Inez, vibrant, courageous, symbolic, Can death still claim you? When in the whitening winter of our grief Your smile with all the radiance of spring, When from the long halls of silence The memory of your voice comes joyously back To the ears of our desolation— Your voice that held a challenge and a caress. You have gone— Yet you are ours eternally! Your gallant youth, Your glorious self-sacrifice—all ours! Inez, vibrant, courageous, symbolic, Death cannot claim you! RUTH FITCH. _The Suffragist_, December 30, 1916. THE most poignant event—and perhaps the most beautiful in all the history of the Congressional Union—took place on Christmas Day of this year, the memorial service in memory of Inez Milholland. Inez Milholland was one of the human sacrifices offered on the altar of woman’s liberty. She died that other women might be free. In the recent campaign, she had spoken in Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Utah, Nevada, and California. In her memorial address, Maud Younger said: The trip was fraught with hardship. Speaking day and night, she would take a train at two in the morning, to arrive at eight; and then a train at midnight, to arrive at five in the morning. She would come away from audiences and droop as a flower. The hours between were hours of exhaustion and suffering. She would ride in the trains gazing from the windows, listless, almost lifeless, until one spoke; then again the sweet smile, the sudden interest, the quick sympathy. The courage of her was marvelous. [Illustration: INEZ MILHOLLAND. In the Washington Parade, March 3, 1913. Photo Copr. Harris and Ewing.] At a great mass-meeting at Los Angeles, in October, she was saying—in answer to the President’s words, “The tide is rising to meet the moon; you will not have long to wait,”—“How long must women wait for liberty?” On the word _liberty_, she fell fainting to the floor. Within a month, she was dead. That Christmas Day, Statuary Hall in the Capitol of the United States was transformed. The air was full of the smells of the forest. Greens made a background—partially concealing the semi-circle of statues—at the rear; laurel and cedar banked the dais in front; somber velvet curtains fell about its sides. Every one of the chairs which filled the big central space supported a flag of purple, white, and gold. Between the pillars of the balcony hung a continuous frieze; pennants of purple, white, and gold—the tri-color of these feminist crusaders. The audience assembled in the solemn quiet proper to such an occasion, noiselessly took their seats in the semi-circle below and the gallery above. The organ played _Ave Maria_. Then again, a solemn silence fell.