“In fact, ’tis a gweat mistake, that statement that Lawd By’on evva qua’led with his lady, Mistoo Itchlin. But I s’pose you know ’tis but a slandeh of the pwess. Yesseh. As, faw instance, thass anotheh slandeh of the pwess that the delegates qua’led ad the Chawleston convention. They only pwetend to qua’l; so, by that way, to mizguide those Abolish-nists. Mistoo Itchlin, I am p’ojecting to ’ite some obitua’ ’emawks about that Lady By’on, but I scass know w’etheh to ’ite them in the poetic style aw in the p’osaic. Which would you conclude, Mistoo Itchlin?”
Richling reflected with downcast eyes.
“It seems to me,” he said, when he had passed his hand across his mouth in apparent meditation and looked up,—“seems to me I’d conclude both, without delay.”
“Yes? But accawding to what fawmule, Mistoo Itchlin? ’Ay, ’tis theh is the ’ub,’ in fact, as Lawd By’on say. Is it to migs the two style’ that you advise?”
“That’s the favorite method,” replied Richling.
“Well, I dunno ’ow ’tis, Mistoo Itchlin, but I fine the moze facil’ty in the poetic. ’Tis t’ue, in the poetic you got to look out concehning the ’ime. You got to keep the eye skin’ faw it, in fact. But in the p’osaic, on the cont’a-ay, ’tis juz the opposite; you got to keep the eye skin’ faw the sense. Yesseh. Now, if you migs the two style’—well—’ow’s that, Mistoo Itchlin, if you migs them? Seem’ to me I dunno.”
“Why, don’t you see?” asked Richling. “If you mix them, you avoid both necessities. You sail triumphantly between Scylla and Charybdis without so much as skinning your eye.”
Narcisse looked at him a moment with a slightly searching glance, dropped his eyes upon his own beautiful feet, and said, in a meditative tone:—
“I believe you co’ect.” But his smile was gone, and Richling saw he had ventured too far.
“I wish my wife were here,” said Richling; “she might give you better advice than I.”