Julia Griffiths to Frederick Douglass, December 13, 1855

LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

Number XI.

KELVIN GROVE PLACE, Dec. 13th, '55.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—It is, in truth, bleak December, and I feel in such a complete December humor, that if you, or any others of my kind trans-Atlantic friends, expect to derive the least entertainment from the perusal of this effusion of mine, I give you and them fair warning to dispel the illusion at once, and to stop on the threshold of this dull epistle. I have been trying, for the last hour or two, to resist the influence of the weather, and to bring myself into antagonism with the day; but the effort is vain. I must succumb, for "no man hath power over the spirit."

The day is dreary. "If one look unto the land, behold darkness," "and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof." A thick fog obscures the fine prospect usually visible from the windows of the room in which I am sitting.—Patrick Hill has disappeared—so has the little river Kelvin—the trees are leafless—some rooks' nests may be seen; but even these are deserted and tenantless, and no cheerful cawing breaks the oppressive stillness of this joyless day. Ice is on the windows—snow is on the ground—

—"biting Boreas, fell and doure, Sharp shivers through the leafless bow'r, Phœbus gi'es a short liv'd glower Far south the lift, Dim-dark'ning through the flaky, show'r On whirling drift."

Yes! the reign of stern WINTER has begun in earnest—and 'tis a far more dreary reign in our British isle than on your vast continent; for fogs, mist, and vapors come in his train, obscuring the beautiful, and shading all things, as with a funereal pall. 'Tis but rarely that we get a peep at real blue sky; but seldom does "bright Phœbus" mount "his chariot of day; and never do we hear the merry tinkling of the sleigh bells, which make such lively music in the

streets of Rochester, and in other cities of the States.

I found myself giving such a triste picture of out-door things, that I resolved to wait until the fog was shut out—the shutters closed—the fires burning with double brightness—and warm-hearted friends around me whose smiles cannot fail to chase away the effect of their Scottish mists. The thermometer of my spirits is rising rapidly. I feel almost self-reproached at the morning's picture that I drew, and am nearly ready to sing:

"Sigh not for summer flowers What though the dark sky lowers, Welcome, ye wintry hours, Our sunshine is within; Though to the West retreating Daylight so soon is fleeting, Now happy friends are meeting, And now the sports begin! Sigh not for summer flowers, What though the dark sky lowers, Welcome, ye wintry hours, Our sunshine is within!"

I am, in sober truth, enjoying my visit to "Caledonia" ("stern and wild" though she be) exceedingly. The climate may be chilly, but the hearts of the people are warm, and their hospitality is unbounded; at least such is my experience in Glasgow. It is a great treat to hear fine old Scottish songs, sung in Scottish style, by sweet voices. I never heard your favorite song, "Ye Banks and Braes," sang so sweetly as by two young Scotch ladies at a Concert at the City Hall a few nights ago. The harmony of their voices was perfection; and you know how sweet the melody is. "Will ye no come back again?" was also exquisitely sung, and several other sweet Scottish airs. The Prima donna of the occasion committed a great mistake by attempting the bravura style, and by coming out in Sonnambula. The failure was entire.—I have heard you say, many times, when speaking of Scotch music,

"Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;" and I never more felt them so than at that Concert. There is a splendid organ at the City Hall; and it is very well played. "Partant pour la Syrie" seems now to be the favorite and most popular air on every occasion; and the organist that evening gave it us in good style. The hearty peals of applause that, invariably, follow the performance of this French melody, evince that the French alliance is, with the great masses of the people, exceedingly popular—indeed, so is the war, (there is no doubt about it,) except with the Peace party. I was in company, some weeks ago, with a lovely young Irish lady—sister to the two gallant Captains Butler, one of whom fell as the brave defender of Silistria, and one at the battle of the Alma. A third brother, (also Captain Butler,) died in India during the past year.—The lady shuddered when I mentioned Russia; and then she softly told me the fate of the three "soldier sons" of Mr. Butler. She added, that, while the father feels intensely the loss he has sustained, he is very proud of the noble deeds of his brave and gallant sons, and is wonderfully supported by the belief, that they died, as Christian patriots should die, in the service of their country.

"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

"By fairy-hands their knell is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There HONOR comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay, And FREEDOM shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there,"

Who can refuse his sympathy to this bereaved, and truly patriotic father of the three, noble brothers?

I will turn gladly from thoughts on the aggressions of a Despotic power, the consequent and stern necessity of war, the horrors of the battle field, the self-devotion and self-sacrifice of thousands of brave men, and the wailing of countless widows and orphans, to a pleasanter theme.

"Mind and Matter" formed the basis of one of the most splendid Lectures to which it ever was my privilege to listen on either side of the Atlantic. Sheriff Barclay, of Perth, was the Lecturer. The discourse was delivered in the City Hall, before a large audience of thinking people, numbering from 1500 to 2000, who did not look as if they came to see, and to be seen, or because it is the fashion to go to Lectures; but as if they came to listen, with sober gravity, to the speaker, and to accept, or reject the words spoken, according as their judgment should decide. A Scotch audience looks, to me, very different from any other. I wish I could give you any idea of this masterly Lecture; but I cannot. Sheriff Barclay commenced by sketching outlines of the various and erroneous forms of philosophy believed in, and taught by the ancients. He next descanted on the German philosophers—their different schools — their strange theories—and their ineffectual pursuits after true knowledge. After giving us a few illustrations of the hair-splitting disputes, and gropings in the dark of these learned men—about the hows, and whens, and whys, concerning the creation of our world—he fell back upon the Scriptural words, "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." When that "beginning" was, no finite being had yet been able to discover.—Moses could not tell; every attempt to unfathom the mystery had only rendered it more incomprehensible, by raising new and more insurmountable obstacles in the way. That, "in

the beginning God created the heavens and the earth," must suffice, for the Christian philosopher. Mr. Barclay then reviewed, in succession, the wonderful scientific discoveries that have, from time to time, been made, and which give such decided evidence of triumph of mind over matter. The field was a wide one—and amply did he fill it. Astronomy, Geology, and all the sciences, were, by turns, touched upon for a few brief moments, by the gifted speaker, who showed that everything material, the very elements themselves, may be made subservient to the mind of man. Among the illustrations, it need scarcely be said, were Columbus, Franktin, Newton, Watt, and Bell. The two latter were born within a few miles of Glasgow; and the speaker narrated several interesting anecdotes of James Watt's childhood.

The peroration of the Lecture was eloquent in the extreme. Having successfully proved that all philosophy must be unsound that has not Christianity for its basis; that the highest order of mind of man will always be the most humble, Mr. Barclay proceeded to show that the illustrations given, of the triumph of mind over matter, were indications that nothing short of infinity can satisfy the restless, craving mind of a being formed for immortality; that as all true philosophy begins with the Great first cause of all things, so must it resolve itself back into the bosom of the Eternal.