opinion, brother Toby, said my father.

--Poor St. Maxima! said my uncle Toby low to himself, as we turn'd from
her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most beautiful ladies either of
Italy or France, continued the sacristan--But who the duce has got lain
down here, besides her? quoth my father, pointing with his cane to
a large tomb as we walked on--It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the
sacristan--And properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And
what is Saint Optat's story? continued he. Saint Optat, replied the
sacristan, was a bishop--

--I thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting him--Saint
Optat!--how should Saint Optat fail? so snatching out his pocket-book,
and the young Benedictine holding him the torch as he wrote, he set it
down as a new prop to his system of Christian names, and I will be bold
to say, so disinterested was he in the search of truth, that had he
found a treasure in Saint Optat's tomb, it would not have made him half
so rich: 'Twas as successful a short visit as ever was paid to the
dead; and so highly was his fancy pleas'd with all that had passed in
it,--that he determined at once to stay another day in Auxerre.

--I'll see the rest of these good gentry to-morrow, said my father, as
we cross'd over the square--And while you are paying that visit, brother
Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby--the corporal and I will mount the ramparts.

Chapter 4.IX.

--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 (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.), u