epistles, that it
is better for those who have a genius for public work in the church
or State not to marry; and Miss Mueller carries her theory into
practice thus far. She has a luxurious establishment of her own, is
fully occupied in politics and reform, and though she lives by
herself she entertains her friends generously, and does whatever it
seems good to her to do. As she is bright and entertaining and has
many worshipers, she may fall a victim to the usual fate in spite
of her admirable essay, which has been printed in tract form and
circulated extensively in England and America. Miss Mueller gave
Miss Anthony and myself a farewell reception on the eve of our
departure for America, when we had the opportunity of meeting once
more most of the pleasant acquaintances we had made in London.
Although it was announced for the afternoon, we did in fact receive
all day as many as could not come at the hour appointed. Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell took breakfast with us; Mrs. Fawcett, Mrs.
Seville[584] and Miss Lord were with us at luncheon; Harriet Hosmer
and Olive Logan soon after; Mrs. Peter Taylor later, and from three
to six o'clock the parlors were crowded.

Returning from London I passed my birthday, November 12, in
Basingstoke. It was a sad day to us all, knowing that it was the
last before my departure for America. When I imprinted the farewell
kiss on the soft cheek of little Nora in the cradle, she in the
dawn and I in the sunset of life, I realized how widely the long
years and the broad ocean would separate us forever. Miss Anthony,
who had been visiting Mrs. Parker, near Warrington, met me at
Alderly Edge, where we spent a few days in the charming home of Mr.
and Mrs. Jacob Bright. There we found their noble sisters, Mrs.
McLaren and Mrs. Lucas, young Walter McLaren and his lovely bride,
Eva Mueller, whom we had heard several times on the suffrage
platform. We rallied her on the step she had lately taken,
notwithstanding her sister's able paper on the blessedness of a
single life. While here we visited Dean Stanley's birthplace; but
on his death the light and joy went out, and the atmosphere of the
old church whose walls had once echoed to his voice, and the house
where he had spent so many useful years, seemed sad and deserted.
But the day was bright and warm, the scenery all around was
beautiful, cows and sheep were still grazing in the meadows, the
grass as green as in June. This is England's chief charm, fo