CHAPTER LVIII.
REMINISCENCES.
BY E. C. S.
Reaching London amidst the fogs, and mists of November, 1882, the first person I met, after a separation of many years, was our revered and beloved friend, William Henry Channing. The tall, graceful form was somewhat bent; the sweet, thoughtful face somewhat sadder; the crimes and miseries of the world seemed more heavy on his heart than ever. With his refined, nervous organization, the gloomy moral and physical atmosphere of London was the last place on earth where that beautiful life should have ended. I found him in earnest conversation with my daughter and a young Englishman soon to be married, advising them not only as to the importance of the step they were about to take, but as to the minor points to be observed in the ceremony. At the appointed time a few friends gathered in Portland-street chapel, and as we approached the altar, our friend appeared in surplice and gown, his pale, spiritual face more tender and beautiful than ever. This was the last marriage service he ever performed, and it was as pathetic as original, his whole appearance so in harmony with the exquisite sentiments he uttered that we who listened felt as if for the time being we had entered with him into the Holy of Holies.
Some time after, Miss Anthony and I called on him, to return our thanks for the very complimentary review he had written of the History of Woman Suffrage. He thanked us in turn for the many pleasant memories we had revived in those pages, which he said had been as entertaining as a novel; "but," said he, "they have filled me with indignation, too, over the repeated insults offered to women so earnestly engaged in honest endeavors for the uplifting of mankind. I blushed for my sex more than once in reading these volumes." We lingered long in talking over the events connected with this great struggle for freedom. He dwelt with tenderness on our divisions and disappointments, and en-
