——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.