"I despaired at first," said the corporal, "of being able to bring back to your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick lieutenant."

Toby.

"I never, in the longest march," said the

"I'll tell your honour," replied the corporal, "everything straight forwards, as I learned it."

"Then Trim, I'll fill another pipe," said my uncle Toby, "and not interrupt thee till thou hast done; so sit down at thy ease, Trim, in the window seat, and begin thy story again."

The corporal made his old bow, which generally spoke as plain as a bow could speak ityour honour is good:--and having done that, he sat down as he was ordered, and began the story to my uncle Toby over again, in pretty nearly the same words.

"I despaired at first," said the corporal, "of being able to bring back any intelligence to your honour about the lieutenant and his son; for when I asked where his servant was, from whom I made myself sure of knowing everything which was proper to be asked,""That's a right distinction, Trim," said my uncle Toby,

"I was answered, and please your honour, that he had no servant with him;-that he had come to the inn with hired horses, which, on finding himself unable to proceed (to join, I suppose, the regiment), he had dismissed the morning after he came.-If I get better, my dear, said he, as he gave his purse to his son to pay the man, we can hire horses from hence. But, alas! the poor gentleman will never get from hence, said the landlady to me, for I heard the death-watch all night long; and when he dies the youth his son will certainly die with him; for he is brokenhearted already.

"I was hearing this account," continued the corporal, "when the youth came into the kitchen, to order the thin toast the landlord spoke of; but I will do it for my father myself, said the youth. Pray let me save you the trouble, young gentleman, said I, taking up a fork for that purpose, and offering him a chair to sit down by the fire, whilst I did it. -I believe, sir, said he, very modestly, I can please him best myself. I am sure, said I, his honour will not like the toast the worse for

"Nothing in the world, Trim," said my uncle Toby, blowing his nose, "but that thou art a good-natured fellow."

When I gave him the toast," continued the corporal, "I thought it was proper to tell him I was Captain Shandy's servant, and that your honour (though a stranger) was extremely concerned for his father: and that if there was anything in your house or cellar”—(“and thou mightest have added my purse too,” said my uncle Toby)-"he was heartily welcome to it: he made a very low bow (which was meant to your honour), but no answer, for his heart was so full-so he went up-stairs with the toast:-I warrant you, my dear, said I, as I opened the kitchen door, your father will be well again. Mr. Yorick's curate was smoking a pipe by the kitchen fire; but said not a word, good or bad, to comfort the youth.—I thought it wrong," added the corporal.

"I think so too," said my uncle Toby.

"When the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toast he felt himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen to let me know that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I would step up-stairs. I believe, said the landlord, he is going to say his prayers, for there was a book laid upon the chair by his bed-side, and 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

had not the honour of any acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing of me. You will tell him, however, that the person his goodnature has laid under obligation to him is one Le Fevre, a lieutenant in Angus'-but he knows me not, said he a second time, mus

"Thou shouldest 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 have done their duties in this world, and who have not; and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordingly."

"I hope we shall," said Trim.

66

It is in the Scripture," said my uncle Toby; "and I will show it thee to-morrow; -in the meantime, 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 inquired 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 cambric handkerchief beside it. The youth was just stooping down to take up the cushion upon which I suppose 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 be 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', said the lieutenantI 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

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' 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 ribbon about his neck, and kissed 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, on some account or other (I have forgot what), was universally pitied by the whole regiment; but finish the story thou art on."

"Tis finished already," said the corporal, "for I could stay no longer, so wished his honour a good-night: young Le Fevre rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs: and as we went down together, told 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.

It was to my uncle Toby's eternal honour, though I tell it only for the sake of those who, when cooped 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 recompense 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 Fevre,-as sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou knewest 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."

"He shall not drop," said my uncle Toby, firmly.

A-well-a-day! do what we can for him," said Trim, maintaining his point," the poor soul will die."

"He shall not die, by God!" cried my uncle Toby. The accusing spirit, which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in; and the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever.

-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.

The sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the village but Le Fevre's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death pressed heavy upon his eyelids;-and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle,-when my uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his

"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?"

and without preface or apology, sat himself down by the chair at the bedside, 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 inquiries, 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 Fevre," 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 Fevre."

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby,-not the effect of familarity, but the cause of it,

which let you at once into his soul, and showed 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 Fevre, 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 ebbed again; the film returned to its place; the pulse fluttered,stopped,-went on, throbbed,-stopped again, -moved,-stopped.-Shall I go on?-No.

LADY MABEL.

[Alfred Austin, born near Leeds, 1835. Poet. He attracted much attention by the publication of his first work, The Season, a satire, the purpose of which he explains in a preface to the second edition: "I saw, or thought I saw, that the company of the world, which the wisest authority has pronounced to be a stage, and which I will presume to add, is a stage essentially dramatic and sad with pathos, has assumed the attitudes and costume of the ballet, with gauze somewhat more maliciously arranged; and I was ambitious to remind them that, in spite of warm approval from the young. and more cautious, though perhaps not more frigid countenance from the old, life is a very 'serious business' after all." The Golden Age, a satire, and Interludes (from which we quote) followed; then, Madonna's Child, and Rome or Death, two portions of a larger work which, in its complete form, will be entitled The Human Tragedy. His poems are marked by earnest purpose and elevated thought, often powerfully, always delicately expressed]

Breast to breast with Lady Mabel,
Shrouded by the courteous night,
Baffling all the forms of fable

To describe our dreams aright;
And as pure as gifts of Abel,
In the Omnipresent sight.

THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS.

[Robert Bloomfield, born at Honington, Suffolk, 3d December, 1766; died at Sheffield, 19th August, 1823. Author of the Farmer's Boy, a poem descriptive of rural life, which obtained much attention when first published, partly on account of the humble circumstances of the writer, he being a working shoemaker, and the son of a tailor.]

Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again:
Companion of the lonely hour!
Spring thirty times hath fed with rain
And cloth'd with leaves my humble bower,
Since thou hast stood

In frame of wood,

On chest or window by my side:
At every birth still thou wert near,
Still spoke thine admonitions clear!

And, when my husband died.

I've often watched thy streaming sand And seen the growing mountain rise, And often found life's hopes to stand On props as weak in wisdom's eyes: Its conic crown

Still sliding down,

Again heap'd up, then down again;
The sand above more hollow grew,
Like days and years still filtering through,
And mingling joy and pain.

While thus I spin and sometimes sing,
(For now and then my heart will glow,)
Thou measur'st time's expanded wing:
By thee the noontide hour I know:

Though silent now,
Still shalt thou flow,
And joy along thy destined way:
But when I glean the sultry fields,
When earth her yellow harvest yields,
Thou gett'st a holiday.

Steady as truth, on either end
Thy daily task performing well,
Thou'rt meditation's constant friend,
And strik'st the heart without a bell:
Come, lovely May!

Thy lengthen'd day

Shall gild once more my native plain; Curl inward here sweet woodbine flower; Companion of the lonely hour,

I'll turn thee up again.