In vain for by all the powers which animate the organ Widow Wadman's left eye shines this moment as lucid as her right there is neither mote, or sand, or dust, or chaff, or speck, or particle of opake matter floating in it — There is nothing, my dear paternal uncle! but one lambent delicious fire, furtively shooting out from every part of it, in all directions, into thine If thou lookest, uncle Toby, in search of this mote one moment longer thou art undone. CHAPTER XXV AN eye is for all the world exactly like a cannon, in this respect; That it is not so much the eye or the cannon, in themselves, as it is the carriage of the eye and the carriage of the cannon, by which both the one and the other are enabled to do so much execution. I don't think the comparison a bad one; However, as 'tis made and placed at the head of the chapter, as much for use as ornament, all I desire in return is, that whenever I speak of Mrs. Wadman's eyes (except once in the next period), that you keep it in your fancy. I protest, Madam, said my uncle Toby, I can see nothing whatever in your eye. It is not in the white; said Mrs. Wadman: my uncle Toby look'd with might and main into the pupil from your there never Toby of his it was not, Now of all the eyes which ever were created own, Madam, up to those of Venus herself, which certainly were as venereal a pair of eyes as ever stood in a head was an eye of them all, so fitted to rob my uncle repose, as the very eye, at which he was looking Madam, a rolling eye a romping or a wanton one nor was it an eye sparkling petulant or imperious of high claims and terrifying exactions, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature, of which my uncle Toby was made up but 'twas an eye full of gentle salutations and soft responses speaking not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to, holds coarse converse but whispering soft- like the last low accent of an expiring saint "How can you live comfortless, captain Shandy, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on trust your cares to?" It was an eye or But I shall be in love with it myself, if I say another word about it. It did my uncle Toby's business. CHAPTER XXVII My uncle Toby THE world is ashamed of being virtuous knew little of the world; and therefore when he felt he was in love with widow Wadman, he had no conception that the thing was any more to be made a mystery of, than if Mrs. Wadman had given him a cut with a gap'd knife across his finger: Had it been otherwise yet as he ever look'd upon Trim as a humble friend; and saw fresh reasons every day of his life, to treat him as such - it would have made no variation in the manner in which he informed him of the affair. Own BOOK IX. CHAPTER XXIV [THE STORY OF MARIA] FOR my uncle Toby's amours running all the way in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my I was in the most perfect state of bounty and good-will; and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating within me, with every oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were rough or smooth, it made no difference; everything I saw or had to do with, touch'd upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture. They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more distinctly 'Tis Maria; said the postillion, observing I was listening Poor Maria, continued he (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us), is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat beside her. The young fellow utter'd this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow, I would give him a four-and-twenty sous piece, when I got to Moulins And who is poor Maria? said I. The love and piety of all the villages around us; said the postillion it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her Banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them He was going on, when Maria, who had made a short pause, put the pipe to her mouth, and began the air again they were the same notes; yet were ten times sweeter: It is the evening service to the Virgin, said the young man — but who has taught her to play it or how she came by her pipe, no one knows; we think that heaven has assisted her in both; for ever since she has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her only consolation she has never once had the pipe out of her hand, but plays that service upon it almost night and day. The postillion delivered this with so much discretion and natural eloquence, that I could not help decyphering something in his face above his condition, and should have sifted out his history, had not poor Maria taken such full possession of me. We had got up by this time almost to the bank where Maria was sitting she was in a thin white jacket, with her hair, all but two tresses, drawn up into a silk-net, with a few olive leaves twisted a little fantastically on one side she was beautiful; and if ever I felt the full force of an honest heart-ache, it was the moment I saw her God help her! poor damsel! above a hundred masses, said the postillion, have been said in the several parish churches and convents around, for her, but without effect; we have still hopes, as she is sensible for short intervals, that the Virgin at last will restore her to herself; but her parents, who know her best, are hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are lost for ever. As the postillion spoke this, MARIA made a cadence so melancholy, so tender and querulous, that I sprung out of the chaise to help her, and found myself sitting betwixt her and her goat before I relapsed from my enthusiasm. MARIA look'd wistfully for some time at me, and then at her goat and then at me and then at her goat again, and so on, alternately find? Well, Maria, said I softly What resemblance do you I do entreat the candid reader to believe me, that it was from the humblest conviction of what a Beast man is, that I asked the question; and that I would not have let fallen an unseasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of Misery, to be entitled to all the wit that ever Rabelais scatter'd and yet I own my heart smote me, and that I so smarted at the very idea of it, that I swore I would set up for Wisdom, and utter grave sentences the rest of my days and never never attempt again to commit mirth with man, woman, or child, the longest day I had to live. As for writing nonsense to them I believe, there was - but that I leave to the world. a reserve Adieu, Maria! - adieu, poor hapless damsel! — some time, but not now, I may hear thy sorrows from thy own lips but I was deceived; for that moment she took her pipe and told me such a tale of woe with it, that I rose up, and with broken and irregular steps walk'd softly to my chaise. What an excellent inn at Moulins! HUMPHRY CLINKER TOBIAS SMOLLETT TO SIR WATKIN PHILLIPS, BART., OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXON. Dear Phillips, As I have nothing more at heart than to convince you I am incapable of forgetting or neglecting the friendship I made at college, I now begin that correspondence by letters which you and I agreed, at parting, to cultivate. I begin it sooner than I intended, that you may have it in your power to refute any idle reports which may be circulated to my prejudice at Oxford, touching a foolish quarrel, in which I have been involved on account of my sister, who had been some time settled here in a boarding-school. When I came hither with my uncle and aunt (who are our guardians) to fetch her away, I found her a fine, tall girl, of seventeen, with an agreeable person; but remarkably simple, and quite ignorant of the world. This disposition, and want of experience, had exposed her to the addresses of a person (I know not what to call him) who had seen her at a play, and, with a confidence and dexterity peculiar to himself, found means to be recommended to her acquaintance. It was by the greatest accident I intercepted one of his letters. As it was my duty to stifle this correspondence in its birth, I made it my business to find him out, and tell him very freely my sentiments of the matter. The spark did not like the style I used, and behaved with abundance of mettle. Though his rank in life (which, by the by, I am ashamed to declare) did not entitle him to much deference; yet, as his behaviour was remarkably spirited, I admitted him to the privilege of a gentleman; and something might have happened, had not we been prevented. In short, the business took air, I know not how, and made abundance of noise. Recourse was had to justice: I was obliged to give my word and honour, &c.; and to-morrow morning we set out for Bristol Wells, where I |