ible strain on the patient's vitality.

On our arrival in Washington we went to the Shoreham, where, as always,
the proprietor took pains to give Miss Anthony a room with a view of the
Washington monument, which she greatly admired. When I entered her room
a little later I found her standing at a window, holding herself up with
hands braced against the casement on either side, and so absorbed in the
view that she did not hear my approach. When I spoke to her she answered
without turning her head.

"That," she said, softly, "is the most beautiful monument in the world."

I stood by her side, and together we looked at it in silence I realizing
with a sick heart that "Aunt Susan" knew she was seeing it for the last
time.

The birthday celebration that followed our executive meeting was an
impressive one. It was held in the Church of Our Father, whose pastor,
the Rev. John Van Schaick, had always been exceedingly kind to Miss
Anthony. Many prominent men spoke. President Roosevelt and other
statesmen sent most friendly letters, and William H. Taft had promised
to be present. He did not come, nor did he, then or later, send any
excuse for not coming--an omission that greatly disappointed Miss
Anthony, who had always admired him. I presided at the meeting, and
though we all did our best to make it gay, a strange hush hung over
the assemblage a solemn stillness, such as one feels in the presence
of death. We became more and more conscious that Miss Anthony was
suffering, and we hastened the exercises all we could. When I read
President Roosevelt's long tribute to her, Miss Anthony rose to comment
on it.

"One word from President Roosevelt in his message to Congress," she
said, a little wearily, "would be worth a thousand eulogies of Susan
B. Anthony. When will men learn that what we ask is not praise, but
justice?"

At the close of the meeting, realizing how weak she was, I begged her
to let me speak for her. But she again rose, rested her hand on my
shoulder, and, standing by my side, uttered the last words she ever
spoke in public, pleading with women to consecrate themselves to the
Cause, assuring them that no power could prevent its ultimate success,
but reminding them also that the time of its coming would depend wholly
on their work and their loyalty. She ended with three words--very
fitting words from her lips, expressing as they did the spirit of her
life-work--"FAILURE IS IMPOSSIBLE."

The next morning she was