WOMEN had been willing so long to hold a subordinate position， both in private and public affairs， that a gradually growing feeling of rebellion among them quite exasperated the men， and their manifestations of hostility in public meetings were often as ridiculous as humiliating.
True， those gentlemen were all quite willing that women should join their societies and churches to do the drudgery； to work up the enthusiasm in fairs and revivals， conventions and flag presentations； to pay a dollar apiece into their treasury for the honor of being members of their various organizations； to beg money for the Church； to circulate petitions from door to door； to visit saloons； to pray with or defy rumsellers； to teach school at half price， and sit round the outskirts of a hall， in teachers' State conventions， like so many wallflowers； but they would not allow them to sit on the platform， address the assembly， or vote for men and measures.
Those who had learned the first lessons of human rights from the lips of Henry B. Stanton， Samuel J. May， and Gerrit Smith would not accept any such position. When women abandoned the temperance reform， all interest in the question gradually died out in the State， and practically nothing was done in New York for nearly twenty years. Gerrit Smith made one or two attempts toward an "anti-dramshop" party， but， as women could not vote， they felt no interest in the measure， and failure was the result.
I soon convinced Miss Anthony that the ballot was the key to the situation； that when we had a voice in the laws we should be welcome to any platform.
In turning the intense earnestness and religious enthusiasm of this great-souled woman into this channel， I soon felt the power of my convert in goading me forever forward to more untiring work. Soon fastened， heart to heart， with hooks of steel in a friendship that years of confidence and affection have steadily strengthened， we have labored faithfully together.
From the year 1850 conventions were held in various States， and their respective legislatures were continually besieged； New York was thoroughly canvassed by Miss Anthony and others. Appeals， calls for meetings， and petitions were circulated without number. In 1854 I prepared my first speech for the New York legislature. That was a great event in my life. I felt so nervous over it， lest it should not be worthy the occasion， that Miss Anthony suggested that I should slip up to Rochester and submit it to the Rev. William Henry Channing， who was preaching there at that time. I did so， and his opinion was so favorable as to the merits of my speech that I felt quite reassured. My father felt equally nervous when he saw， by the Albany Evening Journal， that I was to speak at the Capitol， and asked me to read my speech to him also. Accordingly， I stopped at Johnstown on my way to Albany， and， late one evening， when he was alone in his office， I entered and took my seat on the opposite side of his table. On no occasion， before or since， was I ever more embarrassed朼n audience of one， and that the one of all others whose approbation I most desired， whose disapproval I most feared. I knew he condemned the whole movement， and was deeply grieved at the active part I had taken. Hence I was fully aware that I was about to address a wholly unsympathetic audience. However， I began， with a dogged determination to give all the power I could to my manuscript， and not to be discouraged or turned from my purpose by any tender appeals or adverse criticisms. I described the widow in the first hours of her grief， subject to the intrusions of the coarse minions of the law， taking inventory of the household goods， of the old armchair in which her loved one had breathed his last， of the old clock in the corner that told the hour he passed away.
I threw all the pathos I could into my voice and language at this point， and， to my intense satisfaction， I saw tears filling my father's eyes.
I cannot express the exultation I felt， thinking that now he would see， with my eyes， the injustice women suffered under the laws he understood so well.
Feeling that I had touched his heart I went on with renewed confidence， and， when I had finished， I saw he was thoroughly magnetized. With beating heart I waited for him to break the silence. He was evidently deeply pondering over all he had heard， and did not speak for a long time. I believed I had opened to him a new world of thought. He had listened long to the complaints of women， but from the lips of his own daughter they had come with a deeper pathos and power. At last， turning abruptly， he said： "Surely you have had a happy， comfortable life， with all your wants and needs supplied； and yet that speech fills me with self-reproach； for one might naturally ask， how can a young woman， tenderly brought up， who has had no bitter personal experience， feel so keenly the wrongs of her ***？ Where did you learn this lesson？" "I learned it here，" I replied， "in your office， when a child， listening to the complaints women made to you. They who have sympathy and imagination to make the sorrows of others their own can readily learn all the hard lessons of life from the experience of others." "Well， well！" he said， "you have made your points clear and strong； but I think I can find you even more cruel laws than those you have quoted." He suggested some improvements in my speech， looked up other laws， and it was one o'clock in the morning before we kissed each other good-night. How he felt on the question after that I do not know， as he never said anything in favor of or against it. He gladly gave me any help I needed， from time to time， in looking up the laws， and was very desirous that whatever I gave to the public should be carefully prepared.
Miss Anthony printed twenty thousand copies of this address， laid it on the desk of every member of the legislature， both in the Assembly and Senate， and， in her travels that winter， she circulated it throughout the State. I am happy to say I never felt so anxious about the fate of a speech since.
