The Thirteenth Annual Convention of the National Association opened January 18, 1881, Elizabeth Cady Stanton in the chair. The first session was devoted to a memorial service for Lucretia Mott. The stage was decorated with draperies and flowers and a large portrait of Mrs. Mott stood on an easel. An exquisite floral harp was presented by the colored citizens of the District. In the audience were many distinguished people, including Mrs. Hayes and her guests from the White House, members of the Supreme Court and of Congress, and other noted personages. The music was rendered by the colored choir of St. Augustine's Church. Miss Anthony said in part: "The highest tribute she could pay was that during the past thirty years she had always felt sure she was right when she had the sanction of Lucretia Mott. Next to that of her own conscience she most valued the approval of her sainted friend; and it was now a great satisfaction that in all the differences of opinion as to principles and methods in their movement, Mrs. Mott had stood firmly with the National Association, of which she was, to the day of her death, the honored and revered vice-president." Short and touching addresses were made by Mrs. Sewall, Miss Couzins, Frederick Douglass and Robert Purvis, and the eulogy was delivered by Mrs. Stanton.
There was an effort during this convention to secure in Congress a "standing committee on the rights of women." It was ably advocated by Senator McDonald and defeated largely through the smooth manipulation of Roscoe Conkling. The convention closed with a reception and supper for the delegates, given by Mrs. Spofford at the Riggs House.
Miss Anthony and Mrs. Stanton went from Washington to the home of Mrs. Mott, where they were welcomed by her daughters, who sent for Sarah Pugh, and the old friends had a lovely day, made sacred by reminiscences of the dear one gone forever. For more than a quarter of a century this had been Miss Anthony's stopping-place when in Philadelphia,[3] but she was welcomed at once into another beautiful home, that of the wife and daughters of J. Heron Foster, founder of the Pittsburg Dispatch. All were deeply interested in the great question, and Julia and Rachel henceforth were ranked among the most earnest and valued workers.
It was soon afterwards that a reporter of the Chicago News started the following paragraph:
Susan B. Anthony has never condescended to love a man but she lavishes a heap of affection on a little gray Skye terrier which she takes around with her wherever she goes. This dog was given her by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and having recently lost a favorite Newfoundland pet, she accepted the frolicsome Skye with hearty gratitude. She has taught the apt brute every variety of trick and its intelligence seems to be unlimited. The little creature sleeps on her bed, eats from her hand, has blankets, gold and silver collars and every kind of ornament and comfort. Miss Anthony is accompanied by this accomplished canine everywhere, and during the recent convention in Washington "Birdie," as the dog is called, occupied a prominent place on the platform, either cuddled up in her voluminous lap or coiled in a frowsy heap at her feet.
This was copied into many newspapers throughout the country, often accompanied by editorial comment, facetious, disapproving, and sometimes deducing from this text the solemn fact that every woman's nature must have something to love, or that while women were so frivolous they had no right to ask for the ballot. This extract from a half-column editorial in the New York Graphic will serve as an example:
There is something wrong here. If Miss Anthony were to carry around with her a Newfoundland or a good bloodhound the spectacle would have nothing incongruous in it. If she would make a pet of a six-barrelled revolver and another of a large club that would be appropriate. But a Skye terrier, a miserable, little, whining pup, a coached, coddled and coaxed dog making repeated journeys in a basket and fed on crackers and milk—what sort of a thing is this for a person of reformative powers to be associated with? It is an argument in favor of woman's rights that women are capable of all the masculinity necessary to voting and the making of laws; but who ever heard of a President, a senator, a member of the House of Representatives, a legislator of any kind, going about with a sick dog in his arms, soothing the little wretch into its proper sleep, providing it with its regular nourishment and superintending its morning awakenings and the accompanying ablutions?
Women can never come to the head of the government, can never assist to a large extent in its management, until they reform these weaknesses. It isn't necessary that they should chew tobacco and swear, and perhaps they needn't smoke cigars and drive fast horses; but their leaders must abandon the pet dog, the favorite kitten, the especial hen and the abominable bird. They may still sew and still wear the petticoat; but if they enter politics they must submit to the hard raps that men expect, without putting their hands to their eyes and sobbing that their feelings have been hurt. There must be reform, and Miss Anthony and Mrs. Stanton must set about it in earnest and at once.
A Skye terrier for Miss Anthony! Merciful heavens! after all these years has it come to this? Catnip for Julius Cæsar! Boneset tea and black stockings with garters for Alexander the Great! A locket with hair in it on the bosom of the first Napoleon! A Skye terrier! We have fallen upon evil days.
Under this in her scrap-book Miss Anthony wrote, "Doesn't this cap the climax?" Of course, there was not the slightest foundation for the paragraph. Miss Anthony never owned a dog or any pet animal, not from dislike but because she felt that humanity needed all her time and affection.
Work on the History was at once resumed, as its editors were now convinced that it never could be finished except by the hardest kind of labor without cessation. Of the able assistance rendered by many women throughout the country, perhaps that of Clarina Howard Nichols was the most valuable. She possessed not only great literary ability but also the true editorial instinct and was one of the few left of the "old guard." Out of her fine memory she wove a number of delightful chapters, all written while lying on her back an almost helpless invalid and over seventy years old. She had long ago gone to California to be with her children, and Miss Anthony's weekly letters to her were of the most loving character and answered in the same affectionate strain. Mrs. Nichols hesitated to use the names of those who had been most violent in their opposition to the rights of women, because she disliked to make their children blush for them, but Miss Anthony wrote: