attempt at the mechanical repetition of a former triumph. It is by no
means improbable, at any rate, that the dead ass of Nampont owes its
presence in the _Sentimental Journey_ to the reception met with by the
live ass of Lyons in the seventh volume of _Tristram Shandy_. And yet
what an astonishing difference between the two sketches!

"'Twas a poor ass, who had just turned in, with a couple of large
panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and
cabbage-leaves, and stood dubious with his two fore-feet on the
inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the
street, as not knowing very well whether he would go in or no.
Now, 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to strike.
There is a patient endurance of sufferings wrote so unaffectedly in
his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for him that it
always disarms me, and to that degree that I do not like to speak
unkindly to him; on the contrary, meet him where I will, in town or
country, in cart or under panniers, whether in liberty or bondage,
I have ever something civil to say to him on my part; and, as one
word begets another (if he has as little to do as I), I generally
fall into conversation with him; and surely never is my imagination
so busy as in framing his responses from the etchings of his
countenance--and where those carry me not deep enough, in flying from
my own heart into his, and feeling what is natural for an ass to think,
as well as a man, upon the occasion.... Come, Honesty! said I, seeing
it was impracticable to pass betwixt him and the gate, art thou for
coming in or going out? The ass twisted his head round, to look up the
street. Well, replied I, we'll wait a minute for thy driver. He turned
his head thoughtfully about, and looked wistfully the opposite way. I
understand thee perfectly, answered I: if thou takest a wrong step
in this affair he will cudgel thee to death. Well, a minute is but a