we estimate the existence, or the continuation of the existence of ourselves, or anything else, commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the duration of ourselves, or any such other thing coexisting with our thinking⸺and so according to that preconceived ⸻You puzzle me to death, cried my uncle Toby .
⸻’Tis owing to this, replied my father, that in our computations of time , we are so used to minutes, hours, weeks, and months⸺and of clocks (I wish there was not a clock in the kingdom) to measure out their several portions to us, and to those who belong to us⸺that ’twill be well, if in time to come, the succession of our ideas be of any use or service to us at all.
Now, whether we observe it or no, continued my father, in every sound man’s head, there is a regular succession of ideas of one sort or other, which follow each other in train just like⸻A train of artillery? said my uncle Toby ⸺A train of a fiddlestick!—quoth my father—which follow and succeed one another in our minds at certain distances, just like the images in the inside of a lantern turned round by the heat of a candle.—I declare, quoth my uncle Toby , mine are more like a smoak-jack.⸻Then, brother Toby , I have nothing more to say to you upon that subject, said my father.