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“I am very glad of it,” said she, with an expression of great relief, “because then my vote will not be needed.”

“Why!” I exclaimed; “you won’t decline to vote, surely?”

“Worse than that,” she answered, “I am afraid I shall have to vote with the other side.”

Now as I knew her to be a good Republican, I could scarcely believe my ears. She blushed, I must admit, when she saw my astonished face.

“I’m so used to Bridget, you know,” she continued, “and good girls are so very hard to find, nowadays. She has as good as said that she won’t stay a day later than election, if I don’t vote for HER candidate; and what am I to do?”

“Do without!” I said shortly, getting up in my indignation.

“Yes, that’s very well for you, with your wonderful PHYSIQUE,” said Mrs. Buckwalter, quietly, “but think of me with my neuralgia, and the pain in my back! It would be a dreadful blow, if I should lose Bridget.”

Well–what with torch-light processions, and meetings on both sides, Burroak was in such a state of excitement when election came, that most of the ladies of my acquaintance were almost afraid to go to the polls. I tried to get them out during the first hours after sunrise, when I went myself, but in vain. Even that early, I heard things that made me shudder. Those who came later, went home resolved to give up their rights rather than undergo a second experience of rowdyism. But it was a jubilee for the servant girls. Mrs. Buckwalter didn’t gain much by her apostasy, for Bridget came home singing “The Wearing of the Green,” and let fall a whole tray full of the best china before she could be got to bed.

Burroak, which, the year before, had a Republican majority of three hundred, now went for the Democrats by more than five hundred. The same party carried the State, electing their Governor by near twenty thousand. The Republicans would now have gladly repealed the bill giving us equal rights, but they were in a minority, and the Democrats refused to co-operate. Mrs. Whiston, who still remained loyal to our side, collected information from all parts of the State, from which it appeared that four-fifths of all the female citizens had voted the Democratic ticket. In New Lisbon, our great manufacturing city, with its population of nearly one hundred thousand, the party gained three thousand votes, while the accessions to the Republican ranks were only about four hundred.

Mrs. Whiston barely escaped being defeated; her majority was reduced from seven hundred to forty-three. Eleven Democratic Assemblywomen and four Senatoresses were chosen, however, so that she had the consolation of knowing that her sex had gained, although her party had lost. She was still in good spirits: “It will all right itself in time,” she said.

You will readily guess, after what I have related, that I was not only not re-elected to the Legislature, but that I was not even a candidate. I could have born the outrageous attacks of the opposite party; but the treatment I had received from my own “constituents” (I shall always hate the word) gave me a new revelation of the actual character of political life. I have not mentioned half the worries and annoyances to which I was subjected–the endless, endless letters and applications for office, or for my influence in some way–the abuse and threats when I could not possibly do what was desired–the exhibitions of selfishness and disregard of all great and noble principles–and finally, the shameless advances which were made by what men call “the lobby,” to secure my vote for this, that, and the other thing.

Why, it fairly made my hair stand on end to hear the stories which the pleasant men, whom I thought so grandly interested in schemes for “the material development of the country,” told about each other. Mrs. Filch’s shawl began to burn my shoulders before I had worn it a half a dozen times. (I have since given it to Melissa, as a wedding-present).