_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?