as if she were our own child, and she lingered with us in her visits with filial devotion. We were the first strangers to manifest  an interest in her welfare and future plans, and she reciprocated our friendship with confidence and love. She was always so happy, so full of hope and life, that her presence seemed like that of an angel. Hour after hour, in the evening, when all was still, she would entertain us with her varied experiences, at home, in school, in church, in company, with lier teachers, playmates, and strangers, with her efforts to get books, clothes, comforts, laughing and crying by turn. Her recitals were so full, glowing, and eloquent, that we took 10 note of the passing time, and the midnight hours would often find us lingering still, pleased and patient listeners of this strange child's life.After reading some thrilling account of the slave system, one night, she had a remarkable dream. She thought she was herself a slave-girl, the victim of all the terrible experiences of that condition. The toil, the lash, the starvation and nakedness, the auction-block, the brutality of driver and owner, were all so vividly painted on her imagination that she could not rid herself of the horrid realities of that system. She could never speak on that subject in public or private,. but this terrible memory would come vividly back to her, intensifying her feelings, and giving an added power to her words. After attending the meeting of Progressive Friends for several weeks, she was invited to speak in Mullica Hill, New Jersey, and on the first Sunday in April, 1860, she made the first speech to which she had given any previous thought. The large school-house was crowded; her subject was “Woman's work.” Speaking from the depths of her own experience, she held the audience in breathless silence for over an hour. There was an indescribable pathos in her full, rich voice, that, aside from what she said, touched the hearts of her hearers, and moved many to tears. Her power seemed  miraculous to the people, and they would not disperse until she promised to speak again in the evening. Some one remarked at the adjournment, “If Lucretia Mott had made that speech, it would be thought a great one.” In the evening she spoke on the subject of slavery, for the first time, and with equal effect. A collection of several dollars was taken up for her, the first she ever received for giving an address. Failing to find employment in Philadelphia, she accepted, as a last resort, a district school in Bucks County, with a salary of twenty-five dollars a month. She came home once in two weeks to take part in the Sunday meetings. On her eighteenth birthday she went to Kennett Square,--a small village thirty-two miles from Philadelphia,--to attend an anti-slavery meeting that remained in session two days. She spoke on slavery and non-resistance. In that doctrine of Friends she had no faith. A discussion arose as to the right and duty of slaves to forcible resistance. She and Robert Purvis, who was in the chair, spoke in the affirmative, and, in a protracted discussion, maintained their opinion, against the majority, “that resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.” Anna wound up one of her glowing periods with the words of Lovejoy: “If I were a slave, and had the power, I would bridge over the chasm which yawns between the hell of slavery and the heaven of freedom, with carcasses of the slain.” The effect of her speech was startling, and thrilled the whole audience. Robert Purvis unconsciously rose from his chair, and bent forward, electrified with a new hope of liberty for his race, looking as if their fate rested on her lips. During her summer vacation she spoke several times to large audiences in New Jersey. On one occasion, in the open air in a beautiful grove, where hundreds had assembled to hear her, she spoke both morning and afternoon on temperance and anti-slavery, producing a profound sensation. At another time several Methodist clergymen had assembled  to lay the corner-stone of a new church in a village where she was announced to speak. They went to hear her, from mere curiosity, in rather a sneering frame of mind; she, knowing that fact, was moved to speak with more than usual pathos and power. They made themselves quite merry in the beginning, but before she closed they were serious, subdued, and in tears. The next day one of them introduced himself to her, and said, “I have always ridiculed ‘Woman's Rights,’ but, so help me God, I never shall again.” At all these meetings contributions were taken up for her benefit, and she began to think that this might prove to be her means of support. On the evening of the day that she closed her school, she advertised a meeting to be held in the schoolhouse, but the crowd was so great that they adjourned to a church near by. She spoke on “Woman's work;” and with the novelty of the subject and the whole proceeding, she quite startled that stolid community. Shortly after this she attended another anti-slavery meeting at Kennett Square. This meeting, held just in the beginning of the war, was rather an exciting one, and prolonged discussions arose on the duties of abolitionists to existing laws and constitutions. In the report from “Forney's press” we find the following notice:
The next speaker was a Miss Anna E. Dickinson, of Philadelphia, aged seventeen years,--handsome, of an expressive countenance, plainly dressed, and eloquent beyond her years. After the listless, monotonous harangues of the previous part of the day, the distinct, earnest tones of this juvenile Joan of Are were very sweet and charming. During her discourse, which was frequently interrupted, Miss Dickinson maintained her presence of mind, and uttered her radical sentiments with augmented resolution and plainness. Those who did not sympathize with her remarks were softened by her simplicity and solemnity. Her speech was decidedly the feature of the evening, provocative as it was of numerous, unmanly interruptions, and followed by discussion of prolonged and diversified interest. Miss Dickinson, we understand, is a member of the Society of Friends, and had been solicited, several times during the day, to address the audience, but waited for the inspiration of the evening, which came in the shape of Mrs. Grew's remarks. They were told, said Miss Dickinson, to maintain constitutions because they were constitutions, and compromises because they were compromises.  But what were compromises, and what was laid down in those constitutions? Eminent lawgivers have said that certain great fundamental ideas of right were common to the world, and that all laws of man's making which trampled upon those ideas were null and void,--wrong to obey, but right to disobey. The Constitution of the United States sat upon the neck of those rights, recognizes human slavery, and makes the souls of men articles of purchase and of sale.There is not space to give her admirable speech on the higher law, nor the discussion that followed, in which Miss Dickinson maintained her position with remarkable clearness and coolness for one of her years. The flattering reports of this meeting in several of the Philadelphia journals introduced her to the public. On the evening of the 27th of February she addressed an audience of about eight hundred persons in Concert Hall, Philadelphia. She spoke full two hours extemporaneously, and the lecture was pronounced a success. Many notables and professional men were present; and, although it was considered a marvellous performance for a young girl, Miss Dickinson herself was mortified, as she said, with the length of her speech, and its lack of point, order, and arrangement. She felt that she was not equal to the occasion; instead of being flattered with the praises bestowed upon her, she was filled with regret that she had not made a more careful and thoughtful preparation. But she learned an important lesson from what she considered a failure, worth more than it cost her. Spring was opening, and her fresh young spirit and strong will demanded some new avenues to labor, some active, profitable work. In her searches for something to do, says a friend, “I met her one day in the street; said she, ‘I must work. I dislike the confinement and poor pay of school-teaching; but I shall go crazy unless I have work of some kind. Why can't I get into the Mint?’ After considering the possibilities of securing a place there, for some time, our plans were made, and, after many persistent efforts, we succeeded.”  In April she entered the United States Mint, to labor from seven o'clock in the morning to six at night for twenty-eight dollars a month. She sat on a stool all those long hours, in a close, impure atmosphere, the windows and doors being always closed in the adjusting room, as the least draft of air would vary the scales. She soon became very skilful in her new business, and did twice the amount of work of most other girls. She was the fastest adjuster in the Mint; but she could not endure the confinement, and soon changed to the coining-room. But this dull routine of labor did not satisfy her higher nature. After the day's work was done, she would go to the hospitals to write letters for the sick soldiers, to read to them, and talk over the incidents of the war. Many things conspired to make her situation in the Mint undesirable. The character and conversation of the inmates were disagreeable to her; hence she kept them at a distance, while, her opinions on slavery and woman's rights being known, she was treated with reserve and suspicion in return. In November she made a speech in Westchester on the events of the war, which increased this state of feeling towards her, and culminated in her discharge from the Mint, in the Christmas holidays. This meeting was held just after the battle of Ball's Bluff. In summing up the record of this battle, after exonerating Stone and Baker, she