“Nah ther’s a chonce for thee, Cocky,” sed one.

“Tha knows aw connot sing,” sed Cocky, “aw think Ike ud do better nor me.”

“Nay, aw can sing nooan,” sed Ike, “aw niver sang owt i’ mi life but’ Rock-a-boo-babby,’ an’ it’s soa long sin aw’ve forgetten that, but ther’s old Mosslump thear, happen he’ll give us one, we all know he can sing.”  “Dooant thee pitch onto me,” sed Mosslump, “it’ll be time enuf for thee to start o’ orderin when we mak thi into th’ cheerman, what can’t yo start wi’ Standhen for, we know he can sing?”

“O, Standhen!” they sed, “we’d forgetten Standhen!  He can give us a owd Tory touch we know.”

Up jumpt th’ cheerman, an befoor Standhen had time to spaik he called aght, “Mr. Standhen!  We’re all waitin for thy song, an as cheerman o’ this assembly aw expect thee to do what tha con to entertain this compny, or otherwise aw shall vacate this cheer.”

As all th’ glasses wor beginnin to get low, they felt this to be an appeal to ther inmost sowl, soa they all began, perswadin Standhen, an’ after a deeal to do he promised to try.  “Aw know awst braik daan befoor aw start,” he sed.  “Nay, tha’ll have to start furst,” sed one, “but we’ll excuse thi if tha does; if tha tries it’ll show willin.”  After coughin once an’ suppin twice, he shut his e’en an’ oppened his maath, an’ this is what coom aght:—­

   Thou grand old Church of England! 
      Though others raise their voice,
   And try to stain thy spotless name,
      Thou still shall be my choice;
   Just as thou art, I love thee thus,
      And freely I confess,
   I’d have thee not one jot the more,
      Nor yet one tittle less.

   Those who would rob thee of thy rights,
      And urge with specious tongue,
   That theft by Act of Parliament
      Can surely not be wrong. 
   I’d have them leave thy sheltering wing,
      And nevermore to dare
   To stand within thy courts of praise,
      Or taint thy house of prayer.

   Oh! dear old Church of England,
      That points the way to Heaven! 
   Amid a sad, sad world of sin
      The truly, only leaven. 
   We leave thee to our Father’s care,
      Who knows thy needs the best,
   Convinced that He, by aid of thee,
      Will leaven all the rest.

When he’d finished they all knocked ther glasses on th’ table bi way ov applaudin, which th’ lonlady hearin, at once coom in an’ ax’d if they wor “callin?” an’ as all wor empty, shoo luk’d varry hard at th’ cheerman, an’ he nodded “as befoor,” soa shoo gethered up th’ empties, an’ called for Liza “to bring in them glasses,” which wor at once done, an’ showd a gooid deal o’ foreseet on her part i’ havin ’em ready.

When all had getten sarved wi’ hot watter, an’ given ovver crushin sugar, th’ cheerman announced ’at it wor Mr. Standhen’s call, soa up jumped Standhen, an’ said “he couldn’t do better nor call owd Mosslump for a song.”  Some moor applause followed this, but they didn’t knock th’ tables wi’ ther glasses this time, becoss they wor too full.  Mosslump stood up, wiped his maath wi’ th’ corners ov his necktie, turned up his e’en as if he wor gooin to depart this life i’ peace, an’ in a voice, time, an’ manner peculiarly his own he sung—­