I love Quaker ways and Quaker worship. I venerate the Quaker
principles. It does me good for the rest of the day when I meet any
of their people in my path. When I am ruled or disturbed by any
occurrence, the sight or quiet voice of a Quaker acts upon me as a
ventilator, lightening the air, and taking off a load from the
bosom; but I cannot like the Quakers, as Desdemona would say, "to
live with them."--Charles Lamb.
Sheep, leather, and religion were the principal things which George
Fox, the founder of Quakerism, looked after. In boyhood he was a
shepherd, in youth a shoemaker, in manhood an expounder of
Christianity. No one could have had a series of occupations more
comprehensive or practical. The history of the world proves that it
is as important for men to look after their mutton as to "save their
bacon;" that, after all, "there is nothing like leather;" and that
there can be nothing better than religion. 219 years since the
ancestors of those who now follow the "inner light" were termed
Quakers. An English judge--Gervaise Bennet--gave them this name at
Derby, and it is said that he did so because Fox "bid them quake at
the word of the Lord." Theologically, Quakers are a peculiar people;
they believe in neither rites nor ceremonies, in neither prayer-
books nor hymn-books, in neither lesson reading, nor pulpit
homilies, nor sacraments. They are guided by their spiritual
feelings, and have a strong idea that a man has no right to open his
mouth when he has got nothing to say, and that he should avoid
keeping it shut when he has something worth uttering.
This is an excellent plan, and the world would be considerably
benefited if it were universally observed both in religion and
every-day life. Creation is killed and done for daily through an
everlasting torrent of meaningless talk. Compact and quiet as it may
appear, Quakerism has had its schisms and internal feuds. Early in
this century, the White Quakers, who dressed themselves in light
suits when outside and didn't dress at all--stripped themselves
after the manner of Adamites--when within doors, created much furore
in Ireland. About 30 years since, the Hicksite Quakers, who denied
the divinity of Christ and the authority of the Bible, made their
advent; afterwards the Beaconite Quakers put in an appearance; and
then came the Wilburites. Taking all sections into account, there
are at present about 130,000 Quakers in the world, and Preston
contributes just seventy genuine ones to their number. In this
locality they remain unchanged. Today they are neither smaller nor
larger, numerically, than they were thirty years age. In the early
days of local Quakerism, the country rather than the town was its
favourite situation. Newton, Freckleton, Rawcliffe, and Chipping
contained respectively at one time many more Quakers than Preston,
but the old stations were gradually broken up, and Preston
eventually got the majority of their members. A building located
somewhere between Everton-gardens and Spring-gardens was first used
as a meeting-house by them. In 1784 a better place was erected by
the Friends, on a piece of land contiguous to and on the north side
of Friargate; and in 1847 it was rebuilt. Although no one was
officially engaged to map out the place, a good deal of learned
architectural gas was disengaged in its design and construction. It
was made three times larger than its congregational requirements--
the object being to accommodate those who might assemble at the
periodical district meetings. Special attention was also paid to the
loftiness of the building--to the height of its ceiling. One or two
of the amateur designers having a finger in the architectural pie
had serious notions as to the importance of air space. They had
studied the influence of oxygen and hydrogen, of nitrogen and
carbonic acid gas; they had read in scientific books that every
human being requires so many feet of breathing room; and after
deciding upon the number of worshippers which the meeting-house
should accommodate, they agreed to elevate its ceiling in the ratio
of their inspiring and expiring necessities. This was a very good,
salutary, Quakerly idea, and although it may have operated against
the internal appearance of the building it has guaranteed purity of
air to those attending it.
The meeting house is a quiet, secluded, well-made place; but it has
a poor entrance, which you would fancy led to nowhere. A stranger
passing along Friargate on an ordinary day, would never find the
Quakers' meeting house. He might notice at a certain point on the
north-eastern side of that undulating and bustling public
thoroughfare a grey looking gable, having a three-light-window
towards the head, with a large door below, and at its base two
washing pots and a long butter mug, belonging to an industrious
earthenware dealer next door; but he would never fancy that the
disciples of George Fox had a front entrance there to their meeting
house. Yet after passing through a dim broad passage here, and
mounting half a dozen substantial steps, you see a square, neat-
looking, five-windowed building, and this is the Quakers' meeting
house.
Over the passage there is a pretty large room, which is used by the
Friends for Sunday school purposes. The attendance at this school on
ordinary occasions is about 60; at special periods it is
considerably more. During the cotton famine, a few years ago, when
the Quakers were manifesting their proverbial charity--giving money,
food, and clothing--the attendance averaged 160; and if it was known
that they were going to give something extra tomorrow it would reach
that point again. Speaking of the charity of Quakers, it may not be
amiss to state that they keep all their own poor--do not allow any
one belonging their society ever to solicit aid from the parish, or
migrate in the dark hour of poverty to the workhouse. Reverting to
the meeting-house, we may observe that just within its front door
particular provision has been made for umbrellas. There is a long,
low stand, with a channel below it, and this will afford ample
accomodation for about 160 umbrellas. Taking into account the
average attendance at the meeting-house, we have come to the serious
conclusion that if every member carried two umbrellas on wet
Sundays, the said umbrellas could be legitimately provided for. It
is not a pleasant thing for a man to carry a couple of umbrellas,
and we believe it has been found very difficult for any one to put
up and use two at the same time; still it is satisfactory to know
that if ever the Friends of Preston decide upon such a course, there
will be plenty of provision for their umbrellas at the meeting
house.
