Julia Griffiths to Frederick Douglass, December 5, 1857

LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

NUMBER XLVIII.

Balbegno Castle,

Dec. 5th 1857.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—I have been a week among my clear friends in the grim, old castle of Balbegno, and as yet, have found no leisure to redeem my promise in regard to telling you something of the Highland residence of our Queen, at Balmoral. The drive is very fine the whole way from Ballater to Crattire. The mountains rise higher and higher, and the Bright, sparkling waters of the Dee, keep the travellers company all the way, as they hurry onwards, (joined over and anon by tributary mountain, streams,) to empty themselves into the German ocean.

We passed Abergeldie Castle, which is situated on the Dee, within two miles off Balmoral and is the Highland abode of the Duchess of Kent. IT is a stately ancient Castle, very picturesque in outline, and stands in a lovely valley, surrounded by 'Birk' trees, scarcely less renowned than those famous Birdso' Aberfoldie,' sung of by the poet Burns.

Soon came we to the Kirk of Crattire, which stands on an eminence and commands a fine view of the Dee. It is a very small church, but always crowded to excess when the Queen is at Balmoral for like a wise lady, (as she is), she has no Episcopal Church at the Castle, but attends the Presbyterian Kirk of Cattire, thereby setting an example to her subjects, and teaching those of them who are Episcopalians to respect the simple form of worship practised by their Presbyterian brethren.

A little westward of the Kirk the Dee makes a noble sweep round a spacious demesne; and just here surrounded by ancient and stately trees, with the hill of Craig gowan rising proudly in the back-ground and mountains on all sides, in the distance the Castle of Balmoral, with its towers, and turrets rears its head. The whole building is well planned; it is in admirable keeping with the scenery around it, and in entire unison with my taste. Indeed, should any wonderful fairy appear and present to me for choice, Windsor with all its gorgeous array of pomp and grandeur, or the snug little Castle at Deeside, within sight of the glorious mountains and sound of the rippling waters. Balmoral if you please, good fairy, would be my reply. "Open Season," was the word, and within half an hour of reach-

-ing Crattire we stood in the Hall of the Castle, which is (in true Highland fashion), ornamented with numerous antlers' horns, and other trophies of the chase. For the especial benefit of such of my trans-Atlantic friends, who may never see (for themselves), Balmoral, I will say that this newly erected Castle is built of pure, while, native stone, which looks as well as the marble of which 'Stewarts,' in Broadway is built, that the apartments are numerous but not large; well arranged and well porportioned [sic]; all wearing an air of exceeding comfort, and commanding in a greater or less degree, beautiful views from their windows. The furniture is simple, I only remember seeing one Turkey carpet, the other carpets are composed of more simple fabrics, and many of them are Royal Stewart, Clan Tartan in pattern. Many of the Curtains and draperies are made of the Victoria, [a light colored] Tartan.

The furniture of the Queen's own sitting room is chintz, of the thistle pattern. The library interested me the most; Shakespeare, Scott, Byron, Moore, Schiller at once meet the eyes as I entered it, but the shelves were half empty, and on enquiring the reason of this, I was informed that many, many cases of books are brought to Scotland, when the Royal party came there, and sent away South, when they return to England. Our Queen sets a good example of economy to her loving subjects, and if more of them would follow it, possibly, it would be the better for their own interests, and for the nation in general. The worthy housekeeper of the Castle, (Mrs. Dalbertson,) entertained us with many interesting narrations, about the Royal party, all of which rebounded much to their credit; they seem to be loved by all, feared by none. The out buildings of the Castle are not yet finished, but during the time of the Queen's sojourn at Balmoral, she will not have the work people stopped in their operations, and the clang of their workingman's hammer is heard daily, just as when the flag is not waving from the high tower. I fancy that very few of our noblemen would be quite so considerate, but the Queen is a woman of business!

