[CHAPTER II.]
THE BLASPHEMER.
Now, my Friend, I am not sanguine enough to expect a patient hearing from you whilst I revile that idol which you have set up with sound of sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and other kinds of (un)musical instruments.
I am perfectly aware that I shall be cast, by you, into the fiery furnace of criticism; I can imagine, in anticipation, the vials of your wrath poured out on my unlucky head; and I don’t expect to escape like our friends Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
I am not composed of those materials of which martyrs are made.
I know full well that I shall writhe horribly under the taunt of “ungrammatical twaddle,” for how can I hope to escape an occasional slip of the pen, of which even the heaven-born “Covenanted Civilian” is not always innocent.
I shall wriggle under the analysis of my “illogical reasoning,” my “exploded theories,” my “faulty statistics.”
I shall squirm under the exposure of my “ignorance of facts,” my “want of knowledge of political economy,” my “antiquated notions.”
That I shall suffer severely for my blasphemy I know right well; but I cannot help it. Strike!! but hear me.