THE TWO YOUNG OFFENDERS. (continued 3)

The officer went and whispered to the Speaker, who glanced at the noble-looking old gentleman, and advised that he should be let alone.

Sometimes his jests conveyed cutting sarcasms. One day, when he was riding in an omnibus, he opened a port-monnaie lined with red. A man with very flaming visage, who was somewhat intoxicated, and therefore very much inclined to be talkative, said, "Ah, that is a very gay pocket-book for a Quaker to carry."

"Yes, it is very red," replied Friend Hopper; "but is not so red as thy nose." The passengers all smiled, and the man seized the first opportunity to make his escape.

A poor woman once entered an omnibus, which was nearly full, and stood waiting for some one to make room. A proud-looking lady sat near Friend Hopper, and he asked her to move a little, to accommodate the new comer. But she looked very glum, and remained motionless. After examining her countenance for an instant, he said, "If thy face often looks so, I shouldn't like to have thee for a neighbor." The passengers exchanged smiles at this rebuke, and the lady frowned still more deeply.

One of the jury in the Darg case was "a son of Abraham," rather conspicuous for his prejudice against colored people. Some time after the proceedings were dropped, Friend Hopper happened to meet him, and entered into conversation on the subject. The Jew was very bitter against "that rascally thief, Tom Hughes." "It does not become thee to be so very severe," said Friend Hopper; "for thy ancestors were slaves in Egypt, and went off with the gold and silver jewels they borrowed of their masters."

One day he met several of the Society of Friends, whom he had not seen for some time. Among them was an Orthodox Friend, who was rather stiff in his manners. The others shook hands with Isaac; but when he approached "the Orthodox," he merely held out his finger.

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

"I don't allow people of certain principles to get very deep hold of me," was the cold reply.

"Thou needest have no uneasiness on that score," rejoined Friend Hopper; "for there never was anything deep in thee to get hold of."

The sense of justice, so conspicuous in boyhood, always remained a distinguishing trait in his character. Once, after riding half a mile, he perceived that he had got into the wrong omnibus. When he jumped out, the driver called for pay; but he answered, "I don't owe thee anything. I've been carried the wrong way." This troubled him afterward, when he considered that he had used the carriage and horses, and that the mistake was his own fault. He kept on the look-out for the driver, but did not happen to see him again, until several weeks afterward. He called to him to stop, and paid the sixpence.

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

"I know I did," he replied; "but I repented of it afterward. I was in a hurry then, and I did not reflect that the mistake was my fault, not thine; and that I ought to pay for riding half a mile with thy horses, though they did carry me the wrong way." The man laughed, and said he didn't often meet with such conscientious passengers.

The tenacity of the old gentleman's memory was truly remarkable. He often repeated letters, which he had written or received twenty years before on some memorable occasion; and if opportunity occurred to compare them with the originals, it would be found that he had scarcely varied a word. He always maintained that he could distinctly remember some things, which happened before he was two years old. One day, when his parents were absent, and Polly was busy about her work, he sat bolstered up in his cradle, when a sudden gust of wind blew a large piece of paper through the entry. To his uneducated senses, it seemed to be a living creature, and he screamed violently. It was several hours before he recovered from his extreme terror. When his parents returned, he tried to make them understand how a strange thing had come into the house, and run, and jumped, and made a noise. But his lisping language was so very imperfect, that they were unable to conjecture what had so frightened him. For a long time after, he would break out into sudden screams, whenever the remembrance came over him. At seventy-five years old, he told me he remembered exactly how the paper then appeared to him, and what sensations of terror it excited in his infant breast.

He had a large old-fashioned cow-bell, which was always rung to summon the family to their meals. He resisted having one of more modern construction, because he said that pleasantly reminded him of the time when he was a boy, and used to drive the cows to pasture. Sometimes, he rang it much longer than was necessary to summon the household. On such occasions, I often observed him smiling while he stood shaking the bell; and he would say, "I am thinking how Polly looked, when the cow kicked her over; milk-pail and all. I can see it just as if it happened yesterday. O, what fun it was!"

He often spoke of the first slave whose escape he managed, in the days of his apprenticeship. He was wont to exclaim, "How well I remember the anxious, imploring, look that poor fellow gave me, when I told him I would be his friend! It rises up before me now. If I were a painter, I could show it to thee."

But clearly above all other things, did he remember every look and tone of his beloved Sarah; even in the days when they trudged to school together, hand in hand. The recollection of this first love, closely intertwined with his first religious impressions, was the only flowery spot of romance in the old gentleman's very practical character. When he was seventy years of age, he showed me a piece of writing she had copied for him, when she was a girl of fourteen. It was preserved in the self-same envelope, in which she sent it, and pinned with the same pin, long since blackened by age. I said, "Be careful not to lose that pin."

"Lose it!" he exclaimed. "No money could tempt me to part with it. I loved the very ground she trod upon."

He was never weary of eulogizing her comely looks, beautiful manners, sound principles, and sensible conversation. The worthy companion of his later life never seemed troubled by such remarks. She not only "listened to a sister's praises with unwounded ear," but often added a heartfelt tribute to the virtues of her departed friend.

It is very common for old people to grow careless about their personal appearance, and their style of conversation; but Friend Hopper was remarkably free from such faults. He was exceedingly pure in his mind, and in his personal habits. He never alluded to any subject that was unclean, never made any indelicate remark, or used any unseemly expression. There was never the slightest occasion for young people to feel uneasy concerning what he might say. However lively his mood might be, his fun was always sure to be restrained by the nicest sense of natural propriety. He shaved, and took a cold plunge-bath every day. Not a particle of mud or dust was allowed to remain upon his garments. He always insisted on blacking his own shoes; for it was one of his principles not to be waited upon, while he was well enough to wait upon himself. They were always as polished as japan; and every Saturday night, his silver buckles were made as bright as a new dollar, in readiness to go to meeting the next day. His dress was precisely like that worn by William Penn. At the time I knew him, I believe he was the only Quaker in the country, who had not departed from that model in the slightest degree. It was in fact the dress of all English gentlemen, in King Charles's time; and the only peculiarity of William Penn was, that he wore it without embroidery or ornament of any kind, for the purpose of protesting against the extravagance of the fashionable world. Therefore, the spirit of his intention and that of other early Friends, would be preserved by wearing dress cut according to the prevailing mode, but of plain materials, and entirely unornamented. However, Friend Hopper was attached to the ancient costume from early association, and he could not quite banish the idea that any change in it would be a degree of conformity to the fashions of the world. The long stockings, and small clothes buckled at the knee, were well adapted to his finely formed limbs; and certainly he and his lady-like Hannah, in their quaint garb of the olden time, formed a very agreeable picture.

He had no peculiarities with regard to eating or drinking. He always followed the old-fashioned substantial mode of living, to which he had been accustomed in youth, and of which moderation in all things was the rule. For luxuries he had no taste. He thought very little about his food; but when it was before him, he ate with the vigorous appetite natural to strong health and very active habits. When his health failed for a time in Philadelphia, and he seemed wasting away to a shadow, his physician recommended tobacco. He found great benefit from it, and in consequence of the habit then formed he became an inveterate smoker, and continued so till he was past seventy years old.

Being out of health for a short time, at that period, the doctor told him he thought smoking was not good for his complaint. He accordingly discontinued the practice, and formed a resolution not to renew it. When he recovered, it cost him a good deal of physical annoyance to conquer the long-settled habit; but he had sufficient strength of mind to persevere in the difficult task, and he never again used tobacco in any form. Speaking of this to his son Edward, he said, "The fact is, whoever cures himself of any selfish indulgence, becomes a better man. It may seem strange that I should set out to improve at my age; but better late than never."

He was eminently domestic in his character. Perhaps no man ever lived, who better enjoyed staying at home. He loved to invite his grand-children, and write them pleasant little notes about the squirrel-pie, or some other rarity, which he had in preparation for them. He seldom went out of his own family circle, except on urgent business, or to attend to some call of humanity. He was always very attentive in waiting upon his wife to meeting, or elsewhere, and spent a large portion of his evenings in reading to her from the newspapers, or some book of Travels, or the writings of early Friends. No man in the country had such a complete Quaker library. He contrived to pick up every rare old volume connected with the history of his sect. He had a wonderful fondness and reverence for many of those books. They seemed to stand to him in the place of old religious friends, who had parted from his side in the journey of life. There, at least, he found Quakerism that had not degenerated; that breathed the same spirit as of yore.

I presume that his religious opinions resembled those of Elias Hicks. But I judged so mainly from incidental remarks; for he regarded doctrines as of small importance, and considered theology an unprofitable topic of conversation. Practical righteousness, manifested in the daily affairs of life, was in his view the sum and substance of religion. The doctrine of the Atonement never commended itself to his reason, and his sense of justice was disturbed by the idea of the innocent suffering for the guilty. He moreover thought it had a pernicious tendency for men to rely on an abstract article of faith, to save them from their sins. With the stern and gloomy sects, who are peculiarly attracted by the character of Deity as delineated in the Old Testament, he had no sympathy. The Infinite One was ever present to his mind, as a loving Father to all his children, whether they happened to call him by the name of Brama, Jehovah, God, or Allah.

He was strongly attached to the forms of Quakerism, as well as to the principles. It troubled him, when some of his children changed their mode of dress, and ceased to say thee and thou. He groaned when one of his daughters appeared before him with a black velvet bonnet, though it was exceedingly simple in construction, and unornamented by feather or ribbon. She was prepared for this reception, and tried to reconcile him to the innovation by representing that a white or drab-colored silk bonnet showed every stain, and was therefore very uneconomical for a person of active habits. "Thy good mother was a very energetic woman," he replied; "but she found no difficulty in keeping her white bonnet as nice as a new pin." His daughter urged that it required a great deal of trouble to keep it so; and that she did not think dress was worth so much trouble. But his groan was only softened into a sigh. The fashion of the bonnet his Sarah had worn, in that beloved old meeting-house at Woodbury, was consecrated in his memory; and to his mind, the outward type also stood for an inward principle. I used to tell him that I found something truly grand in the original motive for saying thee and thou; but it seemed to me that it had degenerated into a mere hereditary habit, since the custom of applying you exclusively to superiors had vanished from the English language. He admitted the force of this argument; but he deprecated a departure from their old forms, because he considered it useful, especially to the young, to carry the cross of being marked and set apart from the world. But though he was thus strict in what he required of those who had been educated as Quakers, he placed no barrier between himself and people of other sects. He loved a righteous man, and sympathized with an unfortunate one, without reference to his denomination. In fact, many of his warmest and dearest friends were not members of his own religious society.

Early in life he formed an unfavorable opinion of the effect of capital punishment. His uncle Tatum considered it a useful moral lesson to take all his apprentices to hear the tragedy of George Barnwell, and to witness public executions. On one of these occasions, he saw five men hung at once. His habits of shrewd observation soon led him to conclude that such spectacles generally had a very hardening and bad influence on those who witnessed them, or heard them much talked about. In riper years, his mind was deeply interested in the subject, and he read and reflected upon it a great deal. The result of his investigations was a settled conviction that executions did not tend to diminish crime, but rather to increase it, by their demoralizing effect on the community. He regarded them with abhorrence, as a barbarous custom, entirely out of place in a civilized country and a Christian age.

Concerning the rights of women, he scarcely needed any new light from modern theories; for, as a Quaker, he had been early accustomed to practical equality between men and women in all the affairs of the Society. He had always been in the habit of listening to them as preachers, and of meeting them on committees with men, for education, for the care of the poor, for missions to the Indians, and for financial regulations. Therefore, it never occurred to him that there was anything unseemly in a woman's using any gift with which God had endowed her, or transacting any business, which she had the ability to do well.

After his removal to New-York, incidents now and then occurred, which formed pleasant links with his previous life in Philadelphia. Sometimes slaves, whom he had rescued many years before, or convicts, whom he had encouraged to lead a better life, called to see him and express their gratitude. Sometimes their children came to bless him. There was one old colored woman, who never could meet him without embracing him. Although these demonstrations were not always convenient, and did not partake of the quiet character of Quaker discipline, he would never say anything to repress the overflowings of her warm old heart. As one of his sons passed through Bond-street, he saw an old colored man rubbing his knees, and making the most lively gesticulations of delight. Being asked what was the matter, he pointed across the street, and exclaimed, "O, if I was only sure that was Friend Hopper of Philadelphia! If I was only sure!" When told that he was not mistaken, he rushed up to the old gentleman, threw his arms about his neck, and hugged him.

When I told him of Julia Pell, a colored Methodist preacher, whose fervid untutored eloquence had produced an exciting effect on my mind, he invited her to come and take tea with him. In the course of conversation, he discovered that she was the daughter of Zeke, the slave who outwitted his purchaser; as described in the preceding narratives. It was quite an interesting event in her life to meet with the man who had written her father's manumission papers, while she was in her infancy. When the parting hour came, she said she felt moved to pray; and dropping on her knees, she poured forth a brief but very earnest prayer, at the close of which she said: "O Lord, I beseech thee to shower down blessings on that good old man, whom thou hast raised up to do such a blessed work for my down-trodden people."

Friend Hopper's fund of anecdotes, especially with regard to colored people, was almost inexhaustible. He related them with so much animation, that he was constantly called upon to repeat them, both at public meetings and in private conversation; and they never failed to excite lively interest. Every stranger, who was introduced to him, tried to draw him out; and it was an easy matter; for he loved to oblige people, and it is always pleasant for an old soldier to fight his battles over again. In this readiness to recount his own exploits, there was nothing that seemed like silly or obtrusive vanity. It often reminded me of the following just remark in the Westminster Review, applied to Jeremy Bentham: "The very egotism in which he occasionally indulged was a manifestation of a want of self-thought. This unpopular failing is, after all, one of the characteristics of a natural and simple mind. It requires much thought about one's self to avoid speaking of one's self."

It has been already mentioned that Friend Hopper passed through a fiery trial in his own religious society, during the progress of the schism produced by the preaching of Elias Hicks. Fourteen years had elapsed since the separation. The "Hicksite" branch had become an established and respectable sect. In cities, many of them were largely engaged in Southern trade. I have heard it stated that millions of money were thus invested. They retained sympathy with the theological opinions of Elias Hicks, but his rousing remonstrances against slavery would have been generally very unwelcome to their ears. They cherished the names of Anthony Benezet, John Woolman, and a host of other departed worthies, whose labors in behalf of the colored people reflected honor on their Society. But where was the need of being so active in the cause, as Isaac T. Hopper was, and always had been? "The way did not open" for them to be so active; and why should his zeal rebuke their listlessness? Was it friendly, was it respectful in him, to do more than his religious Society thought it necessary to do? It is astonishing how troublesome a living soul proves to be, when they try to shut it up within the narrow limits of a drowsy sect!

I had a friend in Boston, whose wealthy and aristocratic parents brought him up according to the most approved model of genteel religion. He learned the story of the Good Samaritan, and was early accustomed to hear eulogies pronounced on the holy Jesus, who loved the poor, and associated with the despised. When the boy became a man he joined the Anti-Slavery Society, and openly avowed that he regarded Africans as brethren of the great human family. His relatives were grieved to see him pursuing such an injudicious and disrespectable course. Whereupon, a witty reformer remarked, "They took most commendable pains to present Jesus and the Good Samaritan as models of character, but they were surprised to find that he had taken them at their word."

The case was somewhat similar with Isaac T. Hopper. He had imbibed anti-slavery principles in full flood at the fountain of Quakerism. Their best and greatest men were conspicuous as advocates of those principles. Children were taught to revere those men, and their testimonies were laid up in honorable preservation, to be quoted with solemn formality on safe occasions. Friend Hopper acted as if these professions were in good earnest; and thereby he disturbed his sect, as my Boston friend troubled his family, when he made practical use of their religious teaching.

That many of the modern Quakers should be blinded by bales of cotton, heaped up between their souls and the divine light, is not remarkable; for cotton is an impervious material. But it is a strange anomaly in their history that any one among them should have considered himself guided by the Spirit to undertake the especial mission of discouraging sympathy with the enslaved. A minister belonging to that branch of the Society called "Hicksites," who usually preached in Rose-street Meeting, New-York, had imbibed very strong prejudices against all modern reforms: and he manifested his aversion with a degree of excitement, in language, tone, and gesture, very unusual in that quiet sect. Those who labored in the cause of temperance, anti-slavery, or non-resistance, he was wont to stigmatize as "hireling lecturers," "hireling book-agents," and "emissaries of Satan." Soon after Thomas Hughes consented to return to the South, in consequence of the fair professions of Mr. Darg, this preacher chimed in with the exulting tones of the pro-slavery press, by alluding to it in one of his public discourses as follows. After speaking of the tendency of affliction to produce humility, he went on to say, "As a slave, who had suffered the effects of his criminal conduct, and been thus led to calm reflection, recently chose to go back with this master into slavery, and endure all the evils of that condition, notwithstanding his former experience of them, rather than stay with those hypocritical workers of popular righteousness who had interfered in his behalf. For my own part, I commend his choice. I had a thousand times rather be a slave, and spend my days with slaveholders, than to dwell in companionship with abolitionists."

