little farther in the same way : For which cause, 
 right glad I am, that I have begun the history of my- 
 self in the way I have done ; and that I am able 
 to go on, tracing every thing in it, as Horace says, ab 
 Ovo. 
 
 Horace, I know, docs not recommend this fashion 
 altogether : But that gentleman is speaking only of an 
 epic poem or a tragedy; — (I forget which,) — besides, 
 if it was not so, I should beg Mr Horace's pardon ; — 
 for in writing what I have set about, I shall confine 
 myself neither to his rules, nor to any man's rules that 
 ever lived. 
 
 To such, however, as do not choose to go so far 
 back into these things, I can give no better advice, 
 than that they skip over the remaining part of this
 
 lO THE LIFE AND OriNIONS 
 
 chapter ; for I declare before-hand, 'tis wrote only 
 for the curious and inquisitive. 
 
 • Shut the door 
 
 I was begot in the night, betwixt the first Sunday and 
 the first Monday in the month of March, in the year 
 of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighteen. 
 I am positive I was. — But how I came to be so very 
 particular in my account of a thing which happened 
 before I was born, is owing to another small anecdote 
 known only in our own family, but now made publick 
 for the better clearing up this point. 
 
 My father, you must know, who v/as originally a 
 Turkey merchant, but had left off business for some 
 years, in order to retire to, and die upon, his paternal 
 
 estate in the county of , was, I believe, one of 
 
 the most regular men in everything he did, whether 'twas 
 matter of business, or matter of amusement, that ever 
 lived. As a small specimen of this extreme exactness 
 of his, to which he was in truth a slave, — he had made 
 it a rule for many years of his life, — on the first Sunday- 
 night of every month throughout the whole year, — as 
 
 certain as ever the Sunday-night came, to wind up 
 
 a large house-clock, which we had standing on the back- 
 stairs head, with his own hands : — And being some- 
 where between fifty and sixty years of age at the time 
 I have been speaking of, — he had likewise gradually 
 brought some other little family concernments to the 
 same period, in order, as he would often say to my 
 uncle Toby, to get them all out of the way at one time, 
 and be no more plagued and pestered with them the 
 rest of the month. 
 
 It was attended but with one misfortune, which, in 
 a great measure, fell upon myself, and the effects of 
 which I fear I shall carry with me to my grave ; namely, 
 that from an unhappy association of ideas, which have 
 no connection in nature, it so fell out at length, that my
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I I 
 
 poor mother could never hear the said clock wound up, 
 
 but the thoughts of some other things unavoidably 
 
 popped into her head — ^ vice versa : Which 
 
 strange combination of ideas, the sagacious Loclie, who 
 certainly understood the nature of these things better 
 than most men, affirms to have produced more wry 
 actions than all other sources of prejudice whatso- 
 ever. ._^ 
 
 But this by the bye. 
 
 Now it appears by a memorandum in my father's 
 pocket-book, which now lies upon the table, " That on 
 Lady-day, which was on the 25th of the same month 
 
 in which I date my geniture, my father set out upon 
 
 his journey to London, with my eldest brother Bobby, 
 to fix him at JVestm'inster school ; " and, as it appears 
 from the same authority, " That he did not get down 
 to his wife and family till the second week in May follov/- 
 ing," — it brings the thing almost to a certainty. How- 
 ever, what follows in the beginning of the next chapter, 
 puts it beyond all possibility of doubt. 
 
 But pray. Sir, What was your father doing 
 
 all December, January, and February ? Why, 
 
 Madam, — he was all that time afflicted with a Sciatica. 
 
 ON the fifth day ol November, 1718, which to the 
 asra fixed on, was as near nine kalendar months 
 as any husband could in reason have expected, 
 — was I Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, brought forth 
 
 into this scurvy and disasterous world of ours. 1 
 
 wish I had been born in the Moon, or in any of the
 
 12 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 planets, (except Jupiter or Saturn^ because I never 
 could bear cold weather) for it could not well have 
 fared worse with me in any of them (though I will not 
 answer for Venus) than it has in this vile, dirty planet 
 of ours, — which, o' my conscience, with reverence be 
 it spoken, I take to be made up of the shreds and 
 
 clippings of the rest ; not but the planet is well 
 
 enough, provided a man could be born in it to a great 
 title or to a great estate ; or could any how contrive 
 to be called up to publick charges, and employments of 
 
 dignity or power ; but that is not my case ; ^and 
 
 therefore every man will speak of the fair as his own 
 
 market has gone in it ; for which cause I affirm 
 
 it over again to be one of the vilest worlds that ever 
 was made ; — for I can truly say, that from the first hour 
 I drew my breath in it, to this, that I can now scarce 
 draw it at all, for an asthma I got in seating against the 
 wind in Flanders ; — I have been the continual sport of 
 what the world calls Fortune ; and though I will not 
 wrong her by saying, She has ever made me feel the 
 
 weight of any great or signal evil ; --yet with all the 
 
 good temper in the world, I affirm it of her, that in 
 every stage of my life, and at every turn and corner 
 where she could get fairly at me, the ungracious duchess 
 has pelted me with a set of as pitiful misadventures and 
 cross accidents as ever small Hero sustained. 
 
 IN the beginning of the last chapter, I informed you 
 exactly ivhen I was born ; but I did not inform 
 you honv. No, that particular was reserved entirely 
 for a chapter by itself; — besides, Sir, as you and I are 
 in a manner perfect strangers to each other, it would
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. , 1 3 
 
 not have been proper to have let you Into too many cir- 
 cumstances relating to myself all at once. — You must 
 have a little patience. I have undertaken, you see, to 
 write not only my life, but my opinions also ; hoping 
 and expecting that your knowledge of my character, 
 and of what kind of a mortal I am, by the one, would 
 give you a better relish for the other : As you proceed 
 farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now 
 beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity ; and 
 that, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in 
 friendship. — diem praclarum I — then nothing which 
 has touched me will be thought trifling in its nature, 
 or tedious in its telling. Therefore, my dear friend and 
 companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing 
 of my narrative on my first setting out — bear with me, 
 — and let me go on, and tell my story my own way : 
 — Or, if I should seem now and then to trifle upon the 
 road, — or should sometimes put on a fool's cap with a 
 bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass along, — 
 don't fly off, — but rather courteously give me credit 
 for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside ; 
 — and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, 
 or in short, do any thing, — only keep your temper. 
 
 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 darrie 
 Nature, — had acquired, in her way, no small degree 
 of reputation in the world : by which word ivorld^
 
 14 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 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 sup- 
 posed to be the 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 deport- 
 ment, — 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 said seven 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 in- 
 structed in some of the plain principles of the business, 
 in order to 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 under- 
 took it ; and having great influence over the female 
 part of the parish, she found no difliculty 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 chear fully paid the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 5 
 
 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 ivhatsoever. 
 
 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. But it was according 
 to a neat Formula oi D'ldius 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. 
 
 I own I never could envy D'ldius in these kinds of 
 fancies of his : — But every man to his own taste. — Did 
 not Dr Kunastroh'ius, 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 ? 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 ? — 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, — piay, Sir, what have either you or I to 
 do with it ?
 
 1 6 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHpt^t: iJtii. 
 
 — De gustihus non est disputandum ; — that is, there is 
 no disputing against Hobby-Horses ; and for my part, 
 I seldom do ; nor could I with any sort of grace, had I 
 been an enemy to them at the bottom ; for happening, 
 at certain intervals and changes of the moon, to be both 
 fidler and painter, according as the fly stings : — Be it 
 known to you, that I keep a couple of pads myself, upon 
 which, in their turns, (nor do I care who knows it) I 
 frequently ride out and take the air; — though some- 
 times, to my shame be it spoken, I take somewhat longer 
 journies than what a wise man would think altogether 
 right. — But the truth is, — I am not a wise man ; — and 
 besides am a mortal of so little consequence in the world, 
 it is not much matter what I do : so I seldom fret or 
 fume at all about it : Nor does it much disturb my rest, 
 when I see such great Lords and tall Personages as 
 hereafter follow ; — such, for instance, as my Lord 
 A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, 
 and so on, all of a row, mounted upon their several 
 horses ; — some with large stirrups, getting on in a more 
 
 grave and sober pace ; others on the contrary, tucked 
 
 up to their very chins, with whips across their mouths, 
 scouring and scampering it away like so many little 
 party-coloured devils astride a mortgage, — and as if 
 
 some of them were resolved to break their necks. 
 
 So much the better — say I to myself; — for in case the 
 worst should happen, the world will make a shift to do 
 
 excellently well without them ; and for the rest, 
 
 why God speed them e'en let them ride on 
 
 without opposition from me ; for were their lordships 
 unhorsed this very night — 'tis ten to one but that many 
 of them would be worse mounted by one half before 
 to-morrow morning.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 7 
 
 Not one of these instances therefore can be said to 
 
 break in upon my rest. But there is an instance, 
 
 which I own puts me off my guard, and that is, when 
 T see one born for great actions, and what is still more 
 for his honour, whose nature ever inclines him to good 
 ones ; — when I behold such a one, my Lord, like your- 
 self, whose principles and conduct are as generous and 
 noble as his blood, and whom, for that reason, a corrupt 
 world cannot spare one moment ; — when I see such a 
 one, my Lord, mounted, though it is but for a minute 
 beyond the time which my love to my country has pre- 
 scribed to him, and my zeal for his glory wishes, — 
 then, my Lord, I cease to be a philosopher, and in the 
 first transport of an honest impatience, I wish the 
 HoBBY-HoRSE, with all his fraternity, at the Devil. 
 
 "My Lord, 
 " I maintain this to be a dedication, notwithstanding 
 its singularity in the three great essentials of matter, 
 form, and place : I beg, therefore, you will accept it 
 as such, and that you will permit me to lay it, with 
 the most respectful humility, at your Lordship's feet, — 
 when you are upon them, — which you can be when 
 you please ; — and that is, my Lord, whenever there is 
 occasion for it, and I will add, to the best purposes too. 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 « My Lord, 
 Tour Lordship's most obedienty 
 and most devoted, 
 
 and most humble servant, 
 Tristram Shandy."
 
 1 8 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 1 SOLEMNLY declare to all mankind, that the above 
 dedication was made for no one Prince, Prelate, 
 Pope, or Potentate, — Duke, Marquis, Earl, Vis- 
 count, or Baron, of this, or an}'- other Realm in Chris- 
 tendom ; nor has it yet been hawked about, or 
 
 offered publicly or privately, directly or indirectly, to 
 any one person or personage, great or small ; but is 
 honestly a true Virgin-Dedication untried on, upon 
 any soul living. 
 
 I labour this point so particularly, merely to remove 
 any offence or objection which might arise against it 
 from the manner in which I propose to make the most 
 of it ; — which is the putting it up fairly to public sale ; 
 which I now do. 
 
 Every author has a way of his own in bringing his 
 
 points to bear ; — for my own part, as I hate chaffering 
 and higgling for a few guineas in a dark entry; — I 
 resolved within myself, from the very beginning, to deal 
 squarely and openly with your Great Folks in this 
 affair, and try whether I should not come off the better 
 by it- 
 
 If therefore there is any one Duke, Marquis, Earl, 
 Viscount, or Baron, in these his Majesty's dominions, 
 who stands in need of a tight, genteel dedication, and 
 whom the above will suit, (for by the bye, unless it 
 
 suits in some degree, I will not part with it) it is 
 
 much at his service for fifty guineas ; which I am 
 
 positive is twenty guineas less than it ought to be afforded 
 for, by any man of genius. 
 
 My Lord, if you examine it over again, it is far from 
 being a gross piece of daubing, as some dedications are. 
 The design, your Lordship sees, is good, — the colouring 
 transparent, — the drawing not amiss ; — or to speak more
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 9 
 
 like a man of science, — and measure my piece in the 
 painter's scale, divided into 20, — I believe, my Lord, 
 the outlines will turn out as 1 2, — the composition as 9, — 
 the colouring as 6, — the expression 13 and a half, — and 
 the design, — if I may be allowed, my Lord, to under- 
 stand my own design, and supposing absolute perfection 
 in designing, to be as 20, — I think it cannot well fall 
 short of 19. Besides all this, — there is keeping in it, 
 and the dark strokes in the Hobby-Horse, (which is 
 a secondary figure, and a kind of back-ground to the 
 whole) give great force to the principal lights in your 
 
 own figure, and make it come off wonderfully ; 
 
 and besides, there is an air of originality in the tout 
 ensemble. 
 
 Be pleased, my good Lord, to order the sum to be 
 paid into the hands of Mr Dodsley, for the benefit of 
 the author ; and in the next edition care shall be taken 
 that this chapter be expunged, and your Lordship's 
 titles, distinctions, arms, and good actions, be placed 
 at the front of the preceding chapter : All which, from 
 the words, De gustlbus non est disputandum, and what- 
 ever else in this book relates to Hobby-Horses, but no 
 more, shall stand dedicated to your Lordship. — The 
 rest I dedicate to the Moon, who, by the bye, of all 
 the Patrons or Matrons I can think of, has most 
 power to set my book a-going, and make the world 
 run mad after it. 
 
 Bright Goddess, 
 If thou art not too busy with CANom and Miss 
 Cunegund's afl^airs, — take Tristram Shandfs under thy 
 protection also.
 
 20 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHpter p. 
 
 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 gentle- 
 woman, 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. 
 
 The world at that time was pleased to determine 
 the matter otherwise. 
 
 Lay down the book, and I will allow you half a 
 day to give a probable guess at the grounds of this 
 procedure. 
 
 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 him- 
 self, 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 Ros'inante, 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, Ros'inante^ as is
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 21 
 
 the happiness of most Spanish horses, fat or lean, — 
 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 Ros'inante s continency (as may be de- 
 monstrated from the adventure of theTanguesian 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 exact 
 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. 
 
 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, poudre d^or, — 
 all which he had purchased in the pride and prime of 
 his life, together with a grand embossed bridle, orna- 
 mented at all points as it should be. 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. x
 
 2 2 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 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. 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. — His 
 character was, — he loved a jest in his heart — and as he 
 saw hihiself 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-Uke, — ^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.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 23 
 
 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 vanltate mundi et fug a saculi^ 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. — 
 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. — 
 In shore, 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. 
 
 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. — 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 ;
 
 24 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 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. 
 
 What the loss in such a balance might amount to, 
 communihus ann'ts, 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 re- 
 peated 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 ex- 
 pences, 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 com- 
 fortless scenes he was hourly called forth to visit, 
 where poverty, and sickness, and affliction dwelt to- 
 gether. 
 
 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 con- 
 tent to ride the last poor devil, such as they had made
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 25 
 
 him, 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. 
 
 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 
 Manchdy 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. — 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. 
 
 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 destruc- 
 tion, were known and 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."
 
 26 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 What were his views in this, and in every other 
 action of his Hfe, — 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. 
 
 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 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 with- 
 out it. 
 
 Of the truth of which, this gentleman 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. — When this is 
 done, if nothing stops us in our way, we will go on 
 with the midwife. 
 
 Chapter vu 
 
 YORICK was this parson's name, and, what is 
 very remarkable in it, (as appears from a 
 most ancient account of the family, wrote upon 
 strong vellum, and now in perfect preservation) it had
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 2^ 
 
 been exactly so spelt for near, 1 was within an 
 
 ace of saying nine hundred years ; but I would not 
 
 shake my credit in telling an improbable truth, how- 
 ever indisputable in itself; and therefore I shall 
 
 content myself with only saying It had been 
 
 exactly so spelt, without the least variation or transpo- 
 sition of a single letter, tor I do not know how long ; 
 which is more than I would venture to say of one half 
 of the best surnames in the kingdom ; which, in a 
 course of years, have generally undergone as many chops 
 and changes as their owners. — Has this been owing to 
 the pride, or to the shame of the respective proprietors ? 
 — In honest truth, I think sometimes to the one, and 
 sometimes to the other, just as the temptation has 
 wrought. But a villainous affair it is, and will one day 
 so blend and confound us altogether, that no one shall 
 be able to stand up and swear, " That his own great 
 grandfather was the man who did either this or 
 that.'* 
 
 This evil had been sufficiently fenced against by the 
 prudent care of the Torick^s family, and their religious 
 preservation of these records I quote, which do farther 
 inform us. That the family was originally of Danish 
 extraction, and had been transplanted into England as 
 early as in the reign of Hor'wendillus, king of Denmark, 
 in whose court, it seems, an ancestor of this Mr 
 Tor'icli s, and from whom he was lineally descended, held 
 a considerable post to the day of his death. Of what 
 nature this considerable post was, this record saith not ; 
 — It only adds. That, for near two centuries, it had 
 been totally abolished, as altogether unnecessary, not 
 only in that court, but in every other court of the 
 Christian world. 
 
 It has often come Into my head, that this post could 
 be no other than that of the king's chief Jester ; — and 
 that Hamlet' s Toricky in our Shakespeare, many of whose
 
 28 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 plays, you know, are founded upon authenticated facts, 
 was certainly the very man. 
 
 I have not the time to look Into Saxo-Grammaticus' s 
 Danish history, to know the certainty of this ; — but if 
 you have leisure, and can easily get at the book, you 
 may do it full as well yourself. 
 
 I had just time, in my travels through Denmark 
 with Mr Noddy s eldest son, whom, in the year 174I, 
 I accompanied as governor, riding along with him at a 
 prodigious rate thro' most parts of Europe, and of which 
 original journey performed by us two, a most delect- 
 able narrative will be given In the progress of this work ; 
 I had just time, I say, and that was all, to prove the 
 truth of an observation made by a long sojourner In 
 
 that country ; namely, *' That nature was neither 
 
 very lavish, nor was she very stingy in her gifts of 
 genius and capacity to its Inhabitants ; — but, like a dis- 
 creet parent, was moderately kind to them all ; observ- 
 ing such an equal tenor in the distribution of her 
 favours, as to bring them, in those points, pretty near 
 to a level with each other ; so that you will meet with 
 few instances In that kingdom of refined parts ; but a 
 great deal of good plain houshold understanding amongst 
 all ranks of people, of which every body has a share ; " 
 which is, I think, very right. 
 
 With us, you see, the case Is quite different : — we 
 are all ups and downs In this matter ; — you are a great 
 genius ; — or 'tis fifty to one, Sir, you are a great dunce 
 and a blockhead ; — not that there is a total want of 
 intermediate steps, — no, — we are not so irregular as 
 that comes to ; — but the two extremes are more common, 
 and in a greater degree in this unsettled island, where 
 nature, in her gifts and dispositions of this kind. Is 
 most whimsical and capricious ; fortune herself not 
 being more so in the bequest of her goods and chattels 
 than she.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 29 
 
 This is all that ever staggered my faith in regard to 
 I'oricFs extraction, who, by what I can remember of 
 him, and by all the accounts I could ever get of him, 
 seemed not to have had one single drop of Danish blood 
 in his whole crasis ; in nine hundred years, it might 
 
 possibly have all run out : 1 will not philosophize 
 
 one moment with you about it ; for happen how it would, 
 the fact was this : — That instead of that cold phlegm 
 and exact regularity of sense and humours, you would 
 have looked for, in one so extracted ; — he was, on 
 the contrary, as mercurial and sublimated a composition, 
 — as heteroclite a creature in all his declensions ; — with 
 as much life and whim, and gaite de cceur about him, 
 as the kindliest cHmate could have engendered and put 
 together. With all this sail, poor Torick carried not 
 one ounce of ballast ; he was utterly unpractised in 
 the world ; and, at the age of twenty- six, knew just 
 about as well how to steer his course in it, as a romp- 
 ing, unsuspicious girl of thirteen : So that upon his first 
 setting out, the brisk gale of his spirits, as you will 
 imagine, ran him foul ten times in a day of somebody's 
 tackling ; and as the grave and more slow-paced were 
 
 oftenest in his way, you may likewise imagine, 
 
 'twas with such he had generally the ill luck to get the 
 most entangled. For aught I know there might be 
 some mixture of unlucky wit at the bottom of such 
 Fracas : For, to speak the truth, Yor'ick had an in- 
 vincible dislike and opposition in his nature to gravity ; 
 — not to gravity as such ; — for where gravity was 
 wanted, he would be the most grave or serious of 
 mortal men for days and weeks together ; — but he was 
 an enemy to the affectation of it, and declared open 
 war against it, only as it appeared a cloak for ignorance, 
 or for folly : and then, whenever it fell in his way, how- 
 ever sheltered and protected, he seldom gave it much 
 quarter.
 
 30 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Sometimes, in his wild way of talking, he would say, 
 that Gravity was an errant scoundrel, and he would add, 
 — of the most dangerous kind too, — because a sly one ; 
 and that he verily believed, more honest, well-meaning 
 people were bubbled out of their goods and money by 
 it in one twelve-month, than by pocket-picking and 
 shop-lifting in seven. In the naked temper which a 
 merry heart discovered, he would say, there was no 
 danger, — but to itself: — whereas the very essence of 
 gravity was design, and consequently deceit ; — 'twas a 
 taught trick to gain credit of the world for more sense 
 and knowledge than a man was worth ; and that, with 
 all its pretensions, — it was no better, but often worse, 
 than what a French wit had long ago defined it, — w'z. 
 A mysterious carriage of the body to cover the defects of 
 the mind ; — which definition of gravity, Torick, with 
 great imprudence, would say, deserved to be wrote in 
 letters of gold. 
 
 But, in plain truth, he was a man unhackneyed and 
 unpractised in the world, and was altogether as indis- 
 creet and foolish on every other subject of discourse 
 where policy is wont to impress restraint. Torick had 
 no impression but one, and that was what arose from 
 the nature of the deed spoken of; which impression he 
 would usually translate into plain English without any 
 periphrasis ; — and too oft without much distinction 
 of either person, time, or place ; — so that when men- 
 tion was made of a pitiful or an ungenerous proceeding 
 
 he never gave himself a moment's time to reflect 
 
 who was the hero of the piece, what his station, 
 
 or how far he had power to hurt him hereafter ; 
 
 but if it was a dirty action, — without more ado, — 
 
 The man was a dirty fellow, — and so on. — And as his 
 comments had usually the ill fate to be terminated 
 either in a hon mot, or to be enlivened throughout with 
 some drollery or humour of expression, it gave wings
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 3 1 
 
 to YoricVs indiscretion. In a word, the' he never 
 sought, yet, at the same time, as he seldom shunned 
 occasions of saying what came uppermost, and without 
 
 much ceremony ; he had but too many temptations 
 
 in hfe, of scattering his wit and his humour, — his gibes 
 
 and his jests about him. They were not lost for 
 
 want of gathering. 
 
 What were the consequences, and what was Tor'ich 'j 
 catastrophe thereupon, you will read in the next 
 chapter. 
 
 Chapter i\u 
 
 THE Mortgager and Mortgagee differ the one 
 from the other, not more in length of purse, 
 than the Jester and Jestee do, in that of 
 memory. But in this the comparison between them 
 runs, as the scholiasts call it, upon all-four ; which, by 
 the bye, is upon one or two legs more than some of 
 the best o^ Homer s can pretend to ; — namely. That the 
 one raises a sum, and the other a laugh at your expence, 
 and thinks no more about it. Interest, however, still 
 runs on in both cases; — the periodical or accidental 
 payments of it, just serving to keep the memory of the 
 affair alive ; till, at length, in some evil hour, — pop 
 comes the creditor upon each, and by demanding 
 principal upon the spot, together with full interest to 
 the very day, makes them both feel the full extent of 
 their obligations. 
 
 As the reader (for I hate your ifs) has a thorough 
 knowledge of human nature, I need not say more to 
 satisfy him, that my Hero could not go on at this rate 
 without some slight experience of these incidental 
 mementos. To speak the truth, he had wantonly
 
 32 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 involved himself in a multitude of small book-debts of 
 this stamp, which, notwithstanding Eugentus' s frequent 
 advice, he too much disregarded ; thinking, that as not 
 one of them was contracted thro' any malignancy ; — 
 but, on the contrary, from an honesty of mind, and 
 a mere jocundity of humour, they would all of them be 
 cross'd out in course. 
 
 Eugenius would never admit this ; and would often 
 tell him, that one day or other he would certainly be 
 reckoned with ; and he would often add, in an accent 
 of sorrowful apprehension, — to the uttermost mite. 
 To which Toricky with his usual carelessness of heart, 
 would as often answer with a pshaw ! — and if the sub- 
 ject was started in the fields, — with a hop, skip, and a 
 jump at the end of it; but if close pent up in the 
 social chimney-corner, where the culprit was barri- 
 cado'd in, with a table and a couple of arm-chairs, and 
 could not so readily fly off in a tangent, — Eugenius 
 would then go on with his lecture upon discretion in 
 words to this purpose, though somewhat better put 
 together. 
 
 Trust me, dear Torlck, this unwary pleasantry of 
 thine will sooner or later bring thee into scrapes and 
 difficulties, which no after-wit can extricate thee out 
 
 of. In these sallies, too oft, I see, it happens, that 
 
 a person laughed at, considers himself in the light of a 
 person injured, with all the rights of such a situation 
 belonging to him ; and when thou viewest him in that 
 light too, and reckons up his friends, his family, his 
 
 kindred and allies, and musters up with them the 
 
 many recruits which will list under him from a sense 
 
 of common danger ; 'tis no extravagant arithmetick 
 
 to say, that for every ten jokes, — thou hast got an 
 hundred enemies ; and till thou hast gone on, and raised 
 a swarm of wasps about thine ears, and art half stung 
 to death by them, thou wilt never be convinced it is so.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 3^ 
 
 I cannot suspect it in the man whom I esteem, that 
 there is the least spur from spleen or malevolence of 
 
 intent in these sallies 1 believe and know them to 
 
 be truly honest and sportive : — But consider, my dear 
 lad, that fools cannot distinguish this, — and that knaves 
 will not : and thou knowest not what it is, either to 
 provoke the one, or to make merry with the other: 
 whenever they associate for mutual defence, de- 
 pend upon it, they will carry on the war in such a 
 manner against thee, my dear friend, as to make thee 
 heartily sick of it, and of thy life too. 
 
 Revenge from some baneful corner shall level a tale 
 of dishonour at thee, which no innocence of heart or 
 
 integrity of conduct shall set right. The fortunes 
 
 of thy house shall totter, — thy character, which led the 
 way to them, shall bleed on every side of it, — thy faith 
 questioned, — thy works belied, — thy wit forgotten, — 
 thy learning trampled on. To wind up the last scene 
 of thy tragedy. Cruelty and Cowardice, twin ruffians, 
 hired and set on by Malice in the dark, shall strike 
 
 together at all thy infirmities and mistakes : The 
 
 best of us, my dear lad. He open there, and trust 
 
 me, trust me, Torici, ivhen to gratify a private 
 
 appetite, it is once resol'ued upon, that an innocent and an 
 helpless creature shall he sacrificed, Uis an easy matter to 
 pick up sticks enough from any thicket ivhere it has 
 strayed, to make afire to offer it up ivith. 
 
 Torick scarce ever heard this sad vaticination of his 
 destiny read over to him, but with a tear stealing from 
 his eye, and a promissory look attending it, that he 
 was resolved, for the time to come, to ride his tit with 
 more sobriety. — But, alas, too late ! — a grand confede- 
 racy, with ***** and ***** at the head of it, was 
 formed before the first prediction of it. — The whole 
 plan of the attack, just as Eugenius had foreboded, was 
 put in execution all at once, — with so little mercy on
 
 34 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 the side of the allies, — and so little suspicion in 
 Torkkf of what was carrying on against him, — that 
 when he thought, good easy man ! full surely prefer- 
 ment was o' ripening, — they had smote his root, and 
 then he fell, as many a worthy man had fallen before 
 him. 
 
 Tor'tck, however, fought it out with all imaginable 
 gallantry for some time ; till, overpowered by numbers, 
 and worn out at length by the calamities of the war, — 
 but more so, by the ungenerous manner in which it was 
 carried on, — he threw down the sword ; and though 
 he kept up his spirits in appearance to the last, he died, 
 nevertheless, as was generally thought, quite broken- 
 hearted. 
 
 What inclined Eugenius to the same opinion was as 
 follows : 
 
 A few hours before Torick breathed his last, 
 Eugenius stept in with an intent to take his last sight 
 and last farewell of him. Upon his drawing Torick* s 
 curtain, and asking how he felt himself, Torick looking 
 up in his face took hold of his hand, — and after thank- 
 ing him for the many tokens of his friendship to him, 
 for which, he said, if it was their fate to meet hereafter, 
 — he would thank him again and again, — he told him, 
 he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the slip 
 for ever. — I hope not, answered Eugenius^ with tears 
 trickling down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone 
 that ever man spoke. — I hope not, Torick, said he. 
 
 Torick replied, with a look up, and a gentle 
 
 squeeze of Eugenius* s hand, and that was all, — but it 
 cut Eugenius to his heart. — Come, — come, Torick, 
 quoth Eugenius, wiping his eyes, and summoning up 
 the man within him, — my dear lad, be comforted, — 
 let not all thy spirits and fortitude forsake thee at this 
 
 crisis when thou most wants them ; who knows 
 
 xvhat resources are in store, and what the power of
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 35 
 
 God may yet do for thee ? Tor'ick laid his hand 
 
 upon his heart, and gently shook his head ; — For my 
 part, continued Eugenius, crying bitterly as he uttered 
 the words, — I declare I know not, Tor'ick, how to 
 part with thee, and would gladly flatter my hopes, 
 added Eugenius, chearing up his voice, that there is still 
 enough left of thee to make a bishop, and that I may 
 
 live to see it. 1 beseech thee, Eugenius, quoth 
 
 Tor'ickj taking off his night-cap as well as he could 
 
 with his left hand, his right being still grasped 
 
 close in that of Eugenius, 1 beseech thee to take 
 
 a view of my head. — I see nothing that ails it, replied 
 Eugen'ius. Then, alas ! my friend, said Torich, let me 
 tell you, that 'tis so bruised and mis-shapened with the 
 blows which ***** and *****j and some others have 
 so unhandsomely given me in the dark, that I might 
 say with Sancho Panca, that should I recover, and 
 *' Mitres thereupon be suffered to rain down from 
 heaven as thick as hail, not one of them would fit it," 
 7'orick's last breath was hanging upon his trem- 
 bling lips ready to depart as he uttered this : yet 
 
 still it was uttered wirh something of a Cervantick 
 
 tone ; and as he spoke it, Eugenius could perceive 
 
 a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in 
 
 his eyes ; faint picture of those flashes of his spirit, 
 
 which (as Shakespeare said of his ancestor) were wont 
 to set the table in a roar ! 
 
 Eugenius was convinced from this, that the heart of 
 
 his friend was broke : he squeezed his hand, and 
 
 then walked softly out of the room, weeping as he 
 walked. Tor'ick followed Eugen'ius with his eyes to 
 the door, — he then closed them, — and never opened 
 them more. 
 
 He lies buried in the corner of his church-yard, in 
 
 the parish of , under a plain marble slab, which 
 
 his friend Eugenius, by leave of his executors, laid
 
 36 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 upon his grave, with no more than these three words 
 ot inscription, serving both for his epitaph and elegy. 
 
 Alas, poor YO RICK! 
 
 Ten times a day has ToricJi s ghost the consolation 
 to hear his monumental inscription read over with such 
 a variety of plaintive tones, as denote a general pity 
 
 and esteem for him; a foot- way crossing the 
 
 church-yard close by the side of his grave, — not a 
 passenger goes by without stopping to cast a look 
 upon it, — and sighing as he walks on, 
 
 Alas, poor YORICK!
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 37
 
 38 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 IT is so long since the reader of this rhapsodical 
 work has been parted from the midwife, that it is 
 high time to mention her again to him, merely to 
 put him in mind that there is such a body still in the 
 world, and whom, upon the best judgment I can form 
 upon my own plan at present, — I am going to intro- 
 duce to him for good and all : But as fresh matter may 
 be started, and much unexpected business fall out 
 betwixt the reader and myself, which may require 
 
 immediate dispatch ; 'twas right to take care that 
 
 the poor woman should not be lost in the meantime ; 
 — because when she is wanted, we can no way do 
 without her. 
 
 I think I told you that this good woman was a 
 person of no small note and consequence throughout 
 our whole village and township ; — that her fame had 
 spread itself to the very out-edge and circumference of 
 that circle of importance, of which kind every soul 
 
 living, whether he has a shirt to his back or no, 
 
 has one surrounding him ; — which said circle, by the 
 way, whenever 'tis said that such a one is of great 
 
 weight and importance In the tuorU, 1 desire may 
 
 be enlarged or contracted in your worship's fancy, in 
 a compound ratio of the station, profession, knowledge, 
 abilities, height and depth (measuring both ways) of 
 the personage brought before you. 
 
 In the present case, if I remember, I fixed it about 
 four or five miles, which not only comprehended the 
 whole parish, but extended itself to two or three of 
 the adjacent hamlets in the skirts of the next parish ; 
 which made a considerable thing of it. I must add. 
 That she was, moreover, very well looked on at one 
 large grange-house, and some other odd houses and
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 39 
 
 farms within two or three miles, as I said, from the 
 
 smoke of her own chimney : But I must here, 
 
 once for all, inform you, that all this will be more 
 exactly delineated and explain'd in a map, now in the 
 hands of the engraver, which, with many other pieces 
 and developements of this work, will be added to the 
 end of the twentieth volume, — not to swell the work, 
 — I detest the thought of such a thing ; — but by way 
 of commentary, scholium, illustration, and key to such 
 passages, incidents, or innuendos as shall be thought to 
 be either of private interpretation, or of dark or doubt- 
 ful meaning, after my life and my opinions shall have 
 been read over (now don't forget the meaning of the 
 
 word ) by all the <world ; which, betwixt you and 
 
 me, and in spite of all the gentlemen-reviewers in 
 Great Britain^ and of all that their worships shall 
 undertake to write or say to the contrary, — I am 
 determined shall be the case. — I need not tell your 
 worship, that all this is spoke in confidence. 
 
 UPON looking into my mother's marriage-settle- 
 ment, 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 Hkhathrift or Tom 
 Thumbs 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
 
 40 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 another, 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. 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 
 
 Accounts to reconcile : 
 
 Anecdotes to pick up : 
 
 Inscriptions to make out : 
 
 Stories to weave in ; 
 
 Traditions to sift : 
 
 Personages to call upon : 
 
 Panegyricks to paste up at this door ; 
 
 Pasquinades at that; 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 have 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 hoiv ; — so that you see the thing is 
 yet 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 t]:»an diminish as I 
 advance, — have struck out a hint which I am resolved
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHAXDY. 4 1 
 
 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. 
 
 €I)aptev v^, 
 
 THE article in my mother's marriage-settlement, 
 which I told the reader I was at the pains to 
 search for, and which, now that I have found 
 it, I think proper to lay before him, — is so much more 
 fully express'd in the deed itself, than ever I can pretend 
 to do it, that it would be barbarity to take it out of the 
 lawyer's hand : — It is as follows. 
 "^nH tUs ^n^tntvLvt further tottocsfietl). That the 
 
 said Walter Shandy^ merchant, in consideration of the 
 said intended marriage to be had, and, by God's 
 blessing, to be well and truly solemnized and consum- 
 mated between the said Walter Shandy and Ert%aleth 
 Moll'ineux aforesaid, and divers other good and valu- 
 able causes and considerations him thereunto specially 
 moving, — doth grant, covenant, condescend, consent, 
 conclude, bargain, and fully agree to and v/iih John 
 Dixon, and James Turner, Esqrs. the above-named 
 Trustees, Is'c ZS'c. — tO iDtt, — That in case it should 
 hereafter so fall out, chance, happen, or otherwise come 
 to pass, — That the said Walter Shandy, merchant, shall 
 have left off business before the time or times, thai the 
 said Elizabeth Moll'ineux shall, according to the course 
 of nature, or otherwise, have left off bearing and bring- 
 ing forth children ; — and that, in consequence of the said 
 Walter Shandy having so left off business, he shall in 
 despightj and against the free-will, consent, and good-
 
 42 THE LIFE AND OFINrONS 
 
 liking of the said Elizabeth MoUineux, — make a de- 
 parture from the city of London, in order to retire to, 
 and dwell upon, his estate at Shandy Hall, in the 
 
 county of , or at any other country-seat, castle, 
 
 hall, mansion-house, messuage or grainge-house, now 
 purchased, or hereafter to be purchased, or upon any 
 part or parcel thereof: — That then, and as often as 
 the said Elizabeth Mollineux shall happen to be enceint 
 with child or children severally and lawfully begot, 
 or to be begotten, upon the body of the said Elizabeth 
 Mollineux, during her said coverture, — he the said 
 Walter Shandy shall, at his own proper cost and 
 charges, and out of his own proper monies, upon good 
 and reasonable notice, which is hereby agreed to be 
 within six weeks of her the said Elizabeth Mollineux' s 
 full reckoning, or time of supposed and computed 
 delivery, — pay, or cause to be paid, the sum of one 
 hundred and twenty pounds of good and lawful money, 
 to John Dixon, and James Turner, Esqrs. or assigns, — 
 upon TRUST and confidence, and for and unto the use 
 and uses, intent, end, and purpose following : — %l^^t iS 
 to JSaP, — That the said sum of one hundred and twenty 
 pounds shall be paid into the hands of the said Elizabeth 
 Mollineux, or to be otherwise applied by them the said 
 Trustees, for the well and truly hiring of one coach, 
 with able and sufficient horses, to carry and convey the 
 body of the said Elizabeth Mollineux, and the child or 
 children which she shall be then and there enceint 
 and pregnant with, — unto the city of London ; and for 
 the further paying and defraying of all other incidental 
 costs, charges, and expences whatsoever, — in and about, 
 and for, and relating to, her said intended dehvery and 
 lying-in, in the said city or suburbs thereof. And that 
 the said Elizabeth Mollineux shall and may, from time 
 to time, and at all such time and times as are here 
 covenanted and agreed upon, — peaceably and quietly
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 43 
 
 hire the said coach and horses, and have free ingress, 
 egress, and regress throughout her journey, in and from 
 the said coach, according to the tenor, true intent, and 
 meaning of these presents, without any let, suit, trouble, 
 disturbance, molestation, discharge, hindrance, forfeiture, 
 eviction, vexation, interruption, or incumbrance what- 
 soever. — And that it shall moreover be lawful to and 
 for the said Elizabeth Mollineux, from time to time, and 
 as oft or often as she shall well and truly be advanced 
 in her said pregnancy, to the time heretofore stipulated 
 and agreed upon, — to live and reside in such place or 
 places, and in such family or families, and with such 
 relations, friends, and other persons within the said city 
 of London., as she at her own will and pleasure, not- 
 withstanding her present coverture, and as if she was 
 difemme sole and unmarried, — shall think fit. — Stnll t)^\^ 
 
 S'nUenture furtj^er toitiusset^. That for the more 
 
 effectually carrying of the said covenant into execution, 
 the said Walter Shandy^ merchant, doth hereby grant, 
 bargain, sell, release, and confirm unto the said John 
 Dixon, and James Turner, Esqrs. their heirs, executors, 
 and assigns, in their actual possession now being, by 
 virtue of an indenture of bargain and sale for a year to 
 them the said John Dickson, and James Turner, Esqrs. 
 by him the said Walter Shandy, merchant, thereof 
 made ; which said bargain and sale for a year, bears 
 date the day next before the date of these presents, 
 and by force and virtue of the statute for transferring of 
 uses into possession, — SU that the manor and lordship 
 
 of Shandy, in the county of , with all the rights, 
 
 members, and appurtenances thereof; and all and every 
 the messuages, houses, buildings, barns, stables, orchards, 
 gardens, backsides, tofts, crofts, garths, cottages, lands, 
 meadows, feedings, pastures, marshes, commons, woods, 
 underwoods, drains, fisheries, waters, and water-courses ; 
 — together with all rents, reversions, services, annuities,
 
 44 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 fee-farms, knights fees, views of frankpledge, escheats, 
 reHefs, mines, quarries, goods and chattels of felons 
 and fugitives, felons of themselves, and put in exigent, 
 deodands, free warrens, and all other royalties and 
 seigniories, rights and jurisdictions, privileges and 
 
 hereditaments whatsoever. ^xiH alSO the advow- 
 
 son, donation, presentation, and free disposition of the 
 rectory or parsonage of Shandy aforesaid, and all and 
 
 every the tenths, tythes, glebe-lands." In three 
 
 words, "My mother was to lay in, (if she chose 
 
 it) in London^ 
 
 But in order to put a stop to the practice of any unfair 
 play on the part of my mother, which a marriage-article 
 of this nature too manifestly opened a door to, and which 
 indeed had never been thought of at all, but for my uncle 
 Tohy Shandy ; — a clause was added in security of my 
 father, which was this : — " That in case my mother here- 
 after should, at any time, put my father to the trouble 
 and expence of a London journey, upon false cries and 
 tokens ; that for every such instance, she should for- 
 feit all the right and title which the covenant gave her 
 
 to the next turn ; but to no more, — and so on, toties 
 
 quoties^ in as effectual a manner, as if such a covenant 
 betwixt them had not been made." — This, by the way, 
 was no more than what was reasonable ; — and yet, as 
 reasonable as it was, I have ever thought it hard that the 
 whole weight of the article should have fallen entirely, 
 as it did, upon myself. 
 
