walked over, examined the desk and asked the teacher who broke it.
"What! Susan Anthony step on my desk! I would not have set a child
upon it," she said, and much more which I can not write. "How came
you to step on it?" she asked, but I was too full to speak and
rushed from the room in tears. That evening, after we read in the
Testament, she said that where there was no desire for moral
improvement there would be no improvement in reading. There was one
by the side of her who had not desired moral improvement and had
made no advancement in Literature.
This deliberate cruelty to one whose heart was bursting with sorrow and
regret! "Never will this day be forgotten," says the diary. 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
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