Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812 Part 25

SCENE 2.--_A lady's bedroom_.

KATE BLOGGS _and her cousin_, ORPHEA BLAGGS, _in conversation_.

_Orphea_. What will you do, dear?

_Kate_. A deed without a name!

A deed will waken me at dead of night!

A deed whose stony face will stare at me With vile grimace, and freeze my curdling blood!

Will make me quake before the eye of day; Shrink from the sun; and welcome fearsome night!

A deed will chase my trembling steps by ways Unknown, through lonely streets, into dark haunts!-- Will make me tremble if a child observes Me close; and quake, if, in a public crowd, One glances at me twice!

A deed I'll blush for, yet I'll do't; and charge Its ugliness on those who forced me to't-- In short, I'll wear the breeks.

_Orphea_. Oh, Katie! You?

_Kate_. Yes, me, dear coz.

_Orphea_. But then your hair, and voice!

_Kate_. I'll train my voice to mouth out short, thick words, As Bos.h.!.+ Tras.h.!.+ Fudge! Rot! And I'll cultivate An Abernethian, self-a.s.sertive style, That men may think there is a deal more in My solid head than e'er comes out.

My hair I'll cut short off.

[_She looses down her abundant brown hair, and pa.s.ses her hands through it caressingly_.

Ah, woman's simple pride! these tresses brown Must all be shorn. Like to G.o.diva fair, Whose heart, so true, forgot itself, to serve Her suffering kind; I, too, must make My hair an offering to my s.e.x; a protest strong 'Gainst man's oppression.

Oh, wavy locks, that won my father's praise, I must be satisfied to cut ye off, And keep ye in a drawer 'till happier times, When I again may wear ye as a crown: Perchance a bang.

_Orphea_. 'Twould, perhaps, be best to wear some as moustache.

_Kate_. The very thing! then whiskers won't be missed.

_Orphea_. But oh, your mannish garb! How dreadful, Kate!

_Kate_. True; but it must be done, and you must help.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE 3.--_The same room. Evening_.

KATE _alone_.

_Kate_. Not let me in! We'll see. I'll beat 'em yet.

To think that down in Canterbury, girls, Like my poor self, have had the badge bestowed That I so fondly covet. To think that they Enjoy the rights I ask, and have received The Cambridge University degree, B.A.

Not only wear the gown and cap As college students, but the hood. The hood!

And shall Macaulay's proud New Zealander Thus sit on me? Not if I know it. No!

I'll don the dreadful clothes, and cheat the Dons.

[_She goes to the window_.

The blinds are down, the shutters closed, the slats As well, surely no one can see.

[_She takes up a man's coat and looks at it, then the vest, then the pants_.

I'll do't!

[_Invests herself in the masculine apparel. A knock at the door.

She starts and turns pale_.

_A Voice_. Katie, dear!

_Kate_. Pshaw! 'tis only Orphea!

[_She unlocks the door_.

(_In masculine tones_.) Come in, dear coz.

[_Attempts to kiss her, but receives a slap in the face_.

_Orphea_. How dare you, sir! Oh! let me out.

_Kate (in natural voice)_. Orphea, you goose!

_Orphea_ Oh, Kate, you did so scare me!

_Kate_. And is it then a good disguise?

_Orphea_. 'Tis poor old Tom again.

_Kate_. But how essay it in the street and hall?

_Orphea_. Well, there's the gown to help. 'Twill cover all.

_Kate_. And then the cap? But that I do not mind; My Derby hat has used me to a style A trifle jaunty, and a hard stiff crown; So if my hair prove not too trying I yet may like to wear the "mortar-board,"

If still they wear such things.

_Orphea_. Oh, Kate, it is an awful risk!

_Kate_. Awful, my dear; but poor mamma Thinks I'm an awful girl.

If she but knew-- Yet might I plead that men and women oft Have done the same before; poor Joan of Arc; Portia; and Rosalind. And I have heard That once Achilles donned the woman's garb: Then why not I the student's cap and gown?