ire-engine_." "I see," says he, "you have improv'd by
being so long in the Assembly; your equivocal project would be just a
match for their wheat or _other grain_."

These embarrassments that the Quakers suffer'd from having establish'd
and published it as one of their principles that no kind of war was
lawful, and which, being once published, they could not afterwards,
however they might change their minds, easily get rid of, reminds me
of what I think a more prudent conduct in another sect among us, that
of the Dunkers. I was acquainted with one of its founders, Michael
Welfare, soon after it appear'd. He complain'd to me that they were
grievously calumniated by the zealots of other persuasions, and
charg'd with abominable principles and practices to which they were
utter strangers. I told him this had always been the case with new
sects, and that, to put a stop to such abuse, I imagin'd it might be
well to publish the articles of their belief, and the rules of their
discipline. He said that it had been propos'd among them, but not
agreed to, for this reason: "When we were first drawn together as a
society," says he, "it had pleased God to enlighten our minds so far
as to see that some doctrines, which we once esteemed truths, were
errors; and that others, which we had esteemed errors, were real
truths. From time to time He has been pleased to afford us farther
light, and our principles have been improving, and our errors
diminishing. Now we are not sure that we are arrived at the end of
this progression, and at the perfection of spiritual or theological
knowledge; and we fear that, if we should once print our confession of
faith, we should feel ourselves as if bound and confin'd by it, and
perhaps be unwilling to receive further improvement, and our
successors still more so, as conceiving what we their elders and
founders had done, to be something sacred, never to be departed from."

This modesty in a sect is perhaps a singular instance in the history
of mankind, every other sect supposing itself in possession of all
truth, and that those who differ are so far in the wrong; like a man
traveling in foggy weather, those at some distance before him on the
road he sees wrapped up in the fog, as well as those behind him, and
also the people in the fields on each side, but near him all appears
clear, tho' in truth he is as much in the fog as any of them. To avoid
this kind of embarrassment, the Quakers have of late years