 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Becky Miller, Canal Winchester, Ohio. Eighty Years and More by Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Chapter 4 Life at Peterborough The year with us was never considered complete without a visit to Peterborough, New York, the home of Garrett Smith. Though he was a reformer and was very radical in many of his ideas, yet being a man of broad sympathies, culture, wealth, and position, he drew around him many friends of the most conservative opinions. He was a man of fine presence, rare physical beauty, most affable and courteous in manner, but his hospitalities were generous to an extreme and dispensed to all classes of society. Every year representatives from the Oneida tribe of Indians visited him. His father had early purchased of them large tracts of land, and there was a tradition among them that as an equivalent for the good bargains of the father, they had a right to the son's hospitality, with annual gifts of clothing and provisions. The slaves, too, had heard of Garrett Smith, the abolitionist, and of Peterborough as one of the safe points, and wrote for Canada. His mansion was, in fact, one of the stations on the underground railroad for slaves escaping from bondage, hence they, too, felt they had a right to a place under his protecting roof. On such occasions the barn and the kitchen floor were utilized as chambers for the black man from the southern plantation and the red man from his home in the forest. The spacious home was always enlivened with choice society from every part of the country. There one would meet members of the families of the old Dutch aristocracy, the Van Renselers, the Van Vectens, the Shilers, the Livingstons, the Bleakers, the Brickerhoffs, the Ten Ikes, the Millers, the Seymours, the Cochrans, the Biddles, the Barclays, the Wendels, and many others. As the lady of the house, Anne Carol Fitzhugh was the daughter of a wealthy slaveholder of Maryland, many agreeable Southerners were often among the guests. Our immediate family relatives were well represented by General John Cochran and his sisters, General Baird and his wife from West Point, the Fitzhughes from Oswego and Geneseo, the Bacchus and Talmans from Rochester, and the Swifts from Geneva. Here one was sure to meet scholars, philosophers, philanthropists, judges, bishops, clergymen, and statesmen. Judge Alfred Conkling, the father of Roscoe Conkling, was in his late years frequently seen at Peterborough. Tall and stately, after all life's troubled scenes, financial losses, and domestic staros, he used to say there was no spot on earth that seemed so like his idea of paradise. The proud, reserved judge was unaccustomed to manifestations of affection and tender interest in his behalf, and when Garrett, taking him by both hands, would in his softest tones say, Good morning, and inquire how he had slept and what he would like to do that day, and Nancy would greet him with equal warmth and pin a little bunch of roses in his buttonhole, I have seen the tears in his eyes. Their warm sympathies and sweet simplicity of manner melted the sternest natures and made the most reserved amiable. There never was such an atmosphere of love and peace, of freedom and good cheer in any other home I visited, and this was a universal testimony of those who were guests at Peterborough. To go anywhere else after a visit there was like coming down from the divine heights into the valley of humiliation. How changed from the early days when as strict Presbyterians they believed in all the doctrines of Calvin, then an indefinite gloom pervaded their home, their consciences were diseased. They attached such undue importance to forms that they went through three kinds of baptism. At one time Nancy would read nothing but the Bible, sing nothing but hymns, and play only sacred music. She felt guilty if she talked on any subject except religion. She was, in all respects, a fitting mate for her attractive husband. Exquisitely refined in feeling and manner, beautiful in face and form, earnest and sincere, she sympathized with him in all his ideas of religion and reform. Together they passed through every stage of theological experience, from the uncertain ground of superstition and speculation to the solid foundation of science and reason. The position of the church in the anti-slavery conflict, opening as it did all questions of ecclesiastical authority, Bible interpretation and church discipline, awakened them to new thought and broader views on religious subjects, and eventually emancipated them entirely from the old dogmas and formalities of their faith, and lifted them into the cheerful atmosphere in which they passed the remainder of their lives. Their only daughter, Elizabeth, added greatly to the attractions of the home circle as she drew many young people round her. Beside her personal charm she was the heiress of a vast estate and had many admirers. The favored one was Charles Dudley Miller of Utica, nephew of Mrs. Blandina Bleeker Dudley, founder of the Albany Observatory. At the close of his college life Mr. Miller had not only mastered the languages, mathematics, rhetoric and logic, but had learned the secret windings of the human heart. He understood the art of pleasing. These were the times when the anti-slavery question was up for hot discussion. In all the neighboring towns conventions were held in which James G. Burney, a southern gentleman who had emancipated his slaves, Charles Stewart of Scotland and George Thompson of England, Garrison, Phillips, May, Bariah Green, Foster, Abbey Kelly, Lucretia Mott, Douglas and others took part. Here too John Brown, Sanborn, Morton and Frederick Douglas met to talk over that fatal movement on Harper's Ferry. On the question of temperance also the people were in affirmant. Dr. Cheever's pamphlet, Deacon Giles's distillery, was scattered far and wide, and as he was sued for libel the question was discussed in the courts as well as at every fireside. Then came the father Matthew and Washingtonian movements and the position of the church on these questions intensified and embittered the conflict. This brought the Cheever's, the Pierponts, the Delevins, the Nortons and their charming wives to Peterborough. It was with such company and varied discussions on every possible phase of political, religious and social life that I spent weeks every year. Garrett Smith was cool and calm in debate and as he was armed at all points on these subjects he could afford to be patient and fair with an opponent, whether on the platform or at the fireside. These rousing arguments at Peterborough made social life seem tame and profitless elsewhere and the youngest of us felt that the conclusions reached in this school of philosophy were not to be questioned. The sisters of General Cochran, in disputes with their Dutch cousins in Schenectady and Albany, would end all controversy by saying, this question was fully discussed at Peterborough and settled. The youngsters frequently put the lessons of freedom and individual rights they heard so much of into practice and relieved their brains from the constant strain of argument on first principles by the wildest hilarity in dancing. All kinds of games and practical jokes carried beyond all bounds of propriety. These romps generally took place at Mr. Miller's. He used to say facetiously that they talked a good deal about liberty over the way, but he kept the goddess under his roof. One memorable occasion in which our enthusiasm was kept at white heat for two hours I must try to describe, the words cannot do it justice as it was preeminently a spectacular performance. The imagination even cannot do justice to the limp, woe-begone appearance of the actors in the closing scene. These romps were conducted on a purely democratic basis without regard to color, sex, or previous condition of servitude. It was rather a cold day in the month of March when cousin Charlie, as we called Mr. Miller, was superintending some men who were laying a plank-walk in the rear of his premises. Some half-dozen of us were invited to an early tea at Good Deacon Huntington's. Immediately after dinner, Miss Fitzhugh and Miss Van Shock decided to take a nap, that they might appear as brilliant as possible during the evening. That they might not be late, as they invariably were, cousin Lizzie and I decided to rouse them in good season with a generous sprinkling of cold water. In vain they struggled to keep the blankets around them. With equal force we pulled them away, and whenever a stray finger or toe appeared we brought fresh batteries to bear until they saw that passive resistance must give place to active hostility. We were armed with two watering pots. They armed themselves with two large-sized syringes used for showering potato bugs. With these weapons they gave us chase downstairs. We ran into a closet and held the door shut. They quietly waited our forthcoming. As soon as we opened the door to peep out, Miss Fitzhugh, who was large and strong, pulled it wide open and showered us with a vengeance. Then they fled into a large pantry where stood several pans of milk. At this stage cousin Charlie, hearing the rumpus, came to our assistance. He locked them in the pantry and returned to his work, whereupon they opened the window and showered him with milk, while he, in turn, pelted them with wet clothes, soaking in tubs nearby. As they were thinly clad, wet to the skin, and the cold, barge wind blew out round them, we were all in fatigue costume and starting. They implored us to let them out, which we did. And in return for our kindness they gave us a broad side of milk in our faces. Cousin Lizzie and I fled to the dark closet where they locked us in. After long weary waiting they came to offer us terms of capitulation. Lizzie agreed to fill their guns with milk and give them our watering pots full of water. And I agreed to call Cousin Charlie under my window until they emptied the contents of guns and pots on his head. My room was on the first floor, and Misfits Hughes immediately overhead. On these terms we accepted our freedom. Accordingly I gently raced the window and called Charlie confidentially within whispering distance, when down came a shower of water. As he stepped back to look up and see whence it came, and who made the attack, a stream of milk hit him on the forehead. His heels struck a plank and he felt backward to all appearance knocked down with a stream of milk. His humiliation was received with shouts of derisive laughter, and even the carpenters at work laid down their hammers and joined in the chorus. But his revenge was swift and capped the climax. Cold and wet as we all were and completely tired out, we commenced to disrobe and get ready for the tea party. Unfortunately I had forgotten to lock my door, and in walked Cousin Charlie with a quart bottle of liquid blacking which he prepared to empty on my devoted head. I begged so eloquently and trembled so at the idea of being dyed black that he said he would let me off on one condition, and that was to get him, by some means, into Misfits Hughes' room. So I ran screaming up the stairs as if hotly pursued by the enemy and begged her to let me in. She cautiously opened the door, but when she saw Charlie behind me she tried to force it shut. However, he was too quick for her. He had one leg and arm in, but at that stage of her toilette to let him in was impossible, and there they