MY uncle _Toby_ and the corporal had posted down with so much heat and
precipitation, to take possession of the spot of ground we have so
often spoke of, in order to open their campaign as early as the rest of
the allies; that they had forgot one of the most necessary articles of
the whole affair, it was neither a pioneer’s spade, a pickax, or a
shovel—
—It was a bed to lie on: so that as _Shandy-Hall_ was at that time
unfurnished; and the little inn where poor _Le Fever_ died, not yet
built; my uncle _Toby_ was constrained to accept of a bed at Mrs.
_Wadman_’s, for a night or two, till corporal _Trim_ (who to the
character of an excellent valet, groom, cook, sempster, surgeon, and
engineer, superadded that of an excellent upholsterer too), with the
help of a carpenter and a couple of taylors, constructed one in my
uncle _Toby_’s house.
A daughter of _Eve_, for such was widow _Wadman_, and ’tis all the
character I intend to give of her—
—“_ That she was a perfect woman—_” had better be fifty leagues off—or
in her warm bed—or playing with a case-knife—or any thing you
please—than make a man the object of her attention, when the house and
all the furniture is her own.
There is nothing in it out of doors and in broad day-light, where a
woman has a power, physically speaking, of viewing a man in more lights
than one—but here, for her soul, she can see him in no light without
mixing something of her own goods and chattels along with him——till by
reiterated acts of such combination, he gets foisted into her
inventory——
—And then good night.
But this is not matter of SYSTEM; for I have delivered that above——nor
is it matter of BREVIARY——for I make no man’s creed but my own——nor
matter of FACT——at least that I know of; but ’tis matter copulative and
introductory to what follows.