--What a conjuncture was here lost!--My father in one of his best explanatory moods--in eager pursuit of a metaphysical point into the very regions, where clouds and thick darkness would soon have encompassed it about;--my uncle Toby in one of the finest dispositions for it in the world;--his head like a smoke-jack;--the funnel unswept, and the ideas whirling round and round about in it, all obfuscated and darkened over with fuliginous matter!--By the tomb-stone of Lucian--if it is in being--if not, why then by his ashes! by the ashes of my dear Rabelais, and dearer Cervantes!--my father and my uncle Toby's discourse upon Time and Eternity--was a discourse devoutly to be wished for! and the petulancy of my father's humour, in putting a stop to it as he did, was a robbery of the Ontologic Treasury of such a jewel, as no coalition of great occasions and great men are ever likely to restore to it again.