Two carriage-loads of ladies and gentlemen drove off every morning, sometimes ten miles, to one of these conventions, returning late at night.  I shall never forget those charming drives over the hills in Madison County, the bright autumnal days, and the bewitching moonlight nights.  The enthusiasm of the people in these great meetings, the thrilling oratory, and lucid arguments of the speakers, all conspired to make these days memorable as among the most charming in my life.  It seemed to me that I never had so much happiness crowded into one short month.  I had become interested in the anti-slavery and temperance questions, and was deeply impressed with the appeals and arguments.  I felt a new inspiration in life and was enthused with new ideas of individual rights and the basic principles of government, for the anti-slavery platform was the best school the American people ever had on which to learn republican principles and ethics.  These conventions and the discussions at my cousin’s fireside I count among the great blessings of my life.

One morning, as we came out from breakfast, Mr. Stanton joined me on the piazza, where I was walking up and down enjoying the balmy air and the beauty of the foliage.  “As we have no conventions,” said he, “on hand, what do you say to a ride on horseback this morning?” I readily accepted the suggestion, ordered the horses, put on my habit, and away we went.  The roads were fine and we took a long ride.  As we were returning home we stopped often to admire the scenery and, perchance, each other.  When walking slowly through a beautiful grove, he laid his hand on the horn of the saddle and, to my surprise, made one of those charming revelations of human feeling which brave knights have always found eloquent words to utter, and to which fair ladies have always listened with mingled emotions of pleasure and astonishment.

One outcome of those glorious days of October, 1839, was a marriage, in Johnstown, the 10th day of May, 1840, and a voyage to the Old World.

Six weeks of that charming autumn, ending in the Indian summer with its peculiarly hazy atmosphere, I lingered in Peterboro.  It seems in retrospect like a beautiful dream.  A succession of guests was constantly coming and going, and I still remember the daily drives over those grand old hills crowned with trees now gorgeous in rich colors, the more charming because we knew the time was short before the cold winds of November would change all.

The early setting sun warned us that the shortening days must soon end our twilight drives, and the moonlight nights were too chilly to linger long in the rustic arbors or shady nooks outside.  With the peculiar charm of this season of the year there is always a touch of sadness in nature, and it seemed doubly so to me, as my engagement was not one of unmixed joy and satisfaction.  Among all conservative families there was a strong aversion to abolitionists and the whole anti-slavery movement.  Alone with Cousin