We had quite a sociable time up in our gallery.  Our tea table stretched quite across the gallery, and we drank tea “in sight of all the people.”  By we, I mean a great number of ministers and their wives, and ladies of the Antislavery Society, besides our party, and the friends whom I have mentioned before.  All seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After tea they sang a few verses of the seventy-second psalm in the old Scotch version.

  “The people’s poor ones he shall judge,
    The needy’s children save;
  And those shall he in pieces break,
    Who them oppressed have.

  For he the needy shall preserve,
    When he to him doth call;
  The poor, also, and him that hath
    No help of man at all.

  Both from deceit and violence
    Their soul he shall set free;
  And in his sight right precious
    And dear their blood shall be.

  Now blessed be the Lord, our God,
    The God of Israel,
  For he alone doth wondrous works,
    In glory that excel.

  And blessed be his glorious name
    To all eternity;
  The whole earth let his glory fill: 
    Amen; so let it be.”

When I heard the united sound of all the voices, giving force to these simple and pathetic words, I thought I could see something of the reason why that rude old translation still holds its place in Scotland.

The addresses were, many of them, very beautiful; the more so for the earnest and religious feeling which they manifested.  That of Dr. Wardlaw, in particular, was full of comfort and encouragement, and breathed a most candid and catholic spirit.  Could our friends in America see with what earnest warmth the religious heart of Scotland beats towards them, they would be willing to suffer a word of admonition from those to whom love gives a right to speak.  As Christians, all have a common interest in what honors or dishonors Christianity, and an ocean between us does not make us less one church.

Most of the speeches you will see recorded in the papers.  In the course of the evening there was a second service of grapes, oranges, and other fruits, served round in the same quiet manner as the tea.  On account of the feeble state of my health, they kindly excused me before the exercises of the evening were over.

The next morning, at ten o’clock, we rode with a party of friends to see some of the notabilia.  First, to Bothwell Castle, of old the residence of the Black Douglas.  The name had for me the quality of enchantment.  I cannot understand nor explain the nature of that sad yearning and longing with which one visits the mouldering remains of a state of society which one’s reason wholly disapproves, and which one’s calm sense of right would think it the greatest misfortune to have recalled; yet when the carriage turned under the shadow of beautiful ancient oaks, and Mr. S. said, “There, we are in the grounds of the old Black Douglas family!” I felt every nerve shiver.  I remembered the dim melodies of the Lady of the Lake.  Bothwell’s lord was the lord of this castle, whose beautiful ruins here adorn the banks of the Clyde.