er's room, the keeping-room and
the weaving-room; and what a dinner the famous cooks of the
Anthony-Lapham-Read-Richardson families had prepared for this great
occasion! Not the least important features were the eighteen apple-pies
eaten with the world-renowned Berkshire cheese; and then the sweet bread
and butter, the fried chicken, the baked beans, the rich preserves and
cream, the delicious cake--but why attempt to describe a New England
dinner prepared by New England women? Those who have eaten know what it
is; those who have not, can not be made to understand.

Where Susan B. Anthony sat was the head of the table; at her right hand,
the brother Daniel R.; at her left, the brother Merritt; and close by,
the quiet, smiling sister Mary; and then all along down the line, the
cousins, the nephews, the nieces, three and four generations, who had
joined so heartily with her for the success of this rare occasion.
Before the dinner began, Miss Anthony asked that, in accordance with the
custom of their ancestors, there might be a moment of silent thanks; and
at the close of the meal, when the chatter and mirth were stilled, she
arose and in touching words paid tribute to the loved and gone who once
blessed these rooms by their presence. She then called upon the
representatives of the different branches, old and young, who, in prose
or poetry, with wit or pathos, made delightful response.

[Illustration: THE QUAKER MEETING HOUSE, ADAMS, MASS. 150 YEARS OLD.
SEVERAL MEMBERS OF THE ANTHONY FAMILY IN THE GROUP OF PIONEERS.]

After all had finished they adjourned to the dooryard and a reception
commenced which even the roomy old house could not have accommodated.
For several hours a long line of carriages wound up the hill--the people
of Adams and vicinity coming to pay respect to their illustrious
townswoman and her relatives and friends. The immediate members of the
family were photographed in a group on the old porch, as was also the
dinner party gathered in the historic dooryard. The mountain air was
sweet and invigorating, and the view in every direction most enchanting.
A more picturesque spot scarcely can be imagined: in front, the long
range of Berkshire hills, a spur of the Green mountains of Vermont whose
faint outlines are visible in the distance; at the back, glorious "Old
Greylock," the highest peak in the State; at the right, the steep,
winding road leading down to the village a mile below, through a ravine
perfec