CAMBRIDGE SOCIETY.

MRS. MARRYWELL, widow of Cambridge.

MISS MAUD MARRYWELL.

HAROLD C. U. SHARP, aristocratic New-Yorker.

MISS PASSITON, spinster, sister of MRS. M.

ISAIAH PORE, a tutor.

SCENE I. The house of MRS. MARRYWELL. MISS PASSITON, knitting. MRS. MARRYWELL.

MISS PASSITON. Now, really, Jane, I think it passing strange

That you have not a little savoir-faire,

In wedding off dear Maud to some rich youth.

Why, there is Mrs. Dale, the tutor's wife,

Who married Susan - what an ugly thing! -

To Patterson of Baltimore - they say

As rich as Croesus, - and there's Helen Jeer,

Who captivated quite, a millionnaire,

And - pshaw! to think that Maud, who's truly sweet,

Should lose such glorious chances, - 't is too bad.

MRS. MARRYWELL. Yes, sister, you are right, I fear, but I

Have done my best, and am about convinced

That that young Junior Harold C. U. Sharp

Is smitten with my Maud's not trifling charms,

And something sure will have to come of it.

Why, at th' Assembly he did dance with her

At least three times, and as I watched his face

I saw the sign of passion blushing out, -

I saw, and was enchanted.

MISS PASSITON sings in a shrill voice.

All that blushes is not love,

I alas! have known it.

Many a man I've tried to catch,

Tho' I should not own it.

When a girl in Cambridge town,

I was fond of dancing,

And I tried to press my suit

With my artful glancing.

One by one the classes fled,

Forty-nine and fifty;

Still I somehow did n't wed,

Though at flirting thrifty.

Seniors pass, - and Juniors come, -

Soph. and Freshmen follow;

Though they dance, they will not wed, -

Cambridge hopes are hollow!

No one asked me for my hand,

None took me to the minister.

And here I am at fifty-three,

A real old Cambridge spinster.

MRS. M. Do not say "old," good sister, - still your voice

Reminds me of the days forever sped.

Maud, by the way, has learned to sing as well

As any girl in all this town. When Sharp comes next

I'll have her play upon her new guitar

And warble out her latest pretty song.

But soft, she comes! - So fair, indeed, I ween

This Sharp must be a monster not to love.

Enter MAUD.

MAUD. Good day, dear Aunty, how's your health to-day?

MISS PASSITON. So-so.

MAUD. I heard you singing as I sat

And read the last few passages in Hume

On "Miracles," - a most stupendous work,

Although he argues from mistaken grounds.

MRS. MARRYWELL (peevishly). Tush, Maud, forever harping on that string!

Think you that you were made to waste your time,

And all my efforts in your own behalf

To see you wedded to some worthy man,

Rich and blue-blooded, as our line

Has always sought in marriage? For we are

Descendants of the cabin-boy who cleaned

The Mayflower's berths, and so can justly claim

The aristocracy for our acquaintances.

You have a chance - you know it Maud too well -

To captivate young Sharp, the Harvard Swell,

And it will be ungracious if you dash

My hopes to earth in that direction.

Take your guitar, and sing to us the song

You last did learn.

MAUD. Here's one I wrote myself.

(Sings.)

There are girls who are wrapt up in parties,

There are girls who go wild at a ball;

But I now can assure you my heart is

Not fluttered by such things at all.

For I can speak

In Attic Greek, -

And Pindar I read off at sight, -

Philosophy, too,

I do not eschew,

And I really think Hartmann is right.

I believe in the rights of the ladies,

I've quite a delight for the bar,

I've followed Ulysses to Hades,

And can tell you the name of each star.

I some time intend

To polish off Zend,

And paint in my summer vacation.

I think that the men

Are tyrants, and then

I fully believe in cremation.

MISS PASSITON. Niece, I am shocked that one so well brought up

Should waste her time in such ungentle ways.

Do you forget the gratitude you owe

To your poor mother? She now weeps to hear

Such sentiments so unbecoming you.

The world is all before you, and you show

An ignorance of how one may succeed.

Think of New York, of carriages and maids, -

Think of the place you easily may win, -

And then let shame paint blushes on your cheeks.

(The dinner-bell rings. Exeunt.)

SCENE II. SHARP'S room in Beck Hall.

SHARP, seated at the piano, sings.

If you would spend an hour or two

Amid continual mirth,

Go see the Cambridge folks at home, -

The most select on earth.

You'll find mammas with daughters fair

As any you have met,

With grim professors for papas, -

A most delightful set.

There are at least a dozen "bees,"

Whist-clubs and salons new,

At which you'll see all Cambridge belles,

From twelve to forty-two.

If you are rich the mothers will

Get out their rod and line,

And quickly fish for sons-in-law,

And bait their hooklets fine.

If you are poor they'll be polite,

And smother you with wit;

They'll tell you all the bits of news

That round the city flit.

The girls know all about the "men,"

And all the college ways, -

Their brothers have been through the mill,

And acted in the plays.

So if you'd really like to smile

An hour, come with me;

I've got good introductions,

And this society we'll see.

Ha! ha! I ought to know it well, methinks,

Since I've been forced to call on half a score

Of persons who were once my father's friends.

'T is no great pleasure, but it must be done.

And they are queer, - there's no denying it.

They think themselves the centre of the world

When they are merely Cambridge citizens,

And Cambridge is at best a college town.

To-night's the Assembly; I will go and chaff

Miss Marrywell, whose mother, I have seen,

Would catch me in her meshes, - but she can't.

Now to the Charles to watch the fellows row.

[Exit.

SCENE III. Papanti's Hall. The Assembly. Dancing going on. MRS. MARRYWELL and daughter seated aside.

MRS. M. Now, Maud, remember, if young Sharp should ask

To waltz with you, be charming as you can.

Talk pretty nonsense, do not be too shy;

None but the brave deserve a millionnaire.

SHARP approaches. MRS. MARRYWELL turns away to give free scope.

SHARP. Pray will you dance?

MAUD. Thank you, I'd rather talk

A little ere we mingle in the waltz.

Sir, have you seen the latest "Deutsche Rundschau"?

There is an essay on "Infinity" -

SHARP. No, I'm a perfect dunce at languages,

And scarcely know the word for "love" in French.

MAUD. How strange! "amour, aimer, aimons."

SHARP. Oh, don't decline it! - Do you see Miss Funk

Sitting three seats beyond us on the right?

She has not danced at all - I pity her.

(He hums very low.)

The wall-flower goes in party clothes

To every college ball;

She sits alone, just like a stone,

And does not dance at all.

MAUD. What doggerel! you should improve your style

By reading Goethe - I forgot you said

You knew no German - what a dreadful thing!

You are so dull, I don't know what to say.

Ah! here comes that bright young Mister Pore.

(PORE approaches.)

I'm glad indeed to see him.

(To PORE.) You, I'm sure

Are better read - n'est-ce-pas, Monsieur?

PORE. I teach the Freshmen German, good Miss Maud.

SHARP (aside). And you conditioned me three years ago.

Miss Marrywell, excuse me if I go -

And, Mrs. M., when next you strive o catch

An heir, be sure your daughter likes the match,

Or else with learning deep she him will bore,

And show her fondness for "bright Tutor Pore."

I wish you joy, and hope in time that he

Will e'en an Ass. Professor get to be.

(Curtain falls.)