The next morning early people from all parts of the city could be seen traveling in the direction of the State-house, in street-cars, carriages, on bicycles and afoot. All seemed to be intent and anxious. Fully fifteen thousand people were on the State-house grounds by nine o’clock. They talked, whispered, argued and made speeches. The sole theme was Betsy Gaskins and the new law. The antiquated crank was there, claiming that it “can’t be done,” “better leave things as they are.” Every now and then a lobbying banker could be seen, slipping along, eyes cast downward, as though he felt his guilt. When the session opened the galleries of the Assembly room were filled with people. The State-house was full. The gavel of the speaker fell. The chaplain offered prayer. He prayed that right might prevail; that the poor and heavy-laden might be unburdened; that the bribe-taker, together with the bribe-giver, might perish from the land; and, above all, he invoked the blessings of Divine Providence on the acts of that particular day. After prayer silence reigned a while. It was broken when a tall, partly bald, large-faced, keen-eyed law-maker over in the northeast corner of the hall arose in his seat, took a general survey of the house and galleries, took a large roll of money from his pocket, and, waving it above his head, said in thunder tones: [Illustration: “Behold! See that money!”] “Behold! See that money! There sit in this house fifty-three men who know where that money came from, and what it was given for. They know it because they each have received from the same hand like sums. They came here sworn to represent the people who elected them; they would sell them into slavery instead. They are bribe-takers, and have sold their votes and influence against the bill that comes up to-day. This hall for the last week has been surrounded by a horde of lobbying bankers and bankers’ lawyers, buying the manhood of men that the poor may continue to be oppressed.” Then, turning and pointing toward a banker from Cincinnati who sat in the south gallery, he said: “There is the man! I defy him to deny that he paid me the five hundred dollars I hold in my hand to vote and work against this bill!” The banker was livid. All eyes were turned toward him. He sat looking straight at the legislator, who pictured the banker as a “thief,” a “murderer,” a “corrupter of justice,” a “despoiler of government,” and closed by waving his hand over the hall and exclaiming that such criminals had by their own acts put themselves beyond the pale of the law. By this time the crowd had become furious. The Assembly arose as one man, many with rolls of money in their hands, and a cry went up that was awful to hear—a cry of _lost manhood found_.