CHAPTER V.

OUR WEDDING JOURNEY.

My engagement was a season of doubt and conflict--doubt as to the wisdom

of changing a girlhood of freedom and enjoyment for I knew not what, and

conflict because the step I proposed was in opposition to the wishes of

all my family. Whereas, heretofore, friends were continually suggesting

suitable matches for me and painting the marriage relation in the most

dazzling colors, now that state was represented as beset with dangers

and disappointments, and men, of all God's creatures as the most

depraved and unreliable. Hard pressed, I broke my engagement, after

months of anxiety and bewilderment; suddenly I decided to renew it, as

Mr. Stanton was going to Europe as a delegate to the World's

Anti-slavery Convention, and we did not wish the ocean to roll between

us.

Thursday, May 10, 1840, I determined to take the fateful step, without

the slightest preparation for a wedding or a voyage; but Mr. Stanton,

coming up the North River, was detained on "Marcy's Overslaugh," a bar

in the river where boats were frequently stranded for hours. This delay

compelled us to be married on Friday, which is commonly supposed to be a

most unlucky day. But as we lived together, without more than the usual

matrimonial friction, for nearly a half a century, had seven children,

all but one of whom are still living, and have been well sheltered,

clothed, and fed, enjoying sound minds in sound bodies, no one need be

afraid of going through the marriage ceremony on Friday for fear of bad

luck. The Scotch clergyman who married us, being somewhat superstitious,

begged us to postpone it until Saturday; but, as we were to sail early

in the coming week, that was impossible. That point settled, the next

difficulty was to persuade him to leave out the word "obey" in the

marriage ceremony. As I obstinately refused to obey one with whom I

supposed I was entering into an equal relation, that point, too, was

conceded. A few friends were invited to be present and, in a simple

white evening dress, I was married. But the good priest avenged himself

for the points he conceded, by keeping us on the rack with a long prayer

and dissertation on the sacred institution for one mortal hour. The Rev.

Hugh Maire was a little stout fellow, vehement in manner and speech, who

danced about the floor, as he laid down the law, in the most original

and comical manner. As Mr. Stanton had never seen him before, the hour

to him was one of constant struggle to maintain his equilibrium. I had

sat under his ministrations for several years, and was accustomed to his

rhetoric, accent, and gestures, and thus was able to go through the

ordeal in a calmer state of mind.

Sister Madge, who had stood by me bravely through all my doubts and

anxieties, went with us to New York and saw us on board the vessel. My

sister Harriet and her husband, Daniel C. Eaton, a merchant in New York

city, were also there. He and I had had for years a standing game of

"tag" at all our partings, and he had vowed to send me "tagged" to

Europe. I was equally determined that he should not. Accordingly, I

had a desperate chase after him all over the vessel, but in vain. He had

the last "tag" and escaped. As I was compelled, under the circumstances,

to conduct the pursuit with some degree of decorum, and he had the

advantage of height, long limbs, and freedom from skirts, I really stood

no chance whatever. However, as the chase kept us all laughing, it

helped to soften the bitterness of parting.

[Illustration: H.B. Stanton] [Illustration: MRS. STANTON AND DAUGHTER,

1857.]

Fairly at sea, I closed another chapter of my life, and my thoughts

turned to what lay in the near future. James G. Birney, the anti-slavery

nominee for the presidency of the United States, joined us in New York,

and was a fellow-passenger on the Montreal for England. He and my

husband were delegates to the World's Anti-slavery Convention, and both

interested themselves in my anti-slavery education. They gave me books

to read, and, as we paced the deck day by day, the question was the

chief theme of our conversation.

Mr. Birney was a polished gentleman of the old school, and was

excessively proper and punctilious in manner and conversation. I soon

perceived that he thought I needed considerable toning down before

reaching England. I was quick to see and understand that his criticisms

of others in a general way and the drift of his discourses on manners

and conversation had a nearer application than he intended I should

discover, though he hoped I would profit by them. I was always grateful

to anyone who took an interest in my improvement, so I laughingly told

him, one day, that he need not make his criticisms any longer in that

roundabout way, but might take me squarely in hand and polish me up as

speedily as possible. Sitting in the saloon at night after a game of

chess, in which, perchance, I had been the victor, I felt complacent

and would sometimes say:

"Well, what have I said or done to-day open to criticism?"

