"Aye, an' it's th' same all through," went on the little hand-loom weaver, growing excited and warming to his topic. "It's th' same all through. They're all tarred wi' th' same brush, or welly (well-nigh) all on 'em. They uphowd th' rich, an' they patronize th' poor, aw' most to a man. Why, see yo', we'n been feightin' for th' Factory Act i' this district ivver sin Sir Oastler tuk his coit off an' put his neck to th' collar i' 1830, afore yo' were born. How many o'th' parsons i' this district, dun yo' think, has sided wi' th hand agen th' maisters? Ther' wer th' Reverend Madden, o' Woodhouse, _he_ com' aat like a man, but he had to dare to be a Daniel an' dare to stand alone, as th' hymn says. Yo'st take all th' progress 'at's bin made i'th' world sin th' days o' Adam, an' tak' it broadly speikin' yo'll find 'at th' parsons ha' bin agen it. There's Stephen's th' Wesleyan minister an' Chartist he cam' to Huddersfield wheer had he to talk do'st think? I'th' Parish Church? Not he, faith. I'th' Wesleyan Chapel? Not he. I'th Hall 0' Science, man, i' Bath Buildings, a infidel shop, th' bigots ca'ad it." "But surely, Ben, you believe in something. You say you believe in God. You believe in Christ too, don't you?" "Aye i' th' _natural_ Christ, but nooan i'th' travesty o' Jesus o' Nazareth 'at th' owd monks twisted an' fashioned out o' th' natural man till his own mother wouldn't ha' known him. _Aw_ believe in him, but th' parsons don't." "Nay, nay, Ben," expostulated Tom, bewildered, shocked, but interested. "They dooan't. They sen they do, an' they happen think they do, for it's wonderful, just fair cappin', how folk can cheeat their own sen. Nah! Aw'll just ax yo' if yo' wer to steal th' vicar's cooat, or poise his shins for 'im, wheer do'st think tha'd sleep to-neet? I' th' towzer,[1] wouldn't ta." [1] a lock-up or a police-cell. Tom thought this highly likely. "But that's nooan what Jesus towd folk. An' what abaat heeapin' up stores o' riches i' this world wheer moth an' rust doth corrupt an' thieves break through an' steal? Weel, if there's a chap i' all this valley at's keener after brass nor some o'th' parsons _aw_ know an' some o'th' deacons _yo_' kno, aw dooant want to have ony truck wi' 'em for one." Tom thought of Ephraim Thorpe, and was mute. "But that's nooan th' warst aw han agen th' parsons. They're nobbud men, though they set thersen up for saints, an' there's good an' bad amang 'em same as there is amang other folk, aye, an' allus will be as long as th' world goes round, but ther's just one doctrine 'at sticks i' my gizzard waur nor all th' others." Tom thought it must be a particularly lumpy doctrine, if this were so, for Ben seemed to have a narrow and constricted throat. "Yo' heard th' parson tell folk to be content wi' that station i' life to which it has pleased Providence to call 'em."