mpts me to say and write a thousand things I
should not--And this moment that I last dipp'd my pen into my ink, I
could not help taking notice what a cautious air of sad composure and
solemnity there appear'd in my manner of doing it.--Lord! how different
from the rash jerks and hair-brain'd squirts thou art wont, Tristram,
to transact it with in other humours--dropping thy pen--spurting thy ink
about thy table and thy books--as if thy pen and thy ink, thy books and
furniture cost thee nothing!

Chapter 2.XXII.

--I won't go about to argue the point with you--'tis so--and I am
persuaded of it, madam, as much as can be, 'That both man and woman
bear pain or sorrow (and, for aught I know, pleasure too) best in a
horizontal position.'

The moment my father got up into his chamber, he threw himself prostrate
across his bed in the wildest disorder imaginable, but at the same time
in the most lamentable attitude of a man borne down with sorrows, that
ever the eye of pity dropp'd a tear for.--The palm of his right hand, as
he fell upon the bed, receiving his forehead, and covering the greatest
part of both his eyes, gently sunk down with his head (his elbow giving
way backwards) till his nose touch'd the quilt;--his left arm hung
insensible over the side of the bed, his knuckles reclining upon the
handle of the chamber-pot, which peep'd out beyond the valance--his
right leg (his left being drawn up towards his body) hung half over the
side of the bed, the edge of it pressing upon his shin bone--He felt
it not. A fix'd, inflexible sorrow took possession of every line of his
face.--He sigh'd once--heaved his breast often--but uttered not a word.

An old set-stitch'd chair, valanced and fringed around with party
coloured worsted bobs, stood at the bed's head, opposite to the side
where my father's head reclined.--My uncle Toby sat him down in it.

Before an affliction is digested--consolation ever comes too soon;--and
after it is digested--it comes too late: so that you see, madam,
there is but a mark between these two, as fine almost as a hair, for a
comforter to take aim at:--my uncle Toby was always either on this side,
or on that of it, and would often say, he believed in his heart he could
as soon hit the longitude; for this reason, when he sat down in the
chair, he drew the curtain a little forwards, and having a tear at
every one's service--he pull'd out a cambrick handkerchief--gave a low
sigh--but held his peace