The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

as I shut the door, I saw his son take up a cushion.—— I thought, said the curate, that you gentlemen of the army, Mr. _Trim_, never said your prayers at all.——I heard the poor gentleman say his prayers last night, said the landlady, very devoutly, and with my own ears, or I could not have believed it.——Are you sure of it? replied the curate.——A soldier, an’ please your reverence, said I, prays as often (of his own accord) as a parson;——and when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for his honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one in the whole world——’Twas well said of thee, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby._——But when a soldier, said I, an’ please your reverence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, up to his knees in cold water,—or engaged, said I, for months together in long and dangerous marches;—harassed, perhaps, in his rear to-day;—harassing others to-morrow;—detached here;—countermanded there;—resting this night out upon his arms;—beat up in his shirt the next;—benumbed in his joints;—perhaps without straw in his tent to kneel on;—must say his prayers _how_ and _when_ he can.—I believe, said I,—for I was piqued, quoth the corporal, for the reputation of the army,—I believe, an’ please your reverence, said I, that when a soldier gets time to pray,—he prays as heartily as a parson,—though not with all his fuss and hypocrisy.——Thou shouldst not have said that, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_,—for God only knows who is a hypocrite, and who is not:——At the great and general review of us all, corporal, at the day of judgment (and not till then)—it will be seen who has done their duties in this world,—and who has not; and we shall be advanced, _Trim_, accordingly.——I hope we shall, said _Trim._——It is in the Scripture, said my uncle _Toby;_ and I will shew it thee to-morrow:—In the mean time we may depend upon it, _Trim_, for our comfort, said my uncle _Toby_, that God Almighty is so good and just a governor of the world, that if we have but done our duties in it,—it will never be enquired into, whether we have done them in a red coat or a black one:——I hope not, said the corporal——But go on, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, with thy story. When I went up, continued the corporal, into the lieutenant’s room, which I did not do till the expiration of the ten minutes,—he was lying in his bed with his head raised upon his hand, with his elbow upon the pillow, and a clean white cambrick handkerchief beside it:——The youth was just stooping down to take up the cushion, upon which I supposed he had been kneeling,—the book was laid upon the bed,—and, as he rose, in taking up the cushion with one hand, he reached out his other to take it away at the same time.——Let it remain there, my dear, said the lieutenant. He did not offer to speak to me, till I had walked up close to his bed- side:—If you are captain _Shandy_’s servant, said he, you must present my thanks to your master, with my little boy’s thanks along with them, for his courtesy to me;—if he was of _Levens_’s—said the lieutenant.—I told him your honour was—Then, said he, I served three campaigns with him in _Flanders_, and remember him,—but ’tis most likely, as I had not the honour of any acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing of me.——You will tell him, however, that the person his good-nature has laid under obligations to him, is one _Le Fever_, a lieutenant in _Angus_’s——but he knows me not,—said he, a second time, musing;——possibly he may my story—added he—pray tell the captain, I was the ensign at _Breda_, whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a musket-shot, as she lay in my arms in my tent.——I remember the story, an’t please your honour, said I, very well.——Do you so? said he, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief—then well may I.—In saying this, he drew a little ring out of his bosom, which seemed tied with a black ribband about his neck, and kiss’d it twice——Here, _Billy_, said he,—the boy flew across the room to the bed-side,—and falling down upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, and kissed it too,—then kissed his father, and sat down upon the bed and wept. I wish, said my uncle _Toby_, with a deep sigh,—I wish, _Trim_, I was asleep. Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned;—shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe?——Do, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby._ I remember, said my uncle _Toby_, sighing again, the story of the ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty omitted;—and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some account or other (I forget what) was universally pitied by the whole regiment;—but finish the story thou art upon:—’Tis finished already, said the corporal,—for I could stay no longer,—so wished his honour a good night; young _Le Fever_ rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we went down together, told me, they had come from _Ireland_, and were on their route to join the regiment in _Flanders._——But alas! said the corporal,—the lieutenant’s last day’s march is over.