LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

Number XXVI.

MONTROSE, June 19th, 1856.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—I snatch a few minutes, at the close of a long and interesting day, to commence another letter to you, being very dubious as to and said letter will be finished since I have engaged to be in the neighborhood of London by the end of the present month, and have much to see, and to do in the interim.

You will probably, remember that I paid a visit to Montrose some months ago, and had the pleasure, when here, of assisting to form a Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society. I am again the
guest of my kind friend, Rev. Alex. Anderson, (in whose drawing room the Society was formed;) and in his vestry I yesterday met the members of the Society, and also a number of the ladies of Montrose, who came with sympathizing hearts to listen to what I had to tell them of Slavery, and to what I could suggest as to how they best might and the oppressed colored people of the States. The gathering was so much larger than I had anticipated, that I was taken quite by surprise; but I was rejoiced to find so much interest manifested by those present, and I felt sincere gratification in talking with them at considerable length, on this important subject. It is a cheering fact, that in the Montrose Ladies' Anti-Slavery, almost every religious denomination is represented. (This also is very much the case with the Edinburgh New Association,) Here members of the venerable Kirk of Scotland—Free Church, members—United Presbyterians—Independents—Episcopalians, and Baptists meet together, in harmonious philanthropy, and not confining their labors of love to those of their own kindred, or country, or , their sympathies extend beyond the wide Atlantic to the poor slave in his chains, who "hasteneth that he may be loosed," to the sorrowing fugitive, who, while he flees from liberty, (and itself it may be,) leaves those dearest to his heart in bondage and to the brave and intrepid colored man, who, himself, is ever tolling and laboring for the redemption of his enslaved and deeply injured race. Onward, then, dear colored friends,

"Act, ACT in the living Present;
Heart within, and God o'erhead!"

and, be assured, that many brave hearts, in dear, old Scotland, beat in sympathy with your wrongs while henceforth many nimble fingers will ply the busy needle in aid of the Annual Anti-Slavery Bazaar at Rochester. I had the pleasure of reading to my Montrose friends, our friend, Prof. VASHON'S thrilling manuscript poem, "." It was listened to with the deepest attention, as I read the closing stanzas—

"Shades of the heroes long since gone!
Was your glory's end and aim?
Was it for , O, WASHINGTON!
That, welcoming the rebels name,
Halter and battle you defied?
For this, O WARREN! that you died?"

The recent disgraceful, and unjustifiable attack upon the noble SUMNER came to my mind strongly; and I thought, if the spirits of the departed were permitted to look down upon the scene of their earthly labors, with what sadness would the great "Father of his Country"—that "noblest Roman of them all"—behold his countrymen, sunk in the very depths of moral debasement—while noble-hearted JEFFERSON, and honest ADAMS, would shudder at the very name of an —a name once dear to their patriotic hearts. "Oh! what a falling off is there," may in truth be said, is glancing at the present Executive of the United States. Surely, "" (as they call themselves) cannot submit to have their much boasted right of Free Speech curtailed, and tamely see one of the most distinguished of their RIGHT NOBLE SENATORS laid prostrate by the hand of the assassin?

"Awake! arise!" Americans! "or be forever fallen!"

"Snatch from the ashes of your sires,
The embers of their former fires;
And he who in the strife expires
Will add to theirs a name of fear,
That tyranny shall quake to hear—
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
They, too, will rather die than shame."

Yet, do not mistake me, American friends.—Withdraw the from your own eye, and then will you that England no cause of quarrel with you or your country.—You are insulted by no foe—but (in the person of Senator Sumner) by a ruffian at . The chains you wear are forged of and line, and riveted on you by traitors. Will you consent to wear them? The tyrants you must vanquish, or live in perpetual bondage, are European despots, or British freemen, but American Lords of the lash, and their Northern abettors, to whom you have bowed the knee, in low servility, practically saying, "these are the men whom the nation delights to honor." Shall they rule any longer over you?

* * * * *

Having a particular desire to see Dunnottar Castle, a place noted as having been one of the prisons of the Covenanters, I started, by railway, at an early hour this morning, and in the course of an hour and a half, I was driving through the streets of the pretty little town of Stonehaven, which is situated on the sea coast, about two miles from the extensive ruins of

Dunnottar. Here the dark waters of the German Ocean stretch out in vast expanse—boundless, endless, and sublime."—and in the far distance, the traveller may discern the line where the wild watery waste, and the horizon seem to meet. From the shore on which he stands, the rugged cliffs rise high and precipitous, ever and anon jutting into the sea, and extending far under the water, only make known their existence by exhibiting, here and there, a fantastic peak, against which the foaming breakers dash in maddened fury. Here the wild tribes of the sea fowl may be seen, careering high above the waters, or winging their way to their craggy nests; and here, near the centre of a narrow bay, stand the mouldering ruins of Dunnottar Castle, on a lofty, rocky eminence, which over-hangs the sea, and is surrounded on three sides by it. The Castle must have been of vast extent, for the ruins cover three acres of rock.—The walls are bare—no grateful ivy clings to them in their desolation; but the green grass is growing in the ancient halls, and the once stately chambers are now canopied only by the sky. The usual guide to the Castle was ill; but his wife (an intelligent and single-hearted old lady) performed the office; and sympathizing entirely with the intense interest with which I explored this prison-house of the suffering Covenanters, she would, I think, have spent the day with me in the Castle had I desired it. The dungeons, once tenanted by these sufferers for conscience sake, are two in number, and one below the other; the communication between them was by a strongly chained trap door; the prisoners, before their mock trial, were herded together, thickly, as sheep for the slaughter, in the dungeon, and when condemned were let down into the yet deeper depths of the lower dungeon; of these cruelly persecuted people were, at one time, seized and thrust into a dungeon, that only seemed to me capable of holding the . A number of curious holes are out in the walls of this stony prison; and the guide told me that the hands of some of the prisoners were thrust into these apertures, and fastened, with chains, to the walls. Here, dying of hunger, parched with thirst, or suffocated for want of air, many noble men and women breathed their last, with no voice to soothe them in their last moments, but that of the wild waves. In the lower dungeon is a little spring of water, clear as crystal, which appears to issue from the rock. It is called "." The story told me about it, by my guide, was this: that it sprung up in a night, in answer to prayer made by some of the holy men confined there, who were parching with thirst. Legend though it may be, it was not one that I could smile at. The good woman pointed my attention to a very small hole,

made in the lower part of the wall, by the removal of a stone. At first I could not believe that any human beings could creep through this aperture; but on going , I perceived that it was increased in size. Five men and two women effected their escape through this little opening; but alas! when they reached the of their dismal prison house, they were still prisoners, for they could not pass the draw-bridge, which connected the promontory, on which the Castle stands, with the mainland; and if they succeeded in the desperate undertaking of descending the precipitous ledges of rocks on the other side, was before them? Nothing but the sea—the wide, wide sea. Oh! that some friendly bark would enter the bay, and rescuing the hapless little company form their peril, would bear them in safety to some distant land, where they may worship God after the dictates of their own conscience! It comes not. Days pass, and the lifeless bodies of five men, and two women, are found at the bottom of the rocks, wet with the spray of the raging billows. . They are buried in Dunnottar churchyard.

* * * * *

A more majestic sea view than meets the eye, from the heights of Dunnottar Castle, I have rarely beheld and the effect was heightened by the deep solitude of its surroundings—Not a human habitation was in sight—no ship, no little skiff, no passing boat, were visible—no human being could be seen but my good, old guide, who, with northern keenness of observation, and a kind and instinctive sympathy, saw I did not wish my reveries to be broken in upon, and stood silent, apparently quite happy in witnessing my appreciation of a scene she had known from her childhood. I spent a morning, never to be forgotten, on the heights of that desolate Castle, listening to the roar, and watching the bursts of the German Ocean on that tempestuous Eastern coast.

"There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrude
By the deep sea, and music in its roar."

"Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or is the torrid clime
Dark, heaving—boundless, endless, and sublime—
The image of Eternity—the throne
Of the invisible; even from out they shine,
The monsters of the deep are made; each one
Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,
alone,
And I have loved thee, Ocean!"

At length I bade adieu to this wild and grand scene, and retraced my steps to Stonehaven—still, in company with my guide, who knew to talk, as well as how to be silent, and whose truly Christian conversation interested me very much during the two miles that we walked side by side, her Scotch accent imparting an addi-

tional charm thereto. If I lived at Stonehaven, I should be a frequent visitor to the cottage of that old lady, and many a profitable lesson would she teach me. While hearing her con
verse, I thought of the exquisitely touching passage in Cowper's "," when the poet contrasts the sceptic, , with the simple-hearted cottager, and sums up thus:

"Oh! happy peasant! oh! unhappy bard!
His the mere tinsel—hers the rich reward—
praised, perhaps, for ages yet to come,
never heard of half a mile from home:
, lost in errors, his vain heart prefers—
, safe in the simplicity of hers."

Ere we parted, I told the old lady that I should write a little sketch of my visit to Dunnottar, and would send her a copy, if she pleased; with many thanks she accepted my offer, adding, "and I shall think I see you smiling on me when I'm reading it." I watched her retreating figure, as she wended her way down the hill-side, to the little white cottage, where lay her invalid , (John Longmuir)—and then, once more, a solitary pilgrim, I went on my way.

* * * * *

Very pleasant have been my visits to Montrose, and large is the circle of friends I have found here. I regret that it is impossible for me to protract my stay, nor at the present time to accept the many kind invitations tendered me, both in Montrose and Arbroath. Possibly, I may, at a future time, be able to do what some of my kind friends in these localities desire.

PERTH R. R. STATION, June 20th.

Having missed the train to Stirling, by a single minute, from a delay on the part of the northern train, I find myself an unwilling prisoner at the railway station; it is raining fast; the vapors are gathering; the clouds hang round the beautiful Perthshire hills; and my hopes of mounting this evening to the heights of Sterling have faded into mist—so, my friend, to amuse myself, while waiting for the train, I take up my pen, and resume my letter, to recount my morning's adventures.

Possibly, I may be thought to entertain a more than ordinary for old castles, when I tell you that I spent several hours this morning in , the scene of the Macbeth Tragedy. In passing up and down the line of the Central Scottish railway, I had, three times, observed , backed by the dark and frowning woods in the centre of which stands the ancient Castle, and I was resolved not to pass this station a fourth time, without stopping to visit a spot that Shakespeare has made famous. could resist it? Who remembers the salutation of the witch, "" or who has heard the words, "Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more?"Macbeth (Shakespeare)

Not I—so, by nine o'clock this morning, I had alighted at Glammis, and was on my way to a

gate of the Castle grounds, the nearest of which is a mile from the railway station. My road lay by the side of the heavy stone walls which enclose these grounds—and so retired is it, that not an individual did I meet 'till I reached the entrance gates, which are a massive combination of stone and iron, of ancient architecture, surmounted with two colossal stone figures, that look as if they were the embodiments of the weird spirits of the place. As the ponderous gates were open, I spoke to the woman at the lodge, and asked if I could see the Castle?—She said, yes, and bade me straight "go forward, 'till a turn in the road would show me the Castle, to the left." So, on I went, along a centre road, with deep dense, dark woods on either side, and a cold grey sky above me, brightened by no ray of sunshine. It was one of those mornings, when not a single leaf could be seen to move, nor the least sighing of the wind in the trees be heard to break the stillness. The wide avenue up which I walked extends for more than a mile—then at right angles appears suddenly in view the old Baronial Castle, which stands at the junction of three avenues, all of which are straight as a line, and lead to the Castle, taking the place of the ancient bulwarks and defences, which, in other days, protected Glammis from foreign foes.—I took a lengthy survey of the vast Castle, which, with its little round towers, and queer shaped turrets, looked as antique as any tenanted building I ever beheld; and when I tell you that there are said to be four hundred windows, and four hundred doors in it, you will easily imagine that its dimensions are not small. I looked up the Castle, and down the Castle, but not a sign of life could I see.

