Under these circumstances, it is a matter of particular

regret that the "New York Observer," an old and

long-established religious paper in the United States,

extensively read at the South, should have come out in

such a bitter and unscrupulous style of attack as even

to induce some Southern papers, with a generosity one

often finds at the South, to protest against it.

That they should use their Christian character and

the sacred name of Christ still further to blind the

minds and strengthen the prejudices of their Southern

brethren is to me a matter of deepest sorrow. All

those things, of course, cannot touch me in my private

capacity, sheltered as I am by a happy home and very

warm friends. I only grieve for it as a dishonor to

Christ and a real injustice to many noble-minded people

at the South, who, if they were allowed quietly and

dispassionately to hear and judge, might be led to the

best results.

But, my lord, all this only shows us how strong is the

interest we touch. _All the wealth of America_ may be

said to be interested in it. And, if I may judge from

the furious and bitter tone of some English papers,

they also have some sensitive connection with the evil.

I trust that those noble and gentle ladies of England

who have in so good a spirit expressed their views of

the question will not be discouraged by the strong

abuse that will follow. England is doing us good. We

need the vitality of a disinterested country to warm

our torpid and benumbed public sentiment.

Nay, the storm of feeling which the book raises in

Italy, Germany, and France is all good, though truly

'tis painful for us Americans to bear. The fact is, we

have become used to this frightful evil, and we need

the public sentiment of the world to help us.

I am now writing a work to be called "Key to Uncle

Tom's Cabin." It contains, in an undeniable form,

the facts which corroborate all that I have said.

One third of it is taken up with judicial records of

trials and decisions, and with statute law. It is a

most fearful story, my lord,--I can truly say that I

write with life-blood, but as called of God. I give in

my evidence, and I hope that England may so fix the

attention of the world on the facts of which I am the

unwilling publisher, that the Southern States may be

compelled to notice what hitherto they have denied and

ignored. If they call the fiction dreadful, what will

they say of the fact, where I cannot deny, suppress, or

color? But it is God's will that it must be told, and I

am the unwilling agent.

This coming month of April, my husband and myself

expect to sail for England on the invitation of the

Anti-Slavery Society of the Ladies and Gentlemen of

Glasgow, to confer with friends there.

There are points where English people can do much good;

there are also points where what they seek to do may be

made more efficient by a little communion with those

who know the feelings and habits of our countrymen: but

I am persuaded that England can do much for us.

My lord, they greatly mistake who see, in this movement

of English Christians for the abolition of slavery,

signs of disunion between the nations. It is the purest

and best proof of friendship England has ever shown us,

and will, I am confident, be so received. I earnestly

trust that all who have begun to take in hand the cause

will be in nothing daunted, but persevere to the end;

for though everything else be against us, _Christ_ is

certainly on our side and He _must at last prevail_,

and it will be done, "not by might, nor by power, but

by His Spirit."

Yours in Christian sincerity,

H. B. STOWE.

Mrs. Stowe also received a letter from Arthur Helps[12] accompanying

a review of her work written by himself and published in "Fraser's

Magazine." In his letter Mr. Helps took exception to the comparison

instituted in "Uncle Tom's Cabin" between the working-classes of

England and the slaves of America. In her answer to this criticism and

complaint Mrs. Stowe says:--

MR. ARTHUR HELPS:

_My dear Sir_,--I cannot but say I am greatly obliged

to you for the kind opinions expressed in your letter.

On one point, however, it appears that my book has not

faithfully represented to you the feelings of my heart.

I mean in relation to the English nation as a nation.

You will notice that the remarks on that subject occur

in the _dramatic_ part of the book, in the mouth of an

intelligent Southerner. As a fair-minded person, bound

to state for both sides all that could be said in the

person of St. Clare, the best that could be said on

that point, and what I know _is_ in fact constantly

reiterated, namely, that the laboring class of the

South are in many respects, as to physical comfort, in

a better condition than the poor of England.

This is the slaveholder's stereotyped apology,--a

defense it cannot be, unless two wrongs make one right.

It is generally supposed among us that this estimate

of the relative condition of the slaves and the poor

of England is correct, and we base our ideas on

reports made in Parliament and various documentary

evidence; also such sketches as "London Labor and

London Poor," which have been widely circulated among

us. The inference, however, which _we_ of the freedom

party draw from it, is _not_ that the slave is, on

the whole, in the best condition because of this

striking difference; that in America the slave has not

a recognized _human_ character _in law, has not even

an existence_, whereas in England the law recognizes

and protects the meanest subject, in theory _always_,

and in _fact_ to a certain extent. A prince of the

blood could not strike the meanest laborer without a

liability to prosecution, in _theory_ at least, and

that is something. In America any man may strike any

slave he meets, and if the master does not choose to

notice it, he has no redress.

I do not suppose _human nature_ to be widely different

in England and America. In both countries, when any

class holds power and wealth by institutions which

in the long run bring misery on lower classes, they

are very unwilling still to part with that wealth and

power. They are unwilling to be convinced that it is

their duty, and unwilling to do it if they are. It

is always so everywhere; it is not English nature or

American nature, but human nature. We have seen in

England the battle for popular rights fought step by

step with as determined a resistance from parties in

possession as the slaveholder offers in America.

There was the same kind of resistance in certain

quarters there to the laws restricting the employing of

young children eighteen hours a day in factories, as

there is here to the anti-slavery effort.

Again, in England as in America, there are, in those

very classes whose interests are most invaded by what

are called popular rights, some of the most determined

supporters of them, and here I think that the balance

preponderates in favor of England. I think there are

more of the high nobility of England who are friends

of the common people and willing to help the cause of

human progress, irrespective of its influence on their

own interests, than there are those of a similar class

among slaveholding aristocracy, though even that class

is not without such men. But I am far from having any

of that senseless prejudice against the English nation

as a nation which, greatly to my regret, I observe

sometimes in America. It is a relic of barbarism for

two such nations as England and America to cherish any

such unworthy prejudice.

For my own part, I am proud to be of English blood;

and though I do not think England's national course

faultless, and though I think many of her institutions

and arrangements capable of much revision and

improvement, yet my heart warms to her as, _on the

whole_, the strongest, greatest, and best nation on

earth. Have not England and America one blood, one

language, one literature, and a glorious literature

it is! Are not Milton and Shakespeare, and all the

wise and brave and good of old, common to us both,

and should there be anything but cordiality between

countries that have so glorious an inheritance in

common? If there is, it will be elsewhere than in

hearts like mine.

Sincerely yours,

H. B. STOWE.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Introduction to Illustrated Edition of _Uncle Tom_, p. xiii.

(Houghton, Osgood & Co., 1879.)

[11] Afterwards embodied in the _Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin_.

[12] Author of _Spanish Conquest in America_.--ED.

CHAPTER VIII.

FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE, 1853.

THE EDMONDSONS.--BUYING SLAVES TO SET THEM FREE.--JENNY

LIND.--PROFESSOR STOWE IS CALLED TO ANDOVER.--FITTING

UP THE NEW HOME.--THE "KEY TO UNCLE TOM'S

CABIN."--"UNCLE TOM" ABROAD.--HOW IT WAS PUBLISHED

IN ENGLAND.--PREFACE TO THE EUROPEAN EDITION.--THE

BOOK IN FRANCE.--IN GERMANY.--A GREETING FROM CHARLES

KINGSLEY.--PREPARING TO VISIT SCOTLAND.--LETTER TO MRS.

FOLLEN.

VERY soon after the publication of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" Mrs. Stowe

visited her brother Henry in Brooklyn, and while there became intensely

interested in the case of the Edmondsons, a slave family of Washington,

D. C. Emily and Mary two of the daughters of Paul (a free colored man)

and Milly (a slave) Edmondson, had, for trying to escape from bondage,

been sold to a trader for the New Orleans market. While they were

lying in jail in Alexandria awaiting the making up of a gang for the

South, their heartbroken father determined to visit the North and try

to beg from a freedom-loving people the money with which to purchase

his daughters' liberty. The sum asked by the trader was $2,250, but its

magnitude did not appall the brave old man, and he set forth upon his

quest full of faith that in some way he would secure it.

Reaching New York, he went to the anti-slavery bureau and related

his pitiful story. The sum demanded was such a large one and seemed

so exorbitant that even those who took the greatest interest in the

case were disheartened over the prospect of raising it. The old man

was finally advised to go to Henry Ward Beecher and ask his aid. He

made his way to the door of the great Brooklyn preacher's house, but,

overcome by many disappointments and fearing to meet with another

rebuff, hesitated to ring the bell, and sat down on the steps with

tears streaming from his eyes.

There Mr. Beecher found him, learned his story, and promised to do what

he could. There was a great meeting in Plymouth Church that evening,

and, taking the old colored man with him to it, Mrs. Stowe's brother

made such an eloquent and touching appeal on behalf of the slave girls

as to rouse his audience to profound indignation and pity. The entire

sum of $2,250 was raised then and there, and the old man, hardly able

to realize his great joy, was sent back to his despairing children with

their freedom money in his hand.

All this had happened in the latter part of 1848, and Mrs. Stowe had

first known of the liberated girls in 1851, when she had been appealed

to for aid in educating them. From that time forward she became

personally responsible for all their expenses while they remained in

school, and until the death of one of them in 1853.

Now during her visit to New York in the spring of 1852 she met their

old mother, Milly Edmondson, who had come North in the hope of saving

her two remaining slave children, a girl and a young man, from falling

into the trader's clutches. Twelve hundred dollars was the sum to be

raised, and by hard work the father had laid by one hundred of it when

a severe illness put an end to his efforts. After many prayers and much

consideration of the matter, his feeble old wife said to him one day,

"Paul, I'm a gwine up to New York myself to see if I can't get that

money."

Her husband objected that she was too feeble, that she would be unable

to find her way, and that Northern people had got tired of buying

slaves to set them free, but the resolute old woman clung to her

purpose and finally set forth. Reaching New York she made her way to

Mr. Beecher's house, where she was so fortunate as to find Mrs. Stowe.

Now her troubles were at an end, for this champion of the oppressed

at once made the slave woman's cause her own and promised that her

children should be redeemed. She at once set herself to the task of

raising the purchase-money, not only for Milly's children, but for

giving freedom to the old slave woman herself. On May 29, she writes to

her husband in Brunswick:--

"The mother of the Edmondson girls, now aged and feeble, is in the

city. I did not actually know when I wrote 'Uncle Tom' of a living

example in which Christianity had reached its fullest development under

the crushing wrongs of slavery, but in this woman I see it. I never

knew before what I could feel till, with her sorrowful, patient eyes

upon me, she told me her history and begged my aid. The expression of

her face as she spoke, and the depth of patient sorrow in her eyes, was

beyond anything I ever saw.

"'Well,' said I, when she had finished, 'set your heart at rest;

you and your children shall be redeemed. If I can't raise the money

otherwise, I will pay it myself.' You should have seen the wonderfully

sweet, solemn look she gave me as she said, 'The Lord bless you, my

child!'

"Well, I have received a sweet note from Jenny Lind, with her name

and her husband's with which to head my subscription list. They give

a hundred dollars. Another hundred is subscribed by Mr. Bowen in his

wife's name, and I have put my own name down for an equal amount. A

lady has given me twenty-five dollars, and Mr. Storrs has pledged me

fifty dollars. Milly and I are to meet the ladies of Henry's and Dr.

Cox's churches to-morrow, and she is to tell them her story. I have

written to Drs. Bacon and Dutton in New Haven to secure a similar

meeting of ladies there. I mean to have one in Boston, and another in

Portland. It will do good to the givers as well as to the receivers.

"But all this time I have been so longing to get your letter from

New Haven, for I heard it was there. It is not fame nor praise that

contents me. I seem never to have needed love so much as now. I long

to hear you say how much you love me. Dear one, if this effort impedes

my journey home, and wastes some of my strength, you will not murmur.

When I see this Christlike soul standing so patiently bleeding, yet

forgiving, I feel a sacred call to be the helper of the helpless, and

it is better that my own family do without me for a while longer than

that this mother lose all. _I must redeem her._

"_New Haven, June 2._ My old woman's case progresses gloriously. I

am to see the ladies of this place to-morrow. Four hundred dollars

were contributed by individuals in Brooklyn, and the ladies who took

subscription papers at the meeting will undoubtedly raise two hundred

dollars more."

Before leaving New York, Mrs. Stowe gave Milly Edmondson her check for

the entire sum necessary to purchase her own freedom and that of her

children, and sent her home rejoicing. That this sum was made up to her

by the generous contributions of those to whom she appealed is shown by

a note written to her husband and dated July, 1852, in which she says:--

"Had a very kind note from A. Lawrence inclosing a twenty-dollar

gold-piece for the Edmondsons. Isabella's ladies gave me twenty-five

dollars, so you see our check is more than paid already."

