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THREE YEARS IN EUROPE;

Or, Places I Have Seen and People I Have Met

by

W. WELLS BROWNA Fugitive Slave. 

With

A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR

by

WILLIAM FARMER, Esq. 

London:Charles Gilpin, 5, Bishopsgate Street, Without. Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd. 

1852

[Illustration: W. Wells Brown. ]

CONTENTS. 

MEMOIR OF WILLIAM WELLS BROWN, _Page_ ix-xxix

AUTHOR'S PREFACE, xxxi-xxxii

LETTER I. 

Departure from Boston--the Passengers--Halifax--the Passage--First Sight of Land--Liverpool, 1-9

LETTER II. 

Trip to Ireland--Dublin--Her Majesty's Visit--Illumination of theCity--the Birth-Place of Thomas Moore--a Reception, 9-21

LETTER III. 

Departure from Ireland--London--Trip to Paris--Paris--The PeaceCongress: first day--Church of the Madeleine--Column Vendome--the French, 21-38

LETTER IV. 

Versailles--The Palace--Second Session of the Congress--Mr. Cobden--Henry Vincent--M. Girardin--Abbe Duguerry--Victor Hugo:his Speech, 38-49

LETTER V. 

M. De Tocqueville's Grand Soiree--Madame de Tocqueville--Visit ofthe Peace Delegates to Versailles--The Breakfast--Speechmaking--The Trianons--Waterworks--St. Cloud--The Fete, 50-59

LETTER VI. 

The Tuileries--Place de la Concorde--The Egyptian Obelisk--PalaisRoyal--Residence of Robespierre--A Visit to the Room in whichCharlotte Corday killed Marat--Church de Notre Dame--Palais deJustice--Hotel des Invalids--National Assembly--The Elysee, 59-73

LETTER VII. 

The Chateau at Versailles--Private Apartments of MarieAntoinette--The Secret Door--Paintings of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Beranger the Poet, 73-82

LETTER VIII. 

Departure from Paris--Boulogne--Folkstone--London--Geo. Thompson, Esq. , M. P. --Hartwell House--Dr. Lee--Cottage of thePeasant--Windsor Castle--Residence of Wm. Penn--England's FirstWelcome--Heath Lodge--The Bank of England, 83-104

LETTER IX. 

The British Museum--A Portrait--Night Reading--A Dark Day--AFugitive Slave on the Streets of London--A Friend in the timeof need, 104-116

LETTER X. 

The Whittington Club--Louis Blanc--Street Amusements--Tower ofLondon--Westminster Abbey--National Gallery--Dante--Sir JoshuaReynolds, 117-134

LETTER XI. 

York-Minster--The Great Organ--Newcastle-on-Tyne--The LabouringClasses--The American Slave--Sheffield--James Montgomery, 134-145

LETTER XII. 

Kirkstall Abbey--Mary the Maid of the Inn--Newstead Abbey:Residence of Lord Byron--Parish Church of Hucknall--Burial Placeof Lord Byron--Bristol: "Cook's Folly"--Chepstow Castle andAbbey--Tintern Abbey--Redcliffe Church, 145-162

LETTER XIII. 

Edinburgh--The Royal Institute--Scott's Monument--John Knox'sPulpit--Temperance Meeting--Glasgow--Great Meeting in the CityHall, 163-176

LETTER XIV. 

Stirling--Dundee--Dr. Dick--Geo. Gilfillan--Dr. Dick at home, 177-184

LETTER XV. 

Melrose Abbey--Abbotsford--Dryburgh Abbey--The Grave of SirWalter Scott--Hawick--Gretna Green--Visit to the Lakes, 185-196

LETTER XVI. 

Miss Martineau--"The Knoll"--"Ridal Mount"--"The Dove'sNest"--Grave of William Wordsworth, Esq. --The English Peasant, 196-207

LETTER XVII. 

A Day in the Crystal Palace, 207-219

LETTER XVIII. 

The London Peace Congress--Meeting of Fugitive Slaves--Temperance Demonstration--The Great Exhibition: Last Visit, 219-226

LETTER XIX. 

Oxford--Martyrs' Monument--Cost of the Burning of the Martyrs--The Colleges--Dr. Pusey--Energy, the Secret of Success, 227-235

LETTER XX. 

Fugitive Slaves in England, 236-250

LETTER XXI. 

A Chapter on American Slavery, 250-273

LETTER XXII. 

A Narrative of American Slavery, 273-305

LETTER XXIII. 

Aberdeen--Passage by Steamer--Edinburgh--Visit to theCollege--William and Ellen Craft, 305-312

MEMOIR OF WILLIAM WELLS BROWN. 

A narrative of the life of the author of the present work has been mostextensively circulated in England and America. The present memoir will, therefore, simply comprise a brief sketch of the most interestingportion of Mr. Brown's history while in America, together with a shortaccount of his subsequent cisatlantic career. The publication of hisadventures as a slave, and as a fugitive from slavery in his nativeland, has been most valuable in sustaining a sound anti-slavery spiritin Great Britain. His honourable reception in Europe may be equallyserviceable in America, as another added to the many practical protestspreviously entered from this side of the Atlantic, against the absolutebondage of three millions and a quarter of the human race, and thesemi-slavery involved in the social and political proscription of600, 000 free coloured people in that country. 

William Wells Brown was born at Lexington, in the state of Kentucky, asnearly as he can tell in the autumn of 1814. In the Southern States ofAmerica, the pedigree and age of a horse or a dog are carefullypreserved, but no record is kept of the birth of a slave. All that Mr. Brown knows upon the subject is traditionally, that he was born "aboutcorn-cutting time" of that year. His mother was a slave named Elizabeth, the property of Dr. Young, a physician. His father was George Higgins, arelative of his master. 

The name given to our author at his birth, was "William"--no second orsurname being permitted to a slave. While William was an infant, Dr. Young removed to Missouri, where, in addition to his profession as aphysician, he carried on the--to European notions--incongruousavocations of miller, merchant, and farmer. Here William was employed asa house servant, while his mother was engaged as a field hand. One ofhis first bitter experiences of the cruelties of slavery, was hiswitnessing the infliction of ten lashes upon the bare back of hismother, for being a few minutes behind her time at the field--apunishment inflicted with one of those peculiar whips in theconstruction of which, so as to produce the greatest amount of torture, those whom Lord Carlisle has designated "the chivalry of the South" findscope for their ingenuity. 

Dr. Young subsequently removed to a farm near St. Louis, in the sameState. Having been elected a Member of the Legislature, he devolved themanagement of his farm upon an overseer, having, what to his unhappyvictims must have been the ironical name of "Friend Haskall. " The motherand child were now separated. The boy was levied to a Virginian namedFreeland, who bore the military title of Major, and carried on theplebeian business of a publican. This man was of an extremely brutaldisposition, and treated his slaves with most refined cruelty. Hisfavourite punishment, which he facetiously called "Virginian play, " wasto flog his slaves severely, and then expose their lacerated flesh tothe smoke of tobacco stems, causing the most exquisite agony. Williamcomplained to his owner of the treatment of Freeland, but, as in almostall similar instances, the appeal was in vain. At length he was inducedto attempt an escape, not from that love of liberty which subsequentlybecame with him an unconquerable passion, but simply to avoid thecruelty to which he was habitually subjected. He took refuge in thewoods, but was hunted and "traced" by the blood-hounds of a MajorO'Fallon, another of "the chivalry of the South, " whose gallantoccupation was that of keeping an establishment for the hire offerocious dogs with which to hunt fugitive slaves. The young slavereceived a severe application of "Virginia play" for his attempt toescape. Happily the military publican soon afterwards failed inbusiness, and William found a better master and a more congenialemployment with Captain Cilvers, on board a steam-boat plying betweenSt. Louis and Galena. At the close of the sailing season he was leviedto an hotel-keeper, a native of a free state, but withal of a classwhich exist north as well as south--a most inveterate negro hater. Atthis period of William's history, a circumstance occurred, which, although a common incident in the lives of slaves, is one of the keenesttrials they have to endure--the breaking up of his family circle. Hermaster wanted money, and he therefore sold Elizabeth and six of herchildren to seven different purchasers. The family relationship isalmost the only solace of slavery. While the mother, brothers, andsisters are permitted to meet together in the negro hut after the hourof labour, the slaves are comparatively content with their oppressedcondition; but deprive them of this, the only privilege which they ashuman beings are possessed of, and nothing is left but the animal partof their nature--the living soul is extinguished within them. With themthere is nothing to love--everything to hate. They feel themselvesdegraded to the condition not only of mere animals, but of the mostill-used animals in the creation. 

Not needing the services of his young relative, Dr. Young hired him tothe proprietor of the _St. Louis Times_, the best master William everhad in slavery. Here he gained the scanty amount of education heacquired at the South. This kind treatment by his editorial masterappears to have engendered in the heart of William a consciousness ofhis own manhood, and led him into the commission of an offence similarto that perpetrated by Frederick Douglass, under similarcircumstances--the assertion of the right of self-defence. He gallantlydefended himself against the attacks of several boys older and biggerthan himself, but in so doing was guilty of the unpardonable sin oflifting his hand against white lads; and the father of one of them, therefore, deemed it consistent with his manhood to lay in wait for theyoung slave, and beat him over the head with a heavy cane till theblood gushed from his nose and ears. From the effects of that treatmentthe poor lad was confined to his bed for five weeks, at the end of whichtime he found that, to his personal sufferings, were superadded thecalamity of the loss of the best master he ever had in slavery. 

His next employment was that of waiter on board a steam-boat plying onthe Mississippi. Here his occupation again was pleasant, and histreatment good; but the freedom of action enjoyed by the passengers intravelling whithersoever they pleased, contrasted strongly in his mindwith his own deprivation of will as a slave. The natural result of thiscomparison was an intense desire for freedom--a feeling which was neverafterwards eradicated from his breast. This love of liberty was, however, so strongly counteracted by affection for his mother andsisters, that although urgently entreated by one of the latter to takeadvantage of his present favourable opportunity for escape, he would notbring himself to do so at the expense of a separation for life from hisbeloved relatives. 

His period of living on board the steamer having expired, he was againremitted to field labour, under a burning sun. From that labour, fromwhich he suffered severely, he was soon removed to the lighter and moreagreeable occupation of house-waiter to his master. About this time Dr. Young, in the conventional phraseology of the locality, "got religion. "The fruit of his alleged spiritual gain, was the loss of many materialcomforts to the slaves. Destitute of the resources of education, theywere in the habit of employing their otherwise unoccupied minds on theSunday in fishing and other harmless pursuits; these were now all put anend to. The Sabbath became a season of dread to William: he was requiredto drive the family to and from the church, a distance of four mileseither way; and while they attended to the salvation of their soulswithin the building, he was compelled to attend to the horses withoutit, standing by them during divine service under a burning sun, ordrizzling rain. Although William did not get the religion of his master, he acquired a family passion which appears to have been stronglyintermixed with the devotional exercises of the household of Dr. Young--a love of sweet julep. In the evening, the slaves were requiredto attend family worship. Before commencing the service, it was thecustom to hand a pitcher of the favourite beverage to every member ofthe family, not excepting the nephew, a child of between four and fiveyears old. William was in the habit of watching his opportunity duringthe prayer and helping himself from the pitcher, but one day letting itfall, his propensity for this intoxicating drink was discovered, and hewas severely punished for its indulgence. 

In 1830, being then about sixteen years of age, William was hired to aslave-dealer named Walker. This change of employment led the youth awaysouth and frustrated, for a time, his plans for escape. His experiencewhile in this capacity furnishes some interesting, though painful, details of the legalized traffic in human beings carried on in theUnited States. The desperation to which the slaves are driven at theirforced separation from husband, wife, children, and kindred, he found tobe a frequent cause of suicide. Slave-dealers he discovered were asgreat adepts at deception in the sale of their commodity as the mostknowing down-easter, or tricky horse dealer. William's occupation onboard the steamer, as they steamed south, was to prepare the stock forthe market, by shaving off whiskers and blacking the grey hairs with acolouring composition. 

At the expiration of the period of his hiring with Walker, Williamreturned to his master rejoiced to have escaped an employment sorepugnant to his feelings. But this joy was not of long duration. One ofhis sisters who, although sold to another master had been living in thesame city with himself and mother, was again sold to be sent away south, never in all probability to meet her sorrowing relatives. Dr. Youngalso, wanting money, intimated to his young kinsman that he was about tosell him. This intimation determined William, in conjunction with hismother, to attempt their escape. For ten nights they travellednorthwards, hiding themselves in the woods by day. The mother and son atlength deemed themselves safe from re-capture, and, although weary andfoot-sore, were laying down sanguine plans for the acquisition of a farmin Canada, the purchase of the freedom of the six other members of thefamily still in slavery, and rejoicing in the anticipated happiness oftheir free home in Canada. At that moment three men made up to andseized them, bound the son and led him, with his desponding mother, back to slavery. Elizabeth was sold and sent away south, while her sonbecame the property of a merchant tailor named Willi. Mr. Brown'sdescription of the final interview between himself and his mother, isone of the most touching portions of his narrative. The mother, afterexpressing her conviction of the speedy escape from slavery by the handof death, enjoined her child to persevere in his endeavours to gain hisfreedom by flight. Her blessing was interrupted by the kick and cursebestowed by her dehumanized master upon her beloved son. 

After having been hired for a short time to the captain of thesteam-boat _Otto_, William was finally sold to Captain Enoch Price for650 dollars. That the quickness and intelligence of William rendered himvery valuable as a slave, is favoured by the evidence of Enoch Pricehimself, who states that he was offered 2000 dollars for Sanford (as hewas called), in New Orleans. William was strongly urged by his newmistress to marry. To facilitate this object, she even went so far as topurchase a girl for whom she fancied he had an affection. He himself, however, had secretly resolved never to enter into such a connexionwhile in slavery, knowing that marriage, in the true and honourablesense of the term, could not exist among slaves. Notwithstanding themultitude of petty offences for which a slave is severely punished, itis singular that one crime--bigamy--is visited upon a white withseverity, while no slave has ever yet been tried for it. In fact, theman is allowed to form connections with as many women, and the womenwith as many men, as they please. 

At St. Louis, William was employed as coachman to Mr. Price; but whenthat gentleman subsequently took his family up the river to Cincinnati, Sanford acted as appointed steward. While lying off this city, thelong-looked-for opportunity of escape presented itself; and on the 1stof January, 1834--he being then almost twenty years of age--succeeded ingetting from the steamer to the wharf, and thence to the woods, where helay concealed until the shades of night had set in, when he againcommenced his journey northwards. While with Dr. Young, a nephew of thatgentleman, whose christian name was William, came into the family: theslave was, therefore, denuded of the name of William, and thenceforthcalled Sanford. This deprivation of his original name he had everregarded as an indignity, and having now gained his freedom he resumedhis original name; and as there was no one by whom he could be addressedby it, he exultingly enjoyed the first-fruits of his freedom by callinghimself aloud by his old name "William!" After passing through a varietyof painful vicissitudes, on the eighth day he found himself destitute ofpecuniary means, and unable, from severe illness, to pursue his journey. In that condition he was discovered by a venerable member of the Societyof Friends, who placed him in a covered waggon and took him to his ownhouse. There he remained about fifteen days, and by the kind treatmentof his host and hostess, who were what in America are called"Thompsonians, " he was restored to health, and supplied with the meansof pursuing his journey. The name of this, his first kind benefactor, was "Wells Brown. " As William had risen from the degradation of a slaveto the dignity of a man, it was expedient that he should follow thecustoms of other men, and adopt a second name. His venerable friend, therefore, bestowed upon him his own name, which, prefixed by his formerdesignation, made him "William Wells Brown, " a name that will live inhistory, while those of the men who claimed him as property would, wereit not for his deeds, have been unknown beyond the town in which theylived. In nine days from the time he left Wells Brown's house, hearrived at Cleveland, in the State of Ohio, where he found he couldremain comparatively safe from the pursuit of the man-stealer. Havingobtained employment as a waiter, he remained in that city until thefollowing spring, when he procured an engagement on board a steam-boatplying on Lake Erie. In that situation he was enabled, during sevenmonths, to assist no less than sixty-nine slaves to escape to Canada. While a slave he had regarded the whites as the natural enemies of hisrace. It was, therefore, with no small pleasure that he discovered theexistence of the salt of America, in the despised Abolitionists of theNorthern States. He read with assiduity the writings of Benjamin Lundy, William Lloyd Garrison, and others; and after his own twenty years'experience of slavery, it is not surprising that he should haveenthusiastically embraced the principles of "total and immediateemancipation, " and "no union with slaveholders. "

In proportion as his mind expanded under the more favourablecircumstances in which he was placed, he became anxious, not merely forthe redemption of his race from personal slavery, but for the moralelevation of those among them who were free. Finding that habits ofintoxication were too prevalent amongst his coloured brethren, he, inconjunction with others, commenced a temperance reformation in theirbody. Such was the success of their efforts that in three years, in thecity of Buffalo alone, a society of upwards of 500 members was raisedout of a coloured population of 700. Of that society Mr. Brown wasthrice elected President. 

The intellectual powers of our author, coupled with his intimateacquaintance with the workings of the slave system, recommended him tothe Abolitionists as a man eminently qualified to arouse the attentionof the people of the Northern States to the great national sin ofAmerica. In 1843 he was engaged as a lecturer by the Western New-YorkAnti-Slavery Society. From 1844 to 1847 he laboured in the anti-slaverycause in connection with the American Anti-Slavery Society, and fromthat period up to the time of his departure for Europe, in 1849, he wasan agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. The records of thosesocieties furnish abundant evidence of the success of his labours. Fromthe Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society he early received the followingtestimony:--

"Since Mr. Brown became an agent of the Massachusetts Anti-SlaverySociety, he has lectured in very many of the towns of thisCommonwealth, and won for himself general respect and approbation. Hecombines true self-respect with true humility, and rare judiciousnesswith great moral courage. Himself a fugitive slave, he canexperimentally describe the situation of those in bonds as bound withthem; and he powerfully illustrates the diabolism of that system whichkeeps in chains and darkness a host of minds, which, if free andenlightened, would shine among men like stars in a firmament. "

Another member of that Society speaks thus of him:--"I need not attemptany description of the ability and efficiency which characterized hisspeaking throughout the meetings. To you who know him so well, it isenough to say that his lectures were worthy of himself. He has left animpression on the minds of the people, that few could have done. Cold, indeed, must be the heart that could resist the appeals of so noble aspecimen of humanity, in behalf of a crushed and despised race. "

Notwithstanding the celebrity Mr. Brown had acquired in the north, as aman of genius and talent, and the general respect his high character hadgained him, the slave spirit of America denied him the rights of acitizen. By the constitution of the United States, he was every momentliable to be seized and sent back to slavery. He was in daily peril of agradual legalized murder, under a system one of whose establishedeconomical principles is, that it is more profitable to work up a slaveon a plantation in a short time, by excessive labour and cheap food, than to obtain a lengthened remuneration by moderate work and humanetreatment. His only protection from such a fate was the anomaly of theascendancy of the public opinion over the law of the country. Souncertain, however, was that tenure of liberty, that even before thepassage of the Fugitive Slave Law, it was deemed expedient to secure theservices of Frederick Douglass to the anti-slavery cause by the purchaseof his freedom. The same course might have been taken to secure thelabours of Mr. Brown, had he not entertained an unconquerable repugnanceto its adoption. On the 10th of January, 1848, Enoch Price wrote to Mr. Edmund Quincy offering to sell Mr. Brown to himself or friends for 325dollars. To this communication the fugitive returned the following pithyand noble reply:--

"I cannot accept of Mr. Price's offer to become a purchaser of my bodyand soul. God made me as free as he did Enoch Price, and Mr. Price shallnever receive a dollar from me or my friends with my consent. "

There were, however, other reasons besides his personal safety which ledto Mr. Brown's visit to Europe. It was thought desirable always to havein England some talented man of colour who should be a living lie to thedoctrine of the inferiority of the African race: and it was moreoverfelt that none could so powerfully advocate the cause of "those inbonds" as one who had actually been "bound with them. " This had beenproved in the extraordinary effect produced in Great Britain byFrederick Douglass in 1845 and 1846. The American Committee inconnection with the Peace Congress were also desirous of sending toEurope coloured representatives of their Society, and Mr. Brown wasselected for that purpose, and duly accredited by them to the ParisCongress. 

On the 18th of July, 1849, a large meeting of the coloured citizens ofBoston was held in Washington Hall to bid him farewell. At that meetingthe following resolutions were unanimously adopted:--

"_Resolved_, --That we bid our brother, William Wells Brown, God speed in his mission to Europe, and commend him to the hospitality and encouragement of all true friends of humanity. 

"_Resolved_, --That we forward by him our renewed protest against the American Colonization Society; and invoke for him a candid hearing before the British public, in reply to the efforts put forth there by the Rev. Mr. Miller, or any other agent of said Society. "

Two days afterwards he sailed for Europe, encountering on his voyage hislast experience of American prejudice against colour. 

On the 28th of August he landed at Liverpool, a time and place memorablein his life as the first upon which he could truly call himself a freeman upon God's earth. In the history of nations, as of individuals, there is often singular retributive mercy as well as retributivejustice. In the seventeenth century the victims of monarchical tyrannyin Great Britain found social and political freedom when they set footupon Plymouth Rock in New England: in the nineteenth century the victimsof the oppressions of the American Republic find freedom and socialequality upon the shores of monarchical England. Liverpool, whichseventy years back was so steeped in the guilt of negro slavery thatPaine expressed his surprise that God did not sweep it from the face ofthe earth, is now to the hunted negro the Plymouth Rock of Old England. From Liverpool he proceeded to Dublin where he was warmly received byMr. Haughton, Mr. Webb, and other friends of the slave, and publiclywelcomed at a large meeting presided over by the first named gentleman. 

The reception of Mr. Brown at the Peace Congress in Paris was mostflattering. In a company, comprising a large portion of the _elite_ ofEurope, he admirably maintained his reputation as a public speaker. Hisbrief address, upon that "war spirit of America which holds in bondagethree million of his brethren, " produced a profound sensation. At itsconclusion the speaker was warmly greeted by Victor Hugo, the AbbeDuguerry, Emile de Girardin, the Pastor Coquerel, Richard Cobden, andevery man of note in the Assembly. At the soiree given by M. DeTocqueville, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and the other fetes givento the Members of the Congress, Mr. Brown was received with markedattention. 

Having finished his Peace mission in France, he commenced anAnti-slavery tour in England and Scotland. With that independence offeeling which those who are acquainted with him know to be his chiefcharacteristic, he rejected the idea of anything like eleemosynarysupport. He determined to maintain himself and family by his ownexertions--by his literary labours, and the honourable profession of apublic lecturer. His first metropolitan reception in England was at alarge, influential, and enthusiastic meeting in the Music Hall, StoneStreet. The members of the Whittington Club--an institution numberingnearly 2000 members, among whom are Lords Brougham, Dudley CouttsStuart, and Beaumont; Charles Dickens, Douglass Jerrold, MartinThackeray, Charles Lushington, M. P. , Monckton Milnes, M. P. , and severalother of the most distinguished legislators and literary men and womenin this country--elected Mr. Brown an honorary member of the Club, as amark of respect to his character; and, as the following extract from theSecretary, Mr. Stundwicke, will show, as a protest against thedistinctions made between man and man on account of colour inAmerica:--"I have much pleasure in conveying to you the best thanks ofthe managing committee of this institution for the excellent lecture yougave here last evening on the subject of 'Slavery in America, ' and alsoin presenting you in their names with an honorary membership of theClub. It is hoped that you will often avail yourself of its privilegesby coming amongst us. You will then see, by the cordial welcome of themembers, that they protest against the odious distinctions made betweenman and man, and the abominable traffic of which you have been thevictim. "

For the last three years Mr. Brown has been engaged in visiting andholding meetings in nearly all the large towns in the kingdom upon thequestion of American Slavery, Temperance, and other subjects. Perhaps nocoloured individual, not excepting that extraordinary man, FrederickDouglass, has done more good in disseminating anti-slavery principles inEngland, Scotland, and Ireland. 

In the spring of 1851, two most interesting fugitives, William and EllenCraft, arrived in England. They had made their escape from the South, the wife disguised in male attire, and the husband in the capacity ofher slave. William Craft was doing a thriving business in Boston, but in1851 was driven with his wife from that city by the operation of theFugitive Slave Law. For several months they travelled in company withMr. Brown in this country, deepening the disgust created by Mr. Brown'seloquent denunciation of slavery by their simple but touching narrative. At length they were enabled to gratify their thirst for education bygaining admission to Lady Byron's school at Oakham, Surrey. In the monthof May, Mr. Brown and Mr. And Mrs. Craft were taken by a party ofanti-slavery friends to the Great Exhibition. The honourable manner inwhich they were received by distinguished persons to whom their historywas known, and the freedom with which they perambulated the Americandepartment, was a salutary rebuke to the numerous Americans present, inregard to the great sin of their country--slavery; and its greatfolly--prejudice of colour. A curious circumstance occurred during theExhibition. Among the hosts of American visitors to this country was Mr. Brown's late master, Enoch Price, who made diligent inquiry after hislost piece of property--not, of course, with any view to itsreclamation--but, to the mutual regret of both parties, without success. It is gratifying to state that the master spoke highly of, and expresseda wish for the future prosperity of, his fugitive slave; a fact whichtends to prove that prejudice of colour is to a very great extent athing of locality and association. Had Mr. Price, however, left behindhim letters of manumission for Mr. Brown, enabling him, if he chose, toreturn to his native land, he would have given a more practical proof ofrespect, and of the sincerity of his desire for the welfare of Mr. Brown. 

It would extend these pages far beyond their proposed length wereanything like a detailed account of Mr. Brown's anti-slavery labours inthis country to be attempted. Suffice it to say that they haveeverywhere been attended with benefit and approbation. At Bolton anadmirable address from the ladies was presented to him, and at otherplaces he has received most honourable testimonials. 

Since Mr. Brown left America, the condition of the fugitive slaves inhis own country has, through the operation of the Fugitive Slave Law, been rendered so perilous as to preclude the possibility of returnwithout the almost certain loss of liberty. His expatriation has, however, been a gain to the cause of humanity in this country, where anintelligent representative of the oppressed coloured Americans isconstantly needed, not only to describe, in language of fervideloquence, the wrongs inflicted upon his race in the United States, butto prevent their bonds being strengthened in this country by holdingfellowship with slave-holding and slave-abetting ministers from America. In his lectures he has clearly demonstrated the fact, that the solesupport of the slavery of the United States is its churches. Thisknowledge of the standing of American ministers in reference to slaveryhas, in the case of Dr. Dyer, and in many other instances, been mostserviceable, preventing their reception into communion with Britishchurches. Last year Mr. Brown succeeded in getting over to this countryhis daughters, two interesting girls twelve and sixteen years of agerespectively, who are now receiving an education which will qualify themhereafter to become teachers in their turn--a description of educationwhich would have been denied them in their native land. In 1834 Mr. Brown married a free coloured woman, who died in January of the presentyear. 

The condition of escaped slaves has engaged much of his attention whilein this country. He found that in England no anti-slavery organizationexisted whose object was to aid fugitive slaves in obtaining anhonourable subsistence in the land of their exile. In most cases theyare thrown upon the support of a few warm-hearted anti-slavery advocatesin this country, pre-eminent among whom stands Mr. Brown's earliestfriend, Mr. George Thompson, M. P. , whose house is rarely free from oneor more of those who have acquired the designation of his "Americanconstituents. " This want has recently been attempted to be supplied, partly through Mr. Brown's exertions, and partly by the establishment ofthe Anglo-American Anti-Slavery Association. 

On the 1st of August, 1851, a meeting of the most novel character washeld at the Hall of Commerce, London, being a soiree given by fugitiveslaves in this country to Mr. George Thompson, on his return from hisAmerican mission on behalf of their race. That meeting was most ablypresided over by Mr. Brown, and the speeches made upon the occasion byfugitive slaves were of the most interesting and creditable description. Although a residence in Canada is infinitely preferable to slavery inAmerica, yet the climate of that country is uncongenial to theconstitutions of the fugitive slaves, and their lack of education is analmost insuperable barrier to their social progress. The latter evil Mr. Brown attempted to remedy by the establishment of a Manual Labour Schoolin Canada. 

A public meeting, attended by between 3000 and 4000 persons, wasconvened by Mr. Brown, on the 6th of January, 1851, in the City Hall, Glasgow, presided over by Mr. Hastie, one of the representatives of thatcity, at which meeting a resolution was unanimously passed approving ofMr. Brown's scheme, which scheme, however, never received that amount ofsupport which would have enabled him to bring it into practice; and theplan at present only remains as an evidence of its author's ingenuityand desire for the elevation of his depressed race. Mr. Brownsubsequently made, through the columns of the _Times_ newspaper, aproposition for the emigration of American fugitive slaves, under fairand honourable terms, to the West Indies, where there is a great lack ofthat tillage labour which they are so capable of undertaking. Thisproposition has hitherto met with no better fate than its predecessor. 

Mr. Brown's literary abilities may be partly judged of from thefollowing pages. The amount of knowledge and education he has acquiredunder circumstances of no ordinary difficulty, is a striking proof ofwhat can be done by combined genius and industry. His proficiency as alinguist, without the aid of a master, is considerable. His present workis a valuable addition to the stock of English literature. The honourwhich has hitherto been paid, and which, so long as he resides uponBritish soil, will no doubt continue to be paid to his character andtalents, must have its influence in abating the senseless prejudice ofcolour in America, and hastening the time when the object of hismission, the abolition of the slavery of his native country, shall beaccomplished, and that young Republic renouncing with penitence itsnational sin, shall take its proper place amongst the most free, civilized, and Christian nations of the earth. 

 W. F. 

PREFACE. 

While I feel conscious that most of the contents of these Letters willbe interesting chiefly to American readers, yet I may indulge the hope, that the fact of their being the first production of a Fugitive Slave, as a history of travels, may carry with them novelty enough to securefor them, to some extent, the attention of the reading public of GreatBritain. Most of the letters were written for the private perusal of afew personal friends in America; some were contributed to "FrederickDouglass's paper, " a journal published in the United States. In aprinted circular sent some weeks since to some of my friends, askingsubscriptions to this volume, I stated the reasons for its publication:these need not be repeated here. To those who so promptly and kindlyresponded to that appeal, I tender my most sincere thanks. It is with nolittle diffidence that I lay these letters before the public; for I amnot blind to the fact, that they must contain many errors; and to thosewho shall find fault with them on that account, it may not be too muchfor me to ask them kindly to remember, that the author was a slave inone of the Southern States of America, until he had attained the age oftwenty years; and that the education he has acquired, was by his ownexertions, he never having had a day's schooling in his life. 

 W. WELLS BROWN. 

 22, CECIL STREET, STRAND, LONDON. 

LETTER I. 

_Departure from Boston--the Passengers--Halifax--the Passage--FirstSight of Land--Liverpool. _

 LIVERPOOL, _July 28_. 

On the 18th July, 1849, I took passage in the steam-ship _Canada_, Captain Judkins, bound for Liverpool. The day was a warm one; so muchso, that many persons on board, as well as several on shore, stood withtheir umbrellas up, so intense was the heat of the sun. The ringing ofthe ship's bell was a signal for us to shake hands with our friends, which we did, and then stepped on the deck of the noble craft. The_Canada_ quitted her moorings at half-past twelve, and we were soon inmotion. As we were passing out of Boston Bay, I took my stand on thequarter-deck, to take a last farewell (at least for a time), of mynative land. A visit to the old world, up to that time had seemed but adream. As I looked back upon the receding land, recollections of thepast rushed through my mind in quick succession. From the treatment thatI had received from the Americans as a victim of slavery, and theknowledge that I was at that time liable to be seized and again reducedto whips and chains, I had supposed that I would leave the countrywithout any regret; but in this I was mistaken, for when I saw the lastthread of communication cut off between me and the land, and the dimshores dying away in the distance, I almost regretted that I was not onshore. 

An anticipated trip to a foreign country appears pleasant when talkingabout it, especially when surrounded by friends whom we love; but whenwe have left them all behind, it does not seem so pleasant. Whatever maybe the fault of the government under which we live, and no matter howoppressive her laws may appear, yet we leave our native land (if suchit be) with feelings akin to sorrow. With the steamer's powerful engineat work, and with a fair wind, we were speedily on the bosom of theAtlantic, which was as calm and as smooth as our own Hudson in itscalmest aspect. We had on board above one hundred passengers, forty ofwhom were the "Viennese children"--a troop of dancers. The passengersrepresented several different nations, English, French, Spaniards, Africans, and Americans. One man who had the longest pair of mustachesthat mortal man was ever doomed to wear, especially attracted myattention. He appeared to belong to no country in particular, but wasyet the busiest man on board. After viewing for some time the manystrange faces around me, I descended to the cabin to look after myluggage, which had been put hurriedly on board. I hope that all who takea trip of so great a distance may be as fortunate as I was, in beingsupplied with books to read on the voyage. My friends had furnished mewith literature, from "Macaulay's History of England" to "Jane Eyre, " sothat I did not want for books to occupy my time. 

A pleasant passage of about thirty hours, brought us to Halifax, at sixo'clock in the evening. In company with my friend the President of theOberlin Institute, I took a stroll through the town; and from whatlittle I saw of the people in the streets, I am sure that the taking ofthe Temperance pledge would do them no injury. Our stay at Halifax wasshort. Having taken in a few sacks of coals, the mails, and a limitednumber of passengers, we were again out, and soon at sea. After apleasant run of seven days more, and as I was lying in my bed, I heardthe cry of "Land a-head. " Although our passage had been unprecedentedlyshort, yet I need not inform you that this news was hailed with joy byall on board. For my own part, I was soon on deck. Away in the distance, and on our larboard quarter, were the grey hills of Ireland. Yes! wewere in sight of the land of Emmett and O'Connell. While I rejoiced withthe other passengers at the sight of land, and the near approach to theend of the voyage, I felt low spirited, because it reminded me of thegreat distance I was from home. But the experience of above twentyyears' travelling, had prepared me to undergo what most persons must laytheir account with, in visiting a strange country. This was the last daybut one that we were to be on board; and as if moved by the sight ofland, all seemed to be gathering their different thingstogether--brushing up their old clothes and putting on their new ones, as if this would bring them any sooner to the end of their journey. 

The last night on board was the most pleasant, apparently, that we hadexperienced; probably, because it was the last. The moon was in hermeridian splendour, pouring her broad light over the calm sea; whilenear to us, on our starboard side, was a ship with her snow-white sailsspread aloft, and stealing through the water like a thing of life. Whatcan present a more picturesque view, than two vessels at sea on amoonlight night, and within a few rods of each other? With a gentlebreeze, and the powerful engine at work, we seemed to be flying to theembrace of our British neighbours. 

The next morning I was up before the sun, and found that we were withina few miles of Liverpool. The taking of a pilot on board at eleveno'clock, warned us to prepare to quit our ocean palace and seek otherquarters. At a little past three o'clock, the ship cast anchor, and wewere all tumbled, bag and baggage, into a small steamer, and in a fewmoments were at the door of the Custom-House. The passage had only beennine days and twenty-two hours, the quickest on record at that time, yetit was long enough. I waited nearly three hours before my name wascalled, and when it was, I unlocked my trunks and handed them over toone of the officers, whose dirty hands made no improvement on the workof the laundress. First one article was taken out, and then another, till an _Iron Collar_ that had been worn by a female slave on the banksof the Mississippi, was hauled out, and this democratic instrument oftorture became the centre of attraction; so much so, that instead ofgoing on with the examination, all hands stopped to look at the "NegroCollar. "

Several of my countrymen who were standing by, were not a littledispleased at answers which I gave to questions on the subject ofSlavery; but they held their peace. The interest created by theappearance of the Iron Collar, closed the examination of my luggage. Asif afraid that they would find something more hideous, they put theCustom-House mark on each piece, and passed them out, and I was sooncomfortably installed at Brown's Temperance Hotel, Clayton Square. 

No person of my complexion can visit this country without being struckwith the marked difference between the English and the Americans. Theprejudice which I have experienced on all and every occasion in theUnited States, and to some extent on board the _Canada_, vanished assoon as I set foot on the soil of Britain. In America I had been boughtand sold as a slave, in the Southern States. In the so-called freeStates, I had been treated as one born to occupy an inferiorposition, --in steamers, compelled to take my fare on the deck; inhotels, to take my meals in the kitchen; in coaches, to ride on theoutside; in railways, to ride in the "negro car;" and in churches, tosit in the "negro pew. " But no sooner was I on British soil, than I wasrecognised as a man, and an equal. The very dogs in the streetsappeared conscious of my manhood. Such is the difference, and such isthe change that is brought about by a trip of nine days in an Atlanticsteamer. 

I was not more struck with the treatment of the people, than with theappearance of the great seaport of the world. The grey appearance of thestone piers and docks, the dark look of the magnificent warehouses, thesubstantial appearance of every thing around, causes one to thinkhimself in a new world instead of the old. Every thing in Liverpoollooks old, yet nothing is worn out. The beautiful villas on the oppositeside of the river, in the vicinity of Birkenhead, together with thecountless number of vessels in the river, and the great ships to be seenin the stream, give life and animation to the whole scene. 

Every thing in and about Liverpool seems to be built for the future aswell as the present. We had time to examine but few of the publicbuildings, the first of which was the Custom-House, an edifice thatwould be an ornament to any city in the world. 

For the first time in my life, I can say "I am truly free. " My oldmaster may make his appearance here, with the Constitution of the UnitedStates in his pocket, the Fugitive Slave Law in one hand and the chainsin the other, and claim me as his property, but all will avail himnothing. I can here stand and look the tyrant in the face, and tell himthat I am his equal! England is, indeed, the "land of the free, and thehome of the brave. "

LETTER II. 

