It was a kind of ladies' exchange for the holiday week, where each one was sure to meet her friends.

The fair and the annual convention, coming in succession, intensified the interest in both.

I never grew weary of the conventions, though I attended all the sessions, lasting, sometimes, until eleven o'clock at night.

The fiery eloquence of the abolitionists, the amusing episodes that occurred when some crank was suppressed and borne out on the shoulders of his brethren, gave sufficient variety to the proceedings to keep the interest up to high-water mark.
There was one old man dressed in white, carrying a scythe, who imagined himself the personification of "Time," though called "Father Lampson." Occasionally he would bubble over with some prophetic vision, and, as he could not be silenced, he was carried out.

He usually made himself as limp as possible, which added to the difficulty of his exit and the amusement of the audience.