One day, when he was walking with a lawyer in Dublin, they passed the

Lord Lieutenant's castle. He expressed a wish to see the Council

Chamber, but was informed that it was not open to strangers. "I have a

mind to go and try," said he to his companion. "Wilt thou go with me?"

"No indeed," he replied; "and I would advise you not to go."

He marched in, however, with his broad beaver on, and found the Lord

Lieutenant surrounded by a number of gentleman. "I am an American," said

he. "I have heard a great deal about the Lord Lieutenant's castle, and

if it will give no offence, I should like very much to see it."

His lordship seemed surprised by this unceremonious introduction, but he

smiled, and said to a servant, "Show this American whatever he wishes to

see."

He was conducted into various apartments, where he saw pictures,

statues, ancient armor, antique coins, and many other curious articles.

At parting, the master of the mansion was extremely polite, and gave him

much interesting information on a variety of topics. When he rejoined

his companion, who had agreed to wait for him at some appointed place,

he was met with the inquiry, "Well, what luck?"

"O, the best luck in the world," he replied, "I was treated with great

politeness."

"Well certainly, Mr. Hopper, you are an extraordinary man," responded

the lawyer. "I wouldn't have ventured to try such an experiment."

At the expiration of four months, having completed the business which

rendered his presence in Ireland necessary, he made a short visit to

England, on his way home. There also his hat was objected to on several

occasions. While in Bristol, he asked permission to look at the interior

of the Cathedral. He had been walking about some little time, when a

rough-looking man said to him, in a very surly tone, "Take off your hat,

sir!"

He replied very courteously, "I have asked permission to enter here to

gratify my curiosity as a stranger. I hope it is no offence."

"Take off your hat!" rejoined the rude man. "If you don't, I'll take it

off for you."

Friend Hopper leaned on his cane, looked him full in the face, and

answered very coolly, "If thou dost, I hope thou wilt send it to my

lodgings; for I shall have need of it this afternoon. I lodge at No. 35,

Lower Crescent, Clifton." The place designated was about a mile from the

Cathedral. The man stared at him, as if puzzled to decide whether he

were talking to an insane person, or not. When the imperturbable Quaker

had seen all he cared to see, he deliberately walked away.

At Westminster Abbey he paid the customary fee of two shillings sixpence

for admission. The door-keeper followed him, saying, "You must uncover

yourself, sir."

"Uncover myself!" exclaimed the Friend, with an affectation of ignorant

simplicity. "What dost thou mean? Must I take off my coat?"

"Your coat!" responded the man, smiling. "No indeed. I mean your hat."

"And what should I take off my hat for?" he inquired.

"Because you are in a church, sir," answered the door-keeper.

"I see no church here," rejoined the Quaker. "Perhaps thou meanest the

house where the church assembles. I suppose thou art aware that it is

the _people_, not the _building_, that constitutes a church?"

The idea seemed new to the man, but he merely repeated, "You must take

off your hat, sir."

But the Friend again inquired, "What for? On account of these images?

Thou knowest Scripture commands us not to worship graven images."

The man persisted in saying that no person could be permitted to pass

through the church without uncovering his head. "Well friend," rejoined

Isaac, "I have some conscientious scruples on that subject; so give me

back my money, and I will go out."

The reverential habits of the door-keeper were not quite strong enough

to compel him to that sacrifice; and he walked away, without saying

anything more on the subject.

When Friend Hopper visited the House of Lords, he asked the

sergeant-at-arms if he might sit upon the throne. He replied, "No, sir.

No one but his majesty sits there."

"Wherein does his majesty differ from other men?" inquired he. "If his

head were cut off, wouldn't he die?"

"Certainly he would," replied the officer.

"So would an American," rejoined Friend Hopper. As he spoke, he stepped

up to the gilded railing that surrounded the throne, and tried to open

the gate. The officer told him it was locked. "Well won't the same key

that locked it unlock it?" inquired he. "Is this the key hanging here?"

Being informed that it was, he took it down and unlocked the gate. He

removed the satin covering from the throne, carefully dusted the railing

with his handkerchief, before he hung the satin over it, and then seated

himself in the royal chair. "Well," said he, "do I look anything like

his majesty?"

The man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, "Why, sir, you

certainly fill the throne very respectably."

There were several noblemen in the room, who seemed to be extremely

amused by these unusual proceedings.

At a place called Jordans, about twenty-two miles from London, he

visited the grave of William Penn.

In his journal, he says: "The ground is surrounded by a neat hedge, and

is kept in good order. I picked some grass and moss from the graves of

William Penn, Thomas Ellwood, and Isaac Pennington; and some ivy and

holly from the hedge; which I intend to take with me to America, as a

memorial of my visit. I entered the meeting-house, and sat on the

benches which had been occupied by George Fox, William Penn, and George

Whitehead, in years long since passed away. It brought those old

Friends so distinctly before the view of my mind, that my heart was

ready to exclaim, 'Surely this is no other than the house of God, and

this is the gate of heaven.' I cannot describe my feelings. The manly

and majestic features of George Fox, and the mournful yet benevolent

countenance of Isaac Pennington, seemed to rise before me. But this is

human weakness. Those men bore the burthen and heat of their own day;

they faithfully used the talents committed to their trust; and I doubt

not they are now reaping the reward given to faithful servants. It is

permitted us to love their memories, but not to idolize them. They could

deliver neither son or daughter by their righteousness; but only their

own souls."

"In the great city of London everything tended to satisfy me that the

state of our religious Society is generally very low. A light was once

kindled there, that illuminated distant lands. As I walked the streets,

I remembered the labors, the sufferings, and the final triumph of those

illustrious sons of the morning, George Fox, George Whitehead, William

Penn, and a host of others; men who loved not their lives in comparison

with the holy cause of truth and righteousness, in which they were

called to labor. These worthies have been succeeded by a generation, who

seem disposed to garnish the sepulchres of their fathers, and live upon

the fruit of their labors, without submitting to the power of that

Cross, which made them what they were. There appears to me to be much

formality and dryness among them; though there are a few who mourn,

almost without hope, over the desolation that has been made by the

world, the flesh, and the devil."

There were many poor emigrants on board the merchant ship, in which

Friend Hopper returned home. He soon established friendly communication

with them, and entered with sympathy into all their troubles. He made

frequent visits to the steerage during the long voyage, and always had

something comforting and cheering to say to the poor souls. There was a

clergyman on board, who also wished to benefit them, but he approached

them in an official way, to which they did not so readily respond. One

day, when he invited the emigrants to join him in prayer, an old Irish

woman replied, "I'd rather play a game o' cards, than hear you prache and

pray." She pointed to Friend Hopper, and added, "_He_ comes and stays

among us, and always spakes a word o' comfort, and does us some good.

But _you_ come and prache and pray, and then you are gone. One look from

that Quaker gintleman is worth all the praching and praying that be in

you."

The vessel encountered a dense fog, and ran on a sand bank as they

approached the Jersey shore. A tremendous sea was rolling, and dashed

against the ship with such force, that she seemed every moment in

danger of being shattered into fragments. If there had been a violent

gale of wind, all must have been inevitably lost. The passengers were

generally in a state of extreme terror. Screams and groans were heard in

every direction. But Friend Hopper's mind was preserved in a state of

great equanimity. He entreated the people to be quiet, and try to keep

possession of their faculties, that they might be ready to do whatever

was best, in case of emergency. Seeing him so calm, they gathered

closely round him, as if they thought he had some power to save them.

There was a naval officer on board, whose frenzied state of feeling

vented itself in blasphemous language. Friend Hopper, who was always

disturbed by irreverent use of the name of Deity, was peculiarly shocked

by it under these solemn circumstances. He walked up to the officer, put

his hand on his shoulder, and looking him in the face, said, "From what

I have heard of thy military exploits, I supposed thou wert a brave man;

but here thou art pouring forth blasphemies, to keep up the appearance

of courage, while thy pale face and quivering lips show that thou art in

mortal fear. I am ashamed of thee. If thou hast no reverence for Deity

thyself, thou shouldst show some regard for the feelings of those who

have." The officer ceased swearing, and treated his adviser with marked

respect. A friendship was formed between them, which continued as long

as the captain lived.

The clergyman on board afterward said to Friend Hopper, "If any other

person had talked to him in that manner, he would have knocked him

down."

In about two hours, the vessel floated off the sandbar and went safely

into the harbor of New-York. At the custom-house, the clergyman was in

some perplexity about a large quantity of books he had brought with him,

on which it was proposed to charge high duties. "Perhaps I can get them

through for thee," said Friend Hopper. "I will try." He went up to the

officer, and said, "Isn't it a rule of the custom-house not to charge a

man for the tools of his trade?" He replied that it was. "Then thou art

bound to let this priest's books pass free," rejoined the Friend.

"Preaching is the trade he gets his living by; and these books are the

tools he must use." The clergyman being aware of Quaker views with

regard to a paid ministry, seemed doubtful whether to be pleased or not,

with _such_ a mode of helping him out of difficulty. However, he took

the joke as good naturedly as it was offered, and the books passed free,

on the assurance that they were all for his own library.

