Trim sought comfort in each other’s faces—but found it not: my father clapped both his hands upon his codpiece, which was a way he had when anything hugely tickled him: for though he hated a monk and the very smell of a monk worse than all the devils in hell⸺yet the shot hitting my uncle Toby and Trim so much harder than him, ’twas a relative triumph; and put him into the gayest humour in the world.
⸺And pray what do you call this gentleman? quoth my father, rather sportingly: This tomb, said the young Benedictine , looking downwards, contains the bones of Saint Maxima , who came from Ravenna on purpose to touch the body⸺
⸺Of Saint Maximus , said my father, popping in with his saint before him,—they were two of the greatest saints in the whole martyrology, added my father⸺Excuse me, said the sacristan⸺⸺’twas to touch the bones of Saint Germain , the builder of the abby⸺And what did she get by it? said my uncle Toby ⸺What