Nobody else ever stood upright before.
She said but little in the meetings, but that so clear and sagacious and wise; and there was such an instinct of her superiority, that she ruled like a queen on the platform, and when she looked as if she desired anything we all sprang to see what it might be. Then to see her at her house—at her long table in the great dining-room, eighteen at table (and filled twice over, one day)—she at one end and her quiet, sensible, manly husband, James Mott, at the other; a perpetual Thanksgiving Day; her children and their partners beside her, and all looking up to her so admiringly. . .
To his mother he wrote:—
Lucy Stone of course was the real presiding genius [at the Convention], dear little stainless saint that she is; but I was very much struck with the character and ability shown by the women. When this lady was about to lecture in Brattleboro, Mr. Higginson thus besought his family:—
My principal object in now writing