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

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

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

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

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

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