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supper.
In a few minutes, his door was forced open by a gang of intoxicated men, escorted by the New-York marshal.
They assailed him with a volley of blasphemous language, struck him, kicked him, and spit in his face.
They broke open and rifled his trunk, and searched his pockets for abolition documents.
When they found the harmless little Quaker tract about the colony at Sierra Leone, they screamed with exultation.
They shouted, ‘Here is what we wanted!
Here is proof of abolitionism!’
Some of them rushed out and told the mob, who crowded the bar-room and entries, that they had found a trunk full of abolition tracts.
Others seized Mr. Hopper violently, telling him to say his last prayers, and go with them.
The proprietor of the City Hotel was very naturally alarmed for the safety of the building.
He was in a great passion, and conjured them to carry their victim down forthwith; saying he could do nothing with the mob below, who were getting very impatient waiting for him. Turning to Mr. Hopper, he said, ‘Young man, you are in a very unfortunate situation.
You ought never to have left your home.
But it is your own doing; and you deserve your fate.’
When appealed to for protection, he exclaimed, ‘Good God!
you must not appeal to me. This is a damned delicate business.
I shall not be able to protect my own property.
But I will go for the mayor.’
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