Isaac T. Hopper by L. Maria ChildA True Life (page 3)

slaveholder. He still demanded to have his victim delivered up to him. When the keeper declined doing it, and urged the reason that the physician said he could not be moved without imminent danger to his life, the brutal tyrant exclaimed, “Damn him! He’s my property; and I _will_ have him, dead or alive. If he dies, it’s nobody’s loss but mine.”

As he had the mayor’s warrant for taking him, the keeper dared not incur the responsibility of disobeying his requisitions. He convened the inspectors for consultation; and they all agreed that any attempt to remove the wounded man would render them accessory to his death. They laid the case before the mayor, who ordered that the prisoner should remain undisturbed till the physician pronounced him out of danger. When the master was informed of this, he swore that nobody had any right to interfere between him and his property. He cursed the mayor, threatened to prosecute the keeper, and was in a furious rage with every body.

Meanwhile, the sympathy of Isaac T. Hopper was strongly excited in the case, and he obtained a promise from the physician that he would let him know if there was any chance that the slave would recover. Contrary to all expectation, he lingered along day after day; and in about a week, the humane physician signified to Friend Hopper, and Joseph Price, one of the inspectors, that a favorable result might now be anticipated. Of course, none of them considered it a duty to inform the master of their hopes. They undertook to negotiate for the purchase of the prisoner, and obtained him for a moderate price. The owner was fully impressed with the belief that he would die before long, and therefore regarded the purchase of him as a mere freak of humanity, by which he was willing enough to profit. When he heard soon afterward that the doctor pronounced him out of danger, he was greatly enraged. But his suffering victim was beyond the reach of his fury, which vented itself in harmless execrations.

The colored man lived many years, to enjoy the liberty for which he had been willing to sacrifice his life. He was a sober, honest, simple-hearted person, and always conducted in a manner entirely satisfactory to those who had befriended him in his hour of utmost need.

THE FOREIGN SLAVE.

Early in the year of 1808, a Frenchman arrived in Philadelphia from one of the West India Islands, bringing with him a slave, whom he took before one of the aldermen, and had him bound to serve him seven years in Virginia. When the indenture was executed, he committed his bondman to prison, for safe-keeping, until he was ready to leave the city. One of the keepers informed Isaac T. Hopper of the circumstance, and told him the slave was to be carried South the next morning.

Congress had passed an Act prohibiting the importation of slaves, which was to begin to take effect at the commencement of the year 1808. It immediately occurred to Friend Hopper that the present case came within the act; and if so, the colored man was of course legally entitled to freedom. In order to detain him till he could examine the law, and take advice on the subject, he procured a warrant for debt and lodged it at the prison, telling the keeper not to let the colored man go till he had paid his demand of a hundred dollars.

When the Frenchman called for his slave next morning, they refused to discharge him; and he obtained a writ of _habeas corpus_, to bring the case before the mayor’s court. Friend Hopper was informed that the slave was on trial, that the Recorder did not think it necessary to notify him, and had made very severe remarks concerning the fictitious debt assumed for the occasion. He proceeded directly to the court, which was thronged with people, who watched him with lively curiosity, and made a lane for him to pass through. Mahlon Dickinson, the Recorder, was in the act of giving his decision on the case, and he closed his remarks by saying, “The conduct of Mr. Hopper has been highly reprehensible. The man is not his debtor; and the pretence that he was so could have been made for no other reason but to cause unnecessary delay, vexation, and expense.” The lawyers smiled at each other, and seemed not a little pleased at hearing him so roughly rebuked; for many of them had been more or less annoyed by his skill and ready wit in tangling their skein, in cases where questions of freedom were involved. Friend Hopper stood before the Recorder, looking him steadfastly in the face, while he was making animadversions on his conduct; and when he had finished, he respectfully asked leave to address the court for a few minutes.

“Well, Mr. Hopper,” said the Recorder, “what have you to say in justification of your very extraordinary proceedings?”

He replied, “It is true the man is not my debtor; but the court has greatly erred in supposing that the step I have taken was merely intended to produce unnecessary delay and expense. The Recorder will doubtless recollect that Congress has passed an act prohibiting the introduction of foreign slaves into this country. It is my belief that the case now before the court is embraced within the provisions of that act. But I needed time to ascertain the point; and I assumed that the man was my debtor merely to detain him until the Act of Congress could be examined.”

Jared Ingersoll, an old and highly respectable lawyer, rose to say, “May it please your honors, I believe Mr. Hopper is correct in his opinion. A National Intelligencer containing the Act of Congress is at my office, and I will send for it if you wish.” The paper was soon brought, and Friend Hopper read aloud the section which Mr. Ingersoll pointed out; placing strong emphasis on such portions as bore upon the case then pending. When he had concluded, he observed, “I presume the court must now be convinced that the censures so liberally bestowed on my conduct are altogether unmerited.”

The counsel for the claimant said a newspaper was not legal evidence of the existence of a law. Friend Hopper replied, “The court is well aware that I am no lawyer. But I have heard lawyers talk about _prima facie_ evidence; and I should suppose the National Intelligencer amounted at least to that sort of evidence, for it is the acknowledged organ of government, in which the laws are published for the information of citizens. But if that is not satisfactory, I presume the court will detain the man until an authenticated copy of the law can be obtained.”

After some discussion, the court ordered a copy of the law to be procured; but the attorney abandoned the case, and the slave was set at liberty.

As soon as this decision was announced, the throng of spectators, white and colored, began to shout, “Hurra for Mr. Hopper!” The populace were so accustomed to see him come off victorious from such contests, that they began to consider his judgment infallible.

Many years afterward, when Friend Hopper met Mahlon Dickinson on board a steam-boat, he inquired whether he recollected the scolding he gave him on a certain occasion. He replied pleasantly, “Indeed I do. I thought I _had_ you that time, and I intended to give it to you; but you slipped through my fingers, as usual.”

THE NEW-JERSEY SLAVE.

In the year 1809, a gentleman from East New-Jersey visited Philadelphia, and brought a young slave to wait upon him. When they had been in that city four or five months, the lad called upon Isaac T. Hopper to inquire whether his residence in Philadelphia had made him free. He was informed that he would not have a legal claim to freedom till he had been there six months. Just as the term expired, somebody told the master that the laws of Pennsylvania conferred freedom on slaves under such circumstances. He had been ignorant of the fact, or had forgotten it, and as soon as he received the information he became alarmed lest he should lose his locomotive property. He sent for a constable, who came to his door with a carriage. The lad had just come up from the cellar with an armful of wood. When he entered the parlor, the constable ordered him to put it down and go with him. He threw the wood directly at the legs of the officer, and ran down cellar full speed, slamming the door after him. As soon as the constable could recover from the blow he had received, he followed the lad into the cellar; but he had escaped by another door, and gone to Isaac T. Hopper.

It was snowing fast, and when he arrived there in his shirt sleeves, his black wool plentifully powdered with snow, he was a laughable object to look upon. But his countenance showed that he was too thoroughly frightened and distressed to be a subject of mirth to any compassionate heart. Friend Hopper tried to comfort him by promising that he would protect him, and assuring him that he was now legally free. His agitation subsided in a short time, and he began to laugh heartily to think how he had upset the constable. The master soon came to Friend Hopper’s house, described the lad’s dress and appearance, and inquired whether he had seen him. He admitted that he had, but declined telling where he was. The master made some severe remarks about the meanness of tampering with gentlemen’s servants, and went away. In about half an hour he returned with the constable and said Alderman Kepler desired his respects to Isaac T. Hopper, and wished to see him at his office. He replied, “I think it likely that Alderman Kepler has not much more respect for me than I have for him. If he has more _business_ with me than I have with him, I am at home, and can be spoken with.”

The master went away, but soon returned with two constables and a lawyer, who was very clamorous in his threats of what would be the consequences if the slave was not at once surrendered to the gentleman. One of the officers said he had a warrant to search the house. “Very well,” replied Friend Hopper, “execute it.”

“I have great respect for you,” rejoined the officer. “I should be sorry to search your house by virtue of the warrant. I hope you will consent to my doing so without.”

“There is no need of delicacy on this occasion,” replied Friend Hopper. “Thou hadst better proceed to the extent of thy authority.”

“You give your consent, do you?” inquired the officer.

He answered, “No, I do not. If thou hast a warrant, of course my consent is not necessary. Proceed to the full extent of thy authority. But if thou goest one inch beyond, thou wilt have reason to repent of it.”

The party left the house utterly discomfited. He afterward learned that they had applied for a search-warrant, but could not procure one.

The first step in the process of securing the lad’s freedom was to obtain proof that he had been in Philadelphia six months. The landlord of the hotel where the master lodged, refused to say anything on the subject, being unwilling to offend his lodger. But the servants were under no such prudential restraint; and from them Friend Hopper obtained testimony sufficient for his purpose. He then wrote a note to the alderman that he would be at his office with the lad at nine o’clock next morning, and requesting him to inform the claimant. In the mean time, he procured a writ of _habeas corpus_, to have it in readiness in case circumstances required it. The claimant made his appearance at the appointed hour, and stated how he had come to Philadelphia on a visit, and brought a slave to attend upon him. He descanted quite largely upon the courtesy due from citizens of one state to those of another state.

Friend Hopper was about to reply, when the magistrate interrupted him by saying, “I shall not interfere with the citizens of other states. I shall surrender the boy to his master. If he thinks he has a legal claim to his freedom, let him prosecute it in New-Jersey.”

Friend Hopper said nothing, but gave a signal to have the writ served. The magistrate was highly offended, and asked in an angry tone, “What was your object in procuring a writ of _habeas corpus_?”

Friend Hopper replied, “From my knowledge of thee, I anticipated the result that has just occurred; and I determined to remove the case to a tribunal where I had confidence that justice would be done in the premises.”

The Court of Common Pleas was then in session. The case was brought before it the next day, and after the examination of two or three witnesses, the lad was declared free.

A SLAVE HUNTER DEFEATED.

In 1810, a slave escaped from Virginia to Philadelphia. In a few months, his master heard where he was, and caused him to be arrested. He was a fine looking young man, apparently about thirty years old. When he was brought before Alderman Shoemaker, that magistrate’s sympathy was so much excited, that he refused to try the case unless some one was present to defend the slave. Isaac T. Hopper was accordingly sent for. When he had heard a statement of the case, he asked the agent of the slaveholder to let him examine the Power of Attorney by which he had been authorized to arrest a “fugitive from labor,” and carry him to Virginia. The agent denied his right to interfere, but Alderman Shoemaker informed him that Mr. Hopper was a member of the Emancipation Society, and had a right to be satisfied.

The Power of Attorney was correctly drawn, and had been acknowledged in Washington, before Bushrod Washington, one of the judges of the Supreme Court of the United States. Friend Hopper’s keen eye could detect no available flaw in it. When the agent had been sworn to answer truly all questions relating to the case, he inquired whether the fugitive he was in search of had been advertised; if so, he wished to see the advertisement. It was handed to him, and he instantly noticed that it was headed “Sixty Dollars Reward.”

“Art thou to receive sixty dollars for apprehending the man mentioned in this advertisement?” said he.

The agent replied, “I am to receive that sum provided I take him home to Virginia.”

“How canst thou prove that the man thou hast arrested is the one here advertised?” inquired he.

The agent answered that he could swear to the fact.

“That may be,” rejoined Friend Hopper; “but in Philadelphia we do not allow any person, especially a stranger, to swear sixty dollars into his own pocket. Unless there is better evidence than thy oath, the man must be set at liberty.”

The agent became extremely irritated, and said indignantly, “Do you think I would swear to a lie?”

“Thou art a stranger to me,” replied Friend Hopper. “I don’t know whether thou wouldst swear falsely or not. But there is one thing I do know; and that is, I am not willing to trust thee.”

The agent reiterated, “I know the man standing there as well as I know any man living. I am perfectly sure he is the slave described in the advertisement. I was overseer for the gentleman who owns him. If you examine his back, you will find scars of the whip.”

“And perhaps thou art the man who made the scars, if he has any,” rejoined the Friend.

Without replying to this suggestion, the slave-hunter ordered the colored man to strip, that his back might be examined by the court. Friend Hopper objected to such a proceeding. “Thou hast produced no evidence that the man thou hast arrested is a slave,” said he. “Thou and he are on the same footing before this court. We have as good a right to examine thy back, as are have to examine his.” He added, with a very significant tone, “In some places, they whip for kidnapping.”

This remark put the slave-hunter in a violent rage. The magistrate decided that his evidence was not admissible, on the ground that he was interested. He then proposed to summon two witnesses from a Virginian vessel lying at one of the wharves.

“Of course thou art at liberty to go for witnesses,” replied Friend Hopper. “But I appeal to the magistrate to discharge this man. Under present circumstances, he ought not to be detained a single moment.” The alderman needed no urging on that point. He very promptly discharged the prisoner. As soon as he left the office, the slave-hunter seized hold of him, and swore he would keep him till witnesses were brought. But Friend Hopper walked up to him, and said in his resolute way, “Let go thy hold! or I will take such measures as will make thee repent of thy rashness. How darest thou lay a finger upon the man after the magistrate has discharged him?”

Thus admonished, he reluctantly relinquished his grasp, and went off swearing vengeance against “the meddlesome Quaker.”

Friend Hopper hastened home with the colored man, and wrote a brief letter to his friend William Reeve, in New-Jersey, concluding with these words: “Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” This letter was given to the fugitive with directions how to proceed. His friend accompanied him to the ferry, saw him safely across the river, and then returned home.

In an hour or two the slave-hunter came to the house, accompanied by a constable and two witnesses from Virginia. “The slave I arrested was seen to come here,” said he. “Where is he? Produce him.”

Friend Hopper replied very quietly, “The man has been here; but he is gone now.”

This answer made the agent perfectly furious. After discharging a volley of oaths, he said he had a search warrant, and swore he would have the house searched from garret to cellar. “Very well,” replied Friend Hopper, “thou art at liberty to proceed according to law; but be careful not to overstep that boundary. If thou dost, it will be at thy peril.”

After the slave-hunter had vented his rage in a torrent of abuse, the constable proposed to speak a few words in private. With many friendly professions, he acknowledged that they had no search-warrant. “The gentleman was about to obtain one from the mayor,” said he; “but I wished to save your feelings. I told him you were well acquainted with me, and I had no doubt you would permit me to search your house without any legal process.”

Friend Hopper listened patiently, perfectly well aware that the whole statement was a sham. When the constable paused for a reply, he opened the door, and said very concisely, “Thou art at liberty to go about thy business.”

They spent several days searching for the fugitive, but their efforts were unavailing.

MARY MORRIS.

A woman, who was born too early to derive benefit from the gradual emancipation law of Pennsylvania, escaped from bondage in Lancaster County to Philadelphia. There she married a free colored man by the name of Abraham Morris. They lived together very comfortably for several years, and seemed to enjoy life as much as many of their more wealthy neighbors. But in the year 1810, it unfortunately happened that Mary’s master ascertained where she lived, and sent a man to arrest her, with directions either to sell her, or bring her back to him.

Abraham Morris was a very intelligent, industrious man, and had laid up some money. He offered one hundred and fifty dollars of his earnings to purchase the freedom of his wife. The sum was accepted, and the parties applied to Daniel Bussier, a magistrate in the District of Southwark, to draw up a deed of manumission. The money was paid, and the deed given; but the agent employed to sell the woman absconded with the money. The master, after waiting several months and not hearing from him, sent to Philadelphia and caused Mary Morris to be arrested again. She was taken to the office of Daniel Bussier, and notwithstanding he had witnessed her deed of manumission a few months before, he committed her to prison as a fugitive slave. When her husband called upon Isaac T. Hopper and related all the circumstances, he thought there must be some mistake; for he could not believe that any magistrate would be so unjust and arbitrary, as to commit a woman to prison as a fugitive, when he had seen the money paid for her ransom, and the deed of manumission given. He went to Mr. Bussier immediately, and very civilly told him that he had called to make inquiry concerning a colored woman committed to prison as a fugitive slave on the evening previous.

“Go out of my office!” said the undignified magistrate. “I want nothing to do with you.”

He replied, “I come here as the friend and adviser of the woman’s husband. My request is reasonable, and I trust thou wilt not refuse it.”

In answer to this appeal, Mr. Bussier merely repeated, “Go out of my office!”

Friend Hopper offered him half a dollar, saying, “I want an extract from thy docket. Here is the lawful fee.”

All this time, Mr. Bussier had been under the hands of a barber, who was cutting his hair. He became extremely irritated, and said, “If you won’t leave this office, I will put you out, as soon as I have taken the seat of justice.”

“I wish thou wouldst take the seat of justice,” replied Friend Hopper; “for then I should obtain what I want; but if thou dost, I apprehend it will be for the first time.”

Mr. Bussier sprang hastily from his chair, and seated himself at the magisterial desk, which was raised about a foot from the floor, and surrounded by a railing. Conceiving himself now armed with the thunders of the law, he called out, in tones of authority, “Mr. Hopper, I command you to quit this office!”

The impassive Quaker stood perfectly still, and pointing to Abraham Morris, he again tendered the half dollar, saying, “I want an extract from thy docket, in the case of this man’s wife. Here is the lawful fee for it. Please give it to me.”

This quiet perseverance deprived the excited magistrate of what little patience he had left. He took the importunate petitioner by the shoulders, pushed him into the street, and shut the door.

Friend Hopper then applied to Jacob Rush, President of the Court of Common Pleas for a writ of _habeas corpus._ The woman was brought before him, and when he had heard the particulars of the case, and examined her deed of manumission, he immediately discharged her, to the great joy of herself and husband.

Friend Hopper thought it might be a useful lesson for Mr. Bussier to learn that his “little brief authority” had boundaries which could not be passed with impunity. He accordingly had him indicted for assault and battery. He and his political friends were a good deal ashamed of his conduct, and finally, after many delays in bringing on the trial, and various attempts to hush up the matter, Mr. Bussier called upon Friend Hopper to say that he deeply regretted the course he had pursued. His apology was readily accepted, and the case dismissed; he agreeing to pay the costs.

THE SLAVE MOTHER.

Gassy was slave to a merchant in Baltimore, by the name of Claggett. She had reason to believe that her master was about to sell her to a speculator, who was making up a coffle for the markets of the far South. The terror felt in view of such a prospect can be understood by slaves only. She resolved to escape; and watching a favorable opportunity, she succeeded in reaching the neighborhood of Haddonfield, New Jersey. There she obtained service in a very respectable family. She was honest, steady, and industrious, and made many friends by her cheerful, obliging manners. But her heart was never at rest; for she had left in Baltimore a babe little more than a year old. She had not belonged to an unusually severe master; but she had experienced quite enough of the sufferings of slavery to dread it for her child. Her thoughts dwelt so much on this painful subject, that her naturally cheerful character became extremely saddened. She at last determined to make a bold effort to save her little one from the liability of being sold, like a calf or pig in the shambles. She went to see Isaac T. Hopper and communicated to him her plan. He tried to dissuade her; for he considered the project extremely dangerous, and well nigh hopeless. But the mother’s heart yearned for her babe, and the incessant longing stimulated her courage to incur all hazards. To Baltimore she went; her pulses throbbing hard and fast, with the double excitement of hope and fear. She arrived safely, and went directly to the house of a colored family, old friends of hers, in whom she could confide with perfect safety. To her great joy, she found that they approved her plan, and were ready to assist her. Arrangements were soon made to convey the child to a place about twenty miles from Baltimore, where it would be well taken care of, till the mother could find a safe opportunity to remove it to New Jersey.

Before she had time to take all the steps necessary to insure success in this undertaking, her master was informed of her being in the city, and sent constables in pursuit of her. Luckily, her friends were apprized of this in season to give her warning; and her own courage and ingenuity proved adequate to the emergency. She disguised herself in sailor’s clothes, and walked boldly to the Philadelphia boat. There she walked up and down the deck, with her arms folded, smoking a cigar, and occasionally passing and repassing the constables who had been sent on board in search of her. These men, having watched till the last moment for the arrival of a colored woman answering to her description, took their departure. The boat started, and brought the courageous mother safely to Philadelphia, where Friend Hopper and others rejoiced over the history of her hair-breadth escape.

A few weeks after, she went to the place where her child had been left, and succeeded in bringing it safely away. For a short time, her happiness seemed to be complete; but when the first flush of joy and thankfulness had subsided, she began to be harassed with continual fears lest she and her child should be arrested in some evil hour, and carried back into slavery. By unremitting industry, and very strict economy, she strove to lay by money enough to purchase their freedom. She had made friends by her good conduct and obliging ways, while her maternal affection and enterprising character excited a good deal of interest among those acquainted with her history. Donations were occasionally added to her earnings, and a sum was soon raised sufficient to accomplish her favorite project. Isaac T. Hopper entered into negotiation with her master, and succeeded in obtaining manumission for her and her child.

COLONEL RIDGELEY’S SLAVE.

A slave escaped from Colonel Ridgeley, who resided in the southern part of Virginia. He went to Philadelphia, and remained there undiscovered for several years. But he was never quite free from anxiety, lest in some unlucky hour, he should be arrested and carried back to bondage. When he had laid up some money, he called upon Isaac T. Hopper to assist him in buying the free use of his own limbs. A negotiation was opened with Col. Ridgeley, who agreed to take two hundred dollars for the fugitive, and appointed a time to come to Philadelphia to arrange the business. But instead of keeping his agreement honorably, he went to that city several weeks before the specified time, watched for his bondman, seized him, and conveyed him to Friend Hopper’s office. When the promised two hundred dollars were offered, he refused to accept them.

“Why, that is the sum thou hast agreed upon,” said Friend Hopper.

“I know that,” replied the Colonel; “but I won’t take it now. He was the best servant I ever had. I can sell him for one thousand dollars in Virginia. Under present circumstances, I will take five hundred dollars for him, and not one cent less.”

After considerable discussion, Friend Hopper urged him to allow his bondman until ten o’clock next morning, to see what could be done among his friends; and he himself gave a written obligation that the man should be delivered up to him at that hour, in case he could not procure five hundred dollars to purchase his freedom.

When the master was gone, Friend Hopper said to the alarmed fugitive, “There now remains but one way for thee to obtain thy freedom. As to raising five hundred dollars, that is out of the question. But if thou wilt be prompt and resolute, and do precisely as I tell thee, I think thou canst get off safely.”

“I will do anything for freedom,” replied the bondman; “for I have made up my mind, come what may, that I never will go back into slavery.”

“Very well then,” rejoined his friend. “Don’t get frightened when the right moment comes to act; but keep thy wits about thee, and do as I tell thee. Thy master will come here to-morrow at ten o’clock, according to appointment. I must deliver thee up to him, and receive back the obligation for one thousand dollars, which I have given him. Do thou stand with thy back against the door, which opens from this room into the parlor. When he has returned the paper to me, open the door quickly, lock it on the inside, and run through the parlor into the back-yard. There is a wall there eight feet high, with spikes at the top. Thou wilt find a clothes-horse leaning against it, to help thee up. When thou hast mounted, kick the clothes-horse down behind thee, drop on the other side of the wall, and be off.” The premises were then shown to him, and he received minute directions through what alleys and streets he had better pass, and at what house he could find a temporary refuge.

Col. Ridgeley came the next morning, at the appointed hour, and brought a friend to stand sentinel at the street door, lest the slave should attempt to rush out. It did not occur to him that there was any danger of his running _in_.

“We have not been able to raise the five hundred dollars,” said Friend Hopper; “and here is thy man, according to agreement.”

The Colonel gave back his obligation for one thousand dollars; and the instant it left his hand, the fugitive passed into the parlor. The master sprang over the counter after him, but found the door locked. Before he could get to the back yard by another door, the wall was scaled, the clothes-horse thrown down, and the fugitive was beyond his reach. Of course, he returned very much disappointed and enraged; declaring his firm belief that a trick had been played upon him purposely. After he had given vent to his anger some little time, Friend Hopper asked for a private interview with him. When they were alone together in the parlor, he said, “I admit this was an intentional trick; but I had what seemed to me good reasons for resorting to it. In the first place, thou didst not keep the agreement made with me, but sought to gain an unfair advantage. In the next place, I knew that man was thy own son; and I think any person who is so unfeeling as to make traffic of his own flesh and blood, deserves to be tricked out of the chance to do it.”

“What if he is my son?” rejoined the Virginian. “I’ve as good a right to sell my own flesh and blood as that of any other person. If I choose to do it, it is none of your business.” He opened the door, and beckoning to his friend, who was in waiting, he said, “Hopper admits this was all a trick to set the slave free.” Then turning to Friend Hopper, he added, “You admit it was a trick, don’t you?”

“Thou and I will talk that matter over by ourselves,” he replied. “The presence of a third person is not always convenient.”

The Colonel went off in a violent passion, and forgetting that he was not in Virginia, he rushed into the houses of several colored people, knocked them about, overturned their beds, and broke their furniture, in search of the fugitive. Being unable to obtain any information concerning him, he cooled down considerably, and went to inform Friend Hopper that he would give a deed of manumission for two hundred dollars; but his offer was rejected.

“Why that was your own proposal!” vociferated the Colonel.

“Very true,” he replied; “and I offered thee the money; but thou refused to take it.”

After storming awhile, the master went off to obtain legal advice from the Hon. John Sergeant. Meanwhile, several of the colored people had entered a complaint against him for personal abuse, and damage done to their furniture. He was obliged to give bonds for his appearance at the next court, to answer their accusations. This was a grievous humiliation for a proud Virginian, who had been educated to think that colored people had no civil rights. In this unpleasant dilemma, his lawyer advised him to give a deed of manumission for one hundred and fifty dollars; promising to exert his influence to have the mortifying suits withdrawn.

The proposed terms were accepted, and the money promptly paid by the slave from his own earnings. But when Mr. Sergeant proposed that the suits for assault and battery should be withdrawn, Friend Hopper replied, “I have no authority to dismiss them.”

“They will be dismissed if you advise it,” rejoined the lawyer; “and if you will promise to do it, I shall be perfectly satisfied.”

“These colored people have been very badly treated,” answered Friend Hopper. “If the aggressor wants to settle the affair, he had better go to them and offer some equivalent for the trouble he has given.”

The lawyer replied, “When he agreed to manumit the man for one hundred and fifty dollars, he expected these suits would be dismissed, of course, as a part of the bargain. What sum do you think these people will take to withdraw them?”

Friend Hopper said he thought they would do it for one hundred and fifty dollars.

“I will pay it,” replied Mr. Sergeant; “for Colonel Ridgeley is very anxious to return home.”

Thus the money paid for the deed of manumission was returned. Forty dollars were distributed among the colored people, to repay the damage done to their property. After some trifling incidental expenses had been deducted, the remainder was returned to the emancipated slave; who thus obtained his freedom for about fifty dollars, instead of the sum originally offered.

STOP THIEF!

About the year 1826, a Marylander, by the name of Solomon Low, arrested a fugitive slave in Philadelphia, and took him to the office of an alderman to obtain the necessary authority for carrying him back into bondage. Finding the magistrate gone to dinner, they placed the colored man in the entry, while Mr. Low and his companions guarded the door. Some of the colored people soon informed Isaac T. Hopper of these circumstances, and he hastened to the office. Observing the state of things there, he concluded it would be no difficult matter to give the colored man a chance to escape. He stepped up to the men at the door, and demanded in a peremptory manner by what authority they were holding that man in duress. Mr. Low replied, “He is my slave.”

“This is strange conduct,” rejoined Friend Hopper. “Who can tell whether he is thy slave or not? What proof is there that you are not a band of kidnappers? Dost thou suppose the laws of Pennsylvania tolerate such proceedings?”

These charges arrested the attention of Mr. Low and his companions, who turned round to answer the speaker. The slave, seeing their backs toward him for an instant, seized that opportunity to rush out; and he had run two or three rods before they missed him. They immediately raised the cry of “Stop Thief! Stop Thief!” An Irishman, who joined in the pursuit, arrested the fugitive and brought him back to his master.

Friend Hopper remonstrated with him; saying, “The man is not a thief. They claim him for a slave, and he was running for liberty. How wouldst thou like to be made a slave?”

The kind-hearted Hibernian replied, “Then they lied; for they said he was a thief. If he is a slave, I’m sorry I stopped him. However, I will put him in as good a condition as I found him.” So saying, he went near the man who had the fugitive in custody, and seized him by the collar with a sudden jerk, that threw him on the pavement. The slave instantly started, and ran at his utmost speed, again followed by the cry of “Stop Thief!” Having run some distance, and being nearly out of breath, he darted into the shop of a watch-maker, named Samuel Mason, who immediately closed and fastened his door, so that the crowd could not follow him. The fugitive passed out of the back door, and was never afterward recaptured.

The disappointed master brought an action against Samuel Mason for rescuing his slave. Charles J. Ingersoll and his brother Joseph, two accomplished lawyers of Philadelphia, conducted the trial for him, with zeal and ingenuity worthy of a better cause. Isaac T. Hopper was summoned as a witness, and in the course of examination he was asked what course members of the Society of Friends adopted when a fugitive slave came to them. He replied, “I am not willing to answer for any one but myself.”

“Well,” said Mr. Ingersoll, “what would _you_ do in such a case? Would you deliver him to his master?

“Indeed I would not!” answered the Friend. “My conscience would not permit me to do it. It would be a great crime; because it would be disobedience to my own dearest convictions of right. I should never expect to enjoy an hour of peace afterward. I would do for a fugitive slave whatever I should like to have done for myself, under similar circumstances. If he asked my protection, I would extend it to him to the utmost of my power. If he was hungry, I would feed him. If he was naked, I would clothe him. If he needed advice, I would give such as I thought would be most beneficial to him.”

The cause was tried before Judge Bushrod Washington, nephew of General Washington. Though a slaveholder himself, he manifested no partiality during the trial, which continued several days, with able arguments on both sides. The counsel for the claimant maintained that Samuel Mason prevented the master from regaining his slave, by shutting his door, and refusing to open it. The counsel for the defendant replied that there was much valuable and brittle property in the watchmaker’s shop, which would have been liable to robbery and destruction, if a promiscuous mob had been allowed to rush in. Judge Washington summed up the evidence very clearly to the jury, who after retiring for deliberation a considerable time, returned into court, declaring that they could not agree upon a verdict, and probably never should agree. They were ordered out again, and kept together till the court adjourned, when they were dismissed.

At the succeeding term, the case was tried again, with renewed energy and zeal. But the jury, after being kept together ten days, were discharged without being able to agree upon a verdict. Some, who were originally in favor of the defendant, became weary of their long confinement, and consented to go over to the slaveholder’s side; but one of them, named Benjamin Thaw, declared that he would eat his Christmas dinner in the jury-room, before he would consent to such a flagrant act of injustice.

His patience held out till the court adjourned. Consequently a third trial became necessary; and the third jury brought in a verdict in favor of the watchmaker.

The expenses of these suits were estimated at seventeen hundred dollars. Solomon Low was in limited circumstances; and this expenditure in prosecuting an innocent man was said to have caused his failure soon after.

THE DISGUISED SLAVEHOLDER.

A colored woman and her son were slaves to a man in East Jersey. She had two sons in Philadelphia, who had been free several years, and her present master was unacquainted with them. In 1827, she and her younger son escaped, and went to live in Philadelphia. Her owner, knowing she had free sons in that city, concluded as a matter of course that she had sought their protection. A few weeks after her flight, he followed her, and having assumed Quaker costume, went to the house of one of her sons. He expressed great interest for the woman, and said he wished to obtain an interview with her for her benefit. His friendly garb and kind language completely deceived her son, and he told him that his mother was then staying at his brother’s house, which was not far off. Having obtained this information, the slaveholder procured a constable and immediately went to the place described. Fortunately, the son was at home, and it being warm weather he sat near the open door. The mother was seated at a chamber window, and saw a constable approaching the house, with a gentleman in Quaker costume, whom she at once recognized as her master. She gave the alarm to her son, who instantly shut the door and fastened it. The master, being refused admittance, placed a guard there, while he went to procure a search-warrant. These proceedings attracted the attention of colored neighbors, and a crowd soon gathered about the house. They seized the man who guarded the door, and held him fast, while the woman and her fugitive son rushed out. It was dusk, and the uncertain light favored their escape. They ran about a mile, and took refuge with a colored family in Locust-street. The watchman soon got released from the colored people who held him, and succeeded in tracing the woman to her new retreat, where he again mounted guard. The master returned meanwhile, and having learned the circumstances, went to the magistrate to obtain another warrant to search the house in Locust-street.

At this stage of the affair, Friend Hopper was summoned, and immediately went to the rescue, accompanied by one of his sons, about sixteen years old. He found the woman and her son stowed away in a closet, exceedingly terrified. He assured them they would be quite as safe on the mantel-piece, as they would be in that closet; that their being found concealed would be regarded as the best evidence that they were the persons sought for. Knowing it was dangerous for them to remain in that house, he told them of a plan he had formed, on the spur of the moment. After giving them careful instructions how to proceed, he left them and requested that the street door might be opened for him. A crowd immediately rushed in, as he had foreseen would be the case. He affected to be greatly displeased, and ordered the men of the house to turn all the intruders out. They obeyed him; and among the number turned out were the two fugitives. It was dark, and in the confusion, the watchman on guard could not distinguish them among the multitude.

Friend Hopper had hastily consigned them to his son, with instructions to take them to his house; and the watchman, seeing that he himself remained about the premises, took it for granted that the fugitives had not escaped.

As soon as it was practicable, Friend Hopper returned home, where he found the woman and her son in a state of great agitation. He immediately sent her to a place of greater safety, and gave the son a letter to a farmer thirty miles up in the country. He went directly to the river Schuylkill, but was afraid to cross the bridge, lest some person should be stationed there to arrest him. He accordingly walked along the margin of the river till he found a small boat, in which he crossed the stream. Following the directions he had received, he arrived at the farmer’s house, where he had a kindly welcome, and obtained employment.

The master being unable to recapture his slaves, called upon Isaac T. Hopper to inquire if he knew anything about them. He coolly replied, “I believe they are doing very well. From what I hear, I judge it will not be necessary to give thyself any further trouble on their account.”

“There is no use in trying to capture a runaway slave in Philadelphia,” rejoined the master. “I believe the devil himself could not catch them when they once get here.”

“That is very likely,” answered Friend Hopper. “But I think he would have less difficulty in catching the masters; being so much more familiar with them.”

Sixty dollars had already been expended in vain; and the slave-holder, having relinquished all hope of tracing the fugitives, finally agreed to manumit the woman for fifty dollars, and her son for seventy-five dollars. These sums were advanced by two citizens friendly to the colored people, and the emancipated slaves repaid them by faithful service.

THE SLAVE OF DR. RICH.

In the autumn of 1828, Dr. Rich of Maryland came to Philadelphia with his wife, who was the daughter of an Episcopal clergyman in that city, by the name of Wiltbank. She brought a slave to wait upon her, intending to remain at her father’s until after the birth of her child, which was soon expected to take place. When they had been there a few months, the slave was informed by some colored acquaintance that she was free in consequence of being brought to Philadelphia. She called to consult with Isaac T. Hopper, and seemed very much disappointed to hear that a residence of six months was necessary to entitle her to freedom; that her master was doubtless aware of that circumstance, and would probably guard against it.

After some minutes of anxious reflection, she said, “Then there is nothing left for me to do but to run away; for I am determined never to go back to Maryland.”

Friend Hopper inquired whether she thought it would be right to leave her mistress without any one to attend upon her, in the situation she then was. She replied that she felt no scruples on that point, for her master was wealthy, and could hire as many servants as he pleased. Finding her mind entirely made up on the subject, he gave her such instructions as seemed suited to the occasion.

The next morning she was not to be found; and Dr. Rich went in search of her, with his father-in-law, Mr. Wiltbank. Having frightened some ignorant colored people where she visited, by threats of prosecuting them for harboring a runaway, they confessed that she had gone from their house to Isaac T. Hopper. Mr. Wiltbank accordingly waited upon him, and after relating the circumstances of the case, inquired whether he had seen the fugitive. In reply, he made a frank statement of the interview he had with her, and of her fixed determination to obtain her freedom. The clergyman reproached her with ingratitude, and said she had always been treated with great kindness.

“The woman herself gives a very different account of her treatment,” replied Friend Hopper; “but be that as it may, I cannot blame her for wishing to obtain her liberty.”

He asked if Friend Hopper knew where she then was; and he answered that he did not. “Could you find her, if you tried?” inquired he.

“I presume I could do it very easily,” rejoined the Quaker. “The colored people never wish to secrete themselves from me; for they know I am their true friend.”

Mr. Wiltbank then said, “If you will cause her to be brought to your house, Dr. Rich and myself will come here at eight o’clock this evening. You will then hear her ask her master’s pardon, acknowledge the kindness with which she has always been treated, and express her readiness to go home with him.”

Friend Hopper indignantly replied, “I have no doubt that fear might induce her to profess all thou hast said. But what trait hast thou discovered in my character, that leads thee to suppose I would be such a hypocrite as to betray the confidence this poor woman has reposed in me, by placing her in the power of her master, in the way thou hast proposed?”

Mr. Wiltbank then requested that a message might be conveyed to the woman, exhorting her to return, and promising that no notice whatever would be taken of her offence.

“She shall be informed of thy message, if that will be any satisfaction to thee,” replied Friend Hopper; “but I am perfectly sure she will never voluntarily return into slavery.”

Dr. Rich and Mr. Wiltbank called in the evening, and were told the message had been delivered to the woman, but she refused to return. “She is in your house now,” exclaimed Dr. Rich. “I can prove it; and if you don’t let me see her, I will commence a suit against you to-morrow, for harboring my slave.”

“I believe Solomon Low resides in thy neighborhood,” said Friend Hopper. “Art thou acquainted with him?”

Being answered in the affirmative, he said, “Solomon Low brought three such suits as thou hast threatened. They cost him seventeen hundred dollars, which I heard he was unable to pay. But perhaps thou hast seventeen hundred dollars to spare?”

Dr. Rich answered that he could well afford to lose that sum.

“Very well,” rejoined his opponent. “There are lawyers enough who need it, and still more who would be glad to have it.”

Finding it alike impossible to coax or intimidate the resolute Quaker, they withdrew. About eleven o’clock at night, some of the family informed Friend Hopper that there was a man continually walking back and forth in front of the house. He went out and accosted him thus: “Friend, art thou watching my house?” When the stranger replied that he was, he said, “It is very kind in thee; but I really do not think there is any occasion for thy services. I am quite satisfied with the watchmen employed by the public.”

The man answered gruffly, “I have taken my stand, and I intend to keep it.”

Friend Hopper told him he had no objection; and he was about to re-enter the house, when he observed Dr. Rich, who was so wrapped up in a large cloak, that at first he did not recognize him. He exclaimed, “Why doctor, art thou here! Is it possible thou art parading the streets so late in the night, at this cold season of the year? Now, from motives of kindness, I do assure thee thy slave is not in my house. To save thee from exposing thy health by watching at this inclement season, I will give thee leave to search the house.”

The doctor replied, “I shall obtain a warrant in the morning, and search it with the proper officer.”

“There appear to be several on the watch,” said Friend Hopper; “and it surely is not necessary for all of them to be out in the cold at the same time. If thou wilt be responsible that nothing shall be stolen, thou art welcome to use my parlor as a watch-house.” This offer was declined with freezing civility, and Friend Hopper returned to his dwelling. Passing through the kitchen, he observed two colored domestics talking together in an under tone, apparently planning something which made them very merry. Judging from some words he overheard, that they had a mischievous scheme on foot, he resolved to watch their movements without letting them know that he noticed them. One of them put on an old cloak and bonnet, opened the front door cautiously, looked up the street and down the street, but saw nobody. The watchers had seen the dark face the moment it peeped out, and they were lying in ambush to observe her closely. After a minute of apparent hesitation, she rushed into the street and ran with all speed. They joined in hot pursuit, and soon overtook her. She pretended to be greatly alarmed, and called aloud for a watchman. The offenders were arrested and brought back to the house with the girl. Friend Hopper explained that these men had been watching his house, supposing a fugitive slave to be secreted there; and that they had mistaken one of his domestics for the person they were in search of. After laughing a little at the joke practised upon them, he proposed that they should be set at liberty; and they were accordingly released.

The next morning, as soon as it was light, he invited the watchers to come in and warm themselves, but they declined. After sunrise, they all dispersed, except two. When breakfast was ready, he urged them to come in and partake; telling them that one could keep guard while the other was eating. But they replied that Dr. Rich had ordered them to hold no communication with him.

Being firmly persuaded that the slave was in the house, they kept sentry several days and nights. For fear she might escape by the back way, a messenger was sent to Mr. Warrence, who occupied a building in the rear, offering to pay him for his trouble if he would watch the premises in that direction. His wife happened to overhear the conversation; and having a pitcher of scalding water in her hand, she ran out saying, “Do you propose to hire my husband to watch neighbor Hopper’s premises for a runaway slave? Go about your business! or I will throw this in your face.”

When Dr. Rich called again, he was received politely, and the first inquiry was how he had succeeded in his efforts to procure a search-warrant. He replied, “The magistrate refused to grant one.”

“Perhaps Joseph Reed, the Recorder, would oblige thee in that matter,” said Friend Hopper.

The answer was, “I have been to him, and he declines to interfere.”

It was then suggested that it might be well to retain a lawyer with a portion of the seventeen hundred dollars he said he had to spare.

“I have been to Mr. Broome,” rejoined the doctor. “He tells me that you understand the law in such cases as well as he does; and he advises me to let the matter alone.”

“I will give thee permission to search my house,” said Friend Hopper; “and I have more authority in that matter than any magistrate, judge, or lawyer, in the city.”

“That is very gentlemanly,” replied the doctor; “but I infer from it that the woman is not in your house.”

He was again assured that she was not; and they fell into some general discourse on the subject of slavery. “Suppose you came to Maryland and lost your horse,” said the Doctor. “If you called upon me, and I told you that I knew where he was, but would not inform you, would you consider yourself treated kindly?” “In such a case, I should not consider myself well treated,” replied Friend Hopper. “But in this part of the country, we make a distinction between horses and men. We believe that human beings have souls.”

“That makes no difference,” rejoined the Doctor. “You confess that you could find my slave if you were so disposed; and I consider it your duty to tell me where she is.” “I will do it when I am of the same opinion,” replied Friend Hopper; “but till then thou must excuse me.”

The fugitive was protected by a colored man named Hill, who soon obtained a situation for her as servant in a respectable country family, where she was kindly treated. In the course of a year or two, she returned to Philadelphia, married a steady industrious man, and lived very comfortably.

Mr. Hill had a very revengeful temper. One of his colored neighbors brought suits against him for criminal conduct, and recovered heavy damages. From that time he seemed to hate people of his own complexion, and omitted no opportunity to injure them. The woman he befriended, when he was in a better state of mind, had been married nine or ten years, and had long ceased to think of danger, when he formed the wicked project of making a little money by betraying her to her master. Accordingly he sought her residence accompanied by one of those wretches who make a business of capturing slaves. When he entered her humble abode, he found her busy at the wash-tub. Rejoiced to see the man who had rendered her such essential service in time of need, she threw her arms about his neck, exclaiming, “O, uncle Hill, how glad I am to see you!” She hastily set aside her tub, wiped up the floor, and thinking there was nothing in the house good enough for her benefactor, she went out to purchase some little luxuries. Hill recommended a particular shop, and proposed to accompany her. The slave-hunter, who had been left in the street, received a private signal, and the moment she entered the shop, he pounced upon her. Before her situation could be made known to Isaac T. Hopper, she was removed to Baltimore. The last he ever heard of her she was in prison there, awaiting her day of sale, when she was to be transported to New-Orleans.

He used to say he did not know which was the most difficult for his mind to conceive of, the cruel depravity manifested by the ignorant colored man, or the unscrupulous selfishness of the slaveholder, a man of education, a husband and a father, who could consent to use such a tool for such a purpose.

Many more narratives of similar character might be added; for I think he estimated at more than one thousand the number of cases in which he had been employed for fugitives, in one way or another, during his forty years’ residence in Philadelphia. But enough have been told to illustrate the active benevolence, uncompromising boldness, and ready wit, which characterized this friend of humanity. His accurate knowledge of all laws connected with slavery was so proverbial, that magistrates and lawyers were generally averse to any collision with him on such subjects.

In 1810, Benjamin Donahue of Delaware applied to Mr. Barker, mayor of Philadelphia, to assist him in recovering a fugitive, with whose place of residence he was perfectly sure Isaac T. Hopper was acquainted. After a brief correspondence with Friend Hopper, the mayor said to Mr. Donahue, “We had better drop this business, like a hot potato; for Mr. Hopper knows more law in such cases as this, than you and I put together.”

He would often resort to the most unexpected expedients. Upon one occasion, a slave case was brought before Judge Rush, brother of Dr. Benjamin Rush. It seemed likely to terminate in favor of the slaveholder; but Friend Hopper thought he observed that the judge wavered a little. He seized that moment to inquire, “Hast thou not recently published a legal opinion, in which it is distinctly stated that thou wouldst never seek to sustain a human law, if thou wert convinced that it conflicted with any law in the Bible?”

“I did publish such a statement,” replied Judge Rush; “and I am ready to abide by it; for in all cases, I consider the divine law above the human.”

Friend Hopper drew from his pocket a small Bible, which he had brought into court for the express purpose, and read in loud distinct tones the following verses: “Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee: He shall dwell with thee, even among you, in that place which he shall choose, in one of thy gates, where it liketh him best: thou shalt not oppress him.” Deut. 23: 15, 16.

The slaveholder smiled; supposing, this appeal to old Hebrew law would be considered as little applicable to modern times, as the command to stone a man to death for picking up sticks on the Sabbath. But when the judge asked for the book, read the sentence for himself, seemed impressed by it, and adjourned the decision of the case, he walked out of the court-house muttering, “I believe in my soul the old fool _will_ let him off on that ground.” And sure enough, the slave was discharged.

Friend Hopper’s quickness in slipping through loop-holes, and dodging round corners, rendered him exceedingly troublesome and provoking to slaveholders. He often kept cases pending in court three or four years, till the claimants were completely wearied out, and ready to settle on any terms. His acute perception of the slightest flaw in a document, or imperfection in evidence, always attracted notice in the courts he attended. Judges and lawyers often remarked to him, “Mr. Hopper, it is a great pity you were not educated for the legal profession. You have such a judicial mind.” Mr. William Lewis, an eminent lawyer, offered him every facility for studying the profession. “Come to my office and use my library whenever you please,” said he; “or I will obtain a clerkship in the courts for you, if you prefer that. Your mind is peculiarly adapted to legal investigation, and if you would devote yourself to it, you might become a judge before long.”

But Friend Hopper could never overcome his scruples about entering on a career of worldly ambition. He thought he had better keep humble, and resist temptations that might lead him out of the plainness and simplicity of the religious Society to which he belonged.

As for the colored people of Philadelphia, they believed in his infallibility, as devout Catholics believe in the Pope. They trusted him, and he trusted them; and it is remarkable in how few instances he found his confidence misplaced. The following anecdote will illustrate the nature of the relation existing between him and that much abused race. Prince Hopkins, a wood-sawyer of Philadelphia, was claimed as a fugitive slave by John Kinsmore of Baltimore. When Friend Hopper went to the magistrate’s office to inquire into the affair, he found the poor fellow in tears. He asked for a private interview, and the alderman gave his consent. When they were alone, Prince confessed that he was the slave in question. In the course of his narrative, it appeared that he had been sent into Pennsylvania by his mistress, and had resided there with a relative of hers two years. Friend Hopper told him to dry up his tears, for it was in his power to protect him. When he returned to the office, he informed the magistrate that Prince Hopkins was a free man; having resided in Pennsylvania, with the consent of his mistress, a much longer time than the law required. Mr. Kinsmore was irritated, and demanded that the colored man should be imprisoned till he could obtain legal advice.

“Let him go and finish the wood he was sawing,” said Friend Hopper. “I will be responsible for his appearance whenever he is wanted. If the magistrate will give me a commitment, Prince will call at my house after he has finished sawing his wood, and I will send him to jail with it. He can remain there, until the facts I have stated are clearly proved.”

The slave-holder and his lawyer seemed to regard this proposition as an insult. They railed at Friend Hopper for his “impertinent interference,” and for the absurd idea of trusting “that nigger” under such circumstances.

He replied, “I would rather trust ‘that nigger,’ as you call him, than either of you.” So saying, he marched off with the magistrate’s mittimus in his pocket.

When Prince Hopkins had finished his job of sawing, he called for the commitment, and carried it to the jailor, who locked him up. Satisfactory evidence of his freedom was soon obtained, and he was discharged.

The colored people appeared to better advantage with their undoubted friend, than they possibly could have done where a barrier of prejudice existed. They were not afraid to tell him their experiences in their own way, with natural pathos, here and there dashed with fun. A fine-looking, athletic fugitive, telling him his story one day, said, “When I first run away, I met some people who were dreadful afraid I couldn’t take care of myself. But thinks I to myself I took care of master and myself too for a long spell; and I guess I can make out.” With a roguish expression laughing all over his face, he added, “I don’t look as if I was suffering for a master; do I, Mr. Hopper?”

Though slaveholders had abundant reason to dread Isaac T. Hopper, as they would a blister of Spanish flies, yet he had no hardness of feeling toward them, or even toward kidnappers; hateful as he deemed the system, which produced them both.

In 1801, a sober industrious family of free colored people, living in Pennsylvania on the borders of Maryland, were attacked in the night by a band of kidnappers. The parents were aged, and needed the services of their children for support. Knowing that the object of the marauders was to carry them off and sell them to slave speculators, the old father defended them to the utmost of his power. In the struggle, he was wounded by a pistol, and one of his daughters received a shot, which caused her death. One of the sons, who was very ill in bed, was beaten and bruised till he was covered with blood. But mangled and crippled as he was, he contrived to drag himself to a neighboring barn, and hide himself under the straw.

If such lawless violence had been practised upon any white citizens, the Executive of Pennsylvania would have immediately offered a high reward for the apprehension of the aggressors; but the victims belonged to a despised caste, and nothing was done to repair their wrongs. Friend Hopper felt the blood boil in his veins when he heard of this cruel outrage, and his first wish was to have the offenders punished; but as soon as he had time to reflect, he said, “I cannot find it in my heart to urge this subject upon the notice of the Executive; for death would be the penalty if those wretches were convicted.”

There were many highly respectable individuals among the colored people of Philadelphia. Richard Allen, who had been a slave, purchased freedom with the proceeds of his own industry. He married, and established himself as a shoemaker in that city, where he acquired considerable property, and built a three-story brick house. He was the principal agent in organizing the first congregation of colored people in Philadelphia, and was their pastor to the day of his death, without asking or receiving any compensation. During the latter part of his life, he was Bishop of their Methodist Episcopal Church. Absalom Jones, a much respected colored man, was his colleague. In 1793, when the yellow fever was raging, it was extremely difficult to procure attendants for the sick on any terms; and the few who would consent to render service, demanded exorbitant prices. But Bishop Allen and Rev. Mr. Jones never hesitated to go wherever they could be useful; and with them, the compensation was always a secondary consideration. When the pestilence had abated, the mayor sent them a certificate expressing his approbation of their conduct. But even these men, whose worth commanded respect, were not safe from the legalized curse that rests upon their hunted race. A Southern speculator arrested Bishop Allen, and claimed him as a fugitive slave, whom he had bought running. The constable employed to serve the warrant was ashamed to drag the good man through the streets; and he merely said, in a respectful tone, “Mr. Allen, you will soon come down to Alderman Todd’s office, will you?”

The fugitive, whom they were seeking, had absconded only four years previous; and everybody in Philadelphia, knew that Richard Allen had been living there more than twenty years. Yet the speculator and his sons swore unblushingly that he was the identical slave they had purchased. Mr. Allen thought he ought to have some redress for this outrage; “For,” said he, “if it had not been for the kindness of the officer, I might have been dragged through the streets like a felon.”

Isaac T. Hopper was consulted, and a civil suit commenced. Eight hundred dollars bail was demanded, and the speculator, being unable to procure it, was lodged in the debtor’s prison. When he had been there three months, Mr. Allen caused him to be discharged; saying he did not wish to persecute the man, but merely to teach him not to take up free people again, for the purpose of carrying them into slavery.

The numerous instances of respectability among the colored people were doubtless to be attributed in part to the protecting influence extended over them by the Quakers. But even in those days, the Society of Friends were by no means all free from prejudice against color; and in later times, I think they have not proved themselves at all superior to other sects in their feelings and practice on this subject. Friend Hopper, Joseph Carpenter, and the few who resemble them in this respect, are _exceptions_ to the general character of modern Quakers, not the _rule._ The following very characteristic anecdote shows how completely Isaac was free from prejudice on account of complexion. It is an unusual thing to see a colored Quaker; for the African temperament is fervid and impressible, and requires more exciting forms of religion. David Maps and his wife, a very worthy couple, were the only colored members of the Yearly Meeting to which Isaac T. Hopper belonged. On the occasion of the annual gathering in Philadelphia, they came with other members of the Society to share the hospitality of his house. A question arose in the family whether Friends of white complexion would object to eating with them. “Leave that to me,” said the master of the household. Accordingly when the time arrived, he announced it thus: “Friends, dinner is now ready. David Maps and his wife will come with me; and as I like to have all accommodated, those who object to dining with them can wait till they have done.” The guests smiled, and all seated themselves at the table.

The conscientiousness so observable in several anecdotes of Isaac’s boyhood was strikingly manifested in his treatment of a colored printer, named Kane. This man was noted for his profane swearing. Friend Hopper had expostulated with him concerning this bad habit, without producing the least effect. One day, he encountered him in the street, pouring forth a volley of terrible oaths, enough to make one shudder. Believing him incurable by gentler means, he took him before a magistrate, who fined him for blasphemy.

He did not see the man again for a long time; but twenty years afterward, when he was standing at his door, Kane passed by. The Friend’s heart was touched by his appearance; for he looked old, feeble, and poor. He stepped out, shook hands with him, and said in kindly tones, “Dost thou remember me, and how I caused thee to be fined for swearing?”

“Yes, indeed I do,” he replied. “I remember how many dollars I paid, as well as if it were but yesterday.”

“Did it do thee any good;” inquired Friend Hopper.

“Never a bit,” answered he. “It only made me mad to have my money taken from me.”

The poor man was invited to walk into the house. The interest was calculated on the fine, and every cent repaid to him. “I meant it for thy good,” said the benevolent Quaker; “and I am sorry that I only provoked thee.” Kane’s countenance changed at once, and tears began to flow. He took the money with many thanks, and was never again heard to swear.

Friend Hopper’s benevolence was by no means confined to colored people. Wherever there was good to be done, his heart and hand were ready. From various anecdotes in proof of this, I select the following.

JOHN McGRIER.

John was an Irish orphan, whose parents died of yellow fever, when he was very young. He obtained a scanty living by doing errands for cartmen. In the year 1800, when he was about fourteen years old, there was a long period during which he could obtain scarcely any employment. Being without friends, and in a state of extreme destitution, he was tempted to enter a shop and steal two dollars from the drawer. He was pursued and taken. Isaac T. Hopper, who was one of the inspectors of the prison at that time, saw a crowd gathered, and went to inquire the cause. The poor boy’s history was soon told. Friend Hopper liked the expression of his countenance, and pitied his forlorn condition. When he was brought up for trial, he accompanied him, and pleaded with the judge in his favor. He urged that the poor child’s education had been entirely neglected, and consequently he was more to be pitied than blamed. If sent to prison, he would in all probability become hardened, if not utterly ruined. He said if the judge would allow him to take charge of the lad, he would promise to place him in good hands, where he would be out of the way of temptation. The judge granted his request, and John was placed in prison merely for a few days, till Friend Hopper could provide for him. He proposed to his father to have the boy bound to him. The old gentleman hesitated at first, on account of his neglected education and wild way of living; but pity for the orphan overcame his scruples, and he agreed to take him. John lived with him till he was twenty-one years of age, and was remarkably faithful and industrious. But about two years after, a neighbor came one night to arrest him for stealing a horse. Old Mr. Hopper assured him it was not possible John had done such a thing; that during all the time he had lived in his family he had proved himself entirely honest and trustworthy. The neighbor replied that his horse had been taken to Philadelphia and sold; and the ferryman from Woodbury was ready to swear that the animal was brought over by Hopper’s John, as he was generally called. John was in bed, but was called up to answer the accusation. He did not attempt to deny it, but gave up the money at once, and kept repeating that he did know what made him do it. He was dreadfully ashamed and distressed. He begged that Friend Isaac would not come to see him in prison, for he could not look him the face. His anguish of mind was so great, that when the trial came on, he was emaciated almost to a skeleton. Old Mr. Hopper went into court and stated the adverse circumstances of his early life, and his exemplary conduct during nine years that he had lived in his family. He begged that he might be fined instead of imprisoned, and offered to pay the fine himself. The proposition was accepted, and the kind old man took the culprit home.

This lenient treatment completely subdued the last vestige of evil habits acquired in childhood. He was humble and grateful in the extreme, and always steady and industrious. He conducted with great propriety ever afterward, and established such a character for honesty, that the neighbors far and wide trusted him to carry their produce to market, receiving a small commission for his trouble. Eventually, he came to own a small house and farm, where he lived in much comfort and respectability. He always looked up to Isaac as the friend who had early raised him from a downward and slippery path; and he was never weary of manifesting gratitude by every little attention he could devise.

LEVI BUTLER.

Some one having told Friend Hopper of an apprentice who was cruelly treated, he caused investigation to be made, and took the lad under his own protection. As he was much bent upon going to sea, he was placed in a respectable boarding-house for sailors, till a fitting opportunity could be found to gratify his inclination. One day, a man in the employ of this boarding-house brought a bill to be paid for the lad. He was very ragged, but his manners were those of a gentleman, and his conversation showed that he had been well educated. His appearance excited interest in Friend Hopper’s mind, and he inquired into his history. He said his name was Levi Butler; that he was of German extraction, and had been a wealthy merchant in Baltimore, of the firm of Butler and Magruder. He married a widow, who had considerable property, and several children. After her death, he failed in business, and gave up all his own property, but took the precaution to secure all her property to her children. His creditors were angry, and tried various ways to compel him to pay them with his wife’s money. He was imprisoned a long time. He petitioned the Legislature for release, and the committee before whom the case was brought made a report in his favor, highly applauding his integrity in not involving his own affairs with the property belonging to his wife’s children, who had been intrusted to his care. Poverty and persecution had broken down his spirits, and when he was discharged from prison he left Baltimore and tried to obtain a situation as clerk in Philadelphia. He did not succeed in procuring employment. His clothes became thread-bare, and he had no money to purchase a new suit. In this situation, some people to whom he applied for employment treated him as if he were an impostor. In a state of despair he went one day to drown himself. But when he had put some heavy stones in his pocket to make him sink rapidly, he seemed to hear a voice calling to him to forbear; and looking up, he saw a man watching him. He hurried away to avoid questions, and passing by a sailor’s boarding-house, he went in and offered to wait upon the boarders for his food. They took him upon those terms; and the gentleman who had been accustomed to ride in his own carriage, and be waited upon by servants, now roasted oysters and went of errands for common seamen. He was in this forlorn situation, when accident introduced him to Friend Hopper’s notice. He immediately furnished him with a suit of warm clothes; for the weather was cold, and his garments thin. He employed him to post up his account-books, and finding that he did it in a very perfect manner, he induced several of his friends to employ him in a similar way.

A brighter day was dawning for the unfortunate man, and perhaps he might have attained to comfortable independence, if his health had not failed. But he had taken severe colds by thin clothing and exposure to inclement weather. A rapid consumption came on, and he was soon entirely unable to work. Under these circumstances, the best Friend Hopper could do for him was to secure peculiar privileges at the alms-house, and surround him with, all the little comforts that help to alleviate illness. He visited him very often, until the day of his death, and his sympathy and kind attentions were always received with heartfelt gratitude.

THE MUSICAL BOY.

One day when Friend Hopper visited the prison, he found a dark-eyed lad with a very bright expressive countenance His right side was palsied, so that the arm hung down useless. Attracted by his intelligent face, he entered into conversation with him, and found that he had been palsied from infancy. He had been sent forth friendless into the world from an alms-house in Maryland. In Philadelphia, he had been committed to prison as a vagrant, because he drew crowds about him in the street by his wonderful talent of imitating a hand-organ, merely by whistling tunes through his fingers. Friend Hopper, who had imbibed the Quaker idea that music was a useless and frivolous pursuit, said to the boy, “Didst thou not know it was wrong to spend thy time in that idle manner?”

With ready frankness the young prisoner replied, “No, I did not; and I should like to hear how _you_ can prove it to be wrong. God has given you sound limbs. Half of my body is paralyzed, and it is impossible for me to work as others do. It has pleased God to give me a talent for music. I do no harm with it. It gives pleasure to myself and others, and enables me to gain a few coppers to buy my bread. I should like to have you show me wherein it is wrong.”

Without attempting to do so, Friend Hopper suggested that perhaps he had been committed to prison on account of producing noise and confusion in the streets.

“I make no riot,” rejoined the youth. “I try to please people by my tunes; and if the crowd around me begin to be noisy, I quietly walk off.”

Struck with the good sense and sincerity of these answers, Friend Hopper said to the jailor, “Thou mayest set this lad at liberty. I will be responsible for it.”

The jailer relying on his well-known character, and his intimacy with Robert Wharton, the mayor, did not hesitate to comply with his request. At that moment, the mayor himself came in sight, and Friend Hopper said to the lad, “Step into the next room, and play some of thy best tunes till I come.”

“What’s this?” said Mr. Wharton. “Have you got a hand-organ here!”

“Yes,” replied Friend Hopper; “and I will show it to thee. It is quite curious.”

At first, the mayor could not believe that the sounds he had heard were produced by a lad merely whistling through his fingers. He thought them highly agreeable, and asked to have the tunes repeated.

“The lad was committed to prison for no other offence than making that noise, which seems to thee so pleasant,” said Friend Hopper. “I dare say thou wouldst like to make it thyself, if thou couldst. I have taken the liberty to discharge him.”

“Very well,” rejoined the mayor, with a smile. “You have done quite right, Friend Isaac. You may go, my lad. I shall not trouble you. But try not to collect crowds about the streets.”

“That I cannot help,” replied the youth. “The crowds _will_ come, when I whistle for them; and I get coppers by collecting crowds. But I promise you I will try to avoid their making any riot or confusion.”

MARY NORRIS.

A stout healthy woman, named Mary Norris was continually taken up as a vagrant, or committed for petty larceny. As soon as she was discharged from the penalty of one misdemeanor, she was committed for another. One day, Friend Hopper, who was then inspector, said to her, “Well, Mary, thy time is out next week. Dost thou think thou shalt come back again?”

“Yes,” she replied sullenly.

“Dost thou _like_ to come back?” inquired he.

“No, to be sure I don’t,” rejoined the prisoner. “But I’ve no doubt I _shall_ come back before the month is out.”

“Why dost thou not make a resolution to behave better?” said the kindly inspector.

“What use would it be?” she replied. “You wouldn’t take me into your family. The doctor wouldn’t take me into his family. No respectable person would have anything to do with me. My associates _must_ be such acquaintances as I make here. If they steal, I am taken up for it; no matter whether I am guilty or not. I am an old convict, and nobody believes what I say. O, yes, I shall come back again. To be sure I shall come back,” she repeated bitterly.

Her voice and manner excited Friend Hopper’s compassion, and he thus addressed her: “If I will get a place for thee in some respectable family where they will be kind to thee, wilt thou give me thy word that thou wilt be honest and steady, and try to do thy duty.”

Her countenance brightened, and she eagerly answered, “Yes I _will_! And thank God and you too, the longest day I have to live.”

He exerted his influence in her behalf, and procured a situation for her as head-nurse at the alms-house. She was well contented there, and behaved with great propriety. Seventeen years afterward, when Friend Hopper had not seen her for a long time, he called to inquire about her, and was informed that during all those years, she had been an honest, sober, and useful woman. She was rejoiced to see him again, and expressed lively gratitude, for the quiet and comfortable life she enjoyed through his agency.

THE MAGDALEN.

Upon one occasion, Friend Hopper entered a complaint against an old woman, who had presided over an infamous house for many years. She was tried, and sentenced to several months imprisonment. He went to see her several times, and talked very seriously with her concerning the errors of her life. Finding that his expostulations made some impression, he asked if she felt willing to amend her ways. “Oh, I should be thankful to do it!” she exclaimed. “But who would trust me? What can I do to earn an honest living? Everybody curses me, or makes game of me. How _can_ I be a better woman, if I try ever so hard?”

“I will give thee a chance to amend thy life,” he replied; “and if thou dost not, it shall be thy own fault.”

He went round among the wealthy Quakers, and by dint of great persuasion he induced one to let her a small tenement at very low rent. A few others agreed to purchase some humble furniture, and a quantity of thread, needles, tape, and buttons, to furnish a small shop. The poor old creature’s heart overflowed with gratitude, and it was her pride to keep everything very neat and orderly. There she lived contented and comfortable the remainder of her days, and became much respected in the neighborhood. The tears often came to her eyes when she saw Friend Hopper. “God bless that good man!” she would say. “He has been the salvation of me.”

THE UNCOMPLIMENTARY INVITATION.

A preacher of the Society of Friends felt impressed with the duty of calling a meeting for vicious people; and Isaac T. Hopper was appointed to collect an audience. In the course of this mission, he knocked at the door of a very infamous house. A gentleman who was acquainted with him was passing by, and he stopped to say, “Friend Hopper, you have mistaken the house.”

“No, I have not,” he replied.

“But that is a house of notorious ill fame,” said the gentleman.

“I know it,” rejoined he; “but nevertheless I have business here.”

His acquaintance looked surprised, but passed on without further query. A colored girl came to the door. To the inquiry whether her mistress was within, she answered in the affirmative. “Tell her I wish to see her,” said Friend Hopper. The girl was evidently astonished at a visitor in Quaker costume, and of such grave demeanor; but she went and did the errand. A message was returned that her mistress was engaged and could not see any one. “Where is she?” he inquired. The girl replied that she was up-stairs. “I will go to her,” said the importunate messenger.

The mistress of the house heard him, and leaning over the balustrade of the stairs, she screamed out, “What do you want with me, sir?”

In very loud tones he answered, “James Simpson, a minister of the Society of Friends, has appointed a meeting to be held this afternoon, in Penrose store, Almond-street. It is intended for publicans, sinners, and harlots. I want thee to be there, and bring thy whole household with thee. Wilt thou come?”

She promised that she would; and he afterward saw her at the meeting melted into tears by the direct and affectionate preaching.

THEFT FROM NECESSITY.

One day, when the family were in the midst of washing, a man called at Isaac T. Hopper’s house to buy soap fat, and was informed they had none to sell. A minute after he had passed out, the domestic came running in to say that he had stolen some of the children’s clothes from the line. Friend Hopper followed him quickly, and called out, “Dost thou want to buy some soap-fat? Come back if thou dost.”

When the man had returned to the kitchen, he said, “Now give up the clothes thou hast stolen.”

The culprit was extremely confused, but denied that he had stolen anything.

“Give them up at once, without any more words. It will be much better for thee,” said Friend Hopper, in his firm way.

Thus urged, the stranger drew from his bosom some small shirts and flannel petticoats. “My wife is very sick,” said he. “She has a babe two weeks old, wrapped up in an old rag; and when I saw this comfortable clothing on the line, I was tempted to take it for the poor little creature. We have no fuel except a little tan. A herring is the last mouthful of food we have in the house; and when I came away, it was broiling on the hot tan.”

His story excited pity; but fearing it might be made up for the occasion, Friend Hopper took him to a magistrate and said, “Please give me a commitment for this man. If he tells a true story, I will tear it up. I will go and see for myself.”

When he arrived at the wretched abode, he found a scene of misery that pained him to the heart. The room was cold, and the wife was in bed, pale and suffering. Her babe had no clothing, except a coarse rag torn from the skirt of an old coat. Of course he destroyed the commitment immediately. His next step was to call upon the rich Quakers of his acquaintance, and obtain from them contributions of wood, flour, rice, bread, and warm garments. Employment was soon after procured for the man, and he was enabled to support his family comfortably. He never passed Friend Hopper in the street without making a low bow, and often took occasion to express his grateful acknowledgments.

PATRICK McKEEVER.

Patrick was a poor Irishman in Philadelphia. He and another man were arrested on a charge of burglary, convicted and sentenced to be hung. I am ignorant of the details of his crime, or why the sentence was not carried into execution. There were probably some palliating circumstances in his case; for though he was carried to the gallows, seated on his coffin, he was spared for some reason, and his companion was hung. He was afterward sentenced to ten years imprisonment, and this was eventually shortened one year. During the last three years of his term, Friend Hopper was one of the inspectors, and frequently talked with him in a gentle, fatherly manner. The convict was a man of few words, and hope seemed almost dead within him; but though he made no large promises, his heart was evidently touched by the voice of kindness. As soon as he was released, he went immediately to work at his trade of tanning leather, and conducted himself in the most exemplary manner. Being remarkable for capability, and the amount of work he could accomplish, he soon had plenty of employment. He passed Friend Hopper’s house every day, as he went to his work, and often received from him words of friendly encouragement.

Things were going on thus satisfactorily, when his friend heard that constables were in pursuit of him, on account of a robbery committed the night before. He went straight to the mayor, and inquired why orders had been given to arrest Patrick McKeever.

“Because there has been a robbery committed in his neighborhood,” replied the magistrate.

He inquired what proof there was that Patrick had been concerned in it.

“None at all,” rejoined the mayor. “But he is an old convict, and that is enough to condemn him.”

“It is _not_ enough, by any means,” answered Friend Hopper. “Thou hast no right to arrest any citizen without a shadow of proof against him. In this, case, I advise thee by all means to proceed with humane caution. This man has severely atoned for the crime he did commit; and since he wishes to reform, his past history ought never to be mentioned against him. He has been perfectly honest, sober, and industrious, since he came out of prison. I think I know his state of mind; and I am willing to take the responsibility of saying that he is guiltless in this matter.”

The mayor commended Friend Hopper’s benevolence, but remained unconvinced. To all arguments he replied, “He is an old convict, and that is enough.”

Patrick’s kind friend watched for him as he passed to his daily labors, and told him that he would probably be arrested for the robbery that had been committed in his neighborhood. The poor fellow bowed down his head, the light vanished from his countenance, and hope seemed to have forsaken him utterly. “Well,” said he, with a deep sigh, “I suppose I must make up my mind to spend the remainder of my days in prison.”

“Thou wert not concerned in this robbery, wert thou?” inquired Friend Hopper, looking earnestly in his face.

“No, indeed I was not,” he replied. “God be my witness, I want to lead an honest life, and be at peace with all men. But what good will _that_ do me? Everybody will say, he has been in the State Prison, and that is enough.”

His friend did not ask him twice; for he felt assured that he had spoken truly. He advised him to go directly to the mayor, deliver himself up, and declare his innocence. This wholesome advice was received with deep dejection. He had lost faith in his fellow-men; for they had been to him as enemies. “I know what will come of it,” said he. “They will put me in prison whether there is any proof against me, or not. They won’t let me out without somebody will be security for me; and who will be security for an old convict?”

“Keep up a good heart,” replied Friend Hopper. “Go to the mayor and speak as I have advised thee. If they talk of putting thee in prison, send for me.”

Patrick acted in obedience to this advice, and was treated just as he had expected. Though there was not a shadow of proof against him, his being an old convict was deemed sufficient reason for sending him to jail.

Friend Hopper appeared in his behalf. “I am ready to affirm that I believe this man to be innocent,” said he. “It will be a very serious injury for him to be taken from his business and detained in prison until this can be proved. Moreover, the effect upon his mind may be completely discouraging. I will be security for his appearance when called for; and I know very well that he will not think of giving me the slip.”

The gratitude of the poor fellow was overwhelming. He sobbed till his strong frame shook like a leaf in the wind. The real culprits were soon after discovered. For thirty years after and to the day of his death, Patrick continued to lead a virtuous and useful life; for which he always thanked Friend Hopper, as the instrument of Divine Providence.

THE UMBRELLA GIRL.

A young girl, the only daughter of a poor widow, removed from the country to Philadelphia to earn her living by covering umbrellas. She was very handsome; with glossy black hair, large beaming eyes, and “lips like wet coral.” She was just at that susceptible age when youth is ripening into womanhood, when the soul begins to be pervaded by “that restless principle, which impels poor humans to seek perfection in union.”

At a hotel near the store for which she worked an English traveller, called Lord Henry Stuart, had taken lodgings. He was a strikingly handsome man, and of princely carriage. As this distinguished stranger passed to and from his hotel, he encountered the umbrella girl, and was attracted by her uncommon beauty. He easily traced her to the store, where he soon after went to purchase an umbrella. This was followed up by presents of flowers, chats by the wayside, and invitations to walk or ride; all of which were gratefully accepted by the unsuspecting rustic; for she was as ignorant of the dangers of a city as were the squirrels of her native fields. He was merely playing a game for temporary excitement. She, with a head full of romance, and a heart melting under the influence of love, was unconsciously endangering the happiness of her whole life.

