y daring to speak in public, and who
advised strongly against encouraging me in such unwomanly behaviour.

I was a pioneer as a lecturer on literature quite unconsciously, for I
had gone along so gradually that I did not realize it--taken up and
set down in a new place with no planning on my part.

Invited by many of the citizens of Hanover, New Hampshire, my old
home, to go there and give my lecture on "Lady Morgan," the Irish
novelist, for the purpose of purchasing a new carpet for the
Congregational Church, I was surprised to feel again the same stern
opposition; I was not permitted to speak in the church, but
immediately was urged to accept the large recitation hall of the
Scientific School. It was crowded to the doors and the college boys
climbed up and swarmed about the windows. The carpet, a dark red
ingrain, was bought, put down, and wore well for years.

Now came a busy life. I was asked to lecture in many places near New
York, always in delightful homes. Had a class of married ladies at the
home of Dr. J.G. Holland, where I gave an idea of the newest books.
Doctor Holland gave me a department, "Bric-a-brac," in his
magazine--_Scribner's Magazine_; and I was honoured by a request from
the editors of the _Galaxy_ to take the "Club Room" from which Mark
Twain had just resigned. Meeting him soon after at a dinner, he said
with his characteristic drawl: "Awful solemn, ain't it, having to be
funny every month; worse than a funeral." I started a class in my own
apartment to save time for ladies who wanted to know about the most
interesting books as they were published, but whose constant
engagements made it impossible to read them entirely for themselves. I
suggested to the best publishers to send me copies of their
attractive publications which I would read, condense, and then talk
them over with these friends. All were glad to aid me. Their books
were piled on my piano and tables, and many were sold. I want to say
that such courtesy was a rare compliment. I used to go to various book
stores, asking permission to look over books at a special reading
table, and never met a refusal. I fear in these days of aiding the war
sufferers, and keeping our bodies limber and free from rheumatism by
daily dancing, this plan would not find patrons.

I was often "browsing," as they call it, at the Mercantile Library. At
first I would sit down and give the names of volumes desired. That
took too long. At last I was allowed to g