So, in the most gracious manner, he replied on one occasion:

"You went to the masthead in a chair, which I think very unladylike. I

heard you call your husband 'Henry' in the presence of strangers, which

is not permissible in polite society. You should always say 'Mr.

Stanton.' You have taken three moves back in this game."

"Bless me!" I replied, "what a catalogue in one day! I fear my Mentor

will despair of my ultimate perfection."

"I should have more hope," he replied, "if you seemed to feel my rebukes

more deeply, but you evidently think them of too little consequence to

be much disturbed by them."

As he found even more fault with my husband, we condoled with each other

and decided that our friend was rather hypercritical and that we were as

nearly perfect as mortals need be for the wear and tear of ordinary

life. Being both endowed with a good degree of self-esteem, neither the

praise nor the blame of mankind was overpowering to either of us. As the

voyage lasted eighteen days--for we were on a sailing vessel--we had

time to make some improvement, or, at least, to consider all friendly

suggestions.

At this time Mr. Birney was very much in love with Miss Fitzhugh of

Geneseo, to whom he was afterward married. He suffered at times great

depression of spirits, but I could always rouse him to a sunny mood by

introducing her name. That was a theme of which he never grew weary,

and, while praising her, a halo of glory was to him visible around my

head and I was faultless for the time being. There was nothing in our

fellow-passengers to break the monotony of the voyage. They were all

stolid, middle-class English people, returning from various parts of the

world to visit their native land.

When out of their hearing, Mr. Birney used to ridicule them without

mercy; so, one day, by way of making a point, I said with great

solemnity, "Is it good breeding to make fun of the foibles of our

fellow-men, who have not had our advantages of culture and education?"

He felt the rebuke and blushed, and never again returned to that

subject. I am sorry to say I was glad to find him once in fault.

Though some amusement, in whatever extraordinary way I could obtain it,

was necessary to my existence, yet, as it was deemed important that I

should thoroughly understand the status of the anti-slavery movement in

my own country, I spent most of my time reading and talking on that

question. Being the wife of a delegate to the World's Convention, we all

felt it important that I should be able to answer whatever questions I

might be asked in England on all phases of the slavery question.

The captain, a jolly fellow, was always ready to second me in my

explorations into every nook and cranny of the vessel. He imagined that

my reading was distasteful and enforced by the older gentlemen, so he

was continually planning some diversion, and often invited me to sit

with him and listen to his experiences of a sailor's life.

But all things must end in this mortal life, and our voyage was near

its termination, when we were becalmed on the Southern coast of England

and could not make more than one knot an hour. When within sight of the

distant shore, a pilot boat came along and offered to take anyone ashore

in six hours. I was so delighted at the thought of reaching land that,

after much persuasion, Mr. Stanton and Mr. Birney consented to go.

Accordingly we were lowered into the boat in an armchair, with a

luncheon consisting of a cold chicken, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of

wine, with just enough wind to carry our light craft toward our

destination. But, instead of six hours, we were all day trying to reach

the land, and, as the twilight deepened and the last breeze died away,

the pilot said: "We are now two miles from shore, but the only way you

can reach there to-night is by a rowboat."

As we had no provisions left and nowhere to sleep, we were glad to avail

ourselves of the rowboat. It was a bright moonlight night, the air

balmy, the waters smooth, and, with two stout oarsmen, we glided swiftly

along. As Mr. Birney made the last descent and seated himself, doubtful

as to our reaching shore, turning to me he said: "The woman tempted me

and I did leave the good ship." However, we did reach the shore at

midnight and landed at Torquay, one of the loveliest spots in that

country, and our journey to Exeter the next day lay through the most

beautiful scenery in England.

As we had no luggage with us, our detention by customs officers was

brief, and we were soon conducted to a comfortable little hotel, which

we found in the morning was a bower of roses. I had never imagined

anything so beautiful as the drive up to Exeter on the top of a coach,

with four stout horses, trotting at the rate of ten miles an hour. It

was the first day of June, and the country was in all its glory. The

foliage was of the softest green, the trees were covered with blossoms,

and the shrubs with flowers. The roads were perfect; the large,

fine-looking coachman, with his white gloves and reins, his rosy face

and lofty bearing and the postman in red, blowing his horn as we passed

through every village, made the drive seem like a journey in fairyland.

