ch a gleam of sun-shine
in his face, as melted down the sullenness of his grief in a moment.

He broke silence as follows:

Chapter 2.XXXVIII.

Did ever man, brother Toby, cried my father, raising himself upon his
elbow, and turning himself round to the opposite side of the bed,
where my uncle Toby was sitting in his old fringed chair, with his chin
resting upon his crutch--did ever a poor unfortunate man, brother Toby,
cried my father, receive so many lashes?--The most I ever saw given,
quoth my uncle Toby (ringing the bell at the bed's head for Trim) was to
a grenadier, I think in Mackay's regiment.

--Had my uncle Toby shot a bullet through my father's heart, he could
not have fallen down with his nose upon the quilt more suddenly.

Bless me! said my uncle Toby.

Chapter 2.XXXIX.

Was it Mackay's regiment, quoth my uncle Toby, where the poor grenadier
was so unmercifully whipp'd at Bruges about the ducats?--O Christ! he
was innocent! cried Trim, with a deep sigh.--And he was whipp'd, may it
please your honour, almost to death's door.--They had better have shot
him outright, as he begg'd, 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
misfortunes, 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 not 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 into his knapsack!--O!--these are misfortunes, cried
Trim,--pulling out his handkerchief--these are misfortunes, may it
please your honour, worth lying down and crying over.

--My father could not help blushing.

'Twould be a pity, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, thou shouldst ever feel
sorrow of thy own--thou feelest it so tenderly for others.--Alack-o-day,
replied the corporal,