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Henry Harris, a young Englishman, rather a prig, perhaps a hit of a snoh, has married in Halifax. His wife, Bella, a charming young woman, has had, mainly, a homo education. Her husband, wlio sets up for being a man of intellect, is inclined to snub her in consequence. Taking this to heart, she secretly devotes herself to study ; attends classes and lectures at Dalhousie, and works at the Art School, and rather neglects her home duties. Henry becomes suspicious of her mysterious movements, and abuses liei to her mother-in-law, who lives with them, for her seeming frivolity and dissipation, 2\fRs. Harris, tlie mother-in-law, reveals her daughter's secret to quiet hiij Henry is delighted at first with his wife's course of stu( and her learning, but is soon overwhelmed with the flqc of erudition she lots loose upon him, and has cause regret the days of her ignorance and simplicity. II proceeds to wean her from her new studies by an incieasej display of affection, and finally accomplishes his purj)Oii by proposing a compensatory tour in Europe, during whic| they will renew their honeymoon together. The author does not hold himself personally responsibI( for the opinions of Mr. Henry Harris, who is as depicte<] above, and is only painted in character. \ ^ All Adaptation fi^om a Foi-;eigr Sourge, 15 V -" iit 'il ^li. '1^ y^ -^ %;z IN THREE SCENES. SCENE I. A boiKluir nicely furnished, connected by u puriicro with th(. dining room. Eire in tljo -rate. Lamp lighted. Ta})le, arm chairs and a sofa. Dl^AMATLS PEKSOX.i:. Hjvvkv Harris, an Englishman in the Dominion Service, married some three years to a 'Coloiiial,' a nice fellow, but rather a prig jMu«. MoRiiiy, his mother-in-law i-'.-'T. !!!.!. !!!!!! Mella, his wife Charles] .. , f , Maria j ^^^vants | .:';.;'';:;;:;.;v;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;-; The scene is laid in Harris' house, Halifax, N.S.' Ihntru alone. Walks up and down the room in a i)re- occupied manner, consulting his vratch occasionally. Charh'.^ (enters and places the evening papers on the table ) Henry — Have the ladies come in yet ? \ Henrii (coutiuue.s his walk up aud dowu llic luom.) Mrs. Morris (enters.) Good evening, Hiiiiy. Hasn't r»ella come home yet 1 Ilenrij — Good evening, ^^o, she lias not. Mr>i. Morris — (Seating herself.) Poor child ! Anyway it is only seven o'clock. llenrii — Yes, and she has only been out since twelve I Mrs Morris — (Without answering, takes up some work from a work-basket and begins to knit.) IFenrii — (Walks up and down the room again ; then, stopping op]iosite his mother-in-law.) I'd like to know mother, what you think of the way Pjella is now going on ? What sort ol" life is this fur her to lead ? Mrs. Morri-^ — A very pleasant and proper sort of lifo, r call it. 8he sjjcnds her time as most young married women do, in Halifax, shopping in the mornings, receiving and paying visits in the afternoon, and you know what a place this is for visiting. Ilenrii — 1 do, to my cost- There in no end to it. Wliy every newcomer into the place should bo deluged with paste board from peo[>le whose hospitality begins and ends at tlie door post, is (juite beyond mo. Why call on people you have not the means, perhaps not the wish to entertain 1 Mrs. Morri.-< — In Home vou must do as Itomc does. It is the fashion of the place, and, I think, a kindly oi.e. To resume. Mu'^h of Bella's time is taken up with visiting. Then, there's the rink in winter, lawn tennis in the summer months. We go to most of the five o'clock teas. Epidemic just at present. They came in with the measles. Besides, Bella has her Orpheus rehearsals ] and, then, there are those theatricals, in which you should be proud to see her taking so prominent a part. I don't know what you have to grumble at, as, now that you have given up going out anywhere, I accompany her myself into society. //('?ir//— (Angrily.) Society indeed — pretty society ! Society of frivolous matrons,whosc sole aim in life consists in providing entertainment and flirting material for the garri- I 5 IK son, ;ind f'orvv.ivd minxes of girl^J whoso ])iii'o-f;ico(l i'hi(.