III + 

вЄЇвЄЇвБ†And a chapter it shall have, and a devil of a one tooвБ†вАФso look to yourselves. + 

вАЩTis either Plato, or Plutarch, or Seneca, or Xenophon, or Epictetus, or Theophrastus, or LucianвБ†вАФor someone perhaps of later dateвБ†вАФeither Cardan, or Bud√¶us, or Petrarch, or StellaвБ†вАФor possibly it may be some divine or father of the church, St.¬†Austin, or St.¬†Cyprian, or Barnard, who affirms that it is an irresistible and natural passion to weep for the loss of our friends or childrenвБ†вАФand Seneca (IвАЩm positive) tells us somewhere, that such griefs evacuate themselves best by that particular channelвБ†вАФAnd accordingly we find, that David wept for his son AbsalomвБ†вАФAdrian for his AntinousвБ†вАФNiobe for her children, and that Apollodorus and Crito both shed tears for Socrates before his death. + 

My father managed his affliction otherwise; and indeed differently from most men either ancient or modern; for he neither wept it away, as the Hebrews and the RomansвБ†вАФor slept it off, as the LaplandersвБ†вАФor hanged it, as the English, or drowned it, as the GermansвБ†вАФnor did he curse it, or damn it, or excommunicate it, or rhyme it, or lillabullero it.вБ†вЄЇвБ† + 

вЄЇвБ†He got rid of it, however. + 

Will your worships give me leave to squeeze in a story between these two pages? + 

When Tully was bereft of his dear daughter Tullia, at first he laid it to his heart,вБ†вАФhe listened to the voice of nature, and modulated his own unto it.вБ†вАФO my Tullia! my daughter! my child!вБ†вАФstill, still, still,вБ†вАФвАЩtwas O my Tullia!вБ†вАФmy Tullia! Methinks I see my Tullia, I hear my Tullia, I talk with my Tullia.вБ†вАФBut as soon as he began to look into the stores of philosophy, and consider how many excellent things might be said upon the occasionвБ†вАФnobody upon earth can conceive, says the great orator, how happy, how joyful it made me. + 

My father was as proud of his eloquence as Marcus Tullius Cicero could be for his life, and, for aught I am convinced of to the contrary at present, with as much reason: it was indeed his strengthвБ†вАФand his weakness too.вБ†вЄЇвБ†His strengthвБ†вАФfor he was by nature eloquent; and his weaknessвБ†вАФfor he was hourly a dupe to it; and, provided an occasion in life would but permit him to show his talents, or say either a wise thing, a witty, or a shrewd oneвБ†вАФ(bating the case of a systematic misfortune)вБ†вАФhe had all he wanted.вБ†вАФA blessing which tied up my fatherвАЩs tongue, and a misfortune which let it loose with a good grace, were pretty equal: sometimes, indeed, the misfortune was the better of the two; for instance, where the pleasure of the harangue was as ten, and the pain of the misfortune but as fiveвБ†вАФmy father gained half in half, and consequently was as well again off, as if it had never befallen him. + 

This clue will unravel what otherwise would seem very inconsistent in my fatherвАЩs domestic character; and it is this, that, in the provocations arising from the neglects and blunders of servants, or other mishaps unavoidable in a family, his anger or rather the duration of it, eternally ran counter to all conjecture. + 

My father had a favourite little mare, which he had consigned over to a most beautiful Arabian horse, in order to have a pad out of her for his own riding: he was sanguine in all his projects; so talked about his pad every day with as absolute a security, as if it had been reared, broke,вБ†вАФand bridled and saddled at his door ready for mounting. By some neglect or other in Obadiah, it so fell out, that my fatherвАЩs expectations were answered with nothing better than a mule, and as ugly a beast of the kind as ever was produced. + 

My mother and my uncle Toby expected my father would be the death of ObadiahвБ†вАФand that there never would be an end of the disaster.вБ†вЄЇвБ†See here! you rascal, cried my father, pointing to the mule, what you have done!вБ†вЄЇвБ†It was not me, said Obadiah.вБ†вЄЇвБ†How do I know that? replied my father. + 

