Mrs. Paulina Davis was on the platform, one of the most queenly women in the court of intellect, and as beautiful and as exquisite as a winter landscape. This woman is the possessor of great wealth, the highest social position, and, to use her own words to describe her: “I care very little for dress; my tastes are very simple. But this movement is very expensive. Last summer I paid the whole expense of a convention in New York City. It cost me five hundred dollars. I don’t mind that, because in this way I think I am doing the greatest good.”
Susan B. Anthony was in her place, for what would a woman suffrage convention be worth without Susan to give it flavor? And then she is so patient and irrepressible, and has such a wholesome antipathy to men.
Miss Lillie Peckham represented the youth and audacity of Wisconsin, and Miss Kate Stanton the beauty and fire of her illustrious name. The people who had assembled to listen, proved, by personal inspection, to have grown higher in the social scale than those attending last year. Women were present who unmistakably were the heads of families—comely matrons who had left the pot boiling at home. Butterflies spread their wings there in the same way as they would attend any other place of amusement, but the wives and daughters of Congressmen for some reason stayed away.
After the prayer, Mrs. Hooker introduced Mrs. Victoria C. Woodhull, who commenced to say that she was not in the habit of speaking in public meetings—a fact which her manner instantly proved. Although it would seem that a Wall-street experience would fit a woman to face the worst, yet Mrs. Woodhull’s heart went pit-a-pat, and the blood rose and fell from her cheek as fortunes go up and down on ‘change. Mrs. Woodhull read anew her petition to the Judiciary Committee, and this being her solitary ewe lamb, after its presentation there was nothing left to do, and she quietly took a back seat.
Mrs. Devereaux Blake, of New York, was then introduced—a medium-sized woman, rather pretty than otherwise, and very carefully done up in handsome, fashionable clothes. Mrs. Blake, however, had nothing new to offer on the question under discussion. She rehashed the subject of women carrying arms, and proved by the old argument this was not a necessity; and then she told us of women’s sacrifices, and how, in extremest dilemma, they had sacrificed their hair. She said a woman’s life was love, and for this reason it was a great wrong to deprive her of that she loved best.
After other weighty arguments of this kind this speaker melted away to give place to Miss Lillie Peckham, of Wisconsin. This young woman did not attempt the difficult task of striking out a new path, but contentedly ambled along over the old highway; but, nevertheless, she had a very interesting, parrot-like way of expressing herself, and very wonderful, because so difficult to imitate.
As the hour of adjournment drew near, Susan B. Anthony came forward and talked “business.” Oh, the inimitable, the delectable Susan; the woman with a peculiar relish which one has to learn to love; the woman of whom a very small piece goes a great way; the musk among drugs; the acid in the Chemist’s laboratory! Susan has finished and the meeting ends.
The evening session of the woman suffrage convention met at the Congregational Church on Tenth street. Before the hour appointed, there was quite a gathering at the church, and the notables, as fast as they arrived, took their seats on the platform. With those assembled on the topmost round of expectation, the coming woman was seen marching up the aisle, wearing the jolly form of Senator Pomeroy. In the modest aspect of this distinguished man, one could see the embryo of the first female President; and Senator Nye following close behind showed that he meant to come in for the second best time on record. All the lights of the morning were on the platform except Tennie Claflin of the Wall-street firm. Miss Claflin must be one of the most charming little brigands in Wall street, else her peaked hat and chubby face tell a wrong story. Her merry brown eyes twinkle like the peepers of Santa Claus or old Nick; and worst of all she keeps her mouth shut, and this proves the brewing of mischief. Tennie looks like one of the women in the picture of the “Merry Wives of Windsor,” and she seems to be the one above all others fitted to sustain her position in Wall street.
Senator Nye arose to open the meeting. He said he had yielded to the pressing invitation of a woman on the platform to preside at the meeting, and had given a reluctant consent. He had never seen a good reason why the mothers of voters should not vote. One thing is certain, as mothers are elevated, so are the children; as women are degraded, the rule holds the same. But he felt that he was out of place in presiding over a meeting of ladies; that he was more in the habit of being presided over by them.