Chapter C: H a P. LXXXV

IT is natural for a perfect stranger who is going from _London_ to _Edinburgh_, to enquire before he sets out, how many miles to _York;_ which is about the half way——nor does any body wonder, if he goes on and asks about the corporation, &c. - -

It was just as natural for Mrs. _Wadman_, whose first husband was all his time afflicted with a Sciatica, to wish to know how far from the hip to the groin; and how far she was likely to suffer more or less in her feelings, in the one case than in the other.

She had accordingly read _Drake_’s anatomy from one end to the other. She had peeped into _Wharton_ upon the brain, and borrowed[45] _Graaf_ upon the bones and muscles; but could make nothing of it.

She had reason’d likewise from her own powers——laid down theorems——drawn consequences, and come to no conclusion.

To clear up all, she had twice asked Doctor _Slop_, “if poor captain _Shandy_ was ever likely to recover of his wound——?”

——He is recovered, Doctor _Slop_ would say——

What! quite?

Quite: madam——

But what do you mean by a recovery? Mrs. _Wadman_ would say.

Doctor _Slop_ was the worst man alive at definitions; and so Mrs. _Wadman_ could get no knowledge: in short, there was no way to extract it, but from my uncle _Toby_ himself.

There is an accent of humanity in an enquiry of this kind which lulls SUSPICION to rest——and I am half persuaded the serpent got pretty near it, in his discourse with Eve; for the propensity in the sex to be deceived could not be so great, that she should have boldness to hold chat with the devil, without it——But there is an accent of humanity——how shall I describe it?—’tis an accent which covers the part with a garment, and gives the enquirer a right to be as particular with it, as your body-surgeon.

“——Was it without remission?—

“——Was it more tolerable in bed?

“——Could he lie on both sides alike with it?

“——Was he able to mount a horse?

“——Was motion bad for it?’ _et cætera_, were so tenderly spoke to, and so directed towards my uncle _Toby_’s heart, that every item of them sunk ten times deeper into it than the evils themselves——but when Mrs. _Wadman_ went round about by _Namur_ to get at my uncle _Toby_’s groin; and engaged him to attack the point of the advanced counterscarp, and _péle mele_ with the _Dutch_ to take the counterguard of St. _Roch_ sword in hand—and then with tender notes playing upon his ear, led him all bleeding by the hand out of the trench, wiping her eye, as he was carried to his tent——Heaven! Earth! Sea!—all was lifted up—the springs of nature rose above their levels—an angel of mercy sat besides him on the sopha—his heart glow’d with fire—and had he been worth a thousand, he had lost every heart of them to Mrs. _Wadman._

—And whereabouts, dear sir, quoth Mrs. _Wadman_, a little categorically, did you receive this sad blow?——In asking this question, Mrs. _Wadman_ gave a slight glance towards the waistband of my uncle _Toby_’s red plush breeches, expecting naturally, as the shortest reply to it, that my uncle _Toby_ would lay his fore-finger upon the place——It fell out otherwise——for my uncle _Toby_ having got his wound before the gate of St. _Nicolas_, in one of the traverses of the trench opposite to the salient angle of the demibastion of St. _Roch;_ he could at any time stick a pin upon the identical spot of ground where he was standing when the stone struck him: this struck instantly upon my uncle _Toby_’s sensorium——and with it, struck his large map of the town and citadel of _Namur_ and its environs, which he had purchased and pasted down upon a board, by the corporal’s aid, during his long illness——it had lain with other military lumber in the garret ever since, and accordingly the corporal was detached to the garret to fetch it.

My uncle _Toby_ measured off thirty toises, with Mrs. _Wadman_’s scissars, from the returning angle before the gate of St. _Nicolas;_ and with such a virgin modesty laid her finger upon the place, that the goddess of Decency, if then in being—if not, ’twas her shade—shook her head, and with a finger wavering across her eyes—forbid her to explain the mistake.

Unhappy Mrs. _Wadman!_

——For nothing can make this chapter go off with spirit but an apostrophe to thee——but my heart tells me, that in such a crisis an apostrophe is but an insult in disguise, and ere I would offer one to a woman in distress—let the chapter go to the devil; provided any damn’d critic in _keeping_ will be but at the trouble to take it with him.

[45] This must be a mistake in Mr. _Shandy;_ for _Graaf_ wrote upon the pancreatick juice, and the parts of generation.

C H A P. LXXXVI

MYy uncle _Toby_’s Map is carried down into the kitchen.