That a boy under twelve years of age should write a series of poems, imitating the style of the fifteenth century, and palm these poems off upon the world as the work of a monk, is indeed strange; and that these should become the object of interesting contemplation to the literary world, and should awaken inquiries, and exercise the talents of a Southey, a Bryant, a Miller, a Mathias, and others, savours more of romance than reality.  I had visited the room in a garret in High Holborn, where this poor boy died.  I had stood over a grave in the burial-ground of the Lane Workhouse, which was pointed out to me as the last resting-place of Chatterton; and now I was in the room where it was alleged he obtained the manuscripts that gave him such notoriety.  We descended and viewed other portions of the church.  The effect of the chancel, as seen behind the pictures, is very singular, and suggestive of many swelling thoughts.  We look at the great east window, it is unadorned with its wonted painted glass; we look at the altar-screen beneath, on which the light of day again falls, and behold the injuries it has received at the hands of time.  There is a dreary mournfulness in the scene which fastens on the mind, and is in unison with the time-worn mouldering fragments that are seen all around us.  And this dreariness is not removed by our tracing the destiny of man on the storied pavements or on the graven brass, that still bears upon its surface the names of those who obtained the world’s regard years back.  This old pile is not only an ornament to the city, but it stands a living monument to the genius of its founder.  Bristol has long sustained a high position as a place from which the American Abolitionists have received substantial encouragement in their arduous labours for the emancipation of the slaves of that land; and the writer of this received the best evidence that in this respect the character of the people had not been exaggerated, especially as regards the “Clifton Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society.”

LETTER XXIII.[A]

[A] This letter is rather out of its proper place here.  I had mislaid the MS., and my distance from the printer prevented the matter being rectified.  In another edition, the transposition can be effected.

Aberdeen—­Passage by Steamer—­Edinburgh—­Visit to the College—­William and Ellen Craft.

I have visited few places where I found more warm friends than in Aberdeen.  This is the Granite City of Scotland.

Aberdeen reminds one of Boston, especially in a walk down Union Street, which is said to be one of the finest promenades in Europe.

The town is situated on a neck of land between the rivers Dee and Don, and is the most important place in the north of Scotland.  During our third day in the city, we visited among other places the Old Bridge of Don, which is not only resorted to on account of its antique celebrity and peculiar appearance, but also because of the notoriety that it has gained by Lord Byron’s poem of the “Bridge of Don.”