cried my uncle _Toby_, for he had been so wrapt up in his dissertation upon gunpowder, and other military affairs, that tho' he had desired the corporal to go on, yet the many interruptions he had given, dwelt not so strong upon his fancy as to account for the epithet ----Was he _unfortunate_, then, _Trim?_ said my uncle _Toby_, pathetically ----The corporal, wishing first the _word_ and all its synonimas at the devil, forthwith began to run back in his mind, the principal events in the King of _Bohemia's_ story; from every one of which, it appearing that he was the most fortunate man that ever existed in the world----it put the corporal to a stand: for not caring to retract his epithet----and less to explain it----and least of all, to twist his tale (like men of lore) to serve a system----he looked up in my uncle _Toby's_ face for assistance----but seeing it was the very thing my uncle _Toby_ sat in expectation of himself----after a hum and a haw, he went on------

cried my uncle Toby.
The corporal, wishing the word at the devil, began to run back in his mind the principal events in the King of Bohemia's story; from which it appeared that he was the most fortunate man in the world. It stopped the corporal in his tracks: for not caring to retract the phrase - still less to explain it - and least of all, to twist his tale - he looked in my uncle Toby's face for help, but seeing my uncle Toby awaiting help himself, after a hum and a haw, he went on:
