The Quaker quietly responded, "Very well, friend, obey thy orders."

"Then, will you please to walk out, sir?" said the officer.

"No," replied Friend Hopper. "Didst thou not tell me thou wert ordered

to turn me out? Dost thou suppose I am going to do thy duty for thee?"

The officer looked embarrassed, and said, half smiling, "But how am I to

get you out?"

"Carry me out, to be sure," rejoined Friend Hopper. "I see no other

way."

The officer went and whispered to the Speaker, who glanced at the

noble-looking old gentleman, and advised that he should be let alone.

Sometimes his jests conveyed cutting sarcasms. One day, when he was

riding in an omnibus, he opened a port-monnaie lined with red. A man

with very flaming visage, who was somewhat intoxicated, and therefore

very much inclined to be talkative, said, "Ah, that is a very gay

pocket-book for a Quaker to carry."

"Yes, it is very red," replied Friend Hopper; "but is not so red as thy

nose." The passengers all smiled, and the man seized the first

opportunity to make his escape.

A poor woman once entered an omnibus, which was nearly full, and stood

waiting for some one to make room. A proud-looking lady sat near Friend

Hopper, and he asked her to move a little, to accommodate the new comer.

But she looked very glum, and remained motionless. After examining her

countenance for an instant, he said, "If thy face often looks so, I

shouldn't like to have thee for a neighbor." The passengers exchanged

smiles at this rebuke, and the lady frowned still more deeply.

One of the jury in the Darg case was "a son of Abraham," rather

conspicuous for his prejudice against colored people. Some time after

the proceedings were dropped, Friend Hopper happened to meet him, and

entered into conversation on the subject. The Jew was very bitter

against "that rascally thief, Tom Hughes." "It does not become _thee_ to

be so very severe," said Friend Hopper; "for thy ancestors were slaves

in Egypt, and went off with the gold and silver jewels they borrowed of

their masters."

One day he met several of the Society of Friends, whom he had not seen

for some time. Among them was an Orthodox Friend, who was rather stiff

in his manners. The others shook hands with Isaac; but when he

approached "the Orthodox," he merely held out his finger.

"Why dost thou offer me thy finger?" said he.

"I don't allow people of certain principles to get very deep hold of

_me_," was the cold reply.

"Thou needest have no uneasiness on that score," rejoined Friend Hopper;

"for there never was anything deep in thee to get hold of."

The sense of justice, so conspicuous in boyhood, always remained a

distinguishing trait in his character. Once, after riding half a mile,

he perceived that he had got into the wrong omnibus. When he jumped out,

the driver called for pay; but he answered, "I don't owe thee anything.

I've been carried the wrong way." This troubled him afterward, when he

considered that he had used the carriage and horses, and that the

mistake was his own fault. He kept on the look-out for the driver, but

did not happen to see him again, until several weeks afterward. He

called to him to stop, and paid the sixpence.

"Why, you refused to pay me, when I asked you," said the driver.

"I know I did," he replied; "but I repented of it afterward. I was in a

hurry then, and I did not reflect that the mistake was my fault, not

thine; and that I ought to pay for riding half a mile with thy horses,

though they did carry me the wrong way." The man laughed, and said he

didn't often meet with such conscientious passengers.

The tenacity of the old gentleman's memory was truly remarkable. He

often repeated letters, which he had written or received twenty years

before on some memorable occasion; and if opportunity occurred to

compare them with the originals, it would be found that he had scarcely

varied a word. He always maintained that he could distinctly remember

some things, which happened before he was two years old. One day, when

his parents were absent, and Polly was busy about her work, he sat

bolstered up in his cradle, when a sudden gust of wind blew a large

piece of paper through the entry. To his uneducated senses, it seemed to

be a living creature, and he screamed violently. It was several hours

before he recovered from his extreme terror. When his parents returned,

he tried to make them understand how a strange thing had come into the

house, and run, and jumped, and made a noise. But his lisping language

was so very imperfect, that they were unable to conjecture what had so

frightened him. For a long time after, he would break out into sudden

screams, whenever the remembrance came over him. At seventy-five years

old, he told me he remembered exactly how the paper then appeared to

him, and what sensations of terror it excited in his infant breast.

He had a large old-fashioned cow-bell, which was always rung to summon

the family to their meals. He resisted having one of more modern

construction, because he said that pleasantly reminded him of the time

when he was a boy, and used to drive the cows to pasture. Sometimes, he

rang it much longer than was necessary to summon the household. On such

occasions, I often observed him smiling while he stood shaking the bell;

and he would say, "I am thinking how Polly looked, when the cow kicked

her over; milk-pail and all. I can see it just as if it happened

yesterday. O, what fun it was!"

He often spoke of the first slave whose escape he managed, in the days

of his apprenticeship. He was wont to exclaim, "How well I remember the

anxious, imploring, look that poor fellow gave me, when I told him I

would be his friend! It rises up before me now. If I were a painter, I

could show it to thee."

But clearly above all other things, did he remember every look and tone

of his beloved Sarah; even in the days when they trudged to school

together, hand in hand. The recollection of this first love, closely

intertwined with his first religious impressions, was the only flowery

spot of romance in the old gentleman's very practical character. When he

was seventy years of age, he showed me a piece of writing she had copied

for him, when she was a girl of fourteen. It was preserved in the

self-same envelope, in which she sent it, and pinned with the same pin,

long since blackened by age. I said, "Be careful not to lose that pin."

"Lose it!" he exclaimed. "No money could tempt me to part with it. I

loved the very ground she trod upon."

He was never weary of eulogizing her comely looks, beautiful manners,

sound principles, and sensible conversation. The worthy companion of his

later life never seemed troubled by such remarks. She not only "listened

to a sister's praises with unwounded ear," but often added a heartfelt

tribute to the virtues of her departed friend.

It is very common for old people to grow careless about their personal

appearance, and their style of conversation; but Friend Hopper was

remarkably free from such faults. He was exceedingly pure in his mind,

and in his personal habits. He never alluded to any subject that was

unclean, never made any indelicate remark, or used any unseemly

expression. There was never the slightest occasion for young people to

feel uneasy concerning what he might say. However lively his mood might

be, his fun was always sure to be restrained by the nicest sense of

natural propriety. He shaved, and took a cold plunge-bath every day. Not

a particle of mud or dust was allowed to remain upon his garments. He

always insisted on blacking his own shoes; for it was one of his

principles not to be waited upon, while he was well enough to wait upon

himself. They were always as polished as japan; and every Saturday

night, his silver buckles were made as bright as a new dollar, in

readiness to go to meeting the next day. His dress was precisely like

that worn by William Penn. At the time I knew him, I believe he was the

only Quaker in the country, who had not departed from that model in the

slightest degree. It was in fact the dress of all English gentlemen, in

King Charles's time; and the only peculiarity of William Penn was, that

he wore it without embroidery or ornament of any kind, for the purpose

of protesting against the extravagance of the fashionable world.

Therefore, the _spirit_ of his intention and that of other early

Friends, would be preserved by wearing dress cut according to the

prevailing mode, but of plain materials, and entirely unornamented.

However, Friend Hopper was attached to the ancient costume from early

association, and he could not quite banish the idea that any change in

it would be a degree of conformity to the fashions of the world. The

long stockings, and small clothes buckled at the knee, were well adapted

to his finely formed limbs; and certainly he and his lady-like Hannah,

in their quaint garb of the olden time, formed a very agreeable picture.

He had no peculiarities with regard to eating or drinking. He always

followed the old-fashioned substantial mode of living, to which he had

been accustomed in youth, and of which moderation in all things was the

rule. For luxuries he had no taste. He thought very little about his

food; but when it was before him, he ate with the vigorous appetite

natural to strong health and very active habits. When his health failed

for a time in Philadelphia, and he seemed wasting away to a shadow, his

physician recommended tobacco. He found great benefit from it, and in

consequence of the habit then formed he became an inveterate smoker, and

continued so till he was past seventy years old.

Being out of health for a short time, at that period, the doctor told

him he thought smoking was not good for his complaint. He accordingly

discontinued the practice, and formed a resolution not to renew it. When

he recovered, it cost him a good deal of physical annoyance to conquer

the long-settled habit; but he had sufficient strength of mind to

persevere in the difficult task, and he never again used tobacco in any

form. Speaking of this to his son Edward, he said, "The fact is, whoever

cures himself of any selfish indulgence, becomes a better man. It may

seem strange that I should set out to improve at my age; but better late

than never."

He was eminently domestic in his character. Perhaps no man ever lived,

who better enjoyed staying at home. He loved to invite his

grand-children, and write them pleasant little notes about the

squirrel-pie, or some other rarity, which he had in preparation for

them. He seldom went out of his own family circle, except on urgent

business, or to attend to some call of humanity. He was always very

attentive in waiting upon his wife to meeting, or elsewhere, and spent a

large portion of his evenings in reading to her from the newspapers, or

some book of Travels, or the writings of early Friends. No man in the

country had such a complete Quaker library. He contrived to pick up

every rare old volume connected with the history of his sect. He had a

wonderful fondness and reverence for many of those books. They seemed to

stand to him in the place of old religious friends, who had parted from

his side in the journey of life. There, at least, he found Quakerism

that had not degenerated; that breathed the same spirit as of yore.

I presume that his religious opinions resembled those of Elias Hicks.

But I judged so mainly from incidental remarks; for he regarded

doctrines as of small importance, and considered theology an

unprofitable topic of conversation. Practical righteousness, manifested

in the daily affairs of life, was in his view the sum and substance of

religion. The doctrine of the Atonement never commended itself to his

reason, and his sense of justice was disturbed by the idea of the

innocent suffering for the guilty. He moreover thought it had a

pernicious tendency for men to rely on an abstract article of faith, to

save them from their sins. With the stern and gloomy sects, who are

peculiarly attracted by the character of Deity as delineated in the Old

Testament, he had no sympathy. The Infinite One was ever present to his

mind, as a loving Father to all his children, whether they happened to

call him by the name of Brama, Jehovah, God, or Allah.

He was strongly attached to the forms of Quakerism, as well as to the

principles. It troubled him, when some of his children changed their

mode of dress, and ceased to say _thee_ and _thou_. He groaned when one

of his daughters appeared before him with a black velvet bonnet, though

it was exceedingly simple in construction, and unornamented by feather

or ribbon. She was prepared for this reception, and tried to reconcile

him to the innovation by representing that a white or drab-colored silk

bonnet showed every stain, and was therefore very uneconomical for a

person of active habits. "Thy good mother was a very energetic woman,"

he replied; "but she found no difficulty in keeping her white bonnet as

nice as a new pin." His daughter urged that it required a great deal of

trouble to keep it so; and that she did not think dress was worth so

much trouble. But his groan was only softened into a sigh. The fashion

of the bonnet his Sarah had worn, in that beloved old meeting-house at

Woodbury, was consecrated in his memory; and to his mind, the outward

type also stood for an inward principle. I used to tell him that I found

something truly grand in the original motive for saying _thee_ and

_thou_; but it seemed to me that it had degenerated into a mere

hereditary habit, since the custom of applying _you_ exclusively to

superiors had vanished from the English language. He admitted the force

of this argument; but he deprecated a departure from their old forms,

because he considered it useful, especially to the young, to carry the

cross of being marked and set apart from the world. But though he was

thus strict in what he required of those who had been educated as

Quakers, he placed no barrier between himself and people of other sects.

He loved a righteous man, and sympathized with an unfortunate one,

without reference to his denomination. In fact, many of his warmest and

dearest friends were not members of his own religious society.

Early in life he formed an unfavorable opinion of the effect of capital

punishment. His uncle Tatum considered it a useful moral lesson to take

all his apprentices to hear the tragedy of George Barnwell, and to

witness public executions. On one of these occasions, he saw five men

hung at once. His habits of shrewd observation soon led him to conclude

that such spectacles generally had a very hardening and bad influence on

those who witnessed them, or heard them much talked about. In riper

years, his mind was deeply interested in the subject, and he read and

reflected upon it a great deal. The result of his investigations was a

settled conviction that executions did not tend to diminish crime, but

rather to increase it, by their demoralizing effect on the community. He

regarded them with abhorrence, as a barbarous custom, entirely out of

place in a civilized country and a Christian age.

Concerning the rights of women, he scarcely needed any new light from

modern theories; for, as a Quaker, he had been early accustomed to

practical equality between men and women in all the affairs of the

Society. He had always been in the habit of listening to them as

preachers, and of meeting them on committees with men, for education,

for the care of the poor, for missions to the Indians, and for financial

regulations. Therefore, it never occurred to him that there was anything

unseemly in a woman's using any gift with which God had endowed her, or

transacting any business, which she had the ability to do well.

After his removal to New-York, incidents now and then occurred, which

formed pleasant links with his previous life in Philadelphia. Sometimes

slaves, whom he had rescued many years before, or convicts, whom he had

encouraged to lead a better life, called to see him and express their

gratitude. Sometimes their children came to bless him. There was one old

colored woman, who never could meet him without embracing him. Although

these demonstrations were not always convenient, and did not partake of

the quiet character of Quaker discipline, he would never say anything to

repress the overflowings of her warm old heart. As one of his sons

passed through Bond-street, he saw an old colored man rubbing his

knees, and making the most lively gesticulations of delight. Being asked

what was the matter, he pointed across the street, and exclaimed, "O, if

I was only sure that was Friend Hopper of Philadelphia! If I was only

_sure_!" When told that he was not mistaken, he rushed up to the old

gentleman, threw his arms about his neck, and hugged him.

When I told him of Julia Pell, a colored Methodist preacher, whose

fervid untutored eloquence had produced an exciting effect on my mind,

he invited her to come and take tea with him. In the course of

conversation, he discovered that she was the daughter of Zeke, the slave

who outwitted his purchaser; as described in the preceding narratives.

It was quite an interesting event in her life to meet with the man who

had written her father's manumission papers, while she was in her

infancy. When the parting hour came, she said she felt moved to pray;

and dropping on her knees, she poured forth a brief but very earnest

prayer, at the close of which she said: "O Lord, I beseech thee to

shower down blessings on that good old man, whom thou hast raised up to

do such a blessed work for my down-trodden people."

Friend Hopper's fund of anecdotes, especially with regard to colored

people, was almost inexhaustible. He related them with so much

animation, that he was constantly called upon to repeat them, both at

public meetings and in private conversation; and they never failed to

excite lively interest. Every stranger, who was introduced to him, tried

to draw him out; and it was an easy matter; for he loved to oblige

people, and it is always pleasant for an old soldier to fight his

battles over again. In this readiness to recount his own exploits, there

was nothing that seemed like silly or obtrusive vanity. It often

reminded me of the following just remark in the Westminster Review,

applied to Jeremy Bentham: "The very egotism in which he occasionally

indulged was a manifestation of a _want_ of self-thought. This unpopular

failing is, after all, one of the characteristics of a natural and

simple mind. It requires much _thought_ about one's self to _avoid_

speaking of one's self."

It has been already mentioned that Friend Hopper passed through a fiery

trial in his own religious society, during the progress of the schism

produced by the preaching of Elias Hicks. Fourteen years had elapsed

since the separation. The "Hicksite" branch had become an established

and respectable sect. In cities, many of them were largely engaged in

Southern trade. I have heard it stated that millions of money were thus

invested. They retained sympathy with the theological opinions of Elias

Hicks, but his rousing remonstrances against slavery would have been

generally very unwelcome to their ears. They cherished the names of

Anthony Benezet, John Woolman, and a host of other departed worthies,

whose labors in behalf of the colored people reflected honor on their

Society. But where was the need of being so active in the cause, as

Isaac T. Hopper was, and always had been? "The way did not open" for

_them_ to be so active; and why should _his_ zeal rebuke _their_

listlessness? Was it friendly, was it respectful in him, to do more than

his religious Society thought it necessary to do? It is astonishing how

troublesome a living soul proves to be, when they try to shut it up

within the narrow limits of a drowsy sect!

I had a friend in Boston, whose wealthy and aristocratic parents brought

him up according to the most approved model of genteel religion. He

learned the story of the Good Samaritan, and was early accustomed to

hear eulogies pronounced on the holy Jesus, who loved the poor, and

associated with the despised. When the boy became a man he joined the

Anti-Slavery Society, and openly avowed that he regarded Africans as

brethren of the great human family. His relatives were grieved to see

him pursuing such an injudicious and disrespectable course. Whereupon, a

witty reformer remarked, "They took most commendable pains to present

Jesus and the Good Samaritan as models of character, but they were

surprised to find that he had taken them at their word."

The case was somewhat similar with Isaac T. Hopper. He had imbibed

anti-slavery principles in full flood at the fountain of Quakerism.

Their best and greatest men were conspicuous as advocates of those

principles. Children were taught to revere those men, and their

testimonies were laid up in honorable preservation, to be quoted with

solemn formality on safe occasions. Friend Hopper acted as if these

professions were in good earnest; and thereby he disturbed his sect, as

my Boston friend troubled his family, when he made practical use of

their religious teaching.

That many of the modern Quakers should be blinded by bales of cotton,

heaped up between their souls and the divine light, is not remarkable;

for cotton is an impervious material. But it is a strange anomaly in

their history that any one among them should have considered himself

guided by the Spirit to undertake the especial mission of discouraging

sympathy with the enslaved. A minister belonging to that branch of the

Society called "Hicksites," who usually preached in Rose-street Meeting,

New-York, had imbibed very strong prejudices against all modern reforms:

and he manifested his aversion with a degree of excitement, in language,

tone, and gesture, very unusual in that quiet sect. Those who labored

in the cause of temperance, anti-slavery, or non-resistance, he was wont

to stigmatize as "hireling lecturers," "hireling book-agents," and

"emissaries of Satan." Soon after Thomas Hughes consented to return to

the South, in consequence of the fair professions of Mr. Darg, this

preacher chimed in with the exulting tones of the pro-slavery press, by

alluding to it in one of his public discourses as follows. After

speaking of the tendency of affliction to produce humility, he went on

to say, "As a slave, who had suffered the effects of his criminal

conduct, and been thus led to calm reflection, recently chose to go back

with this master into slavery, and endure all the evils of that

condition, notwithstanding his former experience of them, rather than

stay with those hypocritical workers of popular righteousness who had

interfered in his behalf. For my own part, I commend his choice. I had a

thousand times rather be a slave, and spend my days with slaveholders,

than to dwell in companionship with abolitionists."

The state of things among Quakers in the city of New-York may be

inferred from the fact that this minister was exceedingly popular, and

his style of preaching cordially approved by a majority of them. One of

the editors of the Anti-Slavery Standard, at that time, wrote a severe,

though by no means abusive article on the subject, headed "Rare

Specimen of a Quaker Preacher." This gave great offence, and Isaac T.

Hopper was very much blamed for it. He, and his son-in-law James S.

Gibbons, and his friend Charles Marriott, then belonged to the Executive

Committee of the Anti-Slavery Society; and it was assumed to be their

duty to have prevented the publication of the sarcastic article. Charles

Harriot was absent from the city when it was published, and Friend

Hopper did not see it till after it was in print. When they urged these

facts, and stated, moreover, that they had no right to dictate to the

editor what he should say, or what he should not say, they were told

that they ought to exculpate themselves by a public expression of their

disapprobation. But as they did not believe the editorial article

contained any mis-statement of facts, they could not conscientiously say

any thing that would satisfy the friends of the preacher. It would be

tedious to relate the difficulties that followed. There were visits from

overseers, and prolonged sessions of committees; a great deal of talking

_with_ the accused, and still more talking _about_ them. A strong

disposition was manifested to make capital against them out of the Darg

Case. Robert H. Morris, who was presiding Judge while that case was

pending, and afterward Mayor of New-York, had long known Friend Hopper,

and held him in much respect. When he was told that some sought to cast

imputations on his character, he was greatly surprised, and offered to

give favorable testimony in any form that might be desired. J.R.

Whiting, the District Attorney, expressed the same readiness; and

private misrepresentations were silenced by a published certificate from

them, testifying that throughout the affair Friend Hopper had merely

"exhibited a desire to procure the money for the master, and the

manumission of the slave."

The principal argument brought by Friends, against their members uniting

with Anti-Slavery Societies, was that they were thus led to mix

indiscriminately with people of other denominations, and brought into

contact with hireling clergymen. There seemed some inconsistency in this

objection, coming from the mouths of men who belonged to Rail Road

Corporations, and Bank Stock Companies, and who mingled constantly with

slaveholders in Southern trade; for the early testimonies of the Society

were quite as explicit against slavery, as against a paid ministry.

However, those of their members who were abolitionists were willing to

obviate this objection, if possible. They accordingly formed an

association among themselves, "for the relief of those held in slavery,

and the improvement of the free people of color." But when this

benevolent association asked for the use of Rose-street Meeting-house,

their request was not only refused, but condemned as disorderly.

Affairs were certainly in a very singular position. Both branches of the

Society of Friends were entirely inert on the subject of slavery. Both

expressed pity for the slave, but both agreed that "the way did not

open" for them to _do_ anything. If individual members were thus driven

to unite in action with other sects upon a subject which seemed to them

very important, they were called disorganizers. When they tried to

conciliate by forming an association composed of Quakers only, they were

told that "as the Society of Friends saw no way to move forward in this

concern, such associations appeared to reflect upon _them_;" implying

that they failed in discharging their duty as a religious body. What

could an earnest, direct character, like Isaac T. Hopper, do in the

midst of a sect thus situated? He proceeded as he always did. He walked

straight forward in what seemed to him the path of duty, and snapped all

the lilliputian cords with which they tried to bind him.

Being unable to obtain any apology from their offending members, the

Society proceeded to administer its discipline. A complaint was laid

before the Monthly Meeting of New-York, in which Isaac T. Hopper, James

S. Gibbons, and Charles Marriott, were accused of "being concerned in

the publication and support of a paper calculated to excite discord and

disunity among Friends." Friend Hopper published a statement,

characterised by his usual boldness, and disturbed his mind very little

about the result of their proceedings. April, 1842, he wrote thus, to

his daughter, Sarah H. Palmer, of Philadelphia: "During my late

indisposition, I was induced to enter into a close examination of my own

heart; and I could not find that I stood condemned there for the part I

have taken in the anti-slavery cause, which has brought upon me so much

censure from those 'who know not God, nor his son Jesus Christ. They

profess that they know God, but in works they deny him.' I have not yet

given up our Society as lost. I still live in the faith that it will see

better days. I often remember the testimony borne by that devoted and

dignified servant of the Lord, Mary Ridgeway; which was to this import:

'The Lord, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, has gathered this Society

to be a people, and has placed his name among them; and He has given

them noble testimonies to hold up to the nations; but if they prove

unfaithful, those testimonies will be given unto others, who may be

compared to the stones of the street; and _they_ will wear the crowns

that were intended for this people, who will be cast out, as salt that

has lost its savor.' We may plume ourselves upon being the _children_ of

Abraham, but in the days of solemn inquisition, which surely will come,

it will only add to our condemnation, because we have not done the

_works_ of Abraham."

"The Yearly Meeting will soon be upon us, when we shall have a final

decision in our cases. I feel perfectly resigned to the result, be it

what it may. Indeed, I have sometimes thought I should be happier _out_

of the Society than _in_ it. I should feel more at liberty to 'cry aloud

and spare not, to lift up my voice like a trumpet, and show the people

their transgressions, and the house of Jacob their sins.' I believe no

greater benefit could be conferred on the Society. There are yet many in

it who see and deplore its departure from primitive uprightness, but who

are afraid to come out as they ought against the evils that prevail in

it."

An aged and very worthy Friend in Philadelphia, named Robert Moore, who

deeply sympathized with the wrongs of colored people, wrote to Friend

Hopper as follows: "From 1822 to 1827, we had many interesting

conversations in thy little front room, respecting the distracted state

of our Society, and the efforts made to sustain our much beloved brother

Elias Hicks, against those who were anxious for his downfall and

excommunication. This great excitement grew hotter till the separation

in 1827; we not being able to endure any longer the intolerance of the

party in power. Well, it appears that the persecuted have now, in their

turn, become persecutors; and those who went through the fire aforetime

are devoted to pass through it again. But, my dear friend, I hope thou

and all who are doomed to suffer for conscience sake, will stand firm,

and not deviate one inch from what you believe to be your duty. They may

cast you out of the synagogue, which I fear has become so corrupt that a

seat among them has ceased to be an honor, or in any way desirable; but

you will pass through the furnace unscathed. Not a hair of your heads

will be singed."

The ecclesiastical proceedings in this case were kept pending more than

a year, I think; being carried from the Monthly Meeting to the

Quarterly, and thence to the Yearly Meeting. Thirty-six Friends were

appointed a committee in the Yearly Meeting. They had six sessions, and

finally reported that, after patient deliberation, they found eighteen

of their number in favor of confirming the decision of the Quarterly

Meeting; fifteen for reversing it; and three who declined giving any

judgment in the case. Upon this report, the Yearly Meeting confirmed the

decision of the inferior tribunals; and Isaac T. Hopper, James S.

Gibbons, and Charles Marriott were excommunicated; in Quaker phrase,

disowned.

I thus expressed myself at the time; and the lapse of ten years has not

changed my view of the case: Excommunication for _such_ causes will cut

off from the Society their truest, purest, and tenderest spirits. There

is Isaac T. Hopper, whose life has been one long chapter of benevolence,

an unblotted record of fair integrity. A man so exclusive in his

religious attachments that the principles of his Society are to his mind

identical with Christianity, and its minutest forms sacred from

innovation. A man whose name is first mentioned wherever Quakerism is

praised, or benevolence to the slave approved.

There is Charles Marriott, likewise widely known, and of high standing

in the Society; mild as a lamb, and tender-hearted as a child; one to

whom conflict with others is peculiarly painful, but who nevertheless,

when principles are at stake, can say, with the bold-hearted Luther,

"God help me! I cannot otherwise."

There is James S. Gibbons, a young man, and therefore less known; but

wherever known, prized for his extreme kindness of heart, his steadfast

honesty of purpose, his undisguised sincerity, and his unflinching

adherence to his own convictions of duty. A Society has need to be very

rich in moral excellence, that can afford to throw away three such

members.

Protests and disclaimers against the disownment of these worthy men came

from several parts of the country, signed by Friends of high character;

and many private letters were addressed to them, expressive of sympathy

and approbation. Friend Hopper was always grateful for such marks of

respect and friendship; but his own conscience would have sustained him

without such aid. He had long felt a deep sadness whenever he was

reminded of the _spiritual_ separation between him and the religious

Society, whose preachers had exerted such salutary influence on his

youthful character; but the _external_ separation was of no consequence.

He attended meeting constantly, as he had ever done, and took his seat

on the bench under the preachers' gallery, facing the audience, where he

had always been accustomed to sit, when he was an honored member of the

Society. Charles Marriott, who was by temperament a much meeker man,

said to him one day, "The overseers have called upon me, to represent

the propriety of my taking another seat, under existing circumstances. I

expect they will call upon thee, to give the same advice."

"I expect they _won't_," was Isaac's laconic reply; and they never did.

His daughter, Abby H. Gibbons, soon after resigned membership in the

Monthly Meeting of New-York for herself and her children; and his sons

Josiah and John did the same. The grounds stated were that "the meeting

had manifestly departed from the original principles and testimonies of

the Society of Friends; that the plainest principles of civil and

religious freedom had been violated in the whole proceedings in relation

to their father; and that the overseers had prepared an official

document calculated to produce false impressions with regard to him;

accusing him of 'grossly reproachful conduct' in the well known Darg

Case; whereas there was abundant evidence before the public that his

proceedings in that case were influenced by the purest and most

disinterested motives."

The Philadelphia Ledger, after stating that the Society of Friends in

New-York had disowned some of their prominent members for being

connected, directly or indirectly, with an Abolition Journal, added the

following remark: "This seems rather singular; for we had supposed that

Friends were favorably inclined toward the abolition of slavery. But

many of their members are highly respectable merchants, extensively

engaged in Southern trade. We are informed that they are determined to

discountenance all pragmatic interference with the legal and

constitutional rights of their brethren at the South. The Quakers have

always been distinguished for minding their own business, and permitting

others to attend to theirs. They would be the last people to meddle with

the rights of _property_."

The Boston Times quoted the paragraph from the Philadelphia Ledger, with

the additional remark, "There is no logician like money."

Whether Friends in New-York felt flattered by these eulogiums, I know

not; but they appear to have been well deserved.

In 1842 and the year following, Friend Hopper travelled more than usual.

In August '42, he visited his native place, after an absence of twenty

years. He and his wife were accompanied from Philadelphia by his son

Edward and his daughter Sarah H. Palmer. Of course, the haunts of his

boyhood had undergone many changes. Panther's Bridge had disappeared,

and Rabbit Swamp and Turkey Causeway no longer looked like the same

places. He visited his father's house, then occupied by strangers, and

found the ruins of his great-grandfather's dwelling. Down by the

pleasant old creek, shaded with large walnut trees and cedars, stood the

tombs of many of his relatives; and at Woodbury were the graves of his

father and mother, and the parents of his wife. Every spot had something

interesting to say of the past. His eyes brightened, and his tongue

became voluble with a thousand memories. Had I been present to listen to

him then, I should doubtless have been enabled to add considerably to my

stock of early anecdotes. He seemed to have brought away from this visit

a peculiarly vivid recollection of "poor crazy Joe Gibson." This

demented being was sometimes easily controlled, and willing to be

useful; at other times, he was perfectly furious and ungovernable. Few

people knew how to manage him; but Isaac's parents acquired great

influence over him by their uniform system of forbearance and

tenderness; their own good sense and benevolence having suggested the

ideas which regulate the treatment of insanity at the present period.

The day spent in Woodbury and its vicinity was a bright spot in Friend

Hopper's life, to which he always reverted with a kind of saddened

pleasure. The heat of the season had been tempered by floating clouds,

and when they returned to Philadelphia, there was a faint rainbow in the

east. He looked lovingly upon it, and said, "These clouds seem to have

followed us all day, on purpose to make everything more pleasant."

In the course of the same month he accepted an invitation to attend the

Anti-Slavery Convention at Norristown, Pennsylvania. His appearance

there was quite an event. Many friends of the cause, who were strangers

to him, were curious to obtain a sight of him, and to hear him address

the meeting. Charles C. Burleigh, in an eloquent letter to the

Convention, says: "I am glad to hear that Isaac T. Hopper is to be

present. That tried old veteran, with his eye undimmed, his natural

strength unabated, his resolute look, and calm determined manner, before

which the blustering kidnapper, and the self-important oppressor have so

often quailed! With the scars of a hundred battles, and the wreaths of

an hundred victories in this glorious warfare. With his example of half

a century's active service in this holy cause, and his still faithful

adherence to it, through evil as well as good report, and in the face of

opposition as bitter as sectarian bigotry can stir up. Persecution

cannot bow the head, which seventy winters could not blanch, nor the

terrors of excommunication chill the heart, in which age could not

freeze the kindly flow of warm philanthropy."

