"There is no one to go with you." "How is my trunk going？" said I. "I have a donkey and cart to take that." "Then，" said I， "you， the donkey， the trunk， and I will go together." So I stepped into the cart， sat down on the trunk， and the old man laughed heartily as we jogged along through the mud of that solitary town in the pale morning starlight. Just as the day was dawning， Dubuque， with its rough hills and bold scenery， loomed up. Soon， under the roof of Myron Beach， one of the distinguished lawyers of the West， with a good breakfast and sound nap， my night's sorrows were forgotten.
I was sorry to find that Mrs. Beach， though a native of New York， and born on the very spot where the first woman's rights convention was held in this country， was not sound on the question of woman suffrage. She seemed to have an idea that voting and housekeeping could not be compounded； but I suggested that， if the nation could only enjoy a little of the admirable system with which she and other women administered their domestic affairs， Uncle Sam's interests would be better secured. This is just what the nation needs to-day， and women must wake up to the consideration that they， too， have duties as well as rights in the State. A splendid audience greeted me in the Opera House， and I gave "Our Girls，" bringing many male sinners to repentance， and stirring up some lethargic femmes coverts to a state of rebellion against the existing order of things.
From Dubuque I went to Dixon， a large town， where I met a number of pleasant people， but I have one cause of complaint against the telegraph operator， whose negligence to send a dispatch to Mt. Vernon， written and paid for， came near causing me a solitary night on the prairie， unsheltered and unknown. Hearing that the express train went out Sunday afternoon， I decided to go， so as to have all day at Mt. Vernon before speaking； but on getting my trunk checked， the baggageman said the train did not stop there. "Well，" said I， "check the trunk to the nearest point at which it does stop，" resolving that I would persuade the conductor to stop one minute， anyway. Accordingly， when the conductor came round， I presented my case as persuasively and eloquently as possible， telling him that I had telegraphed friends to meet me， etc.， etc. He kindly consented to do so and had my trunk rechecked. On arriving， as there was no light， no sound， and the depot was half a mile from the town， the conductor urged me to go to Cedar Rapids and come back the next morning， as it was Sunday night and the dé；pot might not be opened， and I might be compelled to stay there on the platform all night in the cold.
But， as I had telegraphed， I told him I thought someone would be there， and I would take the risk. So off went the train， leaving me solitary and alone. I could see the lights in the distant town and the dark outlines of two great mills near by， which suggested dams and races. I heard， too， the distant barking of dogs， and I thought there might be wolves， too； but no human sound. The platform was high and I could see no way down， and I should not have dared to go down if I had. So I walked all round the house， knocked at every door and window， called "John！" "James！" "Patrick！" but no response. Dressed in all their best， they had， no doubt， gone to visit Sally， and I knew they would stay late. The night wind was cold.
What could I do？ The prospect of spending the night there filled me with dismay. At last I thought I would try my vocal powers； so I hallooed as loud as I could， in every note of the gamut， until I was hoarse. At last I heard a distant sound， a loud halloo， which I returned， and so we kept it up until the voice grew near， and， when I heard a man's heavy footsteps close at hand， I was relieved. He proved to be the telegraph operator， who had been a brave soldier in the late war. He said that no message had come from Dixon. He escorted me to the hotel， where some members of the Lyceum Committee came in and had a hearty laugh at my adventure， especially that， in my distress， I should have called on James and John and Patrick， instead of Jane， Ann， and Bridget. They seemed to argue that that was an admission， on my part， of man's superiority， but I suggested that， as my *** had not yet been exalted to the dignity of presiding in dé；pots and baggage rooms， there would have been no propriety in calling Jane and Ann.
Mt. Vernon was distinguished for a very flourishing Methodist college， open to boys and girls alike. The president and his wife were liberal and progressive people. I dined with them in their home near the college， and met some young ladies from Massachusetts， who were teachers in the institution.
All who gathered round the social board on that occasion were of one mind on the woman question. Even the venerable mother of the president seemed to light up with the discussion of the theme. I gave "Our Girls" in the Methodist church， and took the opportunity to compliment them for taking the word "obey" out of their marriage ceremony. I heard the most encouraging reports of the experiment of educating the ***es together. It was the rule in all the Methodist institutions in Iowa， and I found that the young gentlemen fully approved of it.
At Mt. Vernon I also met Mr. Wright， former Secretary of State， who gave me several interesting facts in regard to the women of Iowa. The State could boast one woman who was an able lawyer， Mrs. Mansfield. Mrs. Berry and Mrs. Stebbins were notaries public. Miss Addington was superintendent of schools in Mitchell County. She was nominated by a convention in opposition to a Mr. Brown. When the vote was taken， lo！ there was a tie. Mr. Brown offered to yield through courtesy， but she declined； so they drew lots and Miss Addington was the victor. She once made an abstract of titles of all the lands in the county where she lived， and had received an appointment to office from the Governor of the State， who requested the paper to be made out "L." instead of Laura Addington. He said it was enough for Iowa to appoint women to such offices， without having it known the world over.
I was sorry to tell the Governor's secrets，杦hich I did everywhere，朾ut the cause of womanhood made it necessary.
