SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY AND INCIDENTS

IN THE GREAT DRAMA, UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.

  ACT I. — SCENE 1 — Uncle Tom's happy home in Kentucky. Songs, dances, and choruses by Mr. Shelby's merry slaves. Mr. Shelby and the slave dealer, Haley. Meeting of George Harris and his wife, Eliza. The plan of escape. The farewell. Shelby and Haley. Little Harry. The bargain. The purchase of living souls. Arrival of Eliza. The resolve. The parting blessing. Tom's faith in the Lord. SCENE 2 — Room in a tavern by the Ohio river. Arrival of Phineas Fletcher, the Kentuckian. A diamond in the rough. The escaping fugitives. "My name is Marks; I am a lawyer, and a good one." The compact. Phineas's story. The fugitives' escape. SCENE 3 — Mother and child pursued by bloodhounds. On to the ferry. SCENE 4 — The Ohio river in winter. Eliza and child escape on the floating ice, closely followed by bloodhounds. Phineas to the rescue. Terrific struggle between Marks, Nero, Prince, Caesar, and Jumbo. Marks, Jr., in the river. TABLEAU.

  ACT II. SCENE 1 — The tavern. Phineas on the watch. Meeting of Kentucky friends. The gift of Wilson. The scar on the hand. The slave hunters again. The trap. A baffled pursuit. SCENE 2 — Meeting of husband, wife, and child. Phineas as a Quaker. The resolve, "I'll die or be free." SCENE 3 — Rocky pass in the mountains. The lawyer and his confederates. The shot. Marks in a fix. Death of Loker. TABLEAU.

  ACT III. SCENE 1 — Landing on the Mississippi river. Arrival of the steamers R.E. Lee and Natchez. Negroes at work. Chorus by the Jubilee Singers. Cabin of the R. E. Lee. St. Clair, Aunt Ophelia, Uncle Tom, and Eva. Eva falls into the Mississippi. The dark-skinned hero. Uncle Tom's noble devotion. Eva saved. TABLEAU. SCENE 2 — Saloon of the steamer R. E. Lee. Marks and Cute. SCENE 3 — St. Clair's Southern home. Marie St. Clair, the fashionable wife. Arrival of St. Clair, Ophelia, Uncle Tom, and Eva. The story of the rescue. Eva's gratitude. The kiss. "Lor', how shiftless." The picture. SCENE 4 — Garden. Tom's love for his young mistress. Topsy, that never was born. The breakdown. The theft. Ophelia nonplussed. The whipping that "would n't kill a skeeter." SCENE 5 — The incorrigible Topsy again. Song and dance. Eva playing with Topsy. "I love you, Topsy." Topsy's promise. St. Clair's compact with Uncle Tom. Topsy again in trouble. Aunt Ophelia moralizes. SCENE 6 — Garden of St. Clair's mansion. Eva reading to Uncle Tom. "The sea of glass mingled with fire." "The New Jerusalem." "Band of spirits bright." "Eva, the brightest spirit of them all." Eva's tender appeal to her father. Eva's song. Eva's good night. SCENE 7 — The devoted slave. Tom's fears. Tom watching for the bridegroom. SCENE 8 — The deathbed of Eva. The angel's call. Love, Joy, Peace. "Suffer little children to come unto me." Death of Eva. The angel child goes home. Chorus of mournful slaves. TABLEAU.

  ACT IV. SCENE 1 — St. Clair and Tom. Tom's religious advice to his master. Free as a bird. St. Clair's resolve to free Tom. Tom's joy. "Go home, my boy." "No, not till Massa becomes a Christian." Ophelia and Topsy. Topsy's treasure. "I's not so wicked as I used to was." Topsy and Ophelia. St. Clair. Gift of Topsy to Aunt Ophelia. Topsy's glee. Tom's fear. SCENE 2 — The death room. St. Clair goes to Eva. Death of St. Clair. Tom still a slave. "Massa's in the cold, cold ground." TABLEAU.

