LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

NUMBER XL

BRIGHTON, Aug. 3rd, 1857.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—Although I am physically, between three and four thousand miles distant from Canandaigua, yet, in spirit, I am with you, and all my Colored friends this day, as you meet together, to commemorate, in a far off Western Town, that glorious era in the history of humanity, when the chains were struck from eight hundred thousand bondmen and the kindly voices of Christian people sounded in their ears those words of cheer, 'Stand up! for thou, also, are a MAN, and a brother.'

[Illegible] heard a voice from heaven, saying, 'write, Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!' 'Yea, saith the Spirit that they may rest from labors: and their works do follow them.' The memory of GRANVILLE SHARP, of CLARKSON, of WILBERFORCE, and of BUXTON will ever be dear to the heart of every true-hearted son and daughter of England; for never were labors more earnest, more devoted, more self-sacrificing, and more dis-interested that their's. Would that their 'mantle' had fallen on some who claim to be the leaders of the Anti-Slavery cause in the great Trans-Atlantic Republic! Then would all envyings, and jealousies, evil speaking, and self seeking be 'put away,' and with singleness of heart, and oneness of purpose, would all the friends of the oppressed negro labor together for his emancipation from a worse than Egyptian bondage.

For you, my dear Colored brothers and sisters, (who are struggling against fearful odds, in defence of your own rights, and in behalf of your brethren, shut up in the Southern prison-house,) 'my heart's desire and prayer to God,' is that you may 'be of one mind.' 'In Union there is strength.' Disappoint the hopes of your enemies, and the expectations of your false friends, by working together actively, earnestly, unceasingly, harmoniously until the dark night of slavery shall have passed away, and the Star of Freedom shall arise, to gladden, with its beams, them that

now 'dwell in the land of the shadow of death.'

* * * * *

This is the sixth week that I have been on the shores of the English Channel, staying at far famed Brighton; once a poor, little fishing village, then the favorite retreat of that monarch, who was falsely called by some, 'the first gentleman in Europe,' now a magnificent town, stretching its stately buildings, for more than four miles along the sea shore, and containing seventy thousand resident inhabitants; besides fine accommodation for tens of thousands of visitors. To Brighton, at every season of the year, more or less the English people come; for although winter is, especially, 'the season' when the beautiful Chain Pier, and the Esplanade are thronged by the 'fashionables,' both summer and autumn carry many visitors to this popular sea bathing place.

I always feel at home at Brighton. I have known and frequented it from childhood. I love its bold sea, and enjoy its bracing atmosphere. True it is that the neighboring Downs are bare, and that green trees are few in this region, but old ocean stretches out before us in mighty grandeur, and displays himself to his admirers, in ever varying beauty of form and color—now green—now white—now leaden in hue—now black—now calm, and unruffled as the waters of the fairest Lake in summer time, and anon, darkly heaving, or dancing, in white crested waves, to the wild music of the winds, as it is borne along, from east, from west, from north, or from south, on the storm clouds.

I love to sit on the beach of this grand sea and to watch the incoming tide, or the sportive waves as they frisk in the sunshine, to this sublime Eolian melody, which 'cometh,' we know not 'whence,' and 'goeth, we know not whither.' 'Tis then that I realize fully the beauty and eloquence of Byron's grandest poetic effort, and the majestic language of the Book of Job and the Psalmist;—'He bindeth the floods from overflowing, and saith to the sea, 'Hitherto shall thou come and no further; and here shalt thy proud waves be stayed.' 'He commandeth and raiseth the strong wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.' 'He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.'—Thou glorious mirror! boundless, endless and

sublime,' image of Eternity, who that has a soul to feel does not love to hold converse with they foaming billows?

* * * * *

Brighton is a famous place for re-unions of friends; for as people come here from all parts of England, you are sure to meet friends and acquaintances, come when you may.

This is my case at the present time; and as I have, in addition to many old friends, staying here, a large company, staying at Eastbourne, (a new watering place within an hour's railway journey of Brighton,) I have quite as much visiting as is good for an invalid, and am compel often led to say 'no' to kind invitations, which were I quite convalescent, I would accept with pleasure. I greatly enjoyed a few days' visit to Eastbourne. The country is far more woody than in this locality; and the surrounding Downs are, (many of them,) 'with verdure clad.' The country of Sussex is celebrated for its corn, and now the fields are laden with wheat, and barley, and oats, which waving in the breeze, are ripe for the harvest. From Eastbourne, we get a fine view of the bold cliffs of BEECHY HEAD, of the picturesque towen of Hastings and of Pevensy Bay, but the bold sea of Brighton is there! and my Eastbourne friends admit that, never during their stay there, did they behold such a sea, as I presented to them on visiting me at Brighton.

I wish I had time to tell you about the visit. I, (in company with another party of friends,) made a short time since, to 'the Devil's Dyke.' This Dyke is a curious, and somewhat indescribable place, between five and six miles from Brighton.

The Downs, (which are a series of rounded hills, covered with stunted grass, on which the famous South Down sheep graze,) extend forty miles, in length, a short distance inland, and stretch out from five to six miles in breadth. The Dyke is an extra-ordinary ravine, of vast [illegible], situated at the boundary of one part of the Downs, a strange freak of nature, and that I suppose accounts for its strange, anti-terrestiral name. I have seen the 'Pont du Diable,' the 'Tete du Diable,' the 'Plateau du Diable,' and here we have the 'Dyke du Diable!'

It is a celebrated place for pic-nics and for Gypsies, as well as for a magnificent panorama. You may here stand on the brow of divers hills, and far, far beneath, you may behold the

rich landscape, stretching out in finely wooded verdant plains, interminably. Six of our English counties are visible from the Dyke, and on a clear day, both the Isle of Wight and Windsor Castle may be seen. I have never descended into the depths of this curious ravine. If it had been a height I should, long ago have tried to climb it, but as it is, I rest satisfied (in the belief) that the people who live in the pretty little village in the depths of the Dyke, do not get half so fine a prospect as those of us who stand on the hill top, and look far away, into the dim distance.

* * * * *

Anglicanism is very popular in Brighton.—I regret to say it is popular with some of my acquaintance. Lest my trans-atlantic friends do not understand the meaning of Anglicanism, I will add that it is a word of somewhat indefinite meaning, a fashionable word; used by the Duchess of so and so, and Lady——. Its deviation is traceable by many, to the 'Fathers,' and early 'saints' of the early ages of Christianity. I am inclined to think that its deviation is as anti-terrestial as the name of the Dyke itself. It is a word with a lengthy meaning; for it extends, from many of the Halls and Colleges of our own beautiful city of Oxford, to the Lordly, priestly city of Rome, and when ladies and gentlemen start on this Southern journey, it would sometimes seem as if a mesmeric influence impelled them onward, and lo! they arrive at Rome almost before they knew they were quitting Oxford.—There is a famous Anglican Church at Brighton, where two daily services are held and the holy sacrament daily administered by the priests,' (as they are termed by the members,) where a finely tuned organ, from day to day, pours forth old chants, and a full choir, arrayed in white robes, morning and evening, warble in sweet harmony, 'Glorias,' and Te Deums, where 'inflexions' and 'genuflexions' are freely used by both priests and people, where the modern 'holy of holies,' (or 'sacred altar,' is kept free from the touch of the profane, by massive iron gates, barred, and you discern, as you look through the enclosure, gorgeous altar cloths and massive candlesticks, and on the Festival day of each Saint, lovely flowers, the offerings often times of noble ladies to this mysterious Church which calling itself Anglican contains among its members, those who believe in and practice Confession, rigid fasting, penances,

and prayers for the dead who hold as vital doctrine, the intercession of the Virgin Mary and of the Saints—purgatory—the real presence, or transubstantiation the celibacy of the clergy and the sanctity of monastic institutions. In making this statement 'I speak that I do know.' In this church, a simple hearted English man has difficulty in recognizing his own native tongue in listening to the mysterious toning and intoning of those who minister from divers mystical points to the congregation, and one young friend of mine (herself an Anglican,) admitted to me that she had listened to a half hour's sermon, and had only heard one word, and that word was 'NOTHING.' 'Tis no wonder that all sunshine is carefully excluded from this edifice, and that the richly painted windows only admit that fascinating 'dim, religious light.' Can this, in truth, be the nineteenth century? Verily the darkness of the middle ages is rolling back upon us, and soon will another Reformation be needed, to reform the once reformed Church of England! Spirit of the great and mighty LUTHER! arise, and once again preach to Protestant England that key stone doctrine, that in olden times shook the Vatican itself, (viz.) Justification by faith in Christ Jesus; for in very truth the people that once saw 'a great light,' are now walking in darkness, and they upon whom the light of day once shone, are groping about in the land of shadows.

* * * * *

Probably no book has been more generally read in this country, of late or more universally discussed 'than the life of CHARLOTTE BRONTE.' Doubtless it has been, ere this republished in the States. Mrs. Gaskell had a difficult task to do, and I think she has done it well, for the work is admitted by all to be one of exceeding interest, though people seem to differ a good deal as to what 'she should have put in it,' and 'what she should have left out of it!' But when were people unanimous in opinion about a book? and even 'UNCLE TOM'S CABIN,' has a few fault finders! (people for whose opinion I would not give a straw.) The publication of the life of the gifted 'Charlotte Bronte,' and also of a posthumous novel, from her pen, has led to a general re-reading of all the works of the three sisters, CURRER, ELLIS, and ACTON BELL, and

into extensive discussions on the genius and gifts of each of them. But into this subject I dare not now enter. Time and thought alike fail me. You and my other kind friends will have to put up with a disjointed, unconnected, and rapidly written effusion, and to take the will for the deed.

I trust to be well enough to quit my maritime retreat in a few days; and to start for Erin's Isle, where I have a long promised visit to fulfill to that unceasingly active friend of the Anti-Slavery cause, Mrs. Maxwell of Killyfaddy, who has, in a few years, raised the CLOGLER ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETYThe Clogher, Ireland, and Anti-Slavery Association

into an important association.

I hope to be present at the Annual Bazaar, on the 13th and 14th of this month.

Very truly yours always

JULIA GRIFFITHS.