ALL is quiet and hush, cried my father, at least above stairs—I hear
not one foot stirring.—Prithee _Trim_, who’s in the kitchen? There is
no one soul in the kitchen, answered _Trim_, making a low bow as he
spoke, except Dr. _Slop_.—Confusion! cried my father (getting upon his
legs a second time)—not one single thing has gone right this day! had I
faith in astrology, brother, (which, by the bye, my father had) I would
have sworn some retrograde planet was hanging over this unfortunate
house of mine, and turning every individual thing in it out of its
place.——Why, I thought Dr. _Slop_ had been above stairs with my wife,
and so said you.——What can the fellow be puzzling about in the
kitchen!—He is busy, an’ please your honour, replied _Trim_, in making
a bridge.——’Tis very obliging in him, quoth my uncle _Toby_:——pray,
give my humble service to Dr. _Slop, Trim_, and tell him I thank him
heartily.
You must know, my uncle _Toby_ mistook the bridge—as widely as my
father mistook the mortars:——but to understand how my uncle _Toby_
could mistake the bridge—I fear I must give you an exact account of the
road which led to it;—or to drop my metaphor (for there is nothing more
dishonest in an historian than the use of one)——in order to conceive
the probability of this error in my uncle _Toby_ aright, I must give
you some account of an adventure of _Trim_’s, though much against my
will, I say much against my will, only because the story, in one sense,
is certainly out of its place here; for by right it should come in,
either amongst the anecdotes of my uncle _Toby_’s amours with widow
_Wadman_, in which corporal _Trim_ was no mean actor—or else in the
middle of his and my uncle _Toby_’s campaigns on the bowling-green—for
it will do very well in either place;—but then if I reserve it for
either of those parts of my story——I ruin the story I’m upon;——and if I
tell it here——I anticipate matters, and ruin it there.
—What would your worship have me to do in this case?
—Tell it, Mr. _Shandy_, by all means.—You are a fool, _Tristram_, if
you do.
O ye powers! (for powers ye are, and great ones too)—which enable
mortal man to tell a story worth the hearing——that kindly shew him,
where he is to begin it—and where he is to end it——what he is to put
into it——and what he is to leave out—how much of it he is to cast into
a shade—and whereabouts he is to throw his light!—Ye, who preside over
this vast empire of biographical freebooters, and see how many scrapes
and plunges your subjects hourly fall into;——will you do one thing?
I beg and beseech you (in case you will do nothing better for us) that
wherever in any part of your dominions it so falls out, that three
several roads meet in one point, as they have done just here——that at
least you set up a guide-post in the centre of them, in mere charity,
to direct an uncertain devil which of the three he is to take.