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nydus/The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, GentlemanPublic

A man describes his birth and upbringing through the adventures of his family.

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Table of Contents

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towards certain names;⁠—that there were still numbers of names which hung so equally in the balance before him, that they were absolutely indifferent to him. Jack , Dick , and Tom were of this class: These my father called neutral names;⁠—affirming of them, without a satire, That there had been as many knaves and fools, at least, as wise and good men, since the world began, who had indifferently borne them;⁠—so that, like equal forces acting against each other in contrary directions, he thought they mutually destroyed each other’s effects; for which reason, he would often declare, He would not give a cherrystone to choose amongst them. Bob , which was my brother’s name, was another of these neutral kinds of christian names, which operated very little either way; and as my father happen’d to be at Epsom , when it was given him,⁠—he would ofttimes thank Heaven it was no worse. Andrew was something like a negative quantity in Algebra with him;⁠—’twas worse, he said, than nothing.⁠— William stood pretty high:⁠⸺⁠ Numps again was low with him:⁠—and Nick , he said, was the Devil .

But, of all the names in the universe, he had the most unconquerable aversion for Tristram ;⁠—he had the lowest and most contemptible opinion of it of anything in the world,⁠—thinking it could possibly produce nothing in rerum naturâ , but what was extremely mean and pitiful: So that in the midst of a dispute on the subject, in which, by the by, he was frequently involved,⁠⸺⁠he would sometimes break off in a sudden and spirited Epiphonema , or rather Erotesis , raised a third, and sometimes a full fifth above the key of the discourse,⁠⸺⁠and demand it categorically of his antagonist, Whether he would take upon him to say, he had ever remembered,⁠⸺⁠whether he had ever read,⁠—or even whether he had ever heard tell of a man, called Tristram , performing anything great or worth recording?⁠—No,⁠—he would say,⁠— Tristram! ⁠—The thing is impossible.

What could be wanting in my father but to have wrote a book to publish this notion of his to the world? Little boots it to the subtle

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