Although during her visit in New York Mrs. Stowe made many new friends,

and was overwhelmed with congratulations and praise of her book, the

most pleasing incident of this time seems to have been an epistolatory

interview with Jenny Lind (Goldschmidt). In writing of it to her

husband she says:--

"Well, we have heard Jenny Lind, and the affair was a bewildering dream

of sweetness and beauty. Her face and movements are full of poetry and

feeling. She has the artless grace of a little child, the poetic effect

of a wood-nymph, is airy, light, and graceful.

"We had first-rate seats, and how do you think we got them? When Mr.

Howard went early in the morning for tickets, Mr. Goldschmidt told

him it was impossible to get any good ones, as they were all sold.

Mr. Howard said he regretted that, on Mrs. Stowe's account, as she

was very desirous of hearing Jenny Lind. 'Mrs. Stowe!' exclaimed Mr.

Goldschmidt, 'the author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin"? Indeed, she shall

have a seat whatever happens!'

"Thereupon he took his hat and went out, returning shortly with tickets

for two of the best seats in the house, inclosed in an envelope

directed to me in his wife's handwriting. Mr. Howard said he could have

sold those tickets at any time during the day for ten dollars each.

"To-day I sent a note of acknowledgment with a copy of my book. I am

most happy to have seen her, for she is a noble creature."

To this note the great singer wrote in answer:--

MY DEAR MADAM,--Allow me to express my sincere thanks

for your very kind letter, which I was very happy to

receive.

You must feel and know what a deep impression "Uncle

Tom's Cabin" has made upon every heart that can feel

for the dignity of human existence: so I with my

miserable English would not even try to say a word

about the great excellency of that most beautiful book,

but I must thank you for the great joy I have felt over

that book.

Forgive me, my dear madam: it is a great liberty I take

in thus addressing you, I know, but I have so wished to

find an opportunity to pour out my thankfulness in a

few words to you that I cannot help this intruding. I

have the feeling about "Uncle Tom's Cabin" that great

changes will take place by and by, from the impression

people receive out of it, and that the writer of that

book can fall asleep to-day or to-morrow with the

bright, sweet conscience of having been a strong means

in the Creator's hand of operating essential good in

one of the most important questions for the welfare

of our black brethren. God bless and protect you and

yours, dear madam, and certainly God's hand will remain

with a blessing over your head.

Once more forgive my bad English and the liberty I have

taken, and believe me to be, dear madam,

Yours most truly,

JENNY GOLDSCHMIDT, _née_ LIND.

In answer to Mrs. Stowe's appeal on behalf of the Edmonsons, Jenny Lind

wrote:--

MY DEAR MRS. STOWE,--I have with great interest read

your statement of the black family at Washington. It is

with pleasure also that I and my husband are placing

our humble names on the list you sent.

The time is short. I am very, very sorry that I shall

not be able to _see_ you. I must say farewell to you

in this way. Hoping that in the length of time you may

live to witness the progression of the good sake for

which you so nobly have fought, my best wishes go with

you.

Yours in friendship,

JENNY GOLDSCHMIDT.

While Mrs. Stowe was thus absent from home, her husband received and

accepted a most urgent call to the Professorship of Sacred Literature

in the Theological Seminary at Andover, Mass.

In regard to leaving Brunswick and her many friends there, Mrs. Stowe

wrote: "For my part, if I _must_ leave Brunswick, I would rather leave

at once. I can tear away with a sudden pull more easily than to linger

there knowing that I am to leave at last. I shall never find people

whom I shall like better than those of Brunswick."

As Professor Stowe's engagements necessitated his spending much of

the summer in Brunswick, and also making a journey to Cincinnati,

it devolved upon his wife to remain in Andover, and superintend the

preparation of the house they were to occupy. This was known as the

old stone workshop, on the west side of the Common, and it had a year

or two before been fitted up by Charles Munroe and Jonathan Edwards[13]

as the Seminary gymnasium. Beneath Mrs. Stowe's watchful care and by

the judicious expenditure of money, it was transformed by the first of

November into the charming abode which under the name of "The Cabin"

became noted as one of the pleasantest literary centres of the country.

Here for many years were received, and entertained in a modest way,

many of the most distinguished people of this and other lands, and here

were planned innumerable philanthropic undertakings in which Mrs. Stowe

and her scholarly husband were the prime movers.

The summer spent in preparing this home was one of great pleasure as

well as literary activity. In July Mrs. Stowe writes to her husband: "I

had no idea this place was so beautiful. Our family circle is charming.

All the young men are so gentlemanly and so agreeable, as well as

Christian in spirit. Mr. Dexter, his wife, and sister are delightful.

Last evening a party of us went to ride on horseback down to Pomp's

Pond. What a beautiful place it is! There is everything here that

there is at Brunswick except the sea,--a great exception. Yesterday I

was out all the forenoon sketching elms. There is no end to the beauty

of these trees. I shall fill my book with them before I get through. We

had a levee at Professor Park's last week,--quite a brilliant affair.

To-day there is to be a fishing party to go to Salem beach and have a

chowder.

[Illustration: THE ANDOVER HOME]

"It seems almost too good to be true that we are going to have such

a house in such a beautiful place, and to live here among all these

agreeable people, where everybody seems to love you so much and to

think so much of you. I am almost afraid to accept it, and should not,

did I not see the Hand that gives it all and know that it is both firm

and true. He knows if it is best for us, and His blessing addeth no

sorrow therewith. I cannot describe to you the constant undercurrent of

love and joy and peace ever flowing through my soul. I am so happy--so

blessed!"

The literary work of this summer was directed toward preparing articles

on many subjects for the "New York Independent" and the "National

Era," as well as collecting material for future books. That the

"Pearl of Orr's Island," which afterward appeared as a serial in the

"Independent," was already contemplated, is shown by a letter written

July 29th, in which Mrs. Stowe says: "What a lovely place Andover is!

So many beautiful walks! Last evening a number of us climbed Prospect

Hill, and had a most charming walk. Since I came here we have taken up

hymn-singing to quite an extent, and while we were all up on the hill

we sang 'When I can read my title clear.' It went finely.

"I seem to have so much to fill my time, and yet there is my Maine

story waiting. However, I am composing it every day, only I greatly

need living studies for the filling in of my sketches. There is 'old

Jonas,' my 'fish father,' a sturdy, independent fisherman farmer, who

in his youth sailed all over the world and made up his mind about

everything. In his old age he attends prayer-meetings and reads the

'Missionary Herald.' He also has plenty of money in an old brown

sea-chest. He is a great heart with an inflexible will and iron

muscles. I must go to Orr's Island and see him again. I am now writing

an article for the 'Era' on Maine and its scenery, which I think is

even better than the 'Independent' letter. In it I took up Longfellow.

Next I shall write one on Hawthorne and his surroundings.

"To-day Mrs. Jewett sent out a most solemnly savage attack upon me

from the 'Alabama Planter.' Among other things it says: 'The plan for

assaulting the best institutions in the world may be made just as

rational as it is by the wicked (perhaps unconsciously so) authoress

of this book. The woman who wrote it must be either a very bad or a

very fanatical person. For her own domestic peace we trust no enemy

will ever penetrate into her household to pervert the scenes he may

find there with as little logic or kindness as she has used in her

"Uncle Tom's Cabin."' There's for you! Can you wonder now that such a

wicked woman should be gone from you a full month instead of the week I

intended? Ah, welladay!"

At last the house was finished, the removal from Brunswick effected,

and the reunited family was comfortably settled in its Andover home.

The plans for the winter's literary work were, however, altered by

force of circumstances. Instead of proceeding quietly and happily with

her charming Maine story, Mrs. Stowe found it necessary to take notice

in some manner of the cruel and incessant attacks made upon her as the

author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and to fortify herself against them by

a published statement of incontrovertible facts. It was claimed on all

sides that she had in her famous book made such ignorant or malicious

misrepresentations that it was nothing short of a tissue of falsehoods,

and to refute this she was compelled to write a "Key to Uncle Tom's

Cabin," in which should appear the sources from which she had obtained

her knowledge. Late in the winter Mrs. Stowe wrote:--

"I am now very much driven. I am preparing a Key to unlock 'Uncle

Tom's Cabin.' It will contain all the original facts, anecdotes, and

documents on which the story is founded, with some very interesting and

affecting stories parallel to those told of Uncle Tom. Now I want you

to write for me just what you heard that slave-buyer say, exactly as he

said it, that people may compare it with what I have written. My Key

will be stronger than the Cabin."

In regard to this "Key" Mrs. Stowe also wrote to the Duchess of

Sutherland upon hearing that she had headed an address from the women

of England to those of America:--

It is made up of the facts, the documents, the things

which my own eyes have looked upon and my hands have

handled, that attest this awful indictment upon my

country. I write it in the anguish of my soul, with

tears and prayer, with sleepless nights and weary days.

I bear my testimony with a heavy heart, as one who in

court is forced by an awful oath to disclose the sins

of those dearest.

So I am called to draw up this fearful witness against

my country and send it into all countries, that the

general voice of humanity may quicken our paralyzed

vitality, that all Christians may pray for us, and that

shame, honor, love of country, and love of Christ may

be roused to give us strength to cast out this mighty

evil.

Yours for the oppressed,

H. B. STOWE.

This harassing, brain-wearying, and heart-sickening labor was

continued until the first of April, 1853, when, upon invitation of the

Anti-Slavery Society of Glasgow, Scotland, Mrs. Stowe, accompanied by

her husband and her brother, Charles Beecher, sailed for Europe.

In the mean time the success of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" abroad was already

phenomenal and unprecedented. From the pen of Mr. Sampson Low, the

well-known London publisher, we have the following interesting

statement regarding it:--

"The first edition printed in London was in April, 1852, by Henry

Vizetelly, in a neat volume at ten and sixpence, of which he issued

7,000 copies. He received the first copy imported, through a friend

who had bought it in Boston the day the steamer sailed, for his own

reading. He gave it to Mr. V., who took it to the late Mr. David Bogue,

well known for his general shrewdness and enterprise. He had the book

to read and consider over night, and in the morning returned it,

declining to take it at the very moderate price of five pounds.

"Vizetelly at once put the volume into the hands of a friendly printer

and brought it out on his own account, through the nominal agency of

Clarke & Co. The 7,000 copies sold, other editions followed, and Mr.

Vizetelly disposed of his interest in the book to the printer and

agent, who joined with Mr. Beeton and at once began to issue monster

editions. The demand called for fresh supplies, and these created an

increased demand. The discovery was soon made that any one was at

liberty to reprint the book, and the initiative was thus given to a

new era in cheap literature, founded on American reprints. A shilling

edition followed the one-and-sixpence, and this in turn became the

precursor of one 'complete for sixpence.' From April to December, 1852,

twelve different editions (not reissues) were published, and within

the twelve months of its first appearance eighteen different London

publishing houses were engaged in supplying the great demand that had

set in, the total number of editions being forty, varying from fine

art-illustrated editions at 15s., 10s., and 7s. 6d., to the cheap

popular editions of 1s., 9d., and 6d.

"After carefully analyzing these editions and weighing probabilities

with ascertained facts, I am able pretty confidently to say that the

aggregate number of copies circulated in Great Britain and the colonies

exceeds one and a half millions."

A similar statement made by Clarke & Co. in October, 1852, reveals the

following facts. It says: "An early copy was sent from America the

latter end of April to Mr. Bogue, the publisher, and was offered by

him to Mr. Gilpin, late of Bishopsgate Street. Being declined by Mr.

Gilpin, Mr. Bogue offered it to Mr. Henry Vizetelly, and by the latter

gentleman it was eventually purchased for us. Before printing it,

however, as there was one night allowed for decision, one volume was

taken home to be read by Mr. Vizetelly, and the other by Mr. Salisbury,

the printer, of Bouverie Street. The report of the latter gentleman the

following morning, to quote his own words, was: 'I sat up till four in

the morning reading the book, and the interest I felt was expressed one

moment by laughter, another by tears. Thinking it might be weakness and

not the power of the author that affected me, I resolved to try the

effect upon my wife (a rather strong-minded woman). I accordingly woke

her and read a few chapters to her. Finding that the interest in the

story kept her awake, and that she, too, laughed and cried, I settled

in my mind that it was a book that ought to, and might with safety, be

printed.'

"Mr. Vizetelly's opinion coincided with that of Mr. Salisbury, and to

the latter gentleman it was confided to be brought out immediately. The

week following the book was produced and one edition of 7,000 copies

worked off. It made no stir until the middle of June, although we

advertised it very extensively. From June it began to make its way, and

it sold at the rate of 1,000 per week during July. In August the demand

became very great, and went on increasing to the 20th, by which time

it was perfectly overwhelming. We have now about 400 people employed

in getting out the book, and seventeen printing machines besides hand

presses. Already about 150,000 copies of the book are in the hands of

the people, and still the returns of sales show no decline."

The story was dramatized in the United States in August, 1852,

without the consent or knowledge of the author, who had neglected

to reserve her rights for this purpose. In September of the same

year we find it announced as the attraction at two London theatres,

namely, the Royal Victoria and the Great National Standard. In 1853

Professor Stowe writes: "The drama of 'Uncle Tom' has been going on

in the National Theatre of New York all summer with most unparalleled

success. Everybody goes night after night, and nothing can stop it. The

enthusiasm beats that of the run in the Boston Museum out and out. The

'Tribune' is full of it. The 'Observer,' the 'Journal of Commerce,' and

all that sort of fellows, are astonished and nonplussed. They do not

know what to say or do about it."

While the English editions of the story were rapidly multiplying, and

being issued with illustrations by Cruikshank, introductions by Elihu

Burritt, Lord Carlisle, etc., it was also making its way over the

Continent. For the authorized French edition, translated by Madame

Belloc, and published by Charpentier of Paris, Mrs. Stowe wrote the

following:--

PREFACE TO THE EUROPEAN EDITION.

In authorizing the circulation of this work on the

Continent of Europe, the author has only this apology,

that the love of _man_ is higher than the love of

country.

The great mystery which all Christian nations hold in

common, the union of God with man through the humanity

of Jesus Christ, invests human existence with an awful

sacredness; and in the eye of the true believer in

Jesus, he who tramples on the rights of his meanest

fellow-man is not only inhuman but sacrilegious, and

the worst form of this sacrilege is the institution of

_slavery_.

It has been said that the representations of this book

are exaggerations! and oh, _would_ that this were true!

Would that this book were indeed a fiction, and not a

close mosaic of facts! But that it is not a fiction the

proofs lie bleeding in thousands of hearts; they have

been attested by surrounding voices from almost every

slave State, and from slave-owners themselves. Since so

it must be, thanks be to God that this mighty cry, this

wail of an unutterable anguish, has at last been heard!

It has been said, and not in utter despair but in

solemn hope and assurance may we regard the struggle

that now convulses America,--the outcry of the demon

of slavery, which has heard the voice of Jesus of

Nazareth, and is rending and convulsing the noble

nation from which at last it must depart.

It cannot be that so monstrous a solecism can long

exist in the bosom of a nation which in all respects is

the best exponent of the great principle of universal

brotherhood. In America the Frenchman, the German,

the Italian, the Swede, and the Irish all mingle on

terms of equal right; all nations there display their

characteristic excellences and are admitted by her

liberal laws to equal privileges: everything is tending

to liberalize, humanize, and elevate, and for that very

reason it is that the contest with slavery there grows

every year more terrible.

The stream of human progress, widening, deepening,

strengthening from the confluent forces of all nations,

meets this barrier, behind which is concentrated all

the ignorance, cruelty, and oppression of the dark

ages, and it roars and foams and shakes the barrier,

and anon it must bear it down.

In its commencement slavery overspread every State in

the Union: the progress of society has now emancipated

the North from its yoke. In Kentucky, Tennessee,

Virginia, and Maryland, at different times, strong

movements have been made for emancipation,--movements

enforced by a comparison of the progressive march

of the adjoining free States with the poverty and

sterility and ignorance produced by a system which in a

few years wastes and exhausts all the resources of the

soil without the power of renewal.

The time cannot be distant when these States will

emancipate for self-preservation; and if no new slave

territory be added, the increase of slave population in

the remainder will enforce measures of emancipation.

Here, then, is the point of the battle. Unless more

slave territory is gained, slavery dies; if it is

gained, it lives. Around this point political parties

fight and manoeuvre, and every year the battle wages

hotter.

The internal struggles of no other nation in the world

are so interesting to Europeans as those of America;

for America is fast filling up from Europe, and every

European has almost immediately his vote in her

councils.

If, therefore, the oppressed of other nations desire

to find in America an asylum of permanent freedom, let

them come prepared, heart and hand, and vote against

the institution of slavery; for they who enslave man

cannot themselves remain free.

True are the great words of Kossuth: "No nation can

remain free with whom freedom is a _privilege_ and not

a principle."

This preface was more or less widely copied in the twenty translations

of the book that quickly followed its first appearance. These, arranged

in the alphabetical order of their languages, are as follows: Armenian,

Bohemian, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, Flemish, French, German, Hungarian,

Illyrian, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, Romaic or modern Greek, Russian,

Servian, Spanish, Wallachian, and Welsh.

In Germany it received the following flattering notice from one of the

leading literary journals: "The abolitionists in the United States

should vote the author of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' a civic crown, for a more

powerful ally than Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and her romance they

could not have. We confess that in the whole modern romance literature

of Germany, England, and France, we know of no novel to be called equal

to this. In comparison with its glowing eloquence that never fails

of its purpose, its wonderful truth to nature, the largeness of its

ideas, and the artistic faultlessness of the machinery in this book,

George Sand, with her Spiridion and Claudie, appears to us untrue

and artificial; Dickens, with his but too faithful pictures from the

popular life of London, petty; Bulwer, hectic and self-conscious. It is

like a sign of warning from the New World to the Old."

Madame George Sand reviewed the book, and spoke of Mrs. Stowe herself

in words at once appreciative and discriminating: "Mrs. Stowe is all

instinct; it is the very reason she appears to some not to have talent.

Has she not talent? What is talent? Nothing, doubtless, compared to

genius; but has she genius? She has genius as humanity feels the need

of genius,--the genius of goodness, not that of the man of letters, but

that of the saint."

Charles Sumner wrote from the senate chamber at Washington to Professor

Stowe: "All that I hear and read bears testimony to the good Mrs. Stowe

has done. The article of George Sand is a most remarkable tribute,

such as was hardly ever offered by such a genius to any living mortal.

Should Mrs. Stowe conclude to visit Europe she will have a triumph."

From Eversley parsonage Charles Kingsley wrote to Mrs. Stowe:--

A thousand thanks for your delightful letter. As for

your progress and ovation here in England, I have no

fear for you. You will be flattered and worshiped.

You deserve it and you must bear it. I am sure that

you have seen and suffered too much and too long to

be injured by the foolish yet honest and heartfelt

lionizing which you must go through.

I have many a story to tell you when we meet about the

effects of the great book upon the most unexpected

people.

Yours ever faithfully,

C. KINGSLEY.

March 28, 1853, Professor Stowe sent the following communication to the

Committee of Examination of the Theological Seminary at Andover: "As I

shall not be present at the examinations this term, I think it proper

to make to you a statement of the reasons of my absence. During the

last winter I have not enjoyed my usual health. Mrs. Stowe also became

sick and very much exhausted. At this time we had the offer of a voyage

to Great Britain and back free of expense."

This offer, coming as it did from the friends of the cause of

emancipation in the United Kingdom, was gladly accepted by Mr. and Mrs.

Stowe, and they sailed immediately.

The preceding month Mrs. Stowe had received a letter from Mrs. Follen

in London, asking for information with regard to herself, her family,

and the circumstances of her writing "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

In reply Mrs. Stowe sent the following very characteristic letter,

which may be safely given at the risk of some repetition:--

ANDOVER, _February 16, 1853._

MY DEAR MADAM,--I hasten to reply to your letter, to me

the more interesting that I have long been acquainted

with you, and during all the nursery part of my life

made daily use of your poems for children.

I used to think sometimes in those days that I would

write to you, and tell you how much I was obliged to

you for the pleasure which they gave us all.

So you want to know something about what sort of a

woman I am! Well, if this is any object, you shall

have statistics free of charge. To begin, then, I am

a little bit of a woman,--somewhat more than forty,

about as thin and dry as a pinch of snuff; never very

much to look at in my best days, and looking like a

used-up article now.

I was married when I was twenty-five years old to a man

rich in Greek and Hebrew, Latin and Arabic, and, alas!

rich in nothing else. When I went to housekeeping,

my entire stock of china for parlor and kitchen was

bought for eleven dollars. That lasted very well for

two years, till my brother was married and brought

his bride to visit me. I then found, on review, that

I had neither plates nor teacups to set a table for

my father's family; wherefore I thought it best to

reinforce the establishment by getting me a tea-set

that cost ten dollars more, and this, I believe, formed

my whole stock in trade for some years.

But then I was abundantly enriched with wealth of

another sort.

I had two little, curly-headed twin daughters to

begin with, and my stock in this line has gradually

increased, till I have been the mother of seven

children, the most beautiful and the most loved of

whom lies buried near my Cincinnati residence. It was

at his dying bed and at his grave that I learned what

a poor slave mother may feel when her child is torn

away from her. In those depths of sorrow which seemed

to me immeasurable, it was my only prayer to God that

such anguish might not be suffered in vain. There

were circumstances about his death of such peculiar

bitterness, of what seemed almost cruel suffering, that

I felt that I could never be consoled for it, unless

this crushing of my own heart might enable me to work

out some great good to others....

I allude to this here because I have often felt that

much that is in that book ("Uncle Tom") had its root

in the awful scenes and bitter sorrows of that summer.

It has left now, I trust, no trace on my mind, except

a deep compassion for the sorrowful, especially for

mothers who are separated from their children.

During long years of struggling with poverty and

sickness, and a hot, debilitating climate, my children

grew up around me. The nursery and the kitchen were my

principal fields of labor. Some of my friends, pitying

my trials, copied and sent a number of little sketches

from my pen to certain liberally paying "Annuals" with

my name. With the first money that I earned in this

way I bought a feather-bed! for as I had married into

poverty and without a dowry, and as my husband had only

a large library of books and a great deal of learning,

the bed and pillows were thought the most profitable

investment. After this I thought that I had discovered

the philosopher's stone. So when a new carpet or

mattress was going to be needed, or when, at the close

of the year, it began to be evident that my family

accounts, like poor Dora's, "wouldn't add up," then I

used to say to my faithful friend and factotum Anna,

who shared all my joys and sorrows, "Now, if you will

keep the babies and attend to the things in the house

for one day, I'll write a piece, and then we shall

be out of the scrape." So I became an author,--very

modest at first, I do assure you, and remonstrating

very seriously with the friends who had thought it best

to put my name to the pieces by way of getting up a

reputation; and if you ever see a woodcut of me, with

an immoderately long nose, on the cover of all the U.

S. Almanacs, I wish you to take notice, that I have

been forced into it contrary to my natural modesty by

the imperative solicitations of my dear five thousand

friends and the public generally. One thing I must say

with regard to my life at the West, which you will

understand better than many English women could.

I lived two miles from the city of Cincinnati, in the

country, and domestic service, not always you know to

be found in the city, is next to an impossibility to

obtain in the country, even by those who are willing to

give the highest wages; so what was to be expected for

poor me, who had very little of this world's goods to

offer?

Had it not been for my inseparable friend Anna, a

noble-hearted English girl, who landed on our shores

in destitution and sorrow, and clave to me as Ruth to

Naomi, I had never lived through all the trials which

this uncertainty and want of domestic service imposed

on both: you may imagine, therefore, how glad I was

when, our seminary property being divided out into

small lots which were rented at a low price, a number

of poor families settled in our vicinity, from whom

we could occasionally obtain domestic service. About

a dozen families of liberated slaves were among the

number, and they became my favorite resort in cases

of emergency. If anybody wishes to have a black face

look handsome, let them be left, as I have been, in

feeble health in oppressive hot weather, with a sick

baby in arms, and two or three other little ones in

the nursery, and not a servant in the whole house to

do a single turn. Then, if they could see my good old

Aunt Frankie coming with her honest, bluff, black face,

her long, strong arms, her chest as big and stout as

a barrel, and her hilarious, hearty laugh, perfectly

delighted to take one's washing and do it at a fair

price, they would appreciate the beauty of black people.

My cook, poor Eliza Buck,--how she would stare to think

of her name going to England!--was a regular epitome

of slave life in herself; fat, gentle, easy, loving

and lovable, always calling my very modest house and

door-yard "The Place," as if it had been a plantation

with seven hundred hands on it. She had lived through

the whole sad story of a Virginia-raised slave's life.

In her youth she must have been a very handsome mulatto

girl. Her voice was sweet, and her manners refined and

agreeable. She was raised in a good family as a nurse

and seamstress. When the family became embarrassed, she

was suddenly sold on to a plantation in Louisiana. She

has often told me how, without any warning, she was

suddenly forced into a carriage, and saw her little

mistress screaming and stretching her arms from the

window towards her as she was driven away. She has told

me of scenes on the Louisiana plantation, and she has

often been out at night by stealth ministering to poor

slaves who had been mangled and lacerated by the lash.

Hence she was sold into Kentucky, and her last master

was the father of all her children. On this point she

ever maintained a delicacy and reserve that always

appeared to me remarkable. She always called him her

husband; and it was not till after she had lived with

me some years that I discovered the real nature of

the connection. I shall never forget how sorry I felt

for her, nor my feelings at her humble apology, "You

know, Mrs. Stowe, slave women cannot help themselves."

She had two very pretty quadroon daughters, with her

beautiful hair and eyes, interesting children, whom I

had instructed in the family school with my children.

Time would fail to tell you all that I learned

incidentally of the slave system in the history of

various slaves who came into my family, and of the

underground railroad which, I may say, ran through our

house. But the letter is already too long.

You ask with regard to the remuneration which I have

received for my work here in America. Having been poor

all my life and expecting to be poor the rest of it,

the idea of making money by a book which I wrote just

because I could not help it, never occurred to me. It

was therefore an agreeable surprise to receive ten

thousand dollars as the first-fruits of three months'

sale. I presume as much more is now due. Mr. Bosworth

in England, the firm of Clarke & Co., and Mr. Bentley,

have all offered me an interest in the sales of their

editions in London. I am very glad of it, both on

account of the value of what they offer, and the value

of the example they set in this matter, wherein I think

that justice has been too little regarded.

I have been invited to visit Scotland, and shall

probably spend the summer there and in England.

I have very much at heart a design to erect in some of

the Northern States a normal school, for the education

of colored teachers in the United States and in Canada.

I have very much wished that some permanent memorial

of good to the colored race might be created out of

the proceeds of a work which promises to have so

unprecedented a sale. My own share of the profits will

be less than that of the publishers', either English

or American; but I am willing to give largely for this

purpose, and I have no doubt that the publishers, both

American and English, will unite with me; for nothing

tends more immediately to the emancipation of the slave

than the education and elevation of the free.

I am now writing a work which will contain, perhaps,

an equal amount of matter with "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

It will contain all the facts and documents on which

that story was founded, and an immense body of facts,

reports of trials, legal documents, and testimony of

people now living South, which will more than confirm

every statement in "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

I must confess that till I began the examination of

facts in order to write this book, much as I thought

I knew before, I had not begun to measure the depth

of the abyss. The law records of courts and judicial

proceedings are so incredible as to fill me with

amazement whenever I think of them. It seems to me

that the book cannot but be felt, and, coming upon the

sensibility awaked by the other, do something.

I suffer exquisitely in writing these things. It may

be truly said that I write with my heart's blood. Many

times in writing "Uncle Tom's Cabin" I thought my

health would fail utterly; but I prayed earnestly that

God would help me till I got through, and still I am

pressed beyond measure and above strength.

This horror, this nightmare abomination! can it be in

my country! It lies like lead on my heart, it shadows

my life with sorrow; the more so that I feel, as for my

own brothers, for the South, and am pained by every

horror I am obliged to write, as one who is forced

by some awful oath to disclose in court some family

disgrace. Many times I have thought that I must die,

and yet I pray God that I may live to see something

done. I shall in all probability be in London in May:

shall I see you?

It seems to me so odd and dream-like that so many

persons desire to see me, and now I cannot help

thinking that they will think, when they do, that God

hath chosen "the weak things of this world."

If I live till spring I shall hope to see Shakespeare's

grave, and Milton's mulberry-tree, and the good land of

my fathers,--old, old England! May that day come!

Yours affectionately,

H. B. STOWE.

FOOTNOTE:

[13] Students in the Seminary.

CHAPTER IX.

SUNNY MEMORIES, 1853.

CROSSING THE ATLANTIC.--ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.--RECEPTION

IN LIVERPOOL.--WELCOME TO SCOTLAND.--A GLASGOW

TEA-PARTY.--EDINBURGH HOSPITALITY.--ABERDEEN.--DUNDEE

AND BIRMINGHAM.--JOSEPH STURGE.--ELIHU

BURRITT.--LONDON.--THE LORD MAYOR'S DINNER.--CHARLES

DICKENS AND HIS WIFE.

THE journey undertaken by Mrs. Stowe with her husband and brother

through England and Scotland, and afterwards with her brother alone

over much of the Continent, was one of unusual interest. No one was

more surprised than Mrs. Stowe herself by the demonstrations of respect

and affection that everywhere greeted her.

Fortunately an unbroken record of this memorable journey, in Mrs.

Stowe's own words, has been preserved, and we are thus able to

receive her own impressions of what she saw, heard, and did, under

circumstances that were at once pleasant, novel, and embarrassing.

Beginning with her voyage, she writes as follows:--

LIVERPOOL, _April 11, 1853._

MY DEAR CHILDREN,--You wish, first of all, to hear of

the voyage. Let me assure you, my dears, in the very

commencement of the matter, that going to sea is not at

all the thing that we have taken it to be.

Let me warn you, if you ever go to sea, to omit all

preparations for amusement on shipboard. Don't leave

so much as the unlocking of a trunk to be done after

sailing. In the few precious minutes when the ship

stands still, before she weighs her anchor, set your

house, that is to say your stateroom, as much in order

as if you were going to be hanged; place everything

in the most convenient position to be seized without

trouble at a moment's notice; for be sure that in half

an hour after sailing, an infinite desperation will

seize you, in which the grasshopper will be a burden.

If anything is in your trunk, it might almost as well

be in the sea, for any practical probability of your

getting to it.

Our voyage out was called "a good run." It was voted

unanimously to be "an extraordinary good passage," "a

pleasant voyage;" yet the ship rocked the whole time

from side to side with a steady, dizzy, continuous

motion, like a great cradle. I had a new sympathy for

babies, poor little things, who are rocked hours at a

time without so much as a "by your leave" in the case.

No wonder there are so many stupid people in the world!

We arrived on Sunday morning: the custom-house

officers, very gentlemanly men, came on board; our

luggage was all set out, and passed through a rapid

examination, which in many cases amounted only to

opening the trunk and shutting it, and all was over.

The whole ceremony did not occupy two hours.

We were inquiring of some friends for the most

convenient hotel, when we found the son of Mr. Cropper,

of Dingle Bank, waiting in the cabin to take us with

him to their hospitable abode. In a few moments after

the baggage had been examined, we all bade adieu to the

old ship, and went on board the little steam tender

which carries passengers up to the city.

This Mersey River would be a very beautiful one, if

it were not so dingy and muddy. As we are sailing

up in the tender towards Liverpool, I deplore the

circumstance feelingly.

"What does make this river so muddy?"

"Oh," says a by-stander, "don't you know that

"'The quality of mercy is not strained'?"

I had an early opportunity of making acquaintance with

my English brethren; for, much to my astonishment, I

found quite a crowd on the wharf, and we walked up to

our carriage through a long lane of people, bowing, and

looking very glad to see us.

When I came to get into the hack it was surrounded by

more faces than I could count. They stood very quietly,

and looked very kindly, though evidently very much

determined to look. Something prevented the hack from

moving on; so the interview was prolonged for some time.

Our carriage at last drove on, taking us through

Liverpool and a mile or two out, and at length wound

its way along the gravel paths of a beautiful little

retreat, on the banks of the Mersey, called the

"Dingle." It opened to my eyes like a paradise, all

wearied as I was with the tossing of the sea. I have

since become familiar with these beautiful little

spots, which are so common in England; but now all was

entirely new to me.

After a short season allotted to changing our ship

garments and for rest, we found ourselves seated at

the dinner table. While dining, the sister-in-law of

our friends came in from the next door, to exchange a

word or two of welcome, and invite us to breakfast with

them the following morning.

The next morning we slept late and hurried to dress,

remembering our engagement to breakfast with the

brother of our host, whose cottage stands on the same

ground, within a few steps of our own. I had not the

slightest idea of what the English mean by a breakfast,

and therefore went in all innocence, supposing I should

see nobody but the family circle of my acquaintances.

Quite to my astonishment, I found a party of between

thirty and forty people; ladies sitting with their

bonnets on, as in a morning call. It was impossible,

however, to feel more than a momentary embarrassment

in the friendly warmth and cordiality of the circle by

whom we were surrounded.

In the evening I went into Liverpool to attend a party

of friends of the anti-slavery cause. When I was going

away, the lady of the house said that the servants were

anxious to see me; so I came into the dressing-room to

give them an opportunity.

The next day was appointed to leave Liverpool. A

great number of friends accompanied us to the cars,

and a beautiful bouquet of flowers was sent with a

very affecting message from a sick gentleman, who,

from the retirement of his chamber, felt a desire to

testify his sympathy. We left Liverpool with hearts a

little tremulous and excited by the vibration of an

atmosphere of universal sympathy and kindness, and

found ourselves, at length, shut from the warm adieu of

our friends, in a snug compartment of the railroad car.

"Dear me!" said Mr. S.; "six Yankees shut up in a car

together! Not one Englishman to tell us anything about

the country! Just like the six old ladies that made

their living by taking tea at each other's houses!"

What a bright lookout we kept for ruins and old houses!

Mr. S., whose eyes are always in every place, allowed

none of us to slumber, but looking out, first on his

own side and then on ours, called our attention to

every visible thing. If he had been appointed on a

mission of inquiry, he could not have been more zealous

and faithful, and I began to think that our desire for

an English cicerone was quite superfluous.

Well, we are in Scotland at last, and now our pulse

rises as the sun declines in the west. We catch

glimpses of Solway Firth and talk about Redgauntlet.

The sun went down and night drew on; still we were in

Scotland. Scotch ballads, Scotch tunes, and Scotch

literature were in the ascendant. We sang "Auld Lang

Syne," "Scots wha hae," and "Bonnie Doon," and then,

changing the key, sang "Dundee," "Elgin," and "Martyr."

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

"Ah," said I, "this is a thing that comes only once in

a lifetime; do let us have the comfort of it. We shall

never come into Scotland for the _first time_ again."

While we were thus at the fusion point of enthusiasm,

the cars stopped at Lockerbie. All was dim and dark

outside, but we soon became conscious that there was

quite a number of people collected, peering into the

window; and with a strange kind of thrill, I heard my

name inquired for in the Scottish accent. I went to the

window; there were men, women, and children gathered,

and hand after hand was presented, with the words,

"Ye're welcome to Scotland!"

Then they inquired for and shook hands with all the

party, having in some mysterious manner got the

knowledge of who they were, even down to little G.,

whom they took to be my son. Was it not pleasant, when

I had a heart so warm for this old country? I shall

never forget the thrill of those words, "Ye're welcome

to Scotland," nor the "Gude night."

After that we found similar welcomes in many succeeding

stopping-places; and though I did wave a towel out

of the window, instead of a pocket handkerchief, and

commit other awkwardnesses, from not knowing how to

play my part, yet I fancied, after all, that Scotland

and we were coming on well together. Who the good souls

were that were thus watching for us through the night,

I am sure I do not know; but that they were of the "one

blood" which unites all the families of the earth, I

felt.

At Glasgow, friends were waiting in the station-house.

Earnest, eager, friendly faces, ever so many. Warm

greetings, kindly words. A crowd parting in the middle,

through which we were conducted into a carriage, and

loud cheers of welcome, sent a throb, as the voice of

living Scotland.

I looked out of the carriage, as we drove on, and saw,

by the light of a lantern, Argyll Street. It was past

twelve o'clock when I found myself in a warm, cosy

parlor, with friends whom I have ever since been glad

to remember. In a little time we were all safely

housed in our hospitable apartments, and sleep fell on

me for the first time in Scotland.

The next morning I awoke worn and weary, and scarce

could the charms of the social Scotch breakfast restore

me.

Our friend and host was Mr. Bailie Paton. I believe

that it is to his suggestion in a public meeting that

we owe the invitation which brought us to Scotland.

After breakfast the visiting began. First, a friend of

the family, with three beautiful children, the youngest

of whom was the bearer of a handsomely bound album,

containing a pressed collection of the sea-mosses of

the Scottish coast, very vivid and beautiful.

All this day is a confused dream to me of a dizzy

and overwhelming kind. So many letters that it took

brother Charles from nine in the morning till two in

the afternoon to read and answer them in the shortest

manner; letters from all classes of people, high

and low, rich and poor, in all shades and styles of

composition, poetry and prose; some mere outbursts of

feeling; some invitations; some advice and suggestions;

some requests and inquiries; some presenting books, or

flowers, or fruit.

Then came, in their turn, deputations from Paisley,

Greenock, Dundee, Aberdeen, Edinburgh, and Belfast

in Ireland; calls of friendship, invitations of all

descriptions to go everywhere, and to see everything,

and to stay in so many places. One kind, venerable

minister, with his lovely daughter, offered me a

retreat in his quiet manse on the beautiful shores of

the Clyde.

For all these kindnesses, what could I give in return?

There was scarce time for even a grateful thought

on each. People have often said to me that it must

have been an exceeding bore. For my part, I could not

think of regarding it so. It only oppressed me with an

unutterable sadness.

In the afternoon I rode out with the lord provost to

see the cathedral. The lord provost answers to the

lord mayor in England. His title and office in both

countries continue only a year, except in case of

re-election.

As I saw the way to the cathedral blocked up by a

throng of people who had come out to see me, I could

not help saying, "What went ye out for to see? a reed

shaken with the wind?" In fact I was so worn out that

I could hardly walk through the building. The next

morning I was so ill as to need a physician, unable to

see any one that called, or to hear any of the letters.

I passed most of the day in bed, but in the evening

I had to get up, as I had engaged to drink tea with

two thousand people. Our kind friends, Dr. and Mrs.

Wardlaw, came after us, and Mr. S. and I went in the

carriage with them. Our carriage stopped at last at the

place. I have a dim remembrance of a way being made for

us through a great crowd all round the house, and of

going with Mrs. Wardlaw up into a dressing-room where

I met and shook hands with many friendly people. Then

we passed into a gallery, where a seat was reserved

for our party, directly in front of the audience. Our

friend Bailie Paton presided. Mrs. Wardlaw and I sat

together, and around us many friends, chiefly ministers

of the different churches, the ladies and gentlemen of

the Glasgow Anti-Slavery Society and others. I told

you it was a tea-party; but the arrangements were

altogether different from any I had ever seen. There

were narrow tables stretched up and down the whole

extent of the great hall, and every person had an

appointed seat. These tables were set out with cups

and saucers, cakes, biscuit, etc., and when the proper

time came, attendants passed along serving tea. The

arrangements were so accurate and methodical that the

whole multitude actually took tea together, without the

least apparent inconvenience or disturbance.

There was a gentle, subdued murmur of conversation

all over the house, the sociable clinking of teacups

and teaspoons, while the entertainment was going on.

It seemed to me such an odd idea, I could not help

wondering what sort of a teapot that must be in which

all this tea for two thousand people was made. Truly,

as Hadji Baba says, I think they must have had the

"father of all the tea-kettles" to boil it in. I could

not help wondering if old mother Scotland had put two

thousand teaspoonfuls of tea for the company, and one

for the teapot, as is our good Yankee custom.

We had quite a sociable time up in our gallery. Our

tea-table stretched quite across, and we drank tea

in sight of all the people. By _we_, I mean a great

number of ministers and their wives, and ladies of

the Anti-Slavery Society, besides our party, and the

friends whom I have mentioned before. All seemed to be

enjoying themselves.

After tea they sang a few verses of the seventy-second

psalm in the old Scotch version.

_April 17._ To-day a large party of us started on a

small steamer to go down the Clyde. It was a trip

full of pleasure and incident. Now we were shown

the remains of old Cardross Castle, where it was

said Robert Bruce breathed his last. And now we came

near the beautiful grounds of Roseneath, a green,

velvet-like peninsula, stretching out into the widening

waters.

Somewhere about here I was presented, by his own

request, to a broad-shouldered Scotch farmer, who stood

some six feet two, and who paid me the compliment to

say that he had read my book, and that he would walk

six miles to see me any day. Such a flattering evidence

of discriminating taste, of course, disposed my heart

towards him; but when I went up and put my hand into

his great prairie of a palm, I was as a grasshopper

in my own eyes. I inquired who he was and was told he

was one of the Duke of Argyll's farmers. I thought to

myself if all the duke's farmers were of this pattern,

that he might be able to speak to the enemy in the

gates to some purpose.

It was concluded after we left Roseneath that, instead

of returning by the boat, we should take carriage and

ride home along the banks of the river. In our carriage

were Mr. S. and myself, Dr. Robson, and Lady Anderson.

About this time I commenced my first essay towards

giving titles, and made, as you may suppose, rather an

odd piece of work of it, generally saying "Mrs." first,

and "Lady" afterwards, and then begging pardon. Lady

Anderson laughed and said she would give me a general

absolution. She is a truly genial, hearty Scotchwoman,

and seemed to enter happily into the spirit of the hour.

As we rode on, we found that the news of our coming had

spread through the village. People came and stood in

their doors, beckoning, bowing, smiling, and waving

their handkerchiefs, and the carriage was several

times stopped by persons who came to offer flowers.

I remember, in particular, a group of young girls

bringing to the carriage two of the most beautiful

children I ever saw, whose little hands literally

deluged us with flowers.

At the village of Helensburgh we stopped a little

while to call upon Mrs. Bell, the wife of Mr. Bell,

the inventor of the steamboat. His invention in this

country was at about the same time as that of Fulton

in America. Mrs. Bell came to the carriage to speak to

us. She is a venerable woman, far advanced in years.

They had prepared a lunch for us, and quite a number of

people had come together to meet us, but our friends

said there was not time for us to stop.

We rode through several villages after this, and met

everywhere a warm welcome. What pleased me was, that

it was not mainly from the literary, nor the rich, nor

the great, but the plain, common people. The butcher

came out of his stall and the baker from his shop, the

miller dusty with flour, the blooming, comely young

mother, with her baby in her arms, all smiling and

bowing, with that hearty, intelligent, friendly look,

as if they knew we should be glad to see them.

Once, while we stopped to change horses, I, for the

sake of seeing something more of the country, walked

on. It seems the honest landlord and his wife were

greatly disappointed at this; however, they got into

the carriage and rode on to see me, and I shook hands

with them with a right good will.

We saw several of the clergymen, who came out to meet

us; and I remember stopping just to be introduced,

one by one, to a most delightful family, a gray-headed

father and mother, with comely brothers and fair

sisters, all looking so kindly and homelike, that I

should have been glad to accept the invitation they

gave me to their dwelling.

This day has been a strange phenomenon to me. In the

first place, I have seen in all these villages how

universally the people read. I have seen how capable

they are of a generous excitement and enthusiasm, and

how much may be done by a work of fiction so written

as to enlist those sympathies which are common to all

classes. Certainly a great deal may be effected in this

way, if God gives to any one the power, as I hope he

will to many. The power of fictitious writing, for good

as well as evil, is a thing which ought most seriously

to be reflected on. No one can fail to see that in our

day it is becoming a very great agency.

We came home quite tired, as you may well suppose. You

will not be surprised that the next day I found myself

more disposed to keep my bed than go out.

Two days later: We bade farewell to Glasgow,

overwhelmed with kindness to the last, and only

oppressed by the thought of how little that was

satisfactory we were able to give in return. Again

we were in the railroad car on our way to Edinburgh.

A pleasant two hours' trip is this from Glasgow to

Edinburgh. When the cars stopped at Linlithgow station,

the name started us as out of a dream.

In Edinburgh the cars stopped amid a crowd of people

who had assembled to meet us. The lord provost met

us at the door of the car, and presented us to the

magistracy of the city and the committees of the

Edinburgh Anti-Slavery Societies. The drab dresses and

pure white bonnets of many Friends were conspicuous

among the dense moving crowd, as white doves seen

against a dark cloud. Mr. S. and myself, and our future

hostess, Mrs. Wigham, entered the carriage with the

lord provost, and away we drove, the crowd following

with their shouts and cheers. I was inexpressibly

touched and affected by this. While we were passing the

monument of Scott, I felt an oppressive melancholy.

What a moment life seems in the presence of the noble

dead! What a momentary thing is art, in all its beauty!

Where are all those great souls that have created such

an atmosphere of light about Edinburgh? and how little

a space was given them to live and enjoy!

We drove all over Edinburgh, up to the castle, to the

university, to Holyrood, to the hospitals, and through

many of the principal streets, amid shouts, and smiles,

and greetings. Some boys amused me very much by their

pertinacious attempts to keep up with the carriage.

"Heck," says one of them, "that's her; see the

_courls_!"

The various engravers who have amused themselves

by diversifying my face for the public having all,

with great unanimity, agreed in giving prominence to

this point, I suppose the urchins thought they were

on safe ground there. I certainly think I answered

one good purpose that day, and that is of giving the

much-oppressed and calumniated class called boys an

opportunity to develop all the noise that was in

them,--a thing for which I think they must bless me in

their remembrances.

At last the carriage drove into a deep-graveled yard,

and we alighted at a porch covered with green ivy, and

found ourselves once more at home.

You may spare your anxieties about me, for I do assure

you that if I were an old Sèvres china jar I could not

have more careful handling than I do. Everybody is

considerate; a great deal to say when there appears to

be so much excitement. Everybody seems to understand

how good-for-nothing I am; and yet, with all this

consideration, I have been obliged to keep my room and

bed for a good part of the time. Of the multitudes who

have called, I have seen scarcely any.

To-morrow evening is to be the great tea-party here.

How in the world I am ever to live through it I don't

know.

The amount of letters we found waiting for us here in

Edinburgh was, if possible, more appalling than in

Glasgow. Among those from persons whom you would be

interested in hearing of, I may mention a very kind

and beautiful one from the Duchess of Sutherland, and

one also from the Earl of Carlisle, both desiring to

make appointments for meeting us as soon as we come to

London. Also a very kind and interesting note from the

Rev. Mr. Kingsley and lady. I look forward with a great

deal of interest to passing a little time with them in

their rectory.

As to all engagements, I am in a state of happy

acquiescence, having resigned myself, as a very tame

lion, into the hands of my keepers. Whenever the time

comes for me to do anything, I try to behave as well as

I can, which, as Dr. Young says, is all that an angel

could do under the same circumstances.

_April 26._ Last night came off the _soirée_. The hall

was handsomely decorated with flags in front. We went

with the lord provost in his carriage. We went up as

before into a dressing-room, where I was presented

to many gentlemen and ladies. When we go in, the

cheering, clapping, and stamping at first strikes one

with a strange sensation; but then everybody looks so

heartily pleased and delighted, and there is such an

all-pervading atmosphere of geniality and sympathy, as

makes me in a few moments feel quite at home. After

all, I consider that these cheers and applauses are

Scotland's voice to America, a recognition of the

brotherhood of the countries.

The national penny offering, consisting of a thousand

golden sovereigns on a magnificent silver salver, stood

conspicuously in view of the audience. It has been an

unsolicited offering, given in the smallest sums, often

from the extreme poverty of the giver. The committee

who collected it in Edinburgh and Glasgow bore witness

to the willingness with which the very poorest

contributed the offering of their sympathy. In one

cottage they found a blind woman, and said, "Here, at

least, is one who will feel no interest, as she cannot

have read the book."

"Indeed," said the old lady, "if I cannot read, my son

has read it to me, and I've got my penny saved to give."

It is to my mind extremely touching to see how the

poor, in their poverty, can be moved to a generosity

surpassing that of the rich. Nor do I mourn that they

took it from their slender store, because I know that a

penny given from a kindly impulse is a greater comfort

and blessing to the poorest giver than even a penny

received.

As in the case of the other meeting, we came out long

before the speeches were ended. Well, of course I did

not sleep all night, and the next day I felt quite

miserable.

From Edinburgh we took cars for Aberdeen. I enjoyed

this ride more than anything we had seen yet, the

country was so wild and singular. In the afternoon we

came in sight of the German Ocean. The free, bracing

air from the sea, and the thought that it actually

_was_ the German Ocean, and that over the other side

was Norway, within a day's sail of us, gave it a

strange, romantic charm. It was towards the close of

the afternoon that we found ourselves crossing the

Dee, in view of Aberdeen. My spirits were wonderfully

elated: the grand scenery and fine, bracing air; the

noble, distant view of the city, rising with its

harbor and shipping,--all filled me with delight.

In this propitious state, disposed to be pleased

with everything, our hearts responded warmly to the

greetings of the many friends who were waiting for us

at the station-house.

The lord provost received us into his carriage, and

as we drove along pointed out to us the various

objects of interest in the beautiful town. Among other

things, a fine old bridge across the Dee attracted our

particular attention. We were conducted to the house

of Mr. Cruikshank, a Friend, and found waiting for us

there the thoughtful hospitality which we had ever

experienced in all our stopping-places. A snug little

quiet supper was laid out upon the table, of which we

partook in haste, as we were informed that the assembly

at the hall were waiting to receive us.

There arrived, we found the hall crowded, and with

difficulty made our way to the platform. Whether owing

to the stimulating effect of the air from the ocean,

or to the comparatively social aspect of the scene,

or perhaps to both, certain it is that we enjoyed the

meeting with great zest. I was surrounded on the stage

with blooming young ladies, one of whom put into my

hands a beautiful bouquet, some flowers of which I have

now, dried, in my album. The refreshment tables were

adorned with some exquisite wax flowers, the work, as

I was afterwards told, of a young lady in the place.

One of these designs especially interested me. It was a

group of water-lilies resting on a mirror, which gave

them the appearance of growing in the water.

We had some very animated speaking, in which the

speakers contrived to blend enthusiastic admiration and

love for America with detestation of slavery.

They presented an offering in a beautiful embroidered

purse, and after much shaking of hands we went home,

and sat down to the supper-table for a little more chat

before going to bed. The next morning--as we had only

till noon to stay in Aberdeen--our friends, the lord

provost and Mr. Leslie, the architect, came immediately

after breakfast to show us the place.

About two o'clock we started from Aberdeen, among

crowds of friends, to whom we bade farewell with real

regret.

At Stonehaven station, where we stopped a few minutes,

there was quite a gathering of the inhabitants to

exchange greetings, and afterwards, at successive

stations along the road, many a kindly face and voice

made our journey a pleasant one.

When we got into Dundee it seemed all alive with

welcome. We went in the carriage with the lord provost,

Mr. Thoms, to his residence, where a party had been

waiting dinner for us for some time.

The meeting in the evening was in a large church,

densely crowded, and conducted much as the others had

been. When they came to sing the closing hymn, I hoped

they would sing Dundee; but they did not, and I fear

in Scotland, as elsewhere, the characteristic national

melodies are giving way before more modern ones.

