“But I am forgetting what to say to you.
“Your particular mention of a number of your visitors is very agreeable to me. What a pity I cannot accept your invitation, and spend a week with you. You must remember everything you see and hear, and tell me all when you come home. I am very glad you like Mr. Hopper. He is a queer fellow—when he has a mind to be. He can veil the greatest amount of fun under the most serious face, of any one I know. He carries a ‘band of music’ under that Quaker physiognomy of his. I have often been talking to him seriously, and stopped short to tell him I could not read him. I did not know whether his thoughts were mine or exactly the opposite. His remarkable father, Isaac T. Hopper, is one of the noblest-hearted beings in this wide world. His whole life has been marked by acts of most perfect benevolence and devotion to the cause of Truth and Humanity. I was pleased with N. P. Willis’s article in The Home Journal, though written in his peculiar vein, and regret to learn that he has been subjected to such an outrage at the hands of the actor Edwin Forrest. I know nothing of Willis’s morals, but should suppose him above anything mean, or what would render him justly amenable to the censure of those who have long admired him as a leading journalist and charming writer. It is a sad, sad day for a man or woman who have made for themselves a home in thousands of hearts, and ministered to us in our holiday hours, when he or she stoops from that admired eminence, and becomes a thing for scorn to point its finger at. I will not believe this of Nathaniel Parker Willis—the author of a thousand gems of thought which he has scattered up and down in my memory like spring flowers.
“Our daily press is just what it was. You cannot expect anything else from papers with little talent, and no courage, at the editorial helm.
“If you come across such a man as Horace Greeley will recommend as one of his own stamp, tell him Western New York wants a journalist who is up and dressed and afraid of nobody; and if he will come out here, and pitch into ’em, he will make his fortune and serve the country. I’ve a thought in my mind, and will give it to you for what it is worth.
“Soon after the meeting at Doctor Griswold’s, I saw in the N. Y. Evening Post (what was very proper—so far as it went, because it did not charge you with originating these phenomena, but only disclaimed belief in their Spiritual nature), a sort of disclaimer evidently by one of the persons present who took the privilege of speaking for the others (or most of them). Now the fact is that, if anything which has engrossed a large share of public attention is really worthy of serious investigation, the result of such investigation is equally worthy to be made publicly known. And as the prominent minds in New York can most effectually do this, they, or those of them who have had the opportunity to arrive at fair conclusions, ought to be willing to state that result in explicit language, over their proper signatures. It would be but a simple act of justice to you; a satisfaction to the multitudes who are prevented, by a thousand considerations, from seeing you; and no dishonor to them. Before you leave, if it meets the approbation of your best friends, I would have it done. It would give you a vantage ground, from whence you could all look down upon the miserable scribblers who have been eking out their existence by abusing you. Write soon, and tell me what has transpired since your last letter.
“My love to you all.
“Yours truly,
“J. E. Robinson.”
JOHN E. ROBINSON.
“Rochester, July 28, 1851.
“Dear Friend Leah: