In the Spring of 1843, Friend Hopper visited Rhode Island, and Bucks County, in Pennsylvania, to address the people in behalf of the enslaved. He was accompanied by Lucinda Wilmarth, a very intelligent and kind-hearted young person, who sometimes spoke on the same subject. After she returned to her home in Massachusetts, she wrote as follows, to the venerable companion of her mission; "Dear Father Hopper, I see by the papers that Samuel Johnson has gone home. I well remember our call upon him, on the second Sunday morning of our sojourn in that land of roses. I also remember his radiant and peaceful countenance, which told of a life well spent, and of calm and hopeful anticipations of the future. I love to dwell upon my visit to Pennsylvania. I never saw happier or more lovely homes. Never visited dwellings where those little household divinities, goodness, order, and cheerfulness, held more universal sway. I was enabled to view men and things from an entirely new point of view. I had previously seen nothing of Quakerism, except in a narrow orthodox form, with which I had no sympathy. I was much pleased with the apparent freedom and philanthropy of the Friends I met there. I know not whether it was their peculiar _ism_, that made them so comparatively free and liberal. Perhaps I unconsciously assigned to their Quakerism what merely belonged to their manhood. But the fact is, they came nearer to realizing the ideal of Quakerism, associated in my mind with Fox and Penn, than any people I have ever seen. "I stopped at Providence on my way home. As soon as I entered Isaac Hale's door, little Alice began to skip with joy, as she did that day when we returned so unexpectedly to dine; but the next moment, she looked down the stair-case, and exclaimed in a most anxious tone, 'Why _did'nt_ Grandfather Hopper come? What _did_ you come alone for? What _shall_ I do?' On my arrival home, the first noisy greetings of my little brothers and sisters had scarcely subsided, before they began to inquire, 'Why did'nt your _other_ father come, too?' They complained that you had not written a single 'Tale of Oppression' for the Standard since you were here. But a week after, my little sister came running with an open newspaper in her hand, exclaiming, 'Father Hopper has made another story!' She has named her doll for your little grand-daughter, Lucy Gibbons, because you used to talk about her; and every day she reads the book you gave her." Friend Hopper found great satisfaction in the perusal of the above letter, not only on account of his great regard for the writer, but because many of the Friends in Bucks County were the delight of his heart. He was always telling me that if I wanted to see the best farms, the best Quakers, and the most comfortable homes in the world, I must go to Bucks County. In his descriptions, it was a blooming land of peace and plenty, approaching as near to an earthly paradise, as could be reasonably expected.