Isaac T. Hopper by L. Maria ChildA True Life (page 4)

enough to turn back from vicious ways, into the paths of virtue and usefulness, deserved even more respect than one who had never been tempted.

He afterward married a worthy young woman with a small property, which enabled him to build a neat two-story brick house. He always remained sober and industrious, and they lived in great comfort and respectability.

The younger brother likewise passed through his apprenticeship in a manner very satisfactory to his friends; and at twenty-one years of age, he also was introduced to the governor with testimonials of his good conduct. He was united to a very respectable young woman, but died a few years after his marriage.

Both these young men always cherished warm gratitude and strong attachment for Isaac T. Hopper. They both regularly attended the meetings of the Society of Friends, which had become pleasantly associated in their minds with the good influences they had received from their benefactor.

Friend Hopper was a strict disciplinarian while he was inspector, and it was extremely difficult for the prisoners to deceive him by any artful devices, or hypocritical pretences. But he was always in the habit of talking with them in friendly style, inquiring into their history and plans, sympathizing with their troubles and temptations, encouraging them to reform, and promising to assist them if they would try to help themselves. It was his custom to take a ramble in the country with his children every Saturday afternoon. All who were old enough to walk joined the troop. They always stopped at the prison, and were well pleased to deliver to the poor inmates, with their own small hands, such little comforts as their father had provided for the purpose. He was accustomed to say that there was not one among the convicts, however desperate they might be, with whom he should be afraid to trust himself alone at midnight with large sums of money in his pocket. An acquaintance once cautioned him against a prisoner, whose temper was extremely violent and revengeful, and who had been heard to swear that he would take the life of some of the keepers. Soon after this warning, Friend Hopper summoned the desperate fellow, and told him he was wanted to pile a quantity of lumber in the cellar. He went down with him to hold the light, and they remained more than an hour alone together, out of hearing of everybody. When he told this to the man who had cautioned him, he replied, “Well, I confess you have good courage. I wouldn’t have done it for the price of the prison and all the ground it stands upon; for I do assure you he is a terrible fellow.”

“I don’t doubt he is,” rejoined the courageous inspector; “but I knew he wouldn’t kill _me_. I have always been a friend to him, and he is aware of it. What motive could he have for harming me?”

One of the prisoners, who had been convicted of man-slaughter, became furious, in consequence of being threatened with a whipping. When they attempted to bring him out of his dungeon to receive punishment, he seized a knife and a club, rushed back again, and swore he would kill the first person who came near him. Being a very strong man, and in a state of madness, no one dared to approach him. They tried to starve him into submission; but finding he was not to be subdued in that way, they sent for Friend Hopper, as they were accustomed to do in all such difficult emergencies. He went boldly into the cell, looked the desperado calmly in the face, and said, “It is foolish for thee to contend with the authorities. Thou wilt be compelled to yield at last. I will inquire into thy case. If thou hast been unjustly dealt by, I promise thee it shall be remedied.” This kind and sensible remonstrance had the desired effect. From that time forward, he had great influence over the ferocious fellow, who was always willing to be guided by his advice, and finally became one of the most reasonable and orderly inmates of the prison.

I have heard Friend Hopper say that while he was inspector he aided and encouraged about fifty young convicts, as nearly as he could recollect; and all, except two, conducted in such a manner as to satisfy the respectable citizens whom he had induced to employ them. He was a shrewd observer of the countenances and manners of men, and doubtless that was one reason why he was not often disappointed in those he trusted.

The humor which characterized his boyhood, remained with him in maturer years, and often effervesced on the surface of his acquired gravity; as will appear in the following anecdotes.

Upon a certain occasion, a man called on him with a due bill for twenty dollars against an estate he had been employed to settle. Friend Hopper put it away, saying he would examine it and attend to it as soon as he had leisure. The man called again a short time after, and stated that he had need of six dollars, and was willing to give a receipt for the whole if that sum were advanced. This proposition excited suspicion, and the administrator decided in his own mind that he would pay nothing till he had examined the papers of the deceased. Searching carefully among these, he found a receipt for the money, mentioning the identical items, date, and circumstances of the transaction; stating that a due-bill had been given and lost, and was to be restored by the creditor when found. When the man called again for payment, Isaac said to him, in a quiet way, “Friend Jones, I understand thou hast become pious lately.”

He replied in a solemn tone, “Yes, thanks to the Lord Jesus, I have found out the way of salvation.”

“And thou hast been dipped I hear,” continued the Quaker. “Dost thou know James Hunter?”

Mr. Jones answered in the affirmative.

“Well, he also was dipped some time ago,” rejoined Friend Hopper; “but his neighbors say they didn’t get the crown of his head under water. The devil crept into the unbaptized part, and has been busy within him ever since. I am afraid they didn’t get _thee_ quite under water. I think thou hadst better be dipped again.”

As he spoke, he held up the receipt for twenty dollars. The countenance of the professedly pious man became scarlet, and he disappeared instantly.

A Dutchman once called upon Friend Hopper, and said, “A tief have stole mine goots. They tell me you can help me, may be.” Upon inquiring the when and the where, Friend Hopper concluded that the articles had been stolen by a man whom he happened to know the police had taken up a few hours previous. But being disposed to amuse himself, he inquired very seriously, “What time of the moon was it, when thy goods were stolen?” Having received information concerning that particular, he took a slate and began to cipher diligently. After a while, he looked up, and pronounced in a very oracular manner, “Thou wilt find thy goods.”

“Shall I find mine goots?” exclaimed the delighted Dutchman; “and where is de tief?”

“Art thou quite sure about the age of the moon?” inquired the pretended magician. Being assured there was no mistake on that point, he ciphered again for a few minutes, and then answered, “Thou wilt find the thief in the hands of the police.”

The Dutchman went away, evidently inspired with profound reverence. Having found his goods and the thief, according to prediction, he returned and asked for a private interview. “Tell me dat secret,” said he, “and I will pay you a heap of money.”

“What secret?” inquired Friend Hopper.

“Tell me how you know I will find mine goots, and where I will find de tief?” rejoined he.

“The plain truth is, I guessed it,” was the reply; “because I had heard there was a thief at the police office, with such goods as thou described.”

“But what for you ask about de moon?” inquired the Dutchman. “You make figures, and den you say, you will find your goots. You make figures again, den you tell me where is de tief. I go, and find mine goots and de tief, just as you say. Tell me how you do dat, and I will pay you a heap of money.”

Though repeatedly assured that it was done only for a joke, he went away unsatisfied: and to the day of his death, he fully believed that the facetious Quaker was a conjuror.

When Friend Hopper hired one of two houses where the back yards were not separated, he found himself considerably incommoded by the disorderly habits of his next neighbor. The dust and dirt daily swept into the yard were allowed to accumulate there in a heap, which the wind often scattered over the neater premises adjoining. The mistress of the house was said to be of an irritable temper, likely to take offence if asked to adopt a different system. He accordingly resolved upon a course, which he thought might cure the evil without provoking a dispute. One day, when he saw his neighbor in her kitchen, he called his own domestic to come out into the yard. Pointing to the heap of dirt, he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard in the next house, “Betsy, art thou not ashamed to sweep dust and litter into such a heap. See how it is blowing about our neighbor’s yard! Art thou not ashamed of thyself?”

“I didn’t sweep any dirt there,” replied the girl. “They did it themselves.”

“Pshaw! Pshaw! don’t tell me that,” rejoined he. “Our neighbor wouldn’t do such an untidy thing. I wonder she hasn’t complained of thee before now. Be more careful in future; for I should be very sorry to give her any occasion to say she couldn’t keep the yard clean on our account.”

The domestic read his meaning in the roguish expression of his eye, and she remained silent. The lesson took effect. The heap of dirt was soon removed, and never appeared afterward.

Such a character as Isaac T. Hopper was of course well known throughout the city where he lived. Every school-boy had heard something of his doings, and as he walked the street, everybody recognized him, from the chief justice to the chimney-sweep. His personal appearance was calculated to attract attention, independent of other circumstances. Joseph Bonaparte, who then resided at Bordentown, was attracted toward him the first moment he saw him, on account of a strong resemblance to his brother Napoleon. They often met in the steamboat going down the Delaware, and on such occasions, the ex-king frequently pointed him out as the most remarkable likeness of the emperor, that he had ever met in Europe or America. He expressed the opinion that with Napoleon’s uniform on, he might be mistaken for him, even by his own household; and if he were to appear thus in Paris, nothing could be easier than for him to excite a revolution.

But the imperial throne, even if it had been directly offered to him, would have proved no temptation to a soul like his. In some respects, his character, as well as his person, strongly resembled Napoleon. But his powerful will was remarkably under the control of conscience, and his energy was tempered by an unusual share of benevolence. If the other elements of his character had not been balanced by these two qualities, he also might have been a skilful diplomatist, and a successful leader of armies. Fortunately for himself and others, he had a nobler ambition than that of making widows and orphans by wholesale slaughter. The preceding anecdotes show how warmly he sympathized with the poor, the oppressed, and the erring, without limitation of country, creed, or complexion; and how diligently he labored in their behalf. But from the great amount of public service that he rendered, it must not be inferred that he neglected private duties. Perhaps no man was ever more devotedly attached to wife and children than he was. His Sarah, as he was wont to call her, was endowed with qualities well calculated to retain a strong hold on the affections of a sensible and conscientious man. Her kindly disposition, and the regular, simple habits of her life, were favorable to the preservation of that beauty, which had won his boyish admiration. Her wavy brown hair was softly shaded by the delicate transparent muslin of her Quaker cap; her face had a tender and benign expression; and her complexion was so clear, that an old gentleman, who belonged to the Society of Friends, and who was of course not much addicted to poetic comparisons, used to say he could never look at her without thinking of the clear pink and white of a beautiful conch-shell. She was scrupulously neat, and had something of that chastened coquetry in dress, which is apt to characterize the handsome women of her orderly sect. Her drab-colored gown, not high in the neck, was bordered by a plain narrow tucker of fine muslin, visible under her snow-white neckerchief. A white under-sleeve came just below the elbow, where it terminated in a very narrow band, nicely stitched, and fastened with two small silver buttons, connected by a chain. She was a very industrious woman, and remarkably systematic in her household affairs; thus she contrived to find time for everything, though burdened with the care of a large and increasing family. The apprentices always sat at table with them, and she maintained a perfect equality between them and her own children. She said it was her wish to treat them precisely as she would like to have _her_ boys treated, if _they_ should become apprentices. On Sunday evenings, which they called First Day evenings, the whole family assembled to hear Friend Hopper read portions of scripture, or writings of the early Friends. On such occasions, the mother often gave religious exhortations to the children and apprentices, suited to the occurrences of the week, and the temptations to which they were peculiarly subject. During the last eight years of her life, she was a recommended minister of the Society of Friends, and often preached at their meetings. Her manners were affable, and her conversation peculiarly agreeable to young people. But she knew when silence was seemly, and always restrained her discourse within the limits of discretion. When any of her children talked more than was useful, she was accustomed to administer this concise caution: “My dear, it is a nice thing to say nothing, when thou hast nothing to say.” Her husband was proud of her, and always manifested great deference for her opinion. She suffered much anxiety on account of the perils to which he was often exposed in his contests with slaveholders and kidnappers; and for many years, the thought was familiar to her mind that she might one day see him brought home a corpse. While the yellow fever raged in Philadelphia, she had the same anxiety concerning his fearless devotion to the victims of that terrible disease, who were dying by hundreds around them. But she had a large and sympathizing heart, and she never sought to dissuade him from what he considered the path of duty. When one of his brothers was stricken with the fever, and the family with whom he resided were afraid to shelter him, she proposed to have him brought under their own roof, where he was carefully nursed till he died. She was more reluctant to listen to his urgent entreaties that she would retire into the country with the children, and remain with them beyond the reach of contagion; for her heart was divided between the husband of her youth and the nurslings of her bosom. But his anxiety concerning their children was so great, that she finally consented to pursue the course most conducive to his peace of mind; and he was left in the city with a colored domestic to superintend his household affairs. Through this terrible ordeal of pestilence he passed unscathed, though his ever ready sympathy brought him into frequent contact with the dying and the dead.

Besides this public calamity, which darkened the whole city for a time, Friend Hopper shared the common lot of humanity in the sad experiences of private life. Several of his children died at that attractive age, when the bud of infancy is blooming into childhood. Relatives and friends crossed the dark river to the unknown shore. On New Year’s day, 1797, his mother departed from this world at fifty-six years old. In 1818, his father died at seventy-five years of age. His physical vigor was remarkable. When he had weathered seventy winters, he went to visit his eldest son, and being disappointed in meeting the stage to return, as he expected, he walked home, a distance of twenty-eight miles. At that advanced age, he could rest one hand on his cane and the other on a fence, and leap over as easily as a boy. He had long flowing black hair, which fell in ringlets on his shoulders; and when he died, it was merely sprinkled with gray. When his private accounts were examined after his decease, they revealed the fact that he had secretly expended hundreds of dollars in paying the debts of poor people, or redeeming their furniture when it was attached.

But though many dear ones dropped away from his side, as Friend Isaac moved onward in his pilgrimage, many remained to sustain and cheer him. Among his wife’s brothers, his especial friend was John Tatum, who lived in the vicinity of his native village. This worthy man had great sympathy with the colored people, and often sheltered the fugitives whom his brother-in-law had rescued. He was remarkable for his love of peace; always preferring to suffer wrong rather than dispute. The influence of this pacific disposition upon others was strikingly illustrated in the case of two of his neighbors. They were respectable people, in easy circumstances, and the families found much pleasure in frequent intercourse with each other. But after a few years, one of the men deemed that an intentional affront had been offered him by the other. Instead of good-natured frankness on the occasion, he behaved in a sullen manner, which provoked the other, and the result was that eventually neither of them would speak when they met. Their fields joined, and when they were on friendly terms, the boundary was marked by a fence, which they alternately repaired. But when there was feud between them, neither of them was willing to mend the other’s fence. So each one built a fence for himself, leaving a very narrow strip of land between, which in process of time came to be generally known by the name of Devil’s Lane, in allusion to the bad temper that produced it. A brook formed another portion of the boundary between their farms, and was useful to both of them. But after they became enemies, if a freshet occurred, each watched an opportunity to turn the water on the other’s land, by which much damage was mutually done. They were so much occupied with injuring each other in every possible way, that they neglected their farms and grew poorer and poorer. One of them became intemperate; and everything about their premises began to wear an aspect of desolation and decay. At last, one of the farms was sold to pay a mortgage, and John Tatum, who was then about to be married, concluded to purchase it. Many people warned him of the trouble he would have with a quarrelsome and intemperate neighbor. But, after mature reflection, he concluded to trust to the influence of a peaceful and kind example, and accordingly purchased the farm.

Soon after he removed thither, he proposed to do away the Devil’s Lane by building a new fence on the boundary, entirely at his own expense. His neighbor acceded to the proposition in a very surly manner, and for a considerable time seemed determined to find, or make some occasion for quarrel. But the young Quaker met all his provocations with forbearance, and never missed an opportunity to oblige him. Good finally overcame evil. The turbulent spirit, having nothing to excite it, gradually subsided into calmness. In process of time, he evinced a disposition to be kind and obliging also. Habits of temperance and industry returned, and during the last years of his life he was considered a remarkably good neighbor.

Friend Hopper’s attachment to the religious society he had joined in early life was quite as strong, perhaps even stronger, than his love of kindred. The Yearly Meeting of Friends at Philadelphia was a season of great satisfaction, and he delighted to have his house full of guests, even to overflowing. On these occasions, he obeyed the impulses of his generous nature by seeking out the least wealthy and distinguished, who would be less likely than others to receive many invitations. In addition to these, who were often personal strangers to him, he had his own familiar and cherished friends. A day seldom passed without a visit from Nicholas Wain, who had great respect and affection for him and his wife, and delighted in their society. He cordially approved of their consistency in carrying out their conscientious convictions into the practices of daily life. Some of Isaac’s relatives and friends thought he devoted rather too much time and attention to philanthropic missions, but Nicholas Wain always stood by him, a warm and faithful friend to the last. He was a true gentleman, of courtly, pleasing manners, and amusing conversation. Notwithstanding his weight of character, he was so playful with the children, that his visits were always hailed by them, as delightful opportunities for fun and frolic. He looked beneath the surface of society, and had learned to estimate men and things according to their real value, not by a conventional standard. His wife did not regard the pomps and vanities of the world with precisely the same degree of indifference that he did. She thought it would be suitable to their wealth and station to have a footman behind her carriage. This wish being frequently expressed, her husband at last promised to comply with it. Accordingly, the next time the carriage was ordered, for the purpose of making a stylish call, she was gratified to see a footman mounted. When she arrived at her place of destination, the door of her carriage was opened, and the steps let down in a very obsequious manner, by the new servant; and great was her surprise and confusion, to recognize in him her own husband!

Jacob Lindley, of Chester county, was another frequent visitor at Friend Hopper’s house; and many were the lively conversations they had together. He was a preacher in the Society of Friends, and missed no opportunity, either in public or private, to protest earnestly against the sin of slavery. He often cautioned Friends against laying too much stress on their own peculiar forms, while they professed to abjure forms. He said he himself had once received a lesson on this subject, which did him much good. Once, when he was seated in meeting, an influential Friend walked in, dressed in a coat with large metal buttons, which he had borrowed in consequence of a drenching rain! He seated himself opposite to Jacob Lindley, who was so much disturbed by the glittering buttons, that “his meeting did him no good.” When the congregation rose to depart, he felt constrained to go up to the Friend who had so much troubled him, and inquire why he had so grievously departed from the simplicity enjoined upon members of their Society. The good man looked down upon his garments, and quietly replied, “I borrowed the coat because my own was wet; and indeed, Jacob, I did not notice what buttons were on it.” Jacob shook his hand warmly, and said, “Thou art a better Christian than I am, and I will learn of thee.”

He often used to inculcate the same moral by relating another incident, which happened in old times, when Quakers were accustomed to wear cocked hats turned up at the sides. A Friend bought a hat of this description, without observing that it was looped up with a button. As he sat in meeting with his hat on, as usual, he observed many eyes directed toward him, and some with a very sorrowful expression. He could not conjecture a reason for this, till he happened to take off his hat and lay it beside him. As soon as he noticed the button, he rose and said, “Friends, if religion consists in a button, I wouldn’t give a button for it.” Having delivered this short and pithy sermon, he seated himself, and resumed the offending hat with the utmost composure.

Once, when Jacob Lindley was dining with Friend Hopper, the conversation turned upon his religious experiences, and he related a circumstance to which he said he very seldom alluded, and never without feelings of solemnity and awe. Being seized with sudden and severe illness, his soul left the body for several hours, during which time he saw visions of heavenly glory, not to be described. When consciousness began to return, he felt grieved that he was obliged to come back to this state of being, and he was never after able to feel the same interest in terrestrial things, that he had felt before he obtained this glimpse of the spiritual world.

Arthur Howell was another intimate acquaintance of Friend Hopper. He was a currier in Philadelphia, a preacher in the Society of Friends, characterized by kindly feelings, and a very tender conscience. Upon one occasion, he purchased from the captain of a vessel a quantity of oil, which he afterward sold at an advanced price. Under these circumstances, he thought the captain had not received so much as he ought to have; and he gave him an additional dollar on every barrel. This man was remarkable for spiritual-mindedness and the gift of prophecy. It was no uncommon thing for him to relate occurrences which were happening at the moment many miles distant, and to foretell the arrival of people, or events, when there appeared to be no external reasons on which to ground such expectations.

One Sunday morning, he was suddenly impelled to proceed to Germantown in haste. As he approached the village, he met a funeral procession. He had no knowledge whatever of the deceased; but it was suddenly revealed to him that the occupant of the coffin before him was a woman whose life had been saddened by the suspicion of a crime, which she never committed. The impression became very strong on his mind that she wished him to make certain statements at her funeral. Accordingly, he followed the procession, and when they arrived at the meeting-house, he entered and listened to the prayer delivered by her pastor. When the customary services were finished, Arthur Howell rose, and asked permission to speak. “I did not know the deceased, even by name,” said he. “But it is given me to say, that she suffered much and unjustly. Her neighbors generally suspected her of a crime, which she did not commit; and in a few weeks from this time, it will be made clearly manifest to the world that she was innocent. A few hours before her death, she talked on this subject with the clergyman who attended upon her, and who is now present; and it is given me to declare the communication she made to him upon that occasion.”

He then proceeded to relate the particulars of the interview; to which the clergyman listened with evident astonishment. When the communication was finished, he said, “I don’t know who this man is, or how he has obtained information on this subject; but certain it is, he has repeated, word for word, a conversation which I supposed was known only to myself and the deceased.”

The woman in question had gone out in the fields one day, with her infant in her arms, and she returned without it. She said she had laid it down on a heap of dry leaves, while she went to pick a few flowers; and when she returned, the baby was gone. The fields and woods were searched in vain, and neighbors began to whisper that she had committed infanticide. Then rumors arose that she was dissatisfied with her marriage; that her heart remained with a young man to whom she was previously engaged; and that her brain was affected by this secret unhappiness. She was never publicly accused; partly because there was no evidence against her, and partly because it was supposed that if she did commit the crime, it must have been owing to aberration of mind. But she became aware of the whisperings against her, and the consciousness of being an object of suspicion, combined with the mysterious disappearance of her child, cast a heavy cloud over her life, and made her appear more and more unlike her former self. This she confided to her clergyman, in the interview shortly preceding her death; and she likewise told him that the young man, to whom she had been engaged, had never forgiven her for not marrying him.

A few weeks after her decease, this young man confessed that he had stolen the babe. He had followed the mother, unobserved by her, and had seen her lay the sleeping infant on its bed of leaves. As he gazed upon it, a mingled feeling of jealousy and revenge took possession of his soul. In obedience to a sudden impulse, he seized the babe, and carried it off hastily. He subsequently conveyed it to a distant village, and placed it out to nurse, under an assumed name and history. The child was found alive and well, at the place he indicated. Thus the mother’s innocence was made clearly manifest to the world, as the Quaker preacher had predicted at her funeral.

I often heard Friend Hopper relate this anecdote, and he always said that he could vouch for the truth of it; and for several other similar things in connection with the ministry of his friend Arthur.

A singular case of inward perception likewise occurred in the experience of his own mother. In her Diary, which is still preserved in the family, she describes a visit to some of her children in Philadelphia, and adds: “Soon after this, the Lord showed me that I should lose a son. It was often told me, though without sound of words. Nothing could be more intelligible than this still, small voice. It said, Thou wilt lose a son; and he is a pleasant child.”

Her son James resided with relatives in Philadelphia, and often went to bathe in the Delaware. On one of these occasions, soon after his mother’s visit, a friend who went with him sank in the water, and James lost his own life by efforts to save him. A messenger was sent to inform his parents, who lived at the distance of eight miles. While he staid in the house, reluctant to do his mournful errand, the mother was seized with sudden dread, and heard the inward voice saying, “James is drowned.” She said abruptly to the messenger, “Thou hast come to tell me that my son James is drowned. Oh, how did it happen?” He was much surprised, and asked why she thought so. She could give no explanation of it, except that it had been suddenly revealed to her mind.

