My uncle _Toby_ had a little neat country-house of his own, in the village where my father’s estate lay at _Shandy_, which had been left him by an old uncle, with a small estate of about one hundred pounds a-year. Behind this house, and contiguous to it, was a kitchen-garden of about half an acre, and at the bottom of the garden, and cut off from it by a tall yew hedge, was a bowling-green, containing just about as much ground as Corporal _Trim_ wished for;—so that as _Trim_ uttered the words, “A rood and a half of ground to do what they would with,”—this identical bowling-green instantly presented itself, and became curiously painted all at once, upon the retina of my uncle _Toby_’s fancy;—which was the physical cause of making him change colour, or at least of heightening his blush, to that immoderate degree I spoke of. Never did lover post down to a beloved mistress with more heat and expectation, than my uncle _Toby_ did, to enjoy this self-same thing in private;—I say in private;—for it was sheltered from the house, as I told you, by a tall yew hedge, and was covered on the other three sides, from mortal sight, by rough holly and thick-set flowering shrubs:—so that the idea of not being seen, did not a little contribute to the idea of pleasure pre-conceived in my uncle _Toby_’s mind.—Vain thought! however thick it was planted about,——or private soever it might seem,—to think, dear uncle _Toby_, of enjoying a thing which took up a whole rood and a half of ground,—and not have it known! How my uncle _Toby_ and Corporal _Trim_ managed this matter,—with the history of their campaigns, which were no way barren of events,——may make no uninteresting under-plot in the epitasis and working-up of this drama.—At present the scene must drop,—and change for the parlour fire-side. C H A P. XXXI ——WHAT can they be doing? brother, said my father.—I think, replied my uncle _Toby_,—taking, as I told you, his pipe from his mouth, and striking the ashes out of it as he began his sentence;——I think, replied he,—it would not be amiss, brother, if we rung the bell. Pray, what’s all that racket over our heads, _Obadiah?_——quoth my father;——my brother and I can scarce hear ourselves speak. Sir, answered _Obadiah_, making a bow towards his left shoulder,—my Mistress is taken very badly.—And where’s _Susannah_ running down the garden there, as if they were going to ravish her?——Sir, she is running the shortest cut into the town, replied _Obadiah_, to fetch the old midwife.—Then saddle a horse, quoth my father, and do you go directly for Dr. _Slop_, the man-midwife, with all our services,——and let him know your mistress is fallen into labour——and that I desire he will return with you with all speed.