[99]
CHAP. XXI.
—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 compleat 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,
