t will
give them courage and strength to speak for woman--and so let us hope
and hope on."

As Mrs. Stanton's health forbade her going on the lecture platform in
the autumn of 1880, and as Miss Anthony had now enough money ahead to
dare claim a little leisure from public work, they decided to settle
down to the serious business of writing the History of Woman Suffrage.
For this purpose Miss Anthony went to Tenafly in October and ensconced
herself in Mrs. Stanton's cosy home among the "blue hills of Jersey."
The work already was advanced far enough to show that it could not
possibly be restricted to the one volume into which it had enlarged from
the 500-page pamphlet at first intended, and the task loomed up in an
appalling manner. Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson, the generous patron of so
many progressive movements, gave Miss Anthony $1,000 for immediate
expenses and so they went on with the work, delving among old papers and
letters, compiling, cutting, pasting, writing and re-writing, sending
over and over to the women of different States for local history, going
into New York again and again to see the publishers, and performing all
the drudgery demanded by such an undertaking, which can be appreciated
only by the few who have experienced it.

Miss Anthony hated this kind of work and it was torture for her to give
up her active life and sit poring over the musty records of the past.
Her diary contains the usual impatient expressions of this feeling, and
in her letters to friends she says: "O, how tired and sick I am of
boning down to facts and figures perpetually, and how I long to be set
free from what to me has been a perfect prison for the last six months!"
She stuck to it with Spartan heroism, however, knowing that otherwise it
never would be done, but she was not unwilling occasionally to sally
forth and fill a lecture engagement or attend a convention. At the Rhode
Island annual meeting she made the principal address, and the next day
went, with Mrs. J. Ellen Foster, to Danbury, Mass., to call on John G.
Whittier. Almost his first words were, "And so our dear Lucretia Mott is
gone!" She had died the evening before, November 11, aged nearly
eighty-eight.

Miss Anthony had expected her death, but was inexpressibly grieved to
lose from out her life that sweet presence which had been an inspiration
for thirty years, whose staunch support had never failed, even when
friends were fewest and fortune at its lowest ebb. In t