The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

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 intellectual parts;—for he felt this insult of my father’s as feelingly as a man could do;—but he was of a peaceful, 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. —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 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 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 set my whole frame into one vibration of most pleasurable 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 universal good-will then taught and imprinted by my uncle _Toby_, has never since been worn out of my mind: And tho’ I would not depreciate what the study of the _Literæ humaniores_, 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 endurance 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 like malignancy:—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 conviction; 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 my aunt _Dinah_, or where an hypothesis was concerned) than what he ever gave. 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 _Toby_’s could not be unfelt by him.——No:——as I said above, my uncle _Toby_ 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 penetrated my father to his heart: He rose up hastily from his chair, and seizing hold of both my uncle _Toby_’s hands as he spoke:—Brother _Toby_, 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 _Toby_, 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 ungenerous, 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 welcome, brother, quoth my uncle _Toby_,——had it been fifty times as much.——Besides, what have I to do, my dear _Toby_, cried my father, either with your amusements or your pleasures, unless it was in my power (which it is not) to increase their measure? ——Brother _Shandy_, answered my uncle _Toby_, looking wistfully in his face,——you are much mistaken in 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. C H A P. XXXVIII MY brother does it, quoth my uncle _Toby_, out of _principle._——In a family way, I suppose, quoth Dr. _Slop._——Pshaw!—said my father,—’tis not worth talking of. C H A P. XXXIX 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 sailing 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 _Stevinus_’s account of it, because in my return from _Leyden_ thro’ the _Hague_, I walked as far as _Schevling_, which is two long miles, on purpose to take a view of it. That’s nothing, replied my uncle _Toby_, to what the learned _Peireskius_ did, who walked a matter of five hundred miles, reckoning from _Paris_ to _Schevling_, and from _Schevling_ to _Paris_ back again, in order to see it,—and nothing else. Some men cannot bear to be out-gone. The more fool _Peireskius_, replied Dr. _Slop._ But mark, ’twas out of no contempt of _Peireskius_ at all;——but that _Peireskius_’s indefatigable labour in trudging so far on foot, out of love for the sciences, reduced the exploit of Dr. _Slop_, in that affair, to nothing:—the more fool _Peireskius_, said he again.—Why 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 himself in the discourse.——Why so?——said he. Why is _Peireskius_, or any man else, to be abused for an appetite for that, or any other morsel of sound knowledge: 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, 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 was as swift as the wind itself._ But pray, Dr. _Slop_, 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 _Toby_ had before, upon his of fortification;—but to the loss of much sound knowledge, the destinies in the morning had decreed that no dissertation of any kind should be spun by my father that day,——for as he opened his mouth to begin the next sentence, C H A P. XL 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 _Trim_, 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 uncle _Toby_, for such a thing as a sermon to have got into my _Stevinus._ 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 _Trim_, you must know, loved to hear himself read almost as well as talk.