onregenerate, or happen it's human natur'. I should na wonder if it's 'pull devil, pull baker,' wi' th' best o' foak,—foak as is na prize foo's, loike th' owd parson. Ses I to him, 'Not bein' regenerate, I dunnot believe i' so much grace afore meat. I say, lets ha' th' meat first, an' th' grace arterward.' "
These remarks upon matters theological were applauded enthusiastically by Craddock's audience. "Owd Sammy," had finished his say, however, and believing that having temporarily exhausted his views upon any subject, it was well to let the field lie fallow, he did not begin again. He turned his attention from his audience to his pipe, and the intimate friends who sat near him.
"What art tha goin' to do, owd lad?" asked one.
"Try fur a seat i' Parlyment," was the answer, "or pack my bits o' duds i' a wheelbarrow, an' set th' owd lass on 'em an' tak' th' nighest road to th' Union. I mun do summat fur a bein'."
"That's true enow. We're main sorry fur thee, Sammy. Tak' another mug o' sixpenny to keep up thy sperrets. Theers nowt as cheers a mon loike a sup o' th' reet soart."
"I shanna get much on it if I go to th' poor-house," remarked Sammy, filling his beer mug. "Skilly an' water-gruel dunnot fly to a mon's head, I'll warrant. Aye! I wonder how th' owd lass'll do wi'out her drop o' tea, an' how she'll stand bein' buried by th' parish? That'll be worse than owt else. She'd set her moind on ridin' to th' grave-vard i' th' shiniest hearse as could be getten, an' wi' aw th' black 'feathers i' th' undertaker's shop wavin' on th' roof. Th' owd wench wur quoite set i' her notion o' bein' a bit fashynable at th' last. I believe hoo'd ha' enjoyed th' ride in a quiet way. Eh, dear! I'm feart she'll nivver be able to stand th' thowt o' bein' put under
