of the people, and thence becoming the vital principle of people, Church and State, constitutes the peculiarity of Quakerism, thoroughly permeating social life.
New it is not; neither is it sufficient in the one-sided view in which Quakers comprehend it. What, if that inner light illumines a dark desire in the human soul? if the inward voice finds itself opposed by a debased or evil impulse of the heart? The Quakers have forgotten, or have not regarded the old saying, that “there is a drop of black blood in every man's heart.” And in order to make this pure, neither light nor admonishing voice avails anything, but only another drop of blood of divine power and purity. The Quakers may, in the mysteries of Quaker life, find proofs enough of the existence of this black drop, even among the children of the inner light; perhaps no bloody proofs, no burning spot, but dark histories of gloomy, silent, bitter quarrels among “the Friends;” secret oppression, secret, long misery, irreconcilable misunderstandings, and all those dark fiends which, when I see them embittering family or social life, remind me of the old northern hell with its dark poisonous rivers, cruel witchcraft, rainy clouds, venomous serpents, and so on. But Quakerism, in its first arisings, saw nothing of this, and perhaps possessed nothing of it. Enthusiasm for a beautiful idea changes the soul to a spring morning, with a clear heaven, and the purest air, full of the song of birds, amid flowery meadows. Later in the day the clouds arise. Quakerism in its earliest morning-freshness was itself a pure unfathomed river, derived from pure fountains, and which baptised the world anew with the purifying waters of truth, and faith in the voice and power of truth. That was and that is its good work in mankind. And its awakening cry has penetrated with purifying power into millions of souls. Waldo Emerson, in his belief, in the power of this inner light and truth, is a Quaker.
