Mrs. Thomasson, daughter of Mrs. Lucas, gave several parties, receptions, and dinners,—­some for ladies only,—­where an abundant opportunity was offered for a critical analysis of the idiosyncrasies of the superior sex, especially in their dealings with women.  The patience of even such heroic souls as Lydia Becker and Caroline Biggs was almost exhausted with the tergiversations of Members of the House of Commons.  Alas for the many fair promises broken, the hopes deferred, the votes fully relied on and counted, all missing in the hour of action!  One crack of Mr. Gladstone’s whip put a hundred Liberal members to flight—­members whom these noble women had spent years in educating.  I never visited the House of Commons that I did not see Miss Becker and Miss Biggs trying to elucidate the fundamental principles of just government to some of the legislators.  Verily their divine faith and patience merited more worthy action on the part of their alleged representatives!

Miss Henrietta Mueller gave a farewell reception to Miss Anthony and me on the eve of our departure for America, when we had the opportunity of meeting once more most of the pleasant acquaintances we had made in London.  Although it was announced for the afternoon, we did, in fact, receive all day, as many could not come at the hour appointed.  Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell took breakfast with us; Mrs. Fawcett, Mrs. Saville, and Miss Lord were with us at luncheon; Harriet Hosmer and Olive Logan soon after; Mrs. Peter Taylor later, and from three to six o’clock the parlors were crowded.

Returning from London I passed my birthday, November 12, 1883, in Basingstoke.  It was a sad day for us all, knowing that it was the last day with my loved ones before my departure for America.  When I imprinted the farewell kiss on the soft cheek of my little granddaughter Nora in the cradle, she in the dawn and I in the sunset of life, I realized how widely the broad ocean would separate us.  Miss Anthony, met me at Alderly Edge, where we spent a few days with Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Bright.  There we found their noble sisters, Mrs. McLaren and Mrs. Lucas, young Walter McLaren and his lovely bride, Eva Mueller, whom we had heard several times on the suffrage platform.  We rallied her on the step she had lately taken, notwithstanding her sister’s able paper on the blessedness of a single life.  While there, we visited Dean Stanley’s birthplace, but on his death the light and joy went out.  The old church whose walls had once echoed to his voice, and the house where he had spent so many useful years, seemed sad and deserted.  But the day was bright and warm, the scenery beautiful, cows and sheep were still grazing in the meadows, and the grass was as green as in June.  This is England’s chief charm,—­it is forever green,—­perhaps in compensation for the many cloudy days.