The reverential habits of the doorkeeper were not quite strong enough to compel him to that sacrifice; and he walked away without saying anything more on the subject.
When Friend Hopper visited the House of Lords, he asked the sergeant-at-arms if he might sit on the throne. He replied, “No, sir. No one but his majesty sits there.”
“Wherein does his majesty differ from other men?” inquired he. “If his head were cut off, wouldn’t he die?”
“Certainly he would,” replied the officer.
“So would an American,” rejoined Friend Hopper. As he spoke he stepped up to the gilded railing that surrounded the throne, and tried to open the gate. The officer told him it was locked. “Well, won’t the same key that locked it unlock it?” inquired he. “Is this the key hanging here?”
Being informed that it was, he took it down and unlocked the gate. He removed the satin covering from the throne, carefully dusting the railing with his handkerchief before he hung the satin over it, and then seated himself in the royal chair. “Well,” said he, “do I look anything like his majesty?”
The man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, “Why, sir, you certainly fill the throne very respectably.”
There were several noblemen in the room, who seemed to be extremely amused by these unusual proceedings.
Father Hopper lived verily to a “green old age.” On his eightieth birthday he thus wrote to his youngest daughter, Mary:
“My eye is not dim, nor my natural force abated. My head is well covered with hair, which still retains its usual glossy, dark color, with but few gray hairs sprinkled about. My life has been prolonged beyond most, and has been truly a chequered scene. Mercy and kindness have followed me thus far, and I have faith that they will continue with me to the end.”