cantata composed for the occasion and given by
the Queen's Royal Band, under the direction of a

woman--Catharine van Rennes, one of the most
distinguished composers and teachers in Holland.

She wrote both words and music of her cantata and
directed it admirably; and the musicians of the

Queen's Band entered fully into its spirit and played
like men inspired. That night we had more music,

as well as a never-to-be-forgotten exhibition of folk-
dancing.

The same year, in June, we held the meeting of
the International Council in Toronto, and, as Canada

has never been eagerly interested in suffrage, an un-
successful effort was made to exclude this subject

from the programme. I was asked to preside at the
suffrage meetings on the artless and obvious theory

that I would thus be kept too busy to say much.
I had hoped that the Countess of Aberdeen, who was

the president of the International Council, would take
the chair; but she declined to do this, or even to

speak, as the Earl of Aberdeen had recently been
appointed Viceroy of Ireland, and she desired to

spare him any embarrassment which might be
caused by her public activities. We recognized the

wisdom of her decision, but, of course, regretted
it; and I was therefore especially pleased when, on

suffrage night, the countess, accompanied by her
aides in their brilliant uniforms, entered the hall.

We had not been sure that she would be with us,
but she entered in her usual charming and gra-

cious manner, took a seat beside me on the platform,
and showed a deep interest in the programme and

the great gathering before us.
As the meeting went on I saw that she was grow-

ing more and more enthusiastic, and toward the
end of the evening I quietly asked her if she did

not wish to say a few words. She said she would
say a very few. I had put myself at the end of the

programme, intending to talk about twenty minutes;
but before beginning my speech I introduced the

countess, and by this time she was so enthusiastic
that, to my great delight, she used up my twenty

minutes in a capital speech in which she came out
vigorously for woman suffrage. It gave us the best

and timeliest help we could have had, and was a
great impetus to the movement.

In London, at the Alliance Council of 1911, we
were entertained for the first time by a suffrage

organization of men, and by the organized actresses
of the nation, as well as by the authors.

In Stockholm, the following year, we listened to
several of the most interesting women speakers in

the world--Selma Lagerlof, who had just received
the Nobel prize, Rosica Schwimmer of Hungary,

Dr. Augsburg of Munich, and Mrs. Philip Snowden
of England. Miss Schwimmer and Mrs. Snowden

have since become familiar to American audiences,
but until that time I had not heard either of them,

and I was immensely impressed by their ability and
their different methods--Miss Schwimmer being all

force and fire, alive from her feet to her finger-tips,
Mrs. Snowden all quiet reserve and dignity. Dr.

Augsburg wore her hair short and dressed in a most
eccentric manner; but we forgot her appearance as

we listened to her, for she was an inspired speaker.
Selma Lagerlof's speech made the great audience

weep. Men as well as women openly wiped their
eyes as she described the sacrifice and suffering of

Swedish women whose men had gone to America
to make a home there, and who, when they were

left behind, struggled alone, waiting and hoping for
the message to join their husbands, which too often

never came. The speech made so great an impres-
sion that we had it translated and distributed among

the Swedes of the United States wherever we held
meetings in Swedish localities.

Miss Lagerlof interested me extremely, and I was
delighted by an invitation to breakfast with her one

morning. At our first meeting she had seemed
rather cold and shy--a little ``difficult,'' as we say;

but when we began to talk I found her frank, cor-
dial, and full of magnetism. She is self-conscious

about her English, but really speaks our language
very well. Her great interest at the time was in

improving the condition of the peasants near her
home. She talked of this work and of her books

and of the Council programme with such friendly in-
timacy that when we parted I felt that I had always

known her.
At the Hague Council in 1913 I was the guest of

Mrs. Richard Halter, to whom I am also indebted
for a beautiful and wonderful motor journey from

end to end of Holland, bringing up finally in Amster-
dam at the home of Dr. Aletta Jacobs. Here we

met two young Holland women, Miss Boissevain and
Rosa Manus, both wealthy, both anxious to help

their countrywomen, but still a little uncertain as
to the direction of their efforts. They came to Mrs.

Catt and me and asked our advice as to what they
should do, with the result that later they organized

and put through, largely unaided, a national ex-
position showing the development of women's work

from 1813 to 1913. The suffrage-room at this ex-
position showed the progress of suffrage in all parts

of the world; but when the Queen of Holland visited
the building she expressed a wish not to be detained

in this room, as she was not interested in suffrage.
The Prince Consort, however, spent much time in it,

and wanted the whole suffragemovement explained
to him, which was done cheerfully and thoroughly

by Miss Boissevain and Miss Manus. The fol-
lowing winter, when the Queen read her address

from the throne, she expressed an interest in so
changing the Constitution of Holland that suffrage

might possibly be extended to women. We felt that
this change of heart was due to the suffrage-room

arranged by our two young friends--aided, prob-
ably, by a few words from the Prince Consort!

Immediately after these days at Amsterdam we
started for Budapest to attend the International

Alliance Convention there, and incidentally we in-
dulged in a series of two-day conventions en route--

one at Berlin, one at Dresden, one at Prague, and
one at Vienna. At Prague I disgraced myself by

being in my hotel room in a sleep of utter exhaustion
at the hour when I was supposed to be responding