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A<hii>lc<f from a Foreign ASV>?//vr, (Uhl
Sliijhii!/ Alh'veii

Hnlifox, N. -S.

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If.M.lV.VX J'lUNTiN«: ToMI-ANt.

SYNOPSIS OF THE COMEDIETTA.

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-

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 an<l women rusli into matrimony knowin^;
next to nothing of each other really. JJat ijon must have
been aware of IJelhi's deficiencies, and jiou knew nn' also,
and knew what 7 expected in my wife. You knew that,
without quite despising the ])leasure3 of society, I was a
man of serious views and liabits — a busy man — and, if 1
may venture to say so, a man of intellect. On tho other
hand, you know your daughter to be a ^;*rl of frivolous
ha]>its 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.

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 ■

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

{

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.

/^'

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.)

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.

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

])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 an<l Physiology, hy the way, Henry. 1 wish you
would use saccharine in your tea and cotfee, instead of sugar.

Jlenrij — Why, what's the odds? Isn't sugar full oi'
.saccharine ?

Bella — I thought you knew more of chemistry. AVhy
saccharine is a IJenzoyl Sulphonic, Imide It is obtained
from coal tar, and possesses three hundred times the sweet-
ening power of sugar. Besides, it is a non-carbonaceous or
non-fat-forming substance, and passes unchanged out of the
.system. It would be invaluable to you, who are threatened
with obesity.

Ilennj — Lymphatic and obese I What next, I wonder !

Jiella — By the way, I have noticed lately, a strong smell
of carburreted hydrogen about the house. Our sanitary
arrangements must be faulty 1

Hevvij — What else could you expect, when our city fathers
use up our taxes in building sewers across the Common- -
where they are not needed, and leave us here in the centre
of the city, where they are indispensible, without any !
No wonder we are over-run with measles, typhoid and
diphtheria.

Bella — Why don't they build them here, dear ?

Hriirij — Simpleton. No alderman owns property in this
neighbourhood !

Mrs, Morris — You are eating nothing, Henry.

Ht'urij — Tliaiiks, Tin not huugry, though I had u {,'ood
walk this evouing. 1 went up to Cunaid's to enquire about
the ** Polynesian."

Balhi — Has she reached England vet?

Henry— ^ha "arrived out" last .Sunday.

Jklla — Fie, Flenry ! what a hideous expression. We sIkiII
soon have you talking of the train being " on time," or
hear that you have taken " a ride on the horse cars."

flenrii — And why not 1 We see these expressions every
day In the papers.

Mrs. Morris — Would to heaven we never saw anything
worse there (^ takes papers from side table ) Any now scan-
dal this evening? How many murders? How sick I am
of this daily dish of horrors from over the border ! And
of their sporting notes and brutal prize fights ; and their
long-winded political articles, with their persistent iteration
of free trade and protection, confederation, prohibition and
annexation !

Henrji — Your remark reminds me of the Barrack Master's,
when he contemplated his scanty fatigue party on a Satur-
day — **What with education, confirmation and vaccinna-
tion, I'm d d if I can get the Barracks cleaned !

Mrs. Morris — Our papers would be the better for a little
scouring.

Tlenry — Suppose we begin by dusting an editor !

Bella — That has been tried already, and not too success-
fully.

Heiirij — (looking through paper) By the way, 1 see the
advertisement of another Japanese goods sale.

Bella — Will you go, Harryj and buy something.

Henri) — No, thank you, the house is full of it already.
Why, I wash now in the purest of Satsuma ware, shave in
a moon mirror j and even the bath-room is decorated with
kakamonias, or whatever Francis called them, to say nothing
of other Japanese art paper.

(They rise from table, and pass through the portiere into
Boudoir.)

Maria — (entering hastily) What on earth were they jaw-
ing about? AVe could hear them down in the kitchen.
(Henry comes back and raises the portiere.)

C/iarh's — (not seeing him) You just missed it, my girl.
You oughter 'ave been 'ere. The missis was a pullin' mas-
ter's leg all the time at dinner. I thought I'd 'ave busted !
(Turns and sees Henry )

Jlenrii — (furious) Go and get my cigarette case.

