of an experienced general, sparing no one who could be pressed into service, and herself least of all.  On July 15, during the New York Draft Riots, she writes home:  “These are terrible times.  The Colored Orphan Asylum which was burned was but one block from Mrs. Stanton’s, and all of us left the house on Monday night.  Yesterday when I started for Cooper Institute I found the cars and stages had been stopped by the mob and I could not get to the office.  I took the ferry and went to Flushing to stay with my cousin, but found it in force there.  We all arose and dressed in the middle of the night, but it was finally gotten under control.”

Miss Anthony had many heartaches during these trying times and longed more and more for that strength which had been taken from her forever.  Writing to her mother of her brother Daniel R.’s election as mayor of Leavenworth, Kan., she says:  “O, how has our dear father’s face flitted before me as I have thought what his happiness would have been over this honor.  Last night when my head was on my pillow, I seemed to be in the old carriage jogging homeward with him, while he happily recounted D.R.’s qualifications for this high post and accepted his election as the triumph of the opposition to rebels and slaveholders.  Every day I appreciate more fully father’s desire for justice to every human being, the lowest and blackest as well as the highest and whitest, and my constant prayer is to be a worthy daughter.”

On the anniversary of his death she writes again to her mother:  “It has seemed to me last night and today that I must fly to you and with you sit down in the quiet.  It is torture here with not one who knew or cared for the loved one.  It is sacrilege to speak his name or tell my grief to those who knew him not.  O, how my soul reaches out in yearning to his dear spirit!  Does he see me, will he, can he, come to me in my calm, still moments and gently minister and lift me up into nobler living and working?”

In a letter to her, relative to the sale of the home, the mother uses these touching words:  “If it had been my heart that had ceased to beat, all might have gone on as before, but now all must go astray.  I know I ought to get rid of this care, and Mary and I should not try to live here alone, but every foot of ground is sacred to me, and I love every article bought by the dear father of my children.”  On this subject Miss Anthony writes to her sister Mary: 

Your letter sent a pang to my very heart’s core that the dear old home, so full of the memory of our father, must be given up.  I do wish it could be best to keep it, and yet I do not think he will be less with us away from that loved spot, for my experience in the past months disproves such feeling.  Every place, every movement, almost, suggests him.  Last evening, I strolled west on Forty-fifth street to the Hudson river, a mile or more.  There was newly-sawed lumber there and the smell carried me back, back to the old sawmill