"Now supposin', friends, as I'd a-fashioned the wondrous words o' the
ditty we've just polished off; an' supposin' a friend o' mine, same as
Uncle Issy might he, had a-dropped in, in passin', an' heard me read the
same. 'Hullo!' he'd 'a said, 'You've a-put the same words twice over.'
'How's that?' 'How's that? Why, here's _O ye Whales_ (pointin' wi' his
finger), an' lo! again, _O ye Wells_.' ''T'aint the same,' I'd ha'
said. 'Well,' says Uncle Issy, ''tis _spoke_ so, anyways'--"

"Crowder, you puff me up," murmured Uncle Issy, charmed with this
imaginative and wholly flattering sketch. "No--really now! Though,
indeed, strange words have gone abroad before now, touching my wisdom;
but I blow no trumpet."

"Such be your very words," the crowder insisted. "Now mark my answer.
'Uncle Issy,' says I, quick as thought, 'you dunderheaded old antic,--
leave that to the musicianers. At the word 'whales,' let the music go
snorty; an' for wells, gliddery; an' likewise in a moving dulcet manner
for the holy an' humble Men o' heart.' Why, 'od rabbet us!--what's
wrong wi' that boy?"

All turned to Young Zeb, from whose throat uncomfortable sounds were
issuing. His eyes rolled piteously, and great tears ran down his
cheeks.

"Slap en 'pon the back, Calvin: he's chuckin'."

"Ay--an' the pa'son at' here endeth!'"

"Slap en, Calvin, quick! For 'tis clunk or stuffle, an' no time to
lose."