We had heard that England was like a garden of flowers, but we were

wholly unprepared for such wealth of beauty.

In Exeter we had our first view of one of the great cathedrals in the

Old World, and we were all deeply impressed with its grandeur. It was

just at the twilight hour, when the last rays of the setting sun,

streaming through the stained glass windows, deepened the shadows and

threw a mysterious amber light over all. As the choir was practicing,

the whole effect was heightened by the deep tones of the organ

reverberating through the arched roof, and the sound of human voices as

if vainly trying to fill the vast space above. The novelty and solemnity

of the surroundings roused all our religious emotions and thrilled every

nerve in our being. As if moved by the same impulse to linger there a

while, we all sat down, silently waiting for something to break the

spell that bound us. Can one wonder at the power of the Catholic

religion for centuries, with such accessories to stimulate the

imagination to a blind worship of the unknown?

Sitting in the hotel that evening and wanting something to read, we

asked the waiter for the daily papers. As there was no public table or

drawing room for guests, but each party had its own apartment, we needed

a little change from the society of each other. Having been, as it were,

shut from the outside world for eighteen days, we had some curiosity to

see whether our planet was still revolving from west to east. At the

mention of papers in the plural number, the attendant gave us a look of

surprise, and said he would get "it." He returned saying that the

gentleman in No. 4 had "it," but he would be through in fifteen minutes.

Accordingly, at the end of that time, he brought the newspaper, and,

after we had had it the same length of time, he came to take it to

another party. At our lodging house in London, a paper was left for half

an hour each morning, and then it was taken to the next house, thus

serving several families of readers.

The next day brought us to London. When I first entered our lodging

house in Queen Street, I thought it the gloomiest abode I had ever seen.

The arrival of a delegation of ladies, the next day, from Boston and

Philadelphia, changed the atmosphere of the establishment, and filled me

with delightful anticipations of some new and charming acquaintances,

which I fully realized in meeting Emily Winslow, Abby Southwick,

Elizabeth Neal, Mary Grew, Abby Kimber, Sarah Pugh, and Lucretia Mott.

There had been a split in the American anti-slavery ranks, and delegates

came from both branches, and, as they were equally represented at our

lodgings, I became familiar with the whole controversy. The potent

element which caused the division was the woman question, and as the

Garrisonian branch maintained the right of women to speak and vote in

the conventions, all my sympathies were with the Garrisonians, though

Mr. Stanton and Mr. Birney belonged to the other branch, called

political abolitionists. To me there was no question so important as the

emancipation of women from the dogmas of the past, political, religious,

and social. It struck me as very remarkable that abolitionists, who felt

so keenly the wrongs of the slave, should be so oblivious to the equal

wrongs of their own mothers, wives, and sisters, when, according to the

common law, both classes occupied a similar legal status.

Our chief object in visiting England at this time was to attend the

World's Anti-slavery Convention, to meet June 12, 1840, in Freemasons'

Hall, London. Delegates from all the anti-slavery societies of civilized

nations were invited, yet, when they arrived, those representing

associations of women were rejected. Though women were members of the

National Anti-slavery Society, accustomed to speak and vote in all its

conventions, and to take an equally active part with men in the whole

anti-slavery struggle, and were there as delegates from associations of

men and women, as well as those distinctively of their own sex, yet all

alike were rejected because they were women. Women, according to English

prejudices at that time, were excluded by Scriptural texts from sharing

equal dignity and authority with men in all reform associations; hence

it was to English minds pre-eminently unfitting that women should be

admitted as equal members to a World's Convention. The question was

hotly debated through an entire day. My husband made a very eloquent

speech in favor of admitting the women delegates.

