Part 10
A few Senators have seen the President. General Butler has dashed in there where none of the rest are allowed to go. No one saw a messenger depart with his card. He went in, disappeared for a moment only, and now flings himself again amongst the throng. He takes a cigar from a side pocket and a barbarous arrangement of some kind from another. With the last thing he is going to kindle a fire. He strikes the flint against the serpent, and something clicks like the lock of a gun. One! two! three! Civilization and Barbarism once more embrace and General Butler has lighted his cigar by the flame, and at the same time, like the blaze of a comet, he has disappeared.
The weary, weary waiters! The sun begins to blink askance, and to creep into western windows. A man says: “This is the tenth day I have waited to see the President.” Some of the people who were always to be found haunting Andrew Johnson have transferred themselves to President Grant. These are the barnacles, or fungi, which every administration inherits from its predecessor. A pale woman in weeds seems to shrink away behind the friendly covering of an open door. Her face is tear-stained. A feeble little child sits calmly by her side. There is much to attract sympathy to the woman. The joyousness of infancy seems to be trampled out of the innocent child. Little sickly bud, growing in the shadow of grief, God help thee!
In the space of one hour audience day will be over, and the disappointed will go, to return again on the morrow.
OLIVIA.
JOHN M. BARCLAY.
A FUND OF REMINISCENCES AT THE COMMAND OF THE JOURNAL CLERK OF THE HOUSE.
WASHINGTON, _November 6, 1869_.
For more than a score of years strangers visiting the House of Representatives may have noticed, at the right hand yet a little below the speaker, a dignified, majestic man, who says the least, yet, perhaps, we may say, does the most, for the country of any man within hearing of the Speaker’s voice. The name of this man is John M. Barclay, and without his presence, or another equally potent in his place, the House of Representatives might be likened to a locomotive deprived of its beloved steam. The business of the House can proceed with an indifferent Speaker, weakness and effeminacy in other officers can be borne; but the man whose business it is to keep a faithful record of all that is done in the House has to get his commission from his Creator, and then have it approved by the man who happens to be elected Clerk of the House. It is Mr. Barclay’s duty to hand down the archives of the nation to other generations. For the last twenty years his mind has been a river through which the work of the House of Representatives has found its way into history. In this noisy, turbulent House it is his place to catch that which is proper and legitimate and fix it in permanent form for the benefit of the whole country. The Clerk of the House is the responsible figure-head for this most important position, but Mr. Barclay is the power behind the throne. In the clamor for office, petitions few or none are sent up for the one Mr. Barclay occupies. A man to take his place must have a perfect understanding of parliamentary law. When the House is in session, not for a moment must his attention wander from the points of discussion. The reporters in the gallery can enjoy their little siestas, give and take from each other; but Mr. Barclay must depend upon himself. So long has he occupied this position, so admirably has he performed his difficult duties, that he may now be compared to an exquisite piece of machinery. He never gives offence. In early years he was a Whig, in later a Republican; but so just is he that partisan sentiments are entirely overlooked, and both parties in the House reverence him alike.
The usages and precedents of the British Parliament constitute the basis of all parliamentary law amongst people who speak the English language. Many years ago Thomas Jefferson wrote a book, which is called “Jefferson’s Manual of Parliamentary Practice.” It is formed of the precepts of the United States Constitution, and the regulations early adopted in the United States Senate, collated with a digest of English Parliamentary practice. This book is a well-known authority in this country. Mr. Barclay furnishes the House with a manual containing a digest of its own rules, so much of Jefferson’s Manual as governs the proceedings of the House, together with the precedents of order, usages of the House, etc., which is really a complete and independent code by which the House is guided. The rules and laws of the House of Representatives of the United States are universally adopted for the government of all State and local conventions, and form the basis of the rules and practice of nearly all State legislatures. The influence of Mr. Barclay’s knowledge and judgment, therefore, in the parliamentary affairs of the country, will be seen to be very great. A correspondent of much repute, in a letter some time ago, which has been widely copied, made the clerk to the late Speaker, an estimable young man, entirely innocent of the profundities and bewildering intricacies of parliamentary law, the actual monitor of Mr. Colfax--a mistake hardly necessary to correct.
Mr. Barclay has seen the rise and decline of the reign of eight different Speakers, Mr. Blaine being the ninth on the list. Of the Speakers whose sceptres have withered, whose gavels have sounded for the last time, Mr. Barclay gives Mr. Colfax the credit of being the best parliamentarian, as well as the hardest and most persevering student of the law. Mr. Barclay has seen the proud honor of Speaker bestowed upon Robert C. Winthrop, Howell Cobb, Linn Boyd, N. P. Banks, James L. Orr, William Pennington, Galusha A. Grow, Schuyler Colfax, and James G. Blaine.
During the long years of treason and rebellion he was a silent witness of the moral battles in the House. This warfare steadily preceded the smoke of the cannon and the surgeon’s glittering knife. It is true Mr. Barclay stores up only the actual substance of the House; and yet how much he might reveal in regard to this august body which is left out of the official record, as well as out of “Gobright’s Recollections of a Third Century,” and also the awful columns of the Congressional Globe.
Should Mr. Barclay have kept notes of his long experience at the helm of the House, what a book he could make. His calm, judicial mind would be sure to do justice to all parties. No reporter in the gallery of “the gods” over his head--no statesman on the floor below--could give so many fascinating pages. He could describe the men who sat in the House when Cobb was Speaker,--most of them now gathered to their fathers. He could tell us of the finished orator, James McDowell, of Virginia, and of that great speech of his, in 1850, which electrified the country; of George C. Drumgoole, of the same State, calm and clear even in his potations; of the knight of later strifes, the spotless patriot and pure rhetorician, Henry Winter Davis, of Maryland; of Hotspur Keitt, and handsome, hectoring Brooks, of South Carolina; of dandy Dawson, of Louisiana; of gifted but self-destroying McConnell, of Alabama; of quick George W. Young, of Tennessee; of young Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, when he first came into the House, wearing a Byron collar; of haughty Toombs; logical Stephens; jolly T. H. Bayly; quiet Mr. Aiken; nervous Clingman; dominating David Wilmot; brilliant D. K. Carter, and eloquent Henry M. Fuller. He could narrate many a side-scene in the great drama, when the actors got behind the curtain and sported in their own green-room. He could show how the great struggle grew from words to blows, from blows to battles, and from battles to defeat. With Cobb and Orr, and Banks and Pennington, and Grow and Colfax, Barclay was on terms of equality and intimacy. He could describe the discomfiture of Barksdale when he lost his yellow wig; of Potter, when he answered Pryor and offered to fight him; of the quarrel between Cutting and Breckinridge; of Douglas in his prime, and of Adams in his decay; and of the whole procession of life, fun, frolic, sorrow, failure, disgrace, and death; of the pages who grew to be generals, of the generals who became Congressmen, and of the Congressmen who longed to be President. Write us a book, Colonel Barclay. You are still in your prime. Take a reporter to your room, and let him interview you, if you won’t jot it off in your own clerkly hand; and if Congress don’t vote you a pension, or retire you on a solid annuity, you and your posterity can live on the proceeds, and be honored in the inevitable credit it will confer on your name.
OLIVIA.
WOMAN SUFFRAGE.
GRACE GREENWOOD, PHŒBE COUZINS, AND OTHER ADVOCATES OF THE CAUSE.
WASHINGTON, _January 18, 1870_.
The National Woman Suffrage Convention was inaugurated last evening in Washington by a lecture on domestic life by Grace Greenwood. A respectable-sized audience, with young people largely in the preponderance, under the auspices of the Young Men’s Christian Association, welcomed the authorities to the platform, and listened with grace, respect, and occasional spice of applause, to the essay christened “Indoors.” With a handsome, gallant preamble, Mrs. Lippincott (better known to the world as Grace Greenwood), was introduced, and her lecture went far to prove that women “indoors” could accomplish far more for the benefit of the human race than on the platform. There was intellect enough in the talented woman to fill Lincoln Hall, but unfortunately physical power was wanting. Not over one-third of those present were within hearing of the speaker’s voice.
