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CHAP. XIX.
It was a thousand pities—though I believe, an' please your honour, I am going to say but a foolish kind of a thing for a soldier———
A soldier, cried my uncle Toby, interrupting the corporal, is no more exempt from saying a foolish thing, Trim, than a man of letters—But not so often; and please your honour, replied the corporal———My uncle Toby gave a nod.
It was a thousand pities then, said the corporal, casting his eye upon Dunkirk, and the mole, as Servius Sulpicius, in returning out of Asia (when he sailed fromÆgina
