--Has the bend-sinister been brush'd out, I say? said my father.--There has been nothing brush'd out, Sir, answered Obadiah, but the lining. We'll go o'horseback, said my father, turning to Yorick--Of all things in the world, except politicks, the clergy know the least of heraldry, said Yorick.--No matter for that, cried my father--I should be sorry to appear with a blot in my escutcheon before them.--Never mind the bend-sinister, said my uncle Toby, putting on his tye-wig.--No, indeed, said my father--you may go with my aunt Dinah to a visitation with a bend-sinister, if you think fit--My poor uncle Toby blush'd. My father was vexed at himself.--No--my dear brother Toby, said my father, changing his tone--but the damp of the coach-lining about my loins, may give me the sciatica again, as it did December, January, and February last winter--so if you please you shall ride my wife's pad--and as you are to preach, Yorick, you had better make the best of your way before--and leave me to take care of my brother Toby, and to follow at our own rates.

Now the chapter I was obliged to tear out, was the description of this cavalcade, in which Corporal Trim and Obadiah, upon two coach-horses a-breast, led the way as slow as a patrole--whilst my uncle Toby, in his laced regimentals and tye-wig, kept his rank with my father, in deep roads and dissertations alternately upon the advantage of learning and arms, as each could get the start.

--But the painting of this journey, upon reviewing it, appears to be so much above the stile and manner of any thing else I have been able to paint in this book, that it could not have remained in it, without depreciating every other scene; and destroying at the same time that necessary equipoise and balance, (whether of good or bad) betwixt chapter and chapter, from whence the just proportions and harmony of the whole work results. For my own part, I am but just set up in the business, so know little about it--but, in my opinion, to write a book is for all the world like humming a song--be but in tune with yourself, madam, 'tis no matter how high or how low you take it.

--This is the reason, may it please your reverences, that some of the lowest and flattest compositions pass off very well--(as Yorick told my uncle Toby one night) by siege.--My uncle Toby looked brisk at the sound of the word siege, but could make neither head or tail of it.

I'm to preach at court next Sunday, said Homenas--run over my notes--so Ihumm'd over doctor Homenas's notes--the modulation's very well--'twill do, Homenas, if it holds on at this rate--so on I humm'd--and a tolerable tune I thought it was; and to this hour, may it please your reverences, had never found out how low, how flat, how spiritless and jejune it was, but that all of a sudden, up started an air in the middle of it, so fine, so rich, so heavenly,--it carried my soul up with it into the other world; now had I (as Montaigne complained in a parallel accident)--had I found the declivity easy, or the ascent accessible--certes I had been outwitted.--Your notes, Homenas, I should have said, are good notes;--but it was so perpendicular a precipice--so wholly cut off from the rest of the work, that by the first note I humm'd I found myself flying into the other world, and from thence discovered the vale from whence I came, so deep, so low, and dismal, that I shall never have the heart to descend into it again.

> A dwarf who brings a standard along with him to measure his own size--take my word, is a dwarf in more articles than one.--And so much for tearing out of chapters.