THERE was one bright woman among the many in our Seneca Falls literary circle to whom I would give more than a passing notice朚rs. Amelia Bloomer， who represented three novel phases of woman's life. She was assistant postmistress； an editor of a reform paper advocating temperance and woman's rights； and an advocate of the new costume which bore her name！
In 1849 her husband was appointed postmaster， and she became his deputy， was duly sworn in， and， during the administration of Taylor and Fillmore， served in that capacity. When she assumed her duties the improvement in the appearance and conduct of the office was generally acknowledged. A neat little room adjoining the public office became a kind of ladies' exchange， where those coming from different parts of the town could meet to talk over the news of the day and read the papers and magazines that came to Mrs. Bloomer as editor of the Lily. Those who enjoyed the brief reign of a woman in the post office can readily testify to the void felt by the ladies of the village when Mrs. Bloomer's term expired and a man once more reigned in her stead. However， she still edited the Lily， and her office remained a fashionable center for several years. Although she wore the bloomer dress， its originator was Elizabeth Smith Miller， the only daughter of Gerrit Smith. In the winter of 1852 Mrs. Miller came to visit me in Seneca Falls， dressed somewhat in the Turkish style杝hort skirt， full trousers of fine black broadcloth； a Spanish cloak， of the same material， reaching to the knee； beaver hat and feathers and dark furs； altogether a most becoming costume and exceedingly convenient for walking in all kinds of weather. To see my cousin， with a lamp in one hand and a baby in the other， walk upstairs with ease and grace， while， with flowing robes， I pulled myself up with difficulty， lamp and baby out of the question， readily convinced me that there was sore need of reform in woman's dress， and I promptly donned a similar attire. What incredible ******* I enjoyed for two years！ Like a captive set free from his ball and chain， I was always ready for a brisk walk through sleet and snow and rain， to climb a mountain， jump over a fence， work in the garden， and， in fact， for any necessary locomotion.
Bloomer is now a recognized word in the English language. Mrs. Bloomer， having the Lily in which to discuss the merits of the new dress， the press generally took up the question， and much valuable information was elicited on the physiological results of woman's fashionable attire； the crippling effect of tight waists and long skirts， the heavy weight on the hips， and high heels， all combined to throw the spine out of plumb and lay the foundation for all manner of nervous diseases. But， while all agreed that some change was absolutely necessary for the health of women， the press stoutly ridiculed those who were ready to make the experiment.
A few sensible women， in different parts of the country， adopted the costume， and farmers' wives especially proved its convenience. It was also worn by skaters， gymnasts， tourists， and in sanitariums. But， while the few realized its advantages， the many laughed it to scorn， and heaped such ridicule on its wearers that they soon found that the physical ******* enjoyed did not compensate for the persistent persecution and petty annoyances suffered at every turn. To be rudely gazed at in public and private， to be the conscious subjects of criticism， and to be followed by crowds of boys in the streets， were all， to the very last degree， exasperating. A favorite doggerel that our tormentors chanted， when we appeared in public places， ran thus： "Heigh！ ho！ in rain and snow， The bloomer now is all the go.
Twenty tailors take the stitches， Twenty women wear the breeches.
Heigh！ ho！ in rain or snow， The bloomer now is all the go." The singers were generally invisible behind some fence or attic window.
Those who wore the dress can recall countless amusing and annoying experiences.
The patience of most of us was exhausted in about two years； but our leader， Mrs. Miller， bravely adhered to the costume for nearly seven years， under the most trying circumstances. While her father was in Congress， she wore it at many fashionable dinners and receptions in Washington. She was bravely sustained， however， by her husband， Colonel Miller， who never flinched in escorting his wife and her coadjutors， however inartistic their costumes might be. To tall， gaunt women with large feet and to those who were short and stout， it was equally trying. Mrs. Miller was also encouraged by the intense feeling of her father on the question of woman's dress. To him the whole revolution in woman's position turned on her dress. The long skirt was the symbol of her degradation.
The names of those who wore the bloomer costume， besides those already mentioned， were Paulina Wright Davis， Lucy Stone， Susan B. Anthony， Sarah and Angelina Grimke， Mrs. William Burleigh， Celia Burleigh， Charlotte Beebe Wilbour， Helen Jarvis， Lydia Jenkins， Amelia Willard， Dr. Harriet N. Austin， and many patients in sanitariums， whose names I cannot recall. Looking back to this experiment， I am not surprised at the hostility of men in general to the dress， as it made it very uncomfortable for them to go anywhere with those who wore it. People would stare， many men and women make rude remarks， boys followed in crowds， with jeers and laughter， so that gentlemen in attendance would feel it their duty to show fight， unless they had sufficient self-control to pursue the even tenor of their way， as the ladies themselves did， without taking the least notice of the commotion they created. But Colonel Miller went through the ordeal with coolness and dogged determination， to the vexation of his acquaintances， who thought one of his duties as a husband was to prescribe his wife's costume.
