to London, I went to visit George Fox the younger, who with another
Friend was then a prisoner in a messenger's hands. I had never seen
him, nor he me before; yet this paper lying on the table before him,
he, pointing to it, asked me if I was the person that wrote it. I
told him I was. "It's much," said the other Friend, "that they bear
it." "It is," replied he, "their portion, and they must bear it."

While I was then in London I went to a little meeting of Friends
which was then held in the house of one Humphrey Bache, a goldsmith,
at the sign of the Snail, in Tower Street. It was then a very
troublesome time, not from the government, but from the rabble of
boys and rude people, who upon the turn of the time (at the return
of the King) took liberty to be very abusive.

When the meeting ended, a pretty number of these unruly folk were
got together at the door, ready to receive the Friends as they came
forth, not only with evil words, but with blows; which I saw they
bestowed freely on some of them that were gone out before me, and
expected I should have my share of when I came amongst them. But,
quite contrary to my expectation, when I came out, they said one to
another, "Let him alone; don't meddle with him; he is no Quaker,
I'll warrant you."

This struck me, and was worse to me than if they had laid their
fists on me, as they did on others. I was troubled to think what
the matter was, or what these rude people saw in me that made them
not take me for a Quaker. And upon a close examination of myself,
with respect to my habit and deportment, I could not find anything
to place it on, but that I had then on my head a large montero-cap
of black velvet, the skirt of which being turned up in folds,