Julia G[riffiths] Crofts to Frederick Douglass, July 2, 1862

LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

NUMBER LXXIIL

HOUSTON, July 2, 1982.

My Dear Friend:—The Iron King performs many wonders for us in these days; and to be whirled away, through his instrumentality, a few days since, in a little less than an hour, out of the hum and din of our crowded metropolis, to the vicinity of this calm, and peaceful retreat to Huntingdonshire, seemed little less than a marvel. I sent you a hastily written scripture from London, and said something about the "International Exhibition[.]" I quite forget what I mentioned, the collections are vast, the riches countless, and the masses of human beings, throning to behold all they can, astonishing in numbers.—When my eyes ached with the close inspection of many objects, I found it a pleasant change to sit down in one of the galleries overlooking both transept and nave, and to look down upon the people coming and going and to listen to the hum of the multitude, which sounded in my ears like the singing of the sea, (I am indebted to Dr. O. for this comparison, for he suggest it to me in the Exhibition.) When we shut our eyes we co'd imagine ourselves on the sea shore, except that we lacked the fresh breeze of old ocean I dare not begin to say anything about the pictures or the statuary, except that both the British and Foreign picture galleries contain very fine specimens of the art, and that there are some beautiful pieces of sculpture, especially in the Roman and Italian courts.

Within five minutes walk of the Great Exhibition is the South Kensington Museum, and there at the present time, is a grand display of objects of art, on Exhibition, for a limited period. The Queen and many of our nobility, have contributed objects of great interest and antiquity to this collection and our Roman Catholic friends are largely represented in church relics of various kinds. The veritable crucifix that Mary Queen of Scots, carried to her execution, is here with her Brviary and Rosary, dividing interest with the Prayer book of our Queen Elizabeth. Probably the chief objects of interest to many here, are the twenty-three pieces of wonderful pottery called "Diana of Peictiers," or "Henry 3rd Pottery." Quaint and grotesque in the extreme are the devices of these respective pieces and the material of which they are composed, differs in appearance from any other kind known to me. Fifty-three pieces are all known to be in existence, so as Russia only possesses one piece, France twenty-nine and England the other twenty-three, I suppose we ought to be proud, happy, and gratified as the subject, and see to it that we preserve these queer looking fabrics entire. I believe I lack the taste in the old china department, I had read and hard so much of the "Diana of Peictiers Pottery" that when I stood before the greatly sought case, and beheld with mine own eyes, this strange collection of turn about, twist about, curious looking, anti-graceful pottery, I have the impression that a shade of disappointment passed across my face, but I could sincerely join in the general exclamations of "How ancient" &c, &c.!

My present host POTTO BROWN Esq., gave the Sunday scholars and teachers of Houghton a great treat yesterday, he sent them up to London and to the Great Exhibition, and permitted all above the age of ten to participate in the pleasure. So it was a day that will long be remembered in the neighborhood. At a very early hour yesterday morning, the whole village was awake, and five o'clock four wagons full of happy young people were driving to the Huntingdon station, whence they were duly carried to London in high glee, it may be supposed at the (to them) novelty of a railway. At the King's Cross they were met not only by four large omnibuses but by worthy Mr. Brown himself who most kindly and considerably decided to spend the day with the young folks, thereby relieving the teachers of part of their responsibility, and considerably augmenting the joy of the party Nor was the commissariat department forgotten, buns in the plenty were distributed to the merry children as for the first time in their lives, they drove through the bustling, noisy streets of London to the great Exhibition.—Arrived there each teacher took the allotted six children, and threaded his or her way among the world's wonders, until one o'clock when by previous arrangement all met around the golden pyramid, and received from Mr. Brown's hands a ticket for dinner, after which they returned to their sight seeing until three o'clock, one boy evidently fond of straying, was lost several times, so he had to be tied to another lad! happily all the wandering ones turned up at the right time, and at the roll call the number was complete. They then re-entered the omnibuses, and were driven over Westminster Bridge, past the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, London Bridge, the Monument and St. Pauls, and thus shown London, on their way to King's Cross Station, near which an excellent tea was provided for the happy young villagers—It was very late before the sound of the wagon wheels was heard approaching Houghton last

