Susan B. Anthony was of sturdy New England stock, and it was at the foot of Old Greylock, South Adams, Mass., that she gave forth her first rebellious cry.  There the baby steps were taken, and at the village school the first stitches were learned, and the A B C duly mastered.  When five winters had passed over Susan’s head, there came a time of great domestic commotion, and, in her small way, the child seized the idea that permanence is not the rule of life.  The family moved to Battenville, N.Y., where Mr. Anthony became one of the wealthiest men in Washington County.  Susan can still recall the stately coldness of the great house—­how large the bare rooms, with their yellow-painted floors, seemed, in contrast with her own diminutiveness, and the outlook of the schoolroom where for so many years, with her brothers and sisters, she pursued her studies under private tutors.

Mr. Anthony was a stern Hicksite Quaker.  In Susan’s early life he objected on principle to all forms of frivolous amusement, such as music, dancing, or novel reading, while games and even pictures were regarded as meaningless luxuries.  Such puritanical convictions might have easily degenerated into mere cant; but underlying all was a broad and firm basis of wholesome respect for individual freedom and a brave adherence to truth.  He was a man of good business capacity, and a thorough manager of his wide and lucrative interests.  He saw that compensation and not chance ruled in the commercial world, and he believed in the same just, though often severe, law in the sphere of morals.  Such a man was not apt to walk humbly in the path mapped out by his religious sect.  He early offended by choosing a Baptist for a wife.  For this first offense he was “disowned,” and, according to Quaker usage, could only be received into fellowship again by declaring himself “sorry” for his crime in full meeting.  He was full of devout thankfulness for the good woman by his side, and destined to be thankful to the very end for this companion, so calm, so just, so far-seeing.  He rose in meeting, and said he was “sorry” that the rules of the society were such that, in marrying the woman he loved, he had committed offense!  He admitted that he was “sorry” for something, so was taken back into the body of the faithful!  But his faith had begun to weaken in many minor points of discipline.  His coat soon became a cause of offense and called forth another reproof from those buttoned up in conforming garments.  The petty forms of Quakerism began to lose their weight with him altogether, and he was finally disowned for allowing the village youth to be taught dancing in an upper room of his dwelling.  He was applied to for this favor on the ground that young men were under great temptation to drink if the lessons were given in the hotel; and, being a rigid temperance man, he readily consented, though his principles, in regard to dancing, would not allow his own sons and daughters to join in the amusement.  But the society could accept no such discrimination in what it deemed sin, nor such compromise with worldly frivolity, and so Mr. Anthony was seen no more in meeting.  But, in later years, in Rochester he was an attentive listener to Rev. William Henry Channing.