His face got red as blood, and he sweat considerable, he talked so hard, and got so excited, and pointed that forefinger so powerful and frequent at the audience, as if he was—in spirit—shootin’ ’em down like wild turkeys. Jest as quick as he collected breath enough, he went on to say that though nobody could go ahead of him in honorin’ that esteemable woman, still he sot principle up in his mind above any other female; higher even than Josiah Allen’s wife. It was solid principle he was upholdin’; the principle of the male sex not bein’ infringed upon; that was his stand. Says he, “For a female woman to talk in public on such momentous and weighty subjects—subjects that weigh I don’t know what they wont weigh but this I know: every one will be hefty;—for a female woman to talk on those deep and perhaps awful subjects as they are a bein’ brung up, would have a dangerous tendency to make a woman feel as if she was equal to man. It would have a tendency to infringe on him; and if there is anything a man can’t, nor wont stand, it is infringin’. And it would also bring her into too close contract with him; and so, on them grounds, as a Latin author observes in a similar case: ‘I deny her the right _in tato toto_.’” That was Latin, and I s’pose he thought it would scare me, but it didn’t a mite; for I don’t s’pose he knew what it meant no more’n I did. I bound off my heel with composure. But the excitement was fearful; no sooner would them on one side make a motion, than them on the other side would git up and make a different motion. You know when sheep go to jumpin’ over the fence, if one goes, they all want to go. There was the awfulest sight of motions made, I ever see; everybody was jumpin’ up and makin’ ’em. Why, one spell, I had to lay holt of Josiah Allen and hold him down by main strength, or he’d been up a makin’ ’em; he wanted to, and tried to, but I laid holt of him and argued to him. Says I: “Let ’em fight it out; don’t you make a single motion, Josiah Allen.” And Josiah, feelin’ clever, consented not to, and sot still, and I went to knittin’ again. But it was a scene of almost fearful confusion, and excitement. No sooner had the President sot down, sayin’ he denied me the right “_in tato toto_,” than Simon Slimpsey got up (with difficulty) and says he, in a almost thick tone: “I think taint best to give her the potato.” He had been a drinkin’ and didn’t know what he was sayin’. He sot down again right off—had to—for he couldn’t stand up. But as he kinder fell back on his seat, he kep’ a mutterin’ that “she didn’t ort to have the potato give her; she didn’t know enough to plant the tater, or hoe it—she hadn’t ort to have it.” Nobody minded him. But Solomon Cypher jumped up, and says he, smitin’ his breast with his right hand: “I motion she haint no right to talk.” And again he smote his breast almost severely.