in Liverpool by indisposition. But Mrs. Craft has so far recovered, that
we 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 renewed
hatred to the abominable institution of American slavery. I have
received letters from a number of the friends of the slave, in which
they express a wish to aid the Crafts; and among the first of these,
were our good friends, John B. Estlin, Esq., of Bristol, and Harriet
Martineau.
But I must give you my impression of this fine city. Edinburgh is the
most picturesque of all the towns which I have visited since my arrival
in 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 was
deeply impressed with the idea that I had seen the most beautiful of
cities, after beholding those fashionable resorts, Paris and Versailles.
I have seen nothing in the way of public grounds to compare with the
gardens of Versailles, or the _Champs Elysees_ at Paris; and as for
statuary, the latter place is said to take the lead of the rest of the
world.
The general appearance of Edinburgh prepossesses one in its favour. The
town being built upon the brows of a large terrace, presents the most
wonderful perspective. Its first appearance to a stranger, and the first
impression, can scarcely be but favourable. In my first walk through the
town, I was struck with the difference in the appearance of the people
from the English. But the difference between the Scotch and the
Americans, is very great. The cheerfulness depicted in the countenances
of the people here, and their free and easy appearance, is very striking
to a stranger. He who taught the sun to shine, the flowers to bloom, the
birds to sing, and blesses us with rain, never intended that his
creatures should look sad. There is a wide difference between the
Americans and any other people which I have seen. The Scotch are healthy
and 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 and
American delegates. The former looked as if their pockets had been
filled with sandwiches, made of good bread and roast beef, while the
latter appeared as if their pockets had been filled with Holloway's
Pills, and Mrs. Kidder's Cordial.
I breakfasted this morning in a room in which the Poet Burns, as I was
informed, had often sat. The conversation here turned upon Burns. The
lady of the house pointed to a scrap of poetry which was in a frame
hanging on the wall, written, as she said, by the Poet, on hearing the
people rejoicing in a church over the intelligence of a victory. I
copied 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 had
been a visitor, caused me to feel that I was on classic, if not hallowed
ground. On returning from our morning visit, we met a gentleman with a
coloured lady on each arm. Craft remarked in a very dry manner, "If they
were in Georgia, the slaveholders would make them walk in a more hurried
gait than they do." I said to my friend, that if he meant the
pro-slavery prejudice would not suffer them to walk peaceably through
the streets, they need go no further than the pro-slavery cities of New
York and Philadelphia. When walking through the streets, I amused
myself, by watching Craft's countenance; and in doing so, imagined I saw
the changes experienced by every fugitive slave in his first month's
residence in this country. A sixteen months' residence has not yet
familiarized me with the change.
* * * * *
LAUREL BANK, _Jan. 18, 1851_.
Dear Douglass,--I remained in Edinburgh a day or two after the
date of my last letter, which gave me an opportunity of seeing some of
the lions in the way of public buildings, &c., in company with our
friend Wm. Craft. I paid a visit to the Royal Institute, and inspected
the very fine collection of paintings, statues, and other productions of
art. The collection in the Institute is not to be compared to the
British Museum at London, or the Louvre at Paris, but is probably the
best in Scotland. Paintings from the hands of many of the masters, such
as Sir A. Vandyke, Tiziano, Vercellio and Van Dellen, were hanging on
the wall, and even the names of Reubens, and Titian, were attached to
some of the finer specimens. Many of these represent some of the nobles,
and distinguished families of Rome, Athens, Greece, &c. A beautiful one
representing a group of the Lomellini family of Genoa, seemed to attract
the attention of most of the visitors.
In visiting this place, we passed close by the monument of Sir Walter
Scott. This is the most exquisite thing of the kind that I have seen
since coming to this country. It is said to be the finest monument in
Europe. There sits the author of "Waverley," with a book and pencil in
hand, taking notes. A beautiful dog is seated by his side. Whether this
is meant to represent his favourite dog, Camp, at whose death the Poet
shed so many tears, we were not informed; but I was of opinion that it
might be the faithful Percy, whose monument stands in the grounds at
Abbotsford. Scott was an admirer of the canine tribe. One may form a
good idea of the appearance of this distinguished writer, when living,
by viewing this remarkable statue. The statue is very beautiful, but not
equal to the one of Lord Byron, which was executed to be placed by the
side of Johnson, Milton, and Addison, in Poets' Corner, Westminster
Abbey; but the Parliament not allowing it a place there, it now stands
in 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 he
intended to have his favourite, Boatswain, interred by his side.
We paid a short visit to the monuments of Burns and Allan Ramsay, and
the renowned old Edinburgh Castle. The Castle is now used as a barrack
for Infantry. It is accessible only from the High Street, and must have
been impregnable before the discovery of gunpowder. In the wars with the
English, it was twice taken by stratagem; once in a very daring manner,
by climbing up the most inaccessible part of the rock upon which it
stands, and where a foe was least expected, and putting the guard to
death; and another time, by a party of soldiers disguising themselves as
merchants, and obtaining admission inside the Castle gates. They
succeeded in preventing the gates from being closed, until reinforced by
a party of men under Sir Wm. Douglas, who soon overpowered the occupants
of the Castle.
We could not resist the temptation held out to see the Palace of
Holyrood. 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 cap
having the widest border that I had seen for years. She was very kind in
showing us about the premises, especially as we were foreigners, no
doubt expecting an extra fee for politeness. The most interesting of the
many rooms in this ancient castle, is the one which was occupied by the
Queen, and where her Italian favourite, Rizzio, was murdered.
But by far the most interesting object which we visited while in
Edinburgh, was the house where the celebrated Reformer, John Knox,
re-resided. It is a queer-looking old building, with a pulpit on the
outside, and above the door are the nearly obliterated remains of the
following inscription:--"Lufe. God. Above. Al. And. your. Nichbour. As
you. Self." This was probably traced under the immediate direction of
the great Reformer. Such an inscription put upon a house of worship at
the 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 we
regard the picturesque disorder of the buildings, in the Old Town, or
the symmetrical proportions of the streets and squares in the New. But
on viewing this city which has the reputation of being the finest in
Europe, I was surprised to find that it had none of those sumptuous
structures, which like St. Paul's, or Westminster Abbey, York Minster,
and some other of the English provincial Cathedrals, astonish the
beholder alike by their magnitude and their architectural splendour. But
in no city which I have visited in the kingdom, is the general standard
of excellence better maintained than in Edinburgh.
I am not sure, my dear friend, whether or not I mentioned in my last
letter the attendance of Wm. Craft and myself at a splendid Soiree of
the Edinburgh Temperance Society, and our being voted in life members,
in the most enthusiastic manner, by the whole audience. I will here give
you a part of the speech of the President, as reported in the _Christian
News_. This should cause the pro-slavery whites, and especially
negro-hating Sons of Temperance, who refuse the coloured man a place in
their 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 two
individuals, who, according to the immaculate laws of immaculate
Yankeedom, have been guilty of the tremendous crime of stealing
themselves. (Applause.) Mr. Craft, who sits beside me, has stolen his
good wife, and Mrs. Craft has stolen her worthy husband; and our
respected friend, Mr. Brown, has cast a covetous eye on his own person.
In the name of the Temperance reformers of Edinburgh--in the name of
universal Scotland, I would welcome these two victims of the white man's
pride, ambition, selfishness, and cupidity. I welcome them as our equals
in every respect. (Great applause.) What a humiliating thought it will
be, 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 very
man whom they consider not worthy to sit in a third class carriage along
with a white man, and that too in a district of country where the very
aristocracy deal in cheap cheese--(great applause) traffic in tallow
candles, and spend their nights and days among raw hides and train
oil--(applause)--what a humbling thought it will be for them to know
that these very men in the centre of educated Scotland, in the midst of
educated Edinburgh, are thought fit to hold even the first rank upon our
aristocratic platform. Let us, then, my friends, lift our voices this
evening in one swelling chorus for the down-trodden slave. Let us
publish abroad the fact to the world, that the sympathies of Scotland
are with the bondsman everywhere. Let us unite our voices to cry, Down
with the iniquitous Slave Bill!--Down with the aristocracy of the
skin!--Perish forever the deepest-dyed, the hardest-hearted system of
abomination under heaven!--Perish the sum of all villanies! Perish
American slavery. (Great applause.)"
But I must leave the good and hospitable people of the Scottish Capital
for the present. I have taken an elaborate stock of notes, and may speak
of Edinburgh again.
