[Certain absurd, not to say malicious, reports having been circulated in regard to the meeting held by the Rosedale Sewing-Circle to decide upon the time, place, and other details of their annual spring fair, it is deemed but simple justice to the estimable ladies who compose that body to give an accurate and unvarnished account of the proceedings on that occasion; and the writer feels that not only will such a narration sufficiently silence all slanders, but that it will as well go far toward a triumphant refutation of the often-repeated falsehood that women have no aptitude for business.]

The meeting, being appointed for 2.30 P.M., was called to order by the president, Mrs. Gilflora Smithe, at 3.30 P.M., the hour preceding having been spent in an animated and pleasant discussion of the important question whether the pastor’s wife, who was detained at home by illness, was really so extravagant as to use granulated sugar in her sweet pickles, as was positively asserted by Miss Araminta Sharp. The secretary read the report of the last meeting, as follows:—

“Monday, April 7.—Meeting called to order by the president. The records read and approved. There being no quorum present, it was unanimously voted to hold the next meeting on Thursday, as that day is more convenient for the ladies. On motion of Mrs. Percy Browne, voted to appoint a committee of one to take charge of the Art Department of the fair. Mrs. Browne kindly volunteered to serve as that committee. Adjourned.”

The records having been approved, the president remarked that there was so much business to come before the meeting that she really could not tell where to begin, and she should be glad if some one would make a motion, just to start things.

“A motion to put things in motion,” murmured Miss Keene, looking around with the smile which everybody knew meant that she had made a joke.

Everybody smiled also, although nobody saw the point until the president echoed, with a pleased air of discovery, “Motion,—motion! Very good, Miss Keene.”

Then they all smiled once again, and Miss Gray told of an excellent jest made by a cousin in Boston:—

“My cousin in Boston—that is, she isn’t my real cousin, but a step-cousin by marriage—was at a concert once, and she made an awfully good joke. I don’t remember exactly now what it was, but it was awfully funny. It was something about music, and we all laughed.”

“It doesn’t seem to me,” spoke up Miss Sharp, acidly, “that Boston jokes will help the fair much; and I move you, Mrs. President,—if I don’t make a motion, I’m sure I don’t know who ever will,—that the fair be held on the 20th of April.”

“I second the motion,” promptly spoke up Miss Snob, who always seconded everything.

“It is moved and seconded,” said the president, “that the fair be held on the 20th of April; but I’m sure the 23d would suit me a great deal better.”

“Why not have it the 17th?” asked Miss Keene; “that seems to me quite late enough.”

“Oh, dear, no,” interrupted Mrs. Percy Browne, “I never could get half the things done for my department by that time. I move we have it the 30th.”

“Second the motion,” promptly responded Miss Snob.

“It is moved and seconded,” propounded Mrs. Smithe from the chair, “that the fair be held on the 30th. That seems to me an excellent time. If it be your minds, you will please to signify it. It is a vote.”

“I still stick to the 20th,” declared Miss Sharp, viciously. “I shall open my candy-table then, whether the rest of the fair is ready or not.”

“Sweets to the sweet,” murmured Miss Keene, looking around with her jest-announcing smile.

“The 20th is Sunday, any way,” observed the Hon. Mrs. Sampson Hoyt, in tones of great condescension.

“I don’t care,” persisted the contumacious Sharp. “I’ll have my part of the fair then, any way.”

“Suppose we compromise,” suggested the president, pacifically, “and say the 25th.”

There was considerable discussion, more or less acrimonious, at this proposition, but it was finally adopted without the formality of a vote, the secretary being instructed to set the date April 25th down as the final decision of the meeting.

“There will have to be a general committee of arrangements,” the president observed, this important preliminary having been settled. “I suppose it is customary for the chair to appoint them; but I am ready to receive nominations.”

“I nominate Miss Keene,” said Mrs. Browne, who wished to keep in that lady’s good graces.

“Second the motion,” Miss Snob exclaimed, with enthusiasm.

“Miss Keene will have enough to do at the cake-table,” Mrs. Smithe replied. “I think I’ll appoint Mrs. Hoyt, Mrs. Crowler, Mrs. Henderson, and Mrs. Lowell.”

“There’s never but three on that committee,” snapped Miss Sharp. “You’ll have to take off one.”

“Dear me!” responded Mrs. Smithe, in dismay; “I think you must be mistaken.”

But Miss Sharp persisted, and the president, driven into a corner, was forced to propose that one of the ladies named should resign. Nobody seemed willing to do this, however, and it was at length decided that some one of the four should regard herself as a substitute, to act in case one of the others could not serve. The president could not, however, bring herself to specify which should be the substitute, and was greatly relieved when the conversation was turned by Mrs. Henderson’s remarking,—

“Speaking of substitutes reminds me. Did you know that you could make mince-pies without meat? My niece from Bangor—”

[The talk of the next fifteen minutes is omitted, as being irrelevant, relating exclusively to cooking. At the expiration of that time, the business of the occasion was accidentally reintroduced by an allusion on the part of Mrs. Crowler to some delicious chocolate macaroons which she had eaten at a fair in East Machias.]

