----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 everything; 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_,[7.4] 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.
[Footnote 7.4: 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.]