CHAPTER XXIII

As soon as the corporal had finished the story of his amour--or rather my uncle _Toby_ for him --Mrs. _Wadman_ silently sallied forth from her arbour, replaced the pin in her mob, pass’d the wicker-gate, and advanced slowly towards my uncle _Toby’s_ sentry-box: the disposition which _Trim_ had made in my uncle _Toby’s_ mind, was too favourable a crisis to be let slipp’d----

----The attack was determin’d upon: it was facilitated still more by my uncle _Toby’s_ having ordered the corporal to wheel off the pioneer’s shovel, the spade, the pick-axe, the picquets, and other military stores which lay scatter’d upon the ground where _Dunkirk_ stood--the corporal had march’d--the field was clear.

Now, consider, sir, what nonsense it is, either in fighting, or writing, or anything else (whether in rhyme to it, or not) which a man has occasion to do--to act by plan: for if ever Plan, independent of all circumstances, deserved registering in letters of gold (I mean in the archives of _Gotham_)--it was certainly the PLAN of Mrs. _Wadman’s_ attack of my uncle _Toby_ in his sentry-box, BY PLAN ----Now the plan hanging up in it at this juncture, being the Plan of _Dunkirk_--and the tale of _Dunkirk_ a tale of relaxation, it opposed every impression she could make: and besides, could she have gone upon it--the manœuvre of fingers and hands in the attack of the sentry-box, was so outdone by that of the fair _Beguine’s_, in _Trim’s_ story--that just then, that

## particular attack, however successful before--became the most heartless

attack that could be made----

O! let woman alone for this. Mrs. _Wadman_ had scarce open’d the wicket-gate, when her genius sported with the change of circumstances.

----She formed a new attack in a moment.

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