said, “History will record that this battle was lost, not through ignorance and incompetence, but through the treason of the commanding general, George B. McClellan, and time will vindicate the truth of my assertion.” She was hissed all over the house, though some cried, “Go on,” “Go on.” She repeated this startling assertion three times, and each time was hissed. Years after, when McClellan was running against Lincoln in 1864, when she had achieved a world-wide reputation, she was sent by the Republican committee of Pennsylvania, to this same town, to speak to the same people, in the same  hall. In again summing up the incidents of the war, when she came to Ball's Bluff, she said, “I say now, as I said three years ago, history will record that this battle was lost, not through ignorance or incompetence, but through the treason of the commanding general, George B. McClellan.” “And time has vindicated your assertion,” was shouted all over the house. It was this speech, made in 1861, that cost her place in the Mint. Ex-Governor Pollock dismissed her, and owned that his reason was the Westchester speech, for at that time McClellan was the idol of the nation. She says that was the best service the Governor could have rendered her, as it forced her to the decision to labor no longer with her hands for bread, but to open some new path for herself. She continued speaking, during the winter, in many of the neighboring towns, on the political aspects of the war. As the popular thought was centring everywhere on national questions, she began to think less of the special wrongs of women and negroes, and more of the causes of revolutions, and the true basis of government. These broader views secured her popularity, and made her available in party politics at once. In the mean time Mr. Garrison, having heard Anna Dickinson speak at Westchester and Longwood, and being both charmed and surprised with her oratorical power, invited her to visit Boston, and make his house her home. Before going to Boston some friends desired that she should make the same speech in Philadelphia that had occasioned her dismissal from the Mint. Accordingly, Concert Hall was engaged. Judge Pierce, an early friend of woman's rights, presided at the meeting, and introduced her to the audience. She had a full house, at ten cents admission, was received with great enthusiasm, and acquitted herself to her own satisfaction, as well as that of her friends. After all expenses were paid she found herself the happy possessor of a larger sum of money than she had ever had before; and now, in consultation with  good Dr. Hannah Longshore, it was decided that she should have her first silk dress. With this friend's advice and blessing, she went to New England to endure fresh trials and disappointments before securing that unquestioned reputation and pecuniary independence she enjoys to-day. Through the influence and friendship of Mr. Garrison she was invited to speak in Theodore Parker's pulpit on Sunday morning, as leading reformers were then doing. Accordingly she spoke, in Music Hall, on the “National crisis.” Her first lecture in Boston was the greatest trial she ever experienced. Her veneration for the character of a Boston audience almost over-matched her courage and confidence in her ability to sustain herself through such an ordeal. Her friends also had misgivings, and feared a failure, as they noticed that Anna could neither sleep nor eat for forty-eight hours previous to the lecture. Some were so confident that she would fail to meet the expectations of the immense audience, that they refused to sit on the platform. Mr. Garrison opened the meeting. He read a chapter of the Bible, and consumed some time in remarks in order to make the best of the dilemma, which, in common with many, he, too, apprehended, while Anna waited behind him to be “presented,” in an agony of suspense she struggled to conceal. At last she was introduced, and began in some broken, hesitating sentences; but, gradually becoming absorbed in her subject, she forgot herself and her new surroundings, and so completely held the attention and interest of the audience for over an hour that the fears of her friends were turned to rejoicings, the anticipations of the few were more than realized, and her own long anxious hours of prayers and tears were forgotten in the proud triumph of that day. At the close she was overpowered with thanks, praises, and salutations of love and gratitude. As she delivered this lecture in several of the New England cities I give the following notice:-- 
