she
steps rapidly toward me and I perceive in her hand a most
statesmanlike roll of MSS. The eyes scan me coolly and
interrogatively but the pleasant voice gives me a yet pleasanter
greeting. There's something very attractive, even fascinating in
that voice--a faint echo of the alto vibration--the tone of power.
Her smile is very sweet and genial, and lights up the pale, worn
face rarely. She talks awhile in her kindly, incisive way. "We're
not foolishly or blindly aggressive," says she, tersely; "we don't
lead a fight against the true and noble institutions of the world.
We only seek to substitute for various barbarian ideas, those of a
higher civilization--to develop a race of earnest, thoughtful,
conscientious women." And I thought as I remembered various
newspaper attacks, that here was not much to object to. The world
is the better for thee, Susan.

She rises; "Come, let me introduce you to Mrs. Stanton." And we
walk into the inner sanctum, a tiny bit of a room, nicely carpeted,
one-windowed and furnished with two desks, two chairs, a little
table--and the senior editor, Mrs. Stanton. The short, substantial
figure, with its handsome black dress and silver crown of curls, is
sufficiently interesting. The fresh, girlish complexion, the
laughing blue eyes and jolly voice are yet more so. Beside her
stands her sixteen-year-old daughter, who is as plump, as jolly, as
laughing-eyed as her mother. We study Cady Stanton's handsome face
as she talks on rapidly and facetiously. Nothing little or mean in
that face; no line of distrust or irony; neither are there wrinkles
of care--life has been pleasant to this woman.

[Illustration:

SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
AT THE AGE OF 48.]

We hear a bustle in the outer room--rapid voices and laughing
questions--then the door is suddenly thrown open and in steps a
young Aurora, habited in a fur-trimmed cloak, with a jaunty black
velvet cap and snowy feather set upon her dark clustering curls.
What sprite is this, whose eyes flash and sparkle with a thousand
happy thoughts, whose dimples and rosy lips and white teeth make so
charming a picture? "My dear Anna," says Susan, starting up, and
there's a shower of kisses. Then follows an introduction to Anna
Dickinson. As we clasp hands for a moment, I look into the great
gray eyes that have flashed w