This was so successful that he rashly plunged into a second in the same breath, after a few false starts:-- I sow'-ed th'-e .....
I sow'-ed .....
I sow'-ed th'-e seeds' of' love', I-it was' all' i'-in the'-e spring', I-in A'-pril', Ma'-ay, a'-nd sun'-ny' June', When sma'-all bi'-irds they' do' sing.
"Well put out of hand," said Coggan, at the end of the verse.

"'They do sing' was a very taking paragraph." "Ay; and there was a pretty place at 'seeds of love.' and 'twas well heaved out.

Though 'love' is a nasty high corner when a man's voice is getting crazed.

Next verse, Master Poorgrass." But during this rendering young Bob Coggan exhibited one of those anomalies which will afflict little people when other persons are particularly serious: in trying to check his laughter, he pushed down his throat as much of the tablecloth as he could get hold of, when, after continuing hermetically sealed for a short time, his mirth burst out through his nose.

Joseph perceived it, and with hectic cheeks of indignation instantly ceased singing.