Though my father persisted in not going on with the discourse⁠—yet he could not get my uncle Toby’s smoak-jack out of his head⁠—piqued as he was at first with it;⁠—there was something in the comparison at the bottom, which hit his fancy; for which purpose, resting his elbow upon the table, and reclining the right side of his head upon the palm of his hand⁠⸺⁠but looking first steadfastly in the fire⁠⸺⁠he began to commune with himself, and philosophize about it: but his spirits being wore out with the fatigues of investigating new tracts, and the constant exertion of his faculties upon that variety of subjects which had taken their turn in the discourse⁠⸻the idea of the smoak-jack soon turned all his ideas upside down⁠—so that he fell asleep almost before he knew what he was about.

As for my uncle Toby, his smoak-jack had not made a dozen revolutions, before he fell asleep also.⁠⸺⁠Peace be with them both!⁠⸺⁠Dr. Slop is engaged with the midwife and my mother above stairs.⁠⸺⁠Trim is busy in turning an old pair of jackboots into a couple of mortars, to be employed in the siege of Messina next summer⁠—and is this instant boring the touch-holes with the point of a hot poker.⁠⸺⁠All my heroes are off my hands;⁠—’tis the first time I have had a moment to spare⁠—and I’ll make use of it, and write my preface.