John Greenleaf Whittier - "The Frost Spirit and Others from Poems of Nature,"

Rudyard Kipling - "Stalky & Co."

Kakuzo Okakura - "The Book of Tea"

Andrew Lang - "Sir Walter Scott and the Border Minstrelsy"

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

L >> Laurence Sterne >> The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman




'Tis very true; said my uncle Toby, looking gravely at Mrs. Wadman's house,
as he spoke.

Nothing, continued the corporal, can be so sad as confinement for life--or
so sweet, an' please your honour, as liberty.

Nothing, Trim--said my uncle Toby, musing--

Whilst a man is free,--cried the corporal, giving a flourish with his stick
thus--

(squiggly line diagonally across the page)

A thousand of my father's most subtle syllogisms could not have said more
for celibacy.

My uncle Toby look'd earnestly towards his cottage and his bowling-green.

The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with his
wand; and he had nothing to do, but to conjure him down again with his
story, and in this form of Exorcism, most un-ecclesiastically did the
corporal do it.



Chapter 4.LXIV.

As Tom's place, an' please your honour, was easy--and the weather warm--it
put him upon thinking seriously of settling himself in the world; and as it
fell out about that time, that a Jew who kept a sausage shop in the same
street, had the ill luck to die of a strangury, and leave his widow in
possession of a rousing trade--Tom thought (as every body in Lisbon was
doing the best he could devise for himself) there could be no harm in
offering her his service to carry it on: so without any introduction to
the widow, except that of buying a pound of sausages at her shop--Tom set
out--counting the matter thus within himself, as he walk'd along; that let
the worst come of it that could, he should at least get a pound of sausages
for their worth--but, if things went well, he should be set up; inasmuch as
he should get not only a pound of sausages--but a wife and--a sausage shop,
an' please your honour, into the bargain.

Every servant in the family, from high to low, wish'd Tom success; and I
can fancy, an' please your honour, I see him this moment with his white
dimity waist-coat and breeches, and hat a little o' one side, passing
jollily along the street, swinging his stick, with a smile and a chearful
word for every body he met:--But alas! Tom! thou smilest no more, cried the
corporal, looking on one side of him upon the ground, as if he
apostrophised him in his dungeon.

Poor fellow! said my uncle Toby, feelingly.

He was an honest, light-hearted lad, an' please your honour, as ever blood
warm'd--

--Then he resembled thee, Trim, said my uncle Toby, rapidly.

The corporal blush'd down to his fingers ends--a tear of sentimental
bashfulness--another of gratitude to my uncle Toby--and a tear of sorrow
for his brother's misfortunes, started into his eye, and ran sweetly down
his cheek together; my uncle Toby's kindled as one lamp does at another;
and taking hold of the breast of Trim's coat (which had been that of Le
Fever's) as if to ease his lame leg, but in reality to gratify a finer
feeling--he stood silent for a minute and a half; at the end of which he
took his hand away, and the corporal making a bow, went on with his story
of his brother and the Jew's widow.



Chapter 4.LXV.

When Tom, an' please your honour, got to the shop, there was nobody in it,
but a poor negro girl, with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the
end of a long cane, flapping away flies--not killing them.--'Tis a pretty
picture! said my uncle Toby--she had suffered persecution, Trim, and had
learnt mercy--

--She was good, an' please your honour, from nature, as well as from
hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that poor friendless
slut, that would melt a heart of stone, said Trim; and some dismal winter's
evening, when your honour is in the humour, they shall be told you with the
rest of Tom's story, for it makes a part of it--

Then do not forget, Trim, said my uncle Toby.

A negro has a soul? an' please your honour, said the corporal (doubtingly).

I am not much versed, corporal, quoth my uncle Toby, in things of that
kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any more than
thee or me--

--It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the
corporal.

It would so; said my uncle Toby. Why then, an' please your honour, is a
black wench to be used worse than a white one?

I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby--

--Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to
stand up for her--

--'Tis that very thing, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby,--which recommends her to
protection--and her brethren with her; 'tis the fortune of war which has
put the whip into our hands now--where it may be hereafter, heaven knows!--
but be it where it will, the brave, Trim! will not use it unkindly.

