In speaking of this incident Miss Anthony said: "Not once, in all the sixty years that have passed, has the thought of that day come to my mind without making me turn cold and sick at heart." On one occasion when a composition had been severely criticised, Susan blazed forth the inquiry why she always was censured and her sister praised.

"Because," was the reply, "thy sister Guelma does the best she is capable of, but thou dost not.

Thou hast greater abilities and I demand of thee the best of thy capacity." Throughout this little record are continual expressions of the pain of separation from the dear home, of keen disappointment if the expected letter fails to come, and most affectionate references to the beloved parents, brothers and sisters.
Even the austere Deborah is mentioned always with respect and kindness for, notwithstanding her frequent censure, she inspired the girls with love and reverence.
Subsequent events show that this lady was failing rapidly with consumption.

Among the old letters, one from an assistant teacher to Daniel Anthony, dated 1839, a year after Susan left school, says: "The tender chord that so long confined our beloved Deborah to this world was broken on the 25th day of the 4th month, and we trust her happy spirit took its flight to realms of eternal felicity." Deborah Moulson was a cultured and estimable woman, but she represented the spirit of that age toward childhood, one of chilling severity and constant repression, when reproof was as liberally administered as praise was conscientiously withheld.
[Footnote 4: Sixty-five years later, this cousin, Nancy Howe Clark, aged eighty-seven, wrote Miss Anthony: "The year I spent at your father's was the happiest of my whole long life.

How well I remember the sweet voices saying 'Cousin Nancy,' and the affectionate way in which I was received by your dear father and mother.