to fight back any advanced ideas which might disturb their own comfort.  The feeling within this group of leaders, and the failure of oncoming generations of American women to recognize the debt of obligation they owe to its efforts, was illustrated by an incident that came up in connection with the Third International Congress of Women which met in London in 1899.  The session was opened in Westminster Town Hall, with seven hundred delegates present, representing the most thoughtful women of the world.  Lady Aberdeen was in the chair, and Mrs. Creighton, wife of the late Bishop of London, was reading a paper.  In the midst of deep attention, a door at the rear of the platform was gently opened, and Miss Susan B. Anthony stepped onto the stage.  She had just arrived from America.  Her strong figure was bent with the weight of years; her face was squared by the conflict and partial ostracism she had met; but her glance had lost none of its stern kindliness, and her bearing none of its indomitable courage.  As she appeared, this most representative audience of women in the world sprang to its feet and burst into wild cheering.  In vain did Lady Aberdeen rap for order and beg the audience to let Mrs. Creighton proceed.  Not until Miss Anthony came to the front and urged the women to sit down was quiet restored.  These women knew the price of a life which their champion had paid for their opportunities.

A few months after this the school children of the prosperous city of Rochester, N.Y., where Miss Anthony had been a leading citizen for many years, were asked to write school compositions in which they named the person they would most wish to be like.  Over three thousand girls, in the elementary grades, wrote these papers, but not one chose Miss Anthony.  This first generation of women reformers could not establish the type of womanhood for the modern world; they had not the leisure, nor the freedom, nor could they see all that lay in the future.  But all the more, because their lives were hard, should they be held in grateful remembrance.

To the second generation of leaders belong women like Alice Freeman Palmer, Mary Sheldon Barnes and Charlotte Perkins Gilman.  They came on the scene when the first campaign had been won; they could command their own bodies and property; college doors were swinging open where they could secure the training that should fit them for the struggle to win educational, industrial, social and political opportunity for all their sisters.  They were still looked upon as blue-stockings and queer; they had often to serve as the butt of ridicule; but they had education, income, a certain degree of leisure, and a social recognition which, if grudging in some quarters, was all the more generous in others.