The state of things among Quakers in the city of New-York may be inferred from the fact that this minister was exceedingly popular, and his style of preaching cordially approved by a majority of them. One of the editors of the Anti-Slavery Standard, at that time, wrote a severe, though by no means abusive article on the subject, headed "Rare Specimen of a Quaker Preacher." This gave great offence, and Isaac T. Hopper was very much blamed for it. He, and his son-in-law James S. Gibbons, and his friend Charles Marriott, then belonged to the Executive Committee of the Anti-Slavery Society; and it was assumed to be their duty to have prevented the publication of the sarcastic article. Charles Harriot was absent from the city when it was published, and Friend Hopper did not see it till after it was in print. When they urged these facts, and stated, moreover, that they had no right to dictate to the editor what he should say, or what he should not say, they were told that they ought to exculpate themselves by a public expression of their disapprobation. But as they did not believe the editorial article contained any mis-statement of facts, they could not conscientiously say any thing that would satisfy the friends of the preacher. It would be tedious to relate the difficulties that followed. There were visits from overseers, and prolonged sessions of committees; a great deal of talking with the accused, and still more talking about them. A strong disposition was manifested to make capital against them out of the Darg Case. Robert H. Morris, who was presiding Judge while that case was pending, and afterward Mayor of New-York, had long known Friend Hopper, and held him in much respect. When he was told that some sought to cast imputations on his character, he was greatly surprised, and offered to give favorable testimony in any form that might be desired. J.R. Whiting, the District Attorney, expressed the same readiness; and private misrepresentations were silenced by a published certificate from them, testifying that throughout the affair Friend Hopper had merely "exhibited a desire to procure the money for the master, and the manumission of the slave."

The principal argument brought by Friends, against their members uniting with Anti-Slavery Societies, was that they were thus led to mix indiscriminately with people of other denominations, and brought into contact with hireling clergymen. There seemed some inconsistency in this objection, coming from the mouths of men who belonged to Rail Road Corporations, and Bank Stock Companies, and who mingled constantly with slaveholders in Southern trade; for the early testimonies of the Society were quite as explicit against slavery, as against a paid ministry. However, those of their members who were abolitionists were willing to obviate this objection, if possible. They accordingly formed an association among themselves, "for the relief of those held in slavery, and the improvement of the free people of color." But when this benevolent association asked for the use of Rose-street Meeting-house, their request was not only refused, but condemned as disorderly. Affairs were certainly in a very singular position. Both branches of the Society of Friends were entirely inert on the subject of slavery. Both expressed pity for the slave, but both agreed that "the way did not open" for them to do anything. If individual members were thus driven to unite in action with other sects upon a subject which seemed to them very important, they were called disorganizers. When they tried to conciliate by forming an association composed of Quakers only, they were told that "as the Society of Friends saw no way to move forward in this concern, such associations appeared to reflect upon them;" implying that they failed in discharging their duty as a religious body. What could an earnest, direct character, like Isaac T. Hopper, do in the midst of a sect thus situated? He proceeded as he always did. He walked straight forward in what seemed to him the path of duty, and snapped all the lilliputian cords with which they tried to bind him.

Being unable to obtain any apology from their offending members, the Society proceeded to administer its discipline. A complaint was laid before the Monthly Meeting of New-York, in which Isaac T. Hopper, James S. Gibbons, and Charles Marriott, were accused of "being concerned in the publication and support of a paper calculated to excite discord and disunity among Friends." Friend Hopper published a statement, characterised by his usual boldness, and disturbed his mind very little about the result of their proceedings. April, 1842, he wrote thus, to his daughter, Sarah H. Palmer, of Philadelphia: "During my late indisposition, I was induced to enter into a close examination of my own heart; and I could not find that I stood condemned there for the part I have taken in the anti-slavery cause, which has brought upon me so much censure from those 'who know not God, nor his son Jesus Christ. They profess that they know God, but in works they deny him.' I have not yet given up our Society as lost. I still live in the faith that it will see better days. I often remember the testimony borne by that devoted and dignified servant of the Lord, Mary Ridgeway; which was to this import: 'The Lord, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, has gathered this Society to be a people, and has placed his name among them; and He has given them noble testimonies to hold up to the nations; but if they prove unfaithful, those testimonies will be given unto others, who may be compared to the stones of the street; and they will wear the crowns that were intended for this people, who will be cast out, as salt that has lost its savor.' We may plume ourselves upon being the children of Abraham, but in the days of solemn inquisition, which surely will come, it will only add to our condemnation, because we have not done the works of Abraham."

"The Yearly Meeting will soon be upon us, when we shall have a final decision in our cases. I feel perfectly resigned to the result, be it what it may. Indeed, I have sometimes thought I should be happier out of the Society than in it. I should feel more at liberty to 'cry aloud and spare not, to lift up my voice like a trumpet, and show the people their transgressions, and the house of Jacob their sins.' I believe no greater benefit could be conferred on the Society. There are yet many in it who see and deplore its departure from primitive uprightness, but who are afraid to come out as they ought against the evils that prevail in it."

An aged and very worthy Friend in Philadelphia, named Robert Moore, who deeply sympathized with the wrongs of colored people, wrote to Friend Hopper as follows: "From 1822 to 1827, we had many interesting conversations in thy little front room, respecting the distracted state of our Society, and the efforts made to sustain our much beloved brother Elias Hicks, against those who were anxious for his downfall and excommunication. This great excitement grew hotter till the separation in 1827; we not being able to endure any longer the intolerance of the party in power. Well, it appears that the persecuted have now, in their turn, become persecutors; and those who went through the fire aforetime are devoted to pass through it again. But, my dear friend, I hope thou and all who are doomed to suffer for conscience sake, will stand firm, and not deviate one inch from what you believe to be your duty. They may cast you out of the synagogue, which I fear has become so corrupt that a seat among them has ceased to be an honor, or in any way desirable; but you will pass through the furnace unscathed. Not a hair of your heads will be singed."

The ecclesiastical proceedings in this case were kept pending more than a year, I think; being carried from the Monthly Meeting to the Quarterly, and thence to the Yearly Meeting. Thirty-six Friends were appointed a committee in the Yearly Meeting. They had six sessions, and finally reported that, after patient deliberation, they found eighteen of their number in favor of confirming the decision of the Quarterly Meeting; fifteen for reversing it; and three who declined giving any judgment in the case. Upon this report, the Yearly Meeting confirmed the decision of the inferior tribunals; and Isaac T. Hopper, James S. Gibbons, and Charles Marriott were excommunicated; in Quaker phrase, disowned.

I thus expressed myself at the time; and the lapse of ten years has not changed my view of the case: Excommunication for such causes will cut off from the Society their truest, purest, and tenderest spirits. There is Isaac T. Hopper, whose life has been one long chapter of benevolence, an unblotted record of fair integrity. A man so exclusive in his religious attachments that the principles of his Society are to his mind identical with Christianity, and its minutest forms sacred from innovation. A man whose name is first mentioned wherever Quakerism is praised, or benevolence to the slave approved.

There is Charles Marriott, likewise widely known, and of high standing in the Society; mild as a lamb, and tender-hearted as a child; one to whom conflict with others is peculiarly painful, but who nevertheless, when principles are at stake, can say, with the bold-hearted Luther, "God help me! I cannot otherwise."

There is James S. Gibbons, a young man, and therefore less known; but wherever known, prized for his extreme kindness of heart, his steadfast honesty of purpose, his undisguised sincerity, and his unflinching adherence to his own convictions of duty. A Society has need to be very rich in moral excellence, that can afford to throw away three such members.

Protests and disclaimers against the disownment of these worthy men came from several parts of the country, signed by Friends of high character; and many private letters were addressed to them, expressive of sympathy and approbation. Friend Hopper was always grateful for such marks of respect and friendship; but his own conscience would have sustained him without such aid. He had long felt a deep sadness whenever he was reminded of the spiritual separation between him and the religious Society, whose preachers had exerted such salutary influence on his youthful character; but the external separation was of no consequence. He attended meeting constantly, as he had ever done, and took his seat on the bench under the preachers' gallery, facing the audience, where he had always been accustomed to sit, when he was an honored member of the Society. Charles Marriott, who was by temperament a much meeker man, said to him one day, "The overseers have called upon me, to represent the propriety of my taking another seat, under existing circumstances. I expect they will call upon thee, to give the same advice."

"I expect they won't," was Isaac's laconic reply; and they never did.

His daughter, Abby H. Gibbons, soon after resigned membership in the Monthly Meeting of New-York for herself and her children; and his sons Josiah and John did the same. The grounds stated were that "the meeting had manifestly departed from the original principles and testimonies of the Society of Friends; that the plainest principles of civil and religious freedom had been violated in the whole proceedings in relation to their father; and that the overseers had prepared an official document calculated to produce false impressions with regard to him; accusing him of 'grossly reproachful conduct' in the well known Darg Case; whereas there was abundant evidence before the public that his proceedings in that case were influenced by the purest and most disinterested motives."

The Philadelphia Ledger, after stating that the Society of Friends in New-York had disowned some of their prominent members for being connected, directly or indirectly, with an Abolition Journal, added the following remark: "This seems rather singular; for we had supposed that Friends were favorably inclined toward the abolition of slavery. But many of their members are highly respectable merchants, extensively engaged in Southern trade. We are informed that they are determined to discountenance all pragmatic interference with the legal and constitutional rights of their brethren at the South. The Quakers have always been distinguished for minding their own business, and permitting others to attend to theirs. They would be the last people to meddle with the rights of property."