The gardens were covered with snow, and icicles were hanging in all directions, when I was at Deeside. Yet it was neither the snow nor the cold that stopped my going on to Braemar, but engagements in Aberdeen. It was too late in the season to climb the heights of Lochnagar; yet I am of opinion that all enthusiasts in mountain scenery, who can brave the cold, should see this grand range covered with snow; and as I was assured, the mountains rise higher and higher as the traveller approaches the village of Castletown, of Braemar, it was somewhat

with reluctance that I turned my back upon the majestic ranges of mountains, known to me, as yet, only in song:

"The land of mountain and flood,

Where the pine of the forest for ages has stood,

Where the eagle comes forth on the wings of the storm,

And her young ones are rocked on the high Cairngorm."

Words fail to tell of the kindness, hospitality and attention I met with during this brief Highland tour. I had thought I was well supplied with wraps, but cloaks and plaids, in abundance were showered upon me by kind Mr. and Mrs. Grant of Banchory, with assurances that I "should need them all." They were wise in the matter, and I was not; and I discovered, in crossing the moor of Dinnat, that I had not one cloak too many. I was constrained to decline a kind proposition of an introduction to Rev. Mr. Anderson of Crattire, and also another to Braemar and with much gratitude to the many kind friends whose consideration and care, combined to render my trip so delightful, and the promise asked and given [D. V.] to see Deeside under, a summer sun, in the early dawn of a clear, cold, bright, frosty morning, I bid adieu to the kind and hospitable hostess of Crattire cottage, and that evening was in the midst of a large party of friends in Aberdeen.

* * * * * *

After three times postponing my departure from the Granite city, I quitted it, accepting the proposition made by some of the kind friends there, that I should return to Aberdeen, after paying my visit here, and before going south. Surely never was hospitality greater than that of the Aberdeenians, and yet some people say of them that they are as cold and hard as their granite houses! This is not my experience, I can assure you.

The weather since I entered the 'How of the Mearns,' has been of all kinds. Some days the wind have been howling through the nine old black yew trees, that surround the Castle, in full fury; and other days have been bright and beautiful. Within the last week, I have seen roses and yellow jasmines in bloom and in the gardens near, there are sweet scented wall-flowers in blossom. The snow on the mountains in this vicinity, has disappeared, and all is green again except the hedges, which being chiefly composed of beech, wear their livery of brown until spring.

We have been having a good deal of music

since I came here. I am always [when in the neighborhood of Fettercairn,] treated with fine Scotch music, in no meagre quantity, and challenged to battles of chess! Hard and long have been some of these encounters, I can assure you, and not a little proud was I a few days ago, when I chanced to beat the most renowned chess player of Fettercairn, my excellent friend at the Mause! My triumph, however, was but short-lived, and succeeded by a terrible defeat and slaughter!—My host too, is a capital chess player, and now that darkness comes upon us before 4 o'clock, each afternoon, it is a delightful recreation to me, after the daily demands of my every increasing correspondence have been, (as far as strength will permit,) me. Whether in town or country, the Slave is not forgotten, be assured. I have since coming here, been so fortunate as to enlist the Indies, both of 'the Mause' and the 'Free Church Mause,' on behalf of the Bazaar, and as there are some, beautiful workers among the Indies here, I do not doubt but that there will be a nice collection of contributions.

A perfect storm is raging without, and if it were possible for the walls of this cold Castle to shake, this is the time for it, for

"The day is cold, and dark, and weary,

It rains, and the winds is never dreary:

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary."

I commenced singing the above named beautiful song of Longfellow, a little time ago, with a view of sheering the spirits of mine host, on this melancholy morning, but he respectfully suggests that he will prefer some song less in unions with the weather and that we are seeing and hearing so much rain, out of doors, it will be more agreeable to have some other subject discussed in doors; perhaps he is right, in this view of the case at any rate, I dare not defy him in his own castle, for fear of consequences, so as a pleasing change, I will cheer him with the song of "the Mistletoe Bough."

Adieu, my dear friend.

As ever yours truly,

Julia Griffiths.

P.S. I kept this some time, in hopes of being able to add something to interest my readers, but this has been impossible and they must take the will for the deed.