LETTER I.--ON THE QUAKERS


I was of opinion that the doctrine and history of so extraordinary a
people were worthy the attention of the curious. To acquaint myself with
them I made a visit to one of the most eminent Quakers in England, who,
after having traded thirty years, had the wisdom to prescribe limits to
his fortune and to his desires, and was settled in a little solitude not
far from London. Being come into it, I perceived a small but regularly
built house, vastly neat, but without the least pomp of furniture. The
Quaker who owned it was a hale, ruddy-complexioned old man, who had never
been afflicted with sickness because he had always been insensible to
passions, and a perfect stranger to intemperance. I never in my life saw
a more noble or a more engaging aspect than his. He was dressed like
those of his persuasion, in a plain coat without pleats in the sides, or
buttons on the pockets and sleeves; and had on a beaver, the brims of
which were horizontal like those of our clergy. He did not uncover
himself when I appeared, and advanced towards me without once stooping
his body; but there appeared more politeness in the open, humane air of
his countenance, than in the custom of drawing one leg behind the other,
and taking that from the head which is made to cover it. "Friend," says
he to me, "I perceive thou art a stranger, but if I can do anything for
thee, only tell me." "Sir," said I to him, bending forwards and
advancing, as is usual with us, one leg towards him, "I flatter myself
that my just curiosity will not give you the least offence, and that
you'll do me the honour to inform me of the particulars of your
religion." "The people of thy country," replied the Quaker, "are too
full of their bows and compliments, but I never yet met with one of them
who had so much curiosity as thyself. Come in, and let us first dine
together." I still continued to make some very unseasonable ceremonies,