XIX

⸺⁠What a conjecture was here lost!⁠⸺⁠My father in one of his best explanatory moods⁠—in eager pursuit of a metaphysical point into the very regions, where clouds and thick darkness would soon have encompassed it about;⁠—my uncle Toby in one of the finest dispositions for it in the world;⁠—his head like a smoak-jack;⁠⸺⁠the funnel unswept, and the ideas whirling round and round about in it, all obfuscated and darkened over with fuliginous matter!⁠—By the tombstone of Lucian ⁠⸺⁠if it is in being⁠⸺⁠if not, why then by his ashes! by the ashes of my dear Rabelais , and dearer Cervantes! ⁠⸻my father and my uncle Toby’s discourse upon time and eternity ⁠⸺⁠was a discourse devoutly to be wished for! and the petulancy of my father’s humour, in putting a stop to it as he did, was a robbery of the Ontologic Treasury of such a jewel, as no coalition of great occasions and great men are ever likely to restore to it again.