The Boston Times quoted the paragraph from the Philadelphia Ledger, with the additional remark, "There is no logician like money."

Whether Friends in New-York felt flattered by these eulogiums, I know not; but they appear to have been well deserved.

In 1842 and the year following, Friend Hopper travelled more than usual. In August '42, he visited his native place, after an absence of twenty years. He and his wife were accompanied from Philadelphia by his son Edward and his daughter Sarah H. Palmer. Of course, the haunts of his boyhood had undergone many changes. Panther's Bridge had disappeared, and Rabbit Swamp and Turkey Causeway no longer looked like the same places. He visited his father's house, then occupied by strangers, and found the ruins of his great-grandfather's dwelling. Down by the pleasant old creek, shaded with large walnut trees and cedars, stood the tombs of many of his relatives; and at Woodbury were the graves of his father and mother, and the parents of his wife. Every spot had something interesting to say of the past. His eyes brightened, and his tongue became voluble with a thousand memories. Had I been present to listen to him then, I should doubtless have been enabled to add considerably to my stock of early anecdotes. He seemed to have brought away from this visit a peculiarly vivid recollection of "poor crazy Joe Gibson." This demented being was sometimes easily controlled, and willing to be useful; at other times, he was perfectly furious and ungovernable. Few people knew how to manage him; but Isaac's parents acquired great influence over him by their uniform system of forbearance and tenderness; their own good sense and benevolence having suggested the ideas which regulate the treatment of insanity at the present period. The day spent in Woodbury and its vicinity was a bright spot in Friend Hopper's life, to which he always reverted with a kind of saddened pleasure. The heat of the season had been tempered by floating clouds, and when they returned to Philadelphia, there was a faint rainbow in the east. He looked lovingly upon it, and said, "These clouds seem to have followed us all day, on purpose to make everything more pleasant."

In the course of the same month he accepted an invitation to attend the Anti-Slavery Convention at Norristown, Pennsylvania. His appearance there was quite an event. Many friends of the cause, who were strangers to him, were curious to obtain a sight of him, and to hear him address the meeting. Charles C. Burleigh, in an eloquent letter to the Convention, says: "I am glad to hear that Isaac T. Hopper is to be present. That tried old veteran, with his eye undimmed, his natural strength unabated, his resolute look, and calm determined manner, before which the blustering kidnapper, and the self-important oppressor have so often quailed! With the scars of a hundred battles, and the wreaths of an hundred victories in this glorious warfare. With his example of half a century's active service in this holy cause, and his still faithful adherence to it, through evil as well as good report, and in the face of opposition as bitter as sectarian bigotry can stir up. Persecution cannot bow the head, which seventy winters could not blanch, nor the terrors of excommunication chill the heart, in which age could not freeze the kindly flow of warm philanthropy."

I think it was not long after this excursion that his sister Sarah came from Maryland to visit him. She was a pleasant, sensible matron, much respected by all who knew her. I noted down at the time several anecdotes of childhood and youth, which bubbled up in the course of conversations between her and her brother. In her character the hereditary trait of benevolence was manifested in a form somewhat different from his. She had no children of her own, but she brought up, on her husband's farm, nineteen poor boys and girls, and gave most of them a trade. Nearly all of them turned out well.

In the winters of 1842 and '43, Friend Hopper complied with urgent invitations to visit the Anti-Slavery Fair, in Boston; and seldom has a warmer welcome been given to any man. As soon as he appeared in Amory Hall, he was always surrounded by a circle of lively girls attracted by his frank manners, his thousand little pleasantries, and his keen enjoyment of young society. A friend of mine used to say that when she saw them clustering round him, in furs and feathered bonnets, listening to his words so attentively, she often thought it would make as fine a picture as William Penn explaining his treaty to the Indians.

Ellis Gray Loring in a letter to me, says: "We greatly enjoyed Friend Hopper's visit. You cannot conceive how everybody was delighted with him; particularly all our gay young set; James Russell Lowell, William W. Story, and the like. The old gentleman seemed very happy; receiving from all hands evidence of the true respect in which he is held." Mrs. Loring, writing to his son John, says: "We have had a most delightful visit from your father. Our respect, wonder, and love for him increased daily. I am sure he must have received some pleasure, he bestowed so much. We feel his friendship to be a great acquisition."

Samuel J. May wrote to me: "I cannot tell you how much I was charmed by my interview with Friend Hopper. To me, it was worth more than all the Fair beside. Give my most affectionate respects to him. He very kindly invited me to make his house my home when I next come to New-York; and I am impatient for the time to arrive, that I may accept his invitation."

Edmund Quincy, writing to Friend Hopper's daughter, Mrs. Gibbons, says: "You cannot think how glad we were to see the dear old man. He spent a night with me, to my great contentment, and that of my wife; and to the no small edification of our little boy, to whom breeches and buckles were a great curiosity. My Irish gardener looked at them with reverence; having probably seen nothing so aristocratic, since he left the old country. I love those relics of past time. The Quakers were not so much out, when they censured their members for turning sans culottes. Think of Isaac T. Hopper in a pair of pantaloons strapped under his feet! There is heresy in the very idea. But, costume apart, we were as glad to see Father Hopper, as if he had been our real father in the flesh. I hope he had a right good time. If he had not, I am sure it was not for want of being made much of. I trust his visits to Boston will grow into one of our domestic institutions."

In the old gentleman's account of his visit to the Fair, he says: "I was struck with the extreme propriety with which everything was conducted, and with the universal harmony and good-will that prevailed among the numerous friends of the cause, who had collected from all parts of the old Commonwealth, on this interesting occasion. Many of the most distinguished citizens were purchasers, and appeared highly gratified, though not connected with the anti-slavery cause. Lord Morpeth, late Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, attended frequently, made some presents to the Fair, and purchased several articles. I would call him by his Christian name, if I knew it; for it is plain enough that he was not baptized, 'Lord'. His manners were extremely friendly and agreeable, and he expressed himself highly pleased with the exhibition. I had an interesting conversation with him on the subject of slavery; particularly in relation to the Amistad captives, and the case of the Creole."

"I had an opportunity to make a valuable addition to my collection of the works of ancient Friends. On the book-table, I found that rare old volume, 'The Way Cast Up,' written by George Keith, while in unity with the Society. I took it home with me to my chamber; and as I glanced over it, my mind was moved to a painful retrospect of the Society of Friends in its original state, when its members were at liberty to follow the light, as manifested to them in the silence and secrecy of their own souls. I seemed to see them entering places appointed for worship by various professors, and there testifying against idolatry, superstition, and a mercenary priesthood. I saw them entering the courts, calling upon judges and lawyers to do justice. I saw them receive contumely and abuse, as a reward for these acts of dedication. My imagination followed them to loathsome dungeons, where many of them died a lingering death. I saw the blood trickling from the lacerated backs of innocent men and women. I saw William Robinson, Marmaduke Stevenson, Mary Dyer, and William Leddra, pass through the streets of Boston, pinioned, and with halters about their necks, on the way to execution; yet rejoicing that they were found worthy to suffer, even unto death, for their fidelity to Christ; sustained through those last bitter moments by an approving conscience and the favor of God.

"I now see the inhabitants of that same city surpassed by none on the globe, for liberality, candor, and benevolence. I see them taking the lead of very many of the descendants of the martyrs referred to, in many things, and at an immeasurable distance. I compared the state of the Society of Friends in the olden time with what it now is. In some sections of the country, they, in their turn, have become persecutors. Not with dungeons, halter, and fire; for those modes of punishment have gone by; but by ejecting their members from religious fellowship, and defaming their characters for doing that which they conscientiously believe is required at their hands; casting out their names as evil-doers for honestly endeavoring to support one of the most dignified testimonies ever given to the Society of Friends to hold up before a sinful world. These reflections pained me deeply; for all the convictions of my soul, and all my early religious recollections, bind me fast to the principles of Friends; and I cannot but mourn to see how the world has shorn them of their strength. I spent nearly a sleepless night, and was baptized with my tears."

"In the morning, my mind was in some degree reassured with the hope that there are yet left, throughout the land, 'seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which has not kissed him;' and that among these shall yet 'arise judges, as at the first, and counsellors, and lawgivers, as in the beginning.' My soul longeth for the coming of that day, more than for the increase of corn, and wine, and oil."

