I was a frequent visitor at the home of William Lloyd Garrison.  Though he had a prolonged battle to fight in the rough outside world, his home was always a haven of rest.  Mrs. Garrison was a sweet-tempered, conscientious woman, who tried, under all circumstances, to do what was right.  She had sound judgment and rare common sense, was tall and fine-looking, with luxuriant brown hair, large tender blue eyes, delicate features, and affable manners.  They had an exceptionally fine family of five sons and one daughter.  Fanny, now the wife of Henry Villard, the financier, was the favorite and pet.  All the children, in their maturer years, have fulfilled the promises of their childhood.  Though always in straitened circumstances, the Garrisons were very hospitable.  It was next to impossible for Mr. Garrison to meet a friend without inviting him to his house, especially at the close of a convention.

I was one of twelve at one of his impromptu tea parties.  We all took it for granted that his wife knew we were coming, and that her preparations were already made.  Surrounded by half a dozen children, she was performing the last act in the opera of Lullaby, wholly unconscious of the invasion downstairs.  But Mr. Garrison was equal to every emergency, and, after placing his guests at their ease in the parlor, he hastened to the nursery, took off his coat, and rocked the baby until his wife had disposed of the remaining children.  Then they had a consultation about the tea, and when, basket in hand, the good man sallied forth for the desired viands, Mrs. Garrison, having made a hasty toilet, came down to welcome her guests.  She was as genial and self-possessed as if all things had been prepared.  She made no apologies for what was lacking in the general appearance of the house nor in the variety of the menu—­it was sufficient for her to know that Mr. Garrison was happy in feeling free to invite his friends.  The impromptu meal was excellent, and we had a most enjoyable evening.  I have no doubt that Mrs. Garrison had more real pleasure than if she had been busy all day making preparations and had been tired out when her guests arrived.

The anti-slavery conventions and fairs, held every year during the holidays, brought many charming people from other States, and made Boston a social center for the coadjutors of Garrison and Phillips.  These conventions surpassed any meetings I had ever attended; the speeches were eloquent and the debates earnest and forcible.  Garrison and Phillips were in their prime, and slavery was a question of national interest.  The hall in which the fairs were held, under the auspices of Mrs. Chapman and her cohorts, was most artistically decorated.  There one could purchase whatever the fancy could desire, for English friends, stimulated by the appeals of Harriet Martineau and Elizabeth Pease, used to send boxes of beautiful things, gathered from all parts of the Eastern Continent.  There, too, one could get a most recherche luncheon