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 waist-coat 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 every body 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 4.LXV.

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 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, corpor