stood equally strong, firmly braced, she on one side of the door and he on the other. But the blacking he was determined she should have. So gauging her probable position, with one desperate effort he squeezed in a little farther, and raising the bottle, he poured the contents on her head. The blacking went streaming down over her face, white robe in person, and left her looking more like a bronze fury than one of Eve's most charming daughters. A yard or more of the carpet was ruined, the wallpaper and bedclothes battered, and the poor victim was unfit to be seen for a week at least. Charlie had a good excuse for his extreme measures, for as we all by turn played our tricks on him, it was necessary to keep us in some fear of punishment. This was but one of the many outrageous pranks we perpetuated on each other. To see us a few hours later, all absorbed in an anti-slavery or temperance convention, or dressed in our best, in high discourse with the philosophers, one would never think we could have been guilty of such consummate follies. It was, however, but the natural reaction from the general serious trend of our thoughts. It was in Peterborough, too, that I first met one who was then considered the most eloquent and impassioned orator on the anti-slavery platform, Henry B. Stanton. He had come over from Utica with Alvin Stewart's beautiful daughter, to whom reports said he was engaged. But as she soon after married Luther R. Marsh, there was a mistake somewhere. However, the rumor had its advantages. Regarding him as not in the matrimonial market, we were all much more free and easy in our manners with him than we would otherwise have been. A series of anti-slavery conventions was being held in Madison County, and there I had the pleasure of hearing him for the first time. As I had a passion for oratory, I was deeply impressed with his power. He was not so smooth and eloquent as Phillips, but he could make his audience both laugh and cry. The latter, Phillips himself, said he never could do. Mr. Stanton was then in his prime, a fine-looking, affable young man with remarkable conversational talent, and was ten years my senior, with the advantage that number of years necessarily gives. Two carriage-loads of ladies and gentlemen drove off every morning, sometimes ten miles to one of these conventions, returning late at night. I shall never forget those charming drives over the hills in Madison County, the bright autumnal days and the bewitching moonlight nights, the enthusiasm of the people in these great meetings, the thrilling oratory, and lucid arguments of the speakers all conspired to make these days memorable as among the most charming in my life. It seemed to me that I never had so much happiness crowded into one short month. I had become interested in the anti-slavery and temperance questions, and was deeply impressed with the appeals and arguments. I felt a new inspiration in life and was enthused with new ideas of individual rights and the basic principles of government, for the anti-slavery platform was the best school the American people ever had on which to learn Republican principles and ethics. These conventions and the discussions at my cousin's fireside I count among the great blessings of my life. One morning, as we came out from breakfast, Mr. Stanton joined me on the piazza where I was walking up and down enjoying the balmy air and the beauty of the foliage. As we have no conventions, said he, on hand, what do you say to a ride on horseback this morning? I readily accepted the suggestion, ordered the horses, put on my habit, and away we went. The roads were fine, and we took a long ride. As we were returning home, we stopped often to admire the scenery and perchance each other. When walking slowly through a beautiful grove, he laid his hand on the horn of the saddle, and, to my surprise, made one of those charming revelations of human feeling which brave knights have always found eloquent words to utter and to which fair ladies have always listened with mingled emotions of pleasure and astonishment. One outcome of those glorious days of October, 1839, was a marriage in Johnstown, the 10th of May, 1840, and a voyage to the Old World. Six weeks of that charming autumn ending in the Indian summer with its peculiarly hazy atmosphere I lingered in Peterborough. It seems in retrospect like a beautiful dream. A succession of guests was constantly coming and going, and I still remember the daily drives over those grand old hills, crowned with trees, now gorgeous in rich colors, the more charming, because we knew the time was short before the cold winds of November would change all. The early setting sun warned us that the shortening days must soon end our twilight drives, and the moonlight nights were too chilly to linger long in the rustic arbors or shady nooks outside. With the peculiar charm of this season of the year there is always a touch of sadness in nature, and it seems doubly so to me, as my engagement was not one of unmixed joy and satisfaction. Among all conservative families there was a strong aversion to abolitionists and the whole anti-slavery movement. Alone with Cousin Garrett in his library he warned me in deep, solemn tones, while strongly eulogizing my lover that my father would never consent to my marriage with an abolitionist. He felt in duty bound as my engagement had occurred under his roof to free himself from all responsibility by giving me a long dissertation on love, friendship, marriage, and all the pitfalls for the unwary who without due consideration formed matrimonial relations. The general principles laid down in this interview did not strike my youthful mind so forcibly as the suggestion that it was better to announce my engagement by letter than to wait until I returned home. As thus I might draw the hottest fire while still in safe harbor, where Cousin Garrett could help me defend the weak points in my position. So I lingered at Peterborough to prolong the dream of happiness and postpone the conflict I feared to meet. But the judge understood the advantage of our position as well as we did and wasted no ammunition on us. Being even more indignant at my cousin than at me, he quietly waited until I returned home when I passed through the ordeal of another interview with another dissertation on domestic relations from a financial standpoint. These were two of the most bewildering interviews I ever had. They succeeded in making me feel that the step I proposed to take was the most momentous and far-reaching in its consequences of any in this mortal life. Here, too, four of my apprehensions had all been of death and eternity. Now life itself was filled with fears and anxiety as to the possibilities of the future. Thus these two noble men who would have done anything for my happiness actually over-weighted my conscience and turned the sweetest dream of my life into a tragedy. How little strong men with their logic, sophistry, and hypothetical examples appreciate the violence they inflict on the tender sensibilities of a woman's heart in trying to subjugate her to their will. The love of protecting too often degenerates into downright tyranny. Fortunately, all these somber pictures of a possible future were thrown into the background by the tender misives every post brought me, in which the brilliant word painting of one of the most eloquent pens of this generation made the future for us both as bright and beautiful as spring with her verger and blossoms of promise. However, many things were always transpiring at Peterborough to turn one's thoughts and rouse new interest in humanity at large. One day, as a bevy of us girls were singing and chattering in the parlor, Cousin Garrett entered and in mysterious tones said, I have a most important secret to tell you what you must keep to yourselves religiously for twenty-four hours. We readily pledged ourselves in the most solemn manner individually and collectively. Now, he said, follow me to the third story. This we did, wondering what the secret could be. At last, opening a door, he ushered us into a large room, in the center of which set a beautiful, quadruined girl about eighteen years of age. Addressing her, he said, Harriet, I have brought all my young cousins to see you. I want you to make good abolitionists of them by telling them the history of your life, what you have seen and suffered in slavery. Turning to us, he said, Harriet has just escaped from her master who is visiting in Syracuse and is on her way to Canada. She will start this evening and you may never have another opportunity of seeing a slave girl face to face. So ask her all you care to know of the system of slavery. For two hours we listened to the sad story of her childhood and youth, separated from all her family and sold for her beauty in a New Orleans market when but fourteen years of age. The details of her story I need not repeat. The fate of such girls is too well known to need rehearsal. We all wept together as she talked, and when Cousin Garrett returned to summon us away, we needed no further education to make us earnest abolitionists. Dressed as a Quakeress, Harriet started at twilight with one of Mr. Smith's faithful clerks in a carriage for Oswego, there to cross the lake to Canada. The next day her master and the marshals from Syracuse were on her track in Peterborough and traced her to Mr. Smith's premises. He was quite gracious in receiving them, and while assuring them that there was no slave there, he said that they were at liberty to make a thorough search of the house and grounds. He invited them to stay and dine and kept them talking as long as possible, as every hour helped Harriet to get beyond their reach. For although she had eighteen hours the start of them, yet we feared some accident might have delayed her. The master was evidently a gentleman, for on Mr. Smith's assurance that Harriet was not there, he made no search, feeling that they could not do so without appearing to doubt his word. He was evidently surprised to find an abolitionist so courteous and affable, and it was interesting to hear them in conversation at dinner, calmly discussing the problem of slavery, while public sentiment was at white heat on the question. They shook hands warmly at parting, and expressed an equal interest in the final adjustment of that national difficulty. In due time the clerk returned with good news that Harriet was safe with friends in a good situation in Canada. Mr. Smith then published an open letter to the master in the New York Tribune saying, quote, that he would no doubt rejoice to know that his slave Harriet, in whose fate he felt so deep an interest, was now a free woman, safe under the shadow of the British throne. I had the honour of entertaining her under my roof, sending her in my carriage to Lake Ontario just eighteen hours before your arrival. Hence my willingness to have you search my premises, unquote. Like the varied combinations of the kaleidoscope, the scenes in our social life at Peterborough were continually changing from grave to gay. Some years later we had a most hilarious occasion at the marriage of Mary Cochrane, sister of General John Cochrane, to Chapman Biddle of Philadelphia. The festivities which were kept up for three days involved most elaborate preparations for breakfast, dinners, et cetera. There being no Delmonicoes in that remote part of the country. It was decided in family council that we had sufficient