When we consider that Lady Byron, Anna Jameson, Mary Howitt, Mrs. Hugo

Reid, Elizabeth Fry, Amelia Opie, Ann Green Phillips, Lucretia Mott, and

many remarkable women, speakers and leaders in the Society of Friends,

were all compelled to listen in silence to the masculine platitudes on

woman's sphere, one may form some idea of the indignation of

unprejudiced friends, and especially that of such women as Lydia Maria

Child, Maria Chapman, Deborah Weston, Angelina and Sarah Grimké, and

Abby Kelly, who were impatiently waiting and watching on this side, in

painful suspense, to hear how their delegates were received. Judging

from my own feelings, the women on both sides of the Atlantic must have

been humiliated and chagrined, except as these feelings were outweighed

by contempt for the shallow reasoning of their opponents and their

comical pose and gestures in some of the intensely earnest flights of

their imagination.

The clerical portion of the convention was most violent in its

opposition. The clergymen seemed to have God and his angels especially

in their care and keeping, and were in agony lest the women should do or

say something to shock the heavenly hosts. Their all-sustaining conceit

gave them abundant assurance that their movements must necessarily be

all-pleasing to the celestials whose ears were open to the proceedings

of the World's Convention. Deborah, Huldah, Vashti, and Esther might

have questioned the propriety of calling it a World's Convention, when

only half of humanity was represented there; but what were their

opinions worth compared with those of the Rev. A. Harvey, the Rev. C.

Stout, or the Rev. J. Burnet, who, Bible in hand, argued woman's

subjection, divinely decreed when Eve was created.

One of our champions in the convention, George Bradburn, a tall

thick-set man with a voice like thunder, standing head and shoulders

above the clerical representatives, swept all their arguments aside by

declaring with tremendous emphasis that, if they could prove to him that

the Bible taught the entire subjection of one-half of the race to the

other, he should consider that the best thing he could do for humanity

would be to bring together every Bible in the universe and make a grand

bonfire of them.

It was really pitiful to hear narrow-minded bigots, pretending to be

teachers and leaders of men, so cruelly remanding their own mothers,

with the rest of womankind, to absolute subjection to the ordinary

masculine type of humanity. I always regretted that the women themselves

had not taken part in the debate before the convention was fully

organized and the question of delegates settled. It seemed to me then,

and does now, that all delegates with credentials from recognized

societies should have had a voice in the organization of the convention,

though subject to exclusion afterward. However, the women sat in a low

curtained seat like a church choir, and modestly listened to the French,

British, and American Solons for twelve of the longest days in June, as

did, also, our grand Garrison and Rogers in the gallery. They scorned a

convention that ignored the rights of the very women who had fought,

side by side, with them in the anti-slavery conflict. "After battling so

many long years," said Garrison, "for the liberties of African slaves, I

can take no part in a convention that strikes down the most sacred

rights of all women." After coming three thousand miles to speak on the

subject nearest his heart, he nobly shared the enforced silence of the

rejected delegates. It was a great act of self-sacrifice that should

never be forgotten by women.

Thomas Clarkson was chosen president of the convention and made a few

remarks in opening, but he soon retired, as his age and many infirmities

made all public occasions too burdensome, and Joseph Sturge, a Quaker,

was made chairman. Sitting next to Mrs. Mott, I said:

"As there is a Quaker in the chair now, what could he do if the spirit

should move you to speak?"

"Ah," she replied, evidently not believing such a contingency possible,

"where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."

She had not much faith in the sincerity of abolitionists who, while

eloquently defending the natural rights of slaves, denied freedom of

speech to one-half the people of their own race. Such was the

consistency of an assemblage of philanthropists! They would have been

horrified at the idea of burning the flesh of the distinguished women

present with red-hot irons, but the crucifixion of their pride and

self-respect, the humiliation of the spirit, seemed to them a most

trifling matter. The action of this convention was the topic of

discussion, in public and private, for a long time, and stung many women

into new thought and action and gave rise to the movement for women's

political equality both in England and the United States.

As the convention adjourned, the remark was heard on all sides, "It is

about time some demand was made for new liberties for women." As Mrs.

Mott and I walked home, arm in arm, commenting on the incidents of the

day, we resolved to hold a convention as soon as we returned home, and

form a society to advocate the rights of women. At the lodging house on

Queen Street, where a large number of delegates had apartments, the

discussions were heated at every meal, and at times so bitter that, at

last, Mr. Birney packed his valise and sought more peaceful quarters.

Having strongly opposed the admission of women as delegates to the

convention it was rather embarrassing to meet them, during the intervals

between the various sessions, at the table and in the drawing room.

These were the first women I had ever met who believed in the equality

of the sexes and who did not believe in the popular orthodox religion.

The acquaintance of Lucretia Mott, who was a broad, liberal thinker on

politics, religion, and all questions of reform, opened to me a new

world of thought. As we walked about to see the sights of London, I

embraced every opportunity to talk with her. It was intensely gratifying

to hear all that, through years of doubt, I had dimly thought, so freely

discussed by other women, some of them no older than myself--women, too,

of rare intelligence, cultivation, and refinement. After six weeks'

sojourn under the same roof with Lucretia Mott, whose conversation was

uniformly on a high plane, I felt that I knew her too well to sympathize

with the orthodox Friends, who denounced her as a dangerous woman

because she doubted certain dogmas they fully believed.

As Mr. Birney and my husband were invited to speak all over England,

Scotland, and Ireland, and we were uniformly entertained by orthodox

Friends, I had abundant opportunity to know the general feeling among

them toward Lucretia Mott. Even Elizabeth Fry seemed quite unwilling to

breathe the same atmosphere with her. During the six weeks that many of

us remained in London after the convention we were invited to a

succession of public and private breakfasts, dinners, and teas, and on

these occasions it was amusing to watch Mrs. Fry's sedulous efforts to

keep Mrs. Mott at a distance. If Mrs. Mott was on the lawn, Mrs. Fry

would go into the house; if Mrs. Mott was in the house, Mrs. Fry would

stay out on the lawn. One evening, when we were all crowded into two

parlors, and there was no escape, the word went round that Mrs. Fry felt

moved to pray with the American delegates, whereupon a profound silence

reigned. After a few moments Mrs. Fry's voice was heard deploring the

schism among the American Friends; that sol many had been led astray by

false doctrines; urging the Spirit of All Good to show them the error of

their way, and gather them once more into the fold of the great Shepherd

of our faith. The prayer was directed so pointedly at the followers of

Elias Hicks, and at Lucretia Mott in particular, that I whispered to

Lucretia, at the close, that she should now pray for Mrs. Fry, that her

eyes might be opened to her bigotry and uncharitableness, and be led by

the Spirit into higher light. "Oh, no!" she replied, "a prayer of this

character, under the circumstances, is an unfair advantage to take of a

stranger, but I would not resent it in the house of her friends."

In these gatherings we met the leading Quaker families and many other

philanthropists of different denominations interested in the

anti-slavery movement. On all these occasions our noble Garrison spoke

most effectively, and thus our English friends had an opportunity of

enjoying his eloquence, the lack of which had been so grave a loss in

the convention.

We devoted a month sedulously to sightseeing in London, and, in the line

of the traveler's duty, we explored St. Paul's Cathedral, the British

Museum, the Tower, various prisons, hospitals, galleries of art, Windsor

Castle, and St. James's Palace, the Zoological Gardens, the schools and

colleges, the chief theaters and churches, Westminster Abbey, the Houses

of Parliament, and the Courts. We heard the most famous preachers,

actors, and statesmen. In fact, we went to the top and bottom of

everything, from the dome of St. Paul to the tunnel under the Thames,

just then in the process of excavation. We drove through the parks,

sailed up and down the Thames, and then visited every shire but four in

England, in all of which we had large meetings, Mr. Birney and Mr.

Stanton being the chief speakers. As we were generally invited to stay

with Friends, it gave us a good opportunity to see the leading families,

such as the Ashursts, the Alexanders, the Priestmans, the Braithwaites,

and Buxtons, the Gurneys, the Peases, the Wighams of Edinburgh, and the

Webbs of Dublin. We spent a few days with John Joseph Gurney at his

beautiful home in Norwich. He had just returned from America, having

made a tour through the South. When asked how he liked America, he said,

"I like everything but your pie crust and your slavery."

Before leaving London, the whole American delegation, about forty in

number, were invited to dine with Samuel Gurney. He and his brother,

John Joseph Gurney, were, at that time, the leading bankers in London.