I think it was not long after this excursion that his sister Sarah came

from Maryland to visit him. She was a pleasant, sensible matron, much

respected by all who knew her. I noted down at the time several

anecdotes of childhood and youth, which bubbled up in the course of

conversations between her and her brother. In her character the

hereditary trait of benevolence was manifested in a form somewhat

different from his. She had no children of her own, but she brought up,

on her husband's farm, nineteen poor boys and girls, and gave most of

them a trade. Nearly all of them turned out well.

In the winters of 1842 and '43, Friend Hopper complied with urgent

invitations to visit the Anti-Slavery Fair, in Boston; and seldom has a

warmer welcome been given to any man. As soon as he appeared in Amory

Hall, he was always surrounded by a circle of lively girls attracted by

his frank manners, his thousand little pleasantries, and his keen

enjoyment of young society. A friend of mine used to say that when she

saw them clustering round him, in furs and feathered bonnets, listening

to his words so attentively, she often thought it would make as fine a

picture as William Penn explaining his treaty to the Indians.

Ellis Gray Loring in a letter to me, says: "We greatly enjoyed Friend

Hopper's visit. You cannot conceive how everybody was delighted with

him; particularly all our gay young set; James Russell Lowell, William

W. Story, and the like. The old gentleman seemed very happy; receiving

from all hands evidence of the true respect in which he is held." Mrs.

Loring, writing to his son John, says: "We have had a most delightful

visit from your father. Our respect, wonder, and love for him increased

daily. I am sure he must have received some pleasure, he bestowed so

much. We feel his friendship to be a great acquisition."

Samuel J. May wrote to me: "I cannot tell you how much I was charmed by

my interview with Friend Hopper. To me, it was worth more than all the

Fair beside. Give my most affectionate respects to him. He very kindly

invited me to make his house my home when I next come to New-York; and I

am impatient for the time to arrive, that I may accept his invitation."

Edmund Quincy, writing to Friend Hopper's daughter, Mrs. Gibbons, says:

"You cannot think how glad we were to see the dear old man. He spent a

night with me, to my great contentment, and that of my wife; and to the

no small edification of our little boy, to whom breeches and buckles

were a great curiosity. My Irish gardener looked at them with reverence;

having probably seen nothing so aristocratic, since he left the old

country. I love those relics of past time. The Quakers were not so much

out, when they censured their members for turning _sans culottes_. Think

of Isaac T. Hopper in a pair of pantaloons strapped under his feet!

There is heresy in the very idea. But, costume apart, we were as glad to

see Father Hopper, as if he had been our real father in the flesh. I

hope he had a right good time. If he had not, I am sure it was not for

want of being made much of. I trust his visits to Boston will grow into

one of our domestic institutions."

In the old gentleman's account of his visit to the Fair, he says: "I was

struck with the extreme propriety with which everything was conducted,

and with the universal harmony and good-will that prevailed among the

numerous friends of the cause, who had collected from all parts of the

old Commonwealth, on this interesting occasion. Many of the most

distinguished citizens were purchasers, and appeared highly gratified,

though not connected with the anti-slavery cause. Lord Morpeth, late

Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, attended frequently, made some presents to

the Fair, and purchased several articles. I would call him by his

Christian name, if I knew it; for it is plain enough that he was not

baptized, 'Lord'. His manners were extremely friendly and agreeable, and

he expressed himself highly pleased with the exhibition. I had an

interesting conversation with him on the subject of slavery;

particularly in relation to the Amistad captives, and the case of the

Creole."

"I had an opportunity to make a valuable addition to my collection of

the works of ancient Friends. On the book-table, I found that rare old

volume, 'The Way Cast Up,' written by George Keith, while in unity with

the Society. I took it home with me to my chamber; and as I glanced over

it, my mind was moved to a painful retrospect of the Society of Friends

in its original state, when its members were at liberty to follow the

light, as manifested to them in the silence and secrecy of their own

souls. I seemed to see them entering places appointed for worship by

various professors, and there testifying against idolatry, superstition,

and a mercenary priesthood. I saw them entering the courts, calling upon

judges and lawyers to do justice. I saw them receive contumely and

abuse, as a reward for these acts of dedication. My imagination

followed them to loathsome dungeons, where many of them died a lingering

death. I saw the blood trickling from the lacerated backs of innocent

men and women. I saw William Robinson, Marmaduke Stevenson, Mary Dyer,

and William Leddra, pass through the streets of Boston, pinioned, and

with halters about their necks, on the way to execution; yet rejoicing

that they were found worthy to suffer, even unto death, for their

fidelity to Christ; sustained through those last bitter moments by an

approving conscience and the favor of God.

"I now see the inhabitants of that same city surpassed by none on the

globe, for liberality, candor, and benevolence. I see them taking the

lead of very many of the descendants of the martyrs referred to, in many

things, and at an immeasurable distance. I compared the state of the

Society of Friends in the olden time with what it now is. In some

sections of the country, they, in their turn, have become persecutors.

Not with dungeons, halter, and fire; for those modes of punishment have

gone by; but by ejecting their members from religious fellowship, and

defaming their characters for doing that which they conscientiously

believe is required at their hands; casting out their names as

evil-doers for honestly endeavoring to support one of the most dignified

testimonies ever given to the Society of Friends to hold up before a

sinful world. These reflections pained me deeply; for all the

convictions of my soul, and all my early religious recollections, bind

me fast to the principles of Friends; and I cannot but mourn to see how

the world has shorn them of their strength. I spent nearly a sleepless

night, and was baptized with my tears."

"In the morning, my mind was in some degree reassured with the hope that

there are yet left, throughout the land, 'seven thousand in Israel, all

the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which has not

kissed him;' and that among these shall yet 'arise judges, as at the

first, and counsellors, and lawgivers, as in the beginning.' My soul

longeth for the coming of that day, more than for the increase of corn,

and wine, and oil."

In the Spring of 1843, Friend Hopper visited Rhode Island, and Bucks

County, in Pennsylvania, to address the people in behalf of the

enslaved. He was accompanied by Lucinda Wilmarth, a very intelligent and

kind-hearted young person, who sometimes spoke on the same subject.

After she returned to her home in Massachusetts, she wrote as follows,

to the venerable companion of her mission; "Dear Father Hopper, I see by

the papers that Samuel Johnson has gone home. I well remember our call

upon him, on the second Sunday morning of our sojourn in that land of

roses. I also remember his radiant and peaceful countenance, which told

of a life well spent, and of calm and hopeful anticipations of the

future. I love to dwell upon my visit to Pennsylvania. I never saw

happier or more lovely homes. Never visited dwellings where those little

household divinities, goodness, order, and cheerfulness, held more

universal sway. I was enabled to view men and things from an entirely

new point of view. I had previously seen nothing of Quakerism, except in

a narrow orthodox form, with which I had no sympathy. I was much pleased

with the apparent freedom and philanthropy of the Friends I met there. I

know not whether it was their peculiar _ism_, that made them so

comparatively free and liberal. Perhaps I unconsciously assigned to

their Quakerism what merely belonged to their manhood. But the fact is,

they came nearer to realizing the ideal of Quakerism, associated in my

mind with Fox and Penn, than any people I have ever seen.

"I stopped at Providence on my way home. As soon as I entered Isaac

Hale's door, little Alice began to skip with joy, as she did that day

when we returned so unexpectedly to dine; but the next moment, she

looked down the stair-case, and exclaimed in a most anxious tone, 'Why

_did'nt_ Grandfather Hopper come? What _did_ you come alone for? What

_shall_ I do?' On my arrival home, the first noisy greetings of my

little brothers and sisters had scarcely subsided, before they began to

inquire, 'Why did'nt your _other_ father come, too?' They complained

that you had not written a single 'Tale of Oppression' for the Standard

since you were here. But a week after, my little sister came running

with an open newspaper in her hand, exclaiming, 'Father Hopper has made

another story!' She has named her doll for your little grand-daughter,

Lucy Gibbons, because you used to talk about her; and every day she

reads the book you gave her."

Friend Hopper found great satisfaction in the perusal of the above

letter, not only on account of his great regard for the writer, but

because many of the Friends in Bucks County were the delight of his

heart. He was always telling me that if I wanted to see the best farms,

the best Quakers, and the most comfortable homes in the world, I must go

to Bucks County. In his descriptions, it was a blooming land of peace

and plenty, approaching as near to an earthly paradise, as could be

reasonably expected.

At the commencement of 1845, the American Anti-Slavery Society made some

changes in their office at New-York, by which the duties of editor and

treasurer, were performed by the same person; consequently Friend

Hopper's services were no longer needed. When he retired from the office

he had held during four years, the Society unanimously voted him thanks

for the fidelity with which he had discharged the duties entrusted to

him.

At that time, several intelligent and benevolent gentlemen in the city

of New-York were much interested in the condition of criminals

discharged from prisons, without money, without friends, and with a

character so blasted, that it was exceedingly difficult to procure

employment. However sincerely desirous such persons might be to lead a

better life, it seemed almost impossible for them to carry their good

resolutions into practice. The inconsiderate harshness of society forced

them back into dishonest courses, even when it was contrary to their own

inclinations. That this was a fruitful source of crime, and consequently

a great increase of expense to the state, no one could doubt who

candidly examined the subject. To meet the wants of this class of

sufferers, it was proposed to form a Prison Association, whose business

it should be to inquire into individual cases, and extend such sympathy

and assistance as circumstances required. This subject had occupied

Friend Hopper's mind almost as early as the wrongs of the slave. He

attended the meetings, and felt a lively interest in the discussions, in

which he often took part. The editor of the New-York Evening Mirror,

alluding to one of these occasions, says: "When Mr. Hopper rose to offer

some remarks, we thought the burst of applause which greeted the quaint

old man, (in the very costume of Franklin) was a spontaneous homage to

goodness; and we thanked God and took courage for poor human nature."

His well-known benevolence, his peculiar tact in managing wayward

characters, his undoubted integrity, and his long experience in such

matters, naturally suggested the idea that he was more suitable than any

other person to be Agent of the Association. It was a situation

extremely well-adapted to his character, and if his limited

circumstances would have permitted, he would have been right glad to

have discharged its duties gratuitously. He named three hundred dollars

a year, as sufficient addition to his income, and the duties were

performed with as much diligence and zeal, as if the recompence had been

thousands. Although he was then seventy-four years old, his hand-writing

was firm and even, and very legible. He kept a Diary of every day's

transactions, and a Register of all the discharged convicts who applied

for assistance; with a monthly record of such information as could be

obtained of their character and condition, from time to time. The neat

and accurate manner in which these books were kept was really surprising

in so old a man. The amount of walking he did, to attend to the business

of the Association, was likewise remarkable. Not one in ten thousand,

who had lived so many years, could have endured so much fatigue.

