It appeared that on some inauspicious morning each one of three-fourths of the secular editors from Maine to Georgia had gone to his office suspecting nothing, when from some corner of his exchange list there sprang upon him such a horror as he had little thought to see. A woman had started a political paper! A woman! Could he believe his eyes? A woman! Instantly he sprang to his feet and clutched his pantaloons, shouted to the assistant editor, when he, too, read and grasped frantically at his cassimeres, called to the reporters and press-men and typos and devils, who all rushed in, heard the news, seized their nether garments and joined the general chorus, “My breeches! oh, my breeches!” Here was a woman resolved to steal their pantaloons, their trousers, and when these were gone they might cry, “Ye have taken away my gods, and what have I more?” The imminence of the peril called for prompt action, and with one accord they shouted, “On to the breach, in defense of our breeches! Repel the invader or fill the trenches with our noble dead!” “That woman shall not have _my_ pantaloons,” cried the editor of the big city daily; “nor my pantaloons,” said the editor of the dignified weekly; “nor my pantaloons,” said he who issued manifestoes but once a month; “nor mine,” “nor mine,” “nor mine,” chimed in the small fry of the country towns. Even the religious press could not get past the tailor shop, and “Pantaloons” was the watchword all along the line. George D. Prentice took up the cry, and gave the world a two-third column leader on it, stating explicitly, “She is a man all but the pantaloons.” I wrote to him, asking a copy of the article, but received no answer, when I replied in rhyme to suit his case: “Perhaps you have been busy Horsewhipping Sal or Lizzie, Stealing some poor man’s baby, Selling its mother, may be. You say—and you are witty— That I—and ’tis a pity— Of manhood lack but dress; But you lack manliness, A body clean and new, A soul within it, too. Nature must change her plan Ere you can be a man.” Mrs. Swisshelm was scourged into the woman’s rights agitation as she had been into the anti-slavery struggle, by her own troubles, brought on her again by her husband.