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The radical heat and moisture, quoth Doctor Slop, turning to my father, you must know, is the basis and foundation of our being,—as the root of a tree is the source and principle of its vegetation.—It is inherent in the seeds of all animals, and may be preserved sundry ways, but principally in my opinion by consubstantials, impriments, and occludents.4——Now this poor fellow, continued Dr. Slop, pointing to the corporal, has had the misfortune to have heard some superficial emperic5 discourse upon this nice point.——That he has,—said my father.——Very likely, said my uncle.—I’m sure of it—quoth Yorick.——

CHAP. XLI

Doctor Slop being called out to look at a cataplasm1 he had ordered, it gave my father an opportunity of going on with another chapter in the Tristra-pœdia.——Come! chear up, my lads; I’ll shew you land2———for when we have tugged through that chapter, the book shall not be opened again this twelvemonth.—Huzza!—

CHAP. XLII

——Five years with a bib under his chin;

Four years in travelling from Christ-cross-row to Malachi;1

A year and a half in learning to write his own name;

Seven long years and more -ing it,2 at Greek and Latin;

Four years at his probations and his negations3—the fine statue still lying in the middle of the marble block,4—and nothing done, but his tools sharpened to hew it out!—’tis a piteous delay!—Was not the great Julius Scaliger within an ace of never getting his tools sharpened at all?———Forty-four years old was he before he could manage his Greek;—and Peter Damianus, lord bishop of Ostia, as all the world knows, could not so much as read, when he was of man’s estate.—And Baldus5 himself, as eminent as he turned out after, entered upon the law so late in life, that every body imagined he intended to be an advocate in the other world: no wonder, when Eudamidas, the son of Archidamas, heard Xenocrates6 at seventy-five disputing about wisdom, that he asked gravely,—If the old man be yet disputing and enquiring concerning wisdom,—what time will he have to make use of it?

Yorick listened to my father with great attention; there was a seasoning of wisdom unaccountably mixed up with his strangest whims, and he had sometimes such illuminations in the darkest of his eclipses, as almost attoned for them:—be wary, Sir, when you imitate him.

I am convinced, Yorick, continued my father, half reading and half discoursing, that there is a North-west passage7 to the intellectual world; and that the soul of man has shorter ways of going to work, in furnishing itself with knowledge and instruction, than we generally take with it.——But alack! all fields have not a river or a spring running besides them;—every child, Yorick! has not a parent to point it out.

——The whole entirely depends, added my father, in a low voice, upon the auxiliary verbs,8 Mr. Yorick.

Had Yorick trod upon Virgil’s snake,9 he could not have looked more surprised.—I am surprised too, cried my father, observing it,—and I reckon it as one of the greatest calamities which ever befell the republick of letters, That those who have been entrusted with the education of our children, and whose business it was to open their minds, and stock them early with ideas, in order to set the imagination loose upon them, have made so little use of the auxiliary verbs in doing it, as they have done——So that, except Raymond Lullius, and the elder Pelegrini, the last of which arrived to such perfection in the use of ’em, with his topics, that in a few lessons, he could teach a young gentleman to discourse with plausibility upon any subject, pro and con, and to say and write all that could be spoken or written concerning it, without blotting a word, to the admiration of all who beheld him.—I should be glad, said Yorick, interrupting my father, to be made to comprehend this matter. You shall, said my father.

The highest stretch of improvement a single word is capable of, is a high metaphor,——for which, in my opinion, the idea is generally the worse, and not the better;——but be that as it may,—when the mind has done that