LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

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NUMBER LXXXIII.

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HOUGSTON, July 2, 1862.

MY DEAR FRIEND:— The Iron King per
forms many wonders for us in these days; and
to be whirled away, through his instrumen
tality, 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 in Huntingdonshire, seemed
little less than a marvel. I sent you a hastily
written scripture from London, and said some
thing about the "International Exhibition[.]"
I quite forget what I mentioned, the collec
tions are vast, the riches countless, and the
masses of human beings, thronging to be
hold all they can, astonishing in numbers.—
When my eyes ached with the close inspec
tion 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. C. for this
comparison, for he suggested 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 breezes 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 Ex
hibition 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 nobili
ty, have contributed objects of great interest
and antiquity to this collection, and our Ro
man Catholic friends are largely represented
in church relics of various kinds. The veri
table crucifix that Mary Queen of Scots, car
ried to her execution, is here with her Bre
viary and Rosary, dividing interest with the
Prayer book of our Queen Elizabeth. Proba
bly the chief objects of interest to many here,
are the twenty-three pieces of wonderful pot
tery, called "Diana of Poictiers," or "Henry
3d 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 oth-

er kind known to me. Fifty-three pieces are
all known to be in existence so as Russia only
possess one piece, France twenty-nine and
England the other twenty-three, I suppose we
ought to be proud, happy, and gratified on
the subject, and see to it that we preserve
these queer looking fabrics entire. I believe
I lack taste in the old china department, I
had read and heard so much of this "Diana
of Poictiers Pottery" that when I stood be
fore the greatly sought case, and beheld with
mine own eyes, this strange collection of turn
about, twist about, curious looking, anti-grace
ful pottery, I have the impression that a
shade of disappointment passed across my
face, but I could sincerely join in the gener
al exclamations of "How ancient" &c. &c. !

My present host POTTO BROWN Esq., gave
the Sunday scholars and teachers of Hough
ton 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 this 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 considerately 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 for
gotten, buns in 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 driv
en 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 wagon
wheels was heard approaching Houghton last

night; but the whole village was waiting to
receive the youthful travelers, whose exuber
ant shouts, heard long before their arrival,
proclaimed their entire satisfaction wth the
day's proceedings. I trust the Sunday school
young people of Houghton will prove 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 pro
vide 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 sur
prised to hear that it has long been taken
down, another being built up on 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 re
minds 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 Cow
per made them the theme of his song. Hunt
ingdonshire 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 pecu
liarly 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 Hunting-

don, 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 vil
lages appear industrious and contented and
thriving, and a country life seems to possess
many charms, especially where you have both
the will and the ability, (as is the case with
my Houghton friends,) to minister abundant
ly 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 es
pecial intelligence. what next? is the general
enquiry. McClellan's defeat was the univer
sal theme of conversation a short time since;
then comes the doubt of the authenticity of
the report and so on. Would that we could
see a straightforward, thouroghly honest, an
ti slavery policy adopted by the Washington
Government. I thought of my American
friends much on the 'glorious forth 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 effec
tive such a proclamation would have been,
both at the north and at the south. May
God incline the hearts of your rulers, and in
fluence 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 than it now is, were they fully as
sured 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 Southern
ers have as much right to throw off the North
ern 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 Amer
ica. I could wish your Government to take
such a course as would stop the mouths of
all these defenders of the South.

War is an awful scourge to any country,
but slavery has so long been the bane of the
United States, and the groans of suffering
bondmen and women, have for so 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 war as answer to their prayer,
and terrible as the war is, I cannot conscien
tiously pray for it to cease, until slavery wil
lingly or of necessity is swept away from every State in the Union. Bear in mind, dear
friend, that God never takes sides with the
oppressor, and in Him be your trust.

I remain as ever, your faithful friend,

JULIA G. CROFTS