"No dog was at the threshold, great or small—
No pigeon on the roof—no household creature—
No cat demurely dozing on the wall—
Not one domestic feature.

No human figure stirr'd, to go, or come,
No face looked forth, from shut or open casement—
No chimney smoked—there was no sign of Home,
From parapet to basement.

O'er all there hung a shadow, and a fear,
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear—
."

With feelings that I cannot pretend to analize, but with a resolute determination to , I approached the ponderous, oaken door of the Castle, (which is of the old style, low and full of large iron nails,) and lifting the heavy knocker, I sounded it at length, and then waited, in doubt, as to or would respond. No body and no thing came. I listened for footsteps; I heard none—so I rang a large bell, and again waited; at last I heard distant footsteps—now they nearer came—and then a bright looking young woman, opening the grim door, asked me, if I wished to see the Castle? On saying, Yes, I entered at once, the most ancient part of the edifice, and following my conductress up about twenty stone steps,

which lead to a large antique entrance hall, she bade me be seated in one of the grim-looking, polished, oak chairs that adorn it—and disappearing through an old oak door, she left me to my meditations. I wish you could have seen the collection of , and looking things which were my nearest neighbors in this vast hall—the most grotesquely shaped cabinets—the oddest shaped chairs—wild looking animals, that one had to look at twice to see that they were not alive. I recollected a story that I read long ago, (I rather think it is by Washington Irving,) in which, in some fantastic ghost dance, each antique piece of furniture leads out another piece of furniture, as partner, and so they dance together, in unearthly fashion! and now

"Such omens in the place there seemed to be,
At every crooked turn, or on the landing;
The straining eye ball was prepared to see
Some apparition standing."

When lo! distant footsteps are heard, and an opening door presents to view—no apparition, but a gentlemanly youth, who expresses at oncehis regret that I have been kept waiting, and his readiness to conduct me over the Castle. I find it a great relief to hear, once more, a human voice. My guide lead—I follow—and thus we enter the gorgeous new Dining Hall, which forms part of the west wing of the Castle, and has been completely transformed by the present Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorn, who came into possession of his estate in the year 1850. It is said, that, in magnificence, this grand Hall is unequalled in Scotland. Tastefully fitted up with richly carved old oak, the ceiling, pannelling, chimney piece, and furniture are superb; shields, representing the various intermarriages of the family, adorn the oaken pannelling round the room; while armorial bearings, on the stained glass windows, exhibit the different grades of the family title, from Knighthood to Earldom.

"," is the [illegible] to be seen every where. [Illegible] would take me many [times?] to tell you all the things of interest I saw. In this wonderful old Castle, I must not particularize, but tell you, as briefly as may be, about one or two matters that arrested my attention especially, as I followed my conductor through the doors, innumerable passages, and up endless turret stairs of this mysterious place. First let me say, that the , which forms the centre part of the present Castle, comprized the whole of the ancient Castle, when , King of Scotland, was murdered there, and when Lady Macbeth exclaimed, (as from her watch tower she saw the doomed King Duncan approaching,)

"The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements."

No one knows the date of this part of the Castle. Up to the year 1376, Glammis was in possession of the Kings of Scotland. It was then granted to a Sir John Lyon, and has remained in possession of the Lyon family ever since. Each Earl, in his day, added to the original, and now centre tower; and although it is not difficult to see where the ancient parts terminate, and the more modern erection of the present Earl commences, yet the architect of the new wing deserves great credit for the exceeding good taste he has displayed in planning the one in such good keeping with the other.