-^'.st' a /7/0/////// may 1)0 vastly amusing to tlioir wary tiuarry, how- over (lisgu^^ting to the nogh'otoil civilian s})ectatoi' — foi', needle-ss to say, in this spoil also, 'tis Reynard who dons the scarlet and not his pursiiGr. Afrs. Morris — The fomalc heart is always wok, my dear Ifarry, where the red coats are concerned. Hcnnj — (Continues excitedly, without heeding her.) Society of *habberdashers and fishmongers, needy lawyers and unscrupulous politicians, whose greed of place and its emoluments is only e(|ualled by their pomposity. I might say this for the.n — their womankind arc often worse than themselves. 1 shall never forget my first experience with one of them. Mrx. Morris — Yonv experience has evidently made you very bitter, Harry. What was it. Henrn — (Continues, excitedly.) It was a wedding party shortly after we came hero. The guests had gone into luncheon. One lady, the wife of a prominent politician, had been left in the drawing room. I was told off by tlu^ host, being the only man available, to escort her. Taking my arm with evident reluctance, and with an air of oifended dignity, "I am afraid, ]\[r. Harris," she remarked, "the question of precedence has boon forgotten on this occasion.'' (In a mimicing tone.) Mrs. Morr'(s — ()\\ ! snobbery in excelsis. AVhat did you do, Harry ] [[ennj — I felt rather small, I confess, but said nothing, and planted her speedily on the nearest chair to chew the cut of her mortification. She got no other provender from me at that luncheon. Mrs. J/(y/-/'/x— Capital ! it was probably of the same lady I heard a similar story, to-day. She was calling on the wife of a political swell at Ottawa who was a guest in \^> * So certain of our most pioiuinent merchants have l)een described, at least we are credibly informed -o. t.ho hous(i of u (|uiot l>nt higlily rospectjible i'luuily in Hiilirax. 'ruriiinjT to tliis lady, in ilio ])i('S('iico of lior hostess, nhu said : " My dH:u' Mrs. lUank, wlu-ii Uv-xt you oomo down hero, 1 hoitii you will fillow mo to show you some of our fx'sf Ifalii'ax society." Jfcnnj — The inference was ol)vious, il/r.s' Morris — It was very imj)crtiueut. I'.iit 1 fear. Harry, }0ur home life lia.s unfitted you for our free and easy ways in the colonies. .Society here is very much mixed, hut you must not condemn the whole on account of a few vul^'ar people who have foKted their way into it. ^'ou must he more tolerant, even of our political upstarts — their elevation often timog^ turns tlieir heads, particularly the woman's — then you must consider their lack of experience — olten even, of education. Ifannj — I can tolerate anything so tiiat t)eople be natural and unassuming. What was it the l^rince said of the American wom^n in London '] .\frs. Morr'i!^ — "That he liked them the more because they were so delightfully and naturally vulgar." P)Ut, to return to our muttons, wdiat has made you so abominally cross with Bella, lately ? llfurif—l think you can guess. For the first couple of years of our married life, you know how well Delia and I got on together, liut, for the past six months or so her conduct has been outrageous, ftho is never at home now. i )ut of doors as soon as breakfast is over, she scarcely gets back for dinner, and, when I try to find out how she passes her time, she seeL's embarrassed and evasive. I am not inclined to suspicion, nor am I jealous, but I confess to a little anxiety. Afrs. Morrl.< — If you will look back, my dear Harry, I think you will fiud that your wife only adopted this seem- ingly fiivolous life from the tiiue you began to neglect her. V'ou affected, at one tiuie, to despise her society. You never cared to be tt'te a-tiHe with her. Why, I have seen you myself go to sleep iu her presence after dinner — a pretty sight, indeed, for a newly married woman ! I i- fle/ir)/ — And wlioao fault was that ] Tho fact is, Bolla and I liavn't an iiloa in coniiuun. 81io had novcr a word to say on tho auhjpcts that interested mo. Mrs. Morris — Vou talked politico, to her, perhaps ! Ilcurii -\ lidrt' talked j^olitics, but not politics only. 1 have tried every theme — art, literature, history — none of them did she care for. 1 had no idea when I marricul that liella was so wanting in culture, Tlie [^'reat mistake of tiie day is that men anits and uncultivated mind, with no thougn of the higher life. How could you have expected the union of two such dissimilar natures to be a hajipy out' ? Mrs. Mor^'is — I brought up my daughter at homo, and could only loach her what I knew myself. li'inry — I don't pretend to find fault with you, mother. But now-a-days, you know, wo expect of young ladies a knowledge and accomplishments your generation did liol exact. Wanting the necessary acquirements yourself, you should have provided other teachers for Bella. After all, what did you teach her ? Mrn. Morris — I taught her politeness, at all events. Hnirt/ — I'm hanged if you taught her her bible history ! At tho Academy, during our honeymoon, I remember show- ing her that celebrated picture of 8alom6 carrying tho head of St. John the Baptist. 8he turned and asked me who Salome was ! Out loud too ! Tho people round began to sneer. Such ignorance mortifies a husband and makes him dread taking his wife into society. Mrs Morris — I confess that in teaching my daughter hor sacred hi.stoiy, I did not go deeply into the story of Salonio. 8 TTenrif — The fact of the matter is that you are too old- fashioned in your ideas. You make no account of the march of intellect — of modern prof^ress. On the subject of the higher education of women, yov are, excuse me, roccoco. You laugh at our ladies colleges, our art school. How different ihings might have heen, if, instead of educating Bella at home, you had given her the benefit of these institutions. Mrs. Morris — Perhaps you are right. Still in the colo- nies, I consider, wq need a simpler education. A mother's duty, first, should l)e to perfect, at home, the moral and religious training of her daughter. Xext, to give her the elements of general instruction and the minor accomplish- ments, such as music and drav^^ing — to make her a perfect housewife, well posted in prices and the management of her servants. She should be taught to sew, to make her own dresses, to cook her own dinner even — then we should have more economy below and much less dyspepsia above stairs. She should also have a slight smattering of hygienic and the care of the sick, to complete her home training. In my opinion, a school of cookery, in this country, and a few practical lectures on nursing, would be worth twenty art schools. lien /'If —Yery practical, indeed, mother, but scarcely the training for the wife of a man of culture ! Mrs. Morris— 1 should have preferred her to marry a man of good taste, who would have taken a pleasure in forming the mind of his wife, in developing her natural talents and enlarging her experience. Such a man she would have looked up to, and loved, for the very pains he took for her improvement. But you, I suppose, would have preferred one of the latest type of womanhood — a well-crammed girl graduate, sent forth from the lecture hall, armed cap a pie in .science, like Minerva from the brain of Jupiter. I know it's the craze now to force young girls brains to the uttermost. But don't you think in the process, they may acquire knowledge their liture husbands would gladly \ y/r dlspenso with — ideas and opinions ut variance with their own— acquireiuents they njay be wanting in ! Suppose the woman's superiority in those respects should make her look down on her lord and master % As a mother, I would prefer to initiate as it were the intellectual education of my daughter — leaving to her husband, or to herself, (in later life) a cleared ground for a more scientific superstructure. 1 have done huj duty in this respect ; let me ask have ifou. done what I consider to be yours '? lienrij — I should like to know what Bella would have said if I had proposed to give her two or three hours' school- ing every morning ? She could not have got on with less. Mrs. Morris — It was not school lessons she needed. From day to day, in the ordinary course of life, you might have seized opportunities to improve her mind as I have already indicated. Ifenrij — Keally ! The subject is a delicate one, and I would like to respect your maternal predilections, but T fear you overestimate your daughter's capacity. Bella is so thoroughly frivolous, that I consider her incapable of the least intellectual exertion. Mrs J/o/'>vVs'— Excuse me. Hairy, but you make me laugh. (Bursts out laughing.) Henrii — (Getting angry.) I see nothing whatever to laugh at. This frivolity of which Bella has more than her share is anything but laughable. It is a positive danger. A moral disorder. How many women has it not led to the neglect of their home duties— to all manner of extravagan- ces — if not to worse. Amongst all these society people who pass their time in gadding about from shop to shop, in dancing and flirting and gossiping at five o'clock teas, or in lonely walks and drives with the other sex for solo com- panion, how many are desirable associates for your daughter? T<"ot to put too fine a point upon it, and sorry as I am to have to say it, this life of Bella's is causing her to lose my confidence. Mrs, Morris — Allow me, Sir ■ 10 llp.nrii — Allow me, Miidani. Her present life is not only IVivoloiiP, Ijut there is a mystery nbout it. Uella ivS no longer frank with me. Mor(3 th;in once I have found her deceiving me as to the employment of her time. Slie locks herself up in her room. IShe has .secret drawers where she liides things — letters most likely, 'ihree days ngo. entering her dressing room unexpectedly, I. caught her secreting some papers in a recess. When she saw me, she bluslied up to the eyes. Mrti. Morris — Well, upon my word ! this is 1 00 mud I can't liold out any longer It is you, 8ir, who should blush up to the eyes. Do you know what she was hiding awa}', this frivolous, empty-headed girl, (imitating him) who was incapable of the least intelieclual exertion ? Why most probably, the note books of her college lectures, or her drawings for the art school. Jlenrij — You don't mean to say so ! Mrs. Morris — But I do mei^n to say so. And that is not all of it, Bella is now preparing for the next examination at Dalhousie, and hopes to get her i>. A degree in August. Now you know how i?he has p.^ssed her s})are time this last; year ! Her days are mostly taken up in attending her classes; and, when she shuts herself up in her room, it is either to rewrite her notes or to correct her drawings for her masters. Ah ! I see this has toucbetl you. There are tears in your eyes. They make some amends i'or your late impertinences. (She takes his hand ) Were you really getting anxious ] Henrn — Very anxious, at times, motlier. Mrs Morris — Yet you continued to love her, in spile of all her seeming frivolity 1 Henrij — With all my heart, mother. But how can I thank you ? Mrs. Morris — You need not tlumk me at all, ray dear Henry. You must thank Bella herself. The idea origi- nated with her. In fact I opposed it. I saw certain incon- venieuces, but she insisted on it. In this way, mamma, / ^■' ►x J { 11 said she, I will leave him no excuse for neglecting nie. Ah ! here she comes. She will be terribly ir.ite wiUi mo for betraying her secret. 8he wished her "degree to boa surprise for you. BeNa — Heve I am. A little late, perhaps, but (she stops, noticing the embarrassed look of her husbind). AVhy what's the matter ? / . » Mn^. Morris— Belh, I know you will scold mg, but Harry was fast losing his head, becoming suspicious in fact, I had to tell him. Belfa~{lii a tone of reproach.) Oh ! mamma ! Henrii—QiyQ me a kiss. (They embrace.) AFy poor darling ! What an aogel you have been. Jk'I/a— And you are really pleased with me? Charf^s (enters ) Dinner is served. (Exeunt through the portiere.) CUUTAIN. rf» / SCENE ir. A dining-room connected by a portiere with the boudoir. Table laid for three persons. iMrs. Morris, Henri/ and Bplla (seat themselves at the table. Charles waits on them ) /fc«r//— What surprises me most is that none of your friends let out your secret. Bella— I took good care of that. But you have no idea what a number of ruses I had to adopt, what a lot of libs I had to tell ! ^ Henri/— You must show me your notebooks and sketches, rhey will be awfully amusing ! Bella—You. shall have them. Henry— kud you really mean to go up for a degree ] Belfa—Yes, and I moan to get it. 12 /^' Henry — But you know it is not easy. The examination is a stiff one. BAla — I know that, but I will work hard for it ; besides wo have such splendid teachers. ^e?i/7/— What good times they must have with you ladies. (To Mrs. Morris ) Do you go with Bella to those lectures'? Mr^, Morris — Only to some of them. It depends on who lectures. Bella — You did right, Mamma, not to come this evening. We were fifteen in the little class room, with a hot stove and the gas lighting. I was nearly smothered. There was a deficiency of oxygen in the room. Nothing in the air but azote and carbonic acid. Henry — Brava ! So you are well up in chemistry ? Bella — Only the elements. Suppose you ask me some questions ? Not too hard, please ! Henry — Some questions. What ! upon chemistry ? Bella — Yes, upon chemistry. Henry — What's the good 1 It's not worth while. We'll take your word for it. Mrs. Morris — But do. Just to please her, Harry. Henry — Well then. Hold on. Chemistry. Let me see. AVhat is gas ] 7?e7/a— What gas ? Henry — Wliy ! lighting gas to be sure. The gas up there. (Points to the gaselier.) Bella — That is hydrogen. JTeyir//— Capital. That will do. (To Mrs. Morris.) She knows all about it. Mrs. Morris — I must say I prefer the electric lights to your hydrogen, if they would only keep it going, and if those horrid poles, with their wires, did not make our poor old town look like an overgrown banjo with all the strings aiory. Bella — Henry, please to pass me the chloride of sodium. //cwrv— (After a little hesitation, hands her a bottle of • Vichy water which is near him.) w X 13 She 'iT Bulla — That's not it ; Henry, I said chloride of sodium, and you give me the AHchy water, ('hlorido of sodium — the salt in fact — that's what I want. Henry — Oh ! chloride of sodium. Here you are— (hands her the salt cellar.) Well, my dear, are you as well up in history as you are in chemistry? But I suppose they only require English History for your examinations. Bella — In the junior classes? Yes; but in the higher, we have to make up Universal History — and I have studied a great part of it already. //e??r?/— Indeed ! So you know all about Salomr now, don't you? Bella — I should think so. (liecites like a lesson ) " Salome was the daughter of Herodias, Herod's second wife. Herodias was Herod's sister-in-law, and it was this marriage, which the Jews considered illegal, that provoked the reproaches and denunciation of St. John the Baptist In revenge, Herodias determined to have the life of the Saint. She asked his head of Herod through her daughter Salome, who had fascinated Herod by her charms in danc- ing. There is even reason to suppose that Salome's relations with that Prince were more than equivocal ; but what could you expect in such a family 1 Henry — Enough of that, Bella ! 5e?/a_^(Continues, unheeding.) Mr. Bryant says it is a reasonable hypothesis that there was something wrong beiween them, and that it is impossible to explain other- wise than by the blindness of passion, this inhuman act of Herod's, who was naturally humane. Henry — What ! I Ferod humane 1 AVhat about the massa- cre of the innocents, my dear? 7ie7/a— Pardon me, Harry, but I think you have got your Herods a little mixed. The one who massacred the inno- cents, your Herod, was Herod the great, who reigned in the time of Christ, whereas my Herod, Salome's Herod, was Herod Antipas, who lived many years after. Henry — Are you sure of that, Bella ? Bella — Quite sure, my dear. u lhmr\i — After all, these Ilerods are mighty confusing. Mrs. J/orr/.s— (Coughs discreetly.) Ahem ! ahem ! ili'itry — You observed, mother? M)'!i. Mor is — Oh! nothing, Henry. Henry — (A little •confuse'^L) How nice these lobster rissoles are? My poor IJella, how bothered you must have been all those mouths with this hard work? Bolla — Kot at all. You know what the poet says — ** 'Tis sweet our labouring steps to guide To virtue's heii^hts, with wisdom well supplied," Tlonry — From Pope? Very good; and how appropriate, Bella ! Bella — (Quietly.) The verses are not Pope's ; they are Dryden's. Henry — (Hurriedly.) Of course. I was only setting a trap for you — to see if you were well up in your English classics. Mrs. Morris — Ahem ! ahem ! (coughs discreetly.) Henrif — And have you written anv poetry yourself, r»ella? ' Bella — Nothing much — a sonnet or two. By the way, did you see those lines of mine in the Art School Journal, called " A Faux Pas " and its consequences ? Henry — Did you write that? Bella — I did. Don't you think it Swinburnian ? Henry — I do. Very much after Swinburne. Henry — Apropos. Have you read Sappho? Bella, — I have, and ia the original French too ! (xVIludes to Alphonse Daudet's Sappho, which has recently appeared. Bella is probably ignorant of the original or apochryphal Sappho in Greek.) Henry — You are progressing, darling. i?e//a— (excited) And ^Nlr. Bryant thinks we may soon take up Zola. Henry — I should like to see him taken up extremely. Mrs. Morris— Sndi'^Q Hiwkins, at all events, has just given him a proper set down. Henry— By the way (uncovers dish which Charles has ^ * 15 ])lac(;d upon the table) wliat's this joint? Beef again? Coir.o, 1 say, Bella. I don't want to lind fault; but why, in the n.'imo of hoaven, don't you give us lamb or veal souic- limes, instead of this eternal beef and mutton 1 I am sick of thfm I B'jJIa — My dear Henry, veal and lamb are, as you ouglit to know, made up almost altogether of fibin and albumen ; they are both unwholesome, particularly for you, who are so lymphatic. Ilrnr;/ — liymphatic, indeed ! Are you studying medi- ciu<5 by any chance, dear? JJcJ/a — A little ; but I have gone in principally for Hygiene anlla. Bella — What, mamma ! Is it possible? Did he really mistrust me 1 ifc/r.N'. Morris — Not mistrust you exactly, dear ; but he was getting uneasy. A little jealous, perhaps. You need not mind that, darling. (Henry enters.) Bella— ^Qf you naughty boy, you were getting jealous of me, were you ? llenrn — ^o^ ^^ ^^^' Only I could not fathom these mys- terious goings on. BoJla — You had no cause for alarm, "Though in this wicked world there's no vice Of which tlie saints have not a spice." Henry — Very reasoning that, certainly. Is it original. From another of your odes, probably. yic^Z/rt —(laughing) Don't be odious (running oft) And now, hubby, I'm olf to get my note books and drawings just to show you what pains I have been at to ple.ase you, though 18 *' 'TiH not in mortals to command Ruccefls, liut we'll do more, Sinipronions, we'll deserve it." (She runs out, then coming hack and lifting tlie por- tiere) "Whose verses are these] llenrij — Why Shakespeare's, of course. heUa — You donkey ! tliey are from Addison's Cato. (Exit laughing.) (Henry walks up and down the room smoking a cigarette, then throws it into the lire, and seats himself despondently.) J/r.v. Morrix — AVhy, Harry, you look worried. » J/enri/ — Worried, not exactly — bored, perhaps. Mi'fi. Morris — And why bored ? You wanted a learned wife. Now you have got one — what more do you want ? Ilenry — I discovered a well-informed wife, certainly, but I did not want a learned one, not a confounded pedant always to the fore with her insuppoitable erudition. Why, one can't say a word now before Bella without some scien- t'Tic commentary from her ! If not that, she presumes to correct one's language, or treats one to a poetical quotation. It is simply disgusting ! Mrs. Morris — At all events, you can no linger complain that she is wanting in conversation. Htniru — Conversation indeed ! Why it's a lecture ! Mrs. Morris — (getting angry) You should understand, Henry, that it is only natural for Bella to delight in showing off her acquirements before you, who used to reprove h.er for her ignorance. It is rather disagreeable at first, 1 admit, but she will tone down after a while, believe me. Henrt/ — Let us hope so ! In the meantime, there is oni thing 10 which I wish you would draw Bella's attention. She must not take en herself to set me right when, by accident, or lapse of memory, I have made a mistake. It makes one ridiculous even in the eves of one's servants. Besides, let me tell you, her studies appear to be ill-directed. She is learning a thousand useless things, things to my mind quite beyond her sphere and above her capacity. All this sort of thing is overdone. This [o^ithetic education is throwing our 19 old fa.4iioneJ schooling into tho back ground. What witli Ksoterio lUiddhisni as a Mciontific T/no/of///, Faith lloaliug in lieu of Afnlin'/tr, and cliinoiaerioa as the latest expres- sion ol ///'/// Arf, we may well discard our old-fashioned university faculties, 3fr.s\ Alijrri'^- — ^fy dear Harry, I think we are fast losing our own. Ilciirij — Then all this physiology, sanitation and stuff, such studies must deprave her taste, and are not expected of a lady in good sociely. J//V Af