——And suppose it is? my father would say.
CHAPTER IV
She cannot, quoth my uncle Toby, halting, when they had march’d up to within twenty paces of Mrs. Wadman’s door—she cannot, corporal, take it amiss.——
——She will take it, an’ please your honour, said the corporal, just as the Jew’s widow at Lisbon took it of my brother Tom.——
——And how was that? quoth my uncle Toby, facing quite about to the corporal.
Your honour, replied the corporal, knows of Tom’s misfortunes; but this affair has nothing to do with them any further than this, That if Tom had not married the widow——or had it pleased God after their marriage, that they had but put pork into their sausages, the honest soul had never been taken out of his warm bed, and dragg’d to the inquisition——’Tis a cursed place—added the corporal, shaking his head,—when once a poor creature is in, he is in, an’ please your honour, for ever.
’Tis very true; said my uncle Toby, looking gravely at Mrs. Wadman’s house, as he spoke. 445
Nothing, continued the corporal, can be so sad as confinement for life—or so sweet, an’ please your honour, as liberty.
Nothing, Trim——said my uncle Toby, musing——
Whilst a man is free,—cried the corporal, giving a flourish with his stick thus——
A thousand of my father’s most subtle syllogisms could not have said more for celibacy.
My uncle Toby look’d earnestly towards his cottage and his bowling-green.
The corporal had unwarily conjured up the Spirit of calculation with his wand; and he had nothing to do, but to conjure him down again with his story, and in this form of Exorcism, most un-ecclesiastically did the corporal do it.
CHAPTER V
As Tom’s place, an’ please your honour, was easy—and the weather warm—it put him upon thinking seriously of settling himself in the world; and as it fell out about that time, that a Jew who kept a sausage shop in the same street, had the ill luck to die of a strangury, and leave his widow in possession of a rousing trade——Tom thought (as everybody in Lisbon was doing the best he could devise for himself) there could be no 446 harm in offering her his service to carry it on: so without any introduction to the widow, except that of buying a pound of sausages at her shop—Tom set out—counting the matter thus within himself, as he walk’d along; that let the worst come of it that could, he should at least get a pound of sausages for their worth—but, if things went well, he should be set up; inasmuch as he should get not only a pound of sausages—but a wife and—a sausage shop, an’ please your honour, into the bargain.
Every servant in the family, from high to low, wish’d Tom success; and I can fancy, an’ please your honour, I see him this moment with his white dimity waistcoat and breeches, and hat a little o’ one side, passing jollily along the street, swinging his stick, with a smile and a chearful word for everybody he met:——But alas! Tom! thou smilest no more, cried the corporal, looking on one side of him upon the ground, as if he apostrophised him in his dungeon.
Poor fellow! said my uncle Toby, feelingly.
He was an honest, light-hearted lad, an’ please your honour, as ever blood warm’d——
——Then he resembled thee, Trim, said my uncle Toby, rapidly.
The corporal blush’d down to his fingers ends—a tear of sentimental bashfulness—another of gratitude to my uncle Toby—and a tear of sorrow for his brother’s misfortunes, started into his eye, and ran sweetly down his cheek together; my uncle Toby’s kindled as one lamp does at another; and taking hold of the breast of Trim’s coat (which had been that of Le Fever’s) as if to ease his lame leg, but in reality to gratify a finer feeling——he stood silent for a minute and a half; at the end of which he took his hand away, and the corporal making a bow, went on with his story of his brother and the Jew’s widow.
CHAPTER VI
When Tom, an’ please your honour, got to the shop, there was nobody in it, but a poor negro girl, with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the end of a long cane, flapping away flies—not killing them.——’Tis a pretty picture! said my uncle Toby—she had suffered persecution, Trim, and had learnt mercy——
——She was good, an’ please your honour, from nature, as well as from hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that poor friendless slut, that would melt a heart of 447 stone, said Trim; and some dismal winter’s evening, when your honour is in the humour, they shall be told you with the rest of Tom’s story, for it makes a part of it——
Then do not forget, Trim, said my uncle Toby.
A negro has a soul? an’ please your honour, said the corporal (doubtingly).
I am not much versed, corporal, quoth my uncle Toby, in things of that kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any more than thee or me——
——It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the corporal.
It would so; said my uncle Toby. Why then, an’ please your honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one?
I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby———
——Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to stand up for her——
——’Tis that very thing, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby,——which recommends her to protection——and her brethren with her; ’tis the fortune of war which has put the whip into our hands now——where it may be hereafter, heaven knows!——but be it where it will, the brave, Trim! will not use it unkindly.
——God forbid, said the corporal.
Amen, responded my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon his heart.
The corporal returned to his story, and went on——but with an embarrassment in doing it, which here and there a reader in this world will not be able to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions all along, from one kind and cordial passion to another, in getting thus far on his way, he had lost the sportable key of his voice, which gave sense and spirit to his tale: he attempted twice to resume it, but could not please himself; so giving a stout hem! to rally back the retreating spirits, and aiding nature at the same time with his left arm a-kimbo on one side, and with his right a little extended, supporting her on the other—the corporal got as near the note as he could; and in that attitude, continued his story.
CHAPTER VII
As Tom, an’ please your honour, had no business at that time with the Moorish girl, he passed on into the room beyond, to talk to the Jew’s widow about love——and this pound of 448 sausages; and being, as I have told your honour, an open cheary-hearted lad, with his character wrote in his looks and carriage, he took a chair, and without much apology, but with great civility at the same time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat down.