We left Dundee at two o'clock, by cars, for Edinburgh

again, and in the evening attended another _soirée_ of

the workingmen of Edinburgh. We have received letters

from the workingmen, both in Dundee and Glasgow,

desiring our return to attend _soirées_ in those

cities. Nothing could give us greater pleasure, had we

time or strength. The next day we had a few calls to

make, and an invitation from Lady Drummond to visit

classic Hawthornden, which, however, we had not time

to accept. In the forenoon, Mr. S. and I called on

Lord and Lady Gainsborough. Though she is one of the

queen's household, she is staying here at Edinburgh

while the queen is at Osborne. I infer, therefore, that

the appointment includes no very onerous duties. The

Earl of Gainsborough is the eldest brother of the Rev.

Baptist W. Noel.

It was a rainy, misty morning when I left my kind

retreat and friends in Edinburgh. Considerate as

everybody had been about imposing on my time or

strength, still you may well believe that I was much

exhausted. We left Edinburgh, therefore, with the

determination to plunge at once into some hidden and

unknown spot, where we might spend two or three days

quietly by ourselves; and remembering your Sunday at

Stratford-on-Avon, I proposed that we should go there.

As Stratford, however, is off the railroad line, we

determined to accept the invitation, which was lying by

us, from our friend, Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, and

take sanctuary with him. So we wrote on, intrusting him

with the secret, and charging him on no account to let

any one know of our arrival.

About night our cars whizzed into the depot at

Birmingham; but just before we came in a difficulty

was started in the company. "Mr. Sturge is to be there

waiting for us, but he does not know us and we don't

know him; what is to be done?" C. insisted that he

should know him by instinct; and so, after we reached

the depot, we told him to sally out and try. Sure

enough, in a few moments he pitched upon a cheerful,

middle-aged gentleman, with a moderate but not decisive

broad brim to his hat, and challenged him as Mr.

Sturge. The result verified the truth that "instinct is

a great matter." In a few moments our new friend and

ourselves were snugly encased in a fly, trotting off

as briskly as ever we could to his place at Edgbaston,

nobody a whit the wiser. You do not know how pleased we

felt to think we had done it so nicely.

As we were drinking tea that evening, Elihu Burritt

came in. It was the first time I had ever seen him,

though I had heard a great deal of him from our

friends in Edinburgh. He is a man in middle life,

tall and slender, with fair complexion, blue eyes,

an air of delicacy and refinement, and manners of

great gentleness. My ideas of the "learned blacksmith"

had been of something altogether more ponderous and

peremptory. Elihu has been for some years operating,

in England and on the Continent, in a movement which

many in our half-Christianized times regard with as

much incredulity as the grim, old warlike barons did

the suspicious imbecilities of reading and writing. The

sword now, as then, seems so much more direct a way to

terminate controversies, that many Christian men, even,

cannot conceive how the world is to get along without

it.

We spent the evening in talking over various topics

relating to the anti-slavery movement. Mr. Sturge was

very confident that something more was to be done

than had ever been done yet, by combinations for the

encouragement of free in the place of slave grown

produce; a question which has, ever since the days

of Clarkson, more or less deeply occupied the minds

of abolitionists in England. I should say that Mr.

Sturge in his family has for many years conscientiously

forborne the use of any article produced by slave

labor. I could scarcely believe it possible that there

could be such an abundance and variety of all that is

comfortable and desirable in the various departments

of household living within these limits. Mr. Sturge

presents the subject with very great force, the more so

from the consistency of his example.

The next morning, as we were sitting down to

breakfast, our friends sent in to me a plate of the

largest, finest strawberries I have ever seen, which,

considering that it was only the latter part of April,

seemed to me quite an astonishing luxury.

Before we left, we had agreed to meet a circle of

friends from Birmingham, consisting of the Abolition

Society there, which is of long standing, extending

back in its memories to the very commencement of the

agitation under Clarkson and Wilberforce. The windows

of the parlor were opened to the ground; and the

company invited filled not only the room, but stood

in a crowd on the grass around the window. Among the

peaceable company present was an admiral in the navy, a

fine, cheerful old gentleman, who entered with hearty

interest into the scene.

A throng of friends accompanied us to the depot, while

from Birmingham we had the pleasure of the company of

Elihu Burritt, and enjoyed a delightful run to London,

where we arrived towards evening.

At the station-house in London we found the Rev.

Messrs. Binney and Sherman waiting for us with

carriages. C. went with Mr. Sherman, and Mr. S. and I

soon found ourselves in a charming retreat called Rose

Cottage, in Walworth, about which I will tell you more

anon. Mrs. B. received us with every attention which

the most thoughtful hospitality could suggest. One of

the first things she said to me after we got into our

room was, "Oh, we are so glad you have come! for we

are all going to the lord mayor's dinner to-night, and

you are invited." So, though I was tired, I hurried

to dress in all the glee of meeting an adventure. As

soon as Mr. and Mrs. B. and the rest of the party were

ready, crack went the whip, round went the wheels, and

away we drove.

We found a considerable throng, and I was glad to

accept a seat which was offered me in the agreeable

vicinity of the lady mayoress, so that I might see what

would be interesting to me of the ceremonial.

A very dignified gentleman, dressed in black velvet,

with a fine head, made his way through the throng, and

sat down by me, introducing himself as Lord Chief Baron

Pollock. He told me he had just been reading the legal

part of the "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," and remarked

especially on the opinion of Judge Ruffin, in the case

of _State_ v. _Mann_, as having made a deep impression

on his mind.

Dinner was announced between nine and ten o'clock,

and we were conducted into a splendid hall, where the

tables were laid.

Directly opposite me was Mr. Dickens, whom I now beheld

for the first time, and was surprised to see looking

so young. Mr. Justice Talfourd, known as the author

of "Ion," was also there with his lady. She had a

beautiful, antique cast of head. The lord mayor was

simply dressed in black, without any other adornment

than a massive gold chain. We rose from table between

eleven and twelve o'clock--that is, we ladies--and went

into the drawing-room, where I was presented to Mrs.

Dickens and several other ladies. Mrs. Dickens is a

good specimen of a truly English woman; tall, large,

and well developed, with fine, healthy color, and an

air of frankness, cheerfulness, and reliability. A

friend whispered to me that she was as observing and

fond of humor as her husband.

After a while the gentlemen came back to the

drawing-room, and I had a few moments of very pleasant,

friendly conversation with Mr. Dickens. They are both

people that one could not know a little of without

desiring to know more.

After a little we began to talk of separating; the lord

mayor to take his seat in the House of Commons, and the

rest of the party to any other engagement that might be

upon their list.

"Come, let us go to the House of Commons," said one

of my friends, "and make a night of it." "With all my

heart," replied I, "if I only had another body to go

into to-morrow."

What a convenience in sight-seeing it would be if

one could have a relay of bodies as of clothes, and

slip from one into the other! But we, not used to the

London style of turning night into day, are full weary

already. So good-night to you all.

CHAPTER X.

FROM OVER THE SEA, 1853.

THE EARL OF CARLISLE.--ARTHUR HELPS.--THE DUKE AND

DUCHESS OF ARGYLL.--MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.--A

MEMORABLE MEETING AT STAFFORD HOUSE.--MACAULAY AND DEAN

MILMAN.--WINDSOR CASTLE.--PROFESSOR STOWE RETURNS TO

AMERICA.--MRS. STOWE ON THE CONTINENT.--IMPRESSIONS OF

PARIS.--EN ROUTE TO SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY.--BACK TO

ENGLAND.--HOMEWARD BOUND.

ROSE COTTAGE, WALWORTH, LONDON, _May 2, 1856._

MY DEAR,--This morning Mrs. Follen called and we had

quite a chat. We are separated by the whole city.

She lives at the West End, while I am down here in

Walworth, which is one of the postscripts of London,

for this place has as many postscripts as a lady's

letter. This evening we dined with the Earl of

Carlisle. There was no company but ourselves, for he,

with great consideration, said in his note that he

thought a little quiet would be the best thing he could

offer.

Lord Carlisle is a great friend to America, and so is

his sister, the Duchess of Sutherland. He is the only

English traveler who ever wrote notes on our country in

a real spirit of appreciation.

We went about seven o'clock, the dinner hour being here

somewhere between eight and nine. We were shown into an

ante-room adjoining the entrance hall, and from that

into an adjacent apartment, where we met Lord Carlisle.

The room had a pleasant, social air, warmed and

enlivened by the blaze of a coal fire and wax candles.

We had never, any of us, met Lord Carlisle before; but

the considerateness and cordiality of our reception

obviated whatever embarrassment there might have

been in this circumstance. In a few moments after we

were all seated, a servant announced the Duchess of

Sutherland, and Lord Carlisle presented me. She is

tall and stately, with a most noble bearing. Her fair

complexion, blonde hair, and full lips speak of Saxon

blood.

The only person present not of the family connection

was my quondam correspondent in America, Arthur Helps.

Somehow or other I had formed the impression from his

writings that he was a venerable sage of very advanced

years, who contemplated life as an aged hermit from the

door of his cell. Conceive my surprise to find a genial

young gentleman of about twenty-five, who looked as if

he might enjoy a joke as well as another man.

After the ladies left the table, the conversation

turned on the Maine law, which seems to be considered

over here as a phenomenon in legislation, and many of

the gentlemen present inquired about it with great

curiosity.

After the gentlemen rejoined us, the Duke and Duchess

of Argyll came in, and Lord and Lady Blantyre. These

ladies are the daughters of the Duchess of Sutherland.

The Duchess of Argyll is of slight and fairy-like

figure, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, answering

well enough to the description of Annot Lyle in the

Legend of Montrose. Lady Blantyre was somewhat taller,

of fuller figure, with a very brilliant bloom. Lord

Blantyre is of the Stuart blood, a tall and slender

young man with very graceful manners.

As to the Duke of Argyll, we found that the picture

drawn of him by his countrymen in Scotland was in

every way correct. Though slight of figure, with

fair complexion and blue eyes, his whole appearance

is indicative of energy and vivacity. His talents

and efficiency have made him a member of the British

Cabinet at a much earlier age than is usual; and

he has distinguished himself not only in political

life, but as a writer, having given to the world a

work on Presbyterianism, embracing an analysis of

the ecclesiastical history of Scotland since the

Reformation, which is spoken of as written with great

ability, and in a most liberal spirit. He made many

inquiries about our distinguished men, particularly of

Emerson, Longfellow, and Hawthorne; also of Prescott,

who appears to be a general favorite here. I felt at

the moment that we never value our own literary men so

much as when we are placed in a circle of intelligent

foreigners.

The following evening we went to dine with our old

friends of the Dingle, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cropper,

who are now spending a little time in London. We were

delighted to meet them once more and to hear from our

Liverpool friends. Mrs. Cropper's father, Lord Denman,

has returned to England, though with no sensible

improvement in his health.

At dinner we were introduced to Lord and Lady

Hatherton. Lady Hatherton is a person of great

cultivation and intelligence, warmly interested in all

the progressive movements of the day; and I gained much

information in her society. There were also present

Sir Charles and Lady Trevelyan; the former holds an

appointment at the treasury, and Lady Trevelyan is a

sister of Macaulay.

In the evening quite a circle came in, among others

Lady Emma Campbell, sister of the Duke of Argyll; the

daughters of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who very

kindly invited me to visit them at Lambeth; and Mr.

Arthur Helps, besides many others whose names I need

not mention.

_May 7._ This evening our house was opened in a

general way for callers, who were coming and going all

the evening. I think there must have been over two

hundred people, among them Martin Farquhar Tupper, a

little man with fresh, rosy complexion and cheery,

joyous manners; and Mary Howitt, just such a cheerful,

sensible, fireside companion as we find her in her

books,--winning love and trust the very first moment of

the interview.

The general topic of remark on meeting me seems to be,

that I am not so bad-looking as they were afraid I was;

and I do assure you that when I have seen the things

that are put up in the shop windows here with my name

under them, I have been in wondering admiration at the

boundless loving-kindness of my English and Scottish

friends in keeping up such a warm heart for such a

Gorgon. I should think that the Sphinx in the London

Museum might have sat for most of them. I am going to

make a collection of these portraits to bring home to

you. There is a great variety of them, and they will be

useful, like the Irishman's guide-board, which showed

where the road did not go.

Before the evening was through I was talked out and

worn out; there was hardly a chip of me left. To-morrow

at eleven o'clock comes the meeting at Stafford House.

What it will amount to I do not know; but I take no

thought for the morrow.

_May 8._

MY DEAR C.,--In fulfillment of my agreement I will tell

you, as nearly as I can remember, all the details of

the meeting at Stafford House. At about eleven o'clock

we drove under the arched carriage-way of a mansion

externally not very showy in appearance.

When the duchess appeared, I thought she looked

handsomer by daylight than in the evening. She received

us with the same warm and simple kindness which she

had shown before. We were presented to the Duke of

Sutherland. He is a tall, slender man, with rather a

thin face, light-brown hair, and a mild blue eye, with

an air of gentleness and dignity.

