When we have got to the end of this chapter (but not before) we must all turn back to the two blank chapters, on the account of which my honour has lain bleeding this half hour⁠⸺⁠I stop it, by pulling off one of my yellow slippers and throwing it with all my violence to the opposite side of my room, with a declaration at the heel of it⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠That whatever resemblance it may bear to half the chapters which are written in the world, or for aught I know may be now writing in it⁠—that it was as casual as the foam of Zeuxis his horse; besides, I look upon a chapter which has only nothing in it, with respect; and considering what worse things there are in the world⁠⸺⁠That it is no way a proper subject for satire⁠⸻

⸺⁠Why then was it left so? And here without staying for my reply, shall I be called as many blockheads, numsculs, doddypoles, dunderheads, ninny-hammers, goosecaps, joltheads, nincompoops, and sh⁠⸺⁠t-a-beds⁠⸺⁠and other unsavoury appellations, as ever the cake-bakers of Lernè cast in the teeth of King Garangantan’s shepherds⁠⸺⁠And I’ll let them do it, as Bridget said, as much as they please; for how was it possible they should foresee the necessity I was under of writing the 25th chapter of my book, before the 18th, etc.?

⸻So I don’t take it amiss⁠⸺⁠All I wish is, that it may be a lesson to the world, “to let people tell their stories their own way.”