Soon after the funeral Lucretia Mott called a meeting of the colored people in Philadelphia, and delivered an address upon the life and services of their friend and protector.  There was a very large audience; and among them were several old people, who well remembered him during his residence in that city.  At the Yearly Meeting also she paid a tribute to his virtues; it being the custom of Friends, on such occasions, to make tender allusion to the worthies who have passed from among them in the course of the year.

The family received many letters of sympathy and condolence, from which I will make a few brief extracts.  Mrs. Marianne C.D.  Silsbee, of Salem, Massachusetts, thus speaks of him, in a letter to his son John:  “I have thought much of you all, since your great loss.  How you must miss his grand, constant example of cheerful trust, untiring energy, and love to all!  What a joy to have had such a father!  To be the son of such a man is ground for honest pride.  The pleasure of having known him, the honor of having been in social relations with him, will always give a charm to my life.  I cherish among my most precious recollections the pleasant words he has so often spoken to me.  I can see him while I write, as vividly as though he were with me now; and never can his benign and beautiful countenance lose its brightness in my memory.  Dear old friend!  We cannot emulate your ceaseless good works; but we can follow, and we can love and remember.”

Mrs. Mary E. Stearns, of Medford, Massachusetts, wrote as follows to Rosalie Hopper:  “The Telegraph has announced that the precious life you were all so anxiously watching has ‘passed on,’ and that mysterious change we call death has taken it from your midst forever.  It is such a beautiful day!  The air is so soft, the grass so green, and the birds singing so joyously!  The day and the event have become so interwoven with each other, that I cannot separate them.  I think of his placid face, sleeping its last still sleep; and through the open window, I see the springing grass and the bursting buds.  My ears are filled with bird-music, and all other sounds are hushed in this Sabbath stillness.  All I see and hear seems to be hallowed by his departed spirit.  Ah, it is good to think of his death in the Spring time!  It is good that his soul, so fresh, so young and hopeful, should burst into a higher and more glorious life, as if in sympathy with the ever beautiful, ever wonderful resurrection of nature.  Dear, blessed old man!  I shall never see his face again; but his memory will be as green as this springing grass, and we shall always think and talk of our little experience with him, as one of the golden things that can never pass away.”

Dr. Russ, his beloved co-laborer in the Prison Association, wrote thus in a note to Mrs. Gibbons:  “I have found it for my comfort to change the furniture of the office, that it might not appear so lonely without your dear, venerable father.  I felt for him the warmest and most enduring friendship.  I esteemed him for his thousand virtues, and delighted in his social intercourse.  I am sure no one out of his own immediate family, felt his loss more keenly than myself.”