[I have been in many a battle, an’ please your Honour, quoth _Trim_, sighing, but never in so melancholy a one as this,—I would not have drawn a tricker in it against these poor souls,——to have been made a general officer.——Why? what do you understand of the affair? said Dr. _Slop_, looking towards _Trim_, with something more of contempt than the Corporal’s honest heart deserved.——What do you know, friend, about this battle you talk of?—I know, replied _Trim_, that I never refused quarter in my life to any man who cried out for it;——but to a woman or a child, continued _Trim_, before I would level my musket at them, I would lose my life a thousand times.——Here’s a crown for thee, _Trim_, to drink with _Obadiah_ to-night, quoth my uncle _Toby_, and I’ll give _Obadiah_ another too.—God bless your Honour, replied _Trim_,——I had rather these poor women and children had it.——thou art an honest fellow, quoth my uncle _Toby._——My father nodded his head, as much as to say—and so he is.—— But prithee, _Trim_, said my father, make an end,—for I see thou hast but a leaf or two left. Corporal _Trim_ read on.] “If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not sufficient,—consider at this instant, how the votaries of that religion are every day thinking to do service and honour to God, by actions which are a dishonour and scandal to themselves. “To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of the Inquisition.”—[God help my poor brother _Tom._]—“Behold _Religion_, with _Mercy_ and _Justice_ chained down under her feet,——there sitting ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks and instruments of torment. Hark!—hark! what a piteous groan!”—[Here _Trim_’s face turned as pale as ashes.]——“See the melancholy wretch who uttered it”—[Here the tears began to trickle down]——“just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial, and endure the utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been able to invent.”—[D—n them all, quoth _Trim_, his colour returning into his face as red as blood.]—“Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,—his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement.”—[Oh! ’tis my brother, cried poor _Trim_ in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon the ground, and clapping his hands together—I fear ’tis poor _Tom._ My father’s and my uncle _Toby_’s heart yearned with sympathy for the poor fellow’s distress; even _Slop_ himself acknowledged pity for him.——Why, _Trim_, said my father, this is not a history,——’tis a sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.]——“Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,—his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it suffers.