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Tis owing to this, replied my father, that in our computations of time, we are so used to minutes, hours, weeks, and monthsand of clocks (I wish there was not a clock in the kingdom) to measure out their several portions to us, and to those who belong to usthat twill be well, if in time to come, the succession of our ideas be of any use or service to us at all. Now, whether we observe it or no, continued my father, in every sound mans head, there is a regular succession of ideas of one sort or other, which follow each other in train just likeA train of artillery? said my uncle TobyA train of a fiddle-stick!quoth my fatherwhich follow and succeed one another in our minds at certain distances, just like the images in the inside of a lanthorn turned round by the heat of a candle.I declare, quoth my uncle Toby, mine are more like a smoke-jack,Then, brother Toby, I have nothing more to say to you upon that subject, said my father. |
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