Someone facetiously remarked that the Jews were the leading bankers in

London until the Quakers crowded them out.

One of the most striking women I met in England at this time was Miss

Elizabeth Pease. I never saw a more strongly marked face. Meeting her,

forty years after, on the platform of a great meeting in the Town Hall

at Glasgow, I knew her at once. She is now Mrs. Nichol of Edinburgh,

and, though on the shady side of eighty, is still active in all the

reforms of the day.

It surprised us very much at first, when driving into the grounds of

some of these beautiful Quaker homes, to have the great bell rung at the

lodge, and to see the number of liveried servants on the porch and in

the halls, and then to meet the host in plain garb, and to be welcomed

in plain language, "How does thee do, Henry?" "How does thee do

Elizabeth?" This sounded peculiarly sweet to me--a stranger in a strange

land. The wealthy English Quakers we visited at that time, taking them

all in all, were the most charming people I had ever seen. They were

refined and intelligent on all subjects, and though rather conservative

on some points, were not aggressive in pressing their opinions on

others. Their hospitality was charming and generous, their homes the

beau ideal of comfort and order, the cuisine faultless, while peace

reigned over all. The quiet, gentle manner and the soft tones in

speaking, and the mysterious quiet in these well-ordered homes were like

the atmosphere one finds in a modern convent, where the ordinary duties

of the day seem to be accomplished by some magical influence.

Before leaving London we spent a delightful day in June at the home of

Samuel Gurney, surrounded by a fine park with six hundred deer roaming

about--always a beautiful feature in the English landscape. As the

Duchess of Sutherland and Lord Morpeth had expressed a wish to Mrs. Fry

to meet some of the leading American abolitionists, it was arranged that

they should call at her brother's residence on this occasion. Soon after

we arrived, the Duchess, with her brother and Mrs. Fry, in her state

carriage with six horses and outriders, drove up to the door. Mr. Gurney

was evidently embarrassed at the prospect of a lord and a duchess under

his roof. Leaning on the arm of Mrs. Fry, the duchess was formally

introduced to us individually. Mrs. Mott conversed with the

distinguished guests with the same fluency and composure as with her own

countrywomen. However anxious the English people were as to what they

should say and do, the Americans were all quite at their ease.

As Lord Morpeth had some interesting letters from the island of Jamaica

to read to us, we formed a circle on the lawn to listen. England had

just paid one hundred millions of dollars to emancipate the slaves, and

we were all interested in hearing the result of the experiment. The

distinguished guest in turn had many questions to ask in regard to

American slavery. We found none of that prejudice against color in

England which is so inveterate among the American people; at my first

dinner in England I found myself beside a gentleman from Jamaica, as

black as the ace of spades. After the departure of the duchess, dinner

was announced. It was a sumptuous meal, most tastefully served. There

were half a dozen wineglasses at every plate, but abolitionists, in

those days, were all converts to temperance, and, as the bottles went

around there was a general headshaking, and the right hand extended

over the glasses. Our English friends were amazed that none of us drank

wine. Mr. Gurney said he had never before seen such a sight as forty

ladies and gentlemen sitting down to dinner and none of them tasting

wine. In talking with him on that point, he said:

"I suppose your nursing mothers drink beer?"

I laughed, and said, "Oh, no! We should be afraid of befogging the

brains of our children."

"No danger of that," said he; "we are all bright enough, and yet a cask

of beer is rolled into the cellar for the mother with each newborn

child."

Colonel Miller from Vermont, one of our American delegation, was in the

Greek war with Lord Byron. As Lady Byron had expressed a wish to see

him, that her daughter might know something of her father's last days,

an interview was arranged, and the colonel kindly invited me to

accompany him. His account of their acquaintance and the many noble

traits of character Lord Byron manifested, his generous impulses and

acts of self-sacrifice, seemed particularly gratifying to the daughter.

