On and on they come, gray-headed women and curly-headed children from
every station in life: the millionairess by the working woman, and the
fashionable society woman by the business one. Two women on horseback,
and one blowin' a bugle, led the way for the carriage of Madam Antoinette
Blackwell. I wonder if she ever dreamed when she wuz tryin' to climb the
hill of knowledge through the thorny path of sex persecution, that she
would ever have a bugle blowed in front of her, to honor her for her
efforts, and form a part of such a glorious Parade of the sect she give her
youth and strength to free.
How they swept on, borne by the waves of music, heralded by wavin' banners
of purple and white and gold, bearin' upliftin' and noble mottoes.
Physicians, lawyers, nurses, authors, journalists, artists, social workers,
dressmakers, milliners, women from furrin countries dressed in their quaint
costumes, laundresses, clerks, shop girls, college girls, all bearin' the
pennants and banners of their different colleges: Vassar, Wellesley, Smith,
etc., etc. High-school pupils, Woman's Suffrage League, Woman's Social
League, and all along the brilliant line each division dressed in beautiful
costumes and carryin' their own gorgeous banners. And anon or oftener all
along the long, long procession bands of music pealin' out high and sweet,
as if the Spirit of Music, who is always depictered as a woman, was glad
and proud to do honor to her own sect.
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