“We really must have some more committees,” the president said, recovering herself with a start. “Will somebody make a motion?”

“I don’t think Friday is a good day for a fair, any way,” Mrs. Lowell now remarked, reflectively. “The 25th is Friday.”

“Oh, I never thought of that,” exclaimed half a dozen ladies, in dismay. “We should be all tired out for baking-day.”

“I don’t know what we can do,” the president said, in despairing accents,—“there seem to be so many days, and only one fair; and we’ve had so many dates proposed. We shall have to unvote something.”

It was at this crisis that the Hon. Mrs. Sampson Hoyt rose to the heights of the parliamentary opportunity.

“I move the previous question,” she said, distinctly and firmly.

There fell a hush of awe over the sewing-circle, and even Miss Snob was a moment in bringing out her second.

“I don’t think!” Mrs. President Smithe ventured, a little falteringly, “that I quite understood the motion.”

“I moved,” the Hon. Mrs. Hoyt replied, with the air of one conscious that her husband had once been almost nominated to the State Legislature, and had been addressed as Honorable ever after, “I moved the previous question.”

“Yes?” Mrs. Smithe said, inquiringly and pleadingly.

“That takes everything back to the beginning,” Mrs. Hoyt condescended to explain, “and we can then change the date of our fair in a strictly legal way.”

She threw a glance of superb scorn around her as she spoke, and even Miss Sharp took on a subdued and corrected air.

“It is moved and seconded the previous question,” Mrs. Smithe propounded, with an air of great relief. “It is a vote.”

“I don’t think we had better do away with everything in this case,” Mrs. Hoyt observed, with a smile of gracious concession. “We might let the committee of arrangements stand.”

“That she’s chairman of,” whispered Mrs. Crowler, spitefully.

“I don’t remember,” observed Miss Sharp, gazing into futurity with an air of abstraction, “that there is anything in the by-laws about the previous question.”

A flutter stirred the entire company. The ladies looked at each other, and then with one accord turned their regards upon the Hon. Mrs. Hoyt, as one who, having got them into this difficulty, was in honor bound to help them out of it.

“I supposed everybody knew,” that lady remarked, with icy sweetness, “that the rules of making motions do not have to be in the by-laws. They are in”—the speaker hesitated, not being exactly sure of the title of the volume to which her husband had given so careful attention when expecting to be nominated: feeling, however, that anything was better than the appearance of ignorance, she went on precipitately—“in ‘Pole’s Manual.’”

Even Miss Sharp had no retort adequate to meet this crushing appeal to authority, not being sufficiently well informed to connect Pole with whist, so she contented herself by observing, with a sniff, that for her part she was glad she did not know so much as some people pretended to.

“It does seem to me,” observed Mrs. Henderson, at this point, “that we might let this one year go by without a fair. There’s been so much sickness in Rosedale this winter that everybody is tired out, and we had a great deal better wait till June, and have a strawberry-festival. I move we put the whole thing off till then.”

“Second the motion,” cried Miss Snob, with great promptitude.

“I cannot consent to put that motion,” the president said, with great dignity. “We have made up our minds to have a fair now, and we might as well have it, and be done with it.”

“I move,” Mrs. Browne put in sweetly, with the intention of suiting everybody, “that we have a fair and a strawberry-festival.”

Miss Snob seconded this motion with her customary enthusiasm.

“It is moved and seconded,” the president said, “that we have a fair and a strawberry-festival. But that seems a great deal; and I think I had better declare it not a vote, unless doubted.”

Nobody was clear about the effects of doubting a negative proposition; but Mrs. Crowler was pleased to observe, “Well, any way, now I come to think it over, I think, on the whole, I won’t be on the arrangements committee at all; but I’ll be chairman of the finance committee when that is fixed,—and that’ll leave only three on the arrangements.”

This moved Mrs. Henderson to resign, and Mrs. Lowell following her example, Mrs. Hoyt was left in solitary grandeur upon the committee.

Matters were not improved, moreover, when Miss Keene remarked, “If we’ve voted ‘the previous question,’ I don’t see but we’ve still got to fix the day. All that is undone now.”

“Certainly,” responded the Hon. Mrs. Sampson Hoyt, with the virtuous joy of an iconoclast gazing on the ruin he has wrought.

“We don’t seem to have anything exactly fixed,” the president said, with a helpless and conciliatory smile. “If somebody would make a motion—”

“It’s too late to make any more motions to-day,” Miss Sharp interrupted, with much vigor. “It’s ten minutes of six.”

At this announcement of the lateness of the hour, the entire company started to their feet in dismay; and although, when the president and secretary tried next day to remember what had been done, that the latter might make up her report, they recorded that the meeting adjourned, that statement must be regarded as having been purely a parliamentary fiction, entered in the secretary’s book to gratify that instinct innate in woman’s breast to follow exactly the regular and strictest forms of recognized rules of order.

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