History of Woman Suffrage, Volume III

by Unknown

Suffering from the effects of the prolonged fogs, we took our letters of introduction from Dr. Bayard of New York to the two leading high-dilution homeopathic physicians in London, Drs. Wilson and Berridge. We found the former a good talker and very original. We were greatly amused with his invectives against the quacks in the profession; the "mongrels," as he called the low dilutionists. The first question he asked my daughter was if she wore high heels; he said he would not attempt to cure any woman of any disease so long as she was perched on her toes with her spine out of plumb. His advice to me was to get out of the London fogs as quickly as possible. No one who has not suffered a London fog can imagine the terrible gloom that pervades everywhere. One can see nothing out of the windows but a dense black smoke. Drivers carry flambeaux in the streets to avoid running into each other. The houses are full; the gas burns all day, but you can scarcely see across the room; theaters and places of amusement are sometimes closed, as nothing can be seen distinctly. We called on Dr. Berridge, also, thinking it best to make the acquaintance of both that we might decide from their general appearance, surroundings, conversation and comparative intelligence, which one we would prefer to trust in an emergency. We found both alike so promising that we felt we could trust either to give us our quietus, if die we must, on the high dilutions. It is a consolation to know that one's closing hours at least are passed in harmony with the principles of pure science. On further acquaintance we found these gentlemen true disciples of the great Hahneman.

As we were just then reading Froude's "Life of Carlyle," we drove by the house where he lived and paused a moment at the door, where poor Jennie went in and out so often with a heavy heart. It is a painful record of a great soul struggling with poverty and disappointment; the hope of success as an author so long deferred and never wholly realized. His foolish pride of independence and headship, and his utter obliviousness as to his domestic duties and the comfort of his wife, made the picture still darker. Poor Jennie, fitted to shine in any circle, yet doomed all her married life to domestic drudgery, with no associations with the great man for whose literary companionship she had sacrificed herself. It adds greatly to one's interest in Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Charlotte Bronté, Bulwer, James and George Eliot, to read them amidst the scenes where they lived and died. Thus in my leisure hours, after the fatigues of sight-seeing and visiting, I re-read many of these authors near the places where they spent their last days on earth.

As I had visited Ambleside forty years before and seen Harriet Martineau in her prime, I did not go with Miss Anthony to Lake Windermere. She found the well-known house occupied by Mr. William Henry Hills, a liberal Quaker named after William Henry Channing. Mrs. Hills received the party with great hospitality, showed them through all the apartments and pointed out the charming views from the windows. They paused a few moments reverently in the chamber where that grand woman had passed her last triumphant days on earth. On the kitchen hearth was still sitting her favorite cat, sixteen years old, the spots in her yellow and black fur as marked as ever. Puss is the observed of all observers who visit that sacred shrine, and it is said she seems specially to enjoy the attention of strangers. From here Miss Anthony drove round Grasmere, the romantic home of Wordsworth, wandered through the old church, sat in the pew he so often occupied and lingered near the last resting-place of the great poet. As the former residence of the anti-slavery agitator, Thomas Clarkson, was on Ulswater, another of the beautiful lakes in that region, Miss Anthony extended her excursion still further and learned from the people many pleasing characteristics of these celebrated personages. On her way to Ireland she stopped at Ulverston and visited Miss Hannah Goad, who was a descendant of the founder of Quakerism, George Fox. She was in the old house in which he was married to Margaret Fell and where they lived many years; attended the quaint little church where he often spoke from the high seats, looked through his well-worn Bible, and the minutes of their monthly meetings, kept by Margaret Fell two centuries ago.

Returning to London we attended one of Miss Biggs' receptions and among others met Mr. Stansfeld, M. P., who had labored faithfully for the repeal of the Contagious Diseases acts, and in a measure been successful. We had the honor of an interview with Lord Shaftsbury at one of his crowded receptions, and found him a little uncertain as to the wisdom of allowing married women to vote, for fear of disturbing the peace of the family. I have often wondered if men see in this objection what fatal admissions they make as to their own selfishness and love of domination.

Miss Anthony was present at the great Liberal conference at Leeds on October 17, to which Mrs. Helen Bright Clark, Miss Jane Cobden, Mrs. Tanner, Mrs. Scatcherd and several other ladies were duly elected delegates from their respective Liberal leagues, and occupied seats on the floor. Mrs. Clark and Miss Cobden, daughters of the great Corn-law reformers, spoke eloquently in favor of the resolution to extend parliamentary suffrage to women, which was presented by Walter McLaren of Bradford. As these young women made their impassioned appeals for the recognition of woman's political equality in the next bill for the extension of suffrage, that immense gathering of 1,600 delegates was hushed into profound silence. For a daughter to speak thus in that great representative convention in direct opposition to her loved and honored father, the acknowledged leader of that party, was an act of heroism and fidelity to her own highest convictions almost without a parallel in English history, and the effect on the audience was as thrilling as it was surprising. The resolution was passed by a large majority. At the reception given to Mr. John Bright that evening, as Mrs. Clark approached the daïs on which her noble father stood shaking the hands of passing friends, she remarked to her husband, "I wonder if father has heard of my speech this morning, and if he will forgive me for thus publicly differing with him?" The query was soon answered. As he caught the first glimpse of his daughter he stepped down and, pressing her hand affectionately, kissed her with a fond father's warmth on either cheek in turn. The next evening the great Quaker statesman was heard by the admiring thousands who could crowd into Victoria Hall, while thousands, equally desirous to hear, failed to get tickets of admission. It was a magnificent sight, and altogether a most impressive gathering of the people. Miss Anthony with her friends sat in the gallery opposite the great platform, where they had a fine view of the whole audience. When John Bright, escorted by Sir Wilfred Lawson, took his seat, the immense audience rose, waving hats and handkerchiefs and with the wildest enthusiasm giving cheer after cheer in honor of the great leader. Sir Wilfred Lawson in his introductory remarks facetiously alluded to the resolution adopted by the conference as somewhat in advance of the ideas of the speaker of the evening. The house broke into roars of laughter, while the father of Liberalism, perfectly convulsed, joined in the general merriment.

