’LECTION DAY , '92. 
223 
touch and the day’s work is fairly begun. By 
noon about fifty men have passed the guard, 
taken their folded ballots, entered the little 
booths, and spent from two to ten minutes each 
in marking or trying to mark for their favorite 
candidates. 
“This is a great thing for the fools,” said an 
old farmer; “they can look just as wise as the 
wisest of us, but they nor nobody else will ever 
know just who they voted for.” 
One man, after entering the booth, came out 
and said he wanted some one to mark for him. 
“Step this way,” shouted the moderator, “and 
take you* solemn oath that you cannot read 
your ballot and must have help in marking it.” 
“I won’t swear to anything of the kind,” said 
the man indignantly, and he went back to his 
booth. The crowd became impatient at the 
delay, and began to push hard for the narrow 
entrance. Strong men cried out in pain or 
anger; the stove tottered and part of the pipe 
fell, scattering soot on the nearest heads; the 
moderator thundered rebukes, and several men 
went home disgusted with the new-fangled sys¬ 
tem, only to be dragged back later by the com¬ 
mittees of their respective parties. 
Back of the town-house, Paugus Biver, well 
filled by the night’s rain and the melted snow 
from the mountains, rushed noisily through its 
