d 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_."

During a sojourn of eighteen months in Great Britain, I have had the
good fortune to meet with several distinguished literary characters, and
have always managed, while at their places of abode, to see the table
and favourite chair. Wm. and Ellen Craft were seeing what they could see
through a microscope, when Mrs. Dick returned to the room, and intimated
that we could now see the old literary workshop. I followed, and was
soon in a room about fifteen feet square, with but one window, which
occupied one side of the room. The walls of the other three sides were
lined with books. And many of these looked the very personification of
age. I took my seat in the "_old arm chair_;" and here, thought I, is
the place and the seat in which this distinguished man sat, while
weaving the radiant wreath of renown which now in his old age surrounds
him, and whose labours will be more appreciated by future ages than the
present.

I took a farewell of the author of the "Solar System," but not until I
had