Then a hush fell on the people and all waited for Miss Anthony. During the afternoon she had been sitting in a large armchair that was almost covered by her cloak of royal purple velvet which she had thrown over it, the white satin lining forming a lovely background for her finely-shaped head with its halo of silver hair. No one ever had seen her so moved as on this occasion when her memory must have carried her back to the days of bare halls, hostile audiences, ridicule, abuse, loneliness and ostracism by all but a very few staunch friends. "Would she be able to speak?" many in the audience asked themselves, but the nearest friends waited calmly and without anxiety. They never had known her to fail. The result was thus described:
"How can you expect me to say a word?" she said. "And yet I must. I have reason to feel grateful, for I have received letters and telegrams from all over the world.[1] But the one that has touched me the most is a simple note which came from an old home of slavery, from a woman off of whose hands and feet the shackles fell nearly forty years ago. That letter, my friends, contained eighty cents—one penny for every year. It was all that this aged person had. ....
I am grateful for the many expressions which I have listened to this afternoon. I have heard the grandson of the great Frederick Douglass speak to me through his violin. I mention this because I remember so well Frederick Douglass when he rose at the convention where the first resolution ever presented for woman suffrage had his eloquence to help it. ....
Among the addresses from my younger co-workers, none has- ↑ Miss Anthony received on this occasion 1,100 letters and telegrams, every one of which she acknowledged later with a personal message.
