e could be
comprehended only by those who lived on the same high plane. It was a
deep regret to all who heard this exquisite eulogy that it was not
preserved word for word.

Reference has been made in a preceding chapter to Miss Anthony's
preparations for the writing of her biography, which were interrupted by
the urgent call from California. All her letters from friends and many
from strangers, for several years, had urged that it should not longer
be deferred. But who should do it? That was the important question.
There were a number of women who possessed the ability and the desire,
but some were absorbed in family cares and others in breadwinning
occupations; where was the one who could and would give a year or more
of her life to this vast undertaking? The question was still unanswered
when Miss Anthony laid everything else aside and plunged into the
California campaign. Long before this had ended, she had exacted a
promise from Mrs. Harper, who had charge of the State press during that
long and trying period, to come to Rochester and write the biography.
She herself agreed to remain at home till the work should be finished,
and give every possible assistance from the storehouse of reminiscence
and the wealth of material which had been so carefully garnered during
all the years.

So the first of March, 1897, the work began. A little while before, Miss
Anthony had written to a friend: "Some one soon will write the story of
my life and will want everything she can get about me, but she will find
there is precious little when she sits down to the task." What the
biographer did find was two large rooms filled, from floor to ceiling,
with material of a personal and historical nature. It seemed at first as
if nothing less than a cyclopedia could contain what would have to be
used. Ranged around the walls were trunks, boxes and bags of letters and
other documents, dating back for a century and tied in bundles just as
they had been put away from year to year. There were piles of legal
papers, accounts, receipts and memoranda of every description, and the
diaries and note-books of sixty years. The shelves were filled with
congressional, convention and other reports; there were stacks of
magazines and newspapers, large numbers of scrap-books and bushels of
scraps waiting to be pasted. There was, in fact, everything of this
nature which can be imagined, all carefully saved and put away, waiting
for the leisure when they cou