The frivolous objections some women made to our appeals were as exasperating as they were ridiculous.  To reply to them politely, at all times, required a divine patience.  On one occasion, after addressing the legislature, some of the ladies, in congratulating me, inquired, in a deprecating tone, “What do you do with your children?” “Ladies,” I said, “it takes me no longer to speak, than you to listen; what have you done with your children the two hours you have been sitting here?  But, to answer your question, I never leave my children to go to Saratoga, Washington, Newport, or Europe, or even to come here.  They are, at this moment, with a faithful nurse at the Delevan House, and, having accomplished my mission, we shall all return home together.”

When my children reached the magic number of seven, my good angel, Susan B. Anthony, would sometimes take one or two of them to her own quiet home, just out of Rochester, where, on a well-cultivated little farm, one could enjoy uninterrupted rest and the choicest fruits of the season.  That was always a safe harbor for my friend, as her family sympathized fully in the reforms to which she gave her life.  I have many pleasant memories of my own flying visits to that hospitable Quaker home and the broad catholic spirit of Daniel and Lucy Anthony.  Whatever opposition and ridicule their daughter endured elsewhere, she enjoyed the steadfast sympathy and confidence of her own home circle.  Her faithful sister Mary, a most successful teacher in the public schools of Rochester for a quarter of a century, and a good financier, who with her patrimony and salary had laid by a competence, took on her shoulders double duty at home in cheering the declining years of her parents, that Susan might do the public work in the reforms in which they were equally interested.  Now, with life’s earnest work nearly accomplished, the sisters are living happily together; illustrating another of the many charming homes of single women, so rapidly multiplying of late.

Miss Anthony, who was a frequent guest at my home, sometimes stood guard when I was absent.  The children of our household say that among their earliest recollections is the tableau of “Mother and Susan,” seated by a large table covered with books and papers, always writing and talking about the Constitution, interrupted with occasional visits from others of the faithful.  Hither came Elizabeth Oakes Smith, Paulina Wright Davis, Frances Dana Gage, Dr. Harriet Hunt, Rev. Antoinette Brown, Lucy Stone, and Abby Kelly, until all these names were as familiar as household words to the children.