Title: Sunny Memories Of Foreign Lands, Volume 1
Author: Stowe, Harriet Beecher
Language: English
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LANDS, VOLUME 1 ***



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SUNNY MEMORIES

OF

FOREIGN LANDS.

BY

MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,

AUTHOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN," ETC.

  ... "When thou haply seest
  Some rare note-worthy object in thy travels,
  Make me partaker of thy happiness."

  SHAKSPEARE.

ILLUSTRATED FROM DESIGNS BY HAMMATT BILLINGS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.
NEW YORK: J.C. DERBY.
1854.


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by PHILLIPS,
SAMPSON, AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
District of Massachusetts.

STEREOTYPED AT THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. WRIGHT AND HASTY,
PRINTERS, NO. 3 WATER ST.



PREFACE.


This book will be found to be truly what its name denotes, "Sunny
Memories."

If the criticism be made that every thing is given _couleur de rose_,
the answer is, Why not? They are the impressions, as they arose, of a
most agreeable visit. How could they be otherwise?

If there be characters and scenes that seem drawn with too bright a
pencil, the reader will consider that, after all, there are many worse
sins than a disposition to think and speak well of one's neighbors. To
admire and to love may now and then be tolerated, as a variety, as well
as to carp and criticize. America and England have heretofore abounded
towards each other in illiberal criticisms. There is not an unfavorable
aspect of things in the old world which has not become perfectly
familiar to us; and a little of the other side may have a useful
influence.

The writer has been decided to issue these letters principally, however,
by the persevering and deliberate attempts, in certain quarters, to
misrepresent the circumstances which, are here given. So long as these
misrepresentations affected only those who were predetermined to believe
unfavorably, they were not regarded. But as they have had some
influence, in certain cases, upon really excellent and honest people, it
is desirable that the truth should be plainly told.

The object of publishing these letters is, therefore, to give to those
who are true-hearted and honest the same agreeable picture of life and
manners which met the writer's own, eyes. She had in view a wide circle
of friends throughout her own country, between whose hearts and her own
there has been an acquaintance and sympathy of years, and who, loving
excellence, and feeling the reality of it in themselves, are sincerely
pleased to have their sphere of hopefulness and charity enlarged. For
such this is written; and if those who are not such begin to read, let
them treat the book as a letter not addressed to them, which, having
opened by mistake, they close and pass to the true owner.

The English reader is requested to bear in mind that the book has not
been prepared in reference to an English but an American public, and to
make due allowance for that fact. It would have placed the writer far
more at ease had there been no prospect of publication in England. As
this, however, was unavoidable, in some form, the writer has chosen to
issue it there under her own sanction.

There is one acknowledgment which the author feels happy to make, and
that is, to those publishers in England, Scotland, France, and Germany
who have shown a liberality beyond the requirements of legal obligation.
The author hopes that the day is not far distant when America will
reciprocate the liberality of other nations by granting to foreign
authors those rights which her own receive from them.

The _Journal_ which appears in the continental tour is from the pen of
the Rev. C. Beecher. The _Letters_ were, for the most part, compiled
from what was written at the time and on the spot. Some few were
entirely written after the author's return.

It is an affecting thought that several of the persons who appear in
these letters as among the living, have now passed to the great future.
The Earl of Warwick, Lord Cockburn, Judge Talfourd, and Dr. Wardlaw are
no more among the ways of men. Thus, while we read, while we write, the
shadowy procession is passing; the good are being gathered into life,
and heaven enriched by the garnered treasures of earth.

H.B.S.



CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.


INTRODUCTORY.

LETTER I.
The Voyage.

LETTER II.
Liverpool.--The Dingle.--A Ragged School.--Flowers.--Speke
Hall.--Antislavery Meeting.

LETTER III.
Lancashire.--Carlisle.--Gretna Green.--Glasgow.

LETTER IV.
The Baillie.--The Cathedral.--Dr. Wardlaw.--A Tea Party--Bothwell
Castle.--Chivalry.--Scott and Burns.

LETTER V.
Dumbarton Castle.--Duke of Argyle.--Linlithgow.--Edinburgh.

LETTER VI.
Public Soirée.--Dr. Guthrie.--Craigmiller Castle.--Bass
Rock.--Bannockburn.--Stirling.--Glamis Castle.--Barclay of Ury.--The
Dee.--Aberdeen.--The Cathedral.--Brig o'Balgounie.

LETTER VII.
Letter from a Scotch Bachelor.--Reformatory Schools of
Aberdeen.--Dundee.--Dr. Dick.--The Queen in Scotland.

LETTER VIII.
Melrose.--Dry burgh.--Abbotsford.

LETTER IX.
Douglas of Caver.--Temperance Soirée.--Calls.--Lord Gainsborough.--Sir
William Hamilton.--George Combe.--Visit to Hawthornden.--Roslin
Castle.--The Quakers.--Hervey's Studio.--Grass Market.--Grayfriars'
Churchyard.

LETTER X.
Birmingham.--Stratford on Avon.

LETTER XI.
Warwick.--Kenilworth.

LETTER XII.
Birmingham.--Sybil Jones.--J.A. James.

LETTER XIII.
London.--Lord Mayor's Dinner.

LETTER XIV.
London.--Dinner with Earl of Carlisle.

LETTER XV.
London.--Anniversary of Bible Society.--Dulwich Gallery.--Dinner with
Mr. E. Cropper.--Soirée at Rev. Mr. Binney's.

LETTER XVI.
Reception at Stafford House.

LETTER XVII.
The Sutherland Estate.

LETTER XVIII.
Baptist Noel.--Borough School.--Rogers the Poet.--Stafford
House.--Ellesmere Collection of Paintings.--Lord John Russell.



INTRODUCTORY


The following letters were written by Mrs. Stowe for her own personal
friends, particularly the members of her own family, and mainly as the
transactions referred to in them occurred. During the tour in England
and Scotland, frequent allusions are made to public meetings held on her
account; but no report is made of the meetings, because that
information, was given fully in the newspapers sent to her friends with
the letters. Some knowledge of the general tone and spirit of the
meetings seems necessary, in order to put the readers of the letters in
as favorable a position to appreciate them as her friends were when they
were received. Such knowledge it is the object of this introductory
chapter to furnish.

One or two of the addresses at each of several meetings I have given,
and generally without alteration, as they appeared in the public
journals at the time. Only a very few could be published without
occupying altogether too much space; and those selected are for the most
part the shortest, and chosen mainly on account of their brevity. This
is certainly a surer method of giving a true idea, of the spirit which
actually pervaded the meetings than could be accomplished by any
selection of mere extracts from the several speeches. In that case,
there might be supposed to exist a temptation to garble and make unfair
representations; but in the method pursued, such a suspicion is scarcely
possible. In relation to my own addresses, I have sometimes taken the
liberty to correct the reporters by my own recollections and notes. I
have also, in some cases, somewhat abridged them, (a liberty which I
have not, to any considerable extent, ventured to take with others,)
though without changing the sentiment, or even essentially the form, of
expression. What I have here related is substantially what I actually
said, and what I am willing to be held responsible for. Many and bitter,
during the tour, were the misrepresentations and misstatements of a
hostile press; to which I offer no other reply than the plain facts of
the following pages. These were the sentiments uttered, this was the
manner of their utterance; and I cheerfully submit them to the judgment
of a candid public.

I went to Europe without the least anticipation of the kind of reception
which awaited us; it was all a surprise and an embarrassment to me. I
went with the strongest love of my country, and the highest veneration
for her institutions; I every where in Britain found the most cordial
sympathy with this love and veneration; and I returned with both greatly
increased. But slavery I do not recognize as an institution of my
country; it is an excrescence, a vile usurpation, hated of God, and
abhorred by man; I am under no obligation either to love or respect it.
He is the traitor to America, and American institutions, who reckons
slavery as one of them, and, as such, screens it from assault. Slavery
is a blight, a canker, a poison, in the very heart of our republic; and
unless the nation, as such, disengage itself from it, it will most
assuredly be our ruin. The patriot, the philanthropist, the Christian,
truly enlightened, sees no other alternative. The developments of the
present session of our national Congress are making this great truth
clearly perceptible even to the dullest apprehension.

C.E. STOWE.

ANDOVER, _May_ 30, 1854.



BREAKFAST IN LIVERPOOL--APRIL 11.


THE REV. DR. M'NEILE, who had been requested by the respected host to
express to Mrs. Stowe the hearty congratulations of the first meeting of
friends she had seen in England, thus addressed her: "Mrs. Stowe: I have
been requested by those kind friends under whose hospitable roof we are
assembled to give some expression to the sincere and cordial welcome
with which, we greet your arrival in this country. I find real
difficulty in making this attempt, not from want of matter, nor from
want of feeling, but because it is not in the power of any language I
can command, to give adequate expression to the affectionate enthusiasm
which pervades all ranks of our community, and which is truly
characteristic of the humanity and the Christianity of Great Britain. We
welcome Mrs. Stowe as the honored instrument of that noble impulse which
public opinion and public feeling throughout Christendom have received
against the demoralizing and degrading system of human slavery. That
system is still, unhappily, identified in the minds of many with the
supposed material interests of society, and even with the well being of
the slaves themselves; but the plausible arguments and ingenious
sophistries by which it has been defended shrink with shame from the
facts without exaggeration, the principles without compromise, the
exposures without indelicacy, and the irrepressible glow of hearty
feeling--O, how true to nature!--which characterize Mrs. Stowe's
immortal book. Yet I feel assured that the effect produced by Uncle
Tom's Cabin is not mainly or chiefly to be traced to the interest of the
narrative, however captivating, nor to the exposures of the slave
system, however withering: these would, indeed, be sufficient to produce
a good effect; but this book contains more and better than even these;
it contains what will never be lost sight of--the genuine application to
the several branches of the subject of the sacred word of God. By no
part of this wonderful work has my own mind been so permanently
impressed as by the thorough legitimacy of the application of
Scripture,--no wresting, no mere verbal adaptation, but in every
instance the passage cited is made to illustrate something in the
narrative, or in the development of character, in strictest accordance
with the design of the passage in its original sacred context. We
welcome Mrs. Stowe, then, as an honored fellow-laborer in the highest
and best of causes; and I am much mistaken if this tone of welcome be
not by far the most congenial to her own feelings. We unaffectedly
sympathize with much which she must feel, and, as a lady, more
peculiarly feel, in passing through that ordeal of gratulation which is
sure to attend her steps in every part of our country; and I am
persuaded that we cannot manifest our gratitude for her past services in
any way more acceptable to herself than by earnest prayer on her behalf
that she may be kept in the simplicity of Christ, enjoying in her daily
experience the tender consolations of the Divine Spirit, and in the
midst of the most flattering commendations saying and feeling, in the
instincts of a renewed heart, 'Not unto me, O Lord, not unto me, but
unto thy name be the praise, for thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake.'"

PROFESSOR STOWE then rose, and said, "If we are silent, it is not
because we do not feel, but because we feel more than we can express.
When that book was written, we had no hope except in God. We had no
expectation of reward save in the prayers of the poor. The surprising
enthusiasm which has been excited by the book all over Christendom is an
indication that God has a work to be done in the cause of emancipation.
The present aspect of things in the United States is discouraging. Every
change in society, every financial revolution, every political and
ecclesiastical movement, seems to pass and leave the African race
without help. Our only resource is prayer. God surely cannot will that
the unhappy condition of this portion of his children should continue
forever. There are some indications of a movement in the southern mind.
A leading southern paper lately declared editorially that slavery is
either right or wrong: if it is wrong, it is to be abandoned: if it is
right, it must be defended. The _Southern Press_, a paper established to
defend the slavery interest at the seat of government, has proposed that
the worst features of the system, such as the separation of families,
should be abandoned. But it is evident that with that restriction the
system could not exist. For instance, a man wants to buy a cook; but she
has a husband and seven children. Now, is he to buy a man and seven
children, for whom he has no use, for the sake of having a cook? Nothing
on the present occasion has been so grateful to our feelings as the
reference made by Dr. M'Neile to the Christian character of the book.
Incredible as it may seem to those who are without prejudice, it is
nevertheless a fact that this book was condemned by some religious
newspapers in the United States as anti-Christian, and its author
associated with infidels and disorganizers; and had not it been for the
decided expression of the mind of English Christians, and of Christendom
itself, on this point, there is reason to fear that the proslavery power
of the United States would have succeeded in putting the book under
foot. Therefore it is peculiarly gratifying that so full an indorsement
has been given the work, in this respect, by eminent Christians of the
highest character in Europe; for, however some in the United States may
affect to despise what is said by the wise and good of this kingdom and
the Christian world, they do feel it, and feel it intensely." In answer
to an inquiry by Dr. M'Neile as to the mode in which southern Christians
defended the institution, Dr. Stowe remarked that "a great change had
taken place in that respect during the last thirty years. Formerly all
Christians united in condemning the system; but of late some have begun
to defend it on scriptural grounds. The Rev. Mr. Smylie, of Mississippi,
wrote a pamphlet in the defensive; and Professor Thornwell, of South
Carolina, has published the most candid and able statement of that
argument which has been given. Their main reliance is on the system of
Mosaic servitude, wholly unlike though it was to the American system of
slavery. As to what this American system of slavery is, the best
documents for enlightening the minds of British Christians are the
commercial newspapers of the slaveholding states. There you see slavery
as it is, and certainly without any exaggeration. Read the
advertisements for the sale of slaves and for the apprehension of
fugitives, the descriptions of the persons of slaves, of dogs for
hunting slaves, &c., and you see how the whole matter as viewed by the
southern mind. Say what they will about it, practically they generally
regard the separation of families no more than the separation of cattle,
and the slaves as so much property, and nothing else. Their own papers
show that the pictures of the internal slave trade given in Uncle Tom,
so far from being overdrawn, fall even below the truth. Go on, then, in
forming and expressing your views on this subject. In laboring for the
overthrow of American slavery you are pursuing a course of Christian
duty as legitimate as in laboring to suppress the suttees of India, the
cannibalism of the Fejee Islands, and other barbarities of heathenism,
of which human slavery is but a relic. These evils can be finally
removed by the benign influence of the love of Christ, and no other
power is competent to the work."


PUBLIC MEETING IN LIVERPOOL--APRIL 13.

The Chairman, (A. HODGSON, Esq.,) in opening the proceedings, thus
addressed Mrs. Beecher Stowe: "The modesty of our English ladies, which,
like your own, shrinks instinctively from unnecessary publicity, has
devolved on me, as one of the trustees of the Liverpool Association, the
gratifying office of tendering to you, at then request, a slight
testimonial of their gratitude and respect. We had hoped almost to the
last moment that Mrs. Cropper would have represented, on this day, the
ladies with whom she has cooperated, and among whom she has taken a
distinguished lead in the great work which you had the honor and the
happiness to originate. But she has felt with you that the path most
grateful and most congenial to female exertion, even in its widest and
most elevated range, is still a retired and a shady path; and you have
taught us that the voice which most effectually kindles enthusiasm in
millions is the still small voice which comes forth from the sanctuary
of a woman's breast, and from the retirement of a woman's closet--the
simple but unequivocal expression of her unfaltering faith, and the
evidence of her generous and unshrinking self-devotion. In the same
spirit, and as deeply impressed with the retired character of female
exertion, the ladies who have so warmly greeted your arrival in this
country have still felt it entirely consistent with the most sensitive
delicacy to make a public response to your appeal, and to hail with
acclamation your thrilling protest against those outrages on our common
nature which circumstances have forced on your observation. They engage
in no political discussion, they embark in no public controversy; but
when an intrepid sister appeals to the instincts of women of every color
and of every clime against a system which sanctions the violation of the
fondest affections and the disruption of the tenderest ties; which
snatches the clinging wife from the agonized husband, and the child from
the breast of its fainting mother; which leaves the young and innocent
female a helpless and almost inevitable victim of a licentiousness
controlled by no law and checked by no public opinion,--it is surely as
feminine as it is Christian to sympathize with her in her perilous task,
and to rejoice that she has shed such a vivid light on enormities which
can exist only while unknown or unbelieved. We acknowledge with regret
and shame that that fatal system was introduced into America by Great
Britain; but having in our colonies returned from our devious paths, we
may without presumption, in the spirit of friendly suggestion, implore
our honored transatlantic friends to do the same. The ladies of Great
Britain have been admonished by their fair sisters in America, (and I am
sure they are bound to take the admonition in good part,) that there are
social evils in our own country demanding our special vigilance and
care. This is most true; but it is also true that the deepest sympathies
and most strenuous efforts are directed, in the first instance, to the
evils which exist among ourselves, and that the rays of benevolence
which flash across the Atlantic are often but the indication of the
intensity of the bright flame which is shedding light and heat on all in
its immediate vicinity. I believe this is the case with most of those
who have taken a prominent part in this great movement. I am sure it is
preeminently the case with respect to many of those by whom you are
surrounded; and I hardly know a more miserable fallacy, by which
sensible men allow themselves to be deluded, than that which assumes
that every emotion of sympathy which is kindled by objects abroad is
abstracted from our sympathies at home. All experience points to a
directly opposite conclusion; and surely the divine command, 'to go into
all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature,' should put to
shame and silence the specious but transparent selfishness which would
contract the limits of human sympathy, and veil itself under the garb of
superior sagacity. But I must not detain you by any further
observations. Allow me, in the name of the associated ladies, to present
you with this small memorial of great regard, and to tender to you their
and my best wishes for your health and happiness while you are
sojourning among us, for the blessing of God on your children during
your absence, and for your safe return to your native country when your
mission shall be accomplished. I have just been requested to state the
following particulars: In December last, a few ladies met in this place
to consider the best plan of obtaining signatures in Liverpool to an
address to the women of America on the subject of negro slavery, in
substance coinciding with the one so nobly proposed and carried forward
by Lord Shaftesbury. At this meeting it was suggested that it would be a
sincere gratification to many if some testimonial could be presented to
Mrs. Stowe which would indicate the sense, almost universally
entertained, that she had been the instrument in the hands of God of
arousing the slumbering sympathies of this country in behalf of the
suffering slave. It was felt desirable to render the expression of such
a feeling as general as possible; and to effect this it was resolved
that a subscription should be set on foot, consisting of contributions
of one penny and upwards, with a view to raise a testimonial, to be
presented to Mrs. Stowe by the ladies of Liverpool, as an expression of
their grateful appreciation of her valuable services in the cause of the
negro, and as a token of admiration for the genius and of high esteem
for the philanthropy and Christian feeling which animate her great work,
Uncle Tom's Cabin. It ought, perhaps, to be added, that some friends,
not residents of Liverpool, have united in this tribute. As many of the
ladies connected with the effort to obtain signatures to the address may
not be aware of the whole number appended, they may be interested in
knowing that they amounted in all to twenty-one thousand nine hundred
and fifty-three. Of these, twenty thousand nine hundred and thirty-six
were obtained by ladies in Liverpool, from their friends either in this
neighborhood or at a distance; and one thousand and seventeen were sent
to the committee in London from other parts, by those who preferred our
form of address. The total number of signatures from all parts of the
kingdom to Lord Shaftesbury's address was upwards of five hundred
thousand."

PROFESSOR STOWE then said, "On behalf of Mrs. Stowe I will read from her
pen the response to your generous offering: 'It is impossible for me to
express the feelings of my heart at the kind and generous manner in
which I have been received upon English shores. Just when I had begun to
realize that a whole wide ocean lay between me and all that is dearest
to me, I found most unexpectedly a home and friends waiting to receive
me here. I have had not an hour in which to know the heart of a
stranger. I have been made to feel at home since the first moment of
landing, and wherever I have looked I have seen only the faces of
friends. It is with deep feeling that I have found myself on ground that
has been consecrated and made holy by the prayers and efforts of those
who first commenced the struggle for that sacred cause which has proved
so successful in England, and which I have a solemn assurance will yet
be successful in my own country. It is a touching thought that here so
many have given all that they have, and are, in behalf of oppressed
humanity. It is touching to remember that one of the noblest men which
England has ever produced now lies stricken under the heavy hand of
disease, through a last labor of love in this cause. May God grant us
all to feel that nothing is too dear or precious to be given in a work
for which such men have lived, and labored, and suffered. No great good
is ever wrought out for the human race without the suffering of great
hearts. They who would serve their fellow-men are ever reminded that the
Captain of their salvation was made perfect through suffering. I
gratefully accept the offering confided to my care, and trust it may be
so employed that the blessing of many "who are ready to perish" will
return upon your heads. Let me ask those--those fathers and mothers in
Israel--who have lived and prayed many years for this cause, that as
they prayed for their own country in the hour of her struggle, so they
will pray now for ours. Love and prayer can hurt no one, can offend no
one, and prayer is a real power. If the hearts of all the real
Christians of England are poured out in prayer, it will be felt through
the heart of the whole American church. Let us all look upward, from our
own feebleness and darkness, to Him of whom it is said, "He shall not
fail nor be discouraged till he have set judgment in the earth." To him,
the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power,
both now and ever. Amen.'--These are the words, my friends, which Mrs.
Stowe has written, and I cannot forbear to add a few words of my own. It
was our intention, as the invitation to visit Great Britain came from
Glasgow, to make our first landing there. But it was ordered by
Providence that we should land here; and surely there is no place in the
kingdom where a landing could be more appropriate, and where the
reception could have been more cordial. [Hear, hear!] It was wholly
unexpected by us, I can assure you. We know that there were friendly
hearts here, for we had received abundant testimonials to that effect
from letters which had come to us across the Atlantic--letters wholly
unexpected, and which filled our souls with surprise; but we had no
thought that there was such a feeling throughout England, and we
scarcely know how to conduct ourselves under it, for we are not
accustomed to this kind of receptions. In our own country, unhappily, we
are very much divided, and the preponderance of feeling expressed is in
the other direction, entirely in opposition, and not in favor. [Hear,
hear!] We knew that this city had been the scene of some of the
greatest, most disinterested, and most powerful efforts in behalf of
emancipation. The name of Clarkson was indissolubly associated with this
place, for here he came to make his investigations, and here he was in
danger of his life, and here he was protected by friends who stood by
him through the whole struggle. The names of Cropper, and of Stephen,
and of many others in this city, were very familiar to us--[Hear,
hear!]--and it was in connection with this city that we received what to
our feelings was a most effective testimonial, an unexpected letter from
Lord Denman, whom we have always venerated. When I was in England in
1836, there were no two persons whom I more desired to see than the Duke
of Wellington and Lord Denman; and soon I sought admission to the House
of Lords, where I had the pleasure both of seeing and hearing England's
great captain; and I found my way to the Court of Queen's Bench, where I
had the pleasure of seeing and hearing England's great judge. But how
unexpected was all this to us! When that book was written, in sorrow,
and in sadness, and obscurity, and with the heart almost broken in the
view of the sufferings which it described, and the still greater
sufferings which it dared not describe, there was no expectation of any
thing but the prayers of the sufferers and the blessing of God, who has
said that the seed which is buried in the earth shall spring up in his
own good time; and though it may be long buried, it will still at length
come forth and bear fruit. We never could believe that slavery in our
land would be a perpetual curse; but we felt, and felt deeply, that
there must be a terrible struggle before we could be delivered from it,
and that there must be suffering and martyrdom in this cause, as in
every other great cause; for a struggle of eighteen years had taught us
its strength. And, under God, we rely very much on the Christian public
of Great Britain; for every expression of feeling from the wise and good
of this land, with whatever petulance it may be met by some, goes to the
heart of the American people. [Hear, hear!] You must not judge of the
American people by the expressions which have come across the Atlantic
in reference to the subject. Nine tenths of the American people, I
think, are, in opinion at least, with you on this great subject; [Hear,
hear!] but there is a tremendous pressure brought to bear upon all who
are in favor of emancipation. The whole political power, the whole money
power, almost the whole ecclesiastical power is wielded in defence of
slavery, protecting it from all aggression; and it is as much as a man's
reputation is worth to utter a syllable boldly and openly on the other
side. Let me say to the ladies who have been active in getting up the
address on the subject of slavery, that you have been doing a great and
glorious work, and a work most appropriate for you to do; for in slavery
it is woman that suffers most intensely, and the suffering woman has a
claim upon the sympathy of her sisters in other lands. This address will
produce a powerful impression throughout the country. There are ladies
already of the highest character in the nation pondering how they shall
make a suitable response, and what they shall do in reference to it that
will be acceptable to the ladies of the United Kingdom, or will be
profitable to the slave; and in due season you will see that the hearts
of American women are alive to this matter, as well as the hearts of the
women of this country. [Hear, hear!] Such was the mighty influence
brought to bear upon every thing that threatened slavery, that had it
not been for the decided expression on this side of the Atlantic in
reference to the work which has exerted, under God, so much influence,
there is every reason to fear that it would have been crushed and put
under foot, as many other efforts for the overthrow of slavery have been
in the United States. But it is impossible; the unanimous voice of
Christendom prohibits it; and it shows that God has a work to
accomplish, and that he has just commenced it. There are social evils in
England. Undoubtedly there are; but the difference between the social
evils in England and this great evil of slavery in the United States is
just here: In England, the power of the government and the power of
Christian sympathy are exerted for the removal of those evils. Look at
the committees of inquiry in Parliament, look at the amount of
information collected with regard to the suffering poor in their
reports, and see how ready the government of Great Britain is to enter
into those inquiries, and to remove those evils. Look at the benevolent
institutions of the United Kingdom, and see how active all these are in
administering relief; and then see the condition of slavery in the
United States, where the whole power of the government is used in the
contrary direction, where every influence is brought to bear to prevent
any mitigation of the evil, and where every voice that is lifted to
plead for a mitigation is drowned in vituperation and abuse from those
who are determined that the evil shall not be mitigated. This is the
difference: England repents and reforms. America refuses to repent and
reform. It is said, 'Let each country take care of itself, and let the
ladies of England attend to their own business.' Now I have always found
that those who labor at home are those who labor abroad; [Hear, hear!]
and those who say, 'Let us do the work at home,' are those who do no
work of good either at home or abroad. [Hear, hear!] It was just so when
the great missionary effort came up in the United States. They said, 'We
have a great territory here. Let us send missionaries to our own
territories. Why should we send missionaries across the ocean?' But
those who sent missionaries across the ocean were those who sent
missionaries in the United States; and those who did not send
missionaries across the ocean were those who sent missionaries nowhere.
[Hear, hear!] They who say, 'Charity begins at home,' are generally
those who have no charity; and when I see a lady whose name is signed to
this address, I am sure to find a lady who is exercising her benevolence
at home. Let me thank you for all the interest you have manifested and
for all the kindness which we have received at your hands, which we
shall ever remember, both with gratitude to you and to God our Father."

The REV. C.M. BIRRELL afterwards made a few remarks in proposing a vote
of thanks to the ladies who had contributed the testimonial which had
been presented to the distinguished writer of Uncle Tom's Cabin. He said
it was most delightful to hear of the great good which that remarkable
volume had done, and, he humbly believed, by God's special inspiration
and guidance, was doing, in the United States of America. It was not
confined to the United States of America. The volume was going forth
over the whole earth, and great good was resulting, directly and
indirectly, by God's providence, from it. He was told a few days ago, by
a gentleman fully conversant with the facts, that an edition of Uncle
Tom, circulated in Belgium, had created an earnest desire on the part of
the people to read the Bible, so frequently quoted in that beautiful
work, and that in consequence of it a great run had been made upon the
Bible Society's depositories in that kingdom. [Hear, hear!] The priests
of the church of Rome, true to their instinct, in endeavoring to
maintain the position which they could not otherwise hold, had published
another edition, from which, they had entirely excluded all reference to
the word of God. [Hear, hear!] He had been also told that at St.
Petersburg an edition of Uncle Tom had been translated into the Russian
tongue, and that it was being distributed, by command of the emperor,
throughout the whole of that vast empire. It was true that the
circulation of the work there did not spring from a special desire on
the part of the emperor to give liberty to the people of Russia, but
because he wished to create a third power in the empire, to act upon the
nobles; he wished to cause them to set free their serfs, in order that a
third power might be created in the empire to serve as a check upon
them. But whatever was the cause, let us thank God, the Author of all
gifts, for what is done.

Sir GEORGE STEPHEN seconded the motion of thanks to the ladies,
observing that he had peculiar reasons for doing so. He supposed that he
was one of the oldest laborers in this cause. Thirty years ago he found
that the work of one lady was equal to that of fifty men; and now we had
the work of one lady which was equal to that of all the male sex.
[Applause.]


PUBLIC MEETING IN GLASGOW--APRIL 15.

THE REV. DR. WARDLAW was introduced by the chairman, and spoke as
follows:--

"The members of the Glasgow Ladies' New Antislavery Association and the
citizens of Glasgow, now assembled, hail with no ordinary satisfaction,
and with becoming gratitude to a kindly protecting Providence, the safe
arrival amongst them of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. They feel obliged by
her accepting, with so much promptitude and cordiality, the invitation
addressed to her--an invitation intended to express the favor they bore
to her, and the honor in which they held her, as the eminently gifted
authoress of Uncle Tom's Cabin--a work of humble name, but of high
excellence and world-wide celebrity; a work the felicity of whose
conception is more than equalled by the admirable tact of its execution,
and the Christian benevolence of its design, by its exquisite adaptation
to its accomplishment; distinguished by the singular variety and
consistent discrimination of its characters; by the purity of its
religious and moral principles; by its racy humor, and its touching
pathos, and its effectively powerful appeals to the judgment, the
conscience, and the heart; a work, indeed, of whose sterling worth the
earnest test is to be found in the fact of its having so universally
touched and stirred the bosom of our common humanity, in all classes of
society, that its humble name has become 'a household word,' from the
palace to the cottage, and of the extent of its circulation having been
unprecedented in the history of the literature of this or of any other
age or country. They would, at the same time, include in their hearty
welcome the Rev. C.E. Stowe, Professor of Theological Literature in the
Andover Theological Seminary, Massachusetts, whose eminent
qualifications, as a classical scholar, a man of general literature, and
a theologian, have recently placed him in a highly honorable and
responsible position, and who, on the subject of slavery, holds the same
principles and breathes the same spirit of freedom with his accomplished
partner; and, along with them too, another member of the same singularly
talented family with herself. They delight to think of the amount of
good to the cause of emancipation and universal liberty which her Cabin
has already done, and to anticipate the still larger amount it is yet
destined to do, now that the Key to the Cabin has triumphantly shown it
to be no fiction; and in whatever further efforts she may be honored of
Heaven to make in the same noble cause, they desire, unitedly and
heartily, to cheer her on, and bid her 'God speed.' I cannot but feel
myself highly honored in having been requested to move this resolution.
In doing so, I have the happiness of introducing to a Glasgow audience a
lady from the transatlantic continent, the extraordinary production of
whose pen, referred to in the resolution, had made her name familiar in
our country and through Europe, ere she appeared in person among us. My
judgment and my heart alike fully respond to every thing said in the
resolution respecting that inimitable work. We are accustomed to make a
distinction between works of nature and works of art, but in a sense
which, all will readily understand, this is preeminently both. As a work
of art, it bears upon it, throughout, the stamp of original and varied
genius. And yet, throughout, it equally bears the impress of nature--of
human nature--in its worst and its best, and all its intermediate
phases. The man who has read that little volume without laughing and
crying alternately--without the meltings of pity, the thrillings of
horror, and the kindlings of indignation--would supply a far better
argument for a distinct race than a negro. [Loud laughter and cheers.]
He must have a humanity peculiarly his own. And he who can read it
without the breathings of devotion must, if he calls himself a
Christian, have a Christianity as unique and questionable as his
humanity. [Cheering.] Never did work produce such a sensation. Among us
that sensation has happily been all of one kind. It has been the
stirring of universal sympathy and unbounded admiration. Not so in the
country of its own and of its gifted authoress's birth. There, the
ferment has been among the friends as well as the foes of slavery. Among
the former all is rage. Among the latter, while there are some--we trust
not a few--who take the same high and noble position with the talented
authoress, there are too many, we fear, who are frightened by this
uncompromising boldness, and who are drawn back rather than drawn
forward by it--who 'halt between two opinions,' and are the advocates of
medium principles and medium measures. By many among ourselves, the
excitement which has been stirred is contemplated with apprehension.
They regard it as unfavorable to emancipation, and likely to retard
rather than to advance its progress. I must confess myself of a somewhat
different mind. That the cause may be obstructed by it for a time, may
be true. But it will work well in the long run. Good will ultimately
come out of it. Stir is better than stagnancy. Irritation is better than
apathy. Whence does it arise? From two sources. The conscience and the
honor of the country have both been touched. Conscience winces under the
touch. The provocation shows it to be ill at ease. The wound is painful,
and it naturally awakens fretfulness and resentment. But by and by the
angry excitement will subside, and the salutary conviction will remain
and operate. The national honor, too, has been touched. Our friends
across the wave boast, and with good reason, of the free principles of
their constitution. They glory in their liberty. But they cannot fail to
feel the inconsistency of their position, and the exposure of it to the
world kindles on the cheek the blush of shame and the reddening fire of
displeasure. Now, the blush has aright source. It is the blush of
patriotism--it is for their country. But there is anger with the shame;
for few things are more galling than to feel that to be wrong which you
are unable to justify, and which, yet, you are not prepared to
relinquish. [Loud applause.] On the whole, I cannot but regard the
agitation which has been produced as an auspicious, rather than a
discouraging omen. It was when the waters of the pool were troubled that
their healing virtue was imparted. Let us then hope that the troubling
of the waters by this ministering angel of mercy may impregnate them
with a similar sanative influence, [the reverend doctor here pointed
towards Mrs. Stowe, while the audience burst out with enthusiastic
acclamations and waving of handkerchiefs,] and thus ultimately
contribute to the healing of the ghastly wounds of the chain and the
lash, and to the setting of the crushed and bowed down erect in the
soundness and dignity of their true manhood. [Loud cheering.] Sorry we
are that Mrs. Stowe should appear amongst us in a state of broken health
and physical exhaustion. No one who looks at the Cabin and at the Key,
and who knows aught of the effect of severe mental labor on the bodily
frame, will marvel at this. We fondly trust, and earnestly pray, that
her temporary sojourn among us may, by the divine blessing, recruit her
strength, and contribute to the prolongation of a life so promising of
benefit to suffering humanity, and to the glory of God. [Cheers.]
Meanwhile she enjoys the happy consciousness that she is suffering in a
good cause. A better there could not be. It is one which involves the
well being, corporeal and mental, physical and spiritual, temporal and
eternal, of degraded, plundered, oppressed, darkened, brutalized,
perishing millions. And, while we delight in furnishing her for a time
with a peaceful retreat from 'the wrath of men,' from the resentment of
those who, did they but rightly know their own interests, would have
smiled upon her, and blessed her. We trust she enjoys, and ever will
enjoy, quietness and assurance of an infinitely higher order--the divine
Master, whom she serves and seeks to honor; proving to her, in the terms
of his own promise, 'a refuge from the storm, and a covert from the
tempest.' [Enthusiastic cheering.] It may sound strangely, that, when
assembled for the very purpose of denouncing 'property in man,' we
should be putting in our claims for a share of property in woman. So,
however, it is. We claim Mrs. Stowe as ours--[renewed, cheers]--not ours
only, but still ours. She is British and European property as well as
American. She is the property of the whole world of literature and the
whole world of humanity. [Cheers.] Should our transatlantic friends
repudiate the property, they may transfer their share--[laughter and
cheers]--most gladly will we accept the transference."

PROFESSOR STOWE, on rising to reply, was greeted with the most
enthusiastic applause. He said that he appeared in the name of Mrs.
Stowe, and in his own name, for the purpose of cordially thanking the
people of Glasgow for the reception that had been given to them. But he
could not find words to do it. Was it true that all this affectionate
interest was merited? [Cheers.] He could not imagine any book capable of
exciting such expressions of attachment; indeed he was inclined to
believe it had not been written at all--he "'spected it grew."
[Tremendous cheers.] Under the oppression of the fugitive slave law the
book had sprung from the soil ready made. He regretted exceedingly that
in consequence of the state of Mrs. Stowe's health, and in consequence
of the great pressure of engagements on himself, their stay in this
country would be necessarily short. But he hoped they would accept of
the expression of thanks they offered, and their apology for not being
in a condition to meet their kindness as they would desire. When they
were about to set out from Andover, a friend of theirs expressed his
astonishment that they should enter upon such a journey in the delicate
state of Mrs. Stowe's health. The Scotch people, he doubted not, would
be kind to them--_they would kill them with kindness_; and he feared it
would be so. It was from Glasgow the idea of the invitation they had
received had originated; and well might it originate in that city, for
when had been the time that Glasgow was not in earnest on the subject of
freedom? They had had hard struggles for liberty, and they had been
successful, and the people in the United States were now struggling for
the same privilege. But they labored under circumstances greatly
different from those in Great Britain. Scotland had ever been
distinguished for its love of freedom. [Great applause.] The religious
denominations in the United States--to a great extent, give few and
feeble expressions of disapprobation against the system of slavery. Two
denominations had never been silent--the Old Scotch Seceders, or
Covenanters, and the disciples of William Penn--not one of their number,
in the United States, owns a slave. Not one can own a slave without
being ejected from the society.[A] In fact, the general feeling was
against slavery; but to avoid trouble, the people hesitate to give
publicity to their feelings. Were this done, slavery would soon come to
an end. Great sacrifices are sometimes made by slaveholders to get rid
of slavery. He went once to preach in the State of Ohio. He found there
a little log house. Inside was a delicate woman, feeble and with white
hands. She seemed wholly unaccustomed to work. Her husband had the same
appearance of delicacy. They were very poor. How had they come into that
state? They belonged to a slave State, where they had formerly possessed
a little family of slaves. They had felt slavery to be wrong. They set
them free, and with the remainder of their little property tried to get
their living by farming; but like many similar cases, it had been one of
martyrdom. The Professor then proceeded to make some very practical
remarks on the character of the fugitive slave law, after which he said
that the prosperity of Great Britain in a great measure resulted from
the products of slave labor. American cotton was the chief support of
the system. We must, both in Britain and America, get free-grown cotton,
or slavery will not, at least for a long time to come, be abolished.
What he would impress on the minds of Christians was unity in this great
work. Let slaveholders be ever so much opposed to each other on other
topics, they were unanimous in their endeavors to support slavery. But
let the prayers of all Christians and the efforts of all Christians be
united; and the system of oppression would speedily be destroyed
forever.


PUBLIC MEETING IN EDINBURGH--APRIL 20.

THE LORD PROVOST rose, and stated that a number of letters of apology
had been received from parties who had been invited to take part in the
meeting, but who had been unable to attend. Among these he might
mention Professor Blackie, the Rev. Mr. Gilfillan, of Dundee, Rev. J.
Begg, D.D., the Earl of Buchan, Dr. Candlish, and Sir W. Gibson Craig,
all of whom expressed their regret that they could not be present. One
of them, he observed, was from a gentleman who had long taken an
interest in the antislavery cause,--Lord Cockburn,[B]--and his note was
so warm, and sympathetic, and hearty on the subject about which they had
met, that he could not resist the temptation of reading it. It
proceeded, "I regret, that owing to my being obliged to be in Ayrshire,
it will not be in my power to join you in the expression of respect and
gratitude to Mrs. Stowe; she deserves all the honor that can be done
her; she has done more for humanity than was ever accomplished before by
a single book of fiction. [Cheers.] It did not require much to raise our
British feeling against slavery, but by showing us what substantially
are facts, and the necessary tendency of this evil in its most mitigated
form, she has greatly strengthened the ground on which this feeling
rests. Her work may have no immediate or present influence on the states
of her own country that are now unhappily under the curse, and may
indeed for a time aggravate its horrors; but it is a prodigious
accession to the constantly accumulating mass of views and evidence,
which by reason of its force must finally prevail." [Cheers.] The Lord
Provost proceeded to say, that they had now assembled chiefly to do
honor to their distinguished guest, Mrs. Stowe. [Applause.] They had
met, however, also to express their interest in the cause which it had
been the great effort of her life to promote--the abolition of slavery.
They took advantage of her presence, and the effect which was produced
on the public mind of this country, to reiterate their love for the
abolition cause, and their detestation of slavery. Before they were
aware that Mrs. Stowe was to grace the city of Edinburgh with her
presence, a committee had been organized to collect a penny
offering--the amount to be contributed in pence, and other small sums,
from the masses of this country--to be presented to her as some means of
mitigating, through her instrumentality, the horrors of slavery, as they
might come under her observation. It was intended at once as a mark of
their esteem for her, of their confidence in her, of their conviction
that she would do what was right in the cause, and, at the same time, as
an evidence of the detestation in which the system of slavery was held
in this free country. That penny offering now, he was happy to say, by
the spontaneous efforts of the inhabitants of this and other towns,
amounted to a considerable sum; to certain gentlemen in Edinburgh
forming the committee the whole credit of this organization was due, and
he believed one of their number, the Rev. Mr. Ballantyne, would present
the offering that evening, and tell them all about it. He would not,
therefore, forestall what he would have to say on the subject. They were
also to have the pleasure of presenting Mrs. Stowe with an address from
the committee in this city, which would be presented by another reverend
friend, who would be introduced at the proper time. As there would be a
number of speakers to follow during the evening, his own remarks must
be exceedingly short; but he could not resist the temptation of saying
how happy he felt at being once more in the midst of a great meeting in
the city of Edinburgh, for the purpose of expressing their detestation
of the system of slavery. They could appeal to their brethren in the
United States with clean hands, because they had got rid of the
abomination themselves; they could therefore say to them, through their
friends who were now present, on their return home, and through the
press, which would carry their sentiments even to the slave states--they
could say to them that they had washed their own hands of the evil at
the largest pecuniary sacrifice that was ever made by any nation for the
promotion of any good cause. [Loud applause.] Some parties said that
they should not speak harshly of the Americans, because they were full
of prejudice with regard to the system which they had seen growing up
around them. He said so too with all his heart; he joined in the
sentiment that they should not speak harshly, but they might fairly
express their opinion of the system with which their American friends
were surrounded, and in which he thought all who supported it were
guilty participators. [Hear, hear!] They could denounce the wickedness,
they could tell them that they thought it was their duty to put an end
to it speedily. The cause of the abolition of slavery in our own
colonies long hung without any visible progress, notwithstanding the
efforts of many distinguished men, who did all they could to mitigate
some of its more prominent evils; and yet, so long as they never struck
at the root, the progress which they made was almost insensible. They
knew how many men had spent their energies, and some of them their
lives, in attempting to forward the cause; but how little effect was
produced for the first half of the present century! The city of
Edinburgh had always, he was glad to say, taken a deep interest in the
cause; it was one of the very first to take up the ground of total and
entire abolition. [Cheers.] A predecessor of his own in the civic chair
was so kind as to preside at a meeting held in Edinburgh twenty-three
years ago, in which a very decided step was proposed to be taken in
advance, and a resolution was moved by the then Dean of Faculty, to the
effect that on the following first of January, 1831, all the children
born of slave parents in our colonies were from that date to be declared
free. That was thought a great and most important movement by the
promoters of the cause. There were, however, parties at that crowded
meeting who thought that even this was a mere expedient--that it was a
mere pruning of the branches, leaving the whole system intact. One of
these was the late Dr. Andrew Thomson--[cheers]--who had the courage to
propose that the meeting should at once declare for total and immediate
abolition, which proposal was seconded by another excellent citizen, Mr.
Dickie. Dr. Thomson replied to some of the arguments which had been put
forward, to the effect that the total abolition might possibly occasion
bloodshed; and he said that, even if that did follow, it was no fault of
his, and that he still stuck to the principle, which he considered right
under any circumstances. The chairman, thereupon, threatened to leave
the chair on account of the unnecessarily strong language used, and when
the sentiments were reiterated by Mr. Dickie, he actually bolted, and
left the meeting, which was thrown into great confusion. A few days
afterwards, however, another meeting was held--one of the largest and
most effective that had been ever held in Edinburgh--at which were
present Mr. John Shank More in the chair, the Rev. Dr. Thomson, Rev. Dr
Gordon, Dr. Ritchie, Mr. Muirhead, the Rev. Mr. Buchanan of North Leith,
Mr. J. Wigham, Jr., Dr. Greville, &c. The Lord Provost proceeded to read
extracts from the speeches made at the meeting, showing that the
sentiments of the inhabitants of Edinburgh, so far back as 1830, as
uttered by some of its most distinguished men,--not violent agitators,
but ministers of the gospel, promoters of peace and order, and every
good and every benevolent purpose,--were in favor of the immediate and
total abolition of slavery in our colonies. He referred especially to
the speech of Dr. Andrew Thomson on this occasion, from which he read
the following extract: "But if the argument is forced upon me to
accomplish this great object, that there must be violence, let it come,
for it will soon pass away--let it come and rage its little hour, since
it is to be succeeded by lasting freedom, and prosperity, and happiness.
Give me the hurricane rather than the pestilence. Give me the hurricane,
with its thunders, and its lightnings, and its tempests--give me the
hurricane, with its partial and temporary devastations, awful though
they be--give me the hurricane, which brings along with it purifying,
and healthful, and salutary effects--give me the hurricane rather than
the noisome pestilence, whose path is never crossed, whose silence is
never disturbed, whose progress is never arrested by one sweeping blast
from the heavens--which walks peacefully and sullenly through the length
and breadth of the land, breathing poison into every heart, and carrying
havoc into every home--enervating all that is strong, defacing all that
is beautiful, and casting its blight over the fairest and happiest
scenes of human life--and which from day to day, and from year to year,
with intolerant and interminable malignity, sends its thousands and tens
of thousands of hapless victims into the ever-yawning and
never-satisfied grave!"--[Loud and long applause.] The experience which
they had had, that all the dangers, all the bloodshed and violence which
were threatened, were merely imaginary, and that none of these evils had
come upon them although slavery had been totally abolished by us,
should, he thought, be an encouragement to their American friends to go
home and tell their countrymen that in this great city the views now put
forward were advocated long ago--that the persons who now held them said
the same years ago of the disturbances and the evils which would arise
from pressing the question of immediate and total abolition--that the
same kind of arguments and the same predictions of evil were uttered in
England--and although she had not the experience, although she had not
the opportunity of pointing to the past, and saying the evil had not
come in such a case, still, even then, they were willing to face the
evil, to stick to the righteous principle, and to say, come what would,
justice must be done to the slave, and slavery must be wholly and
immediately abolished. [Cheers.] He had said so much on the question of
slavery, because he was very sure it would be much more agreeable to
their modest and retiring and distinguished guest that one should speak
about any other thing than about herself. Uncle Tom's Cabin needed no
recommendation from him. [Loud cheers.] It was the most extraordinary
book, he thought, that had ever been published; no book had ever got
into the same circulation; none had ever produced a tithe of the
impression which it had produced within a given time. It was worth all
the proslavery press of America put together. The horrors of slavery
were not merely described, but they were actually pictured to the eye.
They were seen and understood fully; formerly they were mere dim
visions, about which there was great difference of opinion; some saw
them as in a mist, and others more clearly; but now every body saw and
understood slavery. Every body in this great city, if they had a voice
in the matter, would be prepared to say that they wished slavery to be
utterly extinguished. [Loud cheers.]

PROFESSOR STOWE then rose, and was greeted with loud cheers. He begged
to read the following note from Mrs. Stowe, in acknowledgment of the
honor:--

"I accept these congratulations and honors, and this offering, which it
has pleased Scotland to bestow on me, not for any thing which I have
said or done, not as in any sense acknowledging that they are or can be
deserved, but with heartfelt, humble gratitude to God, as tokens of
mercy to a cause most sacred and most oppressed. In the name of a people
despised and rejected of men--in the name of men of sorrows acquainted
with grief, from whom the faces of all the great and powerful of the
earth have been hid--in the name of oppressed and suffering humanity, I
thank you. The offering given is the dearer to me, and the more hopeful,
that it is literally the penny offering, given by thousands on
thousands, a penny at a time. When, in travelling through your country,
aged men and women have met me with such fervent blessings, little
children gathered round me with such loving eyes--when honest hands,
hard with toil, have been stretched forth with such hearty welcome--when
I have seen how really it has come from the depths of the hearts of the
common people, and know, as I truly do, what prayers are going up with
it from the humblest homes of Scotland, I am encouraged. I believe it is
God who inspires this feeling, and I believe God never inspired it in
vain. I feel an assurance that the Lord hath looked down from heaven to
hear the groaning of the prisoner, and according to the greatness of his
power, to loose those that are appointed to die. In the human view,
nothing can be more hopeless than this cause; all the wealth, and all
the power, and all the worldly influence is against it. But here in
Scotland, need we tell the children of the Covenant, that the Lord on
high is mightier than all human power? Here, close by the spot where
your fathers signed that Covenant, in an hour when Scotland's cause was
equally poor and depressed--here, by the spot where holy martyrs sealed
it with their blood, it will neither seem extravagance nor enthusiasm to
say to the children of such parents, that for the support of this cause,
we look, not to the things that are seen, but to the things that are not
seen; to that God, who, in the face of all worldly power, gave liberty
to Scotland, in answer to your fathers' prayers. Our trust is in Jesus
Christ, and in the power of the Holy Ghost, and in the promise that he
shall reign till he hath put all things under his feet. There are those
faithless ones, who, standing at the grave of a buried humanity, tell us
that it is vain to hope for our brother, because he hath lain in the
grave three days already. We turn from them to the face of Him who has
said, 'Thy brother shall rise again.' There was a time when our great
High Priest, our Brother, yet our Lord, lay in the grave three days; and
the governors and powers of the earth made it as sure as they could,
seeding the stone and setting a watch. But a third day came, and an
earthquake, and an angel. So shall it be to the cause of the oppressed;
though now small and despised, we are watchers at the sepulchre, like
Mary and the trusting women; we can sit through the hours of darkness.
We are watching the sky for the golden streaks of dawning, and we
believe that the third day will surely come. For Christ our Lord, being
raised from the dead, dieth no more; and he has pledged his word that he
shall not fail nor be discouraged till he have set judgment on the
earth. He shall deliver the poor when He crieth, the needy, and him that
hath no helper. The night is far spent--the day is at hand. The
universal sighing of humanity in all countries, the whole creation
groaning and travailing in pain together--the earnest expectation of the
creature waiting for the manifestation of the sons of God--show that the
day is not distant when he will break every yoke, and let the oppressed
go free. And whatever we are able to do for this sacred cause, let us
cast it where the innumerable multitude of heaven cast their crowns, at
the feet of the Lamb, saying, 'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to
receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and
glory, and blessings.'"

The Rev. Professor then continued. "My Lord Provost, Ladies and
Gentlemen: This cause, to be successful, must be carried on in a
religious spirit, with a deep sense of our dependence on God, and with
that love for our fellow-men which the gospel requires. It is because I
think I have met this spirit since I reached the shores of Great
Britain, in those who have taken an interest in the cause, that I feel
encouraged to hope that the expression of your feeling will be effective
on the hearts of Christians on the other side of the Atlantic. There are
Christians there as sincere, as hearty, and as earnest, as any on the
face of the earth. They have looked at this subject, and been troubled;
they have hardly known what to do, and their hearts have been
discouraged. They have almost turned away their eyes from it, because
they have scarcely dared encounter it, the difficulties appeared to them
so great. Wrong cannot always receive the support of Christians; wrong
must be done away with; and what must be--what God requires to be--that
certainly will be. Now, in this age, man is every where beginning to
regard the sufferings of his fellow-man as his own. There is an interest
felt in man, as man, which was not felt in preceding ages. The
facilities of communication are bringing all nations in contact, and
whatever wrong exists in any part of the world, is every where felt.
There are wrongs and sufferings every where; but those to which we are
accustomed, we look upon with most indifference, because being
accustomed to them, we do not feel their enormity. You feel the
enormity of slavery more than we do, because you are not immediately
interested, and regard it at a distance. We regard some of the wrongs
that exist in the old world with more sensibility than you can regard
them, because we are not accustomed to them, and you are. Therefore, in
the spirit of Christian love, it belongs to Christian men to speak to
each other with great fidelity. It has been said that you know little or
nothing about slavery. O, happy men, that you are ignorant of its
enormities. [Hear, hear!] But you do know something about it. You know
as much about it as you know of the widow-burning in India, or the
cannibalism in the Fejee Islands, or any of those crimes and sorrows of
paganism, that induced you to send forth your missionaries. You know it
is a great wrong, and a terrible obstacle to the progress of the gospel;
and that is enough for you to know to induce you to act. You have as
much knowledge as ever induced a Christian community in any part of the
world to exert an influence in any other part of the world. Slavery is a
relic of paganism, of barbarism; it must be removed by Christianity; and
if the light of Christianity shines on it clearly, it certainly will
remove it. There are thousands of hearts in the United States that
rejoice in your help. Whatever expressions of impatience and petulance
you may hear, be assured that these expressions are not the heart of the
great body of the people. [Cheers.] A large proportion of that country
is free from slavery. There is an area of freedom ten times larger than
Great Britain in territory.[C] [Cheers.] But all the power over the
slave is in the hands of the slaveholder. You had a power over the
slaveholder by your national legislature; our national legislature has
no power over the slaveholder. All the legislation that can in that
country be brought to bear for the slave, is legislation by the
slaveholders themselves. There is where the difficulty lies. It is
altogether by persuasion, Christian counsel, Christian sympathy,
Christian earnestness, that any good can be effected for the slave. The
conscience of the people is against the system--the conscience of the
people, even in the slaveholding states; and if we can but get at the
conscience without exciting prejudice, it will tend greatly towards the
desired effect. But this appeal to the conscience must be
unintermittent, constant. Your hands must not be weary, your prayers
must not be discontinued; but every day and every hour should we be
doing something towards the object. It is sometimes said, Americans who
resist slavery are traitors to their country. No; those who would
support freedom are the only true friends of their country. Our fathers
never intended slavery to be identified with the government of the
United States; but in the temptations of commerce the evil was
overlooked; and how changed for the worse has become the public
sentiment even within the last thirty or forty years! The enormous
increase in the consumption of cotton has raised enormously the market
value of slaves, and arrayed both avarice and political ambition in
defence of slavery. Instruct the conscience, and produce free cotton,
and this will be like Cromwell's exhortation to his soldiers, '_Trust
in God, and keep your powder dry_.'" [Continued cheers.]

THE REV. DR. R. LEE then said: "I am quite sure that every individual
here responds cordially to those sentiments of respect and gratitude
towards our honored guest which have been so well expressed by the Lord
Provost and the other gentlemen who have addressed us. We think that
this lady has not only laid us under a great obligation by giving us one
of the most delightful books in the English language, but that she has
improved us as men and as Christians, that she has taught us the value
of our privileges, and made us more sensible than we were before of the
obligation which lies upon us to promote every good work. I have been
requested to say a few words on the degradation of American slavery; but
I feel, in the presence of the gentleman who last addressed you, and of
those who are still to address you, that it would be almost presumption
in me to enter on such a subject. It is impossible to speak or to think
of the subject of slavery without feeling that there is a double
degradation in the matter; for, in the first place, the slave is a man
made in the image of God--God's image cut in ebony, as old Thomas Fuller
quaintly but beautifully said; and what right have we to reduce him to
the image of a brute, and make property of him? We esteem drunkenness as
a sin. Why is it a sin? Because it reduces that which was made in the
image of God to the image of a brute. We say to the drunkard, 'You are
guilty of a sacrilege, because you reduce that which God made in his own
image "into the image of an irrational creature."' Slavery does the very
same. But there is not only a degradation committed as regards the
slave--there is a degradation also committed against himself by him who
makes him a slave, and who retains him in the position of a slave; for
is it not one of the most commonplace of truths that we cannot do a
wrong to a neighbor without doing a greater wrong to ourselves?--that we
cannot injure him without also injuring ourselves yet more? I observe
there is a certain class of writers in America who are fond of
representing the feeling of this country towards America as one of
jealousy, if not of hatred.. I think, my lord, that no American ever
travelled in this country without being conscious at once that this is a
total mistake--that this is a total misapprehension. I venture to say
that there is no nation on the face of the earth in which we feel half
so much interest, or towards which we feel the tenth part of the
affection, which we do towards our brethren in the United States of
America. And what is more than that--there is no nation towards which we
feel one half so much admiration, and for which we feel half so much
respect, as we do for the people of the United States of America.
[Cheers.] Why, sir, how can it be otherwise? How is it possible that it
should be the reverse? Are they not our bone and our flesh? and their
character, whatever it is, is it any thing more than our own, a little
exaggerated, perhaps? Their virtues and their vices, their faults and
their excellences, are just the virtues and the vices, the faults and
the excellences, of that old respectable freeholder, John Bull, from
whom they are descended. We are not much surprised that a nation which
are slaves themselves should make other men slaves. This cannot very
much surprise us: but we are both surprised and we are deeply grieved,
that a nation which has conceived so well the idea of freedom--a nation
which has preached the doctrines of freedom with such boldness and such
fulness--a nation which has so boldly and perfectly realized its idea of
freedom in every other respect--should in this only instance have sunk
so completely below its own idea, and forgetting the rights of one class
of their fellow-creatures, should have deprived them of freedom
altogether. I say that our grief and our disapprobation of this in the
case of our brethren in America arises very much from this, that in
other respects we admire them so much, we are sorry that so noble a
nation should allow a blot like this to remain upon its escutcheon. I am
not ignorant--nobody can be ignorant--of the great difficulties which
encompass the solution of this question in America. It is vain for us to
shut our eyes to it. There can be no doubt whatever that great
sacrifices will require to be made in order to get rid of this great
evil. But the Americans are a most ingenious people; they are full of
inventions of all sorts, from the invention of a machine for protecting
our feet from the water, to a machine for making ships go by means of
heated air; from the one to the other the whole field of discovery is
occupied by their inventive genius. There is not an article in common
use among us but bears some stamp of America. We rise in the morning,
and before we are dressed we have had half a dozen American articles in
our hands. And during the day, as we pass through the streets, articles
of American invention meet us every where. In short, the ingenuity of
the people is proclaimed all over the world. And there can be no doubt
that the moment this great, this ingenious people finds that slavery is
both an evil and a sin, their ingenuity will be successfully exerted in
discovering some invention for preventing its abolition from ruining
them altogether. [Cheers.] No doubt their ingenuity will be equal to the
occasion; and I may take the liberty of adding, that their ingenuity in
that case will find even a richer reward than it has done in those other
inventions which have done them so much honor, and been productive of so
much profit. I say, that sacrifices must be made; there can be no doubt
about that; but I would also observe, that the longer the evil is
permitted to continue, the greater and more tremendous will become the
sacrifice which will be needed to put an end to it; for all history
proves that a nation encumbered, with slavery is surrounded with danger.
[Applause.] Has the history of antiquity been written in vain? Does it
not teach us that not only domestic and social pollutions are the
inevitable results, but does it not teach us also that political
insecurity and political revolutions as certainly slumber beneath the
institution of slavery as fireworks at the basis of Mount Ætna?
[Cheers.] It cannot but be so. Men no more than steam can be compressed
without a tremendous revulsion; and let our brethren in America be sure
of this, that the longer the day of reckoning is put off by them, the
more tremendous at last that reckoning will Be." [Loud, applause.]

       *       *       *       *       *

In regard to this meeting at Edinburgh, there was a ridiculous story
circulated and variously commented on in certain newspapers of the
United States, that _the American flag was there exhibited, insulted,
torn, and mutilated_. Certain religious papers took the lead in
propagating the slander, which, so for as I know or can learn, _had no
foundation_, unless it be that, in the arranging of the flag around its
staff, the stars might have been more distinctly visible than the
stripes. The walls were profusely adorned with drapery, and there were
numerous flags disposed in festoons. Truly a wonderful thing to make a
story of, and then parade it in the newspapers from Maine to Texas,
beginning in Philadelphia!


PUBLIC MEETING IN ABERDEEN--APRIL 21.

ADDRESS OF THE CITIZENS.

MRS H. BEECHER STOWE.

MADAM: The citizens of Aberdeen have much pleasure in embracing the
opportunity now afforded them of expressing at once their esteem for
yourself personally, and their interest in the cause of which you have
been the distinguished advocate.

While they would, not render a blind homage to mere genius, however
exalted, they consider genius such as yours, directed by Christian
principle, as that which, for the welfare of humanity, cannot be too
highly or too fervently honored.

Without depreciating the labors of the various advocates of slave
emancipation who have appeared from time to time on both sides of the
Atlantic, they may conscientiously award to you the praise of having
brought about the present universal and enthusiastic sentiment in regard
to the slavery which exists in America.

The galvanic battery may be arranged and charged, every plate, wire, and
fluid being in its appropriate place; but, until some hand shall bring
together the extremities of the conducting medium, in vain might we
expect to elicit the latent fire.

Every heart may throb with the feeling of benevolence, and every mind
respond to the sentiment that man, in regard to man, should be free and
equal; but it is the province of genius such as yours to give unity to
the universal, and find utterance for the felt.

When society has been prepared for some momentous movement or moral
reformation, so that the hidden thoughts of the people want only an
interpreter, the thinking community an organ, and suffering humanity a
champion, distinguished is the honor belonging to the individual in whom
all these requisites are found combined.

To you has been assigned by Providence the important task of educing the
latent emotions of humanity, and waking the music that slumbered in the
chords of the universal human heart, till it has pealed forth in one
deep far rolling and harmonious anthem, of which the heavenly burden is,
"Liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison to them that are
bound!"

The production of your accomplished pen, which has already called forth
such unqualified eulogy from almost every land where Anglo-Saxon
literature finds access, and created so sudden and fervent an excitement
on the momentous subject of American slavery, has nowhere been hailed
with a more cordial welcome, or produced more salutary effects, than in
the city of Aberdeen.

Though long ago imbued, with antislavery principles and interested in
the progress of liberty in every part of the world, our community, like
many others, required such information, suggestions, and appeals as your
valuable work contains in one great department of slavery, in order that
their interest might be turned into a specific direction, and their
principles reduced, to combined practical effort.

Already they have esteemed it a privilege to engage with some activity
in the promotion of the interests of the fugitive slave; and they shall
henceforth regard with a deeper interest than ever the movements of
their American brethren in this matter, until there exists among them no
slavery from which to flee.

While they participate in your abhorrence of slavery in the American
states, they trust they need scarcely assure you that they participate
also in your love for the American people.

It is in proportion as they love that nation, attached to them by so
many ties, that they lament the existence of a system which, so long as
it exists, must bring odium upon the national character, as it cannot
fail to enfeeble and impair their best social institutions.

They believe it to be a maxim that man cannot hold his fellow-man in
slavery without being himself to some extent enslaved. And of this the
censorship of the press, together with the expurgatorial indices of
various religious societies in the Southern States of America, furnish
ample corroboration.

It is hoped that your own nation may speedily be directed to recognize
you as its best friend, for having stood forth in the spirit of true
patriotism to advocate the claims of a large portion of your countrymen,
and to seek the removal of an evil which has done much to neutralize the
moral influence of your country's best (and otherwise free)
institutions.

Accept, then, from the community of Aberdeen their congratulations on
the high literary fame which you have by a single effort so deservedly
acquired, and their grateful acknowledgments for your advocacy of a
cause in which the best interests of humanity are involved.

Signed in name and by appointment of a public meeting of the citizens of
Aberdeen within the County Buildings, this 21st April, 1853, A.D.

GEO. HESSAY,

_Provost of Aberdeen_.


PUBLIC MEETING IN DUNDEE--APRIL 22.


MR. GILFILLAN, who was received with great applause, said he had been
intrusted by the Committee of the Ladies' Antislavery Association to
present the following address to Mrs. Stowe, which he would read to the
meeting:--

"MADAM: We, the ladies of the Dundee Antislavery Association, desire to
add our feeble voices to the acclamations of a world, conscious that
your fame and character need no testimony from us. We are less anxious
to honor you than to prove that our appreciation and respect are no less
sincere and no less profound than those of the millions in other places
and other lands, whom you have instructed, improved, delighted, and
thrilled. We beg permission to lay before you the expressions of a
gratitude and an enthusiasm in some measure commensurate with your
transcendent literary merit and moral worth. We congratulate you on the
success of the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of your genius, a success altogether
unparalleled, and in all probability never to be paralleled in the
history of literature. We congratulate you still more warmly on that
nobility and benevolence of nature which made you from childhood the
friend of the unhappy slave, and led you to accumulate unconsciously the
materials for the immortal tale of Uncle Tom's Cabin. We congratulate
you in having in that tale supported with matchless eloquence and pathos
the cause of the crushed, the forgotten, the injured, of those who had
no help of man at all, and who had even been blasphemously taught by
professed ministers of the gospel of mercy that Heaven too was opposed
to their liberation, and had blotted them out from the catalogue of man.
We recognize, too, with delight, the spirit of enlightened and
evangelical piety which breathes through your work, and serves to
confute the calumny that none but infidels are interested in the cause
of abolition--a calumny which cuts at Christianity with a yet sharper
edge than at abolition, but which you have proved to be a foul and
malignant falsehood. We congratulate you not only on the richness of the
laurels which you have won, but on the dignity, the meekness, and the
magnanimity with which these laurels have been worn. We hail in you our
most gifted sister in the great cause of liberty--we bid you warmly
welcome to our city, and we pray Almighty God, the God of the oppressed,
to pour his selectest blessings on your head, and to spare your
invaluable life, till yours, and ours, and others' efforts for the cause
of abolition are crowned with success, and till the shouts of a
universal jubilee shall proclaim that in all quarters of the globe the
African is free."

The address was handed to Mrs. Stowe amid great applause. MR. GILFILLAN
continued: "In addition to the address which I have now read, I have
been requested to add a few remarks; and in making these I cannot but
congratulate Dundee on the fact that Mrs. Stowe has visited it, and that
she has had a reception worthy of her distinguished merits. [Applause.]
It is not Dundee alone that is present here to-night: it is
Forfarshire, Fifeshire, and I may also add, Perthshire:--that are here
to do honor to themselves in doing honor to our illustrious guest.
[Cheers.] There are assembled here representatives of the general
feeling that boils in the whole land--not from our streets alone, but
from our country valleys--from our glens and our mountains O! I wish
that Mrs. Stowe would but spare time to go herself and study that
enthusiasm amid its own mountain recesses, amid the uplands and the
friths, and the wild solitudes of our own unconquered and unconquerable
land. She would see scenery there worthy of that pencil which has
painted so powerfully the glories of the Mississippi; ay, and she would
find her name known and reverenced in every hamlet, and see copies of
Uncle Tom's Cabin in the shepherd's shieling, beside Bunyan's Pilgrim's
Progress, the Life of Sir William Wallace, Rob Roy, and the Gaelic
Bible. I saw copies of it carried by travellers last autumn among the
gloomy grandeurs of Glencoe, and, as Coleridge once said when he saw
Thomson's Seasons lying in a Welsh wayside inn, 'That is true fame,' I
thought this was fame truer still. [Applause.] It is too late in the day
to criticize Uncle Tom's Cabin, or to speculate on its unprecedented
history--a history which seems absolutely magical. Why, you are reminded
of Aladdin's lamp, and of the palace that was reared by genii in one
night. Mrs. Stowe's genius has done a greater wonder than this--it has
reared in a marvellously short time a structure which, unlike that
Arabian fabric, is a reality, and shall last forever. [Applause.] She
must not be allowed, to depreciate herself, and to call her glorious
book a mere 'bubble.' Such a bubble there never was before. I wish we
had ten thousand such bubbles. [Applause.] If it had been a bubble it
would have broken long ago. 'Man,' says Jeremy Taylor, 'is a bubble.'
Yea, but he is an immortal one. And such an immortal bubble is Uncle
Tom's Cabin; it can only with man expire; and yet a year ago not ten
individuals in this vast assembly had ever heard of its author's name.
[Applause.] At its artistic merits we may well marvel--to find in a
small volume the descriptive power of a Scott, the humor of a Dickens,
the keen, observing glance of a Thackeray, the pathos of a Richardson or
Mackenzie, combined with qualities of earnestness, simplicity, humanity,
and womanhood peculiar to the author herself. But there are three things
which, strike me as peculiarly remarkable about Uncle Tom's Cabin: it is
the work of an American--of a woman--and of an evangelical Christian.
[Cheers.] We have long been accustomed to despise American literature--I
mean as compared with our own. I have heard eminent _litterateurs_ say,
'Pshaw! the Americans have no national literature.' It was thought that
they lived entirely on plunder--the plunder of poor slaves, and of poor
British authors. [Loud cheers.] Their own works, when, they came among
us, were treated either with contempt or with patronizing wonder--yes,
the 'Sketch Book' was a very good book to be an American's. To parody
two lines of Pope, we

  Admired such wisdom in a Yankee shape,
  And showed an Irving as they show an ape.'

[Loud cheers.] And yet, strange to tell, not only of late have we been
almost deluged with editions of new and excellent American writers, but
the most popular book of the century has appeared on the west side of
the Atlantic. Let us hear no more of the poverty of American brains, or
the barrenness of American literature. Had it produced only Uncle Tom's
Cabin, it had evaded contempt just as certainly as Don Quixote, had
there been no other product of the Spanish mind, would have rendered it
forever illustrious. It is the work of a woman, too! None but a woman
could have written it. There are in the human mind springs at once
delicate and deep, which only the female genius can understand, or the
female finger touch. Who but a female could have created the gentle Eva,
painted the capricious and selfish Marie St. Clair, or turned loose a
Topsy upon the wondering world? [Loud and continued cheering.] And it is
to my mind exceedingly delightful, and it must be humiliating to our
opponents, to remember that the severest stroke to American slavery has
been given by a woman's hand. [Loud cheers.] It was the smooth stone
from the brook which, sent from the hand of a youthful David, overthrew
Goliath of Gath; but I am less reminded of this than of another incident
in Scripture history. When the robber and oppressor of Israel,
Abimelech, who had slain his brethren, was rushing against a tower,
whither his enemies had fled, we are told that 'a certain woman cast a
piece of a millstone upon Abimelech's head, and all to break his skull,'
and that he cried hastily to the young man, his armor-bearer, and said
unto him, 'Draw thy sword, and slay me, that men say not of me, A woman
slew him.' It is a parable of our present position. Mrs. Stowe has
thrown a piece of millstone, sharp and strong, at the skull of the giant
abomination of her country; he is reeling in his death pangs, and, in
the fury of his despair and shame, is crying, but crying in vain, 'Say
not, A woman slew me!' [Applause.] But the world shall say, 'A woman
slew him,' or, at least, 'gave him the first blow, and drove him to
despair and suicide.' [Cheers.] Lastly, it is the work of an evangelical
Christian; and the piety of the book has greatly contributed to its
power. It has forever wiped away the vile calumny, that all who love
their African brother hate their God and Savior. I look, indeed, on Mrs.
Stowe's volume, not only as a noble contribution to the cause of
emancipation, but to the general cause of Christianity. It is an olive
leaf in a dove's mouth, testifying that the waters of scepticism, which
have rolled more fearfully far in America than here,--and no wonder, if
the Christianity of America in general is a slaveholding, man-stealing,
soul-murdering Christianity--that they are abating, and that genuine
liberty and evangelical religion are soon to clasp hands, and to smile
in unison on the ransomed, regenerated, and truly 'United States.' [Loud
and reiterated applause.]"


ADDRESS OF THE STUDENTS OF GLASGOW UNIVERSITY--APRIL 25.

This address is particularly gratifying on account of its recognition of
the use of intoxicating drinks as an evil analogous to slaveholding, and
to be eradicated by similar means. The two reforms are in all respects
similar movements, to be promoted in the same manner and with the same
spirit.

MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

MADAM: The Committee of the Glasgow University Abstainers' Society,
representing nearly one hundred students, embrace the opportunity which
you have so kindly afforded them, of expressing their high esteem for
you, and their appreciation of your noble efforts in behalf of the
oppressed. They cordially join in the welcome with which you have been
so justly received on these shores, and earnestly hope and pray that
your visit may be beneficial to your own health, and tend greatly to the
furtherance of Christian philanthropy.

The committee have had their previous convictions confirmed, and their
hearts deeply affected, by your vivid and faithful delineations of
slavery; and they desire to join with thousands on both sides of the
Atlantic, who offer fervent thanksgiving to God for having endowed you
with those rare gifts, which have qualified you for producing the
noblest testimony against slavery, next to the Bible, which the world
has ever received.

While giving all the praise to God, from whom cometh every good and
perfect gift, they may be excused for mentioning three characteristics
of your writings regarding slavery, which awakened their admiration--a
sensibility befitting the anguish of suffering millions; the graphic
power which presents to view the complex and hideous system, stripped of
all its deceitful disguises; and the moral courage that was required to
encounter the monster, and drag it forth to the gaze and the execration
of mankind.

The committee feel humbled in being called to confess and deplore, as
existing among ourselves, another species of slavery, not less ruinous
in its tendency, and not less criminal in the sight of God--we mean the
slavery by strong drink. We feel too much ashamed of the sad preëminence
which these nations have acquired in regard to this vice to take any
offence at the reproaches cast upon us from across the Atlantic. Such
smiting shall not break our head. We are anxious to profit by it. Yet
when it is used as an argument to justify slavery, or to silence our
respectful but earnest remonstrances, we take exception to the
parallelism on which these arguments are made to rest. We do not justify
our slavery. We do not try to defend it from the Scriptures. We do not
make laws to uphold it. The unhappy victims of our slavery have all
forged and riveted their own fetters. We implore them to forbear; but,
alas! in many cases without success. We invite them to be free, and
offer our best assistance to undo their bonds. When a fugitive slave
knocks at our door, escaping from a cruel master, we try to accost him
in the spirit or in the words of a well-known philanthropist, "Come in,
brother, and get warm, and get thy breakfast." And when distinguished
American philanthropists, who have done so much to undo the heavy
burdens in their own land, come over to assist us, we hail their advent
with rejoicing, and welcome them as benefactors. We are well aware that
a corresponding feeling would be manifested in the United States by a
portion, doubtless a large portion, of the population; but certainly not
by those who justify or palliate their own oppression by a reference to
our lamentable intemperance.

We rejoice, madam, to know that as abstainers we can claim an important
place, pot only in your sympathies, but in your literary labors. We
offer our hearty thanks for the valuable contributions you have already
furnished in that momentous cause, and for the efforts of that
distinguished family with which you are connected.

We bear our testimony to the mighty impulse imparted to the public mind
by the extensive circulation of those memorable sermons which your
honored father gave to Europe, as well as to America, more than
twenty-five years ago. It will be pleasing to him to know that the force
of his arguments is felt in British universities to the present time,
and that not only students in augmenting numbers, but learned
professors, acknowledge their cogency and yield to their power.

Permit us to add that a movement has already begun, in an influential
quarter in England, for the avowed purpose of combining the patriotism
and Christianity of these nations in a strenuous agitation for the
suppression, by the legislature, of the traffic in alcoholic drinks.

In conclusion, the committee have only further to express their cordial
thanks for your kindness in receiving their address, and their desire
and prayer that you may be long spared to glorify God, by promoting the
highest interests of man; that if it so please him, you may live to see
the glorious fruit of your labors here cm earth, and that hereafter you
may meet the blessed salutation, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

NORMAN S. KERR, _Secretary_.

STEWART BATES, _President_.

GLASGOW, 25th April, 1853.


LOUD MAYOR'S DINNER AT THE MANSION HOUSE, LONDON--MAY 2.

MR. JUSTICE TALFOURD,[D] having spoken of the literature of England and
America, alluded to two distinguished authors then present. The one was
a lady, who had shed a lustre on the literature of America, and whose
works were deeply engraven on every English heart. He spoke
particularly of the consecration of so much genius to so noble a
cause--the cause of humanity; and expressed the confident hope that the
great American people would see and remedy the wrongs so vividly
depicted. The learned judge, having paid an eloquent tribute to the
works of Mr. Charles Dickens, concluded by proposing "Mr. Charles
Dickens and the literature of the Anglo-Saxons."

Mr. CHARLES DICKENS returned thanks. In referring to Mrs. H.B. Stowe, he
observed that, in returning thanks, he could not forget he was in the
presence of a stranger who was the authoress of a noble book, with a
noble purpose. But he had no right to call her a stranger, for she would
find a welcome in every English home.


STAFFORD HOUSE RECEPTION--MAY 7.

The DUKE OF SUTHERLAND having introduced Mrs. Stowe to the assembly, the
following short address was read and presented to her by the EARL OF
SHAFTESBURY:--

"Madam: I am deputed by the Duchess of Sutherland, and the ladies of the
two committees appointed to conduct 'The Address from the Women of
England, to the Women of America on the Subject of Slavery,' to express
the high gratification they feel in your presence amongst them this day.

"The address, which has received considerably more than half a million
of the signatures of the women of Great Britain and Ireland, they have
already transmitted to the United States, consigning it to the care of
those whom you have nominated as fit and zealous persons to undertake
the charge in your absence.

"The earnest desire of these committees, and, indeed, we may say of the
whole kingdom, is to cultivate the most friendly and affectionate
relations between the two countries; and we cannot but believe that we
are fostering such a feeling when we avow our deep admiration of an
American lady who, blessed by the possession of vast genius and
intellectual powers, enjoys the still higher blessing, that she devotes
them to the glory of God and the temporal and eternal interests of the
human race."

The following is a copy of the address to which Lord Shaftesbury makes
reference:--

"_The affectionate and Christian Address of many thousands of Women of
Great Britain and Ireland to their Sisters, the Women of the United
States of America_.

"A common origin, a common faith, and, we sincerely believe, a common
cause, urge us at the present moment to address you on the subject of
that system of negro slavery which still prevails so extensively, and
even under kindly-disposed masters, with such frightful results, in many
of the vast regions of the western world.

"We will not dwell on the ordinary topics--on the progress of
civilization; on the advance of freedom every where; on the rights and
requirements of the nineteenth century; but we appeal to you very
seriously to reflect, and to ask counsel of God, how far such a state
of things is in accordance with his holy word, the inalienable rights of
immortal souls, and the pure and merciful spirit of the Christian
religion.

"We do not shut our eyes to the difficulties, nay, the dangers, that
might beset the immediate abolition of that long-established system; we
see and admit the necessity of preparation for so great an event; but in
speaking of indispensable preliminaries, we cannot be silent on those
laws of your country which, in direct contravention of God's own law,
instituted in the time of man's innocency, deny, in effect, to the slave
the sanctity of marriage, with all its joys, rights, and obligations;
which separate, at the will of the master, the wife from the husband,
and the children from the parents. Nor can we be silent on that awful
system which, either by statute or by custom, interdicts to any race of
men, or any portion of the human family, education in the truths of the
gospel, and the ordinances of Christianity.

"A remedy applied to these two evils alone would commence the
amelioration of their sad condition. We appeal to you, then, as sisters,
as wives, and as mothers, to raise your voices to your fellow-citizens,
and your prayers to God, for the removal of this affliction from the
Christian world. We do not say these things in a spirit of
self-complacency, as though our nation were free from the guilt it
perceives in others. We acknowledge with grief and shame our heavy share
in this great sin. We acknowledge that our forefathers introduced, nay,
compelled the adoption of slavery in those mighty colonies. We humbly
confess it before Almighty God; and it is because we so deeply feel, and
so unfeignedly avow, our own complicity, that we now venture to implore
your aid to wipe away our common crime, and our common dishonor."


CONGREGATIONAL UNION--MAY 13.

The REV. JOHN ANGELL JAMES said, "I will only for one moment revert to
the resolution.[E] It does equal honor to the head, and the heart, and
the pen of the man who drew it. Beautiful in language, Christian in
spirit, noble and generous in design, it is just such a resolution as I
shall be glad to see emanate from the Congregational body, and find its
way across the Atlantic to America. Sir, we speak most powerfully, when,
though we speak firmly, we speak in kindness; and there is nothing in
that resolution that can, by possibility, offend the most fastidious
taste of any individual present, or any individual in the world, who
takes the same views of the evil of slavery, in itself, as we do. [Hear,
hear!] I shall not trespass long upon the attention of this audience,
for we are all impatient to hear Professor Stowe speak in his own name,
and in the name of that distinguished lady whom it is his honor and his
happiness to call his wife. [Loud cheers.] His station and his
acquirements, his usefulness in America, his connection with our body,
his representation of the Pilgrim Fathers who bore the light of
Christianity to his own country, all make him welcome here. [Cheers.]
But he will not be surprised if it is not on his own account merely that
we give him welcome, but also on account of that distinguished woman to
whom so marked an allusion has already been made. To her, I am sure, we
shall tender no praise, except the praise that comes to her from a
higher source than ours; from One who has, by the testimony of her own
conscience, echoing the voice from above, said to her, 'Well done, good
and faithful servant.' Long, sir, may it be before the completion of the
sentence; before the welcome shall be given to her, when she shall hear
him say, 'Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' [Loud cheers.] But,
though we praise her not, or praise with chastened language, we would
say, Madam, we do thank you from the bottom of our hearts, [Hear, hear!
and immense cheering,] for rising up to vindicate our outraged humanity;
for rising up to expound the principles of our still nobler
Christianity. For my own part, it is not merely as an exposition of the
evils of slavery that makes me hail that wondrous volume to our country
and to the world; but it is the living exposition of the principles of
the gospel that it contains, and which will expound those principles to
many an individual who would not hear them from our lips, nor read them
from our pens. I maintain, that Uncle Tom is one of the most beautiful
imbodiments of the Christian religion that was ever presented in this
world. [Loud cheers.] And it is that which makes me take such delight in
it. I rejoice that she killed him. [Laughter and cheers.] He must die
under the slave lash--he must die, the martyr of slavery, and receive
the crown of martyrdom from both worlds for his testimony to the truth.
[Turning to Mrs. Stowe, Mr. James continued:] May the Lord God reward
you for what you have done; we cannot, madam--we cannot do it. [Cheers.]
We rejoice in the perfect assurance, in the full confidence, that the
arrow which is to pierce the system of slavery to the heart has been
shot, and shot by a female hand. Right home to the mark it will go.
[Cheers.] It is true, the monster may groan and struggle for a long
while yet; but die it will; die it must--under the potency of that book.
[Loud cheers.] It never can recover. It will be your satisfaction,
perhaps, in this world, madam, to see the reward of your labors. Heaven
grant that your life may be prolonged, until such time as you see the
reward of your labors in the striking off of the last fetter of the last
slave that still pollutes the soil of your beloved country. [Cheers.]
For beloved it is; and I should do dishonor to your patriotism if I did
not say it--beloved it is; and you are prepared to echo the sentiments,
by changing the terms, which we often hear in old England, and say,--

  'America! with all thy faults I love thee still!'

But still more intense will be my affection, and pure and devoted the
ardor of my patriotism, when this greatest of all thine ills, this
darkest of the blots upon thine escutcheon, shall be wiped out forever."
[Loud applause.]

The REV. PROFESSOR STOWE rose amid loud, and repeated cheers, and said,
"It is extremely painful for me to speak on the subject of American
slavery, and especially out of the borders of my own country. [Hear,
hear!] I hardly know whether painful or pleasurable emotions
predominate, when I look upon the audience to which I speak. I feel a
very near affinity to the Congregationalists of England, and especially
to the Congregationalists of London. [Cheers.] My ancestors were
residents of London; at least, from the time of Edward III.; they lived
in Cornhill and Leadenhall Street, and their bones lie buried in the old
church of St. Andrew Under-Shaft; and, in the year 1632, on account of
their nonconformity, they were obliged to seek refuge in the State of
Massachusetts; and I have always felt a love and a veneration for the
Congregational churches of England, more than for any other churches in
any foreign land. [Cheers.] I can only hope, that my conduct, as a
religious man and a minister of Christ, may not bring discredit upon my
ancestors, and upon the honorable origin which I claim. [Hear! and
cheers.] I wish to say, in the first place, that in the United States
the Congregational churches, as a body, are free from slavery. [Cheers.]
I do not think that there is a Congregational church in the United
States in which a member could openly hold a slave without subjecting
himself to discipline.[F] True, I have met with churches very deficient
in their duty on this subject, and I am afraid there are members of
Congregational churches who hold slaves secretly as security for debt in
the Southern States. At the last great Congregational Convention, held
in the city of Albany, the churches took a step on the subject of
slavery much in advance of any other great ecclesiastical body in the
country. I hope it is but the beginning of a series of measures that
will eventuate in the separation of this body from all connection with
slavery. [Hear, hear!] I am extensively acquainted with the United
States; I have lived in different sections of them; I am familiar with
people of all classes, and it is my solemn conviction, that nine tenths
of the people feel on the subject of slavery as you do;[G] [cheers;]
perhaps not so intensely, for familiarity with wrong deadens the
conscience; but their convictions are altogether as yours are; and in
the slaveholding states, and among slaveholders themselves, conscience
is against the system. [Cheers.] There is no legislative control of the
subject of slavery, except by slaveholding legislators themselves.
Congress has no right to do any thing in the premises. They violated the
constitution, as I believe, in passing the Fugitive Slave Act. [Cheers.]
I do not believe they had any right to pass it. [Hear, hear!] I stand
here not as the representative of any body whatever. I only represent
myself, and give you my individual convictions, that have been produced
by a long and painful connection with the subject. [Hear, hear!] As to
the resolution, I approve it entirely. Its sentiment and its spirit are
my own. [Cheers.] At the close of the revolutionary war, which separated
the colonies from the mother country, every state of the Union was a
slaveholding state; every colony was a slaveholding colony; and now we
have seventeen free states. [Cheers.] Slavery has been abolished in one
half of the original colonies, and it was declared that there should be
neither slavery nor the slave trade in any territory north and west of
the Ohio River; so that all that part is entirely free from actual
active participation in this curse, laying open a free territory that, I
think, must be ten times larger in extent than Great Britain. [Loud
cheers.] The State of Massachusetts was the first in which slavery
ceased. How did it cease? By an enactment of the legislature? Not at
all. They did not feel there was any necessity for such an enactment.
The Bill of Rights declared, that all men were born free, and that they
had an equal right to the pursuit of happiness and the acquisition of
property. In contradiction to that, there were slaves in every part of
Massachusetts; and some philanthropic individual advised a slave to
bring into court an action for wages against his master during all his
time of servitude. The action was brought, and the court decided that
the negro was entitled to wages during the whole period. [Cheers.] That
put an end to slavery in Massachusetts, and that decision ought to have
put an end to slavery in all states of the Union, because the law
applied to all. They abolished slavery in all the Northern States--in
Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, and Rhode Island; and it was
expected that the whole of the states would follow the example. When I
was a child, I never heard a lisp in defence of slavery. [Hear, hear,
hear!] Every body condemned it; all looked upon it as a great curse, and
all regarded it as a temporary evil, which would soon melt away before
the advancing light of truth. [Hear, hear!] But still there was great
injustice done to those who had been slaves. Every body regarded the
colored race as a degraded race; they were looked upon as inferior; they
were not upon terms of social equality. The only thing approaching it
was, that the colored children attended the schools with the white
children, and took their places on the same forms; but in all other
respects they were excluded from the common advantages and privileges of
society. In the places of worship they were seated by themselves; and
that difference always existed till these discussions came up, and they
began to feel mortified at their situation; and hence, wherever they
could, they had worship by themselves, and began to build places of
worship for themselves; and now you will scarcely find a colored person
occupying a seat in our places of worship. This stain still remains, and
it is but a type of the feeling that has been generated by slavery. This
ought to be known and understood, and this is just one of the
out-croppings of that inward feeling that still is doing great injustice
to the colored race; but there are symptoms of even that giving way.

"I suppose you all remember Dr. Pennington--[cheers]--a colored minister
of great talent and excellence--[Hear, hear!]--though born a slave, and
for many years was a fugitive slave. [Hear, hear.] Dr. Pennington is a
member of the presbytery of New York; and within the last six months he
has been chosen moderator of that presbytery. [Loud cheers.] He has
presided in that capacity at the ordination of a minister to one of the
most respectable churches of that city. So far so good--we rejoice in
it, and we hope that the same sense of justice which has brought about
that change, so that a colored man can be moderator of a Presbytery in
the city of New York, will go on, till full justice is done to these
people, and until the grievous wrongs to which they have been subjected
will be entirely done away. [Cheers.] But still, what is the aspect
which the great American nation now presents to the Christian world?
Most sorry am I to say it; but it is just this--a Christian republic
upholding slavery--the only great nation on earth that does uphold it--a
great Christian republic, which, so far as the white people are
concerned, is the fairest and most prosperous nation on earth--that
great Christian republic using all the power of its government to secure
and to shield this horrible institution of negro slavery from
aggression; and there is no subject on which the government is so
sensitive--there is no institution which it manifests such a
determination to uphold. [Hear, hear!] And then the most melancholy fact
of all is, that the entire Christian church in that republic, with few
exceptions, are silent, or are apologists for this great wrong. [Hear,
hear!] It makes my heart bleed to think of it; and there are many
praying and weeping in secret places over this curse, whose voices are
not heard. There is such a pressure on the subject, it is so mixed up
with other things, that many sigh over it who know not what to say or
what to do in reference to it. And what kind of slavery is it? Is it
like the servitude under the Mosaic law, which is brought forward to
defend it? Nothing like it. Let me read you a little extract from a
correspondent of a New York paper, writing from Paris. I will read it,
because it is so graphic, and because I wish to show from what sources
you may best ascertain the real nature of American slavery. The
commercial newspapers, published by slaveholders, in slaveholding
states, will give you a far more graphic idea of what slavery actually
is, than you have from Uncle Tom's Cabin; for there the most horrible
features are softened. This writer says, 'And now a word on American
representatives abroad. I have already made my complaint of the troubles
brought on Americans here by that "incendiary" book of Mrs. Stowe's,
especially of the difficulty we have in making the French understand our
institutions. But there was one partially satisfactory way of answering
their questions, by saying that Uncle Tom's Cabin was a romance. And
this would have served the purpose pretty well, and spared our blushes
for the model republic, if the slaveholders themselves would only
withhold their testimony to the truth of what we were willing to let
pass as fiction. But they are worse than Mrs. Stowe herself, and their
writings are getting to be quoted here quite extensively. The _Moniteur_
of to-day, and another widely-circulated journal that lies on my table,
both contain extracts from those extremely incendiary periodicals, _The
National Intelligencer_, of February 11, and _The N.O. Picayune_, of
February 17. The first gives an auctioneer's advertisement of the sale
of "a negro boy of eighteen years, a negro girl aged sixteen, three
horses, saddles, bridles, wheelbarrows," &c. Then follows an account of
the sale, which reads very much like the description, in the dramatic
_feuilletons_ here, of a famous scene in the _Case de l'Oncle Tom_, as
played at the _Ambigu Comique_. The second extract is the advertisement
of "our esteemed fellow-citizen, Mr. M.C.G.," who presents his "respects
to the inhabitants of O. and the neighbouring parishes," and "informs
them that he keeps a fine pack of dogs trained to catch negroes," &c. It
is painful to think that there are men in our country who will write,
and that there are others found to publish, such tales as these about
our peculiar institution. I put it to Mr. G., if he thinks it is
patriotic. As a "fellow-citizen," and in his private relations, G. may
be an estimable man, for aught I know, a Christian and a scholar, and an
ornament to the social circles of O. and the neighboring parishes. But
as an author, G. becomes public property, and a fair theme for
criticism; and in that capacity, I say G. is publishing the shame of his
country. I call him G., without the prefatory Mister, not from any
personal disrespect, much as I am grieved at his course as a writer, but
because he is now breveted for immortality, and goes down to posterity,
like other immortals, without titular prefix.' [Cheers.] Now, here is
where you get the true features of slavery. What is the reason that the
churches, as a general thing, are silent--that some of them are
apologists, and that some, in the extreme Southern States, actually
defend slavery, and say it is a good institution, and sanctioned by
Scripture? It is simply this--the overwhelming power of the slave
system; and whence comes that overwhelming power? It comes from its
great influence in the commercial world. [Hear!] Until the time that
cotton became so extensively an article of export, there was not a word
said in defence of slavery, as far as I know, in the United States. In
1818, the Presbyterian General Assembly passed resolutions unanimously
on the subject of slavery, to which this resolution is mildness itself;
and not a man could be found to say one word against it. But cotton
became a most valuable article of export. In one form and another, it
became intimately associated with the commercial affairs of the whole
country. The northern manufacturers were intimately connected with this
cotton trade, and more than two thirds raised in the United States has
been sold in Great Britain; and it is this cotton trade that supports
the whole system. That you may rely upon. The sugar and rice, so far as
the United States are concerned, are but small interests. The system is
supported by this cotton trade, and within two days I have seen an
article written with vigor in the _Charleston Mercury_, a southern paper
of great influence, saying, that the slaveholders are becoming isolated,
by the force of public opinion, from the rest of the world. They are
beginning to be regarded as inhuman tyrants, and the slaves the victims
of their cruelty; but, says the writer, just so long as you take our
cotton, we shall have our slaves. Now, you are as really involved in
this matter as we are--[Hear, hear!]--and if you have no other right to
speak on the subject, you have a right to speak from being yourselves
very active participators in the wrong. You have a great deal of feeling
on the subject, honorable and generous feeling, I know--an earnest,
philanthropic, Christian feeling; but if you have nothing to do, that
feeling will all evaporate, and leave an apathy behind. Now, here is
something to be done. It may be a small beginning, but, as you go
forward, Providence will develop other plans, and the more you do, the
further you will see. I am happy to know that a beginning has been made.
There are indications that a way has been so opened in providence that
this exigency can be met. Within the last few years, the Chinese have
begun to emigrate to the western parts of the United States. They will
maintain themselves on small wages; and wherever they come into actual
competition with slave labor, it cannot compete with them. Very many of
the slaveholders have spoken of this as a very remarkable indication. If
slavery had been confined to the original slave states, as it was
intended, slavery could not have lived. It was the intention that it
should never go beyond those boundaries. Had this been the case, it
would increase the number of slaves so much that they would have been
valueless as articles of property. I must say this for America, that the
slaves increase in the slave states faster than the white people; and it
shows that their physical condition is better than was that of the
slaves at the West Indies, or in Cuba, where the number actually
diminished. We must have more slave territories to make our slaves
valuable, and there was the origin of that iniquitous Mexican war,
whereby was added the vast territory of Texas; and then it was the
intention to make California a slave state; but, I am happy to say, it
has been received into the Union as a free state, and God grant it may
continue so. [Hear, hear!] What has been the effect of this expansion of
slave territory? It has doubled the value of slaves. Since I can
remember, a strong slave man would sell for about four hundred or six
hundred dollars--that is, about one hundred pounds; but now, during the
present season, I have known instances in which a slave man has been
sold for two hundred and thirty pounds. There are more slaves raised in
Virginia and Maryland than they can use in those states in labor, and,
therefore, they sell them at one hundred, two hundred, or three hundred
pounds, as the case may be, for cash. All that Mrs. Tyler intimates in
that letter about slavery in America, and the impression it is
calculated and intended to convey, that they treat their slaves so well,
and do not separate their families, and so forth, is all mere humbug.
[Laughter and cheers.] It is well known that Virginia has more profit
from selling negroes than from any other source. The great sources of
profit are tobacco and negroes, and they derive more from the sale of
negroes than tobacco. You see the temptation this gives to avarice.
Suppose there is a man with no property, except fifteen or twenty negro
men, whom he can sell, each one for two hundred pounds, cash; and he has
as many negro women, whom he can sell for one hundred and fifty pounds,
cash, and the children for one hundred pounds each: here is a temptation
to avarice; and it is calculated to silence the voice of conscience; and
it is the expansion of the slave territory, and the immense mercantile
value of the cotton, that has brought so powerful an influence to bear
on the United States in favor of slavery. [Hear, hear.] Now, as to free
labor coming into competition with slave labor: You will see, that when
the price of slaves is so enormous, it requires an immense outlay to
stock a plantation. A good plantation would take two hundred, or three
hundred hands. Now, say for every hand employed on this plantation, the
man must pay on an average two hundred pounds, which is not exorbitant
at the present time. If he has to pay at this rate, what an immense
outlay of capital to begin with, and how great the interest on that sum
continually accumulating! And then there is the constant exposure to
loss. These plantation negroes are very careless of life, and often
cholera gets among them, and sweeps off twenty-five or thirty in a few
days; and then there is the underground railroad, and, with all the
precautions that can be taken, it continues to work. And now you see
what an immense risk, and exposure to loss, and a vast outlay of
capital, there is in connection with this system. But, if a man takes a
cotton farm, and can employ Chinese laborers, he can get them for one or
two shillings a day, and they will do the work as well, if not better
than negroes, and there is no outlay or risk. [Hear, hear!]. If good
cotton fields can be obtained, as they may in time, here is an opening
which will tend to weaken the slave system. If Christians will
investigate this subject, and if philanthropists generally will pursue
these inquiries in an honest spirit, it is not long before we shall see
a movement throughout the civilized world, and the upholders of slavery
will feel, where they feel most acutely--in their pockets. Until
something of this kind is done, I despair of accomplishing any great
amount of good by simple appeals to the conscience and right principle.
There are a few who will listen to conscience and a sense of right, but
there are unhappily only a few. I suppose, though you have good
Christians here, you have many who will put their consciences in their
pockets. [Hear, hear!] I have known cases of this kind. There was a
young lady in the State of Virginia who was left an orphan, and she had
no property except four negro slaves, who were of great commercial
value. She felt that slavery was wrong, and she could not hold them. She
gave them their freedom--[cheers]--and supported herself by teaching a
small school. [Cheers.] Now, notwithstanding all the unfavorable things
we see--notwithstanding the dark cloud that hangs over the country,
there are hopeful indications that God has not forgotten us, and that he
will carry on this work till it is accomplished. [Hear!] But it will be
a long while first, I fear; and we must pray, and labor, and persevere;
for he that perseveres to the end, and he only, receives the crown. Now,
there are very few in the United States who undertake to defend slavery,
and say it is right. But the great majority, even of professors of
religion, unite to shield it from aggression. 'It is the law of the
land,' they say, 'and we must submit to it.' It seems a strange doctrine
to come from the lips of the descendants of the Puritans, those who
resisted the law of the land because those laws were against their
conscience, and finally went over to that new world, in order that they
might enjoy the rights of conscience. How would it have been with the
primitive church if this doctrine had prevailed? There never would have
been any Christian church, for that was against the laws of the land. In
regard to the distribution of the Bible, in many states the laws
prohibit the teaching of slaves, and the distribution of the Bible is
not allowed among them. The American Bible Society does not itself take
the responsibility of this. It leaves the whole matter to the local
societies in the several states, and it is the local societies that take
the responsibility. Well, why should we obey the law of the land in
South Carolina on this subject, and disobey the law of the land in
Italy? But our missionary societies and Bible societies send Bibles to
other parts of the world, and never ask if it is contrary to the law of
these lands, and if it is, they push it all the more zealously. They
send Bibles to Italy and Spain, and yet the Bible is prohibited by those
governments. The American Tract Society and the American Sunday School
Union allow none of their issues to utter a syllable against slavery.
They expunge even from their European books every passage of this kind,
and excuse themselves by the law and the public sentiment. So are the
people taught. There has been a great deal said on the subject of
influence from abroad; but those who talk in that way interfered with
the persecution of the Madiai, and remonstrated with the Tuscan
government. We have had large meetings on the subject in New York, and
those who refuse the Bible to the slave took part in that meeting, and
did not seem to think there was any inconsistency in their conduct.

"The Christian church knows no distinction of nations. In that church
there is neither Greek nor Jew, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free, but
all are one in Christ; and whatever affects one part of the body affects
the other, and the whole Christian church every where is bound to help,
and encourage, and rebuke, as the case may require. The Christian church
is every where bound to its corresponding branch in every other country;
and thus you have, not only a right, but it is your duty, to consider
the case of the American slave with just the same interest with which
you consider the cause of the native Hindoo, when you send out your
missionaries there, or with which you consider Madagascar; and to
express yourselves in a Christian spirit, and in a Christian way
continually, till you see that your admonitions have had a suitable
influence. I do not doubt what you say, that you will receive with great
pleasure men who come from the United States to promote the cause of
temperance, and you may have the opportunity of showing your sincerity
before long; and the manner in which you receive them will have a very
important bearing on the subject of slavery. [Cheers.] I have not the
least doubt you will hail with joy those who will come across the
Atlantic to advance and promote still more earnestly those noble
institutions, the ragged schools and the ragged churches. [Cheers.] The
men who want to do good at home are the men who do good abroad; and the
same spirit of Christian liberality that leads you to feel for the
American slave will lead you to care for your own poor, and those in
adverse circumstances in your own land, I would ask, Is it possible,
then, that admonition and reproof given in a Christian spirit, and by a
Christian heart, can fail to produce a right influence on a Christian
spirit and a Christian heart? I think the thing is utterly impossible;
and that if such admonitions as are contained in the resolution,
conceived in such a spirit, and so kindly expressed--if they are not
received in a Christian spirit, it is because the Christian spirit has
unhappily fled. I can answer for myself, at least, and many of my
brethren, that it will be so; and, so far from desiring you to withhold
your expressions on account of any bad feeling that they might excite, I
wish you to reiterate them, and reiterate them in the same spirit in
which they are given in this resolution; for I believe that these
expressions of impatience and petulance represent the feelings of very
few. Who is it that always speaks first? The angry man, and it comes out
at once; but the wise man keeps it in till afterwards; and it will not
be long before you will find, that whatever you say in a Christian
spirit will be responded to on the other side of the water. Now, I
believe our churches have neglected their duty on this subject, and are
still neglecting it. Many do not seem to know what their duty is. Yet I
believe them to be good, conscientious men, and men who will do their
duty when they know what it is. Take, for example, the American Board of
Foreign Missions. There are not better men, or more conscientious men,
on the face of the earth, or men more sincerely desirous of doing their
duty; yet, in some things, I believe they are mistaken. I think it would
be better to throw over the very few churches connected with the Board
which are slaveholding, than to endeavor to sustain them, and to have
all this pressure of responsibility still upon them. But yet they are
pursuing the course which they conscientiously think to be right.
Christian admonition will not be lost upon them.[H] I will say the same
of the American Home Missionary Society. They have little to do with
slavery, as I have already remarked. Many think they ought not to say
any thing upon the subject, because they cannot do so without weakening
their influence. But then this question comes: If good men do not speak,
who will?--[Hear, hear!]--and, as our Savior said in regard to the
children that shouted, Hosannah, 'If these should hold their peace, the
stones would immediately cry out.' It is in consequence of their silence
that stones have begun to cry out, and they rebuke the silence and
apathy of good men; and this is made an argument against religion, which
has had effect with unthinking people; so I think it absolutely
necessary that men in the church, on that very ground, should speak out
their mind on this great subject at whatever risk--[cheers]--and they
must take the consequences. In due time God will prosper the right, and
in due time the fetters will fall from every slave, and the black man
will have the same privileges as the white. [Applause.]"


ROYAL HIGHLAND SCHOOL SOCIETY DINNER, AT THE FREEMASON'S TAVERN,
LONDON--MAY 14.

The Chairman, Sir ARCHIBALD ALISON, gave "The health of her Grace the
Duchess of Sutherland, and the noble patronesses of the Society," which
was received with great applause. It was extremely gratifying, he said,
to find a lady, belonging to one of the most ancient and noblest
families of the kingdom, displaying so great an interest in their
institution. [Cheers.] Not the least of their obligations to her Grace
was the opportunity she had given them to offer their respects to a
lady, remarkable alike for her genius and her philanthropy, who had come
from across the Atlantic, and who, by her philanthropic exertions in the
cause of negro emancipation, had enlisted the feelings and called forth
the sympathies of thousands and tens of thousands on both sides of the
ocean. [Tremendous cheering.] She had shown that the genius, and
talents, and energies, which such a cause inspired, had created a
species of freemasonry throughout the world; it had set aside
nationalities, and bound two nations together which the broad Atlantic
could not sever; and created a union of sentiment and purpose which he
trusted would continue till the great work of negro emancipation had
been finally accomplished. [Cheers.]

PROFESSOR STOWE responded to the allusion which had been made to Mrs.
Stowe, and was greeted with hearty applause. He said he had read in his
childhood the writings of Sir Walter Scott, and thus became intensely
interested in all that pertained to Scotland. [Cheers.] He had read,
more recently, his Life of Napoleon, and also Sir Archibald Alison's
History of Europe. [Protracted cheers.] But he certainly never expected
to be called upon to address such an assembly as that, and under such
circumstances. Nothing could exceed the astonishment which was felt by
himself and Mrs. Stowe at the cordiality of their reception in every
part of Great Britain, from persons of every rank in life. [Cheers.]
Every body seemed to have read her book. [Hear, hear! and loud cheers.]
Everyone seemed to have been deeply interested, [cheers,] and disposed
to return a full-hearted homage to the writer. But all she claimed
credit for was truth, and honesty, and earnestness of purpose. He had
only to add that he cordially thanked the Royal Highland School Society
for the kindness which induced them to invite him and Mrs. Stowe to be
present that evening. [Cheers.] The work in which the society was
engaged was one that they both held dear, and in which they felt the
deepest interest, inasmuch as that object was to promote the education
of youth among those whose poverty rendered them unable to provide the
means of education for themselves. [Hear, hear!] In such works as that
they had themselves for most of their lives been diligently engaged.
[Cheers.]


ANTISLAVERY SOCIETY, EXETER HALL--MAY 16.

THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY, who, on coming forward to open the proceedings,
was received with much applause, spoke as follows: "We are assembled
here this night to protest, with the utmost intensity, and with all the
force which language can command, against the greatest wrong that the
wickedness of man ever perpetrated upon his fellow-man--[loud cheers]--a
wrong which, great in all ages--great in heathen times--great in all
countries--great even under heathen sentiments--is indescribably
monstrous in Christian days, and exercised as it is, not unfrequently,
over Christian people. [Hear!] It is surely remarkable, and exceedingly
disgraceful to a century and a generation so boastful of its progress,
and of the institution of so many Bible societies, with so many
professions and preachments of Christianity--with so many declarations
of the spiritual value of man before God--after so many declarations of
this equality of every man in the sight of his fellow-man--that we
should be assembled here this evening to protest against the conduct of
a mighty and a Protestant people, who, in the spirit of the Romish
Babylon, which they had renounced, resort to her most abominable
practices--making merchandise of the temples of God, and trafficking in
the bodies and souls of men. [Cheers.] We are not here to proclaim and
maintain our own immaculate purity. We are not here to stand forward and
say, 'I am holier than thou.' We have confessed, and that openly, and
freely, and unreservedly, our share, our heavy share, in by-gone days,
of vast wickedness; we have, we declare it again, and we had our deep
remorse. We sympathize with the preponderating bulk of the American
people; we acknowledge and we feel the difficulties which beset them; we
rejoice and we believe in their good intentions; but we have no
patience--I at least have none--with those professed leaders, be they
political or be they clerical, who mislead the people--with those who,
blasphemously resting slavery on the Holy Scriptures, desecrate their
pulpits by the promulgation of doctrines better suited to the synagogue
of Satan--[cheers]--nor with that gentleman who, the greatest officer of
the greatest republic in the whole world, in pronouncing an inaugural
address to the assembled multitudes, maintains the institution of
slavery; and--will you believe it?--invokes the Almighty God to maintain
those rights, and thus sanction the violation of his own laws!--[Cries
of 'Shame!'] This is, indeed, a dismal prospect for those who tremble at
human power; but we have this consolation: Is it not said that, 'When
the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift
up a standard against him?' [Hear, hear!] He has done so now, and a most
wonderful and almost inspired protector has arisen for the suffering of
this much injured race. [Loud cheers.] Feeble as her sex, but
irresistible as virtue and as truth, she will prove to her adversary,
and to ours, that such boasting shall not be for his honor, 'for the
Lord will sell Sisera into the hands of a woman.' [Hear, hear! and loud
cheers.] Now, I ask you this: Is there one of you who believes that the
statements of that marvellous book to which we have alluded present an
exaggerated picture?--[Tremendous cries of 'No, no.'] Do they not know,
say what they will, that the truth is not fully stated? [Hear, hear!]
The reality is worse than the fiction. [Hear, hear!] But, apart from
this, there is our solemn declaration that the vileness of the principle
is at once exhibited in the mere notion of slavery, and the atrocities
of it are the natural and almost inevitable consequences of the
profession and exercise of absolute and irresponsible power. [Hear,
hear!] But do you doubt the fact? Look to the document. I will quote to
you from this book. I have never read any thing more strikingly
illustrative or condemnatory of the system we are here to denounce. Here
is the judgment pronounced by one of the judges in North Carolina. It is
impossible to read this judgment, however terrible the conclusion,
without feeling convinced that the man who pronounced it was a man of a
great mind, and, in spite of the law he was bound to administer, a man
of a great heart. [Hear, hear!] Hear what he says. The case was this: It
was a 'case of appeal,' in which the defendant had hired a slave woman
for a year. During this time she committed some slight offence, for
which the defendant undertook to chastise her. After doing so he shot at
her as she was running away. The question then arose, was he justified
in using that amount of coercion? and whether the privilege of shooting
was not confined to the actual proprietor? The case was argued at some
length, and the court, in pronouncing judgment, began by deploring that
any judge should ever be called upon to decide such a case, but he had
to administer the law, and not to make it. The judge said, 'With
whatever reluctance, therefore, the court is bound to express the
opinion, that the dominion over a slave in Carolina has not, as it has
been argued, any analogy with the authority of a tutor over a pupil, of
a master over an apprentice, or of a parent over a child. The court does
not recognize these applications. There is no likeness between them.
They are in opposition to each other, and there is an impassable gulf
between them. The difference is that which exists between freedom and
slavery--[Hear, hear!]--and a greater difference cannot be imagined. In
the one case, the end in view is the happiness of the youth, born to
equal rights with the tutor, whose duty it is to train the young to
usefulness by moral and intellectual instruction. If they will not
suffice, a moderate chastisement maybe administered. But with slavery it
is far otherwise.' Mark these words, for they contain the whole thing.
But with slavery it is far otherwise. The end is the profit of the
master, and the poor object is one doomed, in his own person, and in his
posterity, to live without knowledge, and without capacity to attain any
thing which he may call his own. He has only to labor, that another may
reap the fruits.' [Hear, hear!] Mark! this is from the sacred bench of
justice, pronounced by one of the first intellects in America! 'There is
nothing else which can operate to produce the effect; the power of the
master must be absolute, to render the submission of the slave perfect.
[Hear, hear!] It is inherent in the relation of master and slave;' and
then he adds those never-to-be-forgotten words, 'We cannot allow the
right of the master to come under discussion in the courts of justice.
The slave must be made sensible that there is no appeal from his master,
and that his master's power is in no instance usurped; that these rights
are conferred by the laws of man, at least, if not by the law of God.'
[Loud cries of 'Shame, shame!'] This is the mode in which we are to
regard these two classes of beings, both created by the same God, and
both redeemed by the same Savior as ourselves, and destined to the same
immortality! The judgment, on appeal, was reversed; but, God be praised;
there is another appeal, and that appeal we make to the highest of all
imaginable courts, where God is the judge, where mercy is the advocate,
and where unerring truth will pronounce the decision![Protracted
cheering.] There are some who are pleased to tell us that there is an
inferiority in the race! That is untrue. [Cheers.] But we are not here
to inquire whether our black brethren will become Shakspeares or
Herschels. [Hear, hear!] I ask, are they immortal beings? [Great
applause.] Do our adversaries, say no? I ask them, then, to show me one
word in the handwriting of God which has thus levelled them with the
brute beasts. [Hear, hear!] Let us bear in mind those words of our
blessed Savior--'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones who
believe in me, it were better that a millstone were hanged about his
neck, and that he were cast into the depths of the sea.' [Loud cheers.]
Now, then, what is our duty? Is it to stand still? Yes! when we receive
the command from the same authority that said to the sun, Stand over
Gibeon! [Loud cheers.] Then, and not till then, will we stand still.
[Renewed cheers.] Are we to listen to the craven and miserable talk
about 'doing more harm than good'? [Hear, hear!] This was an argument
which would have checked every noble enterprise which has been
undertaken since the world began. It would have strangled Wilberforce,
and checked the very Exodus itself from the house of bondage in Egypt.
[Hear, hear!] Out on all such craven talk! [Cheers.] Slavery is a
mystery, and so is all sin, and we must fight against it; and, by the
blessing of God, we will. [Loud cheers.] We must pray to Almighty God,
that we and our American brethren--who seem now to be the sole
depositories of the Protestant truth, and of civil and religious
liberty, may be as one. [Cheers.] We are feeble, if hostile; but, if
united, we are the arbiters of the world. [Cheers.] Let us join together
for the temporal and spiritual good of our race."

PROFESSOR STOWE then came forward, and was received with unbounded
demonstrations of applause. When the cheering had subsided, he said "he
felt utterly exhausted by the heat and excitement of the meeting, and
should therefore be glad to be excused from saying a single word;
however, he would utter a few thoughts. The following was the resolution
which he had to submit to the meeting: 'That with a view to the
correction of public sentiment on this subject in slaveholding
communities, it is of the first importance that those who are earnest in
condemnation of slavery should observe consistency; and, therefore, that
it is their duty to encourage the development of the natural resources
of countries where slavery does not exist, and the soil of which is
adapted to the growth of products--especially of cotton--now partially
or chiefly raised by slave labor; and though the extinction of slavery
is less to be expected from a diminished demand for slave produce than
from the moral effects of a steadfast abhorrence of slavery itself, and
from an unwavering and consistent opposition to it, this meeting would
earnestly recommend, that in all cases where it is practicable, a
decided preference should be given to the products of free labor, by all
who enter their protest against slavery, so that at least they
themselves may be clear of any participation in the guilt of the system,
and be thus morally strengthened in their condemnation of it.' At the
close of the revolutionary war, all the states of America were
slaveholding states. In Massachusetts, some benevolent white man caused
a slave to try an action for wages in a court of justice. He succeeded,
and the consequence was, that slavery fell in Massachusetts. It was then
universally acknowledged that slavery was a sin and shame, and ought to
be abolished, and it was expected that it would be soon abolished in
every state of the Union. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison, and Benjamin
Franklin would not allow the word 'slave' to occur in the constitution,
and Mr. Edwards, from the pulpit, clearly and broadly denounced slavery.
And when he (Professor Stowe) was a boy, in Massachusetts the negro
children were admitted to the same schools with the whites. Although
there was some prejudice of color then, yet it was not so strong as at
present. In 1818, the General Assembly of the Presbyterian church in the
United States passed, resolutions against slavery far stronger than
those passed at the meeting this evening, and every man, north and
south, voted for them. What had caused the change? It was the
profitableness of the cotton trade. It was that which had spread the
chains of slavery over the Union, and silenced the church upon the
subject. He had been asked, what right had Great Britain to interfere?
Why, Great Britain took four fifths of the cotton of America, and
therefore sustained four fifths of the slavery. That gave them a right
to interfere. [Hear, hear!] He admitted that our participation in the
guilt was not direct, but without the cotton, trade of Great Britain
slavery would have been abolished long ago, for the American
manufacturers consumed but one fifth of all the cotton grown in the
country. The conscience of the cotton growers was talked of; but had the
cotton consumer no conscience? [Cheers.] It seemed to him that the
British public had more direct access to the consumer than to the grower
of cotton." Professor Stowe then read an extract from a paper published
in Charleston, South Carolina, showing the influence of the American
cotton trade on the slavery question. "The price of cotton regulated the
price of slaves, who were now worth an average of two hundred pounds. A
cotton plantation required in some cases two hundred, and in others four
hundred slaves. This would give an idea of the capital needed. With free
labor there was none of this outlay--there was none of those losses by
the cholera, and the 'underground railroad,' to which the slave owners
were subjected. [Hear, hear!] The Chinese had come over in large
numbers, and could be hired for small wages, on which they managed to
live well in their way. If people would encourage free-grown cotton,
that would be the strongest appeal they could make to the slaveholder.
There were three ways of abolishing slavery. First, by a bloody
revolution, which few would approve. [Hear, hear!] Secondly, by
persuading slaveholders of the wrong they commit; but this would have
little effect so long as they bought their cotton. [Hear, hear!] And the
third and most feasible way was, by making slave labor unprofitable, as
compared with free labor. [Hear!] When the Chinese first began to
emigrate to California, it was predicted that slavery would be 'run out'
that way. He hoped it might be so. [Cheers.] The reverend gentleman then
reverted to his previous visit to this country, seventeen years ago, and
described the rapid strides which had been made in the work of
education--especially the education of the poor--in the interval. It was
most gratifying to him, and more easily seen by him than it would be by
us, with whom the change had been gradual. He had been told in America
that the English abolitionists were prompted by jealousy of America, but
he had found that to be false. The Christian feeling which had dictated
efforts on behalf of ragged schools and factory children, and the
welfare of the poor and distressed of every kind, had caused the same
Christian hearts to throb for the American slave. It was that Christian
philanthropy which received all men as brethren--children of the same
father, and therefore he had great hopes of success. [Cheers.]"

       *       *       *       *       *

My remarks on the cotton business of Britain were made with entire
sincerity, and a single-hearted desire to promote the antislavery cause.
They are sentiments which I had long entertained, and which I had taken
every opportunity to express with the utmost freedom from the time of my
first landing in Liverpool, the great cotton mart of England, and where,
if any where, they might be supposed capable of giving offence; yet no
exception was taken to them, so far as I know, till delivered in Exeter
Hall. There they were heard by some with surprise, and by others with
extreme displeasure. I was even called _proslavery_, and ranked with
Mrs. Julia Tyler, for frankly speaking the truth, under circumstances of
great temptation to ignore it.

Still I have the satisfaction of knowing that both my views and my
motives were rightly understood and properly appreciated by
large-hearted and clear-headed philanthropists, like the Earl of
Shaftesbury and Joseph Sturge, and very fairly represented and commented
upon by such religious and secular papers as the Christian Times, the
British Banner, the London Daily News and Chronicle; and even the
_thundering political_ Times seemed disposed, in a half-sarcastic way,
to admit that I was more than half right.

But it is most satisfactory of all to know that the best of the British
abolitionists are now acting, promptly and efficiently, in accordance
with those views, and are determined to develop the resources of the
British empire for the production of cotton by free labor. The thing is
practicable, and not of very difficult accomplishment. It is furthermore
absolutely essential to the success of the antislavery cause; for now
the great practical leading argument for slavery is, _Without slavery
you can have no cotton, and cotton you must and will have_. The latest
work that I have read in defence of slavery (Uncle Tom in Paris,
Baltimore, 1854) says, (pp. 56-7,) "_Of the cotton which supplies the
wants of the civilized world, the south produces 86 per cent.; and
without slave labor experience has shown that the cotton plant cannot be
cultivated_."

How the matter is viewed by sagacious and practical minds in Britain, is
clear from the following sentences, taken from the National Era:--

"COTTON is KING.--Charles Dickens, in a late number of his Household
Words, after enumerating the striking facts of cotton, says,--

"'Let any social or physical convulsion visit the United States, and
England would feel the shock from Land's End to John o'Groat's. The
lives of nearly two millions of our countrymen are dependent upon the
cotton crops of America; their destiny may be said, without any sort of
hyperbole, to hang upon a thread.

"'Should any dire calamity befall the land of cotton, a thousand of our
merchant ships would rot idly in dock; ten thousand mills must stop
their busy looms, and two million mouths would starve for lack of food
to feed them.'

"How many non-slaveholders elsewhere are thus interested in the products
of slaves? Is it not worthy the attention of genuine philanthropists to
inquire whether cotton cannot be profitably cultivated by free labor?"


SOIRÉE AT WILLIS'S ROOMS--MAY 25.

MR. JOSEPH STURGE took the chair, announcing that he did so in the
absence of the Earl of Shaftesbury, who was prevented from attending.

It was announced that letters had been received from the Duke of
Newcastle and the Earls of Carlisle and Shaftesbury, expressing their
sympathy with the object of the meeting, and their regret at being
unable to attend.

The Secretary, SAMUEL BOWLEY, Esq., of Gloucester, then read the
address, which was as follows:--

"MADAM: It is with feelings of the deepest interest that the committee
of the British and Foreign Antislavery Society, on behalf of themselves
and of the society they represent, welcome the gifted authoress of Uncle
Tom's Cabin to the shores of Great Britain.

"As humble laborers in the cause of negro emancipation, we hail, with
emotions more easily imagined than described, the appearance of that
remarkable work, which has awakened a world-wide sympathy on behalf of
the suffering negro, and called forth a burst of honest indignation
against the atrocious system of slavery, which, we trust, under the
divine blessing, will, at no distant period, accomplish its entire
abolition. We are not insensible to those extraordinary merits of Uncle
Tom's Cabin, as a merely literary production, which have procured for
its talented authoress such universal commendation and enthusiastic
applause; but we feel it to be our duty to refer rather to the Christian
principles and earnest piety which pervade its interesting pages, and to
express our warmest desire, we trust we may say heartfelt prayer, that
He who bestowed upon you the power and the grace to write such a work
may preserve and bless you amid all your honours, and enable you, under
a grateful and humble sense of his abundant goodness, to give him all
the glory.

"We rejoice to find that the great principles upon which our society is
based are so fully and so cordially recognized by yourself and your
beloved husband and brother--First, that personal slavery, in all its
varied forms, is a direct violation of the blessed, precepts of the
gospel, and therefore a sin in the sight of God; and secondly, that
every victim of this unjust and sinful system is entitled to immediate
and unconditional freedom. For, however we might acquiesce in the course
of a nation which, under a sense of its participation in the guilt of
slavery, should share the pecuniary loss, if such there were, of its
immediate abolition, yet we repudiate the right to demand compensation
for human flesh and blood, as (to employ the emphatic words of Lord
Brougham) we repudiate and abhor 'the wild and guilty fantasy that man
can hold property in man.' And we do not hesitate to express our
conviction, strengthened by the experience of emancipation in our own
colonies, that on the mere ground of social or political expediency, the
immediate termination of slavery would be far less dangerous and far
less injurious than, any system of compromise, or any attempt at gradual
emancipation.

"Let it be borne in mind, however,--and we record it with peculiar
interest on the present occasion,--that it was the pen of a woman that
first publicly enunciated the imperative duty of immediate emancipation.
Amid vituperation and ridicule, and, far worse, the cold rebuke of
Christian friends, Mrs. Elizabeth Heyrick boldly sent forth the
thrilling tract which taught the abolitionists of Great Britain this
lesson of justice and truth; and we honor her memory for her deeds.
Again we are indebted to the pen of a woman for pleading yet more
powerfully the cause of justice to the slave; and again we have to
admire and honor the Christian heroism which has enabled you, dear
madam, to brave the storm of public opinion, and to bear the frowns of
the church in your own land, while you boldly sent forth your matchless
volume to teach more widely and more attractively the same righteous
lesson.

"We desire to feel grateful for the measure of success that has crowned
the advocacy of these sound antislavery principles in our own country;
but we cannot but feel, that as regards the continuance of slavery in
America, we have cause for humiliation and shame in the existence of the
melancholy fact that a large proportion of the fruits of the bitter toil
and suffering of the slaves in the western world are used to minister to
the comfort and the luxury of our own population. When this anomaly of a
country's putting down slavery by law on the one hand, and supporting it
by its trade and commerce on the other, will be removed, it is not for
us to predict; but we are conscious that our position is such as should
at least dissipate every sentiment of self-complacency, and make us
feel, both nationally and individually, how deep a responsibility still
rests upon us to wash our own hands of this iniquity, and to seek by
every legitimate means in our power to rid the world of this fearful
institution.

"True Christian philanthropy knows no geographical limits, no
distinctions of race or color; but wherever it sees its fellow-man the
victim of suffering and oppression, it seeks to alleviate his sorrows,
or drops a tear of sympathy over the afflictions which it has not the
power to remove. We cannot but believe that these enlarged and generous
sympathies will be aroused and strengthened in the hearts of thousands
and tens of thousands of all classes who have wept over the touching
pages of Uncle Tom's Cabin. We have marked the rapid progress of its
circulation from circle to circle, and from country to country, with
feelings of thrilling interest; for we trust, by the divine blessing
upon the softening influence and Christian sentiments it breathes, it
will be made the harbinger of a better and brighter day for the
happiness and the harmony of the human family. The facilities for
international intercourse which we now possess, while they rapidly tend
to remove those absurd jealousies which have so long existed between the
nations of the earth, are daily increasing the power of public opinion
in the world at large, which is so well described by one of our leading
statesmen in these forcible words: 'It is quite true, it may be said,
what are opinions against armies? Opinions, if they are founded in truth
and justice, will in the end prevail against the bayonets of infantry,
the fire of artillery, and the charges of cavalry.' Responding most
cordially to these sentiments, we rejoice with thanksgiving to God that
you, whom we now greet and welcome as our dear and honored friend, have
been enabled to exemplify their beauty and their truth; for it is our
firm conviction that the united powers of Europe, with all their
military array, could not accomplish what you have done, through the
medium of public opinion, for the overthrow of American slavery.

"The glittering steel of the warrior, though steeped in the tyrant's
blood, would be weak when compared with a woman's pen dipped in the milk
of human kindness, and softened by the balm of Christian love. The words
that have drawn a tear from the eye of the noble, and moistened the
dusky cheek of the hardest sons of toil, shall sink into the heart and
weaken the grasp of the slaveholder, and crimson with a blush of shame
many an American citizen who has hitherto defended or countenanced by
his silence this bitter reproach on the character and constitution of
his country.

"To the tender mercies of Him who died to save their immortal souls we
commend the downcast slaves for freedom and protection, and, in the
heart-cheering belief that you have been raised up as an honored
instrument in God's hand to hasten the glorious work of their
emancipation, we crave that his blessing, as well as the blessing of him
that is ready to perish, may abundantly rest upon you and yours. With
sentiments of the highest esteem and respect, dear madam, we
affectionately subscribe ourselves your friends and fellow-laborers."

PROFESSOR STOWE was received with prolonged cheering. He said, "Besides
the right which I have, owing to the relationship subsisting between us,
to answer for the lady whom you have so honored, I may claim a still
greater right in my sympathy for her efforts. [Hear!] We are perfectly
agreed in every point with regard to the nature of slavery, and the best
means of getting rid of it. I have been frequently called on to address
public meetings since I have been on these shores, and though under
circumstances of great disadvantage, and generally with little time, if
any, for preparation, still the very great kindness which has been
manifested to Mrs. Stowe and to myself, and to our country, afflicted as
it is with this great evil, has enabled me to bear a burden which
otherwise I should have found insupportable. But of all the addresses we
have received, kind and considerate as they have all been, I doubt
whether one has so completely expressed the feelings and sympathies of
our own hearts as the one we have just heard. It is precisely the
expressions of our own thoughts and feelings on the whole subject of
slavery. As this is probably the last time I shall have an opportunity
of addressing an audience in England, I wish briefly to give you an
outline of our views as to the best means of dealing with that terrible
subject of slavery, for in our country it is really terrible in its
power and influence. Were it not that Providence seems to be lifting a
light in the distance, I should be almost in despair. There is now a
system of causes at work which Providence designs should continue to
work, until that great curse is removed from the face of the earth. I
believe that in dealing with the subject of slavery, and the best means
of removing it, the first thing is to show the utter wrongfulness of the
whole system. The great moral ground is the chief and primary ground,
and the one on which we should always, and under all circumstances,
insist. With regard to the work which has created so much excitement,
the great excellence of it morally is, that it holds up fully and
emphatically the extreme wrongfulness of the system, while at the same
time showing an entire Christian and forgiving spirit towards those
involved in it; and it is these two characteristics which, in my
opinion, have given it its great power. Till I read that book, I had
never seen any extensive work that satisfied me on those points. It does
show, in the most striking manner, the horrible wrongfulness of the
system, and, at the same time, it displays no bitterness, no unfairness,
no unkindness, to those involved in it. It is that which gives the work
the greater power, for where there is unfairness, those assailed take
refuge behind it; while here they have no such refuge. We should always
aim, in assailing the system of slavery, to awaken the consciences of
those involved in it; for among slaveholders there are all kinds of
moral development, as among every other class of people in the world.
There are men of tender conscience, as well as men of blunted
conscience; men with moral sense, and men with no moral sense whatever;
some who have come into the system involuntarily, born in it, and others
who have come into it voluntarily. There is a moral nature in every man,
more or less developed; and according as it is developed we can, by
showing the wrong of a thing, bring one to abhor it. We have the
testimony of Christian clergymen in slave holding states, that the
greater portion of the Christian people there, and even many
slaveholders, believe the system is wrong; and it is only a matter of
time, a question of delay, as to when they shall perform their whole
duty, and bring it to an end.[I] One would believe that when they saw a
thing to be wrong, they would at once do right; but prejudice, habit,
interest, education, and a variety of influences check their aspirations
to what is right; but let us keep on pressing it upon their consciences,
and I believe their consciences will at length respond. Public sentiment
is more powerful than force, and it may be excited in many ways.
Conversation, the press, the platform, and the pulpit may all be used to
awaken the feeling of the people, and bring it to bear on this question.
I refer especially to the pulpit; for, if the church and the ministry
are silent, who is to speak for the dumb and the oppressed? The thing
that has borne on my mind with the most melancholy weight, and caused me
most sorrow, is the apparent apathy, the comparative silence, of the
church on this subject for the last twenty or five and twenty years in
the United States. Previous to that period it did speak, and with words
of power; but, unfortunately, it has not followed out those words by
acts. The influence of the system has come upon it, and brought it, for
a long time, almost to entire silence; but I hope we are beginning to
speak again. We hear voices here and there which will excite other
voices, and I trust before long they will bring all to speak the same
thing on this subject, so that the conscience of the whole nation may be
aroused. There is another method of dealing with the subject, which is
alluded to in the address, and also in the resolution of the society, at
Exeter Hall. It is the third resolution proposed at that meeting, and I
will read it, and make some comments as I proceed. It begins, 'That,
with a view to the correction of public sentiment on this subject in
slaveholding communities, it is of the first importance that those who
are earnest in condemnation of slavery should observe consistency, and,
therefore, that it is their duty to encourage the development of the
natural resources of countries where slavery does not exist, and the
soil of which is adapted to the growth of products, especially cotton,
now partially or chiefly raised by slave labor.' Now, I concur with this
most entirely, and would refer you to countries where cotton can be
grown even in your own dominions--in India, Australia, British Guiana,
and parts of Africa. But it can be raised by free labor in the United
States, and indeed it is already raised there by free labor to a
considerable extent; and, provided the plan were more encouraged, it
could be raised more abundantly. The resolution goes on to say, 'And
though the extinction of slavery is less to be expected from a
diminished demand for slave produce than from the moral effects of a
steadfast abhorrence of slavery, and from an unwavering and consistent
opposition to it,' &c. Now, my own feelings on that subject are not
quite so hopeless as here expressed, and it seems to me that you are not
aware of the extent to which free labor may come into competition with
slave labor. I know several instances, in the most slaveholding states,
in which slave labor has been displaced, and free labor substituted in
its stead. The weakness of slavery consists in the expense of the
slaves, the great capital to be invested in their purchase before any
work can be performed, and the constant danger of loss by death or
escape. When the Chinese emigrants from the eastern portion of their
empire came to the North-western States, their labor was found much
cheaper and better than that of slaves. I therefore hope there may be a
direct influence from this source, as well as the indirect influence
contemplated by the resolution. At all events, it is an encouragement to
those who wish the extinction of slavery to keep their eyes open, and
assist the process by all the means in their power. The resolution
proceeds: 'This meeting would earnestly recommend, in all cases where it
is practicable, that a decided preference should be given to the
products of free labor by all who enter their protest against slavery,
so that at least they themselves may be clear of any participation in
the guilt of the system, and be thus morally strengthened in their
condemnation of it.' To that there can be no objection; but still the
state of society is such that we cannot at once dispense with all the
products of slave labor. We may, however, be doing what we
can--examining the ways and methods by which this end may be brought
about; and, at all events, we need not be deterred from self-denial, nor
shrink before minor obstacles. If with foresight we participate in the
encouragement of slave labor, we must hold ourselves guilty, in no
unimportant sense, of sustaining the system of slavery. I will
illustrate my argument by a very simple method. Suppose two ships arrive
laden with silks of the same quality, but one a pirate ship, in which
the goods have been obtained by robbery, and the other by honest trade.
The pirate sells his silks twenty per cent. cheaper than the honest
trader: you go to him, and declaim against his dishonesty; but because
you can get silks cheaper of him, you buy of him. Would he think you
sincere in your denunciations of his plundering his fellow-creatures, or
would you exert any influence on him to make him abandon his dishonest
practices? I can, however, put another case in which this inconsistency
might, perhaps, be unavoidable. Suppose we were in famine or great
necessity, and we wished to obtain provisions for our suffering
families: suppose, too, there was a certain man with provisions, who, we
knew, had come by them dishonestly, but we had no other resource than to
purchase of him. In that case we should be justified in purchasing of
him, and should not participate in the guilt of the robbery. But still,
however great our necessity, we are not justified in refusing to examine
the subject, and in discouraging those who are endeavoring to set the
thing on the right ground. That is all I wish, and all the resolution
contemplates; and, happily, I find that that also is what was implied in
the address. I may mention one other method alluded to in the address,
and that is prayer to Almighty God. This ought to be, and must be, a
religious enterprise. It is impossible for any man to contemplate
slavery as it is without feeling intense indignation; and unless he have
his heart near to God, and unless he be a man of prayer and devotional
spirit, bad passions will arise, and to a very great extent neutralize
his efforts to do good. How do you suppose such a religious feeling has
been preserved in the book to which the address refers? Because it was
written amid prayer from the beginning; and it is only by a constant
exercise of the religious spirit that the good it had effected has been
accomplished in the way it has. There is one more subject to which I
would allude, and that is unity among those who desire to emancipate the
slave. I mean a good understanding and unity of feeling among the
opponents of slavery. What gives slavery its great strength in the
United States? There are only about three hundred thousand slaveholders
in the United States out of the whole twenty-five millions of its
population, and yet they hold the entire power over the nation. That is
owing to their unbroken unity on that one matter, however much, and
however fiercely, they may contend among themselves on others. As soon
as the subject of slavery comes up, they are of one heart, of one voice,
and of one mind, while their opponents unhappily differ, and assail each
other when they ought to be assailing the great enemy alone. Why can
they not work together, so far as they are agreed, and let those points
on which they disagree be waived for the time? In the midst of the
battle let them sink their differences, and settle them after the
victory is won. I was happy to find at the great meeting of the Peace
Society that that course has been adopted. They are not all of one mind
on the details of the question, but they are of one mind on the great
principle of diffusing peace doctrines among the great nations of
Europe. I therefore say, let all the friends of the slave work together
until the great work of his emancipation is accomplished, and then they
will have time to discuss their differences, though I believe by that
time they will all think alike. I thank you sincerely for the kindness
you have expressed towards my country, and for the philanthropy you have
manifested, and I hope all has been done in such a Christian spirit that
every Christian feeling on the other side of the Atlantic will be
compelled to respond to it."

       *       *       *       *       *


CONCLUDING NOTE.

Since the preceding addresses were delivered, the aspect of things among
us has been greatly changed. It is just as was predicted by the
sagacious Lord Cockburn, at the meeting in Edinburgh, (see page xxvi.)
The spirit of slavery, stimulated to madness by the indignation of the
civilized world, in its frenzy bids defiance to God and man, and is
determined to make itself respected by enlisting into its service the
entire wealth, and power, and political influence of this great nation.
Its encroachments are becoming so enormous, and its progress so rapid,
that it is now a conflict for the freedom of the citizens rather than
for the emancipation of the slaves. The reckless faithlessness and
impudent falsehood of our national proslavery legislation, the present
season, has scarcely a parallel in history, black as history is with all
kinds of perfidy. If the men who mean to be free do not now arise in
their strength and shake off the incubus which is strangling and
crushing them, they deserve to be slaves, and they will be.

C.E.S.



SUNNY MEMORIES

OF

FOREIGN LANDS.



LETTER I.


Liverpool, April 11, 1853.

MY DEAR CHILDREN:--

You wish, first of all, to hear of the voyage. Let me assure you, my
dears, in the very commencement of the matter, that going to sea is not
at all the thing that we have taken it to be.

You know how often we have longed for a sea voyage, as the fulfilment of
all our dreams of poetry and romance, the realization of our highest
conceptions of free, joyous existence.

You remember our ship-launching parties in Maine, when we used to ride
to the seaside through dark pine forests, lighted up with the gold,
scarlet, and orange tints of autumn. What exhilaration there was, as
those beautiful inland bays, one by one, unrolled like silver ribbons
before us! and how all our sympathies went forth with the grand new ship
about to be launched! How graceful and noble a thing she looked, as she
sprang from the shore to the blue waters, like a human soul springing
from life into immortality! How all our feelings went with her! how we
longed to be with her, and a part of her--to go with her to India,
China, or any where, so that we might rise and fall on the bosom of that
magnificent ocean, and share a part of that glorified existence! That
ocean! that blue, sparkling, heaving, mysterious ocean, with all the
signs and wonders of heaven emblazoned on its bosom, and another world
of mystery hidden beneath its waters! Who would not long to enjoy a
freer communion, and rejoice in a prospect of days spent in unreserved
fellowship with its grand and noble nature?

Alas! what a contrast between all this poetry and the real prose fact of
going to sea! No man, the proverb says, is a hero to his valet de
chambre. Certainly, no poet, no hero, no inspired prophet, ever lost so
much on near acquaintance as this same mystic, grandiloquent old Ocean.
The one step from the sublime to the ridiculous is never taken with such
alacrity as in a sea voyage.

In the first place, it is a melancholy fact, but not the less true, that
ship life is not at all fragrant; in short, particularly on a steamer,
there is a most mournful combination of grease, steam, onions, and
dinners in general, either past, present, or to come, which, floating
invisibly in the atmosphere, strongly predisposes to that disgust of
existence, which, in half an hour after sailing, begins to come upon
you; that disgust, that strange, mysterious, ineffable sensation which
steals slowly and inexplicably upon you; which makes every heaving
billow, every white-capped wave, the ship, the people, the sight, taste,
sound, and smell of every thing a matter of inexpressible loathing! Man
cannot utter it.

It is really amusing to watch the gradual progress of this epidemic; to
see people stepping on board in the highest possible feather, alert,
airy, nimble, parading the deck, chatty and conversable, on the best
possible terms with themselves and mankind generally; the treacherous
ship, meanwhile, undulating and heaving in the most graceful rises and
pauses imaginable, like some voluptuous waltzer; and then to see one
after another yielding to the mysterious spell!

Your poet launches forth, "full of sentiment sublime as billows,"
discoursing magnificently on the color of the waves and the glory of the
clouds; but gradually he grows white about the mouth, gives sidelong
looks towards the stairway; at last, with one desperate plunge, he sets,
to rise no more!

Here sits a stout gentleman, who looks as resolute as an oak log. "These
things are much the effect of imagination," he tells you; "a little
self-control and resolution," &c. Ah me! it is delightful, when these
people, who are always talking about resolution, get caught on
shipboard. As the backwoodsman said to the Mississippi River, about the
steamboat, they "get their match." Our stout gentleman sits a quarter of
an hour, upright as a palm tree, his back squared against the rails,
pretending to be reading a paper; but a dismal look of disgust is
settling down about his lips; the old sea and his will are evidently
having a pitched battle. Ah, ha! there he goes for the stairway; says he
has left a book in the cabin, but shoots by with a most suspicious
velocity. You may fancy his finale.

Then, of course, there are young ladies,--charming creatures,--who, in
about ten minutes, are going to die, and are sure they shall die, and
don't care if they do; whom anxious papas, or brothers, or lovers
consign with all speed to those dismal lower regions, where the brisk
chambermaid, who has been expecting them, seems to think their agonies
and groans a regular part of the play.

I had come on board thinking, in my simplicity, of a fortnight to be
spent something like the fortnight on a trip to New Orleans, on one of
our floating river palaces; that we should sit in our state rooms, read,
sew, sketch, and chat; and accordingly I laid in a magnificent provision
in the way of literature and divers matters of fancy work, with which to
while away the time. Some last, airy touches, in the way of making up
bows, disposing ribbons, and binding collarets, had been left to these
long, leisure hours, as matters of amusement.

Let me warn you, if you ever go to sea, you may as well omit all such
preparations. Don't leave so much as the unlocking of a trunk to be done
after sailing. In the few precious minutes when the ship stands still,
before she weighs her anchor, set your house, that is to say, your state
room, as much in order as if you were going to be hanged; place every
thing in the most convenient position to be seized without trouble at a
moment's notice; for be sure that in half an hour after sailing an
infinite desperation will seize you, in which the grasshopper will be a
burden. If any thing is in your trunk, it might almost as well be in the
sea, for any practical probability of your getting to it.

Moreover, let your toilet be eminently simple, for you will find the
time coming when to button a cuff or arrange a ruff will be a matter of
absolute despair. You lie disconsolate in your berth, only desiring to
be let alone to die; and then, if you are told, as you always are, that
"you mustn't give way," that "you must rouse yourself" and come on deck,
you will appreciate the value of simple attire. With every thing in your
berth dizzily swinging backwards and forwards, your bonnet, your cloak,
your tippet, your gloves, all present so many discouraging
impossibilities; knotted strings cannot be untied, and modes of
fastening which seemed curious and convenient, when you had nothing else
to do but fasten them, now look disgustingly impracticable.
Nevertheless, your fate for the whole voyage depends upon your rousing
yourself to get upon deck at first; to give up, then, is to be condemned
to the Avernus, the Hades of the lower regions, for the rest of the
voyage.

Ah, _those_ lower regions!--the saloons--every couch and corner filled
with prostrate, despairing forms, with pale cheeks, long, willowy hair
and sunken eyes, groaning, sighing, and apostrophizing the Fates, and
solemnly vowing between every lurch of the ship, that "you'll never
catch them going to sea again, that's what you won't;" and then the
bulletins from all the state rooms--"Mrs. A. is sick, and Miss B.
sicker, and Miss C. almost dead, and Mrs. E., F., and G. declare that
they shall give up." This threat of "giving up" is a standing resort of
ladies in distressed circumstances; it is always very impressively
pronounced, as if the result of earnest purpose; but how it is to be
carried out practically, how ladies _do_ give up, and what general
impression is made on creation when they do, has never yet appeared.
Certainly the sea seems to care very little about the threat, for he
goes on lurching all hands about just as freely afterwards as before.

There are always some three or four in a hundred who escape all these
evils. They are not sick, and they seem to be having a good time
generally, and always meet you with "What a charming run we are having!
Isn't it delightful?" and so on. If you have a turn for being
disinterested, you can console your miseries by a view of their
joyousness. Three or four of our ladies were of this happy order, and it
was really refreshing to see them.

For my part, I was less fortunate. I could not and would not give up and
become one of the ghosts below, and so I managed, by keeping on deck and
trying to act as if nothing was the matter, to lead a very uncertain and
precarious existence, though with a most awful undertone of emotion,
which seemed to make quite another thing of creation.

I wonder that people who wanted to break the souls of heroes and martyrs
never thought of sending them to sea and keeping them a little seasick.
The dungeons of Olmutz, the leads of Venice, in short, all the naughty,
wicked places that tyrants ever invented for bringing down the spirits
of heroes, are nothing to the berth of a ship. Get Lafayette, Kossuth,
or the noblest of woman, born, prostrate in a swinging, dizzy berth of
one of these sea coops, called state rooms, and I'll warrant almost any
compromise might be got out of them.

Where in the world the soul goes to under such influences nobody knows;
one would really think the sea tipped it all out of a man, just as it
does the water out of his wash basin. The soul seems to be like one of
the genii enclosed in a vase, in the Arabian Nights; now, it rises like
a pillar of cloud, and floats over land and sea, buoyant, many-hued, and
glorious; again, it goes down, down, subsiding into its copper vase, and
the cover is clapped on, and there you are. A sea voyage is the best
device for getting the soul back into its vase that I know of.

But at night!--the beauties of a night on shipboard!--down in your
berth, with the sea hissing and fizzing, gurgling and booming, within an
inch of your ear; and then the steward conies along at twelve o'clock
and puts out your light, and there you are! Jonah in the whale was not
darker or more dismal. There, in profound ignorance and blindness, you
lie, and feel yourself rolled upwards, and downwards, and sidewise, and
all ways, like a cork in a tub of water; much such a sensation as one
might suppose it to be, were one headed up in a barrel and thrown into
the sea.

Occasionally a wave comes with a thump against your ear, as if a great
hammer were knocking on your barrel, to see that all within was safe and
sound. Then you begin to think of krakens, and sharks, and porpoises,
and sea serpents, and all the monstrous, slimy, cold, hobgoblin brood,
who, perhaps, are your next door neighbors; and the old blue-haired
Ocean whispers through the planks, "Here you are; I've got you. Your
grand ship is my plaything. I can do what I like with it."

Then you hear every kind of odd noise in the ship--creaking, straining,
crunching, scraping, pounding, whistling, blowing off steam, each of
which to your unpractised ear is significant of some impending
catastrophe; you lie wide awake, listening with all your might, as if
your watching did any good, till at last sleep overcomes you, and the
morning light convinces you that nothing very particular has been the
matter, and that all these frightful noises are only the necessary
attendants of what is called a good run.

Our voyage out was called "a good run." It was voted, unanimously, to be
"an extraordinarily good passage," "a pleasant voyage;" yet the ship
rocked the whole time from side to side with a steady, dizzy, continuous
motion, like a great cradle. I had a new sympathy for babies, poor
little things, who are rocked hours at a time without so much as a "by
your leave" in the case. No wonder there are so many stupid people in
the world.

There is no place where killing time is so much of a systematic and
avowed object as in one of these short runs. In a six months' voyage
people give up to their situation, and make arrangements to live a
regular life; but the ten days that now divide England and America are
not long enough for any thing. The great question is how to get them
off; they are set up, like tenpins, to be bowled at; and happy he whose
ball prospers. People with strong heads, who can stand the incessant
swing of the boat, may read or write. Then there is one's berth, a
never-failing resort, where one may analyze at one's leisure the life
and emotions of an oyster in the mud. Walking the deck is a means of
getting off some half hours more. If a ship heaves in sight, or a
porpoise tumbles up, or, better still, a whale spouts, it makes an
immense sensation.

Our favorite resort is by the old red smoke pipe of the steamer, which
rises warm and luminous as a sort of tower of defence. The wind must
blow an uncommon variety of ways at once when you cannot find a
sheltered side, as well as a place to warm your feet. In fact, the old
smoke pipe is the domestic hearth of the ship; there, with the double
convenience of warmth and fresh air, you can sit by the railing, and,
looking down, command the prospect of the cook's offices, the cow house,
pantries, &c.

Our cook has specially interested me--a tall, slender, melancholy man,
with a watery-blue eye, a patient, dejected visage, like an individual
weary of the storms and commotions of life, and thoroughly impressed
with the vanity of human wishes. I sit there hour after hour watching
him, and it is evident that he performs all his duties in this frame of
sad composure. Now I see him resignedly stuffing a turkey, anon
compounding a sauce, or mournfully making little ripples in the crust of
a tart; but all is done under an evident sense that it is of no use
trying.

Many complaints have been made of our coffee since we have been on
board, which, to say the truth, has been as unsettled as most of the
social questions of our day, and, perhaps, for that reason quite as
generally unpalatable; but since I have seen our cook, I am quite
persuaded that the coffee, like other works of great artists, has
borrowed the hues of its maker's mind. I think I hear him soliloquize
over it--"To what purpose is coffee?--of what avail tea?--thick or
clear?--all is passing away--a little egg, or fish skin, more or less,
what are they?" and so we get melancholy coffee and tea, owing to our
philosophic cook.

After dinner I watch him as he washes dishes: he hangs up a whole row of
tin; the ship gives a lurch, and knocks them all down. He looks as if it
was just what he expected. "Such is life!" he says, as he pursues a
frisky tin pan in one direction, and arrests the gambols of the ladle in
another; while the wicked sea, meanwhile, with another lurch, is
upsetting all his dishwater. I can see how these daily trials, this
performing of most delicate and complicated gastronomic operations in
the midst of such unsteady, unsettled circumstances, have gradually
given this poor soul a despair of living, and brought him into this
state of philosophic melancholy. Just as Xantippe made a sage of
Socrates, this whisky, frisky, stormy ship life has made a sage of our
cook. Meanwhile, not to do him injustice, let it be recorded, that in
all dishes which require grave conviction and steady perseverance,
rather than hope and inspiration, he is eminently successful. Our table
excels in viands of a reflective and solemn character; mighty rounds of
beef, vast saddles of mutton, and the whole tribe of meats in general,
come on in a superior style. English plum pudding, a weighty and serious
performance, is exhibited in first-rate order. The jellies want
lightness,--but that is to be expected.

I admire the thorough order and system with which every thing is done on
these ships. One day, when the servants came round, as they do at a
certain time after dinner, and screwed up the shelf of decanters and
bottles out of our reach, a German gentleman remarked, "Ah, that's
always the way on English ships; every thing done at such a time,
without saying 'by your leave,' If it had been on an American ship now,
he would have said, 'Gentlemen, are you ready to have this shelf
raised?'"

No doubt this remark is true and extends to a good many other things;
but in a ship in the middle of the ocean, when the least confusion or
irregularity in certain cases might be destruction to all on board, it
does inspire confidence to see that there is even in the minutest things
a strong and steady system, that goes on without saying "by your leave."
Even the rigidness with which lights are all extinguished at twelve
o'clock, though it is very hard in some cases, still gives you
confidence in the watchfulness and care with which all on board is
conducted.

On Sunday there was a service. We went into the cabin, and saw prayer
books arranged at regular intervals, and soon a procession of the
sailors neatly dressed filed in and took their places, together with
such passengers as felt disposed, and the order of morning prayer was
read. The sailors all looked serious and attentive. I could not but
think that this feature of the management of her majesty's ships was a
good one, and worthy of imitation. To be sure, one can say it is only a
form. Granted; but is not a serious, respectful _form_ of religion
better than nothing? Besides, I am not willing to think that these
intelligent-looking sailors could listen to all those devout sentiments
expressed in the prayers, and the holy truths embodied in the passages
of Scripture, and not gain something from it. It is bad to have only
_the form_ of religion, but not so bad as to have neither the form nor
the fact.

When the ship has been out about eight days, an evident bettering of
spirits and condition obtains among the passengers. Many of the sick
ones take heart, and appear again among the walks and ways of men; the
ladies assemble in little knots, and talk of getting on shore. The more
knowing ones, who have travelled before, embrace this opportunity to
show their knowledge of life by telling the new hands all sorts of
hobgoblin stories about the custom house officers and the difficulties
of getting landed in England. It is a curious fact, that old travellers
generally seem to take this particular delight in striking consternation
into younger ones.

"You'll have all your daguerreotypes taken away," says one lady, who, in
right of having crossed the ocean nine times, is entitled to speak _ex
cathedra_ on the subject.

"All our daguerreotypes!" shriek four or five at once. "Pray tell, what
for?"

"They _will_ do it," says the knowing lady, with an awful nod; "unless
you hide them, and all your books, they'll burn up--"

"Burn our books!" exclaim the circle. "O, dreadful! What do they do that
for?"

"They're very particular always to burn up all your books. I knew a lady
who had a dozen burned," says the wise one.

"Dear me! will they take our _dresses_?" says a young lady, with
increasing alarm.

"No, but they'll pull every thing out, and tumble them well over, I can
tell you."

"How horrid!"

An old lady, who has been very sick all the way, is revived by this
appalling intelligence.

"I hope they won't tumble over my _caps!_" she exclaims.

"Yes, they will have every thing out on deck," says the lady, delighted
with the increasing sensation. "I tell you you don't know these custom
house officers."

"It's too bad!" "It's dreadful!" "How horrid!" exclaim all.

"I shall put my best things in my pocket," exclaims one. "They don't
search our pockets, do they?"

"Well, no, not here; but I tell you they'll search your _pockets_ at
Antwerp and Brussels," says the lady.

Somebody catches the sound, and flies off into the state rooms with the
intelligence that "the custom house officers are so dreadful--they rip
open your trunks, pull out all your things, burn your books, take away
your daguerreotypes, and even search your pockets;" and a row of groans
is heard ascending from the row of state rooms, as all begin to revolve
what they have in their trunks, and what they are to do in this
emergency.

"Pray tell me," said I to a gentlemanly man, who had crossed four or
five times, "is there really so much annoyance at the custom house?"

"Annoyance, ma'am? No, not the slightest."

"But do they really turn out the contents of the trunks, and take away
people's daguerreotypes, and burn their books?"

"Nothing of the kind, ma'am. I apprehend no difficulty. I never had any.
There are a few articles on which duty is charged. I have a case of
cigars, for instance; I shall show them to the custom house officer, and
pay the duty. If a person seems disposed to be fair, there is no
difficulty. The examination of ladies' trunks is merely nominal; nothing
is deranged."

So it proved. We arrived on Sunday morning; the custom house officers,
very gentlemanly men, came on board; our luggage was all set out, and
passed through a rapid examination, which in many cases amounted only to
opening the trunk and shutting it, and all was over. The whole ceremony
did not occupy two hours.

So ends this letter. You shall hear further how we landed at some future
time.



LETTER II.


DEAR FATHER:--

It was on Sunday morning that we first came in sight of land. The day
was one of a thousand--clear, calm, and bright. It is one of those
strange, throbbing feelings, that come only once in a while in life;
this waking up to find an ocean crossed and long-lost land restored
again in another hemisphere; something like what we should suppose might
be the thrill of awakening from life to immortality, and all the wonders
of the world unknown. That low, green line of land in the horizon is
Ireland; and we, with water smooth as a lake and sails furled, are
running within a mile of the shore. Every body on deck, full of spirits
and expectation, busy as can be looking through spyglasses, and
exclaiming at every object on shore,--

"Look! there's Skibareen, where the worst of the famine was," says one.

"Look! that's a ruined Martello tower," says another.

We new voyagers, who had never seen any ruin more imposing than that of
a cow house, and, of course, were ravenous for old towers, were now
quite wide awake, but were disappointed to learn that these were only
custom house rendezvous. Here is the county of Cork. Some one calls
out,--

"There is O'Connell's house;" and a warm dispute ensues whether a large
mansion, with a stone chapel by it, answers to that name. At all events
the region looks desolate enough, and they say the natives of it are
almost savages. A passenger remarks, that "O'Connell never really did
any thing for the Irish, but lived on his capacity for exciting their
enthusiasm." Thereupon another expresses great contempt for the Irish
who could be so taken in. Nevertheless, the capability of a
disinterested enthusiasm is, on the whole, a nobler property of a human
being than a shrewd self-interest. I like the Irish all the better for
it.

Now we pass Kinsale lighthouse; there is the spot where the Albion was
wrecked. It is a bare, frowning cliff, with walls of rock rising
perpendicularly out of the sea. Now, to be sure, the sea smiles and
sparkles around the base of it, as gently as if it never could storm;
yet under other skies, and with a fierce south-east wind, how the waves
would pour in here! Woe then to the distressed and rudderless vessel
that drifts towards those fatal rocks! This gives the outmost and
boldest view of the point.

[Illustration: View East of Kinsale.]

The Albion struck just round the left of the point, where the rock rises
perpendicularly out of the sea. I well remember, when a child, of the
newspapers being filled with the dreadful story of the wreck of the ship
Albion--how for hours, rudderless and helpless, they saw themselves
driving with inevitable certainty against these pitiless rocks; and how,
in the last struggle, one human being after another was dashed against
them in helpless agony.

What an infinite deal of misery results from man's helplessness and
ignorance and nature's inflexibility in this one matter of crossing the
ocean! What agonies of prayer there were during all the long hours that
this ship was driving straight on to these fatal rocks, all to no
purpose! It struck and crushed just the same. Surely, without the
revelation of God in Jesus, who could believe in the divine goodness? I
do not wonder the old Greeks so often spoke of their gods as cruel, and
believed the universe was governed by a remorseless and inexorable fate.
Who would come to any other conclusion, except from the pages of the
Bible?

But we have sailed far past Kinsale point. Now blue and shadowy loom up
the distant form of the Youghal Mountains, (pronounced _Yoole_.) The
surface of the water is alive with fishing boats, spreading their white
wings and skimming about like so many moth millers.

About nine o'clock we were crossing the sand bar, which lies at the
mouth of the Mersey River, running up towards Liverpool. Our signal
pennants are fluttering at the mast head, pilot full of energy on one
wheel house, and a man casting the lead on the other.

"By the mark, five," says the man. The pilot, with all his energy, is
telegraphing to the steersman. This is a very close and complicated
piece of navigation, I should think, this running up the Mersey, for
every moment we are passing some kind of a signal token, which warns off
from some shoal. Here is a bell buoy, where the waves keep the bell
always tolling; here, a buoyant lighthouse; and "See there, those
shoals, how pokerish they look!" says one of the passengers, pointing to
the foam on our starboard bow. All is bustle, animation, exultation. Now
float out the American stars and stripes on our bow.

Before us lies the great city of Liverpool. No old Cathedral, no
castles, a real New Yorkish place.

"There, that's the fort," cries one. Bang, bang, go the two guns from
our forward gangway.

"I wonder if they will fire from the fort," says another.

"How green that grass looks!" says a third; "and what pretty cottages!"

"All modern, though," says somebody, in tones of disappointment. Now we
are passing the Victoria Dock. Bang, bang, again. We are in a forest of
ships of all nations; their masts bristling like the tall pines in
Maine; their many colored flags streaming like the forest leaves in
autumn.

"Hark," says one; "there's, a chime of bells from the city; how sweet! I
had quite forgotten it was Sunday."

Here we cast anchor, and the small steam tender conies puffing
alongside. Now for the custom house officers. State rooms, holds, and
cabins must all give up their trunks; a general muster among the
baggage, and passenger after passenger comes forward as their names are
called, much as follows: "Snooks." "Here, sir." "Any thing contraband
here, Mr. Snooks? Any cigars, tobacco, &c.?" "Nothing, sir."

A little unlocking, a little fumbling. "Shut up; all right; ticket
here." And a little man pastes on each article a slip of paper, with the
royal arms of England and the magical letters V.R., to remind all men
that they have come into a country where a lady reigns, and of course
must behave themselves as prettily as they can.

We were inquiring of some friends for the most convenient hotel, when we
found the son of Mr. Cropper, of Dingle Bank, waiting in the cabin, to
take us with him to their hospitable abode. In a few moments after the
baggage had been examined, we all bade adieu to the old ship, and went
on board the little steam tender, which carries passengers up to the
city.

This Mersey River would be a very beautiful one, if it were not so dingy
and muddy. As we are sailing up in the tender towards Liverpool, I
deplore the circumstance feelingly. "What does make this river so
muddy?"

"O," says a bystander, "don't you know that

  'The quality of mercy is not strained'?"

And now we are fairly alongside the shore, and we are soon going to set
our foot on the land of Old England.

Say what we will, an American, particularly a New Englander, can never
approach the old country without a kind of thrill and pulsation of
kindred. Its history for two centuries was our history. Its literature,
laws, and language are our literature, laws, and language. Spenser,
Shakspeare, Bacon, Milton, were a glorious inheritance, which we share
in common. Our very life-blood is English life-blood. It is Anglo-Saxon
vigor that is spreading our country from Atlantic to Pacific, and
leading on a new era in the world's development. America is a tall,
sightly young shoot, that has grown from the old royal oak of England;
divided from its parent root, it has shot up in new, rich soil, and
under genial, brilliant skies, and therefore takes on a new type of
growth and foliage, but the sap in it is the same.

I had an early opportunity of making acquaintance with my English
brethren; for, much to my astonishment, I found quite a crowd on the
wharf, and we walked up to our carriage through a long lane of people,
bowing, and looking very glad to see us. When I came to get into the
hack it was surrounded by more faces than I could count. They stood
very quietly, and looked very kindly, though evidently very much
determined to look. Something prevented the hack from moving on; so the
interview was prolonged for some time. I therefore took occasion to
remark the very fair, pure complexions, the clear eyes, and the general
air of health and vigor, which seem to characterize our brethren and
sisters of the island. There seemed to be no occasion to ask them, how
they did, as they were evidently quite well. Indeed, this air of health
is one of the most striking things when one lands in England.

They were not burly, red-faced, and stout, as I had sometimes conceived
of the English people, but just full enough to suggest the idea of vigor
and health. The presence of so many healthy, rosy people looking at me,
all reduced as I was, first by land and then by sea sickness, made me
feel myself more withered and forlorn than ever. But there was an
earnestness and a depth of kind feeling in some of the faces, which I
shall long remember. It seemed as if I had not only touched the English
shore, but felt the English heart.

Our carriage at last drove on, taking us through Liverpool, and a mile
or two out, and at length wound its way along the gravel paths of a
beautiful little retreat, on the banks of the Mersey, called the
"Dingle." It opened to my eyes like a paradise, all wearied as I was
with the tossing of the sea. I have since become familiar with these
beautiful little spots, which are so common in England; but now all was
entirely new to me.

We rode by shining clumps of the Portugal laurel, a beautiful evergreen,
much resembling our mountain rhododendron; then there was the prickly,
polished, dark-green holly, which I had never seen before, but which
is, certainly, one of the most perfect of shrubs. The turf was of that
soft, dazzling green, and had that peculiar velvet-like smoothness,
which seem characteristic of England. We stopped at last before the door
of a cottage, whose porch was overgrown with ivy. From that moment I
ceased to feel myself a stranger in England. I cannot tell you how
delightful to me, dizzy and weary as I was, was the first sight of the
chamber of reception which had been prepared for us. No item of cozy
comfort that one could desire was omitted. The sofa and easy chair
wheeled up before a cheerful coal fire, a bright little teakettle
steaming in front of the grate, a table with a beautiful vase of
flowers, books, and writing apparatus, and kind friends with words full
of affectionate cheer,--all these made me feel at home in a moment.

The hospitality of England has become famous in the world, and, I think,
with reason. I doubt not there is just as much hospitable feeling in
other countries; but in England the matter of coziness and home comfort
has been so studied, and matured, and reduced to system, that they
really have it in their power to effect more, towards making their
guests comfortable, than perhaps any other people.

After a short season allotted to changing our ship garments and for
rest, we found ourselves seated at the dinner table. While dining, the
sister-in-law of our friends came in from the next door, to exchange a
word or two of welcome, and invite us to breakfast with them the
following morning.

Between all the excitements of landing, and meeting so many new faces,
and the remains of the dizzy motion of the ship, which still haunted me,
I found it impossible to close my eyes to sleep that first night till
the dim gray of dawn. I got up as soon as it was light, and looked out
of the window; and as my eyes fell on the luxuriant, ivy-covered porch,
the clumps of shining, dark-green holly bushes, I said to myself, "Ah,
really, this is England!"

I never saw any plant that struck me as more beautiful than this holly.
It is a dense shrub growing from six to eight feet high, with a thickly
varnished leaf of green. The outline of the leaf is something like this.
I do not believe it can ever come to a state of perfect development
under the fierce alternations of heat and cold which obtain in our New
England climate, though it grows in the Southern States. It is one of
the symbolical shrubs of England, probably because its bright green in
winter makes it so splendid a Christmas decoration. A little bird sat
twittering on one of the sprays. He had a bright red breast, and seemed
evidently to consider himself of good blood and family, with the best
reason, as I afterwards learned, since he was no other than the
identical robin redbreast renowned in song and story; undoubtedly a
lineal descendant of that very cock robin whose death and burial form so
vivid a portion of our childish literature.

I must tell you, then, as one of the first remarks on matters and things
here in England, that "robin redbreast" is not at all the fellow we in
America take him to be. The character who flourishes under that name
among us is quite a different bird; he is twice as large, and has
altogether a different air, and as he sits up with military erectness on
a rail fence or stump, shows not even a family likeness to his
diminutive English namesake. Well, of course, robin over here will claim
to have the real family estate and title, since he lives in a country
where such matters are understood and looked into. Our robin is probably
some fourth cousin, who, like others, has struck out a new course for
himself in America, and thrives upon it.

We hurried to dress, remembering our engagements to breakfast this
morning with a brother of our host, whose cottage stands on the same
ground, within a few steps of our own. I had not the slightest idea of
what the English mean by a breakfast, and therefore went in all
innocence, supposing that I should see nobody but the family circle of
my acquaintances. Quite to my astonishment, I found a party of between
thirty and forty people. Ladies sitting with their bonnets on, as in a
morning call. It was impossible, however, to feel more than a momentary
embarrassment in the friendly warmth and cordiality of the circle by
whom we were surrounded.

The English are called cold and stiff in their manners; I had always
heard they were so, but I certainly saw nothing of it here. A circle of
family relatives could not have received us with more warmth and
kindness. The remark which I made mentally, as my eye passed around the
circle, was--Why, these people are just like home; they look like us,
and the tone of sentiment and feeling is precisely such as I have been
accustomed to; I mean with the exception of the antislavery question.

That question has, from the very first, been, in England, a deeply
religious movement. It was conceived and carried on by men of devotional
habits, in the same spirit in which the work of foreign missions was
undertaken in our own country; by just such earnest, self-denying,
devout men as Samuel J. Mills and Jeremiah Evarts.

It was encountered by the same contempt and opposition, in the outset,
from men of merely worldly habits and principles; and to this day it
retains that hold on the devotional mind of the English nation that the
foreign mission cause does in America.

Liverpool was at first to the antislavery cause nearly what New York has
been with us. Its commercial interests were largely implicated in the
slave trade, and the virulence of opposition towards the first movers of
the antislavery reform in Liverpool was about as great as it is now
against abolitionists in Charleston.

When Clarkson first came here to prosecute his inquiries into the
subject, a mob collected around him, and endeavored to throw him off the
dock into the water; he was rescued by a gentleman, some of whose
descendants I met on this occasion.

The father of our host, Mr. Cropper, was one of the first and most
efficient supporters of the cause in Liverpool; and the whole circle was
composed of those who had taken a deep interest in that struggle. The
wife of our host was the daughter of the celebrated Lord Chief Justice
Denman, a man who, for many years, stood unrivalled, at the head of the
legal mind in England, and who, with a generous ardor seldom equalled,
devoted all his energies to this sacred cause.

When the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin turned the attention of the
British public to the existing horrors of slavery in America, some
palliations of the system appeared in English papers. Lord Denman,
though then in delicate health and advanced years, wrote a series of
letters upon the subject--an exertion which entirely prostrated his
before feeble health. In one of the addresses made at table, a very
feeling allusion was made to Lord Denman's labors, and also to those of
the honored father of the two Messrs. Cropper.

As breakfast parties are things which we do not have in America, perhaps
mother would like to know just how they are managed. The hour is
generally somewhere between nine and twelve, and the whole idea and
spirit of the thing is that of an informal and social gathering. Ladies
keep their bonnets on, and are not dressed in full toilet. On this
occasion we sat and chatted together socially till the whole party was
assembled in the drawing room, and then breakfast was announced. Each
gentleman had a lady assigned him, and we walked into the dining room,
where stood the tables tastefully adorned with flowers, and spread with
an abundant cold collation, while tea and coffee were passed round by
servants. In each plate was a card, containing the name of the person
for whom it was designed. I took my place by the side of the Rev. Dr.
McNiel, one of the most celebrated clergymen of the established church
in Liverpool.

The conversation was flowing, free, and friendly. The old reminiscences
of the antislavery conflict in England were touchingly recalled, and the
warmest sympathy was expressed for those in America who are carrying on
the same cause.

In one thing I was most agreeably disappointed. I had been told that the
Christians of England were intolerant and unreasonable in their opinions
on this subject; that they could not be made to understand the peculiar
difficulties which beset it in America, and that they therefore made no
distinction and no allowance in their censures. All this I found, so
far as this circle were concerned, to be strikingly untrue. They
appeared to be peculiarly affectionate in their feelings as regarded our
country; to have the highest appreciation of, and the deepest sympathy
with, our religious community, and to be extremely desirous to assist us
in our difficulties. I also found them remarkably well informed upon the
subject. They keep their eyes upon our papers, our public documents and
speeches in Congress, and are as well advised in regard to the progress
of the moral conflict as our Foreign Missionary Society is with the
state of affairs in Hindostan and Burmah.

Several present spoke of the part which England originally had in
planting slavery in America, as placing English Christians under a
solemn responsibility to bring every possible moral influence to bear
for its extinction. Nevertheless, they seem to be the farthest possible
from an unkind or denunciatory spirit, even towards those most deeply
implicated. The remarks made by Dr. McNiel to me were a fair sample of
the spirit and attitude of all present.

"I have been trying, Mrs. S.," he said, "to bring my mind into the
attitude of those Christians at the south who defend the institution of
slavery. There are _real_ Christians there who do this--are there not?"

I replied, that undoubtedly there were some most amiable and Christian
people who defend slavery on principle, just as there had been some to
defend every form of despotism.

"Do give me some idea of the views they take; it is something to me so
inconceivable. I am utterly at a loss how it can be made in any way
plausible."

I then stated that the most plausible view, and that which seemed to
have the most force with good men, was one which represented the
institution of slavery as a sort of wardship or guardian relation, by
which an inferior race were brought under the watch and care of a
superior race to be instructed in Christianity.

He then inquired if there was any system of religious instruction
actually pursued.

In reply to this, I gave him some sketch of the operations for the
religious instruction of the negroes, which had been carried on by the
Presbyterian and other denominations. I remarked that many good people
who do not take very extended views, fixing their attention chiefly on
the efforts which they are making for the religious instruction of
slaves, are blind to the sin and injustice of allowing their legal
position to remain what it is.

"But how do they shut their eyes to the various cruelties of the
system,--the separation of families--the domestic slave trade?"

I replied, "In part, by not inquiring into them. The best kind of people
are, in general, those who _know_ least of the cruelties of the system;
they never witness them. As in the city of London or Liverpool there may
be an amount of crime and suffering which many residents may live years
without seeing or knowing, so it is in the slave states."

Every person present appeared to be in that softened and charitable
frame of mind which disposed them to make every allowance for the
situation of Christians so peculiarly tempted, while, at the same time,
there was the most earnest concern, in view of the dishonor brought upon
Christianity by the defence of such a system.

One other thing I noticed, which was an agreeable disappointment to me.
I had been told that there was no social intercourse between the
established church and dissenters. In this party, however, were people
of many different denominations. Our host belongs to the established
church; his brother, with whom we are visiting, is a Baptist, and their
father was a Friend; and there appeared to be the utmost social
cordiality. Whether I shall find this uniformly the case will appear in
time.

After the breakfast party was over, I found at the door an array of
children of the poor, belonging to a school kept under the
superintendence of Mrs. E. Cropper, and called, as is customary here, a
ragged school. The children, however, were any thing but ragged, being
tidily dressed, remarkably clean, with glowing cheeks and bright eyes. I
must say, so far as I have seen them, English children have a much
healthier appearance than those of America. By the side of their bright
bloom ours look pale and faded.

Another school of the same kind is kept in this neighborhood, under the
auspices of Sir George Stephen, a conspicuous advocate of the
antislavery cause.

I thought the fair patroness of this school seemed not a little
delighted with the appearance of her protégés, as they sung, with great
enthusiasm, Jane Taylor's hymn, commencing,--

  "I thank the goodness and the grace
    That on my birth have smiled,
  And made me in these Christian days
    A happy English child."

All the little rogues were quite familiar with Topsy and Eva, and _au
fait_ in the fortunes of Uncle Tom; so that, being introduced as the
maternal relative of these characters, I seemed to find favor in their
eyes. And when one of the speakers congratulated them that they were
born in a land where no child could be bought or sold, they responded
with enthusiastic cheers--cheers which made me feel rather sad; but
still I could not quarrel with English people for taking all the pride
and all the comfort which this inspiriting truth can convey.

They had a hard enough struggle in rooting up the old weed of slavery,
to justify them in rejoicing in their freedom. Well, the day will come
in America, as I trust, when as much can be said for us.

After the children were gone came a succession of calls; some from very
aged people, the veterans of the old antislavery cause. I was astonished
and overwhelmed by the fervor of feeling some of them manifested; there
seemed to be something almost prophetic in the enthusiasm with which
they expressed their hope of our final success in America. This
excitement, though very pleasant, was wearisome, and I was glad of an
opportunity after dinner to rest myself, by rambling uninterrupted, with
my friends, through the beautiful grounds of the Dingle.

Two nice little boys were my squires on this occasion, one of whom, a
sturdy little fellow, on being asked his name, gave it to me in full as
Joseph Babington Macaulay, and I learned that his mother, by a former
marriage, had been the wife of Macaulay's brother. Uncle Tom Macaulay, I
found, was a favorite character with the young people. Master Harry
conducted me through the walks to the conservatories, all brilliant with
azaleas and all sorts of flowers, and then through a long walk on the
banks of the Mersey.

Here the wild flowers attracted my attention, as being so different
from those of our own country. Their daisy is not our flower, with its
wide, plaited ruff and yellow centre. The English daisy is

  "The wee modest crimson-tipped flower,"

which Burns celebrates. It is what we raise in greenhouses, and call the
mountain daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass
plats, is very beautiful.

We read much, among the poets, of the primrose,

  "Earliest daughter of the Spring."

This flower is one, also, which we cultivate in gardens to some extent.
The outline of it is as follows: The hue a delicate straw color; it
grows in tufts in shady places, and has a pure, serious look, which
reminds one of the line of Shakspeare--

  "Pale primroses, which die unmarried."

It has also the faintest and most ethereal perfume,--a perfume that
seems to come and go in the air like music; and you perceive it at a
little distance from a tuft of them, when you would not if you gathered
and smelled them. On the whole, the primrose is a poet's and a painter's
flower. An artist's eye would notice an exquisite harmony between the
yellow-green hue of its leaves and the tint of its blossoms. I do not
wonder that it has been so great a favorite among the poets. It is just
such a flower as Mozart and Raphael would have loved.

Then there is the bluebell, a bulb, which also grows in deep shades. It
is a little purple bell, with a narrow green leaf, like a ribbon. We
often read in English stories, of the gorse and furze; these are two
names for the same plant, a low bush, with strong, prickly leaves,
growing much like a juniper. The contrast of its very brilliant yellow,
pea-shaped blossoms, with the dark green of its leaves, is very
beautiful. It grows here in hedges and on commons, and is thought rather
a plebeian affair. I think it would make quite an addition to our garden
shrubbery. Possibly it might make as much sensation with us as our
mullein does in foreign greenhouses.

After rambling a while, we came to a beautiful summer house, placed in a
retired spot, so as to command a view of the Mersey River. I think they
told me that it was Lord Denman's favorite seat. There we sat down, and
in common with the young gentlemen and ladies of the family, had quite a
pleasant talk together. Among other things we talked about the question
which is now agitating the public mind a good deal,--Whether it is
expedient to open the Crystal Palace to the people on Sunday. They said
that this course was much urged by some philanthropists, on the ground
that it was the only day when the working classes could find any leisure
to visit it, and that it seemed hard to shut them out entirely from all
the opportunities and advantages which they might thus derive; that to
exclude the laborer from recreation on the Sabbath, was the same as
saying that he should never have any recreation. I asked, why the
philanthropists could not urge employers to give their workmen a part of
Saturday for this purpose; as it seemed to me unchristian to drive trade
so that the laboring man had no time but Sunday for intellectual and
social recreation. We rather came to the conclusion that this was the
right course; whether the people of England will, is quite another
matter.

The grounds of the Dingle embrace three cottages; those of the two
Messrs. Cropper, and that of a son, who is married to a daughter of Dr.
Arnold. I rather think this way of relatives living together is more
common here in England than it is in America; and there is more idea of
home permanence connected with the family dwelling-place than with us,
where the country is so wide, and causes of change and removal so
frequent. A man builds a house in England with the expectation of living
in it and leaving it to his children; while we shed our houses in
America as easily as a snail does his shell. We live a while in Boston,
and then a while in New York, and then, perhaps, turn up at Cincinnati.
Scarcely any body with us is living where they expect to live and die.
The man that dies in the house he was born in is a wonder. There is
something pleasant in the permanence and repose of the English family
estate, which we, in America, know very little of. All which is apropos
to our having finished our walk, and got back to the ivy-covered porch
again.

The next day at breakfast, it was arranged that we should take a drive
out to Speke Hall, an old mansion, which is considered a fine specimen
of ancient house architecture. So the carriage was at the door. It was
a cool, breezy, April morning, but there was an abundance of wrappers
and carriage blankets provided to keep us comfortable. I must say, by
the by, that English housekeepers are bountiful in their provision for
carriage comfort. Every household has a store of warm, loose over
garments, which are offered, if needed, to the guests; and each carriage
is provided with one or two blankets, manufactured and sold expressly
for this use, to envelope one's feet and limbs; besides all which,
should the weather be cold, comes out a long stone reservoir, made flat
on both sides, and filled with hot water, for foot stools. This is an
improvement on the primitive simplicity of hot bricks, and even on the
tin foot stove, which has nourished in New England.

Being thus provided with all things necessary for comfort, we rattled
merrily away, and I, remembering that I was in England, kept my eyes
wide open to see what I could see. The hedges of the fields were just
budding, and the green showed itself on them, like a thin gauze veil.
These hedges are not all so well kept and trimmed as I expected to find
them. Some, it is true, are cut very carefully; these are generally
hedges to ornamental grounds; but many of those which separate the
fields straggle and sprawl, and have some high bushes and some low ones,
and, in short, are no more like a hedge than many rows of bushes that we
have at home. But such as they are, they are the only dividing lines of
the fields, and it is certainly a more picturesque mode of division than
our stone or worm fences. Outside of every hedge, towards the street,
there is generally a ditch, and at the bottom of the hedge is the
favorite nestling-place for all sorts of wild flowers. I remember
reading in stories about children trying to crawl through a gap in the
hedge to get at flowers, and tumbling into a ditch on the other side,
and I now saw exactly how they could do it.

As we drive we pass by many beautiful establishments, about of the
quality of our handsomest country houses, but whose grounds are kept
with a precision and exactness rarely to be seen among us. We cannot get
the gardeners who are qualified to do it; and if we could, the
painstaking, slow way of proceeding, and the habit of creeping
thoroughness, which are necessary to accomplish such results, die out in
America. Nevertheless, such grounds are exceedingly beautiful to look
upon, and I was much obliged to the owners of these places for keeping
their gates hospitably open, as seems to be the custom here.

After a drive of seven or eight miles, we alighted in front of Speke
Hall. This house is a specimen of the old fortified houses of England,
and was once fitted up with a moat and drawbridge, all in approved
feudal style. It was built somewhere about the year 1500. The sometime
moat was now full of smooth, green grass, and the drawbridge no longer
remains.

This was the first really old thing that we had seen since our arrival
in England. We came up first to a low, arched, stone door, and knocked
with a great old-fashioned knocker; this brought no answer but a treble
and bass duet from a couple of dogs inside; so we opened the door, and
saw a square court, paved with round stones, and a dark, solitary yew
tree in the centre. Here in England, I think, they have vegetable
creations made on purpose to go with old, dusky buildings; and this yew
tree is one of them. It has altogether a most goblin-like, bewitched
air, with its dusky black leaves and ragged branches, throwing
themselves straight out with odd twists and angular lines, and might put
one in mind of an old raven with some of his feathers pulled out, or a
black cat with her hair stroked the wrong way, or any other strange,
uncanny thing. Besides this they live almost forever; for when they have
grown so old that any respectable tree ought to be thinking of dying,
they only take another twist, and so live on another hundred years. I
saw some in England seven hundred years old, and they had grown queerer
every century. It is a species of evergreen, and its leaf resembles our
hemlock, only it is longer. This sprig gives you some idea of its
general form. It is always planted about churches and graveyards; a kind
of dismal emblem of immortality. This sepulchral old tree and the bass
and treble dogs were the only occupants of the court. One of these, a
great surly mastiff, barked out of his kennel on one side, and the
other, a little wiry terrier, out of his on the opposite side, and both
strained on their chains, as if they would enjoy making even more
decided demonstrations if they could.

There was an aged, mossy fountain for holy water by the side of the
wall, in which some weeds were growing. A door in the house was soon
opened by a decent-looking serving woman, to whom we communicated our
desire to see the hall.

We were shown into a large dining hall with a stone floor, wainscoted
with carved oak, almost as black as ebony. There were some pious
sentences and moral reflections inscribed in old English text, carved
over the doors, and like a cornice round the ceiling, which was also of
carved oak. Their general drift was, to say that life is short, and to
call for watchfulness and prayer. The fireplace of the hall yawned like
a great cavern, and nothing else, one would think, than a cart load of
western sycamores could have supplied an appropriate fire. A great
two-handed sword of some ancestor hung over the fireplace. On taking it
down it reached to C----'s shoulder, who, you know, is six feet high.

We went into a sort of sitting room, and looked out through a window,
latticed with little diamond panes, upon a garden wildly beautiful. The
lattice was all wreathed round with jessamines. The furniture of this
room was modern, and it seemed the more unique from its contrast with
the old architecture.

We went up stairs to see the chambers, and passed through a long,
narrow, black oak corridor, whose slippery boards had the authentic
ghostly squeak to them. There was a chamber, hung with old, faded
tapestry of Scripture subjects. In this chamber there was behind the
tapestry a door, which, being opened, displayed a staircase, that led
delightfully off to nobody knows where. The furniture was black oak,
carved, in the most elaborate manner, with cherubs' heads and other good
and solemn subjects, calculated to produce a ghostly state of mind. And,
to crown all, we heard that there was a haunted chamber, which was not
to be opened, where a white lady appeared and walked at all approved
hours.

Now, only think what a foundation for a story is here. If our Hawthorne
could conjure up such a thing as the Seven Gables in one of our prosaic
country towns, what would he have done if he had lived here? Now he is
obliged to get his ghostly images by looking through smoked glass at our
square, cold realities; but one such old place as this is a standing
romance. Perhaps it may add to the effect to say, that the owner of the
house is a bachelor, who lives there very retired, and employs himself
much in reading.

The housekeeper, who showed us about, indulged us with a view of the
kitchen, whose snowy, sanded floor and resplendent polished copper and
tin, were sights for a housekeeper to take away in her heart of hearts.
The good woman produced her copy of Uncle Tom, and begged the favor of
my autograph, which I gave, thinking it quite a happy thing to be able
to do a favor at so cheap a rate.

After going over the house we wandered through the grounds, which are
laid out with the same picturesque mixture of the past and present.
There was a fine grove, under whose shadows we walked, picking
primroses, and otherwise enacting the poetic, till it was time to go. As
we passed out, we were again saluted with a _feu de joie_ by the two
fidelities at the door, which we took in very good part, since it is
always respectable to be thorough in whatever you are set to do.

Coming home we met with an accident to the carriage which obliged us to
get out and walk some distance. I was glad enough of it, because it gave
me a better opportunity for seeing the country. We stopped at a cottage
to get some rope, and a young woman came out with that beautiful, clear
complexion which I so much admire here in England; literally her cheeks
were like damask roses.

I told Isa I wanted to see as much of the interior of the cottages as I
could; and so, as we were walking onward toward home, we managed to call
once or twice, on the excuse of asking the way and distance. The
exterior was very neat, being built of brick or stone, and each had
attached to it a little flower garden. Isa said that the cottagers often
offered them a slice of bread or tumbler of milk.

They have a way here of building the cottages two or three in a block
together, which struck me as different from our New England manner,
where, in the country, every house stands detached.

In the evening I went into Liverpool, to attend a party of friends of
the antislavery cause. In the course of the evening, Mr. Stowe was
requested to make some remarks. Among other things he spoke upon the
support the free part of the world give to slavery, by the purchase of
the produce of slave labor; and, in particular, on the great quantity of
slave-grown cotton purchased by England; suggesting it as a subject for
inquiry, whether this cannot be avoided.

One or two gentlemen, who are largely concerned in the manufacture and
importation of cotton, spoke to him on the subject afterwards, and said
it was a thing which ought to be very seriously considered. It is
probable that the cotton trade of Great Britain is the great essential
item which supports slavery, and such considerations ought not,
therefore, to be without their results.

When I was going away, the lady of the house said that the servants were
anxious to see me; so I came into the dressing room to give them, an
opportunity.

While at Mr. C.'s, also, I had once or twice been called out to see
servants, who had come in to visit those of the family. All of them had
read Uncle Tom's Cabin, and were full of sympathy. Generally speaking,
the servants seem to me quite a superior class to what are employed in
that capacity with us. They look very intelligent, are dressed with
great neatness, and though their manners are very much more deferential
than those of servants in our country, it appears to be a difference
arising quite as much from self-respect and a sense of propriety as from
servility. Every body's manners are more deferential in England than in
America.

The next day was appointed to leave Liverpool. It had been arranged
that, before leaving, we should meet the ladies of the Negroes' Friend
Society, an association formed at the time of the original antislavery
agitation in England. We went in the carriage with our friends Mr. and
Mrs. E. Cropper. On the way they were conversing upon the labors of Mrs.
Chisholm, the celebrated female philanthropist, whose efforts for the
benefit of emigrants are awakening a very general interest among all
classes in England. They said there had been hesitation on the part of
some good people, in regard to coöperating with her, because she is a
Roman Catholic.

It was agreed among us, that the great humanities of the present day are
a proper ground on which all sects can unite, and that if any feared the
extension of wrong sentiments, they had only to supply emigrant ships
more abundantly with the Bible. Mr. C. said that this is a movement
exciting very extensive interest, and that they hoped Mrs. Chisholm
would visit Liverpool before long.

The meeting was a very interesting one. The style of feeling expressed
in all the remarks was tempered by a deep and earnest remembrance of the
share which England originally had in planting the evil of slavery in
the civilized world, and her consequent obligation, as a Christian
nation, now not to cease her efforts until the evil is extirpated, not
merely from her own soil, but from all lands.

The feeling towards America was respectful and friendly, and the utmost
sympathy was expressed with her in the difficulties with which she is
environed by this evil. The tone of the meeting was deeply earnest and
religious. They presented us with a sum to be appropriated for the
benefit of the slave, in any way we might think proper.

A great number of friends accompanied us to the cars, and a beautiful
bouquet of flowers was sent, with a very affecting message from, a sick
gentleman, who, from the retirement of his chamber, felt a desire to
testify his sympathy.

Now, if all this enthusiasm for freedom and humanity, in the person of
the American slave, is to be set down as good for nothing in England,
because there are evils there in society which require redress, what
then shall we say of ourselves? Have we not been enthusiastic for
freedom in the person of the Greek, the Hungarian, and the Pole, while
protecting a much worse despotism than any from which they suffer? Do we
not consider it our duty to print and distribute the Bible in all
foreign lands, when there are three millions of people among whom we
dare not distribute it at home, and whom it is a penal offence even to
teach to read it? Do we not send remonstrances to Tuscany, about the
Madiai, when women are imprisoned in Virginia for teaching slaves to
read? Is all this hypocritical, insincere, and impertinent in us? Are we
never to send another missionary, or make another appeal for foreign
lands, till we have abolished slavery at home? For my part, I think that
imperfect and inconsistent outbursts of generosity and feeling are a
great deal better than none. No nation, no individual is wholly
consistent and Christian; but let us not in ourselves or in other
nations repudiate the truest and most beautiful developments of
humanity, because we have not yet attained perfection. All experience
has proved that the sublime spirit of foreign missions always is
suggestive of home philanthropies, and that those whose heart has been
enlarged by the love of all mankind are always those who are most
efficient in their own particular sphere.



LETTER III.


GLASGOW, April 16, 1853.

DEAR AUNT E.:--

You shall have my earliest Scotch letter; for I am sure nobody can
sympathize in the emotions of the first approach to Scotland as you can.
A country dear to us by the memory of the dead and of the living; a
country whose history and literature, interesting enough of itself, has
become to us still more so, because the reading and learning of it
formed part of our communion for many a social hour, with friends long
parted from earth.

The views of Scotland, which lay on my mother's table, even while I was
a little child, and in poring over which I spent so many happy, dreamy
hours,--the Scotch ballads, which were the delight of our evening
fireside, and which seemed almost to melt the soul out of me, before I
was old enough to understand their words,--the songs of Burns, which had
been a household treasure among us,--the enchantments of Scott,--all
these dimly returned upon me. It was the result of them all which I felt
in nerve and brain.

And, by the by, that puts me in mind of one thing; and that is, how much
of our pleasure in literature results from its reflection on us from,
other minds. As we advance in life, the literature which has charmed us
in the circle of our friends becomes endeared to us from the reflected
remembrance of them, of their individualities, their opinions, and their
sympathies, so that our memory of it is a many-colored cord, drawn from
many minds.

So in coming near to Scotland, I seemed to feel not only my own
individuality, but all that my friends would have felt, had they been
with me. For sometimes we seem to be encompassed, as by a cloud, with a
sense of the sympathy of the absent and the dead.

We left Liverpool with hearts a little tremulous and excited by the
vibration of an atmosphere of universal sympathy and kindness. We found
ourselves, at length, shut from the warm adieus of our friends, in a
snug compartment of the railroad car. The English cars are models of
comfort and good keeping. There are six seats in a compartment,
luxuriously cushioned and nicely carpeted, and six was exactly the
number of our party. Nevertheless, so obstinate is custom that we
averred at first that we preferred our American cars, deficient as they
are in many points of neatness and luxury, because they are so much more
social.

"Dear me," said Mr. S., "six Yankees shut up in a car together! Not one
Englishman to tell us any thing about the country! Just like the six old
ladies that made their living by taking tea at each other's houses."

But that is the way here in England: every arrangement in travelling is
designed to maintain that privacy and reserve which is the dearest and
most sacred part of an Englishman's nature. Things are so arranged here
that, if a man pleases, he can travel all through England with his
family, and keep the circle an unbroken unit, having just as little
communication with any thing outside of it as in his own house.

From one of these sheltered apartments in a railroad car, he can pass to
preëngaged parlors and chambers in the hotel, with his own separate
table, and all his domestic manners and peculiarities unbroken. In fact,
it is a little compact home travelling about.

Now, all this is very charming to people who know already as much about
a country as they want to know; but it follows from it that a stranger
might travel all through England, from one end to the other and not be
on conversing terms with a person in it. He may be at the same hotel, in
the same train with people able to give him all imaginable information,
yet never touch them at any practicable point of communion. This is more
especially the case if his party, as ours was, is just large enough to
fill the whole apartment.

As to the comforts of the cars, it is to be said, that for the same
price you can get far more comfortable riding in America. Their first
class cars are beyond all praise, but also beyond all price; their
second class are comfortless, cushionless, and uninviting. Agreeably
with our theory of democratic equality, we have a general car, not so
complete as the one, nor so bare as the other, where all ride together;
and if the traveller in thus riding sees things that occasionally annoy
him, when he remembers that the whole population, from the highest to
the lowest, are accommodated here together, he will certainly see
hopeful indications in the general comfort, order, and respectability
which prevail; all which we talked over most patriotically together,
while we were lamenting that there was not a seventh to our party, to
instruct us in the localities.

Every thing upon the railroad proceeds with systematic accuracy. There
is no chance for the most careless person to commit a blunder, or make a
mistake. At the proper time the conductor marches every body into their
places and locks them in, gives the word, "All right," and away we go.
Somebody has remarked, very characteristically, that the starting word
of the English is "all right," and that of the Americans "go ahead."

Away we go through Lancashire, wide awake, looking out on all sides for
any signs of antiquity. In being thus whirled through English scenery, I
became conscious of a new understanding of the spirit and phraseology of
English poetry. There are many phrases and expressions with which we
have been familiar from childhood, and which, we suppose, in a kind of
indefinite way, we understand, which, after all, when we come on English
ground, start into a new significance: take, for instance, these lines
from L'Allegro:--

  "Sometimes walking, not unseen,
  By hedge-row elms on hillocks green.

         *       *       *       *       *

  Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
  While the landscape round it measures;
  Russet lawns and fallows gray,
  Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
  Mountains, on whose barren breast
  The laboring clouds do often rest;
  Meadows trim with daisies pied,
  Shallow brooks and livers wide:
  Towers and battlements it sees
  Bosom'd high in tufted trees."

Now, these hedge-row elms. I had never even asked myself what they were
till I saw them; but you know, as I said in a former letter, the hedges
are not all of them carefully cut; in fact many of them are only
irregular rows of bushes, where, although the hawthorn is the staple
element, yet firs, and brambles, and many other interlopers put in their
claim, and they all grow up together in a kind of straggling unity; and
in the hedges trees are often set out, particularly elms, and have a
very pleasing effect.

Then, too, the trees have more of that rounding outline which is
expressed by the word "bosomed." But here we are, right under the walls
of Lancaster, and Mr. S. wakes me up by quoting, "Old John o' Gaunt,
time-honored Lancaster."

"Time-honored," said I; "it looks as fresh as if it had been built
yesterday: you do not mean to say that is the real old castle?"

"To be sure, it is the very old castle built in the reign of Edward
III., by John of Gaunt."

It stands on the summit of a hill, seated regally like a queen upon a
throne, and every part of it looks as fresh, and sharp, and clear, as if
it were the work of modern times. It is used now for a county jail. We
have but a moment to stop or admire--the merciless steam car drives on.
We have a little talk about the feudal times, and the old past days;
when again the cry goes up,--

"O, there's something! What's that?"

"O, that is Carlisle."

"Carlisle!" said I; "what, the Carlisle of Scott's ballad?"

"What ballad?"

"Why, don't you remember, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the song of
Albert Graeme, which has something about Carlisle's wall in every verse?

  'It was an English, laydie bright
  When sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
  And she would marry a Scottish knight,
  For love will still be lord of all.'

I used to read this when I was a child, and wonder what 'Carlisle wall'
was."

Carlisle is one of the most ancient cities in England, dating quite back
to the time of the Romans. Wonderful! How these Romans left their mark
every where!

Carlisle has also its ancient castle, the lofty, massive tower of which
forms a striking feature of the town.

This castle was built by William Rufus. David, King of Scots, and Robert
Bruce both tried their hands upon it, in the good old times, when
England and Scotland were a mutual robbery association. Then the castle
of the town was its great feature; castles were every thing in those
days. Now the castle has gone to decay, and stands only for a curiosity,
and the cotton factory has come up in its place. This place is famous
for cottons and ginghams, and moreover for a celebrated biscuit bakery.
So goes the world,--the lively vigorous shoots of the present springing
out of the old, mouldering trunk of the past.

Mr. S. was in an ecstasy about an old church, a splendid Gothic, in
which Paley preached. He was archdeacon of Carlisle. We stopped here for
a little while to take dinner. In a large, handsome room tables were set
out, and we sat down to a regular meal.

One sees nothing of a town from a railroad station, since it seems to be
an invariable rule, not only here, but all over Europe, to locate them
so that you can see nothing from them.

By the by, I forgot to say, among the historical recollections of this
place, that it was the first stopping-place of Queen Mary, after her
fatal flight into England. The rooms which she occupied are still shown
in the castle, and there are interesting letters and documents extant
from lords whom Elizabeth sent here to visit her, in which they record
her beauty, her heroic sentiments, and even her dress; so strong was the
fascination in which she held all who approached her. Carlisle is the
scene of the denouement of Guy Mannering, and it is from this town that
Lord Carlisle gets his title.

And now keep up a bright lookout for ruins and old houses. Mr. S., whose
eyes are always in every place, allowed none of us to slumber, but
looking out, first on his own side and then on ours, called our
attention to every visible thing. If he had been appointed on a mission
of inquiry he could not have been more zealous and faithful, and I began
to think that our desire for an English cicerone was quite superfluous.

And now we pass Gretna Green, famous in story--that momentous place
which marks the commencement of Scotland. It is a little straggling
village, and there is a roadside inn, which has been the scene of
innumerable Gretna Green marriages.

Owing to the fact that the Scottish law of marriage is far more liberal
in its construction than the English, this place has been the refuge of
distressed lovers from time immemorial; and although the practice of
escaping here is universally condemned as very naughty and improper,
yet, like every other impropriety, it is kept in countenance by very
respectable people. Two lord chancellors have had the amiable weakness
to fall into this snare, and one lord chancellor's son; so says the
guide book, which is our Koran for the time being. It says, moreover,
that it would be easy to add a lengthened list of _distingués_ married
at Gretna Green; but these lord chancellors (Erskine and Eldon) are
quoted as being the most melancholy monuments. What shall meaner mortals
do, when law itself, in all her majesty, wig, gown, and all, goes by the
board?

Well, we are in Scotland at last, and now our pulse rises as the sun
declines in the west. We catch glimpses of the Solway Frith, and talk
about Redgauntlet.

One says, "Do you remember the scene on the sea shore, with which it
opens, describing the rising of the tide?"

And says another, "Don't you remember those lines in the Young Lochinvar
song?--

  'Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide.'"

I wonder how many authors it will take to enchant our country from Maine
to New Orleans, as every foot of ground is enchanted here in Scotland.

The sun went down, and night drew on; still we were in Scotland. Scotch
ballads, Scotch tunes, and Scotch literature were in the ascendant. We
sang "Auld Lang Syne," "Scots wha ha'," and "Bonnie Doon," and then,
changing the key, sang Dundee, Elgin, and Martyrs.

"Take care," said Mr. S.; "don't get too much excited."

"Ah," said I, "this is a thing that comes only once in a lifetime; do
let us have the comfort of it. We shall never come into Scotland for the
_first time_ again."

"Ah," said another, "how I wish Walter Scott was alive!"

While we were thus at the fusion point of enthusiasm, the cars stopped
at Lockerby, where the real Old Mortality is buried. All was dim and
dark outside, but we soon became conscious that there was quite a number
collected, peering into the window, and, with a strange kind of thrill,
I heard my name inquired for in the Scottish accent. I went to the
window; there were men, women, and children there, and hand after hand
was presented, with the words, "Ye're welcome to Scotland!"

Then they inquired for, and shook hands with, all the party, having in
some mysterious manner got the knowledge of who they were, even down to
little G----, whom they took to be my son. Was it not pleasant, when I
had a heart so warm for this old country? I shall never forget the
thrill of those words, "Ye're welcome to Scotland," nor the "Gude
night."

After that we found similar welcomes in many succeeding stopping-places;
and though I did wave a towel out of the window, instead of a pocket
handkerchief, and commit other awkwardnesses, from not knowing how to
play my part, yet I fancied, after all, that Scotland and we were coming
on well together. Who the good souls were that were thus watching for
us through the night, I am sure I do not know; but that they were of the
"one blood," which unites all the families of the earth, I felt.

As we came towards Glasgow, we saw, upon a high hill, what we supposed
to be a castle on fire--great volumes of smoke rolling up, and fire
looking out of arched windows.

"Dear me, what a conflagration!" we all exclaimed. We had not gone very
far before we saw another, and then, on the opposite side of the car,
another still.

"Why, it seems to me the country is all on fire."

"I should think," said Mr. S., "if it was in old times, that there had
been a raid from the Highlands, and set all the houses on fire."

"Or they might be beacons," suggested C.

To this some one answered out of the Lay of the Last Minstrel,--

  "Sweet Teviot, by thy silver tide
  The glaring bale-fires blaze no more."

As we drew near to Glasgow these illuminations increased, till the whole
air was red with the glare of them.

"What can they be?"

"Dear me," said Mr. S., in a tone of sudden recollection, "it's the iron
works! Don't you know Glasgow is celebrated for its iron works?"

So, after all, in these peaceful fires of the iron works, we got an idea
how the country might have looked in the old picturesque times, when the
Highlanders came down and set the Lowlands on fire; such scenes as are
commemorated in the words of Roderick Dhu's song:--

  "Proudly our pibroch, has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
    And Banmachar's groans to our slogan replied;
  Glen Luss and Ross Dhu, they are smoking in ruins,
    And the best of Loch Lomond lies dead on her side."

To be sure the fires of iron founderies are much less picturesque than
the old beacons, and the clink of hammers than the clash of claymores;
but the most devout worshipper of the middle ages would hardly wish to
change them.

Dimly, by the flickering light of these furnaces, we see the approach to
the old city of Glasgow. There, we are arrived! Friends are waiting in
the station house. Earnest, eager, friendly faces, ever so many. Warm
greetings, kindly words. A crowd parting in the middle, through which we
were conducted into a carriage, and loud cheers of welcome, sent a
throb, as the voice of living Scotland.

I looked out of the carriage, as we drove on, and saw, by the light of a
lantern, Argyle Street. It was past twelve o'clock when I found myself
in a warm, cozy parlor, with friends, whom I have ever since been glad
to remember. In a little time we were all safely housed in our
hospitable apartments, and sleep fell on me for the first time in
Scotland.



LETTER IV.


DEAR AUNT E.:--

The next morning I awoke worn and weary, and scarce could the charms of
the social Scotch breakfast restore me. I say Scotch, for we had many
viands peculiarly national. The smoking porridge, or parritch, of
oatmeal, which is the great staple dish throughout Scotland. Then there
was the bannock, a thin, wafer-like cake of the same material. My friend
laughingly said when he passed it, "You are in the 'land o' cakes,'
remember." There was also some herring, as nice a Scottish fish as ever
wore scales, besides dainties innumerable which were not national.

Our friend and host was Mr. Baillie Paton. I believe that it is to his
suggestion in a public meeting, that we owe the invitation which brought
us to Scotland.

By the by, I should say that "baillie" seems to correspond to what we
call a member of the city council. Mr. Paton told us, that they had
expected us earlier, and that the day before quite a party of friends
met at his house to see us, among whom was good old Dr. Wardlaw.

After breakfast the calling began. First, a friend of the family, with
three beautiful children, the youngest of whom was the bearer of a
handsomely bound album, containing a pressed collection of the sea
mosses of the Scottish coast, very vivid and beautiful.

If the bloom of English children appeared to me wonderful, I seemed to
find the same thing intensified, if possible, in Scotland. The children
are brilliant as pomegranate blossoms, and their vivid beauty called
forth unceasing admiration. Nor is it merely the children of the rich,
or of the higher classes, that are thus gifted. I have seen many a group
of ragged urchins in the streets and closes with all the high coloring
of Rubens, and all his fulness of outline. Why is it that we admire
ragged children on canvas so much more than the same in nature?

All this day is a confused dream to me of a dizzy and overwhelming kind.
So many letters that it took C---- from nine in the morning till two in
the afternoon to read and answer them in the shortest manner; letters
from all classes of people, high and low, rich and poor, in all shades
and styles of composition, poetry and prose; some mere outbursts of
feeling; some invitations; some advice and suggestions; some requests
and inquiries; some presenting books, or flowers, or fruit.

Then came, in their turn, deputations from Paisley, Greenock, Dundee,
Aberdeen, Edinburgh, and Belfast in Ireland; calls of friendship,
invitations of all descriptions to go every where, and to see every
thing, and to stay in so many places. One kind, venerable minister, with
his lovely daughter, offered me a retreat in his quiet manse on the
beautiful shores of the Clyde.

For all these kindnesses, what could I give in return? There was scarce
time for even a grateful thought on each. People have often said to me
that it must have been an exceeding bore. For my part, I could not think
of regarding it so. It only oppressed me with an unutterable sadness.

To me there is always something interesting and beautiful about a
universal popular excitement of a generous character, let the object of
it be what it may. The great desiring heart of man, surging with one
strong, sympathetic swell, even though it be to break on the beach of
life and fall backwards, leaving the sands as barren as before, has yet
a meaning and a power in its restlessness, with which I must deeply
sympathize. Nor do I sympathize any the less, when the individual, who
calls forth such an outburst, can be seen by the eye of sober sense to
be altogether inadequate and disproportioned to it.

I do not regard it as any thing against our American nation, that we are
capable, to a very great extent, of these sudden personal enthusiasms,
because I think that, with an individual or a community, the capability
of being exalted into a temporary enthusiasm of self-forgetfulness, so
far from being a fault, has in it a quality of something divine.

Of course, about all such things there is a great deal which a cool
critic could make ridiculous, but I hold to my opinion of them
nevertheless.

In the afternoon I rode out with the lord provost to see the cathedral.
The lord provost answers to the lord mayor in England. His title and
office in both countries continue only a year, except in cases of
reëlection.

As I saw the way to the cathedral blocked up by a throng of people, who
had come out to see me, I could not help saying, "What went ye out for
to see? a reed shaken with the wind?" In fact, I was so worn out, that I
could hardly walk through the building.

It is in this cathedral that part of the scene of Rob Roy is laid. This
was my first experience in cathedrals. It was a new thing to me
altogether, and as I walked along under the old buttresses and
battlements without, and looked into the bewildering labyrinths of
architecture within, I saw that, with silence and solitude to help the
impression, the old building might become a strong part of one's inner
life. A grave yard crowded with flat stones lies all around it. A deep
ravine separates it from another cemetery on an opposite eminence,
rustling with dark pines. A little brook murmurs with its slender voice
between.

On this opposite eminence the statue of John Knox, grim and strong,
stands with its arm uplifted, as if shaking his fist at the old
cathedral which in life he vainly endeavored to battle down.

Knox was very different from Luther, in that he had no conservative
element in him, but warred equally against accessories and essentials.

At the time when the churches of Scotland were being pulled down in a
general iconoclastic crusade, the tradesmen of Glasgow stood for the
defence of their cathedral, and forced the reformers to content
themselves with having the idolatrous images of saints pulled down from
their niches and thrown into the brook, while, as Andrew Fairservice
hath it, "The auld kirk stood as crouse as a cat when the fleas are
caimed aff her, and a' body was alike pleased."

We went all through the cathedral, which is fitted up as a Protestant
place of worship, and has a simple and massive grandeur about it. In
fact, to quote again from our friend Andrew, we could truly say, "Ah,
it's a brave kirk, nane o' yere whig-malceries, and curliewurlies, and
opensteek hems about it--a' solid, weel-jointed mason wark, that will
stand as lang as the warld, keep hands and gun-powther aff it."

I was disappointed in one thing: the painted glass, if there has ever
been any, is almost all gone, and the glare of light through the immense
windows is altogether too great, revealing many defects and rudenesses
in the architecture, which would have quite another appearance in the
colored rays through painted windows--an emblem, perhaps, of the cold,
definite, intellectual rationalism, which has taken the place of the
many-colored, gorgeous mysticism of former times.

After having been over the church, we requested, out of respect to
Baillie Nicol Jarvie's memory, to be driven through the Saut Market. I,
however, was so thoroughly tired that I cannot remember any thing about
it.

I will say, by the way, that I have found out since, that nothing is so
utterly hazardous to a person's strength as looking at cathedrals. The
strain upon the head and eyes in looking up through these immense
arches, and then the sepulchral chill which abides from generation to
generation in them, their great extent, and the variety which tempts you
to fatigue which you are not at all aware of, have overcome, as I was
told, many before me.

Mr. S. and C----, however, made amends, by their great activity and
zeal, for all that I could not do, and I was pleased to understand from
them, that part of the old Tolbooth, where Rob Roy and the baillie had
their rencontre, was standing safe and sound, with stuff enough in it
for half a dozen more stories, if any body could be found to write them.
And Mr. S. insisted upon it, that I should not omit to notify you of
this circumstance.

