CHARACTERS.

COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

Scene.—Apartment in Mrs. Duplex's house. Lounge, L.; two chairs, R.; table with writing-materials, and an easy-chair, C.

Mrs. H.

(outside, R.) Don't tell me, yeou imperdent thing! Clear out, I tell yeou!

Maggie

(outside, R.) Faix! not for the likes av yez, at all, at all.

Mrs. H.

(outside, R.). Yeou won't, hay? We'll see about it. (Enter Maggie, R., followed by Mrs. H., brandishing a broom.)

Maggie.

Aisy, Mrs. Hartshorn, or it's yersilf will be sent to coort for salt and bathery, sure.

Mrs. H.

Don't care! If I'm sent to prison for life, I mean to have my orders obeyed.

Maggie.

Faix, an' it's not yersilf is the lady of the house, at all, at all.

Mrs. H.

Don't make no difference. Yeou take that broom, and sweep out my room, and be quick about it!

Maggie.

It's warning I'll give to onct the misthress cooms, Mrs. Hartshorn. Faix! there's a power of work in the house, and a heap of misthresses to order about—bad luck to 'em! Niver mind, I'll swape the room; an', if ye find any thing broke, it's not the fault av Maggie Donovan. (Aside.) Only jist I'll—I'll have one good crack at her chiny vases, so I will.

[Exit L.

Mrs. H.

(sits in chair, C., takes out her smelling-bottle, removes stopper, places her finger over it, and applies it to her nose, snuffs it, gives a little start, with something between a sigh and an exclamation, sounding like "Kee," accompanying it. This should be repeated wherever the word appears in the dialogue). Well! if Hannah Merria's heouse ain't a-going to eternal smash, it's not for want er help. Sich actions I never did see. There's that ere cook! If I stick my head into the kitchen (kee), I'm sure to be saluted with the dishcloth; and, if I go up stairs, there's always a broom laying round loose for me to tumble over (kee). For the land of liberty's sake, what's the use of having a home if you don't take care of it? Neow, here's Hannah Merria, whose husband died a year ago, leaving all his property to her, his second wife, and who ought to be the happiest woman in the world in consequence (kee),—not of his death, but the money,—a-prancin' round in perlitical circuses, ravin' like a lunatic about "speers," and "rights," and "sufferings," and leaving her home to take care of itself. She's the queerest young 'un I ever had (kee). (Enter Caroline, R.)

Caroline.

What's the trouble, grandmother?

Mrs. H.

Oh, it's them hired gals, Ca'line. They've made me crazy with their shiftlessness. I do think Hannah Merria might stay at home, and look arter them.

Caroline.

My good step-mother has other affairs to occupy her time. You know she is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

Mrs. H.

Then she'd better bring her club home, and trounce these sassy critters into some kind of reform (kee).

Caroline.

She thinks she is engaged in a noble work. She is the champion of her sex.

Mrs. H.

Champion fiddlesticks! There's no sense in such carryings-on. What would my old man, Hezekiah Hartshorn (kee)—bless his dear dead and gone memory—have thought if I'd 'a' gone off in this fashion, a meddlin' with things that women don't know nothin' about? When he took me for better or for wus, sez he to me, "Deborah, there's the old homestid,—a snug house and a likely farm,—all ours. Yeou take kere of the house, and I'll take kere of the farm. Outside I'll be master, inside you shall be mistress; and we won't interfere." That's all the bargain we ever made, and we stuck to it. I took good care to make his home pleasant; but meddlin' with his affairs would have ben as rediculous as it would have ben for him to stick his nose into the churn every time I made butter. No, indeed! Let woman do her own work, and leave man to his'n.

Caroline.

Ah, grandmother, the world has turned over a great many times since your day. Women have acquired larger ideas of usefulness, and have found in intellectual pursuits release from household drudgery. Triumphs in medical practice, and success in the pulpit, have fired them with ambition to take their place beside the sterner sex in those educational, scientific, and political spheres, for which they feel themselves equally well fitted.

Mrs. H.

(Kee.) Do hear that young 'un talk; and she don't believe a word of it, nuther.

Caroline.

But my good step-mother does; and, if she can elevate her sex, she is doing a noble work.

Mrs. H.

Noble cat's foot! If she wants to elervate her sex, as she calls it, let her stay to home, and look after things. If that Katie don't want elervating with a broomstick, then I'm mistaken (kee). Why don't she give you a eddication, instead of keeping you drudging about the house, when you should be at school with Florence? She's got your father's money, and that's all she keres for (kee).

Caroline.

I am contented, grandmother. I make no complaint.

Mrs. H.

'Cause you're meek as Moses. But I'll give her a piece of my mind, you see ef I don't.

Caroline.

Don't get angry, grandmother. To-day Florence returns after six months' absence at school. Let her find every thing bright and pleasant.

Mrs. H.

Lor-a-massy! So she does. Well, I'm glad on it. Ef she don't upset things, then I'm greatly mistaken. (Bell rings, R.) She's a dear good girl.

Caroline.

Indeed she is, and deserves all the care and affection bestowed upon her. (Enter Katie, R., with a scrubbing-brush in her hand.)

Katie.

She's coom, ma'am, she's coom, as rosy and bright as a new copper tay-kettle.

Caroline.

Who? Florence?

Katie.

Indade, it's the truth ye's spakin'; her own swate silf, Miss Ca'line.

Caroline.

Glorious news! I must run to her at once. Come, grandmother.

[Exit, R.

Mrs. H.

Bless the child! I must go and fix her somethin' warm.

Katie.

Somethin' warm, is it? Faix, jist kape out av the kitchen, d'ye mind, or it's yersilf will git somethin' warm.

Mrs. H.

Wal, I never! The airs that these critters do put on (kee)!

[Exit, R.

Katie.

Faix, the ould woman's a sore thrial, that she is. There's little chance to kape my sisther Bridget's children in sugar and tay, wid her middlin'. (Enter Maggie, L., with a broom.)

Maggie.

An' it's mesilf would likes to know what ye mane by demaining yersilf in this fashion, Kate O'Nail. It's little yez know of itikate.

Katie.

Och, be aisy wid yer spakin', Maggie Donovan. Itikate, indade!

Maggie.

Isn't it me privilege to tend the bell, I'd like to know?

Katie.

To be sure it is. But 'twas the darling Miss Florence rowled up to the door; and would I be afther lavin' her on the stips, an' you in the attic?

Maggie.

It's a desateful tongue ye have. Don't I know ye'd be afther liftin' yersilf above yer pots and kittles to my place, to betther yer condition?

Katie.

Betther my condition, is it? Wid what? Swapin' and dustin', and the likes? Niver, at all, at all. When I betther my condition, 'twill be as the widded bride of Terence McFunnigafferty.

Maggie.

McFunnigafferty! Bad luck to him! he's only a hod-carrier.

Katie.

He's dacent and respictable; an' it's my belafe, Maggie Donovan, ye'd be glad av me chance. Haven't I seen ye castin' sly looks that way yersilf?

Maggie.

Oh, murther! An', an' me own b'y, Teddy Murphy, sailin' the thrackless say—

Katie.

Wid a swateheart in ivery port.

Maggie.

Och! it's invious ye are, Kate O'Nail; an' it's out av place ye are above the kitchen shtair. Away wid yez to yer pots and kittles! (Threatening with broom.)

Katie.

An' its out av place ye are onywhere. Be off to yer swapin'! (Threatens with brush. Enter Florence and Caroline, R.)

Florence.

Fie, fie, girls! You're both out of place, quarrelling. Ah, Maggie! I'm glad to meet you again. (Shakes hands with Maggie.)

Maggie.

Thank you, Miss Florence. An' it's a warm welcome home to yez; an' it's glad I am to see yer own bright face once more.

Florence.

And it's glad I am to be here, Maggie. Now I want you and Katie to get my trunk up stairs. It's not very heavy, and I wish to open it at once.

"Take it up tenderly,

Fashioned so slenderly,

It's fickle and frail."

Maggie.

Indade, Miss Florence, I'll do my best with the help of very rough company.

[Exit, R.

Katie.

Thar's a fling at me! Arrah, I'll give her one thump on the fut with the thrunk.

[Exit, R.

Caroline.

Welcome, welcome, welcome home! A thousand times welcome, Florence! Oh! we have missed you very much. (They sit on lounge, L.)

Florence.

I'm glad of that, Carrie, for you will be so glad to see me now that I can have my own way in every thing; and I'm going to spend my time advantageously. I'm going to induce mother to send you with me when I return to school.

Caroline.

Oh, that would be grand! But I fear you will not succeed.