Triumph swam in my fatherвАЩs eyes, at the reparteeвБ†вАФthe Attic salt brought water into themвБ†вАФand so Obadiah heard no more about it. + 

Now let us go back to my brotherвАЩs death. + 

Philosophy has a fine saying for everything.вБ†вАФFor Death it has an entire set; the misery was, they all at once rushed into my fatherвАЩs head, that вАЩtwas difficult to string them together, so as to make anything of a consistent show out of them.вБ†вАФHe took them as they came. + 

вАЬвАКвАЩTis an inevitable chanceвБ†вАФthe first statute in Magna ChartaвБ†вАФit is an everlasting act of parliament, my dear brother,вБ†вЄЇвБ†All must die. + 

вАЬIf my son could not have died, it had been matter of wonder,вБ†вАФnot that he is dead. + 

вАЬMonarchs and princes dance in the same ring with us. + 

вАЬвБ†вАФTo die, is the great debt and tribute due unto nature: tombs and monuments, which should perpetuate our memories, pay it themselves; and the proudest pyramid of them all, which wealth and science have erected, has lost its apex, and stands obtruncated in the travellerвАЩs horizon.вАЭ (My father found he got great ease, and went on)вБ†вАФвАЬKingdoms and provinces, and towns and cities, have they not their periods? and when those principles and powers, which at first cemented and put them together, have performed their several evolutions, they fall back.вАЭвБ†вАФBrother Shandy, said my uncle Toby, laying down his pipe at the word evolutionsвБ†вАФRevolutions, I meant, quoth my father,вБ†вАФby heaven! I meant revolutions, brother TobyвБ†вАФevolutions is nonsense.вБ†вЄЇвАЩTis not nonsense,вБ†вАФsaid my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†But is it not nonsense to break the thread of such a discourse upon such an occasion? cried my fatherвБ†вАФdo notвБ†вАФdear Toby, continued he, taking him by the hand, do notвБ†вАФdo not, I beseech thee, interrupt me at this crisis.вБ†вЄЇвБ†My uncle Toby put his pipe into his mouth. + 

вАЬWhere is Troy and Mycen√¶, and Thebes and Delos, and Persepolis and Agrigentum?вАЭвБ†вАФcontinued my father, taking up his book of postcards, which he had laid down.вБ†вАФвАЬWhat is become, brother Toby, of Nineveh and Babylon, of Cizicum and Mitylen√¶? The fairest towns that ever the sun rose upon, are now no more; the names only are left, and those (for many of them are wrong spelt) are falling themselves by piece-meals to decay, and in length of time will be forgotten, and involved with everything in a perpetual night: the world itself, brother Toby, mustвБ†вАФmust come to an end. + 

вАЬReturning out of Asia, when I sailed from √Жgina towards Megara,вАЭ (when can this have been? thought my uncle Toby) вАЬI began to view the country round about. √Жgina was behind me, Megara was before, Pyr√¶us on the right hand, Corinth on the left.вБ†вАФWhat flourishing towns now prostrate upon the earth! Alas! alas! said I to myself, that man should disturb his soul for the loss of a child, when so much as this lies awfully buried in his presenceвБ†вЄЇвБ†Remember, said I to myself againвБ†вАФremember thou art a man.вАЭвБ†вАФ + 

Now my uncle Toby knew not that this last paragraph was an extract of Servius SulpiciusвАЩs consolatory letter to Tully.вБ†вАФHe had as little skill, honest man, in the fragments, as he had in the whole pieces of antiquity.вБ†вАФAnd as my father, whilst he was concerned in the Turkey trade, had been three or four different times in the Levant, in one of which he had stayed a whole year and an half at Zant, my uncle Toby naturally concluded, that, in some one of these periods, he had taken a trip across the Archipelago into Asia; and that all this sailing affair with √Жgina behind, and Megara before, and Pyr√¶us on the right hand, etc., etc., was nothing more than the true course of my fatherвАЩs voyage and reflections.вБ†вАФвАЩTwas certainly in his manner, and many an undertaking critic would have built two stories higher upon worse foundations.вБ†вАФAnd pray, brother, quoth my uncle Toby, laying the end of his pipe upon my fatherвАЩs hand in a kindly way of interruptionвБ†вАФbut waiting till he finished the accountвБ†вАФwhat year of our Lord was this?вБ†вАФвАЩTwas no year of our Lord, replied my father.вБ†вАФThatвАЩs impossible, cried my uncle Toby.вБ†вАФSimpleton! said my father,вБ†вАФвАЩtwas forty years before Christ was born. + 

