ding it high time to leave
Navarre for want of whiskers--the word in course became indecent, and
(after a few efforts) absolutely unfit for use.

The best word, in the best language of the best world, must have
suffered under such combinations.--The curate of d'Estella wrote a book
against them, setting forth the dangers of accessory ideas, and warning
the Navarois against them.

Does not all the world know, said the curate d'Estella at the conclusion
of his work, that Noses ran the same fate some centuries ago in
most parts of Europe, which Whiskers have now done in the kingdom of
Navarre?--The evil indeed spread no farther then--but have not beds
and bolsters, and night-caps and chamber-pots stood upon the brink
of destruction ever since? Are not trouse, and placket-holes, and
pump-handles--and spigots and faucets, in danger still from the same
association?--Chastity, by nature, the gentlest of all affections--give
it but its head--'tis like a ramping and a roaring lion.

The drift of the curate d'Estella's argument was not understood.--They
ran the scent the wrong way.--The world bridled his ass at the
tail.--And when the extremes of Delicacy, and the beginnings of
Concupiscence, hold their next provincial chapter together, they may
decree that bawdy also.

Chapter 3.II.

When my father received the letter which brought him the melancholy
account of my brother Bobby's death, he was busy calculating the expence
of his riding post from Calais to Paris, and so on to Lyons.

'Twas a most inauspicious journey; my father having had every foot of it
to travel over again, and his calculation to begin afresh, when he had
almost got to the end of it, by Obadiah's opening the door to acquaint
him the family was out of yeast--and to ask whether he might not
take the great coach-horse early in the morning and ride in search
of some.--With all my heart, Obadiah, said my father (pursuing his
journey)--take the coach-horse, and welcome.--But he wants a shoe, poor
creature! said Obadiah.--Poor creature! said my uncle Toby, vibrating
the note back again, like a string in unison. Then ride the Scotch
horse, quoth my father hastily.--He cannot bear a saddle upon his back,
quoth Obadiah, for the whole world.--The devil's in that horse; then
take Patriot, cried my father, and shut the door.--Patriot is sold, said
Obadiah. Here's for you! cried my father, making a pause, and looking
in my uncle Toby's face, as if the thing had n