LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

Number XI.

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

MY DEAR FRIEND:—It is, in truth, 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 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 breaks the oppressive stillness of this joyless day. Ice is on the windows—snow is on the ground—

—"biting , 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 blue sky; but seldom does "bright Phœbus" mount "his chariot of day; and never do we hear the merry tinkling of the , which make such lively music in the

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

I found myself giving such a 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, "," 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 sweet the melody is. "" was also exquisitely sung, and several other sweet Scottish airs. The of the occasion committed a great mistake by attempting the style, and by coming out in . 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. "" seems now to be 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, , 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 "" of Mr. Butler. She added, that, while the 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,"

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.

"" 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 people, numbering from 1500 to 2000, who did not look as if they came to , and to be , 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 disputes, and gropings in the dark of these learned men—about the , and , and , concerning the creation of our world—he fell back upon the Scriptural words, ", ." 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 over . 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 , and . The two latter were born within a few miles of Glasgow; and the speaker narrated several interesting anecdotes of ' childhood.

The peroration of the Lecture was eloquent in the extreme. Having successfully proved that 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 over , were indications that nothing short of infinity can satisfy the restless, craving mind of a being formed for immortality; that as all philosophy begins with the Great first cause of all things, so must it resolve itself back into the bosom of the Eternal.

"Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end."

I had the pleasure of an introduction to Sheriff Barclay, at the close of the Lecture, by by friend, David Smith, Esq., the Chairman of the evening. The latter gentleman is singularly felicitous in his discharge of the duties of that office—so it is no wonder that he is often called upon to act in that capacity.

Another evening, lately, I spent at the opening of the ";" and a very interesting occasion it was—a kind of introductory Soiree. 800 invitations were issued by the managers—and a great many of the Glasgow were present. You, who (I am sure) remember "the London Polytechnic," will form a correct notion of this minor one—especially, if you blend your recollections of "," with those of the Polytechnic; and add an organ and vocal music to both. The Electric Light, and Magnetic Experiments of various kinds were exhibited. Dissolving views—Cosmoramic views may be seen here; and there is, also, a large Picture Gallery.

One slight circumstance that came under my notice that evening, amused me not a little. I was in the Gallery, standing opposite to the stern, gaunt-looking figure of , arrayed in the rigid, stiff habiliments of the English Puritans. "" said a good-looking girl to her father, who was standing near me. "" The good man hesitated a single moment, and then said, "." My gravity gave way at once. At the risk of intruding, I could not help stepping in to dispel this illusion, and pronouncing the words, "Oliver Cromwell." The honest man looked round regretfully, saying, "" I repressed my merriment—pointed out to him the plainness of the dress—and told him of the gorgeous apparel worn by Eastern monarchs—

and then he was satisfied. My dear Scotch friends will, I am sure, forgive my laughing at the simplicity of their sober countryman, when I add, that is the only foolish thing I ever heard a Scotchman say, .

I attended a Presbytery, for the first time, on Tuesday morning. It was that of the United Presbyterians, (U. Ps. they are generally called here.) You will remember hearing me speak of the deep interest I felt in the meetings of the Synod of "," held in Toronto eighteen months since—so you will not wonder that my attention was fully engaged at the Presbytery, especially as the business that occupied the meeting on Tuesday, was unusually exciting, and the gathering unusually large. The U. P. Church contains some of the most liberal, enlightened, philanthropic and truly eloquent divines in Scotland; this is conceded by many who are not members of that Church. I am told that, as a body, they have always been right on the great questions of the day—. Dr. ROBSON, Dr. KING, Rev. Messrs. EDMOND and BORLAND, &c., &c., are all, most deservedly, popular; they are ever ready to aid in every good work, and to make a firm protest against oppression of kind; but the brightest gem in this brilliant tiara—the most beautiful flower in this goodly garden—at once the pride and ornament, not only of the U. P. Church, but of Glasgow itself, is the Rev. JOHN KER; and he it was who, of necessity, (though most unwillingly,) occupied the thoughts and attention of the Presbytery, and of the otherwise large assembly of Tuesday. Mr. Ker (the much loved Pastor of East Campbell St. Church,) had received a "call" from Bristol—and whether he , or should accept it, was question to be discussed by those empowered to take part in the proceedings.

The Scotch are, in truth, a reasoning people. The arguments were well sustained on both sides; and the whole matter was admirably out, by the Bristol deputation the West Campbell Street Commissioners. So far as I could judge, the latter had the best of the argument; but my judgment could scarcely be an impartial one, because my were thoroughly enlisted on the side of Mr. Ker's congregation; and then I knew that the decision of the Pastor was, to remain in Glasgow with his people. Able speeches were made by Rev. Dr. Robson, Taylor and Mr. McGill, the removal of Mr. Ker—indeed it was spoken of as a public calamity to the city; and then Mr. Ker was called upon to give his answer.

His address was—I scarcely know how to characterize it. Most words are common place; and this exquisitely touching yet perfectly simple address, was anything than common place. None listened to it unmoved. A buzz of applause followed Mr. Ker's declaration of his intention to remain. The Moderator confirmed the decision, and the meeting separated.

The Rev. John Ker was the minister appointed by "," to prepare and deliver the Address to Mrs. Stowe; and in the drawing-room in which I am now sitting the sixty members of the Society were all assembled, in the hope and expectation of meeting the distinguished lady, and of being present at the delivery of this congratulatory Address; when, lo! the Professor arrived —and the elegantly written Address of the Rev. John Ker, on behalf of the Ladies, together with the ably written one of Rev. Dr. Lorimer, on behalf of the Gentlemen's Committee, were read to Professor Stowe. It seemed peculiarly unfortunate, that the indisposition of Mrs. Stowe rendered her unable to give the meeting, on that occasion, to the warm hearted and philanthropic friends of the Anti-Slavery cause in Glasgow. This disappointment was very great.

I must close this rambling effusion, by simply saying, that ; and that the manifold beauties of the Scottish Capital, together with its picturesque position, far exceed all my imaginings. I intend soon to pay a longer visit there; and then I will say more about it.

Yours, right truly,

JULIA GRIFFITHS.