_Trip to Ireland--Dublin--Her Majesty's Visit--Illumination of theCity--the Birth-Place of Thomas Moore--a Reception. _

 DUBLIN, _August 6_. 

After remaining in Liverpool two days, I took passage in the littlesteamer _Adelaide_ for this city. The wind being high on the night ofour voyage, the vessel had scarcely got to sea ere we were driven toour berths; and though the distance from Liverpool to Dublin is short, yet, strange to say, I witnessed more effects of the sea and rolling ofthe steamer upon the passengers, than was to be seen during the whole ofour voyage from America. We reached Kingstown, five miles below Dublin, after a passage of nearly fifteen hours, and were soon seated on a car, and on our way to the city. While coming into the bay, one gets a fineview of Dublin and the surrounding country. Few sheets of water make amore beautiful appearance than Dublin Bay. We found it as still andsmooth as a mirror, with a soft mist on its surface--a strange contrastto the boisterous sea that we had left a moment before. 

The curious phrases of the Irish sounded harshly upon my ear, probably, because they were strange to me. I lost no time on reaching the city inseeking out some to whom I had letters of introduction, one of whom gaveme an invitation to make his house my home during my stay, an invitationwhich I did not think fit to decline. 

Dublin, the Metropolis of Ireland, is a city of above two hundredthousand inhabitants, and is considered by the people of Ireland to bethe second city in the British Empire. The Liffey, which falls intoDublin Bay a little below the Custom-House, divides the town into twonearly equal parts. The streets are--some of them--very fine, especiallyupper Sackville Street, in the centre of which stands a pillar erectedto Nelson, England's most distinguished Naval Commander. The Bank ofIreland, to which I paid a visit, is a splendid building, and wasformerly the Parliament House. This magnificent edifice fronts CollegeGreen, and near at hand stands a bronze statue of William III. The Bankand the Custom-House are two of the finest monuments of architecture inthe city; the latter of which stands near the river Liffey, and itsfront makes an imposing appearance, extending to three hundred andseventy-five feet. It is built of Portland stone, and is adorned with abeautiful portico in the centre, consisting of four Doric columnssupporting an enriched entablature, decorated with a group of figures inalto-relievo, representing Hibernia and Britannia presenting emblems ofpeace and liberty. A magnificent dome, supporting a cupola, on whoseapex stands a colossal figure of Hope, rises nobly from the centre ofthe building to a height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. It is, withal, a fine specimen of what man can do. 

From this noble edifice, we bent our steps to another part of the city, and soon found ourselves in the vicinity of St. Patrick's, where we hada heart-sickening view of the poorest of the poor. All the recollectionsof poverty which I had ever beheld, seemed to disappear in comparisonwith what was then before me. We passed a filthy and noisy market, wherefruit and vegetable women were screaming and begging those passing by topurchase their commodities; while in and about the market-place werethrongs of beggars fighting for rotten fruit, cabbage stocks, and eventhe very trimmings of vegetables. On the side walks, were great numbershovering about the doors of the more wealthy, and following strangers, importuning them for "pence to buy bread. " Sickly and emaciated-lookingcreatures, half naked, were at our heels at every turn. After passingthrough a half dozen, or more, of narrow and dirty streets, we returnedto our lodgings, impressed with the idea that we had seen enough of thepoor for one day. 

In our return home, we passed through a respectable looking street, inwhich stands a small three storey brick building, which was pointed outto us as the birth-place of Thomas Moore, the poet. The following versefrom one of Moore's poems was continually in my mind while viewing thishouse:--

 "Where is the slave, so lowly, Condemn'd to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly?"

 * * * * *

Yesterday was the Sabbath, but it had more the appearance of a holidaythan a day of rest. It had been announced the day before, that the Royalfleet was expected, and at an early hour on Sunday, the entire townseemed to be on the move towards Kingstown, and as the family with whomI was staying followed the multitude, I was not inclined to remainbehind, and so went with them. On reaching the station we found itutterly impossible to get standing room in any of the trains, much lessa seat, and therefore determined to reach Kingstown under the plea of amorning's walk; and in this we were not alone, for during the walk offive miles the road was filled with thousands of pedestrians and acountless number of carriages, phaetons, and vehicles of a more humbleorder. 

We reached the lower town in time to get a good dinner, and restourselves before going to make further searches for Her Majesty's fleet. At a little past four o'clock, we observed the multitude going towardsthe pier, a number of whom were yelling at the top of their voices, "It's coming, it's coming;" but on going to the quay, we found that afalse alarm had been given. However, we had been on the look-out but ashort time, when a column of smoke rising as it were out of the sea, announced that the Royal fleet was near at hand. The concourse in thevicinity of the pier was variously estimated at from eighty to onehundred thousand. 

It was not long before the five steamers were entering the harbour, theone bearing Her Majesty leading the way. As each vessel had a number ofdistinguished persons on board, the people appeared to be at a loss toknow which was the Queen; and as each party made its appearance on thepromenade deck, they were received with great enthusiasm, the partyhaving the best looking lady being received with the greatest applause. The Prince of Wales, and Prince Alfred, while crossing the deck wererecognised and greeted with three cheers; the former taking off his hatand bowing to the people, showed that he had had some training as apublic man although not ten years of age. But not so with Prince Alfred;for, when his brother turned to him and asked him to take off his hatand make a bow to the people, he shook his head and said, "No. " This wasreceived with hearty laughter by those on board, and was responded to bythe thousands on shore. But greater applause was yet in store for theyoung prince; for the captain of the steamer being near by, and seeingthat the Prince of Wales could not prevail on his brother to take offhis hat, stepped up to him and undertook to take it off for him, when, seemingly to the delight of all, the prince put both hands to his headand held his hat fast. This was regarded as a sign of courage and futurerenown, and was received with the greatest enthusiasm--many crying out, "Good, good: he will make a brave king when his day comes. "

After the greetings and applause had been wasted on many who hadappeared on deck, all at once, as if by some magic power, we beheld alady rather small in stature, with auburn or reddish hair, attired in aplain dress, and wearing a sky-blue bonnet, standing on the larboardpaddle-box, by the side of a tall good-looking man, with mustaches. Thethunders of applause that now rent the air, and cries of "The Queen, theQueen, " seemed to set at rest the question of which was Her Majesty. Buta few moments were allowed to the people to look at the Queen, beforeshe again disappeared; and it was understood that she would not be seenagain that evening. A rush was then made for the railway, to return toDublin. 

 * * * * *

 _August 8_. 

Yesterday was a great day in Dublin. At an early hour the bells begantheir merry peals, and the people were soon seen in groups in thestreets and public squares. The hour of ten was fixed for the processionto leave Kingstown, and it was expected to enter the city at eleven. Thewindows of the houses in the streets through which the Royal train wasto pass, were at a premium, and seemed to find ready occupants. 

Being invited the day previous to occupy part of a window in UpperSackville Street, I was stationed at my allotted place, at an earlyhour, with an out-stretched neck and open eyes. My own colour differingfrom those about me, I attracted not a little attention from many; andoften, when gazing down the street to see if the Royal procession was insight, would find myself eyed by all around. But neither while at thewindow, or in the streets, was I once insulted. This was so unlike theAmerican prejudice, that it seemed strange to me. It was near twelveo'clock before the procession entered Sackville Street, and when it didall eyes seemed to beam with delight. The first carriage contained onlyHer Majesty and the Prince Consort; the second, the Royal children; andthe third, the Lords in Waiting. Fifteen carriages were used by thosethat made up the Royal party. I had a full view of the Queen and all whofollowed in the train. Her Majesty--whether from actual love for herperson, or the novelty of the occasion, I know not which--was receivedeverywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. One thing, however, is certain, and that is--Queen Victoria is beloved by her subjects. 

But the grand _fete_ was reserved for the evening. Great preparationshad been made to have a grand illumination on the occasion, and hintswere thrown out that it would surpass anything ever witnessed in London. In this they were not far out of the way; for all who witnessed thescene admitted that it could scarcely have been surpassed. My own ideaof an illumination, as I had seen it in the backwoods of my own nativeland, dwindled into nothing when compared with this magnificent affair. 

In company with a few friends, and a lady under my charge, I undertookto pass through Sackville and one or two other streets, about eighto'clock in the evening, but we found it utterly impossible to proceed. Masses thronged the streets, and the wildest enthusiasm seemed toprevail. In our attempt to cross the bridge, we were wedged in and lostour companions; and on one occasion I was separated from the lady, andtook shelter under a cart standing in the street. After being jammed andpulled about for nearly two hours, I returned to my lodgings, where Ifound part of my company, who had come in one after another. At eleveno'clock we had all assembled, and each told his adventures and"hairbreadth escapes;" and nearly every one had lost a pockethandkerchief or something of the kind: my own was among the missing. However, I lost nothing; for a benevolent lady, who happened to be oneof the company, presented me with one which was of far more value thanthe one I had lost. 

Every one appeared to enjoy the holiday which the Royal visit hadcaused. But the Irish are indeed a strange people. How varied theiraspect--how contradictory their character. Ireland, the land of geniusand degradation--of great resources and unparalleled poverty--nobledeeds and the most revolting crimes--the land of distinguished poets, splendid orators, and the bravest of soldiers--the land of ignorance andbeggary! Dublin is a splendid city, but its splendour is that ofchiselled marble rather than real life. One cannot behold thesearchitectural monuments without thinking of the great men that Irelandhas produced. The names of Burke, Sheridan, Flood, Grattan, O'Connell, and Shiel, have become as familiar to the Americans as household words. Burke is known as the statesman; Sheridan for his great speech on thetrial of Warren Hastings; Grattan for his eloquence; O'Connell as theagitator; and Shiel as the accomplished orator. 

But of Ireland's sons, none stands higher in America than Thomas Moore, the Poet. The vigour of his sarcasm, the glow of his enthusiasm, thecoruscations of his fancy, and the flashing of his wit, seem to be aswell understood in the new world as the old; and the support which hispen has given to civil and religious liberty throughout the world, entitled the Minstrel of Erin to this elevated position. 

Before leaving America I had heard much of the friends of my enslavedcountrymen residing in Ireland; and the reception I met with on allhands while in public, satisfied me that what I had heard had not beenexaggerated. To the Webbs, Allens, and Haughtons, of Dublin, the causeof the American slave is much indebted. 

I quitted Dublin with a feeling akin to leaving my native land. 

LETTER III. 

_Departure from Ireland--London--Trip to Paris--Paris--The PeaceCongress: first day--Church of the Madeleine--Column Vendome--theFrench. _

 PARIS, _August 23_. 

After a pleasant sojourn of three weeks in Ireland, I took passage inone of the mail steamers for Liverpool, and arriving there was soon onthe road to the metropolis. The passage from Dublin to Liverpool was anagreeable one. The rough sea that we passed through on going to Irelandhad given way to a dead calm, and our noble little steamer, on quittingthe Dublin wharf, seemed to understand that she was to have it all herown way. During the first part of the evening, the boat appeared to feelher importance, and, darting through the water with majestic strides, she left behind her a dark cloud of smoke suspended in the air like abanner; while, far astern in the wake of the vessel, could be seen therippled waves sparkling in the rays of the moon, giving strength andbeauty to the splendour of the evening. 

On reaching Liverpool, and partaking of a good breakfast, for which wepaid double price, we proceeded to the railway station, and were soongoing at a rate unknown to those accustomed to travel on one of ourAmerican railways. At a little past two o'clock in the afternoon, we sawin the distance the out-skirts of London. We could get but an indistinctview, which had the appearance of one architectural mass, extending allround to the horizon, and enveloped in a combination of fog and smoke;and towering above every other object to be seen, was the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. 

A few moments more, and we were safely seated in a "Hansom's Patent, "and on our way to Hughes's--one of the politest men of the George Foxstamp we have ever met. Here we found forty or fifty persons, who, likeourselves, were bound for the Peace Congress. The Sturges, the Wighams, the Richardsons, the Allens, the Thomases, and a host of others not lessdistinguished as friends of peace, were of the company--many of whom Ihad heard of, but none of whom I had ever seen; yet I was not an entirestranger to many, especially to the abolitionists. In company with afriend, I sallied forth after tea to take a view of the city. Theevening was fine--the dense fog and smoke having to some extent passedaway, left the stars shining brightly, while the gas light from thestreet lamps and the brilliant shop windows gave it the appearance ofday-light in a new form. "What street is this?" we asked. "Cheapside, "was the reply. The street was thronged, and every body seemed to begoing at a rapid rate, as if there was something of importance at theend of the journey. Flying vehicles of every description passing eachother with a dangerous rapidity, men with lovely women at their sides, children running about as if they had lost their parents--all gave abrilliancy to the scene scarcely to be excelled. If one wished to getjammed and pushed about, he need go no farther than Cheapside. But everything of the kind is done with a degree of propriety in London, thatwould put the New Yorkers to blush. If you are run over in London, they"beg your pardon;" if they run over you in New York, you are "laughedat:" in London, if your hat is knocked off it is picked up and handed toyou; if, in New York, you must pick it up yourself. There is a lack ofgood manners among Americans that is scarcely known or understood inEurope. Our stay in the great metropolis gave us but little opportunityof seeing much of the place; for in twenty-four hours after our arrivalwe joined the rest of the delegates, and started on our visit to ourGallic neighbours. 

We assembled at the London Bridge Railway Station on Tuesday morning the21st, a few minutes past nine, to the number of 600. The day was fine, and every eye seemed to glow with enthusiasm. Besides the delegates, there were probably not less than 600 more, who had come to see thecompany start. We took our seats and appeared to be waiting for nothingbut the iron-horse to be fastened to the train, when all at once, wewere informed that we must go to the booking-office and change ourtickets. At this news every one appeared to be vexed. This caused greattrouble; for on returning to the train many persons got into the wrongcarriages; and several parties were separated from their friends, whilenot a few were calling out at the top of their voices, "Where is mywife? Where is my husband? Where is my luggage? Who's got my boy? Isthis the right train?" "What is that lady going to do with all thesechildren?" asked the guard. "Is she a delegate: are all the childrendelegates?" In the carriage where I had taken my seat was agood-looking lady who gave signs of being very much annoyed. "It is justso when I am going anywhere: I never saw the like in my life, " said she. "I really wish I was at home again. "

An hour had now elapsed, and we were still at the station. However, wewere soon on our way, and going at express speed. In passing throughKent we enjoyed the scenery exceedingly, as the weather was altogetherin our favour; and the drapery which nature hung on the trees, in thepart through which we passed, was in all its gaiety. On our arrival atFolkstone, we found three steamers in readiness to convey the party toBoulogne. As soon as the train stopped, a general rush was made for thesteamers; and in a very short time the one in which I had embarked waspassing out of the harbour. The boat appeared to be conscious that wewere going on a holy mission, and seemed to be proud of her load. Thereis nothing in this wide world so like a thing of life as a steamer, fromthe breathing of her steam and smoke, the energy of her motion, and thebeauty of her shape; while the ease with which she is managed by thecommand of a single voice, makes her appear as obedient as the horse isto the rein. 

When we were about half way between the two great European Powers, theofficers began to gather the tickets. The first to whom he applied, andwho handed out his "Excursion Ticket, " was informed that we were all inthe wrong boat. "Is this not one of the boats to take over thedelegates?" asked a pretty little lady, with a whining voice. "No, Madam, " said the captain. "You must look to the committee for your pay, "said one of the company to the captain. "I have nothing to do withcommittees, " the captain replied. "Your fare, Gentlemen, if you please. "

Here the whole party were again thrown into confusion. "Do you hearthat? We are in the wrong boat. " "I knew it would be so, " said the Rev. Dr. Ritchie, of Edinburgh. "It is indeed a pretty piece of work, " said aplain-looking lady in a handsome bonnet. "When I go travelling again, "said an elderly looking gent with an eye-glass to his face, "I will takethe phaeton and old Dobbin. " Every one seemed to lay the blame on thecommittee, and not, too, without some just grounds. However, Mr. Sturge, one of the committee, being in the boat with us, an arrangement wasentered into, by which we were not compelled to pay our fare the secondtime. 

As we neared the French coast, the first object that attracted ourattention was the Napoleon Pillar, on the top of which is a statue ofthe Emperor in the Imperial robes. We landed, partook of refreshmentthat had been prepared for us, and again repaired to the railwaystation. The arrangements for leaving Boulogne were no better than thoseat London. But after the delay of another hour, we were again in motion. 

It was a beautiful country through which we passed from Boulogne toAmiens. Straggling cottages which bespeak neatness and comfort abound onevery side. The eye wanders over the diversified views with unabatedpleasure, and rests in calm repose upon its superlative beauty. Indeed, the eye cannot but be gratified at viewing the entire country from thecoast to the metropolis. Sparkling hamlets spring up as the steam horsespeeds his way, at almost every point--showing the progress ofcivilization, and the refinement of the nineteenth century. 

We arrived at Paris a few minutes past twelve o'clock at night, when, according to our tickets, we should have been there at nine. ElihuBurritt, who had been in Paris some days, and who had the arrangementsthere pretty much his own way, was at the station waiting the arrival ofthe train, and we had demonstrated to us, the best evidence that heunderstood his business. In no other place on the whole route had theaffairs been so well managed; for we were seated in our respectivecarriages and our luggage placed on the top, and away we went to ourhotels without the least difficulty or inconvenience. The champion of an"Ocean Penny Postage" received, as he deserved, thanks from the wholecompany for his admirable management. 

The silence of the night was only disturbed by the rolling of the wheelsof the omnibus, as we passed through the dimly lighted streets. Where, afew months before was to be seen the flash from the cannon and themusket, and the hearing of the cries and groans behind the barricades, was now the stillness of death--nothing save here and there a _gensd'arme_ was to be seen going his rounds in silence. 

The omnibus set us down at the hotel Bedford, Rue de L'Arend, where, although near one o'clock, we found a good supper waiting for us; and, as I was not devoid of an appetite, I did my share towards putting itout of the way. 

The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out on the Boulevards tosee what might be seen. As I was passing from the Bedford to the Placede La Concord, all at once, and as if by some magic power, I foundmyself in front of the most splendid edifice imaginable, situated at theend of the Rue Nationale. Seeing a number of persons entering the churchat that early hour, and recognising among them my friend the Presidentof the Oberlin (Ohio) Institute, and wishing not to stray too far frommy hotel before breakfast, I followed the crowd and entered thebuilding. The church itself consisted of a vast nave, interrupted byfour pews on each side, fronted with lofty fluted Corinthian columnsstanding on pedestals, supporting colossal arches, bearing up cupolas, pierced with skylights and adorned with compartments gorgeously gilt;their corners supported with saints and apostles in _alto relievo_. Thewalls of the church were lined with rich marble. The different paintingsand figures, gave the interior an imposing appearance. On inquiry, Ifound that I was in the Church of the Madeleine. It was near this spotthat some of the most interesting scenes occurred during the Revolutionof 1848, which dethroned Louis Philippe. Behind the Madeleine is a smallbut well supplied market; and on an esplanade east of the edifice, aflower market is held on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

 * * * * *

The first session of the Peace Congress is over. 

The Congress met this morning at 11 o'clock, in the Salle St. Cecile, Rue de la St. Lazare. The Parisians have no "Exeter Hall:" in fact, there is no private hall in the city of any size, save this, where sucha meeting could be held. This hall has been fitted up for the occasion. The room is long, and at one end has a raised platform; and at theopposite end is a gallery, with seats raised one above another. On oneside of the hall was a balcony with sofas, which were evidently the"reserved seats. "

The hall was filled at an early hour with the delegates, their friends, and a good sprinkling of the French. Occasionally, small groups ofgentlemen would make their appearance on the platform, until it soonappeared that there was little room left for others; and yet theofficers of the Convention had not come in. The different countrieswere, many of them, represented here. England, France, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Greece, Spain, and the United States, had each theirdelegates. The Assembly began to give signs of impatience, when verysoon the train of officials made their appearance amid great applause. Victor Hugo led the way, followed by M. Duguerry, curé of the Madeleine, Elihu Burritt, and a host of others of less note. Victor Hugo took thechair as President of the Congress, supported by Vice-presidents fromthe several nations represented. Mr. Richard, the Secretary, read a dryreport of the names of societies, committees, &c. , which was deemed theopening of the Convention. 

The President then arose, and delivered one of the most impressive andeloquent appeals in favour of peace that could possibly be imagined. Theeffect produced upon the minds of all present was such as to make theauthor of "_Notre Dame de Paris_" a great favourite with the Congress. An English gentleman near me said to his friend, "I can't understand aword of what he says, but is it not good?" Victor Hugo concluded hisspeech amid the greatest enthusiasm on the part of the French, which wasfollowed by hurrahs in the old English style. The Convention wassuccessively addressed by the President of the Brussels Peace Society;President Mahan of the Oberlin (Ohio) Institute, U. S. ; Henry Vincent;and Richard Cobden. The latter was not only the _lion_ of the Englishdelegation, but the great man of the Convention. When Mr. Cobden speaks, there is no want of hearers. The great power of this gentleman lies inhis facts and his earnestness, for he cannot be called an eloquentspeaker. Mr. Cobden addressed the Congress first in French, then inEnglish; and, with the single exception of Mr. Ewart, M. P. , was the onlyone of the English delegation that could speak to the French in theirown language. 

The Congress was brought to a close at five o'clock, when the numerousaudience dispersed--the citizens to their homes, and the delegates tosee the sights. 

I was not a little amused at an incident that occurred at the close ofthe first session. On the passage from America, there were in the samesteamer with me, several Americans, and among these, three or fourappeared to be much annoyed at the fact that I was a passenger, andenjoying the company of white persons; and although I was not openlyinsulted, I very often heard the remark, that "That nigger had better beon his master's farm, " and "What could the American Peace Society bethinking about to send a black man as a delegate to Paris. " Well, at theclose of the first sitting of the Convention, and just as I was leavingVictor Hugo, to whom I had been introduced by an M. P. , I observed nearme a gentleman with his hat in hand, whom I recognized as one of thepassengers who had crossed the Atlantic with me in the _Canada_, and whoappeared to be the most horrified at having a negro for a fellowpassenger. This gentleman, as I left M. Hugo, stepped up to me and said, "How do you do, Mr. Brown?" "You have the advantage of me, " said I. "Oh, don't you know me; I was a fellow passenger with you from America; Iwish you would give me an introduction to Victor Hugo and Mr. Cobden. " Ineed not inform you that I declined introducing this pro-slaveryAmerican to these distinguished men. I only allude to this, to show whata change comes over the dreams of my white American brother, by crossingthe ocean. The man who would not have been seen walking with me in thestreets of New York, and who would not have shaken hands with me with apair of tongs while on the passage from the United States, could comewith hat in hand in Paris, and say, "I was your fellow-passenger. " Fromthe Salle de St. Cecile, I visited the Column Vendome, from the top ofwhich I obtained a fine view of Paris and its environs. This is theBunker Hill Monument of Paris. On the top of this pillar is a statue ofthe Emperor Napoleon, eleven feet high. The monument is built withstone, and the outside covered with a metallic composition, made ofcannons, guns, spikes, and other warlike implements taken from theRussians and Austrians by Napoleon. Above 1200 cannons were melted downto help to create this monument of folly, to commemorate the success ofthe French arms in the German Campaign. The column is in imitation ofthe Trajan pillar at Rome, and is twelve feet in diameter at the base. The door at the bottom of the pillar, and where we entered, wasdecorated above with crowns of oak, surmounted by eagles, each weighing500 lbs. The bas-relief of the shaft pursues a spiral direction to thecapitol, and displays, in a chronological order, the principal actionsof the French army, from the departure of the troops from Boulogne tothe battle of Austerlitz. The figures are near three feet high, andtheir number said to be two thousand. This sumptuous monument stands ona plinth of polished granite, surmounted by an iron railing; and, fromits size and position, has an imposing appearance when seen from anypart of the city. 

Everything here appears strange and peculiar--the people not less sothan their speech. The horses, carriages, furniture, dress, and manners, are in keeping with their language. The appearance of the labourers incaps, resembling nightcaps, seemed particularly strange to me. The womenwithout bonnets, and their caps turned the right side behind, hadnothing of the look of our American women. The prettiest woman I eversaw was without a bonnet, walking on the Boulevards. While in Ireland, and during the few days I was in England, I was struck with the markeddifference between the appearance of the women from those of my owncountry. The American women are too tall, too sallow, and toolong-featured to be called pretty. This is most probably owing to thefact that in America the people come to maturity earlier than in mostother countries. 

My first night in Paris was spent with interest. No place can presentgreater street attractions than the Boulevards of Paris. The countlessnumber of cafés, with tables before the doors, and these surrounded bymen with long moustaches, with ladies at their sides, whose very smilesgive indication of happiness, together with the sound of music from thegardens in the rear, tell the stranger that he is in a different countryfrom his own. 

LETTER IV. 

_Versailles--The Palace--Second Session of the Congress--Mr. Cobden--Henry Vincent--M. Girardin--Abbe Duguerry--Victor Hugo: hisSpeech. _

 VERSAILLES, _August 24_. 

After the Convention had finished its sittings yesterday, I accompaniedMrs. M. C---- and sisters to Versailles, where they are residing duringthe summer. It was really pleasing to see among the hundreds of strangefaces in the Convention, those distinguished friends of the slave fromBoston. 

Mrs. C----'s residence is directly in front of the great palace whereso many kings have made their homes, the prince of whom was Louis XIV. The palace is now unoccupied. No ruler has dared to take up hisresidence here since Louis XVI. And Marie Antoinette were driven from itby the mob from Paris on the 8th of October, 1789. The town looks likethe wreck of what it once was. At the commencement of the firstrevolution, it contained one hundred thousand inhabitants; now it hasonly about thirty thousand. It seems to be going back to what it was inthe time of Louis XIII. , when in 1624 he built a small brick chateau, and from it arose the magnificent palace which now stands here, andwhich attracts strangers to it from all parts of the world. 

I arose this morning before the sun, and took a walk through the groundsof the Palace, and remained three hours among the fountains and statuaryof this more than splendid place. But as I intend spending some dayshere, and shall have better opportunities of seeing and judging, I willdefer my remarks upon Versailles for the present. 

Yesterday was a great day in the Congress. The session was opened by aspeech from M. Coquerel, the Protestant clergyman in Paris. His speechwas received with much applause, and seemed to create great sensation inthe Congress, especially at the close of his remarks, when he was seizedby the hand by the Abbe Duguerry, amid the most deafening andenthusiastic applause of the entire multitude. The meeting was thenaddressed in English by a short gentleman, of florid complexion. Hiswords seemed to come without the least difficulty, and his jestures, though somewhat violent, were evidently studied; and the applause withwhich he was greeted by the English delegation, showed that he was a manof no little distinction among them. His speech was one continuous flowof rapid, fervid eloquence, that seemed to fire every heart; andalthough I disliked his style, I was prepossessed in his favour. Thiswas Henry Vincent, and his speech was in favour of disarmament. 

Mr. Vincent was followed by M. Emile de Girardin, the editor of _LaPresse_, in one of the most eloquent speeches that I ever heard; and hisexclamation of "Soldiers of Peace, " drew thunders of applause from hisown countrymen. M. Girardin is not only the leader of the French press, but is a writer on politics of great distinction, and a leader of noinconsiderable party in the National Assembly; although still a youngman, apparently not more than thirty-eight or forty years of age. 

After a speech from Mr. Ewart, M. P. , in French, and another from Mr. Cobden in the same language, the Convention was brought to a close forthe day. I spent the morning yesterday, in visiting some of the lions ofthe French capital, among which was the Louvre. The French Governmenthaving kindly ordered, that the members of the Peace Congress should beadmitted free, and without ticket, to all the public works, I hadnothing to do but present my card of membership, and was immediatelyadmitted. 

The first room I entered, was nearly a quarter of a mile in length; isknown as the "Long Gallery, " and contains some of the finest paintingsin the world. On entering this superb palace, my first impression was, that all Christendom had been robbed, that the Louvre might make asplendid appearance. This is the Italian department, and one wouldsuppose by its appearance that but few paintings had been left in Italy. The entrance end of the Louvre was for a long time in an unfinishedstate, but was afterwards completed by that master workman, the EmperorNapoleon. It was long thought that the building would crumble intodecay, but the genius of the great Corsican rescued it from ruin. 

During our walk through the Louvre, we saw some twenty or thirty artistscopying paintings; some had their copies finished and were going out, others half done, while many had just commenced. I remained some minutesnear a pretty French girl, who was copying a painting of a dog rescuinga child from a stream of water into which it had fallen. 

I walked down one side of the hall and up the other, and was aboutleaving, when I was informed that this was only one room, and that ahalf-dozen more were at my service; but a clock on a neighbouring churchreminded me that I must quit the Louvre for the Salle de St. Cecile. 

 * * * * *

This morning the Hall was filled at an early hour with rather a morefashionable looking audience than on any former occasion, and allappeared anxious for the Congress to commence its session, as it wasunderstood to be the last day. After the reading of several letters fromgentlemen, apologising for their not being able to attend, the speech ofElihu Burritt was read by a son of M. Coquerel. I felt somewhatastonished that my countryman, who was said to be master of fiftylanguages, had to get some one to read his speech in French. 

The Abbe Duguerry now came forward amid great cheering, and said that"the eminent journalist, Girardin, and the great English logician, Mr. Cobden, had made it unnecessary for any further advocacy in thatassembly of the Peace cause--that if the principles laid down in theresolutions were carried out, the work would be done. He said that thequestion of general pacification was built on truth--truth whichemanated from God--and it were as vain to undertake to prevent air fromexpanding as to check the progress of truth. It must and wouldprevail. "

A pale, thin-faced gentleman next ascended the platform (or tribune, asit was called) amid shouts of applause from the English, and began hisspeech in rather a low tone, when compared with the sharp voice ofVincent, or the thunder of the Abbe Duguerry. An audience is not apt tobe pleased or even contented with an inferior speaker, when surroundedby eloquent men, and I looked every moment for manifestations ofdisapprobation, as I felt certain that the English delegation had made amistake in applauding this gentleman who seemed to make such anunpromising beginning. But the speaker soon began to get warm on thesubject, and even at times appeared as if he had spoken before. In avery short time, with the exception of his own voice, the stillness ofdeath prevailed throughout the building. The speaker, in the delivery ofone of the most logical speeches made in the Congress, and despite ofhis thin, sallow look, interested me much more than any whom I hadbefore heard. Towards the close of his remarks, he was several timesinterrupted by manifestations of approbation; and finally concluded amidgreat cheering. I inquired the gentleman's name, and was informed thatit was Edward Miall, editor of the _Nonconformist_. 

After speeches from several others, the great Peace Congress of 1849, which had brought men together from nearly all the governments ofEurope, and many from America, was brought to a final close by a speechfrom the President, returning thanks for the honour that had beenconferred upon him. He said, "My address shall be short, and yet I haveto bid you adieu! How resolve to do so? Here, during three days, havequestions of the deepest import been discussed, examined, probed to thebottom; and during these discussions, counsels have been given togovernments which they will do well to profit by. If these days'sittings are attended with no other result, they will be the means ofsowing in the minds of those present, gems of cordiality which mustripen into good fruit. England, France, Belgium, Europe, and America, would all be drawn closer by these sittings. Yet the moment to part hasarrived, but I can feel that we are strongly united in heart. But beforeparting I may congratulate you and myself on the result of ourproceedings. We have been all joined together without distinction ofcountry; we have all been united in one common feeling during our threedays' communion. The good work cannot go back, it must advance, it mustbe accomplished. The course of the future may be judged of by the soundof the footsteps of the past. In the course of that day's discussion, areminiscence had been handed up to one of the speakers, that this wasthe anniversary of the dreadful massacre of St. Bartholomew: the rev. Gentleman who was speaking turned away from the thought of thatsanguinary scene with pious horror, natural to his sacred calling. ButI, who may boast of firmer nerve, I take up the remembrance. Yes, it wason this day, two hundred and seventy-seven years ago, that Paris wasroused from slumber by the sound of that bell which bore the name of_cloche d'argent_. Massacre was on foot, seeking with keen eye for itsvictim--man was busy in slaying man. That slaughter was called forth bymingled passions of the worst description. Hatred of all kinds was thereurging on the slayer--hatred of a religious, a political, a personalcharacter. And yet on the anniversary of that same day of horror, and inthat very city whose blood was flowing like water, has God this daygiven a rendezvous to men of peace, whose wild tumult is transformedinto order, and animosity into love. The stain of blood is blotted out, and in its place beams forth a ray of holy light. All distinctions areremoved, and Papist and Huguenot meet together in friendly communion. (Loud cheers. ) Who that thinks of these amazing changes can doubt of theprogress that has been made? But whoever denies the force of progressmust deny God, since progress is the boon of Providence, and emanatedfrom the great Being above. I feel gratified for the change that hasbeen effected, and, pointing solemnly to the past, I say let this day beever held memorable--let the 24th of August, 1572, be remembered onlyfor the purpose of being compared with the 24th of August, 1849; andwhen we think of the latter, and ponder over the high purpose to whichit has been devoted--the advocacy of the principles of peace--let us notbe so wanting in reliance on Providence as to doubt for one moment ofthe eventful success of our holy cause. "

The most enthusiastic cheers followed this interesting speech. A vote ofthanks to the government, and three times three cheers, with Mr. Cobdenas "fugleman, " ended the great Peace Congress of 1849. 

Time for separating had arrived, yet all seemed unwilling to leave theplace, where for three days men of all creeds and of no creed had metupon one common platform. In one sense the meeting was a gloriousone--in another, it was mere child's play; for the Congress had beenrestricted to the discussion of certain topics. They were permitted todwell on the blessings of peace, but were not allowed to say anythingabout the very subjects above all others that should have been broughtbefore the Congress. A French army had invaded Rome and put down thefriends of political and religious freedom, yet not a word was said inreference to it. The fact is, the Committee permitted the Congress tobe _gagged_, before it had met. They put padlocks upon their own mouths, and handed the keys to the government. And this was sorely felt by manyof the speakers. Richard Cobden, who had thundered his anathemas againstthe Corn Laws of his own country, and against wars in every clime, hadto sit quiet in his fetters. Henry Vincent, who can make a louder speechin favour of peace, than almost any other man, and whose denunciationsof "all war, " have gained him no little celebrity with peace men, had toconfine himself to the blessings of peace. Oh! how I wished for aMassachusetts atmosphere, a New England Convention platform, withWendell Phillips as the speaker, before that assembled multitude fromall parts of the world. 

But the Congress is over, and cannot now be made different; yet it is tobe hoped that neither the London Peace Committee, nor any other menhaving the charge of getting up such another great meeting, will commitsuch an error again. 

LETTER V. 

_M. De Tocqueville's Grand Soiree--Madame de Tocqueville--Visit of thePeace Delegates to Versailles--The Breakfast--Speechmaking--TheTrianons--Waterworks--St. Cloud--The Fête. _

 VERSAILLES, _August 24_. 

The day after the close of the Congress, the delegates and their friendswere invited to a soirée by M. De Tocqueville, Minister for ForeignAffairs, to take place on the next evening (Saturday); and, as mycoloured face and curly hair did not prevent my getting an invitation, Iwas present with the rest of my peace brethren. 

Had I been in America, where colour is considered a crime, I would nothave been seen at such a gathering, unless as a servant. In company withseveral delegates, we left the Bedford Hotel for the mansion of theMinister of Foreign Affairs; and, on arriving, we found a file ofsoldiers drawn up before the gate. This did not seem much like peace:however, it was merely done in honour of the company. We entered thebuilding through massive doors and resigned ourselves into the hands ofgood-looking waiters in white wigs; and, after our names were dulyannounced, were passed from room to room till I was presented to Madamede Tocqueville, who was standing near the centre of the largedrawing-room, with a bouquet in her hand. I was about passing on, whenthe gentleman who introduced me intimated that I was an "Americanslave. " At the announcement of this fact the distinguished lady extendedher hand and gave me a cordial welcome--at the same time saying, "I hopeyou feel yourself free in Paris. " Having accepted an invitation to aseat by the lady's side, who seated herself on a sofa, I was soon what Imost dislike, "the observed of all observers. " I recognised among manyof my own countrymen, who were gazing at me, the American Consul, Mr. Walsh. My position did not improve his looks. The company present onthis occasion were variously estimated at from one thousand to fifteenhundred. Among these were the Ambassadors from the different countriesrepresented at the French metropolis, and many of the _elite_ of Paris. One could not but be interested with the difference in dress, looks, andmanners of this assemblage of strangers whose language was as differentas their general appearance. Delight seemed to beam in every countenanceas the living stream floated from one room to another. The house andgardens were illuminated in the most gorgeous manner. Red, yellow, blue, green, and many other coloured lamps, suspended from the branches of thetrees in the gardens, gave life and animation to the whole scene out ofdoors. The soirée passed off satisfactorily to all parties; and bytwelve o'clock I was again at my Hotel. 

 * * * * *

Through the politeness of the government the members of the Congresshave not only had the pleasure of seeing all the public works free, andwithout special ticket, but the palaces of Versailles and St. Cloud, together with their splendid grounds, have been thrown open, and thewater-works set to playing in both places. This mark of respect for thePeace movement is commendable in the French; and were I not such astrenuous friend of free speech, this act would cause me to overlook thepadlocks that the government put upon our lips in the Congress. 

Two long trains left Paris at nine o'clock for Versailles; and at eachof the stations the company were loudly cheered by the people who hadassembled to see them pass. At Versailles, we found thousands at thestation, who gave us a most enthusiastic welcome. We were blessed with agoodly number of the fair sex, who always give life and vigour to suchscenes. The train had scarcely stopped, ere the great throng werewending their ways in different directions, some to the cafés to getwhat an early start prevented their getting before leaving Paris, andothers to see the soldiers who were on review. But most bent their stepstowards the great palace. 

At eleven o'clock we were summoned to the _dejeuner_, which had beenprepared by the English delegates in honour of their American friends. About six hundred sat down at the tables. Breakfast being ended, Mr. Cobden was called to the chair, and several speeches were made. Manywho had not an opportunity to speak at the Congress, thought this agood chance; and the written addresses which had been studied during thepassage from America, with the hope that they would immortalize theirauthors before the great Congress, were produced at the breakfast table. But speech-making was not the order of the day. Too many thunderingaddresses had been delivered in the Salle de St. Cecile, to allow thecompany to sit and hear dryly written and worse delivered speeches inthe Teniscourt. 

There was no limited time given to the speakers, yet no one had been onhis feet five minutes, before the cry was heard from all parts of thehouse, "Time, time. " One American was hissed down, another took his seatwith a red face, and a third opened his bundle of paper, looked aroundat the audience, made a bow, and took his seat amid great applause. Yetsome speeches were made, and to good effect, the best of which was byElihu Burritt, who was followed by the Rev. James Freeman Clark. Iregretted very much that the latter did not deliver his address beforethe Congress, for he is a man of no inconsiderable talent, and anacknowledged friend of the slave. 

The cry of "The water-works are playing, " "The water is on, " broke upthe meeting, without even a vote of thanks to the Chairman; and thewhole party were soon revelling among the fountains and statues of LouisXIV. Description would fail to give a just idea of the grandeur andbeauty of this splendid place. I do not think that any thing can surpassthe fountain of Neptune, which stands near the Grand Trianon. One mayeasily get lost in wandering through the grounds of Versailles, but hewill always be in sight of some life-like statue. These monuments, erected to gratify the fancy of a licentious king, make their appearanceat every turn. Two lions, the one overturning a wild boar, the other awolf, both the production of Fillen, pointed out to us the fountain ofDiana. But I will not attempt to describe to you any of the verybeautiful sculptured gods and goddesses here. 

With a single friend I paid a visit to the two Trianons. The larger was, we were told, just as king Louis Philippe left it. One room wassplendidly fitted up for the reception of Her Majesty Queen Victoria;who, it appeared, had promised a visit to the French Court; but theFrench Monarch ran away from his throne before the time arrived. TheGrand Trianon is not larger than many noblemen's seats that may be seenin a day's ride through any part of the British empire. The building hasonly a ground floor, but its proportions are very elegant. 

We next paid our respects to the Little Trianon. This appears to be themost Republican of any of the French palaces. I inspected this littlepalace with much interest, not more for its beauty than because of itshaving been the favourite residence of that purest of Princesses, bestof Queens, and most affectionate of mothers, Marie Antoinette. Thegrounds and building may be said to be only a palace in miniature, andthis makes it still a more lovely spot. The building consists of asquare pavilion two stories high, and separated entirely from theaccessory buildings, which are on the left, and among them a prettychapel. But a wish to be with the multitude, who were roving among thefountains, cut short my visit to the trianons. 

The day was very fine, and the whole party seemed to enjoy it. It wassaid that there were more than one hundred thousand persons atVersailles during the day. The company appeared to lose themselves withthe pleasure of walking among the trees, flower beds, fountains, andstatues. I met more than one wife seeking a lost husband, and _viceversa_. Many persons were separated from their friends and did not meetthem again till at the hotels in Paris. In the train returning to Paris, an old gentleman who was seated near me said, "I would rest contented ifI thought I should ever see my wife again!"

At four o'clock we were _en route_ to St. Cloud, the much loved andfavourite residence of the Emperor Napoleon. It seemed that all Parishad come out to St. Cloud to see how the English and Americans wouldenjoy the playing of the water-works. Many kings and rulers of theFrench have made St. Cloud their residence, but none have impressedtheir images so indelibly upon it as Napoleon. It was here he was firstelevated to power, and here Josephine spent her most happy hours. 

The apartments where Napoleon was married to Marie Louise; the privaterooms of Josephine and Marie Antoinette, were all in turn shown to us. While standing on the balcony looking at Paris one cannot wonder thatthe Emperor should have selected this place as his residence, for a morelovely spot cannot be found than St. Cloud. 

The palace is on the side of a hill, two leagues from Paris, and sosituated that it looks down upon the French capital. Standing, as wedid, viewing Paris from St. Cloud, and the setting sun reflecting uponthe domes, spires, and towers of the city of fashion, made us feel thatthis was the place from which the monarch should watch his subjects. From the hour of arrival at St. Cloud till near eight o'clock, we wereeither inspecting the splendid palace or roaming the grounds andgardens, whose beautiful walks and sweet flowers made it appear a veryParadise on earth. 

At eight o'clock the water-works were put in motion, and the variagatedlamps with their many devices, displaying flowers, stars, and wheels, all with a brilliancy that can scarcely be described, seemed to throweverything in the shade we had seen at Versailles. At nine o'clock thetrain was announced, and after a good deal of jamming and pushing about, we were again on the way to Paris. 

LETTER VI. 

_The Tuileries--Place de la Concorde--The Egyptian Obelisk--PalaisRoyal--Residence of Robespierre--A Visit to the Room in which CharlotteCorday killed Marat--Church de Notre Dame--Palais de Justice--Hotel desInvalids--National Assembly--The Elysee. _

 PARIS, _August 28_. 

Yesterday morning I started at an early hour for the Palace of theTuileries. A show of my card of membership of the Congress (which hadcarried me through so many of the public buildings) was enough to gainme immediate admission. The attack of the mob on the palace, on the 20thof June, 1792, the massacre of the Swiss guard on the 10th of August ofthe same year, the attack by the people in July 1830, together with therecent flight of king Louis Philippe and family, made me anxious tovisit the old pile. 

We were taken from room to room, until the entire building had beeninspected. In front of the Tuileries, are a most magnificent garden andgrounds. These were all laid out by Louis XIV. , and are left nearly asthey were during that monarch's reign. Above fifty acres surrounded byan iron rail fence, fronts the Place de la Concorde, and affords a placeof promenade for the Parisians. I walked the pleasing grounds, and sawhundreds of well dressed persons walking under the shade of the greatchestnuts, or sitting on chairs which were kept to let at two sous apiece. Near by is the Place de Carrousel, noted for its historicalremembrances. Many incidents connected with the several revolutionsoccurred here, and it is pointed out as the place where Napoleonreviewed that formidable army of his before its departure for Russia. 

From the Tuileries, I took a stroll through the Place de la Concorde, which has connected with it so many acts of cruelty, that it made meshudder as I passed over its grounds. As if to take from one's mind theold associations of this place, the French have erected on it, or rathergiven a place to, the celebrated obelisk of Luxor, which now is thechief attraction on the grounds. The obelisk was brought from Egypt atan enormous expense; for which purpose a ship was built, and severalhundred men employed above three years in its removal. It is formed ofthe finest red syenite, and covered on each side with three lines ofhieroglyphic inscriptions, commemorative of Sesostris--the middle linesbeing the most deeply cut and most carefully finished; and thecharacters altogether number more than 1600. The obelisk is of a singlestone, is 72 feet in height, weighs 500, 000 lbs. , and stands on a blockof granite that weighs 250, 000 lbs. He who can read Latin will see thatthe monument tells its own story, but to me its characters were allblank. 

It would be tedious to follow the history of this old and veneratedstone, which was taken from the quarry 1550 years before the birth ofChrist; placed in Thebes; its removal; the journey to the Nile, anddown the Nile; thence to Cherbourg, and lastly its arrival in Paris onthe 23d of December, 1833--just one year before I escaped from slavery. The obelisk was raised on the spot where it now stands, on the 25th ofOctober, 1836, in the presence of Louis Philippe and amid the greetingsof 160, 000 persons. 

Having missed my dinner, I crossed over to the Palais Royal, to a diningsaloon, and can assure you that a better dinner may be had there forfive francs, than can be got in New York for twice that sum, andespecially if the person who wants the dinner is a coloured man. I foundno prejudice against my complexion in the Palais Royal. 

Many of the rooms in this once abode of Royalty, are most splendidlyfurnished, and decorated with valuable pictures. The likenesses ofMadame de Stael, J. J. Rousseau, Cromwell, and Francis I. , are amongthem. 

 * * * * *

After several unsuccessful attempts to-day, in company with R. D. Webb, Esq. , to seek out the house where once resided the notoriousRobespierre, I was fortunate enough to find it, but not until I hadlost the company of my friend. The house is No. 396, Rue St. Honore, opposite the Church of the Assumption. It stands back, and is reached byentering a court. During the first revolution it was occupied by M. Duplay, with whom Robespierre lodged. The room used by the great man ofthe revolution, was pointed out to me. It is small, and the ceiling low, with two windows looking out upon the court. The pin upon which the bluecoat once hung, is still in the wall. While standing there, I couldalmost imagine that I saw the great "Incorruptible, " sitting at thesmall table composing those speeches which gave him so much power andinfluence in the Convention and the Clubs. 

Here, the disciple of Rousseau sat and planned how he should outdo hisenemies and hold on to his friends. From this room he went forth, followed by his dog Brunt, to take his solitary walk in a favourite andneighbouring field, or to the fiery discussions of the NationalConvention. In the same street, is the house in which Madame Roland--oneof Robespierre's victims--resided. 

A view of the residence of one of the master spirits of the Frenchrevolution inclined me to search out more, and therefore I proceeded tothe old town, and after winding through several small streets--some ofthem so narrow as not to admit more than one cab at a time--I foundmyself in the Rue de L'Ecole de Medecine, and standing in front of houseNo. 20. This was the residence, during the early days of the revolution, of that bloodthirsty demon in human form, Marat. 

I said to a butcher, whose shop was underneath, that I wanted to see LaChambre de Marat. He called out to the woman of the house to know if Icould be admitted, and the reply was, that the room was used as asleeping apartment, and could not be seen. 

As this was private property, my blue card of membership to the Congresswas not available. But after slipping a franc into the old lady's hand, I was informed that the room was now ready. We entered a court andascended a flight of stairs, the entrance to which is on the right; thencrossing to the left, we were shown into a moderate-sized room on thefirst floor, with two windows looking out upon a yard. Here it was wherethe "Friend of the People" (as he styled himself, ) sat and wrote thosearticles that appeared daily in his journal, urging the people to "hangthe rich upon lamp posts. " The place where the bath stood, in which hewas bathing at the time he was killed by Charlotte Corday, was pointedout to us; and even something representing an old stain of blood wasshown as the place where he was laid when taken out of the bath. Thewindow, behind whose curtains the heroine hid, after she had plunged thedagger into the heart of the man whom she thought was the cause of theshedding of so much blood by the guillotine, was pointed out with aseeming degree of pride by the old woman. 

With my Guide Book in hand, I again went forth to "hunt after newfancies. "

 * * * * *

After walking over the ground where the guillotine once stood, cuttingoff its hundred and fifty heads per day, and then visiting the placewhere some of the chief movers in that sanguinary revolution oncelived, I felt little disposed to sleep, when the time for it hadarrived. However, I was out this morning at an early hour, and on theChamps Elysees; and again took a walk over the place where theguillotine stood, when its fatal blade was sending so many unpreparedspirits into eternity. When standing here, you have the Palace of theTuileries on one side, the arch on the other; on a third, the classicMadeleine; and on the fourth, the National Assembly. It caused my bloodto chill, the idea of being on the identical spot where the heads ofLouis XVI. And his Queen, after being cut off, were held up to satisfythe blood-thirsty curiosity of the two hundred thousand persons thatwere assembled on the Place de la Revolution. Here Royal blood flowed asit never did before or since. The heads of patricians and plebians, werethrown into the same basket, without any regard to birth or station. Here Robespierre and Danton had stood again and again, and looked theirvictims in the face as they ascended the scaffold; and here, these samemen had to mount the very scaffold that they had erected for others. Iwandered up the Seine, till I found myself looking at the statue ofHenry the IV. Over the principal entrance of the Hotel de Ville. When wetake into account the connection of the Hotel de Ville with thedifferent revolutions, we must come to the conclusion, that it is one ofthe most remarkable buildings in Paris. The room was pointed out whereRobespierre held his counsels, and from the windows of which he couldlook out upon the Place de Greve, where the guillotine stood before itsremoval to the Place de la Concorde. The room is large, with gildedhangings, splendid old-fashioned chandeliers, and a chimney-piece withfine antiquated carvings, that give it a venerable appearance. HereRobespierre not only presided at the counsels that sent hundreds to theguillotine; but from this same spot, he, with his brother St. Just andothers, were dragged before the Committee of Public Safety, and thenceto the guillotine, and justice and revenge satisfied. 

The window from which Lafayette addressed the people in 1830, andpresented to them Louis Philippe, as the king, was shown to us. Here thepoet, statesman, philosopher and orator, Lamartine, stood in February1848, and, by the power of his eloquence, succeeded in keeping thepeople quiet. Here he forced the mob, braved the bayonets presented tohis breast, and, by his good reasoning, induced them to retain thetri-coloured flag, instead of adopting the red flag, which he consideredthe emblem of blood. 

Lamartine is a great heroic genius, dear to liberty and to France; andsuccessive generations, as they look back upon the revolution of 1848, will recall to memory the many dangers which nothing but his dauntlesscourage warded off. The difficulties which his wisdom surmounted, andthe good service that he rendered to France, can never be adequatelyestimated or too highly appreciated. It was at the Hotel de Ville thatthe Republic of 1848 was proclaimed to the people. 

I next paid my respects to the Column of July that stands on the spotformerly occupied by the Bastile. It is 163 feet in height, and on thetop is the Genius of Liberty, with a torch in his right hand, and in theleft a broken chain. After a fatiguing walk up a winding stair, Iobtained a splendid view of Paris from the top of the column. 

I thought I should not lose the opportunity of seeing the Church deNotre Dame while so near to it, and, therefore, made it my next rallyingpoint. No edifice connected with religion has had more interestingincidents occurring in it than this old church. Here Pope Pius VII. Placed the Imperial Crown on the head of the Corsican--or ratherNapoleon took the Crown from his hands and placed it on his own head. Satan dragging the wicked to ----; the rider on the red horse at theopening of the second seal; the blessedness of the saints; and severalother striking sculptured figures were among the many curiosities inthis splendid place. A hasty view from the gallery concluded my visit tothe Notre Dame. 

Leaving the old church I strayed off in a direction towards the Seine, and passed by an old looking building of stately appearance, andrecognised, among a throng passing in and out, a number of the membersof the Peace Congress. I joined a party entering, and was soon in thepresence of men with gowns on, and men with long staffs in theirhands--and on inquiry found that I was in the Palais de Justice;beneath which is the Conciergerie, a noted prison. Louis XVI. And MarieAntoinette were tried and condemned to death here. 

A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in conference with hisCounsel, is here seen. But I had visited too many places of interestduring the day to remain long in a building surrounded by officers ofjustice, and took a stroll upon the Boulevards. 

The Boulevards may be termed the Regent Street of Paris, or a New Yorkerwould call them Broadway. While passing a café, my German friend Faigo, whose company I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recognisedme, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious coffee for the first timeon the side walk, in sight of hundreds who were passing up and down thestreet every hour. From three till eleven o'clock, P. M. , the Boulevardsare lined with men and women sitting before the doors of the saloonsdrinking their coffee or wines, or both at the same time, as fancy maydictate. All Paris appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as ifthe great end of this life was enjoyment. 

 * * * * *

Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the limited time I had tostay in it, I hired a cab yesterday morning and commenced with the Hoteldes Invalids, a magnificent building, within a few minutes' walk of theNational Assembly. On each side of the entrance gate are figuresrepresenting nations conquered by Louis XIV. , with colossal statues ofMars and Minerva. The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in Paris--theheight from the ground being 323 feet. 

Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man at whose word theworld turned pale. A statue of the Emperor Napoleon stands in the secondpiazza, and is of the finest bronze. 

This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of France. It wasenough to make one sick at the idea of war, to look upon the mangledbodies of these old soldiers. Men with arms and no legs; others had legsbut no arms; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling themselvesabout in little hand carts. About three thousand of the decayed soldierswere lodged in the Hotel des Invalids, at the time of my visit. Passingthe National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment or two in it. Theinterior of this building resembles an amphitheatre. It is constructedto accommodate 900 members, each having a separate desk. The seat uponwhich the Duchesse of Orleans, and her son, the Comte de Paris, sat, when they visited the National Assembly after the flight of LouisPhilippe, was shown with considerable alacrity. As I left the building, I heard that the President of the Republic was on the point of leavingthe Elysee for St. Cloud, and with the hope of seeing the "Prisoner ofHam, " I directed my cabman to drive me to the Elysee. 

In a few moments we were between two files of soldiers, and entering thegates of the palace. I called out to the driver and told him to stop;but I was too late, for we were now in front of the massive doors of thepalace, and a liveried servant opened the cab door, bowed, and asked ifI had an engagement with the President. You may easily "guess" hissurprise when I told him no. In my best French, I asked the cabman whyhe had come to the palace, and was answered, "You told me to. " By thistime a number had gathered round, all making inquiries as to what Iwanted. I told the driver to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs oftheir shoulders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of thesoldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the President'smustaches for my trouble. This was only one of the many mistakes I madewhile in Paris. 

LETTER VII. 

_The Chateau at Versailles--Private apartments of Marie Antoinette--TheSecret Door--Paintings of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Berangerthe Poet. _

 VERSAILLES, _August 31_. 

Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the time pleasantly inviewing the palace and grounds of the great Chateau of Louis XIV. Fifty-seven years ago, a mob, composed of men, women, and boys, fromParis, stood in front of this palace and demanded that the king shouldgo with them to the capital. I have walked over the same ground wherethe one hundred thousand stood on that interesting occasion. I have beenupon the same balcony, and stood by the window from which MariaAntoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking her life. 

Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and having an offer ofthe company of my young friend, Henry G. Chapman, to go through thepalace with me, I set out early yesterday morning, and was soon in thehalls that had often been trod by Royal feet. We passed through theprivate, as well as the public, apartments, through the secret door bywhich Marie Antoinette had escaped from the mob of 1792, and viewed theroom in which her faithful guards were killed, while attempting to savetheir Royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlourcarriages that had been used in days of yore for the Royal children;while my friend, H. G. Chapman, drew me across the room. The superbapartments are not now in use. Silence is written upon these walls, although upon them are suspended the portraits of men of whom the worldhas heard. 

Paintings, representing Napoleon in nearly all his battles, are hereseen; and wherever you see the Emperor, there you will also find Murat, with his white plume waving above. Callot's painting of the battle ofMarengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's of the 18thBrumaire, are of the highest order; while David has transmitted his fameto posterity, by his splendid painting of the Coronation of Napoleon andJosephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many beautiful paintingsof the last named artist, that adorn the halls of Versailles, I did notwonder that his fame should have saved his life, when once condemned andsentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guillotine was robbedof its intended victim, but the world gained a great painter. As Boswelltransmitted his own name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so hasDavid left his, with the magnificent paintings that are now suspendedupon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the Tuileries, St. Cloud, Versailles, and even the little Elysee. 

After strolling from room to room, we found ourselves in the Salle duSacre, Diane, Salon de Mars, de Mercure, and d'Apollon. I gazed with myeyes turned to the ceiling till I was dizzy. The Salon de la Guerre iscovered with the most beautiful representations that the mind of mancould conceive, or the hand accomplish. Louis XIV. Is here in all hisglory. No Marie Antoinette will ever do the honours in these hallsagain. 

After spending a whole day in the Palace and several mornings in theGardens, I finally bid adieu to the bronze statue of Louis XIV. Thatstands in front of the Palace, and left Versailles, probably for ever. 

 * * * * *

 PARIS, _September 2_. 

I am now on the point of quitting the French Metropolis. I have occupiedthe last two days in visiting places of note in the city. I could notresist the inclination to pay a second visit to the Louvre. Another hourwas spent in strolling through the Italian Hall and viewing themaster-workmanship of Raphael, the prince of painters. Time flies, evenin such a place as the Louvre with all its attractions; and before I hadseen half that I wished, a ponderous clock near by reminded me of anengagement, and I reluctantly tore myself from the splendours of theplace. 

During the rest of the day I visited the Jardin des Plantes, and spentan hour and a half pleasantly in walking among plants, flowers, and infact everything that could be found in any garden in France. From thisplace we passed by the column of the Bastile, and paid our respects tothe Bourse, or Exchange, one of the most superb buildings in the city. The ground floor and sides of the Bourse, are of fine marble, and thenames of the chief cities in the world are inscribed on the medallions, which are under the upper cornice. The interior of the edifice has amost splendid appearance as you enter it. 

The Cemetery of Père la Chaise was too much talked of by many of ourparty at the Hotel for me to pass it by, so I took it after the Bourse. Here lie many of the great marshals of France--the resting place of eachmarked by the monument that stands over it, except one, which is markedonly by a weeping willow and a plain stone at its head. This is thegrave of Marshal Ney. I should not have known that it was his, but someunknown hand had written with black paint, "Bravest of the Brave, " onthe unlettered stone that stands at the head of the man who followedNapoleon through nearly all his battles, and who was shot after theoccupation of Paris by the allied army. Peace to his ashes. During myramble through this noted place, I saw several who were hanging freshwreaths of everlasting flowers on the tombs of the departed. 

A ride in an omnibus down the Boulevards, and away up the ChampsElysees, brought me to the Arc de Triomphe; and after ascending a flightof one hundred and sixty-one steps, I was overlooking the city ofstatuary. This stupendous monument was commenced by Napoleon in 1806;and in 1811 it had only reached the cornice of the base, where itstopped, and it was left for Louis Philippe to finish. The first stoneof this monument was laid on the 15th of August, 1806, the birth-day ofthe man whose battles it was intended to commemorate. A model of thearch was erected for Napoleon to pass through as he was entering thecity with Maria Louisa, after their marriage. The inscriptions on themonument are many, and the different scenes here represented are all ofthe most exquisite workmanship. The genius of War is summoning theobedient nations to battle. Victory is here crowning Napoleon after hisgreat success in 1810. Fame stands here recording the exploits of thewarrior, while conquered cities lie beneath the whole. But it would takemore time than I have at command to give anything like a description ofthis magnificent piece of architecture. 

That which seems to take most with Peace Friends, is the portionrepresenting an old man taming a bull for agricultural labour; while ayoung warrior is sheathing his sword, a mother and children sitting athis feet, and Minerva crowned with laurels, stands shedding herprotecting influence over them. The erection of this regal monument iswonderful, to hand down to posterity the triumphs of the man whom wefirst hear of as a student in the military school at Brienne, whom in1784 we see in the Ecole Militaire, founded by Louis XV. In 1751; whomagain we find at No. 5, Quai de Court, near Rue de Mail; and in 1794 asa lodger at No. 19, Rue de la Michandère. From this he goes to the HotelMirabeau, Rue du Dauphin, where he resided when he defeated his enemieson the 13th Vendimaire. The Hotel de la Colonade, Rue Neuve desCapuchins is his next residence, and where he was married to Josephine. From this hotel he removed to his wife's dwelling in the RueChanteriene, No. 52. In 1796 the young general started for Italy, wherehis conquests paved the way for the ever memorable 18th Brumaire, thatmade him dictator of France. Napoleon was too great now to be satisfiedwith private dwellings, and we next trace him to the Elysee, St. Cloud, Versailles, the Tuileries, Fontainbleau, and finally, came his decline, which I need not relate to you. 

After visiting the Gobelins, passing through its many rooms, seeing hereand there a half-finished piece of tapestry; and meeting a number of themembers of the late Peace Congress, who, like myself had remained behindto see more of the beauties of the French capital than could beovertaken during the Convention week. I accepted an invitation to dinewith a German gentleman at the Palais Royal, and was soon revelling amidthe luxuries of the table. I was glad that I had gone to the PalaisRoyal, for here I had the honour of an introduction to M. Beranger, thepoet; and although I had to converse with him through an interpreter, Ienjoyed his company very much. "The people's poet, " as he is called, isapparently about seventy years of age, bald on the top of the head, andrather corpulent, but of active look, and in the enjoyment of goodhealth. Few writers in France have done better service to the cause ofpolitical and religious freedom, than Pierre Jean de Beranger. He is thedauntless friend and advocate of the down-trodden poor and oppressed, and has often incurred the displeasure of the Government by the arrowsthat he has thrown into their camp. He felt what he wrote; it camestraight from his heart, and went directly to the hearts of the people. He expressed himself strongly opposed to slavery, and said, "I don'tsee how the Americans can reconcile slavery with their professed love offreedom. " Dinner out of the way, a walk through the differentapartments, and a stroll over the court, and I bade adieu to the PalaisRoyal, satisfied that I should partake of many worse dinners than I hadhelped to devour that day. 

Few nations are more courteous than the French. Here the stranger, lethim come from what country he may, and be ever so unacquainted with thepeople and language, he is sure of a civil reply to any question that hemay ask. With the exception of the egregious blunder I have mentioned ofthe cabman driving me to the Elysee, I was not laughed at once while inFrance. 

LETTER VIII. 

_Departure from Paris--Boulogne--Folkstone--London--Geo. Thompson, Esq. , M. P. --Hartwell House--Dr. Lee--Cottage of the Peasant--WindsorCastle--Residence of Wm. Penn--England's First Welcome--Heath Lodge--TheBank of England. _

 LONDON, _Sept. 8th_. 

The sun had just appeared from behind a cloud and was setting, and itsreflection upon the domes and spires of the great buildings in Parismade everything appear lovely and sublime, as the train, with almostlightning speed, was bringing me from the French metropolis. I gazedwith eager eyes to catch a farewell glance of the tops of the regalpalaces through which I had passed, during a stay of fifteen days in theFrench capital. 

A pleasant ride of four hours brought us to Boulogne, where we restedfor the night. The next morning I was up at an early hour, and outviewing the town. Boulogne could present but little attraction, after afortnight spent in seeing the lions of Paris. A return to the hotel, andbreakfast over, we stepped on board the steamer, and were soon crossingthe channel. Two hours more, and I was safely seated in a railwaycarriage, _en route_ to the English metropolis. We reached London atmid-day, where I was soon comfortably lodged at 22, Cecil Street, Strand. As the London lodging-houses seldom furnish dinners, I lost notime in seeking out a dining-saloon, which I had no difficulty infinding in the Strand. It being the first house of the kind I hadentered in London, I was not a little annoyed at the politeness of thewaiter. The first salutation I had, after seating myself in one of thestalls, was, "Ox tail, Sir; gravy soup; carrot soup, Sir; roast beef;roast pork; boiled beef; roast lamb; boiled leg of mutton, Sir, withcaper sauce; jugged hare, Sir; boiled knuckle of veal and bacon; roastturkey and oyster sauce; sucking pig, Sir; curried chicken; harricomutton, Sir. " These, and many other dishes which I have forgotten, werecalled over with a rapidity that would have done credit to one of ourYankee pedlars, in crying his wares in a New England village. I was socompletely taken by surprise, that I asked for a "bill of fare, " andtold him to leave me. No city in the world furnishes a cheaper, better, and quicker meal for the weary traveller, than a London eating-house. 

 * * * * *

After spending a day in looking about through this great thoroughfare, the Strand, I sallied forth with letters of introduction, with which Ihad been provided by my friends before leaving America; and followingthe direction of one, I was soon at No. 6, A, Waterloo Place. A momentmore, and I was in the presence of one of whom I had heard much, andwhose name is as familiar to the friends of the slave in the UnitedStates, as household words. Although I had never seen him before, yet Ifelt a feeling akin to love for the man who had proclaimed to theoppressors of my race in America, the doctrine of _immediateemancipation_ for the slaves of the great Republic. On reaching thedoor, I sent in my letter; and it being fresh from the hands of WilliamLloyd Garrison, the champion of freedom in the New World, was calculatedto insure me a warm reception at the hands of the distinguished M. P. Forthe Tower Hamlets. Mr. Thompson did not wait for the servant to show mein; but met me at the door himself, and gave me a hearty shake of thehand, at the same time saying, "Welcome to England. How did you leaveGarrison. " I need not add, that Mr. T. Gave me the best advice, as to mycourse in Great Britain; and how I could best serve the cause of myenslaved countrymen. I never enjoyed three hours more agreeably thanthose I spent with Mr. T. On the occasion of my first visit. GeorgeThompson's love of freedom, his labours in behalf of the American slave, the negroes of the West Indies, and the wronged millions of India, aretoo well known to the people of both hemispheres, to need a word ofcomment from me. With the single exception of the illustrious Garrison, no individual is more loved and honoured by the coloured people ofAmerica, and their friends than Mr. Thompson. 

A few days after my arrival in London, I received an invitation fromJohn Lee, Esq. , LL. D. , whom I had met at the Peace Congress in Paris, topay him a visit at his seat, near Aylesbury; and as the time was "fixed"by the Dr. , I took the train on the appointed day, on my way to HartwellHouse. 

I had heard much of the aristocracy of England, and must confess that Iwas not a little prejudiced against them. On a bright sunshine day, between the hours of twelve and two, I found myself seated in acarriage, my back turned upon Aylesbury, the vehicle whirling rapidlyover the smooth macadamised road, and I on my first visit to an Englishgentleman. Twenty minutes' ride, and a turn to the right, and we wereamid the fine old trees of Hartwell Park; one having suspended from itsbranches, the national banners of several different countries; amongthem, the "Stars and Stripes. I felt glad that my own country's flag hada place there, although Campbell's lines"--

 "United States, your banner wears, Two emblems, --one of fame; Alas, the other that it bears, Reminds us of your shame. The white man's liberty in types, Stands blazoned by your stars; But what's the meaning of your stripes, They mean your Negro-scars"--

were at the time continually running through my mind. Arrived at thedoor, and we received what every one does who visits Dr. Lee--a heartywelcome. I was immediately shown into a room with a lofty ceiling, hunground with fine specimens of the Italian masters, and told that this wasmy apartment. Hartwell House stands in an extensive park, shaded withtrees, that made me think of the oaks and elms in an American forest, and many of whose limbs had been trimmed and nursed with the best ofcare. This was for seven years the residence of John Hampden thepatriot, and more recently that of Louis XVIII. , during his exile inthis country. The house is built on a very extensive scale, and isornamented in the interior with carvings in wood of many of the kingsand princes of bygone centuries. A room some 60 feet by 25 contains avariety of articles that the Dr. Has collected together--the wholeforming a museum that would be considered a sight in the Western Statesof America. 

The morning after my arrival at Hartwell I was up at an early hour--infact, before any of the servants--wandering about through the vasthalls, and trying to find my way out, in which I eventually succeeded, but not, however, without aid. It had rained the previous night, and thesun was peeping through a misty cloud as I strolled through the park, listening to the sweet voices of the birds that were fluttering in thetops of the trees, and trimming their wings for a morning flight. Thesilence of the night had not yet been broken by the voice of man; and Iwandered about the vast park unannoyed, except by the dew from the grassthat wet my slippers. Not far from the house I came abruptly upon abeautiful little pond of water, where the gold fish were flouncingabout, and the gentle ripples glittering in the sunshine looked like somany silver minnows playing on the surface. 

While strolling about with pleasure, and only regretting that my deardaughters were not with me to enjoy the morning's walk, I saw thegardener on his way to the garden. I followed him, and was soon feastingmy eyes upon the richest specimens of garden scenery. There were thepeaches hanging upon the trees that were fastened to the wall;vegetables, fruit, and flowers were there in all their bloom and beauty;and even the variegated geranium of a warmer clime, was there in itshothouse home, and seemed to have forgotten that it was in a differentcountry from its own. Dr. Lee shows great taste in the management of hisgarden. I have seldom seen a more splendid variety of fruits and flowersin the southern States of America, than I saw at Hartwell House. 

I should, however, state that I was not the only guest at Hartwellduring my stay. Dr. Lee had invited several others of the Americandelegation to the Peace Congress, and two or three of the Frenchdelegates who were on a visit to England, were enjoying the Doctor'shospitality. Dr. Lee is a staunch friend of Temperance, as well as ofthe cause of universal freedom. Every year he treats his tenantry to adinner, and I need not add that these are always conducted on theprinciple of total abstinence. 

During the second day we visited several of the cottages of the workpeople, and in these I took no little interest. The people of the UnitedStates know nothing of the real condition of the labouring classes ofEngland. The peasants of Great Britain are always spoken of as belongingto the soil. I was taught in America that the English labourer was nobetter off than the slave upon a Carolina rice-field. I had seen theslaves in Missouri huddled together, three, four, and even five familiesin a single room not more than 15 by 25 feet square, and I expected tosee the same in England. But in this I was disappointed. After visitinga new house that the Doctor was building, he took us into one of thecottages that stood near the road, and gave us an opportunity, ofseeing, for the first time, an English peasant's cot. We entered a lowwhitewashed room, with a stone floor that showed an admirable degree ofcleanness. Before us was a row of shelves filled with earthen dishes andpewter spoons, glittering as if they had just come from under the handof a woman of taste. A Cobden loaf of bread, that had just been left bythe baker's boy, lay upon an oaken table which had been much worn awaywith the scrubbing brush; while just above lay the old family bible thathad been handed down from father to son, until its possession wasconsidered of almost as great value as its contents. A half-open door, leading into another room, showed us a clean bed; the whole presentingas fine a picture of neatness, order, and comfort, as the mostfastidious taste could wish to see. No occupant was present, andtherefore I inspected everything with a greater degree of freedom. Infront of the cottage was a small grass plot, with here and there a bedof flowers, cheated out of its share of sunshine by the tall holly thathad been planted near it. As I looked upon the home of the labourer, mythoughts were with my enslaved countrymen. What a difference, thought I, there is between the tillers of the soil in England and America. Therecould not be a more complete refutation of the assertion that theEnglish labourer is no better off than the American slave, than thescenes that were then before me. I called the attention of one of myAmerican friends to a beautiful rose near the door of the cot, and saidto him, "The law that will protect that flower will also guard andprotect the hand that planted it. " He knew that I had drank deep of thecup of slavery, was aware of what I meant, and merely nodded his head inreply. I never experienced hospitality more genuine, and yet moreunpretending, than was meted out to me while at Hartwell. And thefavourable impression made on my own mind, of the distinguishedproprietor of Hartwell Park, was nearly as indelible as my humble namethat the Doctor had engraven in a brick, in the vault beneath theObservatory in Hartwell House. 

On my return to London I accepted an invitation to join a party on avisit to Windsor Castle; and taking the train at the Waterloo BridgeStation, we were soon passing through a pleasant part of the country. Arrived at the castle, we committed ourselves into the hands of theservants, and were introduced into Her Majesty's State apartments, Audience Chamber, Vandyck Room, Waterloo Chambers, St. George's Hall, Gold Pantry, and many others whose names I have forgotten. In wanderingabout the different apartments I lost my company, and in trying to findthem, passed through a room in which hung a magnificent portrait ofCharles I. , by Vandyck. The hum and noise of my companions had ceased, and I had the scene and silence to myself. I looked in vain for theking's evil genius (Cromwell), but he was not in the same room. Thepencil of Sir Peter Lely has left a splendid full-length likeness ofJames II. George IV. Is suspended from a peg in the wall, looking as ifit was fresh from the hands of Sir Thomas Lawrence, its admirablepainter. I was now in St. George's Hall, and I gazed upward to view thebeautiful figures on the ceiling, until my neck was nearly out of joint. Leaving this room, I inspected with interest the ancient _keep_ of thecastle. In past centuries this part of the palace was used as a prison. Here James the First of Scotland was detained a prisoner for eighteenyears. I viewed the window through which the young prince had oftenlooked to catch a glimpse of the young and beautiful Lady Jane, daughter of the Earl of Somerset, with whom he was enamoured. 

From the top of the Round Tower I had a fine view of the surroundingcountry. Stoke Park, once the residence of that great friend of humanityand civilization, William Penn, was among the scenes that I viewed withpleasure from Windsor Castle. Four years ago, when in the city ofPhiladelphia, and hunting up the places associated with the name of thisdistinguished man, and more recently when walking over the farm onceoccupied by him on the banks of the Delaware, examining the old malthouse which is now left standing, because of the veneration with whichthe name of the man who built it is held, I had no idea that I shouldever see the dwelling which he had occupied in the Old World. Stoke Parkis about four miles from Windsor, and is now owned by the Right Hon. Henry Labouchere. 

The castle, standing as it does on an eminence, and surrounded by abeautiful valley covered with splendid villas, has the appearance ofGulliver looking down upon the Lilliputians. It rears its massivetowers and irregular walls over and above every other object; it standslike a mountain in the desert. How full this old palace is of materialfor thought! How one could ramble here alone, or with one or twocongenial companions, and enjoy a recapitulation of its history! But anengagement to be at Croydon in the evening cut short my stay at Windsor, and compelled me to return to town in advance of my party. 

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Having met with John Morland, Esq. , of Heath Lodge, at Paris, he gave mean invitation to visit Croydon, and deliver a lecture on AmericanSlavery; and last evening, at eight o'clock, I found myself in a fineold building in the town, and facing the first English audience that Ihad seen in the sea-girt isle. It was my first welcome in England. Theassembly was an enthusiastic one, and made still more so by theappearance of George Thompson, Esq. , M. P. , upon the platform. It is notmy intention to give accounts of my lectures or meetings in these pages. I therefore merely say, that I left Croydon with a good impression ofthe English, and Heath Lodge with a feeling that its occupant was oneof the most benevolent of men. 

The same party with whom I visited Windsor being supplied with a card ofadmission to the Bank of England, I accepted an invitation to be one ofthe company. We entered the vast building at a little past twelveo'clock to-day. The sun threw into the large halls a brilliancy thatseemed to light up the countenances of the almost countless number ofclerks, who were at their desks, or serving persons at the counters. Asnearly all my countrymen who visit London pay their respects to thisnoted institution, I shall sum up my visit to it, by saying that itsurpassed my highest idea of a bank. But a stroll through this monsterbuilding of gold and silver brought to my mind an incident that occurredto me a year after my escape from slavery. 

In the autumn of 1835, having been cheated out of the previous summer'searnings, by the captain of the steamer in which I had been employedrunning away with the money, I was, like the rest of the men, leftwithout any means of support during the winter, and therefore had toseek employment in the neighbouring towns. I went to the town ofMonroe, in the state of Michigan, and while going through the principalstreets looking for work, I passed the door of the only barber in thetown, whose shop appeared to be filled with persons waiting to beshaved. As there was but one man at work, and as I had, while employedin the steamer, occasionally shaved a gentleman who could not performthat office himself, it occurred to me that I might get employment hereas a journeyman barber. I therefore made immediate application for work, but the barber told me he did not need a hand. But I was not to be putoff so easily, and after making several offers to work cheap, I franklytold him, that if he would not employ me I would get a room near to him, and set up an opposition establishment. This threat, however, made noimpression on the barber; and as I was leaving, one of the men who werewaiting to be shaved said, "If you want a room in which to commencebusiness, I have one on the opposite side of the street. " This manfollowed me out; we went over, and I looked at the room. He stronglyurged me to set up, at the same time promising to give me hisinfluence. I took the room, purchased an old table, two chairs, got apole with a red stripe painted around it, and the next day opened, witha sign over the door, "Fashionable Hair-dresser from New York, Emperorof the West. " I need not add that my enterprise was very annoying to the"shop over the way"--especially my sign, which happened to be the mostexpensive part of the concern. Of course, I had to tell all who came inthat my neighbour on the opposite side did not keep clean towels, thathis razors were dull, and, above all, he had never been to New York tosee the fashions. Neither had I. In a few weeks I had the entirebusiness of the town, to the great discomfiture of the other barber. 

At this time, money matters in the Western States were in a sadcondition. Any person who could raise a small amount of money waspermitted to establish a bank, and allowed to issue notes for four timesthe sum raised. This being the case, many persons borrowed money merelylong enough to exhibit to the bank inspectors, and the borrowed moneywas returned, and the bank left without a dollar in its vaults, if, indeed, it had a vault about its premises. The result was, that bankswere started all over the Western States, and the country flooded withworthless paper. These were known as the "Wild Cat Banks. " Silver coinbeing very scarce, and the banks not being allowed to issue notes for asmaller amount than one dollar, several persons put out notes from 6 to75 cents in value; these were called "Shinplasters. " The Shinplaster wasin the shape of a promissory note, made payable on demand. I have oftenseen persons with large rolls of these bills, the whole not amounting tomore than five dollars. Some weeks after I had commenced business on my"own hook, " I was one evening very much crowded with customers; andwhile they were talking over the events of the day, one of them said tome, "Emperor, you seem to be doing a thriving business. You should do asother business men, issue your Shinplasters. " This, of course, as it wasintended, created a laugh; but with me it was no laughing matter, forfrom that moment I began to think seriously of becoming a banker. Iaccordingly went a few days after to a printer, and he, wishing to getthe job of printing, urged me to put out my notes, and showed me somespecimens of engravings that he had just received from Detroit. My headbeing already filled with the idea of a bank, I needed but littlepersuasion to set the thing finally afloat. Before I left the printerthe notes were partly in type, and I studying how I should keep thepublic from counterfeiting them. The next day my Shinplasters werehanded to me, the whole amount being twenty dollars, and after beingduly signed were ready for circulation. At first my notes did not takewell; they were too new, and viewed with a suspicious eye. But throughthe assistance of my customers, and a good deal of exertion on my ownpart, my bills were soon in circulation; and nearly all the moneyreceived in return for my notes was spent in fitting up and decoratingmy shop. 

Few bankers get through this world without their difficulties, and I wasnot to be an exception. A short time after my money had been out, aparty of young men, either wishing to pull down my vanity, or to trythe soundness of my bank, determined to give it "a run. " Aftercollecting together a number of my bills, they came one at a time todemand other money for them, and I, not being aware of what was goingon, was taken by surprise. One day as I was sitting at my table, strapping some new razors I had just got with the avails of my"Shinplasters, " one of the men entered and said, "Emperor, you willoblige me if you will give me some other money for these notes ofyours. " I immediately cashed the notes with the most worthless of theWild Cat money that I had on hand, but which was a lawful tender. Theyoung man had scarcely left when a second appeared with a similaramount, and demanded payment. These were cashed, and soon a third camewith his roll of notes. I paid these with an air of triumph, although Ihad but half a dollar left. I began now to think seriously what I shoulddo, or how to act, provided another demand should be made. While I wasthus engaged in thought, I saw the fourth man crossing the street, witha handful of notes, evidently my "Shinplasters. " I instantaneously shutthe door, and looking out of the window, said, "I have closed businessfor the day: come to-morrow and I will see you. " In looking across thestreet, I saw my rival standing in his shop-door, grinning and clappinghis hands at my apparent downfall. I was completely "done _Brown_" forthe day. However, I was not to be "used up" in this way; so I escaped bythe back door, and went in search of my friend who had first suggestedto me the idea of issuing notes. I found him, told him of the difficultyI was in, and wished him to point out a way by which I might extricatemyself. He laughed heartily, and then said, "You must act as all bankersdo in this part of the country. " I inquired how they did, and he said, "When your notes are brought to you, you must redeem them, and then sendthem out and get other money for them; and, with the latter, you cankeep cashing your own Shinplasters. " This was indeed a new job to me. Iimmediately commenced putting in circulation the notes which I had justredeemed, and my efforts were crowned with so much success, that beforeI slept that night my "Shinplasters" were again in circulation, and mybank once more on a sound basis. 

As I saw the clerks shovelling out the yellow coin upon the counters ofthe Bank of England, and men coming in and going out with weighty bagsof the precious metal in their hands, or on their shoulders, I could notbut think of the great contrast between the monster Institution, withinwhose walls I was then standing, and the Wild Cat Banks of America!

LETTER IX. 

_The British Museum--A Portrait--Night Reading--A Dark Day--A FugitiveSlave on the Streets of London, --A Friend in the time of need. _

 LONDON, _Sept. 24_. 

I have devoted the past ten days to sight-seeing in the Metropolis--thefirst two of which were spent in the British Museum. After procuring aguide-book at the door as I entered, I seated myself on the first seatthat caught my eye, arranged as well as I could in my mind the differentrooms, and then commenced in good earnest. The first part I visited wasthe Gallery of Antiquities, through to the north gallery, and thenceto the Lycian Room. This place is filled with tombs, bas-reliefs, statues, and other productions of the same art. Venus, seated, andsmelling a lotus flower which she held in her hand, and attended bythree graces, put a stop to the rapid strides that I was making throughthis part of the hall. This is really one of the most preciousproductions of the art that I have ever seen. Many of the figures inthis room are very much mutilated, yet one can linger here for hourswith interest. A good number of the statues are of uncertain date; theyare of great value as works of art, and more so as a means ofenlightening much that has been obscure with respect to Lycia, anancient and celebrated country of Asia Minor. 

In passing through the eastern Zoological Gallery, I was surrounded onevery side by an army of portraits suspended upon the walls; and amongthese was the Protector. The people of one century kicks his bonesthrough the streets of London, another puts his portrait in the BritishMuseum, and a future generation may possibly give him a place inWestminster Abbey. Such is the uncertainty of the human character. Yesterday, a common soldier--to-day, the ruler of an empire--to-morrow, suspended upon the gallows. In an adjoining room I saw a portrait ofBaxter, which gives one a pretty good idea of the great Nonconformist. In the same room hung a splendid modern portrait, without any intimationin the guide-book of who it represented, or when it was painted. It wasso much like one whom I had seen, and on whom my affections were placedin my younger days, that I obtained a seat from an adjoining room andrested myself before it. After sitting half an hour or more, I wanderedto another part of the building, but only to return again to my "firstlove, " where I remained till the throng had disappeared one afteranother, and the officer reminding me that it was time to close. 

It was eight o'clock before I reached my lodgings. Although fatigued bythe day's exertions, I again resumed the reading of Roscoe's "Leo X. , "and had nearly finished seventy-three pages, when the clock on St. Martin's Church apprised me that it was two. He who escapes from slaveryat the age of twenty years, without any education, as did the writer ofthis letter, must read when others are asleep, if he would catch up withthe rest of the world. "To be wise, " says Pope, "is but to know howlittle can be known. " The true searcher after truth and knowledge isalways like a child; although gaining strength from year to year, hestill "learns to labour and to wait. " The field of labour is everexpanding before him, reminding him that he has yet more to learn;teaching him that he is nothing more than a child in knowledge, andinviting him onward with a thousand varied charms. The son may takepossession of the father's goods at his death, but he cannot inheritwith the property the father's cultivated mind. He may put on thefather's old coat, but that is all: the immortal mind of the firstwearer has gone to the tomb. 

Property may be bequeathed, but knowledge cannot. Then let him whowould be useful in his day and generation be up and doing. Like theChinese student who learned perseverance from the woman whom he sawtrying to rub a crow-bar into a needle, so should we take the experienceof the past to lighten our feet through the paths of the future. 

The next morning at ten, I was again at the door of the great building;was soon within its walls seeing what time would not allow of theprevious day. I spent some hours in looking through glass cases, viewingspecimens of minerals, such as can scarcely be found in any place out ofthe British Museum. During this day I did not fail to visit the greatLibrary. It is a spacious room, surrounded with large glass cases filledwith volumes, whose very look tells you that they are of age. Around, under the cornice, were arranged a number of old black-lookingportraits, in all probability the authors of some of the works in theglass cases beneath. About the room were placed long tables, with standsfor reading and writing, and around these were a number of men busilyengaged in looking over some chosen author. Old men with grey hairs, young men with mustaches--some in cloth, others in fustian, indicatingthat men of different rank can meet here. Not a single word was spokenduring my stay, all appearing to enjoy the silence that reignedthroughout the great room. This is indeed a retreat from the world. Noone inquires who the man is who is at his side, and each pursues insilence his own researches. The racing of pens over the sheets of paperwas all that disturbed the stillness of the occasion. 

From the Library I strolled to other rooms, and feasted my eyes on whatI had never before seen. He who goes over this immense building, cannotdo so without a feeling of admiration for the men whose energy hasbrought together this vast and wonderful collection of things, the likeof which cannot be found in any other museum in the world. Thereflection of the setting sun against a mirror in one of the rooms, toldme that night was approaching, and I had but a moment in which to takeanother look at the portrait that I had seen the previous day, and thenbade adieu to the Museum. 

Having published the narrative of my life and escape from slavery, andput it into the booksellers' hands--and seeing a prospect of a fairsale, I ventured to take from my purse the last sovereign to make up asmall sum to remit to the United States, for the support of my daughter, who is at school there. Before doing this, however, I had madearrangements to attend a public meeting in the city of Worcester, atwhich the mayor was to preside. Being informed by the friends of theslave there, that I would, in all probability, sell a number of copiesof my book, and being told that Worcester was only ten miles fromLondon, I felt safe in parting with all but a few shillings, feelingsure that my purse would soon be again replenished. But you may guess mysurprise when I learned that Worcester was above a hundred miles fromLondon, and that I had not retained money enough to defray my expensesto the place. In my haste and wish to make up the ten pounds to send tomy children, I had forgotten that the payment for my lodgings would bedemanded before I should leave town. Saturday morning came; I paid mylodging bill, and had three shillings and fourpence left; and out ofthis sum I was to get three dinners, as I was only served with breakfastand tea at my lodgings. Nowhere in the British empire do the peoplewitness as dark days as in London. It was on Monday morning, in the forepart of October, as the clock on St. Martin's Church was striking ten, that I left my lodgings, and turned into the Strand. The street lampswere yet burning, and the shops were all lighted as if day had not madeits appearance. This great thoroughfare, as usual at this time of theday, was thronged with business men going their way, and womensauntering about for pleasure or for the want of something better to do. I passed down the Strand to Charing Cross, and looked in vain to see themajestic statue of Nelson upon the top of the great shaft. The clock onSt. Martin's Church struck eleven, but my sight could not penetratethrough the dark veil that hung between its face and me. In fact, dayhad been completely turned into night; and the brilliant lights from theshop windows almost persuaded me that another day had not appeared. Turning, I retraced my steps, and was soon passing through the massivegates of Temple Bar, wending my way to the city, when a beggar boy at myheels accosted me for a half-penny to buy bread. I had scarcely servedthe boy, when I observed near by, and standing close to a lamp post, acoloured man, and from his general appearance I was satisfied that hewas an American. He eyed me attentively as I passed him, and seemedanxious to speak. When I had got some distance from him I looked back, and his eyes were still upon me. No longer able to resist the temptationto speak with him, I returned, and commencing conversation with him, learned a little of his history, which was as follows. He had, he said, escaped from slavery in Maryland, and reached New York; but not feelinghimself secure there, he had, through the kindness of the captain of anEnglish ship, made his way to Liverpool; and not being able to getemployment there, he had come up to London. Here he had met with nobetter success; and having been employed in the growing of tobacco, andbeing unaccustomed to any other work, he could not get to labour inEngland. I told him he had better try to get to the West Indies; but heinformed me that he had not a single penny, and that he had nothing toeat that day. By this man's story, I was moved to tears; and going to aneighbouring shop, I took from my purse my last shilling, changed it, and gave this poor brother fugitive one-half. The poor man burst intotears as I placed the sixpence in his hand, and said--"You are the firstfriend I have met in London. " I bade him farewell, and left him with afeeling of regret that I could not place him beyond the reach of want. Iwent on my way to the city, and while going through Cheapside, a streakof light appeared in the east that reminded me that it was not night. Invain I wandered from street to street, with the hope that I might meetsome one who would lend me money enough to get to Worcester. Hungry andfatigued I was returning to my lodgings, when the great clock of StPaul's Church, under whose shadow I was then passing, struck four. Astroll through Fleet Street and the Strand, and I was again pacing myroom. On my return, I found a letter from Worcester had arrived in myabsence, informing me that a party of gentlemen would meet me the nextday on my reaching that place; and saying, "Bring plenty of books, asyou will doubtless sell a large number. " The last sixpence had beenspent for postage stamps, in order to send off some letters to otherplaces, and I could not even stamp a letter in answer to the one lastfrom Worcester. The only vestige of money about me was a smooth farthingthat a little girl had given to me at the meeting at Croydon, saying, "This is for the slaves. " I was three thousand miles from home, with buta single farthing in my pocket! Where on earth is a man without moneymore destitute? The cold hills of the Arctic regions have not a moreinhospitable appearance than London to the stranger with an emptypocket. But whilst I felt depressed at being in such a sad condition, Iwas conscious that I had done right in remitting the last ten pounds toAmerica. It was for the support of those whom God had committed to mycare, and whom I love as I can no others. I had no friend in London towhom I could apply for temporary aid. My friend, Mr. Thompson, was outof town, and I did not know his address. The dark day was rapidlypassing away--the clock in the hall had struck six. I had given up allhopes of reaching Worcester the next day, and had just rung the bell forthe servant to bring me some tea, when a gentle tap at the door washeard--the servant entered, and informed me that a gentleman below waswishing to see me. I bade her fetch a light and ask him up. The strangerwas my young friend Frederick Stevenson, son of the excellent ministerof the Borough Road Chapel. I had lectured in this chapel a few daysprevious; and this young gentleman, with more than ordinary zeal andenthusiasm for the cause of bleeding humanity, and respect for me, hadgone amongst his father's congregation and sold a number of copies of mybook, and had come to bring me the money. I wiped the silent tear frommy eyes as the young man placed the thirteen half-crowns in my hand. Idid not let him know under what obligation I was to him for thisdisinterested act of kindness. He does not know to this day what aid hehas rendered to a stranger in a strange land, and I feel that I am butdischarging in a trifling degree, my debt of gratitude to this younggentleman, in acknowledging my obligation to him. As the man who calledfor bread and cheese, when feeling in his pocket for the last threepenceto pay for it, found a sovereign that he was not aware he possessed, countermanded the order for the lunch, and bade them bring him the bestdinner they could get; so I told the servant when she brought the tea, that I had changed my mind, and should go out to dine. With the means inmy pocket of reaching Worcester the next day, I sat down to dinner atthe Adelphi with a good cut of roast beef before me, and felt myselfonce more at home. Thus ended a dark day in London. 

LETTER X. 

_The Whittington Club--Louis Blanc--Street Amusements--Tower ofLondon--Westminster Abbey--National Gallery--Dante--Sir JoshuaReynolds. _

 LONDON, _October 10_. 

For some days past, Sol has not shown his face, clouds have obscured thesky, and the rain has fallen in torrents, which has contributed much tothe general gloom. However, I have spent the time in as agreeable amanner as I well could. Yesterday I fulfilled an engagement to dine witha gentleman at the Whittington Club. One who is unacquainted with theClub system as carried on in London, can scarcely imagine theconveniences they present. Every member appears to be at home, and allseem to own a share in the Club. There is a free-and-easy way with thosewho frequent Clubs, and a licence given there that is unknown in thedrawing-room of the private mansion. I met the gentleman at the Club, atthe appointed hour, and after his writing my name in the visitors'book, we proceeded to the dining-room, where we partook of a gooddinner. 

We had been in the room but a short time, when a small man, dressed inblack, with his coat buttoned up to the chin, entered the saloon, andtook a seat at the table hard by. My friend in a low whisper informed methat this person was one of the French refugees. He was apparently notmore than thirty years of age, and exceedingly good looking--his personbeing slight, his feet and hands very small and well shaped, especiallyhis hands, which were covered with kid gloves, so tightly drawn on, thatthe points of the finger nails were visible through them. His face wasmild and almost womanly in its beauty, his eyes soft and full, his browopen and ample, his features well defined, and approaching to the idealGreek in contour; the lines about his mouth were exquisitely sweet, andyet resolute in expression; his hair was short--his having no mustachesgave him nothing of the look of a Frenchman; and I was not a littlesurprised when informed that the person before me was Louis Blanc. Icould scarcely be persuaded to believe that one so small, so child-likein stature, had taken a prominent part in the Revolution of 1848. Heheld in his hand a copy of _La Presse_, and as soon as he was seated, opened it and began to devour its contents. The gentleman with whom Iwas dining was not acquainted with him, but at the close of our dinnerhe procured me an introduction through another gentleman. 

As we were returning to our lodgings, we saw in Exeter Street, Strand, one of those exhibitions that can be seen in almost any of the streetsin the suburbs of the Metropolis, but which is something of a novelty tothose from the other side of the Atlantic. This was an exhibition of"Punch and Judy. " Everything was in full operation when we reached thespot. A puppet appeared eight or ten inches from the waist upwards, withan enormous face, huge nose, mouth widely grinning, projecting chin, cheeks covered with grog blossoms, a large protuberance on his back, another on his chest; yet with these deformities he appeared uncommonlyhappy. This was Mr. Punch. He held in his right hand a tremendousbludgeon, with which he amused himself by rapping on the head every onewho came within his reach. This exhibition seems very absurd, yet notless than one hundred were present--children, boys, old men, and evengentlemen and ladies, were standing by, and occasionally greeting theperformer with the smile of approbation. Mr. Punch, however, was not tohave it all his own way, for another and better sort of Punch-likeexhibition appeared a few yards off, that took away Mr. Punch'saudience, to the great dissatisfaction of that gentleman. This was anexhibition called the Fantoccini, and far superior to any of the streetperformances which I have yet seen. The curtain rose and displayed abeautiful theatre in miniature, and most gorgeously painted. The organwhich accompanied it struck up a hornpipe, and a sailor, dressed in hisblue jacket, made his appearance and commenced keeping time with theutmost correctness. This figure was not so long as Mr. Punch, but muchbetter looking. At the close of the hornpipe the little sailor made abow, and tripped off, apparently conscious of having deserved theundivided applause of the bystanders. The curtain dropped; but in twoor three minutes it was again up, and a rope was discovered, extended ontwo cross pieces, for dancing upon. The tune was changed to an air, inwhich the time was marked, a graceful figure appeared, jumped upon therope with its balance pole, and displayed all the manoeuvres of anexpert performer on the tight rope. Many who would turn away in disgustfrom Mr. Punch, will stand for hours and look at the performances of theFantoccini. If people, like the Vicar of Wakefield, will sometimes"allow themselves to be happy, " they can hardly fail to have a heartylaugh at the drolleries of the Fantoccini. There may be degrees ofabsurdity in the manner of wasting our time, but there is an evidentaffectation in decrying these humble and innocent exhibitions, by thosewho will sit till two or three in the morning to witness a pantomime ata theatre-royal. 

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An autumn sun shone brightly through a remarkably transparent atmospherethis morning, which was a most striking contrast to the weather we havehad during the past three days; and I again set out to see some of thelions of the city, commencing with the Tower of London. Every American, on returning home from a visit to the old world, speaks with pride ofthe places he saw while in Europe; and of the many resorts of interesthe has read of, few have made a more lasting impression upon his memorythan the Tower of London. The stories of the imprisoning of kings, andqueens, the murdering of princes, the torturing of men and women, without regard to birth, education, or station, and of the burning andrebuilding of the old pile, have all sunk deep into his heart. A walk oftwenty minutes, after being set down at the Bank by an omnibus, broughtme to the gate of the Tower. A party of friends who were to meet methere had not arrived, so I had an opportunity of inspecting the groundsand taking a good view of the external appearance of the old andcelebrated building. The Tower is surrounded by a high wall, and aroundthis a deep ditch partly filled with stagnated water. The wall inclosestwelve acres of ground on which stand the several towers, occupying, with their walks and avenues, the whole space. The most ancient part ofthe building is called the "White Tower, " so as to distinguish it fromthe parts more recently built. Its walls are seventeen feet inthickness, and ninety-two in height, exclusive of the turrets, of whichthere are four. My company arrived, and we entered the tower throughfour massive gates, the innermost one being pointed out as the "Water, or Traitors' Gate"--so called from the fact that it opened to the river, and through it the criminals were usually brought to the prison within. But this passage is now closed up. We visited the various apartments inthe old building. The room in the Bloody Tower, where the infant princeswere put to death by the command of their uncle, Richard III. ; also, therecess behind the gate where the bones of the young princes wereconcealed, were shown to us. The warden of the prison who showed usthrough, seemed to have little or no veneration for Henry VIII. ; for heoften cracked a joke, or told a story at the expense of the murderer ofAnne Boleyn. The old man wiped the tear from his eye, as he pointed outthe grave of Lady Jane Grey. This was doubtless one of the best as wellas most innocent of those who lost their lives in the Tower; young, virtuous, and handsome, she became a victim to the ambition of her ownand her husband's relations. I tried to count the names on the wall in"Beauchamp's Tower, " but they were too numerous. Anne Boleyn wasimprisoned here. The room in the "Brick Tower, " where Lady Jane Grey wasimprisoned, was pointed out as a place of interest. We were next showninto the "White Tower. " We passed through a long room filled with manythings having a warlike appearance; and among them a number ofequestrian figures, as large as life, and clothed in armour andtrappings of the various reigns from Edward I. To James II. , or from1272 to 1685. Elizabeth, or the "Maiden Queen, " as the warden calledher, was the most imposing of the group; she was on a cream colouredcharger. We left the Maiden Queen to examine the cloak upon whichGeneral Wolf died, at the storming of Quebec. In this room Sir WalterRaleigh was imprisoned, and here was written his "History of theWorld. " In his own hand, upon the wall, is written, "Be thou faithfulunto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. " His Bible is stillshown, with these memorable lines written in it by himself a short timebefore his death:--

 "Even such is Time that takes on trust, Our youth, our joy, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days. "

Spears, battle-axes, pikes, helmets, targets, bows and arrows, and manyinstruments of torture, whose names I did not learn, grace the walls ofthis room. The block on which the Earl of Essex and Anne Boleyn werebeheaded, was shown among other objects of interest. A view of the"Queen's Jewels" closed our visit to the Tower. The Gold Staff of St. Edward, and the Baptismal Font used at the Royal christenings, made ofsolid silver, and more than four feet high, were among the jewels hereexhibited. The Sword of Justice was there, as if to watch the rest ofthe valuables. However, this was not the sword that Peter used. Ouracquaintance with De Foe, Sir Walter Raleigh, Chaucer, and JamesMontgomery, through their writings, and the knowledge that they had beenincarcerated within the walls of the bastile that we were just leaving, caused us to look back again and again upon its dark grey turrets. 

I closed the day with a look at the interior of St. Paul's Cathedral. Aservice was just over, and we met a crowd coming out as we entered thegreat building. "Service is over, and two pence for all that wants tostay, " was the first sound that caught our ears. In the Burlesque of"Esmeralda, " a man is met in the belfry of the Notre Dame at Paris, andbeing asked for money by one of the vergers says:--

 "I paid three pence at the door, And since I came in a great deal more: Upon my honour you have emptied my purse, St. Paul's Cathedral could not do worse. "

I felt inclined to join in this sentiment before I left the church. Afine statue of "Surly Sam" Johnson was one of the first things thatcaught our eyes on looking around. A statue of Sir Edward Packenham, who fell at the Battle of New Orleans, was on the opposite side of thegreat hall. As we had walked over the ground where this General fell, weviewed his statue with more than ordinary interest. We were taken fromone scene of interest to another, until we found ourselves in the"Whispering Gallery. " From the dome we had a splendid view of theMetropolis of the world. A scaffold was erected up here to enable anartist to take sketches from which a panorama of London was painted. Theartist was three years at work. The painting is now exhibited at theColosseum; but the brain of the artist was turned, and he died insane!Indeed, one can scarcely conceive how it could be otherwise. You inAmerica have no idea of the immensity of this building. Pile togetherhalf-a-dozen of the largest churches in New York or Boston, and you willhave but a faint representation of St. Paul's Cathedral. 

 * * * * *

I have just returned from a stroll of two hours through WestminsterAbbey. We entered the building at a door near Poets' Corner, and, naturally enough, looked around for the monuments of the men whoseimaginative powers have contributed so much to instruct and amusemankind. I was not a little disappointed in the few I saw. In almost anychurch-yard you may see monuments and tombs far superior to anything inthe Poets' Corner. A few only have monuments. Shakspere, who wrote ofman to man, and for man to the end of time, is honoured with one. Addison's monument is also there; but the greater number have nothingmore erected to their memories than busts or medallions. Poets' Corneris not splendid in appearance, yet I observed visiters lingering aboutit, as if they were tied to the spot by love and veneration for somedeparted friend. All seemed to regard it as classic ground. No soundlouder than a whisper was heard during the whole time, except the vergertreading over the marble floor with a light step. There is greatpleasure in sauntering about the tombs of those with whom we arefamiliar through their writings; and we tear ourselves from their ashes, as we would from those of a bosom friend. The genius of these menspreads itself over the whole panorama of Nature, giving us one vast andvaried picture, the colour of which will endure to the end of time. Nonecan portray like the poet the passions of the human soul. The statue ofAddison, clad in his dressing-gown, is not far from that of Shakspere. He looks as if he had just left the study, after finishing some chosenpaper for the _Spectator_. This memento of a great man, was the work ofthe British public. Such a mark of national respect was but justice toone who has contributed more to purify and raise the standard of Englishliterature, than any man of his day. We next visited the other end ofthe same transept, near the northern door. Here lie Mansfield, Chatham, Fox, the second William Pitt, Grattan, Wilberforce, and a few otherstatesmen. But, above all, is the stately monument to the Earl ofChatham. In no other place so small, do so many great men lie together. To these men, whose graves strangers from all parts of the world wish toview, the British public are in a great measure indebted for England'sfame. The high pre-eminence which England has so long enjoyed andmaintained in the scale of empire, has constantly been the boast andpride of the English people. The warm panegyrics that have been lavishedon her constitution and laws--the songs chaunted to celebrate herglory--the lustre of her arms, as the glowing theme of her warriors--thethunder of her artillery in proclaiming her moral prowess, her flagbeing unfurled to every breeze and ocean, rolling to her shores thetribute of a thousand realms--show England to be the greatest nation inthe world, and speak volumes for the great departed, as well as forthose of the living present. One requires no company, no amusements, nobooks in such a place as this. Time and death have placed within thosewalls sufficient to occupy the mind, if one should stay here a week. 

On my return, I spent an hour very pleasantly in the National Academy, in the same building as the National Gallery. Many of the paintings hereare of a fine order. Oliver Cromwell looking upon the headless corpse ofKing Charles I. , appeared to draw the greatest number of spectators. Ascene from "As You Like it, " was one of the best executed pieces we saw. This was "Rosalind, Celia, and Orlando. " The artist did himself and thesubject great credit. Kemble, in Hamlet, with that ever memorable skullin his hand, was one of the pieces which we viewed with no littleinterest. It is strange that Hamlet is always represented as a thin, lean man, when the Hamlet of Shakspere was a fat, John Bull-kind of aman. But the best piece in the Gallery was "Dante meditating the episodeof Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta, S'Inferno, Canto V. " Ourfirst interest for the great Italian poet was created by reading LordByron's poem, "The Lament of Dante. " From that hour we felt likeexamining everything connected with the great Italian poet. The historyof poets, as well as painters, is written in their works. The bestwritten life of Goldsmith is to be found in his poem of "The Traveller, "and his novel of "The Vicar of Wakefield. " Boswell could not havewritten a better life of himself than he has done in giving theBiography of Dr. Johnson. It seems clear that no one can be a great poetwithout having been sometime during life a lover, and having lost theobject of his affection in some mysterious way. Burns had his HighlandMary, Byron his Mary, and Dante was not without his Beatrice. Whetherthere ever lived such a person as Beatrice seems to be a question uponwhich neither of his biographers have thrown much light. However, aBeatrice existed in the poet's mind, if not on earth. His attachment toBeatrice Portinari, and the linking of her name with the immortality ofhis great poem, left an indelible impression upon his future character. The marriage of the object of his affections to another, and hersubsequent death, and the poet's exile from his beloved Florence, together with his death amongst strangers--all give an interest to thepoet's writings, which could not be heightened by romance itself. Whenexiled and in poverty, Dante found a friend in the father of Francesca. And here, under the roof of his protector, he wrote his great poem. Thetime the painter has chosen is evening. Day and night meet in mid-air:one star is alone visible. Sailing in vacancy are the shadows of thelovers. The countenance of Francesca is expressive of hopeless agony. The delineations are sublime, the conception is of the highest order, and the execution admirable. Dante is seated in a marble vestibule, in ameditating attitude, the face partly concealed by the right hand uponwhich it is resting. On the whole, it is an excellently painted piece, and causes one to go back with a fresh relish to the Italian'scelebrated poem. In coming out, we stopped a short while in the upperroom of the Gallery, and spent a few minutes over a paintingrepresenting Mrs. Siddons in one of Shakspere's characters. This is bySir Joshua Reynolds, and is only one of the many pieces that we haveseen of this great artist. His genius was vast, and powerful in itsgrasp. His fancy fertile, and his inventive faculty inexhaustible in itsresources. He displayed the very highest powers of genius by thethorough originality of his conceptions, and by the entirely new paththat he struck out in art. Well may Englishmen be proud of his name. Andas time shall step between his day and those that follow after him, themore will his works be appreciated. We have since visited his grave, and stood over his monument in St. Paul's. 

LETTER XI. 

_York Minster--The Great Organ--Newcastle-on-Tyne--The LabouringClasses--The American Slave--Sheffield--James Montgomery. _

 _January, 1850_. 

Some days since, I left the Metropolis to fulfil a few engagements tovisit provincial towns; and after a ride of nearly eight hours, we werein sight of the ancient city of York. It was night, the moon was in herzenith, and there seemed nothing between her and the earth butglittering gold. The moon, the stars, and the innumerable gas-lights, gave the city a panoramic appearance. Like a mountain starting out of aplain, there stood the Cathedral in all its glory, looking down upon thesurrounding buildings, with all the appearance of a Gulliver standingover the Lilliputians. Night gave us no opportunity to view theMinster. However, we were up the next morning before the sun, andwalking round the Cathedral with a degree of curiosity seldom excitedwithin us. It is thought that a building of the same dimensions wouldtake fifty years to complete it at the present time, even with all theimprovements of the nineteenth century, and would cost no less than theenormous sum of two millions of pounds sterling. From what I had heardof this famous Cathedral, my expectations were raised to the highestpoint; but it surpassed all the idea that I had formed of it. Onentering the building, we lost all thought of the external appearance bythe matchless beauty of the interior. The echo produced by the tread ofour feet upon the floor as we entered, resounding through the aisles, seemed to say "Put off your shoes, for the place whereon you tread isholy ground. " We stood with hat in hand, and gazed with wonder andastonishment down the incomparable vista of more than five hundred feet. The organ, which stands near the centre of the building, is said to beone of the finest in the world. A wall, in front of which is a screenof the most gorgeous and florid architecture and executed in solidstone, separates the nave from the service choir. The beautifulworkmanship of this makes it appear so perfect, as almost to produce thebelief that it is tracery work of wood. We ascended the rough stonesteps through a winding stair to the turrets, where we had such a viewof the surrounding country, as can be obtained from no other place. Onthe top of the centre and highest turret, is a grotesque figure of afiddler; rather a strange looking object, we thought, to occupy the mostelevated pinnacle on the house of God. All dwellings in theneighbourhood appear like so many dwarfs couching at the feet of theMinster; while its own vastness and beauty impress the observer withfeelings of awe and sublimity. As we stood upon the top of thisstupendous mountain of ecclesiastical architecture, and surveyed thepicturesque hills and valleys around, imagination recalled the tumult ofthe sanguinary battles fought in sight of the edifice. The rebellion ofOctavius near three thousand years ago, his defeat and flight to theScots, his return and triumph over the Romans, and being crowned kingof all Britain; the assassination of Oswald king of the Northumbrians;the flaying alive of Osbert; the crowning of Richard III; the siege byWilliam the Conqueror; the siege by Cromwell, and the pomp and splendourwith which the different monarchs had been received in York, allappeared to be vividly before me. While we were thus calling to our aidour knowledge of history, a sweet peal from the lungs of the ponderousorgan below cut short our stay among the turrets, and we descended tohave our organ of tune gratified, as well as to finish the inspection ofthe interior. 

I have heard the sublime melodies of Handel, Hayden, and Mozart, performed by the most skilful musicians; I have listened with delightand awe to the soul-moving compositions of those masters, as they havebeen chaunted in the most magnificent churches; but never did I hearsuch music, and played upon such an instrument, as that sent forth bythe great organ in the Cathedral of York. The verger took much delightin showing us the Horn that was once mounted with gold, but is nowgarnished with brass. We viewed the monuments and tombs of the departed, and then spent an hour before the great north window. The designs on thepainted glass, which tradition states was given to the church by fivevirgin sisters, is the finest thing of the kind in Great Britain. I felta relief on once more coming into the open air and again beholdingNature's own sun-light. The splendid ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, with itseight beautiful light gothic windows, next attracted our attention. Avisit to the Castle finished our stay in York; and as we were leavingthe old city we almost imagined that we heard the chiming of the bellsfor the celebration of the first Christian Sabbath, with Prince Arthuras the presiding genius. 

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England stands pre-eminently the first government in the world forfreedom of speech and of the press. Not even in our own beloved America, can the man who feels himself oppressed speak as he can in GreatBritain. In some parts of England, however, the freedom of thought istolerated to a greater extent than in others; and of the placesfavourable to reforms of all kinds, calculated to elevate and benefitmankind, Newcastle-on-Tyne doubtless takes the lead. Surrounded byinnumerable coal mines, it furnishes employment for a large labouringpopulation, many of whom take a deep interest in the passing events ofthe day, and, consequently, are a reading class. The public debater orspeaker, no matter what may be his subject, who fails to get an audiencein other towns, is sure of a gathering in the Music Hall, or LectureRoom in Newcastle. Here I first had an opportunity of coming in contactwith a portion of the labouring people of Britain. I have addressedlarge and influential meetings in Newcastle and the neighbouring towns, and the more I see and learn of the condition of the working-classes ofEngland the more I am satisfied of the utter fallacy of the statementsoften made that their condition approximates to that of the slaves ofAmerica. Whatever may be the disadvantages that the British peasantlabours under, he is free; and if he is not satisfied with his employerhe can make choice of another. He also has the right to educate hischildren; and he is the equal of the most wealthy person before anEnglish Court of Justice. But how is it with the American Slave? He hasno right to himself, no right to protect his wife, his child, or his ownperson. He is nothing more than a living tool. Beyond his field orworkshop he knows nothing. There is no amount of ignorance he is notcapable of. He has not the least idea of the face of this earth, nor ofthe history or constitution of the country in which he dwells. To himthe literature, science, and art--the progressive history, and theaccumulated discoveries of bygone ages, are as if they had never been. The past is to him as yesterday, and the future scarcely more thanto-morrow. Ancestral monuments, he has none; written documents fraughtwith cogitations of other times, he has none; and any instrumentalitycalculated to awaken and expound the intellectual activity andcomprehension of a present or approaching generation, he has none. Hiscondition is that of the leopard of his own native Africa. It lives, itpropagates its kind; but never does it indicate a movement towards thatall but angelic intelligence of man. The slave eats, drinks, andsleeps--all for the benefit of the man who claims his body as hisproperty. Before the tribunals of his country he has no voice. He has nohigher appeal than the mere will of his owner. He knows nothing of theinspired Apostles through their writings. He has no Sabbath, no Church, no Bible, no means of grace, --and yet we are told that he is as well offas the labouring classes of England. It is not enough that the people ofmy country should point to their Declaration of Independence whichdeclares that "all men are created equal. " It is not enough that theyshould laud to the skies a constitution containing boasting declarationsin favour of freedom. It is not enough that they should extol the geniusof Washington, the patriotism of Henry, or the enthusiasm of Otis. Thetime has come when nations are judged by the acts of the present insteadof the past. And so it must be with America. In no place in the UnitedKingdom has the American Slave warmer friends than in Newcastle. 

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I am now in Sheffield, and have just returned from a visit to JamesMontgomery, the poet. In company with James Wall, Esq. , I proceeded toThe Mount, the residence of Mr. Montgomery; and our names being sent in, we were soon in the presence of the "Christian Poet. " He held in hisleft hand the _Eclectic Review_ for the month, and with the right gaveme a hearty shake, and bade me "Welcome to old England. " He was anythingbut like the portraits I had seen of him, and the man I had in my mind'seye. I had just been reading his "Pelican Island, " and I eyed the poetwith no little interest. He is under the middle size, his forehead highand well formed, the top of which was a little bald; his hair of ayellowish colour, his eyes rather small and deep set, the nose long andslightly aquiline, his mouth rather small, and not at all pretty. He wasdressed in black, and a large white cravat entirely hid his neck andchin: his having been afflicted from childhood with salt-rhum, wasdoubtless the cause of his chin being so completely buried in theneckcloth. Upon the whole, he looked more like one of our AmericanMethodist parsons, than any one I have seen in this country. He enteredfreely into conversation with us. He said he should be glad to attend mylecture that evening, but that he had long since quit going out atnight. He mentioned having heard William Lloyd Garrison some yearsbefore, and with whom he was well pleased. He said it had long been apuzzle to him, how Americans could hold slaves and still retain theirmembership in the churches. When we rose to leave, the old man took myhand between his two, and with tears in his eyes said, "Go on yourChristian mission, and may the Lord protect and prosper you. Yourenslaved countrymen have my sympathy, and shall have my prayers. " Thusended our visit to the Bard of Sheffield. Long after I had quitted thepresence of the poet, the following lines of his were ringing in myears:--

 "Wanderer, whither dost thou roam? Weary wanderer, old and grey, Wherefore has thou left thine home, In the sunset of thy day. Welcome wanderer as thou art, All my blessings to partake; Yet thrice welcome to my heart, For thine injured people's sake. Wanderer, whither would'st thou roam? To what region far away? Bend thy steps to find a home, In the twilight of thy day. Where a tyrant never trod, Where a slave was never known-- But where Nature worships God In the wilderness alone. "

Mr. Montgomery seems to have thrown his entire soul into his meditationson the wrongs of Switzerland. The poem from which we have just quoted, is unquestionably one of his best productions, and contains more of thefire of enthusiasm than all his other works. We feel a reverence almostamounting to superstition, for the poet who deals with nature. And whois more capable of understanding the human heart than the poet? Who hasbetter known the human feelings than Shakspere; better painted thanMilton, the grandeur of Virtue; better sighed than Byron over the subtleweaknesses of Hope? Who ever had a sounder taste, a more exactintellect than Dante? or who has ever tuned his harp more in favour ofFreedom, than our own Whittier?

LETTER XII. 

_Kirkstall Abbey--Mary the Maid of the Inn--Newstead Abbey: Residence ofLord Byron--Parish Church of Hucknall--Burial Place of LordByron--Bristol: "Cook's Folly"--Chepstow Castle and Abbey--TinternAbbey--Redcliffe Church. _

 _January 29_. 

In passing through Yorkshire, we could not resist the temptation itoffered, to pay a visit to the extensive and interesting ruin ofKirkstall Abbey, which lies embosomed in a beautiful recess of Airedale, about three miles from Leeds. A pleasant drive over a smooth road, brought us abruptly in sight of the Abbey. The tranquil and pensivebeauty of the desolate Monastery, as it reposes in the lap of pastoralluxuriance, and amidst the touching associations of seven centuries, isalmost beyond description when viewed from where we first beheld it. After arriving at its base, we stood for some moments under the mightyarches that lead into the great hall, gazing at its old grey wallsfrowning with age. At the distance of a small field, the Aire is seengliding past the foot of the lawn on which the ruin stands, after it hasleft those precincts, sparkling over a weir with a pleasing murmur. Wecould fully enter into the feelings of the Poet when he says:--

 "Beautiful fabric! even in decay And desolation, beauty still is thine; As the rich sunset of an autumn day, When gorgeous clouds in glorious hues combine To render homage to its slow decline, Is more majestic in its parting hour: Even so thy mouldering, venerable shrine Possesses now a more subduing power, Than in thine earlier sway, with pomp and pride thy dower. "

The tale of "Mary, the Maid of the Inn, " is supposed, and not withoutfoundation, to be connected with this Abbey. "Hark to Rover, " the nameof the house where the key is kept, was, a century ago, a retired inn orpot-house, and the haunt of many a desperate highwayman and poacher. Theanecdote is so well known, that it is scarcely necessary to relate it. It, however, is briefly this:--

"One stormy night, as two travellers sat at the inn, each havingexhausted his news, the conversation was directed to the Abbey, theboisterous night, and Mary's heroism; when a bet was at last made by oneof them, that she would not go and bring back from the nave a slip ofthe alder-tree growing there. Mary, however, did go; but having nearlyreached the tree, she heard a low, indistinct dialogue; at the sametime, something black fell and rolled towards her, which afterwardsproved to be a hat. Directing her attention to the place whence theconversation proceeded, she saw, from behind a pillar, two men carryinga murdered body: they passed near the place where she stood, a heavycloud was swept from off the face of the moon, and Mary fellsenseless--one of the murderers was her intended husband! She wasawakened from her swoon, but--her reason had fled for ever. " Mr. Southeywrote a beautiful poem founded on this story, which will be found in hispublished works. We spent nearly three hours in wandering through thesesplendid ruins. It is both curious and interesting to trace the earlyhistory of these old piles, which become the resort of thousands, nine-tenths of whom are unaware either of the classic ground on whichthey tread, or of the peculiar interest thrown around the spot by thedeeds of remote ages. 

During our stay in Leeds, we had the good fortune to become acquaintedwith Wilson Armistead, Esq. This gentleman is well known as an ablewriter against Slavery. His most elaborate work is "A Tribute for theNegro. " This is a volume of 560 pages, and is replete with factsrefuting the charges of inferiority brought against the Negro race. FewEnglish gentlemen have done more to hasten the day of the Americanslave's liberation, than Wilson Armistead. 

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We have just paid a visit to Newstead Abbey, the far-famed residence ofLord Byron. I posted from Hucknall over to Newstead one pleasantmorning, and, being provided with a letter of introduction to ColonelWildman, I lost no time in presenting myself at the door of the Abbey. But, unfortunately for me, the Colonel was at Mansfield, in attendanceat the Assizes--he being one of the County Magistrates. I did nothowever lose the object of my visit, as every attention was paid inshowing me about the premises. I felt as every one must, who gazes forthe first time upon these walls, and remembers that it was here, evenamid the comparative ruins of a building once dedicated to the sacredcause of Religion and her twin sister, Charity, that the genius of Byronwas first developed. Here that he paced with youthful melancholy thehalls of his illustrious ancestors, and trode the walks of thelong-banished monks. The housekeeper--a remarkably good looking andpolite woman--showed us through the different apartments, and explainedin the most minute manner every object of interest connected with theinterior of the building. We first visited the Monks' Parlour, whichseemed to contain nothing of note, except a very fine stainedwindow--one of the figures representing St. Paul, surmounted by a cross. We passed through Lord Byron's Bedroom, the Haunted Chamber, theLibrary, and the Eastern Corridor, and halted in the Tapestry Bedroom, which is truly a magnificent apartment, formed by the Byrons for the useof King Charles II. The ceiling is richly decorated with the Byron arms. We next visited the grand Drawing-room, probably the finest in thebuilding. This saloon contains a large number of splendid portraits, among which is the celebrated portrait of Lord Byron, by Phillips. Inthis room we took into our hand the Skull-cup, of which so much has beenwritten, and that has on it a short inscription, commencing with--"Startnot--nor deem my spirit fled. " Leaving this noble room, we descended bya few polished oak steps into the West Corridor, from which we enteredthe grand Dining Hall, and through several other rooms, until we reachedthe Chapel. Here we were shown a stone coffin which had been found nearthe high altar, when the workmen were excavating the vault, intended byLord Byron for himself and his dog. The coffin contained the skeleton ofan Abbot, and also the identical skull from which the cup, of which Ihave made mention, was made. We then left the building, and took astroll through the grounds. After passing a pond of cold crystal water, we came to a dark wood in which are two leaden statues of Pan, and afemale satyr--very fine specimens as works of art. We here inspected thetree whereon Byron carved his own name and that of his sister, with thedate, all of which are still legible. However, the tree is now dead, andwe were informed that Colonel Wildman intended to have it cut down so asto preserve the part containing the inscription. After crossing aninteresting and picturesque part of the gardens, we arrived within theprecincts of the ancient Chapel, near which we observed a neat marblemonument, and which we supposed to have been erected to the memory ofsome of the Byrons; but, on drawing near to it, we read the followinginscription:--

 "Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery, if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of BOATSWAIN, a dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, and died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1808. "

By a will which his Lordship executed in 1811, he directed that his ownbody should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog. This feeling of affection to his dumb and faithful follower, commendablein itself, seems here to have been carried beyond the bounds of reasonand propriety. 

In another part of the grounds we saw the oak tree planted by the poethimself. It has now attained a goodly size, considering the growth ofthe oak, and bids fair to become a lasting memento to the Noble Bard, and to be a shrine to which thousands of pilgrims will resort in futureages, to do homage to his mighty genius. This tree promises to share inafter times the celebrity of Shakspere's mulberry, and Pope's willow. Near by, and in the tall trees, the rooks were keeping up a tremendousnoise. After seeing everything of interest connected with the greatpoet, we entered our chaise, and left the premises. As we were leaving, I turned to take a farewell look at the Abbey, standing in solemngrandeur, the long ivy clinging fondly to the rich tracery of a formerage. Proceeding to the little town of Hucknall, we entered the old greyParish Church, which has for ages been the last resting-place of theByrons, and where repose the ashes of the Poet, marked only by a neatmarble slab, bearing the date of the poet's birth, death, and the factthat the tablet was placed there by his sister. This closed my visit tothe interesting scenes associated with Byron's strange eventfulhistory--scenes that ever acquire a growing charm as the lapse of yearssoftens the errors of the man, and confirms the genius of the poet. 

 * * * * *

 _May 10_. 

It was on a lovely morning that I found myself on board the littlesteamer _Wye_, passing out of Bristol harbour. In going down the river, we saw on our right, the stupendous rocks of St. Vincent towering somefour or five hundred feet above our heads. By the swiftness of our fairysteamer, we were soon abreast of Cook's Folly, a singular tower, builtby a man from whom it takes its name, and of which the followingromantic story is told:--"Some years since a gentleman, of the name ofCook, erected this tower, which has since gone by the name of 'Cook'sFolly. ' A son having been born, he was desirous of ascertaining, bymeans of astrology, if he would live to enjoy his property. Beinghimself a firm believer, like the poet Dryden, that certain informationmight be obtained from the above science, he caused the child'shoroscope to be drawn, and found, to his dismay, that in his third, sixteenth, or twenty-first year, he would be in danger of meeting withsome fearful calamity or sudden death, to avert which he caused theturret to be constructed, and the child placed therein. Secure, as hevainly thought, there he lived, attended by a faithful servant, theirfood and fuel being conveyed to them by means of a pully-basket, untilhe was old enough to wait upon himself. On the eve of his twenty-firstyear, his parent's hopes rose high, and great were the rejoicingsprepared to welcome the young heir to his home. But, alas! no humanskill could avert the dark fate which clung to him. The last night hehad to pass alone in the turret, a bundle of faggots was conveyed to himas usual, in which lay concealed a viper, which clung to his hand. Thebite was fatal; and, instead of being borne in triumph, the dead body ofhis only son was the sad spectacle which met the sight of his father. "

We crossed the channel and soon entered the mouth of that mostpicturesque of rivers, the Wye. As we neared the town of Chepstow theold Castle made its appearance, and a fine old ruin it is. Beingpreviously provided with a letter of introduction to a gentleman inChepstow, I lost no time in finding him out. This gentleman gave me acordial reception, and did what Englishmen seldom ever do, lent me hissaddle horse to ride to the Abbey. While lunch was in preparation I tooka stroll through the Castle which stood near by. We entered the Castlethrough the great door-way and were soon treading the walls that hadonce sustained the cannon and the sentinel, but were now covered withweeds and wild flowers. The drum and fife had once been heard withinthese walls--the only music now is the cawing of the rook and daw. Wepaid a hasty visit to the various apartments, remaining longest in thoseof most interest. The room in which Martin the Regicide was imprisonednearly twenty years, was pointed out to us. The Castle of Chepstow isstill a magnificent pile, towering upon the brink of a stupendous cliff, on reaching the top of which, we had a splendid view of the surroundingcountry. Time, however, compelled us to retrace our steps, and afterpartaking of a lunch, we mounted a horse for the first time in tenyears, and started for Tintern Abbey. The distance from Chepstow to theAbbey is about five miles, and the road lies along the banks of theriver. The river is walled in on either side by hills of much beauty, clothed from base to summit with the richest verdure. I can conceive ofnothing more striking than the first appearance of the Abbey. As werounded a hill, all at once we saw the old ruin standing before us inall its splendour. This celebrated ecclesiastical relic of the oldentime is doubtless the finest ruin of its kind in Europe. Embosomedamongst hills, and situated on the banks of the most fairy-like river inthe world, its beauty can scarcely be surpassed. We halted at the"Beaufort Arms, " left our horse, and sallied forth to view the Abbey. The sun was pouring a flood of light upon the old grey walls, lightingup its dark recesses, as if to give us a better opportunity of viewingit. I gazed with astonishment and admiration at its many beauties, andespecially at the superb gothic windows over the entrance door. Thebeautiful gothic pillars, with here and there a representation of apraying priest, and mailed knights, with saints and Christian martyrs, and the hundreds of Scriptural representations, all indicate that thiswas a place of considerable importance in its palmy days. The oncestone floor had disappeared, and we found ourselves standing on a floorof unbroken green grass, swelling back to the old walls, and looking soverdant and silken that it seemed the very floor of fancy. There aremore romantic and wilder places than this in the world, but none morebeautiful. The preservation of these old abbeys should claim theattention of those under whose charge they are, and we felt like joiningwith the poet and saying:--

 "O ye who dwell Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge From hands profane! O save the sacred pile-- O'er which the wing of centuries has flown Darkly and silently, deep-shadowing all Its pristine honours--from the ruthless grasp Of future violation. "

In contemplating these ruins more closely, the mind insensibly revertsto the period of feudal and regal oppression, when structures like thatof Tintern Abbey necessarily became the scenes of stirring andhighly-important events. How altered is the scene! Where were formerlymagnificence and splendour; the glittering array of priestly prowess;the crowded halls of haughty bigots, and the prison of religiousoffenders; there is now but a heap of mouldering ruins. The oppressedand the oppressor have long since lain down together in the peacefulgrave. The ruin, generally speaking, is unusually perfect, and thesculpture still beautifully sharp. The outward walls are nearly entire, and are thickly clad with ivy. Many of the windows are also in a goodstate of preservation; but the roof has long since fallen in. Thefeathered songsters were fluttering about, and pouring forth theirartless lays as a tribute of joy; while the lowing of the herds, thebleating of flocks, and the hum of bees upon the farm near by, all burstupon the ear, and gave the scene a picturesque sublimity that can beeasier imagined than described. Most assuredly Shakspere had such ruinsin view when he exclaimed--

 "The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve-- And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind. "

In the afternoon we returned to Bristol, and I spent the greater partof the next day in examining the interior of Redcliffe Church. Fewplaces in the West of England have greater claims upon the topographerand historian than the church of St. Mary's, Redcliffe. Its antiquity, the beauty of its architecture, and above all the interestingcircumstances connected with its history, entitle it to peculiar notice. It is also associated with the enterprise of genius; for its name hasbeen blended with the reputation of Rowley, of Canynge, and ofChatterton; and no lover of poetry and admirer of art can visit itwithout a degree of enthusiasm. And when the old building shall havemouldered into ruins, even these will be trodden with veneration assacred to the recollection of genius of the highest order. Ascending awinding stair, we were shown into the Treasury Room. The room forms anirregular octagon, admitting light through narrow unglazed aperturesupon the broken and scattered fragments of the famous Rowleian chests, that with the rubble and dust of centuries cover the floor. It is herecreative fancy pictures forth the sad image of the spirit of thespot--the ardent boy, flushed and fed by hope, musing on the brilliantdeception he had conceived--whose daring attempt has left his name untothe intellectual world as a marvel and a mystery. 

That a boy under twelve years of age should write a series of poems, imitating the style of the fifteenth century, and palm these poems offupon the world as the work of a monk, is indeed strange; and that theseshould become the object of interesting contemplation to the literaryworld, and should awaken inquiries, and exercise the talents of aSouthey, a Bryant, a Miller, a Mathias, and others, savours more ofromance than reality. I had visited the room in a garret in HighHolborn, where this poor boy died. I had stood over a grave in theburial-ground of the Lane Workhouse, which was pointed out to me as thelast resting-place of Chatterton; and now I was in the room where it wasalleged he obtained the manuscripts that gave him such notoriety. Wedescended and viewed other portions of the church. The effect of thechancel, as seen behind the pictures, is very singular, and suggestiveof many swelling thoughts. We look at the great east window, it isunadorned with its wonted painted glass; we look at the altar-screenbeneath, on which the light of day again falls, and behold the injuriesit has received at the hands of time. There is a dreary mournfulness inthe scene which fastens on the mind, and is in unison with the time-wornmouldering fragments that are seen all around us. And this dreariness isnot removed by our tracing the destiny of man on the storied pavementsor on the graven brass, that still bears upon its surface the names ofthose who obtained the world's regard years back. This old pile is notonly an ornament to the city, but it stands a living monument to thegenius of its founder. Bristol has long sustained a high position as aplace from which the American Abolitionists have received substantialencouragement in their arduous labours for the emancipation of theslaves of that land; and the writer of this received the best evidencethat in this respect the character of the people had not beenexaggerated, especially as regards the "Clifton Ladies' Anti-SlaverySociety. "

LETTER XXIII. [A]

[A] This letter is rather out of its proper place here. I had mislaidthe MS. , and my distance from the printer prevented the matter beingrectified. In another edition, the transposition can be effected. 

_Aberdeen--Passage by Steamer--Edinburgh--Visit to the College--Williamand Ellen Craft. _

I have visited few places where I found more warm friends than inAberdeen. This is the Granite City of Scotland. 

Aberdeen reminds one of Boston, especially in a walk down Union Street, which is said to be one of the finest promenades in Europe. 

The town is situated on a neck of land between the rivers Dee and Don, and is the most important place in the north of Scotland. During ourthird day in the city, we visited among other places the Old Bridge ofDon, which is not only resorted to on account of its antique celebrityand peculiar appearance, but also because of the notoriety that it hasgained by Lord Byron's poem of the "Bridge of Don. "

An engagement to be in Edinburgh and vicinity, cut short our stay in thenorth. The very mild state of the weather, and a wish to see somethingof the coast between Aberdeen and Edinburgh, induced us to make thejourney by water. 

On Friday evening, the 14th, after delivering a lecture before the TotalAbstinence Society, in company with William and Ellen Craft, I went onboard the steamer bound for Edinburgh. On reaching the vessel, we foundthe drawing-room almost entirely at our service, and prejudice againstcolour being unknown, we had no difficulty in getting the bestaccommodation which the steamer could furnish. This is so unlike thepro-slavery, negro-hating spirit of America, that the Crafts seemedalmost bewildered by the transition. I had been in the saloon but ashort time, when, looking at the newspapers on the table, I discoveredthe _North Star_. It was like meeting with a friend in a strange land. Ilooked in vain on the margin for the name of its owner, but as I did notfeel at liberty to take it, and as it appeared to be alone, I laid the_Liberator_ by its side to keep it company. 

The night was a glorious one. The sky was without a speck; and theclear, piercing air had a brilliancy I have seldom seen. The moon was inits zenith--the steamer and surrounding objects were beautiful in theextreme. The boat got under weigh at a little past twelve, and we weresoon out at sea. The "Queen" is a splendid craft, and without the aid ofsails, was able to make fifteen miles within the hour. I was up the nextmorning before the sun, and found the sea as on the previous night--ascalm and smooth as a mirror. It was a delightful morning, more likeApril than February; and the sun, as it rose, seemed to fire every peakof the surrounding hills. On our left, lay the Island of May, while tothe right was to be seen the small fishing town of Anstruther, twentymiles distant from Edinburgh. Beyond these, on either side, was a rangeof undulating blue mountains, swelling as they retired, into a bolderoutline and a loftier altitude, until they terminated some twenty-fiveor thirty miles in the dim distance. A friend at my side pointed out aplace on the right, where the remains of an old castle or look-outhouse, used in the time of the border wars, once stood, and whichreminded us of the barbarism of the past. 

But these signs are fast disappearing. The plough and roller have passedover many of these foundations, and the time will soon come, when theantiquarian will look in vain for those places that history has pointedout to him, as connected with the political and religious struggles ofthe past. The steward of the vessel came round to see who of thepassengers wished for breakfast, and as the keen air of the morning hadgiven me an appetite, and there being no prejudice on the score ofcolour, I took my seat at the table and gave ample evidence that I wasnot an invalid. On returning to the deck again, I found we had enteredthe Forth, and that "Modern Athens" was in sight; and, far above everyother object, with its turrets almost lost in the clouds, could be seenEdinburgh Castle. After landing, a pleasant ride over one of the finestroads in Scotland, with a sprinkling of beautiful villas on either side, brought us once more to Cannon's Hotel. 

In a city like Edinburgh, there is always something to keep the publicalive, but during our three days' stay in the town, on this occasion, there were topics under discussion which seemed to excite the people, although I had been told that the Scotch were not excitable. Indeed allEdinburgh seemed to have gone mad about the Pope. If his Holiness shouldthink fit to pay a visit to his new dominions, I would advise him tokeep out of reach of the Scotch. 

In company with the Crafts, I visited the Calton Hill, from which we hada delightful view of the city and surrounding country. I had anopportunity during my stay in the city, of visiting the Infirmary, andwas pleased to see among the two or three hundred students, threecoloured young men, seated upon the same benches with those of a fairercomplexion, and yet there appeared no feeling on the part of the whitestowards their coloured associates, except of companionship and respect. One of the cardinal truths, both of religion and freedom, is theequality and brotherhood of man. In the sight of God and all justinstitutions, the whites can claim no precedence or privilege, onaccount of their being white; and if coloured men are not treated asthey should be in the educational institutions in America, it is apleasure to know that all distinction ceases by crossing the broadAtlantic. I had scarcely left the lecture room of the Institute andreached the street, when I met a large number of the students on theirway to the college, and here again were seen coloured men arm in armwith whites. The proud American who finds himself in the splendidstreets of Edinburgh, and witnesses such scenes as these, can but beholdin them the degradation of his own country, whose laws would make slavesof these same young men, should they appear in the streets ofCharleston or New Orleans. 

After all, our country is the most despotic in the wide world, and toexpose and hold it up to the scorn and contempt of other nations, is theduty of every coloured man who would be true to himself and his race. 

During my stay in Edinburgh, I accepted an invitation to breakfast withthe great champion of Philosophical Phrenology. Few foreigners are moreadmired in America, than the author of "The Constitution of Man. "[B]Although not far from 70 years of age, I found him apparently as activeand as energetic as many men of half that age. He was much pleased withMr. And Mrs. Craft, who formed a part of the breakfast party. It may bea pleasure to the friends of these two fugitive slaves, to know thatthey are now the inmates of a good school where they are now beingeducated. For this, they are mainly indebted to that untiring friend ofthe Slave, John B. Estlin, Esq. , of Bristol, whose zeal and co-operationwith the American Abolitionists, have gained for him an undying namewith the friends of freedom in the New World. 

[B] George Combe, Esq. 

LETTER XIII. 

_Edinburgh--The Royal Institute--Scott's Monument--John Knox'sPulpit--Temperance Meeting--Glasgow--Great Meeting in the City Hall. _

 EDINBURGH, _January 1, 1851_. 

You will see by the date of this that I am spending myNew-Year's-Day in the Scottish Capital, in company with our friend, William Craft. I came by invitation to attend a meeting of the EdinburghLadies' Emancipation Society. 

The meeting was held on Monday evening last, at which William Craftgave, for the first time, since his arrival in this country, a historyof his escape from Georgia, two years ago, together with his recentflight from Boston. 

Craft's reception was one of deep enthusiasm, and his story was welltold, and made a powerful impression on the audience. I would that theslaveholders, Hughes and Knight, could have been present and heard thethundering applause with which our friend was received on the followingevening. Craft attended a meeting of the Edinburgh Total AbstinenceSociety, before which I lectured, and his appearance here was alsohailed with much enthusiasm. Our friend bids fair to become a favouritewith the Scotch. 

Much regret was expressed that Ellen was not present. She was detainedin Liverpool by indisposition. But Mrs. Craft has so far recovered, thatwe expect her here to-morrow. 

The appearance of these two fugitives in Great Britain, at this time, and under the circumstances, will aid our cause, and create a renewedhatred to the abominable institution of American slavery. I havereceived letters from a number of the friends of the slave, in whichthey express a wish to aid the Crafts; and among the first of these, were our good friends, John B. Estlin, Esq. , of Bristol, and HarrietMartineau. 

But I must give you my impression of this fine city. Edinburgh is themost picturesque of all the towns which I have visited since my arrivalin the father-land. Its situation has been compared to that of Athens, but it is said that the modern Athens is superior to the ancient. I wasdeeply impressed with the idea that I had seen the most beautiful ofcities, after beholding those fashionable resorts, Paris and Versailles. I have seen nothing in the way of public grounds to compare with thegardens of Versailles, or the _Champs Elysees_ at Paris; and as forstatuary, the latter place is said to take the lead of the rest of theworld. 

The general appearance of Edinburgh prepossesses one in its favour. Thetown being built upon the brows of a large terrace, presents the mostwonderful perspective. Its first appearance to a stranger, and the firstimpression, can scarcely be but favourable. In my first walk through thetown, I was struck with the difference in the appearance of the peoplefrom the English. But the difference between the Scotch and theAmericans, is very great. The cheerfulness depicted in the countenancesof the people here, and their free and easy appearance, is very strikingto a stranger. He who taught the sun to shine, the flowers to bloom, thebirds to sing, and blesses us with rain, never intended that hiscreatures should look sad. There is a wide difference between theAmericans and any other people which I have seen. The Scotch are healthyand robust, unlike the long-faced, sickly-looking Americans. 

While on our journey from London to Paris, to attend the Peace Congress, I could not but observe the marked difference between the English andAmerican delegates. The former looked as if their pockets had beenfilled with sandwiches, made of good bread and roast beef, while thelatter appeared as if their pockets had been filled with Holloway'sPills, and Mrs. Kidder's Cordial. 

I breakfasted this morning in a room in which the Poet Burns, as I wasinformed, had often sat. The conversation here turned upon Burns. Thelady of the house pointed to a scrap of poetry which was in a framehanging on the wall, written, as she said, by the Poet, on hearing thepeople rejoicing in a church over the intelligence of a victory. Icopied it and will give it to you:--

 "Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks, To murder men and give God thanks? For shame! give o'er, proceed no further, God won't accept your thanks for murder. "

The fact that I was in the room where Scotland's great national poet hadbeen a visitor, caused me to feel that I was on classic, if not hallowedground. On returning from our morning visit, we met a gentleman with acoloured lady on each arm. Craft remarked in a very dry manner, "If theywere in Georgia, the slaveholders would make them walk in a more hurriedgait than they do. " I said to my friend, that if he meant thepro-slavery prejudice would not suffer them to walk peaceably throughthe streets, they need go no further than the pro-slavery cities of NewYork and Philadelphia. When walking through the streets, I amusedmyself, by watching Craft's countenance; and in doing so, imagined I sawthe changes experienced by every fugitive slave in his first month'sresidence in this country. A sixteen months' residence has not yetfamiliarized me with the change. 

 * * * * *

 LAUREL BANK, _Jan. 18, 1851_. 

Dear Douglass, --I remained in Edinburgh a day or two after thedate of my last letter, which gave me an opportunity of seeing some ofthe lions in the way of public buildings, &c. , in company with ourfriend Wm. Craft. I paid a visit to the Royal Institute, and inspectedthe very fine collection of paintings, statues, and other productions ofart. The collection in the Institute is not to be compared to theBritish Museum at London, or the Louvre at Paris, but is probably thebest in Scotland. Paintings from the hands of many of the masters, suchas Sir A. Vandyke, Tiziano, Vercellio and Van Dellen, were hanging onthe wall, and even the names of Reubens, and Titian, were attached tosome of the finer specimens. Many of these represent some of the nobles, and distinguished families of Rome, Athens, Greece, &c. A beautiful onerepresenting a group of the Lomellini family of Genoa, seemed to attractthe attention of most of the visitors. 

In visiting this place, we passed close by the monument of Sir WalterScott. This is the most exquisite thing of the kind that I have seensince coming to this country. It is said to be the finest monument inEurope. There sits the author of "Waverley, " with a book and pencil inhand, taking notes. A beautiful dog is seated by his side. Whether thisis meant to represent his favourite dog, Camp, at whose death the Poetshed so many tears, we were not informed; but I was of opinion that itmight be the faithful Percy, whose monument stands in the grounds atAbbotsford. Scott was an admirer of the canine tribe. One may form agood idea of the appearance of this distinguished writer, when living, by viewing this remarkable statue. The statue is very beautiful, but notequal to the one of Lord Byron, which was executed to be placed by theside of Johnson, Milton, and Addison, in Poets' Corner, WestminsterAbbey; but the Parliament not allowing it a place there, it now standsin one of the Colleges at Cambridge. While viewing the statue of Byron, I thought he, too, should have been represented with a dog by his side, for he, like Scott, was remarkably fond of dogs, so much so that heintended to have his favourite, Boatswain, interred by his side. 

We paid a short visit to the monuments of Burns and Allan Ramsay, andthe renowned old Edinburgh Castle. The Castle is now used as a barrackfor Infantry. It is accessible only from the High Street, and must havebeen impregnable before the discovery of gunpowder. In the wars with theEnglish, it was twice taken by stratagem; once in a very daring manner, by climbing up the most inaccessible part of the rock upon which itstands, and where a foe was least expected, and putting the guard todeath; and another time, by a party of soldiers disguising themselves asmerchants, and obtaining admission inside the Castle gates. Theysucceeded in preventing the gates from being closed, until reinforced bya party of men under Sir Wm. Douglas, who soon overpowered the occupantsof the Castle. 

We could not resist the temptation held out to see the Palace ofHolyrood. It was in this place that the beautiful, but unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, resided for a number of years. On reaching the palace, we were met at the door by an elderly looking woman, with a red face, garnished with a pair of second-hand curls, the whole covered with a caphaving the widest border that I had seen for years. She was very kind inshowing us about the premises, especially as we were foreigners, nodoubt expecting an extra fee for politeness. The most interesting of themany rooms in this ancient castle, is the one which was occupied by theQueen, and where her Italian favourite, Rizzio, was murdered. 

But by far the most interesting object which we visited while inEdinburgh, was the house where the celebrated Reformer, John Knox, re-resided. It is a queer-looking old building, with a pulpit on theoutside, and above the door are the nearly obliterated remains of thefollowing inscription:--"Lufe. God. Above. Al. And. Your. Nichbour. Asyou. Self. " This was probably traced under the immediate direction ofthe great Reformer. Such an inscription put upon a house of worship atthe present day, would be laughed at. I have given it to you, punctuation and all, just as it stands. 

The general architecture of Edinburgh is very imposing, whether weregard the picturesque disorder of the buildings, in the Old Town, orthe symmetrical proportions of the streets and squares in the New. Buton viewing this city which has the reputation of being the finest inEurope, I was surprised to find that it had none of those sumptuousstructures, which like St. Paul's, or Westminster Abbey, York Minster, and some other of the English provincial Cathedrals, astonish thebeholder alike by their magnitude and their architectural splendour. Butin no city which I have visited in the kingdom, is the general standardof excellence better maintained than in Edinburgh. 

I am not sure, my dear friend, whether or not I mentioned in my lastletter the attendance of Wm. Craft and myself at a splendid Soiree ofthe Edinburgh Temperance Society, and our being voted in life members, in the most enthusiastic manner, by the whole audience. I will here giveyou a part of the speech of the President, as reported in the _ChristianNews_. This should cause the pro-slavery whites, and especiallynegro-hating Sons of Temperance, who refuse the coloured man a place intheir midst, to feel ashamed of their unchristian conduct. Here it is, let them judge for themselves:--

"A great feature in our meeting to-night, is that we have beside us twoindividuals, who, according to the immaculate laws of immaculateYankeedom, have been guilty of the tremendous crime of stealingthemselves. (Applause. ) Mr. Craft, who sits beside me, has stolen hisgood wife, and Mrs. Craft has stolen her worthy husband; and ourrespected friend, Mr. Brown, has cast a covetous eye on his own person. In the name of the Temperance reformers of Edinburgh--in the name ofuniversal Scotland, I would welcome these two victims of the white man'spride, ambition, selfishness, and cupidity. I welcome them as our equalsin every respect. (Great applause. ) What a humiliating thought it willbe, surely, for our American friends on the other side of the water, when they hear (and we shall endeavour to let them hear) that the veryman whom they consider not worthy to sit in a third class carriage alongwith a white man, and that too in a district of country where the veryaristocracy deal in cheap cheese--(great applause) traffic in tallowcandles, and spend their nights and days among raw hides and trainoil--(applause)--what a humbling thought it will be for them to knowthat these very men in the centre of educated Scotland, in the midst ofeducated Edinburgh, are thought fit to hold even the first rank upon ouraristocratic platform. Let us, then, my friends, lift our voices thisevening in one swelling chorus for the down-trodden slave. Let uspublish abroad the fact to the world, that the sympathies of Scotlandare with the bondsman everywhere. Let us unite our voices to cry, Downwith the iniquitous Slave Bill!--Down with the aristocracy of theskin!--Perish forever the deepest-dyed, the hardest-hearted system ofabomination under heaven!--Perish the sum of all villanies! PerishAmerican slavery. (Great applause. )"

But I must leave the good and hospitable people of the Scottish Capitalfor the present. I have taken an elaborate stock of notes, and may speakof Edinburgh again. 

I left William and Ellen Craft (the latter of whom has just come toEdinburgh), and took the Glasgow train, and after a ride of two hoursthrough a beautiful country, with its winding hills on either side--itsfertile fields, luxuriant woods, and stately mansions lying around us, arrived in the muddy, dirty, smoky, foggy city of Glasgow. As I had hada standing invitation from a distinguished gentleman with whom I becameacquainted in London, to partake of his hospitality, should I ever visitGlasgow, and again received a note while in Edinburgh renewing theinvitation, I proceeded to his residence at Partick, three miles fromGlasgow. This is one of the loveliest spots which I have yet seen. Ourmansion is on the side of Laurel Bank, a range of the Kilpatrick hills. We have a view of the surrounding country. 

On Monday evening, Jan. 6, a public meeting was held in the City Hall, to extend a welcome to the American fugitive slaves. The hall, one ofthe largest in the kingdom, was filled at an early hour. At theappointed time, Alex. Hastie, Esq. , M. P. , entered the great room, followed by the fugitives and most of the leading abolitionists, amidrapturous applause. With a Member of Parliament in the chair, andalmost any number of clergymen on the platform, the meeting had aninfluential appearance. From report, I had imbibed the opinion that theScotch were not easily moved, but if I may judge from the enthusiasmwhich characterised the City Hall demonstration, I should place them butlittle behind the English. After an excellent speech from the Chairman, and spirited addresses from several clergymen, William Craft wasintroduced to the meeting, and gave an account of the escape of himselfand wife from slavery, and their subsequent flight from Boston. Anydescription of mine would give but a poor idea of the intense feelingthat pervaded the meeting. I think all who were there, left the hallafter hearing that noble fugitive, with a greater abhorrence of Americanslavery than they previously entertained. 

LETTER XIV. 

_Stirling--Dundee--Dr. Dick--Geo. Gilfillan--Dr. Dick at home. _

 PERTH, SCOTLAND, _Jan. 31, 1851_. 

I am glad once more to breathe an atmosphere uncontaminated by the fumesand smoke of a city with its population of three hundred thousandinhabitants. In company with our friends Wm. And Ellen Craft, I leftGlasgow on the afternoon of the 23d inst. , for Dundee, a beautiful townsituated on the banks of the river Tay. One like myself, who has spentthe best part of an eventful life in cities, and who prefers, as I do, acountry to a town life, feels a greater degree of freedom whensurrounded by forest trees, or country dwellings, and looking upon aclear sky, than when walking through the thronged thoroughfares of acity, with its dense population, meeting every moment a new or strangeface which one has never seen before, and never expects to see again. Although I had met with one of the warmest public receptions with whichI have been greeted since my arrival in the country, and had had anopportunity of shaking hands with many noble friends of the slave, whosenames I had often seen in print, yet I felt glad to see the tallchimneys and smoke of Glasgow receding in the distance, as our 'ironhorse' was taking us with almost lightning speed from the commercialcapital of Scotland. 

The distance from Glasgow to Dundee is some seventy or eighty miles, andwe passed through the finest country which I have seen in this portionof the Queen's dominions. We passed through the old town of Stirling, which lies about thirty miles distant from Glasgow, and is a place muchfrequented by those who travel for pleasure. It is built on the brow ofa hill, and the Castle from which it most probably derived its name, maybe seen from a distance. Had it not been for a "professional" engagementthe same evening at Dundee, I would most assuredly have halted to take alook at the old building. 

The Castle is situated or built on an isolated rock, which seems as ifNature had thrown it there for that purpose. It was once the retreat ofthe Scottish Kings, and famous for its historical associations. Here the"Lady of the Lake, " with the magic ring, sought the monarch to intercedefor her father; here James II. Murdered the Earl of Douglas; here thebeautiful but unfortunate Mary was made Queen; and here John Knox, theReformer, preached the coronation sermon of James VI. The Castle Hillrises from the valley of the Forth, and makes an imposing andpicturesque appearance. The windings of the noble river till lost in thedistance, present pleasing contrasts, scarcely to be surpassed. 