The inside of the general building is severely plain. There is no
decoration of any description about it, and if the gas pipes running
along the side walls had not a slight Hogarthian line of beauty
touch in their form, everything would look absolutely horizontal and
perpendicular. The seats are plain and strong with open backs. A few
of them have got green cushions running the whole length of the
form. In some small cushions are dotted down here and there for
individual worshippers, who can at any time easily take them up, put
them under their arm, and move from one place to another if they
wish for a change of location. Over the front entrance there is a
gallery, but ordinarily it is empty. There is no pulpit in the
house, and no description of books--neither bibles, nor hymn-books,
nor prayer-books--can be seen anywhere. At the head of the place
there is an elevated strongly-fronted bench, running from one side
to the other, and below it an open form of similar length. The more
matured Quakers and Quakeresses generally gravitate hitherwards. The
males have separate places and so have the females. It is expected
that the former will always direct their steps to the seats on the
right-hand side; that the latter will occupy those on the left; and,
generally, you find them on opposite sides in strict accordance with
this idea. There is nothing to absolutely prevent an enraptured
swain from sitting at the elbow of his love, and basking in the
sunlight of her eyes, nor to stop an elderly man from nestling
peacefully under the wing of his spouse; but it is understood that
they will not do this, and will at least submit to a deed of
separation during hours of worship. In addition to the 70 actual
members of the society there are about 60 persons in Preston who pay
a sort of nominal homage at the shrine of George Fox.
They have two meetings every Sunday, morning and evening, and one
every Thursday--at half-past ten in the morning during winter
months, and at seven in the evening in summer. The average
attendance at each of the Sunday meetings is about 70. The character
of the services is quite unsettled. Throughout Christendom the rule
in religious edifices is to have a preliminary service, and then a
discourse; in Quaker meeting houses there is no such defined course
of action. Sometimes there is a prayer, then another, then an
"exhortation"--Quakers have no sermons; at other times an
exhortation without any prayer; now and then a prayer without any
exhortation; and occasionally they have neither the one nor the
other--they fall into a state of profound silence, keep
astonishingly quiet ever so long, with their eyes shut, and then
walk out. This is called silent meditation. If a pin drops whilst
this is going on you can hear it and tell in which part of the house
it is lying. You can feel the quietude, see the stillness; it is
"tranquil and herd-like--as in the pasture--'forty feeding like
one;'" it is sadly serene, placidly mysterous, like the
"uncommunicating muteness of fishes;" and you wonder how it is kept
up. To those who believe in solemn reticence--in motionless
communion with the "inner light,"--there is nothing curious in this;
it is, in fact, often a source of high spiritual ecstacy; but to an
unitiated spectator the business looks seriously funny, and its
continuance for any length of time causes the mind of such a one to
run in all kinds of dreadfully ludicrous grooves.
Quakers don't believe in singing, and have no faith in sacred music
of any kind. Neither the harp, nor the sackbut, nor the psaltery,
nor the dulcimer will they have; neither organs nor bass fiddles
will they countenance; neither vocalists nor instrumentalists, nor
tune forks of any size or weight, will they patronise. They permit
one another to enter and remain in their meeting house with the hat
on or off, and with the hands either in the pockets or out of them.
They have no regular ministers, and allow either men or women to
speak. None, except Quakers and Ranters--the two most extreme
sections of the religious community, so far as quietude and noise
are concerned--permit this; and it is a good thing for the world
that the system is not extended beyond their circles. If women were
allowed to speak at some places of worship they would all be talking
at once--all be growing eloquent, voluble, and strong minded in two
minutes--and an articulative mystification, much more chaotic than
that which once took place at Babel, would ensue. At the meeting
house in Friargate it is taken for granted that on Sundays the
morning service lasts for an hour and a half, and the evening one an
hour and a quarter; but practically the time is regulated by the
feelings of the worshippers--they come and go as they are "moved,"
and that is a liberal sort of measure harmonising well with human
nature and its varied requirements.
