The agitations of the war which had so recently come to an end had
hardly touched this quiet and peaceful community. They had stoutly
"borne their testimony," and faced the question where it could not
be evaded; and although the dashing Philadelphia militia had been
stationed at Camp Bloomfield, within four miles of them, the
previous year, these good people simply ignored the fact. If their
sons ever listened to the trumpets at a distance, or stole nearer
to have a peep at the uniforms, no report of what they had seen or
heard was likely to be made at home. Peace brought to them a
relief, like the awakening from an uncomfortable dream: their lives
at once reverted to the calm which they had breathed for thirty
years preceding the national disturbance. In their ways they had
not materially changed for a hundred years. The surplus produce of
their farms more than sufficed for the very few needs which those
farms did not supply, and they seldom touched the world outside of
their sect except in matters of business. They were satisfied with
themselves and with their lot; they lived to a ripe and beautiful
age, rarely "borrowed trouble," and were patient to endure that
which came in the fixed course of things.
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