  ACT V. SCENE 1 — A street scene in New Orleans. A slave market. [This scene will be interspersed with musical imitations.] Marks and the Yankee. The crowd of buyers. Legree. Nigger with his boots blacked. The traffic in human souls. The bidding. Marks buys. A Sale. Mark's departure. The bids. Legree purchases Uncle Tom and Emmeline. "Now, you both belong to me." "Den de Lord help us." SCENE 2 — Aunt Ophelia's Vermont home. Ophelia and the deacon, and his wailings. His grief. His admiration. Topsy's change for the better. Her bouquet. The old maid's daughter. The old goose and gander. Cute and his travels. His meeting with Topsy. The bargain. The woolly horse. "Another speculation busted up, by chowder!" SCENE 3 — Cotton field in full bloom. Slaves at work. Song and chorus by Jubilees. Tom and his lament. The lock of hair and silver dollar. Legree and his fierce bloodhounds. Sambo and Quimbo. Emmeline's fear of Legree. "Whip that girl!" "I'll die first!" Legree's cruelty. SCENE 4 — Ophelia, Topsy, and Cute. Cute claims relationship. Cute booked for six months, by chowder! Deacon Perry and his song. Cute interviews. The deacon's desire. Cute's indignation. The controversy. The resolve of Ophelia to marry the deacon. The quarrel of words. Topsy. FUNNY TABLEAU.

  ACT VI. SCENE 1 — Uncle Tom and Cassy. "Drink all you want." SCENE 2 — Young Massa George Shelby. Marks and his donkey. The conversation. The offer. "I never give anything." "I am a lawyer." "When shall we meet again." SCENE 3 — The lawyer and Cute again. The speculation. Their compact. The heroic work of valiant Cute. SCENE 4 — Legree and Cassy. Legree's fury. The escape of Cassy and Emmeline. Tom will not tell. "I will die first!" Inhuman whipping of poor Tom. Massa George, Marks, and Cute. The warrant. The pirate shot. Death of the monster, Legree. Tom and his young master. "I've got the victory!" Death of Uncle Tom. SCENE 5 — EVA IN THE GOLDEN REALMS.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe

AUTHOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN."

  MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE was born at Litchfield, Conn., June 14th, 1812. At an early age she manifested a great eagerness for books, and read the prosy theological works of her father's library with an eagerness only excelled by that with which the pages of a stray volume of the "Arabian Nights" or "Don Quixote" were devoured.

  When about twelve years of age, she went to Hartford, where her sister Catherine had opened a school. While here she was known as an absent-minded and moody young lady, odd in her manners and habits, but a fine scholar, excelling especially in composition.

  In 1832, when her sister's health failed, she went to Cincinnati, to which place her father had removed, where they opened a school.

  On the 5th of January, 1836, she married Prof. Calvin E. Stowe, a man of learning and distinction. From this time her life flowed quietly along for several years in domestic channels, until the passage of the fugitive-slave law; then the definite purpose arose in her mind to show up slavery as it really was, and her earnest convictions at this time laid the corner-stone for "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN," which was first published as a serial in the National Era. A few months after its republication in book form, Mr. Jewet handed to Mrs. Stowe $10,000, as her share of the profits. Within six months over one hundred and fifty thousand copies were sold.

  In England two hundred and forty thousand copies were ordered by the booksellers in one month. It was translated into Spanish, Italian, French, Danish, Swedish, Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish, Magyar, Arabic, and Armenian.

  In 1852 Mrs. Stowe took up her residence at Andover, and soon after went abroad to recuperate her exhausted strength. Her visit was one continuous ovation, and a year later she gave to the public her "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands."

  Her verses, a volume of which has been published, are chiefly religious, and most sweet in their plaintiff sadness.

  In 1864 Mrs. Stowe built a beautiful residence in Hartford, where she was resided up to the time of her death in June, 1896.

  The play of "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" has been acted throughout the United States thousands of times, and to-day it is the most popular drama in the land. The most exacting Christian people never hesitate to witness its rendition, which they always do with great pleasure and delight. Lessons of morality and virtue may be learned by its teachings.

