I need not tell your worships, that this was done with so much cunning and artifice——that the great _Locke_, who was seldom outwitted by false sounds——was nevertheless bubbled here. The cry, it seems, was so deep and solemn a one, and what with the help of great wigs, grave faces, and other implements of deceit, was rendered so general a one against the _poor wits_ in this matter, that the philosopher himself was deceived by it—it was his glory to free the world from the lumber of a thousand vulgar errors;——but this was not of the number; so that instead of sitting down coolly, as such a philosopher should have done, to have examined the matter of fact before he philosophised upon it—on the contrary he took the fact for granted, and so joined in with the cry, and halloo’d it as boisterously as the rest.
This has been made the _Magna Charta_ of stupidity ever since——but your reverences plainly see, it has been obtained in such a manner, that the title to it is not worth a groat:——which by-the-bye is one of the many and vile impositions which gravity and grave folks have to answer for hereafter.
As for great wigs, upon which I may be thought to have spoken my mind too freely——I beg leave to qualify whatever has been unguardedly said to their dispraise or prejudice, by one general declaration —That I have no abhorrence whatever, nor do I detest and abjure either great wigs or long beards, any farther than when I see they are bespoke and let grow on purpose to carry on this self-same imposture—for any purpose——peace be with them!— =>mark only——I write not for them.
C H A P. XIV
EVERY day for at least ten years together did my father resolve to have it mended—’tis not mended yet;—no family but ours would have borne with it an hour——and what is most astonishing, there was not a subject in the world upon which my father was so eloquent, as upon that of door-hinges.——And yet at the same time, he was certainly one of the greatest bubbles to them, I think, that history can produce: his rhetorick and conduct were at perpetual handy-cuffs.—Never did the parlour-door open—but his philosophy or his principles fell a victim to it;——three drops of oil with a feather, and a smart stroke of a hammer, had saved his honour for ever.
——Inconsistent 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 so!——Are not the necessary causes of misery in this life enow, but he must add voluntary ones to his stock of sorrow;—struggle against 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?
By all that is good and virtuous, if there are three drops of oil to be got, and a hammer to be found within ten miles of _Shandy Hall_——the parlour door hinge shall be mended this reign.
C H A P. XV
WHEN Corporal _Trim_ had brought his two mortars to bear, he was delighted with his handy-work above measure; and knowing what a pleasure it would be to his master to see them, he was not able to resist the desire he had of carrying them directly into his parlour.
Now next to the moral lesson I had in view in mentioning the affair of _hinges_, I had a speculative consideration arising out of it, and it is this.
Had the parlour door opened and turn’d upon its hinges, as a door should do—
Or for example, as cleverly as our government has been turning upon its hinges——(that is, in case things have all along gone well with your worship,—otherwise I give up my simile)—in this case, I say, there had been no danger either to master or man, in corporal _Trim_’s peeping in: the moment he had beheld my father and my uncle _Toby_ fast asleep—the respectfulness of his carriage was such, he would have retired as silent as death, and left them both in their arm-chairs, dreaming as happy as he had found them: but the thing was, morally speaking, so very impracticable, that for the many years in which this hinge was suffered to be out of order, and amongst the hourly grievances my father submitted to upon its account—this was one; that he never folded his arms to take his nap after dinner, but the thoughts of being unavoidably awakened by the first person who should open the door, was always uppermost in his imagination, and so incessantly stepp’d in betwixt him and the first balmy presage of his repose, as to rob him, as he often declared, of the whole sweets of it.
