Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
London until the Quakers crowded them out.
One of the most striking women I met in England at this time was Miss
Elizabeth Pease. I never saw a more strongly marked face. Meeting her,
forty years after, on the platform of a great meeting in the Town Hall
at Glasgow, I knew her at once. She is now Mrs. Nichol of Edinburgh,
and, though on the shady side of eighty, is still active in all the
reforms of the day.
It surprised us very much at first, when driving into the grounds of
some of these beautiful Quaker homes, to have the great bell rung at the
lodge, and to see the number of liveried servants on the porch and in
the halls, and then to meet the host in plain garb, and to be welcomed
in plain language, "How does thee do, Henry?" "How does thee do
Elizabeth?" This sounded peculiarly sweet to me--a stranger in a strange
land. The wealthy English Quakers we visited at that time, taking them
all in all, were the most charming people I had ever seen. They were
refined and intelligent on all subjects, and though rather conservative
on some points, were not aggressive in pressing their opinions on
others. Their hospitality was charming and generous, their homes the
beau ideal of comfort and order, the cuisine faultless, while peace
reigned over all. The quiet, gentle manner and the soft tones in
speaking, and the mysterious quiet in these well-ordered homes were like
the atmosphere one finds in a modern convent, where the ordinary duties
of the day seem to be accomplished by some magical influence.
Before leaving London we spent a delightful day in June at the home of
Samuel Gurney, surrounded by a fine park with six hundred deer roaming
about--always a beautiful feature in the English landscape. As the
Duchess of Sutherland and Lord Morpeth had expressed a wish to Mrs. Fry
to meet some of the leading American abolitionists, it was arranged that
they should call at her brother's residence on this occasion. Soon after
we arrived, the Duchess, with her brother and Mrs. Fry, in her state
carriage with six horses and outriders, drove up to the door. Mr. Gurney
was evidently embarrassed at the prospect of a lord and a duchess under
his roof. Leaning on the arm of Mrs. Fry, the duchess was formally
introduced to us individually. Mrs. Mott conversed with the
distinguished guests with the same fluency and composure as with her own
countrywomen. However anxious the English people were as to what they
should say and do, the Americans were all quite at their ease.
As Lord Morpeth had some interesting letters from the island of Jamaica
to read to us, we formed a circle on the lawn to listen. England had
just paid one hundred millions of dollars to emancipate the slaves, and
we were all interested in hearing the result of the experiment. The
distinguished guest in turn had many questions to ask in regard to
American slavery. We found none of that prejudice against color in
England which is so inveterate among the American people; at my first
dinner in England I found myself beside a gentleman from Jamaica, as
black as the ace of spades. After the departure of the duchess, dinner
was announced. It was a sumptuous meal, most tastefully served. There
were half a dozen wineglasses at every plate, but abolitionists, in
those days, were all converts to temperance, and, as the bottles went
around there was a general headshaking, and the right hand extended
over the glasses. Our English friends were amazed that none of us drank
wine. Mr. Gurney said he had never before seen such a sight as forty
ladies and gentlemen sitting down to dinner and none of them tasting
wine. In talking with him on that point, he said:
"I suppose your nursing mothers drink beer?"
I laughed, and said, "Oh, no! We should be afraid of befogging the
brains of our children."
"No danger of that," said he; "we are all bright enough, and yet a cask
of beer is rolled into the cellar for the mother with each newborn
child."
Colonel Miller from Vermont, one of our American delegation, was in the
Greek war with Lord Byron. As Lady Byron had expressed a wish to see
him, that her daughter might know something of her father's last days,
an interview was arranged, and the colonel kindly invited me to
accompany him. His account of their acquaintance and the many noble
traits of character Lord Byron manifested, his generous impulses and
acts of self-sacrifice, seemed particularly gratifying to the daughter.
It was a sad interview, arranged chiefly for the daughter's
satisfaction, though Lady Byron listened with a painful interest. As the
colonel was a warm admirer of the great poet, he no doubt represented
him in the best possible light, and his narration of his last days was
deeply interesting. Lady Byron had a quiet, reserved manner, a sad face,
and a low, plaintive voice, like one who had known deep sorrow. I had
seen her frequently in the convention and at social teas, and had been
personally presented to her before this occasion. Altogether I thought
her a sweet, attractive-looking woman.
We had a pleasant interview with Lord Brougham also. The Philadelphia
Anti-slavery Society sent him an elaborately carved inkstand, made from
the wood of Pennsylvania Hall, which was destroyed by a pro-slavery mob.
Mr. Birney made a most graceful speech in presenting the memento, and
Lord Brougham was equally happy in receiving it.
One of the most notable characters we met at this time was Daniel
O'Connell. He made his first appearance in the London convention a few
days after the women were rejected. He paid a beautiful tribute to woman
and said that, if he had been present when the question was under
discussion, he should have spoken and voted for their admission. He was
a tall, well-developed, magnificent-looking man, and probably one of the
most effective speakers Ireland ever produced. I saw him at a great
India meeting in Exeter Hall, where some of the best orators from
France, America, and England were present. There were six natives from
India on the platform who, not understanding anything that was said,
naturally remained listless throughout the proceedings. But the moment
O'Connell began to speak they were all attention, bending forward and
closely watching every movement. One could almost tell what he said from
the play of his expressive features, his wonderful gestures, and the
pose of his whole body. When he finished, the natives joined in the
general applause. He had all Wendell Phillips' power of sarcasm and
denunciation, and added to that the most tender pathos. He could make
his audience laugh or cry at pleasure. It was a rare sight to see him
dressed in "Repeal cloth" in one of his Repeal meetings. We were in
Dublin in the midst of that excitement, when the hopes of new liberties
for that oppressed people all centered on O'Connell. The enthusiasm of
the people for the Repeal of the Union was then at white-heat. Dining
one day with the "Great Liberator," as he was called, I asked him if he
hoped to carry that measure.
"No," he said, "but it is always good policy to claim the uttermost and
then you will be sure to get something."
Could he have looked forward fifty years and have seen the present
condition of his unhappy country, he would have known that English greed
and selfishness could defeat any policy, however wise and far-seeing.
The successive steps by which Irish commerce was ruined and religious
feuds between her people continually fanned into life, and the nation
subjugated, form the darkest page in the history of England. But the
people are awakening at last to their duty, and, for the first time,
organizing English public sentiment in favor of "Home Rule." I attended
several large, enthusiastic meetings when last in England, in which the
most radical utterances of Irish patriots were received with prolonged
cheers. I trust the day is not far off when the beautiful Emerald Isle
will unfurl her banner before the nations of the earth, enthroned as the
Queen Republic of those northern seas!
We visited Wordsworth's home at Grasmere, among the beautiful lakes, but
he was not there. However, we saw his surroundings--the landscape that
inspired some of his poetic dreams, and the dense rows of hollyhocks of
every shade and color, leading from his porch to the gate. The gardener
told us this was his favorite flower. Though it had no special beauty in
itself, taken alone, yet the wonderful combination of royal colors was
indeed striking and beautiful. We saw Harriet Martineau at her country
home as well as at her house in town. As we were obliged to converse
with her through an ear trumpet, we left her to do most of the talking.
She gave us many amusing experiences of her travels in America, and her
comments on the London Convention were rich and racy. She was not an
attractive woman in either manner or appearance, though considered great
and good by all who knew her.
We spent a few days with Thomas Clarkson, in Ipswich. He lived in a very
old house with long rambling corridors, surrounded by a moat, which we
crossed' by means of a drawbridge. He had just written an article
against the colonization scheme, which his wife read aloud to us. He was
so absorbed in the subject that he forgot the article was written by
himself, and kept up a running applause with "hear!" "hear!" the English
mode of expressing approbation. He told us of the severe struggles he
and Wilberforce had gone through in rousing the public sentiment of
England to the demand for emancipation in Jamaica. But their trials were
mild, compared with what Garrison and his coadjutors had suffered in
America.
Having read of all these people, it was difficult to realize, as I
visited them in their own homes from day to day, that they were the same
persons I had so long worshiped from afar!
CHAPTER VI.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
After taking a view of the wonders and surroundings of London we spent a
month in Paris. Fifty years ago there was a greater difference in the
general appearance of things between France and England than now. That
countries only a few hours' journey apart should differ so widely was to
us a great surprise. How changed the sights and sounds! Here was the old
diligence, lumbering along with its various compartments and its
indefinite number of horses, harnessed with rope and leather, sometimes
two, sometimes three abreast, and sometimes one in advance, with an
outrider belaboring the poor beasts without cessation, and the driver
yelling and cracking his whip. The uproar, confusion, and squabbles at
every stopping place are overwhelming; the upper classes, men and women
alike, rushing into each other's arms, embrace and kiss, while drivers
and hostlers on the slightest provocation hurl at each other all the
denunciatory adjectives in the language, and with such vehemence that
you expect every moment to see a deadly conflict. But to-day, as fifty
years ago, they never arrive at that point. Theirs was and is purely an
encounter of words, which they keep up, as they drive off in opposite
directions, just as far as they can hear and see each other, with
threats of vengeance to come. Such an encounter between two Englishmen
would mean the death of one or the other.
All this was in marked contrast with John Bull and his Island. There the
people were as silent as if they had been born deaf and dumb. The
English stagecoach was compact, clean, and polished from top to bottom,
the horses and harness glossy and in order, the well-dressed, dignified
coachman, who seldom spoke a loud word or used his whip, kept his seat
at the various stages, while hostlers watered or changed the steeds; the
postman blew his bugle blast to have the mail in readiness, and the
reserved passengers made no remarks on what was passing; for, in those