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Chapter 59 No doubt, Sir,there is a whole chapter wanting hereand a chasm of ten pages made in the book by itbut the book-binder is neither a fool, or a knave, or a puppynor is the book a jot more imperfect (at least upon that score)but, on the contrary, the book is more perfect and complete by wanting the chapter, than having it, as I shall demonstrate to your reverences in this manner.I question first, by- the-bye, whether the same experiment might not be made as successfully upon sundry other chapters but there is no end, an please your reverences, in trying experiments upon chapterswe have had enough of itSo theres an end of that matter. But before I begin my demonstration, let me only tell you, that the chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would all have been reading just now, instead of thiswas the description of my fathers, my uncle Tobys, Trims, and Obadiahs setting out and journeying to the visitation at. . .. Well go in the coach, said my fatherPrithee, have the arms been altered, Obadiah?It would have made my story much better to have begun with telling you, that at the time my mothers arms were added to the Shandys, when the coach was re-painted upon my fathers marriage, it had so fallen out that the coach-painter, whether by performing all his works with the left hand, like Turpilius the Roman, or Hans Holbein of Basilor whether twas more from the blunder of his head than handor whether, lastly, it was from the sinister turn which every thing relating to our family was apt to takeit so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the bend-dexter, which since Harry the Eighths reign was honestly our duea bend-sinister, by some of these fatalities, had been drawn quite across the field of the Shandy arms. Tis scarce credible that the mind of so wise a man as my father was, could be so much incommoded with so small a matter. The word coachlet it be whose it wouldor coach- man, or coach-horse, or coach-hire, could never be named in the family, but he constantly complained of carrying this vile mark of illegitimacy upon the door of his own; he never once was able to step into the coach, or out of it, without turning round to take a view of the arms, and making a vow at the same time, that it was the last time he would ever set his foot in it again, till the bend-sinister was taken outbut like the affair of the hinge, it was one of the many things which the Destinies had set down in their books ever to be grumbled at (and in wiser families than ours)but never to be mended. Has the bend-sinister been brushd out, I say? said my father.There has been nothing brushd out, Sir, answered Obadiah, but the lining. Well go ohorseback, said my father, turning to YorickOf all things in the world, except politicks, the clergy know the least of heraldry, said Yorick.No matter for that, cried my fatherI 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 fatheryou may go with my aunt Dinah to a visitation with a bend-sinister, if you think fitMy poor uncle Toby blushd. My father was vexed at himself.Nomy dear brother Toby, said my father, changing his tonebut the damp of the coach- lining about my loins, may give me the sciatica again, as it did December, January, and February last winterso if you please you shall ride my wifes padand as you are to preach, Yorick, you had better make the best of your way beforeand 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 patrolewhilst 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 songbe but in tune with yourself, madam, tis no matter how high or how low you take it. |
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