Books: The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe

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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 _soiree_ of the workingmen of
Edinburgh. We have received letters from the workingmen, both in
Dundee and Glasgow, desiring our return to attend _soirees_ 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 tonight, 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!"

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