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.--"He shall not drop,"
said my Uncle Toby, firmly.--"Ah, well-a-day, do what we can for him,"
said Trim, "the poor soul will die."--"He shall not die, by G----,"
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.

* * * * *

The sun looked bright the morning after to every eye in the village but
Le Fevre's and his afflicted son's. My Uncle Toby, who had rose up an
hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant's room, and sat
himself down upon the chair by the bedside, and opened the curtain in
the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it.

There was a frankness in my Uncle Toby--not the effect of familiarity,
but the cause of it--which let you at once into his soul, and showed you
the goodness of his nature. The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which
were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to the last
citadel, the heart, rallied back. The film forsook his eyes for a
moment. He looked up wistfully in my Uncle Toby's face, then cast a look
upon his boy. Nature instantly ebbed again. The film returned to its
place: the pulse fluttered, stopped, went on--throbbed, stopped
again--moved, stopped----.

My Uncle Toby, with young Le Fevre in his hand, attended the poor
lieutenant as chief mourners to his grave.

* * * * *

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

Uncle Tom's Cabin

When the authoress of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," Harriet Elizabeth
Beecher Stowe, visited the White House in 1863, President
Lincoln took her hand, and, looking down from his great
height, said, "Is this the little woman who brought on so
great a war?" But, strangely enough, the attitude of the
writer was thoroughly misunderstood. A terrible indictment
against the principle of slavery the story certainly is.