h-hat to his
saddle-bow in salutation. "Aunt Susan" immediately rose, bowed in
her turn and, for the moment as enthusiastic as a girl, waved her
handkerchief at him, while the big audience, catching the spirit of the
scene, wildly applauded. It was a striking picture this meeting of the
pioneer man and woman; and, poor as I am, I would give a hundred dollars
for a snapshot of it.

On many occasions I saw instances of Miss Anthony's prescience--and
one of these was connected with the death of Frances E. Willard. "Aunt
Susan" had called on Miss Willard, and, coming to me from the sick-room,
had walked the floor, beating her hands together as she talked of the
visit.

"Frances Willard is dying," she exclaimed, passionately. "She is dying,
and she doesn't know it, and no one around her realizes it. She is lying
there, seeing into two worlds, and making more plans than a thousand
women could carry out in ten years. Her brain is wonderful. She has the
most extraordinary clearness of vision. There should be a stenographer
in that room, and every word she utters should be taken down, for every
word is golden. But they don't understand. They can't realize that she
is going. I told Anna Gordon the truth, but she won't believe it."

Miss Willard died a few days later, with a suddenness which seemed to be
a terrible shock to those around her.

Of "Aunt Susan's" really remarkable lack of selfconsciousness we who
worked close to her had a thousand extraordinary examples. Once, I
remember, at the New Orleans Convention, she reached the hall a little
late, and as she entered the great audience already assembled gave her
a tremendous reception. The exercises of the day had not yet begun, and
Miss Anthony stopped short and looked around for an explanation of the
outburst. It never for a moment occurred to her that the tribute was to
her.

"What has happened, Anna?" she asked at last.

"You happened, Aunt Susan," I had to explain.

Again, on the great "College Night" of the Baltimore Convention,
when President M. Carey Thomas of Bryn Mawr College had finished her
wonderful tribute to Miss Anthony, the audience, carried away by the
speech and also by the presence of the venerable leader on the platform,
broke into a whirlwind of applause. In this "Aunt Susan" artlessly
joined, clapping her hands as hard as she could. "This is all for you,
Aunt Susan," I whispered, "so it isn't your time to applaud."

"Aunt Susan" continued to cla