The finest room in the Castle is the old Baronial Hall, now used as a drawing room; it is a vast and lofty apartment; the oaken ceiling is deemed a choice specimen of workmanship. Except that an oaken floor has been placed above the original stone floor of the Hall, and every thing possible introduced into it to produce an air of comfort, it still wears its ancient appearance. Here are the deep niches and window recesses, the small windows, and huge chimney corners, with the magnificently large on the hearth. Splendid painted portraits adorn the walls, chiefly the productions of Sir Peter Lily. looks down at you from the walls, stern and terrible. This painting is executed in a masterly style, and that of is equally fine; indeed, the latter looked life-like, and as if she were going to speak to me. Lauderdale, Charles II., James II., are here, and one of splendid portraits of Charles I. The is nigh by this Hall, and is in perfect harmony with the older part of the Castle; it is a small, dreary apartment, lighted with four small windows, three of which are divided into four parts of stone.

The ceiling is filled with representations of passages in the life our Savior, and is considered to be finely painted; but, just here, I thought more of ghosts than of any paintings, and if "the vicinity of the " once impressed even the strong mind of , could it fail to influence my weak one? Time fails me to tell of the wonderful tapestry I saw in the Billiard room. This is deemed by some, the greatest curiosity within the Castle. It certainly equals the choicest pieces of tapestry I saw at the , at Paris, or the finest Bayeaux tapestry at Windsor. worked it is not known. It was found rolled up, and greatly discolored, in the old part of the Castle, and has been lately cleaned, restored and framed, and hung upon the walls of the Billiard room, and in the distance it looks like a painting, . So vividly are these five wonderful pieces impressed upon my mind, that, if time admitted, I could graphically describe the figures in each of them. But, lo! in a corner of this superb room, a sweet, pensive, gentle face meets my view. It is the Madonna, and of exquisite

loveliness. It arrested my entire attention, and I stood before it in silent delight. No painter's name was there; but as I looked into the unfathomable depths of those dark eyes of the Virgin Mother, and beheld the striking resemblance between herself and the Holy Child her arms encircled, I felt sure that an was before me. My conductor could only tell me that the Earl brought the paintings with him from Italy. I was, therefore, greatly delighted to find the companion painting in another corner, (a Holy Family,) and to see, underneath it, the words, "" so now I am satisfied that my sojourn in a country where the "" are rarely seen and still more rarely appreciated, has not made me indifferent to their surpassing excellence, not forgetful of their individuality.

A number of most extraordinary old cabinets are in this apartment—one has its hinges and locks made of gold.

The amount of bed-rooms, closets, stair-cases, doors, windows, corridors, turrets, and curious nooks and niches in the old castle appear interminable.

The bed in which was murdered, is still shown to the visitors. This bed is allowed, by antiquarians, to be one of the most curious specimens of antiquity in Great Britain. What remains of it looks so fragile, as if the least touch would make it fall to pieces. I never saw anything look so as this bed. I can't describe it; it must be seen to be understood. Some years ago it was removed from the room where the murder was committed, and placed in a small, dark chamber, furnished with a few old rickety chairs, and a tumble down table, that have been furniture, and that look as if the slightest pressure would make them tumble to pieces.

The in which the King was murdered is also a dreary place. It is fitted up as a ; but only the brave and dauntless accept the offer, made by the Earl of Strathmore to each of his guests, "to sleep a night in the ."

"Be brave, he cries, you yet may be our guest,
Our haunted room was ever held the best,
If, then, your valor can the sight sustain
Of rustling curtains, and the clicking chain;
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk;
If you dare ask it it leaves the tomb,
I'll leave you to your rest, and shew the room."

* * * * * *

The bed in which Prince Charles Stuart slept, when on his way to the fatal field of Culloden is also shown. The story is told that the Duke of Cumberland, in hot pursuit of him, slept in the same bed on the following night. Another bed, of great interest to many of the lady visitors, is that of Earl Patrick. It is a wonderful mass of most elaborate needle work. The cur-

tains are covered with and , alternating; and it is said that of , there are as many as there are days in the year. Wonderfully patient ladies must the industrious workers have been!

