whose manners are softened by a profession which makes bad men
worse; but that I once knew one,--for he is no more,--and why
should I not rescue one page from violation by writing his name in
it, and telling the world it was Captain Tobias Shandy, the dearest
of my flock and friends, whose philanthropy I never think of at
this long distance from his death--but my eyes gush out with tears.
For his sake I have a predilection for the whole corps of veterans;
and so I strode over the two back rows of benches and placed myself
beside him.

The old officer was reading attentively a small pamphlet, it might
be the book of the opera, with a large pair of spectacles. As soon
as I sat down, he took his spectacles off, and putting them into a
shagreen case, return'd them and the book into his pocket together.
I half rose up, and made him a bow.

Translate this into any civilized language in the world--the sense
is this:

"Here's a poor stranger come into the box--he seems as if he knew
nobody; and is never likely, was he to be seven years in Paris, if
every man he comes near keeps his spectacles upon his nose: --'tis
shutting the door of conversation absolutely in his face--and using
him worse than a German."

The French officer might as well have said it all aloud: and if he
had, I should in course have put the bow I made him into French
too, and told him, "I was sensible of his attention, and return'd
him a thousand thanks for it."