But what do you mean by a recovery? Mrs. _Wadman_ would say.
Doctor _Slop_ was the worst man alive at definitions; and so Mrs.
_Wadman_ could get no knowledge: in short, there was no way to extract
it, but from my uncle _Toby_ himself.
There is an accent of humanity in an enquiry of this kind which lulls
SUSPICION to rest——and I am half persuaded the serpent got pretty near
it, in his discourse with Eve; for the propensity in the sex to be
deceived could not be so great, that she should have boldness to hold
chat with the devil, without it——But there is an accent of
humanity——how shall I describe it?—’tis an accent which covers the part
with a garment, and gives the enquirer a right to be as particular with
it, as your body-surgeon.
“——Was it without remission?—
“——Was it more tolerable in bed?
“——Could he lie on both sides alike with it?
“——Was he able to mount a horse?
“——Was motion bad for it?’ _et cætera_, were so tenderly spoke to, and
so directed towards my uncle _Toby_’s heart, that every item of them
sunk ten times deeper into it than the evils themselves——but when Mrs.
_Wadman_ went round about by _Namur_ to get at my uncle _Toby_’s groin;
and engaged him to attack the point of the advanced counterscarp, and
_péle mele_ with the _Dutch_ to take the counterguard of St. _Roch_
sword in hand—and then with tender notes playing upon his ear, led him
all bleeding by the hand out of the trench, wiping her eye, as he was
carried to his tent——Heaven! Earth! Sea!—all was lifted up—the springs
of nature rose above their levels—an angel of mercy sat besides him on
the sopha—his heart glow’d with fire—and had he been worth a thousand,
he had lost every heart of them to Mrs. _Wadman._
—And whereabouts, dear sir, quoth Mrs. _Wadman_, a little
categorically, did you receive this sad blow?——In asking this question,
Mrs. _Wadman_ gave a slight glance towards the waistband of my uncle
_Toby_’s red plush breeches, expecting naturally, as the shortest reply
to it, that my uncle _Toby_ would lay his fore-finger upon the
place——It fell out otherwise——for my uncle _Toby_ having got his wound
before the gate of St. _Nicolas_, in one of the traverses of the trench
opposite to the salient angle of the demibastion of St. _Roch;_ he
could at any time stick a pin upon the identical spot of ground where
he was standing when the stone struck him: this struck instantly upon
my uncle _Toby_’s sensorium——and with it, struck his large map of the
town and citadel of _Namur_ and its environs, which he had purchased
and pasted down upon a board, by the corporal’s aid, during his long
illness——it had lain with other military lumber in the garret ever
since, and accordingly the corporal was detached to the garret to fetch
it.
My uncle _Toby_ measured off thirty toises, with Mrs. _Wadman_’s
scissars, from the returning angle before the gate of St. _Nicolas;_
and with such a virgin modesty laid her finger upon the place, that the
goddess of Decency, if then in being—if not, ’twas her shade—shook her
head, and with a finger wavering across her eyes—forbid her to explain
the mistake.