Chapter V: Part 5

A day in the ante-rooms of the White House will prove to the most skeptical that the “Arabian Nights” are as authentic as Hawthorne’s “Twice-Told Tales.” The Eastern Hemisphere had her rise and decline before the sun of civilization kissed our rugged New England hills. The Orient is asleep. The Occident fills the eyes of the world to-day.

President Grant has a grand vizier. It is General Dent, late of the Union Army. It is the business of General Dent to receive all who seek the presence of the President. When Andrew Johnson was Chief Executive, all those waiting for an audience with power were left by themselves to pass the long hours in waiting. It is somewhat different now. The large reception room over the front of the East Room is fitted up with tables, as well as sofas and chairs, and all, from the humblest to the highest, are admitted to General Dent’s presence. In the coziest corner of the reception room, beneath the window which commands the uninterrupted view of the delightful park which fronts the mansion, may be found the broad, long table at which General Dent sits, with his accomplished assistants by his side. General Dent is in the meridian of life, rather below the medium size, though the rich, dark-blue military garb in which he is encased diverts the mind from size altogether. Now add a face, neither handsome nor plain, but a benign, good countenance, through which the soul shines like flame through an astral shade, and you have the picture of the man through whose hands you are to pass before you are consigned to the august presence of majesty. At the same table, directly opposite General Dent, may be seen the assistant private secretary, Mr. Robert M. Douglas, eldest son of the late Hon. Stephen A. Douglas. Those who can recall the form and features of the departed Senator will see them reproduced, but, like the second edition of the same book, a little revised and somewhat corrected. Mr. Douglas inherits the broad shoulders, crowned by the same massive head, so well remembered by the nation. His North Carolina speech has made him famous as a youth, and it seems certain at present that he was created to prove the exception to the rule that a great man never bequeaths his talent to posterity. The social manners of Mr. Douglas are such as would endear him to a sovereign as haughty as Queen Elizabeth, and just as soon as he culminates as private secretary it will be for the honor of the foreign service to send him abroad. But at the present he can not be spared from a certain ante-room in the White House.

At the left of General Dent may be seen Mr. Crook, one of the few men left who were bequeathed as servants to the people by our beloved Lincoln. He has seen the inauguration of four Presidents and the installation of three different families in the White House. His mind is a storehouse of legend and story. He is still a young man, more than comely in personal appearance, and distinguished by social manners which admirably befit court life.

And now we come to that part of the story which bears such a strong resemblance to an Eastern tale. High and low, rich and poor, all shades, all colors, from the blanched cheek of the haughty Circassian belle to the Ethiopian polished ebony, may be found waiting in the ante-rooms of the White House. Yellow women are there, with skins like dead gold, their large, soft, lustrous eyes reminding one of a Moorish picture. A dash of a carriage is heard on the stone pavement below. Two elegant women alight, in faultless traveling costume. They are shown by a messenger to the ante-room, and General Dent arises to receive them. One of them is exceedingly beautiful. “We have called,” says the beauty, “to pay our respects to the President.” “Any business?” inquires General Dent. The dainty upper lip curls perceptibly. “None whatever; we are traveling; we wish to see the President.” “Impossible, Madame,” the General replies. “All these people you see are waiting to see the President on business. General Grant would be pleased to see you, but he has no time he can call his own.” The great, haughty eyes of the traveler wander about the room. As the two are about to depart General Dent asks them if they would be “shown about the building”? A dignified consent being given, the two stately swans sail away, piloted by the same messenger who showed them up the stairs.

The doors of the inner temple tremble on their hinges, and the form of a ponderous Senator emerges from the presence of the sun of day. It is Henry Wilson, of Massachusetts. He strides to a centre table and shakes hands with a distinguished group of men, composed of Cole of California, Carpenter of Wisconsin, irrepressible General Butler, and General Markland, the personal friend of General Grant, who was nominated for Third Assistant Postmaster-General. Very soon Mr. Gobright of the Associated Press joins hands with them; but the attention of all eyes is drawn in another direction. Two strangers are announced, and again General Dent arises to receive them. Two strange beings,--the man wears the national costume of Burmah, the picturesque turban, and the high-colored shawl gracefully draped about his person; the woman has spoiled her identity by adopting certain portions of European dress. They are native Burmese, and have been studying in this country, but soon take their departure for Burmah, where they expect to act as missionaries. They have called to bid President Grant farewell, and are at once shown into his presence.

Every hour brings new arrivals. A colored delegation from Alexandria has arrived. It was promised they should see the President at 1 o’clock. It is now past the hour, but still they wait patiently. It seems to be the colored man’s fate to wait. There is a silent grandeur about this resignation. It is like the march of the centuries. Art has portrayed it in the face of the Egyptian sphynx.

A few Senators have seen the President. General Butler has dashed in there where none of the rest are allowed to go. No one saw a messenger depart with his card. He went in, disappeared for a moment only, and now flings himself again amongst the throng. He takes a cigar from a side pocket and a barbarous arrangement of some kind from another. With the last thing he is going to kindle a fire. He strikes the flint against the serpent, and something clicks like the lock of a gun. One! two! three! Civilization and Barbarism once more embrace and General Butler has lighted his cigar by the flame, and at the same time, like the blaze of a comet, he has disappeared.