In the Spring of 1843, Friend Hopper visited Rhode Island, and Bucks County, in Pennsylvania, to address the people in behalf of the enslaved. He was accompanied by Lucinda Wilmarth, a very intelligent and kind-hearted young person, who sometimes spoke on the same subject. After she returned to her home in Massachusetts, she wrote as follows, to the venerable companion of her mission; "Dear Father Hopper, I see by the papers that Samuel Johnson has gone home. I well remember our call upon him, on the second Sunday morning of our sojourn in that land of roses. I also remember his radiant and peaceful countenance, which told of a life well spent, and of calm and hopeful anticipations of the future. I love to dwell upon my visit to Pennsylvania. I never saw happier or more lovely homes. Never visited dwellings where those little household divinities, goodness, order, and cheerfulness, held more universal sway. I was enabled to view men and things from an entirely new point of view. I had previously seen nothing of Quakerism, except in a narrow orthodox form, with which I had no sympathy. I was much pleased with the apparent freedom and philanthropy of the Friends I met there. I know not whether it was their peculiar ism, that made them so comparatively free and liberal. Perhaps I unconsciously assigned to their Quakerism what merely belonged to their manhood. But the fact is, they came nearer to realizing the ideal of Quakerism, associated in my mind with Fox and Penn, than any people I have ever seen.

"I stopped at Providence on my way home. As soon as I entered Isaac Hale's door, little Alice began to skip with joy, as she did that day when we returned so unexpectedly to dine; but the next moment, she looked down the stair-case, and exclaimed in a most anxious tone, 'Why did'nt Grandfather Hopper come? What did you come alone for? What shall I do?' On my arrival home, the first noisy greetings of my little brothers and sisters had scarcely subsided, before they began to inquire, 'Why did'nt your other father come, too?' They complained that you had not written a single 'Tale of Oppression' for the Standard since you were here. But a week after, my little sister came running with an open newspaper in her hand, exclaiming, 'Father Hopper has made another story!' She has named her doll for your little grand-daughter, Lucy Gibbons, because you used to talk about her; and every day she reads the book you gave her."

Friend Hopper found great satisfaction in the perusal of the above letter, not only on account of his great regard for the writer, but because many of the Friends in Bucks County were the delight of his heart. He was always telling me that if I wanted to see the best farms, the best Quakers, and the most comfortable homes in the world, I must go to Bucks County. In his descriptions, it was a blooming land of peace and plenty, approaching as near to an earthly paradise, as could be reasonably expected.

At the commencement of 1845, the American Anti-Slavery Society made some changes in their office at New-York, by which the duties of editor and treasurer, were performed by the same person; consequently Friend Hopper's services were no longer needed. When he retired from the office he had held during four years, the Society unanimously voted him thanks for the fidelity with which he had discharged the duties entrusted to him.

At that time, several intelligent and benevolent gentlemen in the city of New-York were much interested in the condition of criminals discharged from prisons, without money, without friends, and with a character so blasted, that it was exceedingly difficult to procure employment. However sincerely desirous such persons might be to lead a better life, it seemed almost impossible for them to carry their good resolutions into practice. The inconsiderate harshness of society forced them back into dishonest courses, even when it was contrary to their own inclinations. That this was a fruitful source of crime, and consequently a great increase of expense to the state, no one could doubt who candidly examined the subject. To meet the wants of this class of sufferers, it was proposed to form a Prison Association, whose business it should be to inquire into individual cases, and extend such sympathy and assistance as circumstances required. This subject had occupied Friend Hopper's mind almost as early as the wrongs of the slave. He attended the meetings, and felt a lively interest in the discussions, in which he often took part. The editor of the New-York Evening Mirror, alluding to one of these occasions, says: "When Mr. Hopper rose to offer some remarks, we thought the burst of applause which greeted the quaint old man, (in the very costume of Franklin) was a spontaneous homage to goodness; and we thanked God and took courage for poor human nature."

His well-known benevolence, his peculiar tact in managing wayward characters, his undoubted integrity, and his long experience in such matters, naturally suggested the idea that he was more suitable than any other person to be Agent of the Association. It was a situation extremely well-adapted to his character, and if his limited circumstances would have permitted, he would have been right glad to have discharged its duties gratuitously. He named three hundred dollars a year, as sufficient addition to his income, and the duties were performed with as much diligence and zeal, as if the recompence had been thousands. Although he was then seventy-four years old, his hand-writing was firm and even, and very legible. He kept a Diary of every day's transactions, and a Register of all the discharged convicts who applied for assistance; with a monthly record of such information as could be obtained of their character and condition, from time to time. The neat and accurate manner in which these books were kept was really surprising in so old a man. The amount of walking he did, to attend to the business of the Association, was likewise remarkable. Not one in ten thousand, who had lived so many years, could have endured so much fatigue.

In his labors in behalf of this class of unfortunate people he was essentially aided by Abby H. Gibbons, who resided nearer to him than his other daughters, and who had the same affectionate zeal to sustain him, that she had manifested by secretly slipping a portion of her earnings into his pocket, in the days of her girlhood. She was as vigilant and active in behalf of the women discharged from prison, as her father was in behalf of the men. Through the exertions of herself and other benevolent women, an asylum for these poor outcasts, called THE HOME, was established and sustained. Friend Hopper took a deep interest in that institution, and frequently went there on Sunday evening, with his wife and daughters, to talk with the inmates in a manner most likely to soothe and encourage them. They were accustomed to call him "Father Hopper," and always came to him for advice when they were in trouble.

When the Prison Association petitioned to be incorporated, it encountered a great deal of opposition, on the ground that it would be likely to interfere with the authority of the State over prisons. During two winters, Friend Hopper went to Albany frequently to sustain the measure. He commanded respect and attention, by the good sense of his remarks, his dignified manner, and readiness of utterance. The Legislature were more inclined to have confidence in him, because he was known to be a benevolent, conscientious Quaker, entirely unconnected with party politics. In fact, the measure was carried mainly by the exertion of his personal influence. He sustained the petition of the Association in a speech before the Legislature, which excited much attention, and made a deep impression on those who heard it. Judge Edmonds, who was one of the speakers on the same occasion, often alluded to it as a remarkable address. He said, "It elicited more applause, and did more to carry the end in view, than anything that was said by more practised public speakers. His eloquence was simple and direct, but most effective. If he was humorous, his audience were full of laughter; if solemn, a deathlike stillness reigned; if pathetic, tears flowed all around him. He seemed unconscious of his power in this respect, but I have heard him many times before large assemblies at our Anniversaries, and in the chapel of the State Prison, and I have been struck, over and over again, with the remarkable sway he had over the minds of those whom he addressed."

The business of the Association made it necessary for Friend Hopper to visit that city many times afterward. He came to be so well known there, and was held in such high respect, that whenever he made his appearance in the halls of legislation, the Speaker sent a messenger to invite him to take a seat near his own.

He often applied to the Governor to exert his pardoning power, where he thought there were mitigating circumstances attending the commission of a crime; or where the mind and health of a prisoner seemed breaking down; or where a long course of good conduct seemed deserving of reward. When Governor Young had become sufficiently acquainted with him to form a just estimate of his character, he said to him, "Friend Hopper, I will pardon any convict, whom you say you conscientiously believe I ought to pardon. If I err at all, I prefer that it should be on the side of mercy. But so many cases press upon my attention, and it is so difficult to examine them all thoroughly, that it is a great relief to find a man in whose judgment and integrity I have such perfect confidence, as I have in yours." On the occasion of one of these applications for mercy, the following quaint correspondence passed between him and the Governor:

"Esteemed Friend,

"John Young:

"You mayst think this mode of address rather too familiar; but as it is the spontaneous effusion of my heart, and entirely congenial with my feelings, I hope thou wilt hold me excused. Permit me to embrace this opportunity to congratulate thee upon thy accession to the office of Chief Magistrate of the State. I have confidence its duties will be faithfully performed. I rejoice that thou hast had independence enough to restore to liberty, and to their families, those infatuated men called Anti-Renters. Some, who live under the old dispensation, that demanded 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,' will doubtless censure this act of justice and mercy. But another class will be glad; those who have embraced the Christian faith, and live under the benign influence of its spirit, which enjoins forgiveness of injuries. The approbation of such, accompanied with an approving conscience, will, I trust, more than counterbalance any censure that may arise on the occasion.

"The object I particularly have in view in addressing thee now, is, to call thy attention to the case of Allen Lee, who was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment for horse-stealing, in Westchester County. He has served for eleven years and two months of that time. It is his first offence, and he has conducted well during his confinement. His health is much impaired, and he has several times had a slight haemorrhage of the lungs. Allen's father was a regular teamster in the army during all the revolutionary war. Though poor, he has always sustained a fair reputation. He is now ninety years old, and he is extremely anxious to behold the face of his son. Permit me, most respectfully, but earnestly, to ask thy early attention to this case. The old man is confined to his bed, and so low, that he cannot continue many weeks. Unless Allen is very soon released, there is no probability that he will ever see him. I have no self-interested motives in this matter, but am influenced solely by considerations of humanity. With sincere desires for thy health and happiness, I am very respectfully thy friend,

"ISAAC T. HOPPER."

Governor Young promptly replied as follows.

"My worthy friend, Isaac T. Hopper,

"I have often thought of thee since we last met. I have received thy letter; and because thou hast written to me, and because I know that what thou writest is always truth, and that the old man, before he lays him down to die, may behold the face of his son, I will restore Allen to his kindred. When thou comest to Albany, I pray thee to come and see me. Very respectfully thy friend, JOHN YOUNG."

The monitor within frequently impelled Friend Hopper to address the assembled convicts at Sing Sing, on Sunday. The officers of the establishment were very willing to open the way for him; for according to the testimony of Mr. Harman Eldridge, the warden, "With all his kindness, and the encouragement he was always ready to give, he was guarded and cautious in the extreme, that nothing should be said to conflict with the discipline of the prison." His exhortations rendered the prisoners more docile, and stimulated them to exertion by keeping hope alive in their hearts. On such occasions, I have been told that a large portion of his unhappy audience were frequently moved to tears; and the warmth of their grateful feelings was often manifested by eagerly pressing forward to shake hands with him, whenever they received permission to do so. The friendly counsel he gave on such occasions sometimes produced a permanent effect on their characters. In a letter to his daughter Susan, he says: "One of these poor fellows attacked the life of the keeper, and I soon after had a private interview with him. He received what I said kindly, but declared that he could not govern his temper. He said he had no ill-will toward the keeper; that what he did was done in a gust of passion, and he could not help it. I tried to convince him that he had power to control his temper, if he would only exercise it. A year and a half afterward, on First Day, after meeting, he asked permission to speak to me. He then told me he was convinced that what I had said to him was true; for he had not given way to anger since I talked to him on the subject. He showed me many certificates from the keepers, all testifying to his good conduct. I hardly ever saw a man more changed than he is."

I often heard my good old friend describe these scenes in the Prison Chapel, with much emotion. He used to say, the feeling of confidence and safety which prevailed, was sometimes presented to his mind in forcible contrast with the state of things in Philadelphia, in 1787, as related by his worthy friend, Dr. William Rogers, who was on the committee of the first Society formed in this country "for relieving the miseries of public prisons." That kind-hearted and conscientious clergyman proposed to address some religious exhortation to the prisoners, on Sunday. But the keeper was so unfriendly to the exertion of such influence, that he assured him his life would be in peril, and the prisoners would doubtless escape, to rob and murder the citizens. When an order was granted by the sheriff for the performance of religious services, he obeyed it very reluctantly; and he actually had a loaded cannon mounted near the clergyman, and a man standing ready with a lighted match all the time he was preaching. His audience were arranged in a solid column, directly in front of the cannon's mouth. This is supposed to have been the first sermon addressed to the assembled inmates of a State Prison in this country.

Notwithstanding Friend Hopper's extreme benevolence, he was rarely imposed upon. He made it a rule to give very little money to discharged convicts. He paid their board till employment could be obtained, and when they wished to go to their families, in distant places, he procured free passage for them in steamboats or cars; which his influence with captains and conductors enabled him to do very easily. If they wanted to work at a trade, he purchased tools, and hired a shop, when circumstances seemed to warrant such expenditure. After they became well established in business, they were expected to repay these loans, for the benefit of others in the same unfortunate condition they had been. Of course, some who expected to receive money whenever they told a pitiful story, were disappointed and vexed by these prudential regulations. Among the old gentleman's letters, I find one containing these expressions: "When I heard you talk in the Prison Chapel, I thought there was something for the man that had once left the path of honesty to hope for from his fellow-men; but I find that I was greatly mistaken. You are men of words. You can do the wind-work first rate. But when a man wants a little assistance to get work, and get an honest living, you are not there. Now I wish to know where your philanthropy is."

But such instances were exceptions. As a general rule, gratitude was manifested for the assistance rendered in time of need; though it was always limited to the urgent necessities of the case. One day, the following letter, enclosing a dollar bill for the Association, was addressed to Isaac T. Hopper: "Should the humble mite here enclosed be the means of doing one-sixteenth part the good to any poor convict that the sixteenth of a dollar has done for me, which I received through your hands more than once, when I was destitute of money or friends, then I shall have my heart's desire. With the blessing of God, I remain your most humble debtor."

From the numerous cases under Friend Hopper's care, while Agent of the Prison Association, I will select a few; but I shall disguise the names, because the individuals are living, and I should be sorry to wound their feelings by any unnecessary exposure of past delinquences.

C.R. about twenty-nine years old, called at the office, and said he had been lately released from Moyamensing prison; having been sentenced for two years, on account of selling stolen goods. When Friend Hopper inquired whether it was his first offence, he frankly answered, "No. I have been in Sing Sing prison twice for grand larceny. I served five years each time."

"Thou art still very young," rejoined Friend Hopper; "and it seems a large portion of thy life has been spent in prison. I am afraid thou art a bad man. But I hope thou seest the error of thy ways, and art now determined to do better. Hast thou any friends?"

He replied, "I have a mother; a poor hard-working woman, who sells fruit and candies in the streets. If you will give me a start, I will try to lead an honest life henceforth; for I want to be a comfort and support to her. I have no other friend in the world, and nobody to help me. When I left prison, I was advised to come to you. I am a shoemaker; and if I had money to buy a set of tools, I would work at my trade, and take care of my mother."

Necessary tools were procured for him, and he seemed very grateful; saying it was the first time in his life that he had found any one willing to help him to be honest, when he came out of prison. Great doubts were entertained of the success of this case; because the man had been so many times convicted. But he occasionally called at the office, and always appeared sober and respectable. A few months after his first introduction, he sent Friend Hopper a letter from Oswego, enclosing seven dollars for his mother. He immediately delivered it, and returned with a cheerful heart to enter it on his Record; adding, "The poor old woman was much pleased that her son remembered her, and said she believed he was now going to do well."

After that, C.R. frequently sent five or ten dollars to his mother, through the same channel, and paid her rent punctually. He refunded all the money the Association had lent him, and made some small donations, in token of gratitude. Having behaved in a very exemplary manner during four years and a half, Friend Hopper, at his earnest request, applied to the Governor to have all the rights of citizenship restored to him. This was readily obtained by a full and candid statement of the case. It is entered on the Record, with this remark: "C.R. has experienced a wonderful change for the better since he first called upon us. He said he should always remember the kindness that had been extended to him, and hoped he should never do anything to make us regret it."

He afterward opened a store, with a partner, and up to this present time, is doing well, both in a moral and worldly point of view. Five years and a half after he began to reform, Dr. Russ, of New-York, sent a discharged prisoner to him, in search of work. He wrote in reply, as follows: "I have obtained good employment for the bearer of your note; and it gives me much pleasure at my heart to do something for him that wishes to do well. So leave him to me; and I trust you will be gratified to know the end of charity from a discharged convict." A week elapsed before the man could enter on his new employment; and C.R. paid his board during that time.

A person, whom I will call Michael Stanley, was sentenced to Sing Sing for two years; being convicted of grand larceny when he was about twenty-two years old. When his term expired, he called upon the Prison Association, and obtained assistance in procuring employment. He endeavored to establish a good character, and was so fortunate as to gain the affections of a very orderly, industrious young woman, whom he soon after married. In his Register, Friend Hopper thus describes a visit to them, little more than a year after he was discharged from prison: "I called yesterday to visit M.S. He lives in the upper part of a brick house, nearly new. His wife is a neat, likely-looking woman, and appears to be a nice housekeeper. Everything about the premises indicates frugality, industry, and comfort. They have plain, substantial furniture, and a good carpet on the floor. Before their door is a grass-plot, and the margin of the fence is lined with a variety of plants in bloom. He and his wife, and her mother, manifested much gratification at my visit."

In little more than two years after he began to retrieve the early mistakes of his life, M.S. established a provision shop on his own account, in the city of New-York, and was successful. He and his tidy little wife called on Friend Hopper, from time to time, and always cheered his heart by their respectable appearance, and the sincere gratitude they manifested. The following record stands in the Register: "M.S. called at my house, and spent an hour with me. He is a member of the Society of Methodists, and I really believe he is a reformed man. It is now more than four years and a half since he was released from Sing Sing; and his conduct has ever since been unexceptionable."

Another young man, whom I will call Hans Overton, was the son of very respectable parents, but unfortunately he formed acquaintance with unprincipled men when he was too young and inexperienced to be a judge of character. Being corrupted by their influence, he forged a check on a bank in Albany. He was detected, and sentenced to the State Prison for two years. When he was released, at twenty-two years of age, he did the best he could to efface the blot on his reputation. But after having obtained respectable employment, he was discharged because his employer was told he had been in prison. He procured another situation, and the same thing again occurred. He began to think there was no use in trying to redeem his lost character. In this discouraged state of mind, he applied to the Prison Association for assistance. Inquiries were made of the two gentlemen in whose employ he had been more than a year. They said they had found him capable, industrious, and faithful; and their distrust of him was founded solely on the fact of his being a discharged convict. For some time, he obtained only temporary employment, now and then; and the Association lent him small sums of money whenever his necessities required. At one time, he was charged with being an accomplice in a larceny; but upon investigation, it was ascertained that he had become mixed up with an affair, which made him appear to disadvantage, though he had no dishonest intentions in relation to it. Finally, through the influence of the Association he obtained a situation, in a drug store. His employer was fully informed concerning his previous history, but was willing to take him on trial. He remained there five years, and conducted in the most exemplary manner. Having married meanwhile, he was desirous to avail himself of an opportunity to obtain a higher salary; and the druggist very willingly testified that his conduct had been entirely satisfactory during the time he had been with him. But in about eight months, his new employer discovered that he had been in prison, and he immediately told him he had better procure some other situation; though he acknowledged that he had no fault to find with him. Friend Hopper sought an interview with this gentleman and represented the youthfulness of H.O. at the time he committed the misdemeanor, which had so much injured the prospects of his life. He urged his subsequent good conduct, and the apparent sincerity of his efforts to build up a reputation for honesty. He finally put the case home to him, by asking how he would like to have others conduct toward a son of his own, under similar circumstances. It was a point of view from which the gentleman had never before considered the question, and his mind was somewhat impressed by it; but his prejudices were not easily overcome. Meanwhile, the druggist was very willing to receive the young man back again; and he returned. It seems as if it would have been almost impossible for him to have avoided sinking into the depths of discouragement and desperation, if he had not received timely assistance from the Prison Association. How highly he appreciated their aid may be inferred from the following letter to Isaac T. Hopper:

"My dear friend, as business prevents me from seeing you in the day-time, I take this method to express my thanks for the noble and generous mention made of me in your remarks before the Association; which remarks were as pleasant and exciting to me, as they were unexpected. I need scarcely assure you, my kind and generous friend, (generous not only to so humble an individual as myself, but to all your fellow creatures,) that it is out of my power to find words to thank you adequately, or to express my feelings on that occasion. I was the more gratified because my dear wife was present with me, and also my brother-in-law. Oh, what a noble work the Society is engaged in. My most fervent prayer is that your name may remain on its list for many years to come. Then indeed should I have no fears for those poor unfortunates, whose first unthinking error places them unconditionally within the miasma of vice and crime. That you may enjoy a very merry Christmas, and many happy New-Years, is the sincere desire of my wife and myself."

T.B., who has been for several years in the employ of the Association, was raised by their aid from the lowest depths of intemperance, and has become a highly respectable and useful citizen.

J.M., who was in Sing Sing Prison four years, for grand larceny, was aided by the Association at various times, and always repaid the money precisely at the appointed day. His industry and skilful management excited envy and jealousy in some, who had less faculty for business. They taunted him with having been a convict, and threw all manner of obstacles in the way of his making an honest living.

Among other persecutions, a suit at law was instituted against him, which cost him seventy-five dollars. The charge was entirely without foundation, and when brought before the court, was promptly dismissed. It is now about six years since J.M. resolved to retrieve his character, and he still perseveres in the right course.

Ann W. was an illegitimate child, and early left an orphan. She went to live with an aunt, who kept a boarding-house in Albany. According to her own account, she was harshly treated, and frequently taunted with the circumstances of her birth. At the early age of fourteen, one of the boarders offered to marry her, and induced her to leave the house with him. She lived with him some time, always urging the fulfilment of his promise; and at last he pacified her by going to a person, who performed the marriage-ceremony. She was strongly attached to him, and being a capable, industrious girl, she kept everything nice and bright about their lodgings. He pretended to have a great deal of business in New-York; but in fact his frequent visits to that city were for purposes of gambling. On one of those occasions, when he had been absent much longer than usual, she followed him, and found him living with another woman. He very coolly informed her that the marriage-ceremony between them was a mere sham; the person who performed it not having been invested with any legal authority. Thus betrayed, deserted, and friendless, the poor young creature became almost frantic. In that desperate state of mind, she was decoyed by a woman, who kept a disreputable house. A short career of reckless frivolity and vice ended, as usual, in the hospital on Blackwell's Island. When she was discharged, she tried to drown her sorrow and remorse in intemperance, and went on ever from bad to worse, till she became a denizen of Five Points. In her brief intervals of sobriety, she was thoroughly disgusted with herself, and earnestly desired to lead a better life. Being turned into the street one night, in a state of intoxication, she went to the prison called The Tombs, because its architecture is in imitation of the ancient sepulchral halls of Egypt. She humbly asked permission to enter this gloomy abode, in hopes that some of the ladies connected with the Prison Association would visit her, and find some decent employment for her. Her case being represented to Friend Hopper, he induced his wife to take her into the family, as a domestic. As soon as she entered the house, she said, "I don't want to deceive you. I will tell you everything." And she told all the particulars of her history, without attempting to veil any of its deformity. She was very industrious, and remarkably tidy in her habits. She kept the kitchen extremely neat, and loved to decorate it with little ornaments, especially with flowers. Poor shattered soul! Who can tell into what blossom of poetry that little germ might have expanded, if it had been kindly nurtured under gentle and refining influences? She behaved very well for several months, and often expressed gratitude that she could now feel as if she had a home. Friend Hopper took great interest in her, and had strong hopes that she would become a respectable woman. Before a year expired, she relapsed into intemperate habits for a time; but he overlooked it, and encouraged her to forget it. As she often expressed a great desire to see her cousins in Albany, he called upon them, and told the story of her reformation. They sent some little presents, accompanied with friendly messages, and after a while invited her to visit them. For a time, it seemed as if the excursion had done her good, both physically and mentally; but the sight of respectable relatives, with husbands and children, made her realize more fully the utter loneliness of her own position. She used opium in large quantities, and had dreadful fits in consequence. Sometimes, she stole out of the house in the evening, and was taken up by the police in a state of intoxication. When she recovered her senses, she would be very humble, and during an interval of weeks, or months, would make an effort to behave extremely well. I forget how often Friend Hopper received her back, after she had spent the night in the Station House; but it was many, many times. His patience held out long after everybody else was completely weary. She finally became so violent and ungovernable, and endangered the household so much in her frantic fits, that even he felt the necessity of placing her under the restraining influences of some public institution. The Magdalen Asylum at Philadelphia consented to receive her, and after much exhortation, she was persuaded to go. While she was there, his daughters in that city called on her occasionally, at his request, and he and his wife made her a visit. He wrote to her frequently, in the kindest and most encouraging manner. In one of these epistles, he says: "I make frequent inquiries concerning thee, and am generally told thou art getting along pretty well. Now I want to hear a different tale from that. I want thy friends at the Asylum to be able to say, 'She is doing exceedingly well. Her health is good, she is satisfied with her condition, and we are all much gratified to find that she submits to the advice of her friends.' When they can speak thus of thee, I shall begin to think about changing thy situation. The woman who fills thy place in my family does very well. Every day, she puts on the table the mug thou gavest me, and she keeps it as bright as silver. Our little garden looks beautiful. The Morning Glories, thou used to take so much pleasure in, have grown finely. All the family desire kind remembrances. Farewell. May peace and comfort be with thee."

In another letter, he says: "Thy Heavenly Father has been kind, and waited long for thee; and He has now provided a way for thy redemption from the bondage under which thou hast suffered so much. I hope thou wilt not think of leaving the Asylum for some time to come. Thou canst not be so firmly established yet, as not to be under great temptation elsewhere. What a sorrowful circumstance it would be, if thou shouldst again return to the filthy and wicked habit of stupifying thyself with that pernicious drug! I am glad thou hast determined to take my advice. If thou wilt do so, I will never forsake thee. I will do all I can for thee; and thou shalt never be without a home."

Again he writes: "Thy letter occasioned joy and sorrow. Sorrow to find thou hast not always treated the matron as thou oughtest to have done. I am sure that excellent person is every way worthy of thy regard; and I hope my ears will never again be pained by hearing that thou hast treated her unkindly or disrespectfully. I did hope that after a year's discipline, thou hadst learned to control thy temper. Until thou canst do so, thou must be aware that thou art not qualified to render thyself useful or agreeable in any family. But after all, I am glad to find that thou art sensible of thy error, and hast a disposition to improve. When thou liest down at night, I want thee to examine the deeds of the past day. If thou hast made a hasty reply, or spoken impertinently, or done wrong in any other way, be careful to acknowledge thy fault. Ask thy Heavenly Father to forgive thee, and be careful to do so no more. I feel a great regard for thee; and I trust thou wilt never give me cause to regret thy relapse into vice. I hope better things for thee, and I always shall."

But his hopefulness and patience proved of no avail in this instance. The wreck was too complete to admit of repair. The poor creature occasionally struggled hard to do better; but her constitution was destroyed by vice and hardship; her feelings were blunted by suffering, and her naturally bright faculties were stupified by opium. After she left the Asylum, she lived with a family in the country for awhile; but the old habits returned, and destroyed what little strength she had left. The last I knew of her she was on Blackwell's Island; and she will probably never leave it, till she goes where the weary are at rest.