night; but the whole village was waiting to receive the youthful travelers, whose exuberant shouts, hear long before their arrival, proclaimed their entire satisfaction with the day's proceedings. I trust the Sunday school young people of Houghton will prover their gratitude to their kind and generous friend, Mr. Brown, by their uniform good conduct. It was past midnight when this worthy and holy philanthropic man, sat down to refresh himself, after the incessant fatigues of this long day. It is comparatively easy for those who possess large surplus wealth to delegate others to spend it in doing good, but to superintend all the business as well as to provide all the funds for carrying it out, is what only the few can and will undertake, and Mr. Potto Brown is one of this few. May he, and dear Mrs. Brown long be spared to carry on their many benevolent plans for the temporal and spiritual benefit of the villages around them.

As we drove through the little town of Huntingdon the other day, I enquired for the house where Cromwell was born, and was surprised to hear that it has long been taken down, another being built up one the same site of ground! I learn that he once owned a farm at St. Ives.

The poet Cowper's old residence in Huntingdon has been pointed out to me; the sleepy Ouse in this neighborhood, often reminds me of the bard who sang its praises, and I found myself the other day wondering where the poplars were whose images were received into its bosom, forgetting for the moment that they were laid low before Cowper made them the theme of his song. Huntingdonshire is a small and rather flat country, and can lay claim to no special beauty, but the drive through Brampton Park, residence of the venerable Lady Olivia Sparrow, is very lovely. The grouping of the trees is peculiarly picturesque, and their growth fine. The county is thickly studded with villages. Here are Houghton, Wilton, and Hartford villages all lying between the little town of Huntingdon, and the long uninteresting town of St. Ives, and then just across the river Ouse, Hemingford Abbot, and Hemingford Gray, Fenstanton, and Woodhurst lie near together. Windmills in plenty are here, and little streams abound, the haymaking is going on, the hedges and trees are clothed in their full midsummer dress. The clean looking villages appear industrious and contented and thriving, a a country life seems to possess many charms, especially when you have both the will and the ability, (as is the case with my Houghton friends,) to minister abundantly toward the comfort of those around you.

LEEDS, July 27th,

Home again you see, my dear Friend. We continue to watch anxiously for American news. Your July Monthly gave us no especial intelligence, what next? is the general enquiry. McClellan's defeat was the universal theme of conversation a time since; then comes the doubt of the authenticity of the report and so on. Would that we could see a straightforward, thoroughly honest, anti slavery policy adopted by the Washington Government. I thought of my American friends much on the 'glorious fourth of July' (as they used to call it.) What a grand day that would have been on which to proclaim emancipation to the slaves. And how effective such a proclamation would have been, both at the north and at the south. May God incline the hearts of your rulers, and influence the councils of the nation to legislate to do what is right. I am convinced that the sympathy of the masses of my country men would be far more with the Northern people that it now is, were they fully assured that their watchword is "Freedom." "Justice with courage is a thousand men."—I was grieved to hear, in a railway carriage lately, an Englishman trying to show that all the right was on the side of the south. He said "the Southerner is fighting for his home and his hearth, both of which are being un justly invaded by men with no principle what ever. Slavery has nothing to do with the matter. The New Yorkers believe in slavery quite as much as the Carolinians, and are fighting only for the Union. The Southerners have as much right to throw off the Northern yoke as the Yankees had to throw off the British yoke." All this sounds specious, and is very apt to delude those who are not well acquainted with the state of matters in America. I could wish your Government to take such a course as would stop the months of all these defenders of the South.

War is an awful scourge to any country, but slavery has so long been the bank of the United States, and the groans of suffering bondmen and women, have for many years been ascending to the throne of the Most High, appealing for help and deliverance from their cruel taskmasters, that I cannot but look on this was as answer to their prayer, and terrible as the war is, I cannot conscientiously pray for it to cease, until slavery willingly or of necessity is swept away from every State in the Union. Bear in mind, dear friend, that God never take sides with the oppressor and in Him be your trust.

I remain as ever, your faithful friend,

JULIA G. CROFTS.