In 1775, women were allowed to be present in Parliament to listen to election petitions, and continued to be admitted to the body of the House of Commons until 1778.[431] In this year a member named Captain Johnstone insisted that strangers should withdraw, and the female section of the audience absolutely declined to do so. Threats, entreaties, all were useless. With the charming obstinacy of their sex, the fair visitors clung to their seats, and refused to budge an inch. Among the ladies who led this revolt was the Duchess of Devonshire, and a celebrated beauty of the name of Musters. They were assisted by a certain number of male admirers, and, so successful were their efforts, that two long hours elapsed before the galleries could be cleared. This incident caused the Speaker to forbid the future admittance of women, and until after the fire of 1834, ladies could only listen to debates clandestinely, and in a manner which entailed the maximum of personal discomfort. Their absence does not seem to have had any effect upon the length of the debates. "I was in hopes that long speeches would have been knocked on the head when the ladies were excluded from the galleries," said the doorkeeper; "they often used to keep the members up."[432] [431] See A. Young's "Autobiography," p. 17. (Election Petitions were tried before the whole House, and thus resolved themselves into mere party struggles. In 1770, Grenville moved that they be referred to small committees.) [432] Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 34. When the Commons sat in the old St Stephen's Chapel, that chamber was divided into two parts by a false roof. The upper half consisted of a big empty room like a barn, with unglazed windows. In the centre of the floor of this apartment was the ventilating shaft of the House, a rough casement with eight small openings, situated exactly above the chandelier in the ceiling of the chamber below. To this room were conducted the lady friends of members desirous of catching a glimpse of the Commons at work. The door was locked upon them, and they were permitted to sit on a circular bench which surrounded the ventilator, and peer down through the openings, while every now and then their imprisonment would be lightened by a visit from some kindly attendant, who would tell them the name of the member addressing the House. The only light was provided by a farthing dip stuck in a tin candlestick, and the room was gloomy and depressing. It is an ill wind, however, that blows nobody any good, and once when O'Connell went up there expecting to find his wife, he kissed the Dowager Duchess of Richmond by mistake.[433] [433] Grantley Berkeley's "Recollections," vol. i. p. 369.