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Mrs. Blatch spoke eloquently for her mother, saying in part:

I bring to you, Susan B. Anthony, the greetings of your friend and co-worker, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, greetings full of gracious memories. When the cause for which you have worked shall be victorious, then as is the way of the world, will it be forgotten that it ever meant effort or struggle for pioneers; but the friendship of you two women will remain a precious memory in the world's history, unforgotten and [sic]unforgetable. Your lives have proved not only that women can work strenuously together without jealousy, but that they can be friends in times of sunshine and peace, of stress and storm. No mere fair-weather friends have you been to each other.

Does not Emerson say that friendship is the slowest fruit in the garden of God? The fruit of friendship between you two has grown through half a hundred years, each year making it more beautiful, more mellow, more sweet. But you have not been weak echoes of each other; nay, often for the good of each you were thorns in the side. Yet disagreement only quickened loyalty. Supplementing each other, companionship drew out the best in each. You have both been urged to untiring efforts through the sympathy, the help of each other. You have attained the highest achievement in demonstrating a lofty, an ideal friendship. This friendship of you two women is the benediction for our century.

The last and tenderest tribute was offered by the Rev. Anna Howard Shaw who said, in rich, musical accents and with a manner which seemed almost to be inspired, what can only be most inadequately reported:

A little over a hundred years ago there came men who told us what freedom is and what freemen may become. Later women with the same love of it in their hearts said, "There is no sex in freedom. Whatever it makes possible for men it will make possible for women." <A few of these daring souls went forth to blaze the path. Gradually the sunlight of freedom shone in their faces and they encouraged others to follow. They went slowly for the way was hard. They must make the path and it was a weary task. Sometimes darkness settled over them and they must grope their way. Mott, Stanton, Stone, Anthony—not one retraced her footsteps. The two who are left still stand on the summit, great, glorious figures. We ask, "Is the way difficult?" They answer. "Yes, but the sun shines on us and in the valley they know nothing of its glory. Their cry we hear and are calling back to those who are still in the valley."