I left William and Ellen Craft (the latter of whom has just come to
Edinburgh), and took the Glasgow train, and after a ride of two hours
through a beautiful country, with its winding hills on either side--its
fertile fields, luxuriant woods, and stately mansions lying around us,
arrived in the muddy, dirty, smoky, foggy city of Glasgow. As I had had
a standing invitation from a distinguished gentleman with whom I became
acquainted in London, to partake of his hospitality, should I ever visit
Glasgow, and again received a note while in Edinburgh renewing the
invitation, I proceeded to his residence at Partick, three miles from
Glasgow. This is one of the loveliest spots which I have yet seen. Our
mansion 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 of
the largest in the kingdom, was filled at an early hour. At the
appointed time, Alex. Hastie, Esq., M.P., entered the great room,
followed by the fugitives and most of the leading abolitionists, amid
rapturous applause. With a Member of Parliament in the chair, and
almost any number of clergymen on the platform, the meeting had an
influential appearance. From report, I had imbibed the opinion that the
Scotch were not easily moved, but if I may judge from the enthusiasm
which characterised the City Hall demonstration, I should place them but
little behind the English. After an excellent speech from the Chairman,
and spirited addresses from several clergymen, William Craft was
introduced to the meeting, and gave an account of the escape of himself
and wife from slavery, and their subsequent flight from Boston. Any
description of mine would give but a poor idea of the intense feeling
that pervaded the meeting. I think all who were there, left the hall
after hearing that noble fugitive, with a greater abhorrence of American
slavery 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 fumes
and smoke of a city with its population of three hundred thousand
inhabitants. In company with our friends Wm. and Ellen Craft, I left
Glasgow on the afternoon of the 23d inst., for Dundee, a beautiful town
situated on the banks of the river Tay. One like myself, who has spent
the best part of an eventful life in cities, and who prefers, as I do, a
country to a town life, feels a greater degree of freedom when
surrounded by forest trees, or country dwellings, and looking upon a
clear sky, than when walking through the thronged thoroughfares of a
city, with its dense population, meeting every moment a new or strange
face which one has never seen before, and never expects to see again.
Although I had met with one of the warmest public receptions with which
I have been greeted since my arrival in the country, and had had an
opportunity of shaking hands with many noble friends of the slave, whose
names I had often seen in print, yet I felt glad to see the tall
chimneys and smoke of Glasgow receding in the distance, as our 'iron
horse' was taking us with almost lightning speed from the commercial
capital of Scotland.
The distance from Glasgow to Dundee is some seventy or eighty miles, and
we passed through the finest country which I have seen in this portion
of the Queen's dominions. We passed through the old town of Stirling,
which lies about thirty miles distant from Glasgow, and is a place much
frequented by those who travel for pleasure. It is built on the brow of
a hill, and the Castle from which it most probably derived its name, may
be seen from a distance. Had it not been for a "professional" engagement
the same evening at Dundee, I would most assuredly have halted to take a
look at the old building.
The Castle is situated or built on an isolated rock, which seems as if
Nature had thrown it there for that purpose. It was once the retreat of
the Scottish Kings, and famous for its historical associations. Here the
"Lady of the Lake," with the magic ring, sought the monarch to intercede
for her father; here James II. murdered the Earl of Douglas; here the
beautiful but unfortunate Mary was made Queen; and here John Knox, the
Reformer, preached the coronation sermon of James VI. The Castle Hill
rises from the valley of the Forth, and makes an imposing and
picturesque appearance. The windings of the noble river till lost in the
distance, present pleasing contrasts, scarcely to be surpassed.
The speed of our train, after passing Stirling, brought before us, in
quick succession, a number of fine valleys and farm houses. Every spot
seemed to have been arrayed by Nature for the reception of the cottage
of some happy family. During this ride, we passed many sites where the
lawns were made, the terraces defined and levelled, the groves
tastefully clumped, the ancient trees, though small when compared to our
great forest oaks, were beautifully sprinkled here and there, and in
everything 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. At
last we arrived at the place of our destination, where our friends were
in waiting for us.
