both white and colored, when he took his departure; especially the colored ones; for he loved them with a brother’s love, not because they were colored, but because they were oppressed, and, like John Brown, he loved them to the last; that was manifest by his request that they should be his bearers.  I can better feel than I have language to express the mournful and sorrowing pride that must have stirred the inmost souls of those men of color, who had the honor conferred on them of bearing his mortal remains to their last resting-place, when they thought of what a sacred trust was committed to their hands.  We are told to mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace; and such was the end of your dear father, and he has gone to join the innumerable company of the spirits of the just, made perfect on the other side of the river, where there is a rest remaining for all the children of God.  My brother, Abraham D. Shadd, and my sister Amelia, join their love and condolence with mine to you all, hoping that the virtues of your father may be a guiding star to you all, until you meet him again in that happy place, where parting will be no more, forever.

    Your humble friend, ELIZABETH J. WILLIAMS.

From the learned and the unlearned, from those in high places and from those in humble stations, many testimonials reached the family, respecting this great friend of the slave, but it is doubtful, whether a single epistle from any one, was more affectingly appreciated by the bereaved family, than the epistle just quoted from Elizabeth J. Williams.

The Slave’s most eloquent advocate, Wendell Phillips, in the “National Standard,” of February 4, 1871, in honor of the departed, bore the following pertinent testimony to his great worth in the cause of Liberty.

“I should not dare to trust my memory for the number of fugitive slaves this brave old friend has helped to safety and freedom—­nearly three thousand, I believe.  What a rich life to look back on!  How skilful and adroit he was, in eluding the hunters!  How patient in waiting days and weeks, keeping the poor fugitives hidden meanwhile, till it was safe to venture on the highway!  What whole-hearted devotion, what unselfish giving of time, means, and everything else to this work of brotherly love!  What house in Delaware, so honorable in history, as that where hunted men fled, and were sure to find refuge.  It was the North Star to many a fainting heart.  This century has grand scenes to show and boast of among its fellows.  But few transcend that auction-block where the sheriff was selling all Garrett’s goods for the crime (!) of giving a breakfast to a family of fugitive slaves.  As the sale closed, the officer turns to Garrett, saying:  ‘Thomas, I hope you’ll never be caught at this again.’

    “‘Friend,’ was the reply, ’I haven’t a dollar in the world, but
    if thee knows a fugitive who needs a breakfast, send him to me.’