Chapter XIII: The Quakers

The writer’s sketch of the character of this people has been drawn from personal observation. There are several settlements of these people in Ohio, and the manner of living, the tone of sentiment, and the habits of life, as represented in her book, are not at all exaggerated.

These settlements have always been refuges for the oppressed and outlawed slave. The character of Rachel Halliday was a real one, but she has passed away to her reward. Simeon Halliday, calmly risking fine and imprisonment for his love to God and man, has had in this country many counterparts among the sect.

The writer had in mind, at the time of writing, the scenes in the trial of Thomas Garret, of Wilmington, Delaware, for the crime of hiring a hack to convey a mother and four children from Newcastle jail to Wilmington, a distance of _five miles_.

The writer has received the facts in this case in a letter from John Garret himself, from which some extracts will be made:

{ _Wilmington, Delaware,_
{ _1st month 18th, 1853._

MY DEAR FRIEND,

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE: I have this day received a request from
Charles K. Whipple, of Boston, to furnish thee with a statement,
authentic and circumstantial, of the trouble and losses which have
been brought upon myself and others of my friends from the aid we
had rendered to fugitive slaves, in order, if thought of sufficient
importance, to be published in a work thee is now preparing for the
press.

I will now endeavor to give thee a statement of what John Hunn and
myself suffered by aiding a family of slaves, a few years since. I
will give the facts as they occurred, and thee may condense and
publish so much as thee may think useful in thy work, and no more:

“In the 12th month, year 1846, a family, consisting of Samuel
Hawkins, a freeman, his wife Emeline, and six children, who were
afterwards _proved slaves_, stopped at the house of a friend named
John Hunn, near Middletown, in this state, in the evening about
sunset, to procure food and lodging for the night. They were seen by
some of Hunn’s pro-slavery neighbors, who soon came with a
constable, and had them taken before a magistrate. Hunn had left the
slaves in his kitchen when he went to the village of Middletown,
half a mile distant. When the officer came with a warrant for them,
he met Hunn at the kitchen door, and asked for the blacks; Hunn,
with truth, said he did not know where they were. Hunn’s wife,
thinking they would be safer, had sent them up stairs during his
absence, where they were found. Hunn made no resistance, and they
were taken before the magistrate, and from his office direct to
Newcastle jail, where they arrived about one o’clock on 7th day
morning.

The sheriff and his daughter, being kind, humane people, inquired of
Hawkins and wife the facts of their case; and his daughter wrote to
a lady here, to request me to go to Newcastle and inquire into the
case, as her father and self really believed they were most of them,
if not all, entitled to their _freedom_. Next morning I went to
Newcastle: had the family of colored people brought into the parlor,
and the sheriff and myself came to the conclusion that the parents
and four youngest children were by law entitled to their freedom. I
prevailed on the sheriff to show me the commitment of the
magistrate, which I found was defective, and not in due form
according to law. I procured a copy and handed it to a lawyer. He
pronounced the commitment irregular, and agreed to go next morning
to Newcastle and have the whole family taken before Judge Booth,
Chief Justice of the state, by _habeas corpus_, when the following
admission was made by Samuel Hawkins and wife: They admitted that
the two eldest boys were held by one Charles Glaudin, of Queen Anne
County, Maryland, as slaves; that after the birth of these two
children, Elizabeth Turner, also of Queen Anne, the mistress of
their mother, had set her free, and permitted her to go and live
with her husband, near twenty miles from her residence, after which
the four youngest children were born; that her mistress during all
that time, eleven or twelve years, had never contributed one dollar
to their support, or come to see them. After examining the
commitment in their case, and consulting with my attorney, the judge
set the whole family at liberty. The day was wet and cold; one of
the children, three years old, was a cripple from white swelling,
and could not walk a step; another, eleven months old, at the
breast; and the parents being desirous of getting to Wilmington,
five miles distant, I asked the judge if there would be any risk or
impropriety in my hiring a conveyance for the mother and four young
children to Wilmington. His reply, in the presence of the sheriff
and my attorney, was there would not be any. I then requested the
sheriff to procure a hack to take them over to Wilmington.”

The whole family escaped. John Hunn and John Garret were brought up to trial for having practically fulfilled these words of Christ which read, “I was a stranger and ye took me in, I was sick and in prison and ye came unto me.” For John Hunn’s part of this crime, he was fined two thousand five hundred dollars, and John Garret was fined five thousand four hundred. Three thousand five hundred of this was the fine for hiring a hack for them, and one thousand nine hundred was assessed on him as the value of the slaves! Our European friends will infer from this that it costs something to obey Christ in America, as well as in Europe.

