“Religion! How you talk! Why, there’s myself, bred and born an Independent, and intended to be a preacher, didn’t I give up religion for dog-fighting?
Religion, indeed! If it were not for the rascally law, my pit would fill better on Sundays than any other time. Who would go to church when they could come to my pit? Religion! why, the parsons themselves come to my pit; and I have now a letter in my pocket from one of them, asking me to send him a dog.”
“Well, then, politics,” said I.
“Politics! Why the gemmen in the House would leave Pitt himself, if he were alive, to come to my pit. There were three of the best of them here to-night, all great horators.—Get on with you! what comes next?”
“Why, there’s learning and letters.”
“Pretty things, truly, to keep people from dog-fighting. Why, there’s the young gentlemen from the Abbey School comes here in shoals, leaving books, and letters, and masters too. To tell you the truth, I rather wish they would mind their letters, for a more precious set of young blackguards I never see’d. It was only the other day I was thinking of calling in a constable for my own protection, for I thought my pit would have been torn down by them.”
Scarcely knowing what to say, I made an observation at random. “You show, by your own conduct,” said I, “that there are other things worth following besides dog-fighting. You practise rat-catching and badger-baiting as well.”
The dog-fancier eyed me with supreme contempt.
“Your friend here,” said he, “might well call you a new one. When I talks of dog-fighting, I of course means rat-catching, and badger-baiting, ay, and bull-baiting too, just as when I speaks religiously, when I says one I means not one but
three. And talking of religion puts me in mind that I have something else to do besides chaffing here, having a batch of dogs to send off by this night’s packet to the Pope of Rome.”