--God forbid, said the corporal.

Amen, responded my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon his heart.

The corporal returned to his story, and went on--but with an embarrassment
in doing it, which here and there a reader in this world will not be able
to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions all along, from one kind
and cordial passion to another, in getting thus far on his way, he had lost
the sportable key of his voice, which gave sense and spirit to his tale:
he attempted twice to resume it, but could not please himself; so giving a
stout hem! to rally back the retreating spirits, and aiding nature at the
same time with his left arm a kimbo on one side, and with his right a
little extended, supporting her on the other--the corporal got as near the
note as he could; and in that attitude, continued his story.



Chapter 4.LXVI.

As Tom, an' please your honour, had no business at that time with the
Moorish girl, he passed on into the room beyond, to talk to the Jew's widow
about love--and this pound of sausages; and being, as I have told your
honour, an open cheary-hearted lad, with his character wrote in his looks
and carriage, he took a chair, and without much apology, but with great
civility at the same time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat
down.

There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an' please your honour,
whilst she is making sausages--So Tom began a discourse upon them; first,
gravely,--'as how they were made--with what meats, herbs, and spices.'--
Then a little gayly,--as, 'With what skins--and if they never burst--
Whether the largest were not the best?'--and so on--taking care only as he
went along, to season what he had to say upon sausages, rather under than
over;--that he might have room to act in--

It was owing to the neglect of that very precaution, said my uncle Toby,
laying his hand upon Trim's shoulder, that Count De la Motte lost the
battle of Wynendale: he pressed too speedily into the wood; which if he
had not done, Lisle had not fallen into our hands, nor Ghent and Bruges,
which both followed her example; it was so late in the year, continued my
uncle Toby, and so terrible a season came on, that if things had not fallen
out as they did, our troops must have perish'd in the open field.--

--Why, therefore, may not battles, an' please your honour, as well as
marriages, be made in heaven?--my uncle Toby mused--

Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his high idea of military skill
tempted him to say another; so not being able to frame a reply exactly to
his mind--my uncle Toby said nothing at all; and the corporal finished his
story.

As Tom perceived, an' please your honour, that he gained ground, and that
all he had said upon the subject of sausages was kindly taken, he went on
to help her a little in making them.--First, by taking hold of the ring of
the sausage whilst she stroked the forced meat down with her hand--then by
cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them in his hand,
whilst she took them out one by one--then, by putting them across her
mouth, that she might take them out as she wanted them--and so on from
little to more, till at last he adventured to tie the sausage himself,
whilst she held the snout.--

--Now a widow, an' please your honour, always chuses a second husband as
unlike the first as she can: so the affair was more than half settled in
her mind before Tom mentioned it.

She made a feint however of defending herself, by snatching up a sausage:--
Tom instantly laid hold of another--

But seeing Tom's had more gristle in it--

She signed the capitulation--and Tom sealed it; and there was an end of the
matter.



Chapter 4.LXVII.

All womankind, continued Trim, (commenting upon his story) from the highest
to the lowest, an' please your honour, love jokes; the difficulty is to
know how they chuse to have them cut; and there is no knowing that, but by
trying, as we do with our artillery in the field, by raising or letting
down their breeches, till we hit the mark.--

--I like the comparison, said my uncle Toby, better than the thing itself--

--Because your honour, quoth the corporal, loves glory, more than pleasure.

I hope, Trim, answered my uncle Toby, I love mankind more than either; and
as the knowledge of arms tends so apparently to the good and quiet of the
world--and particularly that branch of it which we have practised together
in our bowling-green, has no object but to shorten the strides of Ambition,
and intrench the lives and fortunes of the few, from the plunderings of the
many--whenever that drum beats in our ears, I trust, corporal, we shall
neither of us want so much humanity and fellow-feeling, as to face about
and march.

In pronouncing this, my uncle Toby faced about, and march'd firmly as at
the head of his company--and the faithful corporal, shouldering his stick,
and striking his hand upon his coat-skirt as he took his first step--
march'd close behind him down the avenue.

