al, 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 4.LXVI.

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 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.

There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an' please your
honour, whilst she is making sausages--So Tom began a discourse upon
them; first, gravely,--'as how they were made--with what meats, herbs,
and spices.'--Then a little gayly,--as, 'With what skins--and if they
never burst--Whether the largest were not the best?'--and so on--taking
care only as he went along, to season what he had to