only,--where an abundant
opportunity was offered for a critical analysis of the idiosyncrasies of
the superior sex, especially in their dealings with women. The patience
of even such heroic souls as Lydia Becker and Caroline Biggs was almost
exhausted with the tergiversations of Members of the House of Commons.
Alas for the many fair promises broken, the hopes deferred, the votes
fully relied on and counted, all missing in the hour of action! One
crack of Mr. Gladstone's whip put a hundred Liberal members to
flight--members whom these noble women had spent years in educating. I
never visited the House of Commons that I did not see Miss Becker and
Miss Biggs trying to elucidate the fundamental principles of just
government to some of the legislators. Verily their divine faith and
patience merited more worthy action on the part of their alleged
representatives!

Miss Henrietta Mueller gave a farewell reception to Miss Anthony and me
on the eve of our departure for America, when we had the opportunity of
meeting once more most of the pleasant acquaintances we had made in
London. Although it was announced for the afternoon, we did, in fact,
receive all day, as many could not come at the hour appointed. Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell took breakfast with us; Mrs. Fawcett, Mrs. Saville,
and Miss Lord were with us at luncheon; Harriet Hosmer and Olive Logan
soon after; Mrs. Peter Taylor later, and from three to six o'clock the
parlors were crowded.

Returning from London I passed my birthday, November 12, 1883, in
Basingstoke. It was a sad day for us all, knowing that it was the last
day with my loved ones before my departure for America. When I imprinted
the farewell kiss on the soft cheek of my little granddaughter Nora in
the cradle, she in the dawn and I in the sunset of life, I realized how
widely the broad ocean would separate us. Miss Anthony, met me at
Alderly Edge, where we spent a few days with Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Bright.
There we found their noble sisters, Mrs. McLaren and Mrs. Lucas, young
Walter McLaren and his lovely bride, Eva Mueller, whom we had heard
several times on the suffrage platform. We rallied her on the step she
had lately taken, notwithstanding her sister's able paper on the
blessedness of a single life. While there, we visited Dean Stanley's
birthplace, but on his death the light and joy went out. The old church
whose walls had once echoed to his voice, and the house where he had
spent so many useful year