the corporal, loves glory, more than
pleasure.

I hope, Trim, answered my uncle Toby, I love mankind more than either;
and as the knowledge of arms tends so apparently to the good and quiet
of the world--and particularly that branch of it which we have practised
together in our bowling-green, has no object but to shorten the strides
of Ambition, and intrench the lives and fortunes of the few, from the
plunderings of the many--whenever that drum beats in our ears, I
trust, corporal, we shall neither of us want so much humanity and
fellow-feeling, as to face about and march.

In pronouncing this, my uncle Toby faced about, and march'd firmly as
at the head of his company--and the faithful corporal, shouldering his
stick, and striking his hand upon his coat-skirt as he took his first
step--march'd close behind him down the avenue.

--Now what can their two noddles be about? cried my father to my
mother--by all that's strange, they are besieging Mrs. Wadman in
form, and are marching round her house to mark out the lines of
circumvallation.

I dare say, quoth my mother--But stop, dear Sir--for what my mother
dared to say upon the occasion--and what my father did say upon it--with
her replies and his rejoinders, shall be read, perused, paraphrased,
commented, and descanted upon--or to say it all in a word, shall be
thumb'd over by Posterity in a chapter apart--I say, by Posterity--and
care not, if I repeat the word again--for what has this book done more
than the Legation of Moses, or the Tale of a Tub, that it may not swim
down the gutter of Time along with them?

I will not argue the matter: Time wastes too fast: every letter I trace
tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen: the days and hours of
it, more precious, my dear Jenny! than the rubies about thy neck, are
flying over our heads like light clouds of a windy day, never to return
more--every thing presses on--whilst thou art twisting that lock,--see!
it grows grey; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every
absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which
we are shortly to make.--

--Heaven have mercy upon us both!

Chapter 4.LXVIII.

Now, for what the world thinks of that ejaculation--I would not give a
groat.

Chapter 4.LXIX.

My mother had gone with her left arm twisted in my father's right, till
they had got to the fatal angle of the old garden wall, where Doctor
Slop was overthrown by Obadiah on the