Mr. Ryde was a
deal thought on at a distance, I believe, and he wrote books, but as for
math'matics and the natur o' things, he was as ignorant as a woman. He
was very knowing about doctrines, and used to call 'em the bulwarks of
the Reformation; but I've always mistrusted that sort o' learning as
leaves folks foolish and unreasonable about business. Now Mester Irwine
was as different as could be: as quick!--he understood what you meant in
a minute, and he knew all about building, and could see when you'd made
a good job. And he behaved as much like a gentleman to the farmers, and
th' old women, and the labourers, as he did to the gentry. You never saw
HIM interfering and scolding, and trying to play th' emperor. Ah, he was
a fine man as ever you set eyes on; and so kind to's mother and sisters.
That poor sickly Miss Anne--he seemed to think more of her than of
anybody else in the world. There wasn't a soul in the parish had a word
to say against him; and his servants stayed with him till they were so
old and pottering, he had to hire other folks to do their work."
"Well," I said, "that was an excellent way of preaching in the weekdays;
but I daresay, if your old friend Mr. Irwine were to come to life again,
and get into the pulpit next Sunday, you would be rather ashamed that he
didn't preach better after all your praise of him.
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