XLI
вАЩTis a pity, cried my father one winterвАЩs night, after a three hoursвАЩ painful translation of SlawkenbergiusвБ†вЄЇвАЩtis a pity, cried my father, putting my motherвАЩs thread-paper into the book for a mark, as he spokeвБ†вЄЇвБ†that truth, brother Toby, should shut herself up in such impregnable fastnesses, and be so obstinate as not to surrender herself sometimes up upon the closest siege.вБ†вЄЇвБ†
Now it happened then, as indeed it had often done before, that my uncle TobyвАЩs fancy, during the time of my fatherвАЩs explanation of Prignitz to himвБ†вЄїhaving nothing to stay it there, had taken a short flight to the bowling-green!вБ†вЄїhis body might as well have taken a turn there tooвБ†вАФso that with all the semblance of a deep schoolman intent upon the medius terminusвБ†вЄїmy uncle Toby was in fact as ignorant of the whole lecture, and all its pros and cons, as if my father had been translating Hafen Slawkenbergius from the Latin tongue into the Cherokee. But the word siege, like a talismanic power, in my fatherвАЩs metaphor, wafting back my uncle TobyвАЩs fancy, quick as a note could follow the touchвБ†вАФhe openвАЩd his earsвБ†вЄЇвБ†and my father observing that he took his pipe out of his mouth, and shuffled his chair nearer the table, as with a desire to profitвБ†вАФmy father with great pleasure began his sentence againвБ†вЄЇвБ†changing only the plan, and dropping the metaphor of the siege of it, to keep clear of some dangers my father apprehended from it.
вАЩTis a pity, said my father, that truth can only be on one side, brother TobyвБ†вЄїconsidering what ingenuity these learned men have all shown in their solutions of noses.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Can noses be dissolved? replied my uncle Toby.
вЄїMy father thrust back his chairвБ†вЄїrose upвБ†вАФput on his hatвБ†вЄїtook four long strides to the doorвБ†вЄїjerked it openвБ†вЄЇвБ†thrust his head halfway outвБ†вЄЇвБ†shut the door againвБ†вЄЇвБ†took no notice of the bad hingeвБ†вЄЇвБ†returned to the tableвБ†вАФpluckвАЩd my motherвАЩs thread-paper out of SlawkenbergiusвАЩs bookвБ†вЄїwent hastily to his bureauвБ†вАФwalked slowly backвБ†вАФtwisted my motherвАЩs thread-paper about his thumbвБ†вАФunbuttonвАЩd his waistcoatвБ†вАФthrew my motherвАЩs thread-paper into the fireвБ†вЄЇвБ†bit her sattin pincushion in two, fillвАЩd his mouth with branвБ†вАФconfounded it;вБ†вАФbut mark!вБ†вАФthe oath of confusion was levellвАЩd at my uncle TobyвАЩs brainвБ†вАФwhich was eвАЩen confused enough alreadyвБ†вЄЇвБ†the curse came charged only with the branвБ†вАФthe bran, may it please your honours, was no more than powder to the ball.
вАЩTwas well my fatherвАЩs passions lasted not long; for so long as they did last, they led him a busy life onвАЩt; and it is one of the most unaccountable problems that ever I met with in my observations of human nature, that nothing should prove my fatherвАЩs mettle so much, or make his passions go off so like gunpowder, as the unexpected strokes his science met with from the quaint simplicity of my uncle TobyвАЩs questions.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Had ten dozen of hornets stung him behind in so many different places all at one timeвБ†вАФhe could not have exerted more mechanical functions in fewer secondsвБ†вЄїor started half so much, as with one single qu√¶re of three words unseasonably popping in full upon him in his hobbyhorsical career.
вАЩTwas all one to my uncle TobyвБ†вЄїhe smoaked his pipe on with unvaried composureвБ†вЄЇвБ†his heart never intended offence to his brotherвБ†вАФand as his head could seldom find out where the sting of it layвБ†вЄЇвБ†he always gave my father the credit of cooling by himself.вБ†вЄЇвБ†He was five minutes and thirty-five seconds about it in the present case.
By all thatвАЩs good! said my father, swearing, as he came to himself, and taking the oath out of ErnulphusвАЩs digest of cursesвБ†вЄЇ(though to do my father justice it was a fault (as he told Dr.¬†Slop in the affair of Ernulphus) which he as seldom committed as any man upon earth)вБ†вЄїBy all thatвАЩs good and great! brother Toby, said my father, if it was not for the aids of philosophy, which befriend one so much as they doвБ†вАФyou would put a man beside all temper.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Why, by the solutions of noses, of which I was telling you, I meant, as you might have known, had you favoured me with one grain of attention, the various accounts which learned men of different kinds of knowledge have given the world of the causes of short and long noses.вБ†вЄЇвБ†There is no cause but one, replied my uncle TobyвБ†вЄЇвБ†why one manвАЩs nose is longer than anotherвАЩs, but because that God pleases to have it so.вБ†вЄЇвБ†That is GrangousierвАЩs solution, said my father.вБ†вАФвАЩTis he, continued my uncle Toby, looking up, and not regarding my fatherвАЩs interruption, who makes us all, and frames and puts us together in such forms and proportions, and for such ends, as is agreeable to his infinite wisdom.вБ†вЄЇвАЩTis a pious account, cried my father, but not philosophicalвБ†вЄЇвБ†there is more religion in it than sound science. вАЩTwas no inconsistent part of my uncle TobyвАЩs characterвБ†вЄЇвБ†that he feared God, and reverenced religion.вБ†вЄЇвБ†So the moment my father finished his remarkвБ†вЄЇвБ†my uncle Toby fell a whistling Lillabullero with more zeal (though more out of tune) than usual.вБ†вАФ
What is become of my wifeвАЩs thread-paper?