“WHAT prodigious armies you had in _Flanders!_”
——Brother _Toby_, quoth my father, I do believe thee to be as honest a
man, and with as good and as upright a heart as ever God created;—nor
is it thy fault, if all the children which have been, may, can, shall,
will, or ought to be begotten, come with their heads foremost into the
world:——but believe me, dear _Toby_, the accidents which unavoidably
way-lay them, not only in the article of our begetting ’em——though
these, in my opinion, are well worth considering,——but the dangers and
difficulties our children are beset with, after they are got forth into
the world, are enow—little need is there to expose them to unnecessary
ones in their passage to it.——Are these dangers, quoth my uncle _Toby_,
laying his hand upon my father’s knee, and looking up seriously in his
face for an answer,——are these dangers greater now o’days, brother,
than in times past? Brother _Toby_, answered my father, if a child was
but fairly begot, and born alive, and healthy, and the mother did well
after it,—our forefathers never looked farther.——My uncle _Toby_
instantly withdrew his hand from off my father’s knee, reclined his
body gently back in his chair, raised his head till he could just see
the cornice of the room, and then directing the buccinatory muscles
along his cheeks, and the orbicular muscles around his lips to do their
duty—he whistled _Lillabullero._