The weary, weary waiters! The sun begins to blink askance, and to creep into western windows. A man says: “This is the tenth day I have waited to see the President.” Some of the people who were always to be found haunting Andrew Johnson have transferred themselves to President Grant. These are the barnacles, or fungi, which every administration inherits from its predecessor. A pale woman in weeds seems to shrink away behind the friendly covering of an open door. Her face is tear-stained. A feeble little child sits calmly by her side. There is much to attract sympathy to the woman. The joyousness of infancy seems to be trampled out of the innocent child. Little sickly bud, growing in the shadow of grief, God help thee!

In the space of one hour audience day will be over, and the disappointed will go, to return again on the morrow.

OLIVIA.

JOHN M. BARCLAY.

A FUND OF REMINISCENCES AT THE COMMAND OF THE JOURNAL CLERK OF THE HOUSE.

WASHINGTON, _November 6, 1869_.

For more than a score of years strangers visiting the House of Representatives may have noticed, at the right hand yet a little below the speaker, a dignified, majestic man, who says the least, yet, perhaps, we may say, does the most, for the country of any man within hearing of the Speaker’s voice. The name of this man is John M. Barclay, and without his presence, or another equally potent in his place, the House of Representatives might be likened to a locomotive deprived of its beloved steam. The business of the House can proceed with an indifferent Speaker, weakness and effeminacy in other officers can be borne; but the man whose business it is to keep a faithful record of all that is done in the House has to get his commission from his Creator, and then have it approved by the man who happens to be elected Clerk of the House. It is Mr. Barclay’s duty to hand down the archives of the nation to other generations. For the last twenty years his mind has been a river through which the work of the House of Representatives has found its way into history. In this noisy, turbulent House it is his place to catch that which is proper and legitimate and fix it in permanent form for the benefit of the whole country. The Clerk of the House is the responsible figure-head for this most important position, but Mr. Barclay is the power behind the throne. In the clamor for office, petitions few or none are sent up for the one Mr. Barclay occupies. A man to take his place must have a perfect understanding of parliamentary law. When the House is in session, not for a moment must his attention wander from the points of discussion. The reporters in the gallery can enjoy their little siestas, give and take from each other; but Mr. Barclay must depend upon himself. So long has he occupied this position, so admirably has he performed his difficult duties, that he may now be compared to an exquisite piece of machinery. He never gives offence. In early years he was a Whig, in later a Republican; but so just is he that partisan sentiments are entirely overlooked, and both parties in the House reverence him alike.

The usages and precedents of the British Parliament constitute the basis of all parliamentary law amongst people who speak the English language. Many years ago Thomas Jefferson wrote a book, which is called “Jefferson’s Manual of Parliamentary Practice.” It is formed of the precepts of the United States Constitution, and the regulations early adopted in the United States Senate, collated with a digest of English Parliamentary practice. This book is a well-known authority in this country. Mr. Barclay furnishes the House with a manual containing a digest of its own rules, so much of Jefferson’s Manual as governs the proceedings of the House, together with the precedents of order, usages of the House, etc., which is really a complete and independent code by which the House is guided. The rules and laws of the House of Representatives of the United States are universally adopted for the government of all State and local conventions, and form the basis of the rules and practice of nearly all State legislatures. The influence of Mr. Barclay’s knowledge and judgment, therefore, in the parliamentary affairs of the country, will be seen to be very great. A correspondent of much repute, in a letter some time ago, which has been widely copied, made the clerk to the late Speaker, an estimable young man, entirely innocent of the profundities and bewildering intricacies of parliamentary law, the actual monitor of Mr. Colfax--a mistake hardly necessary to correct.

Mr. Barclay has seen the rise and decline of the reign of eight different Speakers, Mr. Blaine being the ninth on the list. Of the Speakers whose sceptres have withered, whose gavels have sounded for the last time, Mr. Barclay gives Mr. Colfax the credit of being the best parliamentarian, as well as the hardest and most persevering student of the law. Mr. Barclay has seen the proud honor of Speaker bestowed upon Robert C. Winthrop, Howell Cobb, Linn Boyd, N. P. Banks, James L. Orr, William Pennington, Galusha A. Grow, Schuyler Colfax, and James G. Blaine.

During the long years of treason and rebellion he was a silent witness of the moral battles in the House. This warfare steadily preceded the smoke of the cannon and the surgeon’s glittering knife. It is true Mr. Barclay stores up only the actual substance of the House; and yet how much he might reveal in regard to this august body which is left out of the official record, as well as out of “Gobright’s Recollections of a Third Century,” and also the awful columns of the Congressional Globe.

