In courses erratic they're wheeling through s.p.a.ce, In brainless confusion and meaningless chase.

In vain do our knowing ones try to compute Their return to the orbit designed; They're glanced at a moment, then onward they shoot, And are neither "to hold nor to bind;"

So freely they move in their chosen ellipse, The "Lords of Creation" do fear an eclipse.

They've taken a notion to speak for themselves, And are wielding the tongue and the pen; They've mounted the rostrum; the termagant elves, And--oh horrid!--are talking to men!

With faces unblanched in our presence they come To harangue us, they say, in behalf of the dumb.

They insist on their right to pet.i.tion and pray, That St. Paul, in Corinthians, has given them rules For appearing in public; despite what those say Whom we've trained to instruct them in schools; But vain such instructions, if women may scan And quote texts of Scripture to favor their plan.

Our grandmothers' learning consisted of yore In spreading their generous boards; In twisting the distaff, or mopping the floor, And _obeying the will of their lords_.

Now, misses may reason, and think, and debate, Till unquestioned submission is quite out of date.

Our clergy have preached on the sin and the shame Of woman, when out of "her sphere,"

And labored _divinely_ to ruin her fame, And shorten this horrid career; But for spiritual guidance no longer they look To Fulsom, or Winslow, or learned Parson Cook.

Our wise men have tried to exorcise in vain The turbulent spirits abroad; As well might we deal with the fetterless main, Or conquer ethereal essence with sword; Like the devils of Milton, they rise from each blow, With spirit unbroken, insulting the foe.

Our patriot fathers, of eloquent fame, Waged war against tangible forms; Aye, _their_ foes were men--and if ours were the same, _We_ might speedily quiet their storms; But, ah! their descendants enjoy not such bliss-- The a.s.sumptions of Britain were nothing to this.

Could we but array all our force in the field, We'd teach these usurpers of power That their bodily safety demands they should yield, And in the presence of manhood should cower; But, alas! for our tethered and impotent state, Chained by notions of knighthood--we can but debate.

Oh! shade of the prophet Mahomet, arise!

Place woman again in "her sphere,"

And teach that her soul was not born for the skies, But to flutter a brief moment here.

This doctrine of Jesus, as preached up by Paul, If embraced in its spirit, will ruin us all.

--_Lords of Creation_.

On reading the "Pastoral Letter," our Quaker poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, poured out his indignation on the New England clergy in thrilling denunciations. Mr. Whittier early saw that woman's only protection against religious and social tyranny, could be found in political equality. In the midst of the fierce conflicts in the Anti-Slavery Conventions of 1839 and '40, on the woman question _per se_, Mr. Whittier remarked to Lucretia Mott, "_Give woman the right to vote_, and you end all these persecutions by reform and church organizations."

THE PASTORAL LETTER.

So, this is all--the utmost reach Of priestly power the mind to fetter!

When laymen think--when women preach-- A war of words--a "Pastoral Letter!"

Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!

Was it thus with those, your predecessors, Who sealed with racks, and fire, and ropes Their loving-kindness to transgressors?

A "Pastoral Letter," grave and dull-- Alas! in hoof and horns and features, How different is your Brookfield bull, From him who bellows from St. Peter's!

Your pastoral rights and powers from harm, Think ye, can words alone preserve them?

Your wiser fathers taught the arm And sword of temporal power to serve them.

Oh, glorious days--when Church and State Were wedded by your spiritual fathers!

And on submissive shoulders sat Yours Wilsons and your Cotton Mathers.

No vile "itinerant" then could mar The beauty of your tranquil Zion, But at his peril of the scar Of hangman's whip and branding-iron.

Then, wholesome laws relieved the Church Of heretic and mischief-maker.

And priest and bailiff joined in search, By turns, of Papist, witch, and Quaker!

The stocks were at each church's door, The gallows stood on Boston Common, A Papist's ears the pillory bore-- The gallows-rope, a Quaker woman!

Your fathers dealt not as ye deal With "non-professing" frantic teachers; They bored the tongue with red-hot steel, And flayed the backs of "female preachers."

