how wicked it was for wimmin to vote—and it was her only spear to
marry, says I to 'em, "Which had you ruther do, let Betsey Bobbet
cling to you or let her vote?" and they would every one of 'em quail
before that question. They would drop their heads before my keen gray
eyes—and move off the subject.

   But Betsey don't get discouraged. Every time I see her she says in a
hopeful, wishful tone, "That the deepest men of minds in the country
agree with her in thinkin' that it is wimmin's duty to marry and not
to vote." And then she talks a sight about the retirin' modesty and
dignity of the fair sect, and how shameful and revoltin' it would be
to see wimmin throwin' 'em away and boldly and unblushin'ly talkin'
about law and justice.

   Why, to hear Betsey Bobbet talk about wimmin's throwin' their modesty
away, you would think if they ever went to the political pole they
would have to take their dignity and modesty and throw 'em against
the pole and go without any all the rest of their lives.

   Now I don't believe in no such stuff as that. I think a woman can be
bold and unwomanly in other things besides goin' with a thick veil
over her face, and a brass-mounted parasol, once a year, and gently
and quietly dropping a vote for a Christian President, or a religious
and noble-minded pathmaster.

   She thinks she talks dreadful polite and proper. She says "I was
cameing," instead of "I was coming"; and "I have saw," instead of "I
have seen"; and "papah" for paper, and "deah" for dear. I don't know
much about grammer, but common sense goes a good ways. She writes the
poetry for the

    Jonesville Augur

   , or "

    Augah

   ," as she calls it. She
used to write for the opposition paper, the

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