After twenty-four hours in the express I found myself in a pleasant room in the International Hotel at La Crosse， looking out on the Great Mother of Waters， on whose cold bosom the ice and the steamers were struggling for mastery. Beyond stretched the snow-clad bluffs， sternly looking down on the Mississippi， as if to say， "'Thus far shalt thou come and no farther'杢hough sluggish， you are aggressive， ever pushing where you should not； but all attempts in this direction are alike vain； since creation's dawn， we have defied you， and here we stand， to-day， calm， majestic， immovable. Coquette as you will in other latitudes， with flowery banks and youthful piers in the busy marts of trade， and undermine them， one and all， with your deceitful wooings， but bow in reverence as you gaze on us. We have no eyes for your beauty； no ears for your endless song； our heads are in the clouds， our hearts commune with the gods； you have no part in the eternal problems of the ages that fill our thoughts， yours the humble duty to wash our feet， and then pass on， remembering to keep in your appropriate sphere， within the barks that wise geographers have seen fit to mark."
As I listened to these complacent hills and watched the poor Mississippi weeping as she swept along， to lose her sorrows in ocean's depths， I thought how like the attitude of man to woman. Let these proud hills remember that they， too， slumbered for centuries in deep valleys down， down， when， perchance， the sparkling Mississippi rolled above their heads， and but for some generous outburst， some upheaval of old Mother Earth， wishing that her rock-ribbed sons， as well as graceful daughters， might enjoy the light， the sunshine and the shower朾ut for this soul of love in matter as well as mind杢hese bluffs and the sons of Adam， too， might not boast the altitude they glory in to-day. Those who have ears to hear discern low， rumbling noises that foretell convulsions in our social world that may， perchance， in the next upheaval， bring woman to the surface； up， up， from gloomy ocean depths， dark caverns， and damper valleys. The struggling daughters of earth are soon to walk in the sunlight of a higher civilization.
Escorted by Mr. Woodward， a member of the bar， I devoted a day to the lions of La Crosse. First we explored the courthouse， a large， new brick building， from whose dome we had a grand view of the surrounding country.
The courtroom where justice is administered was large， clean， airy杢he bench carpeted and adorned with a large， green， stuffed chair， in which I sat down， and， in imagination， summoned up advocates， jurors， prisoners， and people， and wondered how I should feel pronouncing sentence of death on a fellow-being， or， like Portia， wisely checkmating the Shylocks of our times. Here I met Judge Hugh Cameron， formerly of Johnstown. He invited us into his sanctum， where we had a pleasant chat about our native hills， Scotch affiliations， the bench and bar of New York， and the Wisconsin laws for women. The Judge， having maintained a happy bachelor state， looked placidly on the aggressive movements of the ***， as his domestic felicity would be no way affected， whether the woman was voted up or down.
We next surveyed the Pomeroy building， which contained a large， tastefully finished hall and printing establishment， where the La Crosse Democrat was formerly published. As I saw the perfection， order， and good taste， in all arrangements throughout， and listened to Mr. Huron's description of the life and leading characteristics of its chief， it seemed impossible to reconcile the tone of the Democrat with the moral status of its editor. I never saw a more complete business establishment， and the editorial sanctum looked as if it might be the abiding place of the Muses. Mirrors， pictures， statuary， books， music， rare curiosities， and fine specimens of birds and minerals were everywhere. Over the editor's table was a beautiful painting of his youthful daughter， whose flaxen hair， blue eyes， and angelic face should have inspired a father to nobler， purer， utterances than he was wont， at that time， to give to the world.
But Pomeroy's good deeds will live long after his profane words are forgotten. Throughout the establishment cards， set up in conspicuous places， said， "Smoking here is positively forbidden." Drinking， too， was forbidden to all his employé；s. The moment a man was discovered using intoxicating drinks， he was dismissed. In the upper story of the building was a large， pleasant room， handsomely carpeted and furnished， where the employé；s， in their leisure hours， could talk， write， read， or amuse themselves in any rational way.
Mr. Pomeroy was humane and generous with his employé；s， honorable in his business relations， and boundless in his charities to the poor. His charity， business honor， and public spirit were highly spoken of by those who knew him best. That a journal does not always reflect the editor is as much the fault of society as of the man. So long as the public will pay for gross personalities， obscenity， and slang， decent journals will be outbidden in the market. The fact that the La Crosse Democrat found a ready sale in all parts of the country showed that Mr. Pomeroy fairly reflected the popular taste. While multitudes turned up the whites of their eyes and denounced him in public， they bought his paper and read it in private.
