On the second day of the convention in Akron, in a corner, crouched against the wall, sat this woman of care, her elbows resting on her knees, and her chin resting upon her broad, hard palms.[1] In the intermission she was employed in selling “The Life of Sojourner Truth.”  From time to time came to the presiding officer the request, “Don’t let her speak; it will ruin us.  Every newspaper in the land will have our cause mixed with abolition and niggers, and we shall be utterly denounced.”  Gradually, however, the meeting waxed warm.  Baptist, Methodist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, and Universalist preachers had come to hear and discuss the resolutions presented.  One argued the superiority of the male intellect, another the sin of Eve, and the women, most of whom did not “speak in meeting,” were becoming filled with dismay.  Then slowly from her seat in the corner rose Sojourner Truth, who till now had scarcely lifted her head.  Slowly and solemnly to the front she moved, laid her old bonnet at her feet, and turned her great, speaking eyes upon the chair.  Mrs. Gage, quite equal to the occasion, stepped forward and announced “Sojourner Truth,” and begged the audience to be silent a few minutes.  “The tumult subsided at once, and every eye was fixed on this almost Amazon form, which stood nearly six feet high, head erect, and eye piercing the upper air, like one in a dream.”  At her first word there was a profound hush.  She spoke in deep tones, which, though not loud, reached every ear in the house, and even the throng at the doors and windows.  To one man who had ridiculed the general helplessness of woman, her needing to be assisted into carriages and to be given the best place everywhere, she said, “Nobody eber helped me into carriages, or ober mud puddles, or gibs me any best place”; and raising herself to her full height, with a voice pitched like rolling thunder, she asked, “And a’n’t I a woman?  Look at me.  Look at my arm.”  And she bared her right arm to the shoulder, showing her tremendous muscular power.  “I have plowed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me—­and a’n’t I a woman?  I could work as much and eat as much as a man, when I could get it, and bear de lash as well—­and a’n’t I a woman?  I have borne five chilern and seen ’em mos’ all sold off into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard—­and a’n’t I a woman?...  Dey talks ’bout dis ting in de head—­what dis dey call it?” “Intellect,” said some one near.  “Dat’s it, honey.  What’s dat got to do with women’s rights or niggers’ rights?  If my cup won’t hold but a pint and yourn holds a quart, wouldn’t ye be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?” And she pointed her significant finger and sent a keen glance at the minister who had made the argument.  The cheering was long and loud.  “Den dat little man in black dar, he say women can’t have as much rights as man, ’cause Christ wa’n’t a woman.  But whar did