 But I was begot and born to misfortunes : — for my 
 poor mother, whether it was wind or water — or a com- 
 pound of both, — or neither ; — or whether it was simply 
 the mere swell of imagination and fancy in her ; — or how 
 far a strong wish and desire to have it so, might mislead 
 her judgment ; — in short, whether she was deceived or 
 deceiving in this matter, it no way becomes me to decide. 
 The fact was this, That in the latter end of September
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHAXDY. 
 
 45 
 
 1717, which was the year before I was born, my mother 
 having carried my father up to town much against the 
 grain, — he peremptorily insisted upon the clause ; — so 
 that I was doom'd, by marriage-articles, to have my nose 
 squeez'd as flat to my face, as if the destinies had actually 
 spun me without one. 
 
 How this event came about, — and what a train of 
 vexatious disappointments, in one stage or other of my 
 life, have pursued me from the mere loss, or rather 
 compression, of this one single member, — shall be laid 
 before the reader all in due time. 
 
 CI)apter x^i* 
 
 MY father, as any body may naturally imagine, came 
 down with my mother into the country, in but 
 a pettish kind of a humour. The first twenty 
 or five-and-twenty miles he did nothing in the world but 
 fret and teaze himself, and indeed my mother too, about 
 the cursed expence, which he said might every shilling 
 of it have been saved ; — then what vexed him more than 
 every thing else was, the provoking time of the year, — 
 which, as I told you, was towards the end of Septemhery 
 when his wall-fruit and green gages especially, in which 
 
 he was very curious, were just ready for pulling : 
 
 ** Had he been whistled up to London^ upon a Tom Fool's 
 errand, in any other month of the whole year, he should 
 not have said three words about it." 
 
 For the next two whole stages, no subject would go 
 down, but the heavy blow he had sustain'd from the loss 
 of a son, whom it seems he had fully reckon'd upon in 
 his mind, and register'd down in his pocket-book, as a 
 second staff for his old age, in case Bobby should fail 
 him. The disappointment of this, he said, was ten
 
 46 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 times more to a wise man, than all the money which the 
 journey, &c., had cost him, put together, — rot the hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds, he did not mind it a rush. 
 
 From Stilton, all the way to Grantham, nothing in the 
 whole affair provoked him so much as the condolences 
 of his friends, and the foolish figure they should both 
 
 make at church, the first Sunday ; of which, in the 
 
 satirical vehemence of his wit, now sharpen'd a little by 
 vexation, he would give so many humorous and pro- 
 voking descriptions, — and place his rib and self in so 
 many tormenting lights and attitudes in the face of the 
 whole congregation ; — that my mother declared, these 
 two stages were so truly tragi-comical, that she did 
 nothing but laugh and cry in a breath, from one end to 
 the other of them all the way. 
 
 From Grantham, till they had cross'd the Trent, my 
 father was out of all kind of patience at the vile trick 
 and imposition which he fancied my mother had put 
 upon him in this affair — " Certainly," he would say to 
 himself, over and over again, " the woman could not be 
 
 deceived herself if she could, what weakness ! " 
 
 — tormenting word ! — which led his imagination a 
 thorny dance, and, before all was over, play'd the duce 
 and all with him ; for sure as ever the word •weak- 
 ness was uttered, and struck full upon his brain — so sure 
 it set him upon running divisions upon how many kinds 
 
 of weaknesses there were ; that there was such a 
 
 thing as weakness of the body, as well as weak- 
 ness of the mind, — and then he would do nothing but 
 syllogize within himself for a stage or two together, 
 How far the cause of all these vexations might, or might 
 not, have arisen out of himself. 
 
 In short, he had so many little subjects of disquietude 
 springing out of this one affair, all fretting successively 
 in his mind as they rose up in it, that my mother, what- 
 ever was her journey up, had but an uneasy journey of
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 47 
 
 it down. In a word, as she complained to my uncle 
 
 Tohyy he would have tired out the patience of any flesh 
 alive. 
 
 THOUGH my father travelled homewards, as I 
 told you, in none of the best of moods, — pshaw- 
 ing and pishing all the way down, — yet he had 
 the complaisance to keep the worst part of the story 
 still to himself; — which was the resolution he had 
 taken of doing himself the justice, which my uncle 
 Tohy s clause in the marriage-settlement empowered 
 him ; nor was it till the very night in which I was 
 begot, which was thirteen months after, that she had 
 the least intimation of his design : when my father, 
 happening, as you remember, to be a little chagrin'd 
 and out of temper, took occasion as they lay chatt- 
 ing gravely in bed afterwards, talking over what was 
 to come, to let her know that she must accom- 
 modate herself as well as she could to the bargain 
 made between them in their marriage-deeds ; which 
 was to lye-in of her next child in the country, to 
 balance the last year's journey. 
 
 My father was a gentleman of many virtues, — but 
 he had a strong spice of that in his temper, which 
 might, or might not, add to the number. — 'Tis known 
 by the name of perseverance in a good cause, — and of 
 obstinacy in a bad one : Of this my mother had so 
 much knowledge, that she knew 'twas to no purpose to 
 make any remonstrance, — so she e'en resolved to sit 
 down quietly, and make the most of it.
 
 48 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 AS the point was that night agreed, or rather deter- 
 J-^ mined, that my mother should lye-in of me in 
 the country, she took her measures accordingly ; 
 for which purpose, when she was three days, or there- 
 abouts, gone with child, she began to cast her eyes 
 upon the midwife, whom you have so often heard me 
 mention ; and before the week was well got round, as 
 the famous Dr Manning/jam was not to be had, she 
 
 had come to a final determination in her mind, 
 
 notwithstanding there was a scientific operator within 
 so near a call as eight miles of us, and who, moreover, 
 had expressly wrote a five shillings book upon the sub- 
 ject of midwifery, in which he had exposed, not only 
 the blunders of the sisterhood itself, but had like- 
 wise super-added many curious improvements for the 
 quicker extraction of the foetus in cross births, and 
 some other cases of danger, which belay us in getting 
 into the world ; notwithstanding all this, my mother, I 
 say, was absolutely determined to trust her life, and 
 mine with it, into no soul's hand but this old woman's 
 only. — Now this I like ; — when we cannot get at the 
 
 very thing we wish never to take up with the next 
 
 best in degree to it : — no ; that's pitiful beyond de- 
 scription ; — it is no more than a week from this very 
 day, in which I am now writing this book for the 
 edification of the world; — which is March 9, 1759, 
 
 that my dear, dear Jenny, observing I looked a 
 
 little grave, as she stood cheapening a silk of five-and- 
 twenty shillings a yard, — told the mercer, she was sorry 
 she had given him so much trouble ; — and immediately 
 went and bought herself a yard- wide stuff of ten-pence 
 a yard. — 'Tis the duplication of one and the same 
 greatness of soul ; only what lessened the honour of it,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 49 
 
 somewhat, in my mother's case, was, that she could 
 not heroine it into so violent and hazardous an extreme, 
 as one in her situation might have wished, because the 
 old midwife had really some little claim to be depended 
 upon, — as much, at least, as success could give her ; 
 having, in the course of her practice of near twenty 
 years in the parish, brought every mother's son of them 
 into the world without any one slip or accident which 
 could fairly be laid to her account. 
 
 These facts, tho' they had their weight, yet did not 
 altogether satisfy some few scruples and uneasinesses 
 which hung upon my father's spirits in relation to this 
 choice. — To say nothing of the natural workings of 
 humanity and justice — or of the yearnings of parental 
 and connubial love, all which prompted him to leave as 
 
 little to hazard as possible in a case of this kind ; 
 
 he felt himself concerned in a particular manner, that 
 all should go right in the present case ; — from the 
 accumulated sorrow he lay open to, should any evil 
 betide his wife and child in lying-in at Shandy-Hall. 
 
 He knew the world judged by events, and would 
 
 add to his afflictions in such a misfortune, by loading 
 
 him with the whole blame of it. " Alas o'day ; — 
 
 had Mrs Shandy, poor gentlewoman ! had but her wish 
 in going up to town just to lye-in and come down again ; 
 — which, they say, she begged and prayed for upon her 
 
 bare knees, and which, in my opinion, considering 
 
 the fortune which Mr Shandy got with her, — was no 
 such mighty matter to have complied with, the lady 
 and her babe might both of them have been alive at 
 this hour." 
 
 This exclamation, my father knew, was unanswer- 
 able ; — and yet, it was not merely to shelter himself, — 
 nor was it altogether for the care of his offspring and 
 wife that he seemed so extremely anxious about this 
 point ; — my father had extensive views of things, 
 
 I. D
 
 50 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 and stood moreover, as he thought, deeply concerned 
 in it for the public k good, from the dread he entertained 
 of the bad uses an ill-fated instance might be put to. 
 
 He was very sensible that all political writers upon 
 the subject had unanimously agreed and lamented, from 
 the beginning of Queen Elizabeth 's reign down to his 
 own time, that the current of men and money towards 
 the metropolis, upon one frivolous errand or another, — 
 set in so strong, — as to become dangerous to our civil 
 
 rights, — though, by the bye, a current was not the 
 
 image he took most delight in, — a distemper was here 
 his favourite metaphor, and he would run it down into 
 a perfect allegory, by maintaining it was identically the 
 same in the body national as in the body natural, where 
 the blood and spirits were driven up into the head faster 
 
 than they could find their ways down ; a stoppage of 
 
 circulation must ensue, which was death in both cases. 
 
 There was little danger, he would say, of losing our 
 
 liberties by French politicks or French invasions ; 
 
 nor was he so much in pain of a consumption from 
 the mass of corrupted matter and ulcerated humours in 
 our constitution, which he hoped was not so bad as it 
 was imagined ; — but he verily feared, that in some 
 violent push, we should go off, all at once, in a state- 
 apoplexy ; — and then he would say, The Lord have 
 mercy upon us all. 
 
 My father was never able to give the history of this 
 distemper, — without the remedy along with it. 
 
 " Was I an absolute prince," he would say, pulling 
 up his breeches with both his hands, as he rose from 
 his arm-chair, " I would appoint able judges, at every 
 avenue of my metropolis, who should take cognizance 
 of every fool's business who came there ; — and if, upon 
 a fair and candid hearing, it appeared not of weight 
 sufficient to leave his own home, and come up, bag and 
 baggage, with his wife and children, farmer's sons, &c.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 5 1 
 
 &c., at his backside, they should be all sent back, from 
 constable to constable, like vagrants as they were, to the 
 place of their legal settlements. By this means I shall 
 take care, that my metropolis totter'd not thro' its 
 own weight ; — that the head be no longer too big for 
 the body ; — that the extremes, now wasted and pinn'd 
 in, be restored to their due share of nourishment, and 
 regain with it their natural strength and beauty : — I 
 would effectually provide. That the meadows and corn- 
 fields of my dominions, should laugh and sing ; — that 
 good chear and hospitality flourish once more ; — and 
 that such weight and influence be put thereby into 
 the hands of the Squirality of my kingdom, as should 
 counterpoise what I perceive my Nobility are now taking 
 from them. 
 
 " Why are there so few palaces and gentlemen's 
 seats," he would ask, with some emotion, as he walked 
 across the room, " throughout so many delicious pro- 
 vinces in France ? Whence is it that the few remain- 
 ing Chateaus amongst them are so dismantled, — so 
 unfurnished, and in so ruinous and desolate a condition \ 
 
 Because, Sir," (he would say) "in that kingdom 
 
 no man has any country-interest to support ; — the Httle 
 interest of any kind which any man has anywhere in 
 it, is concentrated in the court, and the looks of the 
 Grand Monarch : by the sunshine of whose counte- 
 nance, or the clouds which pass across it, every French 
 man lives or dies." 
 
 Another political reason which prompted my father 
 so strongly to guard against the least evil accident in 
 
 my mother's lying-in in the country, was. That 
 
 any such instance would infallibly throw a balance of 
 power, too great already, into the weaker vessels of the 
 
 gentry, in his own, or higher stations ; which, with 
 
 the many other usurped rights which that part of the 
 constitution was hourly establishing, — would, in the 
 
 *-c< 

 
 52 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 end, prove fatal to the monarchical system of domestick 
 government established in the first creation of things 
 by God. 
 
 In this point he was entirely of Sir Robert Filmer^s 
 opinion, That the plans and institutions of the greatest 
 monarchies in the eastern parts of the world, were, 
 originally, all stolen from that admirable pattern and 
 prototype of this houshold and paternal power; — 
 which, for a century, he said, and more, had gradually 
 
 been degenerating away into a mix'd government ; 
 
 the form of which, however desirable in great com- 
 binations of the species, was very troublesome in 
 
 small ones, — and seldom produced any thing, that he 
 saw, but sorrow and confusion. 
 
 For all these reasons, private and publick, put to- 
 gether, — my father was for having the man-midwife 
 by all means, — my mother by no means. My father 
 begg'd and intreated, she would for once recede from 
 her prerogative in this matter, and suffer him to choose 
 for her ; — my mother, on the contrary, insisted upon 
 her privilege in this matter, to choose for herself, — and 
 have no mortal's help but the old woman's. — What 
 could my father do ? He was almost at his wit's end ; 
 
 talked it over with her in all moods ; — placed his 
 
 arguments in all lights ; — argued the matter with her 
 like a christian, — like a heathen, — like a husband, — 
 like a father, — like a patriot, — like a man : — My 
 mother answered every thing only like a wom_an ; which 
 was a little hard upon her ; — for as she could not 
 assume and fight it out behind such a variety of char- 
 acters, — 'twas no fair match : — 'twas seven to one. — 
 
 What could my mother do ? She had the advantage 
 
 (otherwise she had been certainly overpowered) of a 
 small reinforcement of chagrin personal at the bottom, 
 which bore her up, and enabled her to dispute the affair 
 with my father with so equal an advantage, that
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 53 
 
 both sides sung Te Deum. In a word, my mother 
 was to have the old woman, — and the operator was to 
 have licence to di-ink a bottle of wine with my father 
 and my uncle Toby Shandy in the back parlour, — for 
 which he was to be paid five guineas. 
 
 I must beg leave, before I finish this chapter, to 
 enter a caveat in the breast of my fair reader ; — and it 
 
 is this, Not to take it absolutely for granted, from 
 
 an unguarded word or two which I have dropp'd in it, 
 
 " That I am a married man." — I own, the tender 
 
 appellation of my dear, dear Jenny^ — with some other 
 strokes of conjugal knowledge, interspersed here and 
 there, might, naturally enough, have misled the most 
 candid judge in the world into such a determination 
 against me. — All I plead for, in this case, Madam, is 
 strict justice, and that you do so much of it, to me as 
 well as to yourself, — as not to prejudge, or receive such 
 an impression of me, till you have better evidence, than, 
 I am positive, at present can be produced against me. — 
 Not that I can be so vain or unreasonable. Madam, 
 as to desire you should therefore think, that my dear, 
 dear Jenny is my kept mistress; — no, — that would 
 be flattering my character in the other extreme, and 
 giving it an air of freedom, which, perhaps, it has no 
 kind of right to. All I contend for, is the utter impossi- 
 bility, for some volumes, that you, or the most pene- 
 trating spirit upon earth, should know how this matter 
 really stands. — It is not impossible, but that my dear, 
 dear Jenny ! tender as the appellation is, may be my 
 
 child. Consider, — I was born in the year eighteen. 
 
 — Nor is there anything unnatural or extravagant in 
 the supposition, that my dear Jenny may be my friend. 
 — Friend ! — My friend. — Surely, Madam, a friendship 
 between the two sexes may subsist, and be supported 
 
 without Fy ! Mr Shandy : — Without any thing, 
 
 Madam, but that tender and delicious sentiment, which
 
 54 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 ever mixes in friendship, where there is a difference of 
 sex. Let me intreat you to study the pure and senti- 
 mental parts of the best French Romances; — it will 
 really, Madam, astonish you to see with what a variety 
 of chaste expressions this delicious sentiment, which I 
 have the honour to speak of, is dress'd out. 
 
 I 
 
 WOULD sooner undertake to explain the hardest 
 problem in geometry, than pretend to account for 
 it, that a gentleman of my father's great good sense, 
 -knowing, as the reader must have observed him, and 
 
 curious too in philosophy, — wise also in political reason- 
 ing, — and in polemical (as he will find) no way ignorant, 
 — could be capable of entertaining a notion in his head, 
 so out of the common track, — that I fear the reader, 
 when I come to mention it to him, if he is the least of 
 a cholerick temper, will immediately throw the book by; 
 if mercurial, he will laugh most heartily at it; — and if he 
 is of a grave and saturnine cast, he will, at first sight, 
 absolutely condemn as fanciful and extravagant; and that 
 was in respect to the choice and imposition of christian 
 names, on which he thought a great deal more depended 
 than what superficial minds were capable of conceiving. 
 
 His opinion, in this matter, was. That there was a 
 strange kind of magick bias, which good or bad names, 
 as he called them, irresistibly impressed upon our char- 
 acters and conduct. 
 
 The hero of Cervantes argued not the point with 
 
 more seriousness, nor had he more faith, or 
 
 more to say on the powers of necromancy in dishonour- 
 ing his deeds, — or on Dulcinea's name, in shedding 
 lustre upon them, than my father had on those of Tris-
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 55 
 
 MEGisTus or Archimedes, on the one hand — or of Nyky 
 and SiMKiN on the other. How many Caesars and 
 PoMPEYS, he would say, by mere inspiration of the 
 names, have been rendered worthy of them .-* And 
 how many, he would add, are there, who might have 
 done exceeding well in the world, had not their char- 
 acters and spirits been totally depressed and Nicodemus'd 
 into nothing ? 
 
 I see plainly, Sir, by your looks, (or as the case 
 happened) my father would say — that you do not 
 heartily subscribe to this opinion of mine, — which, to 
 those, he would add, who have not carefully sifted it 
 to the bottom, — I own has an air more of fancy than 
 
 of solid reasoning in it ; and yet, my dear Sir, if I 
 
 may presume to know your character, I am morally 
 assured, I should hazard little in stating a case to you, 
 — not as a party in the dispute, — but as a judge, and 
 trusting my appeal upon it to your own good sense and 
 
 candid disquisition in this matter ; you are a person 
 
 free from as many narrow prejudices of education as most 
 men ; — and, if I may presume to penetrate farther into 
 you, — of a liberality of genius above bearing down an 
 opinion, merely because it wants friends. Your son, 
 — your dear son, — from whose sweet and open temper 
 you have so much to expect. — Your Billy, Sir ! 
 — would you, for the world, have called him Judas ? — 
 Would you, my dear Sir, he would say, laying his 
 hand upon your breast, with the genteelest address, — • 
 and in that soft and irresistible piano of voice, which 
 the nature of the argument um ad hominem absolutely 
 requires, — Would you, Sir, if a Jeiv of a godfather had 
 proposed the name for your child, and offered you his 
 purse along with it, would you have consented to such 
 
 a desecration of him ? O my God ! he would say, 
 
 looking up, if I know your temper right. Sir, — ^you 
 are incapable of it ; you would have trampled upon
 
 56 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 the offer ; — you would have thrown the temptation at 
 the tempter's head with abhorrence. 
 
 Your greatness of mind in this action, which i 
 admire, with that generous contempt of money, which 
 you shew me in the whole transaction, is really noble ; 
 — and what renders it more so, is the principle of it ; 
 — the workings of a parent's love upon the truth and 
 conviction of this very hypothesis, namely. That was 
 your son called Judas, — the sordid and treacherous 
 idea, so inseparable from the name, would have accom- 
 panied him through life like his shadow, and, in the 
 end, made a miser and a rascal of him, in spite. Sir, of 
 your example. 
 
 I never knew a man able to answer this argument. 
 
 But, indeed, to speak of my father as he was ; — 
 
 he was certainly irresistible ; — both in his orations and 
 disputations ; — he was born an orator ; — QiodiduKToc. 
 — Persuasion hung upon his lips, and the elements of 
 Logick and Rhetorick were so blended up in him, — 
 and, withal, he had so shrewd a guess at the weak- 
 nesses and passions of his respondent, that Nature 
 
 might have stood up and said, — " This man is elo- 
 quent." — In short, whether he was on the weak or 
 the strong side of the question, 'twas hazardous in 
 either case to attack him. — And yet, 'tis strange, he 
 had never read Cicero^ nor Qu'tntUian de Oratore, nor 
 Isocrates, nor Aristotle, nor Longinus amongst the 
 antients ; — nor Fossius, nor Sk'ioppius, nor Ramus, nor 
 Farnahy amongst the moderns ; — and what is more 
 astonishing, he had never in his whole life the least 
 light or spark of subtilty struck into his mind, by one 
 single lecture upon Crachnthorp or Burger sdicius, or 
 any Dutch logician or commentator ; — he knew not 
 so much as in what the difference of an argument ad 
 ignorantiam, and an argument ad hominem consisted ; 
 so that I well remember, when he went up along with
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 57 
 
 me to enter my name at Jesus College in * * * *, — it 
 was a matter of just wonder with my worthy tutor, 
 and two or three fellows of that learned society, — 
 that a man who knew not so much as the names of 
 his tools, should be able to work after that fashion 
 with them. 
 
 To work with them in the best manner he could, 
 was what my father was, however, perpetually forced 
 
 upon ; for he had a thousand little sceptical notions 
 
 of the comick kind to defend most of which 
 
 notions, I verily believe, at first entered upon the 
 footing of mere whims, and of a vive la Bagatelle ; 
 and as such he would make merry with them for half 
 an hour or so, and having sharpened his wit upon 
 them, dismiss them till another day. 
 
 I mention this, not only as matter of hypothesis or 
 conjecture upon the progress and establishment of my 
 father's many odd opinions, — but as a warning to the 
 learned reader against the indiscreet reception of such 
 guests, who, after a free and undisturbed entrance, for 
 some years, into our brains, — at length claim a kind 
 
 of settlement there, working sometimes like yeast ; 
 
 — but more generally after the manner of the gentle 
 passion, beginning in jest, — but ending in downright 
 earnest. 
 
 Whether this was the case of the singularity of 
 my father's notions — or that his judgment, at length, 
 became the dupe of his wit ; — or how far, in many of 
 his notions, he might, though odd, be absolutely right ; 
 
 the reader, as he comes at them, shall decide. 
 
 All that I maintain here, is, that in this one, of the 
 influence of christian names, however it gained footing, 
 he was serious ; — he was all uniformity ; — he was syste- 
 matical, and, like all systematick reasoners, he would 
 move both heaven and earth, and twist and torture 
 every thing in nature, to support his hypothesis. In a
 
 58 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 word, I repeat it over again ; — he was serious ; — and, 
 in consequence of it, he would lose all kind of patience 
 whenever he saw people, especially of condition, who 
 should have known better, as careless and as in- 
 different about the name they imposed upon their child, 
 — or more so, than in the choice of Ponto or Cupid 
 for their puppy-dog. 
 
 This, he would say, look'd ill ; — and had, more- 
 over, this particular aggravation in it, viz.. That when 
 once a vile name was wrongfully or injudiciously 
 given, 'twas not like the case of a man's character, 
 which, when wrong'd, might hereafter be cleared ; 
 
 and, possibly, some time or other, if not in the 
 
 man's life, at least after his death, — be, somehow or 
 other, set to rights with the world : But the injury 
 of this, he would say, could never be undone ; — nay, 
 he doubted even whether an act of parliament could 
 reach it : He knew as well as you, that the legis- 
 lature assumed a power over surnames ; — but for very 
 strong reasons, which he could give, it had never yet 
 adventured, he would say, to go a step farther. 
 
 It was observable, that tho' my father, in conse- 
 quence of this opinion, had, as I have told you, the 
 strongest likings and dislikings towards certain names ; 
 — that there were still numbers of names which hung 
 so equally in the balance before him, that they were 
 absolutely indifferent to him. jfack, Dick, and Tom 
 were of this class : These my father called neutral 
 names ; — affirming of them, without a satire. That there 
 had been as many knaves and fools, at least, as wise and 
 good men, since the world began, who had indifferently 
 borne them ; — so that, like equal forces acting against 
 each other in contrary directions, he thought they mutu- 
 ally destroyed each other's effects ; for which reason, he 
 would often declare. He would not give a cherry-stone 
 to choose amongst them. Bob, which was my brother's
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 59 
 
 name, was another of these neutral kinds of christian 
 names, which operated very little either way ; and as 
 my father happen'd to be at Epsom^ when it was given 
 him, — he would oft-times thank Heaven it was no 
 worse. Andreiu was something like a negative quantity 
 in Algebra with him ; — 'twas worse, he said, than 
 
 nothing. — William stood pretty high : Numps again 
 
 was low with him : — and Nick^ he said, was the Devil. 
 
 But, of all the names in the universe, he had the 
 most unconquerable aversion for Tristram ; — he had the 
 lowest and most contemptible opinion of it of any thing 
 in the world, — thinking it could possibly produce no- 
 thing in rerum naturd^ but what was extremely mean and 
 pitiful : So that in the midst of a dispute on the subject, 
 
 in which, by the bye, he was frequently involved, 
 
 he would sometimes break off in a sudden and spirited 
 Epiphonema, or rather Erotesis, raised a third, and 
 sometimes a full fifth above the key of the discourse, 
 
 and demand it categorically of his antagonist. 
 
 Whether he would take upon him to say, he had ever 
 
 remembered, whether he had ever read, — or even 
 
 whether he had ever heard tell of a man, called Tristram^ 
 performing any thing great or worth recording ? — No, 
 — he would say, — Tristram ! — The thing is impossible. 
 
 What could be wanting in my father but to have 
 wrote a book to pubHsh this notion of his to the world ? 
 Little boots it to the subtle speculatist to stand single 
 in his opinions, — unless he gives them proper vent : — 
 It was the identical thing which my father did : — for 
 in the year sixteen, which was two years before I was 
 born, he was at the pains of writing an express Dis- 
 sertation simply upon the word Tristram^ — shewing 
 the world, with great candour and modesty, the grounds 
 of his great abhorrence to the name. 
 
 When this story is compared with the title-page, — 
 Will not the gentle reader pity my father from his soul ?
 
 6o THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 — to see an orderly and well-disposed gentleman, who 
 tho' singular, — yet inoffensive in his notions, — so played 
 
 upon in them by cross purposes ; to look down upon 
 
 the stage, and see him baffled and overthrown in all his 
 little systems and wishes ; to behold a train of events 
 perpetually falling out against him, and in so critical and 
 cruel a way, as if they had purposedly been plann'd and 
 pointed against him, merely to insult his speculations. 
 
 In a word, to behold such a one, in his old age, 
 
 ill-fitted for troubles, ten times in a day suffering sorrow ; 
 — ten times in a day calling the child of his prayers 
 Tristram! — Melancholy dissyllable of sound ! which, 
 to his ears, was unison to Nincompoops and every name 
 
 vituperative under heaven. By his ashes ! I swear 
 
 it, — if ever malignant spirit took pleasure, or busied 
 itself in traversing the purposes of mortal man, — it must 
 have been here ; — and if it was not necessary I should 
 be born before I was christened, I would this moment 
 give the reader an account of it. 
 
 How could you. Madam, be so Inattentive In 
 
 reading the last chapter ? I told you in it. That my 
 
 mother nvas not a papist. Papist ! You told me no 
 
 such thing. Sir. — Madam, I beg leave to repeat it over 
 again, that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by 
 direct inference, could tell you such a thing. — Then, 
 Sir, I must have miss'd a page. — No, Madam, — you 
 
 have not missM a word. Then I was asleep. Sir. 
 
 — My pride. Madam, cannot allow you that refuge. 
 
 Then, I declare, I know nothing at all about the 
 
 matter. — That, Madam, is the very fault I lay to your 
 charge ; and as a punishment for it, I do insist upon it,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 6i 
 
 that you Immediately turn back, that is, as soon as you 
 get to the next full stop, and read the whole chapter 
 over again. I have imposed this penance upon the 
 lady, neither out of wantonness nor cruelty ; but from 
 the best of motives ; and therefore shall make her no 
 apology for it when she returns back : — 'Tis to rebuke 
 a vicious taste, which has crept into thousands besides 
 herself, — of reading straight forwards, more in quest of 
 the adventures, than of the deep erudition and knowledge 
 which a book of this cast, if read over as it should be, 
 
 would infalHbly impart with them The mind should 
 
 be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious 
 conclusions as it goes along ; the habitude of which 
 made Pliny the younger aflirm, " That he never read a 
 book so bad, but he drew some profit from it.'' The 
 stories of Greece and Rome, run over without this turn 
 and application, — do less service, I affirm it, than the 
 history of Par'ismus and Parismenus, or of the Seven 
 Champions of England, read with it. 
 
 But here comes my fair lady. Have you read 
 
 over again the chapter. Madam, as I desired you ? — You 
 have : And did you not observe the passage, upon the 
 
 second reading, which admits the inference ? Not a 
 
 word like it ! Then, Madam, be pleased to ponder well 
 the last line but one of the chapter, where I take upon 
 me to say, " It was necessary I should be born before 
 I was christen'd." Had my mother. Madam, been a 
 Papist, that consequence did not follow.* 
 
 * The Romish Rituals direct the baptizing of the child, in 
 cases of danger, before it is born ; — but upon this proviso, That 
 some part or other of the child's body be seen by the baptizer : 
 
 But the Doctors of the Sorbonne, by a deliberation held 
 
 amongst them, Ap7~il lo, 1733, — have enlarged the powers of 
 the midwives, by determining. That though no part of the 
 child's body should appear, that baptism shall, neverthe- 
 less, be administered to it by injection, ^/ar le moyen dune 
 
 fetite canulle, — Anglice a squirt. 'Tis very strange that St 
 
 Thomas Aquinas, who had so good a mechanical head, both
 
 62 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 It is a terrible misfortune for this same book of mine, 
 but more so to the RepubHck of letters ; — so that my 
 own is quite swallowed up in the consideration of it, — ■ 
 that this self-same vile pruriency for fresh adventures 
 in all things, has got so strongly into our habit and 
 humour, — and so wholly intent are we upon satisfying 
 the impatience of our concupiscence that way, — that 
 nothing but the gross and more carnal parts of a com- 
 position will go down : — The subtle hints and sly 
 communications of science fly off, like spirits upwards, 
 
 the heavy moral escapes downwards ; and both 
 
 the one and the other are as much lost to the world, as 
 if they were still left in the bottom of the ink-horn. 
 
 I wish the male-reader has not passM by many a 
 one, as quaint and curious as this one, in which the 
 female-reader has been detected. I wish it may have 
 its effects ; — and that all good people, both male and 
 female, from her example, may be taught to think as 
 well as read. 
 
 Memoire presente a Messieurs les Docteurs de 
 
 SORBONNE.* 
 
 T J ^ Ch'irurgien Accoucheur, represente a Messieurs 
 ^<-y les Docteurs de Sorbonne, quil y a des cas, 
 quoique tres raresy ou une mere ne sqauro'it 
 accoucher, ^ meme ou V enfant est tellement renferme dans 
 le sein de sa mere, quil ne fait paroitre aucune partie de 
 son corps, ce qui sero'it un cas, suivant les R'ltuels, de lu't 
 
 for tying and untying the knots of school-divinity, — should, 
 after so much pains bestowed upon this, — give up the point 
 at last, as a second La chose impossible, — " Infantes in maternis 
 uteris existentes (quoth St Thomas!) baptizari possunt nuUo 
 modo." — O Thomas/ Thomas/ 
 
 If the reader has the curiosity to see the question upon bap- 
 tism by injection, as presented to the Doctors of the Sorbonne, 
 with their consultation thereupon, it is as follows. 
 
 * Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 3fc6.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 63 
 
 conferer, du mo'ins sous condition^ le hapteme. Le Ch'irur- 
 gien, qui consulte, pretend, par le moycn d'une petite 
 canulle, de pouvo'ir baptiser immediatement V enfant, sans 
 
 fa'tre aucun tort a la mere. // demand si ce moyen, 
 
 quil 'vient de proposer, est per mis ^ legitime, ^ s'ilpeut 
 J* en servir dans les cas quil vient d^ expos er. 
 
 R E P O N S E. 
 
 T E Conseil estime, que la question proposee souffre de 
 ./— ^ grandes difficultes. Les Theologiens posent d'un 
 cote pour principe, que le bapteme, qui est une 
 naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere naissance ; il 
 faut etre ne dans le monde, pour renaitre en Jesus Christ, 
 comme ils V enseignent. S. Thomas, 3 part, qusest. 88, 
 artic. II, suit cette doctrine comme une verite constante ; 
 Von ne peut, dit ce S, Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui sont 
 renfermes dans le sein de leurs meres, ^ S. Thomas est 
 fonde sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point nes, is" ne peu- 
 •vent etre comptes parmi les autres hommes ; d* ou il 
 conclud, quils ne peuvent etre Vohjet d^une action ex~ 
 terieure, pour recevoir par leur ministere, les sacremens 
 necessaires au salut : Pueri in maternis uteris existentes 
 nondum prodierunt in lucem ut cum aUis hominibus 
 vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni humanae, 
 ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salu- 
 tem. Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les 
 theologiens ont etabli sur les memes matieres, ^ ils 
 dependent tous d'une maniere un forme, de baptiser les 
 enfans qui sont renfermes dans le sein de leurs meres^ 
 s^ils ne font paroitre quelque partie de leurs corps. Le 
 concours des theologiens, l^ des rituels, qui sont les regies 
 des dioceses, paroit former une autorite qui termine la 
 question presente ; cependant le conseil de conscience con* 
 siderant d'un cote, que le raisonncment des theologiens est
 
 64 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 unlquement fonde sur une ra'ison de convenance, ^ que 
 la dejfmse des r'ltuels suppose que Von tie peut hapt'iser 
 immediatement les enfans a'lnsi renfermes dans le se'in de 
 leurs meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente ; ^ 
 d^un autre cote, consider ant que les memes theologiens 
 enseignenty que V on peut risquer les sacremens que Jesus 
 Christ a etablis comme des moyens faciles, mais necessaires 
 pour sanctifier les hommes ; ^ d'ailleurs estimant, que 
 les enfans renfermes dans le sein de leurs meres, pourroient 
 etre capables de salut, parcequils sont capables de damna- 
 tion ; — pour ces considerations, ^ en egard a V expose, 
 suivant lequel on assure avoir trouve un moyen certain de 
 laptiser ces enfans ainsi renfermes, sans fair e aucun tort 
 a la mere, le Conseil estime que Von pourroit se servir du 
 moyen propose, dans la conflance quil a, que Dieu n a 
 point laisse ces sortes d* enfans sans aucuns secours, ^ 
 supposant, comme il est expose, que le moyen dont il s^agit 
 est propre a leur procurer le bapteme ; cependant comme il 
 s'agiroit, en autorisant la pratique proposee, de changer 
 une regie universellement etablie, le Conseil croit que celui 
 qui consult e doit s* addresser a son eve que, ^ a qui 
 il appartient de juger de Vutilite, ^ du danger du moyen 
 propose, ^ comme, sous le bon plaisir de Veveque, le 
 Conseil estime quil faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le 
 droit d'expliquer les regies de Veglise, ^ d'y deroger 
 dans le cas, ou la loi ne scauroit obliger, quelque sage ^ 
 quelque utile que paroisse la maniere de baptiser dont il 
 s'agit, le Conseil ne pourroit V approuver sans le concours 
 de ces deux autorites. On conseile au moins a celui qui 
 consulte, de s* addresser a son eveque, ^ de hi fair e part 
 de la presente decision, afn que, si le prelat entre dans 
 les raisons sur lesquelles les docteurs soussignes s'appuyent, 
 il puisse etre autorise dans le cas de necessite, ou il 
 risqueroit trop d' attendre que la permission fut demandee 
 ^ accordee d' employer le moyen quil propose si avanta- 
 geux au salut de V enfant. Au reste, le Conseil, en
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 65 
 
 esttmant que Von pourroit s^ en servlr, croit cependant, que 
 si les enfans dont tl s^ag'tt, venoient au monde, contre 
 T esperance de ceux qui se sero'ient serais du meme moyen^ 
 il sero'tt necessaire de les baptiser sous condition ; ^ en 
 cela le Censed se conforme a tous les rituelsy qui en 
 autorisant le hapteme d'un enfant qui fait paroitre quelque 
 partie de son corps, enjoignent neantmoins, ^ ordonnent 
 de le baptiser sous condition, j-';7 vient heureusement au 
 monde. 
 
 Delibere en Sorhonne, le 10 Avril, 1733. 
 