Well, in consequence of all this, the next morning I was so ill as to
need a physician, unable to see any one that called, or to hear any of
the letters. I passed most of the day in bed, but in the evening I had
to get up, as I had engaged to drink tea with two thousand people. Our
kind friends Dr. and Mrs. Wardlaw came after us, and Mr. S. and I went
in the carriage with them.

Dr. Wardlaw is a venerable-looking old man; we both thought we saw a
striking resemblance in him to our friend Dr. Woods, of Andover. He is
still quite active in body and mind, and officiates to his congregation
with great acceptance. I fear, however, that he is in ill health, for I
noticed, as we were passing along to church, that he frequently laid his
hand upon his heart, and seemed in pain. He said he hoped he should be
able to get through the evening, but that when he was not well,
excitement was apt to bring on a spasm about the heart; but with it all
he seemed so cheerful, lively, and benignant, that I could not but feel
my affections drawn towards him. Mrs. Wardlaw is a gentle, motherly
woman, and it was a great comfort to have her with me on such an
occasion.

Our carriage stopped at last at the place. I have a dim remembrance of a
way being made for us through a great crowd all round the house, and of
going with Mrs. Wardlaw up into a dressing room, where I met and shook
hands with many friendly people. Then we passed into a gallery, where a
seat was reserved for our party, directly in front of the audience. Our
friend Baillie Paton presided. Mrs. Wardlaw and I sat together, and
around us many friends, chiefly ministers of the different churches, the
ladies and gentlemen of the Glasgow Antislavery Society, and others.

I told you it was a tea party; but the arrangements were altogether
different from any I had ever seen. There were narrow tables stretched
up and down the whole extent of the great hall, and every person had an
appointed seat. These tables were set out with cups and saucers, cakes,
biscuit, &c., and when the proper time came, attendants passed along
serving tea. The arrangements were so accurate and methodical that the
whole multitude actually took tea together, without the least apparent
inconvenience or disturbance.

There was a gentle, subdued murmur of conversation all over the house,
the sociable clinking of teacups and teaspoons, while the entertainment
was going on. It seemed to me such an odd idea, I could not help
wondering what sort of a teapot that must be, in which all this tea for
two thousand people was made. Truly, as Hadji Baba says, I think they
must have had the "father of all teakettles" to boil it in. I could not
help wondering if old mother Scotland had put two thousand teaspoonfuls
of tea for the company, and one for the teapot, as is our good Yankee
custom.

We had quite a sociable time up in our gallery. Our tea table stretched
quite across the gallery, and we drank tea "in sight of all the people."
By _we_, I mean a great number of ministers and their wives, and ladies
of the Antislavery Society, besides our party, and the friends whom I
have mentioned before. All seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After tea they sang a few verses of the seventy-second psalm in the old
Scotch version.

  "The people's poor ones he shall judge,
    The needy's children save;
  And those shall he in pieces break,
    Who them oppressed have.

  For he the needy shall preserve,
    When he to him doth call;
  The poor, also, and him that hath
    No help of man at all.

  Both from deceit and violence
    Their soul he shall set free;
  And in his sight right precious
    And dear their blood shall be.

  Now blessed be the Lord, our God,
    The God of Israel,
  For he alone doth wondrous works,
    In glory that excel.

  And blessed be his glorious name
    To all eternity;
  The whole earth let his glory fill:
    Amen; so let it be."

When I heard the united sound of all the voices, giving force to these
simple and pathetic words, I thought I could see something of the reason
why that rude old translation still holds its place in Scotland.

The addresses were, many of them, very beautiful; the more so for the
earnest and religious feeling which they manifested. That of Dr.
Wardlaw, in particular, was full of comfort and encouragement, and
breathed a most candid and catholic spirit. Could our friends in America
see with what earnest warmth the religious heart of Scotland beats
towards them, they would be willing to suffer a word of admonition from
those to whom love gives a right to speak. As Christians, all have a
common interest in what honors or dishonors Christianity, and an ocean
between us does not make us less one church.

Most of the speeches you will see recorded in the papers. In the course
of the evening there was a second service of grapes, oranges, and other
fruits, served round in the same quiet manner as the tea. On account of
the feeble state of my health, they kindly excused me before the
exercises of the evening were over.

The next morning, at ten o'clock, we rode with a party of friends to see
some of the _notabilia_. First, to Bothwell Castle, of old the residence
of the Black Douglas. The name had for me the quality of enchantment. I
cannot understand nor explain the nature of that sad yearning and
longing with which one visits the mouldering remains of a state of
society which one's reason wholly disapproves, and which one's calm
sense of right would think it the greatest misfortune to have recalled;
yet when the carriage turned under the shadow of beautiful ancient oaks,
and Mr. S. said, "There, we are in the grounds of the old Black Douglas
family!" I felt every nerve shiver. I remembered the dim melodies of
the Lady of the Lake. Bothwell's lord was the lord of this castle, whose
beautiful ruins here adorn the banks of the Clyde.

Whatever else we have or may have in America, we shall never have the
wild, poetic beauty of these ruins. The present noble possessors are
fully aware of their worth as objects of taste, and, therefore, with the
greatest care are they preserved. Winding walks are cut through the
grounds with much ingenuity, and seats or arbors are placed at every
desirable and picturesque point of view.

To the thorough-paced tourist, who wants to _do_ the proprieties in the
shortest possible time, this arrangement is undoubtedly particularly
satisfactory; but to the idealist, who would like to roam, and dream,
and feel, and to come unexpectedly on the choicest points of view, it is
rather a damper to have all his raptures prearranged and foreordained
for him, set down in the guide book and proclaimed by the guide, even
though it should be done with the most artistic accuracy.

Nevertheless, when we came to the arbor which commanded the finest view
of the old castle, and saw its gray, ivy-clad walls, standing forth on a
beautiful point, round which swept the brown, dimpling waves of the
Clyde, the indescribable sweetness, sadness, wildness of the whole scene
would make its voice heard in our hearts. "Thy servants take pleasure in
her dust, and favor the stones thereof," said an old Hebrew poet, who
must have felt the inexpressibly sad beauty of a ruin. All the splendid
phantasmagoria of chivalry and feudalism, knights, ladies, banners,
glittering arms, sweep before us; the cry of the battle, the noise of
the captains, and the shouting; and then in contrast this deep
stillness, that green, clinging ivy, the gentle, rippling river, those
weeping birches, dipping in its soft waters--all these, in their quiet
loveliness, speak of something more imperishable than brute force.

The ivy on the walls now displays a trunk in some places as large as a
man's body. In the days of old Archibald the Grim, I suppose that ivy
was a little, weak twig, which, if he ever noticed, he must have thought
the feeblest and slightest of all things; yet Archibald has gone back to
dust, and the ivy is still growing on. Such force is there in gentle
things.

I have often been dissatisfied with the admiration, which a poetic
education has woven into my nature, for chivalry and feudalism; but, on
a closer examination, I am convinced that there is a real and proper
foundation for it, and that, rightly understood, this poetic admiration
is not inconsistent with the spirit of Christ.

For, let us consider what it is we admire in these Douglases, for
instance, who, as represented by Scott, are perhaps as good exponents of
the idea as any. Was it their hardness, their cruelty, their hastiness
to take offence, their fondness for blood and murder? All these, by and
of themselves, are simply disgusting. What, then, do we admire? Their
courage, their fortitude, their scorn of lying and dissimulation, their
high sense of personal honor, which led them to feel themselves the
protectors of the weak, and to disdain to take advantage of unequal odds
against an enemy. If we read the book of Isaiah, we shall see that some
of the most striking representations of God appeal to the very same
principles of our nature.

The fact is, there can be no reliable character which has not its basis
in these strong qualities. The beautiful must ever rest in the arms of
the sublime. The gentle needs the strong to sustain it, as much as the
rock flowers need rocks to grow on, or yonder ivy the rugged wall which
it embraces. When we are admiring these things, therefore, we are only
admiring some sparkles and glimmers of that which is divine, and so
coming nearer to Him in whom all fulness dwells.

After admiring at a distance, we strolled through the ruins themselves.
Do you remember, in the Lady of the Lake, where the exiled Douglas,
recalling to his daughter the images of his former splendor, says,--

  "When Blantyre hymned, her holiest lays,
  And Bothwell's walls flung back the praise"?

These lines came forcibly to my mind, when I saw the mouldering ruins of
Blantyre priory rising exactly opposite to the castle, on the other side
of the Clyde.

The banks of the River Clyde, where we walked, were thick set with
Portuguese laurel, which I have before mentioned as similar to our
rhododendron. I here noticed a fact with regard to the ivy which had
often puzzled me; and that is, the different shapes of its leaves in the
different stages of its growth. The young ivy has this leaf; but when it
has become more than a century old every trace and indentation melts
away, and it assumes this form, which I found afterwards to be the
invariable shape of all the oldest ivy, in all the ruins of Europe which
I explored.

This ivy, like the spider, takes hold with her hands in kings' palaces,
as every twig is furnished with innumerable little clinging fingers, by
which it draws itself close, as it were, to the very heart of the old
rough stone.

Its clinging and beautiful tenacity has given rise to an abundance of
conceits about fidelity, friendship, and woman's love, which have become
commonplace simply from their appropriateness. It might, also, symbolize
that higher love, unconquerable and unconquered, which has embraced this
ruined world from age to age, silently spreading its green over the
rents and fissures of our fallen nature, giving "beauty for ashes, and
garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

There is a modern mansion, where the present proprietor of the estate
lives. It was with an emotion partaking of the sorrowful, that we heard
that the Douglas line, as such, was extinct, and that the estate had
passed to distant connections. I was told that the present Lord Douglas
is a peaceful clergyman, quite a different character from old Archibald
the Grim.

The present residence is a plain mansion, standing on a beautiful lawn,
near the old castle. The head gardener of the estate and many of the
servants came out to meet us, with faces full of interest. The gardener
walked about to show us the localities, and had a great deal of the
quiet intelligence and self-respect which, I think, is characteristic of
the laboring classes here. I noticed that on the green sweep of the
lawn, he had set out here and there a good many daisies, as
embellishments to the grass, and these in many places were defended by
sticks bent over them, and that, in one place, a bank overhanging the
stream was radiant with yellow daffodils, which appeared to have come up
and blossomed there accidentally. I know not whether these were planted
there, or came up of themselves.

We next went to the famous Bothwell bridge, which Scott has immortalized
in Old Mortality. We walked up and down, trying to recall the scenes of
the battle, as there described, and were rather mortified, after we had
all our associations comfortably located upon it, to be told that it was
not the same bridge--it had been newly built, widened, and otherwise
made more comfortable and convenient.

Of course, this was evidently for the benefit of society, but it was
certainly one of those cases where the poetical suffers for the
practical. I comforted myself in my despondency, by looking over at the
old stone piers underneath, which were indisputably the same. We drove
now through beautiful grounds, and alighted at an elegant mansion, which
in former days belonged to Lockhart, the son-in-law of Scott. It was in
this house that Old Mortality was written.

As I was weary, the party left me here, while they went on to see the
Duke of Hamilton's grounds. Our kind hostess showed me into a small
study, where she said Old Mortality was written. The window commanded a
beautiful view of many of the localities described. Scott was as
particular to consult for accuracy in his local descriptions as if he
had been writing a guide book.

He was in the habit of noting down in his memorandum book even names and
characteristics of the wild flowers and grasses that grew about a place.
When a friend once remarked to him, that he should have supposed his
imagination could have supplied such trifles, he made an answer that is
worth remembering by every artist--that no imagination could long
support its freshness, that was not nourished by a constant and minute
observation of nature.

Craignethan Castle, which is the original of Tillietudlem, we were
informed, was not far from thence. It is stated in Lockhart's Life of
Scott, that the ruins of this castle excited in Scott such delight and
enthusiasm, that its owner urged him to accept for his lifetime the use
of a small habitable house, enclosed within the circuit of the walls.

After the return of the party from Hamilton Park, we sat down to an
elegant lunch, where my eye was attracted more than any thing else, by
the splendor of the hothouse flowers which adorned the table. So far as
I have observed, the culture of flowers, both in England and Scotland,
is more universally an object of attention than with us. Every family in
easy circumstances seems, as a matter of course, to have their
greenhouse, and the flowers are brought to a degree of perfection which
I have never seen at home.

I may as well say here, that we were told by a gentleman, whose name I
do not now remember, that this whole district had been celebrated for
its orchards; he added, however, that since the introduction of the
American apple into the market, its superior excellence had made many of
these orchards almost entirely worthless. It is a curious fact, showing
how the new world is working on the old.

After taking leave of our hospitable friends, we took to our carriages
again. As we were driving slowly through the beautiful grounds,
admiring, as we never failed to do, their perfect cultivation, a party
of servants appeared in sight, waving their hats and handkerchiefs, and
cheering us as we passed. These kindly expressions from them were as
pleasant as any we received.

In the evening we had engaged to attend another _soirée_, gotten up by
the working classes, to give admission to many who were not in
circumstances to purchase tickets for the other. This was to me, if any
thing, a more interesting _réunion_, because this was just the class
whom I wished to meet. The arrangements of the entertainment were like
those of the evening before.

As I sat in the front gallery and looked over the audience with an
intense interest, I thought they appeared on the whole very much like
what I might have seen at home in a similar gathering. Men, women, and
children were dressed in a style which showed both self-respect and good
taste, and the speeches were far above mediocrity. One pale young man, a
watchmaker, as I was told afterwards, delivered an address, which,
though doubtless it had the promising fault of too much elaboration and
ornament, yet I thought had passages which would do honor to any
literary periodical whatever.

There were other orators less highly finished, who yet spoke "right on,"
in a strong, forcible, and really eloquent way, giving the grain of the
wood without the varnish. They contended very seriously and sensibly,
that although the working men of England and Scotland had many things to
complain of, and many things to be reformed, yet their condition was
world-wide different from that of the slave.

One cannot read the history of the working classes in England, for the
last fifty years, without feeling sensibly the difference between
oppressions under a free government and slavery. So long as the working
class of England produces orators and writers, such as it undoubtedly
has produced; so long as it has in it that spirit of independence and
resistance of wrong, which has shown itself more and more during the
agitations of the last fifty years; and so as long as the law allows
them to meet and debate, to form associations and committees, to send up
remonstrances and petitions to government,--one can see that their case
is essentially different from that of plantation slaves.

I must say, I was struck this night with the resemblance between the
Scotchman and the New Englander. One sees the distinctive nationality of
a country more in the middle and laboring classes than in the higher,
and accordingly at this meeting there was more nationality, I thought,
than at the other.

The highest class of mind in all countries loses nationality, and
becomes universal; it is a great pity, too, because nationality is
picturesque always. One of the greatest miracles to my mind about
Kossuth was, that with so universal an education, and such an extensive
range of language and thought, he was yet so distinctively a Magyar.

One thing has surprised and rather disappointed us. Our enthusiasm for
Walter Scott does not apparently meet a response in the popular breast.
Allusions to Bannockburn and Drumclog bring down the house, but
enthusiasm for Scott was met with comparative silence. We discussed this
matter among ourselves, and rather wondered at it.

The fact is, Scott belonged to a past, and not to the coming age. He
beautified and adorned that which is waxing old and passing away. He
loved and worshipped in his very soul institutions which the majority of
the common people have felt as a restraint and a burden. One might
naturally get a very different idea of a feudal castle by starving to
death in the dungeon of it, than by writing sonnets on it at a
picturesque distance. Now, we in America are so far removed from
feudalism,--it has been a thing so much of mere song and story with us,
and our sympathies are so unchecked by any experience of inconvenience
or injustice in its consequences,--that we are at full liberty to
appreciate the picturesque of it, and sometimes, when we stand
overlooking our own beautiful scenery, to wish that we could see,

  "On yon bold brow, a lordly tower;
  In that soft vale, a lady's bower;
  In yonder meadow, far away,
  The turrets of a cloister gray;"

when those who know by experience all the accompaniments of these
ornaments, would have quite another impression.

Nevertheless, since there are two worlds in man, the real and the ideal,
and both have indisputably a right to be, since God made the faculties
of both, we must feel that it is a benefaction to mankind, that Scott
was thus raised up as the link, in the ideal world, between the present
and the past. It is a loss to universal humanity to have the imprint of
any phase of human life and experience entirely blotted out. Scott's
fictions are like this beautiful ivy, with which all the ruins here are
overgrown,--they not only adorn, but, in many cases, they actually hold
together, and prevent the crumbling mass from falling into ruins.

To-morrow we are going to have a sail on the Clyde.



LETTER V.


April 17.

MY DEAR SISTER:--

To-day a large party of us started on a small steamer, to go down the
Clyde. It has been a very, very exciting day to us. It is so stimulating
to be where every name is a poem. For instance, we start at the
Broomielaw. This Broomielaw is a kind of wharf, or landing. Perhaps in
old times it was a haugh overgrown with broom, from whence it gets its
name; this is only my conjecture, however.

We have a small steamer quite crowded with people, our excursion party
being very numerous. In a few minutes after starting, somebody says,--

"O, here's where the Kelvin enters." This starts up,--

  "Let us haste to Kelvin Grove."

Then soon we are coming to Dumbarton Castle, and all the tears we shed
over Miss Porter's William Wallace seem to rise up like a many-colored
mist about it. The highest peak of the rock is still called Wallace's
Seat, and a part of the castle, Wallace's Tower; and in one of its
apartments a huge two-handed sword of the hero is still shown. I
suppose, in fact, Miss Porter's sentimental hero is about as much like
the real William Wallace as Daniel Boone is like Sir Charles Grandison.
Many a young lady, who has cried herself sick over Wallace in the novel,
would have been in perfect horror if she could have seen the real man.
Still Dumbarton Castle is not a whit the less picturesque for that. Now
comes the Leven,--that identical Leven Water known in song,--and on the
right is Leven Grove.

"There," said somebody to me, "is the old mansion of the Earls of
Glencairn." Quick as thought, flashed through my mind that most eloquent
of Burns's poems, the Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn.

  "The bridegroom may forget the bride
  Was made his wedded wife yestreen;
  The monarch may forget the crown
  That on his head an hour hath been;
  The mother may forget the child
  That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
  But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
  And a' that thou hast done for me."

This mansion is now the seat of Graham of Gartmor.

Now we are shown the remains of old Cardross Castle, where it was said
Robert Bruce breathed his last. And now we come near the beautiful
grounds of Roseneath, a green, velvet-like peninsula, stretching out
into the widening waters.

"Peninsula!" said C----. "Why, Walter Scott said it was an island."

Certainly, he did declare most explicitly in the person of Mr.
Archibald, the Duke of Argyle's serving man, to Miss Dollie Dutton, when
she insisted on going to it by land, that Roseneath was an island. It
shows that the most accurate may be caught tripping sometimes.

Of course, our heads were full of David Deans, Jeanie, and Effie, but we
saw nothing of them. The Duke of Argyle's Italian mansion is the most
conspicuous object.

Hereupon there was considerable discussion on the present Duke of Argyle
among the company, from which we gathered that he stood high in favor
with the popular mind. One said that there had been an old prophecy,
probably uttered somewhere up in the Highlands, where such things are
indigenous, that a very good duke of Argyle was to arise having red
hair, and that the present duke had verified the prediction by uniting
both requisites. They say that he is quite a young man, with a small,
slight figure, but with a great deal of energy and acuteness of mind,
and with the generous and noble traits which have distinguished his
house in former times. He was a pupil of Dr. Arnold, a member of the
National Scotch Kirk, and generally understood to be a serious and
religious man. He is one of the noblemen who have been willing to come
forward and make use of his education and talent in the way of popular
lectures at lyceums and athenæums; as have also the Duke of Newcastle,
the Earl of Carlisle, and some others. So the world goes on. I must
think, with all deference to poetry, that it is much better to deliver a
lyceum lecture than to head a clan in battle; though I suppose, a
century and a half ago, had the thing been predicted to McCallummore's
old harper, he would have been greatly at a loss to comprehend the
nature of the transaction.

Somewhere about here, I was presented, by his own request, to a
broad-shouldered Scotch farmer, who stood some six feet two, and who
paid me the compliment to say, that he had read my book, and that he
would walk six miles to see me any day. Such a flattering evidence of
discriminating taste, of course, disposed my heart towards him; but when
I went up and put my hand into his great prairie of a palm, I was as a
grasshopper in my own eyes. I inquired who he was, and was told he was
one of the Duke of Argyle's farmers. I thought to myself, if all the
duke's farmers were of this pattern, that he might be able to speak to
the enemy in the gates to some purpose.

Roseneath occupies the ground between the Gare Loch and Loch Long. The
Gare Loch is the name given to a bay formed by the River Clyde, here
stretching itself out like a lake. Here we landed and went on shore,
passing along the sides of the loch, in the little village of Row.

As we were walking along a carriage came up after us, in which were two
ladies. A bunch of primroses, thrown from this carriage, fell at my
feet. I picked it up, and then the carriage stopped, and the ladies
requested to know if I was Mrs. Stowe. On answering in the affirmative,
they urged me so earnestly to come under their roof and take some
refreshment, that I began to remember, what I had partly lost sight of,
that I was very tired; so, while the rest of the party walked on to get
a distant view of Ben Lomond, Mr. S. and I suffered ourselves to be
taken into the carriage of our unknown friends, and carried up to a
charming little Italian villa, which stood, surrounded by flower gardens
and pleasure grounds, at the head of the loch. We were ushered into a
most comfortable parlor, where a long window, made of one clear unbroken
sheet of plate glass, gave a perfect view of the loch with all its woody
shores, with Roseneath Castle in the distance. My good hostesses
literally overwhelmed me with kindness; but as there was nothing I
really needed so much as a little quiet rest, they took me to a cozy
bedroom, of which they gave me the freedom, for the present. Does not
every traveller know what a luxury it is to shut one's eyes sometimes?
The chamber, which is called "Peace," is now, as it was in Christian's
days, one of the best things that Charity or Piety could offer to the
pilgrim. Here I got a little brush from the wings of dewy-feathered
sleep.

After a while our party came back, and we had to be moving. My kind
friends expressed so much joy at having met me, that it was really
almost embarrassing. They told me that they, being confined to the house
by ill health, and one of them by lameness, had had no hope of ever
seeing me, and that this meeting seemed a wonderful gift of Providence.
They bade me take courage and hope, for they felt assured that the Lord
would yet entirely make an end of slavery through the world.

It was concluded, after we left here, that, instead of returning by the
boat, we should take carriage and ride home along the banks of the
river. In our carriage were Mr. S. and myself, Dr. Robson and Lady
Anderson. About this time I commenced my first essay towards giving
titles, and made, as you may suppose, rather an odd piece of work of it,
generally saying "Mrs." first, and "Lady" afterwards, and then begging
pardon. Lady Anderson laughed, and said she would give me a general
absolution. She is a truly genial, hearty Scotch woman, and seemed to
enter happily into the spirit of the hour.

As we rode on we found that the news of our coming had spread through
the village. People came and stood in their doors, beckoning, bowing,
smiling, and waving their handkerchiefs, and the carriage was several
times stopped by persons who came to offer flowers. I remember, in
particular, a group of young girls brought to the carriage two of the
most beautiful children I ever saw, whose little hands literally deluged
us with flowers.

At the village of Helensburgh we stopped a little while to call upon
Mrs. Bell, the wife of Mr. Bell, the inventor of the steamboat. His
invention in this country was about the same time of that of Fulton in
America. Mrs. Bell came to the carriage to speak to us. She is a
venerable woman, far advanced in years. They had prepared a lunch for
us, and quite a number of people had come together to meet us, but our
friends said that there was not time for us to stop.

We rode through several villages after this, and met quite warm welcome.
What pleased me was, that it was not mainly from the literary, nor the
rich, nor the great, but the plain, common people. The butcher came out
of his stall, and the baker from his shop, the miller, dusty with his
flour, the blooming, comely, young mother, with her baby in her arms,
all smiling and bowing with that hearty, intelligent, friendly look, as
if they knew we should be glad to see them.

Once, while we stopped to change horses, I, for the sake of seeing
something more of the country, walked on. It seems the honest landlord
and his wife were greatly disappointed at this; however, they got into
the carriage and rode on to see me, and I shook hands with them with a
right good will.

We saw several of the clergymen, who came out to meet us, and I remember
stopping, just to be introduced to a most delightful family who came
out, one by one, gray-headed father and mother, with comely brothers and
fair sisters, looking all so kindly and home-like, that I would have
been glad to use the welcome that they gave me to their dwelling.

This day has been a strange phenomenon to me. In the first place, I have
seen in all these villages how universally the people read. I have seen
how capable they are of a generous excitement and enthusiasm, and how
much may be done by a work of fiction, so written as to enlist those
sympathies which are common to all classes. Certainly, a great deal may
be effected in this way, if God gives to any one the power, as I hope
he will to many. The power of fictitious writing, for good as well as
evil, is a thing which ought most seriously to be reflected on. No one
can fail to see that in our day it is becoming a very great agency.

We came home quite tired, as you may well suppose. You will not be
surprised that the next day I found myself more disposed to keep my bed
than to go out. I regretted it, because, being Sunday, I would like to
have heard some of the preachers of Glasgow. I was, however, glad of one
quiet day to recall my thoughts, for I had been whirling so rapidly from
scene to scene, that I needed time to consider where I was; especially
as we were to go to Edinburgh on the morrow.

Towards sunset Mr. S. and I strolled out entirely alone to breathe a
little fresh air. We walked along the banks of the Kelvin, quite down to
its junction with the Clyde. The Kelvin Grove of the ballad is all cut
away, and the Kelvin flows soberly between stone walls, with a footpath
on each side, like a stream that has learned to behave itself.

"There," said Mr. S., as we stood on the banks of the Clyde, now lying
flushed and tranquil in the light of the setting sun, "over there is
Ayrshire."

"Ayrshire!" I said; "what, where Burns lived?"

"Yes, there is his cottage, far down to the south, and out of sight, of
course; and there are the bonny banks of Ayr."

It seemed as if the evening air brought a kind of sigh with it. Poor
Burns! how inseparably he has woven himself with the warp and woof of
every Scottish association!

We saw a great many children of the poor out playing--rosy, fine little
urchins, worth, any one of them, a dozen bleached, hothouse flowers. We
stopped to hear them talk, and it was amusing to hear the Scotch of
Walter Scott and Burns shouted out with such a right good will. We were
as much struck by it as an honest Yankee was in Paris by the proficiency
of the children in speaking French.

The next day we bade farewell to Glasgow, overwhelmed with kindness to
the last, and only oppressed by the thought, how little that was
satisfactory we were able to give in return.

Again in the railroad car on our way to Edinburgh. A pleasant two hours'
trip is this from Glasgow to Edinburgh. When the cars stopped at
Linlithgow station, the name started us as out of a dream.

There, sure enough, before our eyes, on a gentle eminence stood the
mouldering ruins of which Scott has sung:--

  "Of all the palaces so fair,
    Built for the royal dwelling,
  In Scotland, far beyond compare
    Linlithgow is excelling;
  And in its park in genial June,
  How sweet the merry linnet's tune,
    How blithe the blackbird's lay!
  The wild buck's bells from thorny brake.
  The coot dives merry on the lake,--
  The saddest heart might pleasure take,
    To see a scene so gay."

Here was born that woman whose beauty and whose name are set in the
strong, rough Scotch heart, as a diamond in granite. Poor Mary! When her
father, who lay on his death bed at that time in Falkland, was told of
her birth, he answered, "Is it so? Then God's will be done! It [the
kingdom] came with a lass, and it will go with a lass!" With these words
he turned his face to the wall, and died of a broken heart. Certainly,
some people appear to be born under an evil destiny.

Here, too, in Linlithgow church, tradition says that James IV. was
warned, by a strange apparition, against that expedition to England
which cost him his life. Scott has worked this incident up into a
beautiful description, in the fourth canto of Marmion.

The castle has a very sad and romantic appearance, standing there all
alone as it does, looking down into the quiet lake. It is said that the
internal architectural decorations are exceedingly rich and beautiful,
and a resemblance has been traced between its style of ornament and that
of Heidelberg Castle, which has been accounted for by the fact that the
Princess Elizabeth, who was the sovereign lady of Heidelberg, spent many
of the earlier years of her life in this place.

Not far from here we caught a glimpse of the ruins of Niddrie Castle,
where Mary spent the first night after her escape from Lochleven.

The Avon here at Linlithgow is spanned by a viaduct, which is a fine
work of art. It has twenty-five arches, which are from seventy to eighty
feet high and fifty wide.

As the cars neared Edinburgh we all exclaimed at its beauty, so worthily
commemorated by Scott:--

  "Such dusky grandeur clothes the height,
  Where the huge castle holds its state,
    And all the steeps slope down,
  Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
  Piled deep and massy, close and high,
    Mine own romantic town!"

Edinburgh has had an effect on the literary history of the world for the
last fifty years, that cannot be forgotten by any one approaching her.
The air seemed to be full of spirits of those who, no longer living,
have woven a part of the thread of our existence. I do not know that the
shortness of human life ever so oppressed me as it did on coming near to
the city.

At the station house the cars stopped amid a crowd of people, who had
assembled to meet us. The lord provost met us at the door of the car,
and presented us to the magistracy of the city, and the committees of
the Edinburgh antislavery societies. The drab dresses and pure white
bonnets of many Friends were conspicuous among the dense moving crowd,
as white doves seen against a dark cloud. Mr. S. and myself, and our
future hostess, Mrs. Wigham, entered the carriage with the lord provost,
and away we drove, the crowd following with their shouts and cheers. I
was inexpressibly touched and affected by this. While we were passing
the monument of Scott, I felt an oppressive melancholy. What a moment
life seems in the presence of the noble dead! What a momentary thing is
art, in all its beauty! Where are all those great souls that have
created such an atmosphere of light about Edinburgh? and how little a
space was given them to live and to enjoy!

We drove all over Edinburgh, up to the castle, to the university, to
Holyrood, to the hospitals, and through many of the principal streets,
amid shouts, and smiles, and greetings. Some boys amused me very much by
their pertinacious attempts to keep up with the carriage.

"Heck," says one of them, "that's _her_; see the _courls_."

The various engravers, who have amused themselves by diversifying my
face for the public, having all, with great unanimity, agreed in giving
prominence to this point, I suppose the urchins thought they were on
safe ground there. I certainly think I answered one good purpose that
day, and that is, of giving the much oppressed and calumniated class,
called boys, an opportunity to develop all the noise that was in them--a
thing for which I think they must bless me in their remembrances.

At last the carriage drove into a deep gravelled yard, and we alighted
at a porch covered with green ivy, and found ourselves once more at
home.



LETTER VI.


MY DEAR SISTER:--

You may spare your anxieties about me, for I do assure you, that if I
were an old Sevres China jar, I could not have more careful handling
than I do. Every body is considerate; a great deal to say, when there
appears to be so much excitement. Every body seems to understand how
good for nothing I am; and yet, with all this consideration, I have been
obliged to keep my room and bed for a good part of the time. One
agreeable feature of the matter is, it gave me an opportunity to make
the acquaintance of the celebrated homoeopathic physician, Dr.
Henderson, in whose experiments and experience I had taken some interest
while in America.

Of the multitudes who have called, I have seen scarcely any.

Mrs. W., with whom I am staying, is a most thoughtful nurse. They are
Friends, and nothing can be more a pattern of rational home enjoyment,
without ostentation and without parade, than a Quaker family.

Though they reject every thing in arrangement which savors of
ostentation and worldly show, yet their homes are exquisite in point of
comfort. They make great use of flowers and natural specimens in
adorning their apartments, and also indulge to a chaste and moderate
extent in engravings and works of art. So far as I have observed, they
are all "tee-totalers;" giving, in this respect, the whole benefit of
their example to the temperance cause.

To-morrow evening is to be the great tea party here. How in the world I
am ever to live through it, I don't know.

The amount of letters we found waiting for us here in Edinburgh was, if
possible, more appalling than in Glasgow. Among those from persons whom
you would be interested in hearing of, I may mention, a very kind and
beautiful one from the Duchess of Sutherland, and one also from the Earl
of Carlisle, both desiring to make appointments for meeting us as soon
as we come to London. Also a very kind and interesting note from the
Rev. Mr. Kingsley and lady. I look forward with a great deal of interest
to passing a little time with them in their rectory. Letters also from
Mr. Binney and Mr. Sherman, two of the leading Congregational clergymen
of London. The latter officiates at Surrey Chapel, which was established
by Rowland Hill. Both contain invitations to us to visit them in London.

As to all engagements, I am in a state of happy acquiescence, having
resigned myself, as a very tame lion, into the hands of my keepers.
Whenever the time comes for me to do any thing, I try to behave as well
as I can, which, as Dr. Young says, is all that an angel could do in the
same circumstances.

As to these letters, many of them are mere outbursts of feeling; yet
they are interesting as showing the state of the public mind. Many of
them are on kindred topics of moral reform, in which they seem to have
an intuitive sense that we should be interested. I am not, of course,
able to answer them all, but C---- does, and it takes a good part of
every day. One was from a shoemaker's wife in one of the islands, with a
copy of very fair verses. Many have come accompanying little keepsakes
and gifts. It seems to me rather touching and sad, that people should
want to give me things, when I am not able to give an interview, or even
a note, in return. C---- wrote from six to twelve o'clock, steadily,
answering letters.

April 26. Last night came off the _soirée_. The hall was handsomely
decorated with flags in front. We went with the lord provost in his
carriage. The getting in to the hall is quite an affair, I assure you,
the doorway is blocked up by such a dense crowd; yet there is something
very touching about these crowds. They open very gently and quietly, and
they do not look at you with a rude stare, but with faces full of
feeling and intelligence. I have seen some looks that were really
beautiful; they go to my heart. The common people appear as if they knew
that our hearts were with them. How else should it be, as Christians of
America?--a country which, but for one fault, all the world has reason
to love.

We went up, as before, into a dressing room, where I was presented to
many gentlemen and ladies. When we go in, the cheering, clapping, and
stamping at first strikes one with a strange sensation; but then every
body looks so heartily pleased and delighted, and there is such an
all-pervading atmosphere of geniality and sympathy, as makes one in a
few moments feel quite at home. After all I consider that these cheers
and applauses, are Scotland's voice to America, a recognition of the
brotherhood of the countries.

We were arranged at this meeting much as in Glasgow. The lord provost
presided; and in the gallery with us were distinguished men from the
magistracy, the university, and the ministry, with their wives, besides
the members of the antislavery societies. The lord provost, I am told,
has been particularly efficient in all benevolent operations, especially
those for the education of the poorer classes. He is also a zealous
supporter of the temperance cause.

Among the speakers, I was especially interested in Dr. Guthrie, who
seems to be also a particular favorite of the public. He is a tall, thin
man, with a kind of quaintness in his mode of expressing himself, which
sometimes gives an air of drollery to his speaking. He is a minister of
the Free Church, and has more particularly distinguished himself by his
exertions in behalf of the poorer classes.

One passage in his speech I will quote, for I was quite amused with it.
It was in allusion to the retorts which had been made in Mrs. Tyler's
letter to the ladies of England, on the defects in the old country.

"I do not deny," he said, "that there are defects in our country. What I
say of them is this--that they are incidental very much to an old
country like our own. Dr. Simpson knows very well, and so does every
medical man, that when a man gets old he gets very infirm, his blood
vessels get ossified, and so on; but I shall not enter into that part of
the subject. What is true of an old country is true of old men, and old
women, too. I am very much disposed to say of this young nation of
America, that their teasing us with our defects might just get the
answer which a worthy member of the church of Scotland gave to his son,
who was so dissatisfied with the defects in the church, that he was
determined to go over to a younger communion. 'Ah, Sandy, Sandy, man,
when your lum reeks as lang as ours, it will, may be, need sweeping
too.'[J] Now, I do not deny that we need sweeping; every body knows
that I have been singing out about sweeping for the last five years. Let
me tell my good friends in Edinburgh, and in the country, that the
sooner you sweep the better; for the chimney may catch fire, and reduce
your noble fabric to ashes.

"They told us in that letter about the poor needlewomen, that had to
work sixteen hours a day. ''Tis true, and pity 'tis 'tis true.' But does
the law compel them to work sixteen hours a day? I would like to ask the
writer of the letter. Are they bound down to their garrets and cellars
for sixteen hours a day? May they not go where they like, and ask better
wages and better work? Can the slave do that? Do they tell us of our
ragged children? I know something about ragged children. But are our
ragged children condemned to the street? If I, or the lord provost, or
any other benevolent man, should take one of them from the street and
bring it to the school, dare the policeman--miscalled officer of
justice--put his foot across the door to drag it out again to the
street? Nobody means to defend our defects; does any man attempt to
defend them? Were not these noble ladies and excellent women, titled and
untitled, among the very first to seek to redress them?"

I wish I could give you the strong, broad Scotch accent.

The national penny offering, consisting of a thousand golden sovereigns
on a magnificent silver salver, stood conspicuously in view of the
audience. It has been an unsolicited offering, given in the smallest
sums, often from the extreme poverty of the giver. The committee who
collected it in Edinburgh and Glasgow bore witness to the willingness
with which the very poorest contributed the offering of their sympathy.
In one cottage they found a blind woman, and said, "Here, at least, is
one who will feel no interest, as she cannot have read the book."

"Indeed," said the old lady, "if I cannot read, my son has read it to
me, and I've got my penny saved to give."

It is to my mind extremely touching to see how the poor, in their
poverty, can be moved to a generosity surpassing that of the rich. Nor
do I mourn that they took it from their slender store, because I know
that a penny given from a kindly impulse is a greater comfort and
blessing to the poorest giver than even a penny received.

As in the case of the other meeting, we came out long before the
speeches were ended. Well, of course, I did not sleep any all night. The
next day I felt quite miserable. Mrs. W. went with Mr. S. and myself for
a quiet drive in her carriage.

It was a beautiful, sunny day that we drove out to Craigmiller Castle,
formerly one of the royal residences. It was here that Mary retreated
after the murder of Rizzio, and where, the chronicler says, she was
often heard in those days wishing that she were in her grave. It seems
so strange to see it standing there all alone, in the midst of grassy
fields, so silent, and cold, and solitary. I got out of the carriage and
walked about it. The short, green grass was gemmed with daisies, and
sheep were peacefully feeding and resting, where was once all the life
and bustle of a court.

We had no one to open the inside of the castle for us, where there are
still some tolerably preserved rooms, but we strolled listlessly about,
looking through the old arches, and peeping through slits and loopholes
into the interior.

The last verse of Queen Mary's lamentation seemed to be sighing in the
air:--

  "O, soon for me shall simmer's suns
    Nae mair light up the morn;
  Nae mair for me the autumn wind
    Wave o'er the yellow corn.
  But in the narrow house of death
    Let winter round me rave,
  And the next flowers that deck the spring
    Bloom on my peaceful grave."

Only yesterday, it seemed, since that poor heart was yearning and
struggling, caught in the toils of this sorrowful life. How many times
she looked on this landscape through sad eyes! I suppose just such
little daisies grew here in the grass then, and perhaps she stooped and
picked them, wishing, just as I do, that the pink did not grow on the
under side of them, where it does not show. Do you know that this little
daisy is the _gowan_ of Scotch poetry? So I was told by a "charming
young Jessie" in Glasgow, one day when I was riding out there.

The view from Craigmiller is beautiful--Auld Reekie, Arthur's Seat,
Salisbury Crags, and far down the Frith of Forth, where we can just
dimly see the Bass Hock, celebrated as a prison, where the Covenanters
were immured.

It was this fortress that Habakkuk Mucklewrath speaks of in his ravings,
when he says, "Am not I Habakkuk Mucklewrath, whose name is changed to
Magor-Missabib, because I am made a terror unto myself, and unto all
that are around me? I heard it: when did I hear it? Was it not in the
tower of the Bass, that overhangeth the wide, wild sea? and it howled in
the winds, and it roared in the billows, and it screamed, and it
whistled, and it clanged, with the screams, and the clang, and the
whistle of the sea birds, as they floated, and flew, and dropped, and
dived, on the bosom of the waters."

These Salisbury Crags, which overlook Edinburgh, have a very peculiar
outline; they resemble an immense elephant crouching down. We passed
Mushats Cairn, where Jeanie Deans met Robertson; and saw Liberton, where
Reuben Butler was a schoolmaster. Nobody doubts, I hope, the historical
accuracy of these points.

Thursday, 21st. We took cars for Aberdeen. The appropriation of old
historical names to railroad stations often reminds me of Hood's
whimsical lines on a possible railroad in the Holy Land. Think of having
Bannockburn shouted by the station master, as the train runs whistling
up to a small station house. Nothing to be seen there but broad, silent
meadows, through which the burn wimples its way. Here was the very
Marathon of Scotland. I suppose we know more about it from the "Scots
wha ha' wi' Wallace bled," than we do from history; yet the real scene,
as narrated by the historian, has a moral grandeur in it.

The chronicler tells us, that when on this occasion the Scots formed
their line of battle, and a venerable abbot passed along, holding up the
cross before them, the whole army fell upon their knees.

"These Scots will not fight," said Edward, who was reconnoitring at a
distance. "See! they are all on their knees now to beg for mercy."

"They kneel," said a lord who stood by, "but it is to God alone; trust
me, those men will win or die."

The bold lyric of Burns is but an inspired kind of version of the real
address which Bruce is said to have made to his followers; and whoever
reads it will see that its power lies not in appeal to brute force, but
to the highest elements of our nature, the love of justice, the sense of
honor, and to disinterestedness, self-sacrifice, courage unto death.

These things will live and form high and imperishable elements of our
nature, when mankind have learned to develop them in other spheres than
that of physical force. Burns's lyric, therefore, has in it an element
which may rouse the heart to noble endurance and devotion, even when the
world shall learn war no more.

We passed through the town of Stirling, whose castle, magnificently
seated on a rocky throne, looks right worthy to have been the seat of
Scotland's court, as it was for many years. It brought to our minds all
the last scenes of the Lady of the Lake, which are laid here with a
minuteness of local description and allusion characteristic of Scott.

According to our guide book, one might find there the visible
counterpart of every thing which he has woven into his beautiful
fiction--"the Lady's Rock, which rang to the applause of the multitude;"
"the Franciscan steeple, which pealed the merry festival;" "the sad and
fatal mound," apostrophized by Douglas,--

  "That oft has heard the death-axe sound
  As on the noblest of the land,
  Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand;"--

the room in the castle, where "a Douglas by his sovereign bled;" and not
far off the ruins of Cambuskenneth Abbey. One could not but think of the
old days Scott has described.

  "The castle gates were open flung,
  The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung,
  And echoed loud the flinty street
  Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,
  As slowly down the steep descent
  Fair Scotland's king and nobles went,
  While all along the crowded way
  Was jubilee and loud huzza."

The place has been long deserted as a palace; but it is one of the four
fortresses, which, by the articles of union between Scotland and
England, are always to be kept in repair.

We passed by the town of Perth, the scene of the "Fair Maid's"
adventures. We had received an invitation to visit it, but for want of
time were obliged to defer it till our return to Scotland.

Somewhere along here Mr. S. was quite excited by our proximity to
Scone, the old crowning-place of the Scottish kings; however, the old
castle is entirely demolished, and superseded by a modern mansion, the
seat of the Earl of Mansfield.

Still farther on, surrounded by dark and solemn woods, stands Glamis
Castle, the scene of the tragedy in Macbeth. We could see but a glimpse
of it from the road, but the very sound of the name was enough to
stimulate our imagination. It is still an inhabited dwelling, though
much to the regret of antiquarians and lovers of the picturesque, the
characteristic outworks and defences of the feudal ages, which
surrounded it, have been levelled, and velvet lawns and gravel walks
carried to the very door. Scott, who passed a night there in 1793, while
it was yet in its pristine condition, comments on the change mournfully,
as undoubtedly a true lover of the past would. Albeit the grass plats
and the gravel walks, to the eye of sense, are undoubtedly much more
agreeable and convenient. Scott says in his Demonology, that he never
came any where near to being overcome with a superstitious feeling,
except twice in his life, and one was on the night when he slept in
Glamis Castle. The poetical and the practical elements in Scott's mind
ran together, side by side, without mixing, as evidently as the waters
of the Alleghany and Monongahela at Pittsburg. Scarcely ever a man had
so much relish for the supernatural, and so little faith in it. One must
confess, however, that the most sceptical might have been overcome at
Glamis Castle, for its appearance, by all accounts, is weird and
strange, and ghostly enough to start the dullest imagination.

On this occasion Scott says, "After a very hospitable reception from the
late Peter Proctor, seneschal of the castle, I was conducted to my
apartment in a distant part of the building. I must own, that when I
heard door after door shut, after my conductor had retired, I began to
consider myself as too far from the living, and somewhat too near the
dead. We had passed through what is called 'the King's Room,' a vaulted
apartment, garnished with stags' antlers and similar trophies of the
chase, and said by tradition to be the spot of Malcolm's murder, and I
had an idea of the vicinity of the castle chapel. In spite of the truth
of history, the whole night scene in Macbeth's castle rushed at once
upon my mind, and struck my imagination more forcibly than even when I
have seen its terrors represented by the late John Kemble and his
inimitable sister. In a word, I experienced sensations which, though not
remarkable either for timidity or superstition, did not fail to affect
me to the point of being disagreeable, while they were mingled at the
same time with a strange and indescribable kind of pleasure."

Externally, the building is quaint and singular enough; tall and gaunt,
crested with innumerable little pepper box turrets and conical towers,
like an old French chateau.

Besides the tragedy of Macbeth, another story of still more melancholy
interest is connected with it, which a pen like that of Hawthorne, might
work up with gloomy power.

In 1537 the young and beautiful Lady Glamis of this place was actually
tried and executed for witchcraft. Only think, now! what capabilities in
this old castle, with its gloomy pine shades, quaint architecture, and
weird associations, with this bit of historic verity to start upon.

Walter Scott says, there is in the castle a secret chamber; the entrance
to which, by the law of the family, can be known only to three persons
at once--the lord of the castle, his heir apparent, and any third
person whom they might choose to take into their confidence. See, now,
the materials which the past gives to the novelist or poet in these old
countries. These ancient castles are standing romances, made to the
author's hands. The castle started a talk upon Shakspeare, and how much
of the tragedy he made up, and how much he found ready to his hand in
tradition and history. It seems the story is all told in Holingshed's
Chronicles; but his fertile mind has added some of the most thrilling
touches, such as the sleep walking of Lady Macbeth. It always seemed to
me that this tragedy had more of the melancholy majesty and power of
the Greek than any thing modern. The striking difference is, that while
fate was the radical element of those, free will is not less distinctly
the basis of this. Strangely enough, while it commences with a
supernatural oracle, there is not a trace of fatalism in it; but through
all, a clear, distinct recognition of moral responsibility, of the power
to resist evil, and the guilt of yielding to it. The theology of
Shakspeare is as remarkable as his poetry. A strong and clear sense of
man's moral responsibility and free agency, and of certain future
retribution, runs through all his plays.

I enjoyed this ride to Aberdeen more than any thing we had seen yet, the
country is so wild and singular. In the afternoon we came in sight of
the German Ocean. The free, bracing air from the sea, and the thought
that it actually _was_ the German Ocean, and that over the other side
was Norway, within a day's sail of us, gave it a strange, romantic
charm.

"Suppose we just run over to Norway," said one of us; and then came the
idea, what we should do if we got over there, seeing none of us
understood Norse.

The whole coast along here is wild and rock-bound; occasionally long
points jut into the sea; the blue waves sparkle and dash against them in
little jets of foam, and the sea birds dive and scream around them.

On one of these points, near the town of Stonehaven, are still seen the
ruins of Dunottar Castle, bare and desolate, surrounded on all sides by
the restless, moaning waves; a place justly held accursed as the scene
of cruelties to the Covenanters, so appalling and brutal as to make the
blood boil in the recital, even in this late day.

During the reigns of Charles and James, sovereigns whom Macaulay justly
designates as Belial and Moloch, this castle was the state prison for
confining this noble people. In the reign of James, one hundred and
sixty-seven prisoners, men, women, and children, for refusing the oath
of supremacy, were arrested at their firesides: herded together like
cattle; driven at the point of the bayonet, amid the gibes, jeers, and
scoffs of soldiers, up to this dreary place, and thrust promiscuously
into a dark vault in this castle; almost smothered in filth and mire; a
prey to pestilent disease, and to every malignity which brutality could
inflict, they died here unpitied. A few escaping down the rocks were
recaptured, and subjected to shocking tortures.

A moss-grown gravestone, in the parish churchyard of Dunottar, shows the
last resting-place of these sufferers.

Walter Scott, who visited this place, says, "The peasantry continue to
attach to the tombs of these victims an honor which they do not render
to more splendid mausoleums; and when they point them out to their sons,
and narrate the fate of the sufferers, usually conclude by exhorting
them to be ready, should the times call for it, to resist to the death
in the cause of civil and religious liberty, like their brave
forefathers."

It is also related by Gilfillan, that a minister from this vicinity,
having once lost his way in travelling through a distant part of
Scotland, vainly solicited the services of a guide for some time, all
being engaged in peat-cutting; at last one of the farmers, some of whose
ancestors had been included among the sufferers, discovering that he
came from this vicinity, had seen the gravestones, and could repeat the
inscriptions, was willing to give up half a day's work to guide him on
his way.

It is well that such spots should be venerated as sacred shrines among
the descendants of the Covenanters, to whom Scotland owes what she is,
and all she may become.

It was here that Scott first became acquainted with Robert Paterson, the
original of Old Mortality.

Leaving Stonehaven we passed, on a rising ground a little to our left,
the house of the celebrated Barclay of Ury. It remains very much in its
ancient condition, surrounded by a low stone wall, like the old
fortified houses of Scotland.

Barclay of Ury was an old and distinguished soldier, who had fought
under Gustavus Adolphus in Germany, and one of the earliest converts to
the principles of the Friends in Scotland. As a Quaker, he became an
object of hatred and abuse at the hands of the magistracy and populace;
but he endured all these insults and injuries with the greatest patience
and nobleness of soul.

"I find more satisfaction," he said, "as well as honor, in being thus
insulted for my religious principles, than when, a few years ago, it was
usual for the magistrates, as I passed the city of Aberdeen, to meet me
on the road and conduct me to public entertainment in their hall, and
then escort me out again, to gain my favor."

Whittier has celebrated this incident in his beautiful ballad, called
"Barclay of Ury." The son of this Barclay was the author of that Apology
which bears his name, and is still a standard work among the Friends.
The estate is still possessed by his descendants.

A little farther along towards Aberdeen, Mr. S. seemed to amuse himself
very much with the idea, that we were coming near to Dugald Dalgetty's
estate of Drumthwacket, an historical remembrance which I take to be
somewhat apocryphal.

It was towards the close of the afternoon that we found ourselves
crossing the Dee, in view of Aberdeen. My spirits were wonderfully
elated: the grand sea scenery and fine bracing air; the noble, distant
view of the city, rising with its harbor and shipping, all filled me
with delight. Besides which the Dee had been enchanted for me from my
childhood, by a wild old ballad which I used to hear sung to a Scottish
tune, equally wild and pathetic. I repeated it to C----, and will now to
you.

  "The moon had climbed the highest hill
    That rises o'er the banks of Dee,
  And from her farthest summit poured
    Her silver light o'er tower and tree,--

  When Mary laid her down to sleep,
    Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
  And soft and low a voice she heard,
    Saying, 'Mary, weep no more for me.'

  She from her pillow gently raised
    Her head, to see who there might be;
  She saw young Sandy shivering stand,
    With pallid cheek and hollow ee.

  'O Mary dear, cold is my clay;
    It lies beneath the stormy sea;
  The storm, is past, and I'm at rest;
    So, Mary, weep no more for me.'

  Loud crew the cock; the vision fled;
    No more young Sandy could she see;
  But soft a parting whisper said,
    'Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.'"

I never saw these lines in print any where; I never knew who wrote them;
I had only heard them sung at the fireside when a child, to a tune as
dreamy and sweet as themselves; but they rose upon me like an
enchantment, as I crossed the Dee, in view of that very German Ocean,
famed for its storms and shipwrecks.

In this propitious state, disposed to be pleased with every thing, our
hearts responded warmly to the greetings of the many friends who were
waiting for us at the station house.

The lord provost received us into his carriage, and as we drove along,
pointed out to us the various objects of interest in the beautiful town.
Among other things, a fine old bridge across the Dee attracted our
particular attention.

We were conducted to the house of Mr. Cruikshank, a Friend, and found
waiting for us there the thoughtful hospitality which we had ever
experienced in all our stopping-places. A snug little quiet supper was
laid out upon the table, of which we partook in haste, as we were
informed that the assembly at the hall were waiting to receive us.

There arrived, we found the hall crowded, and with difficulty made our
way to the platform. Whether owing to the stimulating effect of the air
from the ocean, or to the comparatively social aspect of the scene, or
perhaps to both, certain it is, that we enjoyed the meeting with great
zest. I was surrounded on the stage with blooming young ladies, one of
whom put into my hands a beautiful bouquet, some flowers of which I have
now dried in my album. The refreshment tables were adorned with some
exquisite wax flowers, the work, as I was afterwards told, of a young
lady in the place. One of the designs especially interested me. It was a
group of water lilies resting on a mirror, which gave them the
appearance of growing in the water.

We had some very animated speaking, in which the speakers contrived to
blend enthusiastic admiration and love for America with detestation of
slavery.

All the afternoon the beautiful coast had reminded me of the State of
Maine, and the genius of the meeting confirmed the association. They
seemed to me to be a plain, genial, strong, warm-hearted people, like
those of Maine.

One of the speakers concluded his address by saying that John Bull and
Brother Jonathan, with Paddy and Sandy Scott, should they clasp hands
together, might stand against the world; which sentiment was responded
to with thunders of applause.

It is because America, like Scotland, has stood for right against
oppression, that the Scotch love and sympathize with her. For this
reason do they feel it as something taken from the strength of a common
cause, when America sides with injustice and oppression. The children of
the Covenant and the children of the Puritans are of one blood.

They presented an offering in a beautiful embroidered purse, and after
much shaking of hands we went home, and sat down to the supper table,
for a little more chat, before going to bed. The next morning,--as we
had only till noon to stay in Aberdeen,--our friends, the lord provost,
and Mr. Leslie, the architect, came immediately after breakfast to show
us the place.

The town of Aberdeen is a very fine one, and owes much of its beauty to
the light-colored granite of which most of the houses are built. It has
broad, clean, beautiful streets, and many very curious and interesting
public buildings. The town exhibits that union of the hoary past with
the bustling present which is characteristic of the old world.

It has two parts, the old and the new, as unlike as L'Allegro and
Penseroso--the new, clean, and modern; the old, mossy and dreamy. The
old town is called Alton, and has venerable houses, standing, many of
them, in ancient gardens. And here rises the peculiar, old, gray
cathedral. These Scotch cathedrals have a sort of stubbed appearance,
and look like the expression in stone of defiant, invincible resolution.
This is of primitive granite, in the same heavy, massive style as the
cathedral of Glasgow, but having strong individualities of its own.

Whoever located the ecclesiastical buildings of England and Scotland
certainly had an exquisite perception of natural scenery; for one
notices that they are almost invariably placed on just that point of the
landscape, where the poet or the artist would say they should be. These
cathedrals, though all having a general similarity of design, seem, each
one, to have its own personality, as much as a human being. Looking at
nineteen of them is no compensation to you for omitting the twentieth;
there will certainly be something new and peculiar in that.

This Aberdeen Cathedral, or Cathedral of St. Machar, is situated on the
banks of the River Don; one of those beautiful amber-brown rivers that
color the stones and pebbles at the bottom with a yellow light, such as
one sees in ancient pictures. Old trees wave and rustle around, and the
building itself, though a part of it has fallen into ruins, has, in many
parts, a wonderful clearness and sharpness of outline. I cannot describe
these things to you; architectural terms convey no picture to the mind.
I can only tell you of the character and impression it bears--a
character of strong, unflinching endurance, appropriately reminding one
of the Scotch people, whom Walter Scott compares to the native sycamore
of their hills, "which scorns to be biased in its mode of growth, even
by the influence of the prevailing wind, but shooting its branches with
equal boldness in every direction, shows no weather side to the storm,
and may be broken, but can never be bended."

One reason for the sharpness and distinctness of the architectural
preservation of this cathedral is probably that closeness of texture for
which Aberdeen granite is remarkable. It bears marks of the hand of
violence in many parts. The images of saints and bishops, which lie on
their backs with clasped hands, seem to have been wofully maltreated and
despoiled, in the fervor of those days, when people fondly thought that
breaking down carved work was getting rid of superstition. These granite
saints and bishops, with their mutilated fingers and broken noses, seem
to be bearing a silent, melancholy witness against that disposition in
human nature, which, instead of making clean the cup and platter, breaks
them altogether.

The roof of the cathedral is a splendid specimen of carving in black
oak, wrought in panels, with leaves and inscriptions in ancient text.
The church could once boast in other parts (so says an architectural
work) a profusion of carved woodwork of the same character, which must
have greatly relieved the massive plainness of the interior.

In 1649, the parish minister attacked the "High Altar," a piece of the
most splendid workmanship of any thing of the kind in Europe, and which
had to that time remained inviolate; perhaps from the insensible
influence of its beauty. It is said that the carpenter employed for the
purpose was so struck with the noble workmanship, that he refused to
touch it till the minister took the hatchet from his hand and gave the
first blow.

These men did not consider that "the leprosy lies deep within," and
that when human nature is denied beautiful idols, it will go after ugly
ones. There has been just as unspiritual a resting in coarse, bare, and
disagreeable adjuncts of religion, as in beautiful and agreeable ones;
men have worshipped Juggernaut as pertinaciously as they have Venus or
the Graces; so that the good divine might better have aimed a sermon at
the heart than an axe at the altar.

We lingered a long time around here, and could scarcely tear ourselves
away. We paced up and down under the old trees, looking off on the
waters of the Don, listening to the waving branches, and falling into a
dreamy state of mind, thought what if it were six hundred years ago! and
we were pious simple hearted old abbots! What a fine place that would be
to walk up and down at eventide or on a Sabbath morning, reciting the
penitential psalms, or reading St. Augustine!

I cannot get over the feeling, that the souls of the dead do somehow
connect themselves with the places of their former habitation, and that
the hush and thrill of spirit, which we feel in them, may be owing to
the overshadowing presence of the invisible. St. Paul says, "We are
compassed about with a great cloud of witnesses." How can they be
witnesses, if they cannot see and be cognizant?

We left the place by a winding walk, to go to the famous bridge of
Balgounie, another dream-land affair, not far from here. It is a single
gray stone arch, apparently cut from solid rock, that spans the brown
rippling waters, where wild, overhanging banks, shadowy trees, and
dipping wild flowers, all conspire to make a romantic picture. This
bridge, with the river and scenery, were poetic items that went, with
other things, to form the sensitive mind of Byron, who lived here in his
earlier days. He has some lines about it:--

  "As 'auld lang syne' brings Scotland, one and all,
    Scotch, plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills and clear streams,
  The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brig's black wall,
    All my boy-feelings, all my gentler dreams,
  Of what I then dreamt clothed in their own pall,
    Like Banquo's offspring,--floating past me seems
  My childhood, in this childishness of mind:
    I care not--'tis a glimpse of 'auld lang syne.'"

This old bridge has a prophecy connected with it, which was repeated to
us, and you shall have it literatim:--

  "Brig of Balgounie, black's your wa',
  Wi' a wife's ae son, and a mare's a foal,
  Doon ye shall fa'!"

The bridge was built in the time of Robert Bruce, by one Bishop Cheyne,
of whom all that I know is, that he evidently had a good eye for the
picturesque.

After this we went to visit King's College. The tower of it is
surmounted by a massive stone crown, which forms a very singular feature
in every view of Aberdeen, and is said to be a perfectly unique specimen
of architecture. This King's College is very old, being founded also by
a bishop, as far back as the fifteenth century. It has an exquisitely
carved roof, and carved oaken seats. We went through the library, the
hall, and the museum. Certainly, the old, dark architecture of these
universities must tend to form a different style of mind from our plain
matter-of-fact college buildings.

Here in Aberdeen is the veritable Marischal College, so often quoted by
Dugald Dalgetty. We had not time to go and see it, but I can assure you
on the authority of the guide book, that it is a magnificent specimen of
architecture.

After this, that we might not neglect the present in our zeal for the
past, we went to the marble yards, where they work the Aberdeen granite.
This granite, of which we have many specimens in America, is of two
kinds, one being gray, the other of a reddish hue. It seems to differ
from other granite in the fineness and closeness of its grain, which
enables it to receive the most brilliant conceivable polish. I saw some
superb columns of the red species, which were preparing to go over the
Baltic to Riga, for an Exchange; and a sepulchral monument, which was
going to New York. All was busy here, sawing, chipping, polishing; as
different a scene from the gray old cathedral as could be imagined. The
granite finds its way, I suppose, to countries which the old,
unsophisticated abbots never dreamed of.

One of the friends who had accompanied us during the morning tour was
the celebrated architect, Mr. Leslie, whose conversation gave us all
much enjoyment. He and Mrs. Leslie gave me a most invaluable parting
present, to wit, four volumes of engravings, representing the "Baronial
and Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Scotland," illustrated by Billings. I
cannot tell you what a mine of pleasure it has been to me. It is a proof
edition, and the engravings are so vivid, and the drawing so fine, that
it is nearly as good as reality. It might almost save one the trouble of
a pilgrimage. I consider the book a kind of national poem; for
architecture is, in its nature, poetry; especially in these old
countries, where it weaves into itself a nation's history, and gives
literally the image and body of the times.



LETTER VII.


DEAR COUSIN:--

While here in Aberdeen I received a very odd letter, so peculiar and
curious that I will give you the benefit of it. The author appears to
be, in his way, a kind of Christopher in his cave, or Timon of Athens. I
omit some parts which are more expressive than agreeable. It is dated

  "STONEHAVEN, N.B., Kincardineshire, }
      57° N.W. This 21st April, 1853. }

     "To MRS. HARRIET B. STOWE:--

     "My dear Madam: By the time that this gets your length, the fouk o'
     Aberdeen will be shewin ye off as a rare animal, just arrived frae
     America; the wife that writ Uncle Tom's Cabin.

     "I wad like to see ye mysel, but I canna win for want o' siller,
     and as I thought ye might be writin a buke about the Scotch when ye
     get hame, I hae just sent ye this bit auld key to Sawney's Cabin.

     "Well then, dinna forget to speer at the Aberdeenians if it be true
     they ance kidnappet little laddies, and selt them for slaves; that
     they dang down the Quaker's kirkyard dyke, and houket up dead
     Quakers out o' their graves; that the young boys at the college
     printed a buke, and maist naebody wad buy it, and they cam out to
     Ury, near Stonehaven, and took twelve stots frae Davie Barclay to
     pay the printer.

     "Dinna forget to speer at ----, if it was true that he flogget
     three laddies in the beginning o' last year, for the three
     following crimes: first, for the crime of being born of puir,
     ignorant parents; second, for the crime of being left in
     ignorance; and, third, for the crime of having nothing to eat.

     "Dinna be telling when ye gang hame that ye rode on the Aberdeen
     railway, made by a hundred men, who were all in the Stonehaven
     prison for drunkenness; nor above five could sign their names.

     "If the Scotch kill ye with ower feeding and making speeches, be
     sure to send this hame to tell your fouk, that it was Queen
     Elizabeth who made the first European law to buy and sell human
     beings like brute beasts. She was England's glory as a Protestant,
     and Scotland's shame as the murderer of their bonnie Mary. The auld
     hag skulked away like a coward in the hour of death. Mary, on the
     other hand, with calmness and dignity, repeated a Latin prayer to
     the Great Spirit and Author of her being, and calmly resigned
     herself into the hands of her murderers.

     "In the capital of her ancient kingdom, when ye are in our country,
     there are eight hundred women, sent to prison every year for the
     first time. Of fifteen thousand prisoners examined in Scotland in
     the year 1845, eight thousand could not write at all, and three
     thousand could not read.

     "At present there are about twenty thousand prisoners in Scotland.
     In Stonehaven they are fed at about seventeen pounds each,
     annually. The honest poor, outside the prison upon the parish roll,
     are fed at the rate of five farthings a day, or two pounds a year.
     The employment of the prisoners is grinding the wind, we ca' it;
     turning the crank, in plain English. The latest improvement is the
     streekin board; it's a whig improvement o' Lord Jonnie Russell's.

     "I ken brawly ye are a curious wife, and would like to ken a' about
     the Scotch bodies. Weel, they are a gay, ignorant, proud, drunken
     pack; they manage to pay ilka year for whuskey one million three
     hundred and forty-eight thousand pounds.

     "But then their piety, their piety; weel, let's luke at it; hing it
     up by the nape o' the neck, and turn it round atween our finger and
     thumb on all sides.

     "Is there one school in all Scotland where the helpless, homeless
     poor are fed and clothed at the public expense? None.

     "Is there a hame in all Scotland for the cleanly but sick servant
     maid to go till, until health be restored? Alas! there is none.

     "Is there a school in all Scotland for training ladies in the
     higher branches of learning? None. What then is there for the women
     of Scotland?

       *       *       *       *       *

     "A weel, be sure and try a cupful of Scottish Kail Broase. See, and
     get a sup Scotch _lang milk_.

     "Hand this bit line yout to the Rev. Mr. ----. Tell him to store
     out fats nae true.

     "God bless you, and set you safe hame, is the prayer of the old
     Scotch Bachelor."

I think you will agree with me, that the old testifying spirit does not
seem to have died out in Scotland, and that the backslidings and
abominations of the land do not want for able exponents.

As the indictment runs back to the time of Charles II., to the
persecutions of the Quakers in the days of Barclay of Ury, and brings up
again the most modern offences, one cannot but feel that there are the
most savory indications in it of Scotch thoroughness.

Some of the questions which he wishes to have me "_speer_" at Aberdeen,
I fear, alas! would bring but an indifferent answer even in Boston,
which gives a high school only to boys, and allows none to girls. On one
point, it seems to me, my friend might speer himself to advantage, and
that is the very commendable efforts which are being made now in
Edinburgh and Aberdeen both, in the way of educating the children of the
poor.

As this is one of the subjects which are particularly on my mind, and as
all information which we can get upon this subject is peculiarly
valuable to us in view of commencing efforts in America, I will abridge
for you an account of the industrial schools of Aberdeen, published by
the society for improving the condition of the laboring classes, in
their paper called the Laborer's Friend.

In June, 1841, it was ascertained that in Aberdeen there were two
hundred and eighty children, under fourteen years of age, who maintained
themselves professedly by begging, but partly by theft. The first effort
to better the moral condition of these children brought with it the
discovery which our philanthropists made in New York, that in order to
do good to a starving child, we must begin by feeding him; that we must
gain his confidence by showing him a benevolence which he can
understand, and thus proceed gradually to the reformation of his
spiritual nature.

In 1841, therefore, some benevolent individuals in Aberdeen hired rooms
and a teacher, and gave out notice among these poor children that they
could there be supplied with food, work, and instruction. The general
arrangement of the day was four hours of lessons, five hours of work,
and three substantial meals. These meals were employed as the incitement
to the lessons and the work, since it was made an indispensable
condition to each meal that the child should have been present at the
work or lessons which preceded it. This arrangement worked admirably; so
that they reported that the attendance was more regular than at ordinary
schools.

The whole produce of the work of the children goes towards defraying the
expense of the establishment, thus effecting several important
purposes,--reducing the expense of the school, and teaching the
children, practically, the value of their industry,--in procuring for
them food and instruction, and fostering in them, from the first, a
sound principle of self-dependence; inasmuch as they know, from the
moment of their entering school, that they give, or pay, in return for
their food and education, all the work they are capable of performing.

The institution did not profess to clothe the children; but by the
kindness of benevolent persons who take an interest in the school, there
is generally a stock of old clothes on hand, from which the most
destitute are supplied.

The following is the daily routine of the school: The scholars assemble
every morning at seven in summer, and eight in winter. The school is
opened by reading the Scriptures, praise, and prayer, and religious
instruction suited to their years; after which there is a lesson in
geography, or the more ordinary facts of natural history, taught by
means of maps and prints distributed along the walls of the school room;
two days in the week they have a singing lesson; at nine they breakfast
on porridge and milk, and have half an hour of play; at ten they again
assemble in school, and are employed at work till two. At two o'clock
they dine; usually on broth, with coarse wheaten bread, but occasionally
on potatoes and ox-head soup, &c. The diet is very plain, but nutritious
and abundant, and appears to suit the tastes of the pupils completely.
It is a pleasing sight to see them assembled, with their youthful
appetites sharpened by four hours' work, joining, at least with outward
decorum, in asking God's blessing on the food he has provided for them,
and most promptly availing themselves of the signal given to commence
their dinner.

From dinner till three, the time is spent in exercise or recreation,
occasionally working in the garden; from three to four, they work either
in the garden or in the work room; from four till seven, they are
instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic. At seven they have
supper of porridge and milk; and after short religious exercises, are
dismissed to their homes at eight.

On Saturday, they do not return to school after dinner; and
occasionally, as a reward of good behavior, they accompany the teacher
in a walk to the country or the sea coast.

On Sunday, they assemble at half past eight for devotion; breakfast at
nine; attend worship in the school room; after which they dine, and
return home, so as, if possible, to go with their parents to church in
the afternoon.

At five they again meet, and have _Sabbath school_ instruction in Bible
and catechism; at seven, supper; and after evening worship are
dismissed.

From this detail it will be seen that these schools differ from common
day schools. In day schools, neither food nor employment is
provided--teaching only is proposed, with a very little moral training.

The principle on which the industrial school proceeds, of giving
employment along with instruction--especially as that employment is
designed at the same time, if possible, to teach a trade which may be
afterwards available--appears of the highest value. It is a practical
discipline--a moral training, the importance of which cannot be
over-estimated.

In a common school, too, there can be but little moral training, however
efficiently the school may be conducted, just because there is little
opportunity given for the development and display of individual
character. The whole management of a school requires that the pupils be
as speedily as possible brought to a uniform outward conduct, and thus
an appearance of good behavior and propriety is produced within the
school room, which is too often cast aside and forgotten the moment the
pupils pass the threshold.

The remark was once made by an experienced teacher, that for the
purposes of moral training he valued more the time he spent with his
pupils at their games, than that which was spent in the school room.

The pecuniary value of the work done in these schools is not so great as
was at first hoped, from the difficulty of procuring employment such as
children so neglected could perform to advantage. The real value of the
thing, however, they consider lies in the habits of industry and the
sense of independence thus imparted.

At the outset the managers of the school regretted extremely their want
of ability to furnish lodgings to the children. It was thought and said
that the homes, to which the majority of them were obliged to return
after school hours, would deprave faster than any instruction could
reform. Fortunately it was impossible, at the time, to provide lodging
for the children, and thus an experience was wrought out most valuable
to all future laborers in this field.

The managers report that after six years' trial, the instances where
evil results from the children returning home, are very rare; while
there have been most cheering instances of substantial good being
carried by the child, from the school, through the whole family. There
are few parents, especially mothers, so abandoned as not to be touched
by kindness shown to their offspring. It is the direct road to the
mother's heart. Show kindness to her child, and she is prepared at once
to second your efforts on its behalf. She must be debased, indeed, who
will not listen to her child repeating its text from the Bible, or
singing a verse of its infant hymn; and by this means the first seeds of
a new life may be, and have been, planted in the parent's heart.

In cases where parents are so utterly depraved as to make it entirely
hopeless to reform the child at home, they have found it the best course
to board them, two or three together, in respectable families; the
influences of the family state being held to be essential.

The success which attended the boys' school of industry soon led to the
establishment of one for girls, conducted on the same principles; and it
is stated that the change wrought among poor, outcast girls, by these
means, was even more striking and gratifying than among the boys.

After these schools had been some time in operation, it was discovered
that there were still multitudes of depraved children who could not or
did not avail themselves of these privileges. It was determined by the
authorities of the city of Aberdeen, in conformity with the Scripture
injunction, to go out into the highways and hedges and _compel_ them to
come in. Under the authority of the police act they proposed to lay hold
of the whole of the juvenile vagrants, and provide them with food and
instruction.

Instructions were given to the police, on the 19th of May, 1845, to
convey every child found begging to the soup kitchen; and, in the course
of the day, seventy-five were collected, of whom four only could read.
The scene which ensued is indescribable. Confusion and uproar,
quarrelling and fighting, language of the most hateful description, and
the most determined rebellion against every thing like order and
regularity, gave the gentlemen engaged in the undertaking of taming them
the hardest day's work they had ever encountered. Still, they so far
prevailed, that, by evening, their authority was comparatively
established. When dismissed, the children were invited to return next
day--informed that, of course, they could do so or not, as they pleased,
and that, if they did, they should be fed and instructed, but that,
whether they came or not, begging would not be tolerated. Next day, the
_greater part_ returned. The managers felt that they had triumphed, and
that a great field of moral usefulness was now secured to them.

The class who were brought to this school were far below those who
attend the other two institutions--low as they appeared to be when the
schools were first opened; and the scenes of filth, disease, and misery,
exhibited even in the school itself, were such as would speedily have
driven from the work all merely sentimental philanthropists. Those who
undertake this work must have sound, strong principle to influence them,
else they will soon turn from it in disgust.

The school went on prosperously; it soon excited public interest; funds
flowed in; and, what is most gratifying, the working classes took a
lively interest in it; and while the wealthier inhabitants of Aberdeen
contributed during the year about one hundred and fifty pounds for its
support, the working men collected, and handed over to the committee, no
less than two hundred and fifty pounds.

Very few children in attendance at the industrial schools have been
convicted of any offence. The regularity of attendance is owing to the
children receiving their food in the school; and the school hours being
from seven in the morning till seven at night, there is little
opportunity for the commission of crime.

The experience acquired in these schools, and the connection which most
of the managers had with the criminal courts of the city, led to the
opening of a fourth institution--the Child's Asylum. Acting from day to
day as judges, these gentlemen had occasionally cases brought before
them which gave them extreme pain. Children--nay, infants--were brought
up on criminal charges: the facts alleged against them were
incontestably proved; and yet, in a moral sense, they could scarcely be
held _guilty_, because, in truth, they did not know that they had done
wrong.

There were, however, great practical difficulties in the way, which
could only be got over indirectly. The magistrate could adjourn the
case, directing the child to be cared for in the mean time, and inquiry
could be made as to his family and relations, as to his character, and
the prospect of his doing better in future; and he could either be
restored to his relations, or boarded in the house of refuge, or with a
family, and placed at one or other of the industrial schools; the charge
of crime still remaining against him, to be made use of at once if he
deserted school and returned to evil courses.

The great advantage sought here was to avoid stamping the child for life
with the character of a convicted felon before he deserved it. Once thus
brand a child in this country, and it is all but impossible for him
ever, by future good conduct, to efface the mask. How careful ought the
law and those who administer it to be, not rashly to impress this
stigma on the neglected child!

The Child's Asylum was opened on the 4th of December, 1846; and as a
proof of the efficiency of the industrial schools in checking juvenile
vagrancy and delinquency, it may be noticed that nearly a week elapsed
before a child was brought to the asylum. When a child is apprehended by
the police for begging, or other misdemeanor, he is conveyed to this
institution, and his case is investigated; for which purpose the
committee meets daily. If the child be of destitute parents, he is sent
to one of the industrial schools; if the child of a worthless, but not
needy, parent, efforts are made to induce the parent to fulfil his duty,
and exercise his authority in restraining the evil habits of the child,
by sending him to school, or otherwise removing him out of the way of
temptation.

From the 4th of December up to the 18th of March, forty-seven cases,
several of them more than once, had been brought up and carefully
inquired into. Most of them were disposed of in the manner now stated;
but a few were either claimed by, or remitted to, the procurator fiscal,
as proper objects of punishment.

It is premature to say much of an institution which has existed for so
short a time; but if the principle on which it is founded be as correct
and sound as it appears, it must prosper and do good. There is, however,
one great practical difficulty, which can only be removed by legislative
enactment: there is no power at present to _detain_ the children in the
Asylum, or to force them to attend the schools to which they have been
Bent.

Such have been the rise and progress of the four industrial schools in
Aberdeen, including, as one of them, the Child's Asylum.

All the schools are on the most catholic basis, the only qualification
for membership being a subscription of a few shillings a year; and the
doors are open to all who require admission, without distinction of sect
or party.

The experience, then, of Aberdeen appears to demonstrate the possibility
of reclaiming even the most abject and depraved of our juvenile
population at a very moderate expense. The schools have been so long in
operation, that, if there had been anything erroneous in the principles
or the management of them, it must ere now have appeared; and if all the
results have been encouraging, why should not the system be extended and
established in other places? There is nothing in it which may not easily
be copied in any town or village of our land where it is required.

I cannot help adding to this account some directions, which a very
experienced teacher in these schools gives to those who are desirous of
undertaking this enterprise.

"1. The school rooms and appurtenances ought to be of the plainest and
most unpretending description. This is perfectly consistent with the
most scrupulous cleanliness and complete ventilation. In like manner,
the food should be wholesome, substantial, and abundant, but very
plain--such as the boys or girls may soon be able to attain, or even
surpass, by their own exertions after leaving school.

"2. The teachers must ever be of the best description, patient and
persevering, not easily discouraged, and thoroughly versed in whatever
branch they may have to teach; and, above all things, they must be
persons of solid and undoubted piety--for without this qualification,
all others will, in the end, prove worthless and unavailing.

"Throughout the day, the children must ever be kept in mind that, after
all, religion is 'the one thing needful;' that the soul is of more value
than the body.

"3. _The schools must be kept of moderate size_: from their nature this
is absolutely necessary. It is a task of the greatest difficulty to
manage, in a satisfactory manner, a large school of children, even of
the higher classes, with all the advantages of careful home-training and
superintendence; but with industrial schools it is folly to attempt it.

"From eighty to one hundred scholars is the largest number that ever
should be gathered into one institution; when they exceed this, _let
additional schools be opened_; in other words, _increase the number, not
the size, of the schools_. They should be put down in the localities
most convenient for the scholars, so that distance may be no bar to
attendance; and if circumstances permit, a garden, either at the school
or at no very great distance, will be of great utility.

"4. As soon as practicable, the children should be taught, and kept
steadily at, some trade or other, by which they may earn their
subsistence on leaving school; for the longer they have pursued this
particular occupation at school, the more easily will they be able
thereby to support themselves afterwards.

"As to commencing schools in new places, the best way of proceeding is
for a few persons, who are of one mind on the subject, to unite, advance
from their own purses, or raise among their friends, the small sum
necessary at the outset, get their teacher, open their school, and
collect a few scholars, gradually extend the number, and when they have
made some progress, then tell the public what they have been doing; ask
them to come and see; and, if they approve, to give their money and
support. Public meetings and eloquent speeches are excellent things for
exciting interest and raising funds, but they are of no use in carrying
on the every-day work of the school.

"Let not the managers expect impossibilities. There will be crime and
distress in spite of industrial schools; but they may be immensely
reduced; and let no one be discouraged by the occasional lapse into a
crime of a promising pupil. Such things must be while sin reigns in the
heart of man; let them only be thereby stirred up to greater and more
earnest exertion in their work.

"Let them be most careful as to the parties whom they admit to _act_
along with them; for unless _all_ the laborers be of one heart and mind,
divisions must ensue, and the whole work be marred.

"It is most desirable that as many persons as possible of wealth and
influence should lend their aid in supporting these institutions.
Patrons and subscribers should be of all ranks and denominations; but
they must beware of interfering with the actual daily working of the
school, which ought to be left to the unfettered energies of those who,
by their zeal, their activity, their sterling principle, and their
successful administration, have proved themselves every way competent to
the task they have undertaken.

"If the managers wish to carry out the good effect of their schools to
the utmost, then they will not confine their labor to the scholars;
_they will, through them, get access to the parents_. The good which the
ladies of the Aberdeen Female School have already thus accomplished is
not to be told; but let none try this work who do not experimentally
know the value of the immortal soul."

Industrial schools seem to open a bright prospect to the hitherto
neglected outcasts of our cities; for them a new era seems to be
commencing: they are no longer to be restrained and kept in order by the
iron bars of the prison house, and taught morality by the scourge of the
executioner. They are now to be treated as reasonable and immortal
beings; and may He who is the God of the poor as well as the rich give
his effectual blessing with them, wherever they may be established, so
that they may be a source of joy and rejoicing to all ranks of society.

Such is the result of the "speerings" recommended by my worthy
correspondent. I have given them much at length, because they are useful
to us in the much needed reforms commencing in our cities.

As to the appalling statements about intemperance, I grieve to say that
they are confirmed by much which must meet the eye even of the passing
stranger. I have said before how often the natural features of this
country reminded me of the State of Maine. Would that the beneficent law
which has removed, to so great an extent, pauperism and crime from that
noble state might also be given to Scotland.

I suppose that the efforts for the benefit of the poorer classes in this
city might be paralleled by efforts of a similar nature in the other
cities of Scotland, particularly in Edinburgh, where great exertions
have been making; but I happened to have a more full account of these in
Aberdeen, and so give them as specimens of the whole. I must say,
however, that in no city which I visited in Scotland did I see such
neatness, order, and thoroughness, as in Aberdeen; and in none did there
appear to be more gratifying evidences of prosperity and comfort among
that class which one sees along the streets and thoroughfares.

About two o'clock we started from Aberdeen among crowds of friends, to
whom we bade farewell with real regret.

Our way at first lay over the course of yesterday, along that beautiful
sea coast--beautiful to the eye, but perilous to the navigator. They
told us that the winds and waves raged here with an awful power. Not
long before we came, the Duke of Sutherland, an iron steamer, was
wrecked upon this shore. In one respect the coast of Maine has decidedly
the advantage over this, and, indeed, of every other sea coast which I
have ever visited; and that is in the richness of the wooding, which
veils its picturesque points and capes in luxuriant foldings of verdure.

At Stonehaven station, where we stopped a few minutes, there was quite a
gathering of the inhabitants to exchange greetings, and afterwards at
successive stations along the road, many a kindly face and voice made
our journey a pleasant one.

When we got into old Dundee it seemed all alive with welcome. We went in
the carriage with the lord provost, Mr. Thoms, to his residence, where a
party had been waiting dinner for us some time.

The meeting in the evening was in a large church, densely crowded, and
conducted much as the others had been. When they came to sing the
closing hymn, I hoped they would sing Dundee; but they did not, and I
fear in Scotland, as elsewhere, the characteristic national melodies are
giving way before more modern ones.

On the stage we were surrounded by many very pleasant people, with whom,
between the services, we talked without knowing their names. The
venerable Dr. Dick, the author of the Christian Philosopher and the
Philosophy of the Future State, was there. Gilfillan was also present,
and spoke. Together with their contribution to the Scottish offering,
they presented me with quite a collection of the works of different
writers of Dundee, beautifully bound.

We came away before the exercises of the evening were finished.

The next morning we had quite a large breakfast party, mostly ministers
and their wives. Good old Dr. Dick was there, and I had an introduction
to him, and had pleasure in speaking to him of the interest with which
his works have been read in America. Of this fact I was told that he had
received more substantial assurance in a comfortable sum of money
subscribed and remitted to him by his American readers. If this be so it
is a most commendable movement.

What a pity it was, during Scott's financial embarrassments, that every
man, woman, and child in America, who had received pleasure from his
writings, had not subscribed something towards an offering justly due to
him!

Our host, Mr. Thoms, was one of the first to republish in Scotland
Professor Stuart's Letters to Dr. Channing, with a preface of his own.
He showed me Professor Stuart's letter in reply, and seemed rather
amused that the professor directed it to the Rev. James Thom, supposing,
of course, that so much theological zeal could not inhere in a layman.
He also showed us many autograph letters of their former pastor, Mr.
Cheyne, whose interesting memoirs have excited a good deal of attention
in some circles in America.

After breakfast the ladies of the Dundee Antislavery Society called, and
then the lord provost took us in his carriage to see the city. Dundee is
the third town of Scotland in population, and a place of great
antiquity. Its population in 1851 was seventy-eight thousand eight
hundred and twenty-nine, and the manufactures consist principally of
yarns, linen, with canvas and cotton bagging, great quantities of which
are exported to France and North and South America. There are about
sixty spinning mills and factories in the town and neighborhood, besides
several iron founderies and manufactories of steam engines and
machinery.

Dundee has always been a stronghold of liberty and the reformed
religion. It is said that in the grammar school of this town William
Wallace was educated; and here an illustrious confraternity of noblemen
and gentry was formed, who joined to resist the tyranny of England.

Here Wishart preached in the beginning of the reformation, preparatory
to his martyrdom. Here flourished some rude historical writers, who
devoted their talents to the downfall of Popery. Singularly enough, they
accomplished this in part by dramatic representations, in which the
vices and absurdities of the Papal establishment were ridiculed before
the people. Among others, one James Wedderburn and his brother, John,
vicar of Dundee, are mentioned as having excelled in this kind of
composition. The same authors composed books of song, denominated "Gude
and Godly Ballads," wherein the frauds and deceits of Popery were fully
pointed out. A third brother of the family, being a musical genius, it
is said, "turned the times and tenor of many profane songs into godly
songs and hymns, whereby he stirred up the affections of many," which
tunes were called the Psalms of Dundee. Here, perhaps, was the origin of
"Dundee's wild warbling measures."

The conjoint forces of tragedy, comedy, ballads, and music, thus brought
to bear on the popular mind, was very great.

Dundee has been a great sufferer during the various civil commotions in
Scotland. In the time of Charles I. it stood out for the solemn league
and covenant, for which crime the Earl of Montrose was sent against it,
who took and burned it. It is said that he called Dundee a most
seditious town, the securest haunt and receptacle of rebels, and a place
that had contributed as much as any other to the rebellion. Yet
afterwards, when Montrose was led a captive through Dundee, the
historian observes, "It is remarkable of the town of Dundee, in which he
lodged one night, that though it had suffered more by his army than any
town else within the kingdom, yet were they, amongst all the rest, so
far from exulting over him, that the whole town testified a great deal
of sorrow for his woful condition; and there was he likewise furnished
with clothes suitable to his birth and person."

This town of Dundee was stormed by Monk and the forces of Parliament
during the time of the commonwealth, because they had sheltered the
fugitive Charles II., and granted him money. When taken by Monk, he
committed a great many barbarities.

It has also been once visited by the plague, and once with a seven
years' dearth or famine.

Most of these particulars I found in a History of Dundee, which formed
one of the books presented to me.

The town is beautifully situated on the Firth of Tay, which here spreads
its waters, and the quantity of shipping indicates commercial
prosperity.

I was shown no abbeys or cathedrals, either because none ever existed,
or because they were destroyed when the town was fired.

In our rides about the city, the local recollections that our friends
seemed to recur to with as much interest as any, were those connected
with the queen's visit to Dundee, in 1844. The spot where she landed has
been commemorated by the erection of a superb triumphal arch in stone.
The provost said some of the people were quite astonished at the
plainness of the queen's dress, having looked for something very
dazzling and overpowering from a queen. They could scarcely believe
their eyes, when they saw her riding by in a plain bonnet, and enveloped
in a simple shepherd's plaid.

The queen is exceedingly popular in Scotland, doubtless in part because
she heartily appreciated the beauty of the country, and the strong and
interesting traits of the people. She has a country residence at
Balmorrow, where she spends a part of every year; and the impression
seems to prevail among her Scottish subjects, that she never appears to
feel herself more happy or more at home than in this her Highland
dwelling. The legend is, that here she delights to throw off the
restraints of royalty; to go about plainly dressed, like a private
individual; to visit in the cottages of the poor; to interest herself in
the instruction of the children; and to initiate the future heir of
England into that practical love of the people which is the best
qualification for a ruler.

I repeat to you the things which I hear floating of the public
characters of England, and you can attach what degree of credence you
may think proper. As a general rule in this censorious world, I think it
safe to suppose that the good which is commonly reported of public
characters, if not true in the letter of its details, is at least so in
its general spirit. The stories which are told about distinguished
people generally run in a channel coincident with the facts of their
character. On the other hand, with regard to evil reports, it is safe
always to allow something for the natural propensity to detraction and
slander, which is one of the most undoubted facts of human nature in all
lands.

We left Dundee at two o'clock, by cars, for Edinburgh. In the evening we
attended another _soirée_ of the working men of Edinburgh. As it was
similar in all respects to the one at Glasgow, I will not dwell upon it,
further than to say how gratifying to me, in every respect, are
occasions in which working men, as a class, stand out before the public.
_They_ are to form, more and more, a new power in society, greater than
the old power of helmet and sword, and I rejoice in every indication
that they are learning to understand themselves.

We have received letters from the working men, both in Dundee and
Glasgow, desiring our return to attend _soirées_ in those cities.
Nothing could give us greater pleasure, had we time and strength. No
class of men are more vitally interested in the conflict of freedom
against slavery than working men. The principle upon which slavery is
founded touches every interest of theirs. If it be right that one half
of the community should deprive the other half of education, of all
opportunities to rise in the world, of all property rights and all
family ties, merely to make them more convenient tools for their profit
and luxury, then every injustice and extortion, which oppresses the
laboring man in any country, can be equally defended.



LETTER VIII.


DEAR AUNT E.:--

You wanted us to write about our visit to Melrose; so here you have it.

On Tuesday morning Mr. S. and C---- had agreed to go back to Glasgow for
the purpose of speaking at a temperance meeting, and as we were
restricted for time, we were obliged to make the visit to Melrose in
their absence, much to the regret of us all. G---- thought we would make
a little quiet run out in the cars by ourselves, while Mr. S. and
C---- were gone back to Glasgow.

It was one of those soft, showery, April days, misty and mystical, now
weeping and now shining, that we found ourselves whirled by the cars
through this enchanted ground of Scotland. Almost every name we heard
spoken along the railroad, every stream we passed, every point we looked
at, recalled some line of Walter Scott's poetry, or some event of
history. The thought that he was gone forever, whose genius had given
the charm to all, seemed to settle itself down like a melancholy mist.
To how little purpose seemed the few, short years of his life, compared
with the capabilities of such a soul! Brilliant as his success had been,
how was it passed like a dream! It seemed sad to think that he had not
only passed away himself, but that almost the whole family and friendly
circle had passed with him--not a son left to bear his name!

Here we were in the region of the Ettrick, the Yarrow, and the Tweed. I
opened the Lay of the Last Minstrel, and, as if by instinct, the first
lines my eye fell upon were these:--

  "Call it not vain: they do not err
    Who say, that when the poet dies,
  Mute nature mourns her worshipper,
    And celebrates his obsequies;
  Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone
  For the departed bard make moan;
  That mountains weep in crystal rill;
  That flowers in tears of balm distil;
  Through his loved groves that breezes sigh,
  And oaks, in deeper groan, reply;
  And rivers teach their rushing wave
  To murmur dirges round his grave."

"Melrose!" said the loud voice of the conductor; and starting, I looked
up and saw quite a flourishing village, in the midst of which rose the
old, gray, mouldering walls of the abbey. Now, this was somewhat of a
disappointment to me. I had been somehow expecting to find the building
standing alone in the middle of a great heath, far from all abodes of
men, and with no companions more hilarious than the owls. However, it
was no use complaining; the fact was, there was a village, and what was
more, a hotel, and to this hotel we were to go to get a guide for the
places we were to visit; for it was understood that we were to "_do_"
Melrose, Dryburgh, and Abbotsford, all in one day. There was no time for
sentiment; it was a business affair, that must be looked in the face
promptly, if we meant to get through. Ejaculations and quotations of
poetry could, of course, be thrown in, as William, of Deloraine pattered
his prayers, while riding.

We all alighted at a very comfortable hotel, and were ushered into as
snug a little parlor as one's heart could desire.

[Illustration: East Window of Melrose Abbey.]

The next thing was to hire a coachman to take us, in the rain,--for the
mist had now swelled into a rain,--through the whole appropriate round.
I stood by and heard names which I had never heard before, except in
song, brought into view in their commercial relations; so much for
Abbotsford; and so much for Dryburgh; and then, if we would like to
throw in Thomas the Rhymer's Tower, why, that would be something extra.

"Thomas the Rhymer?" said one of the party, not exactly posted up. "Was
he any thing remarkable? Well, is it worth while to go to his tower? It
will cost something extra, and take more time."

Weighed in such a sacrilegious balance, Thomas was found wanting, of
course: the idea of driving three or four miles farther to see an old
tower, supposed to have belonged to a man who is supposed to have
existed and to have been carried off by a supposititious Queen of the
Fairies into Elfland, was too absurd for reasonable people; in fact, I
made believe myself that I did not care much about it, particularly as
the landlady remarked, that if we did not get home by five o'clock "the
chops might be spoiled."

As we all were packed into a tight coach, the rain still pouring, I
began to wish mute Nature would not be quite so energetic in distilling
her tears. A few sprinkling showers, or a graceful wreath of mist, might
be all very well; but a steady, driving rain, that obliged us to shut up
the carriage windows, and coated them with mist so that we could not
look out, why, I say it is enough to put out the fire of sentiment in
any heart. We might as well have been rolled up in a bundle and carried
through the country, for all the seeing it was possible to do under such
circumstances. It, therefore, should be stated, that we did keep bravely
up in our poetic zeal, which kindly Mrs. W. also reënforced, by
distributing certain very delicate sandwiches to support the outer man.

At length, the coach stopped at the entrance of Abbotsford grounds,
where there was a cottage, out of which, due notice being given, came a
trim, little old woman in a black gown, with pattens on; she put up her
umbrella, and we all put up ours; the rain poured harder than ever as we
went dripping up the gravel walk, looking much, I inly fancied, like a
set of discomforted fowls fleeing to covert. We entered the great court
yard, surrounded with a high wall, into which were built sundry
fragments of curious architecture that happened to please the poet's
fancy.

I had at the moment, spite of the rain, very vividly in my mind
Washington Irving's graceful account of his visit to Abbotsford while
this house was yet building, and the picture which he has given of
Walter Scott sitting before his door, humorously descanting on various
fragments of sculpture, which lay scattered about, and which he intended
to immortalize by incorporating into his new dwelling.

Viewed as a mere speculation, or, for aught I know, as an architectural
effort, this building may, perhaps, be counted as a mistake and a
failure. I observe, that it is quite customary to speak of it, among
some, as a pity that he ever undertook it. But viewed as a development
of his inner life, as a working out in wood and stone of favorite
fancies and cherished ideas, the building has to me a deep interest. The
gentle-hearted poet delighted himself in it; this house was his stone
and wood poem, as irregular, perhaps, and as contrary to any established
rule, as his Lay of the Last Minstrel, but still wild and poetic. The
building has this interest, that it was throughout his own conception,
thought, and choice; that he expressed himself in every stone that was
laid, and made it a kind of shrine, into which he wove all his treasures
of antiquity, and where he imitated, from the beautiful, old, mouldering
ruins of Scotland, the parts that had touched him most deeply.

The walls of one room were of carved oak from the Dunfermline Abbey; the
ceiling of another imitated from Roslin Castle; here a fireplace was
wrought in the image of a favorite niche in Melrose; and there the
ancient pulpit of Erskine was wrought into a wall. To him, doubtless,
every object in the house was suggestive of poetic fancies; every
carving and bit of tracery had its history, and was as truly an
expression of something in the poet's mind as a verse of his poetry.

A building wrought out in this way, and growing up like a bank of coral,
may very possibly violate all the proprieties of criticism; it may
possibly, too, violate one's ideas of mere housewifery utility; but by
none of these rules ought such a building to be judged. We should look
at it rather as the poet's endeavor to render outward and visible the
dream land of his thoughts, and to create for himself a refuge from the
cold, dull realities of life, in an architectural romance.

These were thoughts which gave interest to the scene as we passed
through the porchway, adorned with petrified stags' horns, into the long
entrance hall of the mansion. This porch was copied from one in
Linlithgow palace. One side of this hall was lighted by windows of
painted glass. The floor was of black and white marble from the
Hebrides. Round the whole cornice there was a line of coats armorial,
richly blazoned, and the following inscription in old German text:

"These be the coat armories of the clanns and chief men of name wha
keepit the marchys of Scotland in the old tyme for the kynge. Trewe men
war they in their tyme, and in their defence God them defendyt."

There were the names of the Douglases, the Elliots, the Scotts, the
Armstrongs, and others. I looked at this arrangement with interest,
because I knew that Scott must have taken a particular delight in it.

The fireplace, designed from a niche in Melrose Abbey, also in this
room, and a choice bit of sculpture it is. In it was an old grate, which
had its history also, and opposite to it the boards from the pulpit of
Erskine were wrought into a kind of side table, or something which
served that purpose. The spaces between the windows were decorated with
pieces of armor, crossed swords, and stags' horns, each one of which
doubtless had its history. On each side of the door, at the bottom of
the hall, was a Gothic shrine, or niche, in both of which stood a figure
in complete armor.

Then we went into the drawing room; a lofty saloon, the woodwork of
which is entirely of cedar, richly wrought; probably another of the
author's favorite poetic fancies. It is adorned with a set of splendid
antique ebony furniture; cabinet, chairs, and piano--the gift of George
IV. to the poet.

We went into his library; a magnificent room, on which, I suppose, the
poet's fancy had expended itself more than any other. The roof is of
carved oak, after models from Roslin Castle. Here, in a niche, is a
marble bust of Scott, as we understood a present from Chantrey to the
poet; it was one of the best and most animated representations of him I
ever saw, and very much superior to the one under the monument in
Edinburgh. On expressing my idea to this effect, I found I had struck
upon a favorite notion of the good woman who showed us the
establishment; she seemed to be an ancient servant of the house, and
appeared to entertain a regard for the old laird scarcely less than
idolatry. One reason why this statue is superior is, that it represents
his noble forehead, which the Edinburgh one suffers to be concealed by
falling hair: to cover _such_ a forehead seems scarcely less than a
libel.

The whole air of this room is fanciful and picturesque in the extreme.
The walls are entirely filled with the bookcases, there being about
twenty thousand volumes. A small room opens from the library, which was
Scott's own private study. His writing table stood in the centre, with
his inkstand on it, and before it a large, plain, black leather arm
chair.

In a glass case, I think in this room, was exhibited the suit of clothes
he last wore; a blue coat with large metal buttons, plaid trousers, and
broad-brimmed hat. Around the sides of this room there was a gallery of
light tracery work; a flight of stairs led up to it, and in one corner
of it was a door which the woman said led to the poet's bed room. One
seemed to see in all this arrangement how snug, and cozy, and
comfortable the poet had thus ensconced himself, to give himself up to
his beloved labors and his poetic dreams. But there was a cold and
desolate air of order and adjustment about it which reminds one of the
precise and chilling arrangements of a room from which has just been
carried out a corpse; all is silent and deserted.

The house is at present the property of Scott's only surviving daughter,
whose husband has assumed the name of Scott. We could not learn from our
informant whether any of the family was in the house. We saw only the
rooms which are shown to visitors, and a coldness, like that of death,
seemed to strike to my heart from their chilly solitude.

As we went out of the house we passed another company of tourists coming
in, to whom we heard our guide commencing the same recitation, "this
is," and "this is," &c., just as she had done to us. One thing about the
house and grounds had disappointed me; there was not one view from a
single window I saw that was worth any thing, in point of beauty; why a
poet, with an eye for the beautiful, could have located a house in such
an indifferent spot, on an estate where so many beautiful sites were at
his command, I could not imagine.

As to the external appearance of Abbotsford, it is as irregular as can
well be imagined. There are gables, and pinnacles, and spires, and
balconies, and buttresses any where and every where, without rhyme or
reason; for wherever the poet wanted a balcony, he had it; or wherever
he had a fragment of carved stone, or a bit of historic tracery, to put
in, he made a shrine for it forthwith, without asking leave of any
rules. This I take to be one of the main advantages of Gothic
architecture; it is a most catholic and tolerant system, and any kind of
eccentricity may find refuge beneath its mantle.

Here and there, all over the house, are stones carved with armorial
bearings and pious inscriptions, inserted at random wherever the poet
fancied. Half way up the wall in one place is the door of the old
Tolbooth at Edinburgh, with the inscription over it, "The Lord of armeis
is my protector; blissit ar thay that trust in the Lord. 1575."

A doorway at the west end of the house is composed of stones which
formed the portal of the Tolbooth, given to Sir Walter on the pulling
down of the building in 1817.

On the east side of the house is a rude carving of a sword with the
words, "Up with ye, sutors of Selkyrke. A.D. 1525." Another inscription,
on the same side of the house, runs thus:--

  "By night, by day, remember ay
    The goodness of ye Lord;
  And thank his name, whose glorious fame
    Is spread throughout ye world.--A.C.M.D. 1516."

In the yard, to the right of the doorway of the mansion, we saw the
figure of Scott's favorite dog Maida, with a Latin inscription--

  "Maidæ marmorea dormis sub imagine, Maida,
  Ad januam domini: sit tibi terra levis."

Which in our less expressive English we might render--

  At thy lord's door, in slumbers light and blest,
  Maida, beneath this marble Maida, rest:
  Light lie the turf upon thy gentle breast.

One of the most endearing traits of Scott was that sympathy and harmony
which always existed between him and the brute creation.

Poor Maida seemed cold and lonely, washed by the rain in the damp grass
plat. How sad, yet how expressive is the scriptural phrase for
indicating death! "He shall return to his house no more, neither shall
his place know him any more." And this is what all our homes are coming
to; our buying, our planting, our building, our marrying and giving in
marriage, our genial firesides and dancing children, are all like so
many figures passing through the magic lantern, to be put out at last in
death.

The grounds, I was told, are full of beautiful paths and seats, favorite
walks and lounges of the poet; but the obdurate pertinacity of the rain
compelled us to choose the very shortest path possible to the carriage.
I picked a leaf of the Portugal laurel, which I send you.

Next we were driven to Dryburgh, or rather to the banks of the Tweed,
where a ferryman, with a small skiff waits to take passengers over.

The Tweed is a clear, rippling river, with a white, pebbly bottom, just
like our New England mountain streams. After we landed we were to walk
to the Abbey. Our feet were damp and cold, and our boatman invited us to
his cottage. I found him and all his family warmly interested in the
fortunes of Uncle Tom and his friends, and for his sake they received me
as a long-expected friend. While I was sitting by the ingleside,--that
is, a coal grate,--warming my feet, I fell into conversation with my
host. He and his family, I noticed, spoke English more than Scotch; he
was an intelligent young man, in appearance and style of mind precisely
what you might expect to meet in a cottage in Maine. He and all the
household, even the old grandmother, had read Uncle Tom's Cabin, and
were perfectly familiar with all its details. He told me that it had
been universally read in the cottages in the vicinity. I judged from his
mode of speaking, that he and his neighbors were in the habit of reading
a great deal. I spoke of going to Dryburgh to see the grave of Scott,
and inquired if his works were much read by the common people. He said
that Scott was not so much a favorite with the people as Burns. I
inquired if he took a newspaper. He said that the newspapers were kept
at so high a price that working men were not able to take them;
sometimes they got sight of them through clubs, or by borrowing. How
different, thought I, from America, where a workingman would as soon
think of going without his bread as without his newspaper!

The cottages of these laboring people, of which there were a whole
village along here, are mostly of stone, thatched with straw. This
thatch sometimes gets almost entirely grown over with green moss. Thus
moss-covered was the roof of the cottage where we stopped, opposite to
Dryburgh grounds.

There was about this time one of those weeping pauses in the showery
sky, and a kind of thinning and edging away of the clouds, which gave
hope that perhaps the sun was going to look out, and give to our
persevering researches the countenance of his presence. This was
particularly desirable, as the old woman, who came out with her keys to
guide us, said she had a cold and a cough: we begged that she would not
trouble herself to go with us at all. The fact is, with all respect to
nice old women, and the worthy race of guides in general, they are not
favorable to poetic meditation. We promised to be very good if she would
let us have the key, and lock up all the gates, and bring it back; but
no, she was faithfulness itself, and so went coughing along through the
dripping and drowned grass to open the gates for us.

This Dryburgh belongs now to the Earl of Buchan, having been bought by
him from a family of the name of Haliburton, ancestral connections of
Scott, who, in his autobiography, seems to lament certain mischances of
fortune which prevented the estate from coming into his own family, and
gave them, he said, nothing but the right of stretching their bones
there. It seems a pity, too, because the possession of this rich, poetic
ruin would have been a mine of wealth to Scott, far transcending the
stateliest of modern houses.

Now, if you do not remember Scott's poem, of the Eve of St. John, you
ought to read it over; for it is, I think, the most spirited of all his
ballads; nothing conceals the transcendent lustre and beauty of these
compositions, but the splendor of his other literary productions. Had he
never written any thing but these, they would have made him a name as a
poet. As it was, I found the fanciful chime of the cadences in this
ballad ringing through my ears. I kept saying to myself--

  "The Dryburgh bells do ring,
  And the white monks do sing
  For Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

And as I was wandering around in the labyrinth, of old, broken, mossy
arches, I thought--

  "There is a nun in Dryburgh bower
    Ne'er looks upon the sun;
  There is a monk in Melrose tower,
    He speaketh word to none.

  That nun who ne'er beholds the day,
    That monk who speaks to none,
  That nun was Smaylhome's lady gay,
    That monk the bold Baron."

It seems that there is a vault in this edifice which has had some
superstitious legends attached to it, from having been the residence,
about fifty years ago, of a mysterious lady, who, being under a vow
never to behold the light of the sun, only left her cell at midnight.
This little story, of course, gives just enough superstitious chill to
this beautiful ruin to help the effect of the pointed arches, the
clinging wreaths of ivy, the shadowy pines, and yew trees; in short, if
one had not a guide waiting, who had a bad cold, if one could stroll
here at leisure by twilight or moonlight, one might get up a
considerable deal of the mystic and poetic.

There is a part of the ruin that stands most picturesquely by itself, as
if old Time had intended it for a monument. It is the ruin of that part
of the chapel called St. Mary's Aisle; it stands surrounded by luxuriant
thickets of pine and other trees, a cluster of beautiful Gothic arches
supporting a second tier of smaller and more fanciful ones, one or two
of which have that light touch of the Moorish in their form which gives
such a singular and poetic effect in many of the old Gothic ruins. Out
of these wild arches and windows wave wreaths of ivy, and slender
harebells shake their blue pendants, looking in and out of the lattices
like little capricious fairies. There are fragments of ruins lying on
the ground, and the whole air of the thing is as wild, and dreamlike,
and picturesque as the poet's fanciful heart could have desired.

Underneath these arches he lies beside his wife; around him the
representation of the two things he loved most--the wild bloom and
beauty of nature, and the architectural memorial of by-gone history and
art. Yet there was one thing I felt I would have had otherwise; it
seemed to me that the flat stones of the pavement are a weight too heavy
and too cold to be laid on the breast of a lover of nature and the
beautiful. The green turf, springing with flowers, that lies above a
grave, does not seem, to us so hopeless a barrier between us and what
was warm and loving; the springing grass and daisies there seem, types
and assurances that the mortal beneath shall put on immortality; they
come up to us as kind messages from the peaceful dust, to say that it is
resting in a certain hope of a glorious resurrection.

On the cold flagstones, walled in by iron railings, there were no
daisies and no moss; but I picked many of both from, the green turf
around, which, with some sprigs of ivy from the walls, I send you.

It is strange that we turn away from the grave of this man, who achieved
to himself the most brilliant destiny that ever an author did,--raising
himself by his own unassisted efforts to be the chosen companions of
nobles and princes, obtaining all that heart could desire of riches and
honor,--we turn away and say, Poor Walter Scott! How desolately touching
is the account in Lockhart, of his dim and indistinct agony the day his
wife was brought here to be buried! and the last part of that biography
is the saddest history that I know; it really makes us breathe a long
sigh of relief when we read of the lowering of the coffin into this
vault.

What force does all this give to the passage in his diary in which he
records his estimate of life!--"What is this world? a dream within a
dream. As we grow older, each step is an awakening. The youth awakes, as
he thinks, from childhood; the full-grown man despises the pursuits of
youth as visionary; the old man looks on manhood as a feverish dream.
The grave the last sleep? No; it is the last and final awakening."

It has often been remarked, that there is no particular moral purpose
aimed at by Scott in his writings; he often speaks of it himself in his
last days, in a tone of humility. He represents himself as having been
employed mostly in the comparatively secondary department of giving
innocent amusement. He often expressed, humbly and earnestly, the hope
that he had, at least, done no harm; but I am inclined to think, that
although moral effect was not primarily his object, yet the influence of
his writings and whole existence on earth has been decidedly good.

It is a great thing to have a mind of such power and such influence,
whose recognitions of right and wrong, of virtue and vice, were, in most
cases, so clear and determined. He never enlists our sympathies in favor
of vice, by drawing those seductive pictures, in which it comes so near
the shape and form of virtue that the mind is puzzled as to the boundary
line. He never makes young ladies feel that they would like to marry
corsairs, pirates, or sentimental villains of any description. The most
objectionable thing, perhaps, about his influence, is its sympathy with
the war spirit. A person Christianly educated can hardly read some of
his descriptions in the Lady of the Lake and Marmion without an emotion
of disgust, like what is excited by the same things in Homer; and as the
world comes more and more under the influence of Christ, it will recede
more and more from this kind of literature.

Scott has been censured as being wilfully unjust to the Covenanters and
Puritans. I think he meant really to deal fairly by them, and that what
_he_ called fairness might seem rank injustice to those brought up to
venerate them, as we have been. I suppose that in Old Mortality it was
Scott's honest intention to balance the two parties about fairly, by
putting on the Covenant side his good, steady, well-behaved hero, Mr.
Morton, who is just as much of a Puritan as the Puritans would have been
had they taken Sir Walter Scott's advice; that is to say, a very nice,
sensible, moral man, who takes the Puritan side because he thinks it the
_right_ side, but contemplates all the devotional enthusiasm and
religious ecstasies of his associates from a merely artistic and
pictorial point of view. The trouble was, when he got his model Puritan
done, nobody ever knew what he was meant for; and then all the young
ladies voted steady Henry Morton a bore, and went to falling in love
with his Cavalier rival, Lord Evandale, and people talked as if it was a
preconcerted arrangement of Scott, to surprise the female heart, and
carry it over to the royalist side.

The fact was, in describing Evandale he made a living, effective
character, because he was describing something he had full sympathy
with, and put his whole life into; but Henry Morton is a laborious
arrangement of starch and pasteboard to produce one of those
supposititious, just-right men, who are always the stupidest of mortals
after they are made. As to why Scott did not describe such a character
as the martyr Duke of Argyle, or Hampden, or Sir Harry Vane, where high
birth, and noble breeding, and chivalrous sentiment were all united with
intense devotional fervor, the answer is, that he could not do it; he
had not that in him wherewith to do it; a man cannot create that of
which he has not first had the elements in himself; and devotional
enthusiasm is a thing which Scott never felt. Nevertheless, I believe
that he was perfectly sincere in saying that he would, "if necessary,
die a martyr for Christianity." He had calm, firm principle to any
extent, but it never was kindled into fervor. He was of too calm and
happy a temperament to sound the deepest recesses of souls torn up from
their depths by mighty conflicts and sorrows. There are souls like the
"alabaster vase of ointment, very precious," which shed no perfume of
devotion because a great sorrow has never broken them. Could Scott have
been given back to the world again after the heavy discipline of life
had passed over him, he would have spoken otherwise of many things. What
he vainly struggled to say to Lockhart on his death bed would have been
a new revelation, of his soul to the world, could he have lived to
unfold it in literature. But so it is: when we have learned to live,
life's purpose is answered, and we die!

This is the sum and substance of some conversations held while rambling
among these scenes, going in and out of arches, climbing into nooks and
through loopholes, picking moss and ivy, and occasionally retreating
under the shadow of some arch, while the skies were indulging in a
sudden burst of emotion. The poor woman who acted as our guide,
ensconcing herself in a dry corner, stood like a literal Patience on a
monument, waiting for us to be through; we were sorry for her, but as it
was our first and last chance, and she would stay there, we could not
help it.

Near by the abbey is a square, modern mansion, belonging to the Earl of
Buchan, at present untenanted. There were some black, solemn yew trees
there, old enough to have told us a deal of history had they been
inclined to speak; as it was, they could only drizzle.

As we were walking through the yard, a bird broke out into a clear,
sweet song.

"What bird is that?" said I.

"I think it is the mavis," said the guide. This brought up,--

  "The mavis wild, wie mony a note,
  Sings drowsy day to rest."

And also,--

  "Merry it is in wild green wood,
  When mavis and merle are singing."

A verse, by the by, dismally suggestive of contrast to this rainy day.

As we came along out of the gate, walking back towards the village of
Dryburgh, we began, to hope that the skies had fairly wept themselves
out; at any rate the rain stopped, and the clouds wore a sulky,
leaden-gray aspect, as if they were thinking what to do next.

We saw a knot of respectable-looking laboring men at a little distance,
conversing in a group, and now and then stealing glances at us; one of
them at last approached and inquired if this was Mrs. Stowe, and being
answered in the affirmative, they all said heartily, "Madam, ye're right
welcome to Scotland." The chief speaker, then, after a little
conversation, asked our party if we would do him the favor to step into
his cottage near by, to take a little refreshment after our ramble; to
which we assented with alacrity. He led the way to a neat, stone
cottage, with a flower garden before the door, and said to a thrifty,
rosy-cheeked woman, who met us, "Well, and what do you think, wife, if I
have brought Mrs. Stowe and her party to take a cup of tea with us?"

We were soon seated in a neat, clean kitchen, and our hostess hastened
to put the teakettle over the grate, lamenting that she had not known of
our coming, that she might have had a fire "ben the house," meaning by
the phrase what we Yankees mean by "in the best room." We caught a
glimpse of the carpet and paper of this room, when the door was opened
to bring out a few more chairs.

  "Belyve the bairns cam dropping in,"

rosy-cheeked, fresh from school, with satchel and school books, to whom
I was introduced as the mother of Topsy and Eva.

"Ah," said the father, "such a time as we had, when we were reading the
book; whiles they were greetin' and whiles in a rage."

My host was quite a young-looking man, with the clear blue eye and
glowing complexion which one so often meets here; and his wife, with her
blooming cheeks, neat dress, and well-kept house, was evidently one of
those fully competent

  "To gar old claes look amaist as weel as new."

I inquired the ages of the several children, to which the father
answered with about as much chronological accuracy as men generally
display in such points of family history. The gude wife, after
correcting his figures once or twice, turned away with a somewhat
indignant exclamation about men that didn't know their own bairns' ages,
in which many of us, I presume, could sympathize.

I must not omit to say, that a neighbor of our host had been pressed to
come in with us; an intelligent-looking man, about fifty. In the course
of conversation, I found that they were both masons by trade, and as the
rain had prevented their working, they had met to spend their time in
reading. They said they were reading a work on America; and thereat
followed a good deal of general conversation on our country. I found
that, like many others in this old country, they had a tie to connect
them with the new--a son in America.

One of our company, in the course of the conversation, says, "They say
in America that the working classes of England and Scotland are not so
well off as the slaves." The man's eye flashed. "There are many things,"
he said, "about the working classes, which are not what they should be;
there's room for a great deal of improvement in our condition, but," he
added with an emphasis, "we are _no slaves!_" There was a, touch, of the

  "Scots wha ha' wi' Wallace bled"

about the man, as he spoke, which made the affirmation quite
unnecessary.

"But," said I, "you think the affairs of the working classes much
improved of late years?"

"O, certainly," said the other; "since the repeal of the corn laws and
the passage of the factory bill, and this emigration to America and
Australia, affairs have been very much altered."

We asked them what they could make a day by their trade. It was much
less, certainly, than is paid for the same labor in our country; but yet
the air of comfort and respectability about the cottage, the
well-clothed and well-schooled, intelligent children, spoke well for the
result of their labors.

While our conversation was carried on, the teakettle commenced singing
most melodiously, and by a mutual system of accommodation, a neat tea
table was spread in the midst of us, and we soon found ourselves seated,
enjoying some delicious bread and butter, with the garniture of cheese,
preserves, and tea. Our host before the meal craved a blessing of Him
who had made of one blood all the families of the earth; a beautiful and
touching allusion, I thought, between Americans and Scotchmen. Our long
ramble in the rain had given us something of an appetite, and we did
ample justice to the excellence of the cheer.

After tea we walked on down again towards the Tweed, our host and his
friends waiting on us to the boat. As we passed through the village of
Dryburgh, all the inhabitants of the cottages seemed to be standing in
their doors, bowing and smiling, and expressing their welcome in a
gentle, kindly way, that was quite touching.

As we were walking towards the Tweed, the Eildon Hill, with its three
points, rose before us in the horizon. I thought of the words in the Lay
of the Last Minstrel:--

  "Warrior, I could say to thee,
  The words that cleft Eildon Hill in three,
  And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone."

I appealed to my friends if they knew any thing about the tradition; I
thought they seemed rather reluctant to speak of it. O, there was some
foolish story, they believed; they did not well know what it was.

The picturesque age of human childhood is gone by; men and women cannot
always be so accommodating as to believe unreasonable stories for the
convenience of poets.

At the Tweed the man with the skiff was waiting for us. In parting with
my friend, I said, "Farewell. I hope we may meet again some time."

"I am sure we shall, madam," said he; "if not here, certainly
hereafter."

After being rowed across I stopped a few moments to admire the rippling
of the clear water over the pebbles. "I want some of these pebbles of
the Tweed," I said, "to carry home to America." Two hearty, rosy-cheeked
Scotch lasses on the shore soon supplied me with as many as I could
carry.

We got into our carriage, and drove up to Melrose. After a little
negotiation with the keeper, the doors were unlocked. Just at that
moment the sun was so gracious as to give a full look through the
windows, and touch with streaks of gold the green, grassy floor; for the
beautiful ruin is floored with green grass and roofed with sky: even
poetry has not exaggerated its beauty, and could not. There is never any
end to the charms of Gothic architecture. It is like the beauty of
Cleopatra,--

  "Age cannot wither, custom, cannot stale
  Her infinite variety."

Here is this Melrose, now, which has been berhymed, bedraggled through
infinite guide books, and been gaped at and smoked at by dandies, and
been called a "dear love" by pretty young ladies, and been hawked about
as a trade article in all neighboring shops, and you know perfectly well
that all your raptures are spoken for and expected at the door, and your
going off in an ecstasy is a regular part of the programme; and yet,
after all, the sad, wild, sweet beauty of the thing comes down on one
like a cloud; even for the sake of being original you could not, in
conscience, declare you did not admire it.

We went into a minute examination with our guide, a young man, who
seemed to have a full sense of its peculiar beauties. I must say here,
that Walter Scott's description in the Lay of the Last Minstrel is as
perfect in most details as if it had been written by an architect as
well as a poet--it is a kind of glorified daguerreotype.

This building was the first of the elaborate and fanciful Gothic which I
had seen, and is said to excel in the delicacy of its carving any except
Roslin Castle. As a specimen of the exactness of Scott's description,
take this verse, where he speaks of the cloisters:--

  "Spreading herbs and flowerets bright,
  Glistened with the dew of night,
  Nor herb nor floweret glistened there,
  But were carved in the cloister arches as fair."

These cloisters were covered porticoes surrounding the garden, where the
monks walked for exercise. They are now mostly destroyed, but our guide
showed us the remains of exquisite carvings there, in which each group
was an imitation of some leaf or flower, such as the curly kail of
Scotland; a leaf, by the by, as worthy of imitation as the Greek
acanthus, the trefoil oak, and some other leaves, the names of which I
do not remember. These Gothic artificers were lovers of nature; they
studied at the fountain head; hence the never-dying freshness, variety,
and originality of their conceptions.

Another passage, whose architectural accuracy you feel at once, is
this:--

  "They entered now the chancel tall;
  The darkened, roof rose high, aloof
  On pillars lofty, light, and small:
  The keystone that locked, each ribbed aisle
  Was a fleur-de-lis, or a quatre-feuille;
  The corbels were carved grotesque and grim;
  And the pillars, with, clustered shafts so trim,
  With, base and with capital flourished around,
  Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound."

The quatre-feuille here spoken of is an ornament formed by the junction
of four leaves. The frequent recurrence of the fleur-de-lis in the
carvings here shows traces of French hands employed in the architecture.
In one place in the abbey there is a rude inscription, in which a French
architect commemorates the part he has borne in constructing the
building.

These corbels are the projections from which, the arches spring, usually
carved in some fantastic mask or face; and on these the Shakspearian
imagination of the Gothic artists seems to have let itself loose to run
riot: there is every variety of expression, from, the most beautiful to
the most goblin and grotesque. One has the leer of fiendish triumph,
with budding horns, showing too plainly his paternity; again you have
the drooping eyelids and saintly features of some fair virgin; and then
the gasping face of some old monk, apparently in the agonies of death,
with his toothless gums, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. Other faces
have an earthly and sensual leer; some are wrought into expressions of
scorn and mockery, some of supplicating agony, and some of grim,
despair.

One wonders what gloomy, sarcastic, poetic, passionate mind has thus
amused itself, recording in stone all the range of passions--saintly,
earthly, and diabolic--on the varying human face. One fancies each
corbel to have had its history, its archetype in nature; a thousand
possible stories spring into one's mind. They are wrought with such a
startling and individual definiteness, that one feels as about
Shakspeare's characters, as if they must have had a counterpart in real
existence. The pure, saintly nun may have been some sister, or some
daughter, or some early love, of the artist, who in an evil hour saw the
convent barriers rise between her and all that was loving. The fat,
sensual face may have been a sly sarcasm on some worthy abbot, more
eminent in flesh than spirit. The fiendish faces may have been wrought
out of the author's own perturbed dreams.

An architectural work says that one of these corbels, with an anxious
and sinister Oriental countenance, has been made, by the guides, to
perform duty as an authentic likeness of the wizard Michael Scott. Now,
I must earnestly protest against stating things in that way. Why does a
writer want to break up so laudable a poetic design in the guides? He
would have been much better occupied in interpreting some of the
half-defaced old inscriptions into a corroborative account. No doubt it
_was_ Michael Scott, and looked just like him.

It were a fine field for a story writer to analyze the conception and
growth of an abbey or cathedral as it formed itself, day after day, and
year after year, in the soul of some dreamy, impassioned workman, who
made it the note book where he wrought out imperishably in stone all his
observations on nature and man. I think it is this strong individualism
of the architect in the buildings that give the never-dying charm, and
variety to the Gothic: each Gothic building is a record of the growth,
character, and individualities of its builder's soul; and hence no two
can be alike.

I was really disappointed to miss in the abbey the stained glass which
gives such a lustre and glow to the poetic description. I might have
known better; but somehow I came there fully expecting to see the
window, where--

  "Full in the midst his cross of red
  Triumphant Michael brandished;
  The moonbeam kissed the holy pane,
  And threw on the pavement the bloody stain."

Alas! the painted glass was all of the poet's own setting; years ago it
was shattered by the hands of violence, and the grace of the fashion of
it hath perished.

The guide pointed to a broken fragment which commanded a view of the
whole interior. "Sir Walter used to sit here," he said. I fancied I
could see him sitting on the fragment, gazing around the ruin, and
mentally restoring it to its original splendor; he brings back the
colored light into the windows, and throws its many-hued reflections
over the graves; he ranges the banners along around the walls, and
rebuilds every shattered arch and aisle, till we have the picture as it
rises on us in his book.

I confess to a strong feeling of reality, when my guide took me to a
grave where a flat, green, mossy stone, broken across the middle, is
reputed to be the grave of Michael Scott. I felt, for the moment, verily
persuaded that if the guide would pry up one of the stones we should see
him there, as described:--

  "His hoary beard in silver rolled,
  He seemed some seventy winters old;
  A palmer's amice wrapped, him round,
  With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
  Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
  His left hand held his book of might;
  A silver cross was in his right;
    The lamp was placed beside his knee:
  High and majestic was his look,
  At which, the fellest fiends had shook,
  And all unruffled, was his face:
  They trusted his soul had gotten grace."

I never knew before how fervent a believer I had been in the realities
of these things.

There are two graves that I saw, which correspond to those mentioned in
these lines:--

  "And there the dying lamps did burn
    Before thy lone and lowly urn,
  O gallafit chief of Otterburne,
    And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale."

The Knight of Otterburne was one of the Earls Douglas, killed in a
battle with Henry Percy, called Hotspur, in 1388. The Knight of
Liddesdale was another Douglas, who lived in the reign of David II., and
was called the "Flower of Chivalry." One performance of this "Flower" is
rather characteristic of the times. It seems the king made one Ramsey
high sheriff of Teviotdale. The Earl of Douglas chose to consider this
as a personal affront, as he wanted the office himself. So, by way of
exhibiting his own qualifications for administering justice, he one day
came down on Ramsey, _vi et armis_, took him off his judgment seat,
carried him to one of his castles, and without more words tumbled him
and his horse into a deep dungeon, where they both starved to death.
There's a "Flower" for you, peculiar to the good old times. Nobody could
have doubted after this his qualifications to be high sheriff.

Having looked all over the abbey from, below, I noticed a ruinous
winding staircase; so up I went, rustling along through the ivy, which
matted and wove itself around the stones. Soon I found myself looking
down on the abbey from a new point of view--from a little narrow stone
gallery, which threads the whole inside of the building. There I paced
up and down, looking occasionally through the ivy-wreathed arches on the
green, turfy floor below.

It seems as if silence and stillness had become a real presence in these
old places. The voice of the guide and the company beneath had a hushed
and muffled sound; and when I rustled the ivy leaves, or, in trying to
break off a branch, loosened some fragment of stone, the sound affected
me with a startling distinctness. I could not but inly muse and wonder
on the life these old monks and abbots led, shrined up here as they were
in this lovely retirement.

In ruder ages these places were the only retreat for men of a spirit too
gentle to take force and bloodshed for their life's work; men who
believed that pen and parchment were better than sword and steel. Here I
suppose multitudes of them lived harmless, dreamy lives--reading old
manuscripts, copying and illuminating new ones.

It is said that this Melrose is of very ancient origin, extending back
to the time of the Culdees, the earliest missionaries who established
religion in Scotland, and who had a settlement in this vicinity.
However, a royal saint, after a while, took it in hand to patronize, and
of course the credit went to him, and from, him Scott calls it "St.
David's lonely pile." In time a body of Cistercian monks were settled
there.

According to all accounts the abbey has raised some famous saints. We
read of trances, illuminations, and miraculous beatifications; and of
one abbot in particular, who exhibited the odor of sanctity so strongly
that it is said the mere opening of his grave, at intervals, was
sufficient to perfume the whole establishment with odors of paradise.
Such stories apart, however, we must consider that for all the
literature, art, and love of the beautiful, all the humanizing
influences which hold society together, the world was for many ages
indebted to these monastic institutions.

In the reformation, this abbey was destroyed amid the general storm,
which attacked the ecclesiastical architecture of Scotland. "Pull down
the nest, and the rooks will fly away," was the common saying of the
mob; and in those days a man was famous according as he had lifted up
axes upon the carved work.

Melrose was considered for many years merely a stone quarry, from which
materials were taken for all sorts of buildings, such as constructing
tolbooths, repairing mills and sluices; and it has been only till a
comparatively recent period that its priceless value as an architectural
remain has led to proper efforts for its preservation. It is now most
carefully kept.

After wandering through the inside we walked out into the old graveyard,
to look at the outside. The yard is full of old, curious, mouldering
gravestones; and on one of them there is an inscription sad and peculiar
enough to have come from the heart of the architect who planned the
abbey; it runs as follows:--

  "The earth walks on the earth, glittering with gold;
  The earth goes to the earth sooner than it wold;
  The earth, builds on the earth, castles and towers;
  The earth, says to the earth, All shall be ours."

Here, also, we were interested in a plain marble slab, which marks the
last resting-place of Scott's faithful Tom Purdie, his zealous factotum.
In his diary, when he hears of the wreck of his fortunes, Scott says of
this serving man, "Poor Tom Purdie, such news will wring your heart, and
many a poor fellow's beside, to whom my prosperity was daily bread."

One fancies again the picture described by Lockhart, the strong, lank
frame, hard features, sunken eyes, and grizzled eyebrows, the green
jacket, white hat, and gray trousers--the outer appointments of the
faithful serving man. One sees Scott walking familiarly by his side,
staying himself on Tom's shoulder, while Tom talks with glee of "_our_
trees," and "_our_ bukes." One sees the little skirmishing, when master
wants trees planted one way and man sees best to plant them another; and
the magnanimity with which kindly, cross-grained Tom at last agrees, on
reflection, to "take his honor's advice" about the management of his
honor's own property. Here, between master and man, both freemen, is all
that beauty of relation sometimes erroneously considered as the peculiar
charm of slavery. Would it have made the relation any more picturesque
and endearing had Tom been stripped of legal rights, and made liable to
sale with the books and furniture of Abbotsford? Poor Tom is sleeping
here very quietly, with a smooth coverlet of green grass. Over him is
the following inscription: "Here lies the body of Thomas Purdie, wood
forester at Abbotsford, who died 29th October, 1829, aged sixty-two
years. Thou hast been faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler
over many things." Matt. xxv. 21.

We walked up, and down, and about, getting the best views of the
building. It is scarcely possible for description to give you the
picture. The artist, in whose mind the conception of this building
arose, was a Mozart in architecture; a plaintive and ethereal lightness,
a fanciful quaintness, pervaded his composition. The building is not a
large one, and it has not that air of solemn massive grandeur, that
plain majesty, which impresses you in the cathedrals of Aberdeen and
Glasgow. As you stand looking at the wilderness of minarets and flying
buttresses, the multiplied shrines, and mouldings, and cornices, all
incrusted with carving as endless in its variety as the frostwork on a
window pane; each shrine, each pinnace, each moulding, a study by
itself, yet each contributing, like the different strains of a harmony,
to the general effect of the whole; it seems to you that for a thing so
airy and spiritual to have sprung up by enchantment, and to have been
the product of spells and fairy fingers, is no improbable account of the
matter.

Speaking of gargoyles--you are no architect, neither am I, but you may
as well get used to this descriptive term; it means the water-spouts
which conduct the water from the gutters at the eaves of these
buildings, and which are carved in every grotesque and fanciful device
that can be imagined. They are mostly goblin and fiendish faces, and
look as if they were darting out of the church in a towering passion, or
a fit of diabolic disgust and malice. Besides these gargoyles, there are
in many other points of the external building representations of
fiendish faces and figures, as if in the act of flying from the
building, under the influence of a terrible spell: by this, as my guide
said, was expressed the idea that the holy hymns and worship of the
church put Satan and all his forces to rout, and made all that was evil
flee.

One remark on this building, in Billings's architectural account of it,
interested me; and that is, that it is finished with the most
circumstantial elegance and minuteness in those concealed portions which
are excluded, from public view, and which can only be inspected by
laborious climbing or groping; and he accounts for this by the idea that
the whole carving and execution was considered as an act of solemn
worship and adoration, in which the artist offered up his best faculties
to the praise of the Creator.

[Illustration of gargoyles]

After lingering a while here, we went home to our inn or hotel. Now,
these hotels in the small towns of England, if this is any specimen,
are delightful affairs for travellers, they are so comfortable and
home-like. Our snug little parlor was radiant with the light of the coal
grate; our table stood before it, with its bright silver, white cloth,
and delicate china cups; and then such a dish of mutton chops! My dear,
we are all mortal, and emotions of the beautiful and sublime tend
especially to make one hungry. We, therefore, comforted ourselves over
the instability of earthly affairs, and the transitory nature of all
human grandeur, by consolatory remarks on the _present_ whiteness of the
bread, the sweetness of the butter; and as to the chops, all declared,
with one voice, that such mutton was a thing unknown in America. I moved
an emendation, except on the sea coast of Maine. We resolved to cherish
the memory of our little hostess in our heart of hearts, and as we
gathered round the cheery grate, drying our cold feet, we voted that
poetry was a humbug, and damp, old, musty cathedrals a bore. Such are
the inconsistencies of human nature!

"Nevertheless," said I to S----, after dinner, "I am going back again
to-night, to see that abbey by moonlight. I intend to walk the whole
figure while I am about it."

Just on the verge of twilight I stepped out, to see what the town
afforded in the way of relics. To say the truth, my eye had been caught
by some cunning little tubs and pails in a window, which I thought might
be valued in the home department. I went into a shop, where an auld wife
soon appeared, who, in reply to my inquiries, told me, that the said
little tubs and pails were made of plum tree wood from Dryburgh Abbey,
and, of course, partook of the sanctity of relics. She and her husband
seemed to be driving a thriving trade in the article, and either plum
trees must be very abundant at Dryburgh, or what there are must be
gifted with that power of self-multiplication which inheres in the wood
of the true Cross. I bought them in blind faith, however, suppressing
all rationalistic doubts, as a good relic hunter should.

I went up into a little room where an elderly woman professed to have
quite a collection of the Melrose relics. Some years ago extensive
restorations and repairs were made in the old abbey, in which Walter
Scott took a deep interest. At that time, when the scaffolding was up
for repairing the building, as I understood, Scott had the plaster casts
made of different parts, which he afterwards incorporated into his own
dwelling at Abbotsford. I said to the good woman that I had understood
by Washington Irving's account, that Scott appropriated _bona fide_
fragments of the building, and alluded to the account which he gives of
the little red sandstone lion from Melrose. She repelled the idea with
great energy, and said she had often heard Sir Walter say, that he would
not carry off a bit of the building as big as his thumb. She showed me
several plaster casts that she had in her possession, which were taken
at this time. There were several corbels there; one was the head of an
old monk, and looked as if it might have been a mask taken of his face
the moment after death; the eyes were hollow and sunken, the cheeks
fallen in, the mouth lying helplessly open, showing one or two
melancholy old stumps of teeth. I wondered over this, whether it really
was the fac-simile of some poor old Father Ambrose, or Father Francis,
whose disconsolate look, after his death agony, had so struck the gloomy
fancy of the artist as to lead him to immortalize him in a corbel, for a
lasting admonition to his fat worldly brethren; for if we may trust the
old song, these monks of Melrose had rather a suspicious reputation in
the matter of worldly conformity. The impudent ballad says,--

  "O, the monks of Melrose, they made good, kail
    On Fridays, when they fasted;
  They never wanted beef or ale
    As long as their neighbors' lasted."

Naughty, roistering fellows! I thought I could perceive how this poor
Father Francis had worn his life out exhorting them to repentance, and
given up the ghost at last in despair, and so been made at once into a
saint and a corbel.

There were fragments of tracery, of mouldings and cornices, and
grotesque bits of architecture there, which I would have given a good
deal to be the possessor of. Stepping into a little cottage hard by to
speak to the guide about unlocking the gates, when we went out on our
moonlight excursion at midnight, I caught a glimpse, in an inner
apartment, of a splendid, large, black dog. I gave one exclamation and
jump, and was into the room after him.

"Ah," said the old man, "that was just like Sir Walter; he always had an
eye for a dog."

It gave me a kind of pain to think of him and his dogs, all lying in the
dust together; and yet it was pleasant to hear this little remark of
him, as if it were made by those who had often seen, and were fond of
thinking of him. The dog's name was Coal, and he was black enough, and
remarkable enough, to make a figure in a story--a genuine Melrose Abbey
dog. I should not wonder if he were a descendant, in a remote degree, of
the "mauthe doog," that supernatural beast, which Scott commemorates in
his notes. The least touch in the world of such blood in his veins would
be, of course, an appropriate circumstance in a dog belonging to an old
ruined abbey.

Well, I got home, and narrated my adventures to my friends, and showed
them my reliquary purchases, and declared my strengthening intention to
make my ghostly visit by moonlight, if there was any moon to be had that
night, which was a doubtful possibility.

In the course of the evening came in Mr. ----, who had volunteered his
services as guide and attendant during the interesting operation.

"When does the moon rise?" said one.

"O, a little after eleven o'clock, I believe," said Mr. ----.

Some of the party gaped portentously.

"You know," said I, "Scott says we must see it by moonlight; it is one
of the proprieties of the place, as I understand."

"How exquisite that description is, of the effect of moonlight!" says
another.

"I think it probable," says Mr. ----, dryly, "that Scott never saw it by
moonlight himself. He was a man of very regular habits, and seldom went
out evenings."

The blank amazement with which this communication was received set S----
into an inextinguishable fit of laughter.

"But do you really believe he never saw it?" said I, rather crestfallen.

"Well," said the gentleman, "I have heard him charged with never having
seen it, and he never denied it."

Knowing that Scott really was as practical a man as Dr. Franklin, and as
little disposed to poetic extravagances, and an exceedingly sensible,
family kind of person, I thought very probably this might be true,
unless he had seen it some time in his early youth. Most likely good
Mrs. Scott never would have let him commit the impropriety that we were
about to, and run the risk of catching the rheumatism by going out to
see how an old abbey looked at twelve o'clock at night.

We waited for the moon to rise, and of course it did not rise; nothing
ever does when it is waited for. We went to one window, and went to
another; half past eleven came, and no moon. "Let us give it up," said
I, feeling rather foolish. However, we agreed to wait another quarter of
an hour, and finally Mr. ---- announced that the moon _was_ risen; the
only reason we did not see it was, because it was behind the Eildon
Hills. So we voted to consider her risen at any rate, and started out in
the dark, threading the narrow streets of the village with the
comforting reflection that we were doing what Sir Walter would think
rather a silly thing. When we got out before the abbey there was enough
light behind the Eildon Hills to throw their three shadowy cones out
distinctly to view, and to touch with a gloaming, uncertain ray the
ivy-clad walls. As we stood before the abbey, the guide fumbling with
his keys, and finally heard the old lock clash as the door slowly opened
to admit us, I felt a little shiver of the ghostly come over me, just
enough to make it agreeable.

In the daytime we had criticized Walter Scott's moonlight description in
the lines which say,--

  "The distant Tweed is heard, to rave,
  And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave."