Should Mr. Barclay have kept notes of his long experience at the helm of the House, what a book he could make. His calm, judicial mind would be sure to do justice to all parties. No reporter in the gallery of “the gods” over his head--no statesman on the floor below--could give so many fascinating pages. He could describe the men who sat in the House when Cobb was Speaker,--most of them now gathered to their fathers. He could tell us of the finished orator, James McDowell, of Virginia, and of that great speech of his, in 1850, which electrified the country; of George C. Drumgoole, of the same State, calm and clear even in his potations; of the knight of later strifes, the spotless patriot and pure rhetorician, Henry Winter Davis, of Maryland; of Hotspur Keitt, and handsome, hectoring Brooks, of South Carolina; of dandy Dawson, of Louisiana; of gifted but self-destroying McConnell, of Alabama; of quick George W. Young, of Tennessee; of young Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, when he first came into the House, wearing a Byron collar; of haughty Toombs; logical Stephens; jolly T. H. Bayly; quiet Mr. Aiken; nervous Clingman; dominating David Wilmot; brilliant D. K. Carter, and eloquent Henry M. Fuller. He could narrate many a side-scene in the great drama, when the actors got behind the curtain and sported in their own green-room. He could show how the great struggle grew from words to blows, from blows to battles, and from battles to defeat. With Cobb and Orr, and Banks and Pennington, and Grow and Colfax, Barclay was on terms of equality and intimacy. He could describe the discomfiture of Barksdale when he lost his yellow wig; of Potter, when he answered Pryor and offered to fight him; of the quarrel between Cutting and Breckinridge; of Douglas in his prime, and of Adams in his decay; and of the whole procession of life, fun, frolic, sorrow, failure, disgrace, and death; of the pages who grew to be generals, of the generals who became Congressmen, and of the Congressmen who longed to be President. Write us a book, Colonel Barclay. You are still in your prime. Take a reporter to your room, and let him interview you, if you won’t jot it off in your own clerkly hand; and if Congress don’t vote you a pension, or retire you on a solid annuity, you and your posterity can live on the proceeds, and be honored in the inevitable credit it will confer on your name.

OLIVIA.

WOMAN SUFFRAGE.

GRACE GREENWOOD, PHŒBE COUZINS, AND OTHER ADVOCATES OF THE CAUSE.

WASHINGTON, _January 18, 1870_.

The National Woman Suffrage Convention was inaugurated last evening in Washington by a lecture on domestic life by Grace Greenwood. A respectable-sized audience, with young people largely in the preponderance, under the auspices of the Young Men’s Christian Association, welcomed the authorities to the platform, and listened with grace, respect, and occasional spice of applause, to the essay christened “Indoors.” With a handsome, gallant preamble, Mrs. Lippincott (better known to the world as Grace Greenwood), was introduced, and her lecture went far to prove that women “indoors” could accomplish far more for the benefit of the human race than on the platform. There was intellect enough in the talented woman to fill Lincoln Hall, but unfortunately physical power was wanting. Not over one-third of those present were within hearing of the speaker’s voice.

Nature has set her face against women as public speakers unless they have been trained for the stage, like Olive Logan. No woman’s voice can bear the tension of an hour and a quarter without becoming husky and even painful to the last degree, and the speaker of the evening was no exception to the rule. Grace Greenwood appeared upon the platform in heavy black silk, with scarlet trimmings, which well became her dark autumnal beauty. She has a face of character, like Fanny Kemble, which glows and pales according to the combustion within. She commenced her lecture by saying that “Horace Greeley has said that old-fashioned domestic life has taken its departure.” She said she hoped the time would come when the women would be developed mentally, morally, physically, but about that time the millennium would appear. She said woman, though denied the privilege of an equal chance to earn her own living, yet had the same chance on the scaffold, and the same swing at death. From English literature she abstracted what purported to be a description of the ideal woman. This creature was to be blessed with patience, a desire to stay at home, little learning. By no means was she to know how to spell correctly; as an accomplishment she was to know how to lisp. Then she drew a picture of Fanny Kemble as Lady Macbeth, a woman whose trained robe would sweep the men who concocted such pictures off the stage. At one time she intended to write a course of lectures to young men, but she did not say what deterred her from doing so. She gave us a glowing description of home, but regretted that the homes of the aristocracy were invaded by the “Jenkinses” and all the sacredness therein laid bare. Among those she denominated as Jenkins were the distinguished writers, George Alfred Townsend and Don Piatt. In painting the home she gave the “old maid” the most exalted position, and she decided that single life is not entirely bereft of comfort. The marriage relation, its joys, its sorrows, its struggles, were delineated with poetic fervor, and those who were fortunate enough to hear her pronounced the evening’s entertainment a success.

Ten o’clock, January 18, the hour and day appointed for the Woman Suffrage Convention, found Lincoln Hall decorated. Soon after a few women came in; slowly the number increased until a small and appreciative audience had gathered. Very few men were sprinkled around, but quite enough to receive the anathemas that were to be showered upon the whole sex. At just a quarter to 11 a side door from the platform opened and some of the shining lights of the “cause” came into view. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, majestic and beautiful as a snowy landscape, came forward with that grace as indescribable as it is incomparable. An elegant black silk and a camel’s hair scarf made up her perfect costume. At her right sat Mrs. Pauline Davis, of Providence, R. I., another exquisite picture of the snow. She was most daintily attired in blue satin and black velvet, and in the contemplation of this serene and noble picture the mind is reconciled to old age. Susan B. Anthony was there in black silk, with soft white lace around her throat, but even lace, frothy as sea-foam, failed to relieve that practical face. Just what a gnarled oak is amongst trees Susan B. Anthony is to her sex,--hard, obdurate, uncompromising. Josephine Griffin, best among women, was there at her post, one of the most earnest in the cause. Mrs. Wright, the sister of Mrs. Mott, brought a kind greeting from that venerable woman, who was kept at home by age and other infirmities. But the ornament of the platform was Phœbe Couzins, of St. Louis, a young law student of that distinguished city. Her elegant outfit was made of a light, neutral-tinted silk adorned with tiny flounces. A double-breasted jacket of blue velvet, with jaunty Lombardy hat to match, upon which a bird of paradise seemed to nestle from choice. Don’t we pity the judge when Phœbe shall plead before him! One flash from those eyes surmounted by the arched brows--but, stop, the illusion is not complete, the rosy lips are wanting. Henry Clay had a large mouth, and it did not prevent his becoming a great lawyer.