ELIZA'S VISIT TO UNCLE TOM AND AUNT CHLOE.

  AFTER overhearing the conversation between Mr. Shelby and his wife, in relation to the sale of Uncle Tom and her son, Harry, to Haley the slave dealer, she resolves to save her boy by taking immediate flight. After writing a few fervid lines to her mistress of her intentions, she approached the cot where her boy was wrapped in slumber and exclaimed: "Poor boy! poor fellow! they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet." When she had awakened him, and while putting on her shawl and bonnet, he asks her: "Where are you going, mother?"

  "'Hush, Harry,' she said, 'you must n't speak loud, or they will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little Harry away from his mother, and carry him 'way off in the dark; but mother won't let him—she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can't catch him.'

  "It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the shawl close 'round her child, as perfectly quiet with vague terror he clung 'round her neck." After leaving the house of her master, Mr. Shelby, a few minutes brought them to the window of Uncle Tom's cottage, and Eliza, stopping, tapped lightly on the window-pane.

  "The prayer meeting at Uncle Tom's had, in the order of hymn-singing, been protracted to a very late hour; and as Uncle Tom had indulged himself in a few lengthy solos afterwards, the consequence was that, although it was now between twelve and one o'clock, he and his worthy helpmeet were not yet asleep.

  "'Good Lord! what's that?' said Aunt Chloe, starting up and hastily drawing the curtain. 'My sakes alive, if it ain't 'Lizy! Get on your clothes, old man, quick!—there's old Bruno, too, a pawin' 'round; what on airth! I'm gwine to open the door.' And suiting the action to the word, the door flew open, and the light of the tallow candle, which Tom had hastily lighted, fell on the haggard face and dark, wild eyes of the fugitive.

  "'Lord bless you; I'm skeered to look at ye, 'Lizy! Are ye tuck sick, or what's come over ye?' 'I'm running away, Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe, carrying off my child. Master sold my Harry and you, Uncle Tom, both, to a trader. * * * And now, said Eliza, as she stood in the door, I saw my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what was to come. Tell him how I went, and why I went; and tell him I'm going to try and find Canada.' She turned away, and stood with her back to them for a moment, and then added: 'Tell him to be good, and try and meet me in heaven.' A few last words, and she glided noiselessly away."

ELIZA'S ESCAPE OVER THE OHIO RIVER.

  WHEN Eliza turned her footsteps from Uncle Tom's cabin, her husband's suffering and dangers, and the danger of her child, all blended in her mind, with a confused and stunning sense of the risk she was running, in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting loose from the protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. * * * The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled at every sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood back to her heart. The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, passed by her dizzily, as she walked on; and still she went, leaving one familiar object after another, slacking not, pausing not, till reddening daylight found her many a long mile from all traces of any familiar objects upon the open highway. An hour before sunset, she entered the village of T—-, by the Ohio river, weary and footsore. Her first glance was at the river, which lay, like Jordan, between her and the Canaan of liberty on the other side. It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and turbulent; great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and fro in the turbid waters. Eliza stood for a moment contemplating this unfavorable aspect of things, which she saw at once would prevent the usual ferry-boat from running, and then turned to a small public house, on the bank, to make inquiries.

  "In consequence of all the various delays, it was about three-quarters of an hour after Eliza had laid her child to sleep in the village tavern that the pursuing party came riding into the same place. Eliza was standing by the window, looking out in another direction, when Sam's quick eye caught a glimpse of her. Haley and Andy were two yards behind. At this crisis, Sam contrived to have his hat blown off, and uttered a loud and characteristic ejaculation, which startled her at once; she drew suddenly back; the whole train swept by the window, 'round to the front door.

  "A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her child and sprang down the steps towards it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her as she was disappearing down the bank, and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment brought her to the water's edge. Right on behind they came, and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond.

  "The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it, but she stayed there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake; stumbling, leaping, slipping, springing up again. Her shoes are gone, her stockings cut from her feet, while blood marks every step; but she saw nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank."

Comments . . .