Charhii — Yes, sir. (Exeunt Charles and Maria ilying.)

lJor\i'[i — This is unbearable I (Exit.)

(Curtain.)

SCENE III.

The Boudoir ajjain. J/r.s- ^f(^rr^s and lh>lla.

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

*' '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

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<n'i'l-< — ()y\\Ui my way of thinking. l)ut let me
repeat what I've already said to you If you had taken her
in hand yourself, yuu mi^ht have taught her what vou
desired her to know, and left oat what you wished her to he
ignorant of. Vour present attitude is most contradictory.
\Vhen your wife showed herself ignorant and frivolous,
your absurd vanity was wounded. Now that she studies
and takes all manner of pains to improve herself, your self-
love is up in arms immediately. Do you want the child to
lose her head ? Vou are going the right way about it. You
may lose her heart too, by this conduct. 1 give you fair
warninj?. You are not a fool, 'i'ako care what vou are
about then ! (She rose to leave the room.)

Ilenvij — Don't go, mother. Don't leave me in such a
quandary. Y'ou are a sensible woman. Give me the benefit
of your advice. I should like Bella to give up these
studies and devote herself as before to me and the heuse-
hold. How can I make her do so, without hurting her
feeliugs ?

J/r.s-. vl/or/v'.s-— Come down from your high horse, in tho
first place. Speak to her from your heart. This goes fur-
ther with us women than anything.

(Bella returns with her arms full of books and drawings )

Bella — Here I am. Look ! here's my matriculation cer-
tificate. (Shows it )

Hpnrti—Q'w'Qi it me, dear, 1 will keep it as tho luosl, pre-
cious souvenir.

Holla — Ah ! how nice you are now ! And lien aio my
nolo books.

IFr.iirii — (taking them) Voor chihl I how hard you must
liave worked ! And what's this great roll oT paper?

lt<'1la — That is one of my drawings from life, done at the
Art School.

Hcnrtl — L don't think as much of the Art School as I
did. This does not seem the place for it. You need a
wealthy town with large manufactures for such a school to
do good and prosper. Your High Schools and Art Schools
are simply draining the country, turning the rising young
men and mechanics into pauper counter-jumpers and indif-
ferent artists. What market is there for their talents here,
if they show any ? They must inevitalily leave us for the
States. Besides, we are beginning at the wrong end, it
strikes mo. Let us straighten out our pavements first, and
])rush up our old wooden houses ; drain our streets, and
plant trees in them ; then, when the city has grown and
prospered, it will bo time enough for an Art School. Still,
you must not tliink me dissatislied with your work. It is
charming ! Stick to your drawings, dear, if you wish it,
but to please me, do give up the degree.

BtJla — Oh no ! I must have my degree !

Ilennj — I thought it was to please me you went in for it ?

]]ella — Certainly, it was to please you, at first, but after.

Henry — But after 1

//e/Zf - -But after, it was to please myself ; and I thought,
from the day I obtained it, you would think so much more
of me. You would cease to look on me as a dunce, and
talk to me as you tried to at first, before I knew anything
of Science or Art, or Political Economy.

IIe.nr\f- -My dear, I can do that without taxing this little
brain here (patting her head.) You are more than a match
for me in some things already. A little more learning, and
I should be in dread of you ! What will tempt you to
i'orego this degree you have worked so hard for %

Bella — Give mo back the old love, dear, that really might
tempt mo.

Hcnrij — You liavn uovei" lost it, darliii;^'. T.ut suppose wii
begin our married life all over again Wliun shall W(^ start
on our houeyinoou % Tho " Parisian " loaves here on Satur-
day. What say you to Paris and the groat Exhibition ?

HcUa — Oh, you darling! Do you really mean it? (ho
nods) Then hero go my note books and sketches (throws
them into the fire.) Good bye, Dalhouaie, and hurrah for
tho Exhibition.

Ihnni — Give me a kiss, dear, as an instalment to begin
tho new life with. (Kisses her.) To-morrow we will sot
about packing.

llf.Ua — The bargain is made, and sealed (kisses him.)

J//V. Morris (aside) He's not such a fool after all.

(Aloud) Bless you, my children. (Tajjleau.)

(Curtain.)