Friend Hopper's bookstore in New-York was a place of great resort for

members of his own sect. His animated style of conversation, his

thousand and one anecdotes of runaway slaves, his descriptions of keen

encounters with the "Orthodox," in the process of separation, attracted

many listeners. His intelligence and well-known conscientiousness

commanded respect, and he was held in high estimation by his own branch

of the Society, though the opposite party naturally entertained a less

favorable opinion of the "Hicksite" champion. Such a character as he was

must necessarily always be a man of mark, with warm friends and bitter

enemies.

His resemblance to Bonaparte attracted attention in New-York, as it had

done in Philadelphia. Not long after he removed to that city, there was

a dramatic representation at the Park Theatre, in which Placide

personated the French Emperor. While this play was attracting public

attention, the manager happened to meet Friend Hopper in the street. As

soon as he saw him, he exclaimed, "Here is Napoleon himself come back

again!" He remarked to some of his acquaintance that he would gladly

give that Quaker gentleman one hundred dollars a night, if he would

consent to appear on the stage in the costume of Bonaparte.

About this period northern hostility to slavery took a new form, more

bold and uncompromising than the old Abolition Societies. It demanded

the immediate and unconditional emancipation of every slave, in a voice

which has not yet been silenced, and never will be, while the

oppressive system continues to disgrace our country. Of course, Friend

Hopper could not otherwise than sympathize with any movement for the

abolition of slavery, based on pacific principles. Pictures and

pamphlets, published by the Anti-Slavery Society were offered for sale

in his book-store. During the popular excitement on this subject, in

1834, he was told that his store was about to be attacked by an

infuriated rabble, and he had better remove all such publications from

the window. "Dost thou think I am such a coward as to forsake my

principles, or conceal them, at the bidding of a mob?" said he.

Presently, another messenger came to announce that the mob were already

in progress, at the distance of a few streets. He was earnestly advised

at least to put up the shutters, that their attention might not be

attracted by the pictures. "I shall do no such thing," he replied. The

excited throng soon came pouring down the street, with loud and

discordant yells. Friend Hopper walked out and stood on the steps. The

mob stopped in front of his store. He looked calmly and firmly at them,

and they looked irresolutely at him, like a wild animal spell-bound by

the fixed gaze of a human eye. After a brief pause, they renewed their

yells, and some of their leaders called out, "Go on, to Rose-street!"

They obeyed these orders, and in the absent of Lewis Tappan, a

well-known abolitionist, they burst open his house, and destroyed his

furniture.

In 1835, Judge Chinn, of Mississippi, visited New-York, and brought with

him a slave, said to have cost the large sum of fifteen hundred dollars.

A few days after their arrival in the city, the slave eloped, and a

reward of five hundred dollars was offered for his apprehension. Friend

Hopper knew nothing about him; but some mischievous person wrote a note

to Judge Chinn, stating that the fugitive was concealed at his store, in

Pearl-street. A warrant was procured and put into the hands of a

constable frequently employed in that base business. At that season of

the year, many Southerners were in the city to purchase goods. A number

of them accompanied the judge to Pearl-street, and distributed

themselves at short distances, in order to arrest the slave, in case he

attempted to escape. They preferred to search the store in the absence

of Friend Hopper, and watched nearly an hour for a favorable

opportunity. Meanwhile, he was entirely unconscious of their

proceedings; and having occasion to call at a house a few doors below,

he left the store for a short time in charge of one of his sons. As soon

as he was gone, four or five men rushed in. Not finding the object of

their pursuit, they jumped out of a back window, and began to search

some buildings in the rear. When people complained of such

unceremonious intrusion upon their premises, the constable excused

himself by saying they were trying to apprehend a felon. Friend Hopper's

son called out that it was a slave, not a felon, they were in search of;

for he heard them say so. This made the constable very angry; for, like

most slave-catchers, he was eager for the reward, but rather ashamed of

the services by which he sought to obtain it. He swore roundly, and one

of his party gave the young man a blow on his face.

Friend Hopper, being sent for, returned immediately; and for some time

after, he observed a respectable looking person occasionally peeping

into the store, and skulking out of sight as soon as he thought himself

observed. At last, he went to the door, and said, "My friend, if thou

hast business with me, come in and let me know what it is; but don't be

prying about my premises in that way." He walked off, and joined a group

of people, who seemed to be much excited. Friend Hopper followed, and

found they were the men who had been recently searching his store. He

said to their leader, "Art thou the impertinent fellow who has been

intruding upon my premises, in my absence?" The constable replied that

he had a warrant, and was determined to execute it. Though a stranger to

his countenance, Friend Hopper was well aware that he was noted for

hunting slaves, and being unable to disguise his abhorrence of the

odious business, he said, "Judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces

of silver; and for a like sum, I suppose thou wouldst seize thy brother

by the throat, and send him into interminable bondage. If thy conscience

were as susceptible of conviction as his was, thou wouldst do as he did;

and thus rid the community of an intolerable nuisance."

One of the Southerners repeated the word "Brother!" in a very sneering

tone.

"Yes," rejoined Friend Hopper, "I said brother."

He returned to his store, but was soon summoned into the street again,

by a complaint that the constable and his troop of slaveholders were

very roughly handling a colored man, saying he had no business to keep

in their vicinity. When Friend Hopper interfered, to prevent further

abuse, several of the Southerners pointed bowie-knives and pistols at

him. He told the constable it was his duty, as a police-officer, to

arrest those men for carrying deadly weapons and making such a turmoil

in the street; and he threatened to complain of him if he did not do it.

He complied very reluctantly, and of course the culprits escaped before

they reached the police-office.

A few days after, as young Mr. Hopper was walking up Chatham-street, on

his way home in the evening, some unknown person came behind him,

knocked him down, and beat him in a most savage manner, so that he was

unable to leave his room for many days. No doubt was entertained that

this brutal attack was by one of the company who were on the search for

Judge Chinn's slave.

It was afterward rumored that the fugitive had arrived safely in Canada.

I never heard that he returned to the happy condition of slavery; though

his master predicted that he would do so, and said he never would have

been so foolish as to leave it, if it had not been for the false

representations of abolitionists.

In 1836, the hatred which Southerners bore to Friend Hopper's name was

manifested in a cruel and altogether unprovoked outrage on his son,

which caused the young man a great deal of suffering, and well nigh cost

him his life. John Hopper, Esq., now a lawyer in the city of New-York,

had occasion to go to the South on business. He remained in Charleston

about two months, during which time he was treated with courtesy in his

business relations, and received many kind attentions in the intercourse

of social life. One little incident that occurred during his visit

illustrates the tenacious attachment of Friends to their own mode of

worship. When he left home, his father had exhorted him to attend

Friends' meeting while he was in Charleston. He told him that a meeting

had been established there many years ago, but he supposed there were

not half a dozen members remaining, and probably they had no ministry;

for the original settlers had died, or left Carolina on account of their

testimony against slavery. But as Quakers believe that silent worship is

often more blessed to the soul, than the most eloquent preaching, he had

a strong desire that his son should attend the meeting constantly, even

if he found but two or three to unite with him. The young man promised

that he would do so. Accordingly, when he arrived in Charleston, he

inquired for the meeting-house, and was informed that it was well nigh

deserted. On the first day of the week, he went to the place designated,

and found a venerable, kind-looking Friend seated under the preachers'

gallery. In obedience to a signal from him, he took a seat by his side,

and they remained there in silence nearly two hours. Then the old man

turned and shook hands with him, as an indication that the meeting was

concluded, according to the custom of the Society of Friends. When he

found that he was talking to the son of Isaac T. Hopper, and that he had

promised to attend meeting there, during his stay in Charleston, he was

so much affected, that his eyes filled with tears. "Oh, I shall be glad

of thy company," said he; "for most of the time, this winter, I am here

all alone. My old friends and companions have all died, or moved away. I

come here twice on First days, and once on Fifth day, and sit all, all

alone, till I feel it right to leave the house and go home."

This lonely old worshipper once had an intimate friend, who for a long

time was his only companion in the silent meeting. At the close, they

shook hands and walked off together, enjoying a kindly chat on their way

home. Unfortunately, some difficulty afterward occurred between them,

which completely estranged them from each other. Both still clung to

their old place of worship. They took their accustomed seats, and

remained silent for a couple of hours; but they parted without shaking

hands, or speaking a single word. This alienation almost broke the old

man's heart. After awhile, he lost even, this shadow of companionship,

and there remained only "the voice within," and echoes of memory from

the empty benches.

While Mr. Hopper remained in Charleston, he went to the Quaker

meeting-house every Sunday, and rarely found any one there except the

persevering old Friend, who often invited him to go home with him. He

seemed to take great satisfaction in talking with him about his father,

and listening to what he had heard him say concerning the Society of

Friends. When the farewell hour came, he was much affected; for he felt

it not likely they would ever meet again; and the conversation of the

young stranger had formed a link between him and the Quakerism he loved

so well. The old man continued to sit alone under the preacher's gallery

till the house took fire and was burned to the ground. He died soon

after that event, at a very advanced age.

