hite cravats, are quite as monotonous as the Quakers."

I remember on one occasion the entire American delegation were invited
to dine with Samuel Gurney, a rich Quaker banker. He had an elegant
place, a little out of London. The Duchess of Sutherland and Lord
Morpeth, who had watched our anti-slavery struggle in this country
with great interest, were quite desirous of meeting the American
Abolitionists, and had expressed the wish to call on them at this
time. Standing near Mrs. Mott when the coach and four gray horses with
the six out-riders drove up, Mr. Gurney, in great trepidation, said,
"What shall I do with the Duchess?" "Give her your arm," said Mrs.
Mott, "and introduce her to each member of the delegation." A
suggestion no commoner in England would have presumed to follow. When
the Duchess was presented to Mrs. Mott, her gracious ease was fully
equaled by that of the simple Quaker woman. Oblivious to all
distinctions of rank, she talked freely and wisely on many topics, and
proved herself in manner and conversation the peer of the first woman
in England. Mrs. Mott did not manifest the slightest restraint or
embarrassment during that marked social occasion. No fictitious
superiority ever oppressed her, neither did she descend in familiar
surroundings from her natural dignity, but always maintained the
perfect equilibrium of respect for herself and others.

I found in this new friend a woman emancipated from all faith in
man-made creeds, from all fear of his denunciations. Nothing was too
sacred for her to question, as to its rightfulness in principle and
practice. "Truth for authority, not authority for truth," was not only
the motto of her life, but it was the fixed mental habit in which she
most rigidly held herself. It seemed to me like meeting a being from
some larger planet, to find a woman who dared to question the opinions
of Popes, Kings, Synods, Parliaments, with the same freedom that she
would criticise an editorial in the _London Times_, recognizing no
higher authority than the judgment of a pure-minded, educated woman.
When I first heard from the lips of Lucretia Mott that I had the same
right to think for myself that Luther, Calvin, and John Knox had, and
the same right to be guided by my own convictions, and would no doubt
live a higher, happier life than if guided by theirs, I felt at once a
new-born sense of dignity and freedom; it was like suddenly coming
into the rays of the noon-day sun, afte