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.