As I have already forwarded to you a paper containing an account of the
Dundee meeting, I shall leave you to judge from these reports the
character of the demonstration. Yet I must mention a fact or two
connected with our first evening's visit to this town. A few hours after
our arrival in the place, we were called upon by a gentleman whose name
is known wherever the English language is spoken--one whose name is on
the 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 the
evening, when our friend entered the room, accompanied by a gentleman,
small in stature, and apparently seventy-five years of age, yet he
appeared as active as one half that age. Feeling half drowsy from riding
in the cold, and then the sudden change to a warm fire, I was rather
inclined not to move on the entrance of the stranger. But the name of
Thomas Dick, LL.D., roused me in a moment, from my lethargy; I could
scarcely believe that I was in the presence of the "Christian
Philosopher." Dr. Dick is one of the men to whom the age is indebted. I
never find myself in the presence of one to whom the world owes so much
as Dr. Dick, without feeling a thrilling emotion, as if I were in the
land of spirits. Dr. Dick had come to our lodgings to see and
congratulate Wm. and Ellen Craft upon their escape from the republican
Christians of the United States; and as he pressed the hand of the
"white slave," and bid her "welcome to British soil," I saw the silent
tear stealing down the cheek of this man of genius. How I wished that
the many slaveholders and pro-slavery professed Christians of America,
who have read and pondered the philosophy of this man, could have been
present. Thomas Dick is an abolitionist--one who is willing that the
world should know that he hates the "peculiar institution." At the
meeting that evening, Dr. Dick was among the most prominent. But this
was not the only distinguished man who took part on that occasion.
Another great mind was on the platform, and entered his solemn protest
in a manner long to be remembered by those present. This was the Rev.
George Gilfillan, well known as the author of the "Portraits of Literary
Men." Mr. Gilfillan is an energetic speaker, and would have been the
lion of the evening, even if many others who are more distinguished as
platform orators had been present. I think it was Napoleon who said that
the enthusiasm of others abated his own. At any rate, the spirit with
which each speaker entered upon his duty for the evening, abated my own
enthusiasm for the time being. The last day of our stay in Dundee, I
paid a visit, by invitation, to Dr. Dick, at his residence in the little
village of Broughty Ferry. We found the great astronomer in his parlour
waiting for us. From the parlour we went to the new study, and here I
felt more at ease, for I went to see the Philosopher in his study, and
not in his drawing-room. But even this room had too much the look of
nicety to be an author's _sanctum_; and I inquired and was soon informed
by Mrs. Dick, that I should have a look at the "_old study_."
During a sojourn of eighteen months in Great Britain, I have had the
good fortune to meet with several distinguished literary characters, and
have always managed, while at their places of abode, to see the table
and favourite chair. Wm. and Ellen Craft were seeing what they could see
through a microscope, when Mrs. Dick returned to the room, and intimated
that we could now see the old literary workshop. I followed, and was
soon in a room about fifteen feet square, with but one window, which
occupied one side of the room. The walls of the other three sides were
lined with books. And many of these looked the very personification of
age. I took my seat in the "_old arm chair_;" and here, thought I, is
the place and the seat in which this distinguished man sat, while
weaving the radiant wreath of renown which now in his old age surrounds
him, and whose labours will be more appreciated by future ages than the
present.
I took a farewell of the author of the "Solar System," but not until I
had taken a look through the great telescope in the observatory. This
instrument, through which I tried to see the heavens, was not the one
invented by Galileo, but an improvement upon the original. On leaving
this learned man, he shook hands with us, and bade us "God speed" in our
mission; and I left the philosopher, feeling I had not passed an hour
more agreeably, with a literary character, since the hour which I spent
with Poet Montgomery a few months since. And, by-the-bye, there is a
resemblance between the poet and the philosopher. In becoming acquainted
with great men, I have become a convert to the opinion, that a big nose
is an almost necessary appendage to the form of a man with a giant
intellect. If those whom I have seen be a criterion, such is certainly
the case. But I have spun out this too long, and must close.
LETTER XV.
_Melrose Abbey--Abbotsford--Dryburgh Abbey--The Grave of Sir Walter
Scott--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 of
the Tweed, and within a stone's throw of the celebrated ruins from which
the town derives its name. The valley in which Melrose is situated, and
the surrounding hills, together with the Monastery, have so often been
made a theme for the Scottish bards, that this has become the most
interesting part of Scotland. Of the many gifted writers who have taken
up the pen, none have done more to bring the Eildon Hills and Melrose
Abbey into note, than the author of "Waverley." But who can read his
writings without a regret, that he should have so woven fact and fiction
together, that it is almost impossible to discriminate between the one
and the other.
We arrived at Melrose in the evening, and proceeded to the chapel where
our meeting was to be held, and where our friends, the Crafts, were
warmly greeted. On returning from the meeting, we passed close by the
ruins of Melrose, and, very fortunately, it was a moonlight night. There
is considerable difference of opinion among the inhabitants of the place
as regards the best time to view the Abbey. The author of the "Lay of
the 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."