Suffrage Talk in Dr. Bushnell's Pulpit.

491

that folks would ask him to go into the saloon and drink, and I thought maybe if he knew I signed the pledge it would help him, so I want to sign for an example." Could a better reason have been given?

I was to speak in the Congregational church in Hartford, that had rejoiced in the preaching of that wonderful man, Dr. Horace Bushnell, for many years. The present pastor was himself a genius, Dr. Nathaniel Burton, son-in-law of Isabella Beecher Hooker. Meeting him in his study just before the service, I said, "Doctor, I am a great admirer of Horace Bushnell and have read everything he wrote. My reverence for his memory is such that every leaf on the pathway of Bushnell Park seems to me worthy to be preserved in an herbarium. I have visited his home, been received with the utmost courtesy by his accomplished wife, reverently entered his study where he wrote that marvel among books, 'Nature and the Supernatural,' and glanced out of the window upon the beautiful scenes that soothed his mind while he devoted himself to his gigantic tasks. His book, on the 'Reform against Nature,' opposing woman's ballot, has, of course, afflicted me, and though it seems an impertinence, I thought I should be glad to speak of woman's suffrage as a means of home-protection from the saloon curse, in this very pulpit, from which Dr. Bushnell used to fling his varied thunder-bolts."

"Do so by all means," was the Doctor's answer.

"But I would not if it would in anywise embarrass you," I said; "your people might not like it."

"Like it," he answered, "I don't care a continental whether they do or not. If they don't like it, that is the very best reason in the world why they should hear you tell what makes you differ from them." So we went into the church, ascended the elegant pulpit, and I saw over at my right a bust of the philosopher whose mighty spirit seemed to brood in the very atmosphere. Dr. Burton was a mischievous man, and he whispered to me softly, "Mrs. Horace Bushnell sits well up toward the front." Under these interesting circumstances I gave my argument, nor can I say that I felt any special embarrassment, for I believed in my cause.

After a long, dusty ride on a summer's day, I arrived in a famous Hudson river town, which shall be nameless, and was

492

Temperance Women are Total Abstainers.

taken to the elegant home of an Episcopal lady who had volunteered to entertain me. No sooner had I reached my beautiful and quiet room, than the hostess, who had greeted me at the door, came in, saying earnestly, "Will you not allow me to send you up a glass of wine? You must be very tired after your journey." The blood flushed in cheek and brow as I said to her, "Madam, 200,ooo women would lose somewhat of their faith in humanity if I should drink a drop of wine." And I pointed to iny white ribbon, saying, "This is the sign between us." The lady's eyes filled with tears and she impressively begged my pardon, and begged me to understand that in her home wine was not used as a beverage, beat a hasty retreat from my room, and with her family showed me the utmost kindness and consideration throughout my stay. It was difficult for me to understand how she came to ask such a question of me. I know that the popular belief is that temperance men who speak are not always invulnerable, but I am confident this is a libel on these men and largely originates in the saloon. Evidently this lady lived in a world so different from my own that it did not occur to her that a temperance woman was a total abstainer!

A party of fashionable young gentlemen and ladies came into the Palmer House restaurant from Mc Vicker'sTheatre one night, and sat down at the table next to that at which Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and I were taking an oyster stew, after a temperance meeting. The young people ordered supper. One of the young men spoke to the head waiter, who disappeared and soon returned with a long-necked wine bottle, whereupon the handsomest of the elegant trio of American girls said quickly, "I am sure, gentlemen, you will respect our wishes not to have wine. We belong to the Young Women's Temperance League of Cleveland." "Yes, let us have lemonade instead," said the gentle young lady beside her. "Very well, it shall be as you wish," assented the gentleman courteously, and they were soon discussing the play over a thoroughly temperance repast. My heart smote me, for I had said to myself, "These young theatre-goers naturally enough take wine," when behold, they were as staunch as the most strenuous church-goer in all the land.

WHAT I HAVE DONE AND SUFFERED AS A PEN-HOLDER.

I was early encouraged by my parents to keep a daily record, not of events only, but of commentary as well. A short time previous to entering the Woman's College in Milwaukee (1857), I began to branch out in this direction largely, and continued to do so right on through my student and teacher years, writing so steadily during the nearly two years and a half that I spent abroad, that I have about twenty volumes of note-books filled out during that period. It is a token of my good health that I was able to do this writing anywhere, on the cars, on steamers, and on horseback, besides constantly contributing to papers at home.

I was taught by my mother to read out of a tiny juvenile paper, no longer than a postal card, entitled, "The Slave's Friend." The little bound copy lies before me now, marked at my favorite articles. There are two childish pencil strokes at the following, and as I read it over I smile at its current value-something above all else dear to the journalistic mind-if only the word "slavery" be changed to "temperance."

LITTLE DANIEL.

DANIEL.-Mr. W. is going to give a lecture this evening, papa, in the school-house, on slavery. May n't I go hear him?

MR. TRACY. - Go to hear him! No, indeed, you shall not. I am glad they would not let him have the meeting-house.

D.-I am told, father, that he is a very good man, and a very interesting lecturer. May I ask why you will not permit me to hear him?

MR. T.-Why? Because he is a fanatic, an incendiary, a brawler, a cut-throat, a fool. I hate him.

D. O papa! When he published his report on manual labor schools, don't you remember that you said it was the most sensible pamphlet you had ever read, and that the author was one of the wisest and best young men in this country?

MR. T.-Did I? Well, I had forgotten that I ever said so. But he is doing more hurt than he ever did good.