The next day after the reunion a merry party of thirty, the guests of a cousin, William Anthony, started in two great coaches, each drawn by six horses, for the all-day trip to the top of Mount Greylock. The gayest and happiest of them all was Miss Anthony, with her red shawl over her shoulders, and her heart as light as when she used to climb these mountainsides, a little, barefooted girl, more than seventy years ago. Several days thereafter were spent visiting the pleasant homes of the relatives, and going with her friends to point out the various places of interest. Every spot connected with her early life was as sacred to them as it was dear to her. Together they went to the deserted Quaker meeting house, a century and a half old, and were shown the very spot where sat the grandfather, the father, mother and little ones; and the raised bench occupied by the grandmother, who was a "high-seat Quaker," and Aunt Hannah Hoxie, the preacher. They strolled through the little graveyard, with its lines of unmarked mounds. They visited the site of the old mill, built by Daniel Anthony at the very beginning of the manufacturing industry, where now only a few sunken stones mark the foundation. They rested beneath the great trees which stand like sentinels in front of the girlhood home of the mother, the house long since crumbled away. They gazed curiously at the ancient Bowen's Tavern, the favorite stopping-place of the mountaineers in early days.
And then they went with Miss Anthony into her own old home. They stepped reverently into the very room where she was born. They climbed to the garret and she pointed out the exact spot by the tiny window where she used to sit with her simple playthings. They stood with her by the little stream which still ran merrily through the dooryard, and listened with misty eyes as she recalled many touching incidents of days long past; but, however her own heart might have ached with tender recollections, there were no words of vain longing, no useless tears for those who had fulfilled their mission and passed away, leaving to her their legacy of hope and courage and determination. Strong, brave and cheerful, she honored the memory of the dead in showing herself by her works to be the worthy descendant of a noble race. And here, where the story of this pure, single-hearted, self-sacrificing life began, it shall be ended.
The usual fate of reformers is "praise when the ear has grown too dull to hear, fame when the heart it should have thrilled is numb." Seldom it is, indeed, that they live to see the fulfillment of the end for which they labored, and even recognition usually is deferred until it can be given only to a memory, but there are a few happy exceptions. While true reformers seek no personal reward, those who love them rejoice when they are spared to receive the honors they have earned. Susan B. Anthony's self-imposed task, for almost half a century, has been to secure equal rights for women—social, civil and political. When she began her crusade, woman in social life was "cabin'd, cribb'd, confined," to an extent which scarcely can be conceived by the present independent and self-reliant generation; in law she was but little better than a slave; in politics, a mere cipher. Today in society she has practically unlimited freedom; in the business world most of the obstacles have been removed; the laws, although still unjust in many respects, have been revolutionized in her favor; in four States women have the full franchise, in one the municipal ballot, in twenty-five a vote on school questions, and in four others some form of suffrage; while in each campaign their recognition as a political factor grows more marked. Miss Anthony's part in securing these concessions may be judged from the record of these pages. She is the only woman who has given her whole time and effort to this one end, with no division of interest in behalf of husband and children, no diversion of other public questions. Is there an example in all history of either man or woman who devoted half a century of the hardest, most persistent labor for one reform?
"Of the dead naught shall be spoken except good," is a rule so universally observed that post mortem compliments have little weight, but when beautiful things are said of those who still live and toil, they are full of meaning. Not only is it a delight to her contemporaries, but it will be a pleasure to future generations who shall read her history, that Miss Anthony lived to receive her meed of appreciation. While not all of even the enlightened minds of today have progressed far enough to accept her doctrine of perfect equality, which will be universally admitted by the next generation, there are few who do not recognize and honor the splendid character of the woman and the service she has rendered. Just as these closing words are being written, the State superintendent of public works, George W. Aldridge, announces that he has ordered her face to be carved in the Capitol at Albany, one of the magnificent public buildings of the world. Here, wrought in imperishable stone, amidst those of the country's greatest warriors and statesmen, it will look down forever upon that grand staircase whose marble steps were so many times pressed by her weary feet, as she made her annual pilgrimage to plead for liberty.
The sweetest strains in this great oratorio are the tributes of women voicing their love and gratitude. They come from those in all the walks of life, and a distinguishing feature is that they who have known her longest and best are most loyal and devoted. The secret of this is perfectly expressed by May Wright Sewall, when she says:
Mortals with all their consciousness of their own infirmities are exacting of one another. It is a proof of the infinite possibilities involved in the human soul, and a foundation for the infinite hope which sustains us, that we are satisfied with nothing less than perfection in other people. Is a woman great? To please us she must be also good. Is a woman both great and good? We are not satisfied unless she be likewise loving and lovable. No one can come near to the life of Miss Anthony without realizing how responsive she is to personal needs; how lively in her sympathies; how instinctive her outreaching of the helping hand. The same fidelity and single-minded loyalty which have characterized her public career, distinguish her in all private relations. Others may forget us in our griefs, she never forgets. Others may forget us in our pleasures, she never forgets.
It is indeed true that Miss Anthony never forgets. In her letters to hundreds of people, she recollects always to send a message to the different members of the family, to refer to some agreeable incident of their acquaintance, and to express either pleasure or regret over personal affairs which any one else would have failed to remember amidst such a pressure of work and responsibility.
After an unbroken friendship of twenty-five years, Frances E. Willard, herself one of the grandest women of the century, paid this beautiful tribute in December, 1897:
Ever since I "came to myself" my love and loyalty have enveloped the name, Susan B. Anthony. I look upon her as that figure full of courage, resource and dignity which will yet be enshrined in the admiring affection of the whole republic, even as it already has been for so long in that of thoughtful women. Others have done nobly and we count over their names with devout remembrance and gratitude, but Susan B. Anthony by reason of her heroic self-sacrifice, her lonely life, her changeless devotion, her disregard for money and position, her concentration of purpose and universal good will, has made for herself a place on the highest pedestal in America's pantheon of women.
We do not forget "the slings and arrows" of the earlier time, now that she is justly honored in these years of greater intelligence and progress; we do not forget that high sense of personal integrity which led her to pay off the debts on The Revolution, although no legal obligation rested upon her to do so; we do not forget her testing of an unjust law in the great "case" in Rochester; we do not forget that (jointly with her great associate, Mrs. Stanton) she prepared for us that invaluable historic record of the suffrage movement from its earliest inception; we do not forget the untiring labors which have carried her, from youth to age, into every nook and corner of the Union; and many of us are cognizant of unnumbered acts of personal kindness toward women in need who cherish her as if she were their sister or their mother. Although the press once misrepresented her, it would hardly venture to do so now, for her standing with the public is such that not to know Miss Anthony argues one's self unknown, and to vilify her argues one's self a villain.
Blessed Sister Susan, accept the homage of one whom you have cheered and comforted, and who rejoices to believe that the loving friendship begun here shall grow and deepen in the bright light of that happier world where there is no injustice, and where we have abundant reason to believe that women will stand on a plane of perfect equality.