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"Well, Shake Fulwiler, now you stand up. What hash you been doin in dis lower world?" "Ah! Lort, ich does not know." "Well, Shake Fulwiler, hasn't you got a mill?" "Yes, Lort, ich hash." "Well, Shake Fulwiler hasn't you never taken too much toll?" "Yes Lort, ich hash; when der water wash low, and mein stones wash dull, ich take leetle too much toll."
What hash you been dain in dis lower world?" "Ah! Lort, ich does not know." "Well, Shorge Fulwiler, hasn't you got a mill?" "Yes, Lort, ich hash." "Well, Shorge Fulwiler, didn't you never take too much toll?" "Yes, Lort, ich hash; when der water wash low, and mein stones wash dull, ich take leetle too much toll." "Well, den, Shorge Fulwiler, you must go to der left mid der goats."
There were, he said, in Virginia, two Dutchmen, brothers, George and Jake Fulwiler. They were both well to do in the world, and each owned a grist mill. There was another Dutchman near by, by the name of Henry Snyder. He was a mono-maniac, but a harmless man, occasionally thinking himself to be God.
He built a throne, and would often sit upon it, pronouncing judgment upon others, and also upon himself. He would send the culprits to heaven or to hell, as his humor prompted. One day he had a little difficulty with the two Fulwilers. He took his seat upon his throne, and in imagination summoning the culprits before him, thus addressed them: "Shorge Fulwiler, stand up.
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