nckley's church the previous Sunday afternoon.

From Providence I hurried home, to meet my son Theodore and his bride,
who had just landed from France. We decorated our house and grounds with
Chinese lanterns and national flags for their reception. As we had not
time to send to New York for bunting, our flags--French and
American--were all made of bright red and blue cambric. The effect was
fine when they arrived; but, unfortunately, there came up a heavy
thunderstorm in the night and so drenched our beautiful flags that they
became colorless rags. My little maid announced to me early in the
morning that "the French and Americans had had a great battle during the
night and that the piazza was covered with blood." This was startling
news to one just awakening from a sound sleep. "Why, Emma!" I said,
"what do you mean?" "Why," she replied, "the rain has washed all the
color out of our flags, and the piazza is covered with red and blue
streams of water." As the morning sun appeared in all its glory, chasing
the dark clouds away, our decorations did indeed look pale and limp, and
were promptly removed.

I was happily surprised with my tall, stately daughter, Marguerite
Berry. A fine-looking girl of twenty, straight, strong, and sound,
modest and pleasing. She can walk miles, sketches from nature with great
skill and rapidity, and speaks three languages. I had always said to my
sons: "When you marry, choose a woman with a spine and sound teeth;
remember the teeth show the condition of the bones in the rest of the
body." So, when Theodore introduced his wife to me, he said, "You see I
have followed your advice; her spine is as straight as it should be, and
every tooth in her head as sound as ivory." This reminds me of a young
man who used to put my stoves up for the winter. He told me one day that
he thought of getting married. "Well," I said, "above all things get a
wife with a spine and sound teeth." Stove pipe in hand he turned to me
with a look of surprise, and said: "Do they ever come without spines?"

In July, 1881, sitting under the trees, Miss Anthony and I read and
discussed Wendell Phillips' magnificent speech before the Phi Beta Kappa
Society at Harvard College. This society had often talked of inviting
him, but was afraid of his radical utterances. At last, hoping that
years might have modified his opinions and somewhat softened his speech,
an invitation was given. The elite of Boston, the presidents and college