MY engagement was a season of doubt and conflict杁oubt as to the wisdom of changing a girlhood of freedom and enjoyment for I knew not what， and conflict because the step I proposed was in opposition to the wishes of all my family. Whereas， heretofore， friends were continually suggesting suitable matches for me and painting the marriage relation in the most dazzling colors， now that state was represented as beset with dangers and disappointments， and men， of all God's creatures as the most depraved and unreliable. Hard pressed， I broke my engagement after months of anxiety and bewilderment； suddenly I decided to renew it， as Mr. Stanton was going to Europe as a delegate to the World's Anti-slavery Convention， and we did not wish the ocean to roll between us.
Thursday， May 10， 1840， I determined to take the fateful step， without the slightest preparation for a wedding， or a voyage； but Mr. Stanton， coming up the North River， was detained on "Marcy's Overslaugh，" a bar in the river where boats were frequently stranded for hours. This delay compelled us to be married on Friday， which is commonly supposed to be a most unlucky day. But as we lived together， without more than the usual matrimonial friction， for nearly a half a century， had seven children， all but one of whom are still living， and have been well sheltered， clothed， and fed， enjoying sound minds in sound bodies， no one need be afraid of going through the marriage ceremony on Friday for fear of bad luck. The Scotch clergyman who married us， being somewhat superstitious， begged us to postpone it until Saturday； but， as we were to sail early in the coming week， that was impossible. That point settled， the next difficulty was to persuade him to leave out the word "obey" in the marriage ceremony.
As I obstinately refused to obey one with whom I supposed I was entering into an equal relation， that point， too， was conceded. A few friends were invited to be present and， in a simple white evening gown， I was married.
But the good priest avenged himself for the points he conceded by keeping us on the rack with a long prayer and dissertation on the sacred institution for one mortal hour. The Rev. Hugh Maire was a little stout fellow， vehement in manner and speech， who danced about the floor， as he laid down the law， in the most original and comical manner. As Mr. Stanton had never seen him before， the hour to him was one of constant struggle to maintain his equilibrium. I had sat under his ministrations for several years， and was accustomed to his rhetoric， accent， and gestures， and thus was able to go through the ordeal in a calmer state of mind.
Sister Madge， who had stood by me bravely through all my doubts and anxieties， went with us to New York and saw us on board the vessel. My sister Harriet and her husband， Daniel C. Eaton， a merchant in New York city， were also there. He and I had had for years a standing game of "tag" at all our partings， and he had vowed to send me "tagged" to Europe. I was equally determined that he should not. Accordingly， I had a desperate chase after him all over the vessel， but in vain. He had the last "tag" and escaped. As I was compelled， under the circumstances， to conduct the pursuit with some decree of decorum， and he had the advantage of height， long limbs， and freedom from skirts， I really stood no chance whatever. However， as the chase kept us all laughing， it helped to soften the bitterness of parting. MRS. STANTON AND DAUGHTER， 1857.
Fairly at sea， I closed another chapter of my life， and my thoughts turned to what lay in the near future. James G. Birney， the anti-slavery nominee for the presidency of the United States， joined us in New York， and was a fellow-passenger on the Montreal for England. He and my husband were delegates to the World Anti-slavery Convention， and both interested themselves in my anti-slavery education. They gave me books to read， and， as we paced the deck day by day， the question was the chief theme of our conversation.
Mr. Birney was a polished gentleman of the old school， and was excessively proper and punctilious in manner and conversation. I soon perceived that he thought I needed considerable toning down before reaching England. I was quick to see and understand that his criticisms of others in a general way and the drift of his discourses on manners and conversation had a nearer application than he intended I should discover， though he hoped I would profit by them. I was always grateful to anyone who took an interest in my improvement， so I laughingly told him， one day， that he need not make his criticisms any longer in that roundabout way， but might take me squarely in hand and polish me up as speedily as possible. Sitting in the saloon at night after a game of chess， in which， perchance， I had been the victor， I felt complacent and would sometimes say：
"Well， what have I said or done to-day open to criticism？"
So， in the most gracious manner， he replied on one occasion：
"You went to the masthead in a chair， which I think very unladylike.
I heard you call your husband 'Henry' in the presence of strangers， which is not permissible in polite society. You should always say 'Mr. Stanton.'
You have taken three moves back in this game."
"Bless me！" I replied， "what a catalogue in one day！ I fear my Mentor will despair of my ultimate perfection."
"I should have more hope，" he replied， "if you seemed to feel my rebukes more deeply， but you evidently think them of too little consequence to be much disturbed by them."
As he found even more fault with my husband， we condoled with each other and decided that our friend was rather hypercritical and that we were as nearly perfect as mortals need be for the wear and tear of ordinary life.
Being both endowed with a good degree of self-esteem， neither the praise nor the blame of mankind was overpowering to either of us. As the voyage lasted eighteen days杅or we were on a sailing vessel杦e had time to make some improvement， or， at least， to consider all friendly suggestions.