An uncommon degree of interest was excited in Friend Hopper's mind by the sufferings of another individual, whom I will call Julia Peters. She was born of respectable parents, and was carefully tended in her early years. Her mother was a prudent, religious-minded woman; but she died when Julia was twelve years old. The father soon after took to drinking and gambling, and spent all the property he possessed. His daughter was thus brought into the midst of profligate associates, at an age when impulses are strong, and the principles unformed. She led a vicious life for several years, and during a fit of intoxication married a worthless, dissipated fellow. When she was eighteen years old, she was imprisoned for perjury. The case appeared doubtful at the time, and from circumstances, which afterward came to light, it is supposed that she was not guilty of the alleged crime. The jury could not agree on the first trial, and she remained in jail two years, awaiting a decision of her case. She was at last pronounced guilty; and feeling that injustice was done her, she made use of violent and disrespectful language to the court. This probably increased the prejudice against her; for she was sentenced to Sing Sing prison for the long term of fourteen years. She was naturally intelligent, active and energetic; and the limitations of a prison had a worse effect upon her, than they would have had on a more stolid temperament. In the course of a year or two, her mind began to sink under the pressure, and finally exhibited signs of melancholy insanity. Friend Hopper had an interview with her soon after she was conveyed to Sing Sing, and found her in a state of deep dejection. She afterward became completely deranged, and was removed to the Lunatic Asylum at Bloomingdale. He and his wife visited her there, and found her in a state of temporary rationality. Her manners were quiet and pleasing, and she appeared exceedingly gratified to see them. The superintendent granted permission to take her with them in a walk through the grounds, and she enjoyed this little excursion very highly. But when one of the company remarked that it was a very pleasant place, she sighed deeply, and replied, "Yes, it is a pleasant place to those who can leave it. But chains are chains, though they are made of gold; and mine grow heavier every day."

Her temperament peculiarly required freedom, and chafed and fretted under restraint. Insanity returned upon her with redoubled force, soon after. She used blasphemous and indecent language, and cut up her blankets to make pantaloons. She picked the lock of her room, and tried various plans of escape. When Friend Hopper went to see her again, some weeks later, he found her in the masculine attire, which she had manufactured. She tried to hide herself, but when he called her back in a gentle, but firm tone, she came immediately. He took her kindly by the hand, and said, "Julia, what does all this mean?"

"It is military costume," she replied. "I am an officer of state."

"I am sorry thou art not more decently clad," said he. "I intended to have thee take a walk with me; but I should be ashamed to go with thee in that condition." She earnestly entreated to go, and promised to change her dress immediately. He accordingly waited till she was ready, and then spent more than an hour walking round the grounds with her. She told him the history of her life, and wept bitterly over the retrospect of her erroneous course. It seemed a great relief to have some one to whom she could open her over-burdened heart. She was occasionally incoherent, but the fresh air invigorated her, and the quiet talk soothed her perturbed feelings. At parting, she said, "I thank you. I thought I hadn't a friend in the world. I was afraid everybody had forgotten me."

"I am thy sincere friend," he replied; "and I promise that I will never forget thee."

I make the following extract from a letter, which he wrote to her soon after: "Now, Julia, listen to me, and mind what I say; for thou knowest I am thy friend. I want thee, at all times, and upon all occasions, to be very careful of thy conduct. Never suffer thyself to use vulgar or profane language. It would grieve me, and I am sure thou dost not wish to do that. Besides, it is very degrading, and very wicked. Be discreet, sober, and modest. Be kind, courteous, and obliging to all. Thou wilt make many friends by so doing, and wilt feel more cheerful and happy thyself. Do be a lady. I know thou canst, if thou wilt. More than all, I want thee to be a Christian. I sympathize with thee, and intend to come and see thee soon."

Dr. Earle, physician of the Asylum, said the letter had a salutary effect upon her. Friend Hopper went out to see her frequently, and was often accompanied by his wife, or daughters. Her bodily and mental health continued to improve; and in the course of five or six months, the doctor allowed her to accompany her kind old friend to the city, and spend a day and night at his house. This change of scene was found so beneficial, that the visit was repeated a few weeks after. Before winter set in, she was so far restored that she spent several days in his family, and conducted with the greatest propriety. He soon after applied to the Governor for a pardon, which was promptly granted. His next step was to procure a suitable home for her; and a worthy Quaker family in Pennsylvania, who were acquainted with all the circumstances, agreed to employ her as chambermaid and seamstress. When it was all arranged, Friend Hopper went out to the Asylum to carry the news. But fearful of exciting her too much, he talked upon indifferent subjects for a few minutes, and then asked if she would like to go into the city again to spend a fortnight with his family. She replied, "Indeed I would." He promised to take her with him, and added, "Perhaps thou wilt stay longer than two weeks." At last, he said, "It may be that thou wilt not have to return here again." She sprang up instantly, and looking in his face with intense anxiety, exclaimed, "Am I pardoned? Am I pardoned?"

"Yes, thou art pardoned," he replied; "and I have come to take thee home." She fell back into her seat, covered her face with her hands, and wept aloud. Friend Hopper, describing this interview in a letter to a friend, says: "It was the most affecting scene I ever witnessed. Nothing could exceed the joy I felt at seeing this child of sorrow relieved from her sufferings, and restored to liberty. I had seen this young and comely looking woman, who was endowed with more than common good sense, driven to the depths of despair by the intensity of her sufferings. I had seen her a raving maniac. Now, I saw her 'sitting and clothed in her right mind.' I was a thousand times more than compensated for all the pains I had taken. I had sympathized deeply with her sufferings, and I now partook largely of her joy."

As her nerves were in a very excitable state, it was thought best that she should remain a few weeks under the superintendence of his daughter, Mrs. Gibbons, before she went to the home provided for her. She was slightly unsettled at times, but was disposed to be industrious and cheerful. Having earned a little money by her needle, the first use she made of it, was to buy a pair of vases for Friend Hopper; and proud and pleased she was, when she brought them home and presented them! He always kept them on the parlor mantel-piece, and often told their history to people who called upon him.

When she had become perfectly calm and settled, he and his wife accompanied her to Pennsylvania, and saw her established among her new friends, who received her in the kindest manner. A week after his return, he wrote to assure her that his interest in her had not abated. In the course of the letter, he says: "I need not tell thee how anxious I am that thou shouldst conduct so as to be a credit to thyself, and to those who have interested themselves in thy behalf. I felt keenly at parting with thee, but I was comforted by the reflection that I had left thee with kind friends. Confide in them upon all occasions, and do nothing without their advice. Thy future happiness will depend very much upon thyself. Never suffer thy mind to become excited. Remember that kind friends were raised up for thee in the midst of all thy sorrows, and that they will always continue to be thy friends, if thou wilt be guided by their counsels. Thou wert with us so long, that we feel toward thee like one of the family. All join me in love to thee."

In her reply, she says: "Your letter was to me what a glass of cold water would be when fainting. I have pored over it so much, that I have got it by heart. Friend Hopper, you first saw me in prison and visited me. You followed me to the Asylum. You did not forsake me. You have changed a bed of straw to a bed of down. May Heaven bless and reward you for it. No tongue can express the gratitude I feel. Many are the hearts you have made glad. Suppose all you have dragged out of one place and another were to stand before you at once! I think you would have more than you could shake hands with in a month; and I know you would shake hands with them all."

For a few months, she behaved in a very satisfactory manner, though occasionally unsettled and depressed. She wrote that the worthy woman with whom she lived was 'both mother and friend to her.' But the country was gloomy in the winter, and the spirit of unrest took possession of her. She went to Philadelphia and plunged into scenes of vice for a week or two; but she quickly repented, and was rescued by her friends. I have seldom seen Friend Hopper so deeply pained as he was by this retrograde step in one whom he had rejoiced over, "as a brand plucked from the burning." After awhile, he addressed a letter to her, in which he says: "I should have written to thee before, but I have been at a loss what to say. I have cared for thee, as if thou hadst been my own child. Little did I think thou wouldst ever disgrace thyself, and distress me, by associating with the most vile. Thou wert wonderfully snatched from a sink of pollution. I hoped thou wouldst appreciate the favor, and take a fresh start in life, determined to do well. Better, far better, for thee to have lingered out a wretched existence in Bloomingdale Asylum, than to continue in such a course as that thou entered upon in Philadelphia. My heart is pained while I write. Indeed, thou art seldom out of my mind. Most earnestly, and affectionately, I beseech thee to change thy course. Restrain evil thoughts and banish them from thee. Try to keep thy mind quiet, and stayed upon thy Heavenly Father. He has done much for thee. He has followed thee in all thy wanderings. Ask him to forgive thy iniquity, and he will have mercy on thee. Thou mayest yet be happy thyself, and make those happy who have taken a deep interest in thy welfare. But if thou art determined to pursue evil courses, after all that has been done for thee, let me tell thee thy days will be brief and full of trouble; and I doubt not thou wilt end them within the walls of a prison. I hope better things of thee. If thou doest well, it will afford encouragement to assist others; but if thy conduct is bad, it may be the means of prolonging the sufferings of many others. I am still thy friend, and disposed to do all I can for thee."