A year and a half ago I was at Walla Walla, Washington Territory. I saw
there a theatrical company, called the "Pixley Sisters," playing before
crowded houses, every night of the whole week of the territorial fair.
The eldest of those three fatherless girls was scarce eighteen. Yet
every night a United States officer stretched out his long fingers, and
clutched six dollars of the proceeds of the exhibitions of those orphan
girls, who, but a few years before, were half starvelings in the streets
of Olympia, the capital of that far-off north-west territory. So the
poor widow, who keeps a boarding house, manufactures shirts, or sells
apples and peanuts on the street corners of our cities, is compelled to
pay taxes from her scanty pittance. I would that the women of this
republic, at once, resolve, never again to submit to taxation, until
their right to vote be recognized.
Miss Sarah E. Wall, of Worcester, Mass., twenty years ago, took this
position. For several years, the officers of the law distrained her
property, and sold it to meet the necessary amount; still she persisted,
and would not yield an iota, though every foot of her lands should be
struck off under the hammer. And now, for several years, the assessor
has left her name off the tax list, and the collector passed her by
without a call.
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