A description of Professor J. K. H. Wilcox, so prominently identified with the “cause,” is necessary, in order to show why, in some respects, the movement is retarded. This man is afflicted with a mild form of lunacy, after the form of George Francis Train, and, like every other decoction of weakness, becomes sickening from its insipidity. He is called professor, but the most minute inquiry fails to discover by what means he has earned this appellation. Like Train, whom he takes for his model, his object is notoriety, and it is safe to assume he will achieve a success. Professor Wilcox was entrusted with a message to his countrymen from Clara Barton, who is now residing abroad. A few simple words were sent to the late soldiers by this good woman, but why the paper should be read at a woman’s meeting only Professor Wilcox can disclose.

But if the solemn women who represent the “cause” have a desire to see the world move they had only to look at the reporter’s desk and see the large yellow envelopes marked “New York _Tribune_.” Behind the papers might be seen Miss Nellie Hutchinson, who has earned the title of the “spicy little reporter of the _Tribune_.” Miss Nellie allows her hair to wander in “maiden meditation, fancy free.” Her jaunty military suit, trimmed with gilt cord and buttons, shows at once her determination to win a battle. She is said to be a strong advocate for the “cause,” and writes it up just as much as the _Tribune_ will permit. As all valuable papers were handed to her by Miss Anthony from the platform, whilst your correspondent was left in the cold, she gives this fact as a slight proof of the kindness bestowed upon a lady who is engaged upon the _Tribune_. As the perusal of these papers was not shared by the correspondent of _The Press_, any omissions are requested to be overlooked.

In a few handsome words, Mrs. Stanton introduced Miss Phœbe Couzins, who began her brief address by quoting, “Westward the Star of Empire takes its way.” Then she told us that the East must look to her laurels, else she would wake up and find them stranded on the shores of the Western rivers. Had Phœbe read the Scotch Parson in an old number of the _Atlantic Monthly_ on the subject of “veal,” she never would have gone so far sky-rockety on the subject of the Territory of Wyoming. Mrs. Stanton says the subject is settled out there once and forever.

Mrs. Paulina Davis read a letter from John Stuart Mill, in which he said he regretted not being able to respond to their kind invitation, but that he thought Americans abundantly able to take care of the cause. He then eulogized his wife, and said she had been the means of converting him.

Senator Pomeroy, the only man from Congress in the hall, followed with a few appropriate remarks. But considering that Mrs. Pomeroy was at home, and did not countenance the meeting with her presence, it looked something like those electioneering dodges which the best of politicians sometimes indulge in. Senator Pomeroy said he was no new convert to the “theme.” The Scotch parson advises young people never to talk about “themes,” but as Senator Pomeroy is no longer young, the advice of the parson cannot be meant for him. The Senator said he would not compel a woman to vote; he would simply remove the impediments in the way. He talked about “the mountains near where God dwells.” He said he had been waiting two months for petitions to be sent in. Mrs. Stanton interrupted him and said she had brought them. He said he was for carrying woman suffrage into the fundamental laws of the land. He would let a Chinese vote, only a Chinese could not be naturalized, and therefore could not vote. If a woman was convicted of crime, she must die. A woman had once been hung in Washington. This is the new year for the rallying question. He only hoped this convention would be a triumphant success.

Susan B. Anthony then came forward and attempted to read a letter from a Jersey “Honorable,” but the writing was so poor that she could not. Then she explained what the man meant, but by what process is known only to Susan herself.

Mrs. Cady Stanton came forward and said if the Republican party did not come forth and champion the cause, the Democrats would, and therefore infuse a new life into their decaying body. She also instanced a case where a Democrat had paid the fare of all the ladies in the omnibus that morning coming from the depot to the hotel.

The beautiful prayer delivered at the opening of the session by the Rev. Mr. May, from Syracuse, was worthy of a better cause. The few remarks which followed by the same man were more creditable to his heart than head; but he was sincere and honest, and one could not help but wish that more men like him could be found in the world.

The audience was made up mostly of women, but not the curled, dainty fashionables of the capital. Sad-faced, sorrowful women were there. A poor woman touched your correspondent on the arm, and asked if they “got places for women to work here.” Queenly Mrs. Davis was reading, regal in diamonds and point lace. The woman added, pointing to the speaker, “Do you think she can help me?”

OLIVIA.

ELIZABETH CADY STANTON.

HOW SHE ENGINEERS THE SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT.

WASHINGTON, _January 19, 1870_.