 A. Le Moyne. 
 L. De Romigny. 
 De Marcilly. 
 
 Mr Tristram Shandy^s compliments to Messrs 
 Le Moyne, De Romigny, and De Marcilly ; hopes 
 they all rested well the night after so tiresome a 
 consultation. — He begs to know, whether after the 
 ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation, 
 the baptizing all the Homunculi at once, slapdash, by 
 injection, would not be a shorter and safer cut still ; on 
 condition, as above. That if the Homunculi do well, 
 and come safe into the world after this, that each and 
 every of them shall be baptized again [sous condition) 
 
 And provided, in the second place. That the thing 
 
 can be done, which Mr Shandy apprehends it may, 
 par le moyen d\ne petite canulle, and sans faire aucun 
 tort au pere.
 
 66 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 1 wonder what's all that noise, and running 
 
 backwards and forwards for, above stairs, quoth my 
 father, addressing himself, after an hour and a half's 
 
 silence, to my uncle Toby^ who, you must know, 
 
 was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, smoking 
 his social pipe all the time, in mute contemplation of 
 a new pair of black plush-breeches which he had got 
 on : — What can they be doing, brother ? — quoth my 
 father, — we can scarce hear ourselves talk. 
 
 I think, repHed my uncle Toby, taking his pipe from 
 his mouth, and striking the head of it two or three 
 times upon the nail of his left thumb, as he began 
 
 his sentence, 1 think, says he : But to enter 
 
 rightly into my uncle Tohf s sentiments upon this 
 matter, you must be made to enter first a little into his 
 character, the out-lines of which I shall just give you, 
 and then the dialogue between him and my father will 
 go on as well again. 
 
 Pray what was that man's name, — for I write in 
 such a hurry, I have no time to recollect or look for 
 
 it, who first made the observation, "That there 
 
 was great inconstancy in our air and climate ? " Who- 
 ever he was, 'twas a just and good observation in him. 
 — But the corollary drawn from it, namely, " That it 
 is this which has furnished us with such a variety of 
 odd and whimsical characters ; " — that was not his ; — 
 it was found out by another man, at least a century 
 and a half after him : Then again, — that this copious 
 store-house of original materials, is the true and natural 
 cause that our Comedies are so much better than those 
 of France^ or any others that either have, or can be 
 
 wrote upon the Continent : that discovery was not 
 
 fully made till about the middle of King William s reign.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 67 
 
 — when the great Dryden, in writing one of his long 
 prefaces, (if I mistake not) most fortunately hit upon 
 it. Indeed toward the latter end of Queen Anne^ the 
 great Addison began to patronize the notion, and more 
 fully explained it to the world in one or two of his 
 Spectators ; — but the discovery was not his. — Then, 
 fourthly and lastly, that this strange irregularity in our 
 climate, producing so strange an irregularity in our 
 
 characters, doth thereby, in some sort, make us 
 
 amends, by giving us somewhat to make us merry with 
 when the weather will not suffer us to go out of doors, 
 — that observation is my own ; — and was struck out by 
 me this very rainy day, March 26, 1759, and betwixt 
 the hours of nine and ten in the morning. 
 
 Thus — thus, my fellow-labourers and associates in 
 this great harvest of our learning, now ripening before 
 our eyes ; thus it is, by slow steps of casual increase, 
 that our knowledge physical, metaphysical, physiological, 
 polemical, nautical, mathematical, aenigmatical, tech- 
 nical, biographical, romantical, chemical, and obstet- 
 rical, with fifty other branches of it, (most of 'em 
 ending as these do, in /W) have for these two last 
 centuries and more, gradually been creeping upwards 
 towards that 'Ak,^// of their perfections, from which, if 
 we may form a conjecture from the advances of these 
 last seven years, we cannot possibly be far off. 
 
 When that happens, it is to be hoped, it will put an 
 end to all kind of writings whatsover ; — the want of all 
 kind of writing will put an end to all kind of reading ; 
 — and that in time. As avar begets poverty ; poverty peace, 
 must, in course, put an end to all kind of know- 
 ledge, — and then we shall have all to begin over 
 
 again ; or, in other words, be exactly where we started. 
 
 Happy ! thrice happy times ! I only wish 
 
 that the sera of my begetting, as well as the mode and 
 manner of it, had been a little alter'd, or that it
 
 68 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 could have been put off, with any convenience to my 
 father or mother, for some twenty or five-and-twenty 
 years longer, when a man in the literary world might 
 have stood some chance. 
 
 But I forget my uncle Toby^ whom all this while we 
 have left knocking the ashes out of his tobacco-pipe. 
 
 His humour was of that particular species, which 
 does honour to our atmosphere ; and I should have 
 made no scruple of ranking him amongst one of the first- 
 rate productions of it, had not there appeared too many 
 strong lines in it of a family-likeness, which shewed that 
 he derived the singularity of his temper more from 
 blood, than either wind or water, or any modifications 
 or combinations of them whatever : And I have, there- 
 fore, oft-times wondered, that my father, tho' I believe 
 he had his reasons for it, upon his observing some tokens 
 of eccentricity, in my coui'se, when I was a boy, — should 
 never once endeavour to account for them in this way : 
 for all the Shandy Family were of an original character 
 
 throughout : 1 mean the males, — the females had no 
 
 character at all, — except, indeed, my great aunt Dinah, 
 who, about sixty years ago, was married and got with 
 child by the coachman, for which my father, accord- 
 ing to his hypothesis of christian names, would often say. 
 She might thank her godfathers and godmothers. 
 
 It will seem very strange, and I would as soon 
 
 think of dropping a riddle in the reader's way, which is 
 not my interest to do, as set him upon guessing how it 
 could come to pass, that an event of this kind, so many 
 years after it had happened, should be reserved for the 
 interruption of the peace and unity, which otherwise 
 so cordially subsisted, between my father and my uncle 
 Toby, One would have thought, that the whole force of 
 the misfortune should have spent and wasted itself in the 
 family at first, — as is generally the case. — But nothing 
 ever wrought with our family after the ordinary way.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 69 
 
 Possibly at the very time this happened, it might have 
 something else to afHict it ; and as afflictions are sent 
 down for our good, and that as this had never dene the 
 Shandy Family any good at all, it might lie waiting till 
 apt times and circumstances should give it an oppor- 
 tunity to discharge its office. Observe, I determine 
 
 nothing upon this. My v/ay is ever to point out to 
 
 the curious, different tracts of investigation, to come at 
 the first springs of the events I tell ; — not with a pedantic 
 Fescue^ — or in the decisive manner of Tacitus, v/ho 
 outwits himself and his reader ; — but with the officious 
 humility of a heart devoted to the assistance merely of 
 
 the inquisitive ; — to them I write, and by them I 
 
 shall be read, if any such reading as this could be 
 
 supposed to hold out so long, — to the very end of the 
 world. 
 
 Why this cause of sorrow, therefore, was thus reserved 
 for my father and uncle, is undetermined by me. But 
 how and in what direction it exerted itself so as to 
 become the cause of dissatisfaction between them, after 
 it began to operate, is what I am able to explain with 
 great exactness, and is as follows : 
 
 My uncle Toby Shandy, Madam, was a gentleman, 
 who, with the virtues v.'^hich usually constitute the 
 character of a man of honour and rectitude, pos- 
 sessed one in a very eminent degree, which is seldom 
 or never put into the catalogue ; and that was a most 
 
 extreme and unparalleled modesty of nature ; 
 
 though I correct the word nature, for this reason, that 
 I may not prejudge a point which must shortly come 
 to a hearing, and that is. Whether this modesty of his 
 
 was natural or acquired. Whichever way my uncle 
 
 Tohy came by it, 'twas nevertheless modesty in the 
 truest sense of it ; and that is. Madam, not in regard 
 to words, for he was so unhappy as to have very little 
 -but to thinos ; and this kind of
 
 70 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 modesty so possessed him, and it arose to such a height 
 in him, as almost to equal, if such a thing could be, 
 even the modesty of a woman : That female nicety. 
 Madam, and inward cleanliness of mind and fancy, in 
 your sex, which makes you so much the awe of ours. 
 
 You will imagine. Madam, that my uncle Toby had 
 contracted all this from this very source ; — that he had 
 spent a great part of his time in converse with your 
 sex ; and that from a thorough knowledge of you, and 
 the force of imitation which such fair examples render 
 irresistible, he had acquired this amiable turn of mind. 
 
 I wish I could say so, — for unless it was with his 
 
 sister-in-law, my father*s wife and my mother my 
 
 uncle Toby scarce exchanged three words with the sex 
 
 in as many years ; no, he got it. Madam, by a 
 
 blow. A blow ! — Yes, Madam, it was owing to a 
 
 blow from a stone, broke off by a ball from the para- 
 pet of a horn- work at the siege of Namur^ which 
 struck full upon my uncle Toby's groin. — Which way 
 could that effect it ? The story of that, Madam, is 
 long and interesting ; — but it would be running my 
 
 history all upon heaps to give it you here. 'Tis for 
 
 an episode hereafter ; and every circumstance relating 
 to it, in its proper place, shall be faithfully laid before 
 you : — 'Till then, it is not in my power to give farther 
 light into this matter, or say more than what I have 
 
 said already, That my uncle Toby was a gentleman 
 
 of unparallel'd modesty, which happening to be some- 
 what subtilized and rarified by the constant heat of a 
 
 little family pride, they both so wrought together 
 
 within him, that he could never bear to hear the affair 
 of my aunt Dinah touched upon, but with the greatest 
 
 emotion. The least hint of it was enough to make 
 
 the blood fly into his face ; — but when my father 
 enlarged upon the story in mixed companies, which the 
 illustration of his hypothesis frequently obliged him to
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 7 1 
 
 do, — the unfortunate blight of one of the fairest 
 branches of the family, would set my uncle Tohy s 
 honour and modesty o' bleeding ; and he would often 
 take my father aside, in the greatest concern imagin- 
 able, to expostulate and tell him, he would give him 
 any thing in the world, only to let the story rest. 
 
 My father, I believe, had the truest love and tender- 
 ness for my uncle Tohy^ that ever one brother bore 
 towards another, and would have done any thing in 
 nature, which one brother in reason could have desir'd 
 of another, to have made my uncle Tohy s heart easy 
 in this, or any other point. But this lay out of his 
 power. 
 
 My father, as I told you, was a philosopher in 
 
 grain, — speculative, — systematical ; — and my aunt 
 Dinah*s affair was a matter of as much consequence to 
 him, as the retrogradation of the planets to Copernicus : 
 — The backslidings of Venus in her orbit fortified the 
 Copernican system, called so after his name ; and the 
 backslidings of my aunt Dinah in her orbit, did the 
 same service in establishing my father's system, which, 
 I trust, will for ever hereafter be called the Shandean 
 System, after his. 
 
 In any other family dishonour, my father, I believe, 
 had as nice a sense of shame as any man whatever ; 
 
 and neither he, nor, I dare say, Copenucusy would 
 
 have divulged the affair in either case, or have taken 
 the least notice of it to the world, but for the obliga- 
 tions they owed, as they thought, to truth. — Amicus 
 PlatOy my father would say, construing the words to 
 my uncle Tohy, as he went along, Amicus Plato ; that 
 
 is, Dinah was my aunt ; — sed magis amica Veritas 
 
 but Truth is my sister. 
 
 This contrariety of humours betwixt my father, and 
 my uncle, was the source of many a fraternal squabble. 
 The one could not bear to hear the tale of family
 
 72 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 disgrace recorded, and the other would scarce ever 
 
 let a day pass to an end without some hint at it. 
 
 For God's sake, my uncle Toby would cry, and 
 
 for my sake, and for all our sakes, my dear brother 
 Shandy, — do let this story of our aunt's and her ashes 
 
 sleep in peace ; how can you, how can you 
 
 have so little feeling and compassion for the character 
 
 of our family ? What is the character of a family 
 
 to an hypothesis ? my father would reply. Nay, if 
 
 you come to that — what is the life of a family ? The 
 
 life of a family ! — my uncle Toby would say, throwing 
 himself back in his arm chair, and lifting up his hands, 
 
 his eyes, and one leg. Yes, the life, my father 
 
 would say, maintaining his point. How many thousands 
 of 'em are there every year that come cast away, (in 
 
 all civilized countries at least) and considered as 
 
 nothing but common air, in competition of an hypothesis. 
 In my plain sense of things, my uncle Toby would 
 
 answer, every such instance is downright Murder, 
 
 let who will commit it. There lies your mistake, 
 
 my father would reply ; -for, in Foro Scientia there 
 
 is no such thing as Murder, 'tis only Death, 
 
 brother. 
 
 My uncle Toby would never offer to answer this by 
 any other kind of argument, than that of whistling half 
 
 a dozen bars of Lillebullero. You must know it was 
 
 the usual channel thro' which his passions got vent, 
 
 when any thing shocked or surprized him : but 
 
 especially when any thing, which he deem'd very 
 absurd, was offered. 
 
 As not one of our logical writers, nor any of the 
 commentators upon them, that I remember, have 
 thought proper to give a name to this particular species 
 of argument, — I here take the liberty to do it myself, 
 for two reasons. First, That, in order to prevent all 
 confusion in disputes, it may stand as much distinguished
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 73 
 
 for ever, from every other species of argument- 
 
 as the Argumentum ad Verecundiam, ex Absurdo, ex 
 
 Fortiori, or any other argument whatsoever ; 
 
 And, secondly, That it may be said by my children's 
 
 children, when my head is laid to rest, that their 
 
 learn'd grandfather's head had been busied to as much 
 purpose once, as other people's ; — That he had in- 
 vented a name, — and generously thrown it into the 
 Treasury of the Ars Logica, for one of the most 
 unanswerable arguments in the whole science. And, 
 if the end of disputation is more to silence than con- 
 vince, — they may add, if they please, to one of the 
 best arguments too. 
 
 I do therefore, by these presents, strictly order and 
 command, That it be known and distinguished by the 
 name and title of the Argumentum Fistulaiorium, and no 
 other ; — and that it rank hereafter with the Argumentum 
 Baculinum and the Argumentum ad Crumenam, and for 
 ever hereafter be treated of in the same chapter. 
 
 As for the Argumentum Tripodium, which is never 
 used but by the woman against the man ; — and the 
 Argumentum ad Rem, which, contrary wise, is made 
 use of by the man only against the woman ; — As these 
 
 two are enough in conscience for one lecture ; and, 
 
 moreover, as the one is the best answer to the other, 
 — let them likewise be kept apart, and be treated of 
 in a place by themselves. 
 
 Chapter j:pii» 
 
 THE learned Bishop Hall, I mean the famous Dr 
 Joseph Hall, who was Bishop of Exeter in 
 King James the First's reign, tells us in one of 
 his Decads, at the end ot his divine art of meditation,
 
 74 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 imprinted at London^ in the year 1610, by John Bealy 
 dwelling in Aldersgate-street, "That it is an abomin- 
 able thing for a man to commend himself; " and 
 
 I really think it is so. 
 
 And yet, on the other hand, when a thing is exe- 
 cuted in a masterly kind of a fashion, which thing is 
 not likely to be found out ; — I think it is full as 
 abominable, that a man should lose the honour of it, 
 and go out of the world with the conceit of it rotting 
 in his head. 
 
 This is precisely my situation. 
 
 For in this long digression which I was accidentally 
 led into, as in all my digressions (one only excepted) 
 there is a master-stroke of digressive skill, the merit 
 of which has all along, I fear, been overlooked by my 
 reader, — not for want of penetration in him, — but 
 because 'tis an excellence seldom looked for, or ex- 
 pected indeed, in a digression ; — and it is this : That 
 tho' my digressions are all fair, as you observe, — and 
 that I fly off from what I am about, as far, and as 
 often too, as any writer in Great Britain ; yet I con- 
 stantly take care to order affairs so that my main 
 business does not stand still in my absence. 
 
 I was just going, for example, to have given you 
 the great out-lines of my uncle Tohy s most whimsical 
 character ; — when my aunt Dinah and the coachman 
 came across us, and led us a vagary some millions of 
 miles into the very heart of the planetary system : Not- 
 withstanding all this, you perceive that the drawing 
 of my uncle Tobys character went on gently all the 
 time ; — not the great contours of it, — that was impos- 
 sible, — but some familiar strokes and faint designations 
 of it, were here and there touch'd on, as we went 
 along, so that you are much better acquainted with my 
 uncle Toby now than you was before. 
 
 By this contrivance the machinery of my work is of
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 75 
 
 a species by itself; two contrary motions are intro- 
 duced into it, and reconciled, which were thought to 
 be at variance with each other. In a word, my work 
 is digressive, and it is progressive too, — and at the same 
 time. 
 
 This, Sir, is a very different story from that of the 
 earth's moving round her axis, in her diurnal rotation, 
 with her progress in her elliptick orbit which brings 
 about the year, and constitutes that variety and vicissi- 
 tude of seasons we enjoy ; — though I own it suggested 
 the thought, — as I believe the greatest of our boasted 
 improvements and discoveries have come from such 
 trifling hints. 
 
 Digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine ; 
 
 they are the life, the soul of reading ! — take them out 
 of this book, for instance, — you might as well take the 
 book along with them ; — one cold eternal winter would 
 reign in every page of it ; restore them to the writer ; 
 — he steps forth like a bridegroom, — bids All-hail ; 
 brings in variety, and forbids the appetite to fail. 
 
 All the dexterity is in the good cookery and 
 management of them, so as to be not only for the 
 advantage of the reader, but also of the author, whose 
 distress, in this matter, is trulv pitiable: For, if he 
 begins a digression, — from that moment, I observe, his 
 whole work stands stock still ; — and if he goes on with 
 his main work, — then there is an end of his digression. 
 
 This is vile work. — For which reason, from 
 
 the beginning of this, you see, I have constructed the 
 main work and the adventitious parts of it with such 
 intersections, and have so complicated and involved 
 the digressive and progressive movements, one wheel 
 within another, that the whole machine, in general, 
 has been kept a-going ; — and, what's more, it shall be 
 kept a-going these forty years, if it pleases the fountain 
 of health to bless me so long with life and good spirits.
 
 76 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 1HAVE a strong propensity in me to begin this 
 chapter very nonsensically, and I will not baulk 
 my fancy. — Accordingly I set off thus : 
 
 If the fixture of Momus's glass in the human breast, 
 according to the proposed emendation of that arch- 
 critick, had taken place, first, This foolish conse- 
 quence would certainly have followed, — That the very 
 wisest and very gravest of us all, in one coin or other, 
 must have paid window-money every day of our lives. 
 
 And, secondly, That had the said glass been there 
 set up, nothing more would have been wanting, in order 
 to have taken a man's character, but to have taken a 
 chair and gone softly, as you would to a dioptrical bee- 
 hive, and looked in, — view'd the soul stark naked ; — 
 observed all her motions, — her machinations ; — traced 
 all her maggots from their first engendering to their 
 crawling forth ; — watched her loose in her frisks, her 
 gambols, her capricios ; and after some notice of her 
 more solemn deportment, consequent upon such frisks, 
 
 &c. then taken your pen and ink and set down 
 
 nothing but what you had seen, and could have sworn 
 to : — But this is an advantage not to be had by the 
 biographer in this planet ; — in the planet Mercury 
 
 (belike) it may be so, if not better still for him ; 
 
 for there the intense heat of the country, which is 
 proved by computators, from its vicinity to the sun, to 
 be more than equal to that of red-hot iron, — must, I 
 think, long ago have vitrified the bodies of the in- 
 habitants, (as the eflRcient cause) to suit them for 
 the cHmate (which is the final cause ;) so that betwixt 
 them both, all the tenements of their souls, from top to 
 bottom, may be nothing else, for aught the soundest 
 philosophy can shew to the contrary, but one fine trans-
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 77 
 
 parent body of clear glass (bating the umbilical knot) 
 — so that, till the inhabitants grow old and tolerably 
 wrinkled, whereby the rays of light, in passing through 
 
 them, become so monstrously refracted, or return 
 
 reflected from their surfaces in such transverse lines to 
 the eye, that a man cannot be seen through ; — his soul 
 might as well, unless for mere ceremony, or the trifling 
 advantage which the umbilical point gave her, — might, 
 upon all other accounts, I say, as well play the fool out 
 o'doors as in her own house. 
 
 But this, as I said above, is not the case of the in- 
 habitants of this earth ; — our minds shine not through 
 the body, but are wrapt up here in a dark covering of 
 uncrystalized flesh and blood ; so that, if we would 
 come to the specific characters of them, we must go 
 some other way to work. 
 
 Many, in good truth, are the ways, which human 
 wit has been forced to take, to do this thing with 
 exactness. 
 
 Some, for instance, draw all their characters with 
 wind-instruments. — Virgil takes notice of that way in 
 the affair of Dido and JEneas ; — but it is as fallacious 
 as the breath of fame ; — and, moreover, bespeaks a 
 narrow genius. I am not ignorant that the Italians 
 pretend to a mathematical exactness in their designa- 
 tions of one particular sort of character among them, 
 from the forie or piano of a certain wind-instrument 
 they use, — which they say is infallible. — I dare not 
 mention the name of the instrument in this place ; 
 — 'tis sufficient we have it amongst us, — but never 
 think of making a drawing by it ; — this is aenigmatical, 
 and intended to be so, at least ad populiim : — And 
 therefore, I beg, Madam, when you come here, that 
 you read on as fast as you can, and never stop to make 
 any inquiry about it. 
 
 There are others again, who will draw a man's
 
 78 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 character from no other helps in the world, but merely 
 from his evacuations ; — but this often gives a very- 
 incorrect outline, — unless, indeed, you take a sketch of 
 his repletions too ; and by correcting one drawing from 
 the other, compound one good figure out of them both. 
 
 I should have no objection to this method, but that 
 I think it must smell too strong of the lamp, — and be 
 render'd still more operose, by forcing you to have 
 
 an eye to the rest of his Non-naturals. Why the 
 
 most natural actions of a man's life should be called his 
 Non-naturals, — is another question. 
 
 There are others, fourthly, who disdain every one 
 of these expedients ; — not from any fertility of their 
 own, but from the various ways of doing it, which they 
 have borrowed from the honourable devices which the 
 Pentagraphic Brethren* of the brush have shewn in 
 taking copies. — These, you must know, are your great 
 historians. 
 
 One of these you will see drawing a full-length 
 character against the light ; — that's illiberal, — dishonest, 
 — and hard upon the character of the man who sits. 
 
 Others, to mend the matter, will make a drawing of 
 you in the Camera ; — that is most unfair of all, — 
 because, there you are sure to be represented in some 
 of your most ridiculous attitudes. 
 
 To avoid all and every one of these errors in giving 
 you my uncle Toby's character, I am determined to 
 
 draw it by no mechanical help whatever ; nor shall 
 
 my pencil be guided by any one wind-instrument which 
 ever was blown upon, either on this, or on the other 
 side of the ^Ips ; — nor will I consider either his 
 repletions or his discharges, — or touch upon his Non- 
 naturals ; — but, in a word, I will draw my uncle Toby's 
 character from his Hobby-Horse. 
 
 * Pentagraph, an instrument to copy Prints and Pictures 
 mechanically, and in any proportion.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 79 
 
 Chapter vvi'o* 
 
 IF I was not morally sure that the reader must be 
 out of all patience for my uncle Toby's character, 
 
 1 would here previously have convinced him 
 
 that there is no instrument so fit to draw such a thing 
 with, as that which I have pitch'd upon. 
 
 A man and his Hobby-Horse, tho' I cannot say 
 that they act and re-act exactly after the same manner 
 in which the soul and body do upon each other : Yet 
 doubtless there is a communication between them of 
 some kind ; and my opinion rather is, that there is 
 something in it more of the manner of electrified bodies, 
 — and that, by means of the heated parts of the rider, 
 which come immediately into contact with the back of 
 the Hobby -Horse, — by long journeys and much fric- 
 tion, it so happens, that the body of the rider is at 
 length fill'd as full of Hobby-Horsical matter as it can 
 hold ; so that if you are able to give but a clear de- 
 scription of the nature of the one, you may form a pretty 
 exact notion of the genius and character of the other. 
 
 Now the Hobby-Horse which my uncle Toby 
 always rode upon, was in my opinion an Hobby-Horse 
 well worth giving a description of, if it was only upon 
 the score of his great singularity ; — for you might 
 have tiavelled from 2"ori to Dover, — from Dover to 
 Penzance in Corniva/l, and from Penzance to Tori 
 back again, and not have seen such another upon the 
 road ; or if you had seen such a one, whatever haste 
 you had been in, you must infallibly have stopp'd to 
 have taken a view of him. Indeed, the gait and 
 figure of him was so strange, and so utterly unlike was 
 he, from his head to his tail, to any one of the whole 
 species, that it was now and then made a matter of 
 
 dispute, whether he was really a Hobby-Horse or 
 
 no : but as the Philosopher would use no other argu-
 
 8o THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 ment to the Sceptic, who disputed with him against the 
 reahty of motion, save that of rising up upon his legs, 
 and walking across the room ; — so would my uncle 
 Toby use no other argument to prove his Hobby-Horse 
 was a HoBBY-HoRSE indeed, but by getting upon his 
 back and riding him about ; — leaving the world, after 
 that, to determine the point as it thought fit. 
 
 In good truth, my uncle Toby mounted him with so 
 much pleasure, and he carried my uncle Toby so well, 
 
 that he troubled his head very little with what 
 
 the world either said or thought about it. 
 
 It is now high time, however, that I give you a 
 description of him : — But to go on regularly, I only 
 beg you will give me leave to acquaint you first, how 
 my uncle Toby came by him. 
 
 Chapter jiy:^* 
 
 THE wound in my uncle Tobys groin, which he 
 received at the siege of Namur^ rendering him 
 unfit for the service, it was thought expedient 
 he should return to England, in order, if possible, to be 
 set to rights. 
 
 He was four years totally confined, — part of it to 
 his bed, and all of it to his room : and in the course of 
 his cure, which was all that time in hand, suffered un- 
 speakable miseries, — owing to a succession of exfolia- 
 tions from the os pubis, and the outward edge of that 
 
 part of the coxendlx called the os lU'ium, both which 
 
 bones were dismally crush'd, as much by the irregularity 
 of the stone, which I told you was broke oif the para- 
 pet, — as by its size, — (tho' it was pretty large) which 
 inclined the surgeon all along to think, that the great 
 injury which it had done my uncle Toby's groin, was 
 more owing to the gravity of the stone itself, than to
 
 'V_y Uncle Toby.
 
 OF TRISTRAxM SHANDY. 8 1 
 
 the projectile force of it, — which he would often tell 
 him was a great happiness. 
 
 My father at that time was just beginning business 
 in London^ and had taken a house ; — and as the truest 
 friendship and cordiality subsisted between the two 
 brothers, — and that my father thought my uncle Toby 
 could no where be so well nursed and taken care of as in 
 his own house, he assigned him the very best apart- 
 ment in it. — And what was a much more sincere mark 
 of his affection still, he would never suffer a friend or an 
 acquaintance to step into the house on any occasion, but 
 he would take him by the hand, and lead him up stairs 
 to see his brother Tohy^ and chat an hour by his bedside. 
 
 The history of a soldier's wound beguiles the pain of 
 it ; — my uncle's visitors at least thought so, and in their 
 daily calls upon him, from the courtesy arising out of 
 that belief, they would frequently turn the discourse to 
 that subject, — and from that subject the discourse would 
 generally roll on to the siege itself. 
 
 These conversations were infinitely kind ; and my 
 uncle Toby received great relief from them, and would 
 have received much more, but that they brought him into 
 some unforeseen perplexities, which, for three months 
 together, retarded his cure greatly ; and if he had not 
 hit upon an expedient to extricate himself out of them, 
 I verily believe they would have laid him in his grave. 
 
 What these perplexities of my uncle Toby were, 
 
 'tis impossible for you to guess ; — if you could, — I should 
 blush ; not as a relation, — not as a man, — nor even as 
 a woman, — but I should blush as an author ; inasmuch as 
 I set no small store by myself upon this very account, that 
 my reader has never yet been able to guess at any thing. 
 And in this. Sir, I am of so nice and singular a humour, 
 that if I thought you was able to form the least judgment 
 or probable conjecture to yourself, of what was to come 
 in the next page, — I would tear it out of my book. 
 
 I. F
 
 BOOK IL 
 Cljaptcr u 
 
 1HA VE begun a new book, on purpose that I might 
 have room enough to explain the nature of the per- 
 plexities in which my uncle Toby was involved, 
 from the many discourses and interrogations about the 
 siege of Namur, where he received his wound. 
 
 I must remind the reader, in case he has read the 
 history of King William s wars, — but if he has not, — I 
 then inform him, that one of the most memorable attacks 
 in that siege, was that which was made by the English 
 and Dutch upon the point of the advanced counterscarp, 
 between the gate of St Nicolas^ which inclosed the great 
 sluice or water-stop, where the English were terribly ex- 
 posed to the shot of the counter-guard and demi-bastion 
 of St Roch : The issue of which hot dispute, in three 
 words, was this ; That the Dutch lodged themselves upon 
 the counter- guard, — and that the English made them- 
 selves masters of the covered-way before St Nicholas- 
 gate, notwithstanding the gallantry of the French officers, 
 who exposed themselves upon the glacis sword in hand. 
 
 As this was the principal attack of which my uncle 
 
 Toby was an eye-witness at Namur^ the army of 
 
 the besiegers being cut off, by the confluence of the 
 Maes and Sambre, from seeing much of each other's 
 
 operations, my uncle Toby was generally more 
 
 eloquent and particular in his account of it ; and the
 
 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. S3 
 
 many perplexities he was in, arose out of the almost 
 insurmountable difficulties he found in telling his story 
 intelligibly, and giving such clear ideas of the differ- 
 ences and distinctions between the scarp and counter- 
 scarp, — the glacis and covered-way, — the half-moon 
 and ravelin, — as to make his company fully comprehend 
 where and what he was about. 
 
 Writers themselves are too apt to confound these 
 terms ; so that you will the less wonder, if in his en- 
 deavours to explain them, and in opposition to many 
 misconceptions, that my uncle Toby did oft-times puzzle 
 his visitors, and sometimes himself too. 
 
 To speak the truth, unless the company my father led up 
 stairs were tolerably clear-headed, or my uncle Toby was 
 in one of his explanatory moods, 'twas a difficult thing, do 
 what he could, to keep the discourse free from obscurity. 
 
 What rendered the account of this affair the more 
 intricate to my uncle Toby, was this, — that in the attack 
 of the counterscarp, before the gate of St Nicolas, ex- 
 tending itself from the bank of the Maes, quite up to the 
 great water-stop, — the ground was cut and cross cut 
 with such a multitude of dykes, drains, rivulets, and 
 sluices, on all sides, — and he would get so sadly be- 
 wildered, and set fast amongst them, that frequently he 
 could neither get backwards or forwards to save his life ; 
 and was oft-times obliged to give up the attack upon that 
 very account only. 
 
 These perplexing rebuffs gave my uncle Toby Shanciy 
 more perturbations than you would imagine : and as 
 my father's kindness to him was continually dragging up 
 
 fresh friends and fresh enquirers, he had but a very 
 
 uneasy task of it. 
 
 No doubt my uncle Toby had great command of him- 
 self, — and could guard appearances, I believe, as well as 
 most men ; — yet any one may imagine, that when he 
 could not retreat out of the ravelin without getting into
 
 84 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 the half-moon, or get out of the covered-way without 
 falling down the counterscarp, nor cross the dyke with- 
 out danger of slipping into the ditch, but that he must 
 have fretted and fumed inwardly : — He did so ; — and 
 the little and hourly vexations, which may seem trifling 
 and of no account to the man who has not read Hippo- 
 crates, yet, whoever has read Hippocrates, or Dr James 
 Mackenzie, and has considered well the effects which 
 the passions and affections of the mind have upon the 
 digestion — (Why not of a wound as well as of a 
 dinner ?) — may easily conceive what sharp paroxysms 
 and exacerbations of his wound my uncle Toby must 
 have undergone upon that score only. 
 
 — My uncle Toby could not philosophize upon it ; — 
 'twas enough he felt it was so, — and having sustained 
 the pain and sorrows of it for three months together, he 
 was resolved some way or other to extricate himself. 
 
 He was one morning lying upon his back in his bed, 
 the anguish and nature of the wound upon his groin 
 sufi^ering him to lie in no other position, when a thought 
 came into his head, that if he could purchase such a 
 thing, and have it pasted down upon a board, as a large 
 map of the fortification of the town and citadel of Namur, 
 with its environs, it might be a means of giving him ease. 
 — I take notice of his desire to have the environs along 
 with the town and citadel, for this reason, — because my 
 uncle Toby's wound was got in one of the traverses, 
 about thirty toises from the returning angle of the trench, 
 opposite to the salient angle of the demi-bastion of St 
 
 Rock : so that he was pretty confident he could stick 
 
 a pin upon the identical spot of ground where he was 
 standing on when the stone struck him. 
 
 All this succeeded to his wishes, and not only freed 
 him from a world of sad explanations, but, in the end, it 
 proved the happy means, as you will read, of procuring 
 my uncle Toby his Hobby-Horse.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 85 
 
 Cl^apter iu 
 
 THERE is nothing so foolish, when you are at the 
 expence of making an entertainment of this kind, 
 as to order things bO badly, as to let your criticks 
 and gentry of refined taste run it down : Nor is there 
 any thing 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 wa}'-, as if there was no such thing as a 
 critick (by occupation) at table. 
 
 1 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 
 1 beg only you will make no strangers of your- 
 selves, but sit down without any ceremony, 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 occupa- 
 tion, — but by nature) that I had acquitted myself well 
 enough, I shall fill it up directly, hoping, in the mean 
 time, that I shall be able to make a great deal of more 
 room next year. 
 
 How, in the name of wonder ! could your 
 
 uncle Tol^yy 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. 
 
 So, Sir Ciitick, I could have replied ; but I scorn 
 it. — 'Tis language unurbane, — and only befitting the 
 man who cannot give clear and satisfactory accounts of
 
 86 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 things, or dive deep enough into the first causes of human 
 ignorance and confusion. It is moreover the reply 
 valiant — and therefore I reject it : for tho' it might 
 have suited my uncle Toly s character as a soldier excel- 
 lently well, — and had he not accustomed himself, in 
 such attacks, to whistle the Lillabttllero, as he wanted no 
 courage, 'tis the very answer he would have given ; yet it 
 would by no means have done 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 meta- 
 phors, are erudite, — and that I must sustain my character 
 properly, and contrast it properly too, — else 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. 
 
 Therefore I answer thus : 
 
 Pray, Sir, in all the reading which you have ever 
 read, did you ever read such a book as Lockers 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 in- 
 struct, I will tell you in three words what the book is. 
 — It is a history. — A history ! ot who ? what ? where ? 
 when ? 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. 
 
 But this by the way. 
 
 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. 
 
 Dull organs, dear Sir, in the first place. Secondly,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 87 
 
 slight and transient impressions made by the objects, 
 when the said organs are not dull. And thirdly, a 
 memory like unto a sieve, not able to retain what it has 
 received. — Call down Dolly your chamber-maid, and I 
 will give you my cap and bell along with it, if I make 
 not this matter so plain that Dolly herself should under- 
 stand it as well as MaWranch. 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 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. Very well. 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. 
 
 Now you must understand that not one of these was 
 the true cause of the confusion in my uncle Tohy s dis- 
 course ; 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. 
 
 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 per- 
 plexed the clearest and most exalted understandings.
 
 88 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 It is ten to one (at Arthur s) whether you have ever 
 read the Hterary 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 ! when thou hast weighed all this, 
 and considered within thyself how much of thy own 
 knowledge, discourse, and conversation has been pes- 
 tered and disordered, at one time or other, by this, and 
 this only : — What a pudder and racket in Councils 
 about obaia and VTrooraaig ; 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 j his life 
 was put in jeopardy by words. 
 
 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.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 89 
 
 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 Goheslus'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^ &c., and give his visitors as dis- 
 tinct 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. 
 
 But desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, 
 increases ever with the acquisition of it. The more 
 ray 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 be- 
 fiddled. 
 
 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 demoli- 
 tions, their improvements, and new works, all which 
 he would read with that intense application and delight,
 
 90 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 that he would forget himself, his wound, his confinement, 
 his dinner. 
 
 In the second year my uncle Toby purchased Ramelli 
 and Cataneoy translated from the Italian ; — likewise 
 Stevlnus, Moralis^ the Chevalier de VUle^ Loriniy 
 Cochorn, Sheeter, the Count de Pagarij the Marshal 
 Vauhan^ 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. 
 
 Towards the beginning of the third year, which was 
 in August, ninety-nine, my uncle Tohy found it neces- 
 sary to understand a little of projectiles : — and having 
 judged it best to draw his knowledge from the fountain- 
 head, he began with A^. 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 A^. Tartaglia proved to my uncle Tohy to be an 
 impossible thing. 
 
 Endless is the search of Truth. 
 
 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 Maltusy and 
 studied him devoutly. — He proceeded next to Galileo 
 and Torricell'ius, 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 ! my dear 
 
 uncle Toby stop ! — go not one foot farther into 
 
 this thorny and bewildered track, — intricate are the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY, 9 1 
 
 Steps ! intricate are the mazes of this labyrinth ! 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. 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 r Alas ! 'twill 
 
 exasperate thy symptoms, — check thy perspirations — • 
 evaporate thy spirits — v/aste 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. O my uncle ! my uncle 
 
 Toby. 
 
 I WOULD not give a groat for that man's knowledge 
 in pen-craft, who does not understand this, 
 
 That the best plain narrative in the world, tacked 
 very close to the last spirited apostrophe to my uncle 
 
 Toby would have felt both cold and vapid upon 
 
 the reader's palate ; — therefore I forthwith put an end 
 to the chapter, though I was in the middle of my 
 story. 
 
 Writers of my stamp have one principle in 
 
 common with painters. Where an exact copying makes 
 our pictures less striking, we choose the less evil ; deem- 
 ing it even more pardonable to trespass against truth, 
 than beauty. This is to be understood cum grano salis; 
 but be it as it will, — as the parallel is made more for the 
 sake of letting the apostrophe cool, than any thing else, 
 — 'tis not very material whether upon any other score 
 the reader approves of it or not. 
 
 In the latter end of the third year, my uncle Toby 
 perceiving that the parameter and semi-parameter of the
 
 92 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 conic section angered his wound, he left off the study 
 of projectiles in a kind of a huff, and betook himself to 
 the practical part of fortification only ; the pleasure of 
 which, like a spring held back, returned upon him with 
 redoubled force. 
 