Old Newbury, had her fields a tongue, And Salem's streets could tell their story, Of fainting woman dragged along, Gashed by the whip, accursed and gory!

And will ye ask me, why this taunt Of memories sacred from the scorner?

And why with reckless hand I plant A nettle on the graves ye honor?

Not to reproach New England's dead This record from the past I summon, Of manhood to the scaffold led, And suffering and heroic woman.

No--for yourselves alone, I turn The pages of intolerance over, That, in their spirit, dark and stern, Ye haply may your own discover!

For, if ye claim the "pastoral right,"

To silence freedom's voice of warning, And from your precincts shut the light Of Freedom's day around ye dawning;

If when an earthquake voice of power, And signs in earth and heaven, are showing That forth, in the appointed hour, The Spirit of the Lord is going!

And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light On kindred, tongue, and people breaking, Whose slumbering millions, at the sight, In glory and in strength are waking!

When for the sighing of the poor, And for the needy, G.o.d hath risen, And chains are breaking, and a door Is opening for the souls in prison!

If then ye would, with puny hands, Arrest the very work of Heaven, And bind anew the evil bands Which G.o.d's right arm of power hath riven,--

What marvel that, in many a mind, Those darker deeds of bigot madness Are closely with your own combined, Yet "less in anger than in sadness"?

What marvel, if the people learn To claim the right of free opinion?

What marvel, if at times they spurn The ancient yoke of your dominion?

A glorious remnant linger yet, Whose lips are wet at Freedom's fountains, The coming of whose welcome feet Is beautiful upon our mountains!

Men, who the gospel tidings bring Of Liberty and Love forever, Whose joy is an abiding spring, Whose peace is as a gentle river!

But ye, who scorn the thrilling tale Of Carolina's high-souled daughters, Which echoes here the mournful wail Of sorrow from Edisto's waters, Close while ye may the public ear-- With malice vex, with slander wound them-- The pure and good shall throng to hear, And tried and manly hearts surround them.

Oh, ever may the power which led Their way to such a fiery trial, And strengthened womanhood to tread The wine-press of such self-denial, Be round them in an evil land, With wisdom and with strength from Heaven, With Miriam's voice, and Judith's hand, And Deborah's song, for triumph given!

And what are ye who strive with G.o.d Against the ark of His salvation, Moved by the breath of prayer abroad, With blessings for a dying nation?

What, but the stubble and the hay To perish, even as flax consuming, With all that bars His glorious way, Before the brightness of His coming?

And thou, sad Angel, who so long Hast waited for the glorious token, That Earth from all her bonds of wrong To liberty and light has broken-- Angel of Freedom! soon to thee The sounding trumpet shall be given, And over Earth's full jubilee Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven!

In answer to the many objections made, by gentlemen present, to granting to woman the right of suffrage, Frederick Dougla.s.s replied in a long, argumentative, and eloquent appeal, for the complete equality of woman in all the rights that belong to any human soul. He thought the true basis of rights was the capacity of individuals; and as for himself, he should not dare claim a right that he would not concede to woman.

This Convention continued through three sessions, and was crowded with an attentive audience to the hour of adjournment. The daily papers made fair reports, and varied editorial comments, which, being widely copied, called out spicy controversies in different parts of the country. The resolutions and discussions regarding woman's right to enter the professions, encouraged many to prepare themselves for medicine and the ministry. Though few women responded to the demand for political rights, many at once saw the importance of equality in the world of work.

The Seneca Falls Declaration was adopted, and signed by large numbers of influential men and women of Rochester and vicinity, and at a late hour the Convention adjourned, in the language of its President, "with hearts overflowing with grat.i.tude."

FOOTNOTES:

[8] The antique mahogany center-table on which this historic doc.u.ment was written now stands in the parlor of the McClintock family in Philadelphia.

[9] See Appendix.

[10] Rebecca Sanford, now Postmaster at Mt. Morris, N. Y.

[11] See Appendix.