--Now what can their two noddles be about? cried my father to my mother--by
all that's strange, they are besieging Mrs. Wadman in form, and are
marching round her house to mark out the lines of circumvallation.

I dare say, quoth my mother--But stop, dear Sir--for what my mother dared
to say upon the occasion--and what my father did say upon it--with her
replies and his rejoinders, shall be read, perused, paraphrased, commented,
and descanted upon--or to say it all in a word, shall be thumb'd over by
Posterity in a chapter apart--I say, by Posterity--and care not, if I
repeat the word again--for what has this book done more than the Legation
of Moses, or the Tale of a Tub, that it may not swim down the gutter of
Time along with them?

I will not argue the matter: Time wastes too fast: every letter I trace
tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen: the days and hours of it,
more precious, my dear Jenny! than the rubies about thy neck, are flying
over our heads like light clouds of a windy day, never to return more--
every thing presses on--whilst thou art twisting that lock,--see! it grows
grey; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every absence which
follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to
make.--

--Heaven have mercy upon us both!



Chapter 4.LXVIII.

Now, for what the world thinks of that ejaculation--I would not give a
groat.



Chapter 4.LXIX.

My mother had gone with her left arm twisted in my father's right, till
they had got to the fatal angle of the old garden wall, where Doctor Slop
was overthrown by Obadiah on the coach-horse: as this was directly
opposite to the front of Mrs. Wadman's house, when my father came to it, he
gave a look across; and seeing my uncle Toby and the corporal within ten
paces of the door, he turn'd about--'Let us just stop a moment, quoth my
father, and see with what ceremonies my brother Toby and his man Trim make
their first entry--it will not detain us, added my father, a single
minute:'

--No matter, if it be ten minutes, quoth my mother.

--It will not detain us half one; said my father.

The corporal was just then setting in with the story of his brother Tom and
the Jew's widow: the story went on--and on--it had episodes in it--it came
back, and went on--and on again; there was no end of it--the reader found
it very long--

--G.. help my father! he pish'd fifty times at every new attitude, and gave
the corporal's stick, with all its flourishings and danglings, to as many
devils as chose to accept of them.

When issues of events like these my father is waiting for, are hanging in
the scales of fate, the mind has the advantage of changing the principle of
expectation three times, without which it would not have power to see it
out.

Curiosity governs the first moment; and the second moment is all oeconomy
to justify the expence of the first--and for the third, fourth, fifth, and
sixth moments, and so on to the day of judgment--'tis a point of Honour.

I need not be told, that the ethic writers have assigned this all to
Patience; but that Virtue, methinks, has extent of dominion sufficient of
her own, and enough to do in it, without invading the few dismantled
castles which Honour has left him upon the earth.

My father stood it out as well as he could with these three auxiliaries to
the end of Trim's story; and from thence to the end of my uncle Toby's
panegyrick upon arms, in the chapter following it; when seeing, that
instead of marching up to Mrs. Wadman's door, they both faced about and
march'd down the avenue diametrically opposite to his expectation--he broke
out at once with that little subacid soreness of humour, which, in certain
situations, distinguished his character from that of all other men.



Chapter 4.LXX.

--'Now what can their two noddles be about?' cried my father. . .&c. . ..

I dare say, said my mother, they are making fortifications--

--Not on Mrs. Wadman's premises! cried my father, stepping back--

I suppose not: quoth my mother.

I wish, said my father, raising his voice, the whole science of
fortification at the devil, with all its trumpery of saps, mines, blinds,
gabions, fausse-brays and cuvetts--

--They are foolish things--said my mother.

Now she had a way, which, by the bye, I would this moment give away my
purple jerkin, and my yellow slippers into the bargain, if some of your
reverences would imitate--and that was, never to refuse her assent and
consent to any proposition my father laid before her, merely because she
did not understand it, or had no ideas of the principal word or term of
art, upon which the tenet or proposition rolled. She contented herself
with doing all that her godfathers and godmothers promised for her--but no
more; and so would go on using a hard word twenty years together--and
replying to it too, if it was a verb, in all its moods and tenses, without
giving herself any trouble to enquire about it.

