Away with our stares and grimaces.

The New Zealander's tattooing is not a prodigy; nor the Chinaman's ways an enigma.

No custom is strange; no creed is absurd; no foe, but who will in the end prove a friend.

In heaven, at last, our good, old, white-haired father Adam will greet all alike, and sociality forever prevail.

Christian shall join hands between Gentile and Jew; grim Dante forget his Infernos, and shake sides with fat Rabelais; and monk Luther, over a flagon of old nectar, talk over old times with Pope Leo.