—Then what is to become of his poor boy? cried my uncle _Toby._ C H A P. LI THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED IT was to my uncle _Toby_’s eternal honour,——though I tell it only for the sake of those, who, when coop’d in betwixt a natural and a positive law, know not, for their souls, which way in the world to turn themselves——That notwithstanding my uncle _Toby_ was warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the siege of _Dendermond_, parallel with the allies, who pressed theirs on so vigorously, that they scarce allowed him time to get his dinner——that nevertheless he gave up _Dendermond_, though he had already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp;—and bent his whole thoughts towards the private distresses at the inn; and except that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which he might be said to have turned the siege of _Dendermond_ into a blockade,—he left _Dendermond_ to itself—to be relieved or not by the _French_ king, as the _French_ king thought good; and only considered how he himself should relieve the poor lieutenant and his son. ——That kind BEING, who is a friend to the friendless, shall recompence thee for this. Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle _Toby_ to the corporal, as he was putting him to bed,——and I will tell thee in what, _Trim._——In the first place, when thou madest an offer of my services to _Le Fever_,——as sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant, with a son to subsist as well as himself out of his pay,—that thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had he stood in need, thou knowest, _Trim_, he had been as welcome to it as myself.——Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had no orders;——True, quoth my uncle _Toby_,—thou didst very right, _Trim_, as a soldier,—but certainly very wrong as a man. In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, continued my uncle _Toby_,——when thou offeredst him whatever was in my house,——thou shouldst have offered him my house too:——A sick brother officer should have the best quarters, _Trim_, and if we had him with us,—we could tend and look to him:——Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, _Trim_,—and what with thy care of him, and the old woman’s and his boy’s, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs.—— ——In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle _Toby_, smiling,——he might march.——He will never march; an’ please your honour, in this world, said the corporal:——He will march; said my uncle _Toby_, rising up from the side of the bed, with one shoe off:——An’ please your honour, said the corporal, he will never march but to his grave:——He shall march, cried my uncle _Toby_, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch,—he shall march to his regiment.——He cannot stand it, said the corporal;——He shall be supported, said my uncle _Toby;_——He’ll drop at last, said the corporal, and what will become of his boy?——He shall not drop, said my uncle _Toby_, firmly.——A-well-o’day,—do what we can for him, said _Trim_, maintaining his point,—the poor soul will die:——He shall not die, by G—, cried my uncle _Toby._ —The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to heaven’s chancery with the oath, blush’d as he gave it in;—and the RECORDING ANGEL, as he wrote it down, dropp’d a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever. C H A P. LII ——MY uncle _Toby_ went to his bureau,—put his purse into his breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go early in the morning for a physician,—he went to bed, and fell asleep. C H A P. LIII THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED THE sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the village but _Le Fever_’s and his afflicted son’s; the hand of death pressed heavy upon his eye-lids,——and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle,—when my uncle _Toby_, who had rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant’s room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side, and, independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did,—how he had rested in the night,—what was his complaint,—where was his pain,—and what he could do to help him:——and without giving him time to answer any one of the enquiries, went on, and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the corporal the night before for him.—— ——You shall go home directly, _Le Fever_, said my uncle _Toby_, to my house,—and we’ll send for a doctor to see what’s the matter,—and we’ll have an apothecary,—and the corporal shall be your nurse;——and I’ll be your servant, _Le Fever._ There was a frankness in my uncle _Toby_,—not the _effect_ of familiarity,—but the cause of it,—which let you at once into his soul, and shewed you the goodness of his nature; to this there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him, so that before my uncle _Toby_ had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him.——The blood and spirits of _Le Fever_, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart—rallied back,—the film forsook his eyes for a moment,—he looked up wishfully in my uncle _Toby_’s face,—then cast a look upon his boy,——and that _ligament_, fine as it was,—was never broken.—— Nature instantly ebb’d again,—the film returned to its place,——the pulse fluttered——stopp’d——went on——throbb’d———stopp’d again——moved——stopp’d——shall I go on?——No. C H A P. LIV I AM so impatient to return to my own story, that what remains of young _Le Fever_’s, that is, from this turn of his fortune, to the time my uncle _Toby_ recommended him for my preceptor, shall be told in a very few words in the next chapter.—All that is necessary to be added to this chapter is as follows.— That my uncle _Toby_, with young _Le Fever_ in his hand, attended the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave. That the governor of _Dendermond_ paid his obsequies all military honours,—and that _Yorick_, not to be behind-hand—paid him all ecclesiastic—for he buried him in his chancel:—And it appears likewise, he preached a funeral sermon over him——I say it _appears_,—for it was _Yorick_’s custom, which I suppose a general one with those of his profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which he composed, to