--He was alive last _Whitsontide!_ said the coachman. --_Whitsontide!_ alas! cried _Trim_, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon, --what is _Whitsontide_, _Jonathan_ (for that was the coachman's name), or _Shrovetide_, or any tide or time past, to this? Are we not here now, continued the corporal (striking the end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability)--and are we not--(dropping his hat upon the ground) gone! in a moment! --'Twas infinitely striking! _Susannah_ burst into a flood of tears. --We are not stocks and stones. --_Jonathan_, _Obadiah_, the cook-maid, all melted. --The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fish-kettle upon her knees, was rous'd with it. 
'He was alive last Whitsuntide!' said Jonathan the coachman.
'Whitsuntide! alas!' cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon. 'What is Whitsuntide, Jonathan, or any tide or time, to this? Are we not here now,' he continued (striking his stick upon the floor) - 'and are we not' (dropping his hat upon the ground) 'gone! in a moment!'
Susannah burst into a flood of tears.
'We are not stocks and stones,' said Trim.
Jonathan, Obadiah and the cook-maid all melted. Even the foolish scullery-maid, who was scouring a fish-kettle, was roused. 