HARRIET BEECHER STOWE (1811-1896)

The author of Uncle Tom's Cabin came from the heart of the old New England Calvinism. Her father was Lyman Beecher, and among her six preacher brothers was Henry Ward Beecher, the well-known pulpit orator of Brooklyn. She was a daughter of the manse, like the Brönte sisters, reared amid bookish surroundings in an atmosphere redolent of theological controversy. Her temperament, naturally sensitive and intense, was rendered over-emotional and almost morbidly introspective by her religious training. Her education was gained in private schools for girls and it went not far, for those were the days before colleges for women. It gave her a nunlike view of life and it fed her already over-developed emotional nature. Then at twenty-one came the really great educating influence of her life: she went West with her father who had been elected the first president of Lane Theological Seminary in Cincinnati, and there she lived for the next seventeen years, teaching in the schools for two years and then becoming the wife of Professor Calvin E. Stowe of the Seminary. Literary work she took up at first as a desperate resort for increasing the household income. Her first volume The Mayflower, 1843, she produced with a family of seven small children about her. When in 1850 Professor Stowe was called to Bowdoin, the family finances were at lowest ebb, and again, though almost overwhelmed by household duties, she sought her pen, this time for a short serial for the National Era, an anti-slavery paper of Washington. She had never been in the 'black belt' of the South, though she had caught glimpses of slavery during a brief visit to a plantation in Kentucky, but she knew well the underground railroad' of Ohio and she had seen much of fugitive slaves. The story took complete possession of her. It ran from June 5, 1851, to April 1, 1852, until indeed it was material for two volumes. It was written with intense emotion: chapters of it she wrote sobbing in utter abandon like Dickens: after the death of little Eva she was ill for a fortnight. It was keyed perfectly to the emotionalism of the times, and it sold as no other book in our history has ever sold since. Nearly the whole population read itespecially in the North, and it swept over England and indeed over all Europe. As we read it to-day it seems in many ways crude and unbalanced, but even to-day one may feel its power. It has movement; it has what American prose, up to that time influenced so greatly by Irving, had greatly lacked dramatic force. Moreover, it contained an intense moral appeal which made it acceptable even to the puritanic element that classed fiction with playing cards. From the date it appeared its author was famous and internationally famous. She wrote much in the years that followed: Dred, or Nina Gordon, 1856, which was lost in the fierce light of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and among much general material several studies of Calvinistic New England days: The Minister's Wooing, 1859, The Pearl of Orr's Island. 1862, and Old Town Folks, 1869. These undoubtedly are her best creations. She was admirably fitted for interpreting early New England both by her early training and by the sense of detachment that had come from her long residence in the West. These books undoubtedly greatly influenced that later school of depicters of New England, the leaders of which were Mrs. Cooke, Miss Jewett, Mrs. Freeman, and Alice Brown.

TOPSY

One morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her domestic cares, St. Clare's voice was heard, calling her at the foot of the stairs.

'Come down here, Cousin; I've something to show you.'

'What is it?' said Miss Ophelia, com

negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.

She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round, shining eyes, glittering as 5 glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new master's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of

ing down, with her sewing in her hand. 1o teeth. Her woolly hair was braided in

I've made a purchase for your department see here,' said St. Clare; and, with the word, he pulled along a little

sundry little tails, which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd mixture of shrewdness

and cunning, over which was oddly drawn,
like a kind of veil, an expression of the
most doleful gravity and solemnity. She
was dressed in a single filthy, ragged gar-
ment, made of bagging; and stood with
her hands demurely folded before her.
Altogether, there was something odd and
goblin-like about her appearance-some-
thing, as Miss Ophelia afterward said:
'so heathenish,' as to inspire that good 10
lady with utter dismay; and, turning to
St. Clare, she said:

Augustine, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?'

For you to educate, to be sure, and 15 train in the way she should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the "Jim Crow" line. Here, Topsy,' he added, giving a whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a dog, 'give us 20 a song, now, and show us some of your dancing.'

The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked drollery, and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an old 25 negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, spinning round, clap ping her hands, knocking her knees together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in her throat all those 30 odd guttural sounds which distinguish the native music of her race; and finally, turning a somersault or two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam-whistle, she 35 came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with her hands folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of meekness and solemnity over her face, only broken by the cunning glances which she shot 40 askance from the corners of her eyes.

Miss Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with amazement.

St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to enjoy her astonish- 45 ment; and, addressing the child again, said:

Topsy, this is your new mistress. I am going to give you up to her; see now that you behave yourself.'

Yes, mas'r,' said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.

You're going to be good, Topsy; you understand,' said St. Clare.

'O, yes, mas'r,' said Topsy, with another twinkle, her hands still devoutly folded.

'Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for?' said Miss Ophelia. Your house is so full of these little plagues, now, that a body can't set down their foot 5 without treading on 'em. I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door, and see one black head poking out from under the table, one lying on the door-mat- and they are mopping and mowing and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring this one for?'

For you to educate - did n't I tell you? You are always preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go.'

'I don't want her, I am sure; I have more to do with 'em now than I want to.'

'Augustine, you know I did n't think of it in that light,' said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. Well, it might be a real missionary work,' she said, looking rather more favorably on the child.

was

St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia's conscientiousness ever on the alert. But,' she added, I really did n't see the need of buying this one; there are enough now, in your house, to take up all my time and skill.'

Well, then, cousin,' said St. Clare, drawing her aside, I ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing speeches. You are so good, after all, that there's no sense in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple of drunken crea50 tures that keep a low restaurant that I have to pass by every day, and I was tired of hearing her screaming, and them beating and swearing at her. She looked bright and funny, too, as if something 55 might be made of her; so I bought her, and I'll give her to you. Try, now, and give her a good orthodox New England bringing up, and see what it'll make of

ing! I wonder that mas'r would buy her!'

The young un' alluded to heard all these comments with the subdued and 5 doleful air which seemed habitual to her, only scanning, with a keen and furtive. glance of her flickering eyes, the ornaments which Jane wore in her ears. When arrayed at last in a suit of decent 10 and whole clothing, her hair cropped short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfaction, said she looked more Christian-like than she did, and in her own mind began to mature some plans for her

Don't see what Mas'r St. Clare wants 15 instruction. of 'nother nigger!' said Dinah, surveying the new arrival with no friendly air. 'Won't have her round under my feet, I know!'

Pah!' said Rosa and Jane, with su- 20 preme disgust; let her keep out of our way! What in the world mas'r wants another of these low niggers for, I can't see!'

'You go long! No more nigger dan 25 you be, Miss Rosa,' said Dinah, who felt this last remark a reflection on herself. 'You seem to tink yourself white folks. You ain't nerry one, black nor white. I'd like to be one or turrer.'