“I am half distracted, captain Shandy, said Mrs. Wadman, holding up her cambrick handkerchief to her left eye, as she approachd the door of my uncle Tobys sentry-boxa moteor sandor somethingI know not what, has got into this eye of minedo look into itit is not in the white . . .

Widow Wadmans left eye shines this moment as lucid as her rightthere is neither mote, or sand, or dust, or chaff, or speck, or particle of opake matter floating in itThere is nothing, my dear paternal uncle! but one lambent delicious fire, furtively shooting out from every part of it, in all directions, into thine

If thou lookest, uncle Toby, in search of this mote one moment longerthou art undone.”

—Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy, Vol. 8, 1765.