I have heard and read many such stories of Quakers, which seem too well authenticated to admit of doubt. They themselves refer all such cases to “the inward light;” and that phrase, as they understand it, conveys a satisfactory explanation to their minds. I leave psychologists to settle the question as they can.

Those who are well acquainted with Quaker views, are aware that by “the inward light,” they signify something higher and more comprehensive than conscience. They regard it as the voice of God in the soul, which will always guard man from evil, and guide him into truth, if reverently listened to, in stillness of the passions, and obedience of the will. These strong impressions on individual minds constitute their only call and consecration to the ministry, and have directed’ them in the application of moral principles to a variety of subjects, such as intemperance, war, and slavery. Men and women were impelled by the interior monitor to go about preaching on these topics, until their individual views became what are called “leading testimonies” in the Society. The abjuration of slavery was one of their earliest “testimonies.” There was much preaching against it in their public meetings, and many committees were appointed to expostulate in private with those who held slaves. At an early period, it became an established rule of discipline for the Society to disown any member, who refused to manumit his bondmen.

Friend Hopper used to tell an interesting anecdote in connection with these committees. In the course of their visits, they concluded to pass by one of their members, who held only one slave, and he was very old. He was too infirm to earn his own living, and as he was very kindly treated, they supposed he would have no wish for freedom. But Isaac Jackson, one of the committee, a very benevolent and conscientious man, had a strong impression on his mind that duty required him not to omit this case. He accordingly went alone to the master, and stated how the subject appeared to him, in the inward light of his own soul. The Friend was not easily convinced. He brought forward many reasons for not emancipating his slave; and one of the strongest was that the man was too feeble to labor for his own support, and therefore freedom would be of no value to him. Isaac Jackson replied, “He labored for thee without wages, while he had strength, and it is thy duty to support him now. Whether he would value freedom or not, is a question he alone is competent to decide.”

These friendly remonstrances produced such effect, that the master agreed to manumit his bondman, and give a written obligation that he should be comfortably supported during the remainder of his life, by him or his heirs. When the papers were prepared the slave was called into the parlor, and Isaac Jackson inquired, “Would’st thou like to be free?” He promptly answered that he should. The Friend suggested that he was now too feeble to labor much, and inquired how he would manage to obtain a living. The old man meekly replied, “Providence has been kind to me thus far; and I am willing to trust him the rest of my life.”

Isaac Jackson then held up the papers and said, “Thou art a free man. Thy master has manumitted thee, and promised to maintain thee as long as thou mayest live.”

This was so unexpected, that the aged bondman was completely overcome. For a few moments, he remained in profound silence; then, with a sudden impulse, he fell on his knees, and poured forth a short and fervent prayer of thanksgiving to his Heavenly Father, for prolonging his life till he had the happiness to feel himself a free man.

The master and his adviser were both surprised and affected by this eloquent outburst of grateful feeling. The poor old servant had seemed so comfortable and contented, that no one supposed freedom was of great importance to him. But, as honest Isaac Jackson observed, _he_ alone was competent to decide _that_ question.

Quakers consider “the inward light” as a guide not merely in cases involving moral principles, but also in the regulation of external affairs; and in the annals of their Society, are some remarkable instances of dangers avoided by the help of this internal monitor.

Friend Hopper used to mention a case where a strong impression had been made on his own mind, without his being able to assign any adequate reason for it. A young man, descended from a highly respectable Quaker family in New-Jersey, went to South Carolina and entered into business. He married there, and as his wife did not belong to the Society of Friends, he was of course disowned. After some years of commercial success, he failed, and went to Philadelphia, where Friend Hopper became acquainted with him, and formed an opinion not unfavorable. When he had been in that city some time, he mentioned that his wife owned land in Carolina, which he was very desirous to cultivate, but was prevented by conscientious scruples concerning slave-labor. He said if he could induce some colored people from Philadelphia to go there and work for him as free laborers, it would be an advantage to him, and a benefit to them. He urged Friend Hopper to exert his influence over them to convince them that such precautions could be taken, as would prevent any danger of their being reduced to slavery; saying that if he would consent to do so, he doubtless could obtain as many laborers as he wanted. The plan appeared feasible, and Friend Hopper was inclined to assist him in carrying it into execution. Soon after, two colored men called upon him, and said they were ready to go, provided he thought well of the project. Nothing had occurred to change his opinion of the man, or to excite distrust concerning his agricultural scheme. But an impression came upon his mind that the laborers had better not go; an impression so strong, that he thought it right to be influenced by it. He accordingly told them he had thought well of the plan, but his views had changed, and he advised them to remain where they were. This greatly surprised the man who wished to employ them, and he called to expostulate on the subject; repeating his statement concerning the great advantage they would derive from entering into his service.

“There is no use in arguing the matter,” replied Friend Hopper. “I have no cause whatever to suspect thee of any dishonest or dishonorable intentions; but there is on my mind an impression of danger, so powerful that I cannot conscientiously have any agency in inducing colored laborers to go with thee.”

Not succeeding in his project, the bankrupt merchant went to New-Jersey for a time, to reside with his father, who was a worthy and influential member of the Society of Friends. An innocent, good natured old colored man, a fugitive from Virginia, had for some time been employed to work on the farm, and the family had become much attached to him. The son who had returned from Carolina was very friendly with this simple-hearted old servant, and easily gained his confidence. When he had learned his story, he offered to write to his master, and enable him to purchase his freedom for a sum which he could gradually repay by labor. The fugitive was exceedingly grateful, and put himself completely in his power by a full statement of all particulars. The false-hearted man did indeed write to the master; and the poor old slave was soon after arrested and carried to Philadelphia in irons. Friend Hopper was sent for, and went to see him in prison. With groans and sobs, the captive told how wickedly he had been deceived. “I thought he was a Quaker, and so I trusted him,” said he. “But I saw my master’s agent pay him fifty dollars for betraying me.”

Friend Hopper assured him that the deceiver was not a Quaker; and that he did not believe any Quaker on the face of the earth would do such an unjust and cruel deed. He could devise no means to rescue the sufferer; and with an aching heart he was compelled to see him carried off into slavery, without being able to offer any other solace than an affectionate farewell.

The conduct of this base hypocrite proved that the warning presentiment against him had not been without foundation. Grieved and indignant at the wrong he had done to a helpless and unoffending fellow-creature, Friend Hopper wrote to him as follows: “Yesterday, I visited the poor old man in prison, whom thou hast so perfidiously betrayed. Gloomy and hopeless as his case is, I would prefer it to thine. Thou hast received fifty dollars as the reward of thy treachery; but what good can it do thee? Canst thou lay down thy head at night, without feeling the sharp goadings of a guilty conscience? Canst thou ask forgiveness of thy sins of our Heavenly Father, whom thou hast so grievously insulted by thy hypocrisy? Judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces of silver, and afterward hung himself. Thou hast betrayed thy brother for fifty; and if thy conscience is not seared, as with hot iron, thy compunction must be great. I feel no disposition to upbraid thee. I have no doubt thy own heart does that sufficiently; for our beneficent Creator will not suffer any to be at ease in their sins. Thy friend, I.T.H.”

The worthy old Quaker in New-Jersey was not aware of his son’s villainous conduct until some time after. When the circumstances were made known to the family they were exceedingly mortified and afflicted.

Friend Hopper used to tell another story, which forms a beautiful contrast to the foregoing painful narrative. I repeat it, because it illustrates the tenderness of spirit, which has so peculiarly characterized the Society of Friends, and because I hope it may fall like dew on hearts parched by vindictive feelings. Charles Carey lived near Philadelphia, in a comfortable house with a few acres of pasture adjoining. A young horse, apparently healthy, though lean, was one day offered him in the market for fifty dollars. The cheapness tempted him to purchase; for he thought the clover of his pastures would soon put the animal in good condition, and enable him to sell him at an advanced price. He was too poor to command the required sum himself, but he borrowed it of a friend. The horse, being well fed and lightly worked, soon became a noble looking animal, and was taken to the city for sale. But scarcely had he entered the market, when a stranger stepped up and claimed him as his property, recently stolen. Charles Carey’s son, who had charge of the animal, was taken before a magistrate. Isaac T. Hopper was sent for, and easily proved that the character of the young man and his father was above all suspicion. But the stranger produced satisfactory evidence that he was the rightful owner of the horse, which was accordingly delivered up to him. When Charles Carey heard the unwelcome news, he quietly remarked, “It is hard for me to lose the money; but I am glad the man has recovered his property.”

About a year afterward, having occasion to go to a tavern in Philadelphia, he saw a man in the bar-room, whom he at once recognized as the person who had sold him the horse. He walked up to him, and inquired whether he remembered the transaction. Being answered in the affirmative, he said, “I am the man who bought that horse. Didst thou know he was stolen?” With a stupified manner and a faltering voice, the stranger answered, “Yes.”

“Come along with me, then,” said Charles; “and I will put thee where thou wilt not steal another horse very soon.”

The thief resigned himself to his fate with a sort of hopeless indifference. But before they reached the magistrate’s office, the voice within began to plead gently with the Quaker, and turned him from the sternness of his purpose. “I am a poor man,” said he, “and thou hast greatly injured me. I cannot afford to lose fifty dollars; but to prosecute thee will not compensate me for the loss. Go thy way, and conduct thyself honestly in future.”

The man seemed amazed. He stood for a moment, hesitating and confused; then walked slowly away. But after taking a few steps, he turned back and said, “Where can I find you, if I should ever be able to make restitution for the wrong I have done?”

Charles replied, “I trust thou dost not intend to jest with me, after all the trouble thou hast caused me?”

“No, indeed I do not,” answered the stranger. “I hope to repay you, some time or other.”

“Very well,” rejoined the Friend, “if thou ever hast anything for me, thou canst leave it with Isaac T. Hopper, at the corner of Walnut and Dock-streets.” Thus they parted, and never met again.

About a year after, Friend Hopper found a letter on his desk, addressed to Charles Carey. When it was delivered to him, he was surprised to find that it came from the man who had stolen the horse, and contained twenty dollars. A few months later, another letter containing the same sum, was left in the same way. Not long after, a third letter arrived, enclosing twenty dollars; the whole forming a sum sufficient to repay both principal and interest of the money which the kind-hearted Quaker had lost by his dishonesty.

This last letter stated that the writer had no thoughts of stealing the horse ten minutes before he did it. After he had sold him, he was so haunted by remorse and fear of detection, that life became a burthen to him, and he cared not what became of him. But when he was arrested, and so unexpectedly set at liberty, the crushing weight was taken from him. He felt inspired by fresh courage, and sustained by the hope of making some atonement for what he had done. He made strenuous efforts to improve his condition, and succeeded. He was then teaching school, was assessor of the township where he resided, and no one suspected that he had ever committed a dishonest action.

The good man, to whom this epistle was addressed, read it with moistened eyes, and felt that the reward of righteousness is peace.

For many years after Isaac T. Hopper joined the Society of Friends, a spirit of peace and of kindly communion prevailed among them. No sect has ever arisen which so nearly approached the character of primitive christianity, in all relations with each other and with their fellow men. But as soon as the early christians were relieved from persecution, they began to persecute each other; and so it was with the Quakers. Having become established and respected by the world, the humble and self-denying spirit which at the outset renounced and contended with the world gradually departed. Many of them were rich, and not unfrequently their fortunes were acquired by trading with slave-holders. Such men were well satisfied to have the testimonies of their spiritual forefathers against slavery read over among themselves, at stated seasons; but they felt little sympathy with those of their cotemporaries, who considered it a duty to remonstrate publicly and freely with all who were connected with the iniquitous system.

