speeches. I was invited to
preside and introduce the various performers. We reached Sandy Hook the
evening of the 29th day of August and lay there all night, and the next
morning we sailed up our beautiful harbor, brilliant with the rays of
the rising sun.

Being fortunate in having children in both hemispheres, here, too, I
found a son and daughter waiting to welcome me to my native land. Our
chief business for many weeks was searching for an inviting apartment
where my daughter, Mrs. Stanton Lawrence, my youngest son, Bob, and I
could set up our family altar and sing our new psalm of life together.
After much weary searching we found an apartment. Having always lived in
a large house in the country, the quarters seemed rather contracted at
first, but I soon realized the immense saving in labor and expense in
having no more room than is absolutely necessary, and all on one floor.
To be transported from the street to your apartment in an elevator in
half a minute, to have all your food and fuel sent to your kitchen by an
elevator in the rear, to have your rooms all warmed with no effort of
your own, seemed like a realization of some fairy dream. With an
extensive outlook of the heavens above, of the Park and the Boulevard
beneath, I had a feeling of freedom, and with a short flight of stairs
to the roof (an easy escape in case of fire), of safety, too.

No sooner was I fully established in my eyrie, than I was summoned to
Rochester, by my friend Miss Anthony, to fill an appointment she had
made for me with Miss Adelaide Johnson, the artist from Washington, who
was to idealize Miss Anthony and myself in marble for the World's Fair.
I found my friend demurely seated in her mother's rocking-chair hemming
table linen and towels for her new home, anon bargaining with butchers,
bakers, and grocers, making cakes and puddings, talking with enthusiasm
of palatable dishes and the beauties of various articles of furniture
that different friends had presented her. All there was to remind one of
the "Napoleon of the Suffrage Movement" was a large escritoire covered
with documents in the usual state of confusion--Miss Anthony never could
keep her papers in order. In search of any particular document she roots
out every drawer and pigeon hole, although her mother's little spinning
wheel stands right beside her desk, a constant reminder of all the
domestic virtues of the good housewife, with whom "order" is of the
utmost importance an