“Weel, tak’ it ’at aw wer’ predestined for hell, just for argyment’s sake.”
Tom thought it more than probable that this dreadfully free-spoken man was at least in danger of the fire, so he conceded the postulate.
“Nah! Do yo’ think it fair o’ God Almighty to send a poor weak sprawlin’ infant into th’ world, knowin’ full weel ’at after mebbe sixty or seventy yer o’ moilin’ an’ toilin’ an’ scrattin’, he’d end up wi’ weepin’ an’ wailin’ an’ gnashin’ o’ teeth for all eternity. Aw put it to yo’ Tom, wod yo’ ha’ done it yersen?”
“But if you were to go to Church, Ben, or even to Chapel,” began Tom.
“That doesn’t touch th’ point. Th’ point is at One they sen is Love, suld suffer a bairn to be born i’to this world, weel knowin’ its awful end.”
“And don’t you believe in God?” asked Tom, sinking his voice almost to a whisper and edging a little further off his companion.
“Aw do that, lad, but nooan i’ siccan a God as that’n. But aw’n nooan done wi’ th’ parsons yet—one thing at a time. Yo’ know aw can read th’ Bible, though nooan so glib-like as yo’ can, but aw think on what aw read. Nah chew this tex’ ovver th’ next time yo’ go to th’ church. Yo’ll find it i’th’ General Epistle o’ James:—
“’For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment, an’ yo’ hav’ respec’ to him ’at weareth the gay clothin’, an’ say unto him, sit yo’ here in a guid place; an’ say to th’ poor, stan’ yo’ theer, or sit under my fooitstooil.’ Well, lad, tha’s bin a Workhus lad thissen, an’ yo’ know weel enough wheer they towd yo’ to sit.”
Tom did know, and reflected that on the whole he had very much preferred the dark corners of the gallery to the chief places in the synagogue; but he had the sense to know his reasons were not of grace.
“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.”