A strong and earnest preacher, by the name of Elias Hicks, made himself more offensive than others in this respect. He appears to have been a very just and conscientious man, with great reverence for God, and exceedingly little for human authority. Everywhere, in public and in private, he lifted up his voice against the sin of slavery. He would eat no sugar that was made by slaves, and wear no garment which he supposed to have been produced by unpaid labor. In a remarkable manner, he showed this “ruling passion strong in death.” A few hours before he departed from this world, his friends, seeing him shiver, placed a comfortable over him. He felt of it with his feeble hands, and made a strong effort to push it away. When they again drew it up over his shoulders, he manifested the same symptoms of abhorrence. One of them, who began to conjecture the cause, inquired, “Dost thou dislike it because it is made of cotton?” He was too far gone to speak, but he moved his head in token of assent. When they removed the article of slave produce, and substituted a woolen blanket, he remained quiet, and passed away in peace.

He was accustomed to say, “It takes _live_ fish to swim _up_ stream;” and unquestionably he and his friend Isaac T. Hopper were both very much alive. The quiet boldness of this man was altogether unmanageable. In Virginia or Carolina, he preached more earnestly and directly against slavery, than he did in New-York or Pennsylvania; for the simple reason that it seemed to be more needed there. Upon one of these occasions, a slaveholder who went to hear him from curiosity, left the meeting in great wrath, swearing he would blow out that fellow’s brains if he ventured near his plantation. When the preacher heard of this threat, he put on his hat and proceeded straightway to the forbidden place. In answer to his inquiries, a slave informed him that his master was then at dinner, but would see him in a short time. He seated himself and waited patiently until the planter entered the room. With a calm and dignified manner, he thus addressed him: “I understand thou hast threatened to blow out the brains of Elias Hicks, if he comes upon thy plantation. I am Elias Hicks.”

The Virginian acknowledged that he did make such a threat, and said he considered it perfectly justifiable to do such a deed, when a man came to preach rebellion to his slaves.

“I came to preach the Gospel, which inculcates forgiveness of injuries upon slaves as well as upon other men,” replied the Quaker. “But tell me, if thou canst, how this Gospel can be _truly_ preached, without showing the slaves that they _are_ injured, and thus making a man of thy sentiments feel as if they were encouraged in rebellion.”

This led to a long argument, maintained in the most friendly spirit. At parting, the slaveholder shook hands with the preacher, and invited him to come again. His visits were renewed, and six months after, the Virginian emancipated all his slaves.

When preaching in the free states, he earnestly called upon all to abstain from slave-produce, and thus in a measure wash their own hands from participation in a system of abominable wickedness and cruelty. His zeal on this subject annoyed some of his brethren, but they could not make him amenable to discipline for it; for these views were in accordance with the earliest and strongest testimonies of the Society of Friends; moreover, it would have been discreditable to acknowledge _such_ a ground of offence. But the secret dissatisfaction showed itself in a disposition to find fault with him. Charges were brought against his doctrines. He was accused of denying the authority of Scripture, and the divinity of Christ.

It was a departure from the original basis of the Society to assume any standard whatsoever concerning creeds. It is true that the early Quakers wrote volumes of controversy against many of the prevailing opinions of their day; such as the doctrine of predestination, and of salvation depending upon faith, rather than upon works. All the customary external observances, such as holy days, baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, they considered as belonging to a less spiritual age, and that the time had come for them to be done away. Concerning the Trinity, there appears to have been difference of opinion among them from the earliest time. When George Fox expressed a fear that William Penn had gone too far in defending “the true unity of God,” Penn replied that he had never heard any one speak more plainly concerning the manhood of Christ, than George Fox himself. Penn was imprisoned in the Tower for “rejecting the mystery of the Trinity,” in a book called “The Sandy Foundation Shaken.” He afterward wrote “Innocency with her Open Face,” regarded by some as a compromise, which procured his release. But though various popular doctrines naturally came in their way, and challenged discussion, while they were endeavoring to introduce a new order of things, the characteristic feature of their movement was attention to practical righteousness rather than theological tenets. They did not require their members to profess faith in any creed. They had but one single bond of union; and that was the belief that every man ought to be guided in his actions, and in the interpretation of Scripture, by the light within his own soul. Their history shows that they mainly used this light to guide them in the application of moral principles. Upon the priesthood, in every form, they made unsparing warfare; believing that the gifts of the Spirit ought never to be paid with money. They appointed committees to visit the sick, the afflicted, and the destitute, and to superintend marriages and funerals. The farmer, the shoemaker, the physician, or the merchant, followed his vocation diligently, and whenever the Spirit moved him to exhort his brethren, he did so. The “First, and Fifth Day” of the week, called by other denominations Sunday and Thursday, were set apart by them for religious meetings. Women were placed on an equality with men, by being admitted to this free Gospel ministry, and appointed on committees with men, to regulate the affairs of the Society. They abjured war under all circumstances, and suffered great persecution rather than pay military taxes. They early discouraged the distillation or use of spirituous liquors, and disowned any of their members who distilled them from grain. Protests against slavery were among their most earnest testimonies, and it was early made a rule of discipline that no member of the Society should hold slaves. When the Quakers first arose, it was a custom in England, as it still is on the continent of Europe, to say _thou_ to an inferior, or equal, and _you_ to a superior. They saw in this custom an infringement of the great law of human brotherhood; and because they would “call no man master,” they said _thou_ to every person, without distinction of rank. To the conservatives of their day, this spiritual democracy seemed like deliberate contempt of authority; and as such, deserving of severe punishment. More strenuously than all other things, they denied the right of any set of men to prescribe a creed for others. The only authority they recognized was “the light within;” and for freedom to follow this, they were always ready to suffer or to die.

On all these subjects, there could be no doubt that Elias Hicks was a Quaker of the old genuine stamp. But he differed from many others in some of his theological views. He considered Christ as “the only Son of the most high God;” but he denied that “the _outward person_,” which suffered on Calvary was properly the Son of God. He attached less importance to miracles, than did many of his brethren. He said he had learned more of his own soul, and had clearer revelations of God and duty, while following his plough, than from all the books he had ever read. He reverenced the Bible as a record of divine power and goodness, but did not consider a knowledge of it essential to salvation; for he supposed that a Hindoo or an African, who never heard of the Scriptures, or of Christ, might become truly a child of God, if he humbly and sincerely followed the divine light within, given to every human soul, according to the measure of its faithfulness.

Many of his brethren, whose views assimilated more with orthodox opinions, accused him of having departed from the principles of early Friends. But his predecessors had been guided only by the light within; and he followed the same guide, without deciding beforehand precisely how far it might lead him. This principle, if sincerely adopted and consistently applied, would obviously lead to large and liberal results, sufficient for the progressive growth of all coming ages. It was so generally admitted to be the one definite bond of union among early Friends, that the right of Elias Hicks to utter his own convictions, whether they were in accordance with others or not, would probably never have been questioned, if some influential members of the Society had not assumed more power than was delegated to them; thereby constituting themselves a kind of ecclesiastical tribunal. It is the nature of such authority to seek enlargement of its boundaries, by encroaching more and more on individual freedom.

The friends of Elias Hicks did not adopt his views or the views of any other man as a standard of opinion. On the subject of the Trinity, for instance, there were various shadings of opinion among them. The probability seems to be that the influence of Unitarian sects, and of Orthodox sects had, in the course of years, gradually glided in among the Quakers, and more or less fashioned their theological opinions, though themselves were unconscious of it; as we all are of the surrounding air we are constantly inhaling.

But it was not the Unitarianism of Elias Hicks that his adherents fought for, or considered it necessary to adopt. They simply contended for his right to express his own convictions, and denied the authority of any man, or body of men, to judge his preaching by the assumed standard of any creed. Therefore, the real ground of the struggle seems to have been resistance to ecclesiastical power; though theological opinions unavoidably became intertwisted with it. It was a new form of the old battle, perpetually renewed ever since the world began, between authority and individual freedom.

The agitation, which had for some time been heaving under the surface, is said to have been brought into open manifestation by a sermon which Elias Hicks preached against the use of slave produce, in 1819. A bitter warfare followed. Those who refused to denounce his opinions were accused of being infidels and separatists; and they called their accusers bigoted and intolerant. With regard to disputed doctrines, both claimed to find sufficient authority in the writings of early Friends; and each side charged the other with mutilating and misrepresenting those writings. As usual in theological controversies, the skein became more and more entangled, till there was no way left but to cut it in two. In 1827 and 1828, a separation took place in the Yearly Meetings of Philadelphia, New-York, and several other places. Thenceforth, the members were divided into two distinct sects. In some places the friends of Elias Hicks were far the more numerous. In others, his opponents had a majority. Each party claimed to be the genuine Society of Friends, and denied the other’s right to retain the title. The opponents of Elias Hicks called themselves “Orthodox Friends,” and named his adherents “Hicksites.” The latter repudiated the title, because they did not acknowledge him as their standard of belief, though they loved and reverenced his character, and stood by him as the representative of liberty of conscience. They called themselves “Friends,” and the others “the Orthodox.”

The question which was the genuine Society of Friends was more important than it would seem to a mere looker on; for large pecuniary interests were involved therein. It is well known that Quakers form a sort of commonwealth by themselves, within the civil commonwealth by which they are governed. They pay the public school-tax, and in addition build their own school-houses, and employ teachers of their own Society. They support their own poor, while they pay the same pauper tax as other citizens. They have burying grounds apart from others, because they have conscientious scruples concerning monuments and epitaphs. Of course, the question which of the two contending parties was the true Society of Friends involved the question who owned the meeting-houses, the burying grounds, and the school funds. The friends of Elias Hicks offered to divide the property, according to the relative numbers of each party; but those called Orthodox refused to accept the proposition. Lawsuits were brought in various parts of the country. What a bitter state of animosity existed may be conjectured from the fact that the “Orthodox” in Philadelphia refused to allow “Hicksites” to bury their dead in the ground belonging to the undivided Society of Friends. On the occasion of funerals, they refused to deliver up the key; and after their opponents had remonstrated in vain, they forced the lock.

I believe in almost every instance, where the “Hicksites” were a majority, and thus had a claim to the larger share of property, they offered to divide in proportion to the relative numbers of the two parties. After the separation in New-York, they renewed this offer, which had once been rejected; and the “Orthodox” finally agreed to accept a stipulated sum for their interest in the property. The Friends called “Hicksites” numbered in the whole more than seventy thousand.

Quakers in England generally took part against Elias Hicks and his friends. Some, who were styled “The Evangelical Party,” went much beyond their brethren in conformity with the prevailing denominations of Christians called Orthodox. Many of them considered a knowledge of the letter of Scripture essential to salvation; and some even approved of baptism by water; a singular departure from the total abrogation of external rites, which characterized Quakerism from the beginning. William and Mary Howitt, the well known and highly popular English writers, were born members of this religious Society. In an article concerning the Hicksite controversy, written for the London Christian Advocate, the former says: “My opinion is, that Friends will see cause to repent the excision of that great portion of their own body, on the plea of heretical opinions. By sanctioning it, they are bound, if they act impartially and consistently, to expel others also for heterodox opinions. This comes of violating the sacred liberty of conscience; of allowing ourselves to be infected with the leaven of a blind zeal, instead of the broad philanthropy of Christ. Is there no better alternative? Yes. To adopt the principle of William Penn; to allow freedom of opinion; and while we permit the Evangelical party to hold _their_ favorite notions, so long as they consent to conform to our system of public worship, to confess that we have acted harshly to the Hicksites, and open our arms to all who are sincere in their faith, and orderly in their conduct.”