The speed of our train, after passing Stirling, brought before us, inquick succession, a number of fine valleys and farm houses. Every spotseemed to have been arrayed by Nature for the reception of the cottageof some happy family. During this ride, we passed many sites where thelawns were made, the terraces defined and levelled, the grovestastefully clumped, the ancient trees, though small when compared to ourgreat forest oaks, were beautifully sprinkled here and there, and ineverything the labour of art seemed to have been anticipated by Nature. Cincinnatus could not have selected a prettier situation for a farm, than some which presented themselves, during this delightful journey. Atlast we arrived at the place of our destination, where our friends werein waiting for us. 

As I have already forwarded to you a paper containing an account of theDundee meeting, I shall leave you to judge from these reports thecharacter of the demonstration. Yet I must mention a fact or twoconnected with our first evening's visit to this town. A few hours afterour arrival in the place, we were called upon by a gentleman whose nameis known wherever the English language is spoken--one whose name is onthe tongue of every student and school-boy in this country and America, and what lives upon their lips will live and be loved for ever. 

We were seated over a cup of strong tea, to revive our spirits for theevening, when our friend entered the room, accompanied by a gentleman, small in stature, and apparently seventy-five years of age, yet heappeared as active as one half that age. Feeling half drowsy from ridingin the cold, and then the sudden change to a warm fire, I was ratherinclined not to move on the entrance of the stranger. But the name ofThomas Dick, LL. D. , roused me in a moment, from my lethargy; I couldscarcely believe that I was in the presence of the "ChristianPhilosopher. " Dr. Dick is one of the men to whom the age is indebted. Inever find myself in the presence of one to whom the world owes so muchas Dr. Dick, without feeling a thrilling emotion, as if I were in theland of spirits. Dr. Dick had come to our lodgings to see andcongratulate Wm. And Ellen Craft upon their escape from the republicanChristians of the United States; and as he pressed the hand of the"white slave, " and bid her "welcome to British soil, " I saw the silenttear stealing down the cheek of this man of genius. How I wished thatthe many slaveholders and pro-slavery professed Christians of America, who have read and pondered the philosophy of this man, could have beenpresent. Thomas Dick is an abolitionist--one who is willing that theworld should know that he hates the "peculiar institution. " At themeeting that evening, Dr. Dick was among the most prominent. But thiswas not the only distinguished man who took part on that occasion. 

Another great mind was on the platform, and entered his solemn protestin a manner long to be remembered by those present. This was the Rev. George Gilfillan, well known as the author of the "Portraits of LiteraryMen. " Mr. Gilfillan is an energetic speaker, and would have been thelion of the evening, even if many others who are more distinguished asplatform orators had been present. I think it was Napoleon who said thatthe enthusiasm of others abated his own. At any rate, the spirit withwhich each speaker entered upon his duty for the evening, abated my ownenthusiasm for the time being. The last day of our stay in Dundee, Ipaid a visit, by invitation, to Dr. Dick, at his residence in the littlevillage of Broughty Ferry. We found the great astronomer in his parlourwaiting for us. From the parlour we went to the new study, and here Ifelt more at ease, for I went to see the Philosopher in his study, andnot in his drawing-room. But even this room had too much the look ofnicety to be an author's _sanctum_; and I inquired and was soon informedby Mrs. Dick, that I should have a look at the "_old study_. "

During a sojourn of eighteen months in Great Britain, I have had thegood fortune to meet with several distinguished literary characters, andhave always managed, while at their places of abode, to see the tableand favourite chair. Wm. And Ellen Craft were seeing what they could seethrough a microscope, when Mrs. Dick returned to the room, and intimatedthat we could now see the old literary workshop. I followed, and wassoon in a room about fifteen feet square, with but one window, whichoccupied one side of the room. The walls of the other three sides werelined with books. And many of these looked the very personification ofage. I took my seat in the "_old arm chair_;" and here, thought I, isthe place and the seat in which this distinguished man sat, whileweaving the radiant wreath of renown which now in his old age surroundshim, and whose labours will be more appreciated by future ages than thepresent. 

I took a farewell of the author of the "Solar System, " but not until Ihad taken a look through the great telescope in the observatory. Thisinstrument, through which I tried to see the heavens, was not the oneinvented by Galileo, but an improvement upon the original. On leavingthis learned man, he shook hands with us, and bade us "God speed" in ourmission; and I left the philosopher, feeling I had not passed an hourmore agreeably, with a literary character, since the hour which I spentwith Poet Montgomery a few months since. And, by-the-bye, there is aresemblance between the poet and the philosopher. In becoming acquaintedwith great men, I have become a convert to the opinion, that a big noseis an almost necessary appendage to the form of a man with a giantintellect. If those whom I have seen be a criterion, such is certainlythe case. But I have spun out this too long, and must close. 

LETTER XV. 

_Melrose Abbey--Abbotsford--Dryburgh Abbey--The Grave of Sir WalterScott--Hawick--Gretna Green--Visit to the Lakes. _

 YORK, _March 26, 1851_. 

I closed my last letter in the ancient town of Melrose, on the banks ofthe Tweed, and within a stone's throw of the celebrated ruins from whichthe town derives its name. The valley in which Melrose is situated, andthe surrounding hills, together with the Monastery, have so often beenmade a theme for the Scottish bards, that this has become the mostinteresting part of Scotland. Of the many gifted writers who have takenup the pen, none have done more to bring the Eildon Hills and MelroseAbbey into note, than the author of "Waverley. " But who can read hiswritings without a regret, that he should have so woven fact and fictiontogether, that it is almost impossible to discriminate between the oneand the other. 

We arrived at Melrose in the evening, and proceeded to the chapel whereour meeting was to be held, and where our friends, the Crafts, werewarmly greeted. On returning from the meeting, we passed close by theruins of Melrose, and, very fortunately, it was a moonlight night. Thereis considerable difference of opinion among the inhabitants of the placeas regards the best time to view the Abbey. The author of the "Lay ofthe Last Minstrel, " says:--

 "If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight: For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild but to flout the ruins gray. "

In consequence of this admonition, I was informed that many personsremain in town to see the ruins by moonlight. Aware that the moon didnot send its rays upon the old building every night in the year, I askedthe keeper what he did on dark nights. He replied that he had a largelantern, which he put upon the end of a long pole, and with this hesucceeded in lighting up the ruins. This good man laboured hard toconvince me that his invention was nearly, if not quite as good, asNature's own moon. But having no need of an application of his inventionto the Abbey, I had no opportunity of judging of its effect. I thought, however, that he had made a moon to some purpose, when he informed methat some nights, with his pole and lantern, he earned his four or fiveshillings. Not being content with a view by "moonlight alone, " I was upthe next morning before the sun, and paid my respects to the Abbey. Iwas too early for the keeper, and he handed me the key through thewindow, and I entered the rooms alone. It is one labyrinth of giganticarches and dilapidated halls, the ivy growing and clinging wherever itcan fasten its roots, and the whole as fine a picture of decay asimagination could create. This was the favourite resort of Sir WalterScott, and furnished him much matter for the "Lay of the Last Minstrel. "He could not have selected a more fitting place for solitary thoughtthan this ancient abode of monks and priests. In passing through thecloisters, I could not but remark the carvings of leaves and flowers, wrought in stone in the most exquisite manner, looking as fresh as ifthey were just from the hands of the artist. The lapse of centuriesseems not to have made any impression upon them, or changed theirappearance in the least. I sat down among the ruins of the Abbey. Theground about was piled up with magnificent fragments of stone, representing various texts of Scripture, and the quaint ideas of thepriests and monks of that age. Scene after scene swept through my fancyas I looked upon the surrounding objects. I could almost imagine I sawthe bearded monks going from hall to hall, and from cell to cell. Invisiting these dark cells, the mind becomes oppressed by a sense of theutter helplessness of the victims who once passed over the thresholdsand entered these religious prisons. There was no help or hope but inthe will that ordered their fate. How painful it is to gaze upon thesewalls, and to think how many tears have been shed by their inmates, whenthis old Monastery was in its glory. I ascended to the top of the ruinby a circuitous stairway, whose stone steps were worn deep from use bymany who, like myself, had visited them to gratify a curiosity. From thetop of the Abbey, I had a splendid view of the surrounding hills andthe beautiful valley through which flows the Gala Water and Tweed. Thisis unquestionably the most splendid specimen of Gothic architecturalruin in Scotland. But any description of mine conveys but a poor idea tothe fancy. To be realized, it must be seen. 

During the day, we paid a visit to Abbotsford, the splendid mansion ofthe late Sir Walter Scott, Bart. This beautiful seat is situated on thebanks of the Tweed, just below its junction with the Gala Water. It is adreary looking spot, and the house from the opposite side of the riverhas the appearance of a small, low castle. In a single day's ridethrough England, one may see half a dozen cottages larger thanAbbotsford House. I was much disappointed in finding the premisesundergoing repairs and alterations, and that all the trees between thehouse and the river had been cut down. This is to be regretted the more, because they were planted, nearly every one of them, by the same handthat waved its wand of enchantment over the world. The fountain had beenremoved from where it had been placed by the hands of the Poet to thecentre of the yard; and even a small stone that had been placed over thefavourite dog "Percy, " had been taken up and thrown among some loosestones. One visits Abbotsford because of the genius of the man that oncepresided over it. Everything connected with the great Poet is ofinterest to his admirers, and anything altered or removed, tends todiminish that interest. We entered the house, and were conducted throughthe great Hall, which is hung all round with massive armour of alldescriptions, and other memorials of ancient times. The floor is ofwhite and black marble. In passing through the hall, we entered a narrowarched room, stretching quite across the building, having a window ateach end. This little or rather narrow room is filled with all kinds ofarmour, which is arranged with great taste. We were next shown into theDining-room, whose roof is of black oak, richly carved. In this room isa painting of the head of Queen Mary, in a charger, taken the day afterthe execution. Many other interesting portraits grace the walls of thisroom. But by far the finest apartment in the building is theDrawing-room, with a lofty ceiling, and furnished with antique ebonyfurniture. After passing through the Library, with its twenty thousandvolumes, we found ourselves in the Study, and I sat down in the samechair where once sat the Poet; while before me was the table upon whichwas written the "Lady of the Lake, " "Waverley, " and other productions ofthis gifted writer. The clothes last worn by the Poet were shown to us. There was the broad skirted blue coat, with its large buttons, the plaidtrousers, the heavy shoes, the black vest and white hat. These were allin a glass case, and all looked the poet and novelist. But the inside ofthe buildings had undergone alterations as well as the outside. Inpassing through the Library, we saw a granddaughter of the Poet. She wasfrom London, and was only on a visit of a few days. She looked pale anddejected, and seemed as if she longed to leave this secluded spot andreturn to the metropolis. She looked for all the world like a hothouseplant. I don't think the Scotch could do better than to purchaseAbbotsford, while it has some imprint of the great magician, and secureits preservation; for I am sure that, a hundred years hence, no placewill be more frequently visited in Scotland than the home of the lateSir Walter Scott. After sauntering three hours about the premises, Ileft, but not without feeling that I had been well paid for my troublein visiting Abbotsford. 

In the afternoon of the same day, in company with the Crafts, I took adrive to Dryburgh Abbey. It is a ruin of little interest, except asbeing the burial place of Scott. The poet lies buried in St. Mary'sAisle. His grave is in the left transept of the cross, and close towhere the high altar formerly stood. Sir Walter Scott chose his owngrave, and he could not have selected a sunnier spot if he had roamedthe wide world over. A shaded window breaks the sun as it falls upon hisgrave. The ivy is creeping and clinging wherever it can, as if it wouldshelter the poet's grave from the weather. The author lies between hiswife and eldest son, and there is only room enough for one grave more, and the son's wife has the choice of being buried here. 

The four o'clock train took us to Hawick; and after a pleasant visit inthis place, and the people registering their names against AmericanSlavery, and the Fugitive Bill in particular, we set out for Carlisle, passing through the antique town of Langholm. After leaving the latterplace, we had to travel by coach. But no matter how one travels here, hetravels at a more rapid rate than in America. The distance from Langholmto Carlisle, twenty miles, occupied only two and a-half hours in thejourney. It was a cold day and I had to ride on the outside, as theinside had been taken up. We changed horses, and took in and put outpassengers with a rapidity which seems almost incredible. The road wasas smooth as a mirror. 

We bid farewell to Scotland, as we reached the little town of GretnaGreen. This town being on the line between England and Scotland, isnoted as the place where a little cross-eyed, red-faced blacksmith, bythe name of Priestly, first set up his own altar to Hymen, and marriedall who came to him, without regard to rank or station, and at prices tosuit all. It was worth a ride through this part of the country, if forno other purpose than to see the town where more clandestine marriageshave taken place than in any other part in the world. A ride of eight ornine miles brought us in sight of the Eden, winding its way slowlythrough a beautiful valley, with farms on either side, covered withsheep and cattle. Four very tall chimneys, sending forth dense columnsof black smoke, announced to us that we were near Carlisle. I was reallyglad of this, for Ulysses was never more tired of the shores of Ilionthan I of the top of that coach. 

We remained over night at Carlisle, partaking of the hospitality of theprince of bakers, and left the next day for the Lakes, where we had astanding invitation to pay a visit to a distinguished literary lady. Acold ride of about fifty miles brought us to the foot of LakeWindermere, a beautiful sheet of water, surrounded by mountains thatseemed to vie with each other which should approach nearest the sky. Themargin of the lake is carved out and built up into terrace aboveterrace, until the slopes and windings are lost in the snow-capped peaksof the mountains. It is not surprising that such men as Southey, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and others, resorted to this region forinspiration. After a coach ride of five miles (passing on our journeythe "Dove's Nest, " home of the late Mrs. Hemans), we were put down atthe door of the Salutation Hotel, Ambleside, and a few minutes afterfound ourselves under the roof of the authoress of "Society in America. "I know not how it is with others, but for my own part, I always form anopinion of the appearance of an author whose writings I am at allfamiliar with, or a statesman whose speeches I have read. I had picturedin my own mind a tall, stately-looking lady of about sixty years, as theauthoress of "Travels in the East, " and for once I was right, with thesingle exception that I had added on too many years by twelve. Theevening was spent in talking about the United States; and William Crafthad to go through the narrative of his escape from slavery. When Iretired for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep. The ideathat I was under the roof of the authoress of "The Hour and the Man, "and that I was on the banks of the sweetest lake in Great Britain, within half a mile of the residence of the late poet Wordsworth, drovesleep from my pillow. But I must leave an account of my visit to theLakes for a future letter. 

When I look around and see the happiness here, even among the poorerclasses, and that too in a country where the soil is not at all to becompared with our own, I mourn for our down-trodden countrymen, who areplundered, oppressed, and made chattels of, to enable an ostentatiousaristocracy to vie with each other in splendid extravagance. 

LETTER XVI. 

_Miss Martineau--"The Knoll"--"Ridal Mount"--"The Dove's Nest"--Grave ofWilliam Wordsworth, Esq. --The English Peasant. _

 _May 30, 1851_. 

A series of public meetings, one pressing close upon the heel ofanother, must be an apology for my six or eight weeks' silence. But Ihope that no temporary suspense on my part will be construed into a wantof interest in our cause, or a wish to desist from giving occasionally ascrap (such as it is) to the _North Star_. 

My last letter left me under the hospitable roof of Harriet Martineau. Ihad long had an invitation to visit this distinguished friend of ourrace, and as the invitation was renewed during my tour through theNorth, I did not feel disposed to decline it, and thereby lose sofavourable an opportunity of meeting with one who had written so much inbehalf of the oppressed of our land. About a mile from the head of LakeWindermere, and immediately under Wonsfell, and encircled by mountainson all sides, except the south-west, lies the picturesque little town ofAmbleside, and the brightest spot in the place is "The Knoll, " theresidence of Miss Martineau. 

We reached "The Knoll" a little after nightfall, and a cordial shake ofthe hand by Miss M. , who was waiting for us, soon assured us that we hadmet with a warm friend. 

It is not my intention to lay open the scenes of domestic life at "TheKnoll, " nor to describe the social parties of which my friends and Iwere partakers during our sojourn within the hospitable walls of thisdistinguished writer; but the name of Miss M. Is so intimately connectedwith the Anti-slavery movement, by her early writings, and those havebeen so much admired by the friends of the slave in the United States, that I deem it not at all out of place for me to give the readers of the_North Star_ some idea of the authoress of "Political Economy, " "Travelsin the East, " "The Hour and the Man, " &c. 

The dwelling is a cottage of moderate size, built after Miss M. 's ownplan, upon a rise of land from which it derives the name of "The Knoll. "The Library is the largest room in the building, and upon the walls ofit were hung some beautiful engravings and a continental map. On a longtable which occupied the centre of the room, were the busts ofShakspere, Newton, Milton, and a few other literary characters of thepast. One side of the room was taken up with a large case, filled with achoice collection of books, and everything indicated that it was thehome of genius and of taste. 

The room usually occupied by Miss M. , and where we found her on theevening of our arrival, is rather small and lighted by two largewindows. The walls of this room were also decorated with prints andpictures, and on the mantle-shelf were some models in _terra cottia_ ofItalian groups. On a circular table lay casts, medallions, and some verychoice water-colour drawings. Under the south window stood a small tablecovered with newly opened letters, a portfolio and several new books, with here and there a page turned down, and one with a paper knifebetween its leaves as if it had only been half read. I took up the lastmentioned, and it proved to be the "Life and Poetry of HartlyColeridge, " son of S. T. Coleridge. It was just from the press, and had, a day or two before, been forwarded to her by the publisher. Miss M. Isvery deaf and always carries in her left hand a trumpet; and I was not alittle surprised on learning from her that she had never enjoyed thesense of smell, and only on one occasion the sense of taste, and thatfor a single moment. Miss M. Is loved with a sort of idolatry by thepeople of Ambleside, and especially the poor, to whom she gives acourse of lectures every winter gratuitously. She finished her lastcourse the day before our arrival. She was much pleased with EllenCraft, and appeared delighted with the story of herself and husband'sescape from slavery, as related by the latter--during the recital ofwhich I several times saw the silent tear stealing down her cheek, andwhich she tried in vain to hide from us. 

When Craft had finished, she exclaimed, "I would that every woman in theBritish Empire, could hear that tale as I have, so that they might knowhow their own sex was treated in that boasted land of liberty. " It seemsstrange to the people of this county, that one so white and so lady-likeas Mrs. Craft, should have been a slave and forced to leave the land ofher nativity and seek an asylum in a foreign country. The morning afterour arrival, I took a stroll by a circuitous pathway to the top ofLoughrigg Fell. At the foot of the mount I met a peasant, who verykindly offered to lend me his donkey, upon which to ascend the mountain. Never having been upon the back of one of these long eared animals, Ifelt some hesitation about trusting myself upon so diminutive looking acreature. But being assured that if I would only resign myself to hiscare and let him have his own way, I would be perfectly safe, I mounted, and off we set. We had, however, scarcely gone fifty rods, when, inpassing over a narrow part of the path and overlooking a deep chasm, oneof the hind feet of the donkey slipped, and with an involuntary shudder, I shut my eyes to meet my expected doom; but fortunately the littlefellow gained his foothold, and in all probability saved us both from apremature death. After we had passed over this dangerous place, Idismounted, and as soon as my feet had once more gained _terra firma_, Iresolved that I would never again yield my own judgment to that of anyone, not even to a donkey. 

It seems as if Nature has amused herself in throwing these mountainstogether. From the top of the Loughrigg Fell, the eye loses its power ingazing upon the objects below. On our left, lay Rydal Mount, thebeautiful seat of the late poet Wordsworth. While to the right, and awayin the dim distance, almost hidden by the native trees, was the cottagewhere once resided Mrs. Hemans. And below us lay Windermere, lookingmore like a river than a lake, and which, if placed by the side of ourown Ontario, Erie or Huron, would be lost in the fog. But here it looksbeautiful in the extreme, surrounded as it is by a range of mountainsthat have no parallel in the United States for beauty. Amid a sun ofuncommon splendour, dazzling the eye with the reflection upon the waterbelow, we descended into the valley, and I was soon again seated by thefireside of our hospitable hostess. In the afternoon of the same day, wetook a drive to the "Dove's Nest, " the home of the late Mrs. Hemans. 

We did not see the inside of the house, on account of its being occupiedby a very eccentric man, who will not permit a woman to enter the house, and it is said that he has been known to run when a female hadunconsciously intruded herself upon his premises. And as our company wasin part composed of ladies, we had to share their fate, and thereforewere prevented from seeing the interior of the Dove's Nest. Theexhibitor of such a man would be almost sure of a prize at the greatExhibition. 

At the head of Grassmere Lake, and surrounded by a few cottages, standsan old gray, antique-looking Parish Church, venerable with the lapse ofcenturies, and the walls partly covered with ivy, and in the rear ofwhich is the parish burial-ground. After leaving the Dove's Nest, andhaving a pleasant ride over the hills and between the mountains, andjust as the sun was disappearing behind them, we arrived at the gate ofGrassmere Church; and alighting and following Miss M. , we soon foundourselves standing over a grave, marked by a single stone, and that, too, very plain, with a name deeply cut. This announced to us that wewere standing over the grave of William Wordsworth. He chose his owngrave, and often visited the spot before his death. He lies in the mostsequestered spot in the whole grounds, and the simplicity and beauty ofthe place was enough to make one in love with it, to be laid so far fromthe bustle of the world, and in so sweet a place. The more one becomesacquainted with the literature of the old world, the more he must loveher poets. Among the teachers of men, none are more worthy of study thanthe poets; and, as teachers, they should receive far more credit than isyielded to them. No one can look back upon the lives of Dante, Shakspere, Milton, Goethe, Cowper, and many others that we might name, without being reminded of the sacrifices which they made for mankind, and which were not appreciated until long after their deaths. We needlook no farther than our own country to find men and women wielding thepen practically and powerfully for the right. It is acknowledged on allhands in this country, that England has the greatest dead poets, andAmerica the greatest living ones. The poet and the true Christian havealike a hidden life. Worship is the vital element of each. Poetry has init that kind of utility which good men find in their Bible, rather thansuch convenience as bad men often profess to draw from it. It ennoblesthe sentiments, enlarges the affections, kindles the imagination, andgives to us the enjoyment of a life in the past, and in the future, aswell as in the present. Under its light and warmth, we wake from ourtorpidity and coldness, to a sense of our capabilities. This impulseonce given, a great object is gained. Schiller has truly said, "Poetrycan be to a man, what love is to a hero. It can neither counsel him norsmite him, nor perform any labour for him, but it can bring him up to bea hero, can summon him to deeds, and arm him with strength for all heought to be. " I have often read with pleasure the sweet poetry of ourown Whitfield of Buffalo, which has appeared from time to time in thecolumns of the _North Star_. I have always felt ashamed of the fact thathe should be compelled to wield the razor instead of the pen for aliving. Meaner poets than James M. Whitfield, are now living by theircompositions; and were he a white man he would occupy a differentposition. 

After remaining a short time, and reading the epitaphs of the departed, we again returned to "The Knoll. " Nothing can be more imposing than thebeauty of English park scenery, and especially in the vicinity of thelakes. Magnificent lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green, withhere and there a sprinkling of fine trees, heaping up rich piles offoliage, and then the forests with the hare, the deer, and the rabbit, bounding away to the covert, or the pheasant suddenly bursting upon thewing--the artificial stream, the brook taught to wind in naturalmeanderings, or expand into the glassy lake, with the yellow leafsleeping upon its bright waters, and occasionally a rustic temple orsylvan statue grown green and dark with age, give an air of sanctity andpicturesque beauty to English scenery that is unknown in the UnitedStates. The very labourer with his thatched cottage and narrow slip ofground-plot before the door, the little flower-bed, the woodbine trimmedagainst the wall, and hanging its blossoms about the windows, and thepeasant seen trudging home at nightfall with the avails of the toil ofthe day upon his back--all this tells us of the happiness both of richand poor in this country. And yet there are those who would have theworld believe that the labourer of England is in a far worse conditionthan the slaves of America. Such persons know nothing of the realcondition of the working classes of this country. At any rate, the poorhere, as well as the rich, are upon a level, as far as the laws of thecountry are concerned. The more one becomes acquainted with the Englishpeople, the more one has to admire them. They are so different from thepeople of our own country. Hospitality, frankness, and good humour, arealways to be found in an Englishman. After a ramble of three days aboutthe lakes, we mounted the coach, bidding Miss Martineau farewell, andquitted the lake district. 

LETTER XVII. 

_A Day in the Crystal Palace. _

 LONDON, _June 27th, 1851_. 

Presuming that you will expect from me some account of the great World'sFair, I take my pen to give you my own impressions, although I am afraidthat anything which I may say about this "Lion of the day, " will fallfar short of a description. On Monday last, I quitted my lodgings at anearly hour, and started for the Crystal Palace. This day was fine, suchas we seldom experience in London, with a clear sky, and invigoratingair, whose vitality was as rousing to the spirits as a blast from the"horn of Astolpho. " Although it was not yet 10 o'clock when I enteredPiccadilly, every omnibus was full, inside and out, and the street waslined with one living stream, as far as the eye could reach, all wendingtheir way to the "Glass-House. " No metropolis in the world presents suchfacilities as London for the reception of the Great Exhibition, nowcollected within its walls. Throughout its myriads of veins, the streamof industry and toil pulses with sleepless energy. Every one seems tofeel that this great Capital of the world, is the fittest place whereinthey might offer homage to the dignity of toil. I had already begun tofeel fatigued by my pedestrian excursion as I passed "Apsley House, " theresidence of the Duke of Wellington, and emerged into Hyde Park. 

I had hoped that on getting into the Park, I would be out of the crowdthat seemed to press so heavily in the street. But in this I wasmistaken. I here found myself surrounded by and moving with anoverwhelming mass, such as I had never before witnessed. And, away inthe distance, I beheld a dense crowd, and above every other object, wasseen the lofty summit of the Crystal Palace. The drive in the Park waslined with princely-looking vehicles of every description. The driversin their bright red and gold uniforms, the pages and footmen in theirblue trousers and white silk stockings, and the horses dressed up intheir neat, silver-mounted harness, made the scene altogether one ofgreat splendour. I was soon at the door, paid my shilling, and enteredthe building at the south end of the Transept. For the first ten ortwenty minutes I was so lost in astonishment, and absorbed in pleasingwonder, that I could do nothing but gaze up and down the vista of thenoble building. The Crystal Palace resembles in some respects, theinterior of the cathedrals of this country. One long avenue from east towest is intersected by a Transept, which divides the building into twonearly equal parts. This is the greatest building the world ever saw, before which the Pyramids of Egypt, and the Colossus of Rhodes musthide their diminished heads. The palace was not full at any time duringthe day, there being only 64, 000 persons present. Those who love tostudy the human countenance in all its infinite varieties, can findample scope for the indulgence of their taste, by a visit to the World'sFair. All countries are there represented--Europeans, Asiatics, Americans and Africans, with their numerous subdivisions. Even theexclusive Chinese, with his hair braided, and hanging down his back, hasleft the land of his nativity, and is seen making long strides throughthe Crystal Palace, in his wooden-bottomed shoes. Of all places ofcurious costumes and different fashions, none has ever yet presentedsuch a variety as this Exhibition. No dress is too absurd to be worn inthis place. 

There is a great deal of freedom in the Exhibition. The servant whowalks behind his mistress through the Park feels that he can crowdagainst her in the Exhibition. The Queen and the day labourer, thePrince and the merchant, the peer and the pauper, the Celt and theSaxon, the Greek and the Frank, the Hebrew and the Russ, all meet hereupon terms of perfect equality. This amalgamation of rank, this kindlyblending of interests, and forgetfulness of the cold formalities ofranks and grades, cannot but be attended with the very best results. Iwas pleased to see such a goodly sprinkling of my own countrymen in theExhibition--I mean coloured men and women--well-dressed, and movingabout with their fairer brethren. This, some of our pro-slaveryAmericans did not seem to relish very well. There was no help for it. AsI walked through the American part of the Crystal Palace, some of ourVirginian neighbours eyed me closely and with jealous looks, especiallyas an English lady was leaning on my arm. But their sneering looks didnot disturb me in the least. I remained the longer in their department, and criticised the bad appearance of their goods the more. Indeed, theAmericans, as far as appearance goes, are behind every other country inthe Exhibition. The "Greek Slave" is the only production of Art whichthe United States has sent. And it would have been more to their credithad they kept that at home. In so vast a place as the Great Exhibitionone scarcely knows what to visit first, or what to look upon last. Afterwandering about through the building for five hours, I sat down in oneof the galleries and looked at the fine marble statue of Virginius, withthe knife in his hand and about to take the life of his beloved andbeautiful daughter, to save her from the hands of Appius Claudius. Theadmirer of genius will linger for hours among the great variety ofstatues in the long avenue. Large statues of Lords Eldon and Stowell, carved out of solid marble, each weighing above twenty tons, are amongthe most gigantic in the building. 

I was sitting with my 400 paged guide-book before me, and looking downupon the moving mass, when my attention was called to a small group ofgentlemen standing near the statue of Shakspere, one of whom wore awhite coat and hat, and had flaxen hair, and trousers rather short inthe legs. The lady by my side, and who had called my attention to thegroup, asked if I could tell what country this odd-looking gentleman wasfrom? Not wishing to run the risk of a mistake, I was about decliningto venture an opinion, when the reflection of the sun against a mirror, on the opposite side, threw a brilliant light upon the group, andespecially on the face of the gentleman in the white coat, and Iimmediately recognized under the brim of the white hat, the features ofHorace Greeley, Esq. , of the New York "Tribune. " His general appearancewas as much out of the English style as that of the Turk whom I had seenbut a moment before--in his bag-like trousers, shuffling along in hisslippers. But oddness in dress, is one of the characteristics of theGreat Exhibition. 

Among the many things in the Crystal Palace, there are some whichreceive greater attention than others, around which may always be seenlarge groups of the visitors. The first of these is the Koh-i-noor, the"Mountain of Light. " This is the largest and most valuable diamond inthe world, said to be worth £2, 000, 000 sterling. It is indeed a greatsource of attraction to those who go to the Exhibition for the firsttime, but it is doubtful whether it obtains such admiration afterwards. We saw more than one spectator turn away with the idea that after allit was only a piece of glass. After some jamming, I got a look at theprecious jewel, and although in a brass-grated cage, strong enough tohold a lion, I found it to be no larger than the third of a hen's egg. Two policemen remain by its side day and night. 

The finest thing in the Exhibition, is the "Veiled Vestal, " a statue ofa woman carved in marble, with a veil over her face, and so neatly done, that it looks as if it had been thrown over after it was finished. TheExhibition presents many things which appeal to the eye and touch theheart, and altogether, it is so decorated and furnished, as to excitethe dullest mind, and satisfy the most fastidious. 

England has contributed the most useful and substantial articles;France, the most beautiful; while Russia, Turkey, and the West Indies, seem to vie with each other in richness. China and Persia are notbehind. Austria has also contributed a rich and beautiful stock. Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and the smaller states of Europe, have all tried tooutdo themselves in sending goods to the World's Fair. In Machinery, England has no competitor. In Art, France is almost alone in theExhibition, setting aside England. 

In natural productions and provisions, America stands alone in herglory. There lies her pile of canvassed hams; whether they were wood orreal, we could not tell. There are her barrels of salt, beef, and pork, her beautiful white lard, her Indian-corn and corn-meal, her rice andtobacco, her beef tongues, dried peas, and a few bags of cotton. Thecontributors from the United States seemed to have forgotten that thiswas an exhibition of Art, or they most certainly would not have sentprovisions. But the United States takes the lead in the contributions, as no other country has sent in provisions. The finest thing contributedby our countrymen, is a large piece of silk with an eagle painted uponit, surrounded by stars and stripes. 

After remaining more than five hours in the great temple, I turned myback upon the richly laden stalls and left the Crystal Palace. On myreturn home I was more fortunate than in the morning, inasmuch as Ifound a seat for my friend and myself in an omnibus. And even my ridein the close omnibus was not without interest. For I had scarcely takenmy seat, when my friend, who was seated opposite me, with looks andgesture informed me that we were in the presence of some distinguishedperson. I eyed the countenances of the different persons, but in vain, to see if I could find any one who by his appearance showed signs ofsuperiority over his fellow-passengers. I had given up the hope ofselecting the person of note when another look from my friend directedmy attention to a gentlemen seated in the corner of the omnibus. He wasa tall man with strongly marked features, hair dark and coarse. Therewas a slight stoop of the shoulder--that bend which is almost always acharacteristic of studious men. But he wore upon his countenance aforbidding and disdainful frown, that seemed to tell one that he thoughthimself better than those about him. His dress did not indicate a man ofhigh rank; and had we been in America, I would have taken him for anOhio farmer. 

While I was scanning the features and general appearance of thegentleman, the Omnibus stopped and put down three or four of thepassengers, which gave me an opportunity of getting a seat by the sideof my friend, who, in a low whisper, informed me that the gentleman whomI had been eyeing so closely, was no less a person than Thomas Carlyle. I had read his "Hero-worship, " and "Past and Present, " and had formed ahigh opinion of his literary abilities. But his recent attack upon theemancipated people of the West Indies, and his laborious article infavour of the re-establishment of the lash and slavery, had created inmy mind a dislike for the man, and I almost regretted that we were inthe same Omnibus. In some things, Mr. Carlyle is right: but in many, heis entirely wrong. As a writer, Mr. Carlyle is often monotonous andextravagant. He does not exhibit a new view of nature, or raiseinsignificant objects into importance, but generally takes commonplacethoughts and events, and tries to express them in stronger and statelierlanguage than others. He holds no communion with his kind, but standsalone without mate or fellow. He is like a solitary peak, all access towhich is cut off. He exists not by sympathy but by antipathy. Mr. Carlyle seems chiefly to try how he shall display his own powers, andastonish mankind, by starting new trains of speculation or by expressingold ones so as not to be understood. He cares little what he says, so ashe can say it differently from others. To read his works, is one thing;to understand them, is another. If any one thinks that I exaggerate, lethim sit for an hour over "Sartor Resartus, " and if he does not rise fromits pages, place his three or four dictionaries on the shelf, and say Iam right, I promise never again to say a word against Thomas Carlyle. Hewrites one page in favour of Reform, and ten against it. He would hangall prisoners to get rid of them, yet the inmates of the prisons and"work-houses are better off than the poor. " His heart is with the poor;yet the blacks of the West Indies should be taught, that if they willnot raise sugar and cotton by their own free will, "Quashy should havethe whip applied to him. " He frowns upon the Reformatory speakers uponthe boards of Exeter Hall, yet he is the prince of reformers. He hatesheroes and assassins, yet Cromwell was an angel, and Charlotte Corday asaint. He scorns everything, and seems to be tired of what he is bynature, and tries to be what he is not. But you will ask, what hasThomas Carlyle to do with a visit to the Crystal Palace? My only replyis, "Nothing, " and if my remarks upon him have taken up the space thatshould have been devoted to the Exhibition, and what I have written notprove too burdensome to read, my next will be "a week in the CrystalPalace. "

LETTER XVIII. 

_The London Peace Congress--Meeting of Fugitive Slaves--TemperanceDemonstration--The Great Exhibition: last visit. _

 LONDON, _August 20_. 

The past six weeks have been of a stirring nature in this greatmetropolis. It commenced with the Peace Congress, the proceedings ofwhich have long since reached you. And although that event has passedoff, it may not be out of place here to venture a remark or two upon itsdeliberations. 

A meeting upon the subject of Peace, with the support of the monied andinfluential men who rally around the Peace standard, could scarcely havebeen held in Exeter Hall without creating some sensation. From all partsof the world flocked delegates to this practical protest against war. And among those who took part in the proceedings, were many men whosenames alone would, even on ordinary occasions, have filled the greathall. The speakers were chosen from among the representatives of thevarious countries, without regard to dialect or complexion; and the onlyfault which seemed to be found with the Committee's arrangement was, that in their desire to get foreigners and Londoners, they forgot thecountry delegates, so that none of the large provincial towns were atall represented in the Congress, so far as speaking was concerned. Manchester, Leeds, Newcastle, and all the important towns in Scotlandand Ireland, were silenced in the great meeting. I need not say thatthis was an oversight of the Committee, and one, too, that has done someinjury. Such men as the able Chairman of the late Anti-Corn Law League, cannot be forgotten in such a meeting, without giving offence to thosewho sent him, especially when the Committee brought forward, day afterday, the same speakers, chosen from amongst the metropolitan delegation. However, the meeting was a glorious one, and will long be rememberedwith delight as a step onward in the cause of Peace. Burritt'sBrotherhood Bazaar followed close upon the heels of the Peace Congress;and this had scarcely closed, when that ever-memorable meeting of theAmerican Fugitive Slaves took place in the Hall of Commerce. 

The Temperance people made the next reformatory move. This meeting tookplace in Exeter Hall, and was made up of delegates from the varioustowns in the kingdom. They had come from the North, East, West, andSouth. There was the quick-spoken son of the Emerald Isle, with hispledge suspended from his neck; there, too, the Scot, speaking his broaddialect; also the representatives from the provincial towns of Englandand Wales, who seemed to speak anything but good English. 

The day after the meeting had closed in Exeter Hall, the countrysocieties, together with those of the metropolis, assembled in HydePark, and then walked to the Crystal Palace. Their number while going tothe Exhibition, was variously estimated at from 15, 000 to 20, 000, andwas said to have been the largest gathering of Teetotalers everassembled in London. They consisted chiefly of the working classes, their wives and children--clean, well-dressed and apparently happy:their looks indicating in every way those orderly habits which, beyondquestion, distinguish the devotees of that cause above the commonlabourers of this country. On arriving at the Exhibition, they soondistributed themselves among the departments, to revel in its variouswonders, eating their own lunch, and drinking from the Crystal Fountain. 

