—And lastly—for all the choice anecdotes which history can produce of this matter, continued my father,—this, like the gilded dome which covers in the fabric—crowns all.—
'Tis of Cornelius Gallus, the praetor—which, I dare say, brother Toby, you have read.—I dare say I have not, replied my uncle.—He died, said my father as...—And if it was with his wife, said my uncle Toby—there could be no hurt in it.—That's more than I know—replied my father.