him are manifested in the following answer to one of his letters:  “As there is no one in the world for whom I entertain more veneration and esteem than for yourself, and as there is no place in New-York, that is so much like home to me, as your own hospitable dwelling, be assured it will give me the utmost pleasure to accept your friendly invitation to remain under your roof during the approaching anniversary week.”  It was on one of these occasions, that Garrison addressed to him the following sonnet: 

    “Thou kind and venerable friend of man,
    In heart and spirit young, though old in years! 
    The tyrant trembles when thy name he hears,
  And the slave joys thy honest face to scan. 
  A friend more true and brave, since time began,
    Humanity has never found:  her fears
    By thee have been dispelled, and wiped the tears
  Adown her sorrow-stricken cheeks that ran. 
  If like Napoleon’s appears thy face,
    Thy soul to his bears no similitude. 
  He came to curse, but thou to bless our race. 
    Thy hands are pure; in blood were his imbrued. 
  His memory shall be covered with disgrace,
    But thine embalmed among the truly great and good.”

Until the last few years of his life, Friend Hopper usually walked to and from his office twice a day, making about five miles in the whole; to which he sometimes added a walk in the evening, to visit children or friends, or transact some necessary business.  When the weather was very unpleasant, he availed himself of the Harlem cars.  Upon one of these occasions, it chanced that the long, ponderous vehicle was nearly empty.  They had not proceeded far, when a very respectable-looking young woman beckoned for the car to stop.  It did so; but when she set her foot on the step, the conductor, somewhat rudely pushed her back; and she turned away, evidently much mortified.  Friend Hopper started up and inquired, “Why didst thou push that woman away?”

“She’s colored,” was the laconic reply.

“Art thou instructed by the managers of the rail-road to proceed in this manner on such occasions?” inquired Friend Hopper.

The man answered, “Yes.”

“Then let me get out,” rejoined the genuine republican.  “It disturbs my conscience to ride in a public conveyance, where any decently behaved person is refused admittance.”  And though it was raining very fast, and his home was a mile off, the old veteran of seventy-five years marched through mud and wet, at a pace somewhat brisker than his usual energetic step; for indignation warmed his honest and kindly heart, and set the blood in motion.  The next day, he called at the rail-road office, and very civilly inquired of one of the managers whether conductors were instructed to exclude passengers merely on account of complexion.

“Certainly not,” was the prompt reply.  “They have discretionary power to reject any person who is drunk, or offensively unclean, or indecent, or quarrelsome.”