rong of slavery
had believed themselves bound to inaction by the covenants inserted in
the Federal Constitution. Some had felt the weight of party
obligations. Some resented the fierce denunciation of the Church for
its indifference to a vital question of morals. But I believe more
were deterred from siding with the Abolitionists by reason of their
intimate connection with other causes. They were nearly all believers
in "woman's rights," and at that time those "rights" were chiefly to
wear short hair and loose trousers, and talk indefinitely. Everything
established was attacked, from churches and courts to compulsory
schools and vaccination. The most vivid of my recollections of forty
years ago are the scenes at the anti-slavery conventions. There were
cadaverous men with long hair and full beards, very unusual ornaments
then, with far-away looks in their eyes in repose, but with ferocity
when excited, who thought and talked with vigor, but who never knew
when to stop. There was one silent and patient brother, I remember,
whose silvery hair and beard were never touched by shears, and who in
all seasons wore a suit of loose flannel that had once been white.
There was a woman with an appalling voice, and yet with a strange
eloquence. And there was one who always insisted on speaking out of
order, and who always had to be carried out of the hall, struggling
and shouting as she was borne along by some suffering brother and a
policeman. Not all the moral earnestness of Garrison, the matronly
dignity of Lucretia Mott, the lovely voice and refined manners of Lucy
Stone, nor the magnificent oratory of Wendell Phillips, could atone
for these sights and sounds. Lowell had written:

"Then to side with Truth is noble, when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just."

But to men of delicate nerves it was not sharing Truth's crust that
made the difficulty so much as the other uncongenial company at her
august table. The political anti-slavery men, who came later, and who
won the triumph, had none of these uncomely surroundings, although at
the beginning they encountered as much odium.

When the first gun was fired on Fort Sumter, the cause of the slave
and of the despised Abolitionists became the cause of all. Then could
be felt the force of the sentiment which long before had won the
pitying muse of Longfellow, which had inspired the strains of Lowell,
and which had led