In his labors in behalf of this class of unfortunate people he was

essentially aided by Abby H. Gibbons, who resided nearer to him than his

other daughters, and who had the same affectionate zeal to sustain him,

that she had manifested by secretly slipping a portion of her earnings

into his pocket, in the days of her girlhood. She was as vigilant and

active in behalf of the women discharged from prison, as her father was

in behalf of the men. Through the exertions of herself and other

benevolent women, an asylum for these poor outcasts, called THE HOME,

was established and sustained. Friend Hopper took a deep interest in

that institution, and frequently went there on Sunday evening, with his

wife and daughters, to talk with the inmates in a manner most likely to

soothe and encourage them. They were accustomed to call him "Father

Hopper," and always came to him for advice when they were in trouble.

When the Prison Association petitioned to be incorporated, it

encountered a great deal of opposition, on the ground that it would be

likely to interfere with the authority of the State over prisons. During

two winters, Friend Hopper went to Albany frequently to sustain the

measure. He commanded respect and attention, by the good sense of his

remarks, his dignified manner, and readiness of utterance. The

Legislature were more inclined to have confidence in him, because he was

known to be a benevolent, conscientious Quaker, entirely unconnected

with party politics. In fact, the measure was carried mainly by the

exertion of his personal influence. He sustained the petition of the

Association in a speech before the Legislature, which excited much

attention, and made a deep impression on those who heard it. Judge

Edmonds, who was one of the speakers on the same occasion, often alluded

to it as a remarkable address. He said, "It elicited more applause, and

did more to carry the end in view, than anything that was said by more

practised public speakers. His eloquence was simple and direct, but most

effective. If he was humorous, his audience were full of laughter; if

solemn, a deathlike stillness reigned; if pathetic, tears flowed all

around him. He seemed unconscious of his power in this respect, but I

have heard him many times before large assemblies at our Anniversaries,

and in the chapel of the State Prison, and I have been struck, over and

over again, with the remarkable sway he had over the minds of those whom

he addressed."

The business of the Association made it necessary for Friend Hopper to

visit that city many times afterward. He came to be so well known there,

and was held in such high respect, that whenever he made his appearance

in the halls of legislation, the Speaker sent a messenger to invite him

to take a seat near his own.

He often applied to the Governor to exert his pardoning power, where he

thought there were mitigating circumstances attending the commission of

a crime; or where the mind and health of a prisoner seemed breaking

down; or where a long course of good conduct seemed deserving of reward.

When Governor Young had become sufficiently acquainted with him to form

a just estimate of his character, he said to him, "Friend Hopper, I will

pardon any convict, whom you say you conscientiously believe I ought to

pardon. If I err at all, I prefer that it should be on the side of

mercy. But so many cases press upon my attention, and it is so difficult

to examine them all thoroughly, that it is a great relief to find a man

in whose judgment and integrity I have such perfect confidence, as I

have in yours." On the occasion of one of these applications for mercy,

the following quaint correspondence passed between him and the Governor:

"Esteemed Friend,

"John Young:

"You mayst think this mode of address rather too familiar; but as it

is the spontaneous effusion of my heart, and entirely congenial

with my feelings, I hope thou wilt hold me excused. Permit me to

embrace this opportunity to congratulate thee upon thy accession

to the office of Chief Magistrate of the State. I have confidence

its duties will be faithfully performed. I rejoice that thou hast

had independence enough to restore to liberty, and to their

families, those infatuated men called Anti-Renters. Some, who live

under the old dispensation, that demanded 'an eye for an eye, and a

tooth for a tooth,' will doubtless censure this act of justice and

mercy. But another class will be glad; those who have embraced the

Christian faith, and live under the benign influence of its spirit,

which enjoins forgiveness of injuries. The approbation of such,

accompanied with an approving conscience, will, I trust, more than

counterbalance any censure that may arise on the occasion.

"The object I particularly have in view in addressing thee now, is,

to call thy attention to the case of Allen Lee, who was sentenced

to twelve years' imprisonment for horse-stealing, in Westchester

County. He has served for eleven years and two months of that time.

It is his first offence, and he has conducted well during his

confinement. His health is much impaired, and he has several times

had a slight haemorrhage of the lungs. Allen's father was a regular

teamster in the army during all the revolutionary war. Though poor,

he has always sustained a fair reputation. He is now ninety years

old, and he is extremely anxious to behold the face of his son.

Permit me, most respectfully, but earnestly, to ask thy early

attention to this case. The old man is confined to his bed, and so

low, that he cannot continue many weeks. Unless Allen is very soon

released, there is no probability that he will ever see him. I have

no self-interested motives in this matter, but am influenced solely

by considerations of humanity. With sincere desires for thy health

and happiness, I am very respectfully thy friend,

"ISAAC T. HOPPER."

Governor Young promptly replied as follows.

"My worthy friend, Isaac T. Hopper,

"I have often thought of thee since we last met. I have received

thy letter; and because thou hast written to me, and because I know

that what thou writest is always truth, and that the old man,

before he lays him down to die, may behold the face of his son, I

will restore Allen to his kindred. When thou comest to Albany, I

pray thee to come and see me. Very respectfully thy friend, JOHN

YOUNG."

The monitor within frequently impelled Friend Hopper to address the

assembled convicts at Sing Sing, on Sunday. The officers of the

establishment were very willing to open the way for him; for according

to the testimony of Mr. Harman Eldridge, the warden, "With all his

kindness, and the encouragement he was always ready to give, he was

guarded and cautious in the extreme, that nothing should be said to

conflict with the discipline of the prison." His exhortations rendered

the prisoners more docile, and stimulated them to exertion by keeping

hope alive in their hearts. On such occasions, I have been told that a

large portion of his unhappy audience were frequently moved to tears;

and the warmth of their grateful feelings was often manifested by

eagerly pressing forward to shake hands with him, whenever they received

permission to do so. The friendly counsel he gave on such occasions

sometimes produced a permanent effect on their characters. In a letter

to his daughter Susan, he says: "One of these poor fellows attacked the

life of the keeper, and I soon after had a private interview with him.

He received what I said kindly, but declared that he could not govern

his temper. He said he had no ill-will toward the keeper; that what he

did was done in a gust of passion, and he could not help it. I tried to

convince him that he had power to control his temper, if he would only

exercise it. A year and a half afterward, on First Day, after meeting,

he asked permission to speak to me. He then told me he was convinced

that what I had said to him was true; for he had not given way to anger

since I talked to him on the subject. He showed me many certificates

from the keepers, all testifying to his good conduct. I hardly ever saw

a man more changed than he is."

I often heard my good old friend describe these scenes in the Prison

Chapel, with much emotion. He used to say, the feeling of confidence and

safety which prevailed, was sometimes presented to his mind in forcible

contrast with the state of things in Philadelphia, in 1787, as related

by his worthy friend, Dr. William Rogers, who was on the committee of

the first Society formed in this country "for relieving the miseries of

public prisons." That kind-hearted and conscientious clergyman proposed

to address some religious exhortation to the prisoners, on Sunday. But

the keeper was so unfriendly to the exertion of such influence, that he

assured him his life would be in peril, and the prisoners would

doubtless escape, to rob and murder the citizens. When an order was

granted by the sheriff for the performance of religious services, he

obeyed it very reluctantly; and he actually had a loaded cannon mounted

near the clergyman, and a man standing ready with a lighted match all

the time he was preaching. His audience were arranged in a solid column,

directly in front of the cannon's mouth. This is supposed to have been

the first sermon addressed to the assembled inmates of a State Prison in

this country.

Notwithstanding Friend Hopper's extreme benevolence, he was rarely

imposed upon. He made it a rule to give very little money to discharged

convicts. He paid their board till employment could be obtained, and

when they wished to go to their families, in distant places, he procured

free passage for them in steamboats or cars; which his influence with

captains and conductors enabled him to do very easily. If they wanted to

work at a trade, he purchased tools, and hired a shop, when

circumstances seemed to warrant such expenditure. After they became well

established in business, they were expected to repay these loans, for

the benefit of others in the same unfortunate condition they had been.

Of course, some who expected to receive money whenever they told a

pitiful story, were disappointed and vexed by these prudential

regulations. Among the old gentleman's letters, I find one containing

these expressions: "When I heard you talk in the Prison Chapel, I

thought there was something for the man that had once left the path of

honesty to hope for from his fellow-men; but I find that I was greatly

mistaken. You are men of words. You can do the wind-work first rate. But

when a man wants a little assistance to get work, and get an honest

living, you are not there. Now I wish to know where your philanthropy

is."

But such instances were exceptions. As a general rule, gratitude was

manifested for the assistance rendered in time of need; though it was

always limited to the urgent necessities of the case. One day, the

following letter, enclosing a dollar bill for the Association, was

addressed to Isaac T. Hopper: "Should the humble mite here enclosed be

the means of doing one-sixteenth part the good to any poor convict that

the sixteenth of a dollar has done for me, which I received through your

hands more than once, when I was destitute of money or friends, then I

shall have my heart's desire. With the blessing of God, I remain your

most humble debtor."

From the numerous cases under Friend Hopper's care, while Agent of the

Prison Association, I will select a few; but I shall disguise the names,

because the individuals are living, and I should be sorry to wound their

feelings by any unnecessary exposure of past delinquences.

C.R. about twenty-nine years old, called at the office, and said he had

been lately released from Moyamensing prison; having been sentenced for

two years, on account of selling stolen goods. When Friend Hopper

inquired whether it was his first offence, he frankly answered, "No. I

have been in Sing Sing prison twice for grand larceny. I served five

years each time."

"Thou art still very young," rejoined Friend Hopper; "and it seems a

large portion of thy life has been spent in prison. I am afraid thou art

a bad man. But I hope thou seest the error of thy ways, and art now

determined to do better. Hast thou any friends?"

He replied, "I have a mother; a poor hard-working woman, who sells fruit

and candies in the streets. If you will give me a start, I will try to

lead an honest life henceforth; for I want to be a comfort and support

to her. I have no other friend in the world, and nobody to help me. When

I left prison, I was advised to come to you. I am a shoemaker; and if I

had money to buy a set of tools, I would work at my trade, and take care

of my mother."

Necessary tools were procured for him, and he seemed very grateful;

saying it was the first time in his life that he had found any one

willing to help him to be honest, when he came out of prison. Great

doubts were entertained of the success of this case; because the man had

been so many times convicted. But he occasionally called at the office,

and always appeared sober and respectable. A few months after his first

introduction, he sent Friend Hopper a letter from Oswego, enclosing

seven dollars for his mother. He immediately delivered it, and returned

with a cheerful heart to enter it on his Record; adding, "The poor old

woman was much pleased that her son remembered her, and said she

believed he was now going to do well."

