Prayer followed by the Rev. Dr. Gray, who committed the sad mistake of alluding to the scripture verse which says that woman was made of the rib of a man. As soon as the prayer was finished, a Mrs. Davis, of Philadelphia, undertook to take exception to the prayer, but Mrs. Lucretia Mott said though the audience might differ in the theological views, she questioned the good taste of discussing the subject at this convention. This was oil to the troubled waters, and peace followed forthwith. A very mother in Israel seemed this venerable woman, now advanced beyond her eightieth year. As she appeared before the audience in her prim Quaker garb, her voice, pure and distinct as the notes of a bell, seemed more like the tones of a spirit issuing from some crumbling ruin than that of a representative woman on the world’s stage to-day. Those who remember Thaddeus Stevens in his last days will recall a striking resemblance, both mental and physical, between these two individuals of a past generation, both belonging to the same State of the Union. Miss Anna Dickinson is very much like Mrs. Mott, and it may be well to remember that only the Quaker element, which centuries ago made it just as proper for the women to speak in public as the men, could produce two such marvels of oratory. Following in the wake of Mrs. Lucretia Mott, up rose the brilliant Mrs. Cady Stanton, of the Revolution, one of the most beautiful and socially gifted women of the day; also a very firebrand in the camp of the enemy. What the poet says about roses in the snow finds a living embodiment in Mrs. Stanton. Have you never seen the heavens aglow with purple and gold before the sunset? And who would exchange these mellow beams for the pale, weak morning rays, or the sultry, stifling noon? Now add a voice of rare melody, sweet, persuasive, and enchanting as a flute, and you see a woman as potent in her way as Queen Elizabeth; an intellectual princess “to the manor born,” and who is fated to fill a niche in the history of our Republic. And now, reader, you see before you a woman stern, solid, aggressive. Her whole personnel is suggestive of the power of nature, strength, force. You can not help but feel that the good Dame Nature for once made a blunder. She put a man’s head on a woman’s shoulders; the massive brain and square brow, the large gray eyes that are set at cross purposes with each other, the clear cut, thinly chiseled lips, that, when brought together, seem to have the firm grip of a vise; a woman to command; a woman to suffer and die for opinion’s sake. Reader, you see Susan B. Anthony. You see the woman who would go to the edge of a fiery caldron, or a Democratic convention, to accomplish a purpose. If there is a pillar of strength among woman, upon which the weak, the degraded, the down-trodden can lean, it must be upon Miss Susan B. Anthony. If every State in the Union were blessed with two such women, the existing factions between the sexes would suddenly expire.