I went to the regular meeting of a W.C.T.U., called for 3 P.M. I
entered as the clock struck. The room was full of chairs and benches,
a large room with few windows and dark corners. There were three hymn
books on the table, and a dusty Bible. The clock ticked on, five
minutes passed, ten minutes, and one timid woman entered, took no
notice of me, but sat with her eyes fixed on the floor, a sad faced
woman I saw as I looked more closely, a tired, hopeless expression in
the droop of her figure. Five minutes more and two busy women came in
with a rush. "What! _nobody_ here? I wish people would be
punctual," said one, "I can only stay half an hour," "I have another
meeting," said the other. The sad faced woman and I were
_invisible,_ it seemed, as neither by look nor act did they
acknowledge our presence. Then three more strolled in leisurely, one
saying, "Oh, Mrs. A., is this meeting at three or half past? I really
forget the hour." Afterwards a few young ladies came in, and seated
themselves in a row, keeping up a whispered conversation in which the
pronouns he, she, and I, were often heard. At half-past three the
President came in, saying, "I am afraid I am a little late, my watch
does not seem to be quite right." Taking a hymn book, she asked,
"What had we better sing, Mrs. B., have you any choice?" No choice
being signified, the leaves were turned over and over, and "Plunged
in a gulf of dark despair" selected and read. "Will some one start
the tune? Mrs. C. will you?" Mrs. C. looked around, waited a minute,
and then asked, "Is it common or long meter?" Another pause. The
little timid woman began a familiar tune, and had the privilege of
singing the first two lines alone. The hymn finished, the President
said, "As it is so late, we will dispense with the reading of the
Scriptures. I will ask Mrs. A. to lead in prayer," at which Mrs. A.
shook her head. "Mrs. C. then will you?" "Excuse me," said Mrs. C.,