The hour having arrived for the opening of the last evening’s session, and the great lights not appearing on the stage, it was moved by Professor Wilcox and seconded that Mrs. Joseph Griffing be chosen temporarily to occupy the chair. The Hon. James M. Scovel, of New Jersey, was asked to speak, and immediately began. He said it was the coming question whether women shall have the ballot. He believed the thing is right. His mother had said when she went to a village and saw men coming out of a house she knew that to be a tavern; when she saw women going in she knew that to be a church. It is not flattery that women want; it is their rights. The time had been in Jersey when women had no more rights than lunatics and idiots, and it was not much better to-day. He didn’t come there to make a speech; he came there a convert. We shall have no peace until women can go side by side with men to the ballot-box. At this point Mr. Scovel retired, having proved to the rather slim audience that “stump speaking” was an accomplishment that sometimes made its escape from Jersey.

Again the irrepressible Wilcox appeared and read a letter which he had received from the wife of O’Donovan Rossa, in answer to his polite invitation to be present at the meeting. Madame Rossa regretted that unavoidable departure from the country prevented her attendance. She also added some nice things about liberty and her good wishes for the speedy advancement of the cause.

Just as the letter was concluded, Mrs. Stanton swept upon the stage, followed by the planets in her train. She came forward and introduced Mrs. Wilbour, of New York. Mrs. Wilbour, stately in black velvet, point applique, and diamonds, came forward and read a rather prosy, dry essay. Mrs. Wilbour has a voice for public speaking superior to most of her sex. She varied the old question by asking for human rights instead of woman’s rights. She said it is urged that woman has less force than man, and therefore, should not exercise this inalienable right. She asked what should rule--force power or beauty power? Brain not brawn rules this world. A small white hand can move an engine, or wield a pen, an instrument stronger than the sword. All that gives harmony to the world is the beautiful. Religion beautifies the soul. A preponderance of beauty is on the feminine side, but force is found on the masculine. Mrs. Wilbour talked about the ballot as a little slip of paper. She might as well have spent her strength on the paper wadding instead of the deadly bullet that follows it. After a time the sleepy essay came to an end.

Mrs. Stanton then came forward, introducing the Hon. A. G. Riddle, one of the most distinguished lawyers of the District. She prefaced the introduction by calling him a lawyer but an honest man. He gave us the argument; the audience were the jury, but no judge was present to decide the case. Mr. Riddle said the question of the final relation of the sexes had come for final adjudication. These masculines must look the question in the face. It is so broad you can’t go around it. As Mr. Riddle has said the best things so far, it is to be regretted that so much of it has been lost.

The next speaker was Miss Couzins, of St. Louis. She said she felt great trepidation in coming forward when she found the great men at the national capital turning a cold shoulder for reasons of policy, and the women given up to frivolity and fashion. She felt like drinking inspiration from the West, where the leading people were with her. She felt she was fighting a forlorn hope, but Washington fought a forlorn hope at Valley Forge, and won a victory. She graphically delineated the saying of women being classified with lunatics, idiots, slaves, etc. Women have a right to demand that the laws shall be changed in order to insure their happiness. Women had been subjected from the time of William the Conqueror. Bible authority is quoted to oppose the ballot; but there was no law found there for a man and a separate law for woman. Men say when a majority of women desire the ballot they shall have it. She said if the majority had rights the minority had also. Deeds of heroism were related. She said a monument was about to be erected in Washington, dedicated to the martyrs who fell in the late war. The women of St. Louis sent word to know if women were represented. They received the answer: “No, but if the women of St. Louis would raise the money for it, they should have a shaft placed near the monument, with the Goddess of Liberty on the top of it.” She alluded to the freed women of the South, forgetting however, to say that they, being an integral part, were uplifted with the race. At a very late hour, with the termination of Miss Couzin’s speech, the evening session closed.

The second day’s session was opened with a prayer by the Rev. Mr. May, of Syracuse, who thus far has assumed the spiritual direction of the movement. Mrs. Griffing came forward and said the great object of the meeting was to secure legislation by Congress. The press follows every reform with its scandal. Christ has arisen from the dead, and the women all over the country are making application. Will Congress adhere to the Constitution? She had hope and faith that Congress will hear us. No ray of divine life quickens Congress. Women, raise your voices in prayer. A eulogy to Stanton was pronounced, whom she styled the last of the trinity of martyrs--John Brown, Abraham Lincoln, and Edwin M. Stanton. She said that this discriminating word “male” shall be expunged from every law of the District.

At this point of the speech Professor Wilcox came forward and said that no effort had been put forth by the President to close the Departments so that the clerks would be enabled to attend the woman-suffrage convention. Mrs. Stanton said she had seen the President, and he had said he was too busy to attend the convention, so the cream of the movement was skimmed to confer with the ruler of the Republic. This committee which is to beard the lion in his den is composed of Mrs. Stanton, Miss Anthony, Mrs. Wright, Mrs. Wilbour, Mrs. Davis, Rev. Olympia Brown, Phœbe Couzins, Mrs. Beecher Hooker and several others. After this business matter was finished Miss Anthony came forward to excuse the absence of Miss Lillie M. Peckham, of Milwaukee, by saying she was detained at home by the sickness of her brother. This incident went to prove that strong-minded women have sympathies and feelings like other people. A few letters from obscurity were brought forth, but did not add any brilliancy to the proceedings.