It was a sad interview, arranged chiefly for the daughter's

satisfaction, though Lady Byron listened with a painful interest. As the

colonel was a warm admirer of the great poet, he no doubt represented

him in the best possible light, and his narration of his last days was

deeply interesting. Lady Byron had a quiet, reserved manner, a sad face,

and a low, plaintive voice, like one who had known deep sorrow. I had

seen her frequently in the convention and at social teas, and had been

personally presented to her before this occasion. Altogether I thought

her a sweet, attractive-looking woman.

We had a pleasant interview with Lord Brougham also. The Philadelphia

Anti-slavery Society sent him an elaborately carved inkstand, made from

the wood of Pennsylvania Hall, which was destroyed by a pro-slavery mob.

Mr. Birney made a most graceful speech in presenting the memento, and

Lord Brougham was equally happy in receiving it.

One of the most notable characters we met at this time was Daniel

O'Connell. He made his first appearance in the London convention a few

days after the women were rejected. He paid a beautiful tribute to woman

and said that, if he had been present when the question was under

discussion, he should have spoken and voted for their admission. He was

a tall, well-developed, magnificent-looking man, and probably one of the

most effective speakers Ireland ever produced. I saw him at a great

India meeting in Exeter Hall, where some of the best orators from

France, America, and England were present. There were six natives from

India on the platform who, not understanding anything that was said,

naturally remained listless throughout the proceedings. But the moment

O'Connell began to speak they were all attention, bending forward and

closely watching every movement. One could almost tell what he said from

the play of his expressive features, his wonderful gestures, and the

pose of his whole body. When he finished, the natives joined in the

general applause. He had all Wendell Phillips' power of sarcasm and

denunciation, and added to that the most tender pathos. He could make

his audience laugh or cry at pleasure. It was a rare sight to see him

dressed in "Repeal cloth" in one of his Repeal meetings. We were in

Dublin in the midst of that excitement, when the hopes of new liberties

for that oppressed people all centered on O'Connell. The enthusiasm of

the people for the Repeal of the Union was then at white-heat. Dining

one day with the "Great Liberator," as he was called, I asked him if he

hoped to carry that measure.

"No," he said, "but it is always good policy to claim the uttermost and

then you will be sure to get something."

Could he have looked forward fifty years and have seen the present

condition of his unhappy country, he would have known that English greed

and selfishness could defeat any policy, however wise and far-seeing.

The successive steps by which Irish commerce was ruined and religious

feuds between her people continually fanned into life, and the nation

subjugated, form the darkest page in the history of England. But the

people are awakening at last to their duty, and, for the first time,

organizing English public sentiment in favor of "Home Rule." I attended

several large, enthusiastic meetings when last in England, in which the

most radical utterances of Irish patriots were received with prolonged

cheers. I trust the day is not far off when the beautiful Emerald Isle

will unfurl her banner before the nations of the earth, enthroned as the

Queen Republic of those northern seas!

We visited Wordsworth's home at Grasmere, among the beautiful lakes, but

he was not there. However, we saw his surroundings--the landscape that

inspired some of his poetic dreams, and the dense rows of hollyhocks of

every shade and color, leading from his porch to the gate. The gardener

told us this was his favorite flower. Though it had no special beauty in

itself, taken alone, yet the wonderful combination of royal colors was

indeed striking and beautiful. We saw Harriet Martineau at her country

home as well as at her house in town. As we were obliged to converse

with her through an ear trumpet, we left her to do most of the talking.

She gave us many amusing experiences of her travels in America, and her

comments on the London Convention were rich and racy. She was not an

attractive woman in either manner or appearance, though considered great

and good by all who knew her.

We spent a few days with Thomas Clarkson, in Ipswich. He lived in a very

old house with long rambling corridors, surrounded by a moat, which we

crossed' by means of a drawbridge. He had just written an article

against the colonization scheme, which his wife read aloud to us. He was

so absorbed in the subject that he forgot the article was written by

himself, and kept up a running applause with "hear!" "hear!" the English

mode of expressing approbation. He told us of the severe struggles he

and Wilberforce had gone through in rousing the public sentiment of

England to the demand for emancipation in Jamaica. But their trials were

mild, compared with what Garrison and his coadjutors had suffered in

America.

Having read of all these people, it was difficult to realize, as I

visited them in their own homes from day to day, that they were the same

persons I had so long worshiped from afar!