Nature has set her face against women as public speakers unless they have been trained for the stage, like Olive Logan. No woman’s voice can bear the tension of an hour and a quarter without becoming husky and even painful to the last degree, and the speaker of the evening was no exception to the rule. Grace Greenwood appeared upon the platform in heavy black silk, with scarlet trimmings, which well became her dark autumnal beauty. She has a face of character, like Fanny Kemble, which glows and pales according to the combustion within. She commenced her lecture by saying that “Horace Greeley has said that old-fashioned domestic life has taken its departure.” She said she hoped the time would come when the women would be developed mentally, morally, physically, but about that time the millennium would appear. She said woman, though denied the privilege of an equal chance to earn her own living, yet had the same chance on the scaffold, and the same swing at death. From English literature she abstracted what purported to be a description of the ideal woman. This creature was to be blessed with patience, a desire to stay at home, little learning. By no means was she to know how to spell correctly; as an accomplishment she was to know how to lisp. Then she drew a picture of Fanny Kemble as Lady Macbeth, a woman whose trained robe would sweep the men who concocted such pictures off the stage. At one time she intended to write a course of lectures to young men, but she did not say what deterred her from doing so. She gave us a glowing description of home, but regretted that the homes of the aristocracy were invaded by the “Jenkinses” and all the sacredness therein laid bare. Among those she denominated as Jenkins were the distinguished writers, George Alfred Townsend and Don Piatt. In painting the home she gave the “old maid” the most exalted position, and she decided that single life is not entirely bereft of comfort. The marriage relation, its joys, its sorrows, its struggles, were delineated with poetic fervor, and those who were fortunate enough to hear her pronounced the evening’s entertainment a success.
Ten o’clock, January 18, the hour and day appointed for the Woman Suffrage Convention, found Lincoln Hall decorated. Soon after a few women came in; slowly the number increased until a small and appreciative audience had gathered. Very few men were sprinkled around, but quite enough to receive the anathemas that were to be showered upon the whole sex. At just a quarter to 11 a side door from the platform opened and some of the shining lights of the “cause” came into view. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, majestic and beautiful as a snowy landscape, came forward with that grace as indescribable as it is incomparable. An elegant black silk and a camel’s hair scarf made up her perfect costume. At her right sat Mrs. Pauline Davis, of Providence, R. I., another exquisite picture of the snow. She was most daintily attired in blue satin and black velvet, and in the contemplation of this serene and noble picture the mind is reconciled to old age. Susan B. Anthony was there in black silk, with soft white lace around her throat, but even lace, frothy as sea-foam, failed to relieve that practical face. Just what a gnarled oak is amongst trees Susan B. Anthony is to her sex,--hard, obdurate, uncompromising. Josephine Griffin, best among women, was there at her post, one of the most earnest in the cause. Mrs. Wright, the sister of Mrs. Mott, brought a kind greeting from that venerable woman, who was kept at home by age and other infirmities. But the ornament of the platform was Phœbe Couzins, of St. Louis, a young law student of that distinguished city. Her elegant outfit was made of a light, neutral-tinted silk adorned with tiny flounces. A double-breasted jacket of blue velvet, with jaunty Lombardy hat to match, upon which a bird of paradise seemed to nestle from choice. Don’t we pity the judge when Phœbe shall plead before him! One flash from those eyes surmounted by the arched brows--but, stop, the illusion is not complete, the rosy lips are wanting. Henry Clay had a large mouth, and it did not prevent his becoming a great lawyer.
A description of Professor J. K. H. Wilcox, so prominently identified with the “cause,” is necessary, in order to show why, in some respects, the movement is retarded. This man is afflicted with a mild form of lunacy, after the form of George Francis Train, and, like every other decoction of weakness, becomes sickening from its insipidity. He is called professor, but the most minute inquiry fails to discover by what means he has earned this appellation. Like Train, whom he takes for his model, his object is notoriety, and it is safe to assume he will achieve a success. Professor Wilcox was entrusted with a message to his countrymen from Clara Barton, who is now residing abroad. A few simple words were sent to the late soldiers by this good woman, but why the paper should be read at a woman’s meeting only Professor Wilcox can disclose.
But if the solemn women who represent the “cause” have a desire to see the world move they had only to look at the reporter’s desk and see the large yellow envelopes marked “New York _Tribune_.” Behind the papers might be seen Miss Nellie Hutchinson, who has earned the title of the “spicy little reporter of the _Tribune_.” Miss Nellie allows her hair to wander in “maiden meditation, fancy free.” Her jaunty military suit, trimmed with gilt cord and buttons, shows at once her determination to win a battle. She is said to be a strong advocate for the “cause,” and writes it up just as much as the _Tribune_ will permit. As all valuable papers were handed to her by Miss Anthony from the platform, whilst your correspondent was left in the cold, she gives this fact as a slight proof of the kindness bestowed upon a lady who is engaged upon the _Tribune_. As the perusal of these papers was not shared by the correspondent of _The Press_, any omissions are requested to be overlooked.
In a few handsome words, Mrs. Stanton introduced Miss Phœbe Couzins, who began her brief address by quoting, “Westward the Star of Empire takes its way.” Then she told us that the East must look to her laurels, else she would wake up and find them stranded on the shores of the Western rivers. Had Phœbe read the Scotch Parson in an old number of the _Atlantic Monthly_ on the subject of “veal,” she never would have gone so far sky-rockety on the subject of the Territory of Wyoming. Mrs. Stanton says the subject is settled out there once and forever.
Mrs. Paulina Davis read a letter from John Stuart Mill, in which he said he regretted not being able to respond to their kind invitation, but that he thought Americans abundantly able to take care of the cause. He then eulogized his wife, and said she had been the means of converting him.
Senator Pomeroy, the only man from Congress in the hall, followed with a few appropriate remarks. But considering that Mrs. Pomeroy was at home, and did not countenance the meeting with her presence, it looked something like those electioneering dodges which the best of politicians sometimes indulge in. Senator Pomeroy said he was no new convert to the “theme.” The Scotch parson advises young people never to talk about “themes,” but as Senator Pomeroy is no longer young, the advice of the parson cannot be meant for him. The Senator said he would not compel a woman to vote; he would simply remove the impediments in the way. He talked about “the mountains near where God dwells.” He said he had been waiting two months for petitions to be sent in. Mrs. Stanton interrupted him and said she had brought them. He said he was for carrying woman suffrage into the fundamental laws of the land. He would let a Chinese vote, only a Chinese could not be naturalized, and therefore could not vote. If a woman was convicted of crime, she must die. A woman had once been hung in Washington. This is the new year for the rallying question. He only hoped this convention would be a triumphant success.
Susan B. Anthony then came forward and attempted to read a letter from a Jersey “Honorable,” but the writing was so poor that she could not. Then she explained what the man meant, but by what process is known only to Susan herself.
Mrs. Cady Stanton came forward and said if the Republican party did not come forth and champion the cause, the Democrats would, and therefore infuse a new life into their decaying body. She also instanced a case where a Democrat had paid the fare of all the ladies in the omnibus that morning coming from the depot to the hotel.
The beautiful prayer delivered at the opening of the session by the Rev. Mr. May, from Syracuse, was worthy of a better cause. The few remarks which followed by the same man were more creditable to his heart than head; but he was sincere and honest, and one could not help but wish that more men like him could be found in the world.
The audience was made up mostly of women, but not the curled, dainty fashionables of the capital. Sad-faced, sorrowful women were there. A poor woman touched your correspondent on the arm, and asked if they “got places for women to work here.” Queenly Mrs. Davis was reading, regal in diamonds and point lace. The woman added, pointing to the speaker, “Do you think she can help me?”
OLIVIA.
ELIZABETH CADY STANTON.
HOW SHE ENGINEERS THE SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT.
WASHINGTON, _January 19, 1870_.
The hour having arrived for the opening of the last evening’s session, and the great lights not appearing on the stage, it was moved by Professor Wilcox and seconded that Mrs. Joseph Griffing be chosen temporarily to occupy the chair. The Hon. James M. Scovel, of New Jersey, was asked to speak, and immediately began. He said it was the coming question whether women shall have the ballot. He believed the thing is right. His mother had said when she went to a village and saw men coming out of a house she knew that to be a tavern; when she saw women going in she knew that to be a church. It is not flattery that women want; it is their rights. The time had been in Jersey when women had no more rights than lunatics and idiots, and it was not much better to-day. He didn’t come there to make a speech; he came there a convert. We shall have no peace until women can go side by side with men to the ballot-box. At this point Mr. Scovel retired, having proved to the rather slim audience that “stump speaking” was an accomplishment that sometimes made its escape from Jersey.
Again the irrepressible Wilcox appeared and read a letter which he had received from the wife of O’Donovan Rossa, in answer to his polite invitation to be present at the meeting. Madame Rossa regretted that unavoidable departure from the country prevented her attendance. She also added some nice things about liberty and her good wishes for the speedy advancement of the cause.
Just as the letter was concluded, Mrs. Stanton swept upon the stage, followed by the planets in her train. She came forward and introduced Mrs. Wilbour, of New York. Mrs. Wilbour, stately in black velvet, point applique, and diamonds, came forward and read a rather prosy, dry essay. Mrs. Wilbour has a voice for public speaking superior to most of her sex. She varied the old question by asking for human rights instead of woman’s rights. She said it is urged that woman has less force than man, and therefore, should not exercise this inalienable right. She asked what should rule--force power or beauty power? Brain not brawn rules this world. A small white hand can move an engine, or wield a pen, an instrument stronger than the sword. All that gives harmony to the world is the beautiful. Religion beautifies the soul. A preponderance of beauty is on the feminine side, but force is found on the masculine. Mrs. Wilbour talked about the ballot as a little slip of paper. She might as well have spent her strength on the paper wadding instead of the deadly bullet that follows it. After a time the sleepy essay came to an end.
Mrs. Stanton then came forward, introducing the Hon. A. G. Riddle, one of the most distinguished lawyers of the District. She prefaced the introduction by calling him a lawyer but an honest man. He gave us the argument; the audience were the jury, but no judge was present to decide the case. Mr. Riddle said the question of the final relation of the sexes had come for final adjudication. These masculines must look the question in the face. It is so broad you can’t go around it. As Mr. Riddle has said the best things so far, it is to be regretted that so much of it has been lost.
The next speaker was Miss Couzins, of St. Louis. She said she felt great trepidation in coming forward when she found the great men at the national capital turning a cold shoulder for reasons of policy, and the women given up to frivolity and fashion. She felt like drinking inspiration from the West, where the leading people were with her. She felt she was fighting a forlorn hope, but Washington fought a forlorn hope at Valley Forge, and won a victory. She graphically delineated the saying of women being classified with lunatics, idiots, slaves, etc. Women have a right to demand that the laws shall be changed in order to insure their happiness. Women had been subjected from the time of William the Conqueror. Bible authority is quoted to oppose the ballot; but there was no law found there for a man and a separate law for woman. Men say when a majority of women desire the ballot they shall have it. She said if the majority had rights the minority had also. Deeds of heroism were related. She said a monument was about to be erected in Washington, dedicated to the martyrs who fell in the late war. The women of St. Louis sent word to know if women were represented. They received the answer: “No, but if the women of St. Louis would raise the money for it, they should have a shaft placed near the monument, with the Goddess of Liberty on the top of it.” She alluded to the freed women of the South, forgetting however, to say that they, being an integral part, were uplifted with the race. At a very late hour, with the termination of Miss Couzin’s speech, the evening session closed.