After John Garret’s trial was over, and this heavy judgment had been given against him, he calmly rose in the court-room, and requested leave to address a few words to the court and audience.

Leave being granted, he spoke as follows:

I have a few words which I wish to address to the court, jury and
prosecutors, in the several suits that have been brought against me
during the sittings of this court, in order to determine the amount
of penalty I must pay for doing what my feelings prompted me to do
as a lawful and meritorious act; a simple act of humanity and
justice, as I believed, to eight of that oppressed race, the people
of color, whom I found in the Newcastle jail, in the 12th month,
1845. I will now endeavor to state the facts of those cases, for
your consideration and reflection after you return home to your
families and friends. You will then have time to ponder on what has
transpired here since the sitting of this court, and I believe that
your verdict will then be unanimous, that the law of the United
States, as explained by our venerable judge, when compared with the
act committed by me, was cruel and oppressive, and needs
remodelling.

Here follows a very brief and clear statement of the facts in the case, of which the reader is already apprized.

After showing conclusively that he had no reason to suppose the family to be slaves, and that they had all been discharged by the judge, he nobly adds the following words:

_Had I believed every one of them to be slaves, I should have done
the same thing._ I should have done violence to my convictions of
duty, had I not made use of all the lawful means in my power to
liberate those people, and assist them to become men and women,
rather than leave them in the condition of chattels personal.

I am called an Abolitionist; once a name of reproach, but one I have
ever been proud to be considered worthy of being called. For the
last twenty-five years I have been engaged in the cause of this
despised and much-injured race, and consider their cause worth
suffering for; but, owing to a multiplicity of other engagements, I
could not devote so much of my time and mind to their cause as I
otherwise should have done.

The impositions and persecutions practised on those unoffending and
innocent brethren are extreme beyond endurance. I am now placed in a
situation in which I have not so much to claim my attention as
formerly; and I now pledge myself, in the presence of this assembly,
to use all lawful and honorable means to lessen the burdens of this
oppressed people, and endeavor, according to ability furnished, to
burst their chains asunder, and set them free; not relaxing my
efforts on their behalf while blessed with health, and a slave
remains to tread the soil of the state of my adoption,—Delaware.

After mature reflection, I can assure this assembly it is my opinion
at this time that the verdicts you have given the prosecutors
against John Hunn and myself, within the past few days, will have a
tendency to raise a spirit of inquiry throughout the length and
breadth of the land, respecting this monster evil (slavery), in many
minds that have not heretofore investigated the subject. The reports
of those trials will be published by editors from Maine to Texas and
the far West; and what must be the effect produced? It will, no
doubt, add hundreds, perhaps thousands, to the present large and
rapidly increasing army of abolitionists. The injury is great to us
who are the immediate sufferers by your verdict; but I believe the
verdicts you have given against us within the last few days will
have a powerful effect in bringing about the abolition of slavery in
this country, this land of boasted freedom, where not only the slave
is fettered at the South by his lordly master, but the white man at
the North is bound as in chains to do the bidding of his Southern
masters.

In his letter to the writer John Garret adds, that after this speech a young man who had served as juryman came across the room, and taking him by the hand, said:

“Old gentleman, I believe every statement that you have made. I came from home prejudiced against you, and I now acknowledge that I have helped to do you injustice.”

Thus calmly and simply did this Quaker confess Christ before men, according as it is written of them of old,—“He esteemed the reproach of Christ greater riches than all the treasures of Egypt.”

Christ has said, “Whosoever shall be ashamed of me and my words, of him shall the Son of Man be ashamed.” In our days it is not customary to be ashamed of Christ personally, but of _his words_ many are ashamed. But when they meet Him in judgment they will have cause to remember them; for heaven and earth shall pass away, but His word shall not pass away.

* * * * *

Another case of the same kind is of a more affecting character.

_Richard Dillingham_ was the son of a respectable Quaker family in Morrow County, Ohio. His pious mother brought him up in the full belief of the doctrine of St. John, that the love of God and the love of man are inseparable. He was diligently taught in such theological notions as are implied in such passages as these: “Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us; and we ought also to lay down our lives for the brethren.—But whoso hath this world’s goods and seeth his brother have need and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?—My little children, let us not love in word and in tongue, but in deed and in truth.”

In accordance with these precepts, Richard Dillingham, in early manhood, was found in Cincinnati teaching the colored people, and visiting in the prisons and doing what in him lay to “love in deed and in truth.”

Some unfortunate families among the colored people had dear friends who were slaves in Nashville, Tennessee. Richard was so interested in their story, that when he went into Tennessee he was actually taken up and caught in the very fact of helping certain poor people to escape to their friends.

He was seized and thrown into prison. In the language of this world he was imprisoned as a “negro-stealer.” His own account is given in the following letter to his parents:

_Nashville Jail, 12th mo. 15th, 1849._

DEAR PARENTS: I presume you have heard of my arrest and imprisonment
in the Nashville jail, under a charge of aiding in an attempted
escape of slaves from the city of Nashville, on the 5th inst. I was
arrested by M. D. Maddox (district constable), aided by Frederick
Marshal, watchman at the Nashville Inn, and the bridge-keeper, at
the bridge across the Cumberland river. When they arrested me, I had
rode up to the bridge on horseback and paid the toll for myself and
for the hack to pass over, in which three colored persons, who were
said to be slaves, were found by the men who arrested me. The driver
of the hack (who is a free colored man of this city), and the
persons in the hack, were also arrested; and after being taken to
the Nashville Inn and searched, we were all taken to jail. My arrest
took place about eleven o’clock at night.

In another letter he says:

At the bridge, Maddox said to me, “You are just the man we wanted.
We will make an example of you.” As soon as we were safe in the
bar-room of the inn, Maddox took a candle and looked me in the face,
to see if he could recognize my countenance; and looking intently at
me a few moments, he said, “Well, you are too good-looking a young
man to be engaged in such an affair as this.” The bystanders asked
me several questions, to which I replied that under the present
circumstances I would rather be excused from answering any questions
relating to my case; upon which they desisted from further inquiry.
Some threats and malicious wishes were uttered against me by the
ruffian part of the assembly, being about twenty-five persons. I was
put in a cell which had six persons in it, and I can assure thee
that they were very far from being agreeable companions to me,
although they were kind. But thou knows that I do not relish cursing
and swearing, and worst of all loathsome and obscene blasphemy; and
of such was most of the conversation of my prison mates when I was
first put in here. The jailers are kind enough to me, but the jail
is so constructed that it cannot be warmed, and we have to either
warm ourselves by walking in our cell, which is twelve by fifteen
feet, or by lying in bed. I went out to my trial on the 16th of last
month, and put it off till the next term of the court, which will be
commenced on the second of next 4th month. I put it off on the
ground of excitement.

Dear brother, I have no hopes of getting clear of being convicted
and sentenced to the penitentiary; but do not think that I am
without comfort in my afflictions, for I assure thee that I have
many reflections that give me sweet consolation in the midst of my
grief. I have a clear conscience before my God, which is my greatest
comfort and support through all my troubles and afflictions. An
approving conscience none can know but those who enjoy it. It nerves
us in the hour of trial to bear our sufferings with fortitude, and
even with cheerfulness. The greatest affliction I have is the
reflection of the sorrow and anxiety my friends will have to endure
on my account. But I can assure thee, brother, that with the
exception of this reflection, I am far, very far, from being one of
the most miserable of men. Nay, to the contrary, I am not terrified
at the prospect before me, though I am grieved about it; but all
have enough to grieve about in this unfriendly wilderness of sin and
woe. My hopes are not fixed in this world, and therefore I have a
source of consolation that will never fail me, so long as I slight
not the offers of mercy, comfort and peace, which my blessed Saviour
constantly privileges me with.

One source of almost constant annoyance to my feelings is the
profanity and vulgarity, and the bad, disagreeable temper, of two or
three fellow-prisoners of my cell. They show me considerable
kindness and respect; but they cannot do otherwise, when treated
with the civility and kindness with which I treat them. If it be my
fate to go to the penitentiary for eight or ten years, I can, I
believe, meet my doom without shedding a tear. I have not yet shed a
tear, though there may be many in store. My bail-bonds were set at
seven thousand dollars. If I should be bailed out, I should return
to my trial, unless my security were rich, and did not wish me to
return; for _I am Richard yet_, although I am in the prison of my
enemy, and will not flinch from what I believe to be right and
honorable. These are the principles which, in carrying out, have
lodged me here; for there was a time, at my arrest, that I might
have, in all probability, escaped the police, but it would have
subjected those who were arrested with me to punishment, perhaps
even to death, in order to find out who I was, and if they had not
told more than they could have done in truth, they would probably
have been punished without mercy; and I am determined no one shall
suffer for me. I am now a prisoner, but those who were arrested with
me are all at liberty, and I believe without whipping. I now stand
alone before the Commonwealth of Tennessee to answer for the affair.
Tell my friends I am in the midst of consolation here.

