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almost 'to death's door. They had better have shot him outright, as he begged, and he had gone directly to Heaven, for he was as innocent as your honour.—I thank thee, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby. I never think of his, continued Trim, and my poor brother Tom's misfortun: s, for we were all three school-fellows, but I cry like a coward.-Tears are no proof of cowardice, Trim; I drop them oft-times myself, cried my uncle Toby--I know your honour does, replied Trim, and so am

ot ashamed of it myself.— But to think, may it please your honour, continued Trim,-a tear stealing into the corner of his eye as he spoke to think of two virtuous lads, with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as God could make them—the children of honest people, going forth with gallant spirits to seek their fortunes in the world-and fall into such evils! Poor Tom ! to be tortured upon a rack for nothing—but marrying a Jew's widow who sold sausages honest Dick Johnson's soul to be scourged out of his body, for the ducats another man put in his knapsack !0!—these are misfortunes, cried Trim, pulling out his handkerchief,—these are misfortunes,—may it please your honour, worth laying down and crying

over.

—'Twould be a pity, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, thou should'st ever feel sorrow of thy own,

-thou feelest it so tenderly for others. Alacka-day, replied the Corporal, brightening up his face--your lionour knows I have neither wife or child-I can have no sorrows in this world. As few as any man, replied my uncle Toby ; nor can I see how a fellow of thy light heart can suffer,

but from the distress of poverty in thy old age when thou art past all services, Trim, and hast outlived thy friends. An't please your honour, never fear, replied Trim, cheerily. But I would have thee never fear, Trim, replied my uncle Toby; and therefore, continued my uncle Toby, throwing down his crutch, and getting upon his legs as he uttered the word therefore-in recompense, Trim, of thy long fidelity to me, and that goodness of thy heart I have had such proofs of

- whilst thy master is worth a shilling-thou shalt never ask elsewhere, Trim, for a penny. Trim attempted to thank my uncle Toby, but had not power—tears trickled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them off he laid his hands upon his breast-made a bow to the ground, and shut the door.

- I have left Trim my bowling-green, cried my uncle Toby-My father smiled--I have left him moreover, a pension, continued my uncle TobyMy father looked grave.

SHANDY,

CORPORAL TRIM'S REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.

My young master in London is dead ! said Obadiah. A green satin night-gown of my mother's, which had been twice scowered, was the first idea which Obadiah's exclamation brought into Susannah's head. Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning.-Oh ! 'twill be the death of my poor mistress, cried Sus:innah.- -My mother's whole wardrobe followed.

What a procession! ber red damask,-her orange tawny,her white, and yellow lustrings,

her brown taffety, her bone-laced caps, her bed-gowns,_and comfortable under-petticoats.-Not a rag was left behind.—No,-she will never look up again, said Susannah.

We had a fat foolish scullion-my father, I think, kept her for her simplicity ;-she had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy.- -He is dead !-said Obadiah, he is certainly dead !-So am not I, said the foolish scullion.

-Here is sad news, Trim! cried Susannah, wiping her eyes, as Trim stepp'd into the kitchen.

-Master Bobby is dead and buried,—the funeral was an interpolation of Susannah's—we shall have all to go into mourning, said Susannah.

I hope not, said Trim !--You hope not! cried Susannah earnestly.- - The mourning ran not into Trim's head, wliatever it did in Susannah's.--I hope --said Trim, explaining himself, I hope in God the news is not true. I heard the letter read with my own ears, answered Obadiah. Oh! he's dead, said Susannalı-As sure, said the scullion, as I am alive,

I lament for him from my heart and my soul, said Trim, fetching a sigh-Poor creature !-poor boy !-poor gentleman !

-He was alive last Whitsuntide, said the coachman.-Whitsuntide! alas! cried Trim, extending his right, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon,

--what is Whitsuntide, Jonathan (for that was the coachman's name,) or Shrovelide, or any tide, or time past, to this? Are we pot berę now, continued the Cor. poral, (striking the end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability and are we not- -dropping his hat upon the ground) gone! in a moment!'Twas infinitely striking! Susannah burst into a flood of tears. We are not stocks and stones.-Jonathan, Obadiah, the cook-maid, all melted. The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fishkettle upon her knees, was rouzed with it. The whole kitchen crowded about the Corporal.

-To us, Jonathan, who know not what want or care is,—who live here in the service of two of the best of masters (bating in my own case his Majesty King William the Third, whom I had the honour to serve both in Ireland and Flanders )-I own it, that from Whitsuntide to within three weeks of Christmas,-'tis not long~'tis like nothing ;

- but to those, Jonathan, who know what death is, and what havoc and destruction he can make, before a man can wheel about,—'tis like a whole age.-0 Jonathan ! 'twould make a good-natured man's heart bleed, to consider (continued the Corporal, standing perpendicularly), how low many a brave and upright fellow had been laid since that time !--And trust me, Susy, added the Cor. poral, turning to Susannah, whose eyes were swimming in water,—before that time comes round again,—many a bright eye will be dim.-Susannah placed it to the right side of the page-she weptbut she curt'sied too.-Are we not, continued Trim, looking still at Susannah,—are we not like a flower of the field-a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of humiliation--else no topgue could have described Susannab's affliction

-is not all flesh grass ? "Tis clay,—tis dirt.-—They all looked directly at the scullion,—the scullion bad just been scouring a fish-kettle-It was not fair.

-What is the finest face that ever man looked at!—I could hear Trim talk so for ever, cried Susannah--What is it! (Susannah laid her hand - upon Trim's shoulder)--but-corruption ? Susannah took it off.

-Now I love you for this—and 'tis this delicious mixture within you, which makes you, dear creatures, what you are-And he who hates you for it--all I can say of the matter is that he has either a pumpkin for his head or a pippin for his heart, and whenever he is dissected, it will be found so.

For my own part, I declare it, that out of doors, I value not death at all:-not this ... added the -Corporal, snapping his fingers,—but with an air which no one but the Corporal could have given to the sentiment.- - In battle, I value death not this .., and let him not take me cowardly, like poor Joe Gibbins, in scouring his gun.

What is he? A pull of a trigger- -a push of a bayonet an inch this way or that-makes the difference. Look along the line-to the right-see! Jack's down! well, 'tis worth a regiment of horse to him.-Notis Dick. Then Jack's no worse. Never mind which,—we pass on,-in hot pursuit the wound itself which brings him is not felt--the best way is to stand up to him, the man who flies, is in ten times more danger than the man who marches up into his jaws. I've look'd him, added the Corporal, an hundred times in the face, and

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