unes
flow from long-reigning intolerance and the storms which, gathering
first in the Scotch and English atmosphere, never failed to burst over
our heads.

"We are too wise to quarrel about religion. The Roman Catholics sing
their psalms in Latin, with a few inflections of the voice. Our
Protestant neighbors sing the same psalms in English, on a larger scale
of musical notes. We never quarrel with our honest and worthy neighbors,
the Quakers, for not singing at all; nor shall we ever quarrel with Mr.
Wesley for raising his voice to heaven, and warbling forth his canticles
on whatever tune he pleases, whether it be the tune of 'Guardian Angels'
or 'Langolee.' We love social harmony, and in civil music hate
discordance. Thus, when we go to the shambles, we never inquire into the
butcher's religion, but into the quality of his meat. We care not
whether the ox was fed in the Pope's territories, or on the mountains of
Scotland, provided the joint be good; for though there be many heresies
in old books, we discover neither heresy nor superstition in beef or
claret. We divide them cheerfully with one another; and though of
different religions, we sit over the bowl with as much cordiality as if
we were at a love-feast."

He concludes with the following remarkable paragraph, in which humor,
eloquence, and philanthropy, are happily blended--a paragraph worthy the
Honorary Chaplain of the Irish Brigade;--

"We have obtained of late the privilege of planting tobacco in Ireland,
and tobacconists want paper. Let Mr. Wesley then come with me, as the
curate and barber went to shave and bless the library of Don Quixote.
All the old books, old canons, sermons, and so forth, tending to kindle
feuds, or promote rancor, let us fling out at the windows. Society will
lose nothing: the tobacconists will benefit by the spoils of antiquity.
And if, upon mature deliberation we decree that Mr. Wesley's 'Journal,'
and his apology for the Association's 'Appeal,' should share the same
fate with the old buckrams, we will procure them a gentle fall. After
having rocked ourselves in the large and hospitable cradle of the _Free
Press_, where the peer and the commoner, the priest and the alderman,
the friar and the swaddler,[2] can stretch themselves at full length,
provided they be not too churlish, let us laugh at those who breed
useless quarrels, and set to the world the bright example of toleration
and benevolence. A peaceable life and happy death