This was an eternal source of misery to my father, and broke the neck, at
the first setting out, of more good dialogues between them, than could have
done the most petulant contradiction--the few which survived were the
better for the cuvetts--

--'They are foolish things;' said my mother.

--Particularly the cuvetts; replied my father.

'Tis enough--he tasted the sweet of triumph--and went on.

--Not that they are, properly speaking, Mrs. Wadman's premises, said my
father, partly correcting himself--because she is but tenant for life--

--That makes a great difference--said my mother--

--In a fool's head, replied my father--

Unless she should happen to have a child--said my mother--

--But she must persuade my brother Toby first to get her one--

To be sure, Mr. Shandy, quoth my mother.

--Though if it comes to persuasion--said my father--Lord have mercy upon
them.

Amen: said my mother, piano.

Amen: cried my father, fortissime.

Amen: said my mother again--but with such a sighing cadence of personal
pity at the end of it, as discomfited every fibre about my father--he
instantly took out his almanack; but before he could untie it, Yorick's
congregation coming out of church, became a full answer to one half of his
business with it--and my mother telling him it was a sacrament day--left
him as little in doubt, as to the other part--He put his almanack into his
pocket.

The first Lord of the Treasury thinking of ways and means, could not have
returned home with a more embarrassed look.



Chapter 4.LXXI.

Upon looking back from the end of the last chapter, and surveying the
texture of what has been wrote, it is necessary, that upon this page and
the three following, a good quantity of heterogeneous matter be inserted to
keep up that just balance betwixt wisdom and folly, without which a book
would not hold together a single year: nor is it a poor creeping digression
(which but for the name of, a man might continue as well going on in the
king's highway) which will do the business--no; if it is to be a
digression, it must be a good frisky one, and upon a frisky subject too,
where neither the horse or his rider are to be caught, but by rebound.

The only difficulty, is raising powers suitable to the nature of the
service: Fancy is capricious--Wit must not be searched for--and Pleasantry
(good-natured slut as she is) will not come in at a call, was an empire to
be laid at her feet.

--The best way for a man, is to say his prayers--

Only if it puts him in mind of his infirmities and defects as well ghostly
as bodily--for that purpose, he will find himself rather worse after he has
said them than before--for other purposes, better.

For my own part, there is not a way either moral or mechanical under heaven
that I could think of, which I have not taken with myself in this case:
sometimes by addressing myself directly to the soul herself, and arguing
the point over and over again with her upon the extent of her own
faculties--

--I never could make them an inch the wider--

Then by changing my system, and trying what could be made of it upon the
body, by temperance, soberness, and chastity: These are good, quoth I, in
themselves--they are good, absolutely;--they are good, relatively;--they
are good for health--they are good for happiness in this world--they are
good for happiness in the next--

In short, they were good for every thing but the thing wanted; and there
they were good for nothing, but to leave the soul just as heaven made it:
as for the theological virtues of faith and hope, they give it courage; but
then that snivelling virtue of Meekness (as my father would always call it)
takes it quite away again, so you are exactly where you started.

Now in all common and ordinary cases, there is nothing which I have found
to answer so well as this--

--Certainly, if there is any dependence upon Logic, and that I am not
blinded by self-love, there must be something of true genius about me,
merely upon this symptom of it, that I do not know what envy is: for never
do I hit upon any invention or device which tendeth to the furtherance of
good writing, but I instantly make it public; willing that all mankind
should write as well as myself.

--Which they certainly will, when they think as little.



Chapter 4.LXXII.

Now in ordinary cases, that is, when I am only stupid, and the thoughts
rise heavily and pass gummous through my pen--

Or that I am got, I know not how, into a cold unmetaphorical vein of
infamous writing, and cannot take a plumb-lift out of it for my soul; so
must be obliged to go on writing like a Dutch commentator to the end of the
chapter, unless something be done--

--I never stand conferring with pen and ink one moment; for if a pinch of
snuff, or a stride or two across the room will not do the business for me--
I take a razor at once; and having tried the edge of it upon the palm of my
hand, without further ceremony, except that of first lathering my beard, I
shave it off; taking care only if I do leave a hair, that it be not a grey
one: this done, I change my shirt--put on a better coat--send for my last
wig--put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself from one
end to the other of me, after my best fashion.