As the adherents of Elias Hicks at that time represented freedom of conscience, of course Isaac T. Hopper belonged to that party, and advocated it with characteristic zeal. In fact, he seems to have been the Napoleon of the battle. It was not in his nature intentionally to misrepresent any man; and even when the controversy was raging most furiously, I believe there never was a time when he would not willingly have acknowledged a mistake the moment he perceived it. But his temperament was such, that wherever he deemed a principle of truth, justice, or freedom was at stake, he could never quit an adversary till he had demolished him completely, and _convinced_ him that he was demolished; though he often felt great personal kindness toward the individual thus prostrated, and was always willing to render him any friendly service. He used to say that his resistance in this controversy was principally roused by the disposition which he saw manifested “to crush worthy, innocent Friends, for mere difference of opinion;” and no one, who knew him well, could doubt that on this subject, as on others, he was impelled by a sincere love of truth and justice. But neither he nor any other person ever entered the lists of theological controversy without paying dearly for the encounter. Perpetual strife grieved and disturbed his own spirit, while his energy, perseverance, and bluntness of speech, gained him many enemies. Wherever this unfortunate sectarian schism was introduced, it divided families, and burst asunder the bonds of friendship. For a long time, they seemed to be a Society of Enemies, instead of a Society of Friends. In this respect, no one suffered more acutely than Isaac T. Hopper. It was his nature to form very strong friendships; and at this painful juncture, many whom he had long loved and trusted, parted from him. Among them was his cousin Joseph Whitall, who had embraced Quakerism at the same period of life, who had been the friend of his boyhood, and the cherished companion of later years. They had no personal altercation, but their intimacy gradually cooled off, and they became as strangers.

He had encountered other difficulties also, at a former period of his life, the shadows of which still lay across his path. About twelve or fifteen years after his marriage, his health began to fail. His vigorous frame pined away to a mere shadow, and he was supposed to be in a consumption. At the same time, he found himself involved in pecuniary difficulties, the burden of which weighed very heavily upon him, for many reasons. His strong sense of justice made it painful for him to owe debts he could not pay. He had an exceeding love of imparting to others, and these pecuniary impediments tied down his large soul with a thousand lilliputian cords. He had an honest pride of independence, which chafed under any obligation that could be avoided. His strong attachment to the Society of Friends rendered him sensitive to their opinion; and at that period their rules were exceedingly strict concerning any of their members, who contracted debts they were unable to pay. People are always ready to censure a man who is unprosperous in worldly affairs; and if his character is such as to render him prominent, he is all the more likely to be handled harshly. Of these trials Friend Hopper had a large share, and they disturbed him exceedingly; but the consciousness of upright intentions kept him from sinking under the weight that pressed upon him.

He was always a very industrious man, and whatever he did was well done. But the fact was, the claims upon his time and attention were too numerous to be met by any one mortal man. He had a large family to support, and during many years his house was a home for poor Quakers, and others, from far and near. He had much business to transact in the Society of Friends, of which he was then an influential and highly respected member. He was one of the founders and secretary of a society for the employment of the poor; overseer of the Benezet school for colored children; teacher, without recompense, in a free school for colored adults; inspector of the prison, without a salary; member of a fire-company; guardian of abused apprentices; the lawyer and protector of slaves and colored people, upon all occasions. When pestilence was raging, he was devoted to the sick. The poor were continually calling upon him to plead with importunate landlords and creditors. He was not unfrequently employed to settle estates involved in difficulties, which others were afraid to undertake. He had occasional applications to exert influence over the insane, for which he had peculiar tact. When he heard of a man beginning to form habits likely to prove injurious to himself or his family, he would go to him, whether his rank were high or low, and have private conversations with him. He would tell him some story, or suppose some case, and finally make him feel, “Thou art the man.” He had a great gift in that way, and the exertion of it sometimes seasonably recalled those who were sliding into dangerous paths.

When one reflects upon the time that must have been bestowed on all these avocations, do his pecuniary embarrassments require any further explanation? A member of his own Society summed up the case very justly in few words. Hearing him censured by certain individuals, she replied, “The whole amount of it is this:–the Bible requires us to love our neighbor as well as ourselves; and Friend Isaac has loved them better.”

These straitened circumstances continued during the remainder of his residence in Philadelphia; and his family stood by him nobly through the trial. Household expenses were reduced within the smallest possible limits. His wife opened a tea-store, as an available means of increasing their income. The simple dignity of her manners, and her pleasing way of talking, attracted many ladies, even among the fashionable, who liked to chat with the handsome Quaker matron, while they were purchasing household stores. The elder daughters taught school, and took upon themselves double duty in the charge of a large family of younger children. How much they loved and honored their father, was indicated by their zealous efforts to assist and sustain him. I have heard him tell, with much emotion, how one of them slipped some of her earnings into his pocket, while he slept in his arm-chair. She was anxious to save him from the pain of being unable to meet necessary expenses, and at the same time to keep him ignorant of the source whence relief came.

His spirit of independence never bent under the pressure of misfortune. He was willing to deprive himself of everything, except the simplest necessaries of life; but he struggled manfully against incurring obligations. There was a Quaker fund for the gratuitous education of children; but when he was urged to avail himself of it, he declined, because he thought such funds ought to be reserved for those whose necessities were greater than his own.

The government added its exactions to other pecuniary annoyances; but it had no power to warp the inflexibility of his principles. He had always refused to pay the militia tax, because, in common with all conscientious Quakers, he considered it wrong to do anything for the support of war. It seems no more than just that a sect, who pay a double school-tax, and a double pauper-tax, and who almost never occasion the state any expense by their crimes, should be excused for believing themselves bound to obey the injunction of Jesus, to return good for evil; but politicians have decided that practical Christianity is not always consistent with the duty of citizens. Accordingly, when Friend Hopper refused to pay for guns and swords, to shoot and stab his fellow men, they seized his goods to pay the tax. The articles chosen were often of much greater value than their demand, and were sacrificed by a hurried and careless sale. His wife had received a handsome outfit from her father, at the time of her marriage; but she was destined to see one article of furniture after another seized to pay the military fines, which were alike abhorrent to her heart and her conscience. Among these articles, was a looking glass, of an unusually large and clear plate, which was valuable as property, and dear to her as a bridal gift from her parents. She could not see it carried off by the officer, to meet the expenses of military reviews, without a sigh–perhaps a tear. But she was not a woman ever to imply a wish to have her husband compromise his principles.

Thus bearing up bravely against the pelting storms of life, he went on, hand in hand with his beloved Sarah. But at last, he was called to part with the steady friend and pleasant companion of his brightest and his darkest hours. She passed from him into the spiritual world on the eighteenth of the Sixth Month, (June,) 1822, in the forty-seventh year of her age. She suffered much from the wasting pains of severe dyspepsia; but religious hope and faith enabled her to endure all her trials with resignation, and to view the approach of death with cheerful serenity of soul. Toward the close of her life, the freshness of her complexion was injured by continual suffering; but though pale, she remained a handsome woman to the last. During her long illness, she received innumerable marks of respect and affection from friends and neighbors; for she was beloved by all who knew her. A short time before her death, she offered the following prayer for the dear ones she was so soon to leave; “O Lord, permit me to ask thy blessing for this family. Thy favor is better than all the world can give. For want of keeping close to thy counsel, my soul has often been pierced with sorrow. Pity my weakness. Look thou from heaven, and forgive. Enable me, I beseech thee, to renew my covenant, and so to live under the influence of thy Holy Spirit, as to keep it. Preserve me in the hour of temptation. Thou alone knowest how prone I am to err on the right side and on the left. Bless the children! O Lord, visit and re-visit their tender minds. Lead them in the paths of uprightness, for thy name’s sake. I ask not riches nor honor for them; but an inheritance in thy ever-blessed truth.” She left nine children, the youngest but six years old, to mourn the loss of a most tender careful and self-sacrificing mother.

While her bereaved husband was still under the shadow of this great grief, he was called to part with his son Isaac, who in little more than a year, followed his mother, at the early age of fifteen. He was a sedate gentle lad, and had always been a very pleasant child to his parents. His father cherished his memory with great tenderness, and seldom spoke of him without expressing his conviction that if he had lived he would have become a highly acceptable minister in the Society of Friends; a destiny which would have been more agreeable to his parental feelings, than having a son President of the United States.

Soon after this melancholy event, Friend Hopper went to Maryland, to visit two sisters who resided there. He was accompanied in this journey by his wife’s brother, David Tatum. At an inn where they stopped for refreshment, the following characteristic incident occurred: A colored girl brought in a pitcher of water. “Art thou a slave?” said Friend Hopper. When she answered in the affirmative, he started up and exclaimed, “It is against my principles to be waited upon by a slave.” His more timid brother-in-law inquired, in a low tone of voice, whether he were aware that the mistress was within hearing. “To be sure I am,” answered Isaac aloud. “What would be the use of saying it, if she were _not_ within hearing?” He then emptied the pitcher of water, and went out to the well to re-fill it for himself. Seeing the landlady stare at these proceedings, he explained to her that he thought it wrong to avail himself of unpaid labor. In reply, she complained of the ingratitude of slaves, and the hard condition of their masters. “It is very inconvenient to live so near a free state,” said she. “I had sixteen slaves; but ten of them have run away, and I expect the rest will soon go.”

“I hope they will,” said Isaac. “I am sure I would run away, if I were a slave.”

At first, she was disposed to be offended; but he reasoned the matter with her, in a quiet and friendly manner, and they parted on very civil terms. David Tatum often used to tell this anecdote, after they returned home; and he generally added, “I never again will travel in a Southern state with brother Isaac; for I am sure it would be at the risk of my life.”

Time soothes all afflictions; and those who have dearly loved their first companion are sometimes more likely than others to form a second connexion; for the simple reason that they cannot learn to do without the happiness to which they have been accustomed. There was an intimate friend of the family, a member of the same religious Society, named Hannah Attmore. She was a gentle and quiet person, of an innocent and very pleasing countenance. Her father, a worthy and tender spirited man, had been an intimate friend of Isaac T. Hopper, and always sympathized with his efforts for the oppressed. A strong attachment had likewise existed between her and Friend Hopper’s wife; and during her frequent visits to the house, it was her pleasure to volunteer assistance in the numerous household cares. The fact that his Sarah had great esteem for her, was doubtless a strong attraction to the widower. His suit was favorably received, and they were married on the fourth of the second month, (February) 1824. She was considerably younger than her bridegroom; but vigorous health and elastic spirits had preserved his youthful appearance, while her sober dress and grave deportment, made her seem older than she really was. She became the mother of four children, two of whom died in early childhood. Little Thomas, who ended his brief career in three years and a half, was always remembered by his parents, and other members of the family, as a remarkably bright, precocious child, beautiful as an infant angel.

It has been already stated that the schism in the Society of Friends introduced much controversy concerning the theological opinions of its founders. There was consequently an increased demand for their writings, and the branch called “Hicksites” felt the need of a bookstore. Friend Hopper’s business had never been congenial to his character, and of late years it had become less profitable. A large number of his wealthiest customers were “Orthodox;” and when he took part with Elias Hicks, they ceased to patronize him. He was perfectly aware that such would be the result; but whenever it was necessary to choose between his principles and prosperity, he invariably followed what he believed to be the truth. He was considered a suitable person to superintend the proposed bookstore, and as the state of his financial affairs rendered a change desirable, he concluded to accede to the proposition of his friends. For that purpose, he removed to the city of New-York in 1829.

In the autumn of the following year, some disputed claims, which his wife had on the estate of her maternal grandfather in Ireland, made it necessary for him to visit that country. Experience had painfully convinced him that theological controversy sometimes leads to personal animosity; and that few people were so open and direct in their mode of expressing hostility, as he himself was. Therefore, before going abroad, he took the precaution to ask letters from citizens of various classes and sects in Philadelphia; and he found no difficulty in obtaining them from the most respectable and distinguished. Matthew Carey, the well known philanthropist wrote as follows: “As you are about to visit my native country, and have applied to me for a testimonial concerning your character, I cheerfully comply with your request. I have been well acquainted with you for about thirty-five years, and I can testify that, during the whole of that time, you have been a perfect pest to our Southern neighbors. A Southern gentleman could scarcely visit this city, without having his slave taken from him by your instrumentality; so that they dread you, as they do the devil.” After enjoying a mutual laugh over this epistle, another was written for the public, certifying that he had known Isaac T. Hopper for many years as “a useful and respectable citizen of the fairest character.”

When Friend Hopper arrived in Ireland, he found many of the Quakers prejudiced against him, and many untrue stories in circulation, as he had expected. Sometimes, when he visited public places, he would overhear people saying to each other, in a low voice, “That’s Isaac T. Hopper, who has given Friends so much trouble in America.” A private letter from an “Orthodox” Quaker in Philadelphia was copied and circulated in all directions, greatly to his disadvantage. It represented him as a man of sanctified appearance, but wholly unworthy of credit; that business of a pecuniary nature was a mere pretence to cover artful designs; his real object being to spread heretical doctrines in Ireland, and thus sow dissension among Friends. In his journal of this visit to a foreign land, Friend Hopper says: “It is astonishing what strange ideas some of them have concerning me. They have been informed that I can find stolen goods, and am often applied to on such occasions. I think it would be no hard matter to make them believe me a wizard.” This was probably a serious version of his pleasantry with the Dutchman about finding his goods by calculating the age of the moon.

Many of the Irish Friends had formed from hearsay the most extravagant misconceptions concerning the Friends called “Hicksites.” They supposed them to be outright infidels, and that the grossest immoralities were tolerated among them; that they pointed loaded pistols at the “Orthodox” brethren, and drove them out of their own meeting-houses by main force. One of them expressed great surprise when Friend Hopper informed him that they were in the constant habit of reading the Scriptures in their families, and maintained among themselves the same discipline that had always been used in the Society. Sometimes when he attended Quaker meetings during the early portion of his visit, the ministers preached at him, by cautioning young people to beware of the adversary, who was now going about like a cunning serpent, in which form he was far more dangerous, than when he assumed the appearance of a roaring lion. But after a while, this tendency was rebuked by other preachers, who inculcated forbearance in judging others; reminding their hearers that the spirit of the Gospel always breathed peace and good will toward men. As for Isaac himself, he behaved with characteristic openness. When a stranger, in Quaker costume, introduced himself, and invited him to go home and dine with him, he replied, “I am represented by some people as a very bad man; and I do not wish to impose myself upon the hospitality of strangers, without letting them know who I am.”

The stranger assured him that he knew very well who he was, and cared not a straw what opinions they accused him of; that he was going to have a company of Friends at dinner, who wished to converse with him. He went accordingly, and was received with true Irish hospitality and kindness.

Upon another occasion, a Quaker lady, who did not know he was a “Hicksite,” observed to him, “I suppose the Society of Friends are very much thinned in America, since so many have gone off from them.” He replied, “It is always best to be candid. I belong to the party called Hicksites, deists, and schismatics; and I suppose they are the ones to whom thou hast alluded as having gone off from the Society. I should like to talk with thee concerning the separation in America; for we have been greatly misrepresented. But I came to this country solely on business, and I have no wish to say or do anything that can unsettle the mind, or wound the feelings of any Friend.” She seemed very much surprised, and for a minute or two covered her face with her hands. But when the company broke up, some hours after, she followed him into the entry, and cordially invited him to visit her. “What! canst thou tolerate the company of a heretic?” he exclaimed. She replied with a smile, “Yes, such a one as thou art.”

In fact, wherever he had a chance to make himself known, prejudices melted away under the influence of his frank and kindly manners. Some people of other sects, as well of his own, took an interest in him for the very reasons that caused distrust and dislike in others; viz: because they had heard of him as the champion of perfect liberty of conscience, who considered it unnecessary to bind men by any creed whatsoever. Among these, he mentions in his journal, Professor Stokes of Dublin, who relinquished a salary of two thousand eight hundred pounds a year, because he could not conscientiously subscribe to the doctrine of the Trinity. It was proposed to dismiss him from the college altogether; but he demanded a hearing before the trustees and students. This privilege could not be denied, without infringing the laws of the institution; and deeming that such a discussion might prove injurious, they concluded to retain him, on a salary of eight hundred pounds. Friend Hopper describes him thus: “He is an intelligent and liberal-minded man, and has a faculty of exposing the errors and absurdities of the Athanasian Creed to much purpose. He was of a good spirit, and I was much gratified with his company. He insisted upon accompanying me home in the evening, and though I remonstrated against it, on account of his advanced age, he attended me to the door of my lodgings.”

During this visit to Ireland, Friend Hopper was treated with great hospitality and respect by many who were wealthy, and many who were not wealthy; by members of the Society of Friends, and of various other religious sects. He formed a high estimate of the Irish character, and to the day of his death, always spoke with warm affection of the friends he found there. In his journal, he often alludes with pleasure to the children he met with, in families where he visited; for he was always extremely partial to the young. Speaking of a visit to a gentleman in the environs of Dublin, by the name of Wilson, he says: “I rose early in the morning, and the eldest daughter, about ten or eleven years old, very politely invited me to walk with her. We rambled about in the pastures, and through beautiful groves of oak, beech and holly. The little creature tried her very best to amuse me. She told me about the birds and the hares, and other inhabitants of the woods. She inquired whether I did not want very much to see my wife and children; and exclaimed, ‘How I should like to see you meet them! It would give you so much pleasure!'” He speaks of a little girl in another family, who seemed very much attracted toward him, and finally whispered to her father, “I want to go and speak to that Friend.” She was introduced accordingly, and they had much pleasant chat together.

In one of the families where he visited, they told him an instructive story concerning a Quaker who resided in Dublin, by the name of Joseph Torrey. One day when he was passing through the streets, he saw a man leading a horse, which was evidently much diseased. His compassionate heart was pained by the sight, and he asked the man where he was going. He replied, “The horse has the staggers, and I am going to sell him to the carrion-butchers.”

“Wilt thou sell him to me for a crown!” inquired Joseph. The man readily assented, and the poor animal was led to the stable of his new friend, where he was most kindly tended. Suitable remedies and careful treatment soon restored him to health and beauty. One day, when Friend Torrey was riding him in Phoenix Park, a gentleman looked very earnestly at the horse, and at last inquired whether his owner would be willing to sell him. “Perhaps I would,” replied Joseph, “if I could get a very good master for him.”

“He so strongly resembles a favorite horse I once had, that I should think he was the same, if I didn’t know he was dead,” rejoined the stranger.

“Did he die in thy stable?” inquired Joseph.

The gentleman replied, “No. He had the staggers very badly, and I sent him to the carrion-butchers.”

“I should be sorry to sell an animal to any man, who would send him to the carrion-butchers because he was diseased,” answered Joseph. “If thou wert ill, how wouldst thou like to have thy throat cut, instead of being kindly nursed?”

With some surprise, the gentleman inquired whether he intended to compare him to a horse. “No,” replied Joseph; “but animals have feelings, as well as human beings; and when they are afflicted with disease, they ought to be carefully attended. If I consent to sell thee this horse, I shall exact a promise that thou wilt have him kindly nursed when he is sick, and not send him to have his throat cut.”

The gentleman readily promised all that was required, and said he should consider himself very fortunate to obtain a horse that so much resembled his old favorite. When he called the next day, to complete the bargain, he inquired whether forty guineas would be a satisfactory price. The conscientious Quaker answered, “I have good reason to believe the horse was once thine; and I am willing to restore him to thee on the conditions I have mentioned. I have saved him from the carrion-butchers, but I will charge thee merely what I have expended for his food and medicine. Let it be a lesson to thee to treat animals kindly, when they are diseased. Never again send to the butchers a faithful servant, that cannot plead for himself, and may, with proper attention, again become useful to thee.”

How little Friend Hopper was inclined to minister to aristocratic prejudices, may be inferred from the following anecdote. One day, while he was visiting a wealthy family in Dublin, a note was handed to him, inviting him to dine the next day. When he read it aloud, his host remarked, “Those people are very respectable, but not of the first circles. They belong to our church, but not exactly to our set. Their father was a mechanic.”

“Well I am a mechanic myself,” said Isaac. “Perhaps if thou hadst known that fact, thou wouldst not have invited _me_?”

“Is it possible,” exclaimed his host, “that a man of your information and appearance can be a mechanic!”

“I followed the business of a tailor for many years,” rejoined his guest. “Look at my hands! Dost thou not see marks of the shears? Some of the mayors of Philadelphia have been tailors. When I lived there, I often walked the streets with the Chief Justice. It never occurred to me that it was any honor, and I don’t think it did to him.”

Upon one occasion, Friend Hopper went into the Court of Chancery in Dublin, and kept his hat on, according to Quaker custom. While he was listening to the pleading, he noticed that a person who sat near the Chancellor fixed his eyes upon him with a very stern expression. This attracted the attention of lawyers and spectators, who also began to look at him, Presently an officer tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Your hat, sir!”

“What’s the matter with my hat?” he inquired.

“Take it off?” rejoined the officer. “You are in his Majesty Court of Chancery.”

“That is an honor I reserve for his Majesty’s Master,” he replied. “Perhaps it is my shoes thou meanest?”

The officer seemed embarrassed, but said no more; and when the Friend had stayed as long as he felt inclined, he quietly withdrew.

One day, when he was walking with a lawyer in Dublin, they passed the Lord Lieutenant’s castle. He expressed a wish to see the Council Chamber, but was informed that it was not open to strangers. “I have a mind to go and try,” said he to his companion. “Wilt thou go with me?”

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

He marched in, however, with his broad beaver on, and found the Lord Lieutenant surrounded by a number of gentleman. “I am an American,” said he. “I have heard a great deal about the Lord Lieutenant’s castle, and if it will give no offence, I should like very much to see it.”

His lordship seemed surprised by this unceremonious introduction, but he smiled, and said to a servant, “Show this American whatever he wishes to see.”

He was conducted into various apartments, where he saw pictures, statues, ancient armor, antique coins, and many other curious articles. At parting, the master of the mansion was extremely polite, and gave him much interesting information on a variety of topics. When he rejoined his companion, who had agreed to wait for him at some appointed place, he was met with the inquiry, “Well, what luck?”

“O, the best luck in the world,” he replied, “I was treated with great politeness.”

“Well certainly, Mr. Hopper, you are an extraordinary man,” responded the lawyer. “I wouldn’t have ventured to try such an experiment.”

At the expiration of four months, having completed the business which rendered his presence in Ireland necessary, he made a short visit to England, on his way home. There also his hat was objected to on several occasions. While in Bristol, he asked permission to look at the interior of the Cathedral. He had been walking about some little time, when a rough-looking man said to him, in a very surly tone, “Take off your hat, sir!”

He replied very courteously, “I have asked permission to enter here to gratify my curiosity as a stranger. I hope it is no offence.”

“Take off your hat!” rejoined the rude man. “If you don’t, I’ll take it off for you.”

Friend Hopper leaned on his cane, looked him full in the face, and answered very coolly, “If thou dost, I hope thou wilt send it to my lodgings; for I shall have need of it this afternoon. I lodge at No. 35, Lower Crescent, Clifton.” The place designated was about a mile from the Cathedral. The man stared at him, as if puzzled to decide whether he were talking to an insane person, or not. When the imperturbable Quaker had seen all he cared to see, he deliberately walked away.

At Westminster Abbey he paid the customary fee of two shillings sixpence for admission. The door-keeper followed him, saying, “You must uncover yourself, sir.”

“Uncover myself!” exclaimed the Friend, with an affectation of ignorant simplicity. “What dost thou mean? Must I take off my coat?”

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

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

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

“I see no church here,” rejoined the Quaker. “Perhaps thou meanest the house where the church assembles. I suppose thou art aware that it is the _people_, not the _building_, that constitutes a church?”

The idea seemed new to the man, but he merely repeated, “You must take off your hat, sir.”

But the Friend again inquired, “What for? On account of these images? Thou knowest Scripture commands us not to worship graven images.”

The man persisted in saying that no person could be permitted to pass through the church without uncovering his head. “Well friend,” rejoined Isaac, “I have some conscientious scruples on that subject; so give me back my money, and I will go out.”

The reverential habits of the door-keeper were not quite strong enough to compel him to that sacrifice; and he walked away, without saying anything more on the subject.

When Friend Hopper visited the House of Lords, he asked the sergeant-at-arms if he might sit upon the throne. He replied, “No, sir. No one but his majesty sits there.”

“Wherein does his majesty differ from other men?” inquired he. “If his head were cut off, wouldn’t he die?”

“Certainly he would,” replied the officer.

“So would an American,” rejoined Friend Hopper. As he spoke, he stepped up to the gilded railing that surrounded the throne, and tried to open the gate. The officer told him it was locked. “Well won’t the same key that locked it unlock it?” inquired he. “Is this the key hanging here?”

Being informed that it was, he took it down and unlocked the gate. He removed the satin covering from the throne, carefully dusted the railing with his handkerchief, before he hung the satin over it, and then seated himself in the royal chair. “Well,” said he, “do I look anything like his majesty?”

The man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, “Why, sir, you certainly fill the throne very respectably.”

There were several noblemen in the room, who seemed to be extremely amused by these unusual proceedings.

At a place called Jordans, about twenty-two miles from London, he visited the grave of William Penn.

In his journal, he says: “The ground is surrounded by a neat hedge, and is kept in good order. I picked some grass and moss from the graves of William Penn, Thomas Ellwood, and Isaac Pennington; and some ivy and holly from the hedge; which I intend to take with me to America, as a memorial of my visit. I entered the meeting-house, and sat on the benches which had been occupied by George Fox, William Penn, and George Whitehead, in years long since passed away. It brought those old Friends so distinctly before the view of my mind, that my heart was ready to exclaim, ‘Surely this is no other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’ I cannot describe my feelings. The manly and majestic features of George Fox, and the mournful yet benevolent countenance of Isaac Pennington, seemed to rise before me. But this is human weakness. Those men bore the burthen and heat of their own day; they faithfully used the talents committed to their trust; and I doubt not they are now reaping the reward given to faithful servants. It is permitted us to love their memories, but not to idolize them. They could deliver neither son or daughter by their righteousness; but only their own souls.”

“In the great city of London everything tended to satisfy me that the state of our religious Society is generally very low. A light was once kindled there, that illuminated distant lands. As I walked the streets, I remembered the labors, the sufferings, and the final triumph of those illustrious sons of the morning, George Fox, George Whitehead, William Penn, and a host of others; men who loved not their lives in comparison with the holy cause of truth and righteousness, in which they were called to labor. These worthies have been succeeded by a generation, who seem disposed to garnish the sepulchres of their fathers, and live upon the fruit of their labors, without submitting to the power of that Cross, which made them what they were. There appears to me to be much formality and dryness among them; though there are a few who mourn, almost without hope, over the desolation that has been made by the world, the flesh, and the devil.”

There were many poor emigrants on board the merchant ship, in which Friend Hopper returned home. He soon established friendly communication with them, and entered with sympathy into all their troubles. He made frequent visits to the steerage during the long voyage, and always had something comforting and cheering to say to the poor souls. There was a clergyman on board, who also wished to benefit them, but he approached them in an official way, to which they did not so readily respond. One day, when he invited the emigrants to join him in prayer, an old Irish woman replied, “I’d rather play a game o’ cards, than hear you prache and pray.” She pointed to Friend Hopper, and added, “_He_ comes and stays among us, and always spakes a word o’ comfort, and does us some good. But _you_ come and prache and pray, and then you are gone. One look from that Quaker gintleman is worth all the praching and praying that be in you.”

The vessel encountered a dense fog, and ran on a sand bank as they approached the Jersey shore. A tremendous sea was rolling, and dashed against the ship with such force, that she seemed every moment in danger of being shattered into fragments. If there had been a violent gale of wind, all must have been inevitably lost. The passengers were generally in a state of extreme terror. Screams and groans were heard in every direction. But Friend Hopper’s mind was preserved in a state of great equanimity. He entreated the people to be quiet, and try to keep possession of their faculties, that they might be ready to do whatever was best, in case of emergency. Seeing him so calm, they gathered closely round him, as if they thought he had some power to save them. There was a naval officer on board, whose frenzied state of feeling vented itself in blasphemous language. Friend Hopper, who was always disturbed by irreverent use of the name of Deity, was peculiarly shocked by it under these solemn circumstances. He walked up to the officer, put his hand on his shoulder, and looking him in the face, said, “From what I have heard of thy military exploits, I supposed thou wert a brave man; but here thou art pouring forth blasphemies, to keep up the appearance of courage, while thy pale face and quivering lips show that thou art in mortal fear. I am ashamed of thee. If thou hast no reverence for Deity thyself, thou shouldst show some regard for the feelings of those who have.” The officer ceased swearing, and treated his adviser with marked respect. A friendship was formed between them, which continued as long as the captain lived.

The clergyman on board afterward said to Friend Hopper, “If any other person had talked to him in that manner, he would have knocked him down.”

In about two hours, the vessel floated off the sandbar and went safely into the harbor of New-York. At the custom-house, the clergyman was in some perplexity about a large quantity of books he had brought with him, on which it was proposed to charge high duties. “Perhaps I can get them through for thee,” said Friend Hopper. “I will try.” He went up to the officer, and said, “Isn’t it a rule of the custom-house not to charge a man for the tools of his trade?” He replied that it was. “Then thou art bound to let this priest’s books pass free,” rejoined the Friend. “Preaching is the trade he gets his living by; and these books are the tools he must use.” The clergyman being aware of Quaker views with regard to a paid ministry, seemed doubtful whether to be pleased or not, with _such_ a mode of helping him out of difficulty. However, he took the joke as good naturedly as it was offered, and the books passed free, on the assurance that they were all for his own library.

Friend Hopper’s bookstore in New-York was a place of great resort for members of his own sect. His animated style of conversation, his thousand and one anecdotes of runaway slaves, his descriptions of keen encounters with the “Orthodox,” in the process of separation, attracted many listeners. His intelligence and well-known conscientiousness commanded respect, and he was held in high estimation by his own branch of the Society, though the opposite party naturally entertained a less favorable opinion of the “Hicksite” champion. Such a character as he was must necessarily always be a man of mark, with warm friends and bitter enemies.

His resemblance to Bonaparte attracted attention in New-York, as it had done in Philadelphia. Not long after he removed to that city, there was a dramatic representation at the Park Theatre, in which Placide personated the French Emperor. While this play was attracting public attention, the manager happened to meet Friend Hopper in the street. As soon as he saw him, he exclaimed, “Here is Napoleon himself come back again!” He remarked to some of his acquaintance that he would gladly give that Quaker gentleman one hundred dollars a night, if he would consent to appear on the stage in the costume of Bonaparte.

About this period northern hostility to slavery took a new form, more bold and uncompromising than the old Abolition Societies. It demanded the immediate and unconditional emancipation of every slave, in a voice which has not yet been silenced, and never will be, while the oppressive system continues to disgrace our country. Of course, Friend Hopper could not otherwise than sympathize with any movement for the abolition of slavery, based on pacific principles. Pictures and pamphlets, published by the Anti-Slavery Society were offered for sale in his book-store. During the popular excitement on this subject, in 1834, he was told that his store was about to be attacked by an infuriated rabble, and he had better remove all such publications from the window. “Dost thou think I am such a coward as to forsake my principles, or conceal them, at the bidding of a mob?” said he. Presently, another messenger came to announce that the mob were already in progress, at the distance of a few streets. He was earnestly advised at least to put up the shutters, that their attention might not be attracted by the pictures. “I shall do no such thing,” he replied. The excited throng soon came pouring down the street, with loud and discordant yells. Friend Hopper walked out and stood on the steps. The mob stopped in front of his store. He looked calmly and firmly at them, and they looked irresolutely at him, like a wild animal spell-bound by the fixed gaze of a human eye. After a brief pause, they renewed their yells, and some of their leaders called out, “Go on, to Rose-street!” They obeyed these orders, and in the absent of Lewis Tappan, a well-known abolitionist, they burst open his house, and destroyed his furniture.

In 1835, Judge Chinn, of Mississippi, visited New-York, and brought with him a slave, said to have cost the large sum of fifteen hundred dollars. A few days after their arrival in the city, the slave eloped, and a reward of five hundred dollars was offered for his apprehension. Friend Hopper knew nothing about him; but some mischievous person wrote a note to Judge Chinn, stating that the fugitive was concealed at his store, in Pearl-street. A warrant was procured and put into the hands of a constable frequently employed in that base business. At that season of the year, many Southerners were in the city to purchase goods. A number of them accompanied the judge to Pearl-street, and distributed themselves at short distances, in order to arrest the slave, in case he attempted to escape. They preferred to search the store in the absence of Friend Hopper, and watched nearly an hour for a favorable opportunity. Meanwhile, he was entirely unconscious of their proceedings; and having occasion to call at a house a few doors below, he left the store for a short time in charge of one of his sons. As soon as he was gone, four or five men rushed in. Not finding the object of their pursuit, they jumped out of a back window, and began to search some buildings in the rear. When people complained of such unceremonious intrusion upon their premises, the constable excused himself by saying they were trying to apprehend a felon. Friend Hopper’s son called out that it was a slave, not a felon, they were in search of; for he heard them say so. This made the constable very angry; for, like most slave-catchers, he was eager for the reward, but rather ashamed of the services by which he sought to obtain it. He swore roundly, and one of his party gave the young man a blow on his face.

Friend Hopper, being sent for, returned immediately; and for some time after, he observed a respectable looking person occasionally peeping into the store, and skulking out of sight as soon as he thought himself observed. At last, he went to the door, and said, “My friend, if thou hast business with me, come in and let me know what it is; but don’t be prying about my premises in that way.” He walked off, and joined a group of people, who seemed to be much excited. Friend Hopper followed, and found they were the men who had been recently searching his store. He said to their leader, “Art thou the impertinent fellow who has been intruding upon my premises, in my absence?” The constable replied that he had a warrant, and was determined to execute it. Though a stranger to his countenance, Friend Hopper was well aware that he was noted for hunting slaves, and being unable to disguise his abhorrence of the odious business, he said, “Judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces of silver; and for a like sum, I suppose thou wouldst seize thy brother by the throat, and send him into interminable bondage. If thy conscience were as susceptible of conviction as his was, thou wouldst do as he did; and thus rid the community of an intolerable nuisance.”

One of the Southerners repeated the word “Brother!” in a very sneering tone.

“Yes,” rejoined Friend Hopper, “I said brother.”

He returned to his store, but was soon summoned into the street again, by a complaint that the constable and his troop of slaveholders were very roughly handling a colored man, saying he had no business to keep in their vicinity. When Friend Hopper interfered, to prevent further abuse, several of the Southerners pointed bowie-knives and pistols at him. He told the constable it was his duty, as a police-officer, to arrest those men for carrying deadly weapons and making such a turmoil in the street; and he threatened to complain of him if he did not do it. He complied very reluctantly, and of course the culprits escaped before they reached the police-office.

