WRITING, when properly managed (as you may be sure I think mine is) is
but a different name for conversation. As no one, who knows what he is
about in good company, would venture to talk all;——so no author, who
understands the just boundaries of decorum and good-breeding, would
presume to think all: The truest respect which you can pay to the
reader’s understanding, is to halve this matter amicably, and leave him
something to imagine, in his turn, as well as yourself.
For my own part, I am eternally paying him compliments of this kind,
and do all that lies in my power to keep his imagination as busy as my
own.
’Tis his turn now;—I have given an ample description of Dr. _Slop_’s
sad overthrow, and of his sad appearance in the back-parlour;—his
imagination must now go on with it for a while.
Let the reader imagine then, that Dr. _Slop_ has told his tale—and in
what words, and with what aggravations, his fancy chooses;—Let him
suppose, that _Obadiah_ has told his tale also, and with such rueful
looks of affected concern, as he thinks best will contrast the two
figures as they stand by each other.—Let him imagine, that my father
has stepped up stairs to see my mother.—And, to conclude this work of
imagination,—let him imagine the doctor washed,—rubbed down, and
condoled,—felicitated,—got into a pair of _Obadiah_’s pumps, stepping
forwards towards the door, upon the very point of entering upon action.
Truce!—truce, good Dr. _Slop!_—stay thy obstetrick hand;——return it
safe into thy bosom to keep it warm;——little dost thou know what
obstacles,——little dost thou think what hidden causes, retard its
operation!——Hast thou, Dr. _Slop_,—hast thou been entrusted with the
secret articles of the solemn treaty which has brought thee into this
place?—Art thou aware that at this instant, a daughter of _Lucina_ is
put obstetrically over thy head? Alas!—’tis too true.—Besides, great
son of _Pilumnus!_ what canst thou do? Thou hast come forth
unarm’d;—thou hast left thy _tire-téte_,—thy new-invented
_forceps_,—thy _crotchet_,—thy _squirt_, and all thy instruments of
salvation and deliverance, behind thee,—By Heaven! at this moment they
are hanging up in a green bays bag, betwixt thy two pistols, at the
bed’s head!—Ring;—call;—send _Obadiah_ back upon the coach-horse to
bring them with all speed.
——Make great haste, _Obadiah_, quoth my father, and I’ll give thee a
crown! and quoth my uncle _Toby_, I’ll give him another.