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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