 It was in this year that my uncle began to break in 
 
 upon the daily regularity of a clean shirt, to dismiss 
 
 his barber unshaven, and to allow his surgeon scarce 
 
 time sufficient to dress his wound, concerning himself so 
 little about it, as not to ask him once in seven times 
 dressing, how it went on : when, lo ! — all of a sudden, 
 for the change was quick as lightning, he began to sigh 
 
 heavily for his recovery, complained to my father, 
 
 grew impatient with the surgeon ; and one morning, 
 
 as he heard his foot coming up stairs, he shut up his 
 books, and thrust aside his instruments, in order to 
 expostulate with him upon the protraction of the cure, 
 which, he told him, might surely have been accomplished 
 at least by that time : — He dwelt long upon the miseries 
 he had undergone, and the sorrows of his four years 
 
 melancholy imprisonment ; adding, that had it not 
 
 been for the kind looks and fraternal chearings of the 
 best of brothers, — he had long since sunk under his 
 
 misfortunes. My father was by : My uncle Tohy* s 
 
 eloquence brought tears into his eyes ; 'twas unex- 
 pected : My uncle Toby, by nature was not eloquent ; 
 
 — it had the greater effect : The surgeon was con- 
 founded ; not that there wanted grounds for such, 
 
 or greater marks of impatience, — but 'twas unexpected 
 too ; in the four years he had attended him, he had never 
 seen any thing hke it in my uncle Tobys carriage ; he 
 had never once dropped one fretful or discontented 
 word ; he had been all patience, — all submission. 
 
 — We lose the right of complaining sometimes by 
 forbearing it ; — but we often treble the force : — The 
 surgeon was astonished ; but much more so, when he
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 93 
 
 heard my uncle Toby go on, and peremptorily insist 
 upon his healing up the wound directly, — or sending 
 for Monsieur Ronjaty the king's serjeant-surgeon, to do 
 it for him. 
 
 The desire of life and health is implanted in man's 
 
 nature ; the love of liberty and enlargement is a 
 
 sister-passion to it : These my uncle Toby had in 
 
 common with his species ; and either of them had 
 
 been sufficient to account for his earnest desire to get 
 
 well and out of doors ; but I have told you before, 
 
 that nothing wrought with our family after the common 
 
 way ; and from the time and manner in which this 
 
 eager desire shewed itself in the present case, the pene- 
 trating reader will suspect there was some other cause 
 
 or crotchet for it in my uncle Toby s head : There 
 
 was so, and 'tis the subject of the next chapter to set 
 forth what that cause and crotchet was. I own, when 
 that's done, 'twill be time to return back to the parlour 
 fire-side, where we left my uncle Toby in the middle of 
 his sentence. 
 
 WHEN a man gives himself up to the government 
 of a ruling passion, — or, in other words, when 
 
 his HoBBY-HoRSE grows headstrong, 
 
 farewel cool reason and fair discretion ! 
 
 My uncle Toby^s wound was near well, and as soon 
 as the surgeon recovered his surprize, and could get leave 
 
 to say as much he told him, 'twas just beginning 
 
 to incarnate ; and that if no fresh exfoliation happened, 
 which there was no sign of, — it would be dried up in 
 five or six weeks. The sound of as many Olympiads, 
 twelve hours before, would have conveyed an idea of 
 shorter duration to my uncle Toby's mind. The
 
 94 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 succession of his ideas was now rapid, — he broiled 
 
 with impatience to put his design in execution ; 
 
 and so, without consulting farther with any soul living, 
 — which, by the bye, I think is right, when you are 
 
 predetermined to take no one soul's advice, he 
 
 privately ordered Trim, his man, to pack up a bundle 
 of lint and dressings, and hire a chariot-and-four to be 
 at the door exactly by twelve o'clock that day, when 
 
 he knew my father would be upon 'Change. So 
 
 leaving a bank-note upon the table for the surgeon's 
 care of him, and a letter of tender thanks for his 
 brother's — he packed up his maps, his books of forti- 
 fication, his instruments, &c., and by the help of a 
 
 crutch on one side, and Trim on the other, my 
 
 uncle Toby embarked for Shandy-Hall, 
 
 The reason, or rather the rise of this sudden demi- 
 gration was as follows : 
 
 The table in my uncle Tohy s room, and at which, 
 the night before this change happened, he was sitting 
 with his maps, &c., about him — being somewhat of the 
 smallest, for that infinity of great and small instruments 
 of knowledge which usually lay crowded upon it — he 
 had the accident, in reaching over for his tobacco- 
 box, to throw down his compasses, and in stooping to 
 take the compasses up, with his sleeve he threw down 
 his case of instruments and snuffers ; — and as the dice 
 took a run against him, in his endeavouring to catch 
 
 the snuffers in falling, he thrust Monsieur Blondel 
 
 off the table, and Count de Pagan o'top of him. 
 
 'Twas to no purpose for a man, lame as my uncle 
 Tohy was, to think of redressing these evils by himself, 
 
 — he rung his bell for his man Trim ; Trim, 
 
 quoth my uncle Tohy, prithee see what confusion I 
 have here been making — I must have some better con- 
 trivance. Trim. Can'st not thou take my rule, and 
 
 measure the length and breadth of this table, and then
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 95 
 
 go and bespeak me one as. big again ? Yes, an' 
 
 please your Honour, replied 7r/w, making a bow ; but 
 I hope your Honour will be soon well enough to get 
 down to your country-seat, where, — as your Honour 
 takes so much pleasure in fortification, we could 
 manage this matter to a T. 
 
 I must here inform you, that this servant of my 
 uncle Toby s^ who went by the name of 7r/m, had 
 been a corporal in my uncle's own company, — his real 
 name was James Butler^ — but having got the nick-name 
 of Trim in the regiment, my uncle Tohy^ unless when 
 he happened to be very angry with him, would never 
 call him by any other name. 
 
 The poor fellow had been disabled for the service, 
 by a wound on his left knee by a musket-bullet, at the 
 battle of Landen, which was two years before the affair 
 of Namur ; — and as the fellow was well-beloved in 
 the regiment, and a handy fellow into the bargain, my 
 uncle Toby took him for his servant ; and of an ex- 
 cellent use was he, attending my uncle Toby in the 
 camp and in his quarters as a valet, groom, barber, 
 cook, sempster, and nurse ; and indeed, from first to 
 last, waited upon him and served him with great fidelity 
 and affection. 
 
 My uncle Toby loved the man in return, and what 
 attached him more to him still, was the similitude of 
 
 their knowledge. For Corporal Trim, (for so, for 
 
 the future, I shall call him) by four years occasional 
 attention to his Master's discourse upon fortified towns, 
 and the advantage of prying and peeping continually 
 into his Master's plans, &c., exclusive and besides 
 what he gained Hobby- Horsically, as a body-servant, 
 
 Non Hobby Horsical per se ; had become no mean 
 
 proficient in the science ; and was thought, by the 
 cook and chamber-maid, to know as much of the 
 nature of strong-holds as my uncle Toby himself.
 
 96 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 I have but one more stroke to give to finish Corporal 
 
 Tr'wCs character, and it is the only dark line in it. 
 
 — The fellow loved to advise, — or rather to hear him- 
 self talk ; his carriage, however, was so perfectly- 
 respectful, 'twas easy to keep him silent when you had 
 him so ; but set his tongue a-going, — you had no hold 
 of him — he was voluble ; — the eternal interlardings of 
 your Honour, with the respectfulness of Corporal Trim's 
 manner, interceding so strong in behalf of his elocution, 
 — that though you might have been incommoded, 
 
 you could not well be angry. My uncle Toby 
 
 was seldom either the one or the other with him, — or, 
 at least, this fault, in Trim, broke no squares with 
 them. My uncle Toby, as I said, loved the man ; 
 
 and besides, as he ever looked upon a faithful 
 
 servant, — but as an humble friend, — he could not bear 
 to stop his mouth. Such was Corporal Trim. 
 
 If I durst presume, continued Trim, to give your 
 Honour my advice, and speak my opinion in this 
 matter. — Thou art welcome, Trim, quoth my uncle 
 
 Toby — speak, speak what thou thinkest upon the 
 
 subject, man, without fear. Why then, replied Trim, 
 (not hanging his ears and scratching his head like a 
 country- lout, but) stroking his hair back from his 
 forehead, and standing erect as before his division, 
 — I think, quoth Trim, advancing his left, which was 
 his lame leg, a little forwards, — and pointing with his 
 right hand open towards a map of Dunkirk, which was 
 pinned against the hangings, 1 think, quoth Cor- 
 poral Trim, with humble submission to your Honour's 
 
 better judgment, that these ravelins, bastions, 
 
 curtins, and hornworks, make but a poor, contemp- 
 tible, fiddle-faddle piece of work of it here upon paper, 
 compared to what your Honour and I could make of 
 it were we in the country by ourselves, and had but a 
 rood, or a rood and a half of ground to do what we
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 97 
 
 pleased with : As summer is coming on, continued 
 Trim, your Honour might sit out of doors, and give 
 me the nography — (Call it ichnography, quoth my 
 
 uncle,) of the town or citadel, your Honour was 
 
 pleased to sit down before, — and I will be shot by 
 your Honour upon the glacis of it, if I did not fortify 
 
 it to your Honour's mind 1 dare say thou would'st. 
 
 Trim, quoth my uncle. — For if your Honour, con- 
 tinued the Corporal, could but mark me the polygon, 
 with its exact lines and angles — That I could do very 
 well, quoth my uncle. — I would begin with the fosse, 
 and if your Honour could tell me the proper depth and 
 breadth — I can to a hair's breadth, Trim, replied my 
 uncle. — I would throw out the earth upon this hand 
 towards the town for the scarp, — and on that hand 
 towards the campaign for the counterscarp. — Very 
 
 right. Trim, quoth my uncle Toby : And when I 
 
 had sloped them to your mind, an' please your 
 
 Honour, I would face the glacis, as the finest forti- 
 fications are done in Flanders, with sods, -and as 
 
 your Honour knows they should be, — and I would 
 make the walls and parapets with sods too. — The best 
 engineers call them gazons. Trim, said my uncle Toby. 
 
 Whether they are gazons or sods, is not much 
 
 matter, repHed Trim ; your Honour knows they are 
 ten times beyond a facing either of brick or stone. 
 
 1 know they are. Trim, in some respects, 
 
 quoth my uncle Toby, nodding his head ; — for a 
 cannon-ball enters into the gazon right onwards, with- 
 out bringing any rubbish down with it, which might 
 fill the fosse, (as was the case at St Nicolas^ s gate) 
 and facilitate the passage over it. 
 
 Your Honour understands these matters, replied 
 Corporal Trim, better than any officer in his Majesty's 
 
 service ; but would your Honour please to let the 
 
 bespeaking of the table alone, and let us but go into the 
 
 I. G
 
 98 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 country, I would work under your Honour's direc- 
 tions like a horse, and make fortifications for you 
 something like a tansy, with all their batteries, saps, 
 ditches, and palisadoes, that it should be worth all the 
 world's riding twenty miles to go and see it. 
 
 My uncle Toly blushed as red as scarlet as Trim 
 went on ; — but it was not a blush of guilt, — of modesty, 
 — or of anger, — it was a blush of joy ; — he was fired 
 
 with Corporal Trim s project and description. 
 
 Trim ! said my uncle Tohy^ thou hast said enough. — 
 We might begin the campaign, continued Trim, on the 
 very day that his Majesty and the Allies take the field, 
 and demolish them town by town as fast as — Trim, 
 quoth my uncle Tohy, say no more. Your Honour, 
 continued Tr'im^ might sit in your arm-chair (pointing 
 to it) this fine weather, giving me your orders, and I 
 
 would Say no more. Trim, quoth my uncle Tohy 
 
 Besides, your Honour would get not only pleasure 
 
 and good pastime, — but good air, and good exercise, 
 and good health, — and your Honour's wound would be 
 well in a month. Thou hast said enough. Trim, — quoth 
 my uncle Tohy (putting his hand into his breeches- 
 pocket) 1 like thy project mightily. — And if your 
 
 Honour pleases, I'll this moment go and buy a pioneer's 
 spade to take down with us, and I'll bespeak a shovel 
 
 and a pick-axe, and a couple of Say no more, 
 
 Trim, quoth my uncle Tohy, leaping up upon one leg, 
 quite overcome with rapture, — and thrusting a guinea 
 into Tr'mis hand, — Tr'un, said my uncle Tohy, say no 
 more ; — but go down, Trim, this moment, my lad, and 
 bring up my supper this instant. 
 
 Trim ran down and brought up his master's supper, 
 
 to no purpose : — Trms plan of operation ran so 
 
 in my uncle Tobys head, he could not taste it. — Trim, 
 quoth my uncle Tohy, get me to bed. — 'Twas all one. 
 — Corporal Trms description had fired his imagination.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 99 
 
 • — my uncle Toiy could not shut his eyes. — The more 
 he considered it, the more bewitching the scene appeared 
 to him ; — so that, two full houi's before day-light, he 
 had come to a final determination, and had concerted 
 the whole plan of his and Corporal Trim's decamp- 
 ment. 
 
 My uncle Toby had a little neat country-house of 
 his own, in the village where my father's estate lay at 
 Shandy^ which had been left him by an old uncle, with 
 a small estate of about one hundred pounds a-year. 
 Behind this house, and contiguous to it, was a kitchen- 
 garden of about half an acre ; and at the bottom of the 
 garden, and cut off from it by a tall yew hedge, was a 
 bowling-green, containing just about as much ground 
 as Corporal Trim wished for ; — so that as Trim uttered 
 the words, *'A rood and a half of ground to do 
 what they would with," — this identical bowling-green 
 instantly presented itself, and became curiously painted 
 all at once, upon the retina of my uncle Tobys fancy ; 
 — which was the physical cause of making him change 
 colour, or at least of heightening his blush, to that 
 immoderate degree I spoke of. 
 
 Never did lover post down to a beloved mistress 
 with more heat and expectation, than my uncle Toby 
 did, to enjoy this self-same thing in private ; — I say in 
 private ; — for it was sheltered from the house, as I told 
 you, by a tall yew hedge, and was covered on the other 
 three sides, from mortal sight, by rough holly and 
 thick-set flowering shrubs : — so that the idea of not 
 being seen, did not a little contribute to the idea of 
 pleasure pre-conceived in my uncle Tobys mind.— 
 Vain thought ! however thick it was planted about, 
 
 or private soever it might seem, — to think, dear 
 
 uncle Toby^ of enjoying a thing which took up a whole 
 rood and a half of ground, and not have it known ! 
 
 How my uncle Toby and Corporal Trim managed
 
 lOO THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 this matter, with the history of their campaigns, 
 
 which were no way barren of events, may make no 
 
 uninteresting under-plot in the epitasis and working-up 
 of this drama. — At present the scene must drop, — and 
 change for the parlour fire- side. 
 
 Copter iju 
 
 What can they be doing, brother ? said my 
 
 father. — I think, rephed my uncle Tohy^ — taking, as 
 I told you, his pipe from his mouth, and striking the 
 
 ashes out of it as he began his sentence ; 1 think, 
 
 replied he, — it would not be amiss, brother, if we rung 
 the bell. 
 
 Pray, what's all that racket over our heads, Ohad'iah ? 
 
 quoth my father ; my brother and I can scarce 
 
 hear ourselves speak. 
 
 Sir, answered Ohad'iahy making a bow towards his 
 left shoulder, — my Mistress is taken very badly. — And 
 where's Susannah running down the garden there, as if 
 
 they were going to ravish her ? Sir, she is running 
 
 the shortest cut into the town, replied Obadiah, to fetch 
 the old midwife. — Then saddle a horse, quoth my father, 
 and do you go directly for Dr Slop, the man-midwife, 
 
 with all our services, and let him know your mistress 
 
 is fallen into labour and that I desire he will return 
 
 with you with all speed. 
 
 It is very strange, says my father, addressing himself 
 
 to my uncle 2'oby, as Obadiah shut the door, as 
 
 there is so expert an operator as Dr Slop so near, — 
 that my wife should persist to the very last in this 
 obstinate humour of hers, in trusting the life of my 
 child, who has had one misfortune already, to the 
 ignorance of an old woman j and not only the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 10 1 
 
 life of my child, brother, but her own life, and 
 
 with it the lives of all the children I might, per- 
 ad venture, have begot out of her hereafter. 
 
 Mayhap, brother, replied my uncle Toby, my sister 
 does it to save the expence : — A pudding's end, — 
 
 replied my father, the Doctor must be paid the 
 
 same for inaction as action, if not better, — to keep 
 
 him in temper. 
 
 Then it can be out of nothing in the whole 
 
 world, quoth my uncle Toby, in the simplicity of his 
 heart, — but Modesty. — My sister, I dare say, added 
 he, does not care to let a man come so near her ****. 
 I will not say whether my uncle Toby had completed 
 
 the sentence or not ; 'tis for his advantage to suppose 
 
 he had, as, I think, he could have added no One 
 
 Word which would have improved it. 
 
 If, on the contrar}^, my uncle Toby had not fully 
 arrived at the period's end, — then the world stands in- 
 debted to the sudden snapping of my father's tobacco- 
 pipe for one of the neatest examples of that ornamental 
 figure in oratory, which Rhetoricians stile the ylpo- 
 
 siopesis. Just Heaven ! how does the Poco p'lu and 
 
 the Poco meno of the Italian artists ; — the insensible 
 MORE OR LESS, determine the precise line of beauty in 
 the sentence, as well as in the statute ! How do the 
 slight touches of the chisel, the pencil, the pen, the 
 fiddle-stick, et catera, — give the true swell, which gives 
 the true pleasure ! — O my countrymen ; — be nice ; — be 
 cautious of your language ; — and never, O ! never let 
 it be forgotten upon what small particles your eloquence 
 and your fame depend. 
 
 " My sister, mayhap," quoth my uncle Toby, 
 
 " does not choose to let a man come so near her 
 ****." Make this dash, — 'tis an Aposlopesis. — Take 
 
 the dash away, and write Backside, 'tis Bawdy. — 
 
 Scratch Backside out, and put Cover d tuay in, 'tis a
 
 I02 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Metaphor ; — and, I dare say, as fortification ran so 
 much in my uncle Toby s head, that if he had been 
 
 left to have added one word to the sentence, that 
 
 word was it. 
 
 But whether that was the case or not the case ; — or 
 whether the snapping of my father's tobacco-pipe, so 
 critically, happened througli accident or anger, will be 
 seen in due time. 
 
 Chapter bij. 
 
 THO' my father was a good natural philosopher, — 
 yet he was something of a moral philosopher 
 too ; for which reason, when his tobacco-pipe 
 snapp'd short in the middle, — he had nothing to do, as 
 such, but to have taken hold of the two pieces, and 
 
 thrown them gently upon the back of the fire. ■ 
 
 He did^ no such thing ; he threw them with all 
 
 the violence in the world ; — and, to give the action 
 still more emphasis, — he started upon both his legs to 
 do it. 
 
 This looked something like heat ; — and the manner 
 of his reply to what my uncle Toby was saying, proved 
 it was so. 
 
 — " Not choose," quoth my father, (repeating my 
 uncle Tobys words) "to let a man come so near 
 
 her ! '' By Heaven, brother Toby ! you would try 
 
 the patience of Job ; — and I think I have the plagues 
 
 of one already without it. Why ? Where ? 
 
 Wherein ? Wherefore ? Upon what account ? 
 
 replied my uncle Toby, in the utmost astonishment. — 
 To think, said my father, of a man living to your age, 
 
 brother, and knowing so little about women ! 1 
 
 know nothing at all about them, — replied my uncle
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 103 
 
 Toly : And I think, continued lie, that the shock I 
 received the year after tlie demoHtion of Dunhirh, in 
 my affair with widow W adman ; — which shock you 
 know I should not have received, but from my total 
 ignorance of the sex, — has given me just cause to 
 say, That I neither know nor do pretend to know any 
 thing about 'em or their concerns either. — Methinks, 
 brother, replied my father, you might, at least, know so 
 much as the right end of a woman from the wrong. 
 
 It is said in Aristotle s Master P'lece^ " That when 
 
 a man doth think of any thing which is past, he 
 
 looketh down upon the ground ; but that when he 
 
 thinketh of something that is to come, he looketh up 
 towards the heavens.'* 
 
 My uncle Tohy^ I suppose, thought of neither, for 
 he look'd horizontally. — Right end ! quoth my uncle 
 Tohy^ muttering the two words low to himself, and 
 fixing his two eyes insensibly as he muttered them, 
 upon a small crevice, formed by a bad joint in the 
 chimney-piece Right end of a woman ! 1 de- 
 clare, quoth ray uncle, I know no more which it is 
 
 than the man in the moon ; and if I was to think, 
 
 continued my uncle Toby (keeping his eye still fixed 
 upon the bad joint) this month together, I am sure I 
 should not be able to find it out. 
 
 Then, brother Tohy^ replied my father, I will tell you. 
 
 Every thing in this world, continued my father 
 (filling a fresh pipe) — every thing in this world, my 
 
 dear brother Tohy^ has two handles. Not always, 
 
 quoth my uncle Toby. At least, replied my father, 
 
 every one has two hands, which comes to the same 
 
 thing. Now, if a man was to sit down coolly, and 
 
 consider within himself the make, the shape, the con- 
 struction, come-at-ability, and convenience of all. the 
 parts which constitute the whole of that animal, called 
 Woman, and compare them analogically 1 never
 
 I04 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 understood rightly the meaning of that word, — quoth 
 my uncle Toby. — 
 
 Analogy, replied my father, is the certain relation 
 
 and agreement which different Here a devil of a 
 
 rap at the door snapped my father's definition (like 
 his tobacco-pipe) in two, — and, at the same time, 
 crushed the head of as notable and curious a disser- 
 tation as ever was engendered in the womb of specu- 
 lation ; — it was some months before my father could 
 get an opportunity to be safely delivered of it : — And, 
 at this hour, it is a thing full as problematical as the 
 subject of the dissertation itself, — (considering the con- 
 fusion and distresses of our domestick misadventures, 
 which are now coming thick one upon the back of 
 another) whether I shall be able to find a place for 
 it in the third volume or not. 
 
 1 
 
 T is about an hour and a half's tolerable good reading 
 since my uncle Toby rung the bell, when Obadiah 
 was ordered to saddle a horse, and go for Dr 
 Slop, the man-midwife ; — so that no one can say, with 
 reason, that I have not allowed Obadiah time enough, 
 poetically speaking, and considering the emergency too, 
 
 both to go and come ; though, morally and truly 
 
 speaking, the man perhaps has scarce had time to get 
 on his boots. 
 
 If the hypercritick will go upon this ; and is resolved 
 after all to take a pendulum, and measure the true 
 distance betwixt the ringing of the bell, and the rap at 
 the door ; — and, after finding it to be no more than 
 two minutes, thirteen seconds, and three fifths, — should 
 take upon him to insult over me for such a breach in
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I05 
 
 the unity, or rather probablKty of time ; — I would re- 
 mind him, that the idea of duration, and of its simple 
 modes, is got merely from the train and succession of 
 
 our ideas, and is the true scholastic pendulum, 
 
 and by which, as a scholar, I will be tried in this 
 matter, — abjuring and detesting the jurisdiction of all 
 other pendulums whatever. 
 
 I would therefore desire him to consider that it is 
 but poor eight miles from Shandy-Hall to Dr Slop, 
 the man-midwife's house ; — and that whilst Ohadiah 
 has been going those said miles and back, I have brought 
 my uncle Toby from Namur, quite across all Flanders, 
 into England: — That I have had him ill upon my 
 hands near four yours ; — and have since travelled him 
 and Corporal Trim in a chariot-and-four, a journey of 
 
 near two hundred miles down into Torkshlre, all 
 
 which put together, must have prepared the reader's 
 imagination for the entrance of Dr Slop upon the 
 stage, — as much, at least (I hope) as a dance, a song, 
 or a concerto between the acts. 
 
 If my hypercritick is intractable, alledging, that two 
 minutes and thirteen seconds are no more than two 
 minutes and thirteen seconds, — when I have said all I 
 can about them ; and that this plea, though it might 
 save me dramatically, will damn me biographically, 
 rendering my book from this very moment, a professed 
 
 Romance, which, before, was a book apocryphal : 
 
 If I am thus pressed — I then put an end to the whole 
 
 objection and controversy about it all at once, by 
 
 acquainting him, that Ohadiah had not got above three- 
 score yards from the stable-yard before he met with 
 Dr Slop ; — and indeed he gave a dirty proof that he 
 had met with him, and was within an ace of giving a 
 tragical one too. 
 
 Imagine to yourself; — but this had better begin a 
 new chapter.
 
 I06 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Chapter ij:* 
 
 IMAGINE to yourself a little squat, uncourtly 
 figure of a Doctor Slopf of about four feet and a 
 half perpendicular height, with a breadth of back, 
 and a sesquipedality of belly, which might have done 
 honour to a serjeant in the horse-guards. 
 
 Such were the out-lines of Dr S/op's figure, which, 
 — if you have read Hogarth'' s analysis of beauty, and if 
 
 you have not, I wish you would ; you must know, 
 
 may as certainly be caricatured, and conveyed to the 
 mind by three strokes as three hundred. 
 
 Imagine such a one, tor such, I say, were the 
 
 outlines of Dr Slofs figure, coming slowly along, foot 
 by foot, waddling thro' the dirt upon the vertebras of 
 
 a little diminutive pony, of a pretty colour but of 
 
 strength, alack ! scarce able to have made an 
 
 amble of it, under such a fardel, had the roads been in 
 
 an ambling condition. They were not. Imagine 
 
 to yourself, Obadiah mounted upon a strong monster of 
 a coach-horse, pricked into a full gallop, and making 
 all practicable speed the adverse way. 
 
 Pray, Sir, let me interest you a moment in this 
 description. 
 
 Had Dr Slop beheld Obadiah a mile off, posting in 
 a narrow lane directly towards him, at that monstrous 
 rate, — splashing and plunging like a devil thro' thick 
 and thin, as he approached, would not such a phseno- 
 menon, with such a vortex of mud and water moving 
 along with it, round its axis, — have been a subject of 
 juster apprehension to Dr Slop in his situation, than 
 the worst of Whiston s comets ? — To say nothing of 
 the Nucleus ; that is, of Obadiah and the coach-horse. 
 — In my idea, the vortex alone of 'em was enough to 
 have involved and carried, if not the doctor, at least
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I07 
 
 the doctor's pony, quite away with it. What then do 
 you think must the terror and hydrophobia of Dr Slop 
 have been, when you read (which you are just going 
 to do) that he was advancing thus warily along towards 
 Shandy-Hall, and had approached to within sixty yards 
 of it, and within five yards of a sudden turn, made by 
 an acute angle of the garden-wall, — and in the dirtiest 
 part of a dirty lane, — when Ohadiah and his coach- 
 horse turned the corner, rapid, furious, — pop, — full 
 upon him ! — Nothing, I think, in nature, can be 
 supposed more terrible than such a rencounter, — so 
 imprompt ! so ill prepared to stand the shock of it as 
 Dr Slop was. 
 
 What could Dr Slop do ? he crossed himself 
 
 -\ Pugh ! — but the doctor. Sir, was a Papist. — No 
 
 matter ; he had better have kept hold of the pummel. 
 — He had so ; — nay, as it happened, he had better 
 have done nothing at all ; for in crossing himself he 
 
 let go his whip, and in attempting to save his whip 
 
 betwixt his knee and his saddle's skirt, as it slipped, he 
 
 lost his stirrup, in losing which he lost his seat ; 
 
 and in the multitude of all these losses (which, by 
 
 the bye, shews what little advantage there is in cross- 
 ing) the unfortunate doctor lost his presence of mind. 
 So that without waiting for Ohadiah' s onset, he left his 
 pony to its destiny, tumbling off it diagonally, some- 
 thing in the stile and manner of a pack of wool, and 
 without any other consequence from the fall, save that 
 of being left (as it would have been) with the broadest 
 part of him sunk about twelve inches deep in the mire. 
 
 Ohadiah puU'd off his cap twice to Dr Slop ; — 
 once as he was falling, — and then again when he saw 
 
 him seated. Ill-timed complaisance ; — had not the 
 
 fellow better have stopped his horse, and got off and 
 help'd him ? — Sir, he did all that his situation would 
 allow ; — but the Momentum of the coach-horse was so
 
 Io8 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 great, that Obadlah could not do it all at once ; he rode 
 in a circle three times round Dr Slop, before he could 
 fully accomplish it any how ; — and at the last, when he 
 did stop his beast, 'twas done with such an explosion 
 of mud, that Ohadiah had better have been a league off. 
 In short, never was a Dr Slop so beluted, and so tran- 
 substantiated, since that affair came into fashion. 
 
 w 
 
 Cl^cipter j:, 
 
 HEN Dr Slop entered the back parlour, 
 where my father and my uncle Tohy were 
 
 discoursing upon the nature of women, 
 
 it was hard to determine whether Dr Slop' s figure, or 
 Dr Slofs presence, occasioned more surprize to them ; 
 for as the accident happened so near the house, as 
 not to make it worth while for Ohadiah to remount him, 
 
 Obadlah had led him in as he was, univiped, un- 
 
 appointed^ unannealed, with all his stains and blotches on 
 him. — He stood like Hamlet^ s ghost, motionless and 
 speechless, for a full minute and a half at the parlour- 
 door (Ohadiah still holding his hand) with all the 
 majesty of mud. His hinder parts, upon which he had 
 
 received his fall, totally besmeared, and in every 
 
 other part of him, blotched over in such a manner with 
 Ohadiah* s explosion, that you would have sworn (with- 
 out mental reservation) that every grain of it had taken 
 effect. 
 
 Here was a fair opportunity for my uncle Tohy to 
 have triumphed over my father in his turn ; — for no 
 mortal, who had beheld Dr Slop in that pickle, could 
 have dissented from so much, at least, of my uncle 
 Tohy s opinion, " That mayhap his sister might not 
 care to let such a Dr Slop come so near her ****."
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. lOg 
 
 But it was the Argumentum ad hom'inem ; and if my uncle 
 Toby was not very expert at it, you may think, he might 
 
 not care to use it. No ; the reason was, — 'twas not 
 
 his nature to insult. 
 
 Dr S/oJ)'s presence at that time, was no less prob- 
 lematical than the mode of it ; tho' it is certain, one 
 moment's reflexion in my father might have solved it ; 
 for he had apprized Dr S/oJ) but the week before, that 
 my mother was at her full reckoning ; and as the 
 doctor had heard nothing since, 'twas natural and very 
 political too in him, to have taken a ride to Shandy- 
 Hall, as he did, merely to see how matters went on. 
 
 But my father's mind took unfortunately a wrong 
 turn in the investigation ; running, Uke the hyper- 
 critick's, altogether upon the ringing of the bell and 
 the rap upon the door, — measuring their distance, and 
 keeping his mind so intent upon the operation, as to 
 have power to think of nothing else, common- 
 place infirmity of the greatest mathematicians ! work- 
 ing with might and main at the demonstration, and so 
 wasting all their strength upon it, that they have none 
 left in them to draw the corollary, to do good with. 
 
 The ringing of the bell, and the rap upon the door, 
 struck likewise strong upon the sensorium of my uncle 
 Toby, — but it excited a very different train of thoughts ; 
 — the two irreconcileable pulsations instantly brought 
 Stevinus, the great engineer, along with them, into my 
 uncle Toby's mind. What business Stevinus had in 
 
 this affair, — is the greatest problem of all : It shall 
 
 be solved, — but not in the next chapter.
 
 no THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 diapter vu 
 
 WRITING, when properly managed (as you 
 may be sure I think mine is) is but a diffe- 
 rent name for conversation. As no one, who 
 knows what he is about in good company, would 
 
 ; venture to talk all ; so no author, who understands 
 
 the just boundaries of decorum and good-breeding, 
 would presume to think all : The truest respect which 
 you can pay to the reader's understanding, is to halve 
 this matter amicably, and leave him something to 
 imagine, in his turn, as well as yourself. 
 
 For my own part, I am eternally paying him com- 
 pliments of this kind, and do all that lies in my power 
 to keep his imagination as busy as my own. 
 
 'Tis his turn now ; — I have given an ample descrip- 
 tion of Dr Slop's sad overthrow, and of his sad appear- 
 ance in the back-parlour ; — his imagination must now 
 go on with it for a while. 
 
 Let the reader imagine then, that Dr Slop has told 
 his tale — and in what words, and with what aggrava- 
 tions, his fancy chooses ; — Let him suppose, that Obadiah 
 has told his tale also, and with such rueful looks of 
 affected concern, as he thinks best will contrast the 
 
 two figures as they stand by each other. Let him 
 
 imagine, that my father has stepped up stairs to see my 
 mother. — And, to conclude this work of imagination, 
 — let him imagine the doctor washed, — rubbed down, 
 and condoled, — felicitated, — got into a pair of Obadiah'' s 
 pumps, stepping forwards towards the door, upon the 
 very point of entering upon action. 
 
 Truce ! — truce, good Dr Slop ! — stay thy obstetrick 
 
 hand; return it safe into thy bosom to keep it 
 
 warm ; little dost thou know what obstacles, 
 
 little dost thou think what hidden causes, retard its
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. Ill 
 
 operation! Hast thou, Dr Slop^ — hast thou been 
 
 intrusted with the secret articles of the solemn treaty 
 which has brought thee into this place ? — Art thou 
 aware that at this instant, a daughter of Lucina is put 
 obstetrically over thy head ? Alas! — 'tis too true. — 
 Besides, great son of Pilumnus ! what canst thou do \ 
 — Thou hast come forth unarm'd ; — thou hast left thy 
 tire-tete^ — thy new-inventedybr<:^j5j-, — thy crotchety — thy 
 squirt, and all thy instruments of salvation and deliver- 
 ance, behind thee, — By Heaven ! at this moment they 
 are hanging up in a green bays bag, betwixt thy two 
 pistols, at the bed's head ! — Ring ; — call ; — send Ohadiah 
 back upon the coach-horse to bring them with all 
 
 -Make great haste, Oladiah, quoth my father. 
 
 and I'll give thee a crown ! — and quoth my uncle 
 Toby, I'll give him another. 
 
 YOUR sudden and unexpected arrival, quoth my 
 uncle Tohy, addressing himself to Dr Slop, (all 
 three of them sitting down to the fire together, 
 as my uncle Tohy began to speak) — instantly brought the 
 great Stevinus into my head, who, you must know, is 
 a favourite author with me. — Then, added my father, 
 making use of the argument Jld Crumenam, — I will lay 
 twenty guineas to a single crown-piece, (which will serve 
 to give away to Ohadiah when he gets back) that this 
 same Stevinus was some engineer or other, — or has wrote 
 something or other, either directly or indirectly, upon the 
 science of fortification. 
 
 He has so, — replied my uncle Toby. — I knew it, said 
 my father, though, for the soul of mc, I cannot see
 
 112 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 what kind of connection there can be betwixt Dr 
 Slop's sudden coming, and a discourse upon fortifica- 
 tion ; — yet I fearM it. — Talk of what we will, brother, 
 
 or let the occasion be never so foreign or unfit for 
 
 the subject, — you are sure to bring it in. I would not, 
 
 brother Toby, continued my father, 1 declare I 
 
 would not have my head so full of curtins and horn- 
 works. — That I dare say you would not, quoth Dr 
 Slop, interrupting him, and laughing most immoderately 
 at his pun. 
 
 Dennis the critic could not detest and abhor a pun, 
 or the insinuation of a pun, more cordially than my 
 father ; — he would grow testy upon it at any time ; — ■ 
 but to be broke in upon by one, in a serious discourse, 
 was as bad, he would say, as a fillip upon the nose ; 
 • he saw no difference. 
 
 Sir, quoth my uncle Toby, addressing himself to Dr 
 Slop, — the curtins my brother Shandy mentions here, 
 have nothing to do with bedsteads ; — tho', I know 
 Du Cange says, <' That bed-curtains, in all probability, 
 have taken their name from them ;" — nor have the horn- 
 works he speaks of, any thing in the world to do with 
 the horn- works of cuckoldom ; — But the Curtln, Sir, 
 is the word we use in fortification, for that part of the 
 wall or rampart which lies between the two bastions 
 and joins them — Besiegers seldom offer to carry on 
 their attacks directly against the curtin, for this reason, 
 because they are so vjqW Jlanked. ('Tis the case of 
 other curtains, quoth Dr Slop, laughing.) However, 
 continued my uncle Toby, to make them sure, we 
 generally choose to place ravelins before them, taking 
 care only to extend them beyond the fosse or ditch : 
 The common men, who know very little of for- 
 tification, confound the ravelin and the half-moon to- 
 gether, — tho* they are very different things ; — not in 
 their figure or construction, for we make them exactly
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. II3 
 
 alike, in all points ; — for they always consist of two 
 faces, making a salient angle, with the gorges, not 
 
 straight, but in form of a crescent : Where then lies 
 
 the difference? (quoth my father, a little testily.) — In 
 their situations, answered my uncle Toby : — For when 
 a ravelin, brother, stands before the curtin, it is a rave- 
 lin ; and when a ravelin stands before a bastion, then the 
 ravelin is not a ravelin ; — it is a half-moon ; — a half- 
 moon likewise is a half-moon, and no more, so long as 
 
 it stands before its bastion ; but was it to change 
 
 place, and get before the curtin, — 'twould be no longer 
 a half-moon ; a half-moon, in that case, is not a half- 
 moon ; — 'tis no more than a ravelin. 1 think, quoth 
 
 my father, that the noble science of defence has its weak 
 
 sides as well as others. 
 
 — As for the horn- work (high ! ho ! sigh'd my 
 father) which, continued my uncle Toby, my brother 
 was speaking of, they are a very considerable part of an 
 
 outwork ; they are called by the French engineers, 
 
 Ouvrage a come, and we generally make them to cover 
 such places as we suspect to be weaker than the rest ; — > 
 'tis formed by two epaulments or demi-bastions — they 
 are very pretty, — and if you will take a walk, I'll en- 
 gage to shew you one well worth your trouble. — I own, 
 continued my uncle Toby, when we crown them, — they 
 are much stronger, but then they are very expensive, 
 and take up a great deal of ground, so that, in my 
 opinion, they are most of use to cover or defend the 
 head of a camp ; otherwise the double tenaille — By 
 
 the mother who bore us ! brother Toby, quoth my 
 
 father, not able to hold out any longer, you would 
 
 provoke a saint ; here have you got us, I know not 
 
 how, not only souse into the middle of the old subject 
 again : — But so full is your head of these confounded 
 works, that though my wife is this moment in the pains 
 of labour, and you hear her cry out, yet nothing will 
 
 1. H
 
 114 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 serve you but to carry off the man-midwife.- 
 
 jiccoucheur, — if you please, quoth Dr Slop. With all 
 
 my heart, replied my father, I don't care what they call 
 you, — but I wish the whole science of fortification, with 
 all its inventors, at the devil ; — it has been the death of 
 thousands, — and it will be mine in the end. — I would 
 not, I would not, brother Toby, have my brains so full 
 of saps, mines, blinds, gabions, pallisadoes, ravelins, 
 half-moons, and such trumpery, to be proprietor of 
 Namur, and of all the towns in Flanders with it. 
 
