Julia Griffiths to Frederick Douglass, October 27, 1855

LETTER FROM THE OLD WORLD.

Number VIII.

Dublin, Oct. 27th, 1855.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—You will see, by the date of this, that I am on Erin's isle, and may sing, as never before,

"Oh! the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock, Chosen leaf Of Bard and Chief, Old Erin's native Shamrock!"

Yes ! I have spend the last ten days in Dublin. I flitted across the channel, from Glasgow, to pay a brief visit to some of our kind, co-operating Irish friends here, and to be present at the Exhibition (held last Friday at the Friends` Institute) of the beautiful contributions for the Rochester Anti-Slavery Bazaar. Our good friends at Cork had sent on their offerings for the altar of Freedom ; they were also exhibited ; and really, the array of useful, tasteful and ornamental articles was wonderful, and gives most cheering evidence of the practical nature of the anti-slavery profession made by this branch of the Irish friends of the cause. It was very pleasant to me to grasp by the hand, our zealous, and indefatigable friend, Mrs. Wm. Webb, and to meet the numerous branches of the TUTHILL family—a family, who have, for several years past, consecrated the beautifully wrought, and rare workmanship of their hands, to the cause of Christian philanthropy. A finely netted shawl, and set of crochet doileys, were shown me by Miss Tuthill, on which her venerable mother (the late Mrs. Tuthill) was engaged to the very close of her life. These works, completed by other hands, and highly valued by the family, are presented by the Bazaar, for which they were designed, by that dear, departed Christian lady, who now "rests from her labors." Every one who visited the Exhibition was attracted b a little gem of an Irish shop, made and furnished entirely by the junior members of Mrs. W. Webb's family; it

is a most ingenius and complete toy. our good friend, GERRIT SMITH, should purchase it for one of his grand-children.

I have been flitting about so rapidly of late, that I find it difficult to realize that I have come down the Clyde, seen Dumbarton Castle—passed Ailsa Craig—been out to sea—peeped at Belfast—crossed the Boyne—and alighted on the banks of the Liffey, in the last ten days. To you, who know Dublin so well, I need not describe it. In many respects, the city reminds me of London—or rather, I would say, the houses remind me of those in our metropolis. The coup d` oeil, from the centre of Carlisle Bridge, is striking, and Sackville Street is very fine. Among the Dublin lions I have visited, is Trinity College. The College library contains one hundred thousand volumes. The friend who escorted me over it, was particularly desirous for me to see the old Irish Manuscripts. The Book of Kells, written by Kille, is supposed to have been in existence thirteen hundred years, and is (my friend told me) a most extraordinary piece of penmanship for that early age—being a beautiful, illuminated copy of the Four Gospels, made by that venerable Christian minister, who was an exquisite caligrapher. Unfortunately for me, the head Librarian was absent, and this memento of antiquity was not visible—nor did I see and original letter of Mary, Queens of Scotts, which is also carefully preserved in the archives of Trinity College.—There is a very handsome, new building being erected in the College, designed for Lecture and Reading rooms. The architecture is Byzantine, and "clustering ornaments" abound in all directions. Nevertheless, the effect is extremely fine.

I went over the Old Parliament House (now the Bank of Ireland) the other morning. The House of Lords remains furnished as it was in olden days, and HENRY GRATTEN'S chair is shown to visitors. This same Parliament House is deemed on of the finest public buildings in the three Kingdoms, and it stands in a commanding situation. We next drove to GLASSNEVIN, the great Roman Catholic Cemetery. Of course, I was anxious to see the tomb of Daniel O'Connell. Through a grated door, the coffin itself is exposed to view ; but I was not near enough to read the inscription. Urns and cypresses adorn this tomb of the "great

agitator," who now "sleeps his last sleep," to awake no more, until the resurrection morn shall dawn. The coffin is decorated with fresh flowers every week by loving hands. A grand monument is now being built, in memory of O'Connell ; it is already a lofty column, and designed, when completed, to be double the height of the one erected to Nelson, in the centre of Sackville Street. A plain, yet massive, granite tomb marks the spot where Curran lies. His name alone is inscribed on it.—There needs no other inscription.

From Glassneven we drove through Phoenix Park—the finest and most extensive Park in the three Kingdoms. We there met the Lord Lieutenant, and suite. His Excellency is very popular in Dublin. Every one with whom I came in contact speaks well of him. He takes a deep interest in the Schools, and indeed is everything that tends to the advancement and improvement of the Irish People.

I have been repeatedly assured that Ireland was never as prosperous as now. There has not been a public execution in Dublin for fourteen years, and crime is much less frequent—nevertheless, the recent terrible murder of Miss Charlotte Hine gives evidence that the Reign of Terror in Ireland has not quite passed away.

I visited the National Schools in Marlboro' Street, yesterday ; and regretted that my time was too limited to admit of my going over the whole establishment. I only saw the Girls' Schools. There were more than four hundred girls, all busily employed in muslin work; and beautiful were the specimens that were brought for my inspection. I was present at a singing lesson in one of the Girls' rooms; about one hundred and thirty sang together ; the harmony was very sweet. They are taught on a Hullah's plan, and have an excellent master. I was at a large and elegant dinner party last evening—Although a stranger to most of the company, I felt at east at once, for there was not constraint—every one present seemed desirous to render his quota to the general fund of entertainment, and sparkling wit, and gay repartee abounded—nor were comic stories want.—One Irish lady, who had lately returned from Killarney, told me an amusing fact, in reference to two American gentlemen, travelling to see the famous Lakes there. They hired a boat, laid themselves full length at the bottom of it,

with cigars in their mouths, and requesting the boatman to call them at the right time for seeing the lions, these seekers of the beautiful resigned themselves into the arms of Morpheus. On reaching the rapids, they were awoke by the boatman shaking them. They sprang up—the full beauty of the finest Irish Lake was before them. The beetling crag—the leaping rapids—the lovely Lake—the emerald arbutus—all were presented to view; and these Yankees looked, and said, coolly, "What a fine place this would be for a mill!" (Do not wax wroth, American friends mine; indeed, this is "an over true tale.")

THE ELK STEAMBOAT on the Clyde,

October 29th, 1855.

I bade adieu to Dublin yesterday morning—spent the day at Belfast—and am now wending my way back to Scotland—brave old Scotland! My sketch of Dublin is sadly thin. Seeing and conversing with friends so perpetually, gives me but brief writing time.

I had the pleasure, while in Dublin of an introduction to the Rev. Dr. Urwick, an old friend of Dr. Wardlaw, a thorough anti-slavery man, and a great preacher. It was my privilege to hear him on Sunday morning. I also attended service in the Cathedral of St. Patrick. The Organ is extremely fine; and the chaunting struck me as a being much finer than that in Westminster, or St. Paul's. The Cathedral was lighted up for the afternoon service, and crowded to excess in every avenue. I am told it is no uncommon thing to be compelled to stand throughout the service at St. Patrick's. I had a seat on the alter railings, facing the Organ, and in full view of the waving Banners, Helmets, and Stall of the famous Knights of St. Patrick.

Shall we ever become disciples of the good Elihu Burritt while we, every where, glorify the emblems of war?

I also visited Kingstown and Monkstown.—These are the pleasantest environs of Dublin, and have splendid sea views. I had a pleasant meeting at Monkstown with an old English friend, who has been residing there for some years ; at Kingstown I saw the pillar, (surmounted by a crown,) erected on the spot

where ""His most sacred Majesty," (as Lady Margaret Bellenden would say,) George IV. last touched Irish soil. 'Tis a pity that the Monarch was not worthier of this loyal demonstration ; but when we call to mind that he (bad as he was) was the first English King who had every paid a peaceful visit to the isle of Erin, we cannot wonder that her sons have perpetuated the event.

I met "the Belfast Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society" yesterday, and had a very pleasant interview with them. At Belfast, as in every other place I have visited, there is a little band of earnest, faithful, and devoted friends of the cause, who consider Frederick Douglass` Paper an important anti-slavery instrumentality, and are resolved to do all they can toward sustaining it.

I had a most interesting interview with the venerable Dr. Hincks. He is now confined to his room, chiefly to his bed ; but his countenance wears a most peaceful and benignant aspect, and he continues to manifest a deep interest in the cause of poor the bondman. He expressed himself very desirous to see your new book, and a copy of your paper was by his side. I had a delightful visit with our excellent and kind co-operating friends, the Misses Hincks—and embarked on board "the Elk" at 8 o'clock last night. We have had a smooth passage—have passed Dumbarton Castle—and are within sight of Glasgow.

Pardon this hasty sketch. You shall hear from me again soon.

Yours, right truly,

JULIA GRIFFITHS.