cross the seas, merely because murderers clothed in scarlet,
and wearing caps two foot high, enlist citizens by a noise made with two
little sticks on an ass's skin extended. And when, after a victory is
gained, the whole city of London is illuminated; when the sky is in a
blaze with fireworks, and a noise is heard in the air, of thanksgivings,
of bells, of organs, and of the cannon, we groan in silence, and are
deeply affected with sadness of spirit and brokenness of heart, for the
sad havoc which is the occasion of those public rejoicings."

LETTER II.--ON THE QUAKERS

Such was the substance of the conversation I had with this very singular
person; but I was greatly surprised to see him come the Sunday following
and take me with him to the Quakers' meeting. There are several of these
in London, but that which he carried me to stands near the famous pillar
called The Monument. The brethren were already assembled at my entering
it with my guide. There might be about four hundred men and three
hundred women in the meeting. The women hid their faces behind their
fans, and the men were covered with their broad-brimmed hats. All were
seated, and the silence was universal. I passed through them, but did
not perceive so much as one lift up his eyes to look at me. This silence
lasted a quarter of an hour, when at last one of them rose up, took off
his hat, and, after making a variety of wry faces and groaning in a most
lamentable manner, he, partly from his nose and partly from his mouth,
threw out a strange, confused jumble of words (borrowed, as he imagined,
from the Gospel) which neither himself nor any of his hearers understood.
When this distorter had ended his beautiful soliloquy, and that the
stupid, but greatly edified, congregation were separated, I asked my
friend how it was possible for the judicious part of their assembly to
suffer such a babbling? "We are obliged," says he, "to suffer it,
because no one knows when a man rises up to hold forth whether he will be
moved by the Spirit or by folly. In this doubt and uncertainty we listen
patiently to everyone; we even allow our women to hold forth. Two or
three of these are often inspired at one and the same time, and it is
then that a most charming noise is heard in the Lord's house." "You
have, then, no priests?" say I to him. "No, no, friend," replies the
Quaker, "to our great happiness." Then opening one of the Friends'
books, as he called it, h