We were seated over a cup of strong tea, to revive our spirits for the evening, when our friend entered the room, accompanied by a gentleman, small in stature, and apparently seventy-five years of age, yet he appeared as active as one half that age.  Feeling half drowsy from riding in the cold, and then the sudden change to a warm fire, I was rather inclined not to move on the entrance of the stranger.  But the name of Thomas Dick, LL.D., roused me in a moment, from my lethargy; I could scarcely believe that I was in the presence of the “Christian Philosopher.”  Dr. Dick is one of the men to whom the age is indebted.  I never find myself in the presence of one to whom the world owes so much as Dr. Dick, without feeling a thrilling emotion, as if I were in the land of spirits.  Dr. Dick had come to our lodgings to see and congratulate Wm. and Ellen Craft upon their escape from the republican Christians of the United States; and as he pressed the hand of the “white slave,” and bid her “welcome to British soil,” I saw the silent tear stealing down the cheek of this man of genius.  How I wished that the many slaveholders and pro-slavery professed Christians of America, who have read and pondered the philosophy of this man, could have been present.  Thomas Dick is an abolitionist—­one who is willing that the world should know that he hates the “peculiar institution.”  At the meeting that evening, Dr. Dick was among the most prominent.  But this was not the only distinguished man who took part on that occasion.

Another great mind was on the platform, and entered his solemn protest in a manner long to be remembered by those present.  This was the Rev. George Gilfillan, well known as the author of the “Portraits of Literary Men.”  Mr. Gilfillan is an energetic speaker, and would have been the lion of the evening, even if many others who are more distinguished as platform orators had been present.  I think it was Napoleon who said that the enthusiasm of others abated his own.  At any rate, the spirit with which each speaker entered upon his duty for the evening, abated my own enthusiasm for the time being.  The last day of our stay in Dundee, I paid a visit, by invitation, to Dr. Dick, at his residence in the little village of Broughty Ferry.  We found the great astronomer in his parlour waiting for us.  From the parlour we went to the new study, and here I felt more at ease, for I went to see the Philosopher in his study, and not in his drawing-room.  But even this room had too much the look of nicety to be an author’s sanctum; and I inquired and was soon informed by Mrs. Dick, that I should have a look at the “old study.”