n of the North had greatly helped to
open the door which admitted him to freedom and its safeguard, the
ballot. Was this door to be shut in their face?

While I followed, rather unwillingly, this train of thought, an
invitation was sent me to attend a parlor meeting to be held with the
view of forming a woman's club in Boston. I presented myself at this
meeting, and gave a languid assent to the measures proposed. These were
to hire a parlor or parlors in some convenient locality, and to furnish
and keep them open for the convenience of ladies residing in the city
and its suburbs. Out of this small and modest beginning was gradually
developed the plan of the New England Woman's Club, a strong and stately
association destined, I believe, to last for many years, and leaving
behind it, at this time of my writing, a record of three decades of
happy and acceptable service.

While our club life was still in its beginning, I was invited and
induced to attend a meeting in behalf of woman suffrage. Indeed, I had
given my name to the call for this meeting, relying upon the assurance
given me by Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson, that it would be
conducted in a very liberal and friendly spirit, without bitterness or
extravagance. The place appointed was Horticultural Hall. The morning
was inclement; and as I strayed into the hall in my rainy-day suit,
nothing was further from my mind than the thought that I should take any
part in the day's proceedings.

I had hoped not to be noticed by the officers of the meeting, and was
rather disconcerted when a message reached me requesting me to come up
and take a seat on the platform. This I did very reluctantly. I was now
face to face with a new order of things. Here, indeed, were some whom I
had long known and honored: Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Colonel
Higginson, and my dear pastor, James Freeman Clarke. But here was also
Lucy Stone, who had long been the object of one of my imaginary
dislikes. As I looked into her sweet, womanly face and heard her earnest
voice, I felt that the object of my distaste had been a mere phantom,
conjured up by silly and senseless misrepresentations. Here stood the
true woman, pure, noble, great-hearted, with the light of her good life
shining in every feature of her face. Here, too, I saw the husband whose
devotion so ably seconded her life-work.

The arguments to which I now listened were simple, strong, and
convincing. These champions, who had fought