After that, C.R. frequently sent five or ten dollars to his mother,

through the same channel, and paid her rent punctually. He refunded all

the money the Association had lent him, and made some small donations,

in token of gratitude. Having behaved in a very exemplary manner during

four years and a half, Friend Hopper, at his earnest request, applied to

the Governor to have all the rights of citizenship restored to him. This

was readily obtained by a full and candid statement of the case. It is

entered on the Record, with this remark: "C.R. has experienced a

wonderful change for the better since he first called upon us. He said

he should always remember the kindness that had been extended to him,

and hoped he should never do anything to make us regret it."

He afterward opened a store, with a partner, and up to this present

time, is doing well, both in a moral and worldly point of view. Five

years and a half after he began to reform, Dr. Russ, of New-York, sent a

discharged prisoner to him, in search of work. He wrote in reply, as

follows: "I have obtained good employment for the bearer of your note;

and it gives me much pleasure at my heart to do something for him that

wishes to do well. So leave him to me; and I trust you will be gratified

to know the end of charity from a discharged convict." A week elapsed

before the man could enter on his new employment; and C.R. paid his

board during that time.

A person, whom I will call Michael Stanley, was sentenced to Sing Sing

for two years; being convicted of grand larceny when he was about

twenty-two years old. When his term expired, he called upon the Prison

Association, and obtained assistance in procuring employment. He

endeavored to establish a good character, and was so fortunate as to

gain the affections of a very orderly, industrious young woman, whom he

soon after married. In his Register, Friend Hopper thus describes a

visit to them, little more than a year after he was discharged from

prison: "I called yesterday to visit M.S. He lives in the upper part of

a brick house, nearly new. His wife is a neat, likely-looking woman, and

appears to be a nice housekeeper. Everything about the premises

indicates frugality, industry, and comfort. They have plain, substantial

furniture, and a good carpet on the floor. Before their door is a

grass-plot, and the margin of the fence is lined with a variety of

plants in bloom. He and his wife, and her mother, manifested much

gratification at my visit."

In little more than two years after he began to retrieve the early

mistakes of his life, M.S. established a provision shop on his own

account, in the city of New-York, and was successful. He and his tidy

little wife called on Friend Hopper, from time to time, and always

cheered his heart by their respectable appearance, and the sincere

gratitude they manifested. The following record stands in the Register:

"M.S. called at my house, and spent an hour with me. He is a member of

the Society of Methodists, and I really believe he is a reformed man. It

is now more than four years and a half since he was released from Sing

Sing; and his conduct has ever since been unexceptionable."

Another young man, whom I will call Hans Overton, was the son of very

respectable parents, but unfortunately he formed acquaintance with

unprincipled men when he was too young and inexperienced to be a judge

of character. Being corrupted by their influence, he forged a check on a

bank in Albany. He was detected, and sentenced to the State Prison for

two years. When he was released, at twenty-two years of age, he did the

best he could to efface the blot on his reputation. But after having

obtained respectable employment, he was discharged because his employer

was told he had been in prison. He procured another situation, and the

same thing again occurred. He began to think there was no use in trying

to redeem his lost character. In this discouraged state of mind, he

applied to the Prison Association for assistance. Inquiries were made of

the two gentlemen in whose employ he had been more than a year. They

said they had found him capable, industrious, and faithful; and their

distrust of him was founded solely on the fact of his being a

discharged convict. For some time, he obtained only temporary

employment, now and then; and the Association lent him small sums of

money whenever his necessities required. At one time, he was charged

with being an accomplice in a larceny; but upon investigation, it was

ascertained that he had become mixed up with an affair, which made him

appear to disadvantage, though he had no dishonest intentions in

relation to it. Finally, through the influence of the Association he

obtained a situation, in a drug store. His employer was fully informed

concerning his previous history, but was willing to take him on trial.

He remained there five years, and conducted in the most exemplary

manner. Having married meanwhile, he was desirous to avail himself of an

opportunity to obtain a higher salary; and the druggist very willingly

testified that his conduct had been entirely satisfactory during the

time he had been with him. But in about eight months, his new employer

discovered that he had been in prison, and he immediately told him he

had better procure some other situation; though he acknowledged that he

had no fault to find with him. Friend Hopper sought an interview with

this gentleman and represented the youthfulness of H.O. at the time he

committed the misdemeanor, which had so much injured the prospects of

his life. He urged his subsequent good conduct, and the apparent

sincerity of his efforts to build up a reputation for honesty. He

finally put the case home to him, by asking how he would like to have

others conduct toward a son of his own, under similar circumstances. It

was a point of view from which the gentleman had never before considered

the question, and his mind was somewhat impressed by it; but his

prejudices were not easily overcome. Meanwhile, the druggist was very

willing to receive the young man back again; and he returned. It seems

as if it would have been almost impossible for him to have avoided

sinking into the depths of discouragement and desperation, if he had not

received timely assistance from the Prison Association. How highly he

appreciated their aid may be inferred from the following letter to Isaac

T. Hopper:

"My dear friend, as business prevents me from seeing you in the

day-time, I take this method to express my thanks for the noble and

generous mention made of me in your remarks before the Association;

which remarks were as pleasant and exciting to me, as they were

unexpected. I need scarcely assure you, my kind and generous friend,

(generous not only to so humble an individual as myself, but to all your

fellow creatures,) that it is out of my power to find words to thank you

adequately, or to express my feelings on that occasion. I was the more

gratified because my dear wife was present with me, and also my

brother-in-law. Oh, what a noble work the Society is engaged in. My most

fervent prayer is that your name may remain on its list for many years

to come. Then indeed should I have no fears for those poor unfortunates,

whose first unthinking error places them unconditionally within the

miasma of vice and crime. That you may enjoy a very merry Christmas, and

many happy New-Years, is the sincere desire of my wife and myself."

T.B., who has been for several years in the employ of the Association,

was raised by their aid from the lowest depths of intemperance, and has

become a highly respectable and useful citizen.

J.M., who was in Sing Sing Prison four years, for grand larceny, was

aided by the Association at various times, and always repaid the money

precisely at the appointed day. His industry and skilful management

excited envy and jealousy in some, who had less faculty for business.

They taunted him with having been a convict, and threw all manner of

obstacles in the way of his making an honest living.

Among other persecutions, a suit at law was instituted against him,

which cost him seventy-five dollars. The charge was entirely without

foundation, and when brought before the court, was promptly dismissed.

It is now about six years since J.M. resolved to retrieve his

character, and he still perseveres in the right course.

Ann W. was an illegitimate child, and early left an orphan. She went to

live with an aunt, who kept a boarding-house in Albany. According to her

own account, she was harshly treated, and frequently taunted with the

circumstances of her birth. At the early age of fourteen, one of the

boarders offered to marry her, and induced her to leave the house with

him. She lived with him some time, always urging the fulfilment of his

promise; and at last he pacified her by going to a person, who performed

the marriage-ceremony. She was strongly attached to him, and being a

capable, industrious girl, she kept everything nice and bright about

their lodgings. He pretended to have a great deal of business in

New-York; but in fact his frequent visits to that city were for purposes

of gambling. On one of those occasions, when he had been absent much

longer than usual, she followed him, and found him living with another

woman. He very coolly informed her that the marriage-ceremony between

them was a mere sham; the person who performed it not having been

invested with any legal authority. Thus betrayed, deserted, and

friendless, the poor young creature became almost frantic. In that

desperate state of mind, she was decoyed by a woman, who kept a

disreputable house. A short career of reckless frivolity and vice

ended, as usual, in the hospital on Blackwell's Island. When she was

discharged, she tried to drown her sorrow and remorse in intemperance,

and went on ever from bad to worse, till she became a denizen of Five

Points. In her brief intervals of sobriety, she was thoroughly disgusted

with herself, and earnestly desired to lead a better life. Being turned

into the street one night, in a state of intoxication, she went to the

prison called The Tombs, because its architecture is in imitation of the

ancient sepulchral halls of Egypt. She humbly asked permission to enter

this gloomy abode, in hopes that some of the ladies connected with the

Prison Association would visit her, and find some decent employment for

her. Her case being represented to Friend Hopper, he induced his wife to

take her into the family, as a domestic. As soon as she entered the

house, she said, "I don't want to deceive you. I will tell you

everything." And she told all the particulars of her history, without

attempting to veil any of its deformity. She was very industrious, and

remarkably tidy in her habits. She kept the kitchen extremely neat, and

loved to decorate it with little ornaments, especially with flowers.

Poor shattered soul! Who can tell into what blossom of poetry that

little germ might have expanded, if it had been kindly nurtured under

gentle and refining influences? She behaved very well for several

months, and often expressed gratitude that she could now feel as if she

had a home. Friend Hopper took great interest in her, and had strong

hopes that she would become a respectable woman. Before a year expired,

she relapsed into intemperate habits for a time; but he overlooked it,

and encouraged her to forget it. As she often expressed a great desire

to see her cousins in Albany, he called upon them, and told the story of

her reformation. They sent some little presents, accompanied with

friendly messages, and after a while invited her to visit them. For a

time, it seemed as if the excursion had done her good, both physically

and mentally; but the sight of respectable relatives, with husbands and

children, made her realize more fully the utter loneliness of her own

position. She used opium in large quantities, and had dreadful fits in

consequence. Sometimes, she stole out of the house in the evening, and

was taken up by the police in a state of intoxication. When she

recovered her senses, she would be very humble, and during an interval

of weeks, or months, would make an effort to behave extremely well. I

forget how often Friend Hopper received her back, after she had spent

the night in the Station House; but it was many, many times. His

patience held out long after everybody else was completely weary. She

finally became so violent and ungovernable, and endangered the household

so much in her frantic fits, that even he felt the necessity of placing

her under the restraining influences of some public institution. The

Magdalen Asylum at Philadelphia consented to receive her, and after much

exhortation, she was persuaded to go. While she was there, his daughters

in that city called on her occasionally, at his request, and he and his

wife made her a visit. He wrote to her frequently, in the kindest and

most encouraging manner. In one of these epistles, he says: "I make

frequent inquiries concerning thee, and am generally told thou art

getting along _pretty_ well. Now I want to hear a different tale from

that. I want thy friends at the Asylum to be able to say, 'She is doing

_exceedingly_ well. Her health is good, she is satisfied with her

condition, and we are all much gratified to find that she submits to the

advice of her friends.' When they can speak thus of thee, I shall begin

to think about changing thy situation. The woman who fills thy place in

my family does very well. Every day, she puts on the table the mug thou

gavest me, and she keeps it as bright as silver. Our little garden looks

beautiful. The Morning Glories, thou used to take so much pleasure in,

have grown finely. All the family desire kind remembrances. Farewell.

