I
I call all the powers of time and chance, which severally check us in our careers in this world, to bear me witness, that I could never yet get fairly to my uncle TobyвАЩs amours, till this very moment, that my motherвАЩs curiosity, as she stated the affair,вБ†вЄЇвБ†or a different impulse in her, as my father would have itвБ†вЄЇвБ†wished her to take a peep at them through the keyhole.
вАЬCall it, my dear, by its right name, quoth my father, and look through the keyhole as long as you will.вАЭ
Nothing but the fermentation of that little subacid humour, which I have often spoken of, in my fatherвАЩs habit, could have vented such an insinuationвБ†вЄЇвБ†he was however frank and generous in his nature, and at all times open to conviction; so that he had scarce got to the last word of this ungracious retort, when his conscience smote him.
My mother was then conjugally swinging with her left arm twisted under his right, in such wise, that the inside of her hand rested upon the back of hisвБ†вАФshe raised her fingers, and let them fallвБ†вАФit could scarce be callвАЩd a tap; or if it was a tapвБ†вЄЇвАЩtwould have puzzled a casuist to say, whether вАЩtwas a tap of remonstrance, or a tap of confession: my father, who was all sensibilities from head to foot, classвАЩd it rightвБ†вАФConscience redoubled her blowвБ†вАФhe turnвАЩd his face suddenly the other way, and my mother supposing his body was about to turn with it in order to move homewards, by a cross movement of her right leg, keeping her left as its centre, brought herself so far in front, that as he turned his head, he met her eyeвБ†вЄїConfusion again! he saw a thousand reasons to wipe out the reproach, and as many to reproach himselfвБ†вЄЇвБ†a thin, blue, chill, pellucid crystal with all its humours so at rest, the least mote or speck of desire might have been seen, at the bottom of it, had it existedвБ†вЄЇвБ†it did notвБ†вЄЇвБ†and how I happen to be so lewd myself, particularly a little before the vernal and autumnal equinoxesвБ†вЄЇвБ†Heaven above knowsвБ†вЄЇвБ†My motherвБ†вЄЇвБ†madamвБ†вЄЇвБ†was so at no time, either by nature, by institution, or example.
A temperate current of blood ran orderly through her veins in all months of the year, and in all critical moments both of the day and night alike; nor did she superinduce the least heat into her humours from the manual effervescencies of devotional tracts, which having little or no meaning in them, nature is ofttimes obliged to find oneвБ†вЄЇвБ†And as for my fatherвАЩs example! вАЩtwas so far from being either aiding or abetting thereunto, that вАЩtwas the whole business of his life to keep all fancies of that kind out of her headвБ†вЄЇвБ†Nature had done her part, to have spared him this trouble; and what was not a little inconsistent, my father knew itвБ†вЄЇвБ†And here am I sitting, this 12th day of August 1766, in a purple jerkin and yellow pair of slippers, without either wig or cap on, a most tragicomical completion of his prediction, вАЬThat I should neither think, nor act like any other manвАЩs child, upon that very account.вАЭ
The mistake in my father, was in attacking my motherвАЩs motive, instead of the act itself; for certainly keyholes were made for other purposes; and considering the act, as an act which interfered with a true proposition, and denied a keyhole to be what it wasвБ†вЄїit became a violation of nature; and was so far, you see, criminal.
It is for this reason, anвАЩ please your Reverences, That keyholes are the occasions of more sin and wickedness, than all other holes in this world put together.
вЄїwhich leads me to my uncle TobyвАЩs amours.