I BEG the reader will assist me here, to wheel off my uncle _Toby_’s
ordnance behind the scenes,——to remove his sentry-box, and clear the
theatre, if possible, of horn-works and half moons, and get the rest of
his military apparatus out of the way;——that done, my dear friend
_Garrick_, we’ll snuff the candles bright,—sweep the stage with a new
broom,—draw up the curtain, and exhibit my uncle _Toby_ dressed in a
new character, throughout which the world can have no idea how he will
act: and yet, if pity be a-kin to love,—and bravery no alien to it, you
have seen enough of my uncle _Toby_ in these, to trace these family
likenesses, betwixt the two passions (in case there is one) to your
heart’s content.
Vain science! thou assistest us in no case of this kind—and thou
puzzlest us in every one.
There was, Madam, in my uncle _Toby_, a singleness of heart which
misled him so far out of the little serpentine tracks in which things
of this nature usually go on; you can—you can have no conception of it:
with this, there was a plainness and simplicity of thinking, with such
an unmistrusting ignorance of the plies and foldings of the heart of
woman;——and so naked and defenceless did he stand before you, (when a
siege was out of his head,) that you might have stood behind any one of
your serpentine walks, and shot my uncle _Toby_ ten times in a day,
through his liver, if nine times in a day, Madam, had not served your
purpose.
With all this, Madam,—and what confounded every thing as much on the
other hand, my uncle _Toby_ had that unparalleled modesty of nature I
once told you of, and which, by the bye, stood eternal sentry upon his
feelings, that you might as soon——But where am I going? these
reflections crowd in upon me ten pages at least too soon, and take up
that time, which I ought to bestow upon facts.