it.
For God’s sake, my uncle Toby would cry,⸺and for my sake, and for all our sakes, my dear brother Shandy ,—do let this story of our aunt’s and her ashes sleep in peace;⸺how can you,⸺how can you have so little feeling and compassion for the character of our family?⸺What is the character of a family to an hypothesis? my father would reply.⸺Nay, if you come to that—what is the life of a family?⸺The life of a family!—my uncle Toby would say, throwing himself back in his arm chair, and lifting up his hands, his eyes, and one leg.⸺Yes, the life,⸺my father would say, maintaining his point. How many thousands of ’em are there every year that come cast away, (in all civilized countries at least)⸺and considered as nothing but common air, in competition of an hypothesis. In my plain sense of things, my uncle Toby would answer,⸺every such instance is downright Murder , let who will commit it.⸺There lies your mistake, my father would reply;⸺for, in Foro Scientiae there is no such thing as Murder ,⸺’tis only Death , brother.