culinary talent under the roof to prepare the entire menu of substantials and delicacies, from soup and salmon to cakes and creams. So gifted ladies and gentlemen were impressed into the service. The Fitzhughes all had a natural talent for cooking, and chief among them was Isabella, wife of a naval officer, Lieutenant Swift of Geneva, who had made a profound study of all the authorities from Archistratus, a poet in Syracuse, the most famous cook among the Greeks, down to our own Miss Leslie. Accordingly she was elected manager of the occasion, and to each one was assigned the specialty in which she claimed to excel. Those who had no specialty were assistants to those who had. In this humble office, assistant at large, I labored throughout. Cooking is a high art, a wise Egyptian said long ago. Quote, the degree of taste and skill manifested by a nation in the preparation of food may be regarded as to a very considerable extent, proportioned to its culture and refinement. Quote, in early times men only were deemed capable of handling fire, whether at the altar or the hearthstone. We read in the scriptures that Abraham prepared cakes of fine meal and a calf tender and good, which with butter and milk he set before the three angels in the plains of Mamre. We are told two of the chief butler and chief baker as officers in the household of King Pharaoh. I would like to call the attention of my readers to the dignity of this profession, which some young women affect to despise. The fact that angels eat shows that we may be called upon in the next sphere to cook even for cherubim and seraphim. How important, then, to cultivate one's gifts in that direction. With such facts before us we stirred and pounded, whipped and ground, coaxed the delicate meats from crabs and lobsters and the succulent peas from the pods, and grated corn and coconut with the same cheerfulness and devotion that we played Mendelssohn's songs without words on the piano. The Spanish fandango on our guitars, or danced the minuet, polka, lancers, or Virginia reel. During the day of the wedding every stagecoach was crowded with guests from the north, south, east and west and as the twilight deepened the carriages began to roll in with neighbors and friends living at short distances until the house and grounds were full. A son of Bishop Cox, who married the tall and stately sister of Roscoe Conkling, performed the ceremony. The beautiful young bride was given away by her uncle Garrett. The congratulations, the feast, and all went off with fitting decorum in the usual way. The best proof of the excellence of our vions was that they were all speedily swept from mortal view and every housewife wanted a recipe for something. As the grand dinner was to come off the next day our thoughts now turned in that direction. The responsibility rested heavily on the heads of the chief actors and they reported troubled dreams and unduly, early rising. Dear Belle Swift was up in season and her white soup stood serenely in a tin pan on an upper shelf before the town clock struck seven. If it had not taken that position so early it might have been incorporated with higher forms of life than that into which it eventually fell. Another artist was also on the wing early and in pursuit of a tin pan in which to hide her precious compound she unwittingly seized this one and the rich white soup rolled down her raven locks like the oil on Erin's beard and enveloped her in a veil of filmy whiteness. I heard the splash and the exclamation of surprise and entered the butler's pantry just in time to see the heiress of the Smith estate standing like a statue, tin pan in hand, soup in her curls, her eyebrows and eyelashes, collar, cuffs and morning dress saturated and Belle at a little distance looking at her and the soup on the floor with surprise and disgust depicted on every feature. The tableau was inexpressibly comical and I could not help laughing outright whereupon Belle turned on me and with indignant tone said, If you had been up since four o'clock making that soup you would not stand there like a laughing monkey without the least feeling of pity. Poor Lizzie was very sorry and would have shed tears but they could not penetrate that film of soup. I tried to apologize but could only laugh the more when I saw Belle crying and Lizzie standing as if hoping that the soup might be scraped off her and gathered from the floor and made to do duty on the occasion. After breakfast ladies and gentlemen alike in white aprons crowded into the dining room and kitchen each to perform the allotted task. George Biddle of Philadelphia and John B. Miller of Utica in holiday spirits were irrepressible everywhere at the same moment helping or hindering as the case may be. Dear Belle having only partially recovered from the white soup catastrophe called Mr. Biddle to hold the ice cream freezer while she poured in the luscious compound she had just prepared. He held it up without resting it on anything while Belle slowly poured in the cream as the freezer had no indentations around the top or rim to brace the thumbs and fingers when it grew suddenly heavier his hand slipped and down went the whole thing spattering poor Belle and spoiling a beautiful pair of gators in which as she had very pretty feet she took a laudable pride. In another corner sat Wilthea Bacchus grating some coconut while struggling in that operation John Miller feeling hilarious was annoying her in diver's ways at length she drew the grater across his nose gently as she intended but alas she took the skin off and John's beauty for the remainder of the festivities was marred with a black patch on that prominent feature. One can readily imagine the fun that must have transpired where so many amateur cooks were at work round one table with all manner of culinary tools and ingredients. As assistant at large I was summoned to the cellar where Mrs. Cornelia Barkley of New York was evolving from a pan of flour and water that miracle in the pie department called Puff Paste. This it seems can only be accomplished where the thermometer is below 40 and near a refrigerator where the compound can be kept cold until ready to be popped into the oven. No jokes or nonsense here with queenly dignity the flour and water were gently compressed. Here one hand must not know what the other do with. Bits of butter must be so deftly introduced that even the rolling pin may be unconscious of its work. As the artist gave the last touch to an exquisite lemon pie with a mingled expression of pride and satisfaction on her classic features she ordered me to bear it to the oven. In the transit I met Madame Bell. Don't let that fall she said sneeringly. Fortunately I did not and returned in triumph to transport another. I was then summoned to a consultation with the committee on toasts consisting of James Cochran, John Miller, and myself. Mr. Miller had one for each guest already written all of which we accepted and pronounced very good. Strange to say a most excellent dinner emerged from all this uproar and confusion. The table with its silver, china, flowers, and rich fions, the guests in satins, velvet's jewels, soft laces, and bright cravis together reflecting all the colors of the prism looked as beautiful as the rainbow after a thunderstorm. Twenty years ago I made my last sad visit to that spot so rich with pleasant memories of bygone days. A few relatives and family friends gathered there to pay the last tokens of respect to our noble cousin. It was on one of the coldest days of great December that we laid him in the frozen earth to be seen no more. He died from a stroke of apoplexy in New York City at the home of his niece, Mrs. Ellen Cochran Walter, whose mother was Mr. Smith's only sister. The journey from New York to Peterborough was cold and dreary and climbing the hills from Canestota in an open slay nine hundred feet above the valley with the thermometer below zero before sunrise made all nature look as somber as the sad errand on which we came. Outside the mansion everything in its wintry garb was cold and still and all within was silent as the grave. The central figure, the light and joy of that home had vanished forever. He who had welcomed us on that threshold for half a century would welcome us no more. We did what we could to dissipate the gloom that settled on us all. We did not intensify our grief by darkening the house and covering ourselves with black crepe but wore our accustomed dresses of chastened colors and opened all the blinds that the glad sunshine might stream in. We hung the apartment where the casket stood with wreaths of evergreens and overhead we wove his favorite mottos in living letters. Equal rights for all. Rescue Cuba now. The religious services were short and simple. The Unitarian clergymen from Syracuse made a few remarks. The children from the orphan asylum in which he was deeply interested sang inappropriate hymn and around the grave stood representatives of the Biddles, the Dixwells, the Sedgwick's, the Barclays and Stanton's and three generations of his immediate family. With a few appropriate words from General John Cochran we left our beloved kinsman alone in his last resting place. Two months later on his birthday his wife Anne Carol Fitzhugh passed away and was laid by his side. Theirs was a remarkably happy union of over half a century and they were soon reunited in the life eternal. End of Chapter 4 This recording is in the public domain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Eighty Years and More by Elizabeth Cady Stanton Chapter 5 Our Wedding Journey My engagement was a season of doubt and conflict, doubt as to the wisdom of changing a girlhood of freedom and enjoyment for I knew not what and conflict because the step I proposed was in opposition to the wishes of all my family. Whereas here too four friends were continually suggesting suitable matches for me and painting the marriage relation in the most dazzling colors now that state was represented as beset with dangers and disappointments and man of all God's creatures as the most depraved and unreliable. Hard pressed I broke my engagement after months of anxiety and bewilderment. Suddenly I decided to renew it as Mr. Stanton was going to Europe as a delegate to the world's anti-slavery convention and we did not wish the ocean to roll between us. Thursday, May 10th, 1840 I determined to take the fateful step without the slightest preparation for a wedding or a voyage. But Mr. Stanton coming up the North River was detained on Marcy's overslaw, a bar in the river where boats were frequently stranded for hours. This delay compelled us to be married on Friday, which is commonly supposed to be a most unlucky day. But as we lived together without more than the usual matrimonial friction for nearly half a century, had seven children, all but one of whom are still living and have been well sheltered, clothed and fed, enjoying sound minds in sound bodies, no one need to be afraid of going through the marriage ceremony on Friday for fear of bad luck. The Scotch clergyman who married us, being somewhat superstitious, begged us to postpone it until Saturday. But as we were to sail early in the coming week, that was impossible. That point settled. The next difficulty was to persuade him to leave out the word, Obey, in the marriage ceremony. As I obstinately refused to obey one with whom I supposed I was entering into an equal relation, that point too was conceded. A few friends were invited to be present and in a simple white evening dress I was married. But the good priest avenged himself for the points he conceded by keeping us on the rack with a long prayer and dissertation on the sacred institution for one mortal hour. The Reverend Hugh Mare was a little stout fellow, vehement in manner and speech, who danced about the floor as he laid down the law in the most original and comical manner. As Mr. Stanton had never seen him before, the hour to him was one of constant struggle to maintain his equilibrium. I had sat under his ministrations for several years and was accustomed to his rhetoric, accent and gestures, and thus was able to go through the ordeal in a calmer state of mind. Sister Madge, who had stood by me bravely through all my doubts and anxieties, went with us to New York and saw us on board the vessel. My sister Harriet and her husband, Daniel C. Eaton, a merchant in New York City, were also there. He and I had for years a standing game of tag at all our parties and he had vowed to send me tag to Europe. I was equally determined that he should not. Accordingly I had a desperate chase after him all over the vessel, but in vain. He had the last tag and escaped. As I was compelled under the circumstances to conduct the pursuit with some degree of decorum and he had the advantage of height, long limbs and freedom from skirts, I really stood no chance whatever. However, as the chase kept us all laughing, it helped us soften the bitterness of parting. Fairly at sea I closed another chapter of my life and my thoughts turned to what lay in the near future. James G. Birney, the anti-slavery nominee for the presidency of the United States, joined us in New York and was a fellow passenger on the Montreal for England. He and my husband were delegates to the world's anti-slavery convention and both interested themselves in my anti-slavery education. They gave me books to read and as we paced the deck day by day the question was the chief theme of our conversation. Mr. Birney was a polished gentleman of the old school and was excessively proper and punctilious in manner and conversation. I soon perceived that he thought I needed considerable toning down before reaching England. I was quick to see and understand that his criticisms of others in a general way and the drift of his discourses on manners and conversation had a nearer application than he intended I should discover, though he hoped I would profit by them. I was always grateful to anyone who took an interest in my improvement so I laughingly told him one day that he need not make his criticisms any longer in that roundabout way but might take me squarely in hand and polish me up as speedily as possible. Sitting in the saloon at night after a game of chess in which perchance I had been the victor I felt complacent and would sometimes say, Well, what have I said or done today opened criticism? So in the most gracious manner he replied on one occasion, You went to the masthead in a chair which I think very unladylike. I heard you call your husband Henry in the presence of strangers which is not permissible in polite society. You should always say Mr. Stanton. You have taken three moves back in this game. Bless me, I replied, what a catalogue in one day. I fear my mentor will despair of my ultimate perfection. I should have more hope, he replied, if you seem to feel my rebukes more deeply, but you evidently think them of too little consequence to be much disturbed by them. As he found even more fault with my husband we condoled with each other and decided that our friend was rather hypercritical and that we were as nearly perfect as mortals need be for the wear and tear of ordinary life. Being both endowed with a good degree of self-esteem, neither the praise nor the blame of mankind was overpowering to either of us. As the voyage lasted eighteen days, for we were on a sailing vessel, we had time to make some improvement, or at least to consider all friendly suggestions. At this time Mr. Bernie was very much in love with Miss Fitzhugh of Genesio to whom he was afterward married. He suffered at times great depression of spirits, but I could always rouse him to a sunny mood by introducing her name. That was a theme of which he never grew weary and while praising her a halo of glory was to him visible around my head and I was faultless for the time being. There was nothing in our fellow passengers to break the monotony of the voyage. They were all stolid middle-class English people returning from various parts of the world to visit their native land. When out of their hearing Mr. Bernie used to ridicule them without mercy, so one day by way of making a point I said with great solemnity, is it good breeding to make fun of the foibles of our fellow men who have not had our advantages of culture and education? He felt the rebuke and blushed and never again returned to that subject. I am sorry to say I was glad to find him once in fault. Though some amusement in whatever extraordinary way I could obtain it was necessary to my existence, yet as it was deemed important that I should thoroughly understand the status of the anti-slavery movement in my own country, I spent most of my time reading and talking on that question. Being the wife of a delegate to the world's convention, we all felt it important that I should be able to answer whatever questions I might be asked in England on all phases of the slavery question. The captain, a jolly fellow, was always ready to second me in my explorations into every nook and cranny of the vessel. He imagined that my reading was distasteful and enforced by the older gentlemen, so he was continually planning some diversion, and often invited me to sit with him and listen to his experiences of a sailor's life. But all things must end in this mortal life, and our voyage was near its termination when we were becalmed on the southern coast of England and could not make more than one knot an hour. When within sight of the distant shore, a pilot boat came along and offered to take anyone ashore in six hours. I was so delighted at the thought of reaching land that after much persuasion Mr. Stanton and Mr. Bernie consented to go. Accordingly we were lowered into the boat in an armchair with a luncheon consisting of a cold chicken, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, with just enough wind to carry our light craft toward our destination. But instead of six hours we were all day trying to reach the land, and as the twilight deepened and the last breeze died away the pilot said, We are now two miles from shore, but the only way you can reach there tonight is by a rowboat. As we had no provisions left and nowhere to sleep we were glad to avail ourselves of the rowboat. It was a bright moonlight night, the air balmy, the water smooth, and with two stout oarsmen we glided swiftly along. As Mr. Bernie made the last descent and seated himself, doubtful as to our reaching shore, turning to me he said, The woman tempted me and I did leave the good ship. However we did reach the shore at midnight and landed at Torquay, one of the loveliest spots in that country, and our journey to Exeter the next day lay through the most beautiful scenery in England. As we had no luggage with us, our detention by customs officers was brief and we were soon conducted to a comfortable little hotel which we found in the morning was a bower of roses. I had never imagined anything so beautiful as the drive up to Exeter on the top of a coach with four stout horses trotting at the rate of ten miles an hour. It was the first day of June and the country was in all its glory. The foliage was of the softest green, the trees were covered with blossoms and the shrubs with flowers, the roads were perfect, the large fine-looking coachmen with his white gloves and reins, his rosy face and lofty bearing, and the postman in red, blowing his horn as we passed through every village made the drive seem like a journey in fairy land. We had heard that England was like a garden of flowers but we were wholly unprepared for such wealth of beauty. In Exeter we had our first view of one of the great cathedrals in the old world and we were all deeply impressed with its grandeur. It was just at the twilight hour when the last rays of the setting sun streaming through the stained glass windows, deepened the shadows and threw a mysterious amber light over all. As the choir was practicing the whole effect was heightened by the deep tones of the organ reverberating through the arched roof and the sound of human voices as if vainly trying to fill the space above. The novelty and solemnity of the surroundings roused all our religious emotions and thrilled every nerve in our being. As if moved by the same impulse to linger there awhile we all sat down, silently waiting for something to break the spell that found us. Can one wonder at the power of the Catholic religion for centuries with such accessories to stimulate the imagination to a blind worship of the unknown? Sitting in the hotel that evening and wanting something to read we asked the waiter for the daily papers as there was no public table or drawing room for guests but each party had its own apartment. We needed a little change from the society of each other. Having been, as it were, shut from the outside world for eighteen days we had some curiosity to see whether our planet was still revolving from west to east. At the mention of papers in the plural number the attendant gave us a look of surprise and said he would get it. He returned saying that the gentleman in number four had it but he would be through in fifteen minutes. Accordingly at the end of that time he brought the newspaper and after we had had it the same length of time he came to take it to another party. At our lodging house in London a paper was left for half an hour each morning and then it was taken to the next house thus serving several families of readers. The next day brought us to London. When I first entered our lodging house in Queen Street I thought it the gloomiest abode I had ever seen. The arrival of a delegation of ladies the next day from Boston and Philadelphia changed the atmosphere of the establishment and filled me with delightful anticipations of some new and charming acquaintances which I fully realized in meeting Emily Winslow, Abby Southwick, Elizabeth Neal, Mary Grew, Abby Kimber, Sarah Pugh and Lucretia Mott. There had been a split in the American anti-slavery ranks and delegates came from both branches and as they were equally represented at our lodgings I became familiar with the whole controversy. The potent element which caused the division was the woman question and as the Garrisonian branch maintained the right of women to speak and vote in the conventions all my sympathies were with the Garrisonians though Mr. Stanton and Mr. Burney belonged to the other branch called political abolitionists. To me there was no question so important as the emancipation of women from the dogmas of the past, political, religious and social. It struck me as very remarkable that abolitionists who felt so keenly the wrongs of the slave should be so oblivious to the equal wrongs of their own mothers, wives and sisters when according to the common law both classes occupied a similar legal status. Our chief object in visiting England at this time was to attend the world's anti-slavery convention to meet June 12th, 1840 in Freemasons Hall, London. Delegates from all the anti-slavery societies of civilized nations were invited yet when they arrived those representing associations of women were rejected. Though women were members of the National Anti-Slavery Society accustomed to speak and vote in all its conventions and to take an equally active part with men in the whole anti-slavery struggle were there as delegates from associations of men and women as well as those distinctively of their own sex yet all alike were rejected because they were women. Women according to English prejudices at that time were excluded by scriptural texts from sharing equal dignity and authority with men in all reform associations. Hence it was to English minds preeminently unfitting that women should be admitted as equal members to a world's convention. The question was hotly debated through an entire day. My husband made a very eloquent speech in favour of admitting the women delegates. When we consider that Lady Byron, Anna Jameson, Mary Howitt, Mrs. Hugo Reed, Elizabeth Fry, Amelia Opie, Anne Green Phillips, Lucretia Mott and many remarkable women, speakers and leaders in the Society of Friends were all compelled to listen in silence to the masculine platitudes on women's fear. One may form some idea of the indignation of unprejudiced friends and especially that of such women as Lydia Maria Child, Maria Chapman, Deborah Weston, Angelina and Sarah Grimke and Abby Kelly who were impatiently waiting and watching on this side in painful suspense to hear how their delegates were received. Judging from my own feelings, the women on both sides of the Atlantic must have been humiliated and chagrined, except as these feelings were outweighed by contempt for the shallow reasoning of their opponents and their comical pose and gestures in some of the intensely earnest flights of their imagination. The clerical portion of the convention was most violent in its opposition. The clergyman seemed to have God and his angels, especially in their care and keeping and where in agony lest the women should do or say something to shock the heavenly hosts. Their all-sustaining conceit gave them abundant assurance that their movements must necessarily be all-pleasing to the celestials whose ears were open to the proceedings of the world's convention. Deborah, Holda, Vashti and Esther might have questioned the propriety of calling it a world's convention when only half of humanity was represented there. But what were their opinions worth compared with those of the Reverend A. Harvey, the Reverend C. Stout, or the Reverend J. Burnett, who, Bible in hand, argued women's subjection, divinely decreed when Eve was created? One of our champions in the convention, George Bradburn, a tall, thick-set man with a voice like thunder standing head and shoulders above the clerical representative, argued all their arguments aside by declaring with tremendous emphasis that if they could prove to him that the Bible taught the entire subjection of one half of the race to the other, he should consider that the best thing he could do for humanity would be to bring together every Bible in the universe and make a grand bonfire of them. It was really pitiful to hear narrow-minded bigots pretending to be teachers and leaders of men so cruelly remanding their own mothers with the rest of womankind to absolute subjection to the ordinary masculine type of humanity. I always regretted that the women themselves had not taken part in the debate before the convention was fully organized and the question of delegates settled. It seemed to me then and does now that all delegates with credentials from recognized society should have had a voice in the organization of the convention, though subject to exclusion afterward. However the women sat in a low curtain seat like a church choir and modestly listened to the French, British and American solans for twelve of the longest days in June, as did also our grand garrison and Rogers in the gallery. They scorned a convention that ignored the rights of every woman who had fought side by side with them in the anti-slavery conflict. Quote, After battling so many long years, said garrison, for the liberties of African slaves I can take no part in a convention that strikes down the most sacred rights of all women. Unquote. After coming three thousand miles to speak on the subject nearest his heart he nobly shared the enforced silence of the rejected delegates. It was a great act of self-sacrifice that should never be forgotten by women. Thomas Clarkson was chosen president of the convention and made a few remarks in opening but he soon retired as his age and many infirmities made all public occasions too burdensome and Joseph Sturge, a Quaker, was made chairman. Sitting next to Mrs. Mott, I said, As there is a Quaker in the chair now what would he do if the spirit should move you to speak? Ah, she replied, evidently not believing such a contingency possible. Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. She had not much faith in the sincerity of abolitionists who while eloquently defending the natural rights of slaves denied freedom of speech to one half the people of their own race. Such was the consistency of an assemblage of philanthropists. They would have been horrified at the idea of burning the flesh of the distinguished women present with red-hot irons but the crucifixion of their pride and self-respect the humiliation of the spirit seemed to them a most trifling matter. The action of this convention was the topic of discussion in public and private for a long time and stung many women into new thought and action and gave rise to the movement for women's political equality both in England and the United States. As the convention adjourned the remark was heard on all sides. It was about time some demand was made for new liberties for women. As Mrs. Mott and I walked home arm in arm commenting on the incidents of the day we resolved to hold a convention as soon as we returned home and form a society to advocate the rights of women. At the lodging house on Queen Street where a large number of delegates had apartments the discussions were heated at every meal and at times so bitter that at last Mr. Burney packed his valise and sought more peaceful quarters. Having strongly opposed the admission of women as delegates to the convention it was rather embarrassing to meet them during the intervals between the various sessions at the table and in the drawing room. These were the first women I had ever met who believed in the equality of this sexes and who did not believe in the popular orthodox religion. The acquaintance of Lucretia Mott who was a broad liberal thinker on politics, religion and all questions of reform opened to me a new world of thought. As we walked about to see the sights of London I embraced every opportunity to talk with her. It was intensely gratifying to hear all that through years of doubt I had dimly thought so freely discussed by other women some of them no older than myself women too of rare intelligence, cultivation and refinement. After six weeks sojourned under the same roof with Lucretia Mott whose conversation was uniformly on a high plane I felt that I knew her too well to sympathize with the orthodox friends who denounced her as a dangerous woman because she doubted certain dogmas they fully believed. As Mr. Burney and my husband were invited to speak all over England, Scotland and Ireland and we were uniformly entertained by orthodox friends I had abundant opportunity to know the general feeling among them toward Lucretia Mott. Even Elizabeth Fry seemed quite unwilling to breathe the same atmosphere with her. During the six weeks that many of us remained in London after the convention we were invited to a succession of public and private breakfast, dinners and teas and on these occasions it was amusing to watch Mrs. Fry's sedulous efforts to keep Mrs. Mott at a distance. If Mrs. Mott was on the lawn Mrs. Fry would go into the house. If Mrs. Mott was in the house Mrs. Fry would stay out on the lawn. One evening when we were all crowded into two parlours and there was no escape the word went round that Mrs. Fry felt moved to pray with the American delegates whereupon a profound silence reigned. After a few moments Mrs. Fry's voice was heard deploying the schism among the American friends that so many had been led astray by false doctrines bringing the spirit of all good to show them the error of their way and gather them once more into the fold of the great shepherd of our faith. The prayer was directed so pointedly at the followers of Elias Hicks and at Lucretia Mott in particular that I whispered to Lucretia at the close that she should now pray for Mrs. Fry that her eyes might be open to her bigotry and uncharitableness and be led by the spirit into higher light. Oh no, she replied! A prayer of this character under the circumstances is an unfair advantage to take of a stranger but I would not resent it in the house of her friends. In these gatherings we met the leading Quaker families and many other philanthropists of different denominations interested in the anti-slavery movement. On all these occasions our noble garrison spoke most effectively and thus our English friends had an opportunity of enjoying his eloquence the lack of which had been so grave a loss in the convention. We devoted a month sedulously to sightseeing in London and in the line of the traveller's duty we explored St. Paul's Cathedral, the British Museum, the Tower, various prisons, hospitals, galleries of art, Windsor Castle and St. James Palace, the zoological gardens, the schools and colleges, the chief theatres and churches, Westminster Abbey, the House of Parliament and the Courts. We heard the most famous preachers, actors and statesmen. In fact we went to the top and bottom of everything from the Dome of St. Paul to the Tunnel under the Thames just then in the process of excavation. We drove through the parks, sailed up and down the Thames and then visited every shire but four in England in all of which we had large meetings, Mr. Bernie and Mr. Stanton being the chief speakers. As we were generally invited to stay with friends it gave us a good opportunity to see the leading family such as the Ash Hurts, the Alexanders, the Priestsmen's, the Braithwaite's, the Buxton's, the Gurney's, the Pieces, the Wiggums of Edinburgh and the webs of Dublin. We spent a few days with John Joseph Gurney at his beautiful home in Norwich. He had just returned from America having made a tour through the South. When asked how he liked America he said I like everything but your pie crust and your slavery. Before leaving London the whole American delegation about 40 in number were invited to dine with Samuel Gurney. He and his brother John Joseph Gurney were at that time the leading bankers in London. Someone facetiously remarked that the Jews were the leading bankers in London until the Quakers crowded them out. One of the most striking women I met in England the first time was Miss Elizabeth Pease. I never saw a more strongly marked face. Meeting her 40 years after on the platform of a great meeting in the town hall at Glasgow I knew her at once. She is now Mrs. Nicol of Edinburgh and though on the shady side of 80 is still active in all the reforms of the day. It surprised us very much at first when driving into the grounds of some of these beautiful Quaker homes with a bell rung at the lodge and to see the number of liveried servants on the porch and in the halls and then to meet the host in plain garb and to be welcomed in plain language. How does thee do, Henry? How does thee do, Elizabeth? This sounded peculiarly sweet to me. A stranger in a strange land. The wealthy English Quakers we visited at that time taking them all in all were the most charming people I had ever seen. They were refined and intelligent on all subjects and though rather conservative on some points were not aggressive in pressing their opinions on others. Their hospitality was charming and generous. Their homes the beau ideal of comfort and order the cuisine faultless while peace reigned over all. The quiet gentle manner and the soft tones in speaking and the mysterious quiet in these well-ordered homes were like the atmosphere one finds in a modern convent where the ordinary duties of the day seem to be accomplished by some magical influence. Before leaving London we spent a delightful day in June at the home of Samuel Gurney surrounded by a fine park with six hundred deer roaming about always a beautiful feature in the English landscape. As the Duchess of Sutherland and Lord Morpeth had expressed a wish to Mrs. Fry to meet some of the leading American abolitionists it was arranged that they should call it her brother's residence on this occasion. Soon after we arrived the Duchess with her brother and Mrs. Fry in her state carriage with six horses and outriders drove up to the door. Mr. Gurney was evidently embarrassed at the prospect of a lord and a Duchess under his roof. Leaning on the arm of Mrs. Fry the Duchess was formally introduced to us individually. Mrs. Mott conversed with the distinguished guests with the same fluency and composure as with her own countrywomen. However anxious the English people were as to what they should say and do the Americans were all quite at their ease. As Lord Morpeth had some interesting letters from the Island of Jamaica to read to us we formed a circle on the lawn to listen. England had just paid one hundred millions of dollars to emancipate the slaves and we were all interested in hearing the result of the experiment. The distinguished guest in turn had many questions to ask in regard to American slavery. We found none of that prejudice against color in England which is so inveterate among the American people. At my first dinner in England I found myself beside a gentleman from Jamaica as black as the ace of spades. After the departure of the Duchess dinner was announced. It was a sumptuous meal most tastefully served. There were half a dozen wine-glasses at every plate but abolitionists in those days were all converts to temperance and as the bottles went around there was a general head shaking and the right hand extended over the glasses. Our English friends were amazed that none of us drank wine. Mr. Gurney said he had never before seen such a sight as forty ladies and gentlemen sitting down to dinner and none of them tasting wine. In talking with him on that point he said I suppose you're nursing mother's drink beer? I laughed and said oh no! We should be afraid of befogging the brains of our children. No danger of that said he. We are all bright enough and yet a cask of beers rolled into the cellar for the mother with each newborn child. Colonel Miller from Vermont, one of our American delegation was in the Greek war with Lord Byron. As Lady Byron had expressed a wish to see him that her daughter might know something of her father's last days an interview was arranged and the Colonel kindly invited me to accompany him. His account of their acquaintance and the many noble traits of character Lord Byron manifested his generous impulses and acts of self-sacrifice seemed particularly gratifying to the daughter. It was a sad interview arranged chiefly for the daughter's satisfaction though Lady Byron listened with a painful interest. As the Colonel was a warm admirer of the great poet he no doubt represented him in the best possible light and his narration of his last days was deeply interesting. Lady Byron had a quiet reserved manner, a sad face and a low plaintive voice like one who had known deep sorrow. I had seen her frequently in the convention and at social teas and had been personally presented to her before this occasion. Altogether I thought her a sweet attractive looking woman. We had a pleasant interview with Lord Brogum also. The Philadelphia Anti-Slavery Society sent him an elaborately carved ink stand made from the wood of Pennsylvania Hall which was destroyed by a pro-slavery mob. Mr. Bernie made a most graceful speech in presenting the memento and Lord Brogum was equally happy in receiving it. One of the most notable characters we met at this time was Daniel O'Connell. He made his first appearance in the London Convention a few days after the women were rejected. He paid a beautiful tribute to a woman and said that if he had been present when the question was under discussion he should have spoken and voted for their admission. He was a tall, well-developed, magnificent looking man and probably one of the most effective speakers Ireland ever produced. I saw him at a great India meeting in Exeter Hall where some of the best orators from France, America and England were present. There were six natives from India on the platform who, not understanding anything that was said naturally remained listless throughout the proceedings. But the moment O'Connell began to speak they were all attention bending forward and closely watching every movement. One could almost tell what he said from the play of his expressive features, his wonderful gestures and the pose of his whole body. When he finished the natives joined in the general applause. He had all Wendell Phillips's power of sarcasm and denunciation and added to that the most tender pathos. He could make his audience laugh or cry at pleasure. It was a rare sight to see him dressed in repeal cloth in one of his repeal meetings. We were in Dublin in the midst of that excitement when the hopes of new liberties for that oppressed people all centered on O'Connell. The enthusiasm of the people for the repeal of the union was then at white heat. Dining one day with the great liberator as he was called I asked him if he hoped to carry that measure. No, he said, but it is always good policy to claim the uttermost and then you will be sure to get something. Could he have looked forward fifty years and have seen the present condition of his unhappy country he would have known that English greed and selfishness could defeat any policy, however wise and far seeing. The successive steps by which Irish commerce was ruined and religious feuds between her people continually fanned into life and the nation subjugated form the darkest page in the history of England. But the people are awakened at last to their duty and for the first time organizing English public sentiment in favor of home rule. I attended several large enthusiastic meetings when last in England in which the most radical utterances of Irish patriots were received with prolonged cheers. I trust the day is not far off when the beautiful Emerald Isle will unfurl her banner before the nations of the earth and thrown as the Queen Republic of those northern seas. We visited Wordsworth's home at Grasmere along the beautiful lakes, but he was not there. However we saw his surroundings, the landscape that inspired some of his poetic dreams and the dense rows of hollyhocks of every shade and color leading from his porch to the gate. The gardener told us this was his favorite flower. Though it had no special beauty in itself, taken alone, yet the wonderful combination of royal colors was indeed striking and beautiful. We saw Harriet Martinot in her country home as well as at her house in town. As we were obliged to converse with her through an eartrumpet we left her to do most of the talking. She gave us many amusing experiences of her travels in America and her comments on the London Convention were rich and racy. She was not an attractive woman in either manner or appearance, though considered great and good by all who knew her. We spent a few days with Thomas Clarkson in Ipswich. He lived in a very old house with long rambling corridors surrounded by a moat which we crossed by means of a drawbridge. He had just written an article against the colonization scheme which his wife read aloud to us. He was so absorbed in the subject that he forgot the article was written by himself and kept up a running applause with hear, hear the English mode of expressing approbation. He told us of the severe struggles he and Wilberforce had gone through in rousing the public sentiment of England to the demand for emancipation in Jamaica. But their trials were mild compared with what Garrison and his co-agitors had suffered in America. Having read of all these people it was difficult to realize, as I visited them in their own homes from day to day, that they were the same persons I had so long worshipped from afar. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Eighty Years and More by Elizabeth Cady Stanton Chapter 6 Homeward Bound After taking a view of the wonders and surroundings of London we spent a month in Paris. Fifty years ago there was a greater difference in the general appearance of things between France and England than now. That country's only a few hours journey apart should differ so widely was to us a great surprise. How changed the sights and sounds? Here was the old diligence slumbering along with its various compartments and its indefinite number of horses, harnessed with rope and leather, sometimes two, sometimes three abreast, and sometimes one in advance, with an outrider belaboring the poor beast without cessation, and the driver yelling and cracking his whip. The uproar confusion and squabbles at every stopping place are overwhelming. The upper classes, men and women alike rushing into each other's arms embrace and kiss while drivers and hostlers on the slightest provocation hurl at each other all the denunciatory adjectives in the language and with such vehemence that you could expect every moment to see a deadly conflict. But today as fifty years ago they never arrive at that point. There's was and is purely an encounter of words which they keep up as they drive off in opposite directions just as far as they can hear and see each other with threats of vengeance to come. Such an encounter between two Englishmen would mean the death of one or the other. All this was in marked contrast with John Bowle and his island. There the people were as silent as if they had been born deaf and dumb. The English stagecoach was compact, clean, and polished from top to bottom. The horses in harness, glossy and in order, the well-dressed dignified coachman who seldom spoke a loud word or used his whip, kept his seat at the various stages while hostlers watered or changed the steeds. The postman blew his bugle-blast to have the mail in readiness and the reserved passengers made no remarks on what was passing. For in those days Englishmen were afraid to speak to each other for fear of recognizing one not of their class while to strangers and foreigners they would not speak except in case of dire necessity. The Frenchman was ready enough to talk, but unfortunately we were separated by different languages. Thus the Englishmen would not talk, the Frenchmen could not, and the intelligent, loquacious American driver who discourses on politics, religion, national institutions, and social gossip was unknown on that side of the Atlantic. What the curious American traveler could find out himself from observation and pertinacious seeking he was welcome to, but the Briton would waste no breath to enlighten Yankees as to the points of interest or customs of his country. Our party consisted of Miss Pugh, Abbey Kimber, Mr. Stanton, and myself. I had many amusing experiences in making my once known, when alone, having forgotten most of my French. For instance, traveling night and day in the diligence to Paris as the stops were short, one was sometimes in need of something to eat. One night, as my companions were all asleep, I went out to get a piece of cake or a cracker or whatever of that sort I could obtain, but owing to my clumsy use of the language I was misunderstood. Just as the diligence was about to start and the shout for us to get aboard was heard, the waiter came running with a piping hot plate of sweetbreads nicely broiled. I had waited and wondered why it took so long to get a simple piece of cake or biscuit and lo, a piece of hot meat was offered me. I could not take the frizzling thing in my hand nor eat it without bread, knife, or fork, so I hurried off to the coach, the man pursuing me to the very door. I was vexed and disappointed while the rest of the party were convulsed with laughter at the parting salute and my attempt to make my way alone. It was some time before I heard the last of the sweetbreads. When we reached Paris we secured a courier who could speak English to show us the sights of that wonderful city. Every morning early he was at the door, rain or shine, to carry out our plans, which with the aid of our guidebook we had made the evening before. In this way, going steadily day after day, we visited all points of interest for miles round and sailed up and down the Seine. The Palace of the Tolleries, with its many associations with the long line of more or less unhappy kings and queens, was then in its glory, and its extensive and beautiful grounds were always gay with crowds of happy people. These gardens were a great resort for nurses and children and were furnished with all manner of novel appliances for their amusement, including beautiful little carriages drawn by four goats with girls or boys driving, boats sailing in the air, seemingly propelled by oars and the hobby horses flying round on whirligigs with boys vainly trying to catch each other. No people have ever taken the trouble to invent so many amusements for children as half the French. The people enjoyed being always in the open air, night and day. The parks are crowded with amusement seekers, some reading and playing games, some sewing, knitting, playing on musical instruments, dancing, sitting around tables and beveys eating, drinking and gaily chatting. And yet, when they drive in carriages or go to their homes at night, they will shut themselves in as tight as oysters in their shells. They have a theory that night air is very injurious in the house, although they will sit outside until midnight. I found this same superstition prevalent in France fifty years later. We visited the Hotel de Invalades, just as they were preparing the sarcophagus for the reception of the remains of Napoleon. We witnessed the wild excitement of that enthusiastic people and listened with deep interest to the old soldiers' praises of their great general. The ladies of our party chatted freely with them. They all had interesting anecdotes to relate of their chief. They said he seldom slept over four hours, was an abstemious eater and rarely changed a servant as he hated a strange face about him. He was very fond of a game of chess and snuffed continuously. Talked but little was a light sleeper, the stirring of a mouse would awaken him and always on the watchtower. They said that in his great campaigns he seemed to be omnipresent. A sentinel asleep at his post would sometimes awaken to find Napoleon on duty in his place. The ship that brought back Napoleon's remains was the Belle Pool, the beautiful Hen, which landed at Scherberg November 30, 1840. The body was conveyed to the church of the Invalid days, which adjoins the tomb. The Prince de Juanville brought the body from St. Helena and Louis Philippe received it. At that time each soldier had a little patch of land to decorate as he pleased in which many scenes from their great battles were illustrated. One represented Napoleon crossing the Alps. The cannon, the soldiers, Napoleon on horseback, all toiling up the steep ascent, perfect in miniature. In another was Napoleon flag in hand, leading the charge across the bridge of Lodi. In still another was Napoleon in Egypt, before the pyramids, seated impassive on his horse, gazing at the sphinx as if about to utter his immortal words to his soldiers. Here forty centuries looked down upon us. These object lessons of the past are all gone now, and the land used for more prosaic purposes. I little thought as I witnessed that great event in France in 1840 that fifty-seven years later I should witness a similar pageant in the American Republic when our nation paid its last tributes to General Grant. There are many points of similarity in these great events. As men they were alike aggressive in Napoleon's will, he expressed the wish that his last resting place might be in the land and among the people he loved so well. His desire is fulfilled. He rests in the chief city of the French Republic whose shores are washed by the waters of the Seine. General Grant expressed the wish that he might be interred in our metropolis and added, wherever I am buried I desire that there shall be room for my wife by my side. His wishes too are fulfilled. He rests in the chief city of the American Republic whose shores are washed by the waters of the Hudson. And in his magnificent mausoleum there is room for his wife by his side. Several members of the Society of Friends from Boston and Philadelphia who had attended the world's anti-slavery convention in London joined our party for a trip on the continent. Though opposed to war they all took a deep interest in the national excitement and in the pageants that heralded the expected arrival of the hero from St. Helena as they all wore military coats of the time of George Fox the soldiers supposing they belong to the army of some country gave them the military salute wherever we went much to their annoyance and our amusement. In going the rounds Miss Pugh amused us by reading aloud the description of what we were admiring and the historical events connected to our living or locality. We urged her to spend the time taking in all she could see and to read up afterward. But no, a history of France and Galignani's glide she carried everywhere and while the rest of us looked until we were fully satisfied she took a bird's eye view and read the description. Dear little woman she was a fine scholar, a good historian was well informed on all subjects and countries, proved an invaluable companion and could tell more of what we saw than all the rest of us together. On several occasions we chanced to meet Louis Philippe dashing by in an open barouche. We felt great satisfaction in remembering that at one time he was in exile in our country where he earned his living by teaching school. What an honour for Yankee children to have been taught by a French king, the rudiments of his language. Having been accustomed to the Puritan Sunday of restraint and solemnity I found that day in Paris gay and charming. The first time I entered into some of the festivities I really expected to be struck by lightning. The libraries, art galleries, concert halls and theatres were all open to the people. Bands of music were playing in the parks where whole families with their lunch and spent the day. Husbands, wives and children on an excursion together. The boats on the sane and all public conveyances were crowded. Those who had but this one day for pleasure seemed determined to make the most of it. A wonderful contrast with that gloomy day in London where all places of amusement were closed and nothing open to the people but the churches and drinking saloons. The streets and houses in which Voltaire, La Fayette, Mademoiselle d'Estal, Mademoiselle Rowland, Charlotte Corday and other famous men and women lived and died were pointed to us. We little thought then of all the terrible scenes to be enacted in Paris, nor that France would emerge from the dangers that beset her on every side into a sister republic. It has been a wonderful achievement with kings and popes all plotting against her experiment that she has succeeded in putting kingcraft under her feet and proclaimed liberty, equality, fraternity for her people. After a few weeks in France we returned to London traveling through England, Ireland and Scotland for several months. We visited the scenes that Shakespeare Burns and Dickens had made classic. We spent a few days at Huntingdon, the home of Oliver Cromwell, and visited the estate where he passed his early married life. While there one of his great admirers read aloud to us a splendid article in one of the reviews written by Carlisle giving the protector as his friend said his true place in history. It was long the fashion of England's historians to represent Cromwell as a fanatic and hypocrite but his character was vindicated by later writers. Never, says Macaulay, was a ruler so conspicuously born for sovereignty. The cup which has intoxicated almost all others sobered him. We saw the picturesque ruins of Kenilworth Castle, the birthplace of Shakespeare, the homes of Byron and Mary Chayworth, wandered through Newstead Abbey, saw the monument to the faithful dog and the large dining room where Byron and his boon companions used to shoot at a mark. It was a desolate region. We stopped a day or two at air and drove out to the birthplace of Burns. The old house that had sheltered him was still there but its walls now echoed to other voices and the fields where he had toiled were ploughed by other hands. We saw the stream and banks where he and Mary sat together. The old stone church where the witches held their midnight revels, the two dogs and the bridge of air. With Burns as with Sappho it was love that awoke his heart to a song. A Bonnie Lass who worked with him in the harvest field inspired his first attempts at rhyme. Life with Burns was one long hard struggle. With his natural love for the beautiful, the terrible depression of spirits he suffered from his dreary surroundings was inevitable. The interest great men took in him when they awoke to his genius came too late for his safety and encouragement. In a glass of whiskey he found at last the rest and cheer he never knew when sober. Poverty and ignorance are the parents of intemperance and that vice will never be suppressed until the burdens of life are equally shared by all. We saw Melrose by moonlight spent several hours at Abbotsford and lingered in the little sanctum sanctorum where Scott wrote his immortal works. It was so small that he could reach the bookshelves on every side. We went through the prisons, castles and narrow streets of Edinburgh where the houses are seven and eight stories high each story projecting a few feet until at the uppermost opposite neighbors could easily shake hands and chat together. All the intervals from active sight seeing we spent in reading the lives of historical personages in poetry and prose until our sympathies flowed out to the real and ideal characters. Lady Jane Gray, Anne Boleyn, Mary Queen of Scots, Ellen Douglas, Jeanne and Effie Deans, Highland Mary, Rebecca the Jewish, DeVernon and Rob Roy all alike seemed real men and women whose shades or descendants we hoped to meet in their native heath. Here among the Scotch lakes and mountains Mr. Stanton and I were travelling alone for the first time since our marriage and as we both enjoyed walking we made many excursions on foot to points that could not be reached in any other way. We spent some time among the Grampian hills so familiar to every schoolboy walking and riding about on donkeys. We sailed up and down Loc Catrine and Loc LeMond my husband was writing letters for some New York newspapers on the entire trip and aimed to get exact knowledge of all we saw. Thus I had the advantage of the information he gathered. On these long tramps I wore a short dress reaching just below the knee of dark blue cloth a military cap of the same material that shaded my eyes and a pair of long boots made on the masculine pattern of the style for walking as the pressure is equal on the whole foot and the ankle has free play. Thus equipped and early trained by my good brother-in-law to long walks I found no difficulty in keeping pace with my husband. Being self-reliant and venturesome in our explorations we occasionally found ourselves involved in grave difficulties by refusing to take a guide. For instance we decided to go to the top of Ben Nevis alone. We gave us a straightforward piece of business to walk up a mountainside on a B-line and so in the face of repeated warnings by our host we started. We knew nothing of zigzag paths to avoid the rocks, the springs and swamps. In fact we supposed all mountains smooth and dry like our native hills that we were accustomed to climb. The landlord shook his head and smiled when we told him we should return at noon to dinner and we smiled too thinking that we would be able to walk without any equipment on our capacity for walking. But we had not gone far when we discovered the difficulties ahead. Some places were so steep that I had to hold on to my companion's coattails while he held on to rocks and twigs or braced himself with a heavy cane. By the time we were halfway up we were in a dripping perspiration. Our feet were soaking wet and we were really too tired to proceed. We were ashamed to confess our fatigue to each other and much more to return and verify all the prognostications of the host in his guides. So we determined to push on and do what we had proposed. With the prospect of a magnificent view and an hour's delicious rest on the top we started with renewed courage. A steady climb of six hours brought us to the goal of promise. Our ascent was accomplished. But alas! It was impossible to stop there. The cold wind chilled us to the bone in a minute. So we took one glance at the world below and hurried down the south side to get the mountain between us and the cold northeaster. When your teeth are chattering with the cold and the wind threatening to make havoc with your raiment you are not in a favorable condition to appreciate the grand scenery. Like the King of France with twice ten thousand men we found descending still more difficult as we were in constant fear of slipping losing our hold and rolling to the bottom. We were tired, hungry and disappointed and the fear of not reaching the valley before nightfall pressed heavily upon us. Neither confessed to the other the fatigue and apprehension each felt, but with fresh endeavor and words of encouragement we cautiously went on. We accidentally struck a trail that led us winding down comfortably some distance, but we lost it and went clamoring down as well as we could in our usual way. To add to our misery a dense scotch mist soon enveloped us so that we could see but a short distance ahead and not knowing the point from which we started we feared we might be going far out of our way. The coming twilight too made the prospect still darker. Fortunately our host having less faith in us than ourselves sent a guide to reconnoiter and just at the moment when we began to realize our danger of spending the night on the mountain and to admit it to each other the welcome guide hailed us in his broad accent. His shepherd dog led the way into the beaten path. As I could hardly stand I took the guide's arm and when we reached the bottom two donkeys were in readiness to take us to the hotel. We did not recover from the fatigue of that expedition for several days and we made no more experiments of exploring strange places without guides. We learned too that mountains are not so hospitable as they seem nor so gently undulating as they appear in the distance and that guides serve other purposes besides extorting money from travelers. If under their guidance we had gone up and down easily we should always have thought we might as well have gone alone. So our experience gave us a good lesson in humility. We had been twelve hours on foot with nothing to eat when at last we reached the hotel. We were in no mood for boasting of the success of our excursion and our answers were short to inquiries as to how we had passed the day. Being tired of traveling and contending about women's fear with the Reverend John Scoble and Englishmen who escorted Mr. Bernie and Mr. Stanton on their tour through the country I decided to spend a month in Dublin while the gentlemen held meetings in Cork, Belfast, Waterford, Limerick, and other chief towns finishing the series with a large enthusiastic gathering in Dublin at which O'Connell made one of his most withering speeches on American slavery. The inconsistency of such an institution with the principles of a Republican government giving full play to his powers of sarcasm. On one occasion when introduced to a slave holder he put his hands behind his back, refusing to recognize a man who bought and sold his fellow beings. The Reverend John Scoble was one of the most conceited men I ever met. His narrow ideas in regard to women and the superiority of the royal and noble classes in his own country were to me so exasperating that I grew more and more bellicose every time we traveled in company. He was terribly seasick crossing the channel to my intense satisfaction. When he always boasted of his distinguished countrymen, I suggested in the midst of one of his most agonizing spasms that he ought to find consolation in the fact that Lord Nelson was always seasick on the slightest provocation. The poverty in Ireland was a continual trial to our sensibilities. Beggars haunted our footsteps everywhere, in the street and on the highways, crouching on the steps of the front door and on the curb stones and surrounding wherever and whenever we stop to shop or make a visit. The bony hands and sunken eyes and sincere gratitude expressed for every penny proved their suffering real. As my means were limited and I could not pass one by, I got a pound changed into pennies and put them in a green bag which I took in the carriage wherever I went. It was but a drop in the ocean but it was all I could do to relieve that unfathomed misery. The poverty I saw everywhere in the old world and especially in Ireland was a puzzling problem to my mind. But I rejected the idea that it was a necessary link in human experience, that it always had been and always must be. As we drove day by day in that magnificent Phoenix Park of fifteen hundred acres, one of the largest parks I believe in the world, I would often put the question to myself, what right do you to make a pleasure ground of these acres while the many have nowhere to lay their heads, crouching under stiles and bridges, clothed in rags and feeding on seaweed with no hope in the slowly passing years of any change for the better. The despair stamped on every brow told the sad story of their wrongs. Those accustomed to such everyday experiences brush beggars aside as they would so many flies and those to whom such sights are new cannot so easily quiet their own consciences. Everyone in the full enjoyment of all the blessings of life in his normal condition feels some individual responsibility for the poverty of others. When the sympathies are not blunted by any false philosophy one feels reproached by one's own abundance. I once heard a young girl about to take her summer outing if she had all the dresses she needed reply. Oh yes, I was oppressed with a constant sense of guilt when packing to see how much I had while so many girls have nothing decent to wear. More than half a century has rolled by since I stood on Irish soil and shed tears of pity for the wretchedness I saw and no change for the better has as yet come to that unhappy people. Yet this was the land of Burke, Gratton, Shile and Emmett, the land into which Christianity was introduced in the fifth century, St. Patrick being the chief apostle of the new faith. In the sixth century Ireland sent forth missionaries from her monasteries to convert Great Britain and the nations of Northern Europe. From the eighth to the twelfth century Irish scholars held an enviable reputation. In fact, Ireland was the center of learning at one time. The arts too were cultivated by former people and the round towers still pointed out to travelers are believed to be the remains of the architecture of the tenth century. The ruin of Ireland must be traced to other causes than the character of the people or the Catholic religion. Historians give us facts showing English oppression sufficient to destroy any nation. The short dark days of November intensified in my eyes the gloomy prospects of that people and made the change to the serious of the Cunard Line, the first regular Atlantic steamship to cross the ocean most enjoyable. Once on the boundless ocean one sees no beggars, no signs of human misery, no crumbling ruins of vast cathedral walls, no records of the downfall of mighty nations, no trace even of the mortal agony of the innumerable host buried beneath her bosom. Byron truly says time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, such as creations dawn beheld, thou rollest now. When we embarked on the serious we had grave doubts as to our safety and the probability of our reaching the other side, as we did not feel that ocean steamers had yet been fairly tried. But after a passage of eighteen days, eleven hours and fifteen minutes we reached Boston, having spent six hours at Halifax. We little thought that the steamer serious of fifty years ago would ever develop into the magnificent floating palaces of today three times as large and three times as swift. In spite of the steamer, however, we had a cold, rough dreary voyage and I have no pleasant memories connected with it. Our fellow passengers were all in their state rooms most of the time. Our good friend Mr. Bernie had sailed two weeks before us and Mr. Stanton was confined to his birth. I was thrown on my own resources. I found my chief amusement in reading novels and playing chess with a British officer on his way to Canada. When it was possible I walked on deck with the captain or sat in some sheltered corner watching the waves. We arrived in New York by rail the day before Christmas. Everything looked bright and gay in our streets. It seemed to me the sun was shining and the sunlight more brilliant than in any other land. End of chapter 6