Florence.

But I will. You have as much right to the advantages of Rushly Seminary as I; and I will no longer allow you to submit to the cruel treatment you are receiving. You go with me: that's settled. But where's mother?

Caroline.

At a committee-meeting.

Florence.

A committee-meeting at eleven o'clock in the forenoon! What important project can take her from home at this hour?

Caroline.

She is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

Florence.

What! my mother! You don't mean to say that she has come out for women's rights!

Caroline.

She has, most decidedly. She gives all her time to the club. She is a very zealous member.

Florence.

And who takes care of the house?

Caroline.

It takes care of itself. The mistress away, it is very hard for me to govern affairs; and grandmother does much harm by her kindly-meant interference in household matters.

Florence.

It's too bad! Does mother speak at public meetings?

Caroline.

She spoke for the first time last night. There's a report of her speech in the papers. (Takes paper from table.) Here it is.

Florence

(reads). "Mrs. Duplex, widow of the celebrated match-manufacturer, whose decease last winter was chronicled in our paper, arose and spoke warmly of the oppression of the female sex. She vehemently asserted their ability to achieve success in any path trodden by man, and eloquently styled herself the champion of her sex in its endeavors to throw off the yoke of bondage, and victoriously array itself by the side of man in his onward march of progress." What nonsense!

Caroline.

Nonsense, Florence? Then you are not in sympathy with the woman movement.

Florence.

Yes, Carrie: I am an earnest advocate for reform. Noble women are doing brave work in educating our sex to a realizing sense of their power for good in many of the walks of life heretofore kept sacred to the foot of man. But foolish women, who raise the cry of oppression or slavery, are no better than the political demagogues of the other sex,—loud in speech, but dumb in council.

Caroline.

And so you think mother has made a mistake?

Florence.

I certainly do. A woman's duty is to care for her household. From what little I have seen since I came home, I am convinced reform is needed here. (Bell rings, R.) If she would elevate her sex, I'm sure she could have no better task than to fit you—who were left penniless on her hands by a thoughtless father—for the station to which you have a right to aspire. (Enter Maggie, R.)

Maggie.

If ye plase, Miss Florence, yez frinds, the Misses Nay and Dendron, are below, axin' for yez.

Florence.

Show them up, Maggie. (Exit Maggie, R.) I must find some way to rid mother of her delusion.

Caroline.

I wish you could, Floy, for it is certainly very disagreeable for us who are left at home. (Rhoda and Pollie appear, R.)

Rhoda.

May we come in?

Florence

(jumping up). To be sure you may. Rhoda, you dear, dear girl! (Kissing her.) Pollie, I'm glad to see you! (Kissing Pollie.)

Rhoda.

Saw you come up, and couldn't wait a minute longer; could we, Pollie?

Pollie.

No, indeed. We just dropped every thing, and ran across. How d'ye do?

Rhoda.

Yes; how are ye? Tell us, quick!

Pollie.

Had a splendid time, hey?

Rhoda.

Not engaged, are you?

Pollie.

What you got new for dresses? Why, there's Carrie! (Shakes hands, and kisses.)

Rhoda.

Well, I declare, Miss Meekness! you are as still as a mouse. (Shakes hands, and kisses.)

Caroline.

She's here, girls, and just as splendid as ever.

Rhoda and Pollie

(together). Splendid? Of course she is.

Florence.

Come, come, girls; sit down and tell me the news. (Caroline and Rhoda sit on lounge, L.; Pollie in chair, R.; Florence in chair, C.) I'm dying to know what has been going on since I left.

Pollie.

Well, then, Tilly Dodd's really married.

Rhoda.

Pooh! that's an old story. She's talking about getting divorced now.

Pollie.

Divorced! Why, she's only been married six months!

Rhoda.

Six months and ten days. No matter about her. Have you read your mother's speech?

Florence.

I read a brief notice of it.

Rhoda.

I heard it all. She's the champion of her sex. Oh, it was grand! She flourished her right hand as majestically as any orator I ever heard; and her voice was as strong and clear as Patrick Henry's.

Pollie.

Lor, Rhoda, you never heard Patrick Henry.

Rhoda.

But I've read his speeches, and they've got the ring of his voice in them yet. Ain't you proud of your mother, Flory?

Florence.

Not of her last effort, Rhoda.

Pollie.

