“’Tis a mighty strange business,” said my uncle, in much perplexity. “They buy their land, as I understand it, brother, to build a house for Shakespeare in London, but lease it for a house for young Christians instead, and spend their money on sending Shakespeare packing out of London.”
“’Tis all the fault of the Londoners,” replied my father. “They have no soul for Shakespeare, and for that matter, as I believe, no soul at all.”
“A Londoner has no soul, an’ please your honour,” whispered Corporal Trim doubtingly, and touching his Montero-cap to my uncle.
“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.”
LADY CATHERINE AND MR. COLLINS
Elizabeth and Charlotte were seated one morning in the parlour at Hunsford parsonage, enjoying the prospect of Rosings from the front window, and Mr. Collins was working in his garden, which was one of his most respectable pleasures, when the peace of the household was suspended by the arrival of a letter from London:—
“Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,
“London, December, 19—.
“Dear Cousin William,—We have long neglected to maintain a commerce of letters, but I have learned through the public prints of your recent union with an elegant female from Hertfordshire and desire to tender you and your lady my respects in what I trust will prove an agreeable form. I am directing an entertainment at this theatre, which is designed to be in harmony with the general Christmas rejoicings, and, you may rest assured, in no way offends the principles of the Church which you adorn. Will you not honour it by your presence and thus confer an innocent enjoyment upon your lady? In that hope, I enclose a box ticket for the pantomime on Monday se’nnight and remain your well-wisher and cousin,