About five or six years ago a gentleman entered a station on one of our
local railways, and found the worthy station master (whose original
occupation was that of a small Cumberland farmer,) in a state of great
excitement. He inquired the cause, and received a reply of which
the following is a verbatim report, committed to paper immediately
afterwards. We must premise that Dr. —— was a well known amateur
preacher,—a really benevolent man, who did good in his way, but had
no charity for the opinions of others, and was ever intruding his
views and advice on all who came in contact with him, and believed all
who differed from him destined to perdition. The extreme Calvinistic
doctrine of election and reprobation was a perfect mania with him. On
this occasion he was accompanied by his servant, a man of sleek aspect,
who distributed tracts, etc., for his master.
“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’!
I know hoo you mak’ o’ fwok argies—you reùt t’ Scriptur’ through an’
through to finnd owte ’at suits yé, an’ than ye throw o’ t’ tudder
owerbword. An’ I tell you what, Mr. ——, theear anudder thing ’at I’ve
read in t’ Scriptur’s—I’ve read ’at theear to be a day o’ judgment.
Noo, you chaps say ’at it’s o’ settl’t afoorhan’ what’s to cum on us,
whoa’s to be seàv’t an’ whoa’s to be damned. You say you’re to be
seàv’t an’ I’s to damned. Noo, what’s t’ use of a day o’ judgment if
it’s o’ settl’t afoorhan! Ther’ ’ill be nowte to judge aboot! I’ll tell
yé what, Mr. ——, theear _will_ be a day o’ judgment, an’ beàth you an’
me ’ill ha’e to mak’ oor appearance; an’ I doon’t know bit upon the
whol’ I’ll stan’ full oot t’ better chance o’ t’ two! An’ what’s t’
use, I wad like to know, o’ you ga’n an’ preachin’ i’ that girt leàth
o’ yours of a Sūnday neet till a parshal o’ taggelts, if it’s o’ fix’t
what’s to come on them?’ Says he, ‘Old man, I perceive you are a child
of the devil.’ Says I, ‘Wey, mebbee! Bit I’ll tell you what, Mr. ——, t’
divvel hesn’t two better frin’s in o’ Cummerlan’ ner you an’ that man
o’ yours—an’ which on yé ’s t’ bigger kneàv I’s sure I can’t tak upon
mysel’ to say.’ Just than t’ train com’ up, an’ my gentleman slipes.
Theear was a kind of a country chap stan’in’ ootside, an’ when t’ train
hed gone, he com’ intil t’ stashun hoose, an’ says, says he, ‘Is that
yan o’ thūr Methody chaps?’ ‘No,’ says I, ‘_it’s yan o’ t’ Elect_!’”