CHAPTER XXII.

REFORMS AND REFORMERS IN GREAT BRITAIN.


Reaching London in the fogs and mists of November, 1882, the first
person I met, after a separation of many years, was our revered and
beloved friend William Henry Channing. The tall, graceful form was
somewhat bent; the sweet, thoughtful face somewhat sadder; the crimes
and miseries of the world seemed heavy on his heart. With his refined,
nervous organization, the gloomy moral and physical atmosphere of London
was the last place on earth where that beautiful life should have ended.
I found him in earnest conversation with my daughter and the young
Englishman she was soon to marry, advising them not only as to the
importance of the step they were about to take, but as to the minor
points to be observed in the ceremony. At the appointed time a few
friends gathered in Portland Street Chapel, and as we approached the
altar our friend appeared in surplice and gown, his pale, spiritual face
more tender and beautiful than ever. This was the last marriage service
he ever performed, and it was as pathetic as original. His whole
appearance was so in harmony with the exquisite sentiments he uttered,
that we who listened felt as if, for the time being, we had entered with
him into the Holy of Holies.

Some time after, Miss Anthony and I called on him to return our thanks
for the very complimentary review he had written of "The History of
Woman Suffrage." He thanked us in turn for the many pleasant memories
we had revived in those pages, "but," said he, "they have filled me with