But when at length his time to speak had come, and Mr. Bright went over the many steps of progress that had been taken by the Liberal party, he cunningly dodged all in the direction of the emancipation of the women of England. He skipped round the agitation in 1867 and John Stuart Mill's amendment presented at that time in the House of Commons; the extension of the municipal suffrage in 1869; the participation of women in the establishment of national schools under the law of 1870, both as voters and members of school-boards; the Married Woman's Property bill of 1882; the large and increasing vote for the extension of parliamentary suffrage in the House of Commons, and the adoption of the resolution by that great conference the day before. All these successive steps towards woman's emancipation he carefully remembered to forget.

During Miss Anthony's stay in Leeds she and her cousin, Dr. Fannie Dickinson, were guests of Mrs. Hannah Ford at Adel Grange, an old and lovely suburban home, where she met many interesting women, members of the school-board, poor-law guardians and others. The three daughters of Mrs. Ford, though possessed of ample incomes, have each a purpose in life; one had gathered hundreds of factory girls into evening schools, where she taught them to cut and make their garments, as well as to read and write; one was an artist and the third a musician, having studied in London and Florence. It was during this ever-to-be-remembered week that Miss Anthony, escorted by Mrs. Ford, visited Haworth, the bleak and lonely home of the Brontés. It was a dark, drizzly October day, intensifying all the gloomy memories of the place. She sat in the old church pew where those shivering girls endured such discomforts through the fearful services, with their benumbed feet on the very stone slab that from time to time was taken up to deposit in the earth beneath their loved dead! She was shown through the house, paused at the place under the stairs where the imperial Shirley had her fierce encounter with that almost human dog, Keeper; she stood in the drawing-room where the sainted three sisters, arm-in-arm, paced up and down plotting their weird stories. She walked through the same old gate, on the same single stone pavement and over the same stile out into the same heather fields, gazing on the same dreary sky above and the same desolate earth on every side. She dined in the same old "Black Bull"; sat in poor Branwell's chair and was served by the same person who dealt out the drinks to that poor unfortunate—then a young bar-maid, now the aged proprietor.

Miss Anthony crossed from Barrow to Belfast, where she was given a most cordial reception at the house of one of Ireland's distinguished orators, Miss Isabella M. Tod, who took her to one of her Ulster temperance meetings at Garvah, where they were the guests of Rev. Thomas Medill, a cousin of the distinguished Chicago editor. There, as Miss Anthony listened to the prayers and exhortations of the Presbyterian ministers and to the arguments of Miss Tod, and heard no appeals to the audience to join in the work of suppressing the traffic, a realizing sense of the utter powerlessness of the queen's subjects in Ireland dawned upon her for the first time. In all that crowd there was not one who had any voice in the decision of that question. The entire control of the matter rested with three magistrates appointed by the queen, who are in nowise responsible to the tax-paying people to whom they administer the laws. Had Miss Tod been addressing an American audience, she would have appealed to every man to vote only for candidates pledged to no-license. From Garvah they made a pilgrimage to the Giant's Causeway. Miss Anthony had, when at Oban, visited Fingal's Cave, and the two wonders that always fix themselves upon the imagination of the youthful student of the world's geography fully matched her expectations.

At Dublin she visited the Castle, the old parliament building, now a bank; Kings and Queens College, that gives diplomas to women; the parks, the cemeteries, the tomb of Daniel O'Connell. She attended a meeting of the common council, of which Alfred Webb, the only surviving son of the old abolitionist, Richard D. Webb, was a member, and there she listened to a discussion on a petition to the queen that the people of Dublin might be allowed to elect their own tax-collector instead of having one placed over them by "the powers that be" at London, as the official thus appointed had just proved a defaulter. In listening to the outrages perpetrated upon a helpless people by foreign officials, the one wonder to her was, not that so many of Ireland's sons are discontented, but that they are not in open rebellion.

There Miss Anthony made the acquaintance of numbers of excellent Friends,[579] and with Mrs. Haslam visited their large free library and attended their First-day meeting. In Dublin, too, she met Michael Davitt, who seemed to her a most sincere champion of liberty for himself and his people. Miss Anthony spent a week with Mr. and Mrs. Haslam in Cork, visiting Blarney Castle, the old walled city of Youghal with its crumbling Quaker meeting-house and fine old mansion in which Sir Walter Raleigh lived, and thence to the beautiful Lakes of Killarney, and in a jaunting-car through the evicted tenants' district, entering the hovels and talking with the inmates. The sad stories poured into her ears, and the poverty and wretchedness she saw, proved to her that none of Mr. Redpath's revelations, so shocking to the humanity of our people, were in the least over-drawn. The circuit through Limerick, Galway, Clifton and Belfast was made in third-class cars, that she might talk with the people of the working class. This was the season for their county fairs, which gave her an opportunity to see the farmers driving their cattle and taking their meagre products to the fair. The women and girls were uniformly barefooted, while some of the men and boys wore shoes. In reply to her query why this was so, one man said, "It is all we can do to get shoes for them as airnes the money." The same old story; woman's work, however arduous, brings no price in the market.