ing this, and the present hectic
activity of the anti-suffragists, one must feel that they have either
abandoned their principle or widened their views. For Julia Ward Howe I
had an immense admiration; but, though from first to last I saw much of
her, I never felt that I really knew her. She was a woman of the widest
culture, interested in every progressive movement. With all her big
heart she tried to be a democrat, but she was an aristocrat to the very
core of her, and, despite her wonderful work for others, she lived in
a splendid isolation. Once when I called on her I found her resting her
mind by reading Greek, and she laughingly admitted that she was using
a Latin pony, adding that she was growing "rusty." She seemed a little
embarrassed by being caught with the pony, but she must have been
reassured by my cheerful confession that if _I_ tried to read either
Latin or Greek I should need an English pony.

Of Frances E. Willard, who frequently came to Boston, I saw a great
deal, and we soon became closely associated in our work. Early in our
friendship, and at Miss Willard's suggestion, we made a compact that
once a week each of us would point out to the other her most serious
faults, and thereby help her to remedy them; but we were both too sane
to do anything of the kind, and the project soon died a natural death.
The nearest I ever came to carrying it out was in warning Miss Willard
that she was constantly defying all the laws of personal hygiene. She
never rested, rarely seemed to sleep, and had to be reminded at the
table that she was there for the purpose of eating food. She was always
absorbed in some great interest, and oblivious to anything else, I never
knew a woman who could grip an audience and carry it with her as she
could. She was intensely emotional, and swayed others by their emotions
rather than by logic; yet she was the least conscious of her physical
existence of any one I ever knew, with the exception of Susan B.
Anthony. Like "Aunt Susan," Miss Willard paid no heed to cold or heat or
hunger, to privation or fatigue. In their relations to such trifles both
women were disembodied spirits.

Another woman doing wonderful work at this time was Mrs. Quincy Shaw,
who had recently started her day nurseries for the care of tenement
children whose mothers labored by the day. These nurseries were new in
Boston, as was the kindergarten system she also established. I saw the
effect of her work in the lives