always men who wish to compel such characters to submit, by the pressure of circumstances.
This kind of spiritual thumb-screw was often, and in various ways, tried upon Friend Hopper
; but though it sometimes occasioned temporary inconvenience, it never induced him to change his course.
Though few old men enjoyed life so much as he did, he always thought and spoke of death with cheerful serenity.
On the third of December, 1851, he wrote thus to his youngest daughter, Mary: ‘This day completes my eightieth year.
“My eye is not dim, nor my natural force abated.”
My head is well covered with hair, which still retains its usual glossy dark color, with but few gray hairs sprinkled about, hardly noticed by a casual observer.
My life has been prolonged beyond most, and has been truly “a chequered scene.”
I often take a retrospect of it, and it fills me with awe. It is marvellous how many dangers and hair-breadth escapes I have experienced.
If I may say it without presumption, I desire not to live until I am unable to take care of myself, and become a burden to those about me. If I had my life to live over again, the experience I have had might caution me to avoid many mistakes, and perhaps I might make a more useful citizen; but I don't know that I should greatly improve it. Mercy and kindness have followed me thus far, and I have faith that they will continue with me to the end.’