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The Revolution, V, March 19, 1870, pp. 154-155, 159. Clipping from Woodhull & Claflin's Weekly, Susan B. Anthony Scrapbook, Library of Congress. After hearing Victoria Woodhull speak at a woman suffrage meeting in Philadelphia, Lucretia Mott wrote her daughters, March 21, 1871, "I wish you could have heard Mrs.
Garrisons, Garrison, III, p. 504; Beards, The Rise of American Civilization, II, p. 63. Garrisons, Garrison, III, p. 508. Jan. 18, 1861, Antislavery Papers, Boston Public Library. Harper, Anthony, I, p. 210. Susan B. Anthony Scrapbook, 1861, Library of Congress. Harper, Anthony, I, p. 202. Mrs. Phelps later found a more permanent home with the author, Elizabeth Ellet. Ibid., pp. 203-204.
She remembered back to her mother's tales, and to the wood engraving in her scrapbook where her half-clad forebears, sword in hand, leaped from their lean beaked boats to do battle on the blood-drenched sands of England. "Did you ever hear about the Anglo-Saxons?" she asked the boy. "You bet!" His eyes glistened, and he looked at her with new interest. "I'm an Anglo-Saxon, every inch of me.
Then she flung herself in her chair and looked at Mr. Campbell, flushed, triumphant, daring. The story was old to us. It had once been published in a Charlottetown paper, and we had read in Aunt Olivia's scrapbook, where the Story Girl had learned it. But we had listened entranced.
"Well, in that case," she said gravely, "I think you did right to slap his ears not because he is a hired boy, but because it would be impertinent in ANY boy. But talking of kissing makes me think of a story I found in Aunt Olivia's scrapbook the other day. Wouldn't you like to hear it? It is called, 'How Kissing Was Discovered." "Wasn't kissing always discovered?" asked Dan.
It would not surprise me if at some future time Mrs. Bedell's boarding house, on Jackson Street in Hempstead, becomes a place of pilgrimage for lovers of the essay. They will want to see the dark little front room on the ground floor where Owd Bob used to scatter the sheets of his essays as he was retyping them from a huge scrapbook and grooming them for a canter among publishers' sanhedrim.
In the dining-room she found Tillie, sitting by the open window, reading the dramatic news in a Denver Sunday paper. Tillie kept a scrapbook in which she pasted clippings about actors and actresses. "Come look at this picture of Pauline Hall in tights, Thea," she called. "Ain't she cute? It's too bad you didn't go to the theater more when you was in Chicago; such a good chance!
With that "Aunt" Martha opened her scrapbook and read a clipping from the Statesman, under the head, "A Valuable Acquisition to Our City." It ran: "It has been many months since we have been favoured with a call from so cultured and learned a gentleman as the Hon. Andoneran P. Balderson, late of Quito, Hancock County, Iowa, who has finally determined to settle in our midst.
She has been interested in little Wren that she might be cured. It appears that some of her relatives consider her incurable." "Cured!" he sneered. "That misfit made right! Why, she has only a few months to live. Your friend is very foolish. She should put her energy on something worth while. And she should be careful how she handles their property. That scrapbook, for instance."
He may or may not keep the faith, but you can bet he always keeps a scrapbook. Silence that's the thing he fears more than hangman's nooses or firing squads. "And that's the cure for your friend, Jason Mallard, Esquire. Let the press of this country put the curse of silence on him and he's done for. Silence will kill off his cause and kill off his following and kill him off.
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