hope your honour, replied Trim, will do me the justice
to believe, that it was not in the least owing to me.--To
thee--Trim?--cried my uncle Toby, looking kindly in his face--'twas
Susannah's and the curate's folly betwixt them.--What business could
they have together, an' please your honour, in the garden?--In the
gallery thou meanest, replied my uncle Toby.

Trim found he was upon a wrong scent, and stopped short with a low
bow--Two misfortunes, quoth the corporal to himself, are twice as many
at least as are needful to be talked over at one time;--the mischief the
cow has done in breaking into the fortifications, may be told his honour
hereafter.--Trim's casuistry and address, under the cover of his low
bow, prevented all suspicion in my uncle Toby, so he went on with what
he had to say to Trim as follows:

--For my own part, Trim, though I can see little or no difference
betwixt my nephew's being called Tristram or Trismegistus--yet as the
thing sits so near my brother's heart, Trim--I would freely have given
a hundred pounds rather than it should have happened.--A hundred pounds,
an' please your honour! replied Trim,--I would not give a cherry-stone
to boot.--Nor would I, Trim, upon my own account, quoth my uncle
Toby--but my brother, whom there is no arguing with in this
case--maintains that a great deal more depends, Trim, upon
christian-names, than what ignorant people imagine--for he says there
never was a great or heroic action performed since the world began by
one called Tristram--nay, he will have it, Trim, that a man can
neither be learned, or wise, or brave.--'Tis all fancy, an' please your
honour--I fought just as well, replied the corporal, when the regiment
called me Trim, as when they called me James Butler.--And for my own
part, said my uncle Toby, though I should blush to boast of myself,
Trim--yet had my name been Alexander, I could have done no more at Namur
than my duty.--Bless your honour! cried Trim, advancing three steps as
he spoke, does a man think of his christian-name when he goes upon the
attack?--Or when he stands in the trench, Trim? cried my uncle Toby,
looking firm.--Or when he enters a breach? said Trim, pushing in between
two chairs.--Or forces the lines? cried my uncle, rising up, and pushing
his crutch like a pike.--Or facing a platoon? cried Trim, presenting his
stick like a firelock.--Or when he marches up the glacis? cried my uncle
Toby, looking warm and setting his foot upon