And now I am at the world's wonder, I will remain here until I finishthis sheet. I have spent fifteen days in the Exhibition, and haveconversed with those who have spent double that number amongst itsbeauties, and the general opinion appears to be, that six months wouldnot be too long to remain within its walls to enable one to examine itsladen stalls. Many persons make the Crystal Palace their home, with theexception of night. I have seen them come in the morning, visit thedressing-room, then go to the refreshment room, and sit down tobreakfast as if they had been at their hotel. Dinner and tea would betaken in turn. 

The Crystal Fountain is the great place of meeting in the Exhibition. There you may see husbands looking for lost wives, wives for stolenhusbands, mothers for their lost children, and towns-people for theircountry friends; and unless you have an appointment at a certain placeat an hour, you might as well prowl through the streets of London tofind a friend, as in the Great Exhibition. There is great beauty in the"Glass House. " Here, in the transept, with the glorious sunlight comingthrough that wonderful glass roof, may the taste be cultivated andimproved, the mind edified, and the feelings chastened. Here, surrounded by noble creations in marble and bronze, and in the midst ofan admiring throng, one may gaze at statuary which might fitly decoratethe house of the proudest prince in Christendom. 

He who takes his station in the gallery, at either end, and looks uponthat wondrous nave, or who surveys the matchless panorama around himfrom the intersection of the nave and transept, may be said, withoutpresumption or exaggeration, to see all the kingdoms of this world andthe glory of them. He sees not only a greater collection of finearticles, but also a greater as well as more various assemblage of thehuman race, than ever before was gathered under one roof. 

One of the beauties of this great international gathering is, that it isnot confined to rank or grade. The million toilers from mine, andfactory, and workshop, and loom, and office, and field, share with theirmore wealthy neighbours the feast of reason and imagination spread outin the Crystal Palace. 

It is strange indeed to see so many nations assembled and representedon one spot of British ground. In short, it is one great theatre, withthousands of performers, each playing his own part. England is there, with her mighty engines toiling and whirring, indefatigable in herenterprises to shorten labour. India spreads her glitter and paint. France, refined and fastidious, is there every day, giving the lasttouch to her picturesque group; and the other countries, each in theirturn, doing what they can to show off. The distant hum of thousands ofgood humoured people, with occasionally a national anthem from somegigantic organ, together with the noise of the machinery, seems to sendlife into every part of the Crystal Palace. 

When you get tired of walking, you can sit down and write yourimpressions, and there is the "post" to receive your letter, or if it beFriday or Saturday, you may, if you choose, rest yourself by hearing alecture from Professor Anstead; and then before leaving take your lastlook, and see something that you have not before seen. Every thing whichis old in cities, new in colonial life, splendid in courts, useful inindustry, beautiful in nature, or ingenious in invention, is thererepresented. In one place we have the Bible translated into one hundredand fifty languages; in another, we have saints and archbishops paintedon glass; in another, old palaces and the altars of a John Knox, aBaxter, or some other divines of olden time. In the old Temple ofDelphi, we read that every state of the civilized world had its separatetreasury, where Herodotus, born two thousand years before his time, sawand observed all kinds of prodigies in gold and silver, brass and iron, and even in linen. The nations all met there on one common ground, andthe peace of the earth was not a little promoted by their commoninterest in the sanctity and splendour of that shrine. As long as theExhibition lasts, and its memory endures, we hope and trust that it mayshed the same influence. With this hasty scrap, I take leave of theGreat Exhibition. 

LETTER XIX. 

_Oxford--Martyrs' Monument--Cost of the Burning of the Martyrs--TheColleges--Dr. Pusey--Energy, the Secret of Success. _

 OXFORD, _September 10th, 1851_. 

I have just finished a short visit to the far famed city of Oxford, which has not unaptly been styled the City of Palaces. Aside from thisbeing one of the principal seats of learning in the world, it isdistinguished alike for its religious and political changes in timespast. At one time it was the seat of Popery; at another, theuncompromising enemy of Rome. Here the tyrant, Richard the Third, heldhis court, and when James the First, and his son Charles the First, found their capital too hot to hold them, they removed to their loyalcity of Oxford. The writings of the great Republicans were herecommitted to the flames. At one time Popery sent Protestants to thestake and faggot; at another, a Papist King found no favour with thepeople. A noble monument now stands where Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, proclaimed their sentiments and faith, and sealed them with their blood. And now we read upon the Town Treasurer's book--for three loads of wood, one load of faggots, one post, two chains and staples, to burn Ridleyand Latimer, £1 5s. 1d. Such is the information one gets by looking overthe records of books written three centuries ago. 

It was a beautiful day on which I arrived at Oxford, and instead ofremaining in my hotel, I sallied forth to take a survey of the beautiesof the city. I strolled into Christ Church Meadows, and there spent theevening in viewing the numerous halls of learning which surround thatsplendid promenade. And fine old buildings they are: centuries haverolled over many of them, hallowing the old walls, and making them greywith age. They have been for ages the chosen homes of piety andphilosophy. Heroes and scholars have gone forth from their studies here, into the great field of the world, to seek their fortunes, and toconquer and be conquered. As I surveyed the exterior of the differentColleges, I could here and there see the reflection of the light fromthe window of some student, who was busy at his studies, or throwingaway his time over some trashy novel, too many of which find their wayinto the trunks or carpet bags of the young men on setting out forCollege. As I looked upon the walls of these buildings, I thought as therough stone is taken from the quarry to the finisher, there to be madeinto an ornament, so was the young mind brought here to be cultivatedand developed. Many a poor unobtrusive young man, with the appearance oflittle or no ability, is here moulded into a hero, a scholar, a tyrant, or a friend of humanity. I never look upon these monuments of education, without a feeling of regret, that so few of our own race can find aplace within their walls. And this being the fact, I see more and morethe need of our people being encouraged to turn their attention moreseriously to self-education, and thus to take a respectable positionbefore the world, by virtue of their own cultivated minds and moralstanding. 

Education, though obtained by a little at a time, and that, too, overthe midnight lamp, will place its owner in a position to be respectedby all, even though he be black. I know that the obstacles which thelaws of the land, and of society, place between the coloured man andeducation in the United States, are very great, yet if _one_ can breakthrough these barriers, more can; and if our people would only place theright appreciation upon education, they would find these obstacles areeasier to be overcome than at first sight appears. A young man onceasked Carlyle, what was the secret of success. His reply was, "Energy;whatever you undertake, do it with all your might. " Had it not been forthe possession of energy, I might now have been working as a servant forsome brainless fellow who might be able to command my labour with hismoney, or I might have been yet toiling in chains and slavery. Butthanks to energy, not only for my being to-day in a land of freedom, butalso for my dear girls being in one of the best seminaries in France, instead of being in an American school, where the finger of scorn wouldbe pointed at them by those whose superiority rests entirely upon theirhaving a whiter skin. But I am straying too far from the purpose ofthis letter. 

Oxford is indeed one of the finest located places in the kingdom, andevery inch of ground about it seems hallowed by interestingassociations. The University, founded by the good King Alfred, stillthrows its shadow upon the side-walk; and the lapse of ten centuriesseems to have made but little impression upon it. Other seats oflearning may be entitled to our admiration, but Oxford claims ourveneration. Although the lateness of the night compelled me, yet I feltan unwillingness to tear myself from the scene of such surpassinginterest. Few places in any country as noted as Oxford is, but what hassome distinguished person residing within its precincts. And knowingthat the City of Palaces was not an exception to this rule, I resolvedto see some of its lions. Here, of course, is the head quarters of theBishop of Oxford, a son of the late William Wilberforce, Africa's noblechampion. I should have been glad to have seen this distinguished pillarof the Church, but I soon learned that the Bishop's residence was out oftown, and that he seldom visited the city except on business. I thendetermined to see one who, although a lesser dignitary in the church, isnevertheless, scarcely less known than the Bishop of Oxford. This wasthe Rev. Dr. Pusey, a divine, whose name is known wherever the religionof Jesus is known and taught, and the acknowledged head of thePuseyites. On the second morning of my visit, I proceeded to ChristChurch Chapel, where the rev. Gentleman officiates. Fortunately I had anopportunity of seeing the Dr. , and following close in his footsteps tothe church. His personal appearance is anything but that of one who isthe leader of a growing and powerful party in the church. He is ratherunder the middle size, and is round shouldered, or rather stoops. Hisprofile is more striking than his front face, the nose being very largeand prominent. As a matter of course, I expected to see a large nose, for all great men have them. He has a thoughtful, and somewhat sullenbrow, a firm and somewhat pensive mouth, a cheek pale, thin, and deeplyfurrowed. A monk fresh from the cloisters of Tintern Abbey, in itsproudest days, could scarcely have made a more ascetic and solemnappearance than did Dr. Pusey on this occasion. He is not apparentlyabove forty-five, or at most fifty years of age, and his whole aspectrenders him an admirable study for an artist. Dr. Pusey's style ofpreaching is cold and tame, and one looking at him would scarcelybelieve that such an apparently uninteresting man could cause such aneruption in the Church as he has. I was glad to find that a colouredyoung man was among the students at Oxford. 

A few months since, I paid a visit to our countryman, Alexander Crummel, who is still pursuing his studies at Cambridge--a place, though muchinferior to Oxford as far as appearance is concerned, is yet said to begreatly its superior as a place of learning. In an hour's walk throughthe Strand, Regent, or Piccadilly Streets in London, one may meet half adozen coloured young men, who are inmates of the various Colleges in themetropolis. These are all signs of progress in the cause of the sons ofAfrica. Then let our people take courage, and with that courage let themapply themselves to learning. A determination to excel is the sure roadto greatness, and that is as open to the black man as the white. It wasthat which has accomplished the mightiest and noblest triumphs in theintellectual and physical world. It was that which has made such rapidstrides towards civilization, and broken the chains of ignorance andsuperstition, which have so long fettered the human intellect. It wasdetermination which raised so many worthy individuals from the humblewalks of society, and from poverty, and placed them in positions oftrust and renown. It is no slight barrier that can effectually opposethe determination of the will--success must ultimately crown itsefforts. "The world shall hear of me, " was the exclamation of one whosename has become as familiar as household words. A Toussaint, oncelaboured in the sugar field with his spelling-book in his pocket, amidthe combined efforts of a nation to keep him in ignorance. His name isnow recorded among the list of statesmen of the past. A Soulouque wasonce a slave, and knew not how to read. He now sits upon the throne ofan Empire. 

In our own country, there are men who once held the plough, and thattoo without any compensation, who are now presiding at the editor'stable. It was determination that brought out the genius of a Franklin, and a Fulton, and that has distinguished many of the American Statesmen, who but for their energy and determination would never have had a namebeyond the precincts of their own homes. 

It is not always those who have the best advantages, or the greatesttalents, that eventually succeed in their undertakings; but it is thosewho strive with untiring diligence to remove all obstacles to success, and who, with unconquerable resolution, labour on until the rich rewardof perseverance is within their grasp. Then again let me say to ouryoung men--Take courage; "There is a good time coming. " The darkness ofthe night appears greatest just before the dawn of day. 

LETTER XX. 

_Fugitive Slaves in England. _

The love of freedom is one of those natural impulses of the human breastwhich cannot be extinguished. Even the brute animals of the creationfeel and show sorrow and affection when deprived of their liberty. Therefore is a distinguished writer justified in saying, "Man is free, even were he born in chains. " The Americans boast, and justly, too, thatWashington was the hero and model patriot of the AmericanRevolution--the man whose fame, unequalled in his own day and country, will descend to the end of time, the pride and honour of humanity. TheAmerican speaks with pride of the battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill;and when standing in Faneuil Hall, he points to the portraits of Otis, Adams, Hancock, Quincy, Warren, and Franklin, and tells you that theirnames will go down to posterity among the world's most devoted andpatriotic friends of human liberty. 

It was on the first of August, 1851, that a number of men, fugitivesfrom that boasted land of freedom, assembled at the Hall of Commerce inthe City of London, for the purpose of laying their wrongs before theBritish nation, and at the same time, to give thanks to the God ofFreedom for the liberation of their West India brethren, on the first ofAugust, 1834. Little notice had been given of the intended meeting, yetit seemed to be known in all parts of the city. At the hour of half-pastseven, for which the meeting had been called, the spacious hall was wellfilled, and the fugitives, followed by some of the most noted EnglishAbolitionists, entered the hall, amid the most deafening applause, andtook their seats on the platform. The appearance of the great hall atthis juncture was most splendid. Besides the committee of fugitives, onthe platform there were a number of the oldest and most devoted of theSlave's friends. On the left of the chair sat Geo. Thompson, Esq. , M. P. ;near him was the Rev. Jabez Burns, D. D. ; and by his side the Rev. JohnStevenson, M. A. , Wm. Farmer, Esq. , R. Smith, Esq. ; while on the otherside were the Rev. Edward Mathews, John Cunliff, Esq. , Andrew Paton, Esq. , J. P. Edwards, Esq. , and a number of coloured gentlemen from theWest Indies. The body of the hall was not without its distinguishedguests. The Chapmans and Westons of Boston, U. S. , were there. TheEstlins and Tribes had come all the way from Bristol to attend the greatmeeting. The Patons of Glasgow had delayed their departure, so as to bepresent. The Massies had come in from Upper Clapton. Not far from theplatform sat Sir Francis Knowles, Bart. , still farther back was SamuelBowly, Esq. , while near the door were to be seen the greatest critic ofthe age, and England's best living poet. Macaulay had laid aside thepen, entered the hall, and was standing near the central door, while notfar from the historian stood the newly-appointed Poet Laureat. Theauthor of "In Memoriam" had been swept in by the crowd, and was standingwith his arms folded, and beholding for the first time (and probably thelast) so large a number of coloured men in one room. In different partsof the hall were men and women from nearly all parts of the kingdom, besides a large number who, drawn to London by the Exhibition, had comein to see and hear these oppressed people plead their own cause. 

The writer of this sketch was chosen Chairman of the meeting, andcommenced its proceedings by delivering the following address, which wecut from the columns of the _Morning Advertiser_:--

"The Chairman, in opening the proceedings, remarked that, although themetropolis had of late been inundated with meetings of variouscharacter, having reference to almost every variety of subject, yet thatthe subject they were called upon that evening to discuss differed fromthem all. Many of those by whom he was surrounded, like himself, hadbeen victims to the inhuman institution of Slavery, and were inconsequence exiled from the land of their birth. They were fugitivesfrom their native land, but not fugitives from justice, and they had notfled from a monarchical, but from a so-called republican government. They came from amongst a people who declared, as part of their creed, that all men were born free, but who, while they did so, made slaves ofevery sixth man, woman, and child in the country (hear, hear). He mustnot, however, forget that one of the purposes for which they were metthat night was to commemorate the emancipation of their brothers andsisters in the isles of the sea. That act of the British Parliament, andhe might add in this case with peculiar emphasis, of the British nation, passed on the 12th day of August, 1833, to take effect on the first dayof August, 1834, and which enfranchised 800, 000 West Indian slaves, wasan event sublime in its nature, comprehensive and mighty in itsimmediate influences and remote consequences, precious beyond expressionto the cause of freedom, and encouraging beyond the measure of anygovernment on earth to the hearts of all enlightened and just men. Thisact was the commencement of a long course of philanthropic and Christianefforts on the part of some of the best men that the world everproduced. It was not his intention to go into a discussion or acalculation of the rise and fall of property, or whether sugar was worthmore or less by the act of emancipation. But the abolition of Slaveryin the West Indies, was a blow struck in the right direction, at thatmost inhuman of all traffics, the slave trade--a trade which would nevercease so long as slavery existed, for where there was a market therewould be merchandise; where there was demand there would be a supply;where there were carcases there would be vultures; and they might aswell attempt to turn the water, and make it run up the Niagara river, asto change this law. It was often said by the Americans that England wasresponsible for the existence of slavery there, because it wasintroduced into that country while the colonies were under the BritishCrown. If that were the case, they must come to the conclusion that, asEngland abolished Slavery in the West Indies, she would have done thesame for the American States if she had had the power to do it; and ifthat was so, they might safely say that the separation of the UnitedStates from the mother country was (to say the least) a great misfortuneto one-sixth of the population of that land. England had set a nobleexample to America, and he would to heaven his countrymen would followthe example. The Americans boasted of their superior knowledge, but theyneeded not to boast of their superior guilt, for that was set upon ahill top, and that too, so high, that it required not the lantern ofDiogenes to find it out. Every breeze from the western world broughtupon its wings the groans and cries of the victims of this guilt. Nearlyall countries had fixed the seal of disapprobation on slavery, and when, at some future age, this stain on the page of history shall be pointedat, posterity will blush at the discrepancy between American professionand American practice. What was to be thought of a people boasting oftheir liberty, their humanity, their Christianity, their love ofjustice, and at the same time keeping in slavery nearly four millions ofGod's children, and shutting out from them the light of the Gospel, bydenying the Bible to the slave! (Hear, hear. ) No education, no marriage, everything done to keep the mind of the slave in darkness. There was awish on the part of the people of the northern States to shieldthemselves from the charge of slave-holding, but as they shared in theguilt, he was not satisfied with letting them off without their share inthe odium. And now a word about the Fugitive Slave Bill. That measurewas in every respect an unconstitutional measure. It set aside the rightformerly enjoyed by the fugitive of trial by jury--it afforded to him noprotection, no opportunity of proving his right to be free, and itplaced every free coloured person at the mercy of any unprincipledindividual who might wish to lay claim to him. (Hear. ) That law isopposed to the principles of Christianity--foreign alike to the laws ofGod and man, it had converted the whole population of the free Statesinto a band of slave-catchers, and every rood of territory is but somuch hunting ground, over which they might chase the fugitive. But whilethey were speaking of slavery in the United States, they must not omitto mention that there was a strong feeling in that land, not onlyagainst the Fugitive Slave Law, but also against the existence ofslavery in any form. There was a band of fearless men and women in thecity of Boston, whose labours for the slave had resulted in good beyondcalculation. This noble and heroic class had created an agitation in thewhole country, until their principles have taken root in almost everyassociation in the land, and which, with God's blessing, will, in duetime, cause the Americans to put into practice what they have so longprofessed. (Hear, hear. ) He wished it to be continually held up beforethe country, that the northern States are as deeply implicated in theguilt of slavery as the South. The north had a population of 13, 553, 328freemen; the south had a population of only 6, 393, 756 freemen; the northhas 152 representatives in the house, the south only 81; and it would beseen by this, that the balance of power was with the free States. Looking, therefore, at the question in all its aspects, he was sure thatthere was no one in this country but who would find out, that theslavery of the United States of America was a system the most abandonedand the most tyrannical. (Hear, hear. )"

At the close of this address, the Rev. Edward Matthews, last fromBristol, but who had recently returned from the United States, where hehad been maltreated on account of his fidelity to the cause of freedom, was introduced, and made a most interesting speech. The next speaker wasGeorge Thompson, Esq. , M. P. ; and we need only say that his eloquence, which has seldom or ever been equalled, and never surpassed, exceeded, on this occasion, the most sanguine expectations of his friends. All whosat under the thundering anathemas which he hurled against slavery, seemed instructed, delighted, and animated. No one could scarcely haveremained unmoved by the pensive sympathies that pervaded the entireassembly. There were many in the meeting who had never seen a fugitiveslave before, and when any of the speakers would refer to those on theplatform, the whole audience seemed moved to tears. No meeting of thekind held in London for years created a greater sensation than thisgathering of refugees from the "Land of the free, and the home of thebrave. " The following appeal, which I had written for the occasion, wasunanimously adopted at the close of the meeting, and thus ended thegreat Anti-Slavery demonstration of 1851. 

AN APPEAL TO THE PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN AND THE WORLD. 

We consider it just, both to the people of the United States and toourselves, in making an appeal to the inhabitants of other countries, against the laws which have exiled us from our native land, to state theground upon which we make our appeal, and the causes which impel us todo so. There are in the United States of America, at the present time, between three and four millions of persons, who are held in a state ofslavery which has no parallel in any other part of the world; and whosenumbers have, within the last fifty years, increased to a fearfulextent. These people are not only deprived of the rights to which thelaws of Nature and Nature's God entitle them, but every avenue toknowledge is closed against them. The laws do not recognise the familyrelation of a slave, and extend to him protection in the enjoyment ofdomestic endearments. Brothers and sisters, parents and children, husbands and wives, are torn asunder, and permitted to see each otherno more. The shrieks and agonies of the slave are heard in the marketsat the seat of government, and within hearing of the American Congress, as well as on the cotton, sugar and rice plantations of the far South. 

The history of the negroes in America is but a history of repeatedinjuries and acts of oppression committed upon them by the whites. It isnot for ourselves that we make this appeal, but for those whom we haveleft behind. 

In their Declaration of Independence, the Americans declare that "allmen are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator withcertain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and thepursuit of happiness. " Yet one-sixth of the inhabitants of the greatRepublic are slaves. Thus they give the lie to their own professions. Noone forfeits his or her character or standing in society by beingengaged in holding, buying or selling a slave; the details of which, inall their horror, can scarcely be told. 

Although the holding of slaves is confined to fifteen of the thirty-oneStates, yet we hold that the non-slave-holding States are equally guiltywith the slave-holding. If any proof is needed on this point, it will befound in the passage of the inhuman Fugitive Slave Law, by Congress; alaw which could never have been enacted without the votes of a portionof the representatives from the free States, and which is now beingenforced, in many of the States, with the utmost alacrity. It was thepassing of this law that exiled us from our native land, and it hasdriven thousands of our brothers and sisters from the free States, andcompelled them to seek a refuge in the British possessions in NorthAmerica. The Fugitive Slave Law has converted the entire country, Northand South, into one vast hunting-ground. We would respectfully ask youto expostulate with the Americans, and let them know that you regardtheir treatment of the coloured people of that country as a violation ofevery principle of human brotherhood, of natural right, of justice, ofhumanity, of Christianity, of love to God and love to man. 

It is needless that we should remind you that the religious sects ofAmerica, with but few exceptions, are connected with the sin ofslavery--the churches North as well as South. We would have you tell theprofessed Christians of that land, that if they would be respected byyou, they must separate themselves from the unholy alliance with men whoare daily committing deeds which, if done in England, would cause theperpetrator to be sent to a felon's doom; that they must refuse theright hand of Christian fellowship, whether individually orcollectively, to those implicated, in any way, in the guilt of slavery. 

We do not ask for a forcible interference on your part, but only thatyou will use all lawful and peaceful means to restore to this muchinjured race their God-given rights. The moral and religious sentimentof mankind must be arrayed against slave-holding, to make it infamous, ere we can hope to see it abolished. We would ask you to set them theexample, by excluding from your pulpits, and from religious communion, the slave-holding and pro-slavery ministers who may happen to visit thiscountry. We would even go further, and ask you to shut your doorsagainst either ministers or laymen, who are at all guilty of upholdingand sustaining this monster sin. By the cries of the slave, which comefrom the fields and swamps of the far South, we ask you to do this! Bythat spirit of liberty and equality of which you all admire, we wouldask you to do this. And by that still nobler, higher, and holier spiritof our beloved Saviour, we would ask you to stamp upon the head of theslaveholder, with a brand deeper than that which marks the victim of hiswrongs, the infamy of theft, adultery, man-stealing, piracy, and murder, and, by the force of public opinion, compel him to "unloose the heavyburden, and let the oppressed go free. "

LETTER XXI. 

_A Chapter on American Slavery. _

The word Englishman is but another name for an American, and the wordAmerican is but another name for an Englishman--England is the father, America the son. They have a common origin and identity of language;they hold the same religious and political opinions; they study the samehistories, and have the same literature. Steam and mechanical ingenuityhave brought the two countries within nine days sailing of each other. The Englishman on landing at New-York finds his new neighbours speakingthe same language which he last heard on leaving Liverpool, and he seesthe American in the same dress that he had been accustomed to look uponat home, and soon forgets that he is three thousand miles from hisnative land, and in another country. The American on landing atLiverpool, and taking a walk through the great commercial city, findingno difficulty in understanding the people, supposes himself still inNew-York; and if there seems any doubt in his own mind, growing out ofthe fact that the people have a more healthy look, seem more polite, andthat the buildings have a more substantial appearance than those he hadformerly looked upon, he has only to imagine, as did Rip Van Winkle, that he has been asleep these hundred years. 

If the Englishman who has seen a Thompson silenced in Boston, or aMacready mobbed in New-York, upon the ground that they were foreigners, should sit in Exeter Hall and hear an American orator until he washoarse, and wonder why the American is better treated in England thanthe Englishman in America, he has only to attribute it to John Bull'ssuperior knowledge of good manners, and his being a more law-abiding manthan brother Jonathan. England and America has each its reforms and itsreformers, and they have more or less sympathy with each other. It hasbeen said that one generation commences a reform in England, and thatanother generation finishes it. I would that so much could be said withregard to the great object of reform in America--the system of slavery!

No evil was ever more deeply rooted in a country than is slavery in theUnited States. Spread over the largest and most fertile States in theUnion, with decidedly the best climate, and interwoven, as it is, withthe religious, political, commercial, and social institutions of thecountry, it is scarcely possible to estimate its influence. This is theevil which claims the attention of American Reformers, over and aboveevery other evil in the land, and thanks to a kind providence, theAmerican slave is not without his advocates. The greatest enemy to theAnti-Slavery Society, and the most inveterate opposer of the men whosenames stand at the head of the list as officers and agents of thatassociation, will, we think, assign to William Lloyd Garrison, the firstplace in the ranks of the American Abolitionists. The first to proclaimthe doctrine of immediate emancipation to the slaves of America, and onthat account an object of hatred to the slave-holding interest of thecountry, and living for years with his life in danger, he is justlyregarded by all, as the leader of the Anti-Slavery movement in the NewWorld. Mr. Garrison is at the present time but little more thanforty-five years of age, and of the middle size. He has a high andprominent forehead, well developed, with no hair on the top of the head, having lost it in early life; with a piercing eye, a pleasant, yetanxious countenance, and of a most loveable disposition; tender, andblameless in his family affections, devoted to his friends; simple andstudious, upright, guileless, distinguished, and worthy, like thedistinguished men of antiquity, to be immortalized by another Plutarch. How many services never to be forgotten, has he not rendered to thecause of the slave, and the welfare of mankind! As a speaker, he isforcible, clear, and logical, yet he will not rank with the many who areless known. As a writer, he is regarded as one of the finest in theUnited States, and certainly the most prominent in the Anti-Slaverycause. Had Mr. Garrison wished to serve himself, he might, with hisgreat talents, long since, have been at the head of either of the greatpolitical parties. Few men can withstand the allurements of office, andthe prize-money that accompanies them. Many of those who were with himfifteen years ago, have been swept down with the current of popularfavour, either in Church or State. He has seen a Cox on the one hand, and a Stanton on the other, swept away like so much floating woodbefore the tide. When the sturdiest characters gave way, when the finestgeniuses passed one after another under the yoke of slavery, Garrisonstood firm to his convictions, like a rock that stands stirless amid theconflicting agitation of the waves. He is not only the friend andadvocate of freedom with his pen and his tongue, but to the oppressed ofevery clime he opens his purse, his house, and his heart: yet he is nota man of money. The fugitive slave, fresh from the whips and chains, whois turned off by the politician, and experiences the cold shoulder ofthe divine, finds a bed and a breakfast under the hospitable roof of Mr. Lloyd Garrison. 

The party of which he is the acknowledged head, is one of noinconsiderable influence in the United States. No man has more bitterenemies or stauncher friends than he. There are those among his friendswho would stake their all upon his veracity and integrity; and we aresure that the coloured people throughout America, bond and free, inwhose cause he has so long laboured, will, with one accord, assign thehighest niche in their affection to the champion of universalemancipation. Every cause has its writers and its orators. We have drawna hasty and imperfect sketch of the greatest writer in the Anti-Slaveryfield: we shall now call attention to the most distinguished publicspeaker. The name of Wendell Phillips is but another name for eloquence. Born in the highest possible position in America, Mr. Phillips has allthe advantages that birth can give to one in that country. Educated atthe first University, graduating with all the honours which the Collegecould bestow on him, and studying the law and becoming a member of thebar, he has all the accomplishments that these advantages can give to aman of a great mind. Nature has treated him as a favourite. His statureis not tall, but handsome; his expressive countenance paints andreflects every emotion of his soul. His gestures are wonderfullygraceful, like his delivery. There is a fascination in the soft gaze ofhis eyes, which none can but admire. Being a great reader, and endowedby nature with a good memory, he supplies himself with the mostcomplicated dates and historical events. Nothing can equal the varietyof his matter. I have heard him more than twenty different times on thesame subject, but never heard the same speech. He is personal, but thereis nothing offensive in his personalities. He extracts from a subjectall that it contains, and does it as none but Wendell Phillips can. Hisvoice is beautifully musical, and it is calculated to attract whereverit is heard. He is a man of calm intrepidity, of a patriotic and warmheart, with manners the most affable, temper the most gentle, arectitude of principle entirely natural, a freedom from ambition, and amodesty quite singular. As Napoleon kept the Old Guard in reserve, toturn the tide in battle, so do the Abolitionists keep Mr. Phillips inreserve when opposition is expected in their great gatherings. We haveseen the meetings turned into a bedlam, by the mobocratic slave-holdingspirit, and when the speakers had one after another left the platformwithout a hearing, and the chairman had lost all control of theassembly, the appearance of this gentleman upon the platform would turnthe tide of events. He would not beg for a hearing, but on thecontrary, he would lash them as no preceding speaker had done. If, bytheir groans and yells, they stifled his voice, he would stand unmovedwith his arms folded, and by the very eloquence of his looks put them tosilence. His speeches against the Fugitive Slave Law, and his witheringrebukes of Daniel Webster and other northern men who supported thatmeasure, are of the most splendid character, and will compare in pointof composition with anything ever uttered by Chatham or Sheridan intheir palmiest days. As a public speaker, Mr. Phillips is, withoutdoubt, the first in the United States. Considering his great talent, hishigh birth, and the prospects which lay before him, and the fact that hethrew everything aside to plead the slave's cause, we must be convincedthat no man has sacrificed more upon the altar of humanity than WendellPhillips. 

Within the past ten years, a great impetus has been given to theanti-slavery movement in America by coloured men who have escaped fromslavery. Coming as they did from the very house of bondage, and beingable to speak from sad experience, they could speak as none otherscould. 

The gentleman to whom we shall now call attention is one of this class, and doubtless the first of his race in America. The name of FrederickDouglass is well known throughout this country as well as America. Bornand brought up as a slave, he was deprived of a mother's care and ofearly education. Escaping when he was little more than twenty years ofage, he was thrown upon his own resources in the free states, whereprejudice against colour is but another name for slavery. But during allthis time he was educating himself as well as circumstances would admit. Mr. Douglass commenced his career as a public speaker some ten yearssince, as an agent of the American or Massachusetts Anti-SlaverySocieties. He is tall and well made. His vast and well-developedforehead announces the power of his intellect. His voice is full andsonorous. His attitude is dignified, and his gesticulation is full ofnoble simplicity. He is a man of lofty reason, natural, and withoutpretension, always master of himself, brilliant in the art of exposingand of abstracting. Few persons can handle a subject with which they arefamiliar better than Mr. Douglass. There is a kind of eloquence issuingfrom the depth of the soul, as from a spring, rolling along its copiousfloods, sweeping all before it, overwhelming by its very force, carrying, upsetting, engulphing its adversaries, and more dazzling andmore thundering than the bolt which leaps from crag to crag. This is theeloquence of Frederick Douglass. He is one of the greatest mimics of theage. No man can put on a sweeter smile or a more sarcastic frown thanhe: you cannot put him off his guard. He is always in good humour. Mr. Douglass possesses great dramatic powers; and had he taken up the sockand buskin, instead of becoming a lecturer, he would have made as fine aCoriolanus as ever trod the stage. 

However, Mr. Douglass was not the first coloured man that became alecturer, and thereby did service to the cause of his countrymen. Theearliest and most effective speaker from among the coloured race inAmerica, was Charles Lennox Remond. In point of eloquence, thisgentleman is not inferior to either Wendell Phillips or FrederickDouglass. Mr. Remond is of small stature, and neat figure, with a headwell developed, but a remarkably thin face. As an elocutionist, he is, without doubt, the first on the anti-slavery platform. He has a goodvoice, a pleasing countenance, a prompt intelligence, and when speaking, is calculated to captivate and carry away an audience by the very forceof his eloquence. Born in the freest state of the Union, and of mostrespectable parents, he prides himself not a little on his birth anddescent. One can scarcely find fault with this, for, in the UnitedStates, the coloured man is deprived of the advantages which parentagegives to the white man. Mr. Remond is a descendant of one of thosecoloured men who stood side by side with white men on the plains ofConcord and Lexington, in the battles that achieved the independence ofthe colonies from the mother country, in the war of the Revolution. Mr. Remond has felt deeply, (probably more so than any other coloured man), the odious prejudice against colour. On this point he is sensitive to afault. If any one will sit for an hour and hear a lecture from him onthis subject, if he is not converted, he will at least become convinced, that the boiling cauldron of anti-slavery discussion has never thrownupon its surface a more fiery spirit than Charles Lennox Remond. 

There are some men who neither speak nor write, but whose lives placethem in the foremost ranks in the cause which they espouse. One of theseis Francis Jackson. He was one of the earliest to give countenance andsupport to the anti-slavery movement. In the year 1835, when a mob ofmore than 5000 merchants and others, in Boston, broke up an anti-slaverymeeting of females, at which William Lloyd Garrison and George Thompsonwere to deliver addresses, and when the Society had no room in which tohold its meetings (having been driven from their own room by the mob), Francis Jackson, with a moral courage scarcely ever equalled, cameforward and offered his private dwelling to the ladies, to hold theirmeeting in. The following interesting passage occurs in a letter fromhim to the Secretary of the Society a short time after, on receiving avote of thanks from its members:--

"If a large majority of this community choose to turn a deaf ear to thewrongs which are inflicted upon their countrymen in other portions ofthe land--if they are content to turn away from the sight of oppression, and 'pass by on the other side'--so it must be. 

"But when they undertake in any way to impair or annul my right tospeak, write, and publish upon any subject, and more especially uponenormities, which are the common concern of every lover of his countryand his kind--so it must not be--so it shall not be, if I for one canprevent it. Upon this great right let us hold on at all hazards. Andshould we, in its exercise, be driven from public halls to privatedwellings, one house at least shall be consecrated to its preservation. And if, in defence of this sacred privilege, which man did not give me, and shall not (if I can help it) take from me, this roof and these wallsshall be levelled to the earth, let them fall if they must; they cannotcrumble in a better cause. They will appear of very little value to meafter their owner shall have been whipt into silence. "

There are among the contributors to the Anti-Slavery cause, a few whogive with a liberality which has never been surpassed by the donors toany benevolent association in the world, according to their means--thechief of these is Francis Jackson. 

In the month of May, 1844, while one evening strolling up Broadway, NewYork, I saw a crowd making its way into the Minerva Rooms, and, havingno pressing engagement, I followed, and was soon in a splendid hall, where some twelve or fifteen hundred persons were seated, and listeningto rather a strange-looking man. The speaker was tall and slim, withlong arms, long legs, and a profusion of auburn or reddish hair hangingin ringlets down his shoulders; while a huge beard of the same colourfell upon his breast. His person was not at all improved by his dress. The legs of his trousers were shorter than those worn by smaller men:the sleeves of his coat were small and short, the shirt collar turneddown in Byronic style, beard and hair hid his countenance, so that noredeeming feature could be found there; yet there was one redeemingquality about the man--that was the stream of fervid eloquence whichescaped from his lips. I inquired his name, and was informed that it wasCharles C. Burleigh. Nature has been profuse in showering her gifts uponMr. Burleigh, but all has been bestowed upon his head and heart. Thereis a kind of eloquence which weaves its thread around the hearer, andgradually draws him into its web, fascinating him with its gaze, entangling him as the spider does the fly, until he is fast: such is theeloquence of C. C. Burleigh. As a debater he is unquestionably the firston the Anti-slavery platform. If he did not speak so fast, he wouldequal Wendell Phillips; if he did not reason his subject out ofexistence, he would surpass him. However, one would have to travel overmany miles, and look in the faces of many men, before he would find onewho has made more personal sacrifices, or done more to bring about theEmancipation of the American Slaves, than Mr. Charles C. Burleigh. 

Whoever the future historian of the Anti-Slavery movement may be, hewill not be able to compile a correct history of this great struggle, without consulting the writings of Edmund Quincy, a member of one ofthe wealthiest, patriotic, and aristocratic families in New England: theprestige of his name is a passport to all that the heart could wish. Descended from a family, whose name is connected with all that wasglorious in the great American Revolution, the son of one who has againand again represented his native State, in the National Congress, hetoo, like Wendell Phillips, threw away the pearl of politicalpreferment, and devoted his distinguished talents to the cause of theSlave. Mr. Quincy is better known in this country as having filled theeditorial chair of _The Liberator_, during the several visits of itsEditor to Great Britain. As a speaker, he does not rank as high as somewho are less known; as a writer, he has few equals. The "Annual Reports"of the American and Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Societies for the pastfifteen or twenty years, have emanated from his pen. When posterity, indigging among the tombs of the friends of mankind, and of universalfreedom, shall fail to find there the name of Edmund Quincy, it will bebecause the engraver failed to do his duty. 