At this point of the meeting Senator Pomeroy, who was on his way to Congress, called in to give a word of encouragement. He said it was a long time before the movement could even get the ear of the public. Men were for making fighting the basis of suffrage. Who are those who are called to bear arms? Would you disfranchise a man because he is over forty-five? The military power is subservient to the civil. This is a government of law, not of force. Who feeds, clothes, and supports the soldiers in the field, and thus secures our victories? Services were rendered by women in those hours who cannot vote. Women have borne arms. In Northampton, Mass., near where the Senator was born, was a tombstone on which was cut in the marble, “Her warfare is accomplished.” This stands there in time-honored memory to prove the military qualities of the sex. There was an inequality in the basis of representation, and if the mothers, wives, and sisters were not so much better than we are, they would not have borne the deprivations of their rights. Remove the obstacle to education; open every hall to black and white, male and female. Remove the obstacles; repeal the law; I am for the sixteenth amendment; a woman is a citizen, and should have the power to legislate in the District of Columbia. There are places of employment not open to women. There are offices under the government which women should have. We must “fight it out on this line,”--but the quotation was left unfinished, and the distinguished Senator sat down. But wishing to see the effect of his glowing words, he moved that those women in the audience who wished to vote should raise their hands. Not a score of hands were to be seen.

At this unfortunate moment Mrs. Stanton came forward to the rescue of the bewildered Senator. “Allow me,” said this lieutenant-general, “to correct the Senator. Those who wish to vote are requested to sit still.”

The command was instantly obeyed. Not a woman was seen to move. The Senator wiped the perspiration from his forehead and looked his thanks to the gallant chief of the staff, whose strategy had saved the day. Afterwards those who did not wish to vote were requested to show their colors. A few women were noticed making themselves conspicuous, but the great mass were not to be deluded into giving an expression either one way or another.

Mrs. Stanton then introduced Madame Anneke, a German woman who could not talk English, but could talk the language of the heart--an immense woman, whose weight would reach the hundreds. The stage shook under her powerful trampings. She made up for language in pantomime. She drew her hands through her short hair as only a poet can describe. She said she had waded fields of blood, but this had not been her greatest trials. She had come from Wisconsin with a heavy load--the petition of many hundreds who wanted to vote. She had come with credentials from “t’ousands and t’ousands.” She appealed in the name of Germany--in the name of all Europe. The enfranchisement of women would be the enfranchisement of the whole human race.

Madame Anneke then retired, giving place to a woman as lean as she was fat--a Quaker woman from Philadelphia. This dear, good old Quakeress looked spiritual enough to be translated. She gave us some good Quaker doctrine, such as Philadelphia knows all about, and her remarks, for this reason, are omitted. She was called Mrs. Rachel Moore Townsend.

After Mrs. Townsend the Rev. Olympia Brown came forward, the brightest, freshest, strongest woman we have ever heard devoted to the “cause.” She is a small woman, and looks exactly as one might imagine Charlotte Bronte--a picture of exquisite nicety, from the dainty point lace collar to the perfect fitting shoe.

She commenced her address to those who did not wish to vote: “You may say you are in comfortable homes, with kind husbands and kind fathers, and you may wonder what these strong-minded women want. The temperance question alone shows the want of the ballot for the drunkard’s wife. Women have been patient too long, and therefore responsible in a degree for the sin of drunkenness. I wish women would stand up and say they would not encourage men who use intoxicating drinks and tobacco. We are seeking a nobler womanhood. It is the duty of every mother to feel that she is responsible for that society into which she sends her son. Our young lady should have something to look forward to. A young lady, upon leaving school, told her companion that she was sorry that school had ended, because she would have nothing to do. ‘Can’t you stay at home and make pretty things to wear?’ was the reply. This assertion and answer covered the whole ground of young ladyhood.” When she first entered the world as a young woman, she consulted her minister as to what she should do. He told her to sit down at home and amuse herself reading, and occasionally engage in a strictly private benevolence. The time will come when women will go forth to make a name and a fortune just as men do to-day. Women are told that Christ died for them; she would tell them that Christ lived for them. He taught women a life of earnestness, and she bade them go forth and follow his example. She compared the workingmen of Europe to our own mechanics--the bone and sinew of the land. “What makes the difference between them? It is the ballot. When tanners can aspire to be President you can see what the ballot can do. If it does so much for the men, it will do equally as much for the women. We want every incentive to make women brave, wise, and good. Let us learn not to fight with guns, but with our tongues. The warfare is not ended until the ballot is in our hands. Vermont will give women the ballot before the year is out, and Connecticut will soon follow, for I have moved down there to accomplish it. Only a perfected womanhood will satisfy the age.”

Mr. Stillman, the only man in the Rhode Island legislature who dared to stand up for woman suffrage, came forward, but want of time prevents an account of his speech.

Phœbe Couzins followed him after the same style of her first speech.

After she had finished Professor Wilcox came forward as the last crowning glory of the day and moved that Harriett Beecher Stowe, in her dire extremity, have the sympathy of the convention. Mrs. Stanton said it was out of order, and the Professor exhaled.

