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pastimes, down to this, I have concealed no one action of my life, and scarce a thought in it--fuck as I am, brother, you must by this time know me, with all my vices, and with all my weaknesses too, whether my age, my temper, my passions, or my understanding.
Tell me then, my dear brother Shandy, upon which of them it is, that when I condemned the peace
of Utrecht, and grieved the war was not carried on with vigour a little longer, you should think your brother did it upon unworthy views; or that in wishing for war, he should be bad enough to with more of his fellow creatures sain,---more Naves made, and more families driven from their peaceful habitations, merely for his own pleafure : Tell me, brother Shandy, upon what one deed of mine do you ground it?
If, when I was a school-boy, I could not hear a drum beat, but my heart beat with it was it my fault? Did I plant the propensity there? Did I found the alarm within, or Nature ?
When Guy, Earl of Warwick, and Parismus and Parifienus, and l’alentine and Orfon, and the Seven Champions of England were handed around the school, -were they not all purchased with my own pocketmoney!Was that felfish, brother Shandy? When we read over the fiege of Troy, which lasted ten years , and eight months,—though with such a train of artillery as we had at Namur, the town might have been carried in a week-was I not as much concerned for the Greeks and Trojans as any boy of the whole school? Had I not three strokes of a ferula given me, two on
my right hand, and one on my left, for calling Hile: a bitch for it? Did any one of you (ned more tears for Hector ? And when king Priam came to the camp to beg his body, and returned weeping back to Troy without it,-you know, brother, I could not eat my dinner.
–Did that bef; eak me cruel ? Or, because, brother Shandy, my blood flew out into the camp, and my heart panted for war, --was it a proof it could not ach for the distresses of war too ?
O brother ! 'tis one thing for a soldier to gather laurels,--and 'tis another to scatter cypress.
– 'Tis one thing, brother Shandy, for a soldier to hazard his own life-to leap first down into the trench, where he is sure to be cut in pieces :-'Tis one thing, from public spirit and a thirst of glory, to enter the breach the first man, to stand in the foremost rank, and march bravely on with drums and trumpets, and colours flying about his ears :—'tis one thing, I say, brother Shandy, to do this;- and 'tis another thing to reflect on the miseries of war, -to view the defolations of whole countries, and consider the intolerable fatigues and hardships which the foldier himself, the instrument who works them, is forced (for six-pence a-day, if he can get ii) to undergo.
Need I be told, dear Yorick, as I was by you, in Le Fevre's funeral fèrmon, That so soft and gentle a creature, born to love mercy and kindness, as man is, was not shaped for this? But why did you not add, 'Yorick, -if not by NATURE,--that he is so by Necessity's
-For what is war? what is it, Torick, when fought as
Y uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries ;
Bot from want of courage -- where just occa. fions presented, or called it forth, I know no man under whose arm I would sooner have taken fhelter;nor did this arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellectual parts ;-he was of a peaceful, placid nature,mno jarring element in it,-all was mixed
up so kindly with him; my uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly :-Go,-says he one day at dinner, to an overgrown one which had buzzed about Ais nofe, and tormented him cruelly all dinner time,
mand which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last -as it flew by him ;--I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand, -I'll not hurt å hair of thy head :-Go, says lie, lifting up the fail, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape ;-ago, poor devil --get thee gone; why should I hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold thee and me:
* This is to serve for parents and governors, ine stead of a whole volume upon the subject.
T. SHANDY, Vol. 1. CHAP: 37.'
NCONSISTENT soul that man is ! - languishing
under wounds which he has the power to heal! his whole life a contradiction to his knowledge-his reason, that precious gift of God to him-- (instead of pouring in oil) serving but to sharpen his sensibilities, to multiply his pains, and render him more melancholy and uneasy under them !--Poor unhappy creature, that he should do fo!-are not the necessary caules of misery in this life enow, but he must add voluntary ones lo his stock of sorrow ;- struggle againıt evils which cannot be avoided, and submit to others, which a tenth part of the trouble they create him, would remove from his heart for ever?
T. SRANDY, VOL. 13. CHAP: 1.4.
EFORE an affliction is digested, confolation ever
comes too soon ;-and after it it digested-it comes too late : there is but a mark between these two, as fine almost as a hair, for a comforter to take aim
T'.' SHANDY, VOL. II. CHAP. 23.
--BESHREW the sombre pencil ! faid I vaunt
ingly-for I envy not its powers, which paints the evils of life with fo hard and deadly a colouring. The mind fits terrified at the objects fhe has magnified herself, and blackened; reduce them to their
proper size and hue, the overlooks them.-'Tis true, said I, correcting the propofition--the Bastille is not an evil to be despised—but strip it of its towersfill up the folk-unbarricade the doors-call it fimply a confinement, and suppose 'tis some tyrant of a distemper--and not a man which holds you in it-the evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint
I was interrupted in the hey-day of this foliloquy, with a voice, which I took to be of a child, which complained "it could not get oue."--I looked up