Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 4).pdf/137

 —Or forces the lines? cried my uncle, rising up, and pushing his crutch like a pike—Or facing a platoon, cried Trim, presenting his stick like a firelock—Or when he marches up the glacis, cried my uncle Toby, looking warm and setting his foot upon his stool.—

father was returned from his walk to the fish-pond—and opened the parlour-door in the very height of the attack, just as my uncle Toby was marching up the glacis—Trim recovered his arms—never was my uncle Toby caught riding at such a desperate rate in his life! Alas! my uncle Toby! had not a weightier matter called forth all the ready eloquence of my father—how hadst