When FATE was looking forwards one afternoon, into the great transactions of future times,—and recollected for what purposes this little plot, by a decree fast bound down in iron, had been destined,—she gave a nod to NATURE,—’twas enough—Nature threw half a spade full of her kindliest compost upon it, with just so _much_ clay in it, as to retain the forms of angles and indentings,—and so _little_ of it too, as not to cling to the spade, and render works of so much glory, nasty in foul weather. My uncle _Toby_ came down, as the reader has been informed, with plans along with him, of almost every fortified town in _Italy_ and _Flanders;_ so let the duke of _Marlborough_, or the allies, have set down before what town they pleased, my uncle _Toby_ was prepared for them. His way, which was the simplest one in the world, was this; as soon as ever a town was invested—(but sooner when the design was known) to take the plan of it (let it be what town it would), and enlarge it upon a scale to the exact size of his bowling-green; upon the surface of which, by means of a large role of packthread, and a number of small piquets driven into the ground, at the several angles and redans, he transferred the lines from his paper; then taking the profile of the place, with its works, to determine the depths and slopes of the ditches,—the talus of the glacis, and the precise height of the several banquets, parapets, &c.—he set the corporal to work——and sweetly went it on:——The nature of the soil,—the nature of the work itself,—and above all, the good-nature of my uncle _Toby_ sitting by from morning to night, and chatting kindly with the corporal upon past- done deeds,—left LABOUR little else but the ceremony of the name.