appears a sober, melancholy man, coat
buttoned up to the chin, who walks sadly
across the stage, sits down suddenly with
his hat between his knees, and gazes
intently on the ceiling. A jovial chuckling
man follows him, plumps down near him,
and chuckles on with his umbrella in one
hand and his whiskers in the other. Then
comes the principal piece of metaphorical
pyrotechnics of the occasion: for in sweeps
Reverend Selina Sharpe, stately and
spectacled, in black silk with lace fixings,
followed by a dazzling bevy of disciples,
the majority of whom are surprisingly
young, sparkling, and pretty. Here is a
bright, vivacious blonde, with great blue
eyes, an irresistible advocate, what with
her smiles and glances; there a noted
sculptress, tall and graceful, artistic in
movement as in genius; there again a
gentle, slender, spirituelle lady, with soft
curls and kindly brown eyes, a poetess just
getting to be talked about; still again, a
Grecian head, a young face festooned with
silvery white hair, a quiet, earnest woman's
rights woman of the most genial and
persuasive sort. A most dangerous galaxy, the
keen-eyed man of society thinks; and
Materfamilias, despite her sneering, is very
prone to fear so too. It was all well enough,
thought our fashionable friends, to go and
laugh, as we did, at the Bloomers and the
straight-waisted old maids, the venerable
women in spectacles, and the sharp-featured
men with long hair and broad collars; but
it was really too bad to see ladies, pretty
ones too, decked in the latest fashions,
and with quite the manners of the haut
monde, lending their countenance to this
ridiculous movement! The impatience of the
audience soon produces its effect; and now
the silence which is the premonition of
what is about to begin, the silence as the
theatre curtain rises, falls upon the assembly
as a starch lady advances and moves that
"the Reverend Selina Sharpe be invited to
take the chair." The solemn man
immediately pops up, solemnly offers the gentle
chairwoman his hand, and with a face whose
solemnity seemed stereotyped, conducted
her to the table in the centre of the platform.

Breathless interest, both in the disciples
on the platform, and the scoffers in the
audience, hangs upon the lips of the
reverend lady as, with a cool and deliberate
survey of the assemblage, she clears her
throat to speak. She plunges in medias res
without ado. She sends a thrill through
the hearts of her followers by declaring at
once that woman suffrage is the greatest
question of the age. "We are about to
take," said she, involuntarily glancing at
the space between her and the footlights,
as if about to suit action to the word, "the
greatest step in civilisation. Women are
everywhere waking up," she continued,
looking round the stage as if to see if any
disciple were prone to sleep, "are waking
up to the idea that they have rights. We
have come hero to Highport," with an
eagle glance at the fashionable groups near
the door, "to call upon the fashionable
women to help us in the cause. Anybody
who wishes to say anything," with a
sudden descent to the practical, "is invited to
come upon the platform and say it."

Two ladies and a male disciple started
to their feet and came forward.

"Stop!" said the president, waving her
fan. "We must have a business committee.
How shall it be appointed?"

"I move, Mr.—a—a—Mrs. President,"
said a timid man in a treble voice, "that it
be elected by the meeting."

"Mr. Simpkins, you are not in order,"
said the president, sharply, frowning upon
him. "You forget, sir, at the very outset,
the rights of women. How," she
continued, turning to another elderly lady in
white curls at her side, "shall the
committee be appointed?"

"By the chair," came from the elderly
lady, in a hard, dry voice, her muscles
immovable. The committee duly appointed,
a little sharp-featured woman came
forward, and proceeded to read a letter from
her maiden aunt. The writer expressed
her hope that the woman's rights women
would not neglect family and household
duties, and trusted that a resolution would
be passed, "quoting the New Testament
text that man was the head of the woman."

This heresy was received by a great
rustling of dresses, a loud groan from the
jovial men, and a protest from the president;
and the rest of the letter was
unanimously dispensed with.

Another heretic, in the shape of a plump
woman with an intensely purple bonnet,
then took the floor, and hoped that women
would really not adopt the masculine
costume. She was sure that Mrs. Sharpe
would never do such a thing.

A male voice: "Why not?"

Here several ladies began to talk at the
same time, and there were shrill cries of
"Order!" The orator, when the commotion
subsided, continued by saying that it was
not necessary to the protection of ladies
who walked in the streets at night to have
male attire; she had a friend who carried