Margaret remarked that she had had one for weeks. 'Oh,' said the
husband, 'mine is the real headache, genuine pain, yours is a sort of
natural consequence.'" For seven weeks she is at Margaret's bedside
every moment when out of school, and also superintends the house and
looks after the children. There are a nurse and a girl in the kitchen,
but the invalid will eat no food which Cousin Susan does not prepare;
there is no touch so light and gentle as hers; her very presence gives
rest and strength. At the end of this time Margaret dies, leaving four
little children. Susan's grief is as intense as if she had lost a
sister, and she decides to remain no longer in Canajoharie. She writes:
"I seem to shrink from my daily tasks; energy and stimulus are wanting;
I have no courage. A great weariness has come over me." In all the
letters of the past ten years there has not been one note of discontent
or discouragement, but now she is growing tired of the treadmill. At
this time the California fever was at its height, hundreds of young men
were starting westward, and she writes: "Oh, if I were but a man so
that I could go!"
Soon after coming to Canajoharie Miss Anthony joined the society of the
Daughters of Temperance and was made secretary. Her heart and soul were
enlisted in this cause. She realized the immense task to be
accomplished, and, even then, saw dimly the power that women might
wield if they were properly organized and given full authority and
sanction to work. As yet no women had spoken in public on this
question, and they had just begun to organize societies among
themselves, called Daughters' Unions, which were a sort of annex to the
men's organizations, but they were strongly opposed by most women as
being unladylike and entirely out of woman's sphere.
On March 1, 1849, the Daughters of Temperance gave a supper, to which
were invited the people of the village, and the address of the evening
was made by Miss Anthony. She thus describes the occasion in a letter:
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