May peace and comfort be with thee."

In another letter, he says: "Thy Heavenly Father has been kind, and

waited long for thee; and He has now provided a way for thy redemption

from the bondage under which thou hast suffered so much. I hope thou

wilt not think of leaving the Asylum for some time to come. Thou canst

not be so firmly established yet, as not to be under great temptation

elsewhere. What a sorrowful circumstance it would be, if thou shouldst

again return to the filthy and wicked habit of stupifying thyself with

that pernicious drug! I am glad thou hast determined to take my advice.

If thou wilt do so, I will never forsake thee. I will do all I can for

thee; and thou shalt never be without a home."

Again he writes: "Thy letter occasioned joy and sorrow. Sorrow to find

thou hast not always treated the matron as thou oughtest to have done. I

am sure that excellent person is every way worthy of thy regard; and I

hope my ears will never again be pained by hearing that thou hast

treated her unkindly or disrespectfully. I did hope that after a year's

discipline, thou hadst learned to control thy temper. Until thou canst

do so, thou must be aware that thou art not qualified to render thyself

useful or agreeable in any family. But after all, I am glad to find that

thou art sensible of thy error, and hast a disposition to improve. When

thou liest down at night, I want thee to examine the deeds of the past

day. If thou hast made a hasty reply, or spoken impertinently, or done

wrong in any other way, be careful to acknowledge thy fault. Ask thy

Heavenly Father to forgive thee, and be careful to do so no more. I feel

a great regard for thee; and I trust thou wilt never give me cause to

regret thy relapse into vice. I hope better things for thee, and I

always shall."

But his hopefulness and patience proved of no avail in this instance.

The wreck was too complete to admit of repair. The poor creature

occasionally struggled hard to do better; but her constitution was

destroyed by vice and hardship; her feelings were blunted by suffering,

and her naturally bright faculties were stupified by opium. After she

left the Asylum, she lived with a family in the country for awhile; but

the old habits returned, and destroyed what little strength she had

left. The last I knew of her she was on Blackwell's Island; and she will

probably never leave it, till she goes where the weary are at rest.

An uncommon degree of interest was excited in Friend Hopper's mind by

the sufferings of another individual, whom I will call Julia Peters. She

was born of respectable parents, and was carefully tended in her early

years. Her mother was a prudent, religious-minded woman; but she died

when Julia was twelve years old. The father soon after took to drinking

and gambling, and spent all the property he possessed. His daughter was

thus brought into the midst of profligate associates, at an age when

impulses are strong, and the principles unformed. She led a vicious life

for several years, and during a fit of intoxication married a worthless,

dissipated fellow. When she was eighteen years old, she was imprisoned

for perjury. The case appeared doubtful at the time, and from

circumstances, which afterward came to light, it is supposed that she

was not guilty of the alleged crime. The jury could not agree on the

first trial, and she remained in jail two years, awaiting a decision of

her case. She was at last pronounced guilty; and feeling that injustice

was done her, she made use of violent and disrespectful language to the

court. This probably increased the prejudice against her; for she was

sentenced to Sing Sing prison for the long term of fourteen years. She

was naturally intelligent, active and energetic; and the limitations of

a prison had a worse effect upon her, than they would have had on a more

stolid temperament. In the course of a year or two, her mind began to

sink under the pressure, and finally exhibited signs of melancholy

insanity. Friend Hopper had an interview with her soon after she was

conveyed to Sing Sing, and found her in a state of deep dejection. She

afterward became completely deranged, and was removed to the Lunatic

Asylum at Bloomingdale. He and his wife visited her there, and found her

in a state of temporary rationality. Her manners were quiet and

pleasing, and she appeared exceedingly gratified to see them. The

superintendent granted permission to take her with them in a walk

through the grounds, and she enjoyed this little excursion very highly.

But when one of the company remarked that it was a very pleasant place,

she sighed deeply, and replied, "Yes, it is a pleasant place to those

who can leave it. But chains are chains, though they are made of gold;

and mine grow heavier every day."

Her temperament peculiarly required freedom, and chafed and fretted

under restraint. Insanity returned upon her with redoubled force, soon

after. She used blasphemous and indecent language, and cut up her

blankets to make pantaloons. She picked the lock of her room, and tried

various plans of escape. When Friend Hopper went to see her again, some

weeks later, he found her in the masculine attire, which she had

manufactured. She tried to hide herself, but when he called her back in

a gentle, but firm tone, she came immediately. He took her kindly by the

hand, and said, "Julia, what does all this mean?"

"It is military costume," she replied. "I am an officer of state."

"I am sorry thou art not more decently clad," said he. "I intended to

have thee take a walk with me; but I should be ashamed to go with thee

in that condition." She earnestly entreated to go, and promised to

change her dress immediately. He accordingly waited till she was ready,

and then spent more than an hour walking round the grounds with her. She

told him the history of her life, and wept bitterly over the retrospect

of her erroneous course. It seemed a great relief to have some one to

whom she could open her over-burdened heart. She was occasionally

incoherent, but the fresh air invigorated her, and the quiet talk

soothed her perturbed feelings. At parting, she said, "I thank you. I

thought I hadn't a friend in the world. I was afraid everybody had

forgotten me."

"I am thy sincere friend," he replied; "and I promise that I will never

forget thee."

I make the following extract from a letter, which he wrote to her soon

after: "Now, Julia, listen to me, and mind what I say; for thou knowest

I am thy friend. I want thee, at all times, and upon all occasions, to

be very careful of thy conduct. Never suffer thyself to use vulgar or

profane language. It would grieve me, and I am sure thou dost not wish

to do that. Besides, it is very degrading, and very wicked. Be discreet,

sober, and modest. Be kind, courteous, and obliging to all. Thou wilt

make many friends by so doing, and wilt feel more cheerful and happy

thyself. Do be a lady. I know thou canst, if thou wilt. More than all, I

want thee to be a Christian. I sympathize with thee, and intend to come

and see thee soon."

Dr. Earle, physician of the Asylum, said the letter had a salutary

effect upon her. Friend Hopper went out to see her frequently, and was

often accompanied by his wife, or daughters. Her bodily and mental

health continued to improve; and in the course of five or six months,

the doctor allowed her to accompany her kind old friend to the city, and

spend a day and night at his house. This change of scene was found so

beneficial, that the visit was repeated a few weeks after. Before winter

set in, she was so far restored that she spent several days in his

family, and conducted with the greatest propriety. He soon after applied

to the Governor for a pardon, which was promptly granted. His next step

was to procure a suitable home for her; and a worthy Quaker family in

Pennsylvania, who were acquainted with all the circumstances, agreed to

employ her as chambermaid and seamstress. When it was all arranged,

Friend Hopper went out to the Asylum to carry the news. But fearful of

exciting her too much, he talked upon indifferent subjects for a few

minutes, and then asked if she would like to go into the city again to

spend a fortnight with his family. She replied, "Indeed I would." He

promised to take her with him, and added, "Perhaps thou wilt stay longer

than two weeks." At last, he said, "It may be that thou wilt not have

to return here again." She sprang up instantly, and looking in his face

with intense anxiety, exclaimed, "Am I pardoned? _Am_ I pardoned?"

"Yes, thou art pardoned," he replied; "and I have come to take thee

home." She fell back into her seat, covered her face with her hands, and

wept aloud. Friend Hopper, describing this interview in a letter to a

friend, says: "It was the most affecting scene I ever witnessed. Nothing

could exceed the joy I felt at seeing this child of sorrow relieved from

her sufferings, and restored to liberty. I had seen this young and

comely looking woman, who was endowed with more than common good sense,

driven to the depths of despair by the intensity of her sufferings. I

had seen her a raving maniac. Now, I saw her 'sitting and clothed in her

right mind.' I was a thousand times more than compensated for all the

pains I had taken. I had sympathized deeply with her sufferings, and I

now partook largely of her joy."

As her nerves were in a very excitable state, it was thought best that

she should remain a few weeks under the superintendence of his daughter,

Mrs. Gibbons, before she went to the home provided for her. She was

slightly unsettled at times, but was disposed to be industrious and

cheerful. Having earned a little money by her needle, the first use she

made of it, was to buy a pair of vases for Friend Hopper; and proud and

pleased she was, when she brought them home and presented them! He

always kept them on the parlor mantel-piece, and often told their

history to people who called upon him.

When she had become perfectly calm and settled, he and his wife

accompanied her to Pennsylvania, and saw her established among her new

friends, who received her in the kindest manner. A week after his

return, he wrote to assure her that his interest in her had not abated.

In the course of the letter, he says: "I need not tell thee how anxious

I am that thou shouldst conduct so as to be a credit to thyself, and to

those who have interested themselves in thy behalf. I felt keenly at

parting with thee, but I was comforted by the reflection that I had left

thee with kind friends. Confide in them upon all occasions, and do

nothing without their advice. Thy future happiness will depend very much

upon thyself. Never suffer thy mind to become excited. Remember that

kind friends were raised up for thee in the midst of all thy sorrows,

and that they will always continue to be thy friends, if thou wilt be

guided by their counsels. Thou wert with us so long, that we feel toward

thee like one of the family. All join me in love to thee."

In her reply, she says: "Your letter was to me what a glass of cold

water would be when fainting. I have pored over it so much, that I have

got it by heart. Friend Hopper, you first saw me in prison and visited

me. You followed me to the Asylum. You did not forsake me. You have

changed a bed of straw to a bed of down. May Heaven bless and reward you

for it. No tongue can express the gratitude I feel. Many are the hearts

you have made glad. Suppose all you have dragged out of one place and

another were to stand before you at once! I think you would have more

than you could shake hands with in a month; and I know you would shake

hands with them all."

For a few months, she behaved in a very satisfactory manner, though

occasionally unsettled and depressed. She wrote that the worthy woman

with whom she lived was 'both mother and friend to her.' But the country

was gloomy in the winter, and the spirit of unrest took possession of

her. She went to Philadelphia and plunged into scenes of vice for a week

or two; but she quickly repented, and was rescued by her friends. I have

seldom seen Friend Hopper so deeply pained as he was by this retrograde

step in one whom he had rejoiced over, "as a brand plucked from the

burning." After awhile, he addressed a letter to her, in which he says:

"I should have written to thee before, but I have been at a loss what to

say. I have cared for thee, as if thou hadst been my own child. Little

did I think thou wouldst ever disgrace thyself, and distress me, by

associating with the most vile. Thou wert wonderfully snatched from a

sink of pollution. I hoped thou wouldst appreciate the favor, and take a

fresh start in life, determined to do well. Better, far better, for thee

to have lingered out a wretched existence in Bloomingdale Asylum, than

to continue in such a course as that thou entered upon in Philadelphia.

