ys another ethereal-lookin hearthstun depopulater,
"members of the Skeensboro Sore-eye-siss Society. We believe wimmens has
got rites, which man won't let her have. We believe the ballit is
calkilated to raise woman to her proper speer. We believe hoop-skirts
and side-saddles will soon be numbered among the lost arts. We believe
SOOZAN B. ANTHONY, E. CADY STANTON, WENDIL FILLIPS, or Mister BLACKWELL,
are just as capable of bein President of this ere old Union, as the best
man which ever wore panterloons; and we air bound hensforth and forever,
one and onseperable, to stand up for our rites, if we can only rope in
enuff Congressmen to hold our bonnits."

Durin the a-4-said bust of elokence, about 75 wimmen was holdin ballits
for me to take, while others were vilently swingin their gingham
parasols over my bald head.

All seemed as if they was jest bilin over to get their clutches about my
breethin apparatus. Says I:

"Go hum and be femails, and don't make sich tarnal loonatix of yourself
any longer, gittin mixed up with the body polertick; for sures you're
born, when woman votes sheel trail her skirts in the dust and you cant
stop her; when she walks up to the ballit box, and undertakes to mix
into suthin she don't know no more about, than TILTON and FULTON do
about the golden rool, then when that air time comes I will exclaim:

"'Oh! woman; where is thy stinger.'
"'Oh! Sore-eye-siss! where 'bouts is thy victory?'"

"What! miserable man, woodest-ist thou deny us the ballit?" screemed
another femail, as she tore a 2-bushel waterfall from her head, and,
wildly swingin it in the air, dirty stockins and old clothes fell into
promiscous heeps all about her.

"With all doo respect to the sects," says I, gettin madder and madder
all the while, "you can jest bet your Sunday close I woodest."

"Hard-harted old man, yool rue this day," they all cride in Koruss, and
the hull lot commenced snivellin, as if their harts was busted.

"Kind, noble, beautiful sir! we langwish to cast our suffrages," says a
big fat woman, about the size of a lode of hay, as she shoved her ballit
under my nose.

"Madam," says I, swellin up with accumulated rage, "langwish and rip and
tare things as much as you mindter--you cant stuff this ere ballit box
with illegal votes as long as Ime boss of it--that's what's the
matter--and I want you to understand I mean bizzinezs."

At this they all started for the door, remarkin that I was an "old