"We hear nothing of the Tweed, at any rate," said we; "that must be a
poetic license." But now at midnight, as we walked silently through the
mouldering aisles, the brawl of the Tweed was so distinctly heard that
it seemed as if it was close by the old, lonely pile; nor can any term
describe the sound more exactly than the word "rave," which the poet
has chosen. It was the precise accuracy of this little item of
description which made me feel as if Scott must have been here in the
night. I walked up into the old chancel, and sat down where William of
Deloraine and the monk sat, on the Scottish monarch's tomb, and thought
over the words

  "Strange sounds along the chancel passed,
  And banners wave without a blast;
  Still spake the monk when the bell tolled one."

And while we were there the bell tolled twelve.

And then we went to Michael Scott's grave, and we looked through the
east oriel, with its

  "Slender shafts of shapely stone,
  By foliage tracery combined."

The fanciful outlines showed all the more distinctly for the entire
darkness within, and the gloaming moonlight without. The tall arches
seemed higher in their dimness, and vaster than they did in the daytime.
"Hark!" said I; "what's that?" as we heard a rustling and flutter of
wings in the ivy branches over our heads. Only a couple of rooks, whose
antiquarian slumbers were disturbed by the unwonted noise there at
midnight, and who rose and flew away, rattling down some fragments of
the ruin as they went. It was somewhat odd, but I could not help
fancying, what if these strange, goblin rooks were the spirits of old
monks coming back to nestle and brood among their ancient cloisters!
Rooks are a ghostly sort of bird. I think they were made on purpose to
live in old yew trees and ivy, as much as yew trees and ivy were to grow
round old churches and abbeys. If we once could get inside of a rook's
skull, to find out what he is thinking of, I'll warrant that we should
know a great deal more about these old buildings than we do now. I
should not wonder if there were long traditionary histories handed down
from one generation of rooks to another, and that these are what they
are talking about when we think they are only chattering. I imagine I
see the whole black fraternity the next day, sitting, one on a gargoyle,
one on a buttress, another on a shrine, gossiping over the event of our
nightly visit.

We walked up and down the long aisles, and groped out into the
cloisters; and then I thought, to get the full ghostliness of the
thing, we would go up the old, ruined staircase into the long galleries,
that

  "Midway thread the abbey wall."

We got about half way up, when there came into our faces one of those
sudden, passionate puffs of mist and rain which Scotch clouds seem to
have the faculty of getting up at a minute's notice. Whish! came the
wind in our faces, like the rustling of a whole army of spirits down the
staircase; whereat we all tumbled back promiscuously on to each other,
and concluded we would not go up. In fact we had done the thing, and so
we went home; and I dreamed of arches, and corbels, and gargoyles all
night. And so, farewell to Melrose Abbey.



LETTER IX.


EDINBURGH, April.

My DEAR SISTER:--

Mr. S. and C---- returned from their trip to Glasgow much delighted with
the prospects indicated by the results of the temperance meetings they
attended there.

They were present at the meeting of the Scottish Temperance League, in
an audience of about four thousand people. The reports were encouraging,
and the feeling enthusiastic. One hundred and eighty ministers are on
the list of the League, forming a nucleus of able, talented, and
determined operators. It is the intention to make a movement for a law
which shall secure to Scotland some of the benefits of the Maine law.

It appears to me that on the questions of temperance and antislavery,
the religious communities of the two countries are in a situation
mutually to benefit each other. Our church and ministry have been
through a long struggle and warfare on this temperance question, in
which a very valuable experience has been, elaborated. The religious
people of Great Britain, on the contrary, have led on to a successful
result a great antislavery experiment, wherein their experience and
success can be equally beneficial and encouraging to us.

The day after we returned from Melrose we spent in resting and riding
about, as we had two engagements in the evening--one at a party at the
house of Mr. Douglas, of Cavers, and the other at a public temperance
_soirée_. Mr. Douglas is the author of several works which have excited
attention; but perhaps you will remember him best by his treatise on the
Advancement of Society in Religion and Knowledge. He is what is called
here a "laird," a man of good family, a large landed proprietor, a
zealous reformer, and a very devout man.

We went early to spend a short time with the family. I was a little
surprised, as I entered the hall, to find myself in the midst of a large
circle of well-dressed men and women, who stood apparently waiting to
receive us, and who bowed, courtesied, and smiled as we came in. Mrs. D.
apologized to me afterwards, saying that these were the servants of the
family, that they were exceedingly anxious to see me, and so she had
allowed them all to come into the hall. They were so respectable in
their appearance, and so neatly dressed, that I might almost have
mistaken them for visitors.

We had a very pleasant hour or two with the family, which I enjoyed
exceedingly. Mr. and Mrs. Douglas were full of the most considerate
kindness, and some of the daughters had intimate acquaintances in
America. I enjoy these little glimpses into family circles more than any
thing else; there is no warmth like fireside warmth.

In the evening the rooms were filled. I should think all the clergymen
of Edinburgh must have been there, for I was introduced to ministers
without number. The Scotch have a good many little ways that are like
ours; they call their clergy ministers, as we do. There were many
persons from ancient families, distinguished in Scottish history both
for rank and piety; among others, Lady Carstairs, Sir Henry Moncrief and
lady. There was also the Countess of Gainsborough, one of the ladies of
the queen's household, a very beautiful woman with charming manners,
reminding one of the line of Pope--

  "Graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride."

I was introduced to Dr. John Brown, who is reckoned one of the best
exegetial scholars in Europe. He is small of stature, sprightly, and
pleasant in manners, but with a high bald forehead and snow-white hair.

There were also many members of the faculty of the university. I talked
a little with Dr. Guthrie, whom I described in a former letter. I told
him that one thing which had been an agreeable disappointment to me was,
the apparent cordiality between the members of the Free and the National
church. He seemed to think that the wounds of the old conflict were, to
a great extent, healed. He spoke in high terms of the Duchess of
Sutherland, her affability, kindness, and considerateness to the poor. I
forget from whom I received the anecdote, but somebody told me this of
her--that, one of her servants having lost a relative, she had left a
party where she was engaged, and gone in the plainest attire and
quietest way to attend the funeral. It was remarked upon as showing her
considerateness for the feelings of those in inferior positions.

About nine o'clock we left to go to the temperance _soirée_. It was in
the same place, and conducted in the same way, with the others which I
have described. The lord provost presided, and one or two of the working
men who spoke in the former _soirée_ made speeches, and very good ones
too. The meeting was greatly enlivened by the presence and speech of the
jovial Lord Conynghame, who amused us all by the gallant manner in which
he expressed the warmth of Scottish welcome towards "our American
guests." If it had been in the old times of Scottish hospitality, he
said, he should have proposed a _bumper_ three times three; but as that
could not be done in a temperance meeting, he proposed three cheers, in
which he led off with a hearty good will.

All that the Scotch people need now for the prosperity of their country
is the temperance reformation; and undoubtedly they will have it. They
have good sense and strength of mind enough to work out whatever they
choose.

We went home tired enough.

The next day we had a few calls to make, and an invitation from Lady
Drummond to visit "classic Hawthornden." Accordingly, in the forenoon,
Mr. S. and I called first on Lord and Lady Gainsborough; though, she is
one of the queen's household, she is staying here at Edinburgh, and the
queen at Osborne. I infer therefore that the appointment includes no
very onerous duties. The Earl of Gainsborough is the eldest brother of
Rev. Baptist W. Noel.

Lady Gainsborough is the daughter of the Earl of Roden, who is an Irish
lord of the very strictest Calvinistic persuasion: He is a devout man,
and for many years, we were told, maintained a Calvinistic church of the
English establishment in Paris. While Mr. S. talked with Lord
Gainsborough, I talked with his lady, and Lady Roden, who was present.
Lady Gainsborough inquired about our schools for the poor, and how they
were conducted. I reflected a moment, and then answered that we had no
schools for the poor as such, but the common school was open alike to
all classes.[K]

In England and Scotland, in all classes, from the queen downward, no
movements are so popular as those for the education and elevation of the
poor; one is seldom in company without hearing the conversation turn
upon them.

The conversation generally turned upon the condition of servants in
America. I said that one of the principal difficulties in American
housekeeping proceeded from the fact that there were so many other
openings of profit that very few were found willing to assume the
position of the servant, except as a temporary expedient; in fact, that
the whole idea of service was radically different, it being a mere
temporary contract to render certain services, not differing essentially
from the contract of the mechanic or tradesman. The ladies said they
thought there could be no family feeling among servants if that was the
case; and I replied that, generally speaking, there was none; that old
and attached family servants in the free states were rare exceptions.

This, I know, must look, to persons in old countries, like a hard and
discouraging feature of democracy. I regard it, however, as only a
temporary difficulty. Many institutions among us are in a transition
state. Gradually the whole subject of the relations of labor and the
industrial callings will assume a new form in America, and though we
shall never be able to command the kind of service secured in
aristocratic countries, yet we shall have that which will be as faithful
and efficient. If domestic service can be made as pleasant, profitable,
and respectable as any of the industrial callings, it will soon become
as permanent.

Our next visit was to Sir William Hamilton and lady. Sir William is the
able successor of Dugald Stewart and Dr. Brown in the chair of
intellectual philosophy. His writings have had a wide circulation in
America. He is a man of noble presence, though we were sorry to see that
he was suffering from ill health. It seems to me that Scotland bears
that relation to England, with regard to metaphysical inquiry, that New
England does to the rest of the United States. If one counts over the
names of distinguished metaphysicians, the Scotch, as compared with the
English, number three to one--Reid, Stewart, Brown, all Scotchmen.

Sir William still writes and lectures. He and Mr. S. were soon
discoursing on German, English, Scotch, and American metaphysics, while
I was talking with Lady Hamilton and her daughters. After we came away
Mr. S. said, that no man living had so thoroughly understood and
analyzed the German philosophy. He said that Sir William spoke of a call
which he had received from Professor Park, of Andover, and expressed
himself in high terms of his metaphysical powers.

After that we went to call on George Combe, the physiologist. We found
him and Mrs. Combe in a pleasant, sunny parlor, where, among other
objects of artistic interest, we saw a very fine engraving of Mrs.
Siddons. I was not aware until after leaving that Mrs. Combe is her
daughter. Mr. Combe, though somewhat advanced, seems full of life and
animation, and conversed with a great deal of warmth and interest on
America, where he made a tour some years since. Like other men in Europe
who sympathize in our progress, he was sanguine in the hope that the
downfall of slavery must come at no distant date.

After a pleasant chat here we came home; and after an interval of rest
the carriage was at the door for Hawthornden. It is about seven miles
out from Edinburgh. It is a most romantic spot, on the banks of the
River Esk, now the seat of Mr. James Walker Drummond. Scott has sung in
the ballad of the Gray Brother,--

  Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet,
    By Esk's fair streams that run,
  O'er airy steep, through copse-woods deep,
    Impervious to the sun.

  Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,
    And Roslin's rocky glen,
  Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,
    And classic Hawthornden?

"Melville's beechy grove" is an allusion to the grounds of Lord
Melville, through which we drove on our way. The beech trees here are
magnificent; fully equal to any trees of the sort which I have seen in
our American forests, and they were in full leaf. They do not grow so
high, but have more breadth and a wider sweep of branches; on the whole
they are well worthy of a place in song.

I know in my childhood I often used to wish that I could live in a
ruined castle; and this Hawthornden would be the very beau ideal of one
as a romantic dwelling-place. It is an old castellated house, perched on
the airy verge of a precipice, directly over the beautiful River Esk,
looking down one of the most romantic glens in Scotland. Part of it is
in ruins, and, hung with wreaths of ivy, it seems to stand just to look
picturesque. The house itself, with its quaint, high gables, and gray,
antique walls, appears old enough to take you back to the times of
William Wallace. It is situated within an hour's walk of Roslin Castle
and Chapel, one of the most beautiful and poetic architectural remains
in Scotland.

Our drive to the place was charming. It was a showery day; but every few
moments the sun blinked out, smiling through the falling rain, and
making the wet leaves glitter, and the raindrops wink at each other in
the most sociable manner possible. Arrived at the house, our friend,
Miss S----, took us into a beautiful parlor overhanging the glen, each
window of which commanded a picture better than was ever made on
canvas.

We had a little chat with Lady Drummond, and then we went down to
examine the caverns,--for there are caverns under the house, with long
galleries and passages running from them through the rocks, some way
down the river. Several apartments are hollowed out here in the rock on
which the house is founded, which they told us belonged to Bruce; the
tradition being, that he was hidden here for some months. There was his
bed room, dining room, sitting room, and a very curious apartment where
the walls were all honeycombed into little partitions, which they called
his library, these little partitions being his book shelves. There are
small loophole windows in these apartments, where you can look up and
down the glen, and enjoy a magnificent prospect. For my part, I thought
if I were Bruce, sitting there with a book in my lap, listening to the
gentle brawl of the Esk, looking up and down the glen, watching the
shaking raindrops on the oaks, the birches and beeches, I should have
thought that was better than fighting, and that my pleasant little cave
was as good an arbor on the Hill Difficulty as ever mortal man enjoyed.

There is a ponderous old two-handed sword kept here, said to have
belonged to Sir William Wallace. It is considerably shorter than it was
originally, but, resting on its point, it reached to the chin of a good
six foot gentleman of our party. The handle is made of the horn of a
sea-horse, (if you know what that is,) and has a heavy iron ball at the
end. It must altogether have weighed some ten or twelve pounds. Think of
a man hewing away _on men_ with this!

There is a well in this cavern, down which we were directed to look and
observe a hole in the side; this we were told was the entrance to
another set of caverns and chambers under those in which we were, and
to passages which extended down and opened out into the valley. In the
olden days the approach to these caverns was not through the house, but
through the side of a deep well sunk in the court yard, which
communicates through a subterranean passage with this well. Those
seeking entrance were let down by a windlass into the well in the court
yard, and drawn up by a windlass into this cavern. There was no such
accommodation at present, but we were told some enterprising tourists
had explored the lower caverns. Pleasant kind of times those old days
must have been, when houses had to be built like a rabbit burrow, with
all these accommodations for concealment and escape.

After exploring the caverns we came up into the parlors again, and Miss
S. showed me a Scottish album, in which were all sorts of sketches,
memorials, autographs, and other such matters. What interested me more,
she was making a collection of Scottish ballads, words and tunes. I told
her that I had noticed, since I had been in Scotland, that the young
ladies seemed to take very little interest in the national Scotch airs,
and were all devoted to Italian; moreover, that the Scotch ballads and
memories, which so interested me, seemed to have very little interest
for people generally in Scotland. Miss S. was warm enough in her zeal to
make up a considerable account, and so we got on well together.

While we were sitting, chatting, two young ladies came in, who had
walked up the glen despite the showery day. They were protected by good,
substantial outer garments, of a kind of shag or plush, and so did not
fear the rain. I wanted to walk down to Roslin Castle, but the party
told me there would not be time this afternoon, as we should have to
return at a certain hour. I should not have been reconciled to this, had
not another excursion been proposed for the purpose of exploring
Roslin.

However, I determined to go a little way down the glen, and get a
distant view of it, and my fair friends, the young ladies, offered to
accompany me; so off we started down the winding paths, which were cut
among the banks overhanging the Esk. The ground was starred over with
patches of pale-yellow primroses, and for the first time I saw the
heather, spreading over rocks and matting itself around the roots of
trees. My companions, to whom it was the commonest thing in the world,
could hardly appreciate the delight which I felt in looking at it; it
was not in flower; I believe it does not blossom till some time in July
or August. We have often seen it in greenhouses, and it is so hardy that
it is singular it will not grow wild in America.

We walked, ran, and scrambled to an eminence which commanded a view of
Roslin Chapel, the only view, I fear, which will ever gladden my eyes,
for the promised expedition to it dissolved itself into mist. When on
the hill top, so that I could see the chapel at a distance, I stood
thinking over the ballad of Harold, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, and
the fate of the lovely Rosabel, and saying over to myself the last
verses of the ballad:--

  "O'er Roslin, all that dreary night,
    A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
  'Twas broader than the watchfire's light,
    And redder than the bright moonbeam.

  It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
    It ruddied, all the copsewood glen;
  'Twas seen from Deyden's groves of oak,
    And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

  Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,
    Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie,
  Each baron, for a sable shroud,
    Sheathed in his iron panoply.

  Seemed all on fire within, around,
    Deep sacristy and altar's pale;
  Shone every pillar foliage-bound,
    And glimmered, all the dead men's mail.

  Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
    Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair,
  So will they blaze, when fate is nigh
    The lordly line of high St. Clair.

  There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
    Lie buried, within that proud chapelle;
  Each one the holy vault doth hold;
    But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

  And each St. Clair was buried there,
    With candle, with book, and with knell;
  But the sea caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
    The dirge of lovely Rosabelle."

There are many allusions in this which show Scott's minute habits of
observation; for instance, these two lines:--

  "Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
    Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair."

Every buttress, battlement, and projection of the exterior is incrusted
with the most elaborate floral and leafy carving, among which the rose
is often repeated, from its suggesting, by similarity of sound, Roslin.

Again, this line--

  "Shone every pillar foliage-bound"--

suggests to the mind the profusion and elaborateness of the leafy
decorations in the inside. Among these, one pillar, garlanded with
spiral wreaths of carved foliage, is called the "Apprentice's Pillar;"
the tradition being, that while the master was gone to Rome to get some
further hints on executing the plan, a precocious young mason, whom he
left at home, completed it in his absence. The master builder summarily
knocked him on the head, as a warning to all progressive young men not
to grow wiser than their teachers. Tradition points out the heads of the
master and workmen among the corbels. So you see, whereas in old Greek
times people used to point out their celebrities among the stars, and
gave a defunct hero a place in the constellations, in the middle ages he
only got a place among the corbels.

I am increasingly sorry that I was beguiled out of my personal
examination of this chapel, since I have seen the plates of it in my
Baronial Sketches. It is the rival of Melrose, but more elaborate; in
fact, it is a perfect cataract of architectural vivacity and ingenuity,
as defiant of any rules of criticism and art as the leaf-embowered
arcades and arches of our American forest cathedrals. From the
comparison of the plates of the engravings, I should judge there was
less delicacy of taste, and more exuberance of invention, than in
Melrose. One old prosaic commentator on it says that it is quite
remarkable that there are no two cuts in it precisely alike; each
buttress, window, and pillar is unique, though with such a general
resemblance to each other as to deceive the eye.

It was built in 1446, by William St. Clair, who was Prince of Orkney,
Duke of Oldenburgh, Lord of Roslin, Earl of Caithness and Strathearn,
and so on _ad infinitum_. He was called the "Seemly St. Clair," from his
noble deportment and elegant manners; resided in royal splendor at this
Castle of Roslin, and kept a court there as Prince of Orkney. His table
was served with vessels of gold and silver, and he had one lord for his
master of household, one for his cup bearer, and one for his carver. His
princess, Elizabeth Douglas, was served by seventy-five gentlewomen,
fifty-three of whom were daughters of noblemen, and they were attended
in all their excursions by a retinue of two hundred gentlemen.

These very woods and streams, which now hear nothing but the murmurs of
the Esk, were all alive with the bustle of a court in those days.

The castle was now distinctly visible; it stands on an insulated rock,
two hundred and twenty yards from the chapel. It has under it a set of
excavations and caverns almost equally curious with those of
Hawthornden; there are still some tolerably preserved rooms in it, and
Mrs. W. informed me that they had once rented these rooms for a summer
residence. What a delightful idea! The barons of Roslin were all buried
under this Chapel, in their armor, as Scott describes in the poem. And
as this family were altogether more than common folks, it is perfectly
credible that on the death of one of them a miraculous light should
illuminate the castle, chapel, and whole neighborhood.

It appears, by certain ancient documents, that this high and mighty
house of St. Clair were in a particular manner patrons of the masonic
craft. It is known that the trade of masonry was then in the hands of a
secret and mysterious order, from whom probably our modern masons have
descended.

The St. Clair family, it appears, were at the head of this order, with
power to appoint officers and places of meeting, to punish
transgressors, and otherwise to have the superintendence of all their
affairs. This fact may account for such a perfect Geyser of
architectural ingenuity as has been poured out upon their family chapel,
which was designed for a _chef-d'oeuvre_, a concentration of the best
that could be done to the honor of their patron's family. The documents
which authenticate this statement are described in Billings's Baronial
Antiquities. So much for "the lordly line of high St. Clair."

When we came back to the house, and after taking coffee in the drawing
room, Miss S. took me over the interior, a most delightful place, full
of all sorts of out-of-the-way snuggeries, and comfortable corners, and
poetic irregularities. There she showed me a picture of one of the early
ancestors of the family, the poet Drummond, hanging in a room, which
tradition has assigned to him. It represents a man with a dark,
Spanish-looking face, with the broad Elizabethan ruff, earnest,
melancholy eyes, and an air half cavalier, half poet, bringing to mind
the chivalrous, graceful, fastidious bard, accomplished scholar, and
courtier of his time, the devout believer in the divine right of kings,
and of the immunities and privileges of the upper class generally. This
Drummond, it seems, was early engaged to a fair young lady, whose death
rendered his beautiful retreat of Hawthornden insupportable to him, and
of course, like other persons of romance, he sought refuge in foreign
travel, went abroad, and remained eight years. Afterwards he came back,
married, and lived here for some time.

Among other traditions of the place, it is said that Ben Jonson once
walked all the way from London to visit the poet in this retreat; and a
tree is still shown on the grounds under which they are said to have
met. It seems that Ben's habits were rather too noisy and convivial to
meet altogether the taste of his fastidious and aristocratic host; and
so he had his own thoughts of him, which, being written down in a diary,
were published by some indiscreet executor, after they were both dead.

We were shown an old, original edition of the poems. I must confess I
never read them. Since I have seen the material the poet and novelist
has on this ground, all I wonder at is, that there have not been a
thousand poets to one. I should have thought they would have been as
plenty as the mavis and merle, and sprouting out every where, like the
primroses and heather bells.

Our American literature is unfortunate in this respect--that our nation
never had any childhood, our day never had any dawn; so we have very
little traditionary lore to work over.

We came home about five o'clock, and had some company in the evening.
Some time to-day I had a little chat with Mrs. W. on the Quakers. She is
a cultivated and thoughtful woman, and seemed to take quite impartial
views, and did not consider her own sect as by any means the only form
of Christianity, but maintained--what every sensible person must grant,
I think--that it has had an important mission in society, even in its
peculiarities. I inferred from her conversation that the system of plain
dress, maintained with the nicety which they always use, is by no means
a saving in a pecuniary point of view. She stated that one young friend,
who had been brought up in this persuasion, gave it as her reason for
not adopting its peculiar dress, that she could not afford it; that is
to say, that for a given sum of money she could make a more creditable
appearance were she allowed the range of form, shape, and trimming,
which the ordinary style of dressing permits.

I think almost any lady, who knows the magical value of bits of
trimming, and bows of ribbon judiciously adjusted in critical locations,
of inserting, edging, and embroidery, considered as economic arts, must
acknowledge that there is some force in the young lady's opinion.
Nevertheless the Doric simplicity of a Quaker lady's dress, who is in
circumstances to choose her material, has a peculiar charm. As at
present advised, the Quaker ladies whom I have seen very judiciously
adhere to the spirit of plain attire, without troubling themselves to
maintain the exact letter. For instance, a plain straw cottage, with its
white satin ribbon, is sometimes allowed to take the place of the close
silk bonnet of Fox's day.

For my part, while I reverence the pious and unworldly spirit which
dictated the peculiar forms of the Quaker sect, I look for a higher
development of religion still, when all the beautiful artistic faculties
of the soul being wholly sanctified and offered up to God, we shall no
longer shun beauty in any of its forms, either in dress or household
adornment, as a temptation, but rather offer it up as a sacrifice to Him
who has set us the example, by making every thing beautiful in its
season.

As to art and letters, I find many of my Quaker friends sympathizing in
those judicious views which were taken by the society of Friends in
Philadelphia, when Benjamin West developed a talent for painting,
regarding such talent as an indication of the will of Him who had
bestowed it. So I find many of them taking pleasure in the poetry of
Scott, Longfellow, and Whittier, as developments of his wisdom who gives
to the human soul its different faculties and inspirations.

More delightful society than a cultivated Quaker family cannot be found:
the truthfulness, genuineness, and simplicity of character, albeit not
wanting, at proper times, a shrewd dash of worldly wisdom, are very
refreshing.

Mrs. W. and I went to the studio of Hervey, the Scotch artist. Both he
and his wife received us with great kindness. I saw there his
Covenanters celebrating the Lord's Supper--a picture which I could not
look at critically on account of the tears which kept blinding my eyes.
It represents a bleak hollow of a mountain side, where a few trembling
old men and women, a few young girls and children, with one or two young
men, are grouped together, in that moment of hushed prayerful repose
which precedes the breaking of the sacramental bread. There is something
touching always about that worn, weary look of rest and comfort with
which a sick child lies down on a mother's bosom, and like this is the
expression with which these hunted fugitives nestle themselves beneath
the shadow of their Redeemer; mothers who had seen their sons "tortured,
not accepting deliverance"--wives who had seen the blood of their
husbands poured out on their doorstone--children with no father but
God--and bereaved old men, from whom, every child had been rent--all
gathering for comfort round the cross of a suffering Lord. In such hours
they found strength to suffer, and to say to every allurement of worldly
sense and pleasure as the drowning Margaret Wilson said to the tempters
in her hour of martyrdom, "I am _Christ's child_--let me go."

Another most touching picture of Hervey's commemorates a later scene of
Scottish devotion and martyr endurance scarcely below that of the days
of the Covenant. It is called Leaving the Manse.

We in America all felt to our heart's core a sympathy with that high
endurance which led so many Scottish ministers to forsake their
churches, their salaries, the happy homes where their children were born
and their days passed, rather than violate a principle.

This picture is a monument of this struggle. There rises the manse
overgrown with its flowering vines, the image of a lovely, peaceful
home. The minister's wife, a pale, lovely creature, is just locking the
door, out of which her husband and family have passed--leaving it
forever. The husband and father is supporting on his arm an aged, feeble
mother, and the weeping children are gathering sorrowfully round him,
each bearing away some memorial of their home; one has the bird cage.
But the unequalled look of high, unshaken patience, of heroic faith, and
love which seems to spread its light over every face, is what I cannot
paint. The painter told me that the faces were _portraits_, and the
scene by no means imaginary.

But did not these sacrifices bring with them, even in their bitterness,
a joy the world knoweth not? Yes, they did. I know it full well, not
vainly did Christ say, There is no man that hath left houses or lands
for my sake and the gospel's but he shall receive manifold more _in this
life_.

Mr. Hervey kindly gave me the engraving of his Covenanters' Sacrament,
which I shall keep as a memento of him and of Scotland.

His style of painting is forcible and individual. He showed us the
studies that he has taken with his palette and brushes out on the
mountains and moors of Scotland, painting moss, and stone, and brook,
just as it is. This is the way to be a national painter.

One pleasant evening, not long before we left Edinburgh, C., S., and I
walked out for a quiet stroll. We went through the Grass Market, where
so many defenders of the Covenant have suffered, and turned into the
churchyard of the Gray Friars; a gray, old Gothic building, with
multitudes of graves around it. Here we saw the tombs of Allan Ramsay
and many other distinguished characters. The grim, uncouth sculpture on
the old graves, and the quaint epitaphs, interested me much; but I was
most moved by coming quite unexpectedly on an ivy-grown slab, in the
wall, commemorating the martyrs of the Covenant. The inscription struck
me so much, that I got C---- to copy it in his memorandum book.

  "Halt, passenger! take heed what you do see.
  Here lies interred the dust of those who stood
  'Gainst perjury, resisting unto blood,
  Adhering to the Covenant, and laws
  Establishing the same; which was the cause
  Their lives were sacrificed unto the last
  Of prelatists abjured, though here their dust
  Lies mixed with murderers and other crew
  Whom justice justly did to death pursue;
  But as for them, no cause was to be found
  Worthy of death, but only they were found
  Constant and steadfast, witnessing
  For the prerogatives of Christ their King;
  Which truths were sealed, by famous Guthrie's head,
  And all along to Mr. Renwick's blood
  They did endure the wrath of enemies,
  Reproaches, torments, deaths, and injuries;
  But yet they're those who from such troubles came
  And triumph now in glory with the Lamb.

     "From May 27, 1681, when the Marquis of Argyle was beheaded, to
     February 17, 1688, when James Renwick suffered, there were some
     eighteen thousand one way or other murdered, of whom were executed
     at Edinburgh about one hundred noblemen, ministers, and gentlemen,
     and others, noble martyrs for Christ."

Despite the roughness of the verse, there is a thrilling power in these
lines. People in gilded houses, on silken couches, at ease among books,
and friends, and literary pastimes, may sneer at the Covenanters; it is
much easier to sneer than to die for truth and right, as they died.
Whether they were right in all respects is nothing to the purpose; but
it is to the purpose that in a crisis of their country's history they
upheld a great principle vital to her existence. Had not these men held
up the heart of Scotland, and kept alive the fire of liberty on her
altars, the very literature which has been used to defame them could not
have had its existence. The very literary celebrity of Scotland has
grown out of their grave; for a vigorous and original literature is
impossible, except to a strong, free, self-respecting people. The
literature of a people must spring from the sense of its nationality;
and nationality is impossible without self-respect, and self-respect is
impossible without liberty.

It is one of the trials of our mortal state, one of the disciplines of
our virtue, that the world's benefactors and reformers are so often
without form or comeliness. The very force necessary to sustain the
conflict makes them appear unlovely; they "tread the wine press alone,
and of the people there is none with them." The shrieks, and groans, and
agonies of men wrestling in mortal combat are often not graceful or
gracious; but the comments that the children of the Puritans, and the
children of the Covenanters, make on the ungraceful and severe elements
which marked the struggles of their great fathers, are as ill-timed as
if a son, whom a mother had just borne from a burning dwelling, should
criticize the shrieks with which she sought him, and point out to
ridicule the dishevelled hair and singed garments which show how she
struggled for his life. But these are they which are "sown in weakness,
but raised in power; which are sown in dishonor, but raised in glory:"
even in this world they will have their judgment day, and their names
which went down in the dust like a gallant banner trodden in the mire,
shall rise again all glorious in the sight of nations.

The evening sky, glowing red, threw out the bold outline of the castle,
and the quaint old edifices as they seemed to look down on us silently
from their rocky heights, and the figure of Salisbury Crags marked
itself against the red sky like a couchant lion.

The time of our sojourn in Scotland had drawn towards its close. Though
feeble in health, this visit to me has been full of enjoyment; full of
lofty, but sad memories; full of sympathies and inspirations. I think
there is no nobler land, and I pray God that the old seed here sown in
blood and tears may never be rooted out of Scotland.



LETTER X.


MY DEAR H.:--

It was a rainy, misty morning when I left my kind retreat and friends in
Edinburgh. Considerate as every body had been about imposing on my time
or strength, still you may well believe that I was much exhausted.

We left Edinburgh, therefore, with the determination to plunge at once
into some hidden and unknown spot, where we might spend two or three
days quietly by ourselves; and remembering your Sunday at
Stratford-on-Avon, I proposed that we should go there. As Stratford,
however, is off the railroad line we determined to accept the
invitation, which was lying by us, from our friend Joseph Sturge, of
Birmingham, and take sanctuary with him. So we wrote on, intrusting him
with the secret, and charging him on no account to let any one know of
our arrival.

Well in the rail car, we went whirling along by Preston Pans, where was
fought the celebrated battle in which Colonel Gardiner was killed; by
Dunbar, where Cromwell told his army to "trust in God and keep their
powder dry;" through Berwick-on-the-Tweed and Newcastle-on-Tyne; by the
old towers and gates of York, with its splendid cathedral; getting a
view of Durham Cathedral in the distance.

The country between Berwick and Newcastle is one of the greatest
manufacturing districts of England, and for smoke, smut, and gloom,
Pittsburg and Wheeling bear no comparison to it. The English sky,
always paler and cooler in its tints than ours, here seems to be turned
into a leaden canopy; tall chimneys belch forth gloom and confusion;
houses, factories, fences, even trees and grass, look grim and sooty.

It is true that people with immense wealth can live in such regions in
cleanliness and elegance; but how must it be with the poor? I know of no
one circumstance more unfavorable to moral purity than the necessity of
being physically dirty. Our nature is so intensely symbolical, that
where the outward sign of defilement becomes habitual, the inner is too
apt to correspond. I am quite sure that before there can be a universal
millennium, trade must be pursued in such a way as to enable the working
classes to realize something of beauty and purity in the circumstances
of their outward life.

I have heard there is a law before the British Parliament, whose
operation is designed to purify the air of England by introducing
chimneys which shall consume all the sooty particles which now float
about, obscuring the air and carrying defilement with them. May that day
be hastened!

At Newcastle-on-Tyne and some other places various friends came out to
meet us, some of whom presented us with most splendid bouquets of
hothouse flowers. This region has been the seat of some of the most
zealous and efficient antislavery operations in England.

About night our cars whizzed into the depot at Birmingham; but just
before we came in a difficulty was started in the company. "Mr. Sturge
is to be there waiting for us, but he does not know us, and we don't
know him; what is to be done?" C---- insisted that he should know him by
instinct; and so after we reached the depot, we told him to sally out
and try. Sure enough, in a few moments he pitched upon a cheerful,
middle-aged gentleman, with a moderate but not decisive broad brim to
his hat, and challenged him as Mr. Sturge; the result verified the truth
that "instinct is a great matter." In a few moments our new friend and
ourselves were snugly encased in a fly, trotting off as briskly as ever
we could to his place at Edgbaston, nobody a whit the wiser. You do not
know how snug we felt to think we had done it so nicely.

The carriage soon drove in upon a gravel walk, winding among turf,
flowers, and shrubs, where we found opening to us another home as warm
and kindly as the one we had just left, made doubly interesting by the
idea of entire privacy and seclusion.

After retiring to our chambers to repair the ravages of travel, we
united in the pleasant supper room, where the table was laid before a
bright coal fire: no unimportant feature this fire, I can assure you, in
a raw cloudy evening. A glass door from the supper room opened into a
conservatory, brilliant with pink and yellow azalias, golden
calceolarias, and a profusion of other beauties, whose names I did not
know.

The side tables were strewn with books, and the ample folds of the drab
curtains, let down over the windows, shut out the rain, damp, and chill.
When we were gathered round the table, Mr. Sturge said that he had
somewhat expected Elihu Burritt that evening, and we all hoped he would
come. I must not omit to say, that the evening circle was made more
attractive and agreeable in my eyes by the presence of two or three of
the little people, who were blessed with the rosy cheek of English
children.

Mr. Sturge is one of the most prominent and efficient of the
philanthropists of modern days. An air of benignity and easy good
nature veils and conceals in him the most unflinching perseverance and
energy of purpose. He has for many years been a zealous advocate of the
antislavery cause in England, taking up efficiently the work begun by
Clarkson and Wilberforce. He, with a friend of the same denomination,
made a journey at their own expense, to investigate the workings of the
apprentice system, by which the act of immediate emancipation in the
West Indies was for a while delayed. After his return he sustained a
rigorous examination of seven days before a committee of the House of
Commons, the result of which successfully demonstrated the abuses of
that system, and its entire inutility for preparing either masters or
servants for final emancipation. This evidence went as far as any thing
to induce Parliament to declare immediate and entire emancipation.

Mr. Sturge also has been equally zealous and engaged in movements for
the ignorant and perishing classes at home. At his own expense he has
sustained a private Farm School for the reformation of juvenile
offenders, and it has sometimes been found that boys, whom no severity
and no punishment seemed to affect, have been entirely melted and
subdued by the gentler measures here employed. He has also taken a very
ardent and decided part in efforts for the extension of the principles
of peace, being a warm friend and supporter of Elihu Burritt.

The next morning it was agreed that we should take our drive to
Stratford-on-Avon. As yet this shrine of pilgrims stands a little aloof
from the bustle of modern progress, and railroad cars do not run
whistling and whisking with brisk officiousness by the old church and
the fanciful banks of the Avon.

The country that we were to pass over was more peculiarly old English;
that phase of old English which is destined soon to pass away, under the
restless regenerating force of modern progress.

Our ride along was a singular commixture of an upper and under current
of thought. Deep down in our hearts we were going back to English days;
the cumbrous, quaint, queer, old, picturesque times; the dim, haunted
times between cock-crowing and morning; those hours of national
childhood, when popular ideas had the confiding credulity, the poetic
vivacity, and versatile life, which distinguish children from grown
people.

No one can fail to feel, in reading any of the plays of Shakspeare, that
he was born in an age of credulity and marvels, and that the materials
out of which his mind was woven were dyed in the grain, in the haunted
springs of tradition. It would have been as absolutely impossible for
even himself, had he been born in the daylight of this century, to have
built those quaint, Gothic structures of imagination, and tinted them
with their peculiar coloring of marvellousness and mystery, as for a
modern artist to originate and execute the weird designs of an ancient
cathedral. Both Gothic architecture and this perfection of Gothic poetry
were the springing and efflorescence of that age, impossible to grow
again. They were the forest primeval; other trees may spring in their
room, trees as mighty and as fair, but not such trees.

So, as we rode along, our speculations and thoughts in the under current
were back in the old world of tradition. While, on the other hand, for
the upper current, we were keeping up a brisk conversation on the peace
question, on the abolition of slavery, on the possibility of ignoring
slave-grown produce, on Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright, and, in fact, on all
the most wide-awake topics of the present day.

One little incident occurred upon the road. As we were passing by a
quaint old mansion, which stood back from the road, surrounded by a deep
court, Mr. S. said to me, "There is a friend here who would like to see
thee, if thou hast no objections," and went on to inform me that she was
an aged woman, who had taken a deep interest in the abolition of slavery
since the time of its first inception under Clarkson and Wilberforce,
though now lying very low on a sick bed. Of course we all expressed our
willingness to stop, and the carriage was soon driving up the gravelled
walk towards the house. We were ushered into a comfortable sitting room,
which looked out on beautiful grounds, where the velvet grass, tall,
dark trees, and a certain quaint air of antiquity in disposition and
arrangement, gave me a singular kind of pleasure; the more so, that it
came to me like a dream; that the house and the people were unknown to
me, and the whole affair entirely unexpected.

I was soon shown into a neat chamber, where an aged woman was lying in
bed. I was very much struck and impressed by her manner of receiving me.
With deep emotion and tears, she spoke of the solemnity and sacredness
of the cause which had for years lain near her heart. There seemed to be
something almost prophetic in the solemn strain of assurance with which
she spoke of the final extinction of slavery throughout the world.

I felt both pleased and sorrowful. I felt sorrowful because I knew, if
all true Christians in America had the same feelings, that men, women,
and children, for whom Christ died, would no more be sold in my country
on the auction block.

There have been those in America who have felt and prayed thus nobly and
sincerely for the heathen in Burmah and Hindostan, and that sentiment
was a beautiful and an ennobling one; but, alas! the number has been few
who have felt and prayed for the heathenism, and shame of our own
country; for the heathenism which sells the very members of the body of
Christ as merchandise.

When we were again on the road, we were talking on the change of times
in England since railroads began; and Mr. S. gave an amusing description
of how the old lords used to travel in state, with their coaches and
horses, when they went up once a year on a solemn pilgrimage to London,
with postilions and outriders, and all the country gaping and wondering
after them.

"I wonder," said one of us, "if Shakspeare were living, what he would
say to our times, and what he would think of all the questions that are
agitating the world now." That he did have thoughts whose roots ran far
beyond the depth of the age in which he lived, is plain enough from
numberless indications in his plays; but whether he would have taken any
practical interest in the world's movements is a fair question. The
poetic mind is not always the progressive one; it has, like moss and
ivy, a need for something old to cling to and germinate upon. The
artistic temperament, too, is soft and sensitive; so there are all these
reasons for thinking that perhaps he would have been for keeping out of
the way of the heat and dust of modern progress. It does not follow
because a man has penetration to see an evil, he has energy to reform
it.

Erasmus saw all that Luther saw just as clearly, but he said that he had
rather never have truth at all, than contend for it with the world in
such a tumult. However, on the other hand, England did, in Milton, have
one poet who girt himself up to the roughest and stormiest work of
reformation; so it is not quite certain, after all, that Shakspeare
might not have been a reformer in our times. One thing is quite certain,
that he would have said very shrewd things about all the matters that
move the world now, as he certainly did about all matters that he was
cognizant of in his own day.

It was a little before noon when we drove into Stratford, by which time,
with our usual fatality in visiting poetic shrines, the day had melted
off into a kind of drizzling mist, strongly suggestive of a downright
rain. It is a common trick these English days have; the weather here
seems to be possessed of a water spirit. This constant drizzle is good
for ivies, and hawthorns, and ladies' complexions, as whoever travels
here will observe, but it certainly is very bad for tourists.

This Stratford is a small town, of between three and four thousand
inhabitants, and has in it a good many quaint old houses, and is
characterized (so I thought) by an air of respectable, stand-still, and
meditative repose, which, I am afraid, will entirely give way before the
railroad demon, for I understand that it is soon to be connected by the
Oxford, Worcester, and Wolverhampton line with all parts of the kingdom.
Just think of that black little screeching imp rushing through these
fields which have inspired so many fancies; how every thing poetical
will fly before it! Think of such sweet snatches as these set to the
tune of a railroad whistle:--

  "Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
    And Phoebus 'gins to rise,
  His steeds to water at those springs
    On chaliced flowers that lies.

  And winking Mary-buds begin
    To ope their golden eyes,
  With everything that pretty bid
    My lady sweet to rise."

And again:--

  "Philomel with melody sing in our sweet lullaby,
    Lulla, lulla, lullaby.
  Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
    Come our lovely lady nigh."

I suppose the meadows, with their "winking Mary-buds," will be all cut
up into building lots in the good times coming, and Philomel caught and
put in a cage to sing to tourists at threepence a head.

We went to the White Lion, and soon had a little quiet parlor to
ourselves, neatly carpeted, with a sofa drawn up to the cheerful coal
fire, a good-toned piano, and in short every thing cheerful and
comfortable.

At first we thought we were too tired to do any thing till after dinner;
we were going to take time to rest ourselves and proceed leisurely; so,
while the cloth was laying, C---- took possession of the piano, and I of
the sofa, till Mr. S. came in upon us, saying, "Why, Shakspeare's house
is right the next door here!" Upon that we got up, just to take a peep,
and from peeping we proceeded to looking, and finally put on our things
and went over _seriatim_. The house has recently been bought by a
Shakspearian club, who have taken upon themselves the restoration and
preservation of the premises.

Shakspeare's father, it seems, was a man of some position and substance
in his day, being high sheriff and justice of the peace for the borough;
and this house, therefore, I suppose, may be considered a specimen of
the respectable class of houses in the times of Queen Elizabeth. This
cut is taken from an old print, and is supposed to represent the
original condition of the house.

We saw a good many old houses somewhat similar to this on the road,
particularly resembling it in this manner of plastering, which shows all
the timber on the outside. Parts of the house have been sold, altered,
and used for various purposes; a butcher's stall having been kept in a
part of it, and a tavern in another portion, being new-fronted with
brick.

The object of this Shakspeare Club has been to repurchase all these
parts, and restore them as nearly as possible to their primeval
condition. The part of the house which is shown consists of a lower
room, which is floored with flat stones very much broken. It has a wide,
old-fashioned chimney on one side, and opens into a smaller room back of
it. From thence you go up a rude flight of stairs to a low-studded room,
with rough-plastered walls, where the poet was born.

The prints of this room, which are generally sold, allow themselves in
considerable poetic license, representing it in fact as quite an elegant
apartment, whereas, though it is kept scrupulously neat and clean, the
air of it is ancient and rude. This is a somewhat flattered likeness.
The roughly-plastered walls are so covered with names that it seemed
impossible to add another. The name of almost every modern genius, names
of kings, princes, dukes, are shown here; and it is really curious to
see by what devices some very insignificant personages have endeavored
to make their own names conspicuous in the crowd. Generally speaking the
inscription books and walls of distinguished places tend to give great
force to the Vulgate rendering of Ecclesiastes i. 15, "The number of
fools is infinite."

To add a name in a private, modest way to walls already so crowded, is
allowable; but to scrawl one's name, place of birth, and country, half
across a wall, covering scores of names under it, is an operation which
speaks for itself. No one would ever want to know more of a man than to
see his name there and thus.

Back of this room were some small bed rooms, and what interested me
much, a staircase leading up into a dark garret. I could not but fancy I
saw a bright-eyed, curly-headed boy creeping up those stairs, zealous to
explore the mysteries of that dark garret. There perhaps he saw the cat,
with "eyne of burning coal, crouching 'fore the mouse's hole." Doubtless
in this old garret were wonderful mysteries to him, curious stores of
old cast-off goods and furniture, and rats, and mice, and cobwebs. I
fancied the indignation of some belligerent grandmother or aunt, who
finds Willie up there watching a mouse hole, with the cat, and has him
down straightway, grumbling that Mary did not govern that child better.

We know nothing who this Mary was that was his mother; but one sometimes
wonders where in that coarse age, when queens and ladies talked
familiarly, as women would blush to talk now, and when the broad, coarse
wit of the Merry Wives of Windsor was gotten up to suit the taste of a
virgin queen,--one wonders, I say, when women were such and so, where he
found those models of lily-like purity, women so chaste in soul and
pure in language that they could not even bring their lips to utter a
word of shame. Desdemona cannot even bring herself to speak the coarse
word with which her husband taunts her; she cannot make herself believe
that there are women in the world who could stoop-to such grossness.[L]

For my part I cannot believe that, in such an age, such deep
heart-knowledge of pure womanhood could have come otherwise than by the
impression on the child's soul of a mother's purity. I seem to have a
vision of one of those women whom the world knows not of, silent,
deep-hearted, loving, whom the coarser and more practically efficient
jostle aside and underrate for their want of interest in the noisy
chitchat and commonplace of the day; but who yet have a sacred power,
like that of the spirit of peace, to brood with dovelike wings over the
childish heart, and quicken into life the struggling, slumbering
elements of a sensitive nature.

I cannot but think, in that beautiful scene, where he represents
Desdemona as amazed and struck dumb with the grossness and brutality of
the charges which had been thrown upon her, yet so dignified in the
consciousness of her own purity, so magnanimous in the power of
disinterested, forgiving love, that he was portraying no ideal
excellence, but only reproducing, under fictitious and supposititious
circumstances, the patience, magnanimity, and enduring love which had
shone upon him in the household words and ways of his mother.

It seemed to me that in that bare and lowly chamber I saw a vision of a
lovely face which was the first beauty that dawned on those childish
eyes, and heard that voice whose lullaby tuned his ear to an exquisite
sense of cadence and rhythm. I fancied that, while she thus serenely
shone upon, him like a benignant star, some rigorous grand-aunt took
upon her the practical part of his guidance, chased up his wanderings to
the right and left, scolded him for wanting to look out of the window
because his little climbing toes left their mark on the neat wall, or
rigorously arrested him when his curly head was seen bobbing off at the
bottom of the street, following a bird, or a dog, or a showman;
intercepting him in some happy hour when he was aiming to strike off on
his own account to an adjoining field for "winking Mary-buds;" made long
sermons to him on the wickedness of muddying his clothes and wetting his
new shoes, (if he had any,) and told him that something dreadful would
come out of the graveyard and catch him if he was not a better boy,
imagining that if it were not for her bustling activity Willie would go
straight to destruction.

I seem, too, to have a kind of perception of Shakspeare's father; a
quiet, God-fearing, thoughtful man, given to the reading of good books,
avoiding quarrels with a most Christian-like fear, and with but small
talent, either in the way of speech making or money getting; a man who
wore his coat with an easy slouch, and who seldom knew where his money
went to.

All these things I seemed to perceive as if a sort of vision had
radiated from the old walls; there seemed to be the rustling of garments
and the sound of voices in the deserted rooms; the pattering of feet on
the worm-eaten staircase; the light of still, shady summer afternoons, a
hundred years ago, seemed to fall through the casements and lie upon the
floor. There was an interest to every thing about the house, even to
the quaint iron fastenings about the windows; because those might have
arrested that child's attention, and been dwelt on in some dreamy hour
of infant thought. The fires that once burned in those old chimneys, the
fleeting sparks, the curling smoke, and glowing coals, all may have
inspired their fancies. There is a strong tinge of household coloring in
many parts of Shakspeare, imagery that could only have come from such
habits of quiet, household contemplation. See, for example, this
description of the stillness of the house, after all are gone to bed at
night:--

  "Now sleep yslaked hath the rout;
  No din but snores, the house about,
  Made louder by the o'er-fed breast
  Of this most pompous marriage feast.
  The cat, with, eyne of burning coal,
  Now crouches 'fore the mouse's hole;
  And, crickets sing at th' oven's mouth,
  As the blither for their drouth."

Also this description of the midnight capers of the fairies about the
house, from Midsummer Night's Dream:--

  PUCK.  "Now the hungry lion roars,
           And the wolf behowls the moon;
         Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
           All with, weary task fordone.
         Now the wasted brands do glow,
           Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
         Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
           In remembrance of a shroud.
         Now it is the time of night,
           That the graves all gaping wide,
         Every one lets forth his sprite,
           In the churchway paths to glide:

         And we fairies that do run
           By the triple Hecate's team,
         From the presence of the sun,
           Following darkness like a dream,
         Now are frolic; not a mouse
         Shall disturb this hallowed house:
         I am sent with, broom, before,
         To sweep the dust behind the door.

  OBE.   Through this house give glimmering light,
           By the dead and drowsy fire:
         Every elf, and fairy sprite,
           Hop as light as bird, from brier;
         And this ditty after me
         Sing, and dance it trippingly."

By the by, one cannot but be struck with the resemblance, in the spirit
and coloring of these lines, to those very similar ones in the Penseroso
of Milton:--

  "Far from all resort of mirth,
  Save the cricket on the hearth,
  Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
  To bless the doors from nightly harm;
  While glowing embers, through the room,
  Teach light to counterfeit a gloom."

I have often noticed how much the first writings of Milton resemble in
their imagery and tone of coloring those of Shakspeare, particularly in
the phraseology and manner of describing flowers. I think, were a
certain number of passages from Lycidas and Comus interspersed with a
certain number from Midsummer Night's Dream, the imagery, tone of
thought, and style of coloring, would be found so nearly identical, that
it would be difficult for one not perfectly familiar to distinguish
them. You may try it.

That Milton read and admired Shakspeare is evident from his allusion to
him in L'Allegro. It is evident, however, that Milton's taste had been
so formed by the Greek models, that he was not entirely aware of all
that was in Shakspeare; he speaks of him as a sweet, fanciful warbler,
and it is exactly in sweetness and fancifulness that he seems to have
derived benefit from him. In his earlier poems, Milton seems, like
Shakspeare, to have let his mind run freely, as a brook warbles over
many-colored pebbles; whereas in his great poem he built after models.
Had he known as little Latin and Greek as Shakspeare, the world, instead
of seeing a well-arranged imitation of the ancient epics from his pen,
would have seen inaugurated a new order of poetry.

An unequalled artist, who should build after the model of a Grecian
temple, would doubtless produce a splendid and effective building,
because a certain originality always inheres in genius, even when
copying; but far greater were it to invent an entirely new style of
architecture, as different as the Gothic from the Grecian. This merit
was Shakspeare's. He was a superb Gothic poet; Milton, a magnificent
imitator of old forms, which by his genius were wrought almost into the
energy of new productions.

I think Shakspeare is to Milton precisely what Gothic architecture is to
Grecian, or rather to the warmest, most vitalized reproductions of the
Grecian; there is in Milton a calm, severe majesty, a graceful and
polished inflorescence of ornament, that produces, as you look upon it,
a serene, long, strong ground-swell of admiration and approval. Yet
there is a cold unity of expression, that calls into exercise only the
very highest range of our faculties: there is none of that wreathed
involution of smiles and tears, of solemn earnestness and quaint
conceits; those sudden uprushings of grand and magnificent sentiment,
like the flame-pointed arches of cathedrals; those ranges of fancy, half
goblin, half human; those complications of dizzy magnificence with fairy
lightness; those streamings of many-colored light; those carvings
wherein every natural object is faithfully reproduced, yet combined into
a kind of enchantment: the union of all these is in Shakspeare, and not
in Milton. Milton had one most glorious phase of humanity in its
perfection; Shakspeare had all united; from the "deep and dreadful"
sub-bass of the organ to the most aerial warbling of its highest key,
not a stop or pipe was wanting.

But, in fine, at the end of all this we went back to our hotel to
dinner. After dinner we set out to see the church. Even Walter Scott has
not a more poetic monument than this church, standing as it does amid
old, embowering trees, on the beautiful banks of the Avon. A soft, still
rain was falling on the leaves of the linden trees, as we walked up the
avenue to the church. Even rainy though it was, I noticed that many
little birds would occasionally break out into song. In the event of
such a phenomenon as a bright day, I think there must be quite a jubilee
of birds here, even as he sung who lies below:--

  "The ousel-cock, so black of hue,
   With orange-tawny bill,
  The throstle with his note so true,
   The wren with little quill;
  The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
   The plain-song cuckoo gray."

The church has been carefully restored inside, so that it is now in
excellent preservation, and Shakspeare lies buried under a broad, flat
stone in the chancel. I had full often read, and knew by heart, the
inscription on this stone; but somehow, when I came and stood over it,
and read it, it affected me as if there were an emanation from the grave
beneath. I have often wondered at that inscription, that a mind so
sensitive, that had thought so much, and expressed thought with such
startling power on all the mysteries of death, the grave, and the future
world, should have found nothing else to inscribe on his own grave but
this:--

  Good Friend for Iesus SAKE forbare
  To digg T-E Dust EncloAsed HERe
  Blese be T-E Man T spares T-Es Stones
                   Y
  And curst be He T moves my Bones
                  Y

It seems that the inscription has not been without its use, in averting
what the sensitive poet most dreaded; for it is recorded in one of the
books sold here, that some years ago, in digging a neighboring grave, a
careless sexton broke into the side of Shakspeare's tomb, and looking in
saw his bones, and could easily have carried away the skull had he not
been deterred by the imprecation.

There is a monument in the side of the wall, which has a bust of
Shakspeare upon it, said to be the most authentic likeness, and supposed
to have been taken by a cast from his face after death. This statement
was made to us by the guide who showed it, and he stated that Chantrey
had come to that conclusion by a minute examination of the face. He took
us into a room, where was an exact plaster cast of the bust, on which he
pointed out various little minutiae on which this idea was founded. The
two sides of the face are not alike; there is a falling in and
depression of the muscles on one side which does not exist on the other,
such as probably would never have occurred in a fancy bust, where the
effort always is to render the two sides of the face as much alike as
possible. There is more fulness about the lower part of the face than is
consistent with the theory of an idealized bust, but is perfectly
consistent with the probabilities of the time of life at which he died,
and perhaps with the effects of the disease of which he died.

All this I set down as it was related to me by our guide; it had a very
plausible and probable sound, and I was bent on believing, which is a
great matter in faith of all kinds.

It is something in favor of the supposition that this is an authentic
likeness, that it was erected in his own native town within seven years
of his death, among people, therefore, who must have preserved the
recollection of his personal appearance. After the manner of those times
it was originally painted, the hair and beard of an auburn color, the
eyes hazel, and the dress was represented as consisting of a scarlet
doublet, over which was a loose black gown without sleeves; all which
looks like an attempt to preserve an exact likeness. The inscription
upon it, also, seemed to show that there were some in the world by no
means unaware of who and what he was.

Next to the tomb of Shakspeare in the chancel is buried his favorite
daughter, over whom somebody has placed the following quaint
inscription:--

  "Witty above her sex, but that's not all,
  Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall.
  Something of Shakspeare was in that, but this
  Wholly of him, with whom she is now in bliss;
  Then, passenger, hast ne'er a tear,
  To weep with her that wept with, all--
  That wept, yet set herself to cheer
  Them, up with comfort's cordial?
  Her lore shall live, her mercy spread,
  When thou hast ne'er a tear to shed."

This good Mistress Hall, it appears, was Shakspeare's favorite among his
three children. His son, Hamet, died at twelve years of age. His
daughter Judith, as appears from some curious document still extant,
could not write her own name, but signed with her mark; so that the
"wit" of the family must have concentrated itself in Mistress Hall. To
her, in his last will, which is still extant, Shakspeare bequeathed an
amount of houses, lands, plate, jewels, and other valuables, sufficient
to constitute quite a handsome estate. It would appear, from this, that
the poet deemed her not only "wise unto salvation," but wise in her day
and generation, thus intrusting her with the bulk of his worldly goods.

His wife, Ann Hathaway, is buried near by, under the same pavement. From
the slight notice taken of her in the poet's will, it would appear that
there was little love between them. He married her when he was but
eighteen; most likely she was a mere rustic beauty, entirely incapable
either of appreciating or adapting herself to that wide and wonderful
mind in its full development.

As to Mistress Hall, though the estate was carefully entailed, through
her, to heirs male through all generations, it was not her good fortune
to become the mother of a long line, for she had only one daughter, who
became Lady Barnard, and in whom, dying childless, the family became
extinct. Shakspeare, like Scott, seems to have had the desire to
perpetuate himself by founding a family with an estate, and the
coincidence in the result is striking. Genius must be its own monument.

After we had explored the church we went out to walk about the place. We
crossed the beautiful bridge over the Avon, and thought how lovely those
fields and meadows would look, if they only had sunshine to set them
out. Then we went to the town hall, where we met the mayor, who had
kindly called and offered to show us the place.

It seems, in 1768, that Garrick set himself to work in good earnest to
do honor to Shakspeare's memory, by getting up a public demonstration at
Stratford; and the world, through the talents of this actor, having
become alive and enthusiastic, liberal subscriptions were made by the
nobility and gentry, the town hall was handsomely repaired and adorned,
and a statue of Shakspeare, presented by Garrick, was placed in a niche
at one end. Then all the chief men and mighty men of the nation came and
testified their reverence for the poet, by having a general jubilee. A
great tent was spread on the banks of the Avon, where they made speeches
and drank wine, and wound up all with a great dance in the town hall;
and so the manes of Shakspeare were appeased, and his position settled
for all generations. The room in the town hall is a very handsome one,
and has pictures of Garrick, and the other notables who figured on that
occasion.

After that we were taken to see New Place. "And what is New Place?" you
say; "the house where Shakspeare lived?" Not exactly; but a house built
where his house was. This drawing is taken from an old print, and is
supposed to represent the house as Shakspeare fitted it up.

We went out into what was Shakspeare's garden, where we were shown his
mulberry--not the one that he planted though, but a veritable mulberry
planted on the same spot; and then we went back to our hotel very tired,
but having conscientiously performed every jot and tittle of the duty of
good pilgrims.

As we sat, in the drizzly evening, over our comfortable tea table, C----
ventured to intimate pretty decidedly that he considered the whole thing
a bore; whereat I thought I saw a sly twinkle around the eyes and mouth
of our most Christian and patient friend, Joseph Sturge. Mr. S.
laughingly told him that he thought it the greatest exercise of
Christian tolerance, that he should have trailed round in the mud with
us all day in our sightseeing, bearing with our unreasonable raptures.
He smiled, and said, quietly, "I must confess that I was a little
pleased that our friend Harriet was so zealous to see Shakspeare's
house, when it wasn't his house, and so earnest to get sprigs from his
mulberry, when it wasn't his mulberry." We were quite ready to allow the
foolishness of the thing, and join the laugh at our own expense.

As to our bed rooms, you must know that all the apartments in this house
are named after different plays of Shakspeare, the name being printed
conspicuously over each door; so that the choosing of our rooms made us
a little sport.

"What rooms will you have, gentlemen?" says the pretty chamber maid.

"Rooms," said Mr. S.; "why, what are there to have?"

"Well, there's Richard III., and there's Hamlet," says the girl.

"O, Hamlet, by all means," said I; "that was always my favorite. Can't
sleep in Richard III., we should have such bad dreams."

"For my part," said C----, "I want All's well that ends well."

"I think," said the chamber maid, hesitating, "the bed in Hamlet isn't
large enough for two. Richard III. is a very nice room, sir."

In fact, it became evident that we were foreordained to Richard; so we
resolved to embrace the modern historical view of this subject, which
will before long turn him out a saint, and not be afraid of the muster
roll of ghosts which Shakspeare represented as infesting his apartment.

Well, for a wonder, the next morning arose a genuine sunny, beautiful
day. Let the fact be recorded that such things do sometimes occur even
in England. C---- was mollified, and began to recant his ill-natured
heresies of the night before, and went so far as to walk, out of his own
proper motion, to Ann Hathaway's Cottage before breakfast--he being one
of the brethren described by Longfellow,

  "Who is gifted with most miraculous powers
  Of getting up at all sorts of hours;"

and therefore he came in to breakfast table with that serenity of
virtuous composure which generally attends those who have been out
enjoying the beauties of nature while their neighbors have been
ingloriously dozing.

The walk, he said, was beautiful; the cottage damp, musty, and fusty;
and a supposititious old bedstead, of the age of Queen Elizabeth, which
had been obtruded upon his notice because it _might_ have belonged to
Ann Hathaway's mother, received a special malediction. For my part, my
relic-hunting propensities were not in the slightest degree appeased,
but rather stimulated, by the investigations of the day before.

It seemed to me so singular that of such a man there should not remain
one accredited relic! Of Martin Luther, though he lived much earlier,
how many things remain! Of almost any distinguished character how much
more is known than of Shakspeare! There is not, so far as I can
discover, an authentic relic of any thing belonging to him. There are
very few anecdotes of his sayings or doings; no letters, no private
memoranda, that should let us into the secret of what he was personally
who has in turns personated all minds. The very perfection of his
dramatic talent has become an impenetrable veil: we can no more tell
from his writings what were his predominant tastes and habits than we
can discriminate among the variety of melodies what are the native notes
of the mocking bird. The only means left us for forming an opinion of
what he was personally are inferences of the most delicate nature from,
the slightest premises.

The common idea which has pervaded the world, of a joyous, roving,
somewhat unsettled, and dissipated character, would seem, from many
well-authenticated facts, to be incorrect. The gayeties and dissipations
of his life seem to have been confined to his very earliest days, and to
have been the exuberance of a most extraordinary vitality, bursting into
existence with such force and vivacity that it had not had time to
collect itself, and so come to self-knowledge and control. By many
accounts it would appear that the character he sustained in the last
years of his life was that of a judicious, common-sense sort of man; a
discreet, reputable, and religious householder.

The inscription on his tomb is worthy of remark, as indicating the
reputation he bore at the time: "_Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte
Maronem_" (In judgment a Nestor, in genius a Socrates, in art a
Virgil.)

The comparison of him in the first place to Nestor, proverbially famous
for practical judgment and virtue of life, next to Socrates, who was a
kind of Greek combination of Dr. Paley and Dr. Franklin, indicates a
very different impression of him from what would generally be expressed
of a poet, certainly what would not have been placed on the grave of an
eccentric, erratic will-o'-the-wisp genius, however distinguished.
Moreover, the pious author of good Mistress Hall's epitaph records the
fact of her being "wise to salvation," as a more especial point of
resemblance to her father than even her being "witty above her sex," and
expresses most confident hope of her being with him in bliss. The
Puritan tone of the epitaph, as well as the quality of the verse, gives
reason to suppose that it was not written by one who was seduced into a
tombstone lie by any superfluity of poetic sympathy.

The last will of Shakspeare, written by his own hand and still
preserved, shows several things of the man.

The introduction is as follows:--

"In the name of God. Amen. I, William Shakspeare, at
Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwick, gentleman, in perfect
health and memory, (God be praised,) do make and ordain this my last
will and testament in manner and form following; that is to say,--

"First, I commend my soul into the hands of God my Creator, hoping, and
assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ, my Savior,
to be made partaker of life everlasting; and my body to the earth,
whereof it is made."

The will then goes on to dispose of an amount of houses, lands, plate,
money, jewels, &c., which showed certainly that the poet had possessed
some worldly skill and thrift in accumulation, and to divide them with
a care and accuracy which would indicate that he was by no means of that
dreamy and unpractical habit of mind which cares not what becomes of
worldly goods.

We may also infer something of a man's character from the tone and
sentiments of others towards him. Glass of a certain color casts on
surrounding objects a reflection of its own hue, and so the tint of a
man's character returns upon us in the habitual manner in which he is
spoken of by those around him. The common mode of speaking of Shakspeare
always savored of endearment. "Gentle Will" is an expression that seemed
oftenest repeated. Ben Jonson inscribed his funeral verses "To the
Memory of _my beloved_ Mr. William Shakspeare;" he calls him the "sweet
swan of Avon." Again, in his lines under a bust of Shakspeare, he
says,--

  "The figure that thou seest put,
  It was for gentle Shakspeare cut."

In later times Milton, who could have known him only by tradition, calls
him "my Shakspeare," "dear son of memory," and "sweetest Shakspeare."
Now, nobody ever wrote of sweet John Milton, or gentle John Milton, or
gentle Martin Luther, or even sweet Ben Jonson.

Rowe says of Shakspeare, "The latter part of his life was spent, as all
men of good sense would wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, and the
conversation of his friends. His pleasurable wit and good nature engaged
him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, of the
gentlemen of the neighborhood." And Dr. Drake says, "He was high in
reputation as a poet, favored by the great and the accomplished, and
beloved by all who knew him."

That Shakspeare had religious principle, I infer not merely from the
indications of his will and tombstone, but from those strong evidences
of the working of the religious element which are scattered through his
plays. No man could have a clearer perception of God's authority and
man's duty; no one has expressed more forcibly the strength of God's
government, the spirituality of his requirements, or shown with more
fearful power the struggles of the "law in the members warring against
the law of the mind."

These evidences, scattered through his plays, of deep religious
struggles, make probable the idea that, in the latter, thoughtful, and
tranquil years of his life, devotional impulses might have settled into
habits, and that the solemn language of his will, in which he professes
his faith, in Christ, was not a mere form. Probably he had all his life,
even in his gayest hours, more real religious principle than the
hilarity of his manner would give reason to suppose. I always fancy he
was thinking of himself when he wrote this character: "For the man doth
fear God, howsoever it seem not in him by reason of some large jests he
doth make."

Neither is there any foundation for the impression that he was
undervalued in his own times. No literary man of his day had more
success, more flattering attentions from the great, or reaped more of
the substantial fruits of popularity, in the form of worldly goods.
While his contemporary, Ben Jonson, sick in a miserable alley, is forced
to beg, and receives but a wretched pittance from Charles I.,
Shakspeare's fortune steadily increases from year to year. He buys the
best place in his native town, and fits it up with great taste; he
offered to lend, on proper security, a sum of money for the use of the
town of Stratford; he added to his estate in Stratford a hundred and
seventy acres of land; he bought half the great and small tithes of
Stratford; and his annual income is estimated to have been what would at
the present time be nearly four thousand dollars.

Queen Elizabeth also patronized him after her ordinary fashion of
patronizing literary men,--that is to say, she expressed her gracious
pleasure that he should burn incense to her, and pay his own bills:
economy was not one of the least of the royal graces. The Earl of
Southampton patronized him in a more material fashion.

Queen Elizabeth even so far condescended to the poet as to perform
certain hoidenish tricks while he was playing on the stage, to see if
she could not disconcert his speaking by the majesty of her royal
presence. The poet, who was performing the part of King Henry IV., took
no notice of her motions, till, in order to bring him to a crisis, she
dropped her glove at his feet; whereat he picked it up, and presented it
her, improvising these two lines, as if they had been a part of the
play:--

  "And though, now bent on this high embassy,
  Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove."

I think this anecdote very characteristic of them both; it seems to me
it shows that the poet did not so absolutely crawl in the dust before
her, as did almost all the so called men of her court; though he did
certainly flatter her after a fashion in which few queens can be
flattered. His description of the belligerent old Gorgon as the "Fair
Vestal throned by the West" seems like the poetry and fancy of the
beautiful Fairy Queen wasted upon the half-brute clown:--

  "Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
    While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
  And stick musk roses in thy sleek, smooth, head,
    And kiss thy fair, large ears, my gentle joy."

Elizabeth's understanding and appreciation of Shakspeare was much after
the fashion of Nick Bottom's of the Fairy Queen. I cannot but believe
that the men of genius who employed their powers in celebrating this
most repulsive and disagreeable woman must sometimes have comforted
themselves by a good laugh in private.

In order to appreciate Shakspeare's mind from his plays, we must
discriminate what expressed the gross tastes of his age, and what he
wrote to please himself. The Merry Wives of Windsor was a specimen of
what he wrote for the "Fair Vestal;" a commentary on the delicacy of her
maiden meditations. The Midsummer Night's Dream he wrote from his own
inner dream world.

In the morning we took leave of our hotel. In leaving we were much
touched with the simple kindliness of the people of the house. The
landlady and her daughters came to bid us farewell, with much feeling;
and the former begged my acceptance of a bead purse, knit by one of her
daughters, she said, during the winter evenings while they were reading
Uncle Tom. In this town one finds the simple-hearted, kindly English
people corresponding to the same class which we see in our retired New
England towns. We received many marks of kindness from different
residents in Stratford; in the expression of them, they appreciated and
entered into our desire for privacy with a delicacy which touched us
sensibly.