That's where you're right, Floy. I wouldn't like to have my mother spouting in that manner. It looks coarse and unladylike.

Rhoda.

Well, I don't think I should like to have my mother take to that kind of business.

Florence.

I like it so little, girls, that I am determined to give mother a lesson, if you will grant me your assistance. Our principal, Miss Steady, had an attack of "woman's rights" at school last winter; and the girls took advantage of it to indulge in a little masquerading, which so affected our honored head, that we heard no more of woman's rights for the balance of the term. I shouldn't wonder if something of the kind would make mother a little less zealous in the cause.

Rhoda.

Oh, tell us all about it!

Pollie.

Is there any fun in it?

Florence.

You shall see. Come to my room. Mother may return at any moment, and I do not wish her to see us at present.

Pollie.

There's something delightfully mysterious in your proceedings, Floy.

Rhoda.

Yes: there's mischief in your eyes.

Florence.

Perhaps; time will show. Come, I want you too, Carrie. [Exeunt, R., Florence, Rhoda, and Pollie.]

Caroline.

Take me with her! I wish she could. I love Floy too well to envy her. But the privileges she enjoys, and to which I feel I am entitled, would afford me those opportunities for culture for which I have often sighed. (Enter Mrs. Duplex.)

Mrs. D.

Caroline, I am astonished! You sitting here with your arms folded, and the house in disorder! Is this a fitting return for my care? or have you forgotten that to me you owe all you have in the world?

Caroline.

You never allow me to forget that, madam. Yet I am grateful for your care. Add one favor more, and let me go into the world, and earn my living.

Mrs. D.

Indeed! As you are anxious to earn a living, perhaps it would be as well to commence at home.

Caroline.

This life is distasteful—

Mrs. D.

There, that's quite enough. I have very important business to engage my attention. Set the reception-room in order at once. (Takes off bonnet and shawl, and sits in easy-chair near table.)

Caroline.

Certainly, madam.

[Exit, R.

Mrs. D.

My late lamented husband left me one useless incumbrance,—that girl. Strange some people are so hard to manage! Now, then, to business. I've a long report to make to-night on the "Scheme for Improving the Condition of Motherless Girls." (Enter Mrs. Hartshorn, R.)

Mrs. H.

Lor, sakes, Hannah Merria! You home?

Mrs. D.

Yes, mother, and hard at work.

Mrs. H.

(sitting on lounge, and knitting). Du tell!

Mrs. D.

Yes, mother. There's a wide field of labor opening to willing hands. To raise woman from her lowly position, is not that most noble work?

Mrs. H.

That depends on what she's doing, Hannah Merria. If she's scrubbing the floor (kee), the lower the better.

Mrs. D.

She was never meant for such ignoble toil.

Mrs. H.

Ignoble fiddlesticks! P'r'aps you want the men-folks to do that.

Mrs. D.

It may be necessary for the triumph of woman. Did you read my speech, mother?

Mrs. H.

No, I didn't. I've heard enough on 'em to be heartily sick. A pretty champion of your sex, you are!

Mrs. D.

I hope I am an earnest and an honest one. I have a mission,—to lift woman to a higher plane of civilization; and I believe I have the power to fulfil it.

Mrs. H.

How? By getting up and speaking out in meeting? Never heard nothin' like it since Sally Skreecher j'ined the Millerites, and hollered so in meetin', that they thought the Angel Gabriel was a-tootin' his horn (kee.)

Mrs. D.

Ah, mother! you do not understand this noble movement of woman.

Mrs. H.

I understand washin' and ironin', and that's what I call the noblest movement woman ever took a hand in.

Mrs. D.

There; that's quite enough: we shall never agree. Be quiet, and let me write.

Mrs. H.

(Kee.)

Mrs. D.

(writes). "Silently, but steadily, moves on the mighty car of progress"—

Mrs. H.

(Kee.)

Mrs. D.

"Crushing, beneath its fast revolving wheels, prejudice and wrong; upward soars the spirit of freedom, mounting on eagles' wings."

Mrs. H.

(Kee.) Say goose's wings, Hannah Merria.

Mrs. D.

Mother, will you be silent?

Mrs. H.

And hear you talk that bosh? Why, every Fourth-of-July speaker has said them things year after year since Cornwallis surrendered. (Enter Rhoda, R., disguised; a black shawl pinned tightly across her breast; faded black bonnet with bright flowers stuck in it; large, black cotton gloves, much too long in the fingers, on her hands; and parasol.)