My heart is pained while I write. Indeed, thou art seldom out of my

mind. Most earnestly, and affectionately, I beseech thee to change thy

course. Restrain evil thoughts and banish them from thee. Try to keep

thy mind quiet, and stayed upon thy Heavenly Father. He has done much

for thee. He has followed thee in all thy wanderings. Ask him to forgive

thy iniquity, and he will have mercy on thee. Thou mayest yet be happy

thyself, and make those happy who have taken a deep interest in thy

welfare. But if thou art determined to pursue evil courses, after all

that has been done for thee, let me tell thee thy days will be brief and

full of trouble; and I doubt not thou wilt end them within the walls of

a prison. I hope better things of thee. If thou doest well, it will

afford encouragement to assist others; but if thy conduct is bad, it may

be the means of prolonging the sufferings of many others. I am still thy

friend, and disposed to do all I can for thee."

In her answer, she says: "Oh, frail woman! No steps can be recalled. It

is all in the future to make amends for the past. After all the good

counsel some receive, they return to habits of vice. They repent when it

is too late. How true it is that virtue has its reward, and vice its

punishment. I know that the way of transgressors is hard. If I only had

a few years of my life to live over again, how different would I live!

For the many blessings Providence has bestowed on me, may I be grateful.

In all my troubles, He has raised me up a friend. I believe He never

forsakes me; so there is hope for me. Don't be discouraged that you

befriended me; for, with God's blessing, you shall have no reason to

repent of it."

He wrote thus to her, a short time after: "I very often think of thee,

and I yet hope that I shall one day see thee a happy and respectable

woman. I have lately had a good deal of conversation with the Governor

concerning 'my friends,' as he calls those whom he has pardoned at my

request. I did not tell him thou hadst behaved incorrectly. I hope I

shall never be obliged to do so. I have had pleasant accounts concerning

thee lately, and I do not wish to remember that thou hast ever grieved

me. As I passed down the river yesterday, from Albany, I saw

Bloomingdale Asylum. I remembered how I used to walk with thee about the

grounds; and my mind was for a time depressed with melancholy

reflections. I had deeply sympathized in thy sufferings; and I had

rarely, if ever, experienced greater pleasure than when I was the happy

messenger of thy redemption from the grievous thraldom, under which thou

wert suffering. Thou art blessed with more than common good sense, and

thou knowest how to make thyself agreeable. I earnestly advise thee to

guard well thy thoughts. Never allow thyself to use an immodest word, or

to be guilty of an unbecoming action. On all occasions, show thyself

worthy of the regard of those who feel an interest in thy welfare.

'There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over

ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance.' With ardent

solicitude for thy welfare, I remain thy sincere friend."

About two years afterward, Friend Hopper made the following record in

his Register: "J.P. continues to conduct very satisfactorily. She makes

a very respectable appearance, is modest and discreet in her deportment,

and industrious in her habits. As a mark of gratitude for the

attentions, which at different times I have extended to her, she has

sent me a pair of handsome gloves, and a bandana handkerchief. Taking

into consideration all the circumstances attending this case, this small

present affords me much more gratification than ten times the value from

any other person." Six months later, he made this record: "The Friend,

with whom J.P. lives, called upon me to say that she sent a world of

love to Isaac T. Hopper, whose kindness she holds in grateful

remembrance." The same Friend afterward wrote, "She is all that I could

wish her to be."

Many more instances might be quoted; but enough has been told to

illustrate his patience and forbearance, and his judicious mode of

dealing with such characters. Dr. Russ, one of the most active and

benevolent members of the Prison Association, thinks it is a fair

statement to say that at least three-fourths of those for whom he

interested himself eventually turned out well; though in several cases,

it was after a few backslidings. The fullness of his sympathy was

probably one great reason why he obtained such influence over them, and

made them so willing to open their hearts to him. He naturally, and

without effort, put _his_ soul in _their_ soul's stead. This rendered it

easy for him to disregard his own interests, and set aside his own

opinions, for the benefit of others. In several instances, he procured

another place for a healthy, good-looking domestic, with whose services

he was well satisfied, merely because some poor creature applied for

work, who was too lame, or ill-favored, to obtain employment elsewhere.

When an insane girl, from Sing Sing, was brought to his house to wait

for an opportunity to return to her parents in Canada, he sent for the

Catholic Bishop to come and minister to her spiritual wants, because he

found she was very unhappy without religious consolation in the form to

which she had been accustomed in childhood.

The peculiar adaptation of his character to this mission of humanity was

not only felt by his fellow laborers in the New-York Association, but

was acknowledged wherever he was known. Dr. Walter Channing, brother of

the late Dr. William Ellery Charming wrote to him as follows, when the

Boston Prison Association was about being formed; "I was rejoiced to

learn that you would stay to help at our meetings in behalf of

criminals. The demand which this class of brothers has upon us is felt

by every man, who examines his own heart, and his own life. How great is

every man's need of the kindness and love of his brethren! Here is the

deep-laid cause of sympathy. Here is the secret spring of that wide

effort, which the whole world is now making for the happiness and good

of the race. I thank you for what you have done in this noble work. I

had heard with the sincerest pleasure, of your labors for the

down-trodden and the poor. God bless you for these labors of love! Truly

shall I thank you for the light you can so abundantly give, and which

will make the path of duty plain before me."

Incessant demands were made upon his time and attention. A great many

people, if they happened to have their feelings touched by some scene

of distress, seemed to think they had fulfilled their whole duty by

sending the sufferer to Isaac T. Hopper. Few can imagine what an arduous

task it is to be such a thorough philanthropist as he was. Whoever

wishes for a crown like his, must earn it by carrying the martyr's cross

through life. They must make up their minds to relinquish their whole

time to such pursuits; they must be prepared to encounter envy and

dislike; to be misrepresented and blamed, where their intentions have

been most praiseworthy; to be often disheartened by the delinquencies,

or ingratitude, of those they have expended their time and strength to

serve; above all, they must be willing to live and die poor.

Though attention to prisoners was the mission to which Friend Hopper

peculiarly devoted the last years of his life, his sympathy for the

slaves never abated. And though his own early efforts had been made in

co-operation with the gradual Emancipation Society, established by

Franklin, Rush, and others, he rejoiced in the bolder movement, known as

modern anti-slavery. Of course, he did not endorse everything that was

said and done by all sorts of temperaments engaged in that cause, or in

any other cause. But no man understood better than he did the fallacy of

the argument that modern abolitionists had put back the cause of

emancipation in the South. He often used to speak of the spirit

manifested toward William Savery, when he went to the South to preach,

as early as 1791. Writing from Augusta, Georgia, that tender-hearted

minister of Christ says: "They can scarcely tolerate us, on account of

our abhorrence of slavery. This was truly a trying place to lodge in

another night." At Savannah the landlord of a tavern where they lodged,

ordered a cruel flogging to be administered to one of his slaves, who

had fallen asleep through weariness, before his daily task was

accomplished. William Savery says: "When we went to supper, this

unfeeling wretch craved a blessing; which I considered equally abhorrent

to the Divine Being, as his curses." In the morning, when the humane

preacher heard sounds of the lash, accompanied by piteous cries for

mercy, he had the boldness to step in between the driver and the slave;

and he stopped any further infliction of punishment, for that time. He

says: "This landlord was the most abominably wicked man that I ever met

with; full of horrid execrations, and threatenings of all Northern

people. But I did not spare him; which occasioned a bystander to

express, with an oath, that I should be 'popped over.' We left them

distressed in mind; and having a lonesome wood of twelve miles to pass

through, we were in full expectation of their waylaying, or coming after

us, to put their wicked threats in execution."

As early as 1806, James Lindley, of Pennsylvania, had a large piece of

iron hurled at him, as he was passing through the streets, at Havre de

Grace, Maryland. Three of his ribs were broken, and several teeth

knocked out, and he was beaten till he was supposed to be dead. All this

was done merely because they mistook him for Jacob Lindley, the Quaker

preacher, who was well known as a friend to fugitives from slavery.

In view of these, and other similar facts, Friend Hopper was never

disposed to blame abolitionists for excitements at the South, as many of

the Quakers were inclined to do. He had a sincere respect for the

integrity and conscientious boldness of William Lloyd Garrison; as all

have, who know him well enough to appreciate his character. For many

years, he was always an invited and welcome guest on the occasion of the

annual meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society in New-York. Mr. Garrison's

feelings toward him are manifested in the following answer to one of his

letters: "As there is no one in the world for whom I entertain more

veneration and esteem than for yourself, and as there is no place in

New-York, that is so much like home to me, as your own hospitable

dwelling, be assured it will give me the utmost pleasure to accept your

friendly invitation to remain under your roof during the approaching

anniversary week." It was on one of these occasions, that Garrison

addressed to him the following sonnet:

"Thou kind and venerable friend of man,

In heart and spirit young, though old in years!

The tyrant trembles when thy name he hears,

And the slave joys thy honest face to scan.

A friend more true and brave, since time began,

Humanity has never found: her fears

By thee have been dispelled, and wiped the tears

Adown her sorrow-stricken cheeks that ran.

If like Napoleon's appears thy face,

Thy soul to his bears no similitude.

He came to curse, but thou to bless our race.

Thy hands are pure; in blood were his imbrued.

His memory shall be covered with disgrace,

But thine embalmed among the truly great and good."

Until the last few years of his life, Friend Hopper usually walked to

and from his office twice a day, making about five miles in the whole;

to which he sometimes added a walk in the evening, to visit children or

friends, or transact some necessary business. When the weather was very

unpleasant, he availed himself of the Harlem cars. Upon one of these

occasions, it chanced that the long, ponderous vehicle was nearly empty.

They had not proceeded far, when a very respectable-looking young woman

beckoned for the car to stop. It did so; but when she set her foot on

the step, the conductor, somewhat rudely pushed her back; and she

turned away, evidently much mortified. Friend Hopper started up and

inquired, "Why didst thou push that woman away?"

"She's colored," was the laconic reply.

"Art thou instructed by the managers of the rail-road to proceed in this

manner on such occasions?" inquired Friend Hopper.