Another incident, which occurred during Mr. Hopper's stay in Charleston,

seemed exceedingly trivial at the time, but came very near producing

fatal consequences. One day, when a clergyman whom he visited was

showing him his library, he mentioned that his father had quite an

antiquarian taste for old documents connected with the Society of

Friends. At parting, the clergyman gave him several pamphlets for his

father, and among them happened to be a tract published by Friends in

Philadelphia, describing the colony at Sierra Leone, and giving an

account of the slave trade on the coast of Africa. He put the pamphlets

in his trunk, and started for Savannah, where he arrived on the

twenty-eighth of January. At the City Hotel, he unfortunately

encountered a marshal of the city of New-York, who was much employed in

catching runaway slaves, and of course sympathized with slaveholders. He

pointed the young stranger out, as a son of Isaac T. Hopper, the

notorious abolitionist. This information kindled a flame immediately,

and they began to discuss plans of vengeance. The traveller, not

dreaming of danger, retired to his room soon after supper. In a few

minutes, his door was forced open by a gang of intoxicated men, escorted

by the New-York marshal. They assailed him with a volley of blasphemous

language, struck him, kicked him, and spit in his face. They broke open

and rifled his trunk, and searched his pockets for abolition documents.

When they found the harmless little Quaker tract about the colony at

Sierra Leone, they screamed with exultation. They shouted, "Here is what

we wanted! Here is proof of abolitionism!" Some of them rushed out and

told the mob, who crowded the bar-room and entries, that they had found

a trunk full of abolition tracts. Others seized Mr. Hopper violently,

telling him to say his last prayers, and go with them. The proprietor of

the City Hotel was very naturally alarmed for the safety of the

building. He was in a great passion, and conjured them to carry their

victim down forthwith; saying he could do nothing with the mob below,

who were getting very impatient waiting for him. Turning to Mr. Hopper,

he said, "Young man, you are in a very unfortunate situation. You ought

never to have left your home. But it is your own doing; and you deserve

your fate." When appealed to for protection, he exclaimed, "Good God!

you must not appeal to me. This is a damned delicate business. I shall

not be able to protect my own property. But I will go for the mayor."

One of the bar-keeper's confidential friends sent him a slip of paper,

on which was written, "His only mode of escape is by the window;" and

the bar-keeper, who had previously shown himself decidedly unfriendly,

urged him again and again to profit by this advice. He occupied the

third story, and the street below his window was thronged with an

infuriated mob, thirsting and clamoring for his blood. In view of these

facts, it seems not very uncharitable to suppose that the advice was

given to make sure of his death, apparently by his own act, and thus

save the city of Savannah from the disgrace of the deed. Of the two

terrible alternatives, he preferred going down-stairs into the midst of

the angry mob, who were getting more and more maddened by liquor, having

taken forcible possession of the bar. He considered his fate inevitable,

and had made up his mind to die. But at the foot of the stairs, he was

met by the mayor and several aldermen, whose timely arrival saved his

life. After asking some questions, and receiving the assurance that he

came to Savannah solely on commercial business, the magistrates

accompanied Mr. Hopper to his room, and briefly examined his books and

papers. The mayor then went down and addressed the mob, assuring them

that he should be kept in custody during the night; that strict

investigation should be made, and if there was the slightest evidence of

his being an abolitionist, he should not be suffered to go at large.

The mayor and a large body of civil officers accompanied the prisoner to

the guard-house, and a number of citizens volunteered their services, to

strengthen the escort; but all their efforts scarcely sufficed to keep

him from the grasp of the infuriated multitude. He was placed in a

noisome cell, to await his trial, and the customary guard was increased

for his protection. Portions of the mob continued howling round the

prison all night, and the mayor was sent for several times to prevent

their bursting in. A gallows was erected, with a barrel of feathers and

a tub of tar in readiness under it, that they might amuse themselves

with their victim before they murdered him.

Next morning, at five o'clock, the prisoner was brought before the mayor

for further examination. Many of the mob followed him to the door of the

office to await the issue. The evidence was satisfactory that he

belonged to no anti-slavery society, and that his business in Savannah

had no connection whatever with that subject. As for the pamphlet about

Sierra Leone, the mayor said he considered that evidence in his favor;

because it was written in support of colonization. Before the

examination closed, there came a driving rain, which dispersed the mob

lying in wait round the building. Aided by this lucky storm their

destined victim passed out without being observed. At parting, the

mayor said to him, "Young man, you may consider it a miracle that you

have escaped with your life."

He took refuge on board the ship Angelique, bound for New-York, and was

received with much kindness and sympathy by Captain Nichols, the

commander. There was likewise a sailor on board, who happened to be one

of the many that owed a debt of gratitude to Friend Hopper; and he swore

he would shoot anybody that attempted to harm his son. In a short time,

a messenger came from the mayor to announce that the populace had

discovered where Mr. Hopper was secreted, and would probably attack the

vessel. In this emergency, the captain behaved nobly toward his hunted

fellow-citizen. He requested him to lie down flat in the bottom of a

boat, which he himself entered and conducted to a brig bound for

Providence. The captain was a New-England man, but having been long

engaged in Southern trade, his principles on the subject of slavery were

adapted to his interest. He gave the persecuted young traveller a most

ungracious reception, and said if he thought he was an abolitionist he

would send him directly back to Savannah. However, the representations

of Captain Nichols induced him to consent that he should be put on

board. They had a tedious passage of thirty-five days, during which

there was a long and violent storm, that seemed likely to wreck the

vessel. The mob had robbed Mr. Hopper of his money and clothing. He had

no comfortable garments to shield him from the severe cold, and his

hands and feet were frozen. At last, he arrived at Providence, and went

on board the steamer Benjamin Franklin, bound for New-York. There he had

the good fortune to meet with a colored waiter, whose father had been

redeemed from slavery by Friend Hopper's exertions. He was assiduously

devoted to the son of his benefactor, and did everything in his power to

alleviate his distressed condition.

When the traveller arrived at his home, he was so haggard and worn down

with danger and fatigue, that his family scarcely recognized him. His

father was much excited and deeply affected, when he heard what perils

he had gone through merely on account of his name. He soon after

addressed the following letter to the mayor of Savannah:

"New-York, 4th month, 18th, 1836.

"Friend,

"My object in addressing thee is to express my heartfelt gratitude

for thy exertions in saving the life of my son, which I have cause

to believe was in imminent peril, from the violence of unreasonable

men, while in your city a few weeks ago. I am informed that very

soon after his arrival in Savannah, the fact became known to a

marshal of this city, who was then there, and who, by his

misrepresentations, excited the rabble to a determination to

perpetrate the most inhuman outrage upon him, and in all

probability to take his life; and that preparations were made,

which, if carried into effect, would doubtless have produced that

result.

"Tar and feathers, as a mode of punishment, I am inclined to think

is rather of modern invention; and I am doubtful whether they will

be more efficient than whipping, cutting off ears, the rack, the

halter, and the stake. Superstition and intolerance have long ago

called in all these to their aid, in suppressing reformation in

religion; but they were unable to accomplish the end designed; and

if I am not greatly mistaken, they would prove entirely

insufficient to stop the progress of emancipation.

"If it is the determination of the people of Savannah to deliver up

to a lawless and blood-thirsty mob every person coming among them

whose sentiments are opposed to slavery, I apprehend there are very

few at the North who would not be obnoxious to their hostility. For

I believe they all view slavery as an evil that must be abolished

at no very distant day. Would it not be well for the people of the

South to reflect upon the tendency of their conduct? Where such

aggressions upon humanity are committed, the slaves will naturally

inquire into the cause; and when they are informed that it is in

consequence of their oppressed and degraded condition, and that the

persons thus persecuted are charged with being their friends, they

cannot feel indifferent. One such scene as was witnessed in the

case of my son would tend more to excite a spirit of insurrection

and insubordination among them, than ten thousand 'incendiary

pamphlets,' not one word of which any of them could read. My son

went to Savannah solely on his own private business, without any

intention of interfering with the slaves, or with the subject of

slavery in any way. But even supposing the charge to have been

true, do not your laws award sufficient punishment? How could you

stand silently by, and witness proceedings that would put to blush

the Arab, or the untutored inhabitant of the wilderness in our own

country? The negroes, whom you affect to despise so much, would set

an example of benevolence and humanity, when on their own soil, if

a stranger came among them, which you cannot be prepared to

imitate, till you have made great improvements in civilization.

"The people of Savannah profess Christianity; but what avails

profession, where latitude is given to the vilest and most depraved

passions of the human heart? Suppose the mob had murdered my son; a

young man who went among you in the ordinary course of his

business, and who, even according to _your_ understanding of the

term, had done no evil; a young man of fair reputation, with

numerous near relatives and friends to mourn over the barbarous

deed; would you have been guiltless? I think the just witness in

your consciences would answer No.

"I have long deplored the evils of slavery, and my sympathy has

often been much excited for the master, as well as the slave. I am

aware of the difficulties attending the system, and I should

rejoice if I could aid in devising some mode of relief, that would

satisfy the claims of justice and humanity, and at the same time be

acceptable to the inhabitants of the South.