We had little time to look about us to see Stratford in the sunshine. So
we went over to a place on the banks of the Avon, where, it was said, we
could gain a very perfect view of the church. The remembrance of this
spot is to me like a very pleasant dream. The day was bright, the air
was soft and still, as we walked up and down the alleys of a beautiful
garden that extended quite to the church; the rooks were dreamily
cawing, and wheeling in dark, airy circles round the old buttresses and
spire. A funeral train had come into the graveyard, and the passing bell
was tolling. A thousand undefined emotions struggled in my mind.

That loving heart, that active fancy, that subtile, elastic power of
appreciating and expressing all phases, all passions of humanity, are
they breathed out on the wind? are they spent like the lightning? are
they exhaled like the breath of flowers? or are they still living, still
active? and if so, where and how? Is it reserved for us, in that
"undiscovered country" which he spoke of, ever to meet the great souls
whose breath has kindled our souls?

I think we forget the consequences of our own belief in immortality, and
look on the ranks of prostrate dead as a mower on fields of prostrate
flowers, forgetting that activity is an essential of souls, and that
every soul which has passed away from this world must ever since have
been actively developing those habits of mind and modes of feeling which
it began here.

The haughty, cruel, selfish Elizabeth, and all the great men of her
court, are still living and acting somewhere; but where? For my part I
am often reminded, when dwelling on departed genius, of Luther's
ejaculation for his favorite classic poet: "I hope God will have mercy
on such."

We speak of the glory of God as exhibited in natural landscape making;
what is it, compared with the glory of God as shown in the making of
souls, especially those souls which seem to be endowed with a creative
power like his own?

There seems, strictly speaking, to be only two classes of souls--the
creative and the receptive. Now, these creators seem to me to have a
beauty and a worth about them entirely independent of their moral
character. That ethereal power which shows itself in Greek sculpture and
Gothic architecture, in Rubens, Shakspeare, and Mozart, has a quality to
me inexpressibly admirable and lovable. We may say, it is true, that
there is no moral excellence in it; but none the less do we admire it.
God has made us so that we cannot help loving it; our souls go forth to
it with an infinite longing, nor can that longing be condemned. That
mystic quality that exists in these souls is a glimpse and intimation of
what exists in Him in full perfection. If we remember this we shall not
lose ourselves in admiration of worldly genius, but be led by it to a
better understanding of what He is, of whom all the glories of poetry
and art are but symbols and shadows.



LETTER XI.


DEAR H.:--

From Stratford we drove to Warwick, (or "Warrick," as they call it
here.) This town stands on a rocky hill on the banks of the Avon, and is
quite a considerable place, for it returns two members to Parliament,
and has upwards of ten thousand inhabitants; and also has some famous
manufactories of wool combing and spinning. But what we came to see was
the castle. We drove up to the Warwick Arms, which is the principal
hotel in the place; and, finding that we were within the hours appointed
for exhibition, we went immediately.

With my head in a kind of historical mist, full of images of York and
Lancaster, and Red and White Roses, and Warwick the king maker, I looked
up to the towers and battlements of the old castle. We went in through a
passage way cut in solid rock, about twenty feet deep, and I should
think fifty long. These walls were entirely covered with ivy, hanging
down like green streamers; gentle and peaceable pennons these are,
waving and whispering that the old war times are gone.

At the end of this passage there is a drawbridge over what was formerly
the moat, but which is now grassed and planted with shrubbery. Up over
our heads we saw the great iron teeth of the portcullis. A rusty old
giant it seemed up there, like Pope and Pagan in Pilgrim's Progress,
finding no scope for himself in these peaceable times.

When we came fairly into the court yard of the castle, a scene of
magnificent beauty opened before us. I cannot describe it minutely. The
principal features are the battlements, towers, and turrets of the old
feudal castle, encompassed by grounds on which has been expended all
that princely art of landscape gardening for which England is
famous--leafy thickets, magnificent trees, openings, and vistas of
verdure, and wide sweeps of grass, short, thick, and vividly green, as
the velvet moss we sometimes see growing on rocks in New England. Grass
is an art and a science in England--it is an institution. The pains that
are taken in sowing, tending, cutting, clipping, rolling, and otherwise
nursing and coaxing it, being seconded by the misty breath and often
falling tears of the climate, produce results which must be seen to be
appreciated.

So again of trees in England. Trees here are an order of nobility; and
they wear their crowns right kingly. A few years ago, when Miss Sedgwick
was in this country, while admiring some splendid trees in a nobleman's
park, a lady standing by said to her encouragingly, "O, well, I suppose
your trees in America will be grown up after a while!" Since that time
another style of thinking of America has come up, and the remark that I
most generally hear made is, "O, I suppose we cannot think of showing
you any thing in the way of trees, coming as you do from America!"
Throwing out of account, however, the gigantic growth of our western
river bottoms, where I have seen sycamore trunks twenty feet in
diameter--leaving out of account, I say, all this mammoth arboria, these
English parks have trees as fine and as effective, of their kind, as any
of ours; and when I say their trees are an order of nobility, I mean
that they pay a reverence to them such as their magnificence deserves.
Such elms as adorn the streets of New Haven, or overarch the meadows of
Andover, would in England be considered as of a value which no money
could represent; no pains, no expense would be spared to preserve their
life and health; they would never be shot dead by having gas pipes laid
under them, as they have been in some of our New England towns; or
suffered to be devoured by canker worms for want of any amount of money
spent in their defence.

Some of the finest trees in this place are magnificent cedars of
Lebanon, which bring to mind the expression in Psalms, "Excellent as the
cedars." They are the very impersonation of kingly majesty, and are
fitted to grace the old feudal stronghold of Warwick the king maker.
These trees, standing as they do amid magnificent sweeps and undulations
of lawn, throwing out their mighty arms with such majestic breadth and
freedom of outline, are themselves a living, growing, historical epic.
Their seed was brought from Holy Land in the old days of the crusades;
and a hundred legends might be made up of the time, date, and occasion
of their planting. These crusades have left their mark every where
through Europe, from the cross panel on the doors of common houses to
the oriental touches and arabesques of castles and cathedrals.

In the reign of Stephen there was a certain Roger de Newburg, second
Earl of Warwick, who appears to have been an exceedingly active and
public-spirited character; and, besides conquering part of Wales,
founded in this neighborhood various priories and hospitals, among which
was the house of the Templars, and a hospital for lepers. He made
several pilgrimages to Holy Land; and so I think it as likely as most
theories that he ought to have the credit of these cedars.

These Earls of Warwick appear always to have been remarkably stirring
men in their day and generation, and foremost in whatever was going on
in the world, whether political or religious. To begin, there was Guy,
Earl of Warwick, who lived somewhere in the times of the old
dispensation, before King Arthur, and who distinguished himself,
according to the fashion of those days, by killing giants and various
colored dragons, among which a green one especially figures. It appears
that he slew also a notable dun cow, of a kind of mastodon breed, which
prevailed in those early days, which was making great havoc in the
neighborhood. In later times, when the giants, dragons, and other
animals of that sort were somewhat brought under, we find the Earls of
Warwick equally busy burning and slaying to the right and left; now
crusading into Palestine, and now fighting the French, who were a
standing resort for activity when nothing else was to be done; with
great versatility diversifying these affairs with pilgrimages to the
holy sepulchre, and founding monasteries and hospitals. One stout earl,
after going to Palestine and laying about him like a very dragon for
some years, brought home a live Saracen king to London, and had him
baptized and made a Christian of, _vi et armis_.

During the scuffle of the Roses, it was a Warwick, of course, who was
uppermost. Stout old Richard, the king maker, set up first one party and
then the other, according to his own sovereign pleasure, and showed as
much talent at fighting on both sides, and keeping the country in an
uproar, as the modern politicians of America.

When the times of the Long Parliament and the Commonwealth came, an Earl
of Warwick was high admiral of England, and fought valiantly for the
Commonwealth, using the navy on the popular side; and his grandson
married the youngest daughter of Oliver Cromwell. When the royal family
was to be restored, an Earl of Warwick was one of the six lords who were
sent to Holland for Charles II. The earls of this family have been no
less distinguished for movements which have favored the advance of
civilization and letters than for energy in the battle field. In the
reign of Queen Elizabeth an Earl of Warwick founded the History Lecture
at Cambridge, and left a salary for the professor. This same earl was
general patron of letters and arts, assisting many men of talents, and
was a particular and intimate friend of Sir Philip Sidney.

What more especially concerns us as New Englanders is, that an earl of
this house was the powerful patron and protector of New England during
the earlier years of our country. This was Robert Greville, the high
admiral of England before alluded to, and ever looked upon as a
protector of the Puritans. Frequent allusion is made to him in
Winthrop's Journal as performing various good offices for them.

The first grant of Connecticut was made to this earl, and by him
assigned to Lord Say and Seal, and Lord Brooke. The patronage which this
earl extended to the Puritans is more remarkable because in principle he
was favorable to Episcopacy. It appears to have been prompted by a
chivalrous sense of justice; probably the same which influenced old Guy
of Warwick in the King Arthur times, of whom the ancient chronicler
says, "This worshipful knight, in his acts of warre, ever consydered
what parties had wronge, and therto would he drawe."

The present earl has never taken a share in public or political life,
but resided entirely on his estate, devoting himself to the improvement
of his ground and tenants. He received the estate much embarrassed, and
the condition of the tenantry was at that time quite depressed. By the
devotion of his life it has been rendered one of the most flourishing
and prosperous estates in this part of England. I have heard him spoken
of as a very exemplary, excellent man. He is now quite advanced, and has
been for some time in failing health. He sent our party a very kind and
obliging message, desiring that we would consider ourselves fully at
liberty to visit any part of the grounds or castle, there being always
some reservation as to what tourists may visit.

We caught glimpses of him once or twice, supported by attendants, as he
was taking the air in one of the walks of the grounds, and afterwards
wheeled about in a garden chair.

The family has thrice died out in the direct line, and been obliged to
resuscitate through collateral branches; but it seems the blood holds
good notwithstanding. As to honors there is scarcely a possible
distinction in the state or army that has not at one time or other been
the property of this family.

Under the shade of these lofty cedars they have sprung and fallen, an
hereditary line of princes. One cannot but feel, in looking on these
majestic trees, with the battlements, turrets, and towers of the old
castle every where surrounding him, and the magnificent parks and lawns
opening through dreamy vistas of trees into what seems immeasurable
distance, the force of the soliloquy which Shakspeare puts into the
mouth of the dying old king maker, as he lies breathing out his soul in
the dust and blood of the battle field:--

  "Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
  Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
  Under whose shade the rampant lion slept;
  Whose top branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree,
  And kept low shrubs from, winter's powerful wind.
  These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black veil,
  Have been as piercing as the midday sun
  To search, the secret treasons of the world:
  The wrinkles in my brow, now filled with blood,
  Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres;
  For who lived king but I could dig his grave?
  And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
  Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
  My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
  Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
  Is nothing left me but my body's length!
  Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
  And live we how we can, yet die we must."

During Shakspeare's life Warwick was in the possession of Greville, the
friend of Sir Philip Sidney, and patron of arts and letters. It is not,
therefore, improbable that Shakspeare might, in his times, often have
been admitted to wander through the magnificent grounds, and it is more
than probable that the sight of these majestic cedars might have
suggested the noble image in this soliloquy. It is only about eight
miles from Stratford, within the fair limits of a comfortable pedestrian
excursion, and certainly could not but have been an object of deep
interest to such a mind as his.

I have described the grounds first, but, in fact, we did not look at
them first, but went into the house where we saw not only all the state
rooms, but, through the kindness of the noble proprietor, many of those
which are not commonly exhibited; a bewildering display of magnificent
apartments, pictures, gems, vases, arms and armor, antiques, all, in
short, that the wealth of a princely and powerful family had for
centuries been accumulating.

The great hall of the castle is sixty-two feet in length and forty in
breadth, ornamented with a richly carved Gothic roof, in which figures
largely the family cognizance of the bear and ragged staff. There is a
succession of shields, on which are emblazoned the quarterings of
successive Earls of Warwick. The sides of the wall are ornamented with
lances, corselets, shields, helmets, and complete suits of armor,
regularly arranged as in an armory. Here I learned what the buff coat
is, which had so often puzzled me in reading Scott's descriptions, as
there were several hanging up here. It seemed to be a loose doublet of
chamois leather, which was worn under the armor, and protected the body
from its harshness.

Here we saw the helmet of Cromwell, a most venerable relic. Before the
great, cavernous fireplace was piled up on a sled a quantity of yew tree
wood. The rude simplicity of thus arranging it on the polished floor of
this magnificent apartment struck me as quite singular. I suppose it is
a continuation of some ancient custom.

Opening from this apartment on either side are suits of rooms, the whole
series being three hundred and thirty-three feet in length. These rooms
are all hung with pictures, and studded with antiques and curiosities of
immense value. There is, first, the red drawing room, and then the cedar
drawing room, then the gilt drawing room, the state bed room, the
boudoir, &c., &c., hung with pictures by Vandyke, Rubens, Guido, Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Paul Veronese, any one of which would require days of
study; of course, the casual glance that one could give them in a rapid
survey would not amount to much.

We were shown one table of gems and lapis lazuli, which cost what would
be reckoned a comfortable fortune in New England. For matters of this
kind I have little sympathy. The canvas, made vivid by the soul of an
inspired artist, tells me something of God's power in creating that
soul; but a table of gems is in no wise interesting to me, except so far
as it is pretty in itself.

I walked to one of the windows of these lordly apartments, and while the
company were examining buhl cabinets, and all other deliciousness of the
place, I looked down the old gray walls into the amber waters of the
Avon, which flows at their base, and thought that the most beautiful of
all was without. There is a tiny fall that crosses the river just above
here, whose waters turn the wheels of an old mossy mill, where for
centuries the family grain has been ground. The river winds away through
the beautiful parks and undulating foliage, its soft, grassy banks
dotted here and there with sheep and cattle, and you catch farewell
gleams and glitters of it as it loses itself among the trees.

Gray moss, wall flowers, ivy, and grass were growing here and there out
of crevices in the castle walls, as I looked down, sometimes trailing
their rippling tendrils in the river. This vegetative propensity of
walls is one of the chief graces of these old buildings.

In the state bed room were a bed and furnishings of rich, crimson
velvet, once belonging to Queen Anne, and presented by George III. to
the Warwick family. The walls are hung with Brussels tapestry,
representing the gardens of Versailles as they were at the time. The
chimney-piece, which is sculptured of verde antique and white marble,
supports two black marble vases on its mantel. Over the mantel-piece is
a full-length portrait of Queen Anne, in a rich brocade dress, wearing
the collar and jewels of the Garter, bearing in one hand a sceptre, and
in the other a globe. There are two splendid buhl cabinets in the room,
and a table of costly stone from Italy; it is mounted on a richly carved
and gilt stand.

The boudoir, which adjoins, is hung with pea-green satin and velvet. In
this room is one of the most authentic portraits of Henry VIII., by
Holbein, in which that selfish, brutal, unfeeling tyrant is veritably
set forth, with all the gold and gems which, in his day, blinded
mankind; his fat, white hands were beautifully painted. Men have found
out Henry VIII. by this time; he is a dead sinner, and nothing more is
to be expected of him, and so he gets a just award; but the disposition
which bows down and worships any thing of any character in our day which
is splendid and successful, and excuses all moral delinquencies, if they
are only available, is not a whit better than that which cringed before
Henry.

In the same room was a boar hunt, by Rubens, a disagreeable subject, but
wrought with wonderful power. There were several other pictures of
Holbein's in this room; one of Martin Luther.

We passed through a long corridor, whose sides were lined with pictures,
statues, busts, &c. Out of the multitude, three particularly interested
me; one was a noble but melancholy bust of the Black Prince, beautifully
chiselled in white marble; another was a plaster cast, said to have been
taken of the face of Oliver Cromwell immediately after death. The face
had a homely strength amounting almost to coarseness. The evidences of
its genuineness appear in glancing at it; every thing is authentic, even
to the wart on his lip; no one would have imagined such a one, but the
expression was noble and peaceful, bringing to mind the oft-quoted
words,--

  "After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well."

At the end of the same corridor is a splendid picture of Charles I. on
horseback, by Vandyke, a most masterly performance, and appearing in its
position almost like a reality. Poor Charles had rather hard measure, it
always seemed to me. He simply did as all other princes had done before
him; that is to say, he lied steadily, invariably, and conscientiously,
in every instance where he thought he could gain any thing by it, just
as Charles V., and Francis IV., and Catharine de Medicis, and Henry
VIII., and Elizabeth, and James, and all good royal folks had always
done; and lo! _he_ must lose his head for it. His was altogether a more
gentlemanly and respectable performance than that of Henry, not wanting
in a sort of ideal magnificence, which his brutal predecessor, or even
his shambling old father never dreamed of. But so it is; it is not
always on those who are sinners above all men that the tower of Siloam
falls, but only on those who happen to be under it when its time comes.
So I intend to cherish a little partiality for gentlemanly, magnificent
Charles I.; and certainly one could get no more splendid idea of him
than by seeing him stately, silent, and melancholy on his white horse,
at the end of this long corridor. There he sits, facing the calm, stony,
sleeping face of Oliver, and neither question or reply passes between
them.

From this corridor we went into the chapel, whose Gothic windows, filled
with rich, old painted glass, cast a many-colored light over the
oak-carved walls and altar-piece. The ceiling is of fine, old oak,
wrought with the arms of the family. The window over the altar is the
gift of the Earl of Essex. This room is devoted to the daily religious
worship of the family. It has been the custom of the present earl in
former years to conduct the devotions of the family here himself.

About this time my head and eyes came to that point which Solomon
intimates to be not commonly arrived at by mortals--when the eye is
satisfied with seeing. I remember a confused ramble through apartment
after apartment, but not a single thing in them, except two pictures of
Salvator Rosa's, which I thought extremely ugly, and was told, as people
always are when they make such declarations, that the difficulty was
entirely in myself, and that if I would study them two or three months
in faith, I should perceive something very astonishing. This may be, but
it holds equally good of the coals of an evening fire, or the sparks on
a chimney back; in either of which, by resolute looking, and some
imagination, one can see any thing he chooses. I utterly distrust this
process, by which old black pictures are looked into shape; but then I
have nothing to lose, being in the court of the Gentiles in these
matters, and obstinately determined not to believe in any real presence
in art which I cannot perceive by my senses.

After having examined all the upper stories, we went down into the
vaults underneath--vaults once grim and hoary, terrible to captives and
feudal enemies, now devoted to no purpose more grim than that of coal
cellars and wine vaults. In Oliver's time, a regiment was quartered
there: they are extensive enough, apparently, for an army.

The kitchen and its adjuncts are of magnificent dimensions, and indicate
an amplitude in the way of provision for good cheer worthy an ancient
house; and what struck me as a still better feature was a library of
sound, sensible, historical, and religious works for the servants.

We went into the beer vaults, where a man drew beer into a long black
jack, such as Scott describes. It is a tankard, made of black leather, I
should think half a yard deep. He drew the beer from a large hogshead,
and offered us some in a glass. It looked very clear, but, on tasting, I
found it so exceedingly bitter that it struck me there would be small
virtue for me in abstinence.

In passing up to go out of the house, we met in the entry two
pleasant-looking young women, dressed in white muslin. As they passed
us, a door opened where a table was handsomely set out, at which quite a
number of well-dressed people were seating themselves. I withdrew my
eyes immediately, fearing lest I had violated some privacy. Our
conductor said to us, "That is the upper servants' dining room."

Once in the yard again, we went to see some of the older parts of the
building. The oldest of these, Caesar's Tower, which is said to go back
to the time of the Romans, is not now shown to visitors. Beneath it is a
dark, damp dungeon, where prisoners used to be confined, the walls of
which are traced all over with inscriptions and rude drawings.

Then you are conducted to Guy's Tower, named, I suppose, after the hero
of the green dragon and dun cow. Here are five tiers of guard rooms, and
by the ascent of a hundred and thirty-three steps you reach the
battlements, where you gain a view of the whole court and grounds, as
well as of the beautiful surrounding landscape.

In coming down from this tower, we somehow or other got upon the
ramparts, which connect it with the great gate. We walked on the wall
four abreast, and played that we were knights and ladies of the olden
time, walking on the ramparts. And I picked a bough from an old pine
tree that grew over our heads; it much resembled our American yellow
pitch pine.

Then we went down and crossed the grounds to the greenhouse, to see the
famous Warwick vase. The greenhouse is built with a Gothic stone front,
situated on a fine point in the landscape. And there, on a pedestal,
surrounded by all manner of flowering shrubs, stands this celebrated
antique. It is of white marble, and was found at the bottom of a lake
near Adrian's villa, in Italy. They say that it holds a hundred and
thirty-six gallons; constructed, I suppose, in the roistering old
drinking times of the Roman emperors, when men seem to have discovered
that the grand object for which they were sent into existence was to
perform the functions of wine skins. It is beautifully sculptured with
grape leaves, and the skin and claws of the panther--these latter
certainly not an inappropriate emblem of the god of wine, beautiful, but
dangerous.

Well, now it was all done. Merodach Baladan had not a more perfect
_exposé_ of the riches of Hezekiah than we had of the glories of
Warwick. One always likes to see the most perfect thing of its kind; and
probably this is the most perfect specimen of the feudal ages yet
remaining in England.

As I stood with Joseph Sturge under the old cedars of Lebanon, and
watched the multitude of tourists, and parties of pleasure, who were
thronging the walks, I said to him, "After all, this establishment
amounts to a public museum and pleasure grounds for the use of the
people." He assented. "And," said I, "you English people like these
things; you like these old magnificent seats, kept up by old families."
"That is what I tell them," said Joseph Sturge. "I tell them there is no
danger in enlarging the suffrage, for the people would not break up
these old establishments if they could." On that point, of course, I had
no means of forming an opinion.

One cannot view an institution so unlike any thing we have in our own
country without having many reflections excited, for one of these
estates may justly be called an institution; it includes within itself
all the influence on a community of a great model farm, of model
housekeeping, of a general museum of historic remains, and of a gallery
of fine arts.

It is a fact that all these establishments through England are, at
certain fixed hours, thrown open for the inspection of whoever may
choose to visit them, with no other expense than the gratuity which
custom requires to be given to the servant who shows them. I noticed, as
we passed from one part of the ground to another, that our guides
changed--one part apparently being the perquisite of one servant, and
one of another. Many of the servants who showed them appeared to be
superannuated men, who probably had this post as one of the dignities
and perquisites of their old age.

The influence of these estates on the community cannot but be in many
respects beneficial, and should go some way to qualify the prejudice
with which republicans are apt to contemplate any thing aristocratic;
for although the legal title to these things inheres in but one man, yet
in a very important sense they belong to the whole community, indeed, to
universal humanity. It may be very undesirable and unwise to wish to
imitate these institutions in America, and yet it may be illiberal to
undervalue them as they stand in England. A man would not build a house,
in this nineteenth century, on the pattern of a feudal castle; and yet
where the feudal castle is built, surely its antique grace might plead
somewhat in its favor, and it may be better to accommodate it to modern
uses, than to level it, and erect a modern mansion in its place.

Nor, since the world is wide, and now being rapidly united by steam into
one country, does the objection to these things, on account of the room
they take up, seem so great as formerly. In the million of square miles
of the globe there is room enough for all sorts of things.

With such reflections the lover of the picturesque may comfort himself,
hoping that he is not sinning against the useful in his admiration of
the beautiful.

One great achievement of the millennium, I trust, will be in uniting
these two elements, which have ever been contending. There was great
significance in the old Greek fable which represented Venus as the
divinely-appointed helpmeet of Vulcan, and yet always quarrelling with
him.

We can scarce look at the struggling, earth-bound condition of useful
labor through the world without joining in the beautiful aspiration of
our American poet,--

  "Surely, the wiser time shall come
     When this fine overplus of might,
  No longer sullen, slow, and dumb,
    Shall leap to music and to light.

  In that new childhood of the world
    Life of itself shall dance and play,
  Fresh blood through Time's shrunk veins be hurled,
    And labor meet delight half way."[M]

In the new state of society which we are trying to found in America, it
must be our effort to hasten the consummation. These great estates of
old countries may keep it for their share of the matter to work out
perfect models, while we will seize the ideas thus elaborated, and make
them the property of the million.

As we were going out, we stopped a little while at the porter's lodge to
look at some relics.

Now, I dare say that you have been thinking, all the while, that these
stories about the wonderful Guy are a sheer fabrication, or, to use a
convenient modern term, a myth. Know, then, that the identical armor
belonging to him is still preserved here; to wit, the sword, about
seven feet long, a shield, helmet, breastplate, and tilting pole,
together with his porridge pot, which holds one hundred and twenty
gallons, and a large fork, as they call it, about three feet long; I am
inclined to think this must have been his toothpick! His sword weighs
twenty pounds.

There is, moreover, a rib of the mastodon cow which he killed, hung up
for the terror of all refractory beasts of that name in modern days.

Furthermore, know, then, that there are authentic documents in the
Ashmolean Museum, at Oxford, showing that the family run back to within
four years after the birth of Christ, so that there is abundance of time
for them to have done a little of almost every thing. It appears that
they have been always addicted to exploits, since we read of one of
them, soon after the Christian era, encountering a giant, who ran upon
him with a tree which he had snapped off for the purpose, for it seems
giants were not nice in the choice of weapons; but the chronicler says,
"The Lord had grace with him, and overcame the giant," and in
commemoration of this event the family introduced into their arms the
ragged staff.

It is recorded of another of the race, that he was one of seven children
born at a birth, and that all the rest of his brothers and sisters were,
by enchantment, turned into swans with gold collars. This remarkable
case occurred in the time of the grandfather of Sir Guy, and of course,
if we believe this, we shall find no difficulty in the case of the cow,
or any thing else.

There is a very scarce book in the possession of a gentleman of Warwick,
written by one Dr. John Kay, or caius, in which he gives an account of
the rare and peculiar animals of England in 1552. In this he mentioned
seeing the bones of the head and the vertebrae of the neck of an
enormous animal at Warwick Castle. He states that the shoulder blade was
hung up by chains from the north gate of Coventry, and that a rib of the
same animal was hanging up in the chapel of Guy, Earl of Warwick, and
that the people fancied it to be the rib of a cow which haunted a ditch
near Coventry, and did injury to many persons; and he goes on to imagine
that this may be the bone of a bonasus or a urus. He says, "It is
probable many animals of this kind formerly lived in our England, being
of old an island full of woods and forests, because even in our boyhood
the horns of these animals were in common use at the table." The story
of Sir Guy is furthermore quite romantic, and contains some
circumstances very instructive to all ladies. For the chronicler
asserts, "that Dame Felye, daughter and heire to Erle Rohand, for her
beauty called Fely le Belle, or Felys the Fayre, by true enheritance,
was Countesse of Warwyke, and lady and wyfe to the most victoriouse
Knight, Sir Guy, to whom in his woing tyme she made greate straungeres,
and caused him, for her sake, to put himself in meny greate distresses,
dangers, and perills; but when they were wedded, and b'en but a little
season together, he departed from her, to her greate hevynes, and never
was conversant with her after, to her understandinge." That this may not
appear to be the result of any revengeful spirit on the part of Sir Guy,
the chronicler goes on further to state his motives--that, after his
marriage, considering what he had done for a woman's sake, he thought to
spend the other part of his life for God's sake, and so departed from
his lady in pilgrim weeds, which raiment he kept to his life's end.
After wandering about a good many years he settled in a hermitage, in a
place not far from the castle, called Guy's Cliff, and when his lady
distributed food to beggars at the castle gate, was in the habit of
coming among them to receive alms, without making himself known to her.
It states, moreover, that two days before his death an angel informed
him of the time of his departure, and that his lady would die a
fortnight after him, which happening accordingly, they were both buried
in the grave together. A romantic cavern, at the place called Guy's
Cliff, is shown as the dwelling of the recluse. The story is a curious
relic of the religious ideas of the times.

On our way from the castle we passed by Guy's Cliff, which is at present
the seat of the Hon. C.B. Percy. The establishment looked beautifully
from the road, as we saw it up a long avenue of trees; it is one of the
places travellers generally examine, but as we were bound for Kenilworth
we were content to take it on trust. It is but a short drive from there
to Kenilworth. We got there about the middle of the afternoon.
Kenilworth has been quite as extensive as Warwick, though now entirely
gone to ruins. I believe Oliver Cromwell's army have the credit of
finally dismantling it. Cromwell seems literally to have left his mark
on his generation, for I never saw a ruin in England when I did not hear
that he had something to do with it. Every broken arch and ruined
battlement seemed always to find a sufficient account of itself by
simply enunciating the word Cromwell. And when we see how much the
Puritans arrayed against themselves all the æsthetic principles of our
nature, we can somewhat pardon those who did not look deeper than the
surface, for the prejudice with which they regarded the whole movement;
a movement, however, of which we, and all which is most precious to us,
are the lineal descendants and heirs.

We wandered over the ruins, which are very extensive, and which Scott,
with his usual vivacity and accuracy, has restored and repeopled. We
climbed up into Amy Robsart's chamber; we scrambled into one of the
arched windows of what was formerly the great dining hall, where
Elizabeth feasted in the midst of her lords and ladies, and where every
stone had rung to the sound of merriment and revelry. The windows are
broken out; it is roofless and floorless, waving and rustling with
pendent ivy, and vocal with the song of hundreds of little birds.

We wandered from room to room, looking up and seeing in the walls the
desolate fireplaces, tier over tier, the places where the beams of the
floors had gone into the walls, and still the birds continued their
singing every where.

Nothing affected me more than this ceaseless singing and rejoicing of
birds in these old gray ruins. They seemed so perfectly joyous and happy
amid the desolations, so airy and fanciful in their bursts of song, so
ignorant and careless of the deep meaning of the gray desolation around
them, that I could not but be moved. It was nothing to them how these
stately, sculptured walls became lonely and ruinous, and all the weight
of a thousand thoughts and questionings which arise to us is never even
dreamed by them. They sow not, neither do they reap, but their heavenly
Father feeds them; and so the wilderness and the desolate place is glad
in them, and they are glad in the wilderness and desolate place.

It was a beautiful conception, this making of birds. Shelley calls them
"imbodied joys;" and Christ says, that amid the vaster ruins of man's
desolation, ruins more dreadfully suggestive than those of sculptured
frieze and architrave, we can yet live a bird's life of unanxious joy;
or, as Martin Luther beautifully paraphrases it, "We can be like a bird,
that sits singing on his twig and lets God think for him."

The deep consciousness that we are ourselves ruined, and that this world
is a desolation more awful, and of more sublime material, and wrought
from stuff of higher temper than ever was sculptured in hall or
cathedral, this it must be that touches such deep springs of sympathy in
the presence of ruins. We, too, are desolate, shattered, and scathed;
there are traceries and columns of celestial workmanship; there are
heaven-aspiring arches, splendid colonnades and halls, but fragmentary
all. Yet above us bends an all-pitying Heaven, and spiritual voices and
callings in our hearts, like these little singing birds, speak of a time
when almighty power shall take pleasure in these stones, and favor the
dust thereof.

We sat on the top of the strong tower, and looked off into the country,
and talked a good while. Some of the ivy that mantles this building has
a trunk as large as a man's body, and throws out numberless strong arms,
which, interweaving, embrace and interlace half-falling towers, and hold
them up in a living, growing mass of green.

The walls of one of the oldest towers are sixteen feet thick. The lake,
which Scott speaks of, is dried up and grown over with rushes. The
former moat presents only a grassy hollow. What was formerly a gate
house is still inhabited by the family who have the care of the
building. The land around the gate house is choicely and carefully laid
out, and has high, clipped hedges of a species of variegated holly.

Thus much of old castles and ivy. Farewell to Kenilworth.



LETTER XII.


MY DEAR H.:--

After leaving Kenilworth we drove to Coventry, where we took the cars
again. This whole ride from Stratford to Warwick, and on to Coventry,
answers more to my ideas of old England than any thing I have seen; it
is considered one of the most beautiful parts of the kingdom. It has
quaint old houses, and a certain air of rural, picturesque quiet, which
is very charming.

Coventry is old and queer, with narrow streets and curious houses, famed
for the ancient legend of Godiva, one of those beautiful myths that
grow, like the mistletoe, on the bare branches of history, and which, if
they never were true in the letter, have been a thousand times true in
the spirit.

The evening came on raw and chilly, so that we rejoiced to find
ourselves once more in the curtained parlor by the bright, sociable
fire.

As we were drinking tea Elihu Burritt came in. It was the first time I
had ever seen him, though I had heard a great deal of him from our
friends in Edinburgh. He is a man in middle life, tall and slender, with
fair complexion, blue eyes, an air of delicacy and refinement, and
manners of great gentleness. My ideas of the "Learned Blacksmith" had
been of something altogether more ponderous and peremptory. Elihu has
been, for some years, operating in England and on the continent in a
movement which many, in our half-Christianized times, regard with as
much incredulity as the grim, old, warlike barons did the suspicious
imbecilities of reading and writing. The sword now, as then, seems so
much more direct a way to terminate controversies, that many Christian
men, even, cannot conceive how the world is to get along without it.

Burritt's mode of operation has been by the silent organization of
circles of ladies in all the different towns of the United Kingdom, who
raise a certain sum for the diffusion of the principles of peace on
earth and good will to men. Articles, setting forth the evils of war,
moral, political, and social, being prepared, these circles pay for
their insertion in all the principal newspapers of the continent. They
have secured to themselves in this way a continual utterance in France,
Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, and Germany; so that from week to
week, and month to month, they can insert articles upon these subjects.
Many times the editors insert the articles as editorial, which still
further favors their design. In addition to this, the ladies of these
circles in England correspond with the ladies of similar circles
existing in other countries; and in this way there is a mutual
kindliness of feeling established through these countries.

When recently war was threatening between England and France, through
the influence of these societies conciliatory addresses were sent from
many of the principal towns of England to many of the principal towns of
France; and the effect of these measures in allaying irritation and
agitation was very perceptible.

Furthermore, these societies are preparing numerous little books for
children, in which the principles of peace, kindness, and mutual
forbearance are constantly set forth, and the evil and unchristian
nature of the mere collision of brute force exemplified in a thousand
ways. These tracts also are reprinted in the other modern languages of
Europe, and are becoming a part of family literature.

The object had in view by those in this movement is, the general
disbandment of standing armies and warlike establishments, and the
arrangement, in their place, of some settled system of national
arbitration. They suggest the organization of some tribunal of
international law, which shall correspond to the position of the Supreme
Court of the United States with reference to the several states. The
fact that the several states of our Union, though each a distinct
sovereignty, yet agree in this arrangement, is held up as an instance of
its practicability. These ideas are not to be considered entirely
chimerical, if we reflect that commerce and trade are as essentially
opposed to war as is Christianity. War is the death of commerce,
manufactures, agriculture, and the fine arts. Its evil results are
always certain and definite, its good results scattered and accidental.
The whole current of modern society is as much against war as against
slavery; and the time must certainly come when some more rational and
humane mode of resolving national difficulties will prevail.

When we ask these reformers how people are to be freed from the yoke of
despotism without war, they answer, "By the diffusion of ideas among the
masses--by teaching the bayonets to think." They say, "If we convince
every individual soldier of a despot's army that war is ruinous,
immoral, and unchristian, we take the instrument out of the tyrant's
hand. If each individual man would refuse to rob and murder for the
Emperor of Austria, and the Emperor of Russia, where would be their
power to hold Hungary? What gave power to the masses in the French
revolution, but that the army, pervaded by new ideas, refused any
longer to keep the people down?"

These views are daily gaining strength in England. They are supported by
the whole body of the Quakers, who maintain them with that degree of
inflexible perseverance and never-dying activity which have rendered the
benevolent actions of that body so efficient. The object that they are
aiming at is one most certain to be accomplished, infallible as the
prediction that swords are to be beaten into ploughshares, and spears
into pruning-hooks, and that nations shall learn war no more.

This movement, small and despised in its origin, has gained strength
from year to year, and now has an effect on the public opinion of
England which is quite perceptible.

We spent the evening in talking over these things, and also various
topics relating to the antislavery movement. Mr. Sturge was very
confident that something more was to be done than had ever been done
yet, by combinations for the encouragement of free, in the place of
slave-grown, produce; a question which has, ever since the days of
Clarkson, more or less deeply occupied the minds of abolitionists in
England.

I should say that Mr. Sturge in his family has for many years
conscientiously forborne the use of any article produced by slave labor.
I could scarcely believe it possible that there could be such an
abundance and variety of all that is comfortable and desirable in the
various departments of household living within these limits. Mr. Sturge
presents the subject with very great force, the more so from the
consistency of his example.

From what I have since observed, as well as from what they said, I
should imagine that the Quakers generally pursue this course of entire
separation from all connection with slavery, even in the disuse of its
products. The subject of the disuse of slave-grown produce has obtained
currency in the same sphere in which Elihu Burritt operates, and has
excited the attention of the Olive Leaf Circles. Its prospects are not
so weak as on first view might be imagined, if we consider that Great
Britain has large tracts of cotton-growing land at her disposal in
India. It has been calculated that, were suitable railroads and
arrangements for transportation provided for India, cotton could be
raised in that empire sufficient for the whole wants of England, at a
rate much cheaper than it can be imported from America. Not only so, but
they could then afford to furnish cotton cheaper at Lowell than the same
article could be procured from the Southern States.

It is consolatory to know that a set of men have undertaken this work
whose perseverance in any thing once begun has never been daunted. Slave
labor is becoming every year more expensive in America. The wide market
which has been opened for it has raised it to such an extravagant price
as makes the stocking of a plantation almost ruinous. If England enters
the race with free labor, which has none of these expenses, and none of
the risk, she will be sure to succeed. All the forces of nature go with
free labor; and all the forces of nature resist slave labor. The stars
in their courses fight against it; and it cannot but be that ere long
some way will be found to bring these two forces to a decisive issue.

Mr. Sturge seemed exceedingly anxious that the American states should
adopt the theory of immediate, and not gradual, emancipation. I told him
the great difficulty was to persuade them to think of any emancipation
at all; that the present disposition was to treat slavery as the pillar
and ground of the truth, the ark of religion, the summary of morals,
and the only true millennial form of modern society.

He gave me, however, a little account of their antislavery struggles in
England, and said, what was well worthy of note, that they made no
apparent progress in affecting public opinion until they firmly
advocated the right of every innocent being to immediate and complete
freedom, without any conditions. He said that a woman is fairly entitled
to the credit of this suggestion. Elizabeth Heyrick of Leicester, a
member of the society of Friends, published a pamphlet entitled
Immediate, not Gradual Emancipation. This little pamphlet contains much
good sense; and, being put forth at a time when men were really anxious
to know the truth, produced a powerful impression.

She remarked, very sensibly, that the difficulty had arisen from
indistinct ideas in respect to what is implied in emancipation. She went
on to show that emancipation did not imply freedom from government and
restraint; that it properly brought a slave under the control of the
law, instead of that of an individual; and that it was possible so to
apply law as perfectly to control the emancipated. This is an idea which
seems simple enough when pointed out; but men often stumble a long while
before they discover what is most obvious.

The next day was Sunday; and, in order to preserve our incognito, and
secure an uninterrupted rest, free from conversation and excitement, we
were obliged to deprive ourselves of the pleasure of hearing our friend
Rev. John Angell James, which we had much desired to do.

It was a warm, pleasant day, and we spent much of our time in a
beautiful arbor constructed in a retired place in the garden, where the
trees and shrubbery were so arranged as to make a most charming retreat.

The grounds of Mr. Sturge are very near to those of his brother--only a
narrow road interposing between them. They have contrived to make them
one by building under this road a subterranean passage, so that the two
families can pass and repass into each other's grounds in perfect
privacy.

These English gardens delight me much; they unite variety, quaintness,
and an imitation of the wildness of nature with the utmost care and
cultivation. I was particularly pleased with the rockwork, which at
times formed the walls of certain walks, the hollows and interstices of
which were filled with every variety of creeping plants. Mr. Sturge told
me that the substance of which these rockeries are made is sold
expressly for the purpose.

On one side of the grounds was an old-fashioned cottage, which one of my
friends informed me Mr. Sturge formerly kept fitted up as a water cure
hospital, for those whose means did not allow them to go to larger
establishments. The plan was afterwards abandoned. One must see that
such an enterprise would have many practical difficulties.

At noon we dined in the house of the other brother, Mr. Edmund Sturge.
Here I noticed a full-length engraving of Joseph Sturge. He is
represented as standing with his hand placed protectingly on the head of
a black child.

We enjoyed our quiet season with these two families exceedingly. We
seemed to feel ourselves in an atmosphere where all was peace and good
will to man. The little children, after dinner, took us through the
walks, to show us their beautiful rabbits and other pets. Every thing
seemed in order, peaceable and quiet. Towards evening we went back
through the arched passage to the other house again. My Sunday here has
always seemed to me a pleasant kind of pastoral, much like the communion
of Christian and Faithful with the shepherds on the Delectable
Mountains.

What is remarkable of all these Friends is, that, although they have
been called, in the prosecution of philanthropic enterprises, to
encounter so much opposition, and see so much of the unfavorable side of
human nature, they are so habitually free from any tinge of
uncharitableness or evil speaking in their statements with regard to the
character and motives of others. There is also an habitual avoidance of
all exaggerated forms of statement, a sobriety of diction, which, united
with great affectionateness of manner, inspires the warmest confidence.

C. had been, with Mr. Sturge, during the afternoon, to a meeting of the
Friends, and heard a discourse from Sibyl Jones, one of the most popular
of their female preachers. Sibyl is a native of the town of Brunswick,
in the State of Maine. She and her husband, being both preachers, have
travelled extensively in the prosecution of various philanthropic and
religious enterprises.

In the evening Mr. Sturge said that she had expressed a desire to see
me. Accordingly I went with him to call upon her, and found her in the
family of two aged Friends, surrounded by a circle of the same
denomination. She is a woman of great delicacy of appearance, betokening
very frail health. I am told that she is most of her time in a state of
extreme suffering from neuralgic complaints. There was a mingled
expression of enthusiasm and tenderness in her face which was very
interesting. She had had, according to the language of her sect, a
concern upon her mind for me.

To my mind there is something peculiarly interesting about that
primitive simplicity and frankness with which the members of this body
express themselves. She desired to caution me against the temptations of
too much flattery and applause, and against the worldliness which might
beset me in London. Her manner of addressing me was like one who is
commissioned with a message which must be spoken with plainness and
sincerity. After this the whole circle kneeled, and she offered prayer.
I was somewhat painfully impressed with her evident fragility of body,
compared with the enthusiastic workings of her mind.

In the course of the conversation she inquired if I was going to
Ireland. I told her, yes, that was my intention. She begged that I would
visit the western coast, adding, with great feeling, "It was the
miseries which I saw there which have brought my health to the state it
is." She had travelled extensively in the Southern States, and had, in
private conversation, been able very fully to bear her witness against
slavery, and had never been heard with unkindness.

The whole incident afforded me matter for reflection. The calling of
women to distinct religious vocations, it appears to me, was a part of
primitive Christianity; has been one of the most efficient elements of
power in the Romish church; obtained among the Methodists in England;
and has, in all these cases, been productive of great good. The
deaconesses whom the apostle mentions with honor in his epistle, Madame
Guyon in the Romish church, Mrs. Fletcher, Elizabeth Fry, are instances
which show how much may be done for mankind by women who feel themselves
impelled to a special religious vocation.

The Bible, which always favors liberal development, countenances this
idea, by the instances of Deborah, Anna the prophetess, and by allusions
in the New Testament, which plainly show that the prophetic gift
descended upon women. St. Peter, quoting from the prophetic writings,
says, "Upon your sons and upon your daughters I will pour out my spirit,
and they shall prophesy." And St. Paul alludes to women praying and
prophesying in the public assemblies of the Christians, and only enjoins
that it should be done with becoming attention to the established usages
of female delicacy. The example of the Quakers is a sufficient proof
that acting upon this idea does not produce discord and domestic
disorder. No class of people are more remarkable for quietness and
propriety of deportment, and for household order and domestic
excellence. By the admission of this liberty, the world is now and then
gifted with a woman like Elizabeth Fry, while the family state loses
none of its security and sacredness. No one in our day can charge the
ladies of the Quaker sect with boldness or indecorum; and they have
demonstrated that even public teaching, when performed under the
influence of an overpowering devotional spirit, does not interfere with
feminine propriety and modesty.

The fact is, that the number of women to whom this vocation is given
will always be comparatively few: they are, and generally will be,
exceptions; and the majority of the religious world, ancient and modern,
has decided that these exceptions are to be treated with reverence.

The next morning, as we were sitting down to breakfast, our friends of
the other house sent in to me a plate of the largest, finest
strawberries I have ever seen, which, considering that it was only the
latter part of April, seemed to me quite an astonishing luxury.

On the morning before we left we had agreed to meet a circle of friends
from Birmingham, consisting of the Abolition Society there, which is of
long standing, extending back in its memories to the very commencement
of the agitation under Clarkson and Wilberforce. It was a pleasant
morning, the 1st of May. The windows of the parlor were opened to the
ground; and the company invited filled not only the room, but stood in a
crowd on the grass around the window. Among the peaceable company
present was an admiral in the navy, a fine, cheerful old gentleman, who
entered with hearty interest into the scene.

The lady secretary of the society read a neatly-written address, full of
kind feeling and Christian sentiment. Joseph Sturge made a few sensible
and practical remarks on the present aspects of the antislavery cause in
the world, and the most practical mode of assisting it among English
Christians. He dwelt particularly on the encouragement of free labor.
The Rev. John Angell James followed with some extremely kind and
interesting remarks, and Mr. S. replied. As we were intending to return
to this city to make a longer visit, we felt that this interview was but
a glimpse of friends whom we hoped to know more perfectly hereafter.

A throng of friends accompanied us to the depot. We had the pleasure of
the company of Elihu Burritt, and enjoyed a delightful run to London,
where we arrived towards evening.



LETTER XIII.


DEAR SISTER:--

At the station house in London, we found Rev. Messrs. Binney and Sherman
waiting for us with carriages. C. went with Mr. Sherman, and Mr. S. and
I soon found ourselves in a charming retreat called Rose Cottage, in
Walworth, about which I will tell you more anon. Mrs. B. received us
with every attention which the most thoughtful hospitality could
suggest.

S. and W., who had gone on before us, and taken lodgings very near, were
there waiting to receive us. One of the first things S. said to me,
after we got into our room, was, "O, H----, we are so glad you have
come, for we are all going to the lord mayor's dinner to night, and you
are invited."

"What!" said I, "the lord mayor of London, that I used to read about in
Whittington and his Cat?" And immediately there came to my ears the
sound of the old chime, which made so powerful an impression on my
childish memory, wherein all the bells of London were represented as
tolling.

  "Turn again, Whittington,
   Thrice lord mayor of London."

It is curious what an influence these old rhymes have on our
associations.

S. went on to tell me that the party was the annual dinner given to the
judges of England by the lord mayor, and that there we should see the
whole English bar, and hosts of _distingués_ besides. So, though I was
tired, I hurried to dress in all the glee of meeting an adventure, as
Mr. and Mrs. B. and the rest of the party were ready. Crack went the
whip, round went the wheels, and away we drove.

We alighted at the Mansion House, and entered a large illuminated hall,
supported by pillars. Chandeliers were glittering, servants with
powdered heads and gold lace coats were hurrying to and fro in every
direction, receiving company and announcing names. Do you want to know
how announcing is done? Well, suppose a staircase, a hall, and two or
three corridors, intervening between you and the drawing room. At all
convenient distances on this route are stationed these grave,
powdered-headed gentlemen, with their embroidered coats. You walk up to
the first one, and tell him confidentially that you are Miss Smith. He
calls to the man on the first landing, "Miss Smith." The man on the
landing says to the man in the corridor, "Miss Smith." The man in the
corridor shouts to the man at the drawing room door, "Miss Smith." And
thus, following the sound of your name, you hear it for the last time
shouted aloud, just before you enter the room.

We found a considerable throng, and I was glad to accept a seat which
was offered me in the agreeable vicinity of the lady mayoress, so that I
might see what would be interesting to me of the ceremonial.

The titles in law here, as in every thing else, are manifold; and the
powdered-headed gentleman at the door pronounced them with an evident
relish, which was joyous to hear--Mr. Attorney, Mr. Solicitor, and Mr.
Sergeant; Lord Chief Baron, Lord Chief Justice, and Lord this, and Lord
that, and Lord the other, more than I could possibly remember, as in
they came dressed in black, with smallclothes and silk stockings, with
swords by their sides, and little cocked hats under their arms, bowing
gracefully before the lady mayoress.

I saw no big wigs, but some wore the hair tied behind with a small black
silk bag attached to it. Some of the principal men were dressed in black
velvet, which became them finely. Some had broad shirt frills of point
or Mechlin lace, with wide ruffles of the same round their wrists.

Poor C., barbarian that he was, and utterly unaware of the priceless
gentility of the thing, said to me, _sotto voce_, "How can men wear such
dirty stuff? Why don't they wash it?" I expounded to him what an
ignorant sinner he was, and that the dirt of ages was one of the surest
indications of value. Wash point lace! it would be as bad as cleaning up
the antiquary's study.

The ladies were in full dress, which here in England means always a
dress which exposes the neck and shoulders. This requirement seems to be
universal, since ladies of all ages conform to it. It may, perhaps,
account for this custom, to say that the bust of an English lady is
seldom otherwise than fine, and develops a full outline at what we
should call quite an advanced period of life.

A very dignified gentleman, dressed in black velvet, with a fine head,
made his way through the throng, and sat down by me, introducing himself
as Lord Chief Baron Pollock. He told me he had just been reading the
legal part of the Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin, and remarked especially on
the opinion of Judge Ruffin, in the case of State _v._ Mann, as having
made a deep impression on his mind. Of the character of the decision,
considered as a legal and literary document, he spoke in terms of high
admiration; said that nothing had ever given him so clear a view of the
essential nature of slavery. We found that this document had produced
the same impression on the minds of several others present. Mr. S. said
that one or two distinguished legal gentlemen mentioned it to him in
similar terms. The talent and force displayed in it, as well as the high
spirit and scorn of dissimulation, appear to have created a strong
interest in its author. It always seemed to me that there was a certain
severe strength and grandeur about it which approached to the heroic.
One or two said that they were glad such a man had retired from the
practice of such a system of law.

But there was scarce a moment for conversation amid the whirl and eddy
of so many presentations. Before the company had all assembled, the room
was a perfect jam of legal and literary notabilities. The dinner was
announced between nine and ten o'clock. We were conducted into a
splendid hall, where the tables were laid. Four long tables were set
parallel with the length of the hall, and one on a raised platform
across the upper end. In the midst of this sat the lord mayor and lady
mayoress, on their right hand the judges, on their left the American
minister, with other distinguished guests. I sat by a most agreeable and
interesting young lady, who seemed to take pleasure in enlightening me
on all those matters about which a stranger would naturally be
inquisitive.

Directly opposite me was Mr. Dickens, whom I now beheld for the first
time, and was surprised to see looking so young. Mr. Justice Talfourd,
known as the author of Ion, was also there with his lady. She had a
beautiful antique cast of head.

The lord mayor was simply dressed in black, without any other adornment
than a massive gold chain.

I asked the lady if he had not robes of state. She replied, yes; but
they were very heavy and cumbersome, and that he never wore them when he
could, with any propriety, avoid it. It seems to me that this matter of
outward parade and state is gradually losing its hold even here in
England. As society becomes enlightened, men care less and less for mere
shows, and are apt to neglect those outward forms which have neither
beauty nor convenience on their side, such as judges' wigs and lord
mayors' robes.

As a general thing the company were more plainly dressed than I had
expected. I am really glad that there is a movement being made to carry
the doctrine of plain dress into our diplomatic representation. Even
older nations are becoming tired of mere shows; and, certainly, the
representatives of a republic ought not to begin to put on the finery
which monarchies are beginning to cast off.

The present lord mayor is a member of the House of Commons--a most
liberal-minded man; very simple, but pleasing in his appearance and
address; one who seems to think more of essentials than of show.

He is a dissenter, being a member of Rev. Mr. Binney's church, a man
warmly interested in the promotion of Sabbath schools, and every worthy
and benevolent object.

The ceremonies of the dinner were long and weary, and, I thought, seemed
to be more fully entered into by a flourishing official, who stood at
the mayor's back, than by any other person present.

The business of toast-drinking is reduced to the nicest system. A
regular official, called a toast master, stood behind the lord mayor
with a paper, from which he read the toasts in their order. Every one,
according to his several rank, pretensions, and station, must be toasted
in his gradation; and every person toasted must have his name announced
by the official,--the larger dignitaries being proposed alone in their
glory, while the smaller fry are read out by the dozen,--and to each
toast somebody must get up and make a speech.

First, after the usual loyal toasts, the lord mayor proposed the health
of the American minister, expressing himself in the warmest terms of
friendship towards our country; to which Mr. Ingersoll responded very
handsomely. Among the speakers I was particularly pleased with Lord
Chief Baron Pollock, who, in the absence of Lord Chief Justice Campbell,
was toasted as the highest representative of the legal profession. He
spoke with great dignity, simplicity, and courtesy, taking occasion to
pay very flattering compliments to the American legal profession,
speaking particularly of Judge Story. The compliment gave me great
pleasure, because it seemed a just and noble-minded appreciation, and
not a mere civil fiction. We are always better pleased with appreciation
than flattery, though perhaps he strained a point when he said, "Our
brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, with whom we are now
exchanging legal authorities, I fear largely surpass us in the
production of philosophic and comprehensive forms."

Speaking of the two countries he said, "God forbid that, with a common
language, with common laws which we are materially improving for the
benefit of mankind, with one common literature, with one common
religion, and above all with one common love of liberty, God forbid that
any feeling should arise between the two countries but the desire to
carry through the world these advantages."

Mr. Justice Talfourd proposed the literature of our two countries, under
the head of "Anglo-Saxon Literature." He made allusion to the author of
Uncle Tom's Cabin and Mr. Dickens, speaking of both as having employed
fiction as a means of awakening the attention of the respective
countries to the condition of the oppressed and suffering classes. Mr.
Talfourd appears to be in the prime of life, of a robust and somewhat
florid habit. He is universally beloved for his nobleness of soul and
generous interest in all that tends to promote the welfare of humanity,
no less than for his classical and scholarly attainments.

Mr. Dickens replied to this toast in a graceful and playful strain. In
the former part of the evening, in reply to a toast on the chancery
department, Vice-Chancellor Wood, who spoke in the absence of the lord
chancellor, made a sort of defence of the Court of Chancery, not
distinctly alluding to Bleak House, but evidently not without reference
to it. The amount of what he said was, that the court had received a
great many more hard opinions than it merited; that they had been
parsimoniously obliged to perform a great amount of business by a very
inadequate number of judges; but that more recently the number of judges
had been increased to seven, and there was reason to hope that all
business brought before it would now be performed without unnecessary
delay.

In the conclusion of Mr. Dickens's speech he alluded playfully to this
item of intelligence; said he was exceedingly happy to hear it, as he
trusted now that a suit, in which he was greatly interested, would
speedily come to an end. I heard a little by conversation between Mr.
Dickens and a gentleman of the bar, who sat opposite me, in which the
latter seemed to be reiterating the same assertions, and I understood
him to say, that a case not extraordinarily complicated might be got
through with in three months. Mr. Dickens said he was very happy to hear
it; but I fancied there was a little shade of incredulity in his manner;
however, the incident showed one thing, that is, that the chancery were
not insensible to the representations of Dickens; but the whole tone of
the thing was quite good-natured and agreeable. In this respect, I must
say I think the English are quite remarkable. Every thing here meets the
very freest handling; nothing is too sacred to be publicly shown up; but
those who are exhibited appear to have too much good sense to recognize
the force of the picture by getting angry. Mr. Dickens has gone on
unmercifully exposing all sorts of weak places in the English fabric,
public and private, yet nobody cries out upon him as the slanderer of
his country. He serves up Lord Dedlocks to his heart's content, yet none
of the nobility make wry faces about it; nobody is in a hurry to
proclaim that he has recognized the picture, by getting into a passion
at it. The contrast between the people of England and America, in this
respect, is rather unfavorable to us, because they are by profession
conservative, and we by profession radical.

For us to be annoyed when any of our institutions are commented upon, is
in the highest degree absurd; it would do well enough for Naples, but it
does not do for America.

There were some curious old customs observed at this dinner which
interested me as peculiar. About the middle of the feast, the official
who performed all the announcing made the declaration that the lord
mayor and lady mayoress would pledge the guests in a loving cup. They
then rose, and the official presented them with a massive gold cup, full
of wine, in which they pledged the guests. It then passed down the
table, and the guests rose, two and two, each tasting and presenting to
the other. My fair informant told me that this was a custom which had
come down from the most ancient time.

The banquet was enlivened at intervals by songs from professional
singers, hired for the occasion. After the banquet was over, massive
gold basins, filled with rose water, slid along down the table, into
which the guests dipped their napkins--an improvement, I suppose, on the
doctrine of finger glasses, or perhaps the primeval form of the custom.

We rose from table between eleven and twelve o'clock--that is, we
ladies--and went into the drawing room, where I was presented to Mrs.
Dickens and several other ladies. Mrs. Dickens is a good specimen of a
truly English woman; tall, large, and well developed, with fine, healthy
color, and an air of frankness, cheerfulness, and reliability. A friend
whispered to me that she was as observing, and fond of humor, as her
husband.

After a while the gentlemen came back to the drawing room, and I had a
few moments of very pleasant, friendly conversation with Mr. Dickens.
They are both people that one could not know a little of without
desiring to know more.

I had some conversation with the lady mayoress. She said she had been
invited to meet me at Stafford House on Saturday, but should be unable
to attend, as she had called a meeting on the same day of the city
ladies, for considering the condition of milliners and dressmakers, and
to form a society for their relief to act in conjunction with that of
the west end.

After a little we began to talk of separating; the lord mayor to take
his seat in the House of Commons, and the rest of the party to any other
engagement that might be upon their list.

"Come, let us go to the House of Commons," said one of my friends, "and
make a night of it." "With all my heart," replied I, "if I only had
another body to go into to-morrow."

What a convenience in sight-seeing it would be if one could have a relay
of bodies, as of clothes, and go from one into the other. But we, not
used to the London style of turning night into day, are full weary
already; so, good night.



LETTER XIV.


ROSE COTTAGE, WALWORTH, LONDON, May 2.

MY DEAR:--

This morning Mrs. Follen called, and we had quite a long chat together.
We are separated by the whole city. She lives at West End, while I am
down here in Walworth, which is one of the postscripts of London; for
London has as many postscripts as a lady's letter--little suburban
villages which have been overtaken by the growth, of the city, and
embraced in its arms. I like them a great deal better than the city, for
my part.

Here now, for instance, at Walworth, I can look out at a window and see
a nice green meadow with sheep and lambs feeding in it, which is some
relief in this smutty old place. London is as smutty as Pittsburg or
Wheeling. It takes a good hour's steady riding to get from here to West
End; so that my American friends, of the newspapers, who are afraid I
shall be corrupted by aristocratic associations, will see that I am at
safe distance.

This evening we are appointed to dine with the Earl of Carlisle. There
is to be no company but his own family circle, for he, with great
consideration, said in his note that he thought a little quiet would be
the best thing he could offer. Lord Carlisle is a great friend to
America; and so is his sister, the Duchess of Sutherland. He is the only
English traveller who ever wrote notes on our country in a real spirit
of appreciation. While the Halls, and Trollopes, and all the rest could
see nothing but our breaking eggs on the wrong end, or such matters, he
discerned and interpreted those points wherein lies the real strength of
our growing country. His notes on America were not very extended, being
only sketches delivered as a lyceum lecture some years after his return.
It was the spirit and quality, rather than quantity, of the thing that
was noticeable.

I observe that American newspapers are sneering about his preface to
Uncle Tom's Cabin; but they ought at least to remember that his
sentiments with regard to slavery are no sudden freak. In the first
place, he comes of a family that has always been on the side of liberal
and progressive principles. He himself has been a leader of reforms on
the popular side. It was a temporary defeat, when run as an
anti-corn-law candidate, which gave him leisure to travel in America.
Afterwards he had the satisfaction to be triumphantly returned for that
district, and to see the measure he had advocated fully successful.

While Lord Carlisle was in America he never disguised those antislavery
sentiments which formed a part of his political and religious creed as
an Englishman, and as the heir of a house always true to progress. Many
cultivated English people have shrunk from acknowledging abolitionists
in Boston, where the ostracism of fashion and wealth has been enforced
against them. Lord Carlisle, though moving in the highest circle,
honestly and openly expressed his respect for them on all occasions. He
attended the Boston antislavery fair, which at that time was quite a
decided step. Nor did he even in any part of our country disguise his
convictions. There is, therefore, propriety and consistency in the
course he has taken now. It would seem that a warm interest in
questions of a public nature has always distinguished the ladies of this
family. The Duchess of Sutherland's mother is daughter of the celebrated
Duchess of Devonshire, who, in her day, employed on the liberal side in
politics all the power of genius, wit, beauty, and rank. It was to the
electioneering talents of herself and her sister, the Lady Duncannon,
that Fox, at one crisis, owed his election. We Americans should remember
that it was this party who advocated our cause during our revolutionary
struggle. Fox and his associates pleaded for us with much the same
arguments, and with the same earnestness and warmth, that American
abolitionists now plead for the slaves. They stood against all the power
of the king and cabinet, as the abolitionists in America in 1850 stood
against president and cabinet.

The Duchess of Devonshire was a woman of real noble impulses and
generous emotions, and had a true sympathy for what is free and heroic.
Coleridge has some fine lines addressed to her,--called forth by a
sonnet which she composed, while in Switzerland, on William Tell's
Chapel,--which begin,--

  "O lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure,
  Where learn'dst thou that heroic measure?"

The Duchess of Sutherland, in our times, has been known to be no less
warmly interested on the liberal side. So great was her influence held
to be, that upon a certain occasion when a tory cabinet was to be
formed, a distinguished minister is reported to have said to the queen
that he could not hope to succeed in his administration while such a
decided influence as that of the Duchess of Sutherland stood at the
head of her majesty's household. The queen's spirited refusal to
surrender her favorite attendant attracted, at the time, universal
admiration.

Like her brother Lord Carlisle, the Duchess of Sutherland has always
professed those sentiments with regard to slavery which are the glory of
the English nation, and which are held with more particular zeal by
those families who are favorable to the progress of liberal ideas.

At about seven o'clock we took our carriage to go to the Earl of
Carlisle's, the dinner hour being here somewhere between eight and nine.
As we rode on through the usual steady drizzling rain, from street to
street and square to square, crossing Waterloo Bridge, with its avenue
of lamps faintly visible in the seethy mist, plunging through the heart
of the city, we began to realize something of the immense extent of
London.

Altogether the most striking objects that you pass, as you ride in the
evening thus, are the gin shops, flaming and flaring from the most
conspicuous positions, with plate-glass windows and dazzling lights,
thronged with men, and women, and children, drinking destruction.
Mothers go there with babies in their arms, and take what turns the
mother's milk to poison. Husbands go there, and spend the money that
their children want for bread, and multitudes of boys and girls of the
age of my own. In Paris and other European cities, at least the great
fisher of souls baits with something attractive, but in these gin shops
men bite at the bare, barbed hook. There are no garlands, no dancing, no
music, no theatricals, no pretence of social exhilaration, nothing but
hogsheads of spirits, and people going in to drink. The number of them
that I passed seemed to me absolutely appalling.

After long driving we found ourselves coming into the precincts of the
West End, and began to feel an indefinite sense that we were approaching
something very grand, though I cannot say that we saw much but heavy,
smoky-walled buildings, washed by the rain. At length we stopped in
Grosvenor Place, and alighted.

We were shown into an anteroom adjoining the entrance hall, and from
that into an adjacent apartment, where we met Lord Carlisle. The room
had a pleasant, social air, warmed and enlivened by the blaze of a coal
fire and wax candles.

We had never, any of us, met Lord Carlisle before; but the
considerateness and cordiality of our reception obviated whatever
embarrassment there might have been in this circumstance. In a few
moments after we were all seated the servant announced the Duchess of
Sutherland, and Lord Carlisle presented me. She is tall and stately,
with a decided fulness of outline, and a most noble bearing. Her fair
complexion, blond hair, and full lips speak of Saxon blood. In her early
youth she might have been a Rowena. I thought of the lines of
Wordsworth:--

  "A perfect woman, nobly planned,
  To warn, to comfort, to command."

Her manners have a peculiar warmth and cordiality. One sees people now
and then who seem to _radiate_ kindness and vitality, and to have a
faculty of inspiring perfect confidence in a moment. There are no airs
of grandeur, no patronizing ways; but a genuine sincerity and kindliness
that seem to come from a deep fountain within.

The engraving by Winterhalter, which has been somewhat familiar in
America, is as just a representation of her air and bearing as could be
given.

After this we were presented to the various members of the Howard
family, which is a very numerous one. Among them were Lady Dover, Lady
Lascelles, and Lady Labouchère, sisters of the duchess. The Earl of
Burlington, who is the heir of the Duke of Devonshire, was also present.
The Duke of Devonshire is the uncle of Lord Carlisle.

The only person present not of the family connection was my quondam
correspondent in America, Arthur Helps. Somehow or other I had formed
the impression from his writings that he was a venerable sage of very
advanced years, who contemplated life as an aged hermit, from the door
of his cell. Conceive my surprise to find a genial young gentleman of
about twenty-five, who looked as if he might enjoy a joke as well as
another man.

At dinner I found myself between him and Lord Carlisle, and perceiving,
perhaps, that the nature of my reflections was of rather an amusing
order, he asked me confidentially if I did not like fun, to which I
assented with fervor. I like that little homely word _fun_, though I
understand the dictionary says what it represents is vulgar; but I think
it has a good, hearty, Saxon sound, and I like Saxon, better than Latin
or French either.

When the servant offered me wine Lord Carlisle asked me if our party
were all _teetotallers_, and I said yes; that in America all clergymen
were teetotallers, of course.

After the ladies left the table the conversation turned on the Maine
law, which seems to be considered over here as a phenomenon, in
legislation, and many of the gentlemen, present inquired about it with
great curiosity.

When we went into the drawing room I was presented to the venerable
Countess of Carlisle, the earl's mother; a lady universally beloved and
revered, not less for superior traits of mind than for great loveliness
and benevolence of character. She received us with the utmost kindness;
kindness evidently genuine and real.

The walls of the drawing room were beautifully adorned with works of art
by the best masters. There was a Rembrandt hanging over the fireplace,
which showed finely by the evening light. It was simply the portrait of
a man with a broad, Flemish hat. There were one or two pictures, also,
by Cuyp. I should think he must have studied in America, so perfectly
does he represent the golden, hazy atmosphere of our Indian summer.

One of the ladies showed me a snuff box on which was a picture of Lady
Carlisle's mother, the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, taken when she
was quite a little girl; a round, happy face, showing great vivacity and
genius. On another box was an exquisitely beautiful miniature of a
relative of the family.

After the gentlemen rejoined us came in the Duke and Duchess of Argyle,
and Lord and Lady Blantyre. These ladies are the daughters of the
Duchess of Sutherland. The Duchess of Argyle is of a slight and
fairy-like figure, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, answering well enough
to the description of Annot Lyle, in the Legend of Montrose. Lady
Blantyre was somewhat taller, of fuller figure, with very brilliant
bloom. Lord Blantyre is of the Stuart blood, a tall and slender young
man, with very graceful manners.

As to the Duke of Argyle, we found that the picture drawn of him by his
countrymen in Scotland was every way correct. Though slight of figure,
with fair complexion and blue eyes, his whole appearance is indicative
of energy and vivacity. His talents and efficiency have made him a
member of the British cabinet at a much earlier age than is usual; and
he has distinguished himself not only in political life, but as a
writer, having given to the world a work on Presbyterianism, embracing
an analysis of the ecclesiastical history of Scotland since the
reformation, which is spoken of as written with great ability, in a most
candid and liberal spirit.

The company soon formed themselves into little groups in different parts
of the room. The Duchess of Sutherland, Lord Carlisle, and the Duke and
Duchess of Argyle formed a circle, and turned the conversation upon
American topics. The Duke of Argyle made many inquiries about our
distinguished men; particularly of Emerson, Longfellow, and Hawthorne;
also of Prescott, who appears to be a general favorite here. I felt at
the moment that we never value our literary men so much as when placed
in a circle of intelligent foreigners; it is particularly so with
Americans, because we have nothing but our men and women to glory in--no
court, no nobles, no castles, no cathedrals; except we produce
distinguished specimens of humanity, we are nothing.

The quietness of this evening circle, the charm of its kind hospitality,
the evident air of sincerity and good will which pervaded every thing,
made the evening pass most delightfully to me. I had never felt myself
more at home even among the Quakers. Such a visit is a true rest and
refreshment, a thousand times better than the most brilliant and
glittering entertainment.

