I am glad that you will represent us at the Troy gathering.  You will bear with you the gratitude of very many teachers whose hearts are swelling with repressed indignation at the injustice which you expose, but who have not grown strong enough yet to give open utterance to words which would jeopardize the positions on which they depend for support.  There is not a female principal in Brooklyn or New York whose salary exceeds the half of that of the male principals.  Each female principal and assistant is required to attend the normal school under penalty of loss of position, while male teachers are excused from such attendance.  There are plenty of indignation meetings among us.

In August Miss Anthony planned a meeting at Saratoga and, as on a previous occasion, every speaker failed her, nor could she find among the visitors one who could help her out.  As she was not in the habit of giving up what she undertook, she went through the meeting alone, making the speeches herself.  Her faithful friend Judge Hay[22] came to her rescue with a donation of $20 and she was just able to pay expenses.

The public was not in a mood for woman’s conventions.  The presidential campaign was at its height, with three tickets in the field, and the troubles in Kansas were approaching a crisis.  In September came the news of the raid at Osawatomie and that thirty out of the fifty settlers had been killed by the “border ruffians.”  This brought especial gloom to the Anthony homestead, as the dispatches also stated that the night before the encounter, John Brown had slept in the cabin of the young son Merritt, and for weeks they were unable to learn whether he were among the thirty who died or the twenty who lived.  At last the welcome letters came which related how the coffee was just ready to be put on the table in the cabin when the sound of firing was heard, and how without waiting to drink it, John Brown and his little band rushed to the conflict.  The old hero gave strict orders to Merritt not to leave the house, as he had been very ill, but as soon as they were out of sight he seized his gun, staggered down to the bank of the Marais du Cygne and was soon in the thick of the fight.  When it was over he crawled on his hands and knees back to his cabin, where he lay ill for weeks, entirely alone and uncared for.  A letter from Miss Anthony to this brother shows the tender, domestic side of her nature, which the public is seldom permitted to see: 

[Illustration: 

  SUSAN B. ANTHONY. 
  AT THE AGE OF 36.  FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE.]

How much rather would I have you at my side tonight than to think of your daring and enduring greater hardships even than our Revolutionary heroes.  Words can not tell how often we think of you or how sadly we feel that the terrible crime of this nation against humanity is being avenged on the heads of our sons and brothers....  Wednesday night, Mr. Mowry, who was in the battle,