She spent the following summer in reading and study, collecting materials for other lectures. She continued, as she had time, to visit the government hospitals, and made herself a most welcome guest among our soldiers. In her long conversations with them, she learned their individual histories, experiences, hardships, and sufferings; the motives that prompted them to go into the army; what they saw there, and what they thought of war in their hours of solitude, away from the excitement of the camp and the battle-field. Thus  she got an insight into the soldier's life and feelings, and from these narratives drew her materials for that deeply interesting lecture on Hospital Life, which she delivered in many parts of the country. In October, 1862, she spoke before the Boston Fraternity Lyceum, for which she received many flattering notices and one hundred dollars. She had hoped, through the influence of friends, to make a series of appointments for the winter, and thus secure a means of support. But the military reverses and discouragements left but little spirit among the people for lectures of any kind, and she travelled from place to place until her funds were exhausted. Her lecture at Concord, New Hampshire, was her last engagement for, the season, and the ten dollars promised there was all she had in prospect for future need until something else might offer. This was a trying experience, for she had just begun to hope that her days of darkness had passed and triumph was near. In speaking of it she says, “No one knows how I felt and suffered that winter, penniless and alone, with a scanty wardrobe, suffering with cold, weariness, and disappointment. I wandered about on the trains day after day, among strangers, seeking employment for an honest living, and failed to find it. I would have gone home, but had not the means. I had borrowed money to commence my journey, promising to remit soon; failing to do so, I could not ask again. Beyond my Concord meeting all was darkness; I had no further plans.” But her lecture there on Hospital Life was the turning-point in her fortunes. In this speech she proved slavery to be the cause of the war, and that its continuance would result in prolonged suffering to our soldiers, defeat to our armies, and the downfall of the republic. She related many touching incidents of her experiences in hospital life, and drew such vivid pictures of the horrors of both war and slavery, that, by her pathos and logic, she melted her audience to tears,  and forced the most prejudiced minds to accept her conclusions. It was on this occasion that the secretary of the State Central Committee heard her for the first time. He remarked to a friend, at the close of the lecture, “If we can get this girl to make that speech all through New Hampshire, we can carry the Republican ticket in this State in the coming election.” Fully appreciating her magnetic power over an audience, he resolved at once, that, if the State Committee refused to invite her, he should do so on his own responsibility. But, through his influence, she was invited by the Republican committee, and on the first of March commenced her regular campaign speeches. In the four weeks before election, she spoke twenty times,--everywhere to crowded, enthusiastic audiences. Her march through the State was a succession of triumphs, and ended in a Republican victory. The member in the first district, having no faith that a woman could influence politics, sent word to the secretary, “Don't send that d-- woman down here to defeat my election.” The secretary replied, “We have work enough for her to do in other districts, without interfering with you.” But when the would-be honorable gentleman saw the furor she created, he changed his mind, and inundated the secretary with letters to have her sent there. But the secretary replied, “It is too late; the programme is arranged, and published throughout the State. You would not have her when you could, and now you cannot have her when you will.” It is pleasant to record that this man, who had the moral hardihood to use a profane adjective in speaking of a woman, lost his election; and thus our congressional halls were saved from so demoralizing an influence. His district was lost by a large majority, while the other districts went strongly Republican. When the news came that the Republicans had carried the State, due credit was awarded to Anna Dickinson for her faithful  labors in securing the victory. The governor-elect made personal acknowledgments that her eloquent speeches had secured his election. She was serenaded, feasted, and eulogized by the press and the people. New Hampshire safe, all eyes were now turned to Connecticut. The contest there was between Seymour and Buckingham. It was generally conceded that, if Seymour was elected, Connecticut would give no more money or troops for the war. The Republicans were completely disheartened. They said nothing could prevent the Democrats from carrying the State by four thousand, while the Democrats boasted that they would carry it by ten thousand. Though the issue was one of such vital importance, there seemed so little hope of success, that the Republicans were disposed to give it up without making an effort. And no resistance to this impending calamity was made until Anna Dickinson went into the State, and galvanized