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kitchen fire, but said not a word good or bad to comfort the youth.-I thought it was wrong, added the corporal. I think so too, said my uncle Toby. - * When the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toas
he felt himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen, to let me know, that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I would step up stairs. I believe, said the landlord, he is going to say his prayers, for there was a book laid upon the chair by his bed-side: and as I shut the door, I saw his son take up a cushion. I thought, said the curate, that you gentlemen of the army, Mr. Trim, never said your prayers at all I heard the poor gentleman say his prayers last night, said the landlady, very devoutly, and with my own ears, or I could not have believed it.—Are you sure of it? replied the curate. A soldier, an' please your reverence, said I, prays as often (of his own accord) as a parson; and when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for his honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one in the whole world.—'Twas well said of thee, Trim, said my uncle Toby.—But when a soldier, said I, an' please your reverence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, up to his knees in cold water;-or engaged, said I, for months together, in long and dangerous marches; —harassed, perhaps, in his rear to day;—harassing others to morrow ;-detached here; countermanded there;—resting this night out upon his arms;–beat up in his shirt the next;-benumbed in his joints; perhaps without straw in his tent to kneel on;—he must say his prayers how and when he can.—I believe, said I, for I was piqu'd, quoth the corporal, for the reputation of the army, I believe, an’t please your reverence, said I, that when a soldier gets time to pray, he prays as heartily as a parson—though not with all his fuss and hypocrisy.—Thou should'st not have said that, Trim, said my uncle Toby, for God only knows who is a hypocrite, and who is not:—At the great and general review of us all, corporal, at the day of judgment, (and not till then)—it will be seen who have done their duty in this world,—and who have not; and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordingly. I hope we shall, said Trim.—It is in the Seripture, said my uncle Toby; and I will show it thee to morrow:—in the mean time we may depend upon it, Trim, for our comfort, said my uncle Toby, that God Almighty is so good and just a governor of the world, that if we have but done our duties in it, it will never be inquired into, whether we have done them in a red coat or a black one: —I hope not, said the corporal. But go on, Trim, said my uncle Toby, with thy story. When I went up, continued the corporal, into the lieutenant's room, which I did not do till the expiration of the ten minutes—he was lying in his bed with his head raised upon his hand, with his elbow upon the pillow, and a clean white cambric handkerchief beside it.—The youth was just stooping down to take the cushion, upon which I suppose he had been kneeling—the book was laid upon the bed and as he rose, in taking up the cushion with one hand, he reached out his other to take it away at the same time Let it remain there, my dear, said the lieutenant. He did not offer to speak to me, till I had walked up close to his bed-side:–If you are Captain Shandy's servant, said he, you must present my thanks to your master, with my little boy's thanks along with them, for his courtesy to me;—if he was of Leven's—said the lieutenant—I told him your honour was—then, said he, I served three campaigns with him in Flanders, and remember him—but 'tis most likely, as I had not the honour of any acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing of me.—You will tell him, however, that the person his good nature has laid under obligation to him, is one le Fevre, a lieutenant in Angus's—but he knows me not—said he a second time, musing;-—possibly he may my story, added he Pray tell the captain I was the ensign at Breda, whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a musket-shot, as she lay in my arms in my tent.—I remember the story, an’t please your honour, said I, very well Do you so said he, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, then well may I–In saying this he drew a little ring out of his bosom, which seemed tied with a black riband about his neck, and kissed it twice—Here, Billy, said he—the boy flew across the room to the bed-side,-and falling down upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, and kissed it too, then kissed his father, and sat down upon the bed and wept.
I wish, said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh, I wish, Trim, I was asleep. Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned; shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe?—Do, Trim, said my uncle Toby. I remember, said my uncle Toby, sighing again, the story of the ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty omitted;—and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some account or other, I forget what, was universally pitied by the whole regiment;-but finish the story thou art upon. —"Tis finish'd already, said the corporal,—for I could stay no longer-so wished his honour a good night; young le Fevre rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs: and as we went down together, told me they had come from Ireland, and were on their route to join the regiment in Flanders But alas! said the corporal,—the lieutenant's last day's march is over—Then what is to become of his poor boy cried my uncle Toby. It was to my uncle Toby's eternal honour though I tell it only for the sake of those, who, when cooped in betwixt a natural and a positive law, know not for their souls which way in the world to turn themselves—That, notwithstanding my uncle Toby was warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the siege of Dendermond parallel with the allies, who pressed theirs on so vigorously, that they scarce allowed him time to get his dinner—that nevertheless he gave up Dendermond, though he had already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp, and bent his whole thoughts toward the private distresses at the inn; and except that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which he might be said to have turned the siege of Dendermond into a blockade,he left Dendermond to itself, to be relieved or not by the French king, as the French king thought good; and only considered how he himself should relieve the poor lieutenant and his son. —That kind Being, who is a friend to the friendless, shall recompense thee for this. Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the corporal, as he was putting him to bed—and I will tell thee in what, Trim.—In the first place, when thou madest an offer of my services to le Fevre, as sickness and travel
ling are both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant, with a son to subsist as well as himself out of his pay,+that thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had he stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it as myself. Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had no orders. r
True, quoth my uncle Toby, -—thou didst very right, Trim, as a soldier-but certainly, very wrong as a man. In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, continued my uncle Toby, when thou offeredst him whatever was in my house—thou shouldst have offered him my house too: a sick brother officer should have the best quarters, Trim; and if we had him with us, we could tend and look to him : Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim;-and what with thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs. In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling—he might march.-He will never march, an' please your honour, in this world, said the corporal. He will, march, said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed with one shoe off: An' please your honour, said the corporal, he will never march but to his grave:—He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch,--he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand it, said the cor oral. He shall be supported, said my uncle Toby. e'll drop at last, said the corporal, and what will become of his boy? He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, firmly. —Ah welladay,+do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point, the poor soul will die. He shall not die, by G—d cried my uncle Toby. —The Accusing Spirit, which flew up to Heaven's chancery with the oath, blush'd as he gave it in—and the Recording Angel, as he wrote it down, dropp'd a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever. My uncle Toby went to his bureau—put his purse into his breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go early in the morning for a physician—he went to bed, and fell asleep. The sun look'd bright the morning after to every eye in O
the village but le Fevre's, and his afflicted son's; the hand of Death pressed heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round it's circle, when my uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant's room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side, and, independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did—how he had rested in the night—what was his complaint—where was his pain—and what he could do to help him?—and without giving him time to answer any one of the inquiries, went on, and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the corporal the night before for him. —You shall go home directly, le Fevre, said my uncle Toby, to my house—and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter—and we'll have an apothecary, and the corporal shall be your nurse,_and I'll be your servant, le Fevre. There was a frankness in my uncle Toby, not the effect of familiarity, but the cause of it, which let you at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of his nature; to this, there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The blood and spirits of le Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart, rallied back,-the film forsook his eyes for a moment, he looked up wistfully in my uncle Toby's face—then cast a look upon his boy, and that ligament, fine as it was, was never broken. - - - ---- Nature instantly ebb’d again, the film returned to it's place the pulse flutter'd stopp'd went On throbb’d—stopp'd again—mov’d—stopp'd-shall I go on —No. STERNE.