 My uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries ; — not 
 from want of courage, — I have told you in a former 
 chapter, " that he was a man of courage : " — And 
 will add here, that where just occasions presented, or 
 called it forth, — I know no man under whose arm 
 
 I would have sooner taken shelter ; nor did this 
 
 arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellec- 
 tual parts ; — for he felt this insult of my father's as 
 feelingly as a man could do ; — but he was of a peace- 
 ful, placid nature, — no jarring element in it, — all was 
 mixed up so kindly within him ; my uncle Toby had 
 scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly. 
 f, — Go — says he, one day at dinner, to an over-grown 
 \ one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented 
 . him cruelly all dinner-time, — and which after infinite 
 attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him ; — • 
 , I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby, rising from 
 I his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his 
 
 hand, I'll not hurt a hair of thy head : — Go, 
 
 says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he 
 spoke, to let it escape ; — go, poor devil, get thee gone, 
 
 why should I hurt thee ? This world surely is 
 
 'A wide enough to hold both thee and me. 
 .( I was but ten years old when this happened : but 
 whether it was, that the action itself was more in 
 unison to my nerves at that age of pity, which instantly
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. II5 
 
 set my whole frame Into one vibration of most pleasur- 
 able sensation ; — or how far the manner and expression 
 of it might go towards it ; — or in what degree, or by 
 what secret magick, — a tone of voice and harmony of 
 movement, attuned by mercy, might find a passage to my 
 heart, I know not ; — this I know, that the lesson of uni- 
 versal good- will then taught and imprinted by my uncle 
 Toby J has never since been worn out of my mind ; And 
 tho' I would not depreciate what the study of the 
 Litera human'wres, at the university, have done for me 
 in that respect, or discredit the other helps of an 
 expensive education bestowed upon me, both at home 
 and abroad since ; — yet I often think that I owe one half 
 of my philanthropy to that one accidental impression. 
 
 ^ This is to serve for parents and governors instead 
 of a whole volume upon the subject. 
 
 I could not give the reader this stroke in my uncle 
 Toby^s picture, by the instrument with which I drew 
 the other parts of it, — that taking in no more than the 
 
 mere Hobby -Horsical likeness : this is a part of 
 
 his moral character. My father, in this patient endur- 
 ance of wrongs, which I mention, was very different, 
 as the reader must long ago have noted; he had a 
 much more acute and quick sensibility of nature, 
 attended with a little soreness of temper ; tho' this 
 never transported him to any thing which looked hke 
 mahgnancy : — yet in the little rubs and vexations of 
 life, 'twas apt to shew itself in a drollish and witty 
 
 kind of peevishness : He was, however, frank and 
 
 generous in his nature ; at all times open to con- 
 viction ; and in the little ebullitions of this subacid 
 humour towards others, but particularly towards my 
 
 uncle Toby, whom he truly loved : he would feel 
 
 more pain, ten times told (except in the affair of rny 
 aunt Dinah, or where an hypothesis was concerned) 
 than what he ever gave.
 
 Il6 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 The characters of the two brothers, in this view of 
 them, reflected light upon each other, and appeared with 
 great advantage in this affair which arose about Stevinus, 
 
 I need not tell the reader, if he keeps a Hobby- 
 
 HoRSE, that a man's Hobby-Horse is as tender a 
 
 part as he has about him ; and that these unprovoked 
 strokes at my uncle Tohy* s could not be unfelt by him. 
 
 No : as I said above, my uncle Tohy did 
 
 feel them, and very sensibly too. 
 
 Pray, Sir, what said he ? — How did he behave ? — O, 
 Sir ! — it was great : For as soon as my father had done 
 
 insulting his Hobby-Horse, he turned his head 
 
 without the least emotion, from Dr Slop^ to whom he 
 was addressing his discourse, and looking up into my 
 father's face, with a countenance spread over with so 
 
 much good-nature ; so placid ; so fraternal ; 
 
 so inexpressibly tender towards him : — it pene- 
 trated my father to his heart : He rose up hastily from 
 his chair, and seizing hold of both my uncle Tohf s 
 hands as he spoke : — Brother Tohy^ said he, — I beg 
 
 thy pardon ; forgive, I pray thee, this rash humour 
 
 which my mother gave me. My dear, dear brother, 
 
 answered my uncle Tohy, rising up by my father's help, 
 say no more about it ; — you are heartily welcome, had 
 it been ten times as much, brother. But 'tis ungene- 
 rous, replied my father, to hurt any man ; a brother 
 
 worse ; but to hurt a brother of such gentle manners, 
 
 — so unprovoking, — and so unresenting ; 'tis base : 
 
 By Heaven, 'tis cowardly. — You are heartily wel- 
 come, brother, quoth my uncle Tohy, had it been 
 
 fifty times as much. Besides, what have I to do, 
 
 my dear Tohy, cried my father, either with your amuse- 
 ments or your pleasures, unless it was in my power 
 (which it is not) to increase their measure? 
 
 Brother Shandy, answered my uncle Tohy, look- 
 ing wistfully in his face, you are much mistaken in
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHAXDY. II7 
 
 this point : — for you do increase my pleasure very much, 
 in begetting children for the Shandy family at your time 
 of life. — But, by that. Sir, quoth Dr Slop, Mr Shandy 
 increases his own. — Not a jot, quoth my father. 
 
 €I)apter y^iiu 
 
 MY brother does it, quoth my uncle Tobyy out of 
 principle. In a family way, I suppose, quoth 
 
 Dr Slop. Pshaw ! — said my father, — 'tis 
 
 not worth talking of. 
 
 Copter j:ib. 
 
 AT the end of the last chapter, my father and my 
 £^ uncle Toby were left both standing, like Brutus 
 and Cassius, at the close of the scene, making 
 up their accounts. 
 
 As my father spoke the three last words, he sat 
 
 down ; — my uncle Toby exactly followed his example, 
 only, that before he took his chair, he rung the bell, to 
 order Corporal Trim, who was in waiting, to step home 
 for Stevinus : — my uncle Toby's house being no farther 
 off than the opposite side of the way. 
 
 Some men would have dropped the subject of 
 
 Stevinus ; but my uncle Toby had no resentment in 
 
 his heart, and he went on with the subject, to shew my 
 father that he had none. 
 
 Your sudden appearance, Dr Slop, quoth my uncle, 
 resuming the discourse, instantly brought Stevinus into 
 my head. (My father, you may be sure, did not offer 
 
 to lay any more wagers upon Stevinus' s head.) 
 
 Because, continued my uncle Toby, the celebrated sail-
 
 Il8 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 ing chariot, which belonged to Prince Maurice, and was 
 of such wonderful contrivance and velocity, as to carry- 
 half a dozen people thirty German miles, in I don't know 
 
 how few minutes, was invented by Stevinus, that 
 
 great mathematician and engineer. 
 
 You might have spared your servant the trouble, 
 quoth Dr Slop (as the fellow is lame) of going for 
 Slevinus's account of it, because in my return from 
 Ley den thro* the Hague, I walked as far as SchevUng, 
 which is two long miles, on purpose to take a view 
 of it. 
 
 That's nothing, replied my uncle Toby, to what the 
 learned Peiresklus did, who walked a matter of five 
 hundred miles, reckoning from Parts to SchevUng, and 
 from Schev/ing to Paris back again, in order to see it, — 
 and nothing else. 
 
 Some men cannot bear to be out-gone. 
 
 The more fool Peiresklus, replied Dr Slop» But 
 mark, 'twas out of no contempt of Peiresklus at all ; 
 but that Peiresklus^ s indefatigable labour in trudg- 
 ing so far on foot, out of love for the sciences, reduced 
 the exploit of Dr Slop, in that affair, to nothing : — 
 the more fool Peiresklus, said he again. — ^^fhj so ? — 
 replied my father, taking his brother's part, not only to 
 make reparation as fast as he could for the insult he had 
 
 given him, which sat still upon my father's mind ; 
 
 but partly, that my father began really to interest him- 
 self in the discourse. Why so ? said he. Why 
 
 is Peiresklus, or any man else, to be abused for an 
 appetite for that, or any other morsel of sound know- 
 ledge : For notwithstanding I know nothing of the 
 chariot in question, continued he, the inventor of it 
 must have had a very mechanical head ; and tho' I 
 cannot guess upon what principles of philosophy he has 
 atchieved it; — yet certainly his machine has been 
 constructed upon solid ones, be they what they will,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. II9 
 
 or it could not have answered at the rate my brother 
 mentions. 
 
 It answered, replied my uncle Toby, as well, if not 
 better ; for, as Peireskius elegantly expresses it, speaking 
 of the velocity of its motion, Tam citus erat, quam erat 
 'ventus ; which, unless I have forgot my Latin, is, that 
 it luas as sivift as the lu'tnd itself. 
 
 But pray, Dr Slopy quoth my father, interrupting 
 my uncle (tho' not without begging pardon for it at the 
 same time) upon what principles was this self-same 
 chariot set a-going ? — Upon very pretty principles to be 
 sure, replied Dr Slop : — And I have often wondered, 
 continued he, evading the question, why none of our 
 gentry, who live upon large plains like this of ours, — 
 (especially they whose wives are not past child-bearing) 
 attempt nothing of this kind ; for it would not only be 
 infinitely expeditious upon sudden calls, to which the 
 sex is subject, — if the wind only served, — but would be 
 excellent good husbandry to make use of the winds, 
 which cost nothing, and which eat nothing, rather than 
 horses, which (the devil take 'em) both cost and eat a 
 great deal. 
 
 For that very reason, replied my father, " Because 
 they cost nothing, and because they eat nothing," — the 
 scheme is bad ; — it is the consumption of our products, 
 as well as the manufactures of them, which gives bread 
 to the hungry, circulates trade, — brings in money, 
 and supports the value of our lands ; — and tho', I own, 
 if I was a Prince, I would generously recompense the 
 scientifick head which brought forth such contrivances ; 
 — yet I would as peremptorily suppress the use of 
 them. 
 
 My father here had got into his element, and 
 
 was going on as prosperously with his dissertation upon 
 trade, as my uncle Toly had before, upon his of forti- 
 fication ; — but to the loss of much sound knowledge,
 
 I20 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 the destinies in the morning had decreed that no disser- 
 tation of any kind should be spun by my father that 
 
 day, for as he opened his mouth to begin the next 
 
 sentence. 
 
 Copter j:U» 
 
 IN popped Corporal Trim with Stevinus : — But 'twas 
 too late, — all the discourse had been exhausted 
 without him, and was running into a new channel. 
 
 — You may take the book home again. Trim, said 
 my uncle Toby, nodding to him. 
 
 But prithee, Corporal, quoth my father, drolling, — 
 look first into it, and see if thou canst spy aught of a 
 sailing chariot in it. 
 
 Corporal Trim, by being in the service, had learned 
 to obey, — and not to remonstrate ; — so taking the book 
 to a side-table, and running over the leaves ; An' please 
 your Honour, said Trim, I can see no such thing ; — 
 however, continued the Corporal, drolling a little in 
 his turn, I'll make sure work of it, an' please your 
 Honour ; — so taking hold of the two covers of the 
 book, one in each hand, and letting the leaves fall 
 down, as he bent the covers back, he gave the book a 
 good sound shake. 
 
 There is something falling out, however, said Ti'im, 
 an' please your Honour ^ — but it is not a chariot, or 
 any thing like one : — Prithee, Corporal, said my father, 
 smiling, what is it then ? — I think, answered Trim, 
 
 stooping to take it up, 'tis more like a sermon, 
 
 for it begins with a text of scripture, and the 
 
 chapter and verse ; — and then goes on, not as a chariot, 
 but like a sermon directly. 
 
 The company smiled. 
 
 I cannot conceive how it is possible, quoth my
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 121 
 
 uncle Tohy^ for such a thing as a sermon to have got 
 into my Stevlnus, 
 
 I think 'tis a sermon, replied Trim ; — but if it please 
 your Honours, as it is a fair hand, I will read you a 
 page ; — for Tr'im^ you must know, loved to hear him- 
 self read almost as well as talk. 
 
 I have ever a strong propensity, said my father, to 
 look into things which cross my way, by such strange 
 fatalities as these ; — and as we have nothing better to 
 do, at least till Ohadiah gets back, I shall be obliged 
 to you, brother, if Dr Slop has no objection to it, to 
 order the Corporal to give us a page or two of it, — if 
 he is as able to do it, as he seems willing. An' please 
 your Honour, quoth Trim, I officiated two whole 
 campaigns, in Flanders, as clerk to the chaplain of the 
 
 regiment. He can read it, quoth my uncle Toby, 
 
 as well as I can. Trim, I assure you, was the best 
 
 scholar in my company, and should have had the next 
 halberd, but for the poor fellow's misfortune. Corporal 
 Trim laid his hand upon his heart, and made an humble 
 bow to his master ; — then laying down his hat upon the 
 floor, and taking up the sermon in his left hand, in 
 
 order to have his right at liberty, he advanced, 
 
 nothing doubting, into the middle of the room, where 
 he could best see, and be best seen by his audience. 
 
 — If you have any objection, — said my father, 
 addressing himself to Dr Slop, Not in the least, 
 repHed Dr Slop ; — for it does not appear on which side 
 
 of the question it is wrote ; it may be a composition 
 
 of a divine of our church, as well as yours, — so that 
 we run equal risques. 'Tis wrote upon neither side,
 
 122 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 quoth Trim^ for 'tis only upon Conscience^ an* please 
 your Honours. 
 
 Trim s reason put his audience into good-humour, — 
 all but Dr Slop, who turning his head about towards 
 Trim, looked a little angry. 
 
 Begin, Trim, — and read distinctly, quoth my father. 
 ■ — I will, an' please your Honour, replied the Corporal, 
 making a bow, and bespeaking attention with a slight 
 movement of his right hand. 
 
 But before the Corporal begins, I must first 
 
 give you a description of his attitude ; otherwise he 
 
 will naturally stand represented, by your imagination, 
 in an uneasy posture, — stiiF, — perpendicular, — dividing 
 
 the weight of his body equally upon both legs ; his 
 
 eye fixed, as if on duty ; — his look determined, — 
 clenching the sermon in his left hand, like his firelock. 
 
 In a word, you would be apt to paint Trim, as if 
 
 he was standing in his platoon ready for action. — His 
 attitude was as unlike all this as you can conceive. 
 
 He stood before them with his body swayed, and 
 bent forwards just so far, as to make an angle of 85 
 degrees and a half upon the plain of the horizon ; — 
 which sound orators, to whom I address this, know 
 very well to be the true persuasive angle of incidence ; 
 — in any other angle you may talk and preach ; — 'tis 
 certain ; — and it is done every day ; — but with what 
 effect, — I leave the world to judge ! 
 
 The necessity of this precise angle of 85 degrees 
 
 and a half to a mathematical exactness, does it not 
 
 shew us, by the way, how the arts and sciences mutually 
 befriend each other ?
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 123 
 
 How the duce Corporal Trim, who knew not so 
 much as an acute angle from an obtuse one, came to hit 
 
 it so exactly ; or whether it was chance or nature, 
 
 or good sense or imitation, &c., shall be commented 
 upon in that part of the cyclopsedia of arts and 
 sciences, where the instrumental parts of the eloquence 
 of the senate, the pulpit, and the bar, the coffee-house, 
 the bed-chamber, and fire- side, fall under considera- 
 tion. 
 
 He stood, for I repeat it, to take the picture of 
 
 him in at one view, with his body swayed, and some- 
 what bent forwards, — his right \eg from under him, 
 
 sustaining seven-eights of his whole weight, the 
 
 foot of his left leg, the defect of which was no disad- 
 vantage to his attitude, advanced a little, — not laterally, 
 nor forwards, but in a line betwixt them ; — his knee 
 bent, but that not violently, — but so as to fall within 
 the limits of the line of beauty ; — and I add, of the 
 line of science too ; — for consider, it had one eighth 
 part of his body to bear up ; — so that in this case the 
 position of the leg is determined, — because the foot 
 could be no farther advanced, or the knee more bent, 
 than what would allow him, mechanically to receive an 
 eighth part of his whole weight under it, and to carry 
 it too. 
 
 i^° This I recommend to painters : — need I add, — 
 to orators ! — I think not ; for unless they practise it, 
 -they must fall upon their noses. 
 
 So much for Corporal Trims body and legs.- 
 
 He held the sermon loosely, not carelessly, in his left 
 hand, raised something above his stomach, and detached 
 a little from his breast ; his right arm falling negli- 
 gently by his side, as nature and the laws of gravity 
 
 ordered it, but with the palm of it open and turned 
 
 towards his audience, ready to aid the sentiment in case 
 it stood in need.
 
 124 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Corporal Trim s eyes and the muscles of his face 
 were in full harmony with the other parts of him ; — 
 he looked frank, — ^^unconstrained, — something assured, 
 — but not bordering upon assurance. 
 
 Let not the critic ask how Corporal Trim could 
 come by all this. I've told him it should be ex- 
 plained ; — but so he stood before my father, my uncle 
 Toby, and Dr Slop, — so swayed his body, so con- 
 trasted his limbs, and with such an oratorical sweep 
 
 throughout the whole figure, a statuary might 
 
 have modelled from it ; nay, I doubt whether the 
 
 oldest Fellow of a College, — or the Hebrew Professor 
 himself, could have much mended it. 
 
 Trim made a bow, and read as follows ; 
 
 The sermon. 
 
 Hebrews xiii. i8. 
 -For ive trust wf have a good Conscience, 
 
 " ' I 'RUST ! Trust we have a good con- 
 
 1^ science ! " 
 
 [Certainly, Trim, quoth my father, inter- 
 rupting him, you give that sentence a very improper 
 accent ; for you curl up your nose, man, and read it 
 with such a sneering tone, as if the Parson was going 
 to abuse the Apostle. 
 
 He is, an' please your Honour, replied Trim. Pugh ! 
 said my father, smiling. 
 
 Sir, quoth Dr Slop, Trim is certainly in the right ; 
 for the writer (who I perceive is a Protestant) by the 
 snappish manner in which he takes up the apostle, is 
 certainly going to abuse him ; — if this treatment of him 
 has not done it already. But from whence, replied my 
 father, have you concluded so soon, Dr Slop, that the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 25 
 
 writer is of our church ? — for aught I can sec yet, — he 
 
 may be of any church. Because, answered Dr Slop, 
 
 if he was of ours, — he durst no more take such a licence, 
 — than a bear by his beard : — If, in our communion. 
 
 Sir, a man was to insult an apostle, a saint, or 
 
 even the paring of a saint's nail, — he would have his 
 eyes scratched out. — What, by the saint? quoth my uncle 
 Toby, No, replied Dr Slop, he would have an old 
 house over his head. Pray is the Inquisition an ancient 
 building, answered my uncle Tohy, or is it a modern 
 one ? — I know nothing of architecture, replied Dr Slop. 
 — ^An' please your Honours, quoth Trim, the Inquisi- 
 tion is the vilest Prithee spare thy description. 
 
 Trim, I hate the very name of it, said my father. — No 
 matter for that, answered Dr Slop, — it has its uses ; for 
 tho' I'm no great advocate for it, yet, in such a case as 
 this, he would soon be taught better manners ; and I can 
 tell him, if he went on at that rate, would be flung into 
 the Inquisition for his pains. God help him then, quoth 
 my uncle Toby. Amen, added Trim; for Heaven above 
 knows, I have a poor brother who has been fourteen 
 years a captive in it. — I never heard one word of it 
 before, said my uncle Toby, hastily : — How came he 
 
 there. Trim ? O, Sir ! the story will make your 
 
 heart bleed, — as it has made mine a thousand times ; — 
 but it is too long to be told now ; — your Honour shall 
 hear it from first to last some day when I am working 
 beside you in our fortifications ; — but the short of the 
 story is this ; — That my brother Tom went over a servant 
 to Lisbon, — and then married a Jew's widow, who kept 
 a small shop, and sold sausages, which somehow or 
 other, was the cause of his being taken in the middle of 
 the night out of his bed, where he was lying with his 
 wife and two small children, and carried directly to the 
 Inquisition, where, God help him, continued Trim, 
 fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart, — the poor
 
 126 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 honest lad lies confined at this hour ; he was as honest 
 a soul, added Trim, (pulling out his handkerchief) as 
 ever blood warmed. 
 
 — The tears trickled down Trims cheeks faster than 
 he could well wipe them away. — A dead silence in the 
 room ensued for some minutes. — Certain proof of pity ! 
 
 Come, Trim, quoth my father, after he saw the poor 
 fellow's grief had got a little vent, — read on, — and put 
 this melancholy story out of thy head : — I grieve that I 
 interrupted thee ; but prithee begin the sermon again ; 
 — for if the first sentence in it is matter of abuse, as 
 thou sayest, I have a great desire to know what kind of 
 provocation the apostle has given. 
 
 Corporal Trim wiped his face, and returned his hand- 
 kerchief into his pocket, and, making a bow as he did 
 it, — he began again. J 
 
 The sermon. 
 
 Hebrews xiii. 1 8. 
 
 For ^we trust lue have a good Conscience. — 
 
 " 'THRUST ! trust we have a good conscience ! 
 I Surely if there is any thing in this life which a 
 man may depend upon, and to the knowledge 
 of which he is capable of arriving upon the most indis- 
 putable evidence, it must be this very thing, — whether 
 he has a good conscience or no." 
 
 [I am positive I am right, quoth Dr Slop.'] 
 
 " If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger 
 
 to the true state of this account ; he must be privy 
 
 to his own thoughts and desires ; — he must remember 
 his past pursuits, and know certainly the true springs and 
 motives, which, in general, have governed the actions of 
 his life.''
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 27 
 
 [|I defy him, without an assistant, quoth Dr SIop.~\ 
 
 ** In other matters we may be deceived by false 
 appearances ; and, as the wise man complains, hardly 
 do ive guess aright at the things that are upon the earth, 
 and ivith labour do 'wejind the things that are before us. 
 But here the mind has all the evidence and facts 
 
 within herself; is conscious of the web she has 
 
 wove ; knows its texture and fineness, and the 
 
 exact share which every passion has had in working 
 upon the several designs which virtue or vice has 
 planned before her." 
 
 [The language is good, and I declare Trim reads 
 very well, quoth my father.]] 
 
 " Now, — as conscience is nothing else but the know- 
 ledge which the mind has within herself of this ; and 
 the judgment, either of approbation or censure, which 
 it unavoidably makes upon the successive actions of our 
 lives ; 'tis plain you will say, from the very terms of 
 the proposition, — whenever this inward testimony goes 
 against a man, and he stands self-accused, that he must 
 necessarily be a guilty man. — And, on the contrary, 
 when the report is favourable on his side, and his heart 
 condemns him not : — that it is not a matter of trust, as 
 the apostle intimates, but a matter of certainty and fact, 
 that the conscience is good, and that the man must be 
 good also." 
 
 [Then the apostle is altogether in the wrong, I sup- 
 pose, quoth Dr Slop, and the Protestant divine is in the 
 right. Sir, have patience, replied my father, for I think 
 it will presently appear that St Paul and the Protestant 
 divine are both of an opinion. — As nearly so, quoth 
 Dr Slop, as east is to west ; — but this, continued he, 
 lifting both hands, comes from the liberty of the press. 
 
 It is no more, at the worst, replied my uncle Toby, 
 than the liberty of the pulpit ; for it does not appear 
 that the sermon is printed, or ever likely to be.
 
 128 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Go on, 7V/w, quoth my father.]] 
 
 " At first sight this may seem to be a true state of 
 the case : and I make no doubt but the knowledge of 
 right and wrong is so truly impressed upon the mind of 
 man, — that did no such thing ever happen, as that the 
 conscience of a man, by long habits of sin, might (as 
 the scripture assures it may) insensibly become hard ; 
 — and, like some tender parts of his body, by much 
 stress and continual hard usage, lose by degrees that 
 nice sense and perception with which God and nature 
 endowed it : — Did this never happen ; — or was it 
 certain that self-love could never hang the least bias 
 upon the judgment ; — or that the little interests below 
 could rise up and perplex the faculties of our upper 
 regions, and encompass them about with clouds and 
 
 thick darkness : Could no such thing as favour and 
 
 affection enter this sacred Court : — Did Wit disdain 
 to take a bribe in it ; — or was ashamed to shew its face 
 as an advocate for an unwarrantable enjoyment : Or, 
 lastly, were we assured that Interest stood always un- 
 concerned whilst the cause was hearing — and that 
 Passion never got into the judgment-seat, and pro- 
 nounced sentence in the stead of Reason, which is 
 supposed always to preside and determine upon the 
 case : — Was this truly so, as the objection must 
 suppose ; — no doubt then the religious and moral state 
 of a man would be exactly what he himself esteemed 
 it : — and the guilt or innocence of every man's life 
 could be known, in general, by no better measure, than 
 the degrees of his own approbation and censure. 
 
 " I own, in one case, whenever a man's conscience 
 does accuse him (as it seldom errs on that side) that 
 he is guilty ; and unless in melancholy and hypocon- 
 driac cases, we may safely pronounce upon it, that 
 there is always sufficient grounds for the accusation. 
 
 *' But the converse of the proposition will not hold
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 29 
 
 true ; — namely, that whenever there is guilt, the con- 
 science must accuse ; and if it does not, that a man is 
 
 therefore innocent. This is not fact -So that 
 
 the common consolation which some good christian or 
 other is hourly administering to himself, — that he thanks 
 God his mind does not misgive him ; and that, conse- 
 quently, he has a good conscience, because he hath a 
 quiet one, — is fallacious ; — and as current as the inference 
 is, and as infallible as the rule appears at first sight, yet 
 when you look nearer to it, and try the truth of this 
 
 rule upon plain facts, you see it liable to so much 
 
 error from a false application ; the principle upon 
 
 which it goes so often perverted ; the whole force 
 
 of it lost, and sometimes so vilely cast away, that it is 
 painful to produce the common examples from human 
 life, which confirm the account. 
 
 " A man shall be vicious and utterly debauched in 
 his principles ; — exceptionable in his conduct to the 
 world ; shall live shameless, in the open commission of 
 
 a sin which no reason or pretence can justify, a sin 
 
 by which, contrary to all the workings of humanity, he 
 shall ruin for ever the deluded partner of his guilt ; — 
 rob her of her best dowry ; and not only cover her 
 own head with dishonour ; — but involve a whole vir- 
 tuous family in shame and sorrow for her sake. Surely, 
 you will think conscience must lead such a man a 
 troublesome life ; he can have no rest night or day 
 from its reproaches. 
 
 *' Alas ! CoxsciENXE had something else to do all 
 this time, than break in upon him ; as Elijah reproached 
 
 the god Baalf this domestic god luas either talking, 
 
 or pursuing, or ivas in a Journey, or peradvsnture he slept 
 and could not be a'woke. 
 
 " Perhaps He was gone out in company with Honour. 
 
 to fight a duel : to pay off some debt at play ; or 
 
 dirty annuity, the bargain of his lust ; Perhaps Con-
 
 130 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 SCIENCE all this time was engaged at home, talking aloud 
 against petty larceny, and executing vengeance upon 
 some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank of life 
 secured him against all temptation of committing ; so 
 
 that he lives as merrily" [If he was of our church, 
 
 tho', quoth Dr SIop^ he could not^ — "sleeps as soundly 
 in his bed ; — and at last meets death as unconcernedly ; 
 — perhaps much more so, than a much better man." 
 
 [All this is impossible with us, quoth Dr Slop^ 
 turning to my father, — the case could not happen in 
 our church. — It happens in ours, however, replied my 
 
 father, but too often. 1 own, quoth Dr Slop^ 
 
 (struck a little with my father's frank acknowledg- 
 ment) — that a man in the Romish church may live as 
 
 badly ; — but then he cannot easily die so. 'Tis 
 
 little matter, replied my father, with an air of indiffer- 
 ence, — how a rascal dies. — I mean, answered Dr SIop^ 
 he would be denied the benefits of the last sacraments. 
 — Pray how many have you in all, said my uncle Toby, 
 
 for I always forget ? Seven, answered Dr Slop. 
 
 Humph! — said my uncle Toby ; tho' not accented 
 
 as a note of acquiescence, — but as an interjection of 
 that particular species of surprize, when a man in 
 looking into a drawer, finds more of a thing than he 
 
 expected. Humph ! replied my uncle Toby. Dr 
 
 Slop, who had an ear, understood my uncle Toby as 
 well as if he had wrote a whole volume against the 
 seven sacraments. Humph ! replied Dr Slop, (stat- 
 ing my uncle Toby* s argument over again to him) 
 
 Why, Sir, are there not seven cardinal virtues ? 
 
 Seven mortal sins ? Seven golden candlesticks ? 
 
 Seven heavens ? — 'Tis more than I know, replied 
 
 my uncle Toby. Are there not seven wonders of 
 
 the world ? Seven days of the creation ?- Seven 
 
 planets ? Seven plagues ? That there are, quoth 
 
 my father with a most affected gravity. But prithee.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHAXDY. I3I 
 
 continued he, go on with the rest of thy characters, 
 Tr'im.'^ 
 
 "Another is sordid, unmerciful," (here Trhn waved 
 his right hand) "a strait-hearted, selfish wretch, in- 
 capable either of private friendship or public spirit. 
 Take notice how he passes by the widow and orphan 
 in their distress, and sees all the miseries incident to 
 human life without a sigh or a prayer." [An' please 
 your honours, cried Trim, I think this a viler man than 
 the other.] 
 
 " Shall not conscience rise up and sting him on such 
 
 occasions: No; thank God there is no occasion, 
 
 / pay every man his otvn ; — / have no fornication to 
 ansiver to my conscience ; — no faithless voius or promises 
 to make up ; — / have debauched no man s nvife or child ; 
 thank God, I am not as other men, adulterers, unjust, or 
 even as this libertine, ^who stands before me. 
 
 " A thii'd is crafty and designing in his nature. View 
 his whole life ; — 'tis nothing but a cunning contex- 
 ture of dark arts and unequitable subterfuges, basely to 
 
 defeat the true intent of all laws, plain-deahng and 
 
 the safe enjoyment of our several properties. You 
 
 will see such a one working out a frame of little designs 
 upon the ignorance and perplexities of the poor and 
 needy man ; — shall raise a fortune upon the inexperi- 
 ence of a youth, or the unsuspecting temper of his 
 friend, who would have trusted him with his life. 
 
 " When old age comes on, and repentance calls him 
 to look back upon this black account, and state it over 
 again with his conscience — Coxsciekce looks into the 
 Statutes at Large ; — finds no express law broken by 
 what he has done ; — perceives no penalty or forfeiture 
 of goods and chattels incurred ; — sees no scourge 
 waving over his head, or prison opening his gates upon 
 him : — What is there to affright his conscience ? — - 
 Conscience has got safely entrenched behind the Letter
 
 132 THE LIFE AND OriNIONS 
 
 of the Law ; sits there invulnerable, fortified with 
 CafiCfi and Klcportfi so strongly on all sides ; — that it 
 is not preaching can dispossess it of its hold." 
 
 [Here Corporal Trim and my uncle Toby exchanged 
 looks with each other. — Aye, aye. Trim ! quoth my 
 
 uncle Tohy^ shaking his head, these are but sorry 
 
 fortifications. Trim. O ! very poor work, an- 
 swered Trim, to what your Honour and I make of it. 
 
 The character of this last man, said Dr Slop, 
 
 interrupting Trim, is more detestable than all the rest ; 
 and seems to have been taken from some pettifogging 
 Lawyer amongst you : — Amongst us, a man's con- 
 science could not possibly continue so long Winded, 
 
 three times in a year, at least, he must go to confession. 
 Will that restore it to sight ? quoth my uncle Tohy. 
 
 Go on. Trim, quoth my father, or Ohadiah will 
 
 have got back before thou hast got to the end of thy 
 
 sermon. 'Tis a very short one, replied Trim. 
 
 I wish it was longer, quoth my uncle Tohy, for I like 
 it hugely. — Trim went on.]] 
 
 " A fourth man shall want even this refuge ; — shall 
 
 break through all their ceremony of slow chicane ; 
 
 scorns the doubtful workings of secret plots and cautious 
 trains to bring about his purpose : See the bare- 
 faced villain, how he cheats, lies, perjures, robs, 
 murders ! — Horrid ! — But indeed much better was not 
 to be expected, in the present case — the poor man was 
 
 in the dark ! his priest had got the keeping of 
 
 his conscience ; and all he would let him know of 
 
 it, was. That he must believe in the Pope ; — go to 
 Mass; — cross himself; — tell his beads; — be a good 
 Catholic, and that this, in all conscience, was enough 
 to carry him to heaven. What ; — if he perjures ! — 
 Why ; — he had a mental reservation in it. — But if he 
 is so wicked and abandoned a wretch as you represent 
 him ; — if he robs, — if he stabs, will not conscience,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 33 
 
 on every such act, receive a wound itself? — Aye, — but 
 
 the man has carried it to confession ; the wound 
 
 digests there, and will do well enough, and in a short 
 time be quite healed up by absolution. O Popery ! 
 
 what hast thou to answer for ? when, not content 
 
 with the too many natural and fatal ways, thro' which 
 the heart of man is every day thus treacherous to itself 
 above all things ; — thou hast wilfully set open the wide 
 gate of deceit before the face of this unwary traveller, 
 too apt, God knows, to go astray of himself ; and con- 
 fidently speak peace to himself, when there is no peace. 
 
 " Of this the common instances which I have drawn 
 out of life, are too notorious to require much evidence. 
 If any man doubts the reality of them, or thinks it 
 impossible for a man to be such a bubble to himself, — 
 I must refer him a moment to his own reflections, and 
 will then venture to trust my appeal with his own 
 heart. 
 
 " Let him consider in how different a degree of 
 detestation, numbers of wicked actions stand there, tho* 
 equally bad and vicious in their own natures ; — he 
 will soon find, that such of them as strong inclination 
 and custom have prompted him to commit, are gene- 
 rally dressed out and painted with all the false beauties 
 which a soft and a flattering hand can give them ; — • 
 and that the others, to which he feels no propensity, 
 appear, at once, naked and deformed, surrounded with 
 all the true circumstances of folly and dishonour. 
 
 " When David surprized Saul sleeping in the cave, 
 and cut oflT the skirt of his robe — we read his heart 
 
 smote him for what he had done ; But in the 
 
 matter of Uriah, where a faithful and gallant servant, 
 whom he ought to have loved and honoured, fell to 
 make way for his lust, — where conscience had so much 
 greater reason to take the alarm, his heart smote him 
 not. A whole year had almost passed from the first
 
 134 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 commission of that crime, to the time Nathan was sent 
 to reprove him ; and we read not once of the least 
 sorrow or compunction of heart which he testified, 
 during all that time, for what he had done. 
 
 " Thus conscience, this once able monitor, 
 
 placed on high as a judge within us, and intended by 
 our Maker as a just and equitable one too, — by an un- 
 happy train of causes and impediments, takes often 
 
 such imperfect cognizance of what passes, does its 
 
 office so negligently, sometimes so corruptly, — 
 
 that it is not to be trusted alone ; and therefore we 
 find there is a necessity, an absolute necessity, o\ 
 joining another principle with it, to aid, if not govern, 
 its determinations. 
 
 *' So that if you would form a just judgment of 
 what is of infinite importance to you not to be misled 
 in, — namely, in what degree of real merit you stand 
 either as an honest man, an useful citizen, a faithful 
 subject to your king, or a good servant to your God, 
 
 call in religion and morality. — Look, What is 
 
 written in the law of God ? How readest thou ? 
 
 — Consult calm reason and the unchangeable obliga- 
 tions of justice and truth ; what say they ? 
 
 " Let Conscience determine the matter upon these 
 
 reports ; and then if thy heart condemns thee not, 
 
 which is the case the apostle supposes, the rule 
 
 will be infallible ; " — [Here Dr Slop fell asleep] — 
 
 ^^ thou iv'ilt ha've confidence tonvards God; that is, 
 
 have just grounds to believe the judgment thou hast 
 past upon thyself, is the judgment of God ; and no- 
 thing else but an anticipation of that righteous sentence 
 which will be pronounced upon thee hereafter by that 
 Being, to whom thou art finally to give an account of 
 thy actions. 
 
 " Blessed is the man, indeed, then, as the author of 
 the book of Ecclesiaslkus expresses it, 'who is not pricked
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 35 
 
 *wUh the multitude of his sins : Blessed is the man ivhose 
 heart hath not condemned him ; ivhcther he he rich, or 
 ivhether he he poor, if he have a good heart (a heart 
 thus guided and informed) he shall at all times rejoice 
 in a chearful countenance ; his mind shall tell him more 
 than seven nvatch-men that sit above upon a toiver on 
 high.^^ — [A tower has no strength, quoth my uncle 
 Toby, unless 'tis ilank'd.] — "In the darkest doubts 
 it shall conduct him safer than a thousand casuists, 
 and give the state he lives in, a better security for 
 his behaviour than all the causes and restrictions put 
 together, which law-makers are forced to multiply : — 
 Forced, I say, as things stand ; human laws not being 
 a matter of original choice, but of pure necessity, 
 brought in to fence against the mischievous effects of 
 those consciences which are no law unto themselves ; 
 well intending, by the many provisions made, — that in 
 all such corrupt and misguided cases, where principles 
 and the checks of conscience will not make us upright, 
 — to supply their force, and, by the terrors of gaols and 
 halters, oblige us to it." 
 
 [I see plainly, said my father, that this sermon has 
 
 been composed to be preached at the Temple, or 
 
 at some Assize. — I like the reasoning, — and am sorry 
 that Dr Slop has fallen asleep before the time of his 
 conviction : — for it is now clear, that the Parson, as I 
 thought at first, never insulted St Paul in the least ; — 
 nor has there been, brother, the least difference between 
 
 them. A great matter, if they had differed, replied 
 
 my uncle Toby, — the b^st friends in the world may differ 
 
 sometimes. True, — brother Toby, quoth my father, 
 
 shaking hands with him, — we'll fill our pipes, brother, 
 and then Trim shall go on. 
 
 Well, what dost thou think of it ? said my 
 
 father, speaking to Corporal Trim, as he reached his 
 tobacco-box.
 
