hereafter to explain myself better; in the meanwhile, let the
following example serve as my first justification.

Let us suppose you and I to be travelling; we observe that in this
house, to the right, lives a Catholic, who prays to God as he has
been taught, and believes in transubstantiation; he works and raises
wheat, he has a large family of children, all hale and robust; his
belief, his prayers offend nobody. About one mile farther on the
same road, his next neighbour may be a good honest plodding German
Lutheran, who addresses himself to the same God, the God of all,
agreeably to the modes he has been educated in, and believes in
consubstantiation; by so doing he scandalises nobody; he also works
in his fields, embellishes the earth, clears swamps, etc. What has
the world to do with his Lutheran principles? He persecutes nobody,
and nobody persecutes him, he visits his neighbours, and his
neighbours visit him. Next to him lives a seceder, the most
enthusiastic of all sectaries; his zeal is hot and fiery, but
separated as he is from others of the same complexion, he has no
congregation of his own to resort to, where he might cabal and
mingle religious pride with worldly obstinacy. He likewise raises
good crops, his house is handsomely painted, his orchard is one of
the fairest in the neighbourhood. How does it concern the welfare of
the country, or of the province at large, what this man's religious
sentiments are, or really whether he has any at all? He is a good
farmer, he is a sober, peaceable, good citizen: William Penn himself
would not wish for more. This is the visible character, the
invisible one is only guessed at, and is nobody's business. Next
again lives a Low Dutchman, who implicitly believes the rules laid
down by the synod of Dort. He conceives no other idea of a clergyman
than that of an hired man; if he does his work well he will pay him