Were we sent out to find a man who should excel all others incollecting together new facts and anecdotes, and varnishing up old onesso that they would appear new, and bringing them into a meeting andemptying out, good or bad, the whole contents of his sack, to thedelight and admiration of the audience, we would unhesitatingly selectJames N. Buffum as the man. If Mr. Buffum is not a great speaker, he haswhat many accomplished orators have not--_i. E. _, a noble and generousheart. If the fugitive slave, fresh from the cotton-field, should makehis appearance in the town of Lynn, in Massachusetts, and should need anight's lodging or refreshments, he need go no farther than thehospitable door of James N. Buffum. 

Most men who inherit large fortunes, do little or nothing to benefitmankind. A few, however, spend their means in the best possible manner:one of the latter class is Gerrit Smith. The name of this gentlemanshould have been brought forward among those who are first mentioned inthis chapter. Some eight or ten years ago, Mr. Smith was the owner oflarge tracts of land, lying in twenty-nine counties in the State of NewYork, and came to the strange conclusion to give the most of it away. Consequently, three thousand lots of land, containing from thirty to onehundred acres each, were given to coloured men residing in theState--the writer of this being one of the number. 

Although universal suffrage is enjoyed by the whites in the State of NewYork, a property-qualification is imposed on coloured men; and this actof Mr. Smith's not only made three thousand men the owners of land, butcreated also three thousand voters. The ability to give, and thewillingness to do so, is not by any means the greatest quality of thisgentleman. As a public speaker, Mr. Smith has few equals; and certainlyno man in his State has done more to forward the cause of NegroEmancipation than he. 

We have already swelled the pages of this chapter beyond what weintended when we commenced, but yet we have called attention to only onebranch of American Reformers. The Temperance Reformers are next to beconsidered. This cause has many champions, and yet none who occupy avery prominent position before the world. The first temperance newspaperpublished in the United States, was edited by William Lloyd Garrison. Gerrit Smith has also done much in promulgating temperance views. Butthe most noted man in the movement at the present time, and the one bestknown to the British public, is John B. Gough. This gentleman was at onetime an actor on the stage, and subsequently became an inebriate of themost degraded kind. He was, however, reclaimed through the greatWashingtonian movement that swept over the United States a few yearssince. In stature, Mr. Gough is tall and slim, with black hair, which heusually wears too long. As an orator, he is considered among the firstin the United States. Having once been an actor, he throws all hisdramatic powers into his addresses. He has a facility of telling strangeand marvellous stories which can scarcely be surpassed; and what makesthem still more interesting, he always happens to be an eyewitness. While speaking, he acts the drunkard, and does it in a style which couldnot be equalled on the boards of the Lyceum or Adelphi. No man hasobtained more signatures to the temperance pledge than he. After all, itis a question whether he has ever been of any permanent service to thisreform or not. Mr. Gough has more than once fallen from his position asa teetotaler; more than once he has broken his pledge, and when found byhis friends, was in houses of a questionable character. However, someare of opinion that these defects have been of use to him; for when hehas made his appearance after one of these debaucheries, the peopleappear to sympathize more with him, and some thought he spoke better. Ifwe believe that a person could enjoy good health with water upon thebrain, we would be of opinion that Mr. Gough's cranium contained agreater quantity than that of any other living man. When speaking beforean audience, he can weep when he pleases; and the tears shed on theseoccasions are none of your make-believe kind--none of your small dropstrickling down the cheeks one at a time;--but they come in greatshowers, so as even to sprinkle upon the paper which he holds in hishand. Of course, he is not alone in shedding tears in his meetings, many of his hearers usually join him; especially the ladies, as theseshowers are intended for them. However, no one can sit for an hour andhear John. B. Gough, without coming to the conclusion that he is nothingmore than a theatrical mountebank. 

The ablest speaker on the subject of Peace, is Charles Sumner. Standingmore than six feet in height, and well proportioned, Mr. Sumner makes amost splendid and commanding appearance before an assembly. It is nothis looks alone that attract attention--his very countenance indicates asuperior mind. Born in the upper circle, educated in the first Collegein the country, and finally becoming a member of the Bar, he is wellqualified to take the highest possible position as a public speaker. Asan orator, Charles Sumner has but one superior in the United States, andthat is Wendell Phillips. Mr. Sumner is an able advocate for theliberation of the American Slaves as well as of the cause of Peace, andhas rendered great aid to the abolition movement. 

The name of Elihu Burritt, for many reasons, should be placed at thehead of the Peace Movement. No man was ever more devoted to one ideathan he is to that of peace. If he is an advocate of Temperance, it isbecause it will promote peace. If he opposes Slavery, it is upon thegrounds of peace. Ask him why he wants an "Ocean Penny Postage, " he willtell you to engender the principles of peace. Everything with him hingesupon the doctrine of peace. As a speaker, Mr. Burritt does not rankamongst the first. However, his speeches are of a high order, some thinkthem too high, and complain that he is too much of a cloud-traveller, and when he descends from these aerial flights and cloudy thrones, theyare unwilling to admit that he can be practical. If Mr. Burritt shouldprove as good a statesman as a theorist, he would be an exception tomost who belong to the aerial school. As a writer he stands deservedlyhigh. In his "Sparks from the Anvil, " and "Voice from the Forge, " are tobe found as fine pieces as have been produced by any writer of the day. His "Drunkard's Wife" is the most splendid thing of the kind in thelanguage. His stature is of the middle size, head well developed, witheyes deeply set, and a prepossessing countenance, though not handsome;he wears an exterior of remarkable austerity, and everything about himis grave, even to his smile. Being well versed in the languages, ancientand modern, he does not lack variety or imagination, either in hispublic addresses or private conversation; yet it would be difficult tofind a man with a better heart, or sweeter spirit, than Elihu Burritt. 

LETTER XXII. 

_A Narrative of American Slavery. _

Although the first slaves, introduced into the American Colonies fromthe coast of Africa, were negroes of a very dark complexion with woollyhair, and it was thought that slavery would be confined to the blacks, yet the present slave population of America is far from being black. This change in colour, is attributable, solely to the unlimited powerwhich the slave owner exercises over his victim. There being no lawfulmarriage amongst slaves, and no encouragement to slave women to bevirtuous and chaste, there seems to be no limits to the system ofamalgamation carried on between master and slave. This accounts for thefact, that most persons who go from Europe, or from the Free States, into Carolina or Virginia, are struck with the different shades ofcolour amongst the slaves. On a plantation employing fifty slaves, it isnot uncommon to see one third of them mulattoes, and some of thesenearly white. 

In the year 1831, there resided in the state of Virginia, a slave whowas so white, that no one would suppose for a moment that a drop ofAfrican blood coursed through his veins. His skin was fair, hair soft, straight, fine and white; his eyes blue, nose prominent, lips thin; hishead well formed, forehead high and prominent; and he was often takenfor a white free person, by those who did not know him. This made hiscondition as a slave still more intolerable; for one so white, seldomever receives fair treatment at the hands of his fellow slaves; and thewhites usually regard such slaves as persons, who, if not often floggedand otherwise ill treated, to remind them of their condition, would soon"forget" that they were slaves, and "think themselves as good as whitefolks. " During that year, an insurrection broke out amongst the slavepopulation, known as the Southampton Rebellion, or the "Nat TurnerInsurrection. " Five or six hundred slaves, believing in the doctrinethat "all men are created equal, " armed with such weapons as they couldget, commenced a war for freedom. Amongst these was George, the whiteslave of whom we have spoken. He had been employed as a house servant, and had heard his master and visiters speak of the down-trodden andoppressed Poles; he heard them talk of going to Greece to fight forGrecian liberty, and against the oppressors of that ill-fated people. George, fired with the love of freedom, and zeal for the cause of hisenslaved countrymen, joined the insurrection. The result of thatstruggle for liberty is well known. The slaves were defeated, and thosewho were not taken prisoners, took refuge in the dismal swamps. Thesewere ordered to surrender; but instead of doing so, they challengedtheir proud oppressors to take them, and immediately renewed the war. Aferocious struggle now commenced between the parties; but not until theUnited States troops were called in, did they succeed in crushing ahandful of men and women who were fighting for freedom. The negroes werehunted with dogs, and many who were caught were burnt alive; while somewere hung, and others flogged and banished from the State. 

Among those who were sentenced to be hanged, was George. He was placedin prison to await the day of execution, which would give him ten daysto prepare for his doom. George was the son of a member of the AmericanCongress, his mother being a servant in the principal hotel inWashington, where members of Congress usually put up. After the birth ofGeorge, his mother was sold to a negro trader, and he to a Virginian, who sent agents through the country to buy up young slaves to raise forthe market. George was only about nineteen years of age, when heunfortunately became connected with the insurrection. Mr. Green, whoowned George, was a comparatively good master, and prided himself ontreating his slaves better than most men. This gentleman was also theowner of a girl who was perfectly white, with straight hair andprominent features. This girl was said to be the daughter of her ownmaster. A feeling of attachment sprang up between Mary and George, whichproved to be more than mere friendship, and upon which we base theburden of this narrative. 

After poor George had been sentenced to death and cast into prison, Marybegged and obtained leave to visit George, and administer to him thecomforts of religion, as she was a member of a religious body, whileGeorge was not. As George had been a considerable favourite with Mrs. Green, Mary had no difficulty in obtaining permission to pay a dailyvisit to him, to whom she had pledged her heart and hand. At one ofthese meetings, and only four days from the time fixed for theexecution, while Mary was seated in George's cell, it occurred to herthat she might yet save him from a felon's doom. She revealed to himthe secret that was then occupying her thoughts, viz. , that Georgeshould exchange clothes with her, and thus attempt his escape indisguise. But he would not for a single moment listen to theproposition. Not that he feared detection; but he would not consent toplace an innocent and affectionate girl in a position where she mighthave to suffer for him. Mary pleaded, but in vain--George wasinflexible. The poor girl left her lover with a heavy heart, regrettingthat her scheme had proved unsuccessful. 

Towards the close of the next day, Mary again appeared at the prisondoor for admission, and was soon by the side of him whom she so ardentlyloved. While there, the clouds which had overhung the city for somehours, broke, and the rain fell in torrents amid the most terrificthunder and lightning. In the most persuasive manner possible, Maryagain importuned George to avail himself of her assistance to escapefrom an ignominious death. After assuring him that she not being theperson condemned, would not receive any injury, he at last consented, and they began to exchange apparel. As George was of small stature, andboth were white, there was no difficulty in his passing out withoutdetection: and as she usually left the cell weeping, with handkerchiefin hand, and sometimes at her face, he had only to adopt this mode andhis escape was safe. They had kissed each other, and Mary had toldGeorge where he would find a small parcel of provisions which she hadplaced in a secluded spot, when the prison-keeper opened the door, andsaid, "Come, girl, it is time for you to go. " George again embracedMary, and passed out of the gaol. It was already dark and the streetlamps were lighted, so that our hero in his new dress had no dread ofdetection. The provisions were sought out and found, and poor George wassoon on the road towards Canada. But neither of them had once thought ofa change of dress for George when he should have escaped, and he hadwalked but a short distance before he felt that a change of his apparelwould facilitate his progress. But he dared not go amongst even hiscoloured associates for fear of being betrayed. However, he made thebest of his way on towards Canada, hiding in the woods during the day, and travelling by the guidance of the North Star at night. 

One morning, George arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, and foundhis journey had terminated, unless he could get some one to take himacross the river in a secret manner, for he would not be permitted tocross in any of the ferry boats; it being a penalty for crossing aslave, besides the value of the slave. He concealed himself in the tallgrass and weeds near the river, to see if he could embrace anopportunity to cross. He had been in his hiding-place but a short time, when he observed a man in a small boat, floating near the shore, evidently fishing. His first impulse was to call out to the man and askhim to take him over to the Ohio side, but the fear that the man was aslaveholder, or one who might possibly arrest him, deterred him from it. The man after rowing and floating about for some time fastened the boatto the root of a tree, and started to a neighbouring farm-house. Thiswas George's moment, and he seized it. Running down the bank, heunfastened the boat, jumped in, and with all the expertness of oneaccustomed to a boat, rowed across the river and landed on the Ohioside. 

Being now in a free state, he thought he might with perfect safetytravel on towards Canada. He had, however, gone but a few miles, when hediscovered two men on horseback coming behind him. He felt sure thatthey could not be in pursuit of him, yet he did not wish to be seen bythem, so he turned into another road, leading to a house near by. Themen followed, and were but a short distance from George, when he ran upto a farm house, before which was standing a farmer-looking man, in abroad-brimmed hat and straight collared coat, whom he implored to savehim from the "slave-catchers. " The farmer told him to go into the barnnear by; he entered by the front door, the farmer following, and closingthe door behind George, but remaining outside, and gave directions tohis hired man as to what should be done with George. The slaveholders bythis time had dismounted, and were in the front of the barn demandingadmittance, and charging the farmer with secreting their slave woman, for George was still in the dress of a woman. The Friend, for the farmerproved to be a member of the Society of Friends, told the slave-ownersthat if they wished to search his barn, they must first get an officerand a search warrant. While the parties were disputing, the farmer begannailing up the front door, and the hired man served the back door in thesame way. The slaveholders, finding that they could not prevail on theFriend to allow them to get the slave, determined to go in search of anofficer. One was left to see that the slave did not escape from thebarn, while the other went off at full speed to Mount Pleasant, thenearest town. George was not the slave of either of these men, nor werethey in pursuit of him, but they had lost a woman who had been seen inthat vicinity, and when they saw poor George in the disguise of afemale, and attempting to elude pursuit, they felt sure they were closeupon their victim. However, if they had caught him, although he was nottheir slave, they would have taken him back and placed him in goal, andthere he would have remained until his owner arrived. 

After an absence of nearly two hours, the slave owner returned with anofficer and found the Friend still driving large nails into the door. Ina triumphant tone, and with a corresponding gesture, he handed thesearch-warrant to the Friend, and said, "There, Sir, now I will see if Ican't get my Nigger. " "Well, " said the Friend, "thou hast gone to workaccording to law, and thou can now go into my barn. " "Lend me yourhammer that I may get the door open, " said the slaveholder. "Let me seethe warrant again. " And after reading it over once more, he said, "I seenothing in this paper which says I must supply thee with tools to openmy door; if thou wishes to go in, thou must get a hammer elsewhere. " Thesheriff said, "I will go to a neighbouring farm and borrow somethingwhich will introduce us to Miss Dinah;" and he immediately went insearch of tools. In a short time the officer returned, and theycommenced an assault and battery upon the barn door, which soon yielded;and in went the slaveholder and officer, and began turning up the hayand using all other means to find the lost property; but, to theirastonishment, the slave was not there. After all hope of getting Dinahwas gone, the slave-owner in a rage, said to the Friend, "My Nigger isnot here. " "I did not tell thee there was any one here. " "Yes, but I sawher go in, and you shut the door behind her, and if she was not in thebarn, what did you nail the door for?" "Can't I do what I please with myown barn door? Now I will tell thee; thou need trouble thyself no more, for the person thou art after entered the front door and went out at theback door, and is a long way from here by this time. Thou and thy friendmust be somewhat fatigued by this time, wont thou go in and take alittle dinner with me?" We need not say that this cool invitation of thegood Quaker was not accepted by the slaveholders. George, in themeantime, had been taken to a Friend's dwelling some miles away, where, after laying aside his female attire, and being snugly dressed up in astraight collared coat, and pantaloons to match, was again put on theright road towards Canada. Two weeks after this found him in the townof St. Catharines, working on the farm of Colonel Strut, and attending anight school. 

George, however, did not forget his promise to use all means in hispower to get Mary out of slavery. He, therefore, laboured with all hismight, to obtain money with which to employ some one to go back toVirginia for Mary. After nearly six months' labour at St. Catharines, heemployed an English missionary to go and see if the girl could bepurchased, and at what price. The missionary went accordingly, butreturned with the sad intelligence that on account of Mary's aidingGeorge to escape, the court had compelled Mr. Green to sell her out ofthe State, and she had been sold to a Negro trader and taken to the NewOrleans market. As all hope of getting the girl was now gone, Georgeresolved to quit the American continent for ever. He immediately tookpassage in a vessel laden with timber, bound for Liverpool, and in fiveweeks from that time he was standing on the quay of the great Englishseaport. With little or no education, he found many difficulties in theway of getting a respectable living. However, he obtained a situationas porter in a large house in Manchester, where he worked during theday, and took private lessons at night. In this way he laboured forthree years, and was then raised to the situation of a clerk. George wasso white as easily to pass for a white man, and being somewhat ashamedof his African descent, he never once mentioned the fact of his havingbeen a slave. He soon became a partner in the firm that employed him, and was now on the road to wealth. 

In the year 1842, just ten years after George Green (for he adopted hismaster's name) arrived in England, he visited France, and spent somedays at Dunkirk. It was towards sunset, on a warm day in the month ofOctober, that Mr. Green, after strolling some distance from the Hotel deLeon, entered a burial ground and wandered long alone among the silentdead, gazing upon the many green graves and marble tombstones of thosewho once moved on the theatre of busy life, and whose sounds of gaietyonce fell upon the ear of man. All nature around was hushed in silence, and seemed to partake of the general melancholy which hung over thequiet resting place of departed mortals. After tracing the variedinscriptions which told the characters or conditions of the departed, and viewing the mounds 'neath which the dust of mortality slumbered, hehad now reached a secluded spot, near to where an aged weeping willowbowed its thick foliage to the ground, as though anxious to hide fromthe scrutinizing gaze of curiosity the grave beneath it. Mr. Greenseated himself upon a marble tomb, and began to read Roscoe's Leo X. , acopy of which he had under his arm. It was then about twilight, and hehad scarcely gone through half a page, when he observed a lady in black, leading a boy some five years old up one of the paths; and as the lady'sblack veil was over her face, he felt somewhat at liberty to eye hermore closely. While looking at her, the lady gave a scream and appearedto be in a fainting position, when Mr. Green sprang from his seat intime to save her from falling to the ground. At this moment, an elderlygentleman was seen approaching with a rapid step, who from hisappearance was evidently the lady's father, or one intimately connectedwith her. He came up, and in a confused manner, asked what was thematter. Mr. Green explained as well as he could. After taking up thesmelling bottle which had fallen from her hand, and holding it a shorttime to her face, she soon began to revive. During all this time, thelady's veil had so covered her face, that Mr. Green had not seen it. When she had so far recovered as to be able to raise her head, she againscreamed, and fell back into the arms of the old man. It now appearedquite certain, that either the countenance of George Green, or someother object, was the cause of these fits of fainting; and the oldgentleman, thinking it was the former, in rather a petulant tone said, "I will thank you, Sir, if you will leave us alone. " The child whom thelady was leading had now set up a squall; and amid the death-likeappearance of the lady, the harsh look of the old man, and the cries ofthe boy, Mr. Green left the grounds and returned to his hotel. 

Whilst seated by the window, and looking out upon the crowded street, with every now and then the strange scene in the grave-yard vividlybefore him, Mr. Green thought of the book he had been reading, and, remembering that he had left it on the tomb, where he had suddenlydropped it when called to the assistance of the lady, he immediatelydetermined to return in search of it. After a walk of some twentyminutes, he was again over the spot where he had been an hour before, and from which he had been so unceremoniously expelled by the old man. He looked in vain for the book; it was no where to be found: nothingsave a bouquet which the lady had dropped, and which lay half-buried inthe grass from having been trodden upon, indicated that any one had beenthere that evening. Mr. Green took up the bunch of flowers, and againreturned to the hotel. 

After passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six, hedropped into a sweet sleep, from which he did not awake until roused bythe rap of a servant, who, entering his room, handed him a note whichran as follows:--"Sir, --I owe you an apology for the inconveniences towhich you were subjected last evening, and if you will honour us withyour presence to dinner to-day at four o'clock, I shall be most happy togive you due satisfaction. My servant will be in waiting for you athalf-past three. I am, sir, your obedt. Servant, J. Devenant. October23, to George Green, Esq. "

The servant who handed this note to Mr. Green, informed him that thebearer was waiting for a reply. He immediately resolved to accept theinvitation, and replied accordingly. Who this person was, and how hisname and the hotel where he was stopping had been found out, was indeeda mystery. However, he waited impatiently for the hour when he was tosee this new acquaintance, and get the mysterious meeting in thegrave-yard solved. 

The clock on a neighbouring church had scarcely ceased striking three, when the servant announced that a carriage had called for Mr. Green. Inless than half an hour, he was seated in a most sumptuous barouch, drawnby two beautiful iron greys, and rolling along over a splendid gravelroad, completely shaded by large trees which appeared to have been theaccumulating growth of many centuries. The carriage soon stopped infront of a low villa, and this too was imbedded in magnificent treescovered with moss. Mr. Green alighted and was shown into a superbdrawing room, the walls of which were hung with fine specimens from thehands of the great Italian painters, and one by a German artistrepresenting a beautiful monkish legend connected with "The HolyCatherine, " and illustrious lady of Alexandria. The furniture had anantique and dignified appearance. High backed chairs stood around theroom; a venerable mirror stood on the mantle-shelf; rich curtains ofcrimson damask hung in folds at either side of the large windows; and arich Turkey carpet covered the floor. In the centre stood a tablecovered with books, in the midst of which was an old fashioned vasefilled with fresh flowers, whose fragrance was exceedingly pleasant. Afaint light, together with the quietness of the hour gave beauty beyonddescription to the whole scene. 

Mr. Green had scarcely seated himself upon the sofa, when the elderlygentleman whom he had met the previous evening made his appearance, followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as Mr. Devenant. Amoment more, and a lady--a beautiful brunette--dressed in black, withlong curls of a chesnut colour hanging down her cheeks, entered theroom. Her eyes were of a dark hazel, and her whole appearance indicatedthat she was a native of a southern clime. The door at which she enteredwas opposite to where the two gentlemen were seated. They immediatelyrose; and Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing her to Mr. Green, when he observed that the latter had sunk back upon the sofa, and thelast word that he remembered to have heard was, "It is her. " After this, all was dark and dreamy: how long he remained in this condition it wasfor another to tell. When he awoke, he found himself stretched upon thesofa, with his boots off, his neckerchief removed, shirt collarunbuttoned, and his head resting upon a pillow. By his side sat the oldman, with the smelling bottle in the one hand, and a glass of water inthe other, and the little boy standing at the foot of the sofa. As soonas Mr. Green had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he said, "Where am I, and what does this mean?" "Wait a while, " replied the oldman, "and I will tell you all. " After the lapse of some ten minutes herose from the sofa, adjusted his apparel, and said, "I am now ready tohear anything you have to say. " "You were born in America, " said the oldman. "Yes, " he replied. "And you were acquainted with a girl namedMary, " continued the old man. "Yes, and I loved her as I can love noneother. " "The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening is Mary, "replied Mr. Devenant. George Green was silent, but the fountains ofmingled grief and joy stole out from beneath his eye lashes, andglistened like pearls upon his pale and marble-like cheeks. At thisjuncture the lady again entered the room. Mr. Green sprang from thesofa, and they fell into each other's arms, to the surprise of the oldman and little George, and to the amusement of the servants who hadcrept up one by one, and were hid behind the doors or loitering in thehall. When they had given vent to their feelings, they resumed theirseats and each in turn related the adventures through which they hadpassed. "How did you find out my name and address, " asked Mr. Green?"After you had left us in the grave-yard, our little George said, 'O, mamma, if there aint a book!' and picked it up and brought it to us. Papa opened it, and said 'the gentleman's name is written in it, andhere is a card of the Hotel de Leon, where I suppose he is stopping. 'Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was all a fancy of mine thatI had ever seen you before, but I was perfectly convinced that you weremy own George Green. Are you married?" "No, I am not. " "Then, thankGod!" exclaimed Mrs. Devenant. The old man who had been silent all thistime, said, "Now, Sir, I must apologize for the trouble you were put tolast evening. " "And you are single now. " "Yes, " she replied. "This isindeed the Lord's doings, " said Mr. Green, at the same time burstinginto a flood of tears. Although Mr. Devenant was past the age when menshould think upon matrimonial subjects, yet this scene brought vividlybefore his eyes the days when he was a young man, and had a wife living, and he thought it time to call their attention to dinner, which wasthen waiting. We need scarcely add, that Mr. Green and Mrs. Devenant didvery little towards diminishing the dinner that day. 

After dinner the lovers (for such we have to call them) gave theirexperience from the time that George Green left the gaol, dressed inMary's clothes. Up to that time, Mr. Green's was substantially as wehave related it. Mrs. Devenant's was as follows:--"The night after youleft the prison, " said she, "I did not shut my eyes in sleep. The nextmorning, about 8 o'clock, Peter, the gardener, came to the gaol to seeif I had been there the night before, and was informed that I had, andthat I left a little after dark. About an hour after, Mr. Green camehimself, and I need not say that he was much surprised on finding methere, dressed in your clothes. This was the first tidings they had ofyour escape. " "What did Mr. Green say when he found that I had fled?""O!" continued Mrs. Devenant, "he said to me when no one was near, Ihope George will get off, but I fear you will have to suffer in hisstead. I told him that if it must be so I was willing to die if youcould live. " At this moment George Green burst into tears, threw hisarms around her neck, and exclaimed, "I am glad I have waited so long, with the hope of meeting you again. "

Mrs. Devenant again resumed her story:--"I was kept in gaol three days, during which time I was visited by the Magistrates and two of theJudges. On the third day I was taken out, and master told me that I wasliberated, upon condition that I be immediately sent out of the State. There happened to be just at that time in the neighbourhood anegro-trader, and he purchased me, and I was taken to New Orleans. Onthe steam-boat we were kept in a close room where slaves are usuallyconfined, so that I saw nothing of the passengers on board or the townswe passed. We arrived at New Orleans and were all put into theslave-market for sale. I was examined by many persons, but none seemedwilling to purchase me; as all thought me too white, and said I wouldrun away and pass as a free white woman. On the second day while in theslave-market, and while planters and others were examining slaves andmaking their purchases, I observed a tall young man with long black haireyeing me very closely, and then talking to the trader. I felt sure thatmy time had now come, but the day closed without my being sold. I didnot regret this, for I had heard that foreigners made the worst ofmasters, and I felt confident that the man who eyed me so closely wasnot an American. 

"The next day was the Sabbath. The bells called the people to thedifferent places of worship. Methodists sang, and Baptists immersed, andPresbyterians sprinkled, and Episcopalians read their prayers, while theministers of the various sects preached that Christ died for all; yetthere were some twenty-five or thirty of us poor creatures confined inthe '_Negro Pen_' awaiting the close of the Holy Sabbath, and the dawnof another day, to be again taken into the market, there to be examinedlike so many beasts of burden. I need not tell you with what anxiety wewaited for the advent of another day. On Monday we were again broughtout, and placed in rows to be inspected; and fortunately for me, I wassold before we had been on the stand an hour. I was purchased by agentleman residing in the city, for a waiting-maid for his wife, who wasjust on the eve of starting for Mobile, to pay a visit to a nearrelation. I was then dressed to suit the situation of a maid-servant;and, upon the whole, I thought that in my new dress I looked as much thelady as my mistress. 

"On the passage to Mobile, who should I see among the passengers, butthe tall, long-haired man that had eyed me so closely in theslave-market a few days before. His eyes were again on me, and heappeared anxious to speak to me, and I as reluctant to be spoken to. Thefirst evening after leaving New Orleans, soon after twilight had let hercurtain down, and pinned it with a star, and while I was seated on thedeck of the boat, near the ladies' cabin, looking upon the rippledwaves, and the reflection of the moon upon the sea, all at once I sawthe tall young man standing by my side. I immediately rose from my seat, and was in the act of returning to the cabin, when he in a brokenaccent said, 'Stop a moment; I wish to have a word with you. I am yourfriend. ' I stopped and looked him full in the face, and he said, 'I sawyou some days since in the slave-market, and I intended to havepurchased you to save you from the condition of a slave. I called onMonday, but you had been sold and had left the market. I inquired andlearned who the purchaser was, and that you had to go to Mobile, so Iresolved to follow you. If you are willing, I will try and buy you fromyour present owner, and you shall be free. ' Although this was said in anhonest and off-hand manner, I could not believe the man to be sincere inwhat he said. 'Why should you wish to set _me_ free?' I asked. 'I had anonly sister, ' he replied, 'who died three years ago in France, and youare so much like her, that had I not known of her death, I would mostcertainly have taken you for her. ' 'However much I may resemble yoursister, you are aware that I am not her, and why take so much interestin one whom you never saw before?' 'The love, ' said he, 'which I had formy sister is transferred to you. ' I had all along suspected that theman was a knave, and this profession of love confirmed me in my formerbelief, and I turned away and left him. 

"The next day, while standing in the cabin and looking through thewindow, the French gentleman (for such he was) came to the window whilewalking on the guards, and again commenced as on the previous evening. He took from his pocket a bit of paper and put into my hand, and at thesame time saying, 'Take this, it may some day be of service to you, remember it is from a friend, ' and left me instantly. I unfolded thepaper, and found it to be a 100 dols. Bank note, on the United StatesBranch Bank, at Philadelphia. My first impulse was to give it to mymistress, but upon a second thought, I resolved to seek an opportunity, and to return the hundred dollars to the stranger. Therefore, I lookedfor him, but in vain; and had almost given up the idea of seeing himagain, when he passed me on the guards of the boat and walked towardsthe stem of the vessel. It being now dark, I approached him and offeredthe money to him. He declined, saying at the same time, 'I gave it toyou--keep it. ' 'I do not want it, ' I said. 'Now, ' said he, 'you hadbetter give your consent for me to purchase you, and you shall go withme to France. ' 'But you cannot buy me now, ' I replied, 'for my master isin New Orleans, and he purchased me not to sell, but to retain in hisown family. ' 'Would you rather remain with your present mistress, thanbe free?' 'No, ' said I. 'Then fly with me to-night; we shall be inMobile in two hours from this, and, when the passengers are going onshore, you can take my arm, and you can escape unobserved. The traderwho brought you to New Orleans exhibited to me a certificate of yourgood character, and one from the Minister of the Church to which youwere attached in Virginia; and upon the faith of these assurances, andthe love I bear you, I promise before high heaven that I will marry youas soon as it can be done. ' This solemn promise, coupled with what hadalready transpired, gave me confidence in the man; and rash as the actmay seem, I determined in an instant to go with him. My mistress hadbeen put under the charge of the captain; and as it would be past teno'clock when the steamer would land, she accepted an invitation of thecaptain to remain on board with several other ladies till morning. Idressed myself in my best clothes, and put a veil over my face, and wasready on the landing of the boat. Surrounded by a number of passengers, we descended the stage leading to the wharf and were soon lost in thecrowd that thronged the quay. As we went on shore we encountered severalpersons announcing the names of hotels, the starting of boats for theinterior, and vessels bound for Europe. Among these was the ship_Utica_, Captain Pell, bound for Havre. 'Now, ' said Mr. Devenant, 'thisis our chance. ' The ship was to sail at 12 o'clock that night, at hightide; and following the men who were seeking passengers, we wentimmediately on board. Devenant told the Captain of the ship that I washis sister, and for such we passed during the voyage. At the hour oftwelve the _Utica_ set sail, and we were soon out at sea. 

"The morning after we left Mobile, Devenant met me as I came from mystate-room and embraced me for the first time. I loved him, but it wasonly that affection which we have for one who has done us a lastingfavour: it was the love of gratitude rather than that of the heart. Wewere five weeks on the sea, and yet the passage did not seem long, forDevenant was so kind. On our arrival at Havre, we were married and cameto Dunkirk, and I have resided here ever since. "

At the close of this narrative, the clock struck ten, when the old man, who was accustomed to retire at an early hour, rose to take leave, saying at the same time, "I hope you will remain with us to-night. " Mr. Green would fain have excused himself, on the ground that they wouldexpect him and wait at the hotel, but a look from the lady told him toaccept the invitation. The old man was the father of Mrs. Devenant'sdeceased husband, as you will no doubt long since have supposed. Afortnight from the day on which they met in the grave-yard, Mr. Greenand Mrs. Devenant were joined in holy wedlock; so that George and Mary, who had loved each other so ardently in their younger days, were nowhusband and wife. Without becoming responsible for the truthfulness ofthe above narrative, I give it to you, reader, as it was told to me inJanuary last, in France, by George Green himself. 

A celebrated writer has justly said of woman: "A woman's whole life is ahistory of the affections. The heart is her world; it is there herambition strives for empire; it is there her avarice seeks for hiddentreasures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; she embarks herwhole soul in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case ishopeless--for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. "

Mary had every reason to believe that she would never see George again;and although she confesses that the love she bore him was nevertransferred to her first husband, we can scarcely find fault with herfor marrying Mr. Devenant. But the adherence of George Green to theresolution never to marry, unless to his Mary, is, indeed, a rareinstance of the fidelity of man in the matter of love. We can but blushfor our country's shame, when we recall to mind the fact, that whileGeorge and Mary Green, and numbers of other fugitives from Americanslavery, can receive protection from any of the Governments of Europe, they cannot return to their native land without becoming slaves. 

 FINIS. 

 AYR: PRINTED AT THE ADVERTISER OFFICE. 

Transcriber's notes:====================

ERRATA from the original volume, applied to the text. ======

Page 8, eleventh line from bottom, _for_ villages _read_ villasThe beautiful villages [**Erratum: villas] on the opposite side of the

145, fourth line from top, _for_ Dante _read_ Whittierour own Dante? [**Erratum: Whittier?]

205, second line from bottom, _for_ towns _read_ lawnsin the vicinity of the lakes. Magnificent towns [**Erratum: lawns]

264, seventh line from top, _for_ 1834 _read_ 1844In the month of May, 1834, [**Erratum: 1844, ] while one evening

273, eighth line from top, _for_ vanity _read_ varietylack vanity [**Erratum: variety] or imagination, either in his public

Letter XXIII displaced to be between XII and XIII, as per editor'sfootnote. 

TYPOS=====

All "Mr" replaced with "Mr. " (~10%). Similarly for "Mrs". 

play, " was to flag [**typo: flog] his slaves severely, and

tyranny in Great Britian [**typo: Britain] found social and

passengers, forty of whom were the "Vienneise [**typo: Viennese]

we were in sight of the land of Emmitt [**typo: Emmett] and

Rev. Dr. Ritchie, of Edinburgh. [** quote deleted] "It is indeed a

by M. Duguery, [**typo: Duguerry, ] curé of the Madeleine, The column is in imitation of the Trojan [**typo: Trajan]

XVI. And Marie Antionette [**typo: Antoinette] were driven from it by

building. [** full-stop added] The speaker, in the delivery of one of

Fète. [**typo: Fête. ]

soirèe [**typo: soirée] by M. De Tocqueville, Minister for

to the whole scene out of doors. The soirèe [**typo: soirée]

announced, and after a good deal of jambing [**typo: jamming] and

same basket, without any regard to birth or station. [** full-stop added]

had more interesting incidents occuring [**typo: occurring] in it than

of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Beranger [** final em-dash added]

Jardin des Plantes, and spent an hour and a-half [**typo: a half]

Were [**typo: were] at the time continually running through my

meeted [**typo: meted] out to me while at Hartwell. And the

I will see you. " [** missing quote inserted] In looking across the street, I

great contrast beetween [**typo: between] the monster Institution, The Tower is surounded [**typo: surrounded] by a high wall, and

skilful muscians; [**typo: musicians;] I have listened with delight

history, and the accumulated discoveries of byegone [**typo: bygone]

acquiline, [**typo: aquiline] his mouth rather small, and not at all

and died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1808. " [**missing quote inserted]

with the poet and saying:-- [**colon added]

had such ruins in view when he exclaimed:-- [**colon added]

Elyses [**typo: Elysees] at Paris; and as for statuary, the latter

where the celebrated Reformer, John Knox, re-resided. [**typo: resided. ]

lake is carved out and and [**typo: deleted second "and"] built up into terrace

through to the north gallery, and and [**typo: deleted second "and"] thence to

myself upon so diminutive a looking [**typo: looking a] creature. 

upon the wing--the artifical [**typo: artificial] stream, the brook

seemed to have forgotton [**typo: forgotten] that this was an exhibition

"Sartar [**typo: Sartor] Resartus, " and if he does not rise from its

the cloisters of Tinterran [**typo: Tintern] Abbey, in its proudest

that which has accomplished the mightest [**typo: mightiest] and

That measure was in every respect an unconsitutional [**typo: unconstitutional]

practice what they have so long professsd [**typo: professed]. (Hear, I had writen [**typo: written] for the occasion, was unanimously

taken him back and placed him in goal [**typo: gaol], and

was kept in goal [**typo: gaol] three days, during

into my hand, and at the sametime [**typo: same time] saying, be a 100 dols. Bank [**typo?: bank] note, on the United States

But the adherence of George Green to the re-resolution [**typo: resolution]

Apparent errata, but possibly acceptable period words: (left as-is in text). ===============

without the least difficulty, and his jestures, [**typo: gestures, ] Per OED, jesture obs. Form of gesture. May be typo?

motion, and the variagated [**typo: variegated] lamps with their many Per OED, verb variagate was known variant of variegate up to the 19th century

enemies on the 13th Vendimaire [**typo: Vendémiaire]. The Hotel de May be British variant used at the period

observed visiters [**typo: visitors] lingering about it, as if they May be valid past spelling

being conveyed to them by means of a pully-basket, [**typo: pulley-basket, ] Per OED, pully known variant of pulley, 15th-19th centuries

under heaven!--Perish the sum of all villanies! [**typo: villainies!] Per OED, known alternate spelling, 16th-19th centuries

force, carrying, upsetting, engulphing [**typo: engulfing] its adversaries, Per OED, known alternate spelling (along with ingulf and ingulph); an example of engulph quoted from an 1871 source. 

master and visiters [**typo: visitors] speak of the down-trodden May be valid past spelling

with long curls of a chesnut [**typo: chestnut] colour hanging down Per OED, chesnut was the most common spelling as late as 1820. Johnson set "chestnut" as the standard... 

Others found to be acceptable variants: Bastile, plebians, laureat, trode, Shakspere.