OLIVIA.

ISABELLA BEECHER HOOKER.

FITTING REPRESENTATIVE OF A DISTINGUISHED FAMILY.

WASHINGTON, _January 20, 1870_.

Wednesday’s evening session opened with the usual brilliant array of distinguished women on the stage. Among the number might have been seen Mrs. Isabella Beecher Hooker, of Connecticut, another candidate for immortality in this family so widely known to fame. Mrs. Hooker is the beauty of the Beecher constellation. She has a dreamy, poetic face, like the picture of Mrs. Browning, and the early snow has been sprinkled among her curls. Mrs. Hooker is orthodox, and draws inspiration from the old Calvinistic doctrines undefiled. She appears timid almost to awkwardness. She says she intends to be a “speaker,” and an assertion from a member of this family, like some kinds of paper, is worth more than its face.

In the obscurest place on the platform sits the genius of the convention, Jennie Collins, the factory girl of New England, with her sad, hungry face. You can only remember the eyes, which look as if there was something fierce and awful behind them ready to spring out and bite.

The meeting is called to order by Mrs. Stanton, and is followed by a few of her well-chosen words. She had hoped to have a company of distinguished Senators and members, but unfortunately the Congressmen were all hoarse. Two Senators had sent their regrets. Senator Ross pleaded prior engagements, but sent his sympathy. Senator Carpenter regretted that official duties prevented his coming, accompanied with the usual condolence.

Mrs. Stanton proceeded to enlighten the audience on the sixteenth amendment, which is simply striking the obnoxious word “male” out of every statute of the land. She said the future great memorable day would occur in March, because it was in this month that Mr. Julian had offered this amendment to the Constitution. In changing the fifteenth amendment the voice of every person should be heard in the land. If women are not people, what are they? We are building a model Republic and it needs a crowning glory. That glory is a perfected womanhood.

Miss Anthony arose and proposed a vote. Those who demand that Congress shall adopt the sixteenth amendment say “aye.” The ayes had it. Miss Susan said she had been interviewing members, but did not stop to tell the result. She said there was a factory girl on the platform, Miss Jennie Collins, of Boston. The movement was not to benefit those who had fathers and husbands, but those who had to earn their own living.

Miss Collins was then introduced. She said she had not come to make a speech, but to lay her offering at the feet of the imperial Susan. We have a class of women who have not brains enough to comprehend a comic almanac; but if you would have an opinion, go to the working woman. She who has toiled knows her opinion. Why do girls not go into the kitchen? Because no man will marry a woman from the kitchen; but if she goes behind the counter a man will give her his arm. She said the Republican party had accomplished its mission, and was now dead. A new party was coming up from the people. The trades unions will be heard from. These unions were formed around camp-fires to protect each other, and they now girdle the land. She did not look to the politicians for aid; it must come from the working people. What helped the workingman? It was the ballot. Then why would it not help the working women as well? If the Southerner had whipped the slave woman, the New England stockholder would not stop the loom long enough to do the whipping. She painted the hideous lives of the 48,000 factory girls of Massachusetts. Her presence breathed the print of the nails. She made you hear the whir of the machinery, and you could feel the flakes of cotton falling like snow. Miss Collins abused General Grant, abused the Republican party, but the audience was under her spell and did not raise a dissenting voice. A young girl in the audience spoke loud enough to be heard by those around her, “Isn’t she a frightful woman?” It was the savage looking out of the New England factory prison, and the picture is the strongest that has been presented in the convention.

Miss Anthony then announced that the Senate District Committee had agreed to meet the leading women of the movement on Saturday at 10 o’clock a. m.

The meeting now adjourned, and the distinguished women proceeded to the Arlington Hotel, where they had previously announced their intention of holding a reception between the hours of 10 and 12 p. m. This midnight reception was held to accommodate members and Senators who were supposed to be disengaged during these hours. But, alas! Senators one appeared, Pomeroy, of Kansas, whilst the gallant General Logan was the sole representative of the House.

Mrs. Stanton was queenly, as usual, in black velvet; Mrs. Hooker in gray moire antique; whilst Mrs. Wilbour eclipsed all the lesser lights in black silk, embroidered with golden grain. Diamonds glittered, wit and satire flashed, illuminating all the beholders; but the grand dames, the philosophers, the politicians of the capital were not there. If the strong-minded can talk better than the fashionables, they must yet learn to “receive.” Mrs. Hooker held up her moire train as if she were keeping it from the mire. But this must have been owing to the neat training in the “land of steady habits.” Mrs. Stanton “is at home” in the masculine way of doing business. To be sure she had talked sense, but she made one long for a little nonsense; for something upon which the mind could rest after the severe tension of the day.

General Logan was dressed in black pants, not very much the worse for wear, while a claret overcoat, bound in black silk braid, was thrown open before. What his boots lacked in polish was made up by a mental lustre which such insignificant things as bootblacks can neither add to nor take away. He moved about hither and thither with as much apparent ease as he intends to move the capital. Senator Pomeroy wore his ordinary apparel with the exception of his hair. Nellie Hutchinson of the _Tribune_ said the reception was a failure, and the readers of _The Press_ can take her word for it.