A few days after, as young Mr. Hopper was walking up Chatham-street, on his way home in the evening, some unknown person came behind him, knocked him down, and beat him in a most savage manner, so that he was unable to leave his room for many days. No doubt was entertained that this brutal attack was by one of the company who were on the search for Judge Chinn’s slave.

It was afterward rumored that the fugitive had arrived safely in Canada. I never heard that he returned to the happy condition of slavery; though his master predicted that he would do so, and said he never would have been so foolish as to leave it, if it had not been for the false representations of abolitionists.

In 1836, the hatred which Southerners bore to Friend Hopper’s name was manifested in a cruel and altogether unprovoked outrage on his son, which caused the young man a great deal of suffering, and well nigh cost him his life. John Hopper, Esq., now a lawyer in the city of New-York, had occasion to go to the South on business. He remained in Charleston about two months, during which time he was treated with courtesy in his business relations, and received many kind attentions in the intercourse of social life. One little incident that occurred during his visit illustrates the tenacious attachment of Friends to their own mode of worship. When he left home, his father had exhorted him to attend Friends’ meeting while he was in Charleston. He told him that a meeting had been established there many years ago, but he supposed there were not half a dozen members remaining, and probably they had no ministry; for the original settlers had died, or left Carolina on account of their testimony against slavery. But as Quakers believe that silent worship is often more blessed to the soul, than the most eloquent preaching, he had a strong desire that his son should attend the meeting constantly, even if he found but two or three to unite with him. The young man promised that he would do so. Accordingly, when he arrived in Charleston, he inquired for the meeting-house, and was informed that it was well nigh deserted. On the first day of the week, he went to the place designated, and found a venerable, kind-looking Friend seated under the preachers’ gallery. In obedience to a signal from him, he took a seat by his side, and they remained there in silence nearly two hours. Then the old man turned and shook hands with him, as an indication that the meeting was concluded, according to the custom of the Society of Friends. When he found that he was talking to the son of Isaac T. Hopper, and that he had promised to attend meeting there, during his stay in Charleston, he was so much affected, that his eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I shall be glad of thy company,” said he; “for most of the time, this winter, I am here all alone. My old friends and companions have all died, or moved away. I come here twice on First days, and once on Fifth day, and sit all, all alone, till I feel it right to leave the house and go home.”

This lonely old worshipper once had an intimate friend, who for a long time was his only companion in the silent meeting. At the close, they shook hands and walked off together, enjoying a kindly chat on their way home. Unfortunately, some difficulty afterward occurred between them, which completely estranged them from each other. Both still clung to their old place of worship. They took their accustomed seats, and remained silent for a couple of hours; but they parted without shaking hands, or speaking a single word. This alienation almost broke the old man’s heart. After awhile, he lost even, this shadow of companionship, and there remained only “the voice within,” and echoes of memory from the empty benches.

While Mr. Hopper remained in Charleston, he went to the Quaker meeting-house every Sunday, and rarely found any one there except the persevering old Friend, who often invited him to go home with him. He seemed to take great satisfaction in talking with him about his father, and listening to what he had heard him say concerning the Society of Friends. When the farewell hour came, he was much affected; for he felt it not likely they would ever meet again; and the conversation of the young stranger had formed a link between him and the Quakerism he loved so well. The old man continued to sit alone under the preacher’s gallery till the house took fire and was burned to the ground. He died soon after that event, at a very advanced age.

Another incident, which occurred during Mr. Hopper’s stay in Charleston, seemed exceedingly trivial at the time, but came very near producing fatal consequences. One day, when a clergyman whom he visited was showing him his library, he mentioned that his father had quite an antiquarian taste for old documents connected with the Society of Friends. At parting, the clergyman gave him several pamphlets for his father, and among them happened to be a tract published by Friends in Philadelphia, describing the colony at Sierra Leone, and giving an account of the slave trade on the coast of Africa. He put the pamphlets in his trunk, and started for Savannah, where he arrived on the twenty-eighth of January. At the City Hotel, he unfortunately encountered a marshal of the city of New-York, who was much employed in catching runaway slaves, and of course sympathized with slaveholders. He pointed the young stranger out, as a son of Isaac T. Hopper, the notorious abolitionist. This information kindled a flame immediately, and they began to discuss plans of vengeance. The traveller, not dreaming of danger, retired to his room soon after supper. In a few minutes, his door was forced open by a gang of intoxicated men, escorted by the New-York marshal. They assailed him with a volley of blasphemous language, struck him, kicked him, and spit in his face. They broke open and rifled his trunk, and searched his pockets for abolition documents. When they found the harmless little Quaker tract about the colony at Sierra Leone, they screamed with exultation. They shouted, “Here is what we wanted! Here is proof of abolitionism!” Some of them rushed out and told the mob, who crowded the bar-room and entries, that they had found a trunk full of abolition tracts. Others seized Mr. Hopper violently, telling him to say his last prayers, and go with them. The proprietor of the City Hotel was very naturally alarmed for the safety of the building. He was in a great passion, and conjured them to carry their victim down forthwith; saying he could do nothing with the mob below, who were getting very impatient waiting for him. Turning to Mr. Hopper, he said, “Young man, you are in a very unfortunate situation. You ought never to have left your home. But it is your own doing; and you deserve your fate.” When appealed to for protection, he exclaimed, “Good God! you must not appeal to me. This is a damned delicate business. I shall not be able to protect my own property. But I will go for the mayor.”

One of the bar-keeper’s confidential friends sent him a slip of paper, on which was written, “His only mode of escape is by the window;” and the bar-keeper, who had previously shown himself decidedly unfriendly, urged him again and again to profit by this advice. He occupied the third story, and the street below his window was thronged with an infuriated mob, thirsting and clamoring for his blood. In view of these facts, it seems not very uncharitable to suppose that the advice was given to make sure of his death, apparently by his own act, and thus save the city of Savannah from the disgrace of the deed. Of the two terrible alternatives, he preferred going down-stairs into the midst of the angry mob, who were getting more and more maddened by liquor, having taken forcible possession of the bar. He considered his fate inevitable, and had made up his mind to die. But at the foot of the stairs, he was met by the mayor and several aldermen, whose timely arrival saved his life. After asking some questions, and receiving the assurance that he came to Savannah solely on commercial business, the magistrates accompanied Mr. Hopper to his room, and briefly examined his books and papers. The mayor then went down and addressed the mob, assuring them that he should be kept in custody during the night; that strict investigation should be made, and if there was the slightest evidence of his being an abolitionist, he should not be suffered to go at large. The mayor and a large body of civil officers accompanied the prisoner to the guard-house, and a number of citizens volunteered their services, to strengthen the escort; but all their efforts scarcely sufficed to keep him from the grasp of the infuriated multitude. He was placed in a noisome cell, to await his trial, and the customary guard was increased for his protection. Portions of the mob continued howling round the prison all night, and the mayor was sent for several times to prevent their bursting in. A gallows was erected, with a barrel of feathers and a tub of tar in readiness under it, that they might amuse themselves with their victim before they murdered him.

Next morning, at five o’clock, the prisoner was brought before the mayor for further examination. Many of the mob followed him to the door of the office to await the issue. The evidence was satisfactory that he belonged to no anti-slavery society, and that his business in Savannah had no connection whatever with that subject. As for the pamphlet about Sierra Leone, the mayor said he considered that evidence in his favor; because it was written in support of colonization. Before the examination closed, there came a driving rain, which dispersed the mob lying in wait round the building. Aided by this lucky storm their destined victim passed out without being observed. At parting, the mayor said to him, “Young man, you may consider it a miracle that you have escaped with your life.”

He took refuge on board the ship Angelique, bound for New-York, and was received with much kindness and sympathy by Captain Nichols, the commander. There was likewise a sailor on board, who happened to be one of the many that owed a debt of gratitude to Friend Hopper; and he swore he would shoot anybody that attempted to harm his son. In a short time, a messenger came from the mayor to announce that the populace had discovered where Mr. Hopper was secreted, and would probably attack the vessel. In this emergency, the captain behaved nobly toward his hunted fellow-citizen. He requested him to lie down flat in the bottom of a boat, which he himself entered and conducted to a brig bound for Providence. The captain was a New-England man, but having been long engaged in Southern trade, his principles on the subject of slavery were adapted to his interest. He gave the persecuted young traveller a most ungracious reception, and said if he thought he was an abolitionist he would send him directly back to Savannah. However, the representations of Captain Nichols induced him to consent that he should be put on board. They had a tedious passage of thirty-five days, during which there was a long and violent storm, that seemed likely to wreck the vessel. The mob had robbed Mr. Hopper of his money and clothing. He had no comfortable garments to shield him from the severe cold, and his hands and feet were frozen. At last, he arrived at Providence, and went on board the steamer Benjamin Franklin, bound for New-York. There he had the good fortune to meet with a colored waiter, whose father had been redeemed from slavery by Friend Hopper’s exertions. He was assiduously devoted to the son of his benefactor, and did everything in his power to alleviate his distressed condition.

When the traveller arrived at his home, he was so haggard and worn down with danger and fatigue, that his family scarcely recognized him. His father was much excited and deeply affected, when he heard what perils he had gone through merely on account of his name. He soon after addressed the following letter to the mayor of Savannah:

“New-York, 4th month, 18th, 1836.

“Friend,

“My object in addressing thee is to express my heartfelt gratitude for thy exertions in saving the life of my son, which I have cause to believe was in imminent peril, from the violence of unreasonable men, while in your city a few weeks ago. I am informed that very soon after his arrival in Savannah, the fact became known to a marshal of this city, who was then there, and who, by his misrepresentations, excited the rabble to a determination to perpetrate the most inhuman outrage upon him, and in all probability to take his life; and that preparations were made, which, if carried into effect, would doubtless have produced that result.

“Tar and feathers, as a mode of punishment, I am inclined to think is rather of modern invention; and I am doubtful whether they will be more efficient than whipping, cutting off ears, the rack, the halter, and the stake. Superstition and intolerance have long ago called in all these to their aid, in suppressing reformation in religion; but they were unable to accomplish the end designed; and if I am not greatly mistaken, they would prove entirely insufficient to stop the progress of emancipation.

“If it is the determination of the people of Savannah to deliver up to a lawless and blood-thirsty mob every person coming among them whose sentiments are opposed to slavery, I apprehend there are very few at the North who would not be obnoxious to their hostility. For I believe they all view slavery as an evil that must be abolished at no very distant day. Would it not be well for the people of the South to reflect upon the tendency of their conduct? Where such aggressions upon humanity are committed, the slaves will naturally inquire into the cause; and when they are informed that it is in consequence of their oppressed and degraded condition, and that the persons thus persecuted are charged with being their friends, they cannot feel indifferent. One such scene as was witnessed in the case of my son would tend more to excite a spirit of insurrection and insubordination among them, than ten thousand ‘incendiary pamphlets,’ not one word of which any of them could read. My son went to Savannah solely on his own private business, without any intention of interfering with the slaves, or with the subject of slavery in any way. But even supposing the charge to have been true, do not your laws award sufficient punishment? How could you stand silently by, and witness proceedings that would put to blush the Arab, or the untutored inhabitant of the wilderness in our own country? The negroes, whom you affect to despise so much, would set an example of benevolence and humanity, when on their own soil, if a stranger came among them, which you cannot be prepared to imitate, till you have made great improvements in civilization.

“The people of Savannah profess Christianity; but what avails profession, where latitude is given to the vilest and most depraved passions of the human heart? Suppose the mob had murdered my son; a young man who went among you in the ordinary course of his