Here we were delightfully entertained by Mrs. King and her daughters, one of them being Grace King, the novelist. My mother was no stranger to New Orleans, having spent the winter of 1884–85 there, when she had charge of the woman’s section of the exposition. Many friends welcomed her on her return to the quaint old city. I had never seen it before, and was much interested in exploring as much of it as our short visit and the necessary attendance at the sessions of A. A. W. permitted. We made a visit to the Ursuline Convent on the occasion of the coronation of the image of the Virgin with a crown of gold studded with jewels, contributed by the women of the city. When the crowning took place all applauded. The singing of the Mass was very beautiful. In the address of the day we were told that the image had been brought over by the Ursuline nuns from France. It was held to be of miraculous power. The sisters prayed to it at the time of the battle of New Orleans; to their prayers, as we were told, was due the victory of General Jackson and the troops under his command. It is said that if you taste the water of the Mississippi you will want to return to the Crescent City. No one is rash enough to do that until the mud has been allowed to settle—perhaps in one of the beautiful great earthen jars resembling those in which the Forty Thieves took refuge. Clubwomen, as a rule, are very sensible. They all wish to be nicely and suitably dressed, but a parade of fine gowns is thought undesirable. It was amusing as well as sad to see aspirants for office appear at a convention in a succession of expensive dresses, which insured the failure of their hopes. These dear ladies could not understand why Jenny Wren in her simple gray gown was preferred before them! At the Milwaukee biennial we had the great pleasure of listening to a speech from Octave Thanet. She banished all possible stiffness by confessing to the audience, “When I forget what I want to say, I stop and take a drink of water.” After that, whenever she raised the tumbler to her lips we all laughed. During this biennial word came to Mrs. Philip N. Moore, treasurer of the Federation, that her house in St. Louis was on fire. She felt it her duty to remain at her post until, as retiring treasurer, she had signed all the checks. Some one quoted apropos of this: “Ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, Your children will burn.” Mrs. Moore has since served as president of the General Federation and held other important public positions. She is one of the ablest and most public-spirited women of our country, a college graduate, and last but not least, decidedly handsome.