 136 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 I think, answered the Corporal, that the seven 
 watch-men upon the tower, who, I suppose, are all 
 centinels there, — are more, an' please your Honour, 
 than were necessary ; — and, to go on at that rate, would 
 harrass a regiment all to pieces, which a commanding 
 officer, who loves his men, will never do, if he can 
 help it, because two centinels, added the Corporal, 
 are as good as twenty. — I have been a commanding 
 officer myself in the Corps de Garde a hundred times, 
 continued Trim, rising an inch higher in his figure, 
 as he spoke, — and all the time I had the honour to 
 serve his Majesty King William, in relieving the most 
 considerable posts, I never left more than two in my 
 
 life. Very right. Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, — 
 
 but you do not consider. Trim, that the towers, in 
 Solomon s days, were not such things as our bastions, 
 flanked and defended by other works ; — this. Trim, 
 was an invention since Solomon s death ; nor had they 
 horn- works, or ravelins before the curtin, in his time ; 
 
 or such a fosse as we make with a cuvette in 
 
 the middle of it, and with covered ways and counter- 
 scarps pallisadoed along it, to guard against a Coup de 
 main : — So that the seven men upon the tower were 
 a party, I dare say, from the Corps de Garde, set 
 there, not only to look out, but to defend it. — They 
 could be no more, an' please your Honour, than a 
 Corporal's Guard. — My father smiled inwardly, but 
 not outwardly ; — the subject being rather too serious, 
 considering what had happened, to make a jest of. 
 — So putting his pipe into his mouth, which he had 
 just lighted, — he contented himself with ordering Trim 
 to read on. He read on as follows :] 
 
 "To have the fear of God before our eyes, and, 
 in our mutual dealings with each other, to govern our 
 actions by the eternal measures of right and wrong : 
 The first of these will comprehend the duties of
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 137 
 
 religion ; — the second, those of morality, which are so 
 inseparably connected together, that you cannot divide 
 these two tables, even in imagination, (tho' the attempt 
 is often made in practice) without breaking and mutu- 
 ally destroying them both. 
 
 " I said the attempt is often made ; and so it is ; 
 
 there being nothing more common than to see a 
 
 man who has no sense at all of religion, and indeed 
 has so much honesty as to pretend to none, who would 
 take it as the bitterest affront, should you but hint at a 
 
 suspicion of his moral character, or imagine he was 
 
 not conscientiously just and scrupulous to the uttermost 
 mite. 
 
 " When there is some appearance that it is so, — 
 tho' one is unwilling even to suspect the appearance of 
 so amiable a virtue as moral honesty, yet were we to 
 look into the grounds of it, in the present case, I am 
 persuaded we should find little reason to envy such a 
 one the honour of his motive. 
 
 " Let him declaim as pompously as he chooses upon 
 the subject, it will be found to rest upon no better 
 foundation than either his interest, his pride, his ease, 
 or some such little and changeable passion as will give 
 us but small dependence upon his actions in matters of 
 great distress. 
 
 " I will illustrate this by an example. 
 
 " I know the banker I deal with, or the physician I 
 usually call in," — [There is no need, cried Dr Slop, 
 
 (waking) to call in any physician in this case J "to 
 
 be neither of them men of much religion : I hear them 
 make a jest of it every day, and treat all its sanctions 
 with so much scorn, as to put the matter past doubt. 
 Well ; — notwithstanding this, I put my fortune into 
 the hands of the one : — and what is dearer still to' me, 
 I trust my life to the honest skill of the other. 
 
 " Now let me examine what is my reason for this
 
 130 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 great confidence. Why, in the first place, I believe 
 there is no probability that either of them will employ 
 the power I put into their hands to my disadvantage ; 
 — I consider that honesty serves the purposes of this 
 life r-i-I know their success in the world depends upon 
 the fairness of their characters. — In a word, I'm 
 persuaded that they cannot hurt me without hurting 
 themselves more. 
 
 " But put it otherwise, namely, that interest lay, for 
 once, on the other side ; that a case should happen, 
 wherein the one, without stain to his reputation, could 
 secrete my fortune, and leave me naked in the world ; 
 — or that the other could send me out of it, and enjoy 
 an estate by my death, without dishonour to himself 
 or his art : — In this case, what hold have I of either 
 of them ? — Religion, the strongest of all motives, is 
 out of the question ; — Interest, the next most powerful 
 
 motive in the world, is strongly against me ; 
 
 What have I left to cast into the opposite scale to 
 
 balance this temptation ? Alas ! I have nothing, 
 
 nothing but what is lighter than a bubble 1 
 
 must lie at the mercy of Honour, or some such cap- 
 ricious principle — Strait security for two of the most 
 valuable blessings ! — my property and myself. 
 
 " As, therefore, we can have no dependence upon 
 morality v/ithout religion ; — so, on the other hand, 
 there is nothing better to be expected from religion 
 without morality ; nevertheless, 'tis no prodigy to see a 
 man whose real moral character stands very low, who 
 yet entertains the highest notion of himself in the light 
 of a religious man. 
 
 " He shall not only be covetous, revengeful, implac- 
 able, — but even wanting in points of common honesty ; 
 yet inasmuch as he talks aloud against the infidelity of 
 
 the age, is zealous for some points of religion, 
 
 goes twice a day to church, — attends the sacraments, —
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 39 
 
 and amuses himself with a few instrumental parts of 
 religion, — shall cheat his conscience into a judgment, 
 that, for this, he is a religious man, and has discharged 
 truly his duty to God : And you will find that such a 
 man, through force of this delusion, generally looks 
 down with spiritual pride upon every other man who 
 has less affectation of piety, — though, perhaps, ten 
 times more real honesty than himself. 
 
 *' This likeiuise is a sore evil under the sun ; and I 
 believe, there is no one mistaken principle, which, for 
 
 its time, has wrought more serious mischiefs. 
 
 For a general proof of this, — examine the history of 
 the Romish church ; " — [Well, what can you make 
 of that ? cried Dr Slop^ — " see what scenes of cruelty, 
 
 murder, rapine, bloodshed," [They may thank 
 
 their own obstinacy, cried Dr Slop.'} "have all 
 
 been sanctified by a religion not strictly governed by 
 morality. 
 
 "In how many kingdoms of the world" — [Here 
 Trim kept waving his right hand from the sermon to the 
 extent of his arm, returning it backwards and forwards 
 to the conclusion of the paragraph.] 
 
 " In how many kingdoms of the world has the 
 crusading sword of this misguided saint-errant, spared 
 neither age nor merit, or sex, or condition ? — and, as 
 he fought under the banners of a religion which set him 
 loose from justice and humanity, he shewed none ; 
 mercilessly trampled upon both, — heard neither the 
 cries of the unfortunate, nor pitied their distresses." 
 
 [I have been in many a battle, an' please your 
 Honour, quoth Trim, sighing, but never in so melan- 
 choly a one as this, — I would not have drawn a tricker 
 
 in it against these poor souls, to have been made 
 
 a general officer. ^^Vhy ? what do you understand 
 
 of the affair ? said Dr Slop, looking towards Trim, 
 with something more of contempt than the Corporal's
 
 I40 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 honest heart deserved. What do you know, friend, 
 
 about this battle you talk of ? — I know, replied Trim, 
 that I never refused quarter in my life to any man who 
 cried out for it ; but to a woman or a child, con- 
 tinued Trim, before I would level my musket at them, 
 
 I would lose my life a thousand times. Here's a 
 
 crown for thee, Triin, to drink with Ohad'iah to-night, 
 quoth my uncle Toby, and I'll give Ohad'iah another 
 
 too. — God bless your Honour, replied Trim, 1 had 
 
 rather these poor women and children had it. Thou 
 
 art an honest fellow, quoth my uncle Tohy. My 
 
 father nodded his head, as much as to say, — and so he 
 is. 
 
 But prithee. Trim, said my father, make an end, — 
 for I see thou hast but a leaf or two left. 
 
 Corporal Trim read on.]] 
 
 "If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is 
 not sufficient, — consider at this instant, how the votaries 
 of that religion are every day thinking to do service 
 and honour to God, by actions which are a dishonour 
 and scandal to themselves. 
 
 " To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment 
 into the prisons of the Inquisition." — [God help my 
 poor brother Tom.~\ — "Behold Religion, with Mercy ^nd 
 
 Justice chained down under her feet, there sitting 
 
 ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks 
 and instruments of torment. Hark! — hark! what a 
 piteous groan ! " — [Here Trim's face turned as pale as 
 
 ashes.]] " See the melancholy wretch who uttered 
 
 it" — [Here the tears began to trickle down.]] 
 
 ** just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock 
 trial, and endure the utmost pains that a studied system 
 of cruelty has been able to invent." — [D — n them all, 
 quoth Trim, his colour returning into his face as red as 
 blood.]] — " Behold this helpless victim delivered up to 
 his tormentors, — his body so wasted with sorrow and
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I4I 
 
 confinement." [Oh ! 'tis my brother, cried poor 
 
 Trim in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the 
 sermon upon the ground, and clapping his hands together 
 — I fear 'tis poor Tom. My father's and my uncle 
 Toby s heart yearned with sympathy for the poor 
 fellow's distress ; even Slop himself acknowledged pity 
 
 for him. Why, Tr'im^ said my father, this is not 
 
 a history, 'tis a sermon thou art reading ; prithee 
 
 begin the sentence again.]] " Behold this helpless 
 
 victim delivered up to his tormentors, — his body so 
 wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see 
 every nerve and muscle as it suffers. 
 
 " Observe the last movement of that horrid engine ! " 
 — [I would rather face a cannon, quoth Trim, stamp- 
 ing. J — " See what convulsions it has thrown him into ! 
 
 Consider the nature of the posture in which he 
 
 now lies stretched, — what exquisite tortures he endures 
 by it! " — [I hope 'tis not in Portugal.'} — "'Tis all 
 nature can bear ! Good God ! see how it keeps his 
 weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips ! " [I 
 would not read another line of it, quoth Trim, for all 
 this luorld ; — I fear, an' please your Honours, all this 
 is in Portugal, where my poor brother Tom is. I tell 
 thee. Trim, again, quoth my father, 'tis not an histori- 
 cal account, — 'tis a description. — 'Tis only a descrip- 
 tion, honest man, quoth Slop, there's not a word of truth 
 
 in it. That's another story, replied my father. — 
 
 However, as Trim reads it with so much concern, — 'tis 
 cruelty to force him to go on with it. — Give me hold 
 of the sermon, Trim, — I'll finish it for thee, and thou 
 may'st go. I must stay and hear it too, replied Trim, 
 if your Honour will allow me ; — tho' I would not 
 
 read it myself for a Colonel's pay. Poor Trim ! 
 
 quoth my uncle Toby. My father went on.] — 
 
 " Consider the nature of the posture in which 
 
 he now lies stretched, — what exquisite torture he
 
 142 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 endures by It ! — 'Tis all nature can bear ! Good 
 God ! See how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon 
 
 his trembling lips, — willing to take its leave, but not 
 
 suffered to depart! — Behold the unhappy wretch led 
 
 back to his cell ! " [Then, thank God, however, 
 
 quoth 7>/m, they have not killed him.] — " See him 
 dragged out of it again to meet the flames, and the 
 insults in his last agonies, which this principle, — this 
 principle, that there can be religion without mercy, has 
 
 prepared for him." [Then, thank God, he is 
 
 dead, quoth Trim, — he is out of his pain, — and they 
 have done their worst at him. — O Sirs! — Hold your 
 peace, Trhn, said my father, going on with the sermon, 
 lest Trim should incense Dr Slop, — we shall never 
 have done at this rate.] 
 
 " The surest way to try the merit of any disputed 
 notion is, to trace down the consequences such a 
 notion has produced, and compare them with the spirit 
 
 of Christianity ; 'tis the short and decisive rule 
 
 which our Saviour hath left us, for these and such like 
 
 cases, and it is worth a thousand arguments By 
 
 their fruits ye shall hnoiv them. 
 
 " I will add no farther to the length of this sermon, 
 than by two or three short and independent rules 
 deducible from it. 
 
 " First, Whenever a man talks loudly against 
 religion, always suspect that it is not his reason, but 
 his passions, which have got the better of his Creed. 
 A bad life and a good belief are disagreeable and 
 troublesome neighbours, and where they separate, 
 depend upon it, 'tis for no other cause but quietness' 
 sake. 
 
 ** Secondly, When a man, thus represented, tells you 
 
 in any particular instance, That such a thing goes 
 
 against his conscience, always believe he means 
 
 exactly the same thing, as when he tells you such a
 
 -^^XviK^/f. 
 
 ^Jgf2 
 
 Corporal Trim.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 43 
 
 thing goes against his stomach ; — a present want of 
 appetite being generally the true cause of both. 
 
 " In a word, — trust that man in nothing, who has 
 not a Conscience in every thing. 
 
 " And, in your own case, remember this plain dis- 
 tinction, a mistake in which has ruined thousands, — 
 that youi' conscience is not a law: — No, God and 
 reason made the law, and have placed conscience 
 
 within you to determine ; not, like an Asiatic Cadi, 
 
 according to the ebbs and flows of his own passions, — 
 but like a British judge in this land of liberty and good 
 sense, who makes no new law, but faithfully declares 
 that law which he knows already written." 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Thou hast read the sermon extremely well. Trim, 
 quoth my father. — If he had spared his comments, 
 
 replied Dr Slop, he would have read it much better. 
 
 I should have read it ten times better. Sir, answered 
 Trim, but that my heart was so full. — That was the 
 very reason, Trim, replied my father, which has made 
 thee read the sermon as well as thou hast done ; and if 
 the clergy of our church, continued my father, address- 
 ing himself to Dr Slop, would take part in what they 
 deliver as deeply as this poor fellow has done, — as 
 their compositions are fine ; — [I deny it, quoth Dr 
 Slop~\ — I maintain it, — that the eloquence of our pulpits, 
 with such subjects to enflame it, would be a model for 
 
 the whole world : But alas ! continued my father, 
 
 and I own it, Sir, with sorrow, that, like French 
 politicians in this respect, what they gain in the cabinet 
 
 they lose in the field. 'Twere a pity, quoth rriy 
 
 uncle, that this should be lost. I like the sermon 
 well, replied my father, 'tis dramatick, — and there
 
 144 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 is something in that way of writing, when skilfully 
 
 managed, which catches the attention. We preach 
 
 much in that way with us, said Dr Slop. — I know 
 
 that very well, said my father, ^but in a tone and 
 
 manner which disgusted Dr Slop, full as much as his 
 
 assent, simply, could have pleased him. But in this, 
 
 added Dr Slop, a little piqued, — our sermons have 
 greatly the advantage, that we never introduce any 
 character into them below a patriarch or a patriarch's 
 wife, or a martyr or a saint. — There are some very 
 bad characters in this, however, said my father, and 
 
 I do not think the sermon a jot the worse for 'em. 
 
 But pray, quoth my uncle Toby, — who's can this be ? 
 — How could it get into my Stevinus P A man must 
 be as great a conjurer as Stevlnus, said my father, to 
 resolve the second question : — The first, I think, is 
 not so difficult ; — for unless my judgment greatly de- 
 ceives me, 1 know the author, for 'tis wrote, 
 
 certainly, by the parson of the parish. 
 
 The similitude of the stile and manner of it, with 
 those my father constantly had heard preached in his 
 parish-church, was the ground of his conjecture, — prov- 
 ing it as strongly, as an argument a priori could prove 
 such a thing to a philosophic mind. That it was Toricli s 
 and no one's else : — It was proved to be so, a posteriori, 
 the day after, when Torick sent a servant to my uncle 
 Tohy* s house to enquire after it. 
 
 It seems that Torick, who was inquisitive after all 
 kinds of knowledge, had borrowed Stevinus of my 
 uncle Toby, and had carelessly popped his sermon, as 
 soon as he had made it, into the middle of Stevinus ; 
 and by an act of forgetfulness, to which he was ever 
 subject, he had sent Stevinus home, and his sermon to 
 keep him company. 
 
 Ill-fated sermon ! Thou wast lost, after this recovery 
 of thee, a second time, dropped thro' an unsuspected
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I45 
 
 fissure In thy master's pocket, down into a treacherous 
 and a tattered Hning, — trod deep into the dirt by the 
 left hind-foot of his Rosinante inhumanly stepping upon 
 thee as thou falledst ; — burled ten days in the mire, 
 raised up out of it by a beggar, — sold for a half- 
 penny to a parish-clerk, transferred to his parson, 
 
 lost for ever to "thy own, the remainder of his 
 
 days, nor restored to his restless Manes till this 
 
 very moment, that I tell the world the story. 
 
 Can the reader believe, that this sermon of TortcFs 
 was preached at an assize, in the cathedral of Tork, 
 before a thousand witnesses, ready to give oath of it, 
 by a certain prebendary of that church, and actually 
 
 printed by him when he had done, and within so 
 
 short a space as two years and three months after 
 ToricFs death ? — Tor'tck indeed, was never better served 
 
 in his life ; but it was a little hard to maltreat 
 
 him after, and plunder him after he was laid in his 
 grave. 
 
 However, as the gentleman who did it was in per- 
 fect charity with Torkk, — and, in conscious justice, 
 printed but a few copies to give away ; — and that I am 
 told he could moreover have made as good a one him- 
 self, had he thought fit, — I declare I would not have 
 
 published this anecdote to the world ; nor do I 
 
 publish it with an intent to hurt his character and 
 
 advancement in the church ; 1 leave that to others ; 
 
 — but I find myself impelled by two reasons, which I 
 cannot withstand. 
 
 The first is. That in doing justice, I may give rest 
 
 to Tor'tck' s ghost ; which — as the country-people, 
 
 and some others, believe, still walks. 
 
 The second reason is. That, by laying open this 
 story to the world, I gain an opportunity of informing 
 it, — That in case the character of parson Tor'tck, and 
 this sample of his sermons, is liked, there are now 
 
 1. K
 
 146 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 in the possession of the Shandy family, as many as will 
 
 make a handsome volume, at the world's service, • 
 
 and much good may they do it. 
 
 OBADIAH gained the two crowns without dis- 
 pute ; for he came in jingling, with all the 
 instruments in the green bays bag we spoke 
 of, slung across his body, just as Corporal Tri7n went 
 out of the room. 
 
 It is now proper, I think, quoth Dr Slop^ (clearing 
 up his looks) as we are in a condition to be of some 
 service to Mrs Shandyy to send up stairs to know how 
 she goes on. 
 
 , I have ordered, answered my father, the old midwife 
 to come down to us upon the least difficulty ; — for you 
 must know, Dr SIop^ continued my father, with a per- 
 plexed kind of a smile upon his countenance, that by 
 express treaty, solemnly ratified between me and my 
 wife, you are no more than an auxiliary in this affair, — • 
 and not so much as that, — unless the lean old mother 
 of a midwife above stairs cannot do without you. — 
 Women have their particular fancies, and in points of this 
 nature, continued my father, where they bear the whole 
 burden, and suffer so much acute pain for the advantage 
 of our families, and the good of the species, — they claim 
 a right of deciding, en Scuveralnesj in whose hands, and 
 in what fashion, they choose to undergo it. 
 
 They are in the right of it, quoth my uncle 
 
 Toby. But, Sir, replied Dr Slop, not taking notice of 
 my uncle Tolf s opinion, but turning to my father, — 
 
 they had better govern in other points ; and a father 
 
 of a family, who wishes its perpetuity, in my opinion,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I47 
 
 had better exchange this prerogative with them, and 
 
 give up some other rights in heu of it. 1 know not, 
 
 quoth my father, answering a httle too testily, to be 
 quite dispassionate in what he said, — I know not, quoth 
 he, what we have left to give up, in lieu of who shall 
 bring our children into the world, unless that, — of who 
 
 shall beget them. One would almost give up 
 
 any thing, repHed Dr Slop. — I beg your pardon, 
 
 answered my uncle Toby. — Sir, replied Dr Slop^ it 
 would astonish you to know what improvements we 
 have made of late years in all branches of obstetrical 
 knowledge, but particularly in that one single point of 
 
 the safe and expeditious extraction of the foetus^ 
 
 which has received such lights, that, for my part (hold- 
 ing up his hands) I declare I wonder how the world 
 
 has 1 wish, quoth my uncle Tohyy you had seen 
 
 what prodigious armies we had in Flanders, 
 
 Chapter m* 
 
 1HAVE dropped the curtain over this scene for a 
 minute, to remind you of one thing, and 
 
 to inform you of another. 
 What I have to inform you, comes, I own, a little 
 
 out of its due course ; for it should have been told 
 
 a hundred and fifty pages ago, but that I foresaw then 
 'twould come in pat hereafter, and be of more advantage 
 here tlian elsewhere. — Writers had need look before 
 them, to keep up the spirit and connection of what 
 they have in hand. 
 
 When these two things are done, — the curtain shall 
 be drawn up again, and my uncle Tohy^ my father, and 
 Dr Slopj shall go on with their discourse, without any 
 more interruption.
 
 148 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 First, then, the matter which I have to remind you 
 
 of, is this ; that from the specimens of singularity 
 
 in my father's notions in the point of Christian-names, 
 and that other previous point thereto, — you was led, I 
 think, into an opinion, (and I am sure I said as much) 
 that my father was a gentleman altogether as odd and 
 whimsical in fifty other opinions. In truth, there was 
 not a stage in the life of man, from the very first act of 
 his begetting, down to the lean and slippered panta- 
 loon in his second childishness, but he had some favourite 
 notion to himself, springing out of it, as sceptical, and 
 as far out of the high-way of thinking, as these two 
 which have been explained. 
 
 — Mr Shandy, my father, Sir, would see nothing in 
 the light in which others placed it ; — he placed things 
 in his own light ; — he would weigh nothing in common 
 scales ; — no, he was too refined a researcher to lie open 
 to so gross an imposition. — To come at the exact 
 weight of things in the scientific steel-yard, the fulcrum, 
 he would say, should be almost invisible, to avoid all 
 friction from popular tenets ; — without this the minutise 
 of philosophy, which would always turn the balance, 
 will have no weight at all. Knowledge, like matter, 
 
 he would affirm, was divisible in injinitum ; that the 
 
 grains and scruples were as much a part of it, as the 
 gravitation of the whole world. — In a word, he would 
 
 say, error was error, — no matter where it fell, 
 
 whether in a fraction, — or a pound, — 'twas alike fatal 
 to truth, and she was kept down at the bottom of her 
 well, as inevitably by a mistake in the dust of a butter- 
 fly's wing, as in the disk of the sun, the moon, and 
 
 all the stars of heaven put together. 
 
 He would often lament that it was for want of 
 considering this properly, and of applying it skilfully 
 to civil matters, as well as to speculative truths, that so 
 many things in this world were out of joint ; that
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 49 
 
 the political arch was giving way ; ^and that the 
 
 very foundations of our excellent constitution, in church 
 and state, were so sapped as estimators had reported. 
 
 You cry out, he would say, we are a ruined, undone 
 people. Why ? he would ask, making use of the 
 sorites or syllogism of Zeno and Chrysippus, without 
 knowing it belonged to them. — Why ? why are we a 
 ruined people ? — Because we are corrupted. — ^^Vhence 
 
 is it, dear Sir, that we are corrupted ? Because we 
 
 are needy ; our poverty, and not our wills, consent. 
 
 And wherefore, he would add, are we needy ? — 
 
 From the neglect, he would answer, of our pence and 
 our halfpence : — Our bank notes, Sir, our guineas, — 
 nay our shillings take care of themselves. 
 
 'Tis the same, he would say, throughout the whole 
 circle of the sciences ; — the great, the established points 
 of them, are not to be broke in upon. — The laws of 
 
 nature will defend themselves ; — but error (he 
 
 would add, looking earnestly at my mother) error, 
 
 Sir, creeps in thro' the minute holes and small crevices 
 which human nature leaves unguarded. 
 
 This turn of thinking in my father, is what I had to 
 remind you of : — The point you are to be informed of, 
 and which I have reserved for this place, is as follows. 
 
 Amongst the many and excellent reasons, with 
 which my father had urged my mother to accept of 
 Dr Slop's assistance preferably to that of the old 
 
 woman, there was one of a very singular nature ; 
 
 which, when he had done arguing the manner with her 
 as a Christian, and came to argue it over again with 
 her as a philosopher, he had put his whole strength to, 
 
 depending indeed upon it as his sheet-anchor. 
 
 It failed him ; tho' from no defect in the argument 
 itself ; but that, do what he could, he was not able for 
 
 his soul to make her comprehend the drift of it. 
 
 Cursed luck ! said he to himself, one afternoon, as
 
 150 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 he walked out of the room, after he had been stating it 
 for an hour and a half to her, to no manner of purpose ; 
 — cursed luck ! said he, biting his lip as he shut the 
 
 door, for a man to be master of one of the finest 
 
 chains of reasoning in nature, — and have a wife at the 
 same time with such a head-piece, that he cannot hang 
 up a single inference within side of it, to save his soul 
 from destruction. 
 
 This argument, though it was entirely lost upon my 
 
 mother, had more weight with him, than all his 
 
 other arguments joined together : — I will therefore 
 endeavour to do it justice, — and set it forth with all the 
 perspicuity I am master of. 
 
 My father set out upon the strength of these two 
 following axioms : 
 
 Firsts That an ounce of a man's own wit, was worth 
 a ton of other people's ; and. 
 
 Secondly, (Which by the bye, was the ground- work 
 
 of the first axiom, tho' it comes last) That every 
 
 man's wit must come from every man's own soul, 
 
 and no other body's. 
 
 Now, as it was plain to my father, that all souls were 
 by nature equal, and that the great difference be- 
 tween the most acute and the most obtuse understand- 
 ing was from no original sharpness or bluntness of 
 
 one thinking substance above or below another, but 
 
 arose merely from the lucky or unlucky organization of 
 the body, in that part where the soul principally took 
 
 up her residence, he had made it the subject of his 
 
 enquiry to find out the identical place. 
 
 Now, from the best accounts he had been able to get 
 of this matter, he was satisfied it could not be where 
 Des Cartes had fixed it, upon the top of the pineal 
 gland of the brain ; which, as he philosophized, formed 
 a cushion for her about the size of a marrow pea ; tho', 
 to speak the truth, as so many nerves did terminate all
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I5I 
 
 in that one place, — 'twas no bad con]ectm-e ; and 
 
 my father had certainly follen with that great philo- 
 sopher plumb into the centre of the mistake, had it not 
 been for my uncle Tohy^ who rescued him out of it, by 
 a story he told him of a Walloon officer at the battle of 
 Landen, who had one part of his brain shot away by a 
 musket-ball, — and another part of it taken out after by 
 a French surgeon ; and after all, recovered, and did his 
 duty very well without it. 
 
 If death, said my father, reasoning with himself, is 
 nothing but the separation of the soul from the body ; 
 and if it is true that people can walk about and do their 
 business without brains, — then certes the soul does not 
 inhabit there. Q. E. D. 
 
 As for that certain, very thin, subtle and very 
 fragrant juice which CogUonissimo Born, the great 
 Milanese physician affirms, in a letter to Barthol'ine, to 
 have discovered in the cellulse of the occipital parts of 
 the cerebellum, and which he likewise affirms to be the 
 principal seat of the reasonable soul, (for, you must 
 know, in these latter and more enhghtened ages, there 
 are two souls in every man living, — the one, according 
 to the great Methegllngius, being called the Animus, the 
 other, the Anima ;) — as for the opinion, I say, of Borrl, 
 — my father could never subscribe to it by any means ; 
 the very idea of so noble, so refined, so immaterial, and 
 so exalted a being as the Anima, or even the Animus, 
 taking up her residence, and sitting dabbling, like a tad- 
 pole all day long, both summer and winter, in a puddle, 
 or in a liquid of any kind, how thick or thin so- 
 ever, he would say, shocked his imagination ; he would 
 scarce give the doctrine a hearing. 
 
 What, therefore, seemed the least liable to objections 
 of any, was that the chief sensorium, or head-quarters 
 of the soul, and to which place all intelligences were 
 referred, and from whence all her mandates were issued,
 
 152 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 — was In, or near, the cerebellum, — or rather some- 
 where about the medulla oblongata, wherein it was gene- 
 rally agreed by Dutch anatomists, that all the minute 
 nerves from all the organs of the seven senses concentered, 
 like streets and winding alleys, into a square. 
 
 So far there was nothing singular in my father's 
 opinion, — he had the best of philosophers, of all ages and 
 
 climates, to go along with him. But here he took a 
 
 road of his own, setting up another Shandean hypothesis 
 
 upon these corner-stones they had laid for him ; and 
 
 which said hypothesis equally stood its ground ; whether 
 the subtilty and fineness of the soul depended upon the 
 temperature and clearness of the said liquor, or of the 
 finer net- work and texture in the cerebellum itself; 
 which opinion he favoured. 
 
 He maintained, that next to the due care to be taken 
 in the act of propagation of each individual, which 
 required all the thought in the world, as it laid the 
 foundation of this incomprehensible contexture, in which 
 wit, memory, fancy, eloquence, and what is usually 
 meant by the name of good natural parts, do consist ; — 
 that next to this and his Christian-name, which were 
 
 the two original and most efficacious causes of all ; 
 
 that the third cause, or rather what logicians call the 
 Causa sine qua non, and without which all that was done 
 was of no manner of significance, was the preser- 
 vation of this delicate and fine-spun web, from the 
 havock which was generally made in it by the violent 
 compression and crush which the head was made to 
 undergo, by the nonsensical method of bringing us into 
 the world by that foremost. 
 
 / This requires explanation. 
 
 / My father, who dipped into all kinds of books, upon 
 looking into Lithopadus Senonesls de Partu difficili,^ 
 
 * The author is here twice mistaken ; for Lithopcedus should be 
 wrote thus, Lithopcedii Senoiiensis Icon. The second mistake is,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 153 
 
 published by Adnanus Stnehgot, had found out, that the 
 lax and pliable state of a child's head in parturition, the 
 bones of the cranium having no sutures at that time, was 
 
 such, that by force of the woman's efforts, which. In 
 
 strong labour- pains, was equal, upon an average, to the 
 weight of 470 pounds averdupois acting perpendicularly 
 upon it; — it so happened, that in 49 instances out of 50, 
 the said head was compressed and moulded into the 
 shape of an oblong conical piece of dough, such as a 
 pastry-cook generally rolls up in order to make a pye 
 of. — Good God ! cried my father, what havock and 
 destruction must this make in the infinitely fine and 
 tender texture of the cerebellum ! — Or if there is such 
 a juice as Borri pretends, — is it not enough to make the 
 clearest liquid in the world both feculent and mothery ? 
 
 But how great was his apprehension, when he farther 
 understood, that this force acting upon the very vertex of 
 the head, not only injured the brain itself, or cerebrum, — 
 but that it necessarily squeezed and propelled the cere- 
 brum towards the cerebellum, which was the immediate 
 
 seat of the understanding ! Angels and ministers of 
 
 grace defend us ! cried my father, can any soul 
 
 withstand this shock ? — No wonder the intellectual web 
 is so rent and tattered as we see it ; and that so many of 
 our best heads are no better than a puzzled skein of silk, 
 all perplexity, all confusion within-side. 
 
 But when my father read on, and was let into the 
 secret, that when a child was turned topsy-turvy, which 
 was easy for an operator to do, and was extracted by 
 the feet ; — that instead of the cerebrum being propelled 
 
 that this Lithopcedus is not an author, but a drawing of a petrified 
 child. The account of this, published by Athosius 1580, may be 
 seen at the end of Cordceus's works in Spachius. Mr Tristram 
 Shandy has been led into this error, either from seeing Lithopce- 
 
 dus's name of late in a catalogue of learned writers in Dr , 
 
 or by mistaking Liihopcsdus for Trinecavellius, from the too 
 
 great similitude of the names.
 
 154 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 towards the cerebellum, the cerebellum, on the contrary, 
 was propelled simply towards the cerebrum, where it 
 
 could do no manner of hurt : By heavens ! cried he, 
 
 the world is in conspiracy to drive out what little wit 
 
 God has given us, and the professors of the obstetric 
 
 art are lifted into the same conspiracy. — ^What is it to 
 me v/hich end of my son comes foremost into the world, 
 provided all goes right after, and his cerebellum escapes 
 uncrushed ?^^- 
 
 It is th^ nature of an hypothesis, when once a man 
 has conceived it, that it assimilates every thing to itself, 
 as proper nourishment ; and, from the first moment of 
 your begetting it, it generally grows the stronger by 
 every thing you see, hear, read, or understand. This is 
 of great use. 
 
 When my father was gone with this about a month, 
 there was scarce a phaenomenon of stupidity or of genius, 
 which he could not readily solve by it ; — it accounted 
 for the eldest son being the greatest blockhead in the 
 
 family. Poor devil, he would say, — he made way 
 
 for the capacity of his younger brothers. It unriddled 
 
 the observations of drivellers and monstrous heads, 
 
 shewing a priori^ it could not be otherwise, unless 
 
 ***# J don't know what. It wonderfully explained 
 and accounted for the acumen of the Asiatic genius, and 
 that sprightlier turn, and a more penetrating intuition of 
 minds, in warmer climates ; not from the loose and 
 common-place solution of a clearer sky, and a more 
 perpetual sunshine, &c. — which for aught he knew, 
 might as well rarefy and dilute the faculties of the soul 
 into nothing, by one extreme, — as they are condensed 
 
 in colder climates by the other ; but he traced the 
 
 affair up to its spring-head ; — shewed that, in warmer 
 climates, nature had laid a lighter tax upon the fairest 
 parts of the creation ; — their pleasures more ; — the 
 necessity of their pains less, insomuch that the pressure
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY, T55 
 
 and resistance upon the vertex was so slight, that the 
 whole organization of the cerebellum was preserved ; 
 
 nay, he did not believe, in natural births, that so 
 
 much as a single thread of the net-work was broke or 
 
 displaced, so that the soul might just act as she 
 
 liked. 
 
 When my father had got so far, what a blaze 
 
 of light did the accounts of the Casarian section, and of 
 the towering geniuses who had come safe into the world 
 by it, cast upon this hypothesis ? Here you see, he 
 would say, there was no injury done to the sensorium ; 
 
 — no pressure of the head against the pelvis ; no 
 
 propulsion of the cerebrum towards the cerebellum, 
 either by the os pubis on this side, or the os coxygis on 
 that ; and pray, what were the happy conse- 
 quences ? Why, Sir, your jfulius Casar, who gave 
 the operation a name ; — and your Hermes Trismegtstus, 
 who was born so before ever the operation had a name ; 
 
 your Scipio Africanus ; your Manlius Torquatus ; 
 
 our Edivard l\\Q Sixth, — who, had he lived, would have 
 
 done the same honour to the hypothesis : These, 
 
 and many more who figured high in the annals of fame, 
 — all came side-ivay, Sir, into the world. 
 
 The incision of the abdomen and uterus ran for six 
 
 weeks together in my father's head ; he had read, 
 
 and was satisfied, that wounds in the epigastrium, and 
 those in the matrix, were not mortal ; — so that the belly 
 of the mother might be opened extremely well to give a 
 passage to the child. — He mentioned the thing one after- 
 noon to my mother, merely as a matter of fact ; 
 
 but seeing her turn as pale as ashes at the very mention 
 of it, as much as the operation flattered his hopes, — he 
 
 thought it as well to say no more of it, contenting 
 
 himself with admiring, — what he thought was to no 
 purpose to propose. 
 
 This was my father Mr Shandy s hypothesis ; con-
 
 156 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 cerning which I have only to add, that my brother 
 Bobby did as great honour to it (whatever he did to the 
 family) as any one of the great heroes we spoke of; 
 For happening not only to be christened, as I told you, 
 
 but to be born too, when my father was at Epsom, 
 
 being moreover my mother's ^rj-/ child, — coming into 
 the world with his head foremost, — and turning out 
 
 afterwards a lad of wonderful slow parts, my father 
 
 spelt all these together into his opinion : and as he had 
 failed at one end, — he was determined to try the other. 
 
 This was not to be expected from one of the sister- 
 hood, who are not easily to be put out of their way, 
 
 and was therefore one of my father's great reasons in 
 favour of a man of science, whom he could better deal 
 with. 
 
 Of all men in the world, Dr Slop was the fittest for 
 
 my father's purpose ; for though this new-invented 
 
 forceps was the armour he had proved, and what he 
 maintained to be the safest instrument of deliverance, 
 yet, it seems, he had scattered a word or two in his book, 
 in favour of the very thing which ran in my father's 
 
 fancy ; tho' not with a view to the soul's good in 
 
 extracting by the feet, as was my father's system, — but 
 for reasons merely obstetrical. 
 
 This will account for the coalition betwixt my father 
 and Dr Slop, in the ensuing discourse, which went a 
 
 little hard against my uncle Toby. In what manner 
 
 a plain man, with nothing but common sense, could bear 
 up against two such allies in science, — is hard to con- 
 ceive. — You may conjecture upon it, if you please, • 
 
 and whilst your imagination is in motion, you may en- 
 courage it to go on, and discover by what causes and 
 effects in nature it could come to pass, that my uncle 
 Toby got his modesty by the wound he received upon 
 his groin. — You may raise a system to account for the 
 less of my nose by marriage-articles, — and shew the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 15 7 
 
 world how it could happen, that I should have the 
 misfortune to be called Tristram, in opposition to my 
 father's hypothesis, and the wish of the whole family, 
 Godfathers and Godmothers not excepted. — These, 
 with fifty other points left yet unravelled, you may 
 
 endeavour to solve if you have time ; but I tell you 
 
 beforehand it will be in vain, for not the sage Alqu'ife^ 
 the magician in Don BeVianis of Greece, nor the no less 
 famous Urganddy the sorceress his wife, (were they 
 alive) could pretend to come within a league of the 
 truth. 
 
 The reader will be content to wait for a full ex- 
 planation of these matters till the next year, when 
 
 a series of things will be laid open which he little 
 expects.
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Multitudinis imperitae non formjdo judicia ; meis tamen, rogo, parcant 
 
 opusculis in quibus fuit propositi semper, a jocis ad seria, a 
 
 seriis vicissim ad jocos transire. 
 
 — Joan. Saresberiensis, Episco^tcs Lugdun. 
 
 I 
 
 CDUptet t. 
 
 WISH, Dr Slop;' quoth my uncle Tohy, (re- 
 peating his wish for Dr Slop a second time, 
 and with a degree of more zeal and earnestness 
 in his manner of wishing, than he had wished at first*) 
 
 " / nv'ishf Dr Slop,'' quoth my uncle Toby, ^^ you 
 
 had seen nvhat prodigious armies ive had in Flanders." 
 
 My uncle Toby s wish did Dr Slop a disservice which 
 his heart never intended any man, — Sir, it confounded 
 him and thereby putting his ideas first into con- 
 fusion, and then to flight, he could not rally them again 
 for the soul of him. 
 
 In all disputes, male or female, whether for 
 
 honour, for profit, or for love, — it makes no difference 
 in the case ; — nothing is more dangerous. Madam, than 
 a wish coming sideways in this unexpected manner upon 
 a man : the safest way in general to take off the force of 
 the wish, is for the party wished at, instantly to get upon 
 his legs — and wish the nvisher something in return, of 
 
 pretty near the same value, so balancing the account 
 
 upon the spot, you stand as you were — nay sometimes 
 gain the advantage of the attack by it. 
 
 * Vide page 147. 
 