Of Distinguished Men and Women on "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

The Most Thorough Endorsement of Christian People a Book Ever Received in the History of Letters.

  "You must feel and know what deep impressions 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' has made upon every heart that can feel for the dignity of human existence, and I must thank you for the great joy I have felt over that book." — JENNY LIND.

  "What a glorious work Harriet Beecher Stowe has wrought! Thanks for the fugitive-slave law! Better for slavery that law had never been enacted, for it gave occasion for 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.'" — WHITTIER.

  "I have read your book with the deepest interest and sympathy, and admire more than I can express to you, both the generous feeling which inspired it, and the admirable power with which it is executed. Your book is worthy of any head and any heart that ever inspired a book. I am much your debtor, and I thank you most fervently and sincerely." — CHARLES DICKENS.

  "I return my deep and solemn thanks to Almighty God, who has led and enabled you to write such a book. I do feel, indeed, the most thorough assurance that, in His good providence, such a book cannot have been written in vain." — LORD CARLISLE.

  "To my mind, it is the greatest novel ever written, and, although it may seem strange, it reminded me, in a lower sphere, more of Shakespeare than anything modern I have ever read; not in the style, nor in the humor, nor in the pathos — though Eva set me crying more than Cordelia did at sixteen — but in the many-sidedness, and, above all, that marvelous clearness of insight and outsight which makes it seemingly impossible for her to see any one of her characters without showing him or her at once as a distinct man or woman, different from all others." — CHARLES KINGSLEY.

UNCLE TOM AND EVA MAKE ACQUAINTANCESHIP.

  "AMONG the passengers on the boat [which carried Uncle Tom and other slaves, and Haley, the slave trader] was a young gentleman of fortune and family, resident of New Orleans, who bore the name of St. Clair. He had with him a daughter between five and six years of age, together with a lady who seemed to claim relationship to both, and to have the little one in charge.

  "Tom had often caught glimpses of this little girl—for she was one of those busy, tripping creatures, that can be no more contained in one place than a sunbeam or a summer breeze; nor was she one that, once seen, could be easily forgotten. She was always in motion, flying hither and thither, with an undulating and cloud-like tread, singing to herself as she moved, as in a happy dream. Tom who had the soft, impressible nature of his kindly race, watched the little creature with increasing interest. To him she seemed something almost divine; and whenever her golden head and deep blue eyes peered out upon him from behind some cotton-bale, or looked down upon him over some ridge of packages, he half believed that he saw one of the angels described in his New Testament.

  "Often and often she walked mournfully 'round the place where Haley's gang of men and women sat in their chains. She would glide in among them, and look at them with an air of perplexed and sorrowful earnestness; and sometimes she would lift their chains with her slender hands, and then sigh woefully, as she glided away.

  "Tom watched the little lady a great deal before he ventured on any overtures towards acquaintanceship. He knew an abundance of simple acts to propitiate and invite the approaches of the little people, and he resolved to play his part quite skilfully. He could cut cunning little baskets out of cherry-stones, and could make grotesque faces on hickory-nuts. His pockets were full of miscellaneous articles of attraction, which he had hoarded in days of old for his master's children, and which he now produced one by one as overtures for acquaintance and friendship.

  "The little one was shy, for all her busy interest in everything going on, and it was not easy to tame her. For a while she would perch, like a canary-bird, on some box or package near Tom while busy in the little arts aforenamed, and take from him, with a kind of bashfulness, the little articles he offered. But at last they got on quite confidential terms.

  "'What's little missy's name?' said Tom, at last, when he thought matters were ripe to push such an inquiry. [See page 7.]

CARD TO THE PUBLIC.

  UNCLE TOM'S CABIN has, for a number of years past, been so mercilessly butchered by impecunious managers, with inferior companies and no scenic resources, that I deem it advisable to convey an idea to the public of the character and scope of this

Mammouth Uncle Tom's Cabin Co.

  Thoroughly alive to the possibilities of this great drama, and believing that a production of it on a grand scale will, in the end, prove profitable, I have engaged a full company of first-class actors, a band of eighteen musicians, a