Now the devil in hell must be in it, if this does not do: for consider,
Sir, as every man chuses to be present at the shaving of his own beard
(though there is no rule without an exception), and unavoidably sits over-
against himself the whole time it is doing, in case he has a hand in it--
the Situation, like all others, has notions of her own to put into the
brain.--

--I maintain it, the conceits of a rough-bearded man, are seven years more
terse and juvenile for one single operation; and if they did not run a risk
of being quite shaved away, might be carried up by continual shavings, to
the highest pitch of sublimity--How Homer could write with so long a beard,
I don't know--and as it makes against my hypothesis, I as little care--But
let us return to the Toilet.

Ludovicus Sorbonensis makes this entirely an affair of the body (Greek) as
he calls it--but he is deceived: the soul and body are joint-sharers in
every thing they get: A man cannot dress, but his ideas get cloth'd at the
same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands
presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him--so that he has
nothing to do, but take his pen, and write like himself.

For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ
clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking
into my Laundress's bill, as my book: there is one single month in which I
can make it appear, that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean
writing; and after all, was more abus'd, cursed, criticis'd, and
confounded, and had more mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in
that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.

--But their honours and reverences had not seen my bills.



Chapter 4.LXXIII.

As I never had any intention of beginning the Digression, I am making all
this preparation for, till I come to the 74th chapter--I have this chapter
to put to whatever use I think proper--I have twenty this moment ready for
it--I could write my chapter of Button-holes in it--

Or my chapter of Pishes, which should follow them--

Or my chapter of Knots, in case their reverences have done with them--they
might lead me into mischief: the safest way is to follow the track of the
learned, and raise objections against what I have been writing, tho' I
declare before-hand, I know no more than my heels how to answer them.

And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of thersitical satire,
as black as the very ink 'tis wrote with--(and by the bye, whoever says so,
is indebted to the muster-master general of the Grecian army, for suffering
the name of so ugly and foul-mouth'd a man as Thersites to continue upon
his roll--for it has furnish'd him with an epithet)--in these productions
he will urge, all the personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a
sinking genius no sort of good--but just the contrary, inasmuch as the
dirtier the fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in it.

To this, I have no other answer--at least ready--but that the Archbishop of
Benevento wrote his nasty Romance of the Galatea, as all the world knows,
in a purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the
penance set him of writing a commentary upon the book of the Revelations,
as severe as it was look'd upon by one part of the world, was far from
being deem'd so, by the other, upon the single account of that Investment.

Another objection, to all this remedy, is its want of universality;
forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much stress is laid, by
an unalterable law of nature excludes one half of the species entirely from
its use: all I can say is, that female writers, whether of England, or of
France, must e'en go without it--

As for the Spanish ladies--I am in no sort of distress--



Chapter 4.LXXIV.

The seventy-fourth chapter is come at last; and brings nothing with it but
a sad signature of 'How our pleasures slip from under us in this world!'

For in talking of my digression--I declare before heaven I have made it!
What a strange creature is mortal man! said she.

'Tis very true, said I--but 'twere better to get all these things out of
our heads, and return to my uncle Toby.



Chapter 4.LXXV.

When my uncle Toby and the corporal had marched down to the bottom of the
avenue, they recollected their business lay the other way; so they faced
about and marched up straight to Mrs. Wadman's door.

I warrant your honour; said the corporal, touching his Montero-cap with his
hand, as he passed him in order to give a knock at the door--My uncle Toby,
contrary to his invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said
nothing good or bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshal'd his
ideas; he wish'd for another conference, and as the corporal was mounting
up the three steps before the door--he hem'd twice--a portion of my uncle
Toby's most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards the corporal;
he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full minute in his
hand, he scarce knew why. Bridget stood perdue within, with her finger and
her thumb upon the latch, benumb'd with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with
an eye ready to be deflowered again, sat breathless behind the window-
curtain of her bed-chamber, watching their approach.

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