The curiosities above, as well as below, in the Castle, are countless. I cannot pretend to tell you about them. The oldest relic is the sword with which, it is said, Malcolm was wounded, early one morning, in his bedroom, by some of his domestics. They were bribed to commit the deed; by whom is not known. After the horrid deed was done, they fled from the Castle, locking it behind them, and carrying the Castle keys with them. They directed their course Eastward, through the [illegible].—It was winter; deep snow covered the ground; the murderers attempted to cross the Loch of Forfar, when the ice broke, and they were all drowned. A few days after, their bodies were found, and with them several things, belonging to the Castle—among which were a , and the Castle keys. Divers old oak chests, filled with costly antique garments of by-gone ages, may be seen in these upper apartments. This is just the kind of Castle in which I could imagine the tragedy of the , to have been performed.

At length, wearied in body, with my lengthened promenades, "up stairs, down stairs, and in my lady's chamber," I mounted to the top of the centre tower, to inhale the fresh breezes, and enjoy the magnificent view then outstretched before me. The top is of an angular form, plainly indicating what constituted the original part of the Castle. The height is immerse, and at the angular point is "the Lover's Leap," with which are connected many stories of a romantic character. One story of a different nature, is worth hearing; because it exemplifies great presence of mind.

Two gentlemen, one day, mounted to this dizzy height together. One was subject to insane fits; this circumstance was unknown to the man he was guiding, so he easily fell into the trap laid for him by his flighty companion, who, the moment they had gained the enterior of the Castle, locked the door which led to the inside, put the key into his pocket, and drawing a loaded pistol from his pocket, he held it to his companion's breast, telling him to ", ." The man paused a moment—his life depended on the answer—and having no desire to take a fatal leap of one hundred and twenty feet, he coolly replied that he could do better than that. "," said he, "is nothing, sir; any body can do that: only let me go down, and I will promise you to ." This stratagem succeeded; the man's presence of mind saved his life.

My letter is already too long to admit of my painting a picture of the panorama presented to view from the heights of Glammis Castle. Velvet lawns, thickly studded with trees of every kind and shade, were outstretched around us, through which a rippling stream gently meanders. There are said to be as many trees on

the estate as would buy it; and of these the first is the most common; though many majestic oaks, wide spreading lime trees, and blooming hawthorns, may be seen among them. Northwards, we see the little town of , near at hand; and beyond it towers the Grampian range. Southward, loom up a range of hills, called the ; and nearer is an extensive forest, called , belonging to the estate. The spire of the village church is peeping through the trees on one side, and on the other, we get a peep of the little town of Forfar, with the spire of its church pointing heavenward. The undulating hills prevent our beholding the ocean; nor can we see Arbroath or Montrose; but, to the West, the Grampians rear their lofty heads in the far distance, and the fertile valley of Strathmore lies before us, arrayed in summer beauty.

As I re-entered the old Hall, my conductor called my attention to the ponderous iron door, which stands behind the wooden one, and is barred with strong iron bolts, driven into the wall. He informed me that many engineers travel far to see this massive door, the mechanism of which entirely puzzles them. A is nailed inside the wooden door, in commemoration of the ancient superstition, that, by the horse shoe, the house was preserved from the invasions of witches and goblins.

When I say that my conductor through Glammis Castle was a student, at the University of St. Andrews, who is visiting there during his vacation, it will be seen that he was no common, guide, who had a certain routine to go through, and rapidly ran through it. I consider myself to have been highly favored in having such a superior conductor—a courteous, gentlemanly youth, who spared no pains in showing me every object of interest, concealed in the devious windings, and innumerable turnings of this quaint old castle. Refreshing myself with some delicious milk, from the dairy of the Earl of Strathmore, I was soon for Perth; and but for an annoying delay of the train, should have been in Sterling ere this, and have climbed the Castle heights, ere proceeding to Glasgow—whither I am bound this evening. But the weather has entirely changed since the morning, and there would be no view from Stirling, so it has happened for the best after all, and if I reach my dear friends at Langside, by , this evening, I shall be well contented with my day's journeyings—considering that I left my kind Montrose friends at half past seven this morning, and have seen GLAMMIS CASTLE.

Yours, as always,

JULIA GRIFFITHS.