Among the first that entered were the members of the

family, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, Lord and Lady

Blantyre, the Marquis and Marchioness of Stafford, and

Lady Emma Campbell. Then followed Lord Shaftesbury with

his beautiful lady, and her father and mother, Lord and

Lady Palmerston. Lord Palmerston is of middle height,

with a keen dark eye and black hair streaked with gray.

There is something peculiarly alert and vivacious about

all his movements; in short, his appearance perfectly

answers to what we know of him from his public life.

One has a strange, mythological feeling about the

existence of people of whom one hears for many years

without ever seeing them. While talking with Lord

Palmerston I could but remember how often I had heard

father and Mr. S. exulting over his foreign dispatches

by our own fireside. There were present, also, Lord

John Russell, Mr. Gladstone, and Lord Granville. The

latter we all thought very strikingly resembled in his

appearance the poet Longfellow.

After lunch the whole party ascended to the

picture-gallery, passing on our way the grand staircase

and hall, said to be the most magnificent in Europe.

The company now began to assemble and throng the

gallery, and very soon the vast room was crowded. Among

the throng I remember many presentations, but of course

must have forgotten many more. Archbishop Whateley was

there, with Mrs. and Miss Whateley; Macaulay, with two

of his sisters; Milman, the poet and historian; the

Bishop of Oxford, Chevalier Bunsen and lady, and many

more.

When all the company were together, Lord Shaftesbury

read a very short, kind, and considerate address in

behalf of the ladies of England, expressive of their

cordial welcome.

This Stafford House meeting, in any view of it,

is a most remarkable fact. Kind and gratifying as

its arrangements have been to me, I am far from

appropriating it to myself individually as a personal

honor. I rather regard it as the most public expression

possible of the feelings of the women of England on one

of the most important questions of our day, that of

individual liberty considered in its religious bearings.

On this occasion the Duchess of Sutherland presented Mrs. Stowe with a

superb gold bracelet, made in the form of a slave's shackle, bearing

the inscription: "We trust it is a memorial of a chain that is soon

to be broken." On two of the links were inscribed the dates of the

abolition of the slave-trade and of slavery in English territory. Years

after its presentation to her, Mrs. Stowe was able to have engraved

on the clasp of this bracelet, "Constitutional Amendment (forever

abolishing slavery in the United States)."

Continuing her interesting journal, Mrs. Stowe writes, May 9th:--

DEAR E.,--This letter I consecrate to you, because I

know that the persons and things to be introduced into

it will most particularly be appreciated by you.

In your evening reading circles, Macaulay, Sydney

Smith, and Milman have long been such familiar names

that you will be glad to go with me over all the scenes

of my morning breakfast at Sir Charles Trevelyan's

yesterday. Lady Trevelyan, I believe I have said

before, is a sister of Macaulay.

We were set down at Westbourne Terrace somewhere, I

believe, about eleven o'clock, and found quite a number

already in the drawing-room. I had met Macaulay before,

but being seated between him and Dean Milman, I must

confess I was a little embarrassed at times, because I

wanted to hear what they were both saying at the same

time. However, by the use of the faculty by which you

play a piano with both hands, I got on very comfortably.

There were several other persons of note present

at this breakfast, whose conversation I had not an

opportunity of hearing, as they sat at a distance from

me. There was Lord Glenelg, brother of Sir Robert

Grant, governor of Bombay, whose beautiful hymns have

rendered him familiar in America. The favorite one,

commencing

"When gathering clouds around I view,"

was from his pen.

The historian Hallam was also present, and I think it

very likely there may have been other celebrities whom

I did not know. I am always finding out, a day or two

after, that I have been with somebody very remarkable

and did not know it at the time.

Under date of May 18th she writes to her sister Mary:--

DEAR M.,--I can compare the embarrassment of our London

life, with its multiplied solicitations and infinite

stimulants to curiosity and desire, only to that annual

perplexity which used to beset us in our childhood on

Thanksgiving Day. Like Miss Edgeworth's philosophic

little Frank, we are obliged to make out a list of what

man _must_ want, and of what he _may_ want; and in our

list of the former we set down, in large and decisive

characters, one quiet day for the exploration and

enjoyment of Windsor.

The ride was done all too soon. About eleven o'clock

we found ourselves going up the old stone steps to the

castle. We went first through the state apartments. The

principal thing that interested me was the ball-room,

which was a perfect gallery of Vandyke's paintings.

After leaving the ball-room we filed off to the proper

quarter to show our orders for the private rooms. The

state apartments, which we had been looking at, are

open at all times, but the private apartments can

only be seen in the Queen's absence and by a special

permission, which had been procured for us on that

occasion by the kindness of the Duchess of Sutherland.

One of the first objects that attracted my attention

upon entering the vestibule was a baby's wicker wagon,

standing in one corner. It was much such a carriage as

all mothers are familiar with; such as figures largely

in the history of almost every family. It had neat

curtains and cushions of green merino, and was not

royal, only maternal. I mused over the little thing

with a good deal of interest.

We went for our dinner to the White Hart, the very inn

which Shakespeare celebrates in his "Merry Wives," and

had a most overflowing merry time of it. After dinner

we had a beautiful drive.

We were bent upon looking up the church which gave rise

to Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard," intending

when we got there to have a little scene over it; Mr.

S., in all the conscious importance of having been

there before, assuring us that he knew exactly where it

was. So, after some difficulty with our coachman, and

being stopped at one church which would not answer our

purpose in any respect, we were at last set down by one

which looked authentic; embowered in mossy elms, with a

most ancient and goblin yew-tree, an ivy-mantled tower,

all perfect as could be. Here, leaning on the old

fence, we repeated the Elegy, which certainly applies

here as beautifully as language could apply.

Imagine our chagrin, on returning to London, at

being informed that we had not been to the genuine

churchyard after all. The gentleman who wept over the

scenes of his early days on the wrong doorstep was not

more grievously disappointed. However, he and we could

both console ourselves with the reflection that the

emotion was admirable, and wanted only the right place

to make it the most appropriate in the world.

The evening after our return from Windsor was spent

with our kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gurney. After

breakfast the next day, Mr. S., C., and I drove out to

call upon Kossuth. We found him in an obscure lodging

on the outskirts of London. I would that some of the

editors in America, who have thrown out insinuations

about his living in luxury, could have seen the utter

bareness and plainness of the reception room, which

had nothing in it beyond the simplest necessaries. He

entered into conversation with us with cheerfulness,

speaking English well, though with the idioms of

foreign languages. When we parted he took my hand

kindly and said, "God bless you, my child!"

I have been quite amused with something which has

happened lately. This week the "Times" has informed the

United Kingdom that Mrs. Stowe is getting a new dress

made! It wants to know if Mrs. Stowe is aware what sort

of a place her dress is being made in; and there is

a letter from a dressmaker's apprentice stating that

it is being made up piecemeal, in the most shockingly

distressed dens of London, by poor, miserable white

slaves, worse treated than the plantation slaves of

America!

Now Mrs. Stowe did not know anything of this, but

simply gave the silk into the hands of a friend, and

was in due time waited on in her own apartment by

a very respectable-appearing woman, who offered to

make the dress, and lo, this is the result! Since the

publication of this piece, I have received earnest

missives, from various parts of the country, begging me

to interfere, hoping that I was not going to patronize

the white slavery of England, and that I would employ

my talents equally against oppression in every form.

Could these people only know in what sweet simplicity I

had been living in the State of Maine, where the only

dressmaker of our circle was an intelligent, refined,

well-educated woman who was considered as the equal of

us all, and whose spring and fall ministrations to our

wardrobe were regarded a double pleasure,--a friendly

visit as well as a domestic assistance,--I say, could

they know all this, they would see how guiltless I

was in the matter. I verily never thought but that

the nice, pleasant person who came to measure me for

my silk dress was going to take it home and make it

herself; it never occurred to me that she was the head

of an establishment.

May 22, she writes to her husband, whose duties had obliged him to

return to America: "To-day we went to hear a sermon in behalf of the

ragged schools by the Archbishop of Canterbury. My thoughts have

been much saddened by the news which I received of the death of Mary

Edmonson."

"_May 30._ The next day from my last letter came off Miss Greenfield's

concert, of which I send a card. You see in what company they have put

your poor little wife. Funny!--isn't it? Well, the Hons. and Right

Hons. all were there. I sat by Lord Carlisle.

"After the concert the duchess asked Lady Hatherton and me to come

round to Stafford House and take tea, which was not a thing to be

despised, either on account of the tea or the duchess. A lovelier time

we never had,--present, the Duchess of Argyll, Lady Caroline Campbell,

Lady Hatherton, and myself. We had the nicest cup of tea, with such

cream, and grapes and apricots, with some Italian bread, etc.

"When we were going the duchess got me, on some pretext, into another

room, and came up and put her arms round me, with her noble face all

full of feeling.

"'Oh, Mrs. Stowe, I have been reading that last chapter in the "Key";

Argyll read it aloud to us. Oh, surely, surely you will succeed,--God

surely will bless you!'

"I said then that I thanked her for all her love and feeling for us,

told her how earnestly all the women of England sympathized with her,

and many in America. She looked really radiant and inspired. Had those

who hang back from our cause seen her face, it might have put a soul

into them as she said again, 'It will be done--it will be done--oh, I

trust and pray it may!'

"So we kissed each other, and vowed friendship and fidelity--so I came

away.

"To-day I am going with Lord Shaftesbury to St. Paul's to see the

charity children, after which lunch with Dean Milman.

"_May 31._ We went to lunch with Miss R. at Oxford Terrace, where,

among a number of distinguished guests, was Lady Byron, with whom I had

a few moments of deeply interesting conversation. No engravings that

ever have been circulated in America do any justice to her appearance.

She is of slight figure, formed with exceeding delicacy, and her whole

form, face, dress, and air unite to make an impression of a character

singularly dignified, gentle, pure, and yet strong. No words addressed

to me in any conversation hitherto have made their way to my inner

soul with such force as a few remarks dropped by her on the present

religious aspect of England,--remarks of such quality as one seldom

hears.

"According to request, I will endeavor to keep you informed of all our

goings-on after you left, up to the time of our departure for Paris.

"We have borne in mind your advice to hasten away to the Continent.

Charles wrote, a day or two since, to Mrs. C. at Paris to secure very

private lodgings, and by no means let any one know that we were coming.

She has replied urging us to come to her house, and promising entire

seclusion and rest. So, since you departed, we have been passing with

a kind of comprehensive skip and jump over remaining engagements.

And just the evening after you left came off the presentation of the

inkstand by the ladies of Surrey Chapel.

"It is a beautiful specimen of silver-work, eighteen inches long, with

a group of silver figures on it representing Religion, with the Bible

in her hand, giving liberty to the slave. The slave is a masterly piece

of work. He stands with his hands clasped, looking up to Heaven, while

a white man is knocking the shackles from his feet. But the prettiest

part of the scene was the presentation of a _gold pen_ by a band of

beautiful children, one of whom made a very pretty speech. I called

the little things to come and stand around me, and talked with them a

few minutes, and this was all the speaking that fell to my share.

"To-morrow we go--go to quiet, to obscurity, to peace--to Paris, to

Switzerland; there we shall find the loveliest glen, and, as the Bible

says, 'fall on sleep.'

"_Paris, June 4._ Here we are in Paris, in a most charming family. I

have been out all the morning exploring shops, streets, boulevards,

and seeing and hearing life in Paris. When one has a pleasant home and

friends to return to, this gay, bustling, vivacious, graceful city is

one of the most charming things in the world; and we _have_ a most

charming home.

"I wish the children could see these Tuileries with their statues and

fountains, men, women, and children seated in family groups under the

trees, chatting, reading aloud, working muslin,--children driving hoop,

playing ball, all alive and chattering French. Such fresh, pretty girls

as are in the shops here! _Je suis ravé_, as they say. In short I am

decidedly in a French humor, and am taking things quite _couleur de

rose_.

"_Monday, June 13._ We went this morning to the studio of M. Belloc,

who is to paint my portrait. The first question which he proposed,

with a genuine French air, was the question of 'pose' or position.

It was concluded that, as other pictures had taken me looking at the

spectator, this should take me looking away. M. Belloc remarked that M.

Charpentier said I appeared always with the air of an observer,--was

always looking around on everything. Hence M. Belloc would take me '_en

observatrice, mais pas en curieuse_,'--with the air of observation,

but not of curiosity. By and by M. Charpentier came in. He began

panegyrizing 'Uncle Tom,' and this led to a discussion of the ground

of its unprecedented success. In his thirty-five years' experience as

a bookseller, he had known nothing like it. It surpassed all modern

writings! At first he would not read it; his taste was for old masters

of a century or two ago. 'Like M. Belloc in painting,' said I. At

length he found his friend M., the first intelligence of the age,

reading it.

"'What, you, too?' said he.

"'Ah, ah!' replied the friend; 'say nothing about this book! There is

nothing like it. This leaves us all behind,--all, all, miles behind!'

"M. Belloc said the reason was because there was in it more _genuine

faith_ than in any book; and we branched off into florid eloquence

touching paganism, Christianity, and art.

"_Wednesday, June 22._ Adieu to Paris! Ho for Chalons-sur-Saône! After

affectionate farewells of our kind friends, by eleven o'clock we were

rushing, in the pleasantest of cars, over the smoothest of rails,

through Burgundy. We arrived at Chalons at nine P. M.

"_Thursday, 23_, eight o'clock A. M. Since five we have had a fine

bustle on the quay below our windows. There lay three steamers, shaped

for all the world like our last night's rolls. One would think Ichabod

Crane might sit astride one of them and dip his feet in the water. They

ought to be swift. L'Hirondelle (The Swallow) flew at five; another at

six. We leave at nine.

"_Lyons._ There was a scene of indescribable confusion upon our

arrival here. Out of the hold of our steamer a man with a rope and hook

began hauling baggage up a smooth board. Three hundred people were

sorting their goods without checks. Porters were shouldering immense

loads, four or five heavy trunks at once, corded together, and stalking

off Atlantean. Hat-boxes, bandboxes, and valises burst like a meteoric

shower out of a crater. '_A moi, à moi!_' was the cry, from old men,

young women, soldiers, shopkeepers, and _frères_, scuffling and shoving

together.

"_Saturday, June 25._ Lyons to Genève. As this was our first experience

in the diligence line, we noticed particularly every peculiarity. I had

had the idea that a diligence was a ricketty, slow-moulded antediluvian

nondescript, toiling patiently along over impassable roads at a snail's

pace. Judge of my astonishment at finding it a full-blooded, vigorous

monster, of unscrupulous railway momentum and imperturbable equipoise

of mind. Down the macadamized slopes we thundered at a prodigious

pace; up the hills we trotted, with six horses, three abreast; madly

through the little towns we burst, like a whirlwind, crashing across

the pebbled streets, and out upon the broad, smooth road again. Before

we had well considered the fact that we were out of Lyons we stopped to

change horses. Done in a jiffy; and whoop, crick, crack, whack, rumble,

bump, whirr, whisk, away we blazed, till, ere we knew it, another

change and another.

"As evening drew on, a wind sprang up and a storm seemed gathering on

the Jura. The rain dashed against the panes of the berlin as we rode

past the grim-faced monarch of the 'misty shroud.' It was night as we

drove into Geneva and stopped at the Messagerie. I heard with joy a

voice demanding if this were _Madame Besshare_. I replied, not without

some scruples of conscience, '_Oui, Monsieur, c'est moi_,' though the

name did not sound exactly like the one to which I had been wont to

respond. In half an hour we were at home in the mansion of Monsieur

Fazy."

From Geneva the party made a tour of the Swiss Alps, spending some

weeks among them. While there Charles Beecher wrote from a small hotel

at the foot of the Jura:--

"The people of the neighborhood, having discovered who Harriet was,

were very kind, and full of delight at seeing her. It was Scotland over

again. We have had to be unflinching to prevent her being overwhelmed,

both in Paris and Geneva, by the same demonstrations of regard. To

this we were driven, as a matter of life and death. It was touching to

listen to the talk of these secluded mountaineers. The good hostess,

even the servant maids, hung about Harriet, expressing such tender

interest for the slave. All had read 'Uncle Tom;' and it had apparently

been an era in their life's monotony, for they said, 'Oh, madam, do

write another! Remember, our winter nights here are very long!'"

Upon their return to Geneva they visited the Castle of Chillon, of

which, in describing the dungeons, Mrs. Stowe writes:--

"One of the pillars in this vault is covered with names. I think it

is Bonnevard's Pillar. There are the names of Byron, Hunt, Schiller,

and ever so many more celebrities. As we were going from the cell our

conductress seemed to have a sudden light upon her mind. She asked a

question or two of some of our party, and fell upon me vehemently to

put my name also there. Charley scratched it on the soft freestone,

and there it is for future ages. The lady could scarce repress her

enthusiasm; she shook my hand over and over again, and said she had

read 'Uncle Tom.' 'It is beautiful,' she said, 'but it is cruel.'

"_Monday, July 18._ Weather suspicious. Stowed ourselves and our

baggage into our _voiture_, and bade adieu to our friends and to

Geneva. Ah, how regretfully! From the market-place we carried away

a basket of cherries and fruit as a consolation. Dined at Lausanne,

and visited the cathedral and picture-gallery, where was an exquisite

_Eva_. Slept at Meudon.

"_Tuesday, July 19._ Rode through Payerne to Freyburg. Stopped at the

Zähringer Hof,--most romantic of inns.

"_Wednesday, July 20._ Examined, not the lions, but the bears of Berne.

Engaged a _voiture_ and drove to Thun. Dined and drove by the shore of

the lake to Interlachen, arriving just after a brilliant sunset.

"We crossed the Wengern Alps to Grindelwald. The Jungfrau is right over

against us,--her glaciers purer, tenderer, more dazzlingly beautiful,

if possible, than those of Mont Blanc. Slept at Grindelwald."

From Rosenlaui, on this journey, Charles Beecher writes:--

"_Friday, July 22._ Grindelwald to Meyringen. On we came, to the top of

the Great Schiedeck, where H. and W. botanized, while I slept. Thence

we rode down the mountain till we reached Rosenlaui, where, I am free

to say, a dinner was to me a more interesting object than a glacier.

Therefore, while H. and W. went to the latter, I turned off to the inn,

amid their cries and reproaches.

"Here, then, I am, writing these notes in the _salle à manger_ of

the inn, where other voyagers are eating and drinking, and there is

H. feeding on the green moonshine of an emerald ice cave. One would

almost think her incapable of fatigue. How she skips up and down high

places and steep places, to the manifest perplexity of the honest

guide Kienholz, _père_, who tries to take care of her, but does not

exactly know how! She gets on a pyramid of débris, which the edge of

the glacier is plowing and grinding up, sits down, and falls--not

asleep exactly, but into a trance. W. and I are ready to go on: we

shout; our voice is lost in the roar of the torrent. We send the guide.

He goes down, and stands doubtfully. He does not know exactly what to

do. She hears him, and starts to her feet, pointing with one hand to

yonder peak, and with the other to that knife-like edge that seems

cleaving heaven with its keen and glistening cimeter of snow, reminding

one of Isaiah's sublime imagery, 'For my sword is bathed in heaven.'

She points at the grizzly rocks, with their jags and spear-points.

Evidently she is beside herself, and thinks she can remember the names

of those monsters, born of earthquake and storm, which cannot be named

nor known but by sight, and then are known at once perfectly and

forever."

After traveling through Germany, Belgium, and Holland, the party

returned to Paris toward the end of August, from which place Mrs. Stowe

writes:--

"I am seated in a snug little room at M. Belloc's. The weather is

overpoweringly hot, but these Parisian houses seem to have seized and

imprisoned coolness. French household ways are delightful. I like their

seclusion from the street by these deep-paned quadrangles.

"Madame Belloc was the translator of Maria Edgeworth, by that lady's

desire; corresponded with her for years, and still has many of her

letters. Her translation of 'Uncle Tom' has to me all the merit and all

the interest of an original composition. In perusing it, I enjoy the

pleasure of reading the story with scarce any consciousness of its ever

having been mine."

The next letter is from London _en route_ for America, to which passage

had been engaged on the Collins steamer Arctic. In it Mrs. Stowe

writes:--

"_London, August 28._ Our last letters from home changed all our plans.

We concluded to hurry away by the next steamer, if at that late hour

we could get a passage. We were all in a bustle. The last shoppings

for aunts, cousins, and little folks were to be done by us all. The

Palais Royal was to be rummaged; bronzes, vases, statuettes, bonbons,

playthings,--all that the endless fertility of France could show,--was

to be looked over for the 'folks at home.'

"How we sped across the Channel C. relates. We are spending a few very

pleasant days with our kind friends the L.'s, in London.

"_On board the Arctic, September 7._ On Thursday, September 1, we

reached York, and visited the beautiful ruins of St. Mary's Abbey,

and the magnificent cathedral. It rained with inflexible pertinacity

during all the time we were there, and the next day it rained still,

when we took the cars for Castle Howard station.

"Lady Carlisle welcomed us most affectionately, and we learned that,

had we not been so reserved at the York station in concealing our

names, we should have received a note from her. However, as we were

safely arrived, it was of no consequence.

"Our friends spoke much of Sumner and Prescott, who had visited there;

also of Mr. Lawrence, our former ambassador, who had visited them just

before his return. After a very pleasant day, we left with regret the

warmth of this hospitable circle, thus breaking one more of the links

that bind us to the English shore.

"Nine o'clock in the evening found us sitting by a cheerful fire in the

parlor of Mr. E. Baines at Leeds. The next day the house was filled

with company, and the Leeds offering was presented.

"Tuesday we parted from our excellent friends in Leeds, and soon found

ourselves once more in the beautiful "Dingle," our first and last

resting-place on English shores.

"A deputation from Belfast, Ireland, here met me, presenting a

beautiful bog-oak casket, lined with gold, and carved with appropriate

national symbols, containing an offering for the cause of the

oppressed. They read a beautiful address, and touched upon the

importance of inspiring with the principles of emancipation the Irish

nation, whose influence in our land is becoming so great. Had time and

strength permitted, it had been my purpose to visit Ireland, to revisit

Scotland, and to see more of England. But it is not in man that

walketh to direct his steps. And now came parting, leave-taking, last

letters, notes, and messages.

"Thus, almost sadly as a child might leave its home, I left the shores

of kind, strong Old England,--the mother of us all."

CHAPTER XI.

HOME AGAIN, 1853-1856.

ANTI-SLAVERY WORK.--STIRRING TIMES IN THE UNITED

STATES.--ADDRESS TO THE LADIES OF GLASGOW.--APPEAL TO

THE WOMEN OF AMERICA.--CORRESPONDENCE WITH WILLIAM

LLOYD GARRISON.--THE WRITING OF "DRED."--FAREWELL

LETTER FROM GEORGIANA MAY.--SECOND VOYAGE TO ENGLAND.

AFTER her return in the autumn of 1853 from her European tour, Mrs.

Stowe threw herself heart and soul into the great struggle with

slavery. Much of her time was occupied in distributing over a wide

area of country the English gold with which she had been intrusted

for the advancement of the cause. With this money she assisted in the

redemption of slaves whose cases were those of peculiar hardship, and

helped establish them as free men. She supported anti-slavery lectures

wherever they were most needed, aided in establishing and maintaining

anti-slavery publications, founded and assisted in supporting schools

in which colored people might be taught how to avail themselves of the

blessings of freedom. She arranged public meetings, and prepared many

of the addresses that should be delivered at them. She maintained such

an extensive correspondence with persons of all shades of opinion in

all parts of the world, that the letters received and answered by her

between 1853 and 1856 would fill volumes. With all these multifarious

interests, her children received a full share of her attention, nor

were her literary activities relaxed.

Immediately upon the completion of her European tour, her experiences

were published in the form of a journal, both in this country and

England, under the title of "Sunny Memories." She also revised and

elaborated the collection of sketches which had been published by the

Harpers in 1843, under title of "The Mayflower," and having purchased

the plates caused them to be republished in 1855 by Phillips & Sampson,

the successors of John P. Jewett & Co., in this country, and by Sampson

Low & Co. in London.

Soon after her return to America, feeling that she owed a debt of

gratitude to her friends in Scotland, which her feeble health had not

permitted her adequately to express while with them, Mrs. Stowe wrote

the following open letter:--

TO THE LADIES' ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY OF GLASGOW:

_Dear Friends_,--I have had many things in my mind

to say to you, which it was my hope to have said

personally, but which I am now obliged to say by letter.

I have had many fears that you must have thought our

intercourse, during the short time that I was in

Glasgow, quite unsatisfactory.

At the time that I accepted your very kind invitation,

I was in tolerable health, and supposed that I should

be in a situation to enjoy society, and mingle as much

in your social circles as you might desire.

When the time came for me to fulfil my engagement with

you, I was, as you know, confined to my bed with a

sickness brought on by the exertion of getting the

"Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin" through the press during the

winter.

In every part of the world the story of "Uncle Tom"

had awakened sympathy for the American slave, and

consequently in every part of the world the story of

his wrongs had been denied; it had been asserted to be

a mere work of romance, and I was charged with being

the slanderer of the institutions of my own country. I

knew that if I shrank from supporting my position, the

sympathy which the work had excited would gradually die

out, and the whole thing would be looked upon as a mere

romantic excitement of the passions.

When I came abroad, I had not the slightest idea of

the kind of reception which was to meet me in England

and Scotland. I had thought of something involving

considerable warmth, perhaps, and a good deal of

cordiality and feeling on the part of friends; but of

the general extent of feeling through society, and of

the degree to which it would be publicly expressed, I

had, I may say, no conception.