edfastly into one; and would often tell my father in the
simplicity of his heart, that it was almost (if not about) as bad as
taking bawdy.--

--And suppose it is? my father would say.

Chapter 4.LXIII.

She cannot, quoth my uncle Toby, halting, when they had march'd up to
within twenty paces of Mrs. Wadman's door--she cannot, corporal, take it
amiss.--

--She will take it, an' please your honour, said the corporal, just as
the Jew's widow at Lisbon took it of my brother Tom.--

--And how was that? quoth my uncle Toby, facing quite about to the
corporal.

Your honour, replied the corporal, knows of Tom's misfortunes; but this
affair has nothing to do with them any further than this, That if Tom
had not married the widow--or had it pleased God after their marriage,
that they had but put pork into their sausages, the honest soul
had never been taken out of his warm bed, and dragg'd to the
inquisition--'Tis a cursed place--added the corporal, shaking his
head,--when once a poor creature is in, he is in, an' please your
honour, for ever.

'Tis very true; said my uncle Toby, looking gravely at Mrs. Wadman's
house, as he spoke.

Nothing, continued the corporal, can be so sad as confinement for
life--or so sweet, an' please your honour, as liberty.

Nothing, Trim--said my uncle Toby, musing--

Whilst a man is free,--cried the corporal, giving a flourish with his
stick thus--

(squiggly line diagonally across the page)

A thousand of my father's most subtle syllogisms could not have said
more for celibacy.

My uncle Toby look'd earnestly towards his cottage and his
bowling-green.

The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with his
wand; and he had nothing to do, but to conjure him down again with his
story, and in this form of Exorcism, most un-ecclesiastically did the
corporal do it.

Chapter 4.LXIV.

As Tom's place, an' please your honour, was easy--and the weather
warm--it put him upon thinking seriously of settling himself in the
world; and as it fell out about that time, that a Jew who kept a sausage
shop in the same street, had the ill luck to die of a strangury, and
leave his widow in possession of a rousing trade--Tom thought (as every
body in Lisbon was doing the best he could devise for himself) there
could be no harm in offering her his service to carry it on: so without
any introduction to the widow, except that of buying a pound of sausages
at her shop--Tom set