Not succeeding in his project, the bankrupt merchant went to New-Jersey for a time, to reside with his father, who was a worthy and influential member of the Society of Friends. An innocent, good natured old colored man, a fugitive from Virginia, had for some time been employed to work on the farm, and the family had become much attached to him. The son who had returned from Carolina was very friendly with this simple-hearted old servant, and easily gained his confidence. When he had learned his story, he offered to write to his master, and enable him to purchase his freedom for a sum which he could gradually repay by labor. The fugitive was exceedingly grateful, and put himself completely in his power by a full statement of all particulars. The false-hearted man did indeed write to the master; and the poor old slave was soon after arrested and carried to Philadelphia in irons. Friend Hopper was sent for, and went to see him in prison. With groans and sobs, the captive told how wickedly he had been deceived. "I thought he was a Quaker, and so I trusted him," said he. "But I saw my master's agent pay him fifty dollars for betraying me." Friend Hopper assured him that the deceiver was not a Quaker; and that he did not believe any Quaker on the face of the earth would do such an unjust and cruel deed. He could devise no means to rescue the sufferer; and with an aching heart he was compelled to see him carried off into slavery, without being able to offer any other solace than an affectionate farewell. The conduct of this base hypocrite proved that the warning presentiment against him had not been without foundation. Grieved and indignant at the wrong he had done to a helpless and unoffending fellow-creature, Friend Hopper wrote to him as follows: "Yesterday, I visited the poor old man in prison, whom thou hast so perfidiously betrayed. Gloomy and hopeless as his case is, I would prefer it to thine. Thou hast received fifty dollars as the reward of thy treachery; but what good can it do thee? Canst thou lay down thy head at night, without feeling the sharp goadings of a guilty conscience? Canst thou ask forgiveness of thy sins of our Heavenly Father, whom thou hast so grievously insulted by thy hypocrisy? Judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces of silver, and afterward hung himself. Thou hast betrayed thy brother for fifty; and if thy conscience is not seared, as with hot iron, thy compunction must be great. I feel no disposition to upbraid thee. I have no doubt thy own heart does that sufficiently; for our beneficent Creator will not suffer any to be at ease in their sins. Thy friend, I.T.H." The worthy old Quaker in New-Jersey was not aware of his son's villainous conduct until some time after. When the circumstances were made known to the family they were exceedingly mortified and afflicted.