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Mrs. Wadman blush’d——look’d towards the door——turn’d pale——blush’d slightly again——recovered her natural colour——blush’d worse than ever; which for the sake of the unlearned reader, I translate2 thus——

“L—d! I cannot look at it3——

What would the world say if I look’d at it?

I should drop down, if I look’d at it—

I wish I could look at it——

There can be no sin in looking at it.

——I will look at it.”

Whilst all this was running through Mrs. Wadman’s imagination, my uncle Toby had risen from the sopha, and got to the other side of the parlour-door, to give Trim an order about it in the passage——

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *——I believe it is in the garret, said my uncle Toby——I saw it there, an’ please your honour, this morning, answered Trim——Then prithee, step directly for it, Trim, said my uncle Toby, and bring it into the parlour.

The Corporal did not approve of the orders, but most chearfully obey’d them. The first was not an act of his will—the second was; so he put on his Montero cap, and went as fast as his lame knee would let him. My uncle Toby returned into the parlour, and sat himself down again upon the sopha.

——You shall lay your finger upon the place—said my uncle Toby.——I will not touch it, however, quoth Mrs. Wadman to herself.

This requires a second translation:—it shews what little knowledge is got by mere words—we must go up to the first springs.

Now in order to clear up the mist which hangs upon these three pages, I must endeavour to be as clear as possible myself.

Rub your hands thrice across your foreheads—blow your noses—cleanse your emunctories—sneeze, my good people!——God bless you——

Now give me all the help you can.

CHAP. XXI

As there are fifty different ends (counting all ends in——as well civil as religious) for which a woman takes a husband, she first sets about and carefully weighs, then separates and distinguishes in her mind, which of all that number of ends, is hers: then by discourse, enquiry, argumentation and inference, she investigates and finds out whether she has got hold of the right one——and if she has——then, by pulling it gently this way and that way, she further forms a judgment, whether it will not break in the drawing.

The imagery under which Slawkenbergius impresses this upon his reader’s fancy, in the beginning of his third Decad, is so ludicrous, that the honour I bear the sex, will not suffer me to quote it——otherwise ’tis not destitute of humour.

“She first, saith Slawkenbergius, stops the asse, and holding his halter in her left hand (lest he should get away) she thrusts her right hand into the very bottom of his pannier to search for it—For what?—you’ll not know the sooner, quoth Slawkenbergius, for interrupting me”——

“I have nothing, good Lady, but empty bottles;” says the asse.

“I’m loaded with tripes;” says the second.

——And thou art little better, quoth she to the third; for nothing is there in thy panniers but trunk-hose and pantofles—and so to the fourth and fifth, going on one by one through the whole string, till coming to the asse which carries it, she turns the pannier upside down, looks at it—considers it—samples it—measures it—stretches it—wets it—dries it—then takes her teeth both to the warp and weft of it——

——Of what? for the love of Christ!

I am determined, answered Slawkenbergius, that all the powers upon earth shall never wring that secret from my breast.

CHAP. XXII

We live in a world beset on all sides with mysteries and riddles1—and so ’tis no matter——else it seems strange, that Nature, who makes every thing so well to answer its destination, and seldom or never errs, unless for pastime, in giving such forms and aptitudes to whatever passes through her hands, that whether she designs for the plough, the caravan, the cart—or whatever other creature she models, be it but an asse’s foal, you are sure to have the thing you wanted; and yet at the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so simple a thing as a married man.

Whether it is in the choice of the clay