children attended, and then went further
afield to teach in nearby villages. At fifteen Susan was teaching a
district school for $1.50 a week and board, and although it was hard
for her to be away from home, she accepted it as a Friend's duty to
provide good education for children. Now Presbyterian neighbors
criticized her father, protesting that well-to-do young ladies should
not venture into paid work.

Daniel Anthony was now a wealthy man, his factory the largest and most
prosperous in that part of the country, and he could afford more and
better education for his daughters. He sent Guelma, the eldest, to
Deborah Moulson's Friends' Seminary near Philadelphia, where for $125
a year "the inculcation of the principles of Humility, Morality, and
Virtue" received particular attention; and when Guelma was asked to
stay on a second year as a teacher, he suggested that Susan join her
there as a pupil.

* * * * *

It was a long journey from Battenville to Philadelphia in 1837, and
when Susan left her home on a snowy afternoon with her father, she
felt as if the parting would be forever. Her first glimpse of the
world beyond Battenville interested her immensely until her father
left her at the seminary, and then she confessed to her diary, "Oh
what pangs were felt. It seemed impossible for me to part with him. I
could not speak to bid him farewell."[8] She tried to comfort herself
by writing letters, and wrote so many and so much that Guelma often
exclaimed, "Susan, thee writes too much; thee should learn to be
concise." As it was a rule of the seminary that each letter must first
be written out carefully on a slate, inspected by Deborah Moulson,
then copied with care, inspected again, and finally sent out after
four or five days of preparation, all spontaneity was stifled and her
letters were stilted and overvirtuous. This censorship left its mark,
and years later she confessed, "Whenever I take my pen in hand, I
always seem to be mounted on stilts."[9]

To her diary she could confide her real feelings--her discouragement
over her lack of improvement and her inability to understand her many
"sins," such as not dotting an _i_, too much laughter, or smiling at
her friends instead of reproving them for frivolous conduct. She
wrote, "Thought so much of my resolutions to do better in the future
that even my dreams were filled with these desires.... Although I have
been guilty of much levity and