Rhoda

(very extravagant in her gestures). Where is she? Let me look upon her, the deliverer of our race, the champion of our sex! Ah, she's here! the noble face, the stately figger! 'Tis she! 'tis she! (Falls at the feet of Mrs. D.)

Mrs. H.

Land er Goshen! that's Hannah Dudley!

Mrs. D.

My good woman, can I be of service to you?

Rhoda

(rises). You can, you can. I am the mother of nine interesting children, whom I have vainly endeavored to support for five years by the manufacture of molasses-candy. A sweet occupation, but, alas! not profitable; for, work as I will, I can make but just enough to satisfy the wants of my children. 'Tis all they have for food.

Mrs. H.

Well, they're a sweet set.

Mrs. D.

My good woman, why do you come to me?

Rhoda.

I come to sit at your feet; to draw into my thirsty soul the teachings of your stupendous intellect. Glorious champion of my sex, I would wrest from proud man one of his boasted prerogatives.

Mrs. D.

Indeed! To what sphere of usefulness do you aspire?

Mrs. H.

She's ravin' about paregoric. She ought to be a doctor.

Rhoda.

I heard your glorious speech last night, and every fibre of my being thrilled beneath the touch of your matchless eloquence. You told us we had the ability to achieve success in any occupation where man could triumph. I want to be a butcher.

Mrs. H.

Heavens and airth! the woman's loony!

Rhoda.

Yes, a butcher; that I may give my children strong food, for which they hanker. Ah, the mighty butcher! the crafty butcher! the skilful butcher! I have gazed upon him with admiration. With what power he fells the mighty oxen and—and—things! How skilfully he sends to "green fields and pastures new" the sportive lambs! With what grace he seizes the portly hog, and, regardless of its piteous cries, ends its devouring life! Oh, glorious champion of our sex, teach me to excel in this great branch of usefulness, and fill the mouths of my babes!

Mrs. D.

Woman, have you escaped from a lunatic asylum?

Mrs. H.

Lor, Hannah Merria, she's 'sterricky.

Mrs. D.

The poor woman's mad.

Rhoda.

Mad? Then 'tis you who have made me so. You promise, and do not fulfil. Make me a butcher, or I will proclaim you a traitor to our cause, from the market-place, in the council-hall, from the house-tops. Champion of the sex! Bah! Give my children beef, pork, mutton, or "get you to a nunnery," quick.

[Exit, R.

Mrs. D.

Poor woman, poor woman!

Mrs. H.

Nothin' but skin and bones (kee). This all comes of political circuses. O Hannah Merria! the millinariam won't come any sooner for all yer speechifyin'. Better stay to home. Lor sakes! who's this? (Enter Pollie, disguised. Old-fashioned straw bonnet, bright ribbons; faded shawl of bright patterns; white cotton gloves, very large, upon hands.)

Pollie.

W-w-where is she,—the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-s-sex?

Mrs. D.

What do you wish, good woman?

Pollie.

'T-t-tis she: I know th-th-th-that v-v-voice! D-d-dear Mrs. D-D-Duplex, last night you m-m-moved me with the f-f-f-force of your el-l-l-oquence. I have long b-b-blushed at our de-p-p-p-pendent situation: I have thrown off the c-ch-chain, and stand p-p-prepared to wrest from man one of his pr-p-proud p-p-p-p-prerogatives.

Mrs. H.

There's an awful waste of paregoric there.

Mrs. D.

And pray, my good woman, to what new field of labor do you aspire?

Pollie.

B-b-before I heard your v-voice, I listened to one that charmed my f-f-f-fancy. M-m-make me like him, and I will b-b-bless you. I would be an auc-sh-sh-shuneer.

Mrs. D.

An auctioneer! do you want to insult me?

Pollie.

Insult you, the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-sex? N-n-never! B-b-but an auc-sh-sh-shuneer I must be. G-g-going, g-g-going, g-g-gone. Oh, it's splendid! How much am I offered? St-st-stove, t-t-table, ch-chair, in one l-l-lot. H-h-how much? G-g-going, g-going—

Mrs. H.

(Kee.)

Pollie.

G-g-gone! Thank you, marm.

Mrs. D.

Woman, leave this house at once!

Pollie.

What f-f-for? Ain't you the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-sex? D-d-didn't you s-s-say we were f-f-f-fitted to t-t-take the place of m-m-man? and ain't I g-g-going to be an auc-sh-shuneer, hey?

Mrs. D.

You are fit for nothing but the workhouse. Instantly leave this room, or I will have you driven into the street.

Pollie.

Ch-ch-champion of our s-s-sex! P-p-pooh! You're an imp-p-postor: you d-d-deceive us with your sp-p-peeches. If you don't make me an auc-sh-sh-shuneer, I'll d-denounce you,—yes, I will, now, at once. I'm g-g-going, g-g-going, g-gone.

[Exit, R.

Mrs. D.

Was there ever any thing so provoking? It's the work of our enemies.

Mrs. H.

No, 'tain't, Hannah: it's a nat'ral impediment.

Mrs. D.

Mother, shut up!

Mrs. H.

Wal, I never! Is that the way you honor your parent? (Kee.)

Mrs. D.

It seems I am to be made a laughing-stock for my speech. Could I have been too hasty? (Enter Florence, R.)

Mrs. D.

Goodness, child! you home again? (Rises.)

Florence

(tragically). Stop! Approach me not. Busy rumor, with its thousand tongues, says, last night you asserted, in a crowded assembly, that woman could achieve success in any path trodden by man. I come to you for truth. Speak, mother! did you speak those words? is rumor true?

Mrs. D.

I did say so, Florence.

Florence

(lightly). Then, my good mother, you will be delighted to hear that your daughter has chosen the profession in which she hopes to win fame. I want to be a lawyer.

Mrs. H.

Lor sakes!

Mrs. D.

Florence, you are trifling with a serious matter.

Florence.

Yes, 'tis a serious matter. But I feel that in that profession I can win success. "Gentlemen of the jury, I stand before you to plead the cause of a young girl, who needs all your sympathy. She was the idol of fond parents; but, alas! her mother died: her father took to his side a second bride, and she was neglected. Not content with this, on his death-bed the father cut her off from any share of his wealth, and left to the mercy of her step-mother."

Mrs. D.

Florence, what means this?

Florence.

"Gentlemen of the jury, can you ask? Beneath this roof is one who is entitled to all the benefits of wealth and education; but she is made a drudge: while she who should rear her tenderly sees not the oppressed in her own home, but seeks abroad that labor for the improvement of the condition of motherless girls which should be commenced beneath her own roof."

Mrs. D.

Florence, are you serious, or are you crazy?

Mrs. H.

Not a bit of it, Hannah Merria (kee).

Florence.

Only practising, mother. (Enter Rhoda, R.)

Rhoda.

Mrs. Duplex, champion of our sex, I want to be an actor!

< dt>Mrs. D.

An actress, you mean.

Rhoda.

No, an actor. Richard the Third, Richelieu, Macbeth, are the characters I would play. They are manly. If man can excel in them, so can woman. Have you not said we could win success—

Mrs. D.

Silence! Don't let me hear that word again.

Rhoda.

Yes: let me tread the boards as Macbeth.

"Is this a dagger which I see before me?"

Mrs. H.

(Kee.) That young one's loony too.

Rhoda.

Or as Richelieu.

"In the lexicon of youth, which Fate preserves for a bright manhood,

There's no such word as fail!"

Mrs. H.

(Kee.) Mad as a March hare!

Rhoda.

Or as Richard.

"Off with his head! So much for Buckingham."

Mrs. H.

Land sakes! that would be too much for him.

Mrs. D.

Enough of this, Rhoda Dendron. I do not care to be made the butt of your amusement. We can dispense with your company. (Enter Pollie, R.)

Pollie.

Mrs. Duplex, champion of your sex, I have chosen my profession. I will be a general in the army.

Mrs. D.

Pollie Nay!

Pollie.

A glorious life, at the head of a host, charging upon the foe. "Up and at them!"

"Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"

Mrs. D.

Silence! Florence, what does all this mean? Gracious goodness! whom have we here? (Enter Maggie, L., with a rough pea-jacket and a tarpaulin hat added to her costume.)

Mrs. D.

Maggie, what does this mean?

Maggie.

If ye plaze, missus, they towld me nixt door that all the women-folks was a-goin' to step into the men's places; and so I thought I'd jist give warnin', and take mesilf to the say, for me own Teddy is a sailor, and I might climb the sails, and pull the ropes, and haul in a jib, till I larnt the way, if ye plaze.

Mrs. D.

Why, Maggie, I'm astounded to think you should listen to such nonsense.

Maggie.

Sure, 'twas Bridget Daly, nixt door, that heard yez own silf talk last night, and towld me. (Enter Katie, R., with a large military hat on her head, a gun on her shoulder.)

Maggie.

Oh, murther! Here's Kate wid a gun!

All.

A gun! (Katie comes, C.)

Pollie

(R.). Oh, dear! put it the other way! (Katie turns to R.)

Rhoda.

(L.) No, no! the other way!

Mrs. H.

Lord-a-mercy! she'll blow all our brains out! (Gets behind lounge.)

Florence.

Put down that gun, Katie. (Katie takes it from her shoulder.)

(Pollie and Rhoda scream, and jump up in chairs, R.; Mrs. Duplex gets behind easy-chair; Maggie jumps upon lounge; and all cry, "Drop it!" "It's loaded!" "Take it away!" "Call somebody!") Florence (takes the gun, and lays it upon the floor).

You can descend in safety, girls. (All get down.)

Mrs. D.

Now, Katie, what does this mean?

Katie.

If ye plaze, Mrs. Duplex, I thought, bein' the good time that's comin' was come, and the women-folks was a goin' to rule, and the men-folks do the housework, I'd give warnin', if you plaze. (Stoops, and picks up the gun. All scream, and renew their old positions on chairs, behind chair and lounge, as before; repeat cries, "Put it down" &c.)

Florence.

Don't be alarmed: it's not loaded. (All quiet again.)

Mrs. D.

Well, it's about time an end was put to this nonsense. You have picked up one of my remarks last night for the purpose of laughing at me, or—

Florence.

Teaching a lesson, mother.

Mrs. D.

Well, I acknowledge my remarks were a little wild, and am prepared to pay the penance. What shall it be? You seem to have been the manager of the remarkable scene. Speak.

Florence.

Mother, I want to take Carrie back with me when I return to school.

Mrs. H.

Bless my soul! what do you think I found in your father's desk to-day? Something that looks, for all the world, like a will. Here it is. (Gives paper to Mrs. D.)

Mrs. D.

A will! (Opening it.) And of a later date than the one in my possession. (Reads.) "To be equally divided between my dear wife, and my beloved daughter Caroline." Indeed! This must be seen to.

Florence.

Ah! then Carrie is not penniless, after all.

Mrs. D.

Florence, how can you speak so? Never, while I live. Where is the dear child?

Mrs. H.

Shouldn't wonder if she was sweepin' off the steps. (Enter Caroline, R.)

Caroline.

The reception-room is in order, madam.

Mrs. D.

Caroline, my dear child, I think your experience in house-affairs has been sufficient for the present. You will go with my daughter to Rushly Seminary on her return. I shall look after my house myself hereafter.

Mrs. H.

Lor' sakes, Hannah Merria, are you coming to your senses?

Mrs. D.

I hope I have never been bereft of them.

Florence.

And the Reform Club, mother—

Mrs. D.

Shall still have my hearty support; but no more public speeches for the present, for my house needs putting in order; and you have reminded me of that which I had almost forgotten, that a woman's first duty is to her home.

Katie.

Faith, ma'am, if there's to be a misthress, I'll sthay, if yez plaze.

Maggie.

An' mesilf, too, missus, by your lave.

Florence.

There, mother, the storm's over; so let's hear no more of "woman's rights."

Rhoda.

And I can't be a butcher!

Pollie.

Nor I an auc-sh-sh-shuneer. It's too bad!

Mrs. D.

So there has been masquerading here.

Florence.

For which I alone am to blame. Mother, we are wild girls, and good subjects for missionary work. Set the Female Reform Club a good example by commencing its work in your own neighborhood, and reform us.

Mrs. D.

There is certainly a large field of labor here for me; and I shall set about the work at once. But what will the officers of the club say?

Mrs. H.

(Kee.) That you've backslid, Hannah Merria.

Florence.

If they are honest and earnest, they will say that she who to the welfare of her family first gives her heart, is a stanch friend to progress. In that realm she is queen, and they who bend beneath her loving sway, freely acknowledge her, in that grand sphere, the Champion of her Sex.

Situations.

Caroline. Florence.

Rhoda. Mrs. D.

Pollie. Mrs. H.

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