We have paid more than one visit to this meeting house. The other
Sunday evening we were there. The congregation at that time numbered
just thirty-two--fifteen men, twelve women, two boys, and three
girls. This was rather a small assemblage for a place which will
hold between 500 and 600 persons; but it might be gratifying to the
shades of its chemistry-loving, cubic-feet-of-air-admiring
designers, for they would at any rate have the lively satisfaction
of knowing that none of the famous 32 would suffer through want of
breathing space. The members of the congregation came in at various
times; four were there at half-past six; the remainder had got
safely seated, in every instance, by ten minutes to seven. All the
males made their appearance with their hats on; some pulled them off
the moment they got seated; two or three seemed to get their
convictions gradually intensified on the subject, and in about ten
minutes came to the conclusion that they could do without their
hats; some who had cast aside their castors at an early period
reinstated them; whilst odd ones kept on their head coverings during
the entire meeting. For 45 minutes, not the least effort in any
lingual direction was made; no one said a word for three-quarters of
an hour. There was a good deal of stirring on the forms, and
creaking sounds were periodically heard; the whole indicating that
the sitting posture had become uneasy, and that the paint, through
warmth, had got tenacious. There was, however, neither talking nor
whispering indulged in. The elderly Quakers, with their broad-
brimmed, substantial hats, and white neckcloths, kept their eyes
closed for a season, then opened them and looked ahead pensively,
then shut them serenely again,--just
As men of inward light are wont
To turn their optics to upon 't.
The Quakeresses on the other side followed a similar programme. We
saw only three of them in the olden dress--only three with narrow-
barrelled high crowned bonnets, made of brown silk and garnished
with white silk strings. The younger branches of Quakerdom seemed
more conventional than their ancestors in general dress. There was a
slight dash of antiquity in their style; but their hats and bonnets,
their coats and shawls had evidently been made for ornament as well
as use. Originally Quakers were peculiarly stringent in respect to
the plainness of their clothes; what they wore was always good,
always made out of something which could not be beaten for its
excellence of quality; but it was always simple, always out of the
line of shoddy and bespanglement. But Quakerism is neither
immaculate nor invincible; time is changing its simplicity, its
quaint old fashioned solidity of dress; "civilisation" is quietly
eating away its rigidity; and the day is coming when Quakerism will
don the same suit as the rest of the world. For the first ten
minutes we were in the chapel silence was not to us so much of a
singularity; but when the Town Hall clock struck seven, when the
machinery in the dim steeple of Trinity Church, which adjoins, gave
a slow confirmation of it, and when all the little clocks in the
neighbouring houses--for you could hear them on account of the
general silence--chirped out sharply the same thing, one began to
feel dubious and mystified. But the Quakers took all quietly, and
even the children present sat still. The chime of another hour
quarter came in due order; still there was no sign of action. Two
minutes afterwards, an elderly gentleman, whose eyes had been kept
close during the greater part of the time which had passed, suddenly
leaned forward; the "congregation" followed his example in a crack,
and for ten minutes they prayed, the elderly gentleman leading the
way in a rather high-keyed voice, which he singularly modulated. But
there was not much of "the old Foxian orgasm" manifested by him; he
was serene, did not shake, was not agonised. He finished as he began
without any warning; the general assemblage was seated in a second;
and for seven minutes there was another reign of taciturnity. When
that time had elapsed the same elderly party gave an exhortation,
simple in language, kindly in tone, and free from both bewilderment
and fierceness. Mr. Jesper--the person to whom we have been
alluding--is one of the principal speakers at this meeting house.
His colleague in talking is Mrs. Abbatt, a very worthy lady, who has
often the afflatus upon her, and who can hold forth with a good deal
of earnestness and perspicuity. Although Mr. Jesper and Mrs. Abbatt
do the greatest portion of the talking and praying, others break
through the ring fence of Quakerdom's silence periodically. One
little gentleman has often small outbursts; but he is not very
exhilerating. All the "members" attending the meeting house are very
decorous, respectable, middle-class people--substantial well-pursed
folk, who can afford to be independent, and take life easily--men
and women who dislike shoddy and cant as much as they condemn
spangles and lackered gentility.
The aggregate of the people connected with the place are calm,
steady-going beings. We have a large respect for Quakerism. Its
professors are made of strong, enduring, practical metal. They never
neglect business for religion, nor religion for business. They
believe in paying their way and in being paid; in moral rectitude
and yard wands not the millionth part of an inch too long; in yea
and nay; in good trade, good purses, good clothes, and good
language; in clear-headed, cool calculations; in cash, discounts,
sobriety, and clean shirts; in calmness and close bargain driving;
in getting as much as they can, in sticking to it a long while, and
yet in behaving well to the poor. The influence of the creed they
profess has made their uprightness and humanity proverbial. Their
home influence has been powerful; their views in the outer world are
becoming more fully realised every day. Nations have smiled
contemptuously at them as they have gone forth on lonely missions of
freedom and peace; but the inner beatings of the world's great heart
today are in favour of liberty of thought and quietness. The Quakers
have been amongst life's pioneers in the long, hard battle for human
freedom and human peace. Quakerism may be a quaint, hat-loving,
silence-revering concern in its meeting-houses; its Uriahs, and
Abimelechs, and Deborahs, and Abigails, may look curious creatures
in their collarless coats and long drawn bonnets; but they belong to
a race of men and women who have kept the lamp of freedom burning;
who have set a higher price upon conscience than gold; who have
struggled to make everything free--the body, the religion, the bread
and butter, and the trade of the nations; who are now by their
doctrines slowly lifting humanity out of the red track of war, and
teaching it how grand a triumph can be made all the world over by
absolute Peace and Honesty.