any other arguments
under the sun but just those for woman's right to have her opinion
counted at the ballot-box.

I have been pleading with Miss Willard for the last three months to
withdraw her threatened W. C. T. U. invasion of California this
year, and at last she has done it; now, for heaven's sake, don't
you propose a "Bible invasion." It is not because I hate religious
bigotry less than you do, or because I love prohibition less than
Frances Willard does, but because I consider suffrage more
important just now.

It seems that Miss Anthony's attitude ought to be perfectly understood
by the testimony here presented. It is one from which she never has
swerved and on which she is willing to stand in the pages of
history--entire freedom for herself from religious superstition--the
most absolute religious liberty for every other human being.

To return to the Washington convention: Among many pleasant social
features Miss Anthony was invited to an elegant luncheon given by Mrs.
John R. McLean in honor of the seventieth birthday of Mrs. Ulysses S.
Grant and, at the reception which followed, received the guests with
Mrs. Grant and Mrs. McLean.

[Illustration: Autograph: "I am yours with great respect and sincere
admiration, Julia D. Grant"]

At the close of the convention the principal speakers and many of the
delegates went to Philadelphia to a national conference, which was
largely attended. It was here that "Nelly Bly" had the famous interview
published in the New York World of February 2, 1896. She had tried to
secure this in Washington, but Miss Anthony could not spare time for it,
so she followed her to Philadelphia. It filled a page of the Sunday
edition and contained Miss Anthony's opinions on most of the leading
topics of the day, in the main correctly reported, although not a note
was taken. It began thus:

Susan B. Anthony! She was waiting for me. I stood for an instant in
the doorway and looked at her. She made a picture to remember and
to cherish. She sat in a low rocking-chair, an image of repose and
restfulness. Her well-shaped head, with its silken snowy hair
combed smoothly over her ears, rested against the back of the
chair. Her shawl had half fallen from her shoulders and her soft
black silk gown lay in gentle folds about her. Her slender hands
were folded idly in her lap, and her feet, crossed, just peeped