autumn, of
some grand old oak I have watched and loved.

The arrival of Miss Anthony and Mrs. Gage, on November 20, banished all
family matters from my mind. What planning, now, for volumes, chapters,
footnotes, margins, appendices, paper, and type; of engravings, title,
preface, and introduction! I had never thought that the publication of a
book required the consideration of such endless details. We stood
appalled before the mass of material, growing higher and higher with
every mail, and the thought of all the reading involved made us feel as
if our lifework lay before us. Six weeks of steady labor all day, and
often until midnight, made no visible decrease in the pile of documents.
However, before the end of the month we had our arrangements all made
with publishers and engravers, and six chapters in print. When we began
to correct proof we felt as if something was accomplished. Thus we
worked through the winter and far into the spring, with no change except
the Washington Convention and an occasional evening meeting in New York
city. We had frequent visits from friends whom we were glad to see.
Hither came Edward M. Davis, Sarah Pugh, Adeline Thompson, Frederick
Cabot of Boston, Dr. William F. Channing, and sweet little Clara Spence,
who recited for us some of the most beautiful selections in her
repertoire.

In addition we had numberless letters from friends and foes, some
praising and some condemning our proposed undertaking, and, though much
alone, we were kept in touch with the outside world. But so conflicting
was the tone of the letters that, if we had not taken a very fair gauge
of ourselves and our advisers, we should have abandoned our project and
buried all the valuable material collected, to sleep in pine boxes
forever.

At this time I received a very amusing letter from the Rev. Robert
Collyer, on "literary righteousness," quizzing me for using one of his
anecdotes in my sketch of Lucretia Mott, without giving him credit. I
laughed him to scorn, that he should have thought it was my duty to have
done so. I told him plainly that he belonged to a class of "white male
citizens," who had robbed me of all civil and political rights; of
property, children, and personal freedom; and now it ill became him to
call me to account for using one of his little anecdotes that, ten to
one, he had cribbed from some woman. I told him that I considered his
whole class as fair game for literary pilfering. That women ha