At eleven o'clock, however, the carriage called, for our evening was
drawing to its close; that of our friends, I suppose, was but just
commencing, as London's liveliest hours are by gaslight, but we cannot
learn the art of turning night into day.



LETTER XV.


May 4.

MY DEAR S.:--

This morning I felt too tired to go out any where; but Mr. and Mrs.
Binney persuaded me to go just a little while in to the meeting of the
Bible Society, for you must know that this is anniversary week, and so,
besides the usual rush, and roar, and whirl of London, there is the
confluence of all the religious forces in Exeter Hall. I told Mrs. B.
that I was worn out, and did not think I could sit through a single
speech; but she tempted me by a promise that I should withdraw at any
moment. We had a nice little snug gallery near one of the doors, where I
could see all over the house, and make a quick retreat in case of need.

In one point English ladies certainly do carry practical industry
farther than I ever saw it in America. Every body knows that an
anniversary meeting is something of a siege, and I observed many good
ladies below had made regular provision therefor, by bringing knitting
work, sewing, crochet, or embroidery. I thought it was an improvement,
and mean to recommend it when I get home. I am sure many of our Marthas
in America will be very grateful for the custom.

The Earl of Shaftesbury was in the chair, and I saw him now for the
first time. He is quite a tall man, of slender figure, with a long and
narrow face, dark hazel eyes, and very thick, auburn hair. His bearing
was dignified and appropriate to his position. People here are somewhat
amused by the vivacity with which American papers are exhorting Lord
Shaftesbury to look into the factory system, and to explore the
collieries, and in general to take care of the suffering lower classes,
as if he had been doing any thing else for these twenty years past. To
people who know how he has worked against wind and tide, in the face of
opposition and obloquy, and how all the dreadful statistics that they
quote against him were brought out expressly by inquiries set on foot
and prosecuted by him, and how these same statistics have been by him
reiterated in the ears of successive houses of Parliament till all these
abuses have been reformed, as far as the most stringent and minute
legislation can reform, them,--it is quite amusing to hear him exhorted
to consider the situation of the working classes. One reason for this,
perhaps, is that provoking facility in changing names which is incident
to the English peerage. During the time that most of the researches and
speeches on the factory system and collieries were made, the Earl of
Shaftesbury was in the House of Commons, with the title of Lord Ashley,
and it was not till the death of his father that he entered the House of
Peers as Lord Shaftesbury. The contrast which a very staid religious
paper in America has drawn between Lord Ashley and Lord Shaftesbury does
not strike people over here as remarkably apposite.

In the course of the speeches on this occasion, frequent and feeling
allusions were made to the condition of three millions of people in
America who are prevented by legislative enactments from reading for
themselves the word of life. I know it is not pleasant to our ministers
upon the stage to hear such things; but is the whole moral sense of the
world to hush its voice, the whole missionary spirit of Christianity to
be restrained, because it is disagreeable for us to be reminded of our
national sins? At least, let the moral atmosphere of the world be kept
pure, though it should be too stimulating for our diseased lungs. If
oral instruction will do for three million slaves in America, it will do
equally well in Austria, Italy, and Spain, and the powers that be,
there, are just of the opinion that they are in America--that it is
dangerous to have the people read the Bible for themselves. Thoughts of
this kind were very ably set forth in some of the speeches. On the stage
I noticed Rev. Samuel R. Ward, from Toronto in Canada, a full blooded
African of fine personal presence. He was received and treated with much
cordiality by the ministerial brethren who surrounded him. I was sorry
that I could not stay through the speeches, for they were quite
interesting. C. thought they were the best he ever heard at an
anniversary. I was obliged to leave after a little. Mr. Sherman very
kindly came for us in his carriage, and took us a little ride into the
country.

Mrs. B. says that to-morrow morning we shall go out to see the Dulwich
Gallery, a fine collection of paintings by the old masters. Now, I
confess unto you that I have great suspicions of these old masters. Why,
I wish to know, should none but _old_ masters be thought any thing of?
Is not nature ever springing, ever new? Is it not fair to conclude that
all the mechanical assistants of painting are improved with the advance
of society, as much as of all arts? May not the magical tints, which are
said to be a secret with the old masters, be the effect of time in part?
or may not modern artists have their secrets, as well, for future ages
to study and admire? Then, besides, how are we to know that our
admiration of old masters is genuine, since we can bring our taste to
any thing, if we only know we must, and try long enough? People never
like olives the first time they eat them. In fact, I must confess, I
have some partialities towards young masters, and a sort of suspicion
that we are passing over better paintings at our side, to get at those
which, though the best of their day, are not so good as the best of
ours. I certainly do not worship the old English poets. With the
exception of Milton and Shakspeare, there is more poetry in the works of
the writers of the last fifty years than in all the rest together. Well,
these are my surmises for the present; but one thing I am determined--as
my admiration is nothing to any body but myself, I will keep some likes
and dislikes of my own, and will not get up any raptures that do not
arise of themselves. I am entirely willing to be conquered by any
picture that has the power. I will be a non-resistant, but that is all.

May 5. Well, we saw the Dulwich Gallery; five rooms filled with old
masters, Murillos, Claudes, Rubens, Salvator Rosas, Titians, Cuyps,
Vandykes, and all the rest of them; probably not the best specimens of
any one of them, but good enough to begin with. C. and I took different
courses. I said to him, "Now choose nine pictures simply by your eye,
and see how far its untaught guidance will bring you within the canons
of criticism." When he had gone through all the rooms and marked his
pictures, we found he had selected two by Rubens, two by Vandyke, one by
Salvator Rosa, three by Murillo, and one by Titian. Pretty successful
that, was it not, for a first essay? We then took the catalogue, and
selected all the pictures of each artist one after another, in order to
get an idea of the style of each. I had a great curiosity to see Claude
Lorraine's, remembering the poetical things that had been said and sung
of him. I thought I would see if I could distinguish them by my eye
without looking at the catalogue I found I could do so. I knew them by a
certain misty quality in the atmosphere. I was disappointed in them,
very much. Certainly, they were good paintings; I had nothing to object
to them, but I profanely thought I had seen pictures by modern landscape
painters as far excelling them as a brilliant morning excels a cool,
gray day. Very likely the fault was all in me, but I could not help it;
so I tried the Murillos. There was a Virgin and Child, with clouds
around them. The virgin was a very pretty girl, such as you may see by
the dozen in any boarding school, and the child was a pretty child. Call
it the young mother and son, and it is a very pretty picture; but call
it Mary and the infant Jesus, and it is an utter failure. Not such was
the Jewish princess, the inspired poetess and priestess, the chosen of
God among all women.

It seems to me that painting is poetry expressing itself by lines and
colors instead of words; therefore there are two things to be considered
in every picture: first, the quality of the idea expressed, and second,
the quality of the language in which it is expressed. Now, with regard
to the first, I hold that every person of cultivated taste is as good a
judge of painting as of poetry. The second, which relates to the mode of
expressing the conception, including drawing and coloring, with all
their secrets, requires more study, and here our untaught perceptions
must sometimes yield to the judgment of artists. My first question,
then, when I look at the work of an artist, is, What sort of a mind has
this man? What has he to say? And then I consider, How does he say it?

Now, with regard to Murillo, it appeared to me that he was a man of
rather a mediocre mind, with nothing very high or deep to say, but that
he was gifted with an exquisite faculty of expressing what he did say;
and his paintings seem to me to bear an analogy to Pope's poetry,
wherein the power of expression is wrought to the highest point, but
without freshness or ideality in the conception. As Pope could reproduce
in most exquisite wording the fervent ideas of Eloisa, without the power
to originate such, so Murillo reproduced the current and floating
religious ideas of his times, with most exquisite perfection of art and
color, but without ideality or vitality. The pictures of his which
please me most are his beggar boys and flower girls, where he abandons
the region of ideality, and simply reproduces nature. His art and
coloring give an exquisite grace to such sketches.

As to Vandyke, though evidently a fine painter, he is one whose mind
does not move me. He adds nothing to my stock of thoughts--awakens no
emotion. I know it is a fine picture, just as I have sometimes been
conscious in church that I was hearing a fine sermon, which somehow had
not the slightest effect upon me.

Rubens, on the contrary, whose pictures I detested with all the energy
of my soul, I knew and felt all the time, by the very pain he gave me,
to be a real living artist. There was a Venus and Cupid there, as fat
and as coarse as they could be, but so freely drawn, and so masterly in
their expression and handling, that one must feel that they were by an
artist, who could just as easily have painted them any other way if it
had suited his sovereign pleasure, and therefore we are the more vexed
with him. When your taste is crossed by a clever person, it always vexes
you more than when it is done by a stupid one, because it is done with
such power that there is less hope for you.

There were a number of pictures of Cuyp there, which satisfied my thirst
for coloring, and appeared to me as I expected the Claudes would have
done. Generally speaking, his objects are few in number and commonplace
in their character--a bit of land and water, a few cattle and figures,
in no way remarkable; but then he floods the whole with that dreamy,
misty sunlight, such as fills the arches of our forests in the days of
autumn. As I looked at them I fancied I could hear nuts dropping from
the trees among the dry leaves, and see the goldenrods and purple
asters, and hear the click of the squirrel as he whips up the tree to
his nest. For this one attribute of golden, dreamy haziness, I like
Cuyp. His power in shedding it over very simple objects reminds me of
some of the short poems of Longfellow, when things in themselves most
prosaic are flooded with a kind of poetic light from the inner soul.
These are merely first ideas and impressions. Of course I do not make up
my mind about any artist from what I have seen here. We must not expect
a painter to put his talent into every picture, more than a poet into
every verse that he writes. Like other men, he is sometimes brilliant
and inspired, and at others dull and heavy. In general, however, I have
this to say, that there is some kind of fascination about these old
masters which I feel very sensibly. But yet, I am sorry to add that
there is very little of what I consider the highest mission of art in
the specimens I have thus far seen; nothing which speaks to the deepest
and the highest; which would inspire a generous ardor, or a solemn
religious trust. Vainly I seek for something divine, and ask of art to
bring me nearer to the source of all beauty and perfection. I find
wealth of coloring, freedom of design, and capability of expression
wasting themselves merely in portraying trivial sensualities and
commonplace ideas. So much for the first essay.

In the evening we went to dine with our old friends of the Dingle, Mr.
and Mrs. Edward Cropper, who are now spending a little time in London.
We were delighted to meet them once more, and to hear from our Liverpool
friends. Mrs. Cropper's father, Lord Denman, has returned to England,
though with no sensible improvement in his health.

At dinner we were introduced to Lord and Lady Hatherton. Lord Hatherton
is a member of the whig party, and has been chief secretary for Ireland.
Lady Hatherton is a person of great cultivation and intelligence, warmly
interested in all the progressive movements of the day; and I gained
much information in her society. There were also present Sir Charles and
Lady Trevelyan; the former holds some appointment in the navy. Lady
Trevelyan is a sister of Macaulay.

In the evening quite a circle came in; among others, Lady Emma Campbell,
sister of the Duke of Argyle; the daughters of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who very kindly invited me to visit them, at Lambeth; and
Mr. Arthur Helps, besides many others whose names I need not mention.

People here continually apologize for the weather, which, to say the
least, has been rather ungracious since we have been here; as if one
ever expected to find any thing but smoke, and darkness, and fog in
London. The authentic air with which they lament the existence of these
things _at present_ would almost persuade one that _in general_ London
was a very clear, bright place. I, however, assured them that, having
heard from my childhood of the smoke of London, its dimness and
darkness, I found things much better than I had expected.

They talk here of spirit rappings and table turnings, I find, as in
America. Many rumors are afloat which seem to have no other effect than
merely to enliven the chitchat of an evening circle. I passed a very
pleasant evening, and left about ten o'clock. The gentleman who was
handing me down stairs said, "I suppose you are going to one or two
other places to-night." The idea struck me as so preposterous that I
could not help an exclamation of surprise.

May 6. A good many calls this morning. Among others came Miss
Greenfield, the (so called) Black Swan. She appears to be a gentle,
amiable, and interesting young person. She was born the slave of a kind
mistress, who gave her every thing but education, and, dying, left her
free with a little property. The property she lost by some legal
quibble, but had, like others of her race, a passion for music, and
could sing and play by ear. A young lady, discovering her taste, gave
her a few lessons. She has a most astonishing voice. C. sat down to the
piano and played, while she sung. Her voice runs through a compass of
three octaves and a fourth. This is four notes more than Malibran's. She
sings a most magnificent tenor, with such a breadth and volume of sound
that, with your back turned, you could not imagine it to be a woman.
While she was there, Mrs. S.C. Hall, of the Irish Sketches, was
announced. She is a tall, well-proportioned woman, with a fine color,
dark-brown hair, and a cheerful, cordial manner. She brought with her
her only daughter, a young girl about fifteen. I told her of Miss
Greenfield, and, she took great interest in her, and requested her to
sing something for her. C. played the accompaniment, and she sung Old
Folks at Home, first in a soprano voice, and then in a tenor or
baritone. Mrs. Hall was amazed and delighted, and entered at once into
her cause. She said that she would call with me and present her to Sir
George Smart, who is at the head of the queen's musical establishment,
and, of course, the acknowledged leader of London musical judgment.

Mrs. Hall very kindly told me that she had called to invite me to seek a
retreat with her in her charming little country house near London. I do
not mean that _she_ called it a charming little retreat, but that every
one who speaks of it gives it that character. She told me that I should
there have positive and perfect quiet; and what could attract me more
than that? She said, moreover, that there they had a great many
nightingales. Ah, this "bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream," could I
only go there! but I am tied to London by a hundred engagements. I
cannot do it. Nevertheless, I have promised that I will go and spend
some time yet, when Mr. S. leaves London.

In the course of the day I had a note from Mrs. Hall, saying that, as
Sir George Smart was about leaving town, she had not waited for me, but
had taken Miss Greenfield to him herself. She writes that he was really
astonished and charmed at the wonderful weight, compass, and power of
her voice. He was also as well pleased with the mind in her singing, and
her quickness in doing and catching all that he told her. Should she
have a public opportunity to perform, he offered to hear her rehearse
beforehand. Mrs. Hall says this is a great deal for him, whose hours are
all marked with gold.

In the evening the house was opened in a general way for callers, who
were coming and going all the evening. I think there must have been over
two hundred people--among them Martin Farquhar Tupper, a little man,
with fresh, rosy complexion, and cheery, joyous manners; and Mary
Howitt, just such a cheerful, sensible, fireside companion as we find
her in her books,--winning love and trust the very first few moments of
the interview. The general topic of remark on meeting me seems to be,
that I am not so bad looking as they were afraid I was; and I do assure
you that, when I have seen the things that are put up in the shop
windows here with my name under them, I have been in wondering
admiration at the boundless loving-kindness of my English and Scottish
friends, in keeping up such a warm heart for such a Gorgon. I should
think that the Sphinx in the London Museum might have sat for most of
them. I am going to make a collection of these portraits to bring home
to you. There is a great variety of them, and they will be useful, like
the Irishman's guideboard, which showed where the road did not go.

Before the evening was through I was talked out and worn out--there was
hardly a chip of me left. To-morrow at eleven o'clock comes the meeting
at Stafford House. What it will amount to I do not know; but I take no
thought for the morrow.



LETTER XVI.


MAY 8.

MY DEAR C.:--

In fulfilment of my agreement, I will tell you, as nearly as I can
remember, all the details of the meeting at Stafford House.

At about eleven o'clock we drove under the arched carriage way of a
mansion, externally, not very showy in appearance. It stands on the
borders of St. James's Park, opposite to Buckingham Palace, with a
street on the north side, and beautiful gardens on the south, while the
park is extended on the west.

We were received at the door by two stately Highlanders in full costume;
and what seemed to me an innumerable multitude of servants in livery,
with powdered hair, repeated our names through the long corridors, from
one to another.

I have only a confused idea of passing from passage to passage, and from
hall to hall, till finally we were introduced into a large drawing room.
No person was present, and I was at full leisure to survey an apartment
whose arrangements more perfectly suited my eye and taste than any I had
ever seen before. There was not any particular splendor of furniture, or
dazzling display of upholstery, but an artistic, poetic air, resulting
from the arrangement of colors, and the disposition of the works of
_virtu_ with which the room abounded. The great fault in many splendid
rooms, is, that they are arranged without any eye to unity of
impression. The things in them may be all fine in their way, but there
is no harmony of result.

People do not often consider that there may be a general sentiment to be
expressed in the arrangement of a room, as well as in the composition of
a picture. It is this leading idea which corresponds to what painters
call the ground tone, or harmonizing tint, of a picture. The presence of
this often renders a very simple room extremely fascinating, and the
absence of it makes the most splendid combinations of furniture
powerless to please.

The walls were covered with green damask, laid on flat, and confined in
its place by narrow gilt bands, which bordered it around the margin. The
chairs, ottomans, and sofas were of white woodwork, varnished and
gilded, covered with the same.

The carpet was of a green ground, bedropped with a small yellow leaf;
and in each window a circular, standing basket contained a whole bank of
primroses, growing as if in their native soil, their pale yellow
blossoms and green leaves harmonizing admirably with the general tone of
coloring.

Through the fall of the lace curtains I could see out into the beautiful
grounds, whose clumps of blossoming white lilacs, and velvet grass,
seemed so in harmony with the green interior of the room, that one would
think they had been arranged as a continuation of the idea.

One of the first individual objects which attracted my attention was,
over the mantel-piece, a large, splendid picture by Landseer, which I
have often seen engraved. It represents the two eldest children of the
Duchess of Sutherland, the Marquis of Stafford, and Lady Blantyre, at
that time Lady Levison Gower, in their childhood. She is represented as
feeding a fawn; a little poodle dog is holding up a rose to her; and her
brother is lying on the ground, playing with an old staghound.

I had been familiar with Landseer's engravings, but this was the first
of his paintings I had ever seen, and I was struck with the rich and
harmonious quality of the coloring. There was also a full-length marble
statue of the Marquis of Stafford, taken, I should think, at about
seventeen years of age, in full Highland costume.

When the duchess appeared, I thought she looked handsomer by daylight
than in the evening. She was dressed in white muslin, with a drab velvet
basque slashed with satin of the same color. Her hair was confined by a
gold and diamond net on the back part of her head.

She received us with the same warm and simple kindness which she had
shown before. We were presented to the Duke of Sutherland. He is a tall,
slender man, with rather a thin face, light brown hair, and a mild blue
eye, with an air of gentleness and dignity. The delicacy of his health
prevents him from moving in general society, or entering into public
life. He spends much of his time in reading, and devising and executing
schemes of practical benevolence for the welfare of his numerous
dependants.

I sought a little private conversation with the duchess in her boudoir,
in which I frankly confessed a little anxiety respecting the
arrangements of the day: having lived all my life in such a shady and
sequestered way, and being entirely ignorant of life as it exists in the
sphere in which she moves, such apprehensions were rather natural.

She begged that I would make myself entirely easy, and consider myself
as among my own friends; that she had invited a few friends to lunch,
and that afterwards others would call; that there would be a short
address from the ladies of England read by Lord Shaftesbury, which would
require no answer.

I could not but be grateful for the consideration thus evinced. The
matter being thus adjusted, we came back to the drawing room, when the
party began to assemble.

The only difference, I may say, by the by, in the gathering of such a
company and one with us, is in the announcing of names at the door; a,
custom which I think a good one, saving a vast deal of the breath we
always expend in company, by asking "Who is that? and that?" Then, too,
people can fall into conversation without a formal presentation, the
presumption being that nobody is invited with whom, it is not proper
that you should converse. The functionary who performed the announcing
was a fine, stalwart man, in full Highland costume, the duke being the
head of a Highland clan.

Among the first that entered were the members of the family, the Duke
and Duchess of Argyle, Lord and Lady Blantyre, the Marquis and
Marchioness of Stafford, and Lady Emma Campbell. Then followed Lord
Shaftesbury with his beautiful lady, and her father and mother, Lord and
Lady Palmerston. Lord Palmerston is of middle height, with a keen, dark
eye, and black hair streaked with gray. There is something peculiarly
alert and vivacious about all his movements; in short his appearance
perfectly answers to what we know of him from his public life. One has a
strange mythological feeling about the existence of people of whom one
hears for many years without ever seeing them. While talking with Lord
Palmerston I could but remember how often I had heard father and Mr. S.
exulting over his foreign despatches by our home fireside.

The Marquis of Lansdowne now entered. He is about the middle height,
with gray hair, blue eyes, and a mild, quiet dignity of manner. He is
one of those who, as Lord Henry Pettes, took a distinguished part with
Clarkson and Wilberforce in the abolition of the slave trade. He has
always been a most munificent patron of literature and art.

There were present, also, Lord John Russell, Mr. Gladstone, and Lord
Grenville. The latter we all thought very strikingly resembled in his
appearance the poet Longfellow. My making the remark introduced the
subject of his poetry. The Duchess of Argyle appealed to her two little
boys, who stood each side of her, if they remembered her reading
Evangeline to them. It is a gratification to me that I find by every
English fireside traces of one of our American poets. These two little
boys of the Duchess of Argyle, and the youngest son of the Duchess of
Sutherland, were beautiful fair-haired children, picturesquely attired
in the Highland costume. There were some other charming children of the
family circle present. The eldest son of the Duke of Argyle bears the
title of the Lord of Lorn, which Scott has rendered so poetical a sound
to our ears.

When lunch was announced, the Duke of Sutherland gave me his arm, and
led me through a suite of rooms into the dining hall. Each room that we
passed was rich in its pictures, statues, and artistic arrangements; a
poetic eye and taste had evidently presided over all. The table was
beautifully laid, ornamented by two magnificent _épergnes_, crystal
vases supported by wrought silver standards, filled with the most
brilliant hothouse flowers; on the edges of the vases and nestling
among the flowers were silver doves of the size of life. The walls of
the room were hung with gorgeous pictures, and directly opposite to me
was a portrait of the Duchess of Sutherland, by Sir Thomas Lawrence,
which has figured largely in our souvenirs and books of beauty. She is
represented with a little child in her arms; this child, now Lady
Blantyre, was sitting opposite to me at table, with a charming little
girl of her own, of about the same apparent age. When one sees such
things, one almost fancies this to be a fairy palace, where the cold
demons of age and time have lost their power.

I was seated next to Lord Lansdowne, who conversed much with me about
affairs in America. It seems to me that the great men of the old world
regard our country thoughtfully. It is a new development of society,
acting every day with greater and greater power on the old world; nor is
it yet clearly seen what its final results will be. His observations
indicated a calm, clear, thoughtful mind--an accurate observer of life
and history.

Meanwhile the servants moved noiselessly to and fro, taking up the
various articles on the table, and offering them to the guests in a
peculiarly quiet manner. One of the dishes brought to me was a plover's
nest, precisely as the plover made it, with five little blue speckled
eggs in it. This mode of serving plover's eggs, as I understand it, is
one of the fashions of-the day, and has something quite sylvan and
picturesque about it; but it looked so, for all the world, like a
robin's nest that I used to watch out in our home orchard, that I had it
not in my heart to profane the sanctity of the image by eating one of
the eggs.

The _cuisine_ of these West End regions appears to be entirely under
French legislation, conducted by Parisian artists, skilled in all subtle
and metaphysical combinations of ethereal possibilities, quite
inscrutable to the eye of sense. Her grace's _chef_, I have heard it
said elsewhere, bears the reputation of being the first artist of his
class in England. The profession as thus sublimated bears the same
proportion to the old substantial English cookery that Mozart's music
does to Handel's, or Midsummer Night's Dream to Paradise Lost.

This meal, called _lunch_, is with the English quite an institution,
being apparently a less elaborate and ceremonious dinner. Every thing is
placed upon the table at once, and ladies sit down without removing
their bonnets; it is, I imagine, the most social and family meal of the
day; one in which children are admitted to the table, even in the
presence of company. It generally takes place in the middle of the day,
and the dinner, which comes after it, at eight or nine in the evening,
is in comparison only a ceremonial proceeding.

I could not help thinking, as I looked around on so many men whom I had
heard of historically all my life, how very much less they bear the
marks of age than men who have been connected a similar length of time
with the movements of our country. This appearance of youthfulness and
alertness has a constantly deceptive influence upon one in England. I
cannot realize that people are as old as history states them to be. In
the present company there were men of sixty or seventy, whom I should
have pronounced at the first glance to be fifty.

Generally speaking our working minds seem to wear out their bodies
faster; perhaps because our climate is more stimulating; more, perhaps,
from the intenser stimulus of our political _régime_, which never leaves
any thing long at rest.

The tone of manners in this distinguished circle did not obtrude itself
upon my mind as different from that of highly-educated people in our own
country. It appeared simple, friendly, natural, and sincere. They talked
like people who thought of what they were saying, rather than how to say
it. The practice of thorough culture and good breeding is substantially
the same through the world, though smaller conventionalities may differ.

After lunch the whole party ascended to the picture gallery, passing on
our way the grand staircase and hall, said to be the most magnificent in
Europe. All that wealth could command of artistic knowledge and skill
has been expended here to produce a superb result. It fills the entire
centre of the building, extending up to the roof and surmounted by a
splendid dome. On three sides a gallery runs round it supported by
pillars. To this gallery you ascend on the fourth side by a staircase,
which midway has a broad, flat landing, from which stairs ascend, on the
right and left, into the gallery. The whole hall and staircase, carpeted
with a scarlet footcloth, give a broad, rich mass of coloring, throwing
out finely the statuary and gilded balustrades. On the landing is a
marble statue of a Sibyl, by Rinaldi. The walls are adorned by gorgeous
frescos from Paul Veronese. What is peculiar in the arrangements of this
hall is, that although so extensive, it still wears an air of warm
homelikeness and comfort, as if it might be a delightful place to lounge
and enjoy life, amid the ottomans, sofas, pictures, and statuary, which
are disposed here and there throughout.

All this, however, I passed rapidly by as I ascended the staircase, and
passed onward to the picture gallery. This was a room about a hundred
feet long by forty wide, surmounted by a dome gorgeously finished with
golden palm, trees and carving. This hall is lighted in the evening by a
row of gaslights placed outside the ground glass of the dome; this light
is concentrated and thrown down by strong reflectors, communicating thus
the most brilliant radiance without the usual heat of gas. This gallery
is peculiarly rich in paintings of the Spanish school. Among them are
two superb Murillos, taken from convents by Marshal Soult, during the
time of his career in Spain.

There was a painting by Paul de la Roche of the Earl of Strafford led
forth to execution, engravings of which we have seen in the print shops
in America. It is a strong and striking picture, and has great dramatic
effect. But there was a painting in one corner by a Flemish artist,
whose name I do not now remember, representing Christ under examination
before Caiaphas. It was a candle-light scene, and only two faces were
very distinct; the downcast, calm, resolute face of Christ, in which was
written a perfect knowledge of his approaching doom, and the eager,
perturbed vehemence of the high priest, who was interrogating him. On
the frame was engraved the lines,--

  "He was wounded for our transgressions,
  He was bruised for our iniquities;
  The chastisement of our peace was upon him,
  And with his stripes we are healed."

The presence of this picture here in the midst of this scene was very
affecting to me.

The company now began to assemble and throng the gallery, and very soon
the vast room was crowded. Among the throng I remember many
presentations, but of course must have forgotten many more. Archbishop
Whately was there, with Mrs. and Miss Whately; Macaulay, with two of
his sisters; Milman, the poet and historian; the Bishop of Oxford,
Chevalier Bunsen and lady, and many more.

When all the company were together Lord Shaftesbury read a very short,
kind, and considerate address in behalf of the ladies of England,
expressive of their cordial welcome. The address will be seen in the
Morning Advertiser, which I send you. The company remained a while after
this, walking through the rooms and conversing in different groups, and
I talked with several. Archbishop Whately, I thought, seemed rather
inclined to be jocose: he seems to me like some of our American divines;
a man who pays little attention to forms, and does not value them. There
is a kind of brusque humor in his address, a downright heartiness, which
reminds one of western character. If he had been born in our latitude,
in Kentucky or Wisconsin, the natives would have called him Whately, and
said he was a real steamboat on an argument. This is not precisely the
kind of man we look for in an archbishop. One sees traces of this humor
in his Historic Doubts concerning the Existence of Napoleon. I conversed
with some who knew him intimately, and they said that he delighted in
puns and odd turns of language.

I was also introduced to the Bishop of Oxford, who is a son of
Wilberforce. He is a short man, of very youthful appearance, with bland,
graceful, courteous manners. He is much admired as a speaker. I heard
him spoken of as one of the most popular preachers of the day.

I must not forget to say that many ladies of the society of Friends were
here, and one came and put on to my arm a reticule, in which, she said,
were carried about the very first antislavery tracts ever distributed in
England. At that time the subject of antislavery was as unpopular in
England as it can be at this day any where in the world, and I trust
that a day will come when the subject will be as popular in South
Carolina as it is now in England. People always glory in the right after
they have done it.

After a while the company dispersed over the house to look at the rooms.
There are all sorts of parlors and reception rooms, furnished with the
same correct taste. Each room had its predominant color; among them blue
was a particular favorite.

The carpets were all of those small figures I have described, the blue
ones being of the same pattern with the green. The idea, I suppose, is
to produce a mass of color of a certain tone, and not to distract the
eye with the complicated pattern. Where so many objects of art and
_virtu_ are to be exhibited, without this care in regulating and
simplifying the ground tints, there would be no unity in the impression.
This was my philosophizing on the matter, and if it is not the reason
why it is done, it ought to be. It is as good a theory as most theories,
at any rate.

Before we went away I made a little call on the Lady Constance
Grosvenor, and saw the future Marquis of Westminster, heir to the
largest estate in England. His beautiful mother is celebrated in the
annals of the court journal as one of the handsomest ladies in England.
His little lordship was presented to me in all the dignity of long,
embroidered clothes, being then, I believe, not quite a fortnight old,
and I can assure you that he demeaned himself with a gravity becoming
his rank and expectations.

There is a more than common interest attached to these children by one
who watches the present state of the world. On the character and
education of the princes and nobility of this generation the future
history of England must greatly depend.

This Stafford House meeting, in any view of it, is a most remarkable
fact. Kind and gratifying as its arrangements have been to me, I am far
from appropriating it to myself individually, as a personal honor. I
rather regard it as the most public expression possible of the feelings
of the women of England on one of the most important questions of our
day--that, of individual liberty considered in its religious bearings.

The most splendid of England's palaces has this day opened its doors to
the slave. Its treasures of wealth and of art, its prestige of high name
and historic memories, have been consecrated to the acknowledgment of
Christianity in that form, wherein, in our day, it is most frequently
denied--the recognition of the brotherhood of the human family, and the
equal religious value of every human soul. A fair and noble hand by this
meeting has fixed, in the most public manner, an ineffaceable seal to
the beautiful sentiments of that most Christian document, the letter of
the ladies of Great Britain to the ladies of America. That letter and
this public attestation of it are now historic facts, which wait their
time and the judgment of advancing Christianity.

Concerning that letter I have one or two things to say. Nothing can be
more false than the insinuation that has been thrown out in some
American papers, that it was a political movement. It had its first
origin in the deep religious feelings of the man whose whole life has
been devoted to the abolition of the white-labor slavery of Great
Britain; the man whose eye explored the darkness of the collieries, and
counted the weary steps of the cotton spinners--who penetrated the dens
where the insane were tortured with darkness, and cold, and stripes; and
threaded the loathsome alleys of London, haunts of fever and cholera:
this man it was, whose heart was overwhelmed by the tale of American
slavery, and who could find no relief from, this distress except in
raising some voice to the ear of Christianity. Fearful of the jealousy
of political interference, Lord Shaftesbury published an address to the
ladies of England, in which he told them that he felt himself moved by
an irresistible impulse to entreat them to raise their voice, in the
name of a common Christianity and womanhood, to their American sisters.
The abuse which has fallen upon him for this most Christian proceeding
does not in the least surprise him, because it is of the kind that has
always met him in every benevolent movement. When in the Parliament of
England he was pleading for women in the collieries who were harnessed
like beasts of burden, and made to draw heavy loads through miry and
dark passages, and for children who were taken at three years old to
labor where the sun never shines, he was met with determined and furious
opposition and obloquy--accused of being a disorganizer, and of wishing
to restore the dark ages. Very similar accusations have attended all his
efforts for the laboring classes during the long course of seventeen
years, which resulted at last in the triumphant passage of the factory
bill.

We in America ought to remember that the gentle remonstrance of the
letter of the ladies of England contains, in the mildest form, the
sentiments of universal Christendom. Rebukes much more pointed are
coming back to us even from, our own missionaries. A day is coming when,
past all the temporary currents of worldly excitement, we shall, each of
us, stand alone face to face with the perfect purity of our Redeemer.
The thought of such a final interview ought certainly to modify all our
judgments now, that we may strive to approve only what we shall then
approve.



LETTER XVII.


MY DEAR C.:--

As to those ridiculous stories about the Duchess of Sutherland, which
have found their way into many of the prints in America, one has only to
be here, moving in society, to see how excessively absurd they are.

All my way through Scotland, and through England, I was associating,
from day to day, with people of every religious denomination, and every
rank of life. I have been with, dissenters and with churchmen; with the
national Presbyterian church and the free Presbyterian; with Quakers and
Baptists.

In all these circles I have heard the great and noble of the land freely
spoken of and canvassed, and if there had been the least shadow of a
foundation for any such accusations, I certainly should have heard it
recognized in some manner. If in no other, such warm friends as I have
heard speak would have alluded to the subject in the way of defence; but
I have actually never heard any allusion of any sort, as if there was
any thing to be explained or accounted for.

As I have before intimated, the Howard family, to which the duchess
belongs, is one which has always been on the side of popular rights and
popular reform. Lord Carlisle, her brother, has been a leader of the
people, particularly during the time of the corn-law reformation, and
_she_ has been known to take a wide and generous interest in all these
subjects. Every where that I have moved through Scotland and England I
have heard her kindness of heart, her affability of manner, and her
attention to the feelings of others spoken of as marked characteristics.

Imagine, then, what people must think when they find in respectable
American prints the absurd story of her turning her tenants out into the
snow, and ordering the cottages to be set on fire over their heads
because they would not go out.

But, if you ask how such an absurd story could ever have been made up,
whether there is the least foundation to make it on, I answer, that it
is the exaggerated report of a movement made by the present Duke of
Sutherland's father, in the year 1811, and which was part of a great
movement that passed through, the Highlands of Scotland, when the
advancing progress of civilization began to make it necessary to change
the estates from military to agricultural establishments.

Soon after the union of the crowns of England and Scotland, the border
chiefs found it profitable to adopt upon their estates that system, of
agriculture to which their hills were adapted, rather than to continue
the maintenance of military retainers. Instead of keeping garrisons,
with small armies, in a district, they decided to keep only so many as
could profitably cultivate the land. The effect of this, of course, was
like disbanding an army. It threw many people out of employ, and forced
them to seek for a home elsewhere. Like many other movements which, in
their final results, are beneficial to society, this was at first
vehemently resisted, and had to be carried into effect in some cases by
force. As I have said, it began first in the southern counties of
Scotland, soon after the union of the English and Scottish crowns, and
gradually crept northward--one county after another yielding to the
change. To a certain extent, as it progressed northward, the demand for
labor in the great towns absorbed the surplus population; but when it
came into the extreme Highlands, this refuge was wanting. Emigration to
America now became the resource; and the surplus population were induced
to this by means such as the Colonization Society now recommends and
approves for promoting emigration to Liberia.

The first farm that was so formed on the Sutherland estate was in 1806.
The great change was made in 1811-12, and completed in 1819-20.

The Sutherland estates are in the most northern portion of Scotland. The
distance of this district from the more advanced parts of the kingdom,
the total want of roads, the unfrequent communication by sea, and the
want of towns, made it necessary to adopt a different course in regard
to the location of the Sutherland population from that which
circumstances had provided in other parts of Scotland, where they had
been removed from the bleak and uncultivable mountains. They had lots
given them near the sea, or in more fertile spots, where, by labor and
industry, they might maintain themselves. They had two years allowed
them for preparing for the change, without payment of rent. Timber for
their houses was given, and many other facilities for assisting their
change.

The general agent of the Sutherland estate is Mr. Loch. In a speech of
this gentleman in the House of Commons, on the second reading of the
Scotch poor-law bill, June 12, 1845, he states the following fact with
regard to the management of the Sutherland estate during this period,
from 1811 to 1833, which certainly can speak for itself: "I can state as
from fact that, from 1811 to 1833, not one sixpence of rent has been
received from that county, but, on the contrary, there has been sent
there, for the benefit and improvement of the people, a sum exceeding
sixty thousand pounds."

Mr. Loch goes on in the same speech to say, "There is no set of people
more industrious than the people of Sutherland. Thirty years since they
were engaged in illegal distillation to a very great extent; at the
present moment there is not, I believe, an illegal still in the county.
Their morals have improved as those habits have been abandoned; and they
have added many hundreds, I believe thousands, of acres to the land in
cultivation since they were placed upon the shore.

"Previous to that change to which I have referred, they exported very
few cattle, and hardly any thing else. They were, also, every now and
then, exposed to all the difficulties of extreme famine. In the years
1812-13, and 1816-17, so great was the misery that it was necessary to
send down oatmeal for their supply to the amount of nine thousand
pounds, and that was given to the people. But, since industrious habits
were introduced, and they were settled within reach of fishing, no such
calamity has overtaken them. Their condition was then so low that they
were obliged to bleed their cattle, during the winter, and mix the blood
with the remnant of meal they had, in order to save them from
starvation.

"Since then the country has improved so much that the fish, in
particular, which they exported, in 1815, from one village alone,
Helmsdale, (which, previous to 1811, did not exist,) amounted to five
thousand three hundred and eighteen barrels of herring, and in 1844
thirty-seven thousand five hundred and ninety-four barrels, giving
employment to about three thousand nine hundred people. This extends
over the whole of the county, in which fifty-six thousand barrels were
cured.

"Do not let me be supposed to say that there are not cases requiring
attention: it must be so in a large population; but there can be no
means taken by a landlord, or by those under him, that are not bestowed
upon that tenantry.

"It has been said that the contribution by the heritor (the duke) to one
kirk session for the poor was but six pounds. Now, in the eight parishes
which are called Sutherland proper, the amount of the contribution of
the Duke of Sutherland to the kirk session is forty-two pounds a year.
That is a very small sum but that sum merely is so given because the
landlord thinks that he can distribute his charity in a more beneficial
manner to the people; and the amount of charity which he gives--and
which, I may say, is settled on them, for it is given regularly--is
above four hundred and fifty pounds a year.

"Therefore the statements that have been made, so far from being
correct, are in every way an exaggeration of what is the fact. No
portion of the kingdom has advanced in prosperity so much; and if the
honorable member (Mr. S. Crawford) will go down there, I will give him
every facility for seeing the state of the people, and he shall judge
with his own eyes whether my representation be not correct. I could go
through a great many other particulars, but I will not trouble the house
now with them. The statements I have made are accurate, and I am quite
ready to prove them in any way that is necessary."

This same Mr. Loch has published a pamphlet, in which he has traced out
the effects of the system pursued on the Sutherland estate, in many very
important particulars. It appears from this that previously to 1811 the
people were generally sub-tenants to middle men, who exacted high rents,
and also various perquisites, such as the delivery of poultry and eggs,
giving so many days' labor in harvest time, cutting and carrying peat
and stones for building.

Since 1811 the people have become immediate tenants, at a greatly
diminished rate of rent, and released from all these exactions. For
instance, in two parishes, in 1812, the rents were one thousand five
hundred and ninety-three pounds, and in 1823 they were only nine hundred
and seventy-two pounds. In another parish the reduction of rents has
amounted, on an average, to thirty-six per cent. Previous to 1811 the
houses were turf huts of the poorest description, in many instances the
cattle being kept under the same roof with the family. Since 1811 a
large proportion, of their houses have been rebuilt in a superior
manner--the landlord having paid them for their old timber where it
could not be moved, and having also contributed the new timber, with
lime.

Before 1811 all the rents of the estates were used for the personal
profit of the landlord; but since that time, both by the present duke
and his father, all the rents have been expended on improvements in the
county, besides sixty thousand pounds more which have been remitted
from. England for the purpose. This money has been spent on churches,
school houses, harbors, public inns, roads, and bridges.

In 1811 there was not a carriage road in the county, and only two
bridges. Since that time four hundred and thirty miles of road have been
constructed on the estate, at the expense of the proprietor and tenants.
There is not a turnpike gate in the county, and yet the roads are kept
perfect.

Before 1811 the mail was conveyed entirely by a foot runner, and there
was but one post office in the county; and there was no direct post
across the county, but letters to the north and west were forwarded
once a month. A mail coach has since been established, to which the late
Duke of Sutherland contributed more than two thousand six hundred
pounds; and since 1834 mail gigs have been established to convey letters
to the north and west coast, towards which the Duke of Sutherland
contributes three hundred pounds a year. There are thirteen post offices
and sub-offices in the county. Before 1811 there was no inn in the
county fit for the reception of strangers. Since that time there have
been fourteen inns either built or enlarged by the duke.

Before 1811 there was scarcely a cart on the estate; all the carriage
was done on the backs of ponies. The cultivation of the interior was
generally executed with a rude kind of spade, and there was not a gig in
the county. In 1845 there were one thousand one hundred and thirty carts
owned on the estate, and seven hundred and eight ploughs, also forty-one
gigs.

Before 1812 there was no baker, and only two shops. In 1845 there were
eight bakers and forty-six grocer's shops, in nearly all of which shoe
blacking was sold to some extent, an unmistakable evidence of advancing
civilization.

In 1808 the cultivation of the coast side of Sutherland was so defective
that it was necessary often, in a fall of snow, to cut down the young
Scotch firs to feed the cattle on; and in 1808 hay had to be imported.
_Now_ the coast side of Sutherland exhibits an extensive district of
land cultivated according to the best principles of modern agriculture;
several thousand acres have been added to the arable land by these
improvements.

Before 1811 there were no woodlands of any extent on the estate, and
timber had to be obtained from a distance. Since that time many
thousand acres of woodland have been planted, the thinnings of which,
being sold to the people at a moderate rate, have greatly increased
their comfort and improved their domestic arrangements.

Before 1811 there were only two blacksmiths in the county. In 1845 there
were forty-two blacksmiths and sixty-three carpenters. Before 1829 the
exports of the county consisted of black cattle of an inferior
description, pickled salmon, and some ponies; but these were precarious
sources of profit, as many died in winter for want of food; for example,
in the spring of 1807 two hundred cows, five hundred cattle, and more
than two hundred ponies died in the parish of Kildonan alone. Since that
time the measures pursued by the Duke of Sutherland, in introducing
improved breeds of cattle, pigs, and modes of agriculture, have produced
results in exports which tell their own story. About forty thousand
sheep and one hundred and eighty thousand fleeces of wool are exported
annually; also fifty thousand barrels of herring.

The whole fishing village of Helmsdale has been built since that time.
It now contains from thirteen to fifteen curing yards covered with
slate, and several streets with houses similarly built. The herring
fishery, which has been mentioned as so productive, has been established
since the change, and affords employment to three thousand nine hundred
people.

Since 1811, also, a savings bank has been established in every parish,
of which the Duke of Sutherland is patron and treasurer, and the savings
have been very considerable.

The education of the children of the people has been a subject of deep
interest to the Duke of Sutherland. Besides the parochial schools,
(which answer, I suppose, to our district schools,) of which the
greater number have been rebuilt or repaired at an expense exceeding
what is legally required for such purposes, the Duke of Sutherland
contributes to the support of several schools for young females, at
which sewing and other branches of education are taught; and in 1844 he
agreed to establish twelve general assembly schools in such parts of the
county as were without the sphere of the parochial schools, and to build
school and schoolmasters' houses, which will, upon an average, cost two
hundred pounds each; and to contribute annually two hundred pounds in
aid of salaries to the teachers, besides a garden and cows' grass; and
in 1845 he made an arrangement with the education committee of the Free
church, whereby no child, of whatever persuasion, will be beyond the
reach of moral and religious education.

There are five medical gentlemen on the estate, three of whom receive
allowances from the Duke of Sutherland for attendance on the poor in the
districts in which they reside.

An agricultural association, or farmers' club, has been formed under the
patronage of the Duke of Sutherland, of which the other proprietors in
the county, and the larger tenantry, are members, which is in a very
active and flourishing state. They have recently invited Professor
Johnston to visit Sutherland, and give lectures on agricultural
chemistry.

The total population of the Sutherland estate is twenty-one thousand
seven hundred and eighty-four. To have the charge and care of so large
an estate, of course, must require very systematic arrangements; but a
talent for system seems to be rather the forte of the English.

The estate is first divided into three districts, and each district is
under the superintendence of a factor, who communicates with the duke
through a general agent. Besides this, when the duke is on the estate,
which is during a portion of every year, he receives on Monday whoever
of his tenants wishes to see him. Their complaints or wishes are
presented in writing; he takes them into consideration, and gives
written replies.

Besides the three factors there is a ground officer, or sub-factor, in
every parish, and an agriculturist in the Dunrobin district, who gives
particular attention to instructing the people in the best methods of
farming. The factors, the ground officers, and the agriculturists all
work to one common end. They teach the advantages of draining; of
ploughing deep, and forming their ridges in straight lines; of
constructing tanks for saving liquid manure. The young farmers also pick
up a great deal of knowledge when working as ploughmen or laborers on
the more immediate grounds of the estate.

The head agent, Mr. Loch, has been kind enough to put into my hands a
general report of the condition of the estate, which he drew up for the
inspection of the duke, May 12, 1853, and in which he goes minutely over
the condition of every part of the estate.

One anecdote of the former Duke of Sutherland will show the spirit which
has influenced the family in their management of the estate. In 1817,
when there was much suffering on account of bad seasons, the Duke of
Sutherland sent down his chief agent to look into the condition of the
people, who desired the ministers of the parishes to send in their lists
of the poor. To his surprise it was found that there were located on the
estate a number of people who had settled there without leave. They
amounted to four hundred and eight families, or two thousand persons;
and though they had no legal title to remain where they were, no
hesitation was shown in supplying them with food in the same manner
with those who were tenants, on the sole condition that on the first
opportunity they should take cottages on the sea shore, and become
industrious people. It was the constant object of the duke to keep the
rents of his poorer tenants at a nominal amount.

What led me more particularly to inquire into these facts was, that I
received by mail, while in London, an account containing some of these
stories, which had been industriously circulated in America. There were
dreadful accounts of cruelties practised in the process of inducing the
tenants to change their places of residence. The following is a specimen
of these stories:--

     "I was present at the pulling down and burning of the house of
     William Chisholm, Badinloskin, in which was lying his wife's
     mother, an old, bed-ridden woman of near one hundred years of age,
     none of the family being present. I informed the persons about to
     set fire to the house of this circumstance, and prevailed on them
     to wait till Mr. Sellar came. On his arrival I told him of the poor
     old woman being in a condition unfit for removal. He replied, 'Damn
     her, the old witch, she has lived too long; let her burn.' Fire was
     immediately set to the house, and the blankets in which she was
     carried were in flames before she could be got out. She was placed
     in a little shed, and it was with great difficulty they were
     prevented from firing that also. The old woman's daughter arrived
     while the house was on fire, and assisted the neighbors in removing
     her mother out of the flames and smoke, presenting a picture of
     horror which I shall never forget, but cannot attempt to describe.
     She died within five days."

With regard to this story Mr. Loch, the agent, says, "I must notice the
only thing like a fact stated in the newspaper extract which you sent to
me, wherein Mr. Sellar is accused of acts of cruelty towards some of the
people. This Mr. Sellar tested, by bringing an action against the then
sheriff substitute of the county. He obtained a verdict for heavy
damages. The sheriff, by whom, the slander was propagated, left the
county. Both are since dead."

Having, through Lord Shaftesbury's kindness, received the benefit of Mr.
Loch's corrections to this statement, I am permitted to make a little
further extract from his reply. He says,--

"In addition to what I was able to say in my former paper, I can now
state that the Duke of Sutherland has received, from, one of the most
determined opposers of the measure, who travelled to the north of
Scotland as editor of a newspaper, a letter regretting all he had
written on the subject, being convinced that he was entirely
misinformed. As you take so much interest in the subject, I will
conclude by saying that nothing could exceed the prosperity of the
county during the past year; their stock, sheep, and other things sold
at high prices; their crops of grain and turnips were never so good, and
the potatoes were free from all disease; rents have been paid better
than was ever known. * * * As an instance of the improved habits of the
farmers, no house is now built for them that they do not require a hot
bath and water closets."

From this long epitome you can gather the following results; first, if
the system were a bad one, the Duchess of Sutherland had nothing to do
with it, since it was first introduced in 1806, the same year her grace
was born; and the accusation against Mr. Sellar dates in 1811, when her
grace was five or six years old. The Sutherland arrangements were
completed in 1819, and her grace was not married to the duke till 1823,
so that, had the arrangement been the worst in the world, it is nothing
to the purpose so far as she is concerned.

As to whether the arrangement _is_ a bad one, the facts which have been
stated speak for themselves. To my view it is an almost sublime instance
of the benevolent employment of superior wealth and power in shortening
the struggles of advancing civilization, and elevating in a few years a
whole community to a point of education and material prosperity, which,
unassisted, they might never have obtained,



LETTER XVIII.


LONDON, Sunday, May 8.

MY DEAR S.:--

Mr. S. is very unwell, in bed, worn out with, the threefold labor of
making and receiving calls, visiting, and delivering public addresses.
C. went to hear Dr. McNeile, of Liverpool, preach--one of the leading
men of the established church evangelical party, a strong millenarian.
C. said that he was as fine a looking person in canonicals as he ever
saw in the pulpit. In doctrine he is what we in America should call very
strong old school. I went, as I had always predetermined to do, if ever
I came to London, to hear Baptist Noel, drawn thither by the melody and
memory of those beautiful hymns of his[N], which must meet a response in
every Christian heart. He is tall and well formed, with one of the most
classical and harmonious heads I ever saw. Singularly enough, he
reminded me of a bust of Achilles at the London Museum. He is indeed a
swift-footed Achilles, but in another race, another warfare. Born of a
noble family, naturally endowed with sensitiveness and ideality to
appreciate all the amenities and suavities of that brilliant sphere, the
sacrifice must have been inconceivably great for him to renounce favor
and preferment, position in society,--which, here in England, means more
than Americans can ever dream of,--to descend from being a court
chaplain, to become a preacher in a Baptist dissenting chapel. Whatever
may be thought of the correctness of the intellectual conclusions which
led him to such a step, no one can fail to revere the strength and
purity of principle which could prompt to such sacrifices. Many,
perhaps, might have preferred that he should have chosen a less decided
course. But if his judgment really led to these results, I see no way in
which it was possible for him to have avoided it. It was with an emotion
of reverence that I contrasted the bareness, plainness, and poverty of
the little chapel with that evident air of elegance and cultivation
which appeared in all that he said and did. The sermon was on the text,
"Now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three." Naturally enough,
the subject divided itself into faith, hope, and charity.

His style calm, flowing, and perfectly harmonious, his delivery serene
and graceful, the whole flowed over one like a calm and clear strain of
music. It was a sermon after the style of Tholuck and other German
sermonizers, who seem to hold that the purpose of preaching is not to
rouse the soul by an antagonistic struggle with sin through the reason,
but to soothe the passions, quiet the will, and bring the mind into a
frame in which it shall incline to follow its own convictions of duty.
They take for granted, that the reason why men sin is not because they
are ignorant, but because they are distracted and tempted by passion;
that they do not need so much to be told what is their duty, as
persuaded to do it. To me, brought up on the very battle field of
controversial theology, accustomed to hear every religious idea guarded
by definitions, and thoroughly hammered on a logical anvil before the
preacher thought of making any use of it for heart or conscience,
though I enjoyed the discourse extremely, I could not help wondering
what an American theological professor would make of such a sermon.

To preach on faith, hope, and charity all in one discourse--why, we
should have six sermons on the nature of faith to begin with: on
speculative faith; saving faith; practical faith, and the faith of
miracles; then we should have the laws of faith, and the connection of
faith with evidence, and the nature of evidence, and the different kinds
of evidence, and so on. For my part I have had a suspicion since I have
been here, that a touch of this kind of thing might improve English
preaching; as, also, I do think that sermons of the kind I have
described would be useful, by way of alterative, among us. If I could
have but one of the two manners, I should prefer our own, because I
think that this habit of preaching is one of the strongest educational
forces that forms the mind of our country.

After the service was over I went into the vestry, and was introduced to
Mr. Noel. The congregation of the established church, to which he
ministered during his connection with it, are still warmly attached to
him. His leaving them was a dreadful trial; some of them can scarcely
mention his name without tears. C. says, with regard to the church
singing, as far as he heard it, it is twenty years behind that in
Boston. In the afternoon I staid at home to nurse Mr. S. A note from
Lady John Russell inviting us there.

Monday, May 9. I should tell you that at the Duchess of Sutherland's an
artist, named Burnard, presented me with a very fine cameo head of
Wilberforce, cut from a statue in Westminster Abbey. He is from
Cornwall, in the south of England, and has attained some celebrity as an
artist. He wanted to take a bust of me; and though it always makes me
laugh to think of having a new likeness, considering the melancholy
results of all former enterprises, yet still I find myself easy to be
entreated, in hopes, as Mr. Micawber says, that something may "turn up,"
though I fear the difficulty is radical in the subject. So I made an
appointment with Mr. Burnard, and my very kind friend, Mr. B., in
addition to all the other confusions I have occasioned in his mansion,
consented to have his study turned into a studio. Upon the heels of this
comes another sculptor, who has a bust begun, which he says is going to
be finished in Parian, and published whether I sit for it or not,
though, of course, he would much prefer to get a look at me now and
then. Well, Mr. B. says he may come, too; so there you may imagine me in
the study, perched upon a very high stool, dividing my glances between
the two sculptors, one of whom, is taking one side of my face, and one
the other.

To-day I went with Mr. and Mrs. B. to hear the examination of a
borough-school for boys. Mrs. B. told me it was not precisely a charity
school, but one where the means of education were furnished at so cheap
a rate, that the poorest classes could enjoy them. Arrived at the hall,
we found quite a number of _distingués_, bishops, lords, and clergy,
besides numbers of others assembled to hear. The room was hung round
with the drawings of the boys, and specimens of handwriting. I was quite
astonished at some of them. They were executed by pen, pencil, or
crayon--drawings of machinery, landscapes, heads, groups, and flowers,
all in a style which any parent among us would be proud to exhibit, if
done by our own children. The boys looked very bright and intelligent,
and I was delighted with the system, of instruction which had evidently
been pursued with them. We heard them first in the reading and
recitation of poetry; after that in arithmetic and algebra, then in
natural philosophy, and last, and most satisfactorily, in the Bible. It
was perfectly evident from the nature of the questions and answers, that
it was not a crammed examination, and that the readiness of reply
proceeded not from a mere commitment of words, but from a system of
intellectual training, which led to a good understanding of the subject.
In arithmetic and algebra the answers were so remarkable as to induce
the belief in some that the boys must have been privately prepared on
their questions; but the teacher desired Lord John Russell to write down
any number of questions which he wished to have given to the toys to
solve, from his own mind. Lord John wrote down two or three problems,
and I was amused at the zeal and avidity with which the boys seized upon
and mastered them. Young England was evidently wide awake, and the prime
minister himself was not to catch them, napping. The little fellows'
eyes-glistened as they rattled off their solutions. As I know nothing
about mathematics, I was all the more impressed; but when they came to
be examined in the Bible, I was more astonished than ever. The masters
had said that they would be willing any of the gentlemen should question
them, and Mr. B. commenced a course of questions on the doctrines of
Christianity; asking, Is there any text by which you can prove this, or
that? and immediately, with great accuracy, the boys would cite text
upon text, quoting not only the more obvious ones, but sometimes
applying Scripture with an ingenuity and force which I had not thought
of, and always quoting chapter and verse of every text. I do not know
who is at the head of this teaching, nor how far it is a sample of
English schools; but I know that these boys had been wonderfully well
taught, and I felt all my old professional enthusiasm arising.

After the examination Lord John came forward, and gave the boys a good
fatherly talk. He told them that they had the happiness to live under a
free government, where all offices are alike open to industry and merit,
and where any boy might hope by application and talent to rise to any
station below that of the sovereign. He made some sensible, practical
comments, on their Scripture lessons, and, in short, gave precisely such
a kind of address as one of our New England judges or governors might to
schoolboys in similar circumstances. Lord John hesitates a little in his
delivery, but has a plain, common-sense way of "speaking right on,"
which seems to be taking. He is a very simple man in his manners,
apparently not at all self-conscious, and entered into the feelings of
the boys and the masters with good-natured sympathy, which was very
winning. I should think he was one of the kind of men who are always
perfectly easy and self-possessed let what will come, and who never
could be placed in a situation in which he did not feel himself quite at
home, and perfectly competent to do whatever was to be done.

To-day the Duchess of Sutherland called with the Duchess of Argyle. Miss
Greenfield happened to be present, and I begged leave to present her,
giving a slight sketch of her history. I was pleased with the kind and
easy affability with which the Duchess of Sutherland conversed with her,
betraying by no inflection of voice, and nothing in air or manner, the
great lady talking with the poor girl. She asked all her questions with
as much delicacy, and made her request to hear her sing with as much
consideration and politeness, as if she had been addressing any one in
her own circle. She seemed much pleased with her singing, and remarked
that she should be happy to give her an opportunity of performing in
Stafford House, so soon as she should be a little relieved of a heavy
cold which seemed to oppress her at present. This, of course, will be
decisive in her favor in London. The duchess is to let us know when the
arrangement is completed.

I never realized so much that there really is no natural prejudice
against color in the human mind. Miss Greenfield is a dark mulattress,
of a pleasing and gentle face, though by no means handsome. She is short
and thick set, with a chest of great amplitude, as one would think on
hearing her tenor. I have never seen in any of the persons to whom I
have presented her the least indications of suppressed surprise or
disgust, any more than we should exhibit on the reception of a
dark-complexioned Spaniard or Portuguese. Miss Greenfield bears her
success with much quietness and good sense.

Tuesday, May 10. C. and I were to go to-day, with Mrs. Cropper and Lady
Hatherton, to call on the poet Rogers. I was told that he was in very
delicate health, but that he still received friends at his house. We
found the house a perfect cabinet collection of the most rare and costly
works of art--choicest marbles, vases, pictures, gems, and statuary met
the eye every where. We spent the time in examining some of these while
the servant went to announce us. The mild and venerable old man himself
was the choicest picture of all. He has a splendid head, a benign face,
and reminded me of an engraving I once saw of Titian. He seemed very
glad to see us, spoke to me of the gathering at Stafford House, and
asked me what I thought of the place. When I expressed my admiration, he
said, "Ah, I have often said it is a fairy palace, and that the duchess
is the good fairy." Again, he said, "I have seen all the palaces of
Europe, but there is none that I prefer to this." Quite a large circle
of friends now came in and were presented. He did not rise to receive
them, but sat back in his easy chair, and conversed quietly with us all,
sparkling out now and then in a little ripple of playfulness. In this
room were his best beloved pictures, and it is his pleasure to show them
to his friends.

By a contrivance quite new to me, the pictures are made to revolve on a
pivot, so that by touching a spring they move out from the wall, and can
be seen in different lights. There was a picture over the mantel-piece
of a Roman Triumphal Procession, painted by Rubens, which attracted my
attention by its rich coloring and spirited representation of animals.

The coloring of Rubens always satisfies my eye better than that of any
other master, only a sort of want of grace in the conception disturbs
me. In this case both conception and coloring are replete with beauty.
Rogers seems to be carefully waited on by an attendant who has learned
to interpret every motion and anticipate every desire.

I took leave of him with a touch of sadness. Of all the brilliant circle
of poets, which has so delighted us, he is the last--and he so feeble!
His memories, I am told, extend back to a personal knowledge of Dr.
Johnson. How I should like to sit by him, and search into that cabinet
of recollections! He presented me his poems, beautifully illustrated by
Turner, with his own autograph on the fly leaf. He writes still a clear,
firm, beautiful hand, like a lady's.

After that, we all went over to Stafford House, and the Duke and
Duchess of Sutherland went with us into Lord Ellesmere's collection
adjoining. Lord Ellesmere sails for America to-day, to be present at the
opening of the Crystal Palace. He left us a very polite message. The
Duchess of Argyle, with her two little boys, was there also. Lord
Carlisle very soon came in, and with him--who do you think? Tell Hattie
and Eliza if they could have seen the noble staghound that came bounding
in with him, they would have turned from all the pictures on the wall to
this living work of art.

Landseer thinks he does well when he paints a dog; another man chisels
one in stone: what would they think of themselves if they could string
the nerves and muscles, and wake up the affections and instincts, of the
real, living creature? That were to be an artist indeed! The dog walked
about the gallery, much at home, putting his nose up first to one and
then another of the distinguished persons by whom he was surrounded; and
once in a while stopping, in an easy race about the hall, would plant
himself before a picture, with his head on one side, and an air of
high-bred approval, much as I have seen young gentlemen do in similar
circumstances. All he wanted was an eyeglass, and he would have been
perfectly set up as a critic.

As for the pictures, I have purposely delayed coming to them. Imagine a
botanist dropped into the middle of a blooming prairie, waving with
unnumbered dyes and forms of flowers, and only an hour to examine and
make acquaintance with them! Room, after room we passed, filled with
Titians, Murillos, Guidos, &c. There were four Raphaels, the first I had
ever seen. Must I confess the truth? Raphael had been my dream for
years. I expected something which would overcome and bewilder me. I
expected a divine baptism, a celestial mesmerism; and I found four very
beautiful pictures--pictures which left me quite in possession of my
senses, and at liberty to ask myself, am I pleased, and how much? It was
not that I did not admire, for I did; but that I did not admire enough.
The pictures are all holy families, cabinet size: the figures, Mary,
Joseph, the infant Jesus, and John, in various attitudes. A little
perverse imp in my heart suggested the questions, "If a modern artist
had painted these, what would be thought of them? If I did not know it
was Raphael, what should I think?" And I confess that, in that case, I
should think that there was in one or two of them a certain hardness and
sharpness of outline that was not pleasing to me. Neither, any more than
Murillo, has he in these pictures shadowed forth, to my eye, the idea of
Mary. Protestant as I am, no Catholic picture contents me. I thought to
myself that I had seen among living women, and in a face not far off, a
nobler and sweeter idea of womanhood.

It is too much to ask of any earthly artist, however, to gratify the
aspirations and cravings of those who have dreamed of them for years
unsatisfied. Perhaps no earthly canvas and brash can accomplish this
marvel. I think the idealist must lay aside his highest ideal, and be
satisfied he shall never meet it, and then he will begin to enjoy. With
this mood and understanding I did enjoy very much an Assumption of the
Virgin, by Guido, and more especially Diana and her Nymphs, by Titian:
in this were that softness of outline, and that blending of light and
shadow into each other, of which I felt the want in the Raphaels. I felt
as if there was a perfection of cultivated art in this, a classical
elegance, which, so far as it went, left the eye or mind nothing to
desire. It seemed to me that Titian was a Greek painter, the painter of
an etherealized sensuousness, which leaves the spiritual nature wholly
unmoved, and therefore all that he attempts he attains. Raphael, on the
contrary, has spiritualism; his works enter a sphere where at is more
difficult to satisfy the soul; nay, perhaps from the nature of the case,
impossible.

There were some glorious pieces of sunshine by Cuyp. There was a massive
sea piece by Turner, in which the strong solemn swell of the green
waves, and the misty wreathings of clouds, were powerfully given.

There was a highly dramatic piece, by Paul de la Roche, representing
Charles I. in a guard room, insulted by the soldiery. He sits, pale,
calm, and resolute, while they are puffing tobacco smoke in his face,
and passing vulgar jokes. His thoughts appear to be far away, his eyes
looking beyond them with an air of patient, proud weariness.

Independently of the pleasure one receives from particular pictures in
these galleries, there is a general exaltation, apart from, critical
considerations, an excitement of the nerves, a kind of dreamy state,
which is a gain in our experience. Often in a landscape we first single
out particular objects,--this old oak,--that cascade,--that ruin,--and
derive from them, an individual joy; then relapsing, we view the
landscape as a whole, and seem, to be surrounded by a kind of atmosphere
of thought, the result of the combined influence of all. This state,
too, I think is not without its influence in educating the æsthetic
sense.

Even in pictures which we comparatively reject, because we see them, in
the presence of superior ones, there is a wealth of beauty which would
grow on us from day to day, could we see them, often. When I give a sigh
to the thought that in our country we are of necessity, to a great
extent, shut from the world of art, I then rejoice in the inspiriting
thought that Nature is ever the superior. No tree painting can compare
with a splendid elm, in the plenitude of its majesty. There are
colorings beyond those of Rubens poured forth around us in every autumn
scene; there are Murillos smiling by our household firesides; and as for
Madonnas and Venuses, I think with Byron,--

  "I've seen more splendid women, ripe and real,
  Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal."

Still, I long for the full advent of our American, day of art, already
dawning auspiciously.

After finishing our inspection, we went back to Stafford House to lunch.

In the evening we went to Lord John Russell's. We found Lady Russell and
her daughters sitting quietly around the evening lamp, quite by
themselves. She is elegant and interesting in her personal appearance,
and has the same charm of simplicity and sincerity of manner which we
have found in so marry of the upper sphere. She is the daughter of the
Earl of Minto, and the second wife of Lord John. We passed here an
entirely quiet and domestic evening, with only the family circle. The
conversation turned on various topics of practical benevolence,
connected with the care and education of the poorer classes. Allusion
being made to Mrs. Tyler's letter, Lady Russell expressed some concern
lest the sincere and well-intended expression of the feeling of the
English ladies might have done harm. I said that I did not think the
spirit of Mrs. Tyler's letter was to be taken as representing the
feeling of American ladies generally,--only of that class who are
determined to maintain the rightfulness of slavery.

It seems to me that the better and more thinking part of the higher
classes in England have conscientiously accepted the responsibility
which the world has charged upon them of elevating and educating the
poorer classes. In every circle since I have been here in England, I
have heard the subject discussed as one of paramount importance.

One or two young gentlemen dropped in in the course of the evening, and
the discourse branched out on the various topics of the day; such as the
weather, literature, art, spiritual rappings, and table turnings, and
all the floating et ceteras of life. Lady Russell apologized for the
absence of Lord John in Parliament, and invited us to dine with, them at
their residence in Richmond Park next week, when there is to be a
parliamentary recess.

We left about ten o'clock, and went to pass the night with our friends
Mr. and Mrs. Cropper at their hotel, being engaged to breakfast at the
West End in the morning.

END OF VOLUME I.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Since my return to the United States I have been informed
that the Freewill Baptist denomination have adopted the same rigid
principle of slavery exclusion that characterizes the Scotch Seceders
and the Quakers. Let this be known to their honor.]

[Footnote B: This venerated, and erudite jurist, the friend and
biographer of the celebrated Lord Jeffrey, has recently died.]

[Footnote C: This, alas! is no longer true. By the recent passage of the
infamous Nebraska bill, this whole region, with the exception of two
states already organized, is laid open to slavery. This faithless
measure was nobly resisted by a large and able minority in
Congress--honor to them.]

[Footnote D: This most learned and amiable judge recently died, while in
the very act of charging a jury.]

[Footnote E: This resolution, drawn and offered, I think, by my
hospitable friend, Mr. Binney, I have mislaid, and cannot find it. It
was, however, in character and spirit, just what Mr. James here declares
it to be.]

[Footnote F: I have been told since my return, that there are some
slaveholding Congregational churches in the south; but they have no
connection with our New England churches, and certainly are not
generally known as Congregationalists distinct from the Presbyterians.]

[Footnote G: This has always been supposed and claimed in the United
States. Now the time has come to test its truth. If there is this
antislavery feeling in nine tenths of the people, the impudent iniquity
of the Nebraska bill will call it forth.]

[Footnote H: Eight years ago I conscientiously approved and zealously
defended this course of the American Board. Subsequent events have
satisfied me, that, in the present circumstances of our country, making
concessions to slaveholders, however slightly, and with whatever
motives, even if not wrong in principle, is productive of no good. It
does but strengthen slavery, and makes its demands still more
exorbitant, and neutralizes the power of gospel truth.]

[Footnote I: This state of things is fast changing. Church members at
the south now defend slavery as right. This is a new thing.]

[Footnote J: When your chimney has smoked as long as ours, it will, may
be, need sweeping too.]

[Footnote K: Had I known all about New York and Boston which recent
examinations have developed, I should have answered very differently.
The fact is, that we in America can no longer congratulate ourselves on
not having a degraded and miserable class in our cities, and it will be
seen to be necessary for us to arouse to the very same efforts which,
have been so successfully making in England.]

[Footnote L: This idea is beautifully wrought out by Mrs. Jamieson in
her Characteristics of the Women of Shakspeare, to which, the author is
indebted for the suggestion.]

[Footnote M: James Russell Lowell's "Beaver Brook."]

[Footnote N: The hymns beginning with, these lines, "If human, kindness
meet return," and "Behold where, in a mortal form," are specimens.]



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