more happy, than many of those in legal marriage.  It will not do for me to read romances; they are too real to shake off.  What is the irresistible power so terrifically pictured in both Hetty and Arthur, which led them on to the very ill they most would shun?

To crown the result I went to the colored church to hear Sallie Holley, but she did not come.  Mrs. Coleman was in the pulpit and read a poem of Gerald Massey on Peace, spoke a few minutes and said she saw Miss Anthony present and hoped she’d occupy the time.  Then rang round the house the appalling cry of “Miss Anthony.”  There was no escape, and I staggered up and stammered out a few words and sat down—­dead, killed—­thoroughly enraged that I had not spent the forenoon in making myself ready at least to read something, instead of poring over Adam Bede.

To this Mrs. Stanton replies:  “You speak of the effect of Adam Bede on you.  It moved me deeply, and The Mill on the Floss is another agony.  Such books as these explain why the ‘marriage question’ is all-absorbing.  O, Susan, are you ever coming to visit me again?  It would be like a new life to spend a day with you.  How I shudder when I think of our awful experience with those mobs last winter, and yet even now I long for action.”  Miss Anthony was equally restive in her own seclusion which, although by no means an idle one, had shut her from the great outside world that at this hour seemed to cry aloud for the best service of every man and woman.  In January, 1862, she went to Mrs. Stanton’s and together they prepared an address for the State Anti-Slavery Convention to be held at Albany, February 7 and 8, and here in the society of Garrison and Phillips, she received fresh inspiration.  Soon after reaching home, at Phillips’ request, she arranged a lecture for him in Rochester.  After paying all expenses, she sent him a check—­there is no record of its size—­but he returned a portion, saying: 

DEAR SUSAN:  Thank you, but you are too generous.  I can’t take such an awful big lion’s share, even to satisfy your modesty.  Put the enclosed, with my thanks, into your own pocket, as a slight compensation for all your trouble.  Remember and pay my successor not one cent more than you can afford....  I had to charter a locomotive all to myself to get back from Oswego in time for Rondout.  Riding in the darkness with the engineer through the snow gave me time to think of the pleasant group and supper I missed the night before at the Hallowells.  Kind regards to them.  Tell Mrs. Hallowell her lunch tasted good about midnight, as I entered Syracuse.

Miss Anthony managed the usual series of lectures this winter.  When she sent Mr. Tilton his check he returned this rollicking answer: