——NOW this is the most puzzled skein of all——for in this last chapter,
as far at least as it has help’d me through _Auxerre_, I have been
getting forwards in two different journies together, and with the same
dash of the pen—for I have got entirely out of _Auxerre_ in this
journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of _Auxerre_
in that which I shall write hereafter——There is but a certain degree of
perfection in every thing; and by pushing at something beyond that, I
have brought myself into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood
before me; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of
_Auxerre_ with my father and my uncle _Toby_, in our way back to
dinner——and I am this moment also entering _Lyons_ with my post-chaise
broke into a thousand pieces—and I am moreover this moment in a
handsome pavillion built by _Pringello_,[36] upon the banks of the
_Garonne_, which Mons. _Sligniac_ has lent me, and where I now sit
rhapsodising all these affairs.
——Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.
[36] The same Don _Pringello_, the celebrated _Spanish_ architect, of
whom my cousin _Antony_ has made such honourable mention in a scholium
to the Tale inscribed to his name.—Vid. p.129, small edit.