Lord Henry invited her to visit the public gardens on the Fourth of July. In the simplicity of her heart, she believed all his flattering professions, and considered herself his bride elect; she therefore accepted the invitation with innocent frankness. But she had no dress fit to appear in on such a public occasion, with a gentleman of high rank, whom she verily supposed to be her destined husband. While these thoughts revolved in her mind, her eye was unfortunately attracted by a beautiful piece of silk, belonging to her employer. Could she not take it, without being seen, and pay for it secretly, when she had earned money enough? The temptation conquered her in a moment of weakness. She concealed the silk, and conveyed it to her lodgings. It was the first thing she had ever stolen, and her remorse was painful. She would have carried it back, but she dreaded discovery. She was not sure that her repentance would be met in a spirit of forgiveness.

On the eventful Fourth of July, she came out in her new dress. Lord Henry complimented her upon her elegant appearance, but she was not happy. On their way to the gardens, he talked to her in a manner which she did not comprehend. Perceiving this, he spoke more explicitly. The guileless young creature stopped, looked in his face with mournful reproach, and burst into tears. The nobleman took her hand kindly, and said, “My dear, are you an innocent girl?”

“I am, I am,” she replied, with convulsive sobs. “Oh, what have I ever done, or said, that you should ask me such a question?”

The evident sincerity of her words stirred the deep fountains of his better nature. “If you are innocent,” said he, “God forbid that I should make you otherwise. But you accepted my invitations and presents so readily, that I supposed you understood me.”

“What _could_ I understand,” said she, “except that you intended to make me your wife?”

Though reared amid the proudest distinctions of rank, he felt no inclination to smile. He blushed and was silent. The heartless conventionalities of the world stood rebuked in the presence of affectionate simplicity. He conveyed her to her humble home, and bade her farewell, with a thankful consciousness that he had done no irretrievable injury to her future prospects. The remembrance of her would soon be to him as the recollection of last year’s butterflies. With her, the wound was deep. In the solitude of her chamber she wept in bitterness of heart over her ruined air-castles. And that dress, which she had stolen to make an appearance befitting his bride! Oh, what if she should be discovered? And would not the heart of her poor widowed mother break, if she should ever know that her child was a thief?

Alas, her wretched forebodings proved too true. The silk was traced to her; she was arrested on her way to the store and dragged to prison. There she refused all nourishment, and wept incessantly. On the fourth day, the keeper called upon Isaac T. Hopper, and informed him that there was a young girl in prison, who appeared to be utterly friendless, and determined to die by starvation. The kind-hearted Friend immediately went to her assistance. He found her lying on the floor of her cell, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break. He tried to comfort her, but could obtain no answer.

“Leave us alone,” said he to the keeper. “Perhaps she will speak to me, if there is no one to hear.” When they were alone together, he put back the hair from her temples, laid his hand kindly on her beautiful head, and said in soothing tones, “My child, consider me as thy father. Tell me all thou hast done. If thou hast taken this silk, let me know all about it. I will do for thee as I would for my own daughter; and I doubt not that I can help thee out of this difficulty.”

After a long time spent in affectionate entreaty, she leaned her young head on his friendly shoulder, and sobbed out, “Oh, I wish I was dead. What will my poor mother say when she knows of my disgrace?”

“Perhaps we can manage that she never shall know it,” replied he. Alluring her by this hope, he gradually obtained from her the whole story of her acquaintance with the nobleman. He bade her be comforted, and take nourishment; for he would see that the silk was paid for, and the prosecution withdrawn.

He went immediately to her employer, and told him the story. “This is her first offence,” said he. “The girl is young, and she is the only child of a poor widow. Give her a chance to retrieve this one false step, and she may be restored to society, a useful and honored woman. I will see that thou art paid for the silk.” The man readily agreed to withdraw the prosecution, and said he would have dealt otherwise by the girl, if he had known all the circumstances. “Thou shouldst have inquired into the merits of the case,” replied Friend Hopper. “By this kind of thoughtlessness, many a young creature is driven into the downward path, who might easily have been saved.”

The kind-hearted man next proceeded to the hotel, and with Quaker simplicity of speech inquired for Henry Stuart. The servant said his lordship had not yet risen. “Tell him my business is of importance,” said Friend Hopper. The servant soon returned and conducted him to the chamber. The nobleman appeared surprised that a stranger, in the plain Quaker costume, should thus intrude upon his luxurious privacy. When he heard his errand, he blushed deeply, and frankly admitted the truth of the girl’s statement. His benevolent visitor took the opportunity to “bear a testimony” against the selfishness and sin of profligacy. He did it in such a kind and fatherly manner, that the young man’s heart was touched. He excused himself, by saying that he would not have tampered with the girl, if he had known her to be virtuous. “I have done many wrong things,” said he, “but thank God, no betrayal of confiding innocence weighs on my conscience. I have always esteemed it the basest act of which man is capable.” The imprisonment of the poor girl, and the forlorn situation in which she had been found, distressed him greatly. When Friend Hopper represented that the silk had been stolen for _his_ sake, that the girl had thereby lost profitable employment, and was obliged to return to her distant home, to avoid the danger of exposure, he took out a fifty dollar note, and offered it to pay her expenses.

“Nay,” said Isaac. “Thou art a very rich man, I presume. I see in thy hand a large roll of such notes. She is the daughter of a poor widow, and thou hast been the means of doing her great injury. Give me another.”

Lord Henry handed him another fifty dollar note, and smiled as he said, “You understand your business well. But you have acted nobly, and I reverence you for it. If you ever visit England, come to see me. I will give you a cordial welcome, and treat you like a nobleman.”

“Farewell, friend,” replied the Quaker. “Though much to blame in this affair, thou too hast behaved nobly. Mayst thou be blessed in domestic life, and trifle no more with the feelings of poor girls; not even with those whom others have betrayed and deserted.”

When the girl was arrested, she had sufficient presence of mind to assume a false name, and by that means, her true name had been kept out of the newspapers. “I did this,” said she, “for my poor mother’s sake.” With the money given by Lord Stuart, the silk was paid for, and she was sent home to her mother well provided with clothing. Her name and place of residence forever remained a secret in the breast of her benefactor.

Years after these events transpired, a lady called at Friend Hopper’s house, and asked to see him. When he entered the room, he found a handsomely dressed young matron, with a blooming boy of five or six years old. She rose quickly to meet him, and her voice choked as she said, “Friend Hopper, do you know me?” He replied that he did not. She fixed her tearful eyes earnestly upon him, and said, “You once helped me when in great distress.” But the good missionary of humanity had helped too many in distress, to be able to recollect her without more precise information. With a tremulous voice, she bade her son go into the next room for a few minutes; then dropping on her knees, she hid her face in his lap, and sobbed out, “I am the girl who stole the silk. Oh, where should I now be, if it had not been for you!”

When her emotion was somewhat calmed, she told him that she had married a highly respectable man, a senator of his native state. Being on a visit in Friend Hopper’s vicinity, she had again and again passed his dwelling, looking wistfully at the windows to catch a sight of him; but when she attempted to enter her courage failed.

“But I must return home to-morrow,” said she, “and I could not go away without once more seeing and thanking him who saved me from ruin.” She recalled her little boy, and said to him, “Look at that gentleman, and remember him well; for he was the best friend your mother ever had.” With an earnest invitation to visit her happy home, and a fervent “God bless you!” she bade her benefactor farewell.

THE TWO YOUNG OFFENDERS.

In the neighborhood of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, there lived a man whose temper was vindictive and badly governed. Having become deeply offended with one of his neighbors, he induced his two sons to swear falsely that he had committed an infamous crime. One of the lads was about fifteen years old, and the other about seventeen. The alleged offence was of so gross a nature, and was so at variance with the fair character of the person accused that the witnesses were subjected to a very careful and shrewd examination. They became embarrassed, and the flaws in their evidence were very obvious. They were indicted for conspiracy against an innocent man; and being taken by surprise, they were thrown into confusion, acknowledged their guilt, and declined the offer of a trial. They were sentenced to two years’ imprisonment at hard labor in the Penitentiary of Philadelphia.

Isaac T. Hopper, who was at that time one of the inspectors, happened to be at the prison when they arrived at dusk, hand-cuffed and chained together, in custody of the sheriff. Their youth and desolate appearance excited his compassion. “Keep up a good heart, my poor lads,” said he. “You can retrieve this one false step, if you will but make the effort. It is still in your power to become respectable and useful men. I will help you all I can.”

He gave particular directions that they should be placed in a room by themselves, apart from the contagion of more hardened offenders. To prevent unprofitable conversation, they were constantly employed in the noisy occupation of heading nails. From time to time, the humane inspector spoke soothing and encouraging words to them, and commended their good behavior. When the Board of Inspectors met, he proposed that the lads should be recommended to the governor for pardon. Not succeeding in this effort, he wrote an article on the impropriety of confining juvenile offenders with old hardened convicts. He published this in the daily papers, and it produced considerable effect. When the Board again met, Isaac T. Hopper and Thomas Dobson were appointed to wait on the governor, to obtain a pardon for the lads if possible. After considerable hesitation, the request was granted on condition that worthy men could be found, who would take them as apprentices. Friend Hopper agreed to find such persons; and he kept his word. One of them was bound to a tanner, the other to a carpenter. But their excellent friend did not lose sight of them. He reminded them that they were now going among strangers, and their success and happiness would mainly depend on their own conduct. He begged of them, if they should ever get entangled with unprofitable company, or become involved in difficulty of any kind, to come to him, as they would to a considerate father. He invited them to spend all their leisure evenings at his house. For a long time, it was their constant practice to take tea with him every Sunday, and join the family in reading the Bible and other serious books.

At the end of a year, they expressed a strong desire to visit their father. Some fears were entertained lest his influence over them should prove injurious; and that being once freed from restraint, they would not willingly return to constant industry and regular habits. They, however, promised faithfully that they would, and Friend Hopper thought it might have a good effect upon them to know that they were trusted. He accordingly entered into bonds for them; thinking this additional claim on their gratitude would strengthen his influence over them, and help to confirm their good resolutions.

They returned punctually at the day and hour they had promised, and their exemplary conduct continued to give entire satisfaction to their employers. A short time after the oldest had fulfilled the term of his indenture, the tanner with whom he worked bought a farm, and sold his stock and tools to his former apprentice. Friend Hopper took him to the governor’s house, dressed in his new suit of freedom clothes, and introduced him as one of the lads whom he had pardoned several years before; testifying that he had been a faithful apprentice, and much respected by his master. The governor was well pleased to see him, shook hands with him very cordially, and told him that he who was resolute