The tyrant, Custom, has been summoned before the bar of Common Sense. His Majesty no longer awes the multitude–his sceptre is broken–his crown is trampled in the dust–the sentence of death is pronounced upon him. All nations, ranks and classes have, in turn, questioned and repudiated his authority; and now, that the monster is chained and caged, timid woman, on tiptoe, comes to look him in the face, and to demand of her brave sires and sons, who have struck stout blows for liberty, if, in this change of dynasty, she, too, shall find relief.
Yes, gentlemen, in republican America, in the 19th century, we, the daughters of the revolutionary heroes of ’76, demand at your hands the redness of our grievances–a revision of your state constitution–a new code of laws. Permit us then, as briefly as possible, to call your attention to the legal disabilities under which we labor.
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