Chapter 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE UMBRELLA GIRL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE TWO YOUNG OFFENDERS.

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

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

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

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

They returned punctually at the day and hour they had promised, and their exemplary conduct continued to give entire satisfaction to their employers. A short time after the oldest had fulfilled the term of his indenture, the tanner with whom he worked bought a farm, and sold his stock and tools to his former apprentice. Friend Hopper took him to the governor's house, dressed in his new suit of freedom clothes, and introduced him as one of the lads whom he had pardoned several years before; testifying that he had been a faithful apprentice, and much respected by his master. The governor was well pleased to see him, shook hands with him very cordially, and told him that he who was resolute enough to turn back from vicious ways, into the paths of virtue and usefulness, deserved even more respect than one who had never been tempted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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