“Now, what wud dat gyarden bin ’dout plenty watah? Dey wud uh lef’ it, an’ got an nerr gyarden; fuh not only Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve baved in dat Paradice watah, but de seeds an’ de vegetables sipped it, de flowers when deah faces got dusty, washed in it, de cups ub de blossoms hilt it, I specks, till de watah tu’n inter perfume, an’ I kin almos’ see de jewdraps hangin’ on ev’y leaf, mo’ lubly dan uh oyster pearl. It makes Uncle Reubin glad when he looks at watah, fuh it tu’ns our mills, gibs us cawn bred, brings de big schooners wid our boots, shoes, clothes an’ mullasses, an’ when de tide comes in, ’specially at sundown, when de birds is goin’ ter deah nesses, an’ de busy bees is wanderin’ home, da is nuffin I lubs mo’ ter look at, it’s so quiet an’ repose. No place kin be lonely ef’n watah is da; but it’s uh sad thing, too, fuh what is mo’ ’stressin’ dan eyes full ub tears. But mos’ ub all, young people ub dis chuch don’ fogit dat watah wash yo’ sins uh way, an’ meck you ez white ez de lam’. But I am condident da is only one kind fit fuh ’mersion, an’ dat’s fresh watah.”
Sister Sue: “Dat’s it; now yo’r climin’ dem golden stairs, Brer Viney!”
Sally Mink: “Blessid be his brow, he’s fairly chantin’ de songs ub de Sams.”
Mrs. Rodgers’ Ned: “I is convicted, Brer Viney, an’ I plays de fiddle no mo’!”
Uncle Reubin: “Now, you begin ter see de application. Jordan, wha’ John de Babtis, wuz ’mersed, is fresh watah. Not far fum Jordan is de dead sea, which has mo’ salt dan Miles Ribber, kase it will float uh man same ez uh egg; but de ’Postles tuck de fresh watah, kase I hab no doubt skirks wuz bad in dem days, an’ prob’ly wusser, ’speci’lly in de dead sea. Jes’ think ub our dear sistus, trem’lin’, soaked wid faith an’ salbation, speckin’ ev’y minit ter hab deah legs bit orf! Da ain’ uh sistuh in dis chuch dat ain’ had chills dis spring. De cold watah got nuffin ter do wid it; it’s shirk fright; dat’s what’s de matter wid ’em. But blessin’s cum in disguise, an’ Providence mus’ hab brought dis ’bate, fuh it sot me ter readin’, thinkin’ an’ prayin’, an’ I am confluent we will all hab ter be babtize a-_fresh_; den da will be mo’ moners, mo’ shoutin’, an’ bless Gord, no shirk fright. I shall hab mo’ ter say ef’n de application ain’ well ondastood.”