ble for us to make any change in the programme at this late
hour. We are crowded for time to carry out what is already
proposed.

"Yours Very Respectfully,

"Joseph R. Hawley,

"President, U.S.C.C."

With this rebuff, Mrs. Mott and I decided that we would not accept the
offered seats, but would be ready to open our own convention called for
that day, at the First Unitarian church, where the Rev. William H.
Furness had preached for fifty years. But some of our younger coadjutors
decided that they would occupy the seats and present our Declaration of
Rights. They said truly, women will be taxed to pay the expenses of
this celebration, and we have as good a right to that platform and to
the ears of the people as the men have, and we will be heard.

That historic Fourth of July dawned at last, one of the most oppressive
days of that heated season. Susan B. Anthony, Matilda Joslyn Gage, Sara
Andrews Spencer, Lillie Devereux Blake, and Phoebe W. Couzins made their
way through the crowds under the broiling sun of Independence Square,
carrying the Woman's Declaration of Rights. This Declaration had been
handsomely engrossed by one of their number, and signed by the oldest
and most prominent advocates of woman's enfranchisement. Their tickets
of admission proved an "open sesame" through the military barriers, and,
a few moments before the opening of the ceremonies, these women found
themselves within the precincts from which most of their sex were
excluded.

The Declaration of 1776 was read by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, about
whose family clusters so much historic fame. The moment he finished
reading was determined upon as the appropriate time for the presentation
of the Woman's Declaration. Not quite sure how their approach might be
met, not quite certain if, at this final moment, they would be permitted
to reach the presiding officer, those ladies arose and made their way
down the aisle. The bustle of preparation for the Brazilian hymn covered
their advance. The foreign guests and the military and civil officers
who filled the space directly in front of the speaker's stand,
courteously made way, while Miss Anthony, in fitting words, presented
the Declaration to the presiding officer. Senator Ferry's face paled as,
bowing low, with no word he received the Declaration, which thus became
part of the day's proceedings. The ladies turned, scattering printed
copies as they deliberately walked down