though if it had not been for the name of it he would rather have stayed at home. He was continually shifting his position, meanwhile casting glances at his wife to see the effect of everything upon her. She looked as happy as a cat with her first kitten.
I have not yet reached that point where I take delight in human suffering (now, if the typos print those two last words woman suffrage, I might as well give up). This man's apparent discomfiture made me unhappy, and I wanted to speak in a voice like Mrs. Winslow's syrup and say, "You shall not be hurted", for I could fancy I saw him dodging imaginary blows; he seemed momentarily expecting that Miss Anthony was going to box his ears.
A phlegmatic old gentleman sat behind me, with his chin resting upon his breast and his eyes closed. His play was to be oblivious when Miss Anthony made a point. But cats and old gentlemen are not always asleep when their eyes are closed.
Further on sat a great, benevolent-looking fellow, with his mouth open, staring as never man stared before. This individual interested me, and calling up all my physiognomical and psychological faculties, I assayed to read his thoughts. He heard the truth sublime, as truth ever is; he knew it was the truth, and recognized it as such, but behind him sat a set of cynical old stoics of the old school, and to morrow he must go out with them and canvass and discuss Miss Anthony's lecture, and they will ask him what he thinks of such sophistry as that, and can he say that what he heard was to him logical, forcible and conclusive? and that he believed that glorious woman to be devoted to the true interests of men and women, and laboring to institute a reform which would make men happier and consequently better, and children nearer in the image of Him whose ambassador is fearless and eternal Truth? Will he have the courage to say this to those who scoff? Nay, nay, I read it on his fine, emotional face and weak intellect, but when he meets them in solemn conclave on the street corner he will muster the
