briefly restate the case. Five noble women of the laymen of the
Methodist Episcopal Church have been chosen as delegates to this General
Conference under the Constitution and by the forms prescribed by the
laws of the Church. As they enter, or attempt to enter, the portals of
this great assemblage they hear a voice from the platform, in words not
to be misunderstood, "Thou shalt not," and voices from all parts of the
house take up the prohibitory words, and supplement the voices of the
Bishops, "Thou shalt not." And one would think, from the vehement
oratory of the resisting delegates of this General Conference, that the
foundations of the Church were in imminent peril by the presence of
these "elect ladies" among us.

Let us turn back a moment, and review the history of the rise, progress,
and triumph of the cause of lay representation. I claim to know a little
something about it, as I was on the skirmish line in the conflict, and
in all its battles fought until the day of victory.

In 1861, to the male members of the Church, was submitted the question
of lay representation. It failed of securing a majority vote. Had it
carried, there would have been plausibility in the argument this
day made against the eligibility of women to seats in this General
Conference. The evolution of the succeeding eight years lifted woman to
a higher appreciation of her position in the Methodist Church, and her
rights and privileges became the theme of discussion throughout the
bounds of the Church. Among the champions for woman was that magnificent
man, that grand old man, Dr. Daniel D. Whedon, who, in discussing this
question, said:

"If it is _rights_ they talk of, every competent member of the Church of
Christ, of either sex and of every shade of complexion, has equal