ats, behind a fine wire-work, so that it is quite impossible to
see or hear anything. The sixteen persons who can crowd in the
front seat, by standing with their noses partly through some open
work, can have the satisfaction of seeing the cranial arch of their
rulers, and hearing an occasional pean to liberty, or an Irish
growl at the lack of it. I was told this net work was to prevent
the members on the floor from being disturbed by the beauty of the
women. On hearing this I remarked that I was devoutly thankful that
our American men were not so easily disturbed, and that the beauty
of our women was not of so dangerous a character.

I could but contrast our spacious galleries in that magnificent
capitol at Washington, as well as in our grand State capitols,
where hundreds of women can sit to see and hear their rulers at
their ease, with these dark, dingy buildings, and such inadequate
accommodations for the people. My son, who had a seat on the floor
just opposite the ladies' gallery, said he could compare our
appearance to nothing better than birds in a cage. He could not
distinguish an outline of anybody. All he could see was the moving
of feathers and furs, or some bright ribbon or flower.

In the libraries, the courts, and the House of Lords, I found many
suggestive subjects of thought. Our American inventions seem to
furnish them cases for litigation. A suit in regard to Singer's
sewing machine was just then occupying the attention of the Lord
Chancellor. Not feeling much interest in the matter, I withdrew and
joined my friends, to examine some frescoes in the ante-room. It
was interesting to find so many historical scenes in which women
had taken a prominent part. Among others, there is Jane Lane
assisting Charles II. to escape, and Alice Lisle concealing the
fugitives after the battle of Sedgemoor. Six wives of Henry VIII.
stand forth a solemn pageant when one recalls their sad fate. Alas!
whether for good or ill, woman must ever fill a large space in the
tragedies of the world.

I passed a few pleasant hours in the house where Macaulay spent his
last years. The once spacious library and the large bay window
looking out on a beautiful lawn, where he sat from day to day
writing his flowing periods, possessed a peculiar charm for me, as
the surroundings of genius always do. I thought as I stood there
how often he had unconsciously gazed on each object in sight in
searching for words rich enough to gild his ide