in the way of food but cornmeal and milk.  Mrs. Anthony made a kettle of mush which her husband pronounced “good enough for the queen.”  The only bed was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Anthony, and the rest slept on the floor.  Next day the household goods were brought from the city and all were soon busy putting the new home in order.  That was a long and lonesome winter.  The closest neighbors were the DeGarmos, and there were a number of other Quaker families in the city.  These called at once and performed every friendly office in their power, but the hearts of the exiles were very sad and home-sick.  The cause of human freedom was then uppermost in many minds, and the Anthonys found here congenial spirits in their strong anti-slavery convictions, and numerous little “abolition” meetings were held during that winter at their home and in those of their new friends.

When spring opened, the surroundings began to assume a more cheerful aspect.  The farm was a very pretty one of thirty-two acres.  The house stood on an elevation, the long walk that led up to it was lined on both sides with pinks, there were many roses and other flowers in the yard, and great numbers of peach, cherry and quince trees and currant and goose-berry bushes.  The scenery was peaceful and pleasant, but they missed the rugged hills and dashing, picturesque streams of their eastern home.  Back of the house were the barn, carriage-house and a small blacksmith shop.  Mrs. Anthony used to say that her happiest hours were spent on Sunday mornings, when her husband would heat the little forge and mend the kitchen and farm utensils, while she sat knitting and talking with him, Quakers making no difference between Sunday and other days of the week.  He had learned this kind of work in boyhood on his father’s farm and always enjoyed the relaxation it afforded from the cares and worries which crowded upon him in later years.

Mr. Anthony put into his farm the energy and determination characteristic of the man.  He rose early; he ploughed and sowed and reaped; he planted peach and apple orchards, and improved the property in many ways, but it was unprofitable work.  It seemed very small to him after the broad acres of his early home, and he was accustomed to refer to it as his “sixpenny farm.”  His life had been too large and too much among men of the great business world to make it possible for him to be content with the existence of a farmer.  While he retained his farm home, he very soon went into business in Rochester, connecting himself with the New York Life Insurance Company, then just coming into prominence, and used to say he made money enough out of that to afford the luxury of keeping the farm.  He was very successful, and continued with this company the remainder of his life.

On April 25, 1846, Miss Anthony received this invitation: