t our Sydenhams and our
Sangrados, our Lucretias and our Messalinas, our Somersets and our
Bolingbrokes, are alike entitled to statues, and all the historians or
satirists who have said otherwise since they departed this life,
from Sallust to S----e, are guilty of the crimes you charge me with,
'cowardice and injustice.' But why cowardice? 'Because 'tis not
courage to attack a dead man who can't defend himself.' But why do you
doctors attack such a one with your incision knife? Oh! for the good
of the living. 'Tis my plea."

And, having given this humorous twist to his argument, he glides off
into extenuatory matter. He had not even, he protests, made as much as
a surgical incision into his victim (Dr. Richard Mead, the friend of
Bentley and of Newton, and a physician and physiologist of high repute
in his day); he had but just scratched him, and that scarce skin-deep.
As to the "droll foible" of Dr. Mead, which he had made merry with,
"it was not first reported (even to the few who can understand the
hint) by me, but known before by every chambermaid and footman within
the bills of mortality"--a somewhat daring assertion, one would
imagine, considering what the droll foible was; and Dr. Mead,
continues Sterne, great man as he was, had, after all, not fared worse
than "a man of twice his wisdom"--to wit Solomon, of whom the same
remark had been made, that "they were both great men, and, like all
mortal men, had each their ruling passion."

The mixture of banter and sound reasoning in this reply is, no doubt,
very skilful. But, unfortunately, neither the reasoning nor the
banter happens to meet the case of this particular defiance of the
"De mortuis" maxim, and as a serious defence against a serious charge
(which was what the occasion required) Sterne's answer is altogether
futile. For the plea of "the good of the living," upon which, after
all, the whole defence, considered seriously, rests, was quite
inapplicable as an excuse for the incriminated passage. The only
living persons who could possibly be affected by it, for good or
evil, were those surviving friends of the dead man, to whom Sterne's
allusion to what he called Dr. Mead's "droll foible" was calculated to
cause the deepest pain and shame.

The other matter of offence to Sterne's Yorkshire readers was of a
much more elaborate kind. In the person of Dr. Slop, the grotesque
man-midwife, who was to have assisted, but missed assisting, at
Tristram's entry into