Chapter 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did he die in thy stable?" inquired Joseph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the matter with my hat?" he inquired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Certainly he would," replied the officer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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