“_When things move upon bad hinges_, an’ please your lordships, _how can it be otherwise?”_
Pray what’s the matter? Who is there? cried my father, waking, the moment the door began to creak.——I wish the smith would give a peep at that confounded hinge.——’Tis nothing, an please your honour, said _Trim_, but two mortars I am bringing in.—They shan’t make a clatter with them here, cried my father hastily.—If Dr. _Slop_ has any drugs to pound, let him do it in the kitchen.—May it please your honour, cried _Trim_, they are two mortar-pieces for a siege next summer, which I have been making out of a pair of jack-boots, which _Obadiah_ told me your honour had left off wearing.—By Heaven! cried my father, springing out of his chair, as he swore——I have not one appointment belonging to me, which I set so much store by as I do by these jack-boots——they were our great grandfather’s brother _Toby_—they were _hereditary._ Then I fear, quoth my uncle _Toby, Trim_ has cut off the entail.—I have only cut off the tops, an’ please your honour, cried _Trim_——I hate perpetuities as much as any man alive, cried my father——but these jack-boots, continued he (smiling, though very angry at the same time) have been in the family, brother, ever since the civil wars;——Sir _Roger Shandy_ wore them at the battle of _Marston-Moor._—I declare I would not have taken ten pounds for them.——I’ll pay you the money, brother _Shandy_, quoth my uncle _Toby_, looking at the two mortars with infinite pleasure, and putting his hand into his breeches pocket as he viewed them——I’ll pay you the ten pounds this moment with all my heart and soul.——
Brother _Toby_, replied my father, altering his tone, you care not what money you dissipate and throw away, provided, continued he, ’tis but upon a SIEGE.——Have I not one hundred and twenty pounds a year, besides my half pay? cried my uncle _Toby_.—What is that—replied my father hastily—to ten pounds for a pair of jack-boots?—twelve guineas for your _pontoons_?—half as much for your _Dutch_ draw-bridge?—to say nothing of the train of little brass artillery you bespoke last week, with twenty other preparations for the siege of _Messina_: believe me, dear brother _Toby_, continued my father, taking him kindly by the hand—these military operations of yours are above your strength;—you mean well brother——but they carry you into greater expences than you were first aware of;—and take my word, dear _Toby_, they will in the end quite ruin your fortune, and make a beggar of you.—What signifies it if they do, brother, replied my uncle _Toby_, so long as we know ’tis for the good of the nation?——
My father could not help smiling for his soul—his anger at the worst was never more than a spark;—and the zeal and simplicity of _Trim_—and the generous (though hobby-horsical) gallantry of my uncle _Toby_, brought him into perfect good humour with them in an instant.
Generous souls!—God prosper you both, and your mortar-pieces too! quoth my father to himself.
C H A P. XVI
ALL is quiet and hush, cried my father, at least above stairs—I hear not one foot stirring.—Prithee _Trim_, who’s in the kitchen? There is no one soul in the kitchen, answered _Trim_, making a low bow as he spoke, except Dr. _Slop_.—Confusion! cried my father (getting upon his legs a second time)—not one single thing has gone right this day! had I faith in astrology, brother, (which, by the bye, my father had) I would have sworn some retrograde planet was hanging over this unfortunate house of mine, and turning every individual thing in it out of its place.——Why, I thought Dr. _Slop_ had been above stairs with my wife, and so said you.——What can the fellow be puzzling about in the kitchen!—He is busy, an’ please your honour, replied _Trim_, in making a bridge.——’Tis very obliging in him, quoth my uncle _Toby_:——pray, give my humble service to Dr. _Slop, Trim_, and tell him I thank him heartily.
You must know, my uncle _Toby_ mistook the bridge—as widely as my father mistook the mortars:——but to understand how my uncle _Toby_ could mistake the bridge—I fear I must give you an exact account of the road which led to it;—or to drop my metaphor (for there is nothing more dishonest in an historian than the use of one)——in order to conceive the probability of this error in my uncle _Toby_ aright, I must give you some account of an adventure of _Trim_’s, though much against my will, I say much against my will, only because the story, in one sense, is certainly out of its place here; for by right it should come in, either amongst the anecdotes of my uncle _Toby_’s amours with widow _Wadman_, in which corporal _Trim_ was no mean actor—or else in the middle of his and my uncle _Toby_’s campaigns on the bowling-green—for it will do very well in either place;—but then if I reserve it for either of those parts of my story——I ruin the story I’m upon;——and if I tell it here——I anticipate matters, and ruin it there.