"I have nothing to say against the Church," said Peter; "all I wish is that it would fling itself a little more open, and that its priests would a little more bestir themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the cross and become a missionary church." "It is too proud for that," said Winifred. "You are much more of a Methodist," said I, "than your husband. But tell me," said I, addressing myself to Peter, "do you not differ from the Church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true member of the Church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions of wandering sectaries." "Oh, the pride of that Church!" said Winifred, half to herself; "wandering sectaries!" "We differ in no points of doctrine," said Peter; "we believe all the Church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and superfluous ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the Church is. We likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in holding free discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker," he added, smiling; "it was those superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of strictly regulating his words and conversation, which drove John Wesley out of the Church, and sent him wandering up and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do." Nothing farther passed for some time; we were now drawing near the hills: at last I said, "You must have met with a great many strange adventures since you took up this course of life?"