eat little country house of his own in the village
where my father's estate lay at Shandy. Behind this house was a kitchen
garden of about half an acre; and at the bottom of the garden, and cut
off from it by a tall yew hedge, was a bowling-green, containing just
about as much ground as Corporal Trim wished for. So that as Trim
uttered the words, "a rood and a half of ground, to do what they would
with," this identical bowling-green instantly presented itself upon the
retina of my Uncle Toby's fancy.

Never did lover post down to a beloved mistress with more heat and
expectation than my Uncle Toby did to enjoy this self-same thing in
private.

_VI_

"Then reach my breeches off the chair," said my father to
Susanah.--"There's not a moment's time to dress you, sir," cried
Susanah; "bless me, sir, the child's in a fit. Mr. Yorick's curate's in
the dressing room with the child upon his arm, waiting for the name; and
my mistress bid me run as fast as I could to know, as Captain Shandy is
the godfather, whether it should not be called after him."

"Were one sure," said my father to himself, scratching his eyebrow,
"that the child was expiring, one might as well compliment my brother
Toby as not, and 'twould be a pity in such a case to throw away so great
a name as Trismegistus upon him. But he may recover."

"No, no," said my father to Susanah, "I'll get up."--"There's no time,"
cried Susanah, "the child's as black as my shoe."--"Trismegistus," said
my father: "but stay; thou art a leaky vessel, Susanah; canst thou carry
Trismegistus in thy head the length of the gallery without
scattering?"--"Can I," cried Susanah, shutting the door in a huff.--"If
she can, I'll be shot," said my father, bouncing out of bed in the dark
and groping for his breeches.

Susanah ran with all speed along the gallery.

My father made all possible speed to find his breeches. Susanah got the
start and kept it. "'Tis Tris something," cried Susanah.--"There is no
Christian name in the world," said the curate, "beginning with Tris, but
Tristram."--"Then 'tis Tristram-gistus," quoth Susanah.

"There is no gistus to it, noodle; 'tis my own name," replied the
curate, dipping his hand as he spoke into the basin. "Tristram," said
he, etc., etc. So Tristram was I called, and Tristram shall I be to the
day of my death.

_VII.--The Story of Le Fevre_

It was some time in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was
taken by the Allies, w