“What’s t’ matter wi’ mé? Wey, theear matter plenty! That Dr. —— com’ here aboot hoaf an oor sen to tak’ t’ train. I was stan’in’ at t’ time aback o’ t’ ticket wole, an’ what d’yé think he says;—he says, says he, ‘Isaac, you are a very wicked old man, and will most certainly be damned; you are worse than Cass (then under sentence of death in Carlisle gaol)—you are worse than a murderer.’ Says I, ‘Me war’ ner a murderer! What the sham’ an’ hangment d’yé mean be that?’ Says he, ‘I mean this, old man; it has been elected from the beginning that certain men shall be saved, and certain shall be lost. You are among the latter, and you will most certainly be damned.’ Says I, ‘An’ what ’ill come o’ you?’ Says he, ‘Oh, Christ elected me many years ago.’ Then, says I, ‘I think he meàd a varra feckless choice; but if it be sooa, I wad like to know what I’ve deùn ’at I’s to be damned! I’ve been weddit abeun forty year, an’ I’ve hed twelve barns, an’ I browte them o’ up weel, an’ I edicated them weel, an’ they’ve o’ turn’t oot weel; I’ve wrowte hard o’ me life, an’ I niver wrang’t a man oot of a ho’penny—what mair can a man deu?’ Says he, ‘Isaac, you might do much more, you might follow the teaching of the Bible; you might sell all you have and give it to the poor.’ Says I, ‘Sell o’ ’at I hev an’ give ’t to t’ poor! Is I to sell t’ bed fray anonder me wife ’at she’s sleept on for forty year? Is I to sell t’ chair fray anonder her ’at she’s sitten on for forty year, an’ turn her oot intil a dike gutter? What kind o’ religion is ther’ i’ that? Says he, ‘Oh, the Lord would provide for you.’ Says I, ‘The Lord provide for mé! Wad t’ Lord finnd mé wid a new bed an’ a new chair?—an’ if he dud, I wad likely hev to sell them ower ageàn! Sell o’ ’at I hev an’ gi’ ’t to t’ poor! Do _you_ sell o’ ’at _you_ hev an’ gi’ ’t to t’ poor? I niver hard tell o’ yé sellin’ o’ ’at you hev an’ gi’in’ ’t to t’ poor! They tell me you hev atween fowrteen an’ fifteen hundert a year,—an’ mebbee yé may, for owte I know, gi’e away—we’ll say, a hunder’t a year, an’ that’ll be t’ ootside be a gay bit.— Do you co’ that sellin’ o’ ’at _you_ hev an’ gi’n’ to t’ poor. I tell yè, you’re a rich man, an’ I’s no’but a poor an’, wi’ a loosey ten shillin’ a week to leeve on; bit, accordin’ to what I hev, I consider mysel’ to be beàth a nowbler an’ a generouser fella ner you irr! Noo, theear a poor Irish family ’at leeves nar oor hoose, an’ ivery week end we send them o’ t’ scraps o’ meat an’ ’taties ’at we ha’e left, forby udder things;—that’s far mair, accordin’ to what I’ve gitten, ner your hunder’t a ’ear! You talk aboot me bein’ damned. Noo, I’s neea scholar, bit I’ve read t’ Bible for o’ that, an’ I’ve read ’at theear two mak’ o’ fwok ’at ’ill be damned—yan’s leears, an’ t’ tudder’s hypocrites. Noo, I’ll preùv ’at you’re beàth. You’re a leear for sayin’ ’at I was war’ ner a murderer i’ Carlisle gaol, an’ you’re a hypocrite for sayin’ seea when you knew you were leein’!