the desponding loyalists to life. She spent two weeks there, addressing large and enthusiastic audiences all over the State, and completely turned the tide of popular sentiment. Even the Democrats, in spite of the scurrilous attacks on her by some of their leaders and editors, received her everywhere with the warmest welcome, tore off their party badges, and substituted her likeness, and applauded whatever she said. The halls where she spoke were so densely packed, that Republicans stayed away to make room for the Democrats, and the women were shut out to give place to those who could vote. There never was such a furor about an orator in this country. The period of her advent, the excited condition of the people, her youth, beauty, and remarkable voice, all heightened the effect of her genius, and helped to produce this result. Her name was on every lip. Ministers preached about her, prayed for her as a second Joan of Arc, raised up by God to save that State to the loyal party, and through it the nation to freedom and  humanity. As the election day approached, the excitement was intense; and when at last it was announced that the State was saved by a few hundred votes, the joy and gratitude of the crowds knew no bounds. They shouted and hurrahed for Anna Dickinson, serenaded her with full bands of music, sent her presents of flowers, ornaments, and books, manifesting in every way their love and loyalty to this gifted girl, who, through so many years, had bravely struggled with poverty to this proud moment of success in her country's cause. Some leading men in Connecticut presented her a gold watch and chain as a memento for her valuable services in the State, paid her a hundred dollars for every night she had spoken there, and for the last night before election, in Hartford, four hundred dollars. From the following comments of the press, the reader may form some idea of the enthusiasm of the people:--
Fresh from the victories in New Hampshire and Connecticut, she was announced to speak in Cooper Institute, New York. That meeting in May, 1862, was the most splendid ovation to a woman's genius since Fanny Kemble, in all the wealth of her youth and beauty, appeared on the American stage for the first time. On no two occasions of my life have I been so deeply moved, so exalted, so lost in overflowing gratitude, that woman had revealed her power in oratory,that highest art to touch the deepest feelings of the human soul,--and verified at last her right to fame and immortality. There never was such excitement over any meeting in New York. Although the hall was densely crowded long before the hour announced, yet the people outside were determined to get in at all hazards,--ushers were beaten down, those without tickets rushed in, and those with tickets were pushed aside, and thousands went home unable to get standing-places even in the lobbies and outer halls. The platform was graced with the most distinguished men and women in the country, and so crowded that the young orator had scarce room to stand. There were clergymen, generals, admirals, judges, lawyers, editors, the literati and leaders of fashion, and all alike ready to do homage to this simple girl, who moved them alternately to laughter and tears, to bursts of applause and the most profound silence. Mr. Beecher, who was president of the meeting, introduced the speaker in his happiest manner. For more than an hour she  held that large audience with deep interest and enthusiasm, and, when she finished with a beautiful peroration, the people seemed to take a long breath, as if to find relief from the intensity of their emotions. Loud cries followed for Mr. Beecher; but he arose, and, with great feeling and solemnity, said, “Let no man open his lips here to-night; music is the only fitting accompaniment to the eloquent utterances we have heard.” So the Hutchinsons closed the meeting with one of their soul-stirring ballads, and the audience dispersed. As none of the materials furnished for this sketch have interested me more than the comments of the press, I give the following. Knowing that Anna Dickinson will be as great a wonder to another generation as Joan of Arc is to this, the testimony of our leading journals to her eloquence and power furnishes an important page in future history:--