My uncle Toby had but two things for it; either to suppose his brother to be the wandering Jew, or that his misfortunes had disordered his brain.вБ†вАФвАЬMay the Lord God of heaven and earth protect him and restore him,вАЭ said my uncle Toby, praying silently for my father, and with tears in his eyes. + 

вАФMy father placed the tears to a proper account, and went on with his harangue with great spirit. + 

вАЬThere is not such great odds, brother Toby, betwixt good and evil, as the world imaginesвАЭвБ†вЄЇ(this way of setting off, by the by, was not likely to cure my uncle TobyвАЩs suspicions.)вБ†вЄЇвАЬLabour, sorrow, grief, sickness, want, and woe, are the sauces of life.вАЭвБ†вАФMuch good may it do themвБ†вАФsaid my uncle Toby to himself.вБ†вЄї + 

вАЬMy son is dead!вБ†вАФso much the better;вБ†вАФвАЩtis a shame in such a tempest to have but one anchor.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut he is gone forever from us!вБ†вАФbe it so. He is got from under the hands of his barber before he was baldвБ†вАФhe is but risen from a feast before he was surfeitedвБ†вАФfrom a banquet before he had got drunken.вАЭ + 

вАЬThe Thracians wept when a child was bornвАЭвБ†вАФ(and we were very near it, quoth my uncle Toby)вБ†вАФвАЬand feasted and made merry when a man went out of the world; and with reason.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the gate of envy after it,вБ†вАФit unlooses the chain of the captive, and puts the bondsmanвАЩs task into another manвАЩs hands.вАЭ + 

вАЬShow me the man, who knows what life is, who dreads it, and IвАЩll show thee a prisoner who dreads his liberty.вАЭ + 

Is it not better, my dear brother Toby, (for markвБ†вАФour appetites are but diseases)вБ†вАФis it not better not to hunger at all, than to eat?вБ†вАФnot to thirst, than to take physic to cure it? + 

Is it not better to be freed from cares and agues, from love and melancholy, and the other hot and cold fits of life, than, like a galled traveller, who comes weary to his inn, to be bound to begin his journey afresh? + 

There is no terrour, brother Toby, in its looks, but what it borrows from groans and convulsionsвБ†вАФand the blowing of noses and the wiping away of tears with the bottoms of curtains, in a dying manвАЩs room.вБ†вАФStrip it of these, what is it?вБ†вАФвАЩTis better in battle than in bed, said my uncle Toby.вБ†вАФTake away its herses, its mutes, and its mourning,вБ†вАФits plumes, scutcheons, and other mechanic aidsвБ†вАФWhat is it?вБ†вЄЇвБ†Better in battle! continued my father, smiling, for he had absolutely forgot my brother BobbyвБ†вАФвАЩtis terrible no wayвБ†вАФfor consider, brother Toby,вБ†вАФwhen we areвБ†вАФdeath is not;вБ†вАФand when death isвБ†вАФwe are not. My uncle Toby laid down his pipe to consider the proposition; my fatherвАЩs eloquence was too rapid to stay for any manвБ†вАФaway it went,вБ†вАФand hurried my uncle TobyвАЩs ideas along with it.вБ†вЄЇвБ† + 

For this reason, continued my father, вАЩtis worthy to recollect how little alteration, in great men, the approaches of death have made.вБ†вАФVespasian died in a jest upon his close-stoolвБ†вАФGalba with a sentenceвБ†вАФSeptimus Severus in a dispatchвБ†вАФTiberius in dissimulation, and Caesar Augustus in a compliment.вБ†вАФI hope вАЩtwas a sincere oneвБ†вАФquoth my uncle Toby. + 

вАФвАЩTwas to his wife,вБ†вАФsaid my father. + 