“I don’t mean to say that the aristocracy, in their families, and the familiar circles of their kith and kin, are not as agreeable and as full of heart and pleasantness as other people. I am now only speaking of them in their general society, as you were speaking of the general society of the Friends; and, in fact, it may seem a strange fancy to you, but I have always seen a great similarity in the manners of the aristocracy and those of Friends. There is the same quiet, unexcited manner—a repose that expresses no surprise at anything. The women of the Society, in particular, are vastly, in their manners and deportment, like ladies of rank, though so different in costume. Both one and the other class can live in society on the smallest possible quantum of ideas imaginable. Look at the fair, smooth, unimpassioned faces of the Quaker ladies! On those placid countenances you trace no vestiges of the storms of passion or the cravings of ambition. Perhaps the Quaker ladies possess that tranquillity of tone and temper which their aristocratic sisters wear so admirably. Certainly I know no class of people who approach so closely to the aristocratic caste, as the Friends. But, as to dulness, give me the Quakers rather than the titled great, for they do indulge in topics of the highest importance. On the means of putting down war, slavery, priestcraft, and political injustice; and on the means of promoting freedom of conscience and thought, peace, and knowledge, they will at any time grow eloquent.” “Upon my word, dear father,” said Letty, “I never knew you were so much of a Quaker before!” “I am no Quaker, little quiz,” said Leonard Woodburn, “but I like them as honest and practical people. Do you know that William Fairfax, of whom I was speaking a little while ago, saved me seventy pounds lately? I was passing along the street in which his shop is, when out he came, bare-headed. ‘Leonard Woodburn,’ he said, ‘hast thou any of Dakeyne’s notes?’ I replied, that it was very probable, as I had lately received a large payment for corn from Derbyshire. This Dakeyne was a flax-spinner, of Darley Dale, and on his bank-notes he had an engraving of a flax-dressing machine, and the motto, ‘Strike, Dakeyne! the devil is in the flax.’ ‘I never liked that man,’ said Mr. Fairfax. ‘If the devil was in his flax, he was not the man for me. But if thou hast any of his notes, get rid of them, for he won’t stand a fortnight. He has many paper-kites out, and they are beginning to fall.’ “On returning home, I looked over my money, and found seventy of his one-pound notes. I paid them into Mr. Heritage’s bank, who immediately, by his agent, paid them in to Dakeyne, so that we might not be the means of defrauding any other innocent person.” “Ah! now I see,” said Letty, archly, “why you praise the Friends so.” “Hussy!” said Mr. Woodburn, “that’s the way you treat your father’s motives, eh!” And he shook his finger in playful menace at her.