I thought love had been a joyous thing, quoth my uncle Toby.

'Tis the most serious thing, an' please your honour, (sometimes) that is in the world.

By the persuasion of the young woman, continued the Corporal, the cart with the wounded men set off without me; she had assured them I should expire immediately if I was put into the cart. So when I came to myself,-I found myself in a still, quiet cottage, with no one but the young woman, and the peasant and his wife. I was laid across the bed in the corner of the room, with my wounded leg upon a chair, and the young woman beside me, holding the corner of her handkerchief, dipped in vinegar, to my nose with one hand, and rubbing my temples with the other.

I took her at first for the daughter of the peasant (for it was no inn)—so had offered her a little purse with eighteen florins, which my poor brother Tom (here Trim wiped his eyes) had sent me as a token, by a recruit, just before he set out for Lisbon.

I never told your honour that piteous story yet— (here Trim wiped his eyes a third time).

The young woman called the old man and his wife into the room, to show them the money, in order to gain me credit for a bed and what little necessaries I should want, till I should be in a condition to be got to the hospital.Come then, said she, tying up the little purse,-I'll be your banker;-but as that office alone will not keep me employed, I'll be your nurse

too.

I thought by her manner of speaking this, as well as by her dress, which I then began to consider more attentively, that the young woman could not be the daughter of the peasant.

She was in black down to her toes, with her hair concealed under a cambric border, laid close to her

forehead she was one of those kind of nuns, an' please your honour, of which, your honour knows, there are a good many in Flanders, which they let go loose. By thy description, Trim, said my uncle Toby, I dare say she was a young Beguine, of which there are none to be found anywhere but in the Spanish Netherlands, except at Amsterdam - they differ from nuns in this, that they can quit their cloister if they choose to marry; they visit and take care of the sick by profession. I had rather, for my own part, they did it out of good-nature.

She often told me, quoth Trim, she did it for the love of Christ.-I did not like it.- -I believe, Trim, we are both wrong, said my uncle Toby :—we'll ask Mr. Yorick about it to-night at my brother Shandy's; -so put me in mind, added my uncle Toby.

The young Beguine, continued the Corporal, had scarce given herself time to tell me,' she would be my nurse,' when she hastily turned about to begin the office of one, and prepare something for me;-and in a short time, though I thought it a long one,—she came back with flannels, &c. &c. and having fomented my knee soundly for a couple of hours, &c. and made me a thin basin of gruel for my supper, she wished me rest, and promised to be with me early in the morning. She wished me, an' please your honour, what was not to be had. My fever ran very high that night-her figure made sad disturbance within me; -I was every moment cutting the world in two,-to give her half of it;-and every moment was I crying, that I had nothing but a knapsack and eighteen florins to share with her. The whole night long was the fair Beguine, like an angel, close by my bed-side, holding back my curtain, and offering me cordials ;—and I was only awakened from my dream, by her coming there at the hour promised, and giving them in reality. In truth, she was scarce ever from me; and so accustomed was I to receive life from her hands, that my

VOL. II.

L

heart sickened, and I lost colour when she left the room; and yet, continued the Corporal, (making one of the strangest reflections upon it in the world)—

'It was not love ;'-for during the three weeks she was almost constantly with me, fomenting my knee with her hand, night and day,-I can honestly say, an' please your honour,—that *****

* **

That was very odd, Trim, quoth my uncle To

by.

I think so too, said Mrs. Wadman.

It never did, said the Corporal.

CHAPTER CCLXV.

But 'tis no marvel, continued the Corporal,— -seeing my uncle Toby musing upon it;-for love, 'an please your honour, is exactly like war, in this; that a soldier, though he has escaped three weeks complete o' Saturday night,-may, nevertheless, be shot through his heart on Sunday morning.-It happened so here, an' please your honour, with this difference only, that it was on Sunday in the afternoon, when I fell in love all at once with a sisserara.— It burst upon me, an' please your honour, like a bomb,-scarce giving me time to say, 'God bless

me.'

I thought, Trim, said my uncle Toby, a man never fell in love so very suddenly.

Yes, an' please your honour, if he is in the way of it,-replied Trim.

I prythee, quoth my uncle Toby, inform me how this matter happened.

With all pleasure, said the Corporal, making a

bow.

CHAPTER CCLXVI.

I had escaped, continued the Corporal, all that time from falling in love, and had gone on to the end of the chapter, had it not been predestined otherwise. -There is no resisting our fate.-It was on a Sunday, in the afternoon, as I told your honour,

The old man and his wife had walked out,

Every thing was still and hush as midnight about the house,

There was not so much as a duck or a duckling about the yard,

When the fair Beguine came in to see me.

My wound was then in a fair way of doing well,— the inflammation had been gone off for some time; but it was succeeded with an itching both above and below my knee, so insufferable, that I had not shut my eyes the whole night for it.

Let me see it, said she, kneeling down upon the ground parallel to my knee, and laying her hand upon the part below it.-It only wants rubbing a little, said the Beguine; so covering it with the bed-clothes, she began with the fore-finger of her right hand to rub under my knee, guiding her fore-finger backwards and forwards by the edge of the flannel which kept on the dressing.

In five or six minutes I felt slightly the end of her second finger, and presently it was laid flat with the other, and she continued rubbing in that way, round and round, for a good while; it then came into my head, that I should fall in love:-I blushed when I saw how white a hand she had.—I shall never, an' please your honour, behold another hand so white whilst I live.

Not in that place, said my uncle Toby.

Though it was the most serious despair in nature to the Corporal,--he could not forbear smiling.

The young Beguine, continued the Corporal, perceiving it was of great service to me,-from rubbing for some time with two fingers,-proceeded to rub at length with three, till by little and little she brought down the fourth, and then rubbed with her whole hand. I will never say another word, an' please your honour, upon hands again;-but it was softer than satin.

-Prythee, Trim, commend it as much as thou wilt, said my uncle Toby; I shall hear thy story with the more delight.-The Corporal thanked his master most unfeignedly; but, having nothing to say upon the Beguine's hand but the same over again,—he proceeded to the effects of it.

The fair Beguine, said the Corporal, continued rubbing with her whole hand under my knee,―till I feared her zeal would weary her.' I would do a thousand times more,' said she, for the love of Christ.'-In saying which, she passed her hand across the flannel, to the part above my knee, which I had equally complained of, and rubbed it also.

I perceived, then, I was beginning to be in love.As she continued rub-rub-rubbing,-I felt it spread from under her hand, an' please your honour, to every part of my frame.

The more she rubbed, and the longer strokes she took, the more the fire kindled in my veins,-till at length, by two or three strokes longer than the rest, my passion rose to the highest pitch.-I seized her hand,

And then thou clappedst it to thy lips, Trim, said my uncle Toby, and madest a speech.

Whether the Corporal's amour terminated precisely in the way my uncle Toby described it, is not material; it is enough that it contained in it the essence of all the love-romances which ever have been wrote since the beginning of the world.