"It is certainly cause of deep regret that the Southern people

suffer their angry passions to become so highly excited on this

subject, which, of all others, ought to be calmly considered. For

it remains a truth that 'the wrath of man worketh not the

righteousness of God,' neither can it open his eyes to see in what

his best interest consists. O, that your ears may be open to the

voice of wisdom before it is too late! The language of an eminent

statesman, who was a slaveholder, often occurs to me: 'I tremble

for my country when I reflect that God is just, and that his

justice will not sleep forever.' Surely we have high authority for

believing that 'For the crying of the poor, and the sighing of the

needy, God will arise.' I hope I shall not be suspected of

entertaining hostile or unkind feelings toward the people of the

South, when I say that I believe slavery must and will be

abolished. As sure as God is merciful and good, it is an evil that

cannot endure forever.

"An inspired apostle says, that our gracious Creator 'hath made of

one blood all nations of men;' and our Saviour gave this

commandment: 'As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to

them likewise.' If we believe these declarations, and I hope none

doubt their authority, I should think reasoning unnecessary to

convince us that to oppress and enslave our fellow men cannot be

pleasing to Him, who is just and equal in all his ways.

"My concern for the welfare of my fellow men is not confined to

color, or circumscribed by geographical lines. I can never see

human suffering without feeling compassion, and I would always

gladly alleviate it, if I had it in my power. I remember that we

are all, without distinction of color or locality, children of the

same Universal Parent, who delights to see the human family dwell

together in peace and harmony. I am strongly inclined to the

opinion that the proceedings of that portion of the inhabitants of

the North who are called abolitionists, would not produce so much

agitation and excitement at the South, if the people there felt

entirely satisfied that slavery was justifiable in the sight of

infinite purity and justice. An eminent minister of the Gospel,

about the middle of the seventeenth century, often urged upon the

attention of people this emphatic injunction: 'Mind the light!'

'All things that are reproved are made manifest by the light; for

whatsoever doth make manifest is light.' Now, if this light, or

spirit of truth, 'a manifestation of which is given to every man to

profit withal,' should be found testifying in your consciences

against injustice and oppression, regard its admonitions! It will

let none remain at ease in their sins. It will justify for well

doing; but to those who rebel against it, and disregard its

reproofs, it will become the 'worm that dieth not, and the fire

that is not quenched.'

"I am aware that complaints are often made, because obstacles are

thrown in the way of Southerners reclaiming their fugitive slaves.

But bring the matter home to yourselves. Suppose a white man

resided among you, who, for a series of years, had conducted with

sobriety, industry, and probity, and had given frequent evidence of

the kindness of his heart, by a disposition to oblige whenever

opportunity offered; suppose he had a wife and children dependent

upon him, and supported them comfortably and respectably; could you

see that man dragged from his bed, and from the bosom of his

family, in the dead time of night, manacled, and hurried away into

a distant part of the country, where his family could never see him

again, and where they knew he must linger out a miserable

existence, more intolerable than death, amid the horrors of

slavery? I ask whether you could witness all this, without the most

poignant grief? This is no picture of the fancy. It is a sober

reality. The only difference is, the men thus treated are black.

But in my view, this does not diminish the horrors of such cruel

deeds. Can it be expected then, that the citizens of this state, or

indeed of any other, would witness all this, without instituting

the severest scrutiny into the legality of the proceedings? More

especially, when it is known that the persons employed in this

nefarious business of hunting up fugitive slaves are men destitute

of principle, whose hearts are callous as flint, and who would send

a free man into bondage with as little compunction as they would a

slave, if they could do it with impunity.

"Of latter time, we hear much said about a dissolution of the

Union. Far better, in my view, that this should take place, if it

can be effected without violence, than to remain as we are; when a

peaceable citizen cannot enter your territory on his own lawful

business, without the risk of being murdered by a ruthless mob.

"With reverent thankfulness to Him, who numbers the hairs of our

heads, without whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the

ground, and to whose providence I consider myself indebted for the

redemption of my beloved son from the hands of barbarians, permit

me again to say that I feel sincerely grateful to thee and others,

who kindly lent aid, though late, in rescuing him from the violence

of unreasonable and wicked men, who sought his life without a

cause. I may never have it in my power to do either of you

personally a kindness; but some other member of the great family of

mankind may need assistance in a way that I can relieve him. If

this should be the case, I hope I shall not fail to embrace the

opportunity.

"With fervent desires that the beneficent Creator and Father of the

Universe may open the eyes of all to see that 'the fast which he

hath chosen is to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy

burdens and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every

yoke.'

"I am thy sincere friend,

"ISAAC T. HOPPER."

Soon after the circumstances above related, the mayor of New-York

revoked the warrant of the marshal, who had been so conspicuous in the

outrage. This step was taken in consequence of his own admissions

concerning his conduct.

In 1837, a little incident occurred, which may be interesting to those

who are curious concerning phrenology. At a small social party in

New-York, a discussion arose on that subject; and, as usual, some were

disposed to believe and others to ridicule. At last the disputants

proposed to test the question by careful experiment. Friend Hopper was

one of the party, and they asked him to have his head examined by the

well-known O.S. Fowler. Having a good-natured willingness to gratify

their curiosity, he consented. It was agreed that he should not speak

during the operation, lest the tones of his voice might serve as an

index of his character. It was further stipulated that no person in the

room should give any indication by which the phrenologist might be

enabled to judge whether he was supposed to be speaking correctly or

not. The next day, Mr. Fowler was introduced blindfolded into a room,

where Isaac T. Hopper was seated with the party of the preceding

evening. Having passed his hands over the strongly developed head, he

made the following statement, which was taken down by a rapid writer, as

the words fell from his lips.

"The first and strongest manifestation of this character is efficiency.

Not one man in a thousand is capable of accomplishing so much. The

strong points are very strong; the weak points are weak; so that he is

an eccentric and peculiar character.

"The pole-star of his character is moral courage.

"He has very little reverence, and stands in no awe of the powers that

be. He pays no regard to forms or ceremonies, or established customs, in

church or state. He renders no homage to great names, such as D.D.;

L.L.D.; or Excellency. He treats his fellow men with kindness and

affection, but not with sufficient respect and courtesy.

"He is emphatically republican in feeling and character. He makes

himself free and familiar with every one. He often lets himself down too

much. This constitutes a radical defect in his character.

"He will assert and maintain human rights and liberty at every hazard.

In this cause, he will stake anything, or suffer anything. This

constitutes the leading feature of his character. Every other element is

blended into this.

"I should consider him a very cautious man in fact, though in appearance

he is very imprudent; especially in remarks on moral subjects.

"He is too apt to denounce those whom he considers in error; to apply

opprobrious epithets and censure in the strongest terms, and the boldest

manner.

"I have seldom, if ever, met with a larger organ of conscientiousness.

"Nothing so much delights him as to advocate and propagate moral

principles; no matter how unpopular the principles may be.

"He has very little credulity.

"He is one of the closest observers of men and things anywhere to be

found. He sees, as it were by intuition everything that passes around

him, and understands just when and where to take men and things; just

how and where to say things with effect; and in all he says, he speaks

directly to the point.

"He says and does a great many severe and cutting things. If anybody

else said and did such things, they would at once get into hot water;

but he says and does them in such a manner, that even his enemies, and

those against whom his censures are aimed, cannot be offended with him.

He is always on the verge of difficulty, but never _in_ difficulty.

"He is hated mainly by those not personally acquainted with him. A

personal interview, even with his greatest enemies, generally removes

enmity; because of the smoothness and easiness of his manners.

"He has at command a great amount of well-digested information on almost

every subject, and makes admirable use of his knowledge. He has a great

many facts, and always brings them in their right place. His general

memory of particulars, incidents, places, and words, is really

wonderful.

"But he has a weak memory concerning names, dates, numbers, and colors.

He never recognizes persons by their dress, or by the color of anything

pertaining to them.

"He tells a story admirably, and acts it out to the life. He makes a

great deal of fun, and keeps others in a roar of laughter, while he is

sober himself. For his fun, he is as much indebted to the manner as to

the matter. He makes his jokes mainly by happy comparisons, striking

illustrations, and the imitative power with which he expresses them.

"He possesses a great amount of native talent, but it is so admirably

distributed, that he appears to have more than he actually possesses.

"His attachment to his friends is remarkably strong and ardent. But he

will associate with none except those whose moral characters are

unimpeachable.

"He expects and anticipates a great deal; enters largely into things;

takes hold of every measure with spirit; and is always overwhelmed with

business. Move where he will, he cannot be otherwise than a

distinguished man."

That this description was remarkably accurate in most particulars will

be obvious to those who have read the preceding anecdotes. It is not

true, however, that he was enthusiastic in character, or that he had the

appearance of being so. He was far too practical and self-possessed, to

have the reputation of being "half crazy," even among those who are

prone to regard everything as insane that is out of the common course.

Neither do I think he was accustomed to "let himself down too much;" for

according to my radical ideas, a man _cannot_ "let himself down," who

"associates only with those whose moral characters are unimpeachable."