Richard was engaged to a young lady of amiable disposition and fine mental endowments.

To her he thus writes:

O, dearest! Canst thou upbraid me? canst thou call it crime? wouldst
thou call it crime, or couldst thou upbraid me, for rescuing, or
attempting to rescue, _thy_ father, mother, or brother and sister,
or even friends, from a captivity among a cruel race of oppressors?
O, couldst thou only see what I have seen, and hear what I have
heard, of the sad, vexatious, degrading, and soul-trying situation
of as noble minds as ever the Anglo-Saxon race were possessed of,
mourning in vain for that universal heaven-born boon of freedom,
which an all-wise and beneficent Creator has designed for all, thou
couldst not censure, but wouldst deeply sympathize with me! Take all
these things into consideration, and the thousands of poor mortals
who are dragging out far more miserable lives than mine will be,
even at ten years in the penitentiary, and thou wilt not look upon
my fate with so much horror as thou would at first thought.

In another letter he adds:

I have happy hours here, and I should not be miserable if I could
only know you were not sorrowing for me at home. It would give me
more satisfaction to hear that you were not grieving about me than
anything else.

The nearer I live to the principle of the commandment, “Love thy
neighbor as thyself,” the more enjoyment I have of this life. None
can know the enjoyments that flow from feelings of good will towards
our fellow-beings, both friends and enemies, but those who cultivate
them. Even in my prison-cell I may be happy, if I will. For the
Christian’s consolation cannot be shut out from him by enemies or
iron gates.

In another letter to the lady before alluded to he says:

By what I am able to learn, I believe thy “Richard” has not fallen
altogether unlamented; and the satisfaction it gives me is
sufficient to make my prison life more pleasant and desirable than
even a life of liberty without the esteem and respect of my friends.
But it gives bitterness to the cup of my afflictions to think that
my dear friends and relatives have to suffer such grief and sorrow
for me.

* * * * *

Though persecution ever so severe be my lot, yet I will not allow my
indignation ever to ripen into revenge even against my bitterest
enemies; for there will be a time when all things must be revealed
before Him who has said “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.” Yes, my
heart shall ever glow with love for my poor fellow-mortals, who are
hastening rapidly on to their final destination—the awful tomb and
the solemn judgment.

Perhaps it will give thee some consolation for me to tell thee that
I believe there is a considerable sympathy existing in the minds of
some of the better portion of the citizens here, which may be of
some benefit to me. But all that can be done in my behalf will still
leave my case a sad one. Think not, however, that it is all loss to
me, for by my calamity I have learned many good and useful lessons,
which I hope may yet prove both temporal and spiritual blessings to
me.

“Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.”

Therefore I hope thou and my dear distressed parents will be
somewhat comforted about me, for I know you regard my spiritual
welfare far more than anything else.

In his next letter to the same friend he says:

Since I wrote my last, I have had a severe moral conflict, in which
I believe the right conquered, and has completely gained the
ascendency. The matter was this: A man with whom I have become
acquainted since my imprisonment offered to bail me out and let me
stay away from my trial, and pay the bail-bonds for me, and was very
anxious to do it. [Here he mentions that the funds held by this
individual had been placed in his hands by a person who obtained
them by dishonest means.] But having learned the above facts, which
he in confidence made known to me, I declined accepting his offer,
giving him my reasons in full. The matter rests with him, my
attorneys and myself. My attorneys do not know who he is, but, with
his permission, I in confidence informed them of the nature of the
case, after I came to a conclusion upon the subject, and had
determined not to accept the offer; which was approved by them. I
also had an offer of iron saws and files and other tools by which I
could break jail; but I refused them also, as I do not wish to
pursue any such underhanded course to extricate myself from my
present difficulties; for when I leave Tennessee—if I ever do—I am
determined to leave it a free man. Thou need not fear that I shall
ever stoop to dishonorable means to avoid my severe impending fate.
When I meet thee again I want to meet thee with a clear conscience,
and a character unspotted by disgrace.

In another place he says, in view of his nearly approaching trial:

O dear parents! The principles of love for my fellow-beings which
you have instilled into my mind are some of the greatest
consolations I have in my imprisonment, and they give me resignation
to bear whatever may be inflicted upon me without feeling any malice
or bitterness toward my vigilant prosecutors. If they show me mercy,
it will be accepted by me with gratitude; but if they do not, I will
endeavor to bear whatever they may inflict with Christian fortitude
and resignation, and try not to murmur at my lot; but it is hard to
obey the commandment, “Love your enemies.”

The day of his trial at length came.

His youth, his engaging manners, frank address, and invariable gentleness to all who approached him, had won many friends, and the trial excited much interest.

His mother and her brother, Asa Williams, went a distance of seven
hundred and fifty miles to attend his trial. They carried with them
a certificate of his character, drawn up by Dr. Brisbane, and
numerously signed by his friends and acquaintances, and officially
countersigned by civil officers. This was done at the suggestion of
his counsel, and exhibited by them in court. When brought to the bar
it is said that “his demeanor was calm, dignified and manly.” His
mother sat by his side. The prosecuting attorney waived his plea,
and left the ground clear for Richard’s counsel. Their defence was
eloquent and pathetic. After they closed, Richard rose, and in a
calm and dignified manner spoke extemporaneously as follows:

“By the kind permission of the Court, for which I am sincerely
thankful, I avail myself of the privilege of adding a few words to
the remarks already made by my counsel. And although I stand, by my
own confession, as a criminal in the eyes of your violated laws, yet
I feel confident that I am addressing those who have hearts to feel;
and in meting out the punishment that I am about to suffer I hope
you will be lenient, for it is a new situation in which I am placed.
Never before, in the whole course of my life, have I been charged
with a dishonest act. And from my childhood kind parents, whose
names I deeply reverence, have instilled into my mind a desire to be
virtuous and honorable; and it has ever been my aim so to conduct
myself as to merit the confidence and esteem of my fellow-men. But,
gentlemen, I have violated your laws. This offence I did commit; and
I now stand before you, to my sorrow and regret, as a criminal. But
I was prompted to it by feelings of humanity. It has been suspected,
as I was informed, that I am leagued with a fraternity who are
combined for the purpose of committing such offences as the one with
which I am charged. But, gentlemen, the impression is false. I alone
am guilty, I alone committed the offence, and I alone must suffer
the penalty. My parents, my friends, my relatives, are as innocent
of any participation in or knowledge of my offence as the babe
unborn. My parents are still living,[2] though advanced in years,
and, in the course of nature, a few more years will terminate their
earthly existence. In their old age and infirmity they will need a
stay and protection; and if you can, consistently with your ideas of
justice, make my term of imprisonment a short one, you will receive
the lasting gratitude of a son who reverences his parents, and the
prayers and blessings of an aged father and mother who love their
child.”

A great deal of sensation now appeared in the court-room, and most
of the jury are said to have wept. They retired for a few moments,
and returned a verdict for three years imprisonment in the
penitentiary.

The _Nashville Daily Gazette_ of April 13, 1849, contains the
following notice:

“THE KIDNAPPING CASE.

“Richard Dillingham, who was arrested on the 5th day of December
last, having in his possession three slaves whom he intended to
convey with him to a free state, was arraigned yesterday and tried
in the Criminal Court. The prisoner confessed his guilt, and made a
short speech in palliation of his offence. He avowed that the act
was undertaken by himself without instigation from any source, and
he alone was responsible for the error into which his education had
led him. He had, he said, no other motive than the good of the
slaves, and did not expect to claim any advantage by freeing them.
He was sentenced to three years imprisonment in the penitentiary,
the least time the law allows for the offence committed. Mr.
Dillingham is a Quaker from Ohio, and has been a teacher in that
state. He belongs to a respectable family, and he is not without the
sympathy of those who attended the trial. It was a foolhardy
enterprise in which he embarked, and dearly has he paid for his
rashness.”

His mother, before leaving Nashville, visited the governor, and had
an interview with him in regard to pardoning her son. He gave her
some encouragement, but thought she had better postpone her petition
for the present. After the lapse of several months, she wrote to him
about it; but he seemed to have changed his mind, as the following
letter will show:

“_Nashville, August 29, 1849._

“DEAR MADAM: Your letter of the 6th of the 7th mo. was received, and
would have been noticed earlier but for my absence from home. Your
solicitude for your son is natural, and it would be gratifying to be
able to reward it by releasing him, if it were in my power. But the
offence for which he is suffering was clearly made out, and its
tendency here is very hurtful to our rights, and our peace as a
people. He is doomed to the shortest period known to our statute.
And, at all events, I could not interfere with his case for some
time to come; and, to be frank with you, I do not see how his time
can be lessened at all. But my term of office will expire soon, and
the governor elect, Gen. William Tronsdale, will take my place. To
him you will make any future appeal.

“Yours, &c. N. L. BROWN.”

The warden of the penitentiary, John McIntosh, was much prejudiced
against him. He thought the sentence was too light, and, being of a
stern bearing, Richard had not much to expect from his kindness. But
the same sterling integrity and ingenuousness which had ever, under
all circumstances, marked his conduct, soon wrought a change in the
minds of his keepers, and of his enemies generally. He became a
favorite with McIntosh, and some of the guard. According to the
rules of the prison, he was not allowed to write oftener than once
in three months, and what he wrote had, of course, to be inspected
by the warden.

He was at first put to sawing and scrubbing rock; but, as the delicacy of his frame unfitted him for such labors, and the spotless sanctity of his life won the reverence of his jailers, he was soon promoted to be steward of the prison hospital. In a letter to a friend he thus announces this change in his situation:

I suppose thou art, ere this time, informed of the change in my
situation, having been placed in the hospital of the penitentiary as
steward.... I feel but poorly qualified to fill the situation they
have assigned me, but will try to do the best I can.... I enjoy the
comforts of a good fire and a warm room, and am allowed to sit up
evenings and read, which I prize as a great privilege.... I have now
been here nearly nine months, and have twenty-seven more to stay. It
seems to me a long time in prospect. I try to be as patient as I
can, but sometimes I get low-spirited. I throw off the thoughts of
home and friends as much as possible; for, when indulged in, they
only increase my melancholy feelings. And what wounds my feelings
most is the reflection of what you all suffer of grief and anxiety
for me. Cease to grieve for me, for I am unworthy of it; and it only
causes pain for you, without availing aught for me.... As ever,
thine in the bonds of affection,

R. D.

He had been in prison little more than a year when the cholera invaded Nashville, and broke out among the inmates; Richard was up day and night in attendance on the sick, his disinterested and sympathetic nature leading him to labors to which his delicate constitution, impaired by confinement, was altogether inadequate.

“Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, grief and pain, by turns dismayed,
The youthful champion stood: at his control
Despair and anguish fled the trembling soul,
Comfort came down the dying wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.”

Worn with these labors, the gentle, patient lover of God and of his brother, sank at last overwearied, and passed peacefully away to a world where all are lovely and loving.

Though his correspondence with her he most loved was interrupted, from his unwillingness to subject his letters to the surveillance of the warden, yet a note reached her, conveyed through the hands of a prisoner whose time was out. In this letter, the last which any earthly friend ever received, he says:

I ofttimes, yea, _all_ times, think of thee;—if I did not, I should
cease to exist.

What must that system be which makes it necessary to imprison with convicted felons a man like this, because he loves his brother man “not wisely but too well”?

On his death Whittier wrote the following:

“Si crucem libenter portes, te portabit.”—_Imit. Christ._

“The Cross, if freely borne, shall be
No burthen, but support, to thee.”
So, moved of old time for our sake,
The holy man of Kempen spake.

Thou brave and true one, upon whom
Was laid the Cross of Martyrdom,
How didst thou, in thy faithful youth,
Bear witness to this blessed truth!

Thy cross of suffering and of shame
A staff within thy hands became;—
In paths, where Faith alone could see
The Master’s steps, upholding thee.

Thine was the seed-time: God alone
Beholds the end of what is sown;
Beyond our vision, weak and dim,
The harvest-time is hid with Him.

Yet, unforgotten where it lies,
That seed of generous sacrifice,
Though teeming on the desert cast,
Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last.

J. G. WHITTIER.

_Amesbury, Second. mo. 18th, 1852._

-----

Footnote 2:

R. D.’s father survived him only a few months.