 15S
 
 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 159 
 
 This will be fully illustrated to the world in my 
 chapter of wishes. — 
 
 Dr Slop did not understand the nature of this defence ; 
 — he was puzzled with it, and it put an entire stop to 
 the dispute for four minutes and a half; — five had been 
 fatal to it ; — my father saw the danger — the dispute was 
 one of the most interesting disputes in the world, 
 " Whether the child of his prayers and endeavours 
 should be born without a head or with one : " — he waited 
 to the last moment, to allow Dr Slop, in whose behalf 
 the wish was made, his right of returning it ; but per- 
 ceiving, I say, that he was confounded, and continued 
 looking with that perplexed vacuity of eye which 
 puzzled souls generally stare with — first in my uncle 
 Toby^s face — then in his — then up — then down — then 
 
 east — east and by east, and so on, coasting it along 
 
 by the plinth of the wainscot till he had got to the 
 
 opposite point of the compass, and that he had 
 
 actually begun to count the brass nails upon the arm of 
 his chair, — my father thought there was no time to be 
 lost with my uncle Toly, so took up the discourse as 
 follows. 
 
 w 
 
 HAT prodigious armies you had 
 Flanders ! " 
 
 Brother Toby, replied my father, taking 
 his wig from off his head with his right hand, and 
 with his left pulling out a striped India handkerchief 
 from his right coat pocket, in order to rub his head, as 
 he argued the point with my uncle Toby. 
 
 Now, in this I think my father was much to 
 
 blame ; and I will give you my reasons for it. 
 
 Matters of no more seeming consequence in them-
 
 l6o THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 selves than, " Whether my father should have taken off" 
 
 his tu'ig iv'ith his right hand or luith his left/^ have 
 
 divided the greatest kingdoms, and made the crowns of 
 the monarchs who governed them, to totter upon their 
 heads. But need I tell you, Sir, that the circum- 
 stances with which every thing in this world is begirt, 
 give every thing in this world its size and shape ! — 
 and by tightening it, or relaxing it, this way or that, 
 make the thing to be, what it is — great — little — good 
 — bad — indifferent or not indifferent, just as the case 
 happens ? 
 
 As my father's India handkerchief was in his right 
 coat pocket, he should by no means have suffered his 
 right hand to have got engaged ; on the contrary, 
 instead of taking off his wig with it, as he did, he 
 ought to have committed that entirely to the left ; and 
 then, when the natural exigency my father was under 
 of rubbing his head, called out for his handkerchief, he 
 would have had nothing in the world to have done, but 
 to have put his right hand into his right coat pocket 
 and taken it out ; which he might have done with- 
 out any violence, or the least ungraceful twist in any 
 one tendon or muscle of his whole body. 
 
 In this case, (unless, indeed, my father had been 
 resolved to make a fool of himself by holding the wig 
 stiff in his left hand or by making some nonsen- 
 sical angle or other at his elbow- joint, or arm- pit) — his 
 whole attitude had been easy — natural — unforced : 
 Reynolds himself, as great and gracefully as he paints, 
 might have painted him as he sat. 
 
 Now as my father managed this matter, — con- 
 sider what a devil of a figure my father made of 
 himself. 
 
 In the latter end of Queen Anne's reign, and in the 
 beginning of the reign of King George the first — " Coat 
 pockets were cut very low down in the siirt.'^ — I need
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. l6l 
 
 say no more — the father of mischief, had he been 
 hammering at it a month, could not have contrived a 
 worse fashion for one in my father's situation. 
 
 Cj^apter iiu 
 
 IT was not an easy matter in any king's reign (unless 
 you were as lean a subject as myself) to have 
 forced your hand diagonally, quite across your 
 whole body, so as to gain the bottom of your opposite 
 
 coat pocket. In the year one thousand seven hundred 
 
 and eighteen, when this happened, it was extremely 
 difficult ; so that when my uncle ToI?y discovered the 
 transverse zig-zaggery of my father's approaches towards 
 it, it instantly brought into his mind those he had done 
 
 duty in, before the gate of Si Nicolas j the idea of 
 
 which drew off his attention so entirely from the subject 
 in debate, that he had got his right hand to the bell to 
 ring up Trim to go and fetch his map of Namur, and his 
 compasses and sector along with it, to measure the 
 returning angles of the traverses of that attack, — but 
 particularly of that one, where he received his wound 
 upon his groin. 
 
 My father knit his brows, and as he knit them, all 
 the blood in his body seemed to rush up into his face 
 my uncle Tol^y dismounted immediately. 
 
 1 did not apprehend your uncle To!>y was o' 
 
 horseback.
 
 1 62 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 A MAN'S body and his mind, with the utmost 
 reverence to both I speak it, are exactly Hke a 
 jerkin, and a jerkin's lining ; — rumple the one, 
 — ^you rumple the other. There is one certain excep- 
 tion however in this case, and that is, when you are so 
 fortunate a fellow, as to have had your jerkin made of 
 gum-taffeta, and the body-lining to it of a sarcenet, or 
 thin persian. 
 
 ZcnOf Cleanthes, Diogenes Balylonius^ Dlonyslus, 
 Heracleotes, Antipatery Panat'ius^ and Posidonius amongst 
 
 the Greeks ; Cato and Varro and Seneca amongst 
 
 the Romans ; Pantcenus and Clemens Alexandrinus 
 
 and Montaigne amongst the Christians ; and a score and 
 a half of good, honest, unthinking Shandean people as 
 ever lived, whose names I can't recollect, — all pre- 
 tended that their jerkins were made after this fashion, 
 — you might have rumpled and crumpled, and doubled 
 and creased, and fretted and fridged the outside of them 
 
 all to pieces ; in short, you might have played the 
 
 very devil with them, and at the same time, not one of 
 the insides of them would have been one button the 
 worse, for all you had done to them. 
 
 I believe in my conscience that mine is made up 
 
 somewhat after this sort : for never poor jerkin has 
 
 been tickled off at such a rate as it has been these last 
 
 nine months together, and yet I declare, the lining 
 
 to it, as far as I am a judge of the matter, 
 
 is not a three-penny piece the worse ; — pell-mell, helter- 
 skelter, ding-dong, cut and thrust, back stroke and 
 fore stroke, side way and long way, have they been 
 trimming it for me : — had there been the least gummi- 
 ness in my lining, — by heaven ! it had all of it long ago 
 been frayed and fretted to a thread.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 63 
 
 ■You Messrs the Monthly reviewers 
 
 how could you cut and slash my jerkin as you did ? 
 
 ^how did you know but you would cut my Hning 
 
 too? 
 
 Heartily and from my soul, to the protection of that 
 Being who will injure none of us, do I recommend you 
 and your affairs, — so God bless you ; — only next month, 
 if any one of you should gnash his teeth, and storm and 
 rage at me, as some of you did last May (in which I 
 remember the weather was very hot) — don't be exas- 
 perated, if I pass it by again with good temper, — being 
 determined as long as I live or write (which in my case 
 means the same thing) never to give the honest gentle- 
 man a worse word or a worse wish than my uncle Tohy 
 gave the fly which buzz'd about his nose all dinner-time^ 
 
 *' Go, — go, poor devil," quoth he, — " get thee 
 
 gone, — why should I hurt thee ? This world is surely 
 wide enough to hold both thee and me." 
 
 A NY man. Madam, reasoning upwards, and observ- 
 £^^ ing the prodigious suffusion of blood in my 
 father's countenance, — by means of which (as 
 all the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face, 
 as I told you) he must have reddened, pictorically and 
 scientifically speaking, six whole tints and a half, if 
 not a full octave above his natural colour : — any man. 
 Madam, but my uncle Tohy^ who had observed this, 
 together with the violent knitting of my father's brows, 
 and the extravagant contortion of his body during the 
 whole affair, — would have concluded my father in' a 
 rage ; and taking that for granted, — had he been a 
 lover of such kind of concord as arises from two such
 
 164 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 instruments being put in exact tune, — he would instantly 
 have skrew'd up his, to the same pitch ; — and then the 
 devil and all had broke loose — the whole piece. Madam, 
 must have been played off like the sixth of Avison 
 Scarlatti — con furia, — like mad. — Grant me patience ! 
 
 What has con furia^ con strepito^ or any 
 
 other hurly burly whatever to do with harmony ? 
 
 Any man, I say. Madam, but my uncle Tohy^ the 
 benignity of whose heart interpreted every motion of 
 the body in the kindest sense the motion would admit 
 of, would have concluded my father angry, and blamed 
 him too. My uncle Tohy blamed nothing but the 
 
 taylor who cut the pocket-hole ; so sitting still 
 
 till my father had got his handkerchief out of it, 
 and looking all the time up in his face with inexpres- 
 sible good-will my father, at length, went on as 
 
 follows. 
 
 w 
 
 copter bi. 
 
 HAT prodigious armies you had in Flanders / " 
 
 Brother Tohy, quoth my father, I 
 
 do believe thee to be as honest a man, and 
 with as good and as upright a heart as ever God created ; 
 — nor is it thy fault, if all the children which have been, 
 may, can, shall, will, or ought to be begotten, come 
 
 with their heads foremost into the world : but 
 
 believe me, dear Tohy^ the accidents which unavoidably 
 way-lay them, not only in the article of our begetting 
 
 'em though these, in my opinion, are well worth 
 
 considering, but the dangers and difficulties our 
 
 children are beset with, after they are got forth into 
 the world, are enow — little need is there to expose them 
 to unnecessary ones in their passage to it. Are these
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 65 
 
 dangers, quoth my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon my 
 father's knee, and looking up seriously in his face for 
 
 an answer, are these dangers greater now o' days, 
 
 brother, than in times past ? Brother Toby, answered 
 my father, if a child was but fairly begot, and born 
 alive, and healthy, and the mother did well after it, 
 
 — our forefathers never looked farther. ^-ly uncle 
 
 Toby instantly withdrew his hand from off my father's 
 knee, reclined his body gently back in his chair, raised 
 his head till he could just see the cornice of the room, 
 and then directing the buccinatory muscles along his 
 cheeks, and the orbicular muscles around his lips to do 
 their duty — he whistled Llllabulkro, 
 
 €/()apter )!\i% 
 
 WHILST my uncle Toby was whistling LlUa- 
 bullero to my father, — Dr Slop was stamp- 
 ing, and cursing and damning at Obad'iah at 
 
 a most dreadful rate, it would have done your 
 
 heart good, and cured you. Sir, for ever of the vile 
 sin of swearing, to have heard him ; I am determined 
 therefore to relate the whole affair to you. 
 
 When Dr Slop' s maid delivered the green bays bag 
 with her master's instruments in it, to Obad'iah, she very 
 sensibly exhorted him to put his head and one arm 
 through the strings, and ride with it slung across his 
 body : so undoing the bow-knot, to lengthen the strings 
 for him, without any more ado, she helped him on with 
 it. However, as this, in some measure, unguarded 
 the mouth of the bag, lest any thing should bolt out in 
 galloping back, at the speed Obad'iah threatened, they 
 consulted to take it off again : and in the great care and
 
 1 66 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 caution of their hearts, they had taken the two strings 
 and tied them close (pursing up the mouth of the bag 
 first) with half a dozen hard knots, each of which 
 Ohadiah, to make all safe, had twitched and drawn 
 together with all the strength of his body. 
 
 This answered all that Ohadiah and the maid in- 
 tended ; but was no remedy against some evils which 
 neither he or she foresaw. The instruments, it seems, 
 as tight as the bag was tied above, had so much room 
 to play in it, towards the bottom (the shape of the bag 
 being conical) that Oladiah could not make a trot of it, 
 but with such a terrible jingle, what with the tire tete, 
 forceps, and squirt, as would have been enough, had Hymen 
 been taking a jaunt that way, to have frightened him 
 out of the country ; but when Ohadiah accelerated his 
 motion, and from a plain trot assayed to prick his coach- 
 horse into a full gallop by Heaven ! Sir, the jingle 
 
 was incredible. 
 
 As Ohadiah had a wife and three children the 
 
 turpitude of fornication, and the many other political 
 ill consequences of this jingling, never once entered his 
 
 brain, he had however his objection, which came 
 
 home to himself, and weighed with him, as it has oft- 
 times done with the greatest patriots. " The poor 
 
 fellow. Sir, ivas not ahle.to hear himself ivhistle.^^ 
 
 CDHpter btii. 
 
 AS Ohadiah loved wind-music preferably to all the 
 ^ instrumental music he carried with him, — he 
 very considerately set his imagination to work, 
 to contrive and to invent by what means he should put 
 himself in a condition of enjoying it.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 67 
 
 In all distresses (except musical) where small cords 
 are wanted, nothing is so apt to enter a man's head as 
 
 his hat-band : the philosophy of this is so near the 
 
 surface 1 scorn to enter into it. 
 
 As Obad'tah^s was a mix'd case mark, Sirs, 
 
 I say, a mixed case ; for it was obstetrical, scr'ip- 
 
 tical, squirtical, papistical and as far as the coach- 
 horse was concerned in it, caballistical and 
 
 only partly musical ; — Olad'iah made no scruple of 
 availing himself of the first expedient which offered ; 
 so taking hold of the bag and instruments, and griping 
 them hard together with one hand, and with the finger 
 and thumb of the other putting the end of the hat-band 
 betwixt his teeth, and then slipping his hand down to 
 the middle of it, — he tied and cross-tied them all fast 
 together from one end to the other (as you would cord 
 a trunk) with such a multiplicity of round-abouts and 
 intricate cross turns, with a hard knot at every inter- 
 section or point where the strings met, — that Dr Slop 
 must have had three fifths of Job'' s patience at least to 
 have unloosed them. — I think in my conscience, that 
 had Nature been in one of her nimble moods, and in 
 
 humour for such a contest and she and Dr Slop 
 
 both fairly started together there is no man living 
 
 who had seen the bag with all that Obadiah had done 
 
 to it, and knov/n likewise the great speed the 
 
 Goddess can make when she thinks proper, who 
 would have had the least doubt remaining in his mind 
 — which of the two would have carried off the prize. 
 My mother, Madam, had been delivered sooner than 
 
 the green bag infallibly at least by twenty knots. 
 
 Sport of small accidents, Tristram Shandy I that 
 
 thou art, and ever will be ! had that trial been for 
 
 thee, and it was fifty to one but it had, thy affairs 
 
 had not been so depress' d — (at least by the depression 
 of thy nose) as they have been; nor had the fortunes
 
 1 68 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 of thy house and the occasions of making them, which 
 have so often presented themselves in the course of thy 
 life, to thee, been so often, so vexatiously, so tamely, 
 so irrecoverably abandoned — as thou hast been forced 
 to leave them ; but 'tis over, all but the ac- 
 count of 'em, which cannot be given to the curious till 
 I am got out into the world. 
 
 CHpter ix* 
 
 GREAT wits jump : for the moment Dr Slop cast 
 his eyes upon his bag (which he had not done 
 till the dispute with my uncle Tol^y about mid- 
 wifery put him in mind of it) — the very same thought 
 occurred. — 'Tis God's mercy, quoth he (to himself) 
 
 that Mrs Shandy has had so bad a time of it, else 
 
 she might have been brought to bed seven times told, 
 before one half of these knots could have got untied. 
 
 But here you must distinguish — the thought floated 
 
 only in Dr Slop's mind, without sail or ballast to it, 
 as a simple proposition ; millions of which, as your 
 worship knows, are every day swimming quietly in 
 the middle of the thin juice of a man's understanding, 
 without being carried backwards or forwards, till some 
 little gusts of passion or interest drive them to one 
 side. 
 
 A sudden trampling in the room above, near my 
 mother's bed, did the proposition the very service I 
 am speaking of. By all that's unfortunate, quoth Dr 
 Slopj unless I make haste, the thing will actually befall 
 me as it is.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 69 
 
 Chapter jc. 
 
 IN the case of knots, — by which, in the first place, 
 I would not be understood to mean slip-knots — 
 because in the course of my life and opinions — my 
 opinions concerning them will come in more properly 
 when I mention the catastrophe of my great uncle Mr 
 Hammond Shandy, — a little man, — but of high fancy : — ■ 
 
 he rushed into the duke of MonmoutU s affair : nor, 
 
 secondly, in this place, do I mean that particular species 
 of knots called bow-knots ; — there is so little address, 
 or skill, or patience required in the unloosing them, that 
 they are below my giving any opinion at all about them. 
 — But by the knots I am speaking of, may it please your 
 reverences to believe, that I mean good, honest, devilish 
 tight, hard knots, made bonajide, as Olad'iah made his ; 
 
 in which there is no quibbling provision made by 
 
 the dupHcation and return of the two ends of the strings 
 thro' the annulus or noose made by the second implication 
 
 of them — to get them slipp'd and undone by. 1 hope 
 
 you apprehend me. 
 
 In the case of these knots then, and of the several 
 obstructions, which, may it please your reverences, such 
 
 knots cast in our way in getting through life every 
 
 hasty man can whip out his penknife and cut through 
 
 them. 'Tis wrong. Believe me. Sirs, the most 
 
 virtuous way, and which both reason and conscience 
 
 dictate is to take our teeth or our fingers to them. 
 
 Dr Slop had lost his teeth — his favourite instmment, 
 
 by extracting in a wrong direction, or by some mis- 
 appHcation of it, unfortunately slipping, he had formerly, 
 in a hard labour, knock'd out three of the best of them 
 
 with the handle of it : he tried his fingers — alas ; 
 
 the nails of his fingers and thumbs were cut close. 
 
 The duce take it ! I can make nothinfj of it either
 
 lyo THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 way, cried Dr Slop. The trampling over head near 
 
 my mother's bed-side increased. — Pox take the fellow ! 
 
 I shall never get the knots untied as long as I live. 
 
 My mother gave a groan. Lend me your penknife 
 
 1 must e'en cut the knots at last pugh ! 
 
 psha ! — Lord ! I have cut my thumb quite across to the 
 
 very bone curse the fellow — -if there was not another 
 
 man-midwife within fifty miles 1 am undone for this 
 
 bout — I wish the scoundrel hang'd — I wish he was shot 
 1 wish all the devils in hell had him for a block- 
 head 1 
 
 My father had a great respect for Obad'iah, and could 
 not bear to hear him disposed of in such a manner — 
 he had moreover some little respect for himself — and 
 could as ill bear with the indignity offered to himself 
 in it. 
 
 Had Dr Slop cut any part about him, but his thumb 
 
 my father had pass'd it by — his prudence had 
 
 triumphed : as it was, he was determined to have his 
 revenge. 
 
 Small curses, Dr Slop, upon great occasions, quoth 
 my father (condoling with him first upon the accident) 
 are but so much waste of our strength and soul's health 
 to no manner of purpose. — I own it, replied Dr Slop. — 
 They are like sparrow-shot, quoth my uncle Toby (sus- 
 pending his whistling) fired against a bastion. They 
 
 serve, continued my father, to stir the humours but 
 
 carry off none of their acrimony : — for my own part, 
 
 I seldom swear or curse at all — I hold it bad but 
 
 if I fall into it by surprize, I generally retain so much 
 presence of mind (right, quoth my uncle Toby) as to 
 
 make it answer my purpose that is, I swear on till 
 
 I find myself easy. A wise and a just man however 
 would always endeavour to proportion the vent given 
 to these humours, not only to the degree of them stir- 
 ring within himself — but to the size and ill intent of the
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 17I 
 
 offence upon which they are to fall. — *' Injuries come only 
 from the hearty* — quoth my uncle Toby. For this 
 reason, continued my father, with the most Cervantlck 
 gravity, I have the greatest veneration in the world for 
 that gentleman, who, in distrust of his own discretion in 
 this point, sat down and composed (that is at his leisure) 
 fit forms of swearing suitable to all cases, from the lowest 
 to the highest provocation which could possibly happen 
 to him — — which forms being well considered by him, 
 and such moreover as he could stand to, he kept them 
 ever by him on the chimney-piece, within his reach, 
 ready for use. — I never apprehended, replied Dr Slop, 
 
 that such a thing was ever thought of much less 
 
 executed. I beg your pardon, answered my father ; 
 I was reading, though not using, one of them to my 
 brother Toby this morning, whilst he pour'd out the tea — 
 'tis here upon the shelf over my head ; — but if I re- 
 member right, 'tis too violent for a cut of the thumb. — 
 Not at all, quoth Dr Slop — the devil take the fellow. 
 
 Then, answered my father, 'Tis much at your 
 
 service, Dr Slop — on condition you will read it aloud ; 
 so rising up and reaching down a form of excom- 
 munication of the church of Rome, a copy of which, 
 my father (who was curious in his collections) had pro- 
 cured out of the leger-book of the church of Rochester, 
 
 writ by Ernulphus the bishop with a most affected 
 
 seriousness of look and voice, which might have cajoled 
 Ernulphus himself — he put it into Dr Slop's hands. 
 
 Dr Slop wrapt his thumb up in the corner of his 
 
 handkerchief, and with a wry face, though without 
 
 any suspicion, read aloud, as follows my uncle 
 
 Toby whistling Lillabullero as loud as he could all the 
 time.
 
 172 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Textus de Ecclesia RofFensi, per Ernulfum Episcopum. 
 
 Cap* vu 
 EXCOMMUNICATIO. 
 
 EX auctoritate Dei omnlpotentis, Patris, et Filij, et 
 SpiritLis Sancti, et sanctorum canonum, sanctaeque 
 et intemeratae Virginis Dei genetricis Marias, — 
 
 Atque omnium coelestium virtutum, angel- 
 
 orum, archangelorum, thronorum, dominationum, potes- 
 tatuum, chembin ac seraphin, & sanctorum patriarchum, 
 prophetarum, & omnium apostolorum & evangelistarum, 
 & sanctorum innocentum, qui in conspectu Agni soli 
 digni inventi sunt canticum cantare novum, et sanctorum 
 martyrum et sanctorum confessorum, et sanctarum virgi- 
 
 As the genuineness of the consultation of the Sorbonne upon 
 the question of baptism, was doubted by some, and denied by- 
 others 'twas thought proper to print the original of this 
 
 excommunication ; for the copy of which Mr Shandy returns 
 thanks to the chapter clerk of the dean and chapter of 
 Rochester.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 173 
 
 €|^aptcr xu 
 
 " T) Y the authority of God Almighty, the Father, 
 Jl) Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the holy 
 canons, and of the undefiled Virgin Mary, 
 mother and patroness of our Saviour." I think there 
 is no necessity, quoth Dr S/op, dropping the paper 
 down to his knee, and addressing himself to my father 
 
 as you have read it over. Sir, so lately, to read 
 
 it aloud and as Captain Shandy seems to have no 
 
 great inclination to hear it 1 may as well read 
 
 it to myself. That's contrary to treaty, replied my 
 father : besides, there is something so whim- 
 sical, especially in the latter part of it, I should grieve 
 to lose the pleasure of a second reading. Dr Slop 
 
 did not altogether like it, but my uncle Tol?y 
 
 offering at that instant to give over whistling, and read 
 
 it himself to them ; Dr Slop thought he might 
 
 as well read it under the cover of my uncle Toby's 
 
 whistling as suifer my uncle Toby to read it 
 
 alone ; so raising up the paper to his face, and 
 
 holding it quite parallel to it, in order to hide his 
 
 chagrin he read it aloud as follows my 
 
 uncle Toby whistling Lillabul/ero, though not quite so 
 loud as before. 
 
 " By the authority of God Almighty, the Father, 
 Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the undefiled Virgin 
 Mary, mother and patroness of our Saviour, and of 
 all the celestial virtues, angels, archangels, thrones, 
 dominions, powers, cherubins and seraphins, and of all 
 the holy patriarchs, prophets, and of all the apostles 
 and evangelists, and of the holy innocents, who in 
 the sight of the Holy Lamb, are found worthy to 
 sing the new song of the holy martyrs and holy con- 
 fessors, and of the holy virgins, and of all the saints,
 
 174 THE LIFE AND OriNIONS 
 
 num, atque omnium simul sanctorum et electorum Dei, 
 
 vel OS s 
 
 Excommunicamus, et anathematizamus hunc furem, 
 
 vel OS s 
 
 vel hunc malefactorem, N. N. et a liminibus sanctae 
 Dei ecclesiae sequestramus, et aeternis suppliciis excruci- 
 
 vel i n 
 
 andus, mancipetur, cum Dathan et Abiram, et cum his 
 qui dixerunt Domino Deo, Recede a nobis, scientiam 
 viarum tuarum nolumus : et sicut aqua ignis extinguitur, 
 
 vel eorum 
 sic extinguatur lucerna ejus in secula seculorum nisi 
 
 n n 
 
 resipuerit, et ad satisfactionem venerit. Amen. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium Deus Pater qui hominem creavit. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium Dei Filius qui pro homine passus est. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium Spiritus Sanctus qui in baptismo ef- 
 
 os 
 fusus est. Maledicat ilium sancta crux, quam Christus 
 pro nostra salute hostem triumphans ascendit. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium sancta Dei genetrix et perpetua 
 
 OS 
 
 Virgo Maria. Maledicat ilium sanctus Michael, anim- 
 
 os 
 arum susceptor sacrarum. Maledicant ilium omnes 
 angeli et archangeli, principatus et potestates, omnisque 
 militia ccelestis. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium patriarcharum et prophetarum lauda- 
 os 
 bills numerus. Maledicat ilium sanctus Johannes Prae- 
 cusor et Baptista Christi, et sanctus Petrus, et sanctus
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 75 
 
 together with the holy and elect of God, May 
 
 he" [Obadiah) " be damn'd " (for tying these knots) 
 
 "We excommunicate, and anathematize him, 
 
 and from the thresholds of the holy church of God 
 Almighty we sequester him, that he may be tormented, 
 disposed, and delivered over with Dathan and Ahiraniy 
 and with those who say unto the Lord God, Depart 
 from us, we desire none of thy ways. And as fire is 
 quenched with water, so let the hght of him be put 
 out for evermore, unless it shall repent him" [Oha' 
 d'lah, of the knots which he has tied) "and make 
 satisfaction" (for them) '* Amen." 
 
 " May the Father who created man, curse him. 
 
 May the Son who suffered for us, curse him. May 
 
 the Holy Ghost, who was given to us in baptism, curse 
 
 him i^Obadiah) May the holy cross which Christ, 
 
 for our salvation triumphing over his enemies, ascended, 
 curse him. 
 
 " May the holy and eternal Virgin Mary, mother of 
 
 God, curse him. May St Michael, the advocate 
 
 of holy souls, curse him. May all the angels and 
 
 archangels, principalities and powers, and all the 
 heavenly armies, curse him." [Our armies swore 
 
 terribly in Flanders, cried my uncle Toby, ^but 
 
 nothing to this. For my own part I could not 
 
 have a heart to curse my dog so.^ 
 
 " May St John, the Prgecursor, and St John tTie 
 Baptist, and St Peter and St Paul, and St Andrew, 
 and all other Christ's apostles, together curse him.
 
 176 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Paulus, atque sanctus Andreas, omnesque Christi apos- 
 toli, simul et casteri discipuli, quatuor quoque evangelistos, 
 qui sua prasdicatione mundum universum converterunt. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicat ilium cuneus martyrum et confessorum miri- 
 ficus, qui Deo bonis operibus placitus inventus est. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicant ilium sacrarum virginum chori, quae mundi 
 vana causa honoris Christi respuenda contempserunt. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicant ilium omnes sancti qui ab initio mundi usque 
 in finem seculi Deo dilecti inveniuntur. 
 
 OS 
 
 Maledicant ilium cceli et terra, et omnia sancta 
 in eis manentia. 
 
 in n 
 Maledictus sit ubicunque fuerit, sive in domo, sive in 
 agro, sive in via, sive in semita, sive in silva, sive in 
 aqua, sive in ecclesia. 
 i n 
 Maledictus sit vivendo, moriendo, 
 
 manducando, bibendo, esuriendo, sitiendo, jejunando, 
 dormitando, dormiendo, vigilando, ambulando, stando, 
 sedendo, jacendo, operando, quiescendo, mingendo, 
 cacando, flebotomando. 
 i n 
 Maledictus sit in totis viribus corporis, 
 
 i n 
 Maledictus sit intus et exterius.. 
 
 in in 
 
 Maledictus sit in capillis ; maledictus sit in cerebro. 
 i n 
 Maledictus sit in vertice, in temporibus, in fronte, in
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 77 
 
 And may the rest of his disciples and four evangelists, 
 who by their preaching converted the universal world, 
 and may the holy and wonderful company of martyrs 
 and confessors who by their holy works are found pleas- 
 ing to God Almighty, curse him" [Ohadlah). 
 
 " May the holy choir of the holy virgins, who for 
 the honour of Christ have despised the things of the 
 
 world, damn him May all the saints, who from the 
 
 beginning of the world to everlasting ages are found to 
 
 be beloved of God, damn him May the heavens 
 
 and earth, and all the holy things remaining therein, 
 damn him," {^Obadiah) "or her," (or whoever else 
 had a hand in tying these knots). 
 
 "May he {^Obadiah) be damn'd wherever he be 
 -whether in the house or the stables, the garden or 
 
 the field, or the highway, or in the path, or in the 
 
 wood, or in the water, or in the church.— May he 
 
 be cursed in living, in dying." [[Here my uncle Toby, 
 taking the advantage of a minim in the second bar of his 
 tune, kept whistling one continued note to the end of 
 
 the sentence. Dr SIop^ with his division of curses 
 
 moving under him, like a running bass all the way.^ 
 " May he be cursed in eating and drinking, in being 
 hungry, in being thirsty, in fasting, in sleeping, in slum- 
 bering, in walking, in standing, in sitting, in lying, in 
 working, in resting, in pissing, in shitting, and in blood- 
 letting ! " 
 
 " May he " [Obadiah) " be cursed in all the faculties 
 of his body ! 
 
 " May he be cursed inwardly and outwardly ! 
 
 May he be cursed in the hair of his head ! May he 
 
 be cursed in his brains, and in his vertex," (that is a 
 sad curse, quoth my father) "in his temples, in his 
 
 I. M
 
 178 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 auriculis, in superciliis, in oculis, in genis, in maxillis, 
 in naribus, in dentibus, mordacibus, sive molaribus, in 
 labiis, in guttere, in humeris, in harnis, in brachiis, 
 in manubus, in digitis, in pectore, in corde, et in omnibus 
 interioribus stomacho tenus, in renibus, in inguinibus, 
 in femore, in genitalibus, in coxis, in genubus, in cru- 
 ribus, in pedibus, et in inguibus. 
 
 Maledictus sit in totis compagibus membrorum, a 
 vertice capitis, usque ad plantam pedis — non sit in eo 
 sanitas. 
 
 Maledicat ilium Christus Filius Dei vivi toto suas 
 majestatis imperio.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 79 
 
 forehead, In his ears, in his eye-brows, in his cheeks, in 
 his jaw-bones, in his nostrils, in his fore-teeth and 
 grinders, in his lips, in his throat, in his shoulders, in 
 his wrists, in his arms, in his hands, in his fingers ! 
 
 " May he be damn'd in his mouth, in his breast, in 
 his heart and purtenance, down to the very stomach ! 
 
 " May he be cursed in his reins, and in his groin," 
 (God in heaven forbid! quoth my uncle Toby) "in 
 his thighs, in his genitals,'' (my father shook his head) 
 "and in his hips, and in his knees, his legs, and feet, 
 and toe-nails ! 
 
 " May he be cursed in all the joints and articulations 
 of his members, from the top of his head to the sole of 
 his foot ! May there be no soundness in him ! 
 
 " May the Son of the living God, with all the glory 
 
 of his Majesty" [Here my uncle Toby^ throwing 
 
 back his head, gave a monstrous, long, loud Whew — 
 
 w — w something betwixt the interjectional 
 
 whistle of Hay-day ! and the word itself.- 
 
 -By the golden beard of Jupiter — and of Juno 
 (if her majesty wore one) and by the beards of the rest 
 of your heathen worships, which by the bye was no 
 small number, since what with the beards of your 
 celestial gods, and gods aerial and aquatic k — to say 
 nothing of the beards of town-gods and country- gods, 
 or of the celestial goddesses your wives, or of the 
 infernal goddesses your whores and concubines (that 
 
 is in case they wore them) all which beards, as 
 
 Varro tells me, upon his word and honour, when 
 mustered up together, made no less than thirty thousand 
 
 effective beards upon the Pagan establishment ; 
 
 every beard of which claimed the rights and privileges 
 of being stroken and sworn by — by all these beards 
 
 together then 1 vow and protest, that of the two bad 
 
 cassocks I am worth in the world, I would have given 
 the better of them, as freely as ever Cid Harriet offered
 
 l8o THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 et insurgat adversus ilium coelum cum omnibus 
 
 virtutibus quae in eo moventur ad damnandum eum, nisi 
 penituerit et ad satisfactionem venerit. Amen. Fiat, 
 fiat. Amen.
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. l8l 
 
 his to have stood by, and heard my uncle Tohy s 
 
 accompanyment. 
 
 "curse him ! " continued Dr Slop, — "and may 
 
 heaven, with all the powers which move therein, rise 
 up against him, curse and damn him" [Ohadiah^ 
 " unless he repent and make satisfaction ! Amen. So 
 be it, — so be it. Amen." 
 
 I declare, quoth my uncle Toly, my heart would not 
 let me curse the devil himself with so much bitterness. 
 
 — He is the father of curses, replied Dr Slop. So 
 
 am not I, replied my uncle. But he is cursed, and 
 
 damn'd already, to all eternity, replied Dr Slop. 
 
 I am sorry for it, quoth my uncle Tohy. 
 
 Dr Slop drew up his mouth, and was just beginning 
 to return my uncle Tohy the compliment of his Whu — 
 
 u — u^-or inter jectional whistle when the door 
 
 hastily opening in the next chapter but one put an 
 
 end to the affair. 
 
 NOW don't let us give ourselves a parcel of airs, 
 and pretend that the oaths we make free with 
 in this land of liberty of ours are our own ; and 
 
 because we have the spirit to swear them, imagine 
 
 that we have had the wit to invent them too. 
 
 I'll undertake this moment to prove it to any man 
 
 in the world, except to a connoisseur : though I 
 
 declare I object only to a connoisseur in swearing, 
 
 as I would do to a connoisseur in painting, &c. &c., the 
 whole set of 'em are so hung round and hefetish^ d with 
 
 the bobs and trinkets of criticism, or to drop my 
 
 metaphor, which by the bye is a pity, for I have 
 
 fetch'd it as far as from the coast of Guiney ; — their 
 heads, Sir, are stuck so full of rules and compasses, 
 
 /W4- r>--v
 
 1 82 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 and have that eternal propensity to apply them upon all 
 occasions, that a work of genius had better go to the 
 devil at once, than stand to be prick'd and tortured to 
 death by 'em. 
 
 — ^And how did Garrlck speak the soliloquy last 
 night ? — Oh, against all rule, my lord, — most un- 
 grammatically ! betwixt the substantive and the adjec- 
 tive, which should agree together in number, case, and 
 gender, he made a breach thus, — stopping, as if the 
 point wanted settling ; — and betwixt the nominative 
 case, which your lordship knows should govern the 
 verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen 
 times three seconds and three fifths by a stop-watch, 
 
 my lord, each time. — Admirable grammarian ! 
 
 But in suspending his voice was the sense sus- 
 pended likewise ? Did no expression of attitude or 
 
 countenance fill up the chasm ? Was the eye silent ? 
 
 Did you narrowly look ? 1 look'd only at the stop- 
 watch, my lord. — Excellent observer ! 
 
 And what of this new book the whole world makes 
 
 such a rout about ? Oh ! 'tis out of all plumb, my lord, 
 
 quite an irregular thing ! — not one of the angles 
 
 at the four corners was a right angle. — I had my rule 
 and compasses, &c., my lord, in my pocket. — Excellent 
 critick ! 
 
 And for the epick poem your lordship bid me 
 
 look at upon taking the length, breadth, height, 
 
 and depth of it, and trying them at home upon an 
 
 exact scale of Bossu^s 'tis out, my lord, in every 
 
 one of its dimensions. — Admirable connoisseur ! 
 
 And did you step in, to take a look at the 
 
 grand picture in your way back ? — 'Tis a melancholy 
 daub ! my lord ; not one principle of the pyramid in 
 
 any one group ! and what a price ! for there is 
 
 nothing of the colouring of Titian — the expression of 
 Rubens — the grace of Raphael — the purity of Domi-
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I S3 
 
 nlchino — the correg'iescity of Corregio — the learning of 
 Poussin — the airs of Gutdo — the taste of the Carrachis 
 — or the grand contour of Angela. — Grant me patience, 
 just Heaven! — Of all the cants which are canted in 
 this canting world — though the cant of hypocrites 
 
 may be the worst the cant of criticism is the most 
 
 tormenting ! 
 
 I would go fifty miles on foot, for I have not a 
 horse worth riding on, to kiss the hand of that man 
 whose generous heart will give up the reins of his 
 
 imagination into his author's hands be pleased he 
 
 knows not why, and cares not wherefore. 
 
 Great Apollo ! if thou art in a giving humour — give 
 me — I ask no more, but one stroke of native humour, 
 
 with a single spark of thy own fire along with it 
 
 and send Mercury, with the rules and compasses, if he 
 can be spared, with my compliments to — no matter. 
 
 Now to any one else I will undertake to prove, that 
 all the oaths and imprecations which we have been 
 puffing off upon the world for these two hundred and 
 
 fifty years last past as originals except St PauFs 
 
 thumb God's Jlesh and God's Jish, which were oaths 
 
 monarchical, and, considering who made them, not 
 much amiss ; and as kings' oaths, 'tis not much matter 
 whether they were fish or flesh ; — else I say, there is 
 not an oath, or at least a curse amongst them, which 
 has not been copied over and over again out of Ernul- 
 phus a thousand times : but, like all other copies, how 
 infinitely short of the force and spirit of the original ! — 
 
 It is thought to be no bad oath and by itself passes 
 
 very well — " G — d damn you.'' — Set it beside Ernul- 
 
 phus's " God Almighty the Father damn you — 
 
 God the Son damn you — God the Holy Ghost damn 
 you" — you see 'tis nothing. — There is an orientality 
 in his, we cannot rise up to : besides, he is more 
 copious in his invention — possess'd more of the excel-
 
 1S4 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 lencies of a swearer had such a thorough know- 
 ledge of the human frame, its membranes, nerves, 
 ligaments, knittings of the joints, and articulations, — 
 — that when Ernulphus cursed — no part escaped him. 
 — 'Tis true there is something of a hardness in his 
 
 manner and, as in Michael Angela^ a want of grace 
 
 but then there is such a greatness oi gusto I 
 
 My father, who generally look'd upon every thing in 
 a light very different from all mankind, would, after all, 
 
 never allow this to be an original. He considered 
 
 rather Ernulphus^ s anathema, as an institute of swearing, 
 in which, as he suspected, upon the decline of siuearing 
 in some milder pontificate, Ernulphus, by order of the 
 succeeding pope, had with great learning and diligence 
 collected together all the laws of it ; — for the same 
 reason that Justinian, in the decline of the empire, had 
 ordered his chancellor Tribonian to collect the Roman 
 
 or civil laws all together into one code or digest 
 
 lest, through the rust of time and the fatality of all 
 
 things committed to oral tradition — they should be lost 
 to the world for ever. 
 