Meeting called to order with very few on the stage. The usual prayer was omitted. Mrs. Stanton opened the battle. Daughters should be prepared for every emergency. Cultivate will power, and everything else yields. She said she had visited fashionable women in their luxurious homes and when she talked to them of these great questions, they said they had been so happy they had never thought of these things. She would say to these women, Do you live in Chinese walls? Have you never read Victor Hugo’s “Les Miserables”? What sort of a soul must people have if they can only feel what sacrifices their own flesh? She then told the drunkard’s story, but she always finishes a convention with the same tale. When Mrs. Stanton tells this personal experience she rises to the dignity of a great actress. The pauses, the gestures, one learns by heart. Do the great and good men of the world repeat themselves in the same way?

Miss Anthony having somewhat recovered, read a letter from Hon. Jacob H. Ela, of New Hampshire, and he assured the convention that he was with it hand and glove. During the evening a few members and Senator Sherman were espied in the audience. Miss Anthony was interrupted in her speaking, and Senator Sherman was called on by name to come forward and answer how he stood on the sixteenth amendment. As he did not seem inclined to give an opinion, Miss Anthony bade him, unless he was for it, to say nothing at all.

Judge Woodward (Democrat) was also seen, and his name was called out, but he arose from his seat and went quietly out. With the encroachment upon good taste (for certainly Congressmen have some rights which the public should respect) the convention has lived its brief life, and left its mark upon the age.

OLIVIA.

GATHERING OF THE STRONG-MINDED.

THE WOMAN SUFFRAGISTS TELL OF THEIR TRIALS.

WASHINGTON, _January 21, 1870_.

The last evening’s session of the woman’s suffrage convention opened under the most dazzling auspices. No movement of the kind at the national capital has ever been so honored before. Quite a strong solution of intellect, power, and fashion shaded its eyes before the meteoric display. For the first time in convention, respectable audiences have seen spiritualism, long-haired masculine, and pantaloon feminine banished from the stage. Just as a flame flashes up more brilliantly before it expires, the convention assumed a vermillion hue before its final dissolution.

Mrs. Stanton appeared clad in solemn black velvet, but the bright ribbons nestling in her snowy curls, the girlish ornaments in exactly the right place, strangled all thoughts of a funereal aspect.

Mrs. Wilbour glimmered in the black silk of golden wheat memory, and Mrs. Beecher was clad in royal purple; Phœbe Couzins smothered her manifold attractions under a great white opera cloak, and Susan B. Anthony was just as twisted and knotty as ever.

But whilst the beautiful feminine element which Mrs. Wilbour has so faithfully portrayed formed the background of the picture, the great central form of attraction was Professor Wilcox, otherwise known in the capital as “the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure.” A description of his person, as he corruscated upon the stage, is copied from the Washington _Chronicle_: “Professor Wilcox appeared upon the scene in wrappings of swallow-tail and patent leather. His polished foundation was only eclipsed by the manifold attractions of the other extremity. His whiskers were trimmed to an angle of forty-five degrees, whilst his superb eyes rested in serene beneficence upon the feminine elements that surged and rolled in grandeur on the stage.”

As the women were detained at home for the arrangement of their toilettes beyond the hour appointed, Professor Wilcox moved that Mrs. Griffing address the meeting. This most estimable woman proposed a substitute in the person of Madame Anneke, who came forward and said she could not talk, only “wid her heart.” She could not speak English. “All my friends I embrace.” This last sentence must have been a metaphor, for although Professor Wilcox was in grappling distance, nothing occurred which could shock the most delicate mind. Madame Anneke said that it had been told that Germany was not in favor of this movement. This was a mistake. Germany was with us; all Europe too. Twenty years ago she had started a paper to advocate the cause, but it stopped in two years because of her sickness. One hundred years ago a German philosopher said that women should have equal rights with men. A hundred years ago a good man had said the same things which these women were telling the people to-day. But she could say no more, she was going to act.

Mrs. Stanton then came forward and said Madame Anneke was going to travel all through the West for the “cause,” and this was what she meant by the word act. If Madame Anneke can not talk English to Western barbarians, she can make up by acting on the stage. Her immense rotundity, quivering like a huge caldron of jelly, will stir the human heart to its profoundest depths, and it can safely be said by a Western woman who knows the taste of the home community that Madame Anneke will be able to attract audiences.

Rev. Mr. May now came forward. He said that our late civil war was brought on by the deprivation of the rights of four millions of the people, and consequently certain things will follow like a natural law, the taking away of the rights of fifteen millions more. Woman cannot be denied her rights. She cannot be degraded without degrading the other half of creation. God made man dual. How absurd for man to assume the right to all power; to take all power into his hands. Why do not women take all the power to themselves? It would be just as reasonable. Barbarians subject the weak to the strong.

Miss Anthony now came forward and wanted to have a resolution introduced into Congress to equalize wages. The motion was put and carried with the exception of one male voice. Here was a chance for Susan to score the Adam, and the opportunity was not lost. No eagle from his eyrie ever pounced upon a chicken with more force than did Susan upon this masculine biped. Nobody knew whether the unfortunate had a wife, but Susan assumed that he had, and that it was his intent and purpose to sneak away her wages. Susan finished him on the spot, and the audience applauded the heroic act.