moonshiny

When Trim, as his custom was, after he had put my uncle Toby to bed, going down one moon-shiny night to see that every thing was right at his fortifications—in the lane separated from the bowling-green with flowering shrubs and holly—he espied his Bridget.

Canvassing it was like fishing for salmon: you might throw out anything in the shape of a fly, the most gaudy, the most moonshiny, the most unlife-like and unrealizable thing that could be fastened upon a hook […]