Her profits from this meeting were nearly a thousand dollars. After her remarkable success in New York, the Philadelphia “Union league,” one of the greatest political organizations in the country, invited her to speak in that city. The invitation was signed by leading Republicans. She accepted it; had a most enthusiastic and appreciative audience, Judge Kelley presiding, and, after all expenses were paid, she had seven hundred dollars. In this address, reviewing the incidents of the war, she criticised General McClellan, as usual, with great severity. Many of his personal friends were present, and some, filled with indignation, left the house, while a derisive laugh followed them to the door. The Philadelphia journals vied with each other in their eulogiums of her grace, beauty,, and eloquence. The marked attention she has always received in her native city is alike most grateful to her and honorable to her fellow-citizens. July came, and the first move was made to enlist colored troops in Pennsylvania. A meeting was called in Philadelphia. Judge Kelley, Frederick Douglass, and Anna Dickinson were there, and made most eloquent appeals to the people of that State to grant to the colored man the honor of bearing arms in defence of his country. The effort was successful. A splendid  regiment was raised, and their first duty was to serenade the young orator who had spoken so eloquently for their race all through the war. The summer passed in rest and study. In September, a field-day was announced at Camp William Penn. General Pleasanton reviewed the troops. It was a very brilliant and interesting occasion, as many were about to leave for the seat of war. As the day closed and the people began to disperse, it was noised round that Miss Dickinson was there; a cry was heard at once on all sides, “A speech! A speech!” The moon was just rising, mingling its pale rays with those of the setting sun, throwing a soft, mysterious light over the whole scene. The troops gathered round with bristling bayonets and flags flying, the band was hushed to silence, and, when all was still, mounted on a gun wagon, with General Pleasanton and his staff on one side, and General Wagner and his staff on the other, this beautiful girl addressed “our boys in blue.” She urged that justice and equality might be secured to every citizen in the republic; that slavery and war might end forever, and peace be restored; that our country might indeed be the land of the free, and the home of the brave. As she stood there uttering words of warning and prophecy, it seemed as if her lips had been touched with a live coal from the altar of heaven. Her inspired words moved the hearts of our young soldiers to deeds of daring, and gave fresh courage to those about to bid their loved ones go, and die, if need be, for freedom and their country. The hour, the mysterious light, the stillness, the novel surroundings, the youth of the speaker, all gave a peculiar power to her words, and made the scene one of the most thrilling and beautiful on the page of history. In the autumn of 1862, she was engaged to go to Ohio, to speak for a few weeks before election, and a large sum of  money was pledged for her services. But some Pennsylvania politicians, appreciating her power, and desiring her help at home, decided to outbid Ohio and keep her in her own State. Accordingly she accepted their proposals, and threw her whole energy and enthusiasm into that campaign. She endured all manner of discomforts and dangers in travelling through the benighted mining districts of the State. She met with scorn, ridicule, threats of violence, and more than once was pelted with rotten eggs and stones, in the midst of a speech. But she went through it all with the calmness and coolness of an experienced warrior. One of the committee admitted afterward that Miss Dickinson was sent through that district because no man dared to go. She returned home after weeks of hard labor and intense excitement, weary and exhausted, and though all agreed that the Republican victory in that State was largely due to her influence, the committee forgot their promises, and, to this hour, have never paid her one cent for her valuable services. Their excuse was, that the fund had been used up in paying other speakers. As if a dozen honorable men could not have raised something in an hour of victory to reward this brave and faithful girl. During the winters of 1863 and 1864, she received invitations, from the State Legislatures of Ohio and Pennsylvania, to speak in their capitals at Columbus and Harrisburg. In January, 1864, she made her first address in Washingtan. Though she now believed that her success as an orator was established, yet she hesitated long before accepting this invitation. To speak before the President, Chief Justice, Senators, Congressmen, Foreign Diplomats, all the dignitaries and honorables of the government, was one of the most trying ordeals in her experience. She had one of the largest and most brilliant audiences ever assembled in the capitol, and was fully equal to the occasion. She made a profound impression, and was the topic of conversation  for days afterwards. At the close of the meeting, she was presented to the President and other dignitaries,, and, the next day, had a pleasant interview with the President at the White House. As this was one of the greatest occasions of her life, and as she was honored as no man in the nation ever had been, it may be satisfactory to all American women to know by whom she was invited and how she acquitted herself. Accordingly, I give the invitation and some comments of the press.
