oes not even ask that
question: if one woman wishes to show her face, it is allowed. If a woman
wishes to travel alone, to walk the streets alone, the police protects her
in that liberty. She is not thrust back into her house with the reproof,
"My dear madam, at this particular moment the overwhelming majority of
women are indoors: prove that they all wish to come out, and you shall
come." On the contrary, she comes forth at her own sweet will: the
policeman helps her tenderly across the street, and waves back with
imperial gesture the obtrusive coal-cart. Some of us claim for each
individual woman, in the same way, not merely the right to go shopping, but
to go voting; not merely to show her face, but to show her hand.

There will always be many women, as there are many men, who are indifferent
to voting. For a time, perhaps always, there will be a larger percentage of
this indifference among women. But the natural right to a share in the
government under which one lives, and to a voice in making the laws under
which one may be hanged,--this belongs to each woman as an individual; and
she is quite right to claim it as she needs it, even though the majority of
her sex still prefer to take their chance of the penalty, without
perplexing themselves about the law. The demand of every enlightened woman
who asks for the ballot--like the demand of every enlightened slave for
freedom--is an individual demand; and the question whether they represent
the majority of their class has nothing to do with it. For a republic like
ours does not profess to deal with classes, but with individuals; since
"the whole people covenants with each citizen, and each citizen with the
whole people, for the common good," as the constitution of Massachusetts
says.

And, fortunately, there is such power in an individual demand that it
appeals to thousands whom no abstract right touches. Five minutes with
Frederick Douglass settled the question, for any thoughtful person, of that
man's right to freedom. Let any woman of position desire to enter what is
called "the lecture-field," to support herself and her children, and at
once all abstract objections to women's speaking in public disappear: her
friends may be never so hostile to "the cause," but they espouse her
individual cause; the most conservative clergyman subscribes for tickets,
but begs that his name may not be mentioned. They do not admit that women,
as a class, should speak,--not they; but f