It is true that he was pleasant and playful in conversation with all

classes of people; but he was remarkably free from any tinge of

vulgarity. It is true, also, that he was totally and entirely

unconscious of any such thing as distinctions of rank. I have been

acquainted with many theoretical democrats, and with not a few who tried

to be democratic, from kind feelings-and principles of justice; but

Friend Hopper and Francis Jackson of Boston are the only two men I ever

met, who were born democrats; who could not help it, if they tried; and

who would not know _how_ to try; so completely did they, by nature,

ignore all artificial distinctions. Of course, I do not use the word

democrat in its limited party sense, but to express their perfect

unconsciousness that any man was considered to be above them, or any man

beneath them. If Friend Hopper encountered his wood-sawyer, after a

considerable absence, he would shake hands warmly, and give him a

cordial welcome. If the English Prince had called upon him, he would

have met with the same friendly reception, and would probably have been

accosted something after this fashion: "How art thou, friend Albert?

They tell me thou art amiable and kindly disposed toward the people; and

I am glad to see thee." Those who observe the parting advice given by

Isaac's mother, when he went to serve his apprenticeship in

Philadelphia, will easily infer that this peculiarity was hereditary.

Some men, who rise above their original position, either in character or

fortune, endeavor to conceal their early history. Others obtrude it upon

all occasions, in order to magnify themselves by a contrast between what

they have been and what they are. But he did neither the one nor the

other. The subject did not occupy his thoughts. He spoke of having been

a tailor, whenever it came naturally in his way, but never for the sake

of doing so. His having been born in a hen-house was a mere external

accident in his eyes; and in the same light he regarded the fact that

Victoria was born in a palace. What was the spiritual condition of the

two at any given age, was the only thing that seemed to him of real

importance.

His steadfastness in maintaining moral principles, "however unpopular

those principles might be," was severely tried in the autumn of 1838. At

a late hour in the night, two colored men came to his house, and one

introduced the other as a stranger in the city, who had need of a

lodging. Friend Hopper of course conjectured that he might be a fugitive

slave; and this conjecture was confirmed the next morning. The stranger

was a mulatto, about twenty-two years old, and called himself Thomas

Hughes. According to his own account, he was the son of a wealthy

planter in Virginia, who sold his mother with himself and his twin

sister when they were eleven months old. His mother and sister were

subsequently sold, but he could never ascertain where they were sent.

When he was about thirteen, he was purchased by the son of his first

master. Being hardly dealt with by this relative, he one day

remonstrated with him for treating his own brother with so much

severity. This was, of course, deemed a great piece of insolence in a

bondman, and he was punished by being sold to a speculator, carried off

hand-cuffed, with his feet tied under the horse's belly, and finally

shipped for Louisiana with a coffle of five hundred slaves. He was

bought by a gambler, who took him to Louisville, Kentucky. When he had

lived there three years, his master, having lost large sums of money,

told him he should be obliged to sell him. Thomas had meanwhile

ascertained that his father had removed to Kentucky, and was still a

very wealthy man. He obtained permission to go and see him, with the

hope that he would purchase him and set him free. Accordingly, he

called upon him, and told him that he was Thomas, the son of his slave

Rachel, who had always assured him that he was his father. The rich

planter did not deny poor Rachel's assertion, but in answer to her son's

inquiries, he plainly manifested that he neither knew nor cared who had

bought her, or to what part of the country she had been sent. Thomas

represented his own miserable condition, in being sold from one to

another, and subject to the will of whoever happened to be his owner. He

intreated his father to purchase him, with a view to manumission; but

himself and his proposition were both treated with supreme contempt.

Thus rejected by his father, and unable to discover any traces of his

mother, he returned disheartened to Louisville, and was soon after sent

to New-Orleans to be sold. Mr. John P. Darg, a speculator in slaves,

bought him; and he soon after married a girl named Mary, who belonged to

his new master. Mr. Darg went to New-York, to visit some relatives, and

took Thomas with him. It was only a few days after their arrival in the

city, that the slave left him, and went to Isaac T. Hopper to ask a

lodging. When he acknowledged that he was a fugitive, intending to take

refuge in Canada, it was deemed imprudent for him to remain under the

roof of a person so widely known as an abolitionist; but a very

benevolent and intelligent Quaker lady, near eighty years old, named

Margaret Shoemaker, gladly gave him shelter.

When Friend Hopper went to his place of business, after parting with the

colored stranger, he saw an advertisement in a newspaper called the Sun,

offering one thousand dollars reward for the apprehension and return of

a mulatto man, who had stolen seven or eight thousand dollars from a

house in Varick-street. A proportionate reward was offered for the

recovery of any part of the money. Though no names were mentioned, he

had reason to conjecture that Thomas Hughes might be the mulatto in

question. He accordingly sought him out, read the advertisement to him,

and inquired whether he had stolen anything from his master. He denied

having committed any theft, and said the pretence that he had done so

was a mere trick, often resorted to by slaveholders, when they wanted to

catch a runaway slave. That this remark was true, Friend Hopper knew

very well by his own experience; he therefore concluded it was likely

that Thomas was not guilty. He expressed this conviction in conversation

on the subject with Barney Corse, a benevolent member of the Society of

Friends, who was kindly disposed toward the colored people. In

compliance with Friend Hopper's request, that gentleman waited upon the

editor of the Sun, accompanied by a lawyer, and was assured that a large

amount of money really had been stolen from Mr. Darg, and that if he

could recover it, he was willing to give a pledge for the manumission of

the slave, beside paying the promised reward to whoever would enable him

to get possession of the money. Barney Corse called upon Mr. Darg, who

promptly confirmed the statement made by the editor in his name. The

Friend then promised that he, and others who were interested for the

slave, would do their utmost to obtain tidings of the money, and see it

safely restored, on those conditions; but he expressly stipulated that

he could not do it otherwise, because he had conscientious scruples,

which would prevent him, in all cases, from helping to return a fugitive

slave to his master.

It is to be observed that the promise of manumission was given as the

highest bribe that could be offered to induce the slave to refund the

money he had taken; for though in argument slaveholders generally

maintain that their slaves have no desire for freedom, they are never

known to _act_ upon that supposition. In this case, the offer served a

double purpose; for it stimulated the benevolent zeal of Friend Hopper

and Barney Corse, and induced the fugitive to confess what he had done.

He still denied that he had any intention of stealing, but declared that

he took the money merely to obtain power over his master, hoping that

the promise to restore it would secure his manumission. It is

impossible to tell whether he spoke truth or not; for poor Thomas had

been educated in a bad school of morals. Sold by his father, abused by

his brother, and for years compelled to do the bidding of gamblers and

slave-speculators, how could he be expected to have very clear

perceptions of right and wrong? The circumstances of the case, however,

seem to render it rather probable that he really was impelled by the

motive which he assigned for his conduct. Mr. Darg declared that he had

previously considered him an honest and faithful servant; that he was in

the habit of trusting him with the key of his trunk, and frequently sent

him to it for money. The bank-bills he had purloined were placed in the

hands of two colored men in New-York, because, as he said, he could not

return them himself, but must necessarily employ somebody to do it for

him, in the intended process of negotiating for his freedom.

Friend Hopper, his son-in-law James S. Gibbons, and Barney Corse, were

very earnest to recover the money, for the best of reasons. In the first

place, they greatly desired to secure the manumission of the slave. In

the second place, the honesty of their characters led them to wish that

the master should recover what was his own. In both instances, they

wished to restore stolen property to the rightful owner; to Thomas

Hughes the free use of his own faculties and limbs, which had been

stolen from him, and to Mr. Darg the money that had been purloined from

him. It is not likely that the Southerner would have ever regained any

portion of the amount stolen, had it not been for their exertions. But,

by careful and judicious management, they soon recovered nearly six

thousand dollars, which was immediately placed in one of the principal

banks of the city, with a full statement of the circumstances of the

case to the cashier. Over one thousand more was heard of as having been

deposited with a colored man in Albany. Friend Hopper proposed that

Barney Corse should go in pursuit of it, accompanied by the colored man

who sent it there. He agreed to do so; but he deemed it prudent to have

a previous interview with Mr. Darg, to obtain his written promise to

manumit Thomas, to pay the necessary expenses of the journey, and to

exonerate from criminal prosecution any person or persons connected with

the robbery, provided that assurance proved necessary in order to get

possession of the money. All this being satisfactorily accomplished, he

went to Albany and brought back the sum said to have been deposited

there. Ten or fourteen hundred dollars were still wanting to complete

the amount, which Mr. Darg said he had lost; but they had hopes of

obtaining that also, by confronting various individuals, who had become

involved with this complicated affair. Meanwhile, Barney Corse and

James S. Gibbons called upon Mr. Darg to inform him of the amount

recovered and safely deposited in the bank, and to pay him the sum

brought from Albany. Instead of giving the deed of manumission, which

had been his own voluntary offer at the outset, and which he knew had

been the impelling motive to exertion, Mr. Darg had two police-officers

in an adjoining room to arrest Barney Corse for having stolen money in

his possession. He was of course astonished at such an ungrateful return

for his services, but at once expressed his readiness to go before any

magistrate that might be named.

