When Tom , an’ please your honour, got to the shop, there was nobody in it, but a poor negro girl, with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the end of a long cane, flapping away flies—not killing them.⸺’Tis a pretty picture! said my uncle Toby —she had suffered persecution, Trim , and had learnt mercy⸺
⸺She was good, an’ please your honour, from nature, as well as from hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that poor friendless slut, that would melt a heart of stone, said Trim ; and some dismal winter’s evening, when your honour is in the humour, they shall be told you with the rest of Tom’s story, for it makes a part of it⸺
Then do not forget, Trim , said my uncle Toby .
A negro has a soul? an’ please your honour, said the corporal (doubtingly).
I am not much versed, corporal, quoth my uncle Toby , in things of that kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any more than thee or me⸺
⸺It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the corporal.
It would so; said my uncle Toby . Why then, an’ please your honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one?
I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby ⸻
⸺Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to stand up for her⸺