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The night came, and with ill-concealed nervousness Anna put on the new silk dress, shook her heavy curls into place, and with resolute courage went to the hall, where, on mounting the platform, she noted the most tremendous audience she had ever before faced. Mr. Garrison opened the meeting by reading a chapter of the Bible, then he used up as much time as possible in remarks, in order to make the best of a bad situation, for he felt that she was not in a state of mind or body to hold the coldly critical audience before her. While he read and spoke poor Anna behind him waited to be presented, in an agony of nervousness which she struggled not to show. Then came the singing of the “Negro Boatman’s Song of Whittier” by a quartet, accompanied by the organ. At last, with an easy smile, which concealed his real feelings, Mr. Garrison turned to introduce Anna, and she rose and walked forward to the front of the platform, looking more immature and girlish than ever before. Her first sentences were halting, disconnected, her fingers twined and twisted nervously around the handkerchief she held; then she saw a sympathetic upturned face in the front row of the audience staring up at her. Something in the face roused Anna to a determined effort. Throwing herself into her subject, she soon was pouring out a passionate appeal for a broader national life and action. Gone were fear and self-consciousness, gone all but determination to make her audience feel as she felt, believe as she believed, in the interest of humanity and the highest ideals. For over an hour she held that coldly critical mass of New England hearers as if by a magic spell, then the vast audience rose and gave vent to their emotion by the singing of “America,” and then persons of distinction and wealth crowded around the speaker of the evening with thanks and praise. To one and all the young orator, whose eyes were still shining with enthusiasm, replied, simply: “I thank you. The subject is very near my heart,” and as those who met her turned away they could not hide their amazement at the ability of a young person who looked so immature in her girlish beauty and freshness.

This was the beginning of a period of success. She delivered the Boston lecture in several other New England cities, and had many fine press notices on it, one of which closed with the following sentences:

“Her whole appearance and manner were decidedly attractive, earnest, and expressive. Her lecture was well arranged, logical, and occasionally eloquent, persuasive, and pathetic.”

That was the time when every woman with a tender heart and a chance to show it for the benefit of the wounded soldiers served her apprenticeship in some hospital, and Anna was one of them. With keen sympathy she nursed and comforted the sick men, who told her freely about their hardships and sufferings, as well as the motives which led them to go into the army, and she learned their opinion of war and of life on the battle-fields. From this experience she gained much priceless material which she later used most successfully.

She was now beginning to be known as much for her youth and personal charm as for the subject-matter of her lectures, and to her unbounded joy in October, 1862, she received one hundred dollars and many flattering press notices for a speech given before the Boston Fraternity Lyceum. This success encouraged her to plan a series of lectures to be given in various parts of the East, especially in New England, from which she hoped to gain substantial results. But in making her plans she had failed to reckon with the humor of the people who under the stress of war had little interest even in the most thrilling lectures, and she traveled from place to place with such meager returns that she became perfectly disheartened, and, worse than that, she was almost penniless.