one and another Unitarian
clergyman and arranged her lectures largely through them.
Though she did not bring back so much money as many less popular speakers, she was, after all, her own mistress, and was not rushed through the country like a letter by ambitious managers.
The Journal gives some glimpses of this trip.
“Twenty minutes to dress, sup, and get to the hall.
Swallowed a cup of tea and nibbled a biscuit as I dressed myself.”
“Found the miserablest railroad hotel, where I waited all day for trunk, in distress!... Had to lecture without either dress or manuscript.
hastily arrayed me in her black silk, and I had fortunately a few notes.”
She never forgot this lesson, and in all the thirtyodd years of speaking and lecturing that remained, made it an invariable rule to travel with her lecture and her cap and laces in her handbag.
As she grew older, the satchel grew lighter.
She disliked all personal service, and always wanted to carry her hand-luggage herself.
The light palm-leaf knapsack she brought from Santo Domingo
was at the end replaced by a net, the lightest thing she could find.
The Unitarian Church in Newport
was second in her heart only to the Church
of the Disciples.
The Reverend Charles T. Brooks
, the pastor, was her dear friend.
In the spring of 1880 a Channing memorial celebration was held in Newport
, for which she wrote a poem.
She sat on the platform near Mr. Emerson