A large number of friends and admirers of the private virtues and public services of Miss Anthony assembled at the Woman’s Bureau in Twenty-third street last evening to congratulate the lady upon this auspicious anniversary, and to wish her the customary “many happy returns of the day.”  The parlors were dazzling with light, the atmosphere laden with perfume, the walls covered with beautiful works of art, and the sweet sounds of women’s laughter and silvery voices filled the apartments.  Miss Susan B. Anthony stood at the entrance of the front parlor to receive her numerous friends.  She wore a dress of rich shot silk, dark red and black, cut square in front, with a stomacher of white lace and a pretty little cameo brooch.  All female vanities she rigorously discarded—­no hoop, train, bustle, panier, chignon, powder, paint, rouge, patches, no nonsense of any sort.  From her kindly eyes and from her gentle lips, there beamed the sweetest smiles to all those loving friends who, admiring her really admirable efforts in the cause of human freedom, her undaunted heroism amid a dark and gloomy warfare, were glad to press her hand and show their appreciation of her character and achievements.

Every daily paper in the city had some pleasant comment, while scores of loving and appreciative letters were received.  Accompanying these were many beautiful gifts and also checks to the amount of $1,000.[52]

[Illustration: 

  SUSAN B. ANTHONY
  AT THE AGE OF 50, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY SARONY.]

After the guests had assembled, Isabella Beecher Hooker announced that Anna T. Randall would read a poem written for the occasion by Phoebe Gary.[53] She was followed by Mrs. Hooker, who read some delightfully humorous verses from her husband, John Hooker, dedicated to Miss Anthony.  There were more poetical tributes, recitations by Sarah Fisher Ames and other well-known elocutionists, and then a call for the recipient of all these honors.  Miss Anthony stepped forward, completely overwhelmed and, after stammering her thanks for the unexpected ovation of the evening, said in a voice which broke in spite of her self-control:  “If this were an assembled mob opposing the rights of women I should know what to say.  I never made a speech except to rouse people to action.  My work is that of subsoil plowing....  I ask you tonight, as your best testimony to my services, on this, the twentieth anniversary of my public work, to join me in making a demand on Congress for a Sixteenth Amendment giving women the right to vote, and then to go with me before the several legislatures to secure its ratification; and when the Secretary of State proclaims that that amendment has been ratified by twenty-eight States, then Susan B. Anthony will stop work—­but not before.”

When all was over, before she slept, Miss Anthony wrote this characteristically tender little note to the one who never was absent from her mind: