three out of the seventy-one Republican Senators
and Assemblymen, and on thirty-four out of the sixty-five Democrats.
This would give a majority of twenty-eight in the House, and ten in
the Senate. Should the bill pass, there was still a possibility that
it might be vetoed by the Governor, of whom we did not feel sure. We
therefore arranged that our Annual Fair should be held a fortnight later
than usual, and that the proceeds (a circumstance known only to the
managers) should be devoted to a series of choice suppers, at which we
entertained, not only the Governor and our friends in both Houses, but
also, like true Christians, our legislatorial enemies. Olympia Knapp,
who, you know, is so very beautiful, presided at these entertainments.
She put forth all her splendid powers, and with more effect than any of
us suspected. On the day before the bill reached its third reading,
the Governor made her an offer of marriage. She came to the managers in
great agitation, and laid the matter before them, stating that she was
overwhelmed with surprise (though Sarah Pincher always maintained that
she wasn't in the least), and asking their advice. We discussed the
question for four hours, and finally decided that the interests of
the cause would oblige her to accept the Governor's hand. "Oh, I am so
glad!" cried Olympia, "for I accepted him at once." It was a brave, a
noble deed!

Now, I would ask those who assert that women are incapable of conducting
the business of politics, to say whether any set of men, of either
party, could have played their cards more skilfully? Even after the
campaign was over we might have failed, had it not been for the suppers.
We owed this idea, like the first, to the immortal Selina Whiston.
A lucky accident--as momentous in its way as the fall of an apple to
Newton, or the flying of a kite to Dr. Franklin--gave her the secret
principle by which the politics of men are directed. Her house in
Whittletown was the half of a double frame building, and the rear-end of
the other part was the private office of--but no, I will not mention the
name--a lawyer and a politician. He was known as a "wirepuller," and the
other wire-pullers of his party used to meet in his office and discuss
matters. Mrs. Whiston always asserted that there was a mouse-hole
through the partition; but she had energy enough to have made a hole
herself, for the sake of the cause.

She never would tell us all she overheard. "It is enough,