1. Resolved—That one of the radical principles of a Republican Government is the universal education of both sexes; that to every branch of scientific education the door should be open equally to all; that the application of Elizabeth Blackwell to become a member of our class meets our entire approbation; and in extending our unanimous invitation we pledge ourselves that no conduct of ours shall cause her to regret her attendance at this institution.
2. Resolved—That a copy of these proceedings be signed by the chairman and transmitted to Elizabeth Blackwell.
T. J. Stratton, Chairman.
With an immense sigh of relief and aspiration of profound gratitude to Providence I instantly accepted the invitation, and prepared for the journey to Western New York State.
Leaving Philadelphia on November 4, I hastened through New York, travelled all night, and reached the little town of Geneva at 11 p.m. on November 6.
The next day, after a refreshing sleep, I sallied forth for an interview with the dean of the college, enjoying the view of the beautiful lake on which Geneva is situated, notwithstanding the cold, drizzling, windy day. After an interview with the authorities of the college I was duly inscribed on the list as student No. 130, in the medical department of the Geneva University.
I at once established myself in a comfortable boarding-house, in the same street as my college, and three minutes’ walk from it—a beautiful walk along the high bank overlooking the lake. I hung my room with dear mementoes of absent friends, and soon with hope and zeal and thankful feelings of rest I settled down to study.
Naturally, some little time was required to adjust the relations of the new student to her unusual surroundings. My first experiences are thus given in a letter to a sister:—
Geneva: November 9, 1847.
I’ve just finished copying the notes of my last lecture. Business is over for to-day; I throw a fresh stick into my ‘air-tight,’ and now for refreshment by a talk with my own dear sister. Your letter containing E.’s was the first to welcome me in my new residence; right welcome, I assure you, it was, for I was gloomy—very. It was on Monday evening your letter came—my first work-day in Geneva. It had rained incessantly; I was in an upper room of a large boarding-house without a soul to speak to. I had attended five lectures, but nevertheless I did not know whether I could do what I ought to, for the Professor of Anatomy was absent, and had been spoken of as a queer man. The demonstrator hesitated as to my dissecting; I had no books, and didn’t know where to get any; and my head was bewildered with running about the great college building—never going out of the same door I went in at.