 For this reason my father would oft-times affirm, 
 there was not an oath, from the great and tremendous 
 oath of WilUain the Conqueror {^By the splendour of 
 God') down to the lowest oath of a scavenger (Damn 
 your eyes) which was not to be found in Ernulphus. — 
 In short, he would add — I defy a man to swear out 
 of it. 
 
 The hypothesis is, like most of my father's, singular 
 
 and ingenious too ; nor have I any objection to it, 
 
 but that it overturns my own.
 
 B 
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 85 
 
 LESS my soul ! — my poor mistress is ready 
 
 to faint and her pains are gone — and 
 
 the drops are done — and the bottle of julap 
 
 is broke and the nurse has cut her arm — (and I, 
 
 my thumb, cried Dr S/op,) and the child is where it 
 was, continued Susannah, — and the midwife has fallen 
 backwards upon the edge of the fender, and bruised 
 her hip as black as 3^our hat. — I'll look at it, quoth 
 Dr S/op. — There is no need of that, replied Susannah, 
 — you had better look at my mistress — but the midwife 
 would gladly first give you an account how things are, 
 so desires you would go up stairs and speak to her this 
 moment. 
 
 Human nature is the same in all professions. 
 
 The midwife had just before been put over Dr Slopes 
 head — He had not digested it. — No, repHed Dr Slop, 
 'twould be full as proper, if the midwife came down 
 to me. — I like subordination, quoth my uncle Toby, 
 — and but for it, after the reduction of Lisle, I know 
 not what might have become of the garrison of Ghent, 
 in the mutiny for bread, in the year Ten. — Nor, 
 replied Dr Slop, (parodying my uncle Tohf s hobby- 
 horsical reflection ; though full as hobby-horsical 
 
 himself) do I know. Captain Shandy, what 
 
 might have become of the garrison above stairs, in the 
 mutiny and confusion I find all things are in at present, 
 but for the subordination of fingers and thumbs to 
 
 ****** the application of which. Sir, under 
 
 this accident of mine, comes in so a propos, that with- 
 out it, the cut upon my thumb might have been felt by 
 the Shandy family, as long as the Shandy family had' a
 
 lS6 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 LET us go back to the ****** in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 It is a singular stroke of eloquence (at least 
 it was so, when eloquence flourished at Athens and 
 Rome^ and would be so now, did orators wear mantles) 
 not to mention the name of a thing, when you had the 
 thing about you in petto, ready to produce, pop, in the 
 place you want it. A scar, an axe, a sword, a pink'd 
 doublet, a rusty helmet, a pound and a half of pot- 
 ashes in an urn, or a three-halfpenny pickle pot — but 
 above all, a tender infant royally accoutred. — Tho' 
 if it was too young, and the oration as long as Tullys 
 second Philippich — it must certainly have beshit the 
 orator's mantle. — And then again, if too old, — it must 
 have been unwieldy and incommodious to his action 
 — so as to make him lose by his child almost as much 
 as he could gain by it. — Otherwise, when a state 
 
 orator has hit the precise age to a minute hid his 
 
 BAMBINO in his mantle so cunningly that no 
 
 mortal could smell it and produced it so critically, 
 
 that no soul could say, it came in by head and shoulders 
 — Oh Sirs ! it has done wonders — It has open'd the 
 sluices, and turn'd the brains, and shook the principles, 
 and unhinged the politicks of half a nation. 
 
 These feats however are not to be done, except in 
 those states and times, I say, where orators wore mantles 
 
 and pretty large ones too, my brethren, with some 
 
 twenty or five-and-twenty yards of good purple, super- 
 fine, marketable cloth in them — with large flowing folds 
 and doubles, and in a great style of design. — All which 
 plainly shews, may it please your worships, that the 
 decay of eloquence, and the little good service it does at 
 present, both within and without doors, is owing to
 
 OF TRISTRAM SPIANDY. 1 87 
 
 nothing else in the world, but short coats, and the dis- 
 use of trunk-hose. We can conceal nothing under 
 
 ours, Madam, worth shewing. 
 
 DR Slop was within an ace of being an exception to 
 all this argumentation : for happening to have 
 his green bays bag upon his knees, when he 
 began to parody my uncle Toby — 'twas as good as the 
 best mantle in the world to him : for which purpose, 
 when he foresaw the sentence would end in his new- 
 invented forceps, he thrust his hand into the bag in 
 order to have them ready to clap in, when your reve- 
 rences took so much notice of the ***, which had he 
 managed my uncle Toby had certainly been over- 
 thrown : the sentence and the argument in that case 
 jumping closely in one point, so like the two lines 
 
 which form the salient angle of a ravelin, Dr Slop 
 
 would never have given them up ; — and my uncle Toby 
 would as soon have thought of flying, as taking them by 
 force : but Dr Slop fumbled so vilely in pulling them 
 out, it took off the whole effect, and what was a ten 
 times worse evil (for they seldom come alone in this 
 life) in pulling out his forceps, his forceps unfortunately 
 drew out the squiri along with it. 
 
 When a proposition can be taken in two senses — 'tis 
 a law in disputation, That the respondent may reply to 
 which of the two he pleases, or finds most convenient 
 
 for him. This threw the advantage of the argument 
 
 quite on my uncle Toby*s side. " Good God ! " 
 
 cried my uncle Toby, " are children brought into the world 
 nv'ith a squirt ? "
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 C|)apter j:bu 
 
 — T TPON my honour, Sir, you have tore every bit 
 
 [^ of skin quite off the back of both my hands 
 
 with your forceps, cried my uncle Toby — and 
 
 you have crush'd all my knuckles into the bargain with 
 
 them to a jelly. 'Tis your own fault, said Dr Slop 
 
 you should have clinch'd your two fists together 
 
 into the form of a child's head as I told you, and sat 
 
 firm. — I did so, answered my uncle Toiy. Then 
 
 the points of my forceps have not been sufficiently 
 arm'd, or the rivet wants closing — or else the cut on 
 my thumb has made me a little aukward — or possibly — 
 'Tis well, quoth my father, interrupting the detail of 
 possibilities — that the experiment was not first made 
 
 upon my child's head-piece. It would not have 
 
 been a cherry-stone the worse, answered Dr Slop. — I 
 maintain it, said my uncle Toby, it would have broke the 
 cerebellum (unless indeed the skull had been as hard as 
 
 a granado) and turn'd it all into a perfect posset. 
 
 Pshaw ! replied Dr Slop, a child's head is naturally as 
 soft as the pap of an apple ; — the sutures give way — and 
 besides, I could have extracted by the feet after. — Not 
 
 you, said she. 1 rather wish you would begin that 
 
 way, quoth my father. 
 
 Pray do, added my uncle Toby,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1S9 
 
 Chapter j:)iiu 
 
 A^"^ V^^y* goo^ woman, after all, will you 
 
 J'\ take upon you to say, it may not be the 
 child's hip, as well as the child's head ? 
 'Tis most certainly the head, replied the mid- 
 wife. Because, continued Dr SIoj> (turning to my 
 father) as positive as these old ladies generally are — 'tis 
 a point very difficult to know — and yet of the greatest 
 
 consequence to be known ; because. Sir, if the hip 
 
 is mistaken for the head — there is a possibility (if it is 
 a boy) that the forceps ******** 
 
 ^What the possibility was, Dr Slop whispered 
 
 very low to my father, and then to my uncle To5y. 
 
 There is no such danger, continued he, with the 
 
 head. — No, in truth, quoth my father — but when your 
 possibility has taken place at the hip — you may as well 
 take off the head too. 
 
 It is morally impossible the reader should un- 
 derstand this 'tis enough Dr Slop understood it; 
 
 so taking the green bays bag in his hand, with 
 
 the help of Obad'iah^s pumps, he tripp'd pretty nimbly, 
 for a man of his size, across the room to the door 
 
 and from the door was shewn the way, by the 
 
 good old midwife, to my mother's apartments.
 
 190 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 IT is two hours, and ten minutes — and no more — 
 cried my father, looking at his watch, since Dr 
 Slop and Obadiah arrived — and I know not how it 
 happens, brother Toby — but to my imagination it seems 
 almost an age. 
 
 Here — pray, Sir, take hold of my cap — nay, 
 
 take the bell along with it, and my pantoufles too. 
 
 Now, Sir, they are all at your service ; and I freely 
 make you a present of 'em, on condition you give me 
 all your attention to this chapter. 
 
 Though my father said, "/><? kneiv not hotu it 
 happen dj^^ — yet he knew very well how it happen'd ; 
 
 and at the instant he spoke it, was pre- determined 
 
 in his mind to give my uncle Toby a clear account 
 of the matter by a metaphysical dissertation upon the 
 subject of duration and its simple modes y in order to shew 
 my uncle Toby by what mechanism and mensurations in 
 the brain it came to pass, that the rapid succession of 
 their ideas, and the eternal scampering of the discourse 
 from one thing to another, since Dr Slop had come 
 into the room, had lengthened out so short a period to 
 
 so inconceivable an extent. " I know not how it 
 
 happens — cried my father, — ^but it seems an age." 
 
 'Tis owing entirely, quoth my uncle Toby, to 
 
 the succession of our ideas. 
 
 My father, who had an itch, in common with all 
 philosophers, of reasoning upon every thing which 
 happened, and accounting for it too — proposed infinite 
 pleasure to himself in this, of the succession of ideas, 
 and had not the least apprehension of having it snatch'd 
 out of his hands by my uncle Toby, who (honest man ! ) 
 
 generally took every thing as it happened ; and who, 
 
 of all things in the world, troubled his brain the least
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I9I 
 
 with abstruse thinking ; — the ideas of time and space — 
 or how we came by those ideas— or of what stuff they 
 
 were made or whether they were born with us — or 
 
 we picked them up afterwards as we went along — or 
 
 whether we did it in frocks or not till we had got 
 
 into breeches — with a thousand other inquiries and 
 disputes about infinity, prescience, liberty, necessity, 
 and so forth, upon whose desperate and unconquerable 
 theories so many fine heads have been turned and 
 
 cracked never did my uncle Tohy s the least injury 
 
 at all ; my father knew it — and was no less surprized 
 than he was disappointed, with my uncle's fortuitous 
 solution. 
 
 Do you understand the theory of that affair ? replied 
 my father. 
 
 Not I, quoth my uncle. 
 
 — But you have some ideas, said my father, of what 
 you talk about ? — 
 
 No more than my horse, replied my uncle Tohy. 
 
 Gracious heaven ! cried my father, looking upwards, 
 
 and clasping his two hands together there is a 
 
 worth in thy honest ignorance, brother Tohy 'twere 
 
 almost a pity to exchange it for a knowledge. — But 
 I'll tell thee. 
 
 To understand what time is aright, without which 
 we never can comprehend injinity, insomuch as one is a 
 
 portion of the other we ought seriously to sit down 
 
 and consider what idea it is we have of duration^ so as 
 
 to give a satisfactory account how we came by it. 
 
 What is that to any body ? quoth my uncle Tohy. 
 * For if you iv'iU turn your eyes inwards upon your mind, 
 continued my father, and ohserve attentt'vely , you luill 
 perceive, hrother, that 'whilst you and I are talking to^ 
 gether, and thinking, and smoaking our pipes, or ivhilst <ive 
 receive successively ideas in our minds, lue knoiv that lue 
 * Vide Locke.
 
 192 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 do exists and so lue estimate the existence, or the continua- 
 tion of the existence of ourselves, or any thing else, com- 
 mensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the 
 duration of ourselves, or any such other thing co- existing 
 nvith our thinking and so according to that precon- 
 ceived You puzzle me to death, cried my uncle Toby, 
 
 'Tis owing to this, replied my father, that 
 
 in our computations of time, we are so used to minutes, 
 
 hours, weeks, and months and of clocks (I wish 
 
 there was not a clock in the kingdom) to measure out 
 their several portions to us, and to those who belong 
 to us that 'twill be well, if in time to come, the suc- 
 cession of our ideas be of any use or service to us at all. 
 
 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. 
 
 "I \ THAT a conjuncture was here lost! 
 
 y y My father in one of his best explanatory 
 moods — in eager pursuit of a meta- 
 physical point into the very regions, where clouds and 
 thick darkness would soon have encompassed it about ; 
 — my uncle Toby in one of the finest dispositions for it
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 93 
 
 in the world; — his head like a smoak-jack ; the 
 
 funnel unswept, and the ideas whirling round and round 
 about in it, all obfuscated and darkened over with 
 
 fuliginous matter! — By the tomb-stone of Luc'ian 
 
 if it is in being if not, why then by his ashes ! by 
 
 the ashes of my dear Rabelais, and dearer Cervantes ! 
 
 my father and my uncle Tobys discourse upon 
 
 TIME and ETERNITY was a discourse devoutly to be 
 
 wished for ! and the petulancy of my father's humour, 
 in putting a stop to it as he did, was a robbery of the 
 Ontologlc Treasury of such a jewel, as no coalition of 
 great occasions and great men are ever likely to restore 
 to it again. 
 
 THO' my father persisted in not going on with the 
 discourse — yet he could not get my uncle Tobfs 
 smoak-jack out of his head — piqued as he 
 was at first with it ; — there was something in the com- 
 parison at the bottom, which hit his fancy ; for which 
 purpose, resting his elbow upon the table, and re- 
 clining the right side of his head upon the palm of his 
 
 hand but looking first stedfastly in the fire he 
 
 began to commune with himself, and philosophize about 
 it : but his spirits being wore out with the fatigues of 
 investigating new tracts, and the constant exertion of 
 his faculties upon that variety of subjects which had 
 
 taken their turn in the discourse the idea of the 
 
 smoak-jack soon turned all his ideas upside down — so 
 that he fell asleep almost before he knew what he was 
 about. 
 
 As for my uncle Toby, his smoak-jack had not made 
 
 a dozen revolutions, before he fell asleep also. 
 
 Peace be with them both ! Dr Slop is engaged
 
 194 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 with the midwife and my mother above stairs. 
 
 Trim is busy in turning an old pair of jack-boots into a 
 couple of mortars, to be employed in the siege of Messina 
 next summer — and is this instant boring the touch-holes 
 
 with the point of a hot poker. All my heroes are off 
 
 my hands ; — 'tis the first time I have had a moment to 
 spare — and I'll make use of it, and write my preface. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 NO, I'll not say a word about it here it Is ; — 
 in publishing it — I have appealed to the world 
 
 and to the world I leave it ; — It must speak 
 
 for Itself. 
 
 All I know of the matter Is — when I sat down, my 
 intent was to write a good book ; and as far as the 
 tenuity of my understanding would hold out — a wise, 
 aye, and a discreet — taking care only, as I went along, 
 to put into It all the wit and the judgment (be it more 
 or less) which the great Author and Bestower of them 
 
 had thought fit originally to give me so that, as 
 
 your worships see — 'tis just as God pleases. 
 
 Now, Agelastes (speaking dispraisingly) sayeth. That 
 there may be some wit in it, for aught he knows 
 
 but no judgment at all. And Triptokmus and 
 
 Phutator'ius agreeing thereto, ask. How is it possible 
 there should ? for that wit and judgment in this world 
 never go together ; inasmuch as they are two operations 
 differing from each other as wide as east from west 
 
 So, says Locke —so are farting and hickuping, 
 
 say I. But in answer to this, D'ldius the great church 
 lawyer, In his code de fartend'i et tUustrandi fallaciis^ 
 doth maintain and make fully appear. That an Illustration 
 
 is no argument nor do I maintain the wiping of a 
 
 looking-glass clean to be a syllogism ; but you all,
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 95 
 
 may it please your worships, see the better for it 
 
 so that the main good these things do is only to clarify 
 the understanding, previous to the application of the 
 argument itself, in order to free it from any little motes, 
 or specks of opacular matter, which, if left swimming 
 therein, might hinder a conception and spoil all. 
 
 Now, my dear anti-Shandeans, and thrice able 
 criticks, and fellow-labourers (for to you I write this 
 
 Preface) and to you, most subtle statesmen and 
 
 discreet doctors (do — -pull off your beards) renowned 
 
 for gravity and wisdom ; Monopolus, my politician 
 
 — Didius, my counsel ; Kysarciusy my friend ; — PhutU' 
 
 tortus, my guide ; Gastrlpheres, the preserver of my 
 
 life ; Somnolenttus, the balm and repose of it not 
 
 forgetting all others, as well sleeping as waking, eccle- 
 siastical as civil, whom for brevity, but out of no 
 
 resentment to you, I lump all together. Believe 
 
 me, right worthy. 
 
 My most zealous wish and fervent prayer in your 
 behalf, and in ray own too, in case the thing is not 
 done already for us is, that the great gifts and en- 
 dowments both of wit and judgment, with every thing 
 
 which usually goes along with them such as 
 
 memory, fancy, genius, eloquence, quick parts, and 
 what not, may this precious moment, without stint or 
 measure, let or hindrance, be poured down warm as 
 each of us could bear it — scum and sediment and all 
 (for I would not have a drop lost) into the several 
 receptacles, cells, cellules, domiciles, dormitories, 
 
 refectories, and spare places of our brains in 
 
 such sort, that they might continue to be injected and 
 tunn'd into, according to the true intent and meaning 
 of my wish, until every vessel of them, both great and 
 small, be so replenish^, saturated, and filled up there- 
 with, that no more, would it save a man's life, could 
 possibly be got either in or out.
 
 196 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Bless US ! — what noble work we should make ! 
 
 how should I tickle it off! and what spirits should 
 
 I find myself in, to be writing away for such readers ! 
 -and you — just heaven ! with what raptures 
 
 would you sit and read — but oh ! — 'tis too much- 
 
 I am sick 1 faint away deliciously at the thoughts 
 
 of it — 'tis more than nature can bear ! — lay hold of me 
 
 1 am giddy — I am stone blind — I'm dying — I 
 
 am gone. — Help ! Help ! Help ! — But hold — I grow 
 something better again, for I am beginning to foresee, 
 when this is over, that as we shall all of us continue 
 to be great wits — we should never agree amongst 
 
 ourselves, one day to an end : there would be so 
 
 much satire and sarcasm scofling and flouting, with 
 
 raillying and reparteeing of it — thrusting and parrying 
 
 in one corner or another there would be nothing 
 
 but mischief among us Chaste stars ! what biting 
 
 and scratching, and what a racket and a clatter we 
 should make, what with breaking of heads, rapping of 
 knuckles, and hitting of sore places — there would be no 
 such thing as living for us. 
 
 But then again, as we should all of us be men of 
 great judgment, we should make up matters as fast as 
 ever they went wrong ; and though we should abomi- 
 nate each other ten times worse than so many devils or 
 devilesses, we should nevertheless, my dear creatures, 
 be all courtesy and kindness, milk and honey — 'twould 
 be a second land of promise — a paradise upon earth, if 
 there was such a thing to be had — so that upon the 
 whole we should have done well enough. 
 
 All I fret and fume at, and what most distresses my 
 invention at present, is how to bring the point itself to 
 bear ; for as your worships well know, that of these 
 heavenly emanations of luit a.nd Judgment, which I have 
 so bountifully wished both for your worships and 
 myself — there is but a certain quatitum stored up for us
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. I97 
 
 all, for the use and behoof of the whole race of man- 
 kind ; and such small modicums of 'em are only sent 
 forth into this wide world, circulating here and there 
 in one bye corner or another — and in such narrow 
 streams, and at such prodigious intervals from each 
 other, that one would wonder how it holds out, or 
 could be sufficient for the wants and emergencies of so 
 many great estates, and populous empires. 
 
 Indeed there is one thing to be considered, that in 
 Nova Zemhla, North Lapland^ and in all those cold 
 and dreary tracts of the globe, which lie more directly 
 under the arctick and antarctick circles, where the whole 
 province of a man's concernments lies for near nine 
 months together within the narrow compass of his 
 cave — where the spirits are compressed almost to 
 nothing — and where the passions of a man, with 
 every thing which belongs to them, are as frigid as 
 the zone itself — there the least quantity oi judgment 
 
 imaginable does the business — and of iv'it there is 
 
 a total and an absolute saving — for as not one spark 
 is wanted — so not one spark is given. Angels and 
 ministers of grace defend us ! what a dismal thing 
 would it have been to have governed a kingdom, to 
 have fought a battle, or made a treaty, or run a match, 
 or wrote a book, or got a child, or held a provincial 
 chapter there, with so plentiful a lack of wit and judg- 
 ment about us ! For mercy's sake, let us think no 
 more about it, but travel on as fast as we can south- 
 wards into Norivay — crossing over Snvedeland, if you 
 please, through the small triangular province of Anger- 
 mania to the lake of Bothnia ; coasting along it through 
 east and west Bothnia., down to Carelia^ and so on, 
 through all those states and provinces which border 
 upon the far side of the Gulf of Finland, and the 
 north-east of the Baltick, up to Petershourg, and just 
 stepping into Ingria ; — then stretching over directly
 
 198 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 from thence through the north parts of the Russian 
 empire — leaving Siberia a little upon the left hand, till 
 we got into the very heart of Russian and jisiatick 
 Tartary. 
 
 Now throughout this long tour which I have led you, 
 you observe the good people are better off by far, than 
 in the polar countries which we have just left: — for 
 if you hold your hand over your eyes, and look very 
 attentively, you may perceive some small glimmerings 
 (as it were) of wit, with a comfortable provision of 
 good plain houshold judgment, which, taking the quality 
 and quantity of it together, they make a very good shift 
 
 with and had they more of either the one or the 
 
 other, it would destroy the proper balance betwixt them, 
 and I am satisfied moreover they would want occasions 
 to put them to use. 
 
 Now, Sir, if I conduct you home again into this 
 warmer and more luxuriant island, where you perceive 
 the spring-tide of our blood and humours runs high 
 
 where we have more ambition, and pride, and 
 
 envy, and lechery, and other whoreson passions upon 
 
 our hands to govern and subject to reason the 
 
 height of our wit, and the depth of our judgment, you 
 see, are exactly proportioned to the length and breadth 
 
 of our necessities — > and accordingly we have them 
 
 sent down amongst us in such a flowing kind of descent 
 and creditable plenty, that no one thinks he has any 
 cause to complain. 
 
 It must however be confessed on this head, that, as 
 our air blows hot and cold — wet and dry, ten times in a 
 day, we have them in no regular and settled way } — so 
 that sometimes for near half a century together, there 
 shall be very little wit or judgment either to be seen or 
 
 heard of amongst us : the small channels of them 
 
 shall seem quite dried up then all of a sudden the 
 
 sluices shall break out, and take a fit of running again
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 1 99 
 
 like fury you would think they would never stop : 
 
 and then it is, that in writing, and fighting, and 
 
 twenty other gallant things, we drive all the world 
 before us. 
 
 It is by these observations, and a wary reasoning by 
 analogy in that kind of argumentative process, which 
 
 Suidas calls d'lalectick induction that I draw and 
 
 set up this position as most true and veritable ; 
 
 That of these two luminaries so much of their irra- 
 diations are suffered from time to time to shine down 
 upon us, as he, whose infinite wisdom which dispenses 
 every thing in exact weight and measure, knows will 
 just serve to light us on our way in this night of our 
 obscurity ; so that your reverences and worships now 
 find out, nor is it a moment longer in my power to con- 
 ceal it from you. That the fervent wish in your behalf 
 with which I set out, was no more than the first in- 
 sinuating H01V d'ye of a caressing prefacer, stifling his 
 reader, as a lover sometimes does a coy mistress, into 
 silence. For alas ! could this effusion of light have 
 been as easily procured, as the exordium wished it — I 
 tremble to think how many thousands for it, of benighted 
 travellers (in the learned sciences at least) must have 
 groped and blundered on in the dark, all the nights of 
 
 their lives running their heads against posts, and 
 
 knocking out their brains without ever getting to their 
 journies end ; some falling with their noses perpen- 
 dicularly into sinks others horizontally with their 
 
 tails into kennels. Here one half of a learned profes- 
 sion tilting full but against the other half of it, and then 
 tumbling and rolling one over the other in the dirt like 
 hogs. — Here the brethren of another profession, who 
 should have run in opposition to each other, flying on 
 the contrary like a flock of wild geese, all in a row the 
 
 same way. — What confusion! — what mistakes! 
 
 fiddlers and painters judging by their eyes and ears —
 
 200 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 admirable ! — trusting to the passions excited — in an air 
 
 sung, or a story painted to the heart instead of 
 
 measuring them by a quadrant. 
 
 In the fore-ground of this picture, a statesman turning 
 the political wheel, like a brute, the wrong way round 
 
 against the stream of corruption — by Heaven ! 
 
 instead of with it. 
 
 In this corner, a son of the divine Esculapius^ 
 writing a book against predestination ; perhaps worse 
 — feeling his patient's pulse, instead of his apothecary's 
 
 ■ a brother of the Faculty in the back-ground upon 
 
 his knees in tears — drawing the curtains of a mangled 
 victim to beg his forgiveness ; — offering a fee — instead 
 of taking one. 
 
 In that spacious hall, a coalition of the gown, from 
 all the bars of it, driving a damn'd, dirty, vexatious 
 cause before them, with all their might and main, the 
 wrong way ! kicking it out of the great doors, in- 
 stead of, in and with such fury in their looks, and 
 
 such a degree of inveteracy in their manner of kicking 
 it, as if the laws had been originally made for the 
 
 peace and preservation of mankind : -perhaps a 
 
 more enormous mistake committed by them still 
 
 a litigated point fairly hung up ; ^for instance. 
 
 Whether John o'Nohes his nose could stand in Tom 
 0^ Stiles his face, without a trespass, or not — rashly 
 determined by them in five-and- twenty minutes, which, 
 with the cautious pros and cons required in so intricate a 
 
 proceeding, might have taken up as many months 
 
 and if carried on upon a military plan, as your honours 
 know an action should be, with all the stratagems 
 
 practicable therein, such as feints, forced 
 
 marches, surprizes ambuscades mask- bat- 
 teries, and a thousand other strokes of generalship, 
 which consist in catching at all advantages on both 
 sides might reasonably have lasted them as many
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 201 
 
 years, finding food and raiment all that term for a 
 centumvirate of the profession. 
 
 As for the Clergy No if I say a word 
 
 against them, I'll be shot. 1 have no desire ; — and 
 
 besides, if I had — I durst not for my soul touch upon 
 
 the subject with such weak nerves and spirits, and 
 
 in the condition I am in at present, 'twould be as much 
 as my life was worth, to deject and centrist myself 
 with so bad and melancholy an account — and therefore 
 'tis safer to di'aw a curtain across, and hasten from it, 
 as fast as I can, to the main and principal point I have 
 
 undertaken to clear up and that is. How it comes 
 
 to pass, that your men of least luit are reported to be 
 
 men of most judgment. But mark — I say, reported 
 
 to be — for it is no more, my dear Sirs, than a report, 
 and which, like twenty others taken up every day upon 
 trust, I maintain to be a vile and a malicious report 
 into the bargain. 
 
 This by the help of the observation already pre- 
 mised, and I hope already weighed and perpended by 
 your reverences and worships, I shall forthwith make 
 appear. 
 
 I hate set dissertations and above all things in 
 
 the world, 'tis one of the silliest things in one of them, 
 to darken your hypothesis by placing a number of tall, 
 opake words, one before another, in a right line, be- 
 twixt your own and your reader's conception — when 
 in all likelihood, if you had looked about, you might 
 have seen something standing, or hanging up, which 
 would have cleared the point at once — "for what 
 hindrance, hurt, or harm doth the laudable desire of 
 knowledge bring to any man, if even from a sot, a 
 pot, a fool, a stool, a winter-mittain, a truckle for a 
 pully, the lid of a goldsmith's crucible, an oil bottle, 
 an old slipper, or a cane chair ? " — I am this moment 
 sitting upon one. Will you give me leave to illustrate
 
 202 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 this affair of wit and judgment, by the two knobs on 
 the top of the back of it ? — they are fastened on, you 
 see, with two pegs stuck slightly into two gimlet-holes, 
 and will place what I have to say in so clear a light, 
 as to let you see through the drift and meaning of my 
 whole preface, as plainly as if every point and particle 
 of it was made up of sun-beams. 
 
 I enter now directly upon the point. 
 
 — Here stands ivif — and there stands Judgmenff close 
 beside it, just like the two knobs I'm speaking of, 
 upon the back of this self-same chair on which I am 
 sitting. 
 
 — You see, they are the highest and most ornamental 
 parts of its /fame — as wit and judgment are of ours — 
 and like them too, indubitably both made and fitted to 
 go together, in order, as we say in all such cases of 
 duplicated embellishments— to answer one another. 
 
 Now for the sake of an experiment, and for the 
 clearer illustrating this matter — let us for a moment 
 take off one of these two curious ornaments (I care 
 not which) from the point or pinnacle of the chair it 
 now stands on — nay, don't laugh at it, — but did you 
 ever see, in the whole course of your lives, such a 
 ridiculous business as this has made of it ? — ^Why, 'tis 
 as miserable a sight as a sow with one ear ; and there 
 is just as much sense and symmetry in the one as in the 
 
 other : do pray, get off your seats only to take 
 
 a view of it.-^ Now would any man who valued his 
 
 character a straw, have turned a piece of work out of 
 
 his hand in such a condition ? nay, lay your hands 
 
 upon your hearts, and answer this plain question, 
 Whether this one single knob, which now stands here 
 like a blockhead by itself, can serve any purpose upon 
 earth, but to put one in mind of the want of the other ? 
 — and let me farther ask, in case the chair was your 
 own, if you would not in your consciences think, rather
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 203 
 
 than be as it is, that it would be ten times better with- 
 out any knob at all ? 
 
 Now these two knobs or top ornaments of 
 
 the mind of man, which crown the whole entablature 
 
 being, as 1 said, wit and judgment, which of all 
 
 others, as I have proved it, are the most needful- 
 
 the most prized — the most calamitous to be without, 
 and consequently the hardest to come at — for all these 
 reasons put together, there is not a mortal among us, 
 
 so destitute of a love of good fame or feeding or so 
 
 ignorant of what will do him good therein — who does 
 not wish and stedfastly resolve in his own mind, to be, 
 or to be thought at least, master of the one or the 
 other, and indeed of both of them, if the thing seems 
 any way feasible, or likely to be brought to pass. 
 
 Now your graver gentry having little or no kind of 
 chance in aiming at the one- — unless they laid hold of 
 
 the other, pray what do you think would become 
 
 of them ? Why, Sirs, in spite of all their gravities^ 
 
 they must e'en have been contented to have gone with 
 
 their insides naked this was not to be borne, but by 
 
 an effort of philosophy not to be supposed in the case 
 
 we are upon so that no one could well have been 
 
 angry with them, had they been satisfied with what 
 little they could have snatched up and secreted under 
 their cloaks and great perriwigs, had they not raised a 
 hue and cry at the same time against the lawful owners. 
 
 I need not tell your worships, that this was done 
 
 with so much cunning and artifice that the great 
 
 Locke, who was seldom outwitted by false sounds 
 
 ^was nevertheless bubbled here. The cry, it 
 
 seems, was so deep and solemn a one, and what with 
 the help of great wigs, grave faces, and other imple- 
 ments of deceit, was rendered so general a one against 
 the poor ivits in this matter, that the philosopher him- 
 self was deceived by it — it was his glory to free the
 
 204 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 world from the lumber of a thousand vulgar errors ; 
 
 but this was not of the number ; so that instead of 
 
 sitting down coolly, as such a philosopher should have 
 done, to have examined the matter of fact before he 
 
 philosophised upon it on the contrary he took the 
 
 fact for granted, and so joined in with the cry, and 
 halloo'd it as boisterously as the rest. 
 
 This has been made the Magna Charta of stupidity 
 
 ever since but your reverences plainly see, it has 
 
 been obtained in such a manner, that the title to it is 
 
 not worth a groat : which by-the-bye is one of 
 
 the many and vile impositions which gravity and grave 
 folks have to answer for hereafter. 
 
 As for great wigs, upon which I may be thought to 
 
 have spoken my mind too freely 1 beg leave to 
 
 qualify whatever has been unguardedly said to their 
 
 dispraise or prejudice, by one general declaration 
 
 That I have no abhorrence whatever, nor do I detest 
 and abjure either great wigs or long beards, any farther 
 than when I see they are bespoke and let grow on 
 purpose to carry on this self-same imposture — for any 
 
 purpose peace be with them ! — ^^ mark only 
 
 1 write not for them. 
 
 EVERY day for at least ten years together did 
 my father resolve to have it mended — 'tis not 
 mended yet ; — no family but ours would have 
 
 borne with it an hour and what is most astonishing, 
 
 there was not a subject in the world upon which my 
 father was so eloquent, as upon that of door-hinges. 
 
 And yet at the same time, he was certainly one 
 
 of the greatest bubbles to them, I think, that history
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 205 
 
 can produce : his rhetorlck and conduct were at per- 
 petual handy-cufFs. — Never did the parlour-door open 
 — but his philosophy or his principles fell a victim to 
 
 it ; three drops of oil with a feather, and a smart 
 
 stroke of a hammer, had saved his honour for ever. 
 
 Inconsistent soul that man is! languishing 
 
 under wounds, which he has the power to heal! — his 
 whole life a contradiction to his knowledge ! — his 
 reason, that precious gift of God to him — (instead of 
 pouring in oil) serving but to sharpen his sensibilities 
 — to multiply his pains, and render him more melan- 
 choly and uneasy under them ! — Poor unhappy creature, 
 
 that he should do so ! Are not the necessary causes 
 
 of misery in this life enow, but he must add voluntary 
 ones to his stock of sorrow ; — struggle against evils 
 which cannot be avoided, and submit to others, which 
 a tenth part of the trouble they create him would 
 remove from his heart for ever ? 
 
 By all that is good and virtuous, if there are three 
 drops of oil to be got, and a hammer to be found 
 
 within ten miles of Shandy Hall the parlour 
 
 door hinge shall be mended this reign. 
 
 Chapter y^ixu 
 
 WHEN Corporal Trim had brought his two 
 mortars to bear, he was delighted with his 
 handy- work above measure ; and knowing 
 what a pleasure it would be to his master to see them, 
 he was not able to resist the desire he had of carrying 
 them directly Into his parlour. 
 
 Now next to the moral lesson I had in view In 
 mentioning the affair of hinges, I had a speculative 
 consideration arising out of it, and It Is this.
 
 206 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Had the parlour door opened and turn'd upon its 
 hinges, as a door should do — 
 
 Or for example, as cleverly as our government has 
 
 been turning upon its hinges (that is, in case things 
 
 have all along gone well with your worship, — otherwise 
 I give up my simile) — in this case, I say, there had 
 been no danger either to master or man, in Corporal 
 Trim s peeping in : the moment he had beheld my 
 father and my uncle Tohy fast asleep — the respectful- 
 ness of his carriage was such, he would have retired as 
 silent as death, and left them both in their arm-chairs, 
 dreaming as happy as he had found them : but the 
 thing was, morally speaking, so very impracticable, 
 that for the many years in which this hinge was suffered 
 to be out of order, and amongst the hourly grievances 
 my father submitted to upon its account — this was one ; 
 that he never folded his arms to take his nap after 
 dinner, but the thoughts of being unavoidably awakened 
 by the first person who should open the door, was 
 always uppermost in his imagination, and so incessantly 
 stepp'd in betwixt him and the first balmy presage of 
 his repose, as to rob him, as he often declared, of the 
 whole sweets of it. 
 
 " When things move upon bad hinges, an' please your 
 lordships, hotu can it be otherwise P " 
 
 Pray what's the matter ? Who is there ? cried my 
 father, waking, the moment the door began to creak. 
 1 wish the smith would give a peep at that con- 
 founded hinge. 'Tis nothing, an' please your honour, 
 
 said Trim, but two mortars I am bringing in. — They 
 shan't make a clatter with them here, cried my father 
 hastily. — If Dr Slop has any drugs to pound, let him 
 do it in the kitchen. — May it please your honour, cried 
 Trim, they are two mortar-pieces for a siege next 
 summer, which I have been making out of a pair of 
 jack-boots, which Obadiah told me your honour had
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 207 
 
 left off wearing. — By Heaven ! cried my father, spring- 
 ing out of his chair, as he swore 1 have not one 
 
 appointment belonging to me, which I set so much 
 
 store by as I do by these jack-boots they were our 
 
 great grandfather's, brother Toby — they were hereditary. 
 Then I fear, quoth my uncle Tohy^ Trim has cut off 
 the entail. — I have only cut off the tops, an' please 
 
 your honour, cried Trim 1 hzte perpetuities as much 
 
 as any man aUve, cried my father but these jack- 
 boots, continued he (smiling, though very angry at the 
 same time) have been in the family, brother, ever since 
 
 the civil wars ; Sir Roger Shandy wore them at the 
 
 battle of Mar ston- Moor. — I declare I would not have 
 
 taken ten pounds for them. I'll pay you the money, 
 
 brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby, looking at the 
 two mortars with infinite pleasure, and putting his hand 
 
 into his breeches pocket as he viewed them I'll pay 
 
 you the ten pounds this moment with all my heart and 
 
 soul. 
 
 Brother Toby, replied my father, altering his tone, 
 you care not what money you dissipate and throw 
 away, provided, continued he, 'tis but upon a siege. 
 
 Have I not one hundred and twenty pounds a 
 
 year, besides my half pay ? cried my uncle Tohy. — 
 What is that — replied my father hastily — to ten pounds 
 for a pair of jack-boots ? — twelve guineas for jomx pon- 
 toons F — half as much for your Dutch draw-bridge ? — • 
 to say nothing of the train of little brass artillery you 
 bespoke last week, with twenty other preparations for 
 the siege of Messina : believe me, dear brother Toby, 
 continued my father, taking him kindly by the hand — 
 these military operations of yours are above your 
 
 strength ; — you mean well, brother but they carry 
 
 you into greater expences than you were first aware of ; 
 — and take my word, dear Toby, they will in the end 
 quite ruin your fortune, and make a beggar of you. —
 
 2C8 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 What signifies it if they do, brother, replied my uncle 
 Toby, so long as we know 'tis for the good of the 
 nation ? 
 
 My father could not help smiling for his soul — his 
 anger at the worst was never more than a spark ; — and 
 the zeal and simplicity of Trim — and the generous 
 (though hobby-horsical) gallantry of my uncle Toby, 
 brought him into perfect good humour with them in an 
 instant. 
 
 Generous souls ! — G6d prosper you both, and your 
 mortar-pieces too ! quoth my father to himself. 
 
 TkU 
 
 .? ^ 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HanSON &' CO. 
 Edinburgh & London