"That makes good what I have often said, that town-folks are worse than country-folks."
"But if a man be inclined to be wicked, he will be wicked anywhere. I suppose you have some about you who are not quite so good as they ought to be."
"Yes, there are a few of that sort, the worse luck; but then we have some who are better than they need be, and so the quantum of goodness is made up to the full Winchester measure."
"Indeed! I never saw a man better than he ought to be."
"Why, Sir, perhaps I made a mistake. I should have said, we have some who pretend to be better than they need be; but you know that a man may pretend to what he a'n't got."
"True; but what sort of persons do you now refer to?"
"To these Methodists;[1] before they came we were as peaceable as a flock of sheep in a fold; but now we are always wrangling; and, in spite of us, they have put down all the little merry-makings which we used to have among us."
"But how have they put down your merry-makings?"
"Why, Sir, we used to have as good a pit of cocks as any in the country; but now the very men who used to breed the best sort are turned Methodists; and when I asked one the other day if he had any young ones hatched yet, he told me that he had seen his wickedness, and hoped never to be permitted to fall into the sin again; as though God Almighty would be offended at the innocent pastimes of a village."