Miss Dickinson's lecture in WashingtonAt a meeting of the Executive Committee of the National Freedmen's Relief Society of the District of Columbia held on the 26th of January, 1864, the following letter was read:--
Immediately upon her return from Washington, she was invited by a large number of the leading citizens of Philadelphia to repeat her Washington address in the Academy of Music, to which she replied :--
The profound impression she made at Washington greatly heightened her rapidly increasing reputation, and she was urged to deliver that address both in New York and Boston.  In Boston, George Thompson, the eloquent English orator and member of Parliament, paid this beautiful tribute to her genius:--
Her reputation was now thoroughly established, and during that winter she addressed lyceums nearly every night at a hundred dollars. “Chicago; or, the last ditch,” was the title of the lecture she delivered in all our Northern cities. In the spring she made a few campaign speeches in Connecticut. She used what influence she had to prevent the renomination of Mr. Lincoln; for she distrusted his plan of reconstruction, after an interview with him, in which he read to her his correspondence with General Banks, then military commander at New Orleans. She was convinced in that interview that in his policy he was looking to a re-election instead of maturing sound measures for reconstruction. During that presidential campaign, though she continually laid bare the record of the Democratic party, the treason of its leaders and generals, and its want of loyalty during the war, yet she had  no word of praise for Mr. Lincoln. She never took his name upon her lips, except to state facts of history, after the Baltimore Convention, until his death. She was invited to go to California during that campaign, and offered thousands of dollars, if she would go there and speak for Mr. Lincoln; which she declined. At the opening of the lyceum course that fall, in consequence of her position with reference to the Republican nominee, she had not a dozen invitations for the winter; but, as the season advanced, they began to come in as usual, showing that the committees had withheld them during the months preceding the election, hoping, no doubt, to awe her to silence on Mr. Lincoln. In 1865, she spoke in Philadelphia on the Lincoln monument, and cleared a thousand dollars, which she gave to Alexander Henry, the mayor, to be appropriated for that purpose. On this occasion, she paid a beautiful tribute to the many virtues of our martyred president, delicately making no mention of his faults. One of the most powerful and impressive appeals that she ever made was in the Convention of Southern Loyalists, held in Philadelphia in September, 1866. In this convention there was a division of opinion between the Border and the Gulf States. The latter wanted to incorporate “negro suffrage” in their platform, as that was the only means of success for the liberal party at the South. The former, manipulated by Northern politicians, opposed that measure, lest it should defeat the Republican party in the pending elections at the North. This stultification of principle, of radical public sentiment, stirred the soul of Anna, and she desired to speak in the convention. But a rule that none but delegates should be allowed that privilege prevented her. However, as the Southern men had never heard a woman in public, and felt great curiosity to hear her, they adjourned the convention, resolved themselves into a committee of the whole, and invited her to address them. The following sketch from an eyewitness  will give some idea of the effect she produced on Southern men--
There have been many speculations in public and private as to the authorship of Anna Dickinson's speeches. They have been attributed to Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, George W. Curtis, and Judge Kelley. Those who know Anna's conversational power, who have felt the magnetism of her words and manners, and the pulsations of her generous heart, who have heard her impromptu replies when assailed, see at once that her speeches are the natural outgrowth of herself, her own experience and philosophy, inspired by the eventful times in which she lived. As well ask if Joan of Arc drew her inspiration from the warriors of her day. It was no man's wish or will that Anna Dickinson uttered the highest thought in American politics in this crisis of our nation's history; that she pointed out the cause and remedy of the war, and unveiled treason in the army and the White House. While, in the camp and hospital, she spoke words of tenderness and love to the sick and dying, she did not hesitate to rebuke the incapacity and iniquity of those in high places. She was among the first to distrust McClellan and Lincoln, and in a lecture entitled “My policy” to unveil his successor, Andrew Johnson, to the people. She saw the sceptre of power grasped by the party of freedom, and the first gun fired at Sumter, in defence of slavery. She saw the dawn of the glorious day of emancipation, when four million American slaves were set free, and that night of gloom, when the darkest page in American history was written in the blood of its chief. She saw our armies go forth to battle, the youth, the promise, the hope of the — nation,--two million strong,--and saw them return, with their ranks thinned and broken, their flags tattered and stained, the maimed, halt,  and blind, the weary and worn; and this, she said, is the price of liberty. Through the nation's agony was this girl born into a knowledge of her power; and she drew her inspiration from the great events of her day. Her heroic courage, indomitable will, brilliant imagination, religious earnestness, and prophetic forecast, gave her an utterance that no man's thought could paint or inspire.