It would not be easy to give an adequate idea of the storm of

persecution that followed. Popular prejudice against abolitionists was

then raging with uncommon fury; and police-officers and editors availed

themselves of it to the utmost to excite hostility against individuals,

who had been actuated by a kind motive, and who had proceeded with

perfect openness throughout the whole affair. The newspapers of the city

were pro-slavery, almost without exception. The idea of sending

abolitionists to the State Prison was a glorious prospect, over which

they exulted mightily. They represented that Thomas had been enticed

from his master by these pretended philanthropists, who had advised him

to steal the money, as a cunning mode of obtaining manumission. As for

the accused, all they asked was a speedy and thorough investigation of

their conduct. The case was however postponed from week to week, and

offers were made meanwhile to compromise the matter, if Barney Corse

would pay the balance of the lost money. He had wealthy connexions, and

perhaps the prosecutors hoped to extort money from them, to avoid the

disgrace of a trial. But Barney Corse was far from wishing to avoid a

trial.

At this juncture of affairs, Friend Hopper took a step, which raised a

great clamor among his enemies, and puzzled some of his friends at the

time, because they did not understand his motives. He sued Mr. Darg for

the promised reward of one thousand dollars. He had several reasons for

this proceeding. In the first place, the newspapers continually pointed

him out as a man over whose head a criminal prosecution was pending;

while he had at the same time had good reason to believe that his

accusers would never venture to meet him before a court of justice; and

a proper regard for his own character made him resolved to obtain a

legal investigation of his conduct by some process. In the second place,

Mr. Darg had subjected Barney Corse to a great deal of trouble and

expense; and Friend Hopper thought it no more than fair that expenses

caused by his own treachery should be paid from his own pocket. In the

third place, David Ruggles, a worthy colored man, no way implicated in

the transaction, had been arrested, and was likely to be involved in

expense. In the fourth place, the police officers, who advised the

arrest of Barney Corse, made themselves very conspicuous in the

persecution. He believed they had been actuated by a desire to obtain

the reward for themselves; and as they had no just claim to it, he

determined to defeat them in this attempt. He therefore sued for the

reward himself, though he never intended to use a dollar of it. This was

manifested at the time, by a declaration in the newspapers, that if he

recovered the reward, he would give all over the expenses to some

benevolent society. It was frequently intimated to him that there should

be no further proceedings against him, if he would withdraw this suit;

but he constantly replied that a trial was what he wanted. Finding all

overtures rejected, a complaint was laid before the Grand Jury; and such

was the state of popular prejudice, that twelve out of nineteen of that

body concurred in finding a bill against men of excellent moral

character, without any real evidence to sustain the charge. Barney Corse

had never taken measures to prevent the arrest of Thomas Hughes. He

simply declined to render any assistance. He believed that he was under

no legal obligation to do otherwise; and he knew for a certainty that he

was under no moral obligation; because conscience would not allow him

to aid in returning a runaway slave to his master. Nevertheless, he and

Isaac T. Hopper, and James S. Gibbons, were indicted for "feloniously

receiving, harboring, aiding and maintaining said Thomas, in order that

he might escape from arrest, and avoid conviction and punishment."

Friend Hopper was advised that he might avail himself of some technical

defects in the indictment; but he declined doing it; always insisting

that a public investigation was what he wanted.

The trial was carried on in the same spirit that characterized the

previous proceedings. A colored man, known to have had dishonest

possession of a portion of the lost money, was admitted to testify, on

two successive trials, against Barney Corse, who had always sustained a

fair character. The District Attorney talked to the jury of "the

necessity of appeasing the South." As if convicting an honest and

kind-hearted Quaker of being accomplice in a felony could do anything

toward settling the questions that divided North and South on the

subject of slavery! One of the jury declared that he never would acquit

an abolitionist. Mr. Darg testified of himself during the trial, that he

never intended to manumit Thomas, and had made the promise merely as a

means of obtaining his money. The newspapers spoke as if the guilt of

the accused was not to be doubted, and informed the jury that the

public expected them to convict these men.

In fact, the storm lowered so darkly, that some friends of the

persecuted individuals began to feel uneasy. But Friend Hopper's mind

was perfectly undisturbed. Highly respectable lawyers offered to conduct

the cause for him; but he gratefully declined, saying he preferred to

manage it for himself. He informed the court that he presumed they

understood the law, and he was quite sure that he understood the facts;

therefore, he saw no need of a lawyer between them. The Court of

Sessions was held every month, and he appeared before it at almost every

term, to demand a trial. At last, in January 1840, when the hearing had

been delayed fifteen months, he gave notice that unless he was tried

during that term, he should appear on the last day of it, and request

that a _nolle prosequi_ should be ordered. The trial not coming on, he

appeared accordingly, and made a very animated speech, in which he dwelt

with deserved severity on the evils of the police system, and on the

efforts of a corrupt press to pervert the public mind. He said he did

not make these remarks to excite sympathy. He was not there to ask for

mercy, but to demand justice. "And I would have you all to understand

distinctly," continued the brave old man, "that I have no wish to evade

the charge against me for being an abolitionist. I _am_ an

abolitionist. In that, I am charged truly. I have been an abolitionist

from my early years, and I always expect to remain so. For this, I am

prosecuted and persecuted. I most sincerely believe that slavery is the

greatest sin the Lord Almighty ever suffered to exist upon this earth.

As sure as God is good and just, he will put an end to it; and all

opposition will be in vain. As regards myself, I can only say, that

having lived three-score and nearly ten years, with a character that

placed me above suspicion in such matters as have been urged against me,

I cannot now forego the principles which have always influenced my

conduct in relation to slavery. Neither force on the one hand, nor

persuasion on the other, will ever alter my course of action."

One of the New-York papers, commenting on this speech, at the time,

states that "the old gentleman was listened to very attentively. He was

composed, dignified, and clear in his manner, and evidently had much

effect on the court and a large number of spectators. He certainly

needed no counsel to aid him."

The court ordered a _nolle prosequi_ to be entered, and the defendants

were all discharged. The suit for the reward proceeded no further. David

Ruggles had been early discharged, and the whole case had been

completely before the public in pamphlet form; therefore the principal

objects for urging it no longer existed.

Though the friends of human freedom made reasonable allowance for a man

brought up under such demoralizing influences as Thomas Hughes had been,

they of course felt less confidence in him, than they would have done

had he sought to obtain liberty by some more commendable process. Being

aware of this, he returned to his master, not long after he acknowledged

the theft. At one time, it was proposed to send him back to the South;

but he swore that he would cut his throat rather than return into

slavery. The best lawyers declared their opinion that he was legally

entitled to freedom, in consequence of his master's written promise to

manumit him if the money were restored; consequently some difficulties

would have attended any attempt to coerce him. He was tried on an

indictment for grand larceny, convicted, and sentenced to the State

Prison for two years; the shortest term allowed for the offence charged

against him. Through the whole course of the affair, he proved himself

to be a very irresolute and unreliable character. At one time, he said

that: his master was a notorious gambler; then he denied that he ever

said so; then he affirmed that his first statement was true, though he

had been frightened into contradicting it. When his time was out at Sing

Sing, he expressed to Friend Hopper and others his determination to

remain at the North; but after an interview with Mr. Darg, he consented

to return to the South with him. Although he was thus wavering in

character, he could never be persuaded to say that any abolitionist

advised him to take his master's money. He always declared that no white

man knew anything about it, until after he had placed it out of his own

hands; and that the friends who were willing to aid him in procuring his

manumission had always expressed their regret that he had committed such

a wrong action. He deserved praise for his consistency on this point;

for he had the offer of being exempted from prosecution himself, and

used as a witness, if he would say they advised him to steal the money.

When Thomas Hughes consented to return to the South with Mr. Darg, it

was with the full understanding that he went as a free man, consenting

to be his servant. This he expressed during his last interview with

Friend Hopper, in Mr. Darg's presence. But the newspapers represented

that he had voluntarily gone back into slavery; and such was their

exultation over his supposed choice, that a person unacquainted with the

history of our republic might have inferred that the heroes of the

revolution fought and died mainly for the purpose of convincing their

posterity of the superior advantages of slavery over freedom. However,

it was not long before Thomas returned to New-York, and told the

following story: "A short time before my release from prison, Mr. Darg

brought my wife to see me, and told me we should both be free and enjoy

each other's society as long as we lived, if I would go with him. He

said I should suffer here at the North; for the abolitionists would do

nothing for me. I went with him solely with the hope of living with

Mary. I thought if he attempted to hold me as a slave, we would both run

away, the first opportunity. He told me we should meet Mary in

Washington; but when we arrived in Baltimore, he shut me up in jail, and

told me Mary was sold, and carried off South. I cannot describe how I

felt. I never expect to see her again. He asked me if I consented to

come with him on Mary's account, or on his own account. I thought it

would make it better for me to say on his account; and I said so. I hope

the Lord will forgive me for telling a falsehood. When I had been in

jail some time, he called to see me, and said that as I did not come

with him on account of my wife, he would not sell me; that I should be

free, and he would try to buy Mary for me."

Thomas said he was informed that certain people in New-York wrote to Mr.

Darg, advising him not to sell him, because the abolitionists predicted

that he would do so; and he thought that was the reason why he was not

sold. If this supposition was correct, it is a great pity that his

master was not induced by some better motive to avoid an evil action.

Thomas uniformly spoke of Mrs. Darg with respect and gratitude. He said,

"She was always very kind to me and Mary. I know she did not want to

have me sold, or to have Mary sold; for I believe she loved her. I feel

very sorry that I could not live with her and be free; but I had rather

live in the State Prison all my life than to be a slave."

I never heard what became of Thomas. Friend Shoemaker used to tell me,

years afterward, how she secreted him, and rejoiced in the deed. I heard

the good lady, when more than ninety years old, just before her death,

talk the matter over; and her kindly, intelligent countenance smiled all

over, as she recounted how she had contrived to dodge the police, and

avoid being a witness in the case. The Fugitive Slave Law would be of no

avail to tyrants, if all the women at the North had as much moral

courage, and were as benevolent and quick-witted as she was.

Those who were most active in persecuting Friend Hopper and Barney Corse

convinced the public, by their subsequent disreputable career, that they

were not men whose word could be relied upon.

Dr. R.W. Moore, of Philadelphia, in a letter to Friend Hopper concerning

this troublesome case, says: "I am aware thou hast passed through many

trials in the prosecution of this matter. Condemned by the world,

censured by some of thy friends, and discouraged by the weak, thou hast

had much to bear. But thou hast been able to foil thy enemies, and to

pass through the flames without the smell of fire on thy garments. Thy

Christian firmness is an example to us all. It reminds one of those

ancient Quakers, who, knowing themselves in the right, suffered wrongs

rather than compromise their principles. For the sake of mankind, I am

sorry there are not more such characters among us. They would do more to

exalt our principles, than a host of the professors of the present day."

A year or two later, another incident occurred, which excited similar

exultation among New-York editors, that a human being had been so wise

as to prefer slavery to freedom; and there was about as much cause for

such exultation as there had been in the case of Thomas Hughes.

Mrs. Burke of New-Orleans went to New-York to visit a relative by the

name of Morgan. She brought a slave to attend upon her, and took great

care to prevent her becoming acquainted with the colored people. I don't

know how city editors would account for this extreme caution,

consistently with their ideas of the blessedness of slavery. They might

argue that there was danger free colored people would be so attracted by

her charming pictures of bondage, that they would emigrate to the South

in larger numbers than would supply the slave-markets, and thus occasion

some depression in an honorable branch of trade in this republic.

However they might please to explain it, the simple fact was, Mrs. Burke

did not allow her slave to go into the street. Of course, she must have

had some other motive than the idea that _freedom_ could be attractive

to her. The colored people became aware of the careful constraint

imposed upon the woman, and they informed the abolitionists. Thinking it

right that slaves should be made aware of their legal claim to freedom,

when brought or sent into the free states, with knowledge and consent of

their masters, they applied to Judge Oakley for a writ of _habeas

corpus,_ by virtue of which the girl was brought before him. While she

was in waiting, Friend Hopper heard of the circumstance, and immediately

proceeded to the court-room. There he found Mr. Morgan and one of his

southern friends talking busily with the slave. The woman appeared

frightened and undecided, as is often the case, under such

circumstances. Those who wished her to return to the South plied her

with fair promises. They represented abolitionists as a set of

kidnappers, who seized colored strangers under friendly pretences, and

nobody could tell what became of them afterward. It was urged that her

condition would be most miserable with the "free niggers" of the North,

even if the abolitionists did not sell her, or spirit her away to some

unknown region.

On the other hand, the colored people, who had assembled about the

court-room, were very eager to rescue her from slavery. She did not

understand their motives, or those of the abolitionists; for they had

been diligently misrepresented to her. "What do they want to do it

_for_?" she asked, with a perplexed air. "What will they do with me?"

She was afraid there was some selfish motive concealed. She dared not

trust the professions of strangers, whose characters had been so

unfavorably represented. Friend Hopper found her in this confused state

of mind. The Southerner was very willing to speak _for_ her. He gave

assurance that she did not want her freedom; that she desired to return

to the South; and that she had been in no respect distrained of her

liberty in the city of New-York.

"Thou art a very respectable looking man," said Friend Hopper; "but I

have known slaveholders, of even more genteel appearance than thou art,

tell gross falsehoods where a slave was in question. I tell thee

plainly, that I have no confidence in slaveholders, in any such case. I

have had too much acquaintance with them. I know their game too well."

The Southerner said something about its being both mean and wrong to

come between master and servant.

"Such may be thy opinion," replied Friend Hopper; "but my views of duty

differ from thine in this matter." Then turning to the woman, he said,

"By the laws here, thou art free. No man has a right to make thee a

slave again. Thou mayest stay at the North, or go back to New-Orleans,

just as thou choosest."

The Southerner here interposed to say, "Mind what that old gentleman

says. You can go back to New-Orleans, to your husband, if you prefer to

go."

"But let me tell thee," said Friend Hopper to the woman, "that if thou

stayest here, thou wilt be free; but if they carry thee back, they may

sell thee away from thy husband. Dost thou wish to be free?"

The tears gushed from her eyes in full flood, and she replied earnestly,

"I do want to be free. To be _sure I_ do want to be free; but then I

want to go to my husband."

Mr. Morgan and his Southern friend grew excited. With an angry glance at

the old gentleman, the latter exclaimed, "I only wish we had you in

New-Orleans! We'd hang you up in twenty-four hours."

"Then you are a set of savages," replied Friend Hopper.

"_You_ are a set of thieves," retorted he.

"Well, savages may be thieves also," rejoined the abolitionist, with a

significant smile.

"You are no gentleman," responded the other, in an irritated tone.

"I don't profess to be a gentleman," answered the impassive Quaker. "But

I am an honest old man; and perhaps that will do as well."

This remark occasioned a general smile. Indeed it was pleasant to

observe, throughout this scene in the court-room, that popular sympathy

was altogether on the side of freedom. It was a strange blind instinct

on the part of the people, considering how diligently they had been

instructed otherwise by pulpit and press; but so it was.

When the slave was summoned into the judge's room, Friend Hopper

followed; being extremely desirous to have her understand her position

clearly. He found Mr. Morgan and his Southern friend in close and

earnest conversation with her. When he attempted to approach her, he was

unceremoniously shoved aside, with the remark, "Don't push me away!"

"I did not push thee," said Friend Hopper; "and see that thou dost not

push _me_!" He then inquired of the woman if he had rightly understood

that her husband was free. She replied in the affirmative. "Then let me

tell thee," said the kind-hearted old gentleman, "that we will send for

him, and obtain employment for him here, if it is thy choice to

remain."

Again she wept, and repeated, "I do want to be free." But she was

evidently bewildered and distrustful, and did not know how to understand

the opposite professions that were made to her.

On representation of the claimant's friends, Judge Oakley adjourned the

case till the next morning; telling the woman she was at liberty to go

with whom she pleased. The colored people had assembled in considerable

numbers, and were a good deal excited. Experience led them to suppose

that she would either be cajoled into consenting to return to slavery,

or else secretly packed off to New-Orleans, if she were left in Southern

hands. They accordingly made haste to hustle her away. But their

well-intended zeal terrified the poor bewildered creature, and she

escaped from them, and went back to her mistress.

The pro-slavery papers chuckled, as they always do, when some poor

ignorant victim is deceived by false representation, alarmed by an

excitement that she does not comprehend, afraid that strangers are not

telling her the truth, or that they have not the power to protect her;

and in continual terror of future punishment, if she should attempt to

take her freedom, and yet be unable to maintain it. Great is the triumph

of republicans, when, under such trying circumstances, _one_ poor

bewildered wretch goes back to slavery; but of the _hundreds_, who every

month take their freedom, through fire and flood, and all manner of

deadly perils, they are as silent as the grave.

In the spring of 1841, I went to New-York to edit the Anti-Slavery

Standard, and took up my abode with the family of Isaac T. Hopper. The

zealous theological controversy among Friends naturally subsided after

the separation between the opposing parties had become an old and

settled fact. Consequently the demand for Quaker books diminished more

and more. The Anti-Slavery Society, at that time, needed a Treasurer and

Book-Agent; and Friend Hopper was proposed as a suitable person for that

office. As only a small portion of his time was occupied with the sale

of books he had on hand, he concluded to accept the proposition. He was

then nearly seventy years old; but he appeared at least twenty years

younger, in person and manners. His firm, elastic step seemed like a

vigorous man of fifty. He would spring from the Bowery cars, while they

were in motion, with as much agility as a lad of fourteen. His hair was

not even sprinkled with gray. It looked so black and glossy, that a

young lady, who was introduced to him, said she thought he wore a wig

unnaturally dark for his age. It was a favorite joke of his to make

strangers believe he wore a wig; and they were not easily satisfied

that he spoke in jest, until they examined his head.

The roguery of his boyhood had subsided into a love of little

mischievous tricks; and the playful tone of humor, that rippled through

his conversation, frequently reminded me of the Cheeryble Brothers, so

admirably described by Dickens. If some one rang at the door, and

inquired for Mr. Hopper, he always answered, "There is no such person

lives here." If the stranger urged that he had been directed by a man

who said he knew Mr. Hopper, he would persevere in saying, "There must

be some mistake. No such person lives here." At last, when the

disappointed visitor turned to go away, he would call out, "Perhaps thou

means Isaac T. Hopper? That is _my_ name."

Being called upon to give a receipt to a Catholic priest for some money

deposited in his hands, he simply wrote "Received of John Smith." When

the priest had read it, he handed it back and said, "I am disbursing

other people's money, and shall be obliged to show this receipt;

therefore, I should like to have you write my name, the Reverend John

Smith." "I have conscientious scruples about using titles," replied

Friend Hopper. "However, I will try to oblige thee." He took another

slip of paper, and wrote, "Received of John Smith, who _calls_ himself

the Reverend." The priest smiled, and accepted the compromise; being

well aware that the pleasantry originated in no personal or sectarian

prejudice.

He always had something facetious to say to the people with whom he

traded. The oyster-men, the coal-men, and the women at the fruit-stalls

in his neighborhood, all knew him as a pleasant old gentleman, always

ready for a joke. One day, when he was buying some peaches, he said to

the woman, "A serious accident happened at our house last night. I

killed two robbers." "Dear me!" she exclaimed. "Were they young men, or

old convicts? Had they ever been in Sing Sing?" "I don't know about

that," replied he. "I should think they might have been by the noise

they made. But I despatched them before they had stolen much. The walls

are quite bloody." "Has a Coroner's inquest been called?" inquired the

woman. When he answered, "No," she lifted her hands in astonishment, and

exclaimed, "Well now, I do declare! If anybody else had done it, there

would have been a great fuss made about it; but you are a privileged

man, Mr. Hopper." When he was about to walk away, he turned round and

said, "I did not mention to thee that the robbers I killed were two

mosquitoes." The woman had a good laugh, and he came home as pleased as

a boy, to think how completely his serious manner had deceived her.

One day he went to a hosiery store, and said to the man, "I bought a

pair of stockings here yesterday. They looked very nice; but when I got

home, I found two large holes in them; and I have come for another pair.

The man summoned his wife, and informed her of what the gentleman had

said.

"Bless me! Is it possible, sir?" she exclaimed.

"Yes," replied Friend Hopper, I found they had holes as large as my

hand."

"It is very strange," rejoined she; "for I am sure they were new. But if

you have brought them back, of course we will change them."

"O," said he, "upon examination, I concluded that the big holes were

made to put the feet in; and I liked the stockings so well, that I have

come to buy another pair."

At another time, he entered a crockery shop, where a young girl was

tending. He made up a very sorrowful face, and in whining tones, told

her that he was in trouble and needed help. She asked him to wait till

the gentleman came; but he continued to beseech that she would take

compassion on him. The girl began to be frightened by his importunity,

and looked anxiously toward the door. At last, the man of the shop came

in; and Friend Hopper said, "This young woman thinks she cannot help me

out of my trouble; but I think she can. The fact is, we are going to

have company, and so many of our tumblers are broken, that I came to

ask if she would sell me a few."

One day, when he was walking quickly up the Bowery, his foot slipped on

a piece of orange-peel, and he fell prostrate on the sidewalk. He

started up instantly, and turning to a young man behind him, he said,

"Couldst thou have done that any better?"

He very often mingled with affairs in the street, as he passed along.

One day, when he saw a man beating his horse brutally, he stepped up to

him and said, very seriously, "Dost thou know that some people think men

change into animals when they die?"

The stranger's attention was arrested by such an unexpected question,

and he answered that he never was acquainted with anybody who had that

belief.

"But some people do believe it," rejoined Friend Hopper; "and they also

believe that animals may become men. Now I am thinking if thou shouldst

ever be a horse, and that horse should ever be a man, with such a temper

as thine, the chance is thou wilt get some cruel beatings." Having thus

changed the current of his angry mood, he proceeded to expostulate with

him in a friendly way; and the poor beast was reprieved, for that time,

at least.

He could imitate the Irish brogue very perfectly; and it was a standing

jest with him to make every Irish stranger believe he was a countryman.

During his visit to Ireland, he had become so well acquainted with

various localities, that I believe he never in any instance failed to

deceive them, when he said, "Och! and sure I came from old Ireland

meself." After amusing himself in this way for a while, he would tell

them, "It is true I did come from Ireland; but, to confess the truth, I

went there first."

Once, when he saw two Irishmen fighting, he seized one of them by the

arm, and said, "I'm from ould Ireland. If thou _must_ fight, I'm the man

for thee. Thou hadst better let that poor fellow alone. I'm a dale

stouter than he is; and sure it would be braver to fight me." The man

thus accosted looked at him with surprise, for an instant, then burst

out laughing, threw his coat across his arm, and walked off.

Another time, when he found two Irishmen quarrelling, he stepped up and

inquired what was the matter. "He's got my prayer-book," exclaimed one

of them; "and I'll give him a bating for it; by St. Patrick, I will."

"Let me give thee a piece of advice," said Friend Hopper. "It's a very

hot day, and bating is warm work. I'm thinking thou had'st better put it

off till the cool o' the morning." The men, of course, became cooler

before they had done listening to this playful remonstrance.

Once, when he was travelling in the stage, they passed a number of

Irishmen with cart-loads of stones, to mend the road. Friend Hopper

suggested to the driver that he had better ask them to remove a very

large stone, which lay directly in the way and seemed dangerous. "It

will be of no use if I do," replied the driver. "They'll only curse me,

and tell me to go round the old road, over the hill; for the fact is,

this road is not fairly opened to the public yet." Friend Hopper jumped

out, and asked if they would turn that big stone aside. "And sure ye've

no business here at all," they replied. "Ye may jist go round by the

ould road." "Och!" said Friend Hopper, "and is this the way I'm trated

by my coontryman? I'm from Ireland meself; and sure I did'nt expect to

be trated so by my coontrymen in a strange coontry."

"And are ye from ould Ireland?" inquired they.

"Indade I am," he replied.

"And what part may ye be from?" said they.

"From Mount Mellick, Queen's County," rejoined he; and he began to talk

familiarly about the priest and the doctor there, till he got the

laborers into a real good humor, and they removed the stone with the

utmost alacrity. The passengers in the stage listened to this

conversation, and supposed that he was in reality an Irish Quaker. When

he returned to them and explained the joke, they had a hearty laugh over

his powers of mimicry.

His tricks with children were innumerable. They would often be lying in

wait for him in the street; and if he passed without noticing them, they

would sometimes pull at the skirts of his coat, to obtain the customary

attention. Occasionally, he would observe a little troop staring at him,

attracted by the singularity of his costume. Then, he would stop, face

about, stretch out his leg, and say, "Come now, boys! Come, and take a

good look!" It was his delight to steal up behind them, and tickle their

necks, while he made a loud squealing noise. The children, supposing

some animal had set upon them, would jump as if they had been shot. And

how he would laugh! When he met a boy with dirty face or hands, he would

stop him, and inquire if he ever studied chemistry. The boy, with a

wondering stare, would answer, "No." "Well then, I will teach thee how

to perform a curious chemical experiment," said Friend Hopper. "Go home,

take a piece of soap, put it in water, and rub it briskly on thy hands

and face. Thou hast no idea what a beautiful froth it will make, and how

much whiter thy skin will be. That's a chemical experiment. I advise

thee to try it."

The character of his wife was extremely modest and reserved; and he took

mischievous pleasure in telling strangers the story of their courtship

in a way that made her blush. "Dost thou know what Hannah answered, when

I asked if she would marry me?" said he. "I will tell thee how it was.

I was walking home with her one evening, soon after the death of her

mother, and I mentioned to her that as she was alone now, I supposed she

intended to make some change in her mode of living. When she said yes, I

told her I had been thinking it would be very pleasant to have her come

and live with me. 'That would suit me exactly,' said she. This prompt

reply made me suppose she might not have understood my meaning; and I

explained that I wanted to have her become a member of my family; but

she replied again, 'There is nothing I should like better.'"

The real fact was, the quiet and timid Hannah Attmore was not dreaming

of such a thing as a proposal of marriage. She supposed he spoke of

receiving her as a boarder in his family. When she at last perceived his

meaning, she slipped her arm out of his very quickly, and was too much

confused to utter a word. But it amused him to represent that she seized

the opportunity the moment it was offered.

There was one of the anti-slavery agents who did everything in a

dashing, wholesale style, and was very apt to give peremptory orders.

One day he wrote a letter on business, to which the following postscript

was appended: "Give the hands at your office a tremendous blowing up.

They need it." Friend Hopper briefly replied: "According to thy orders,

I have given the hands at our office a tremendous blowing up. They want

to know what it is for. Please inform me by return of mail."

When the Prison Association of New-York petitioned to be incorporated,

he went to Albany on business therewith connected. He was then a

stranger at the seat of government, though they afterward came to know

him well. When he was seated in the senate-chamber, a man came to him

and told him to take off his hat. He replied, "I had rather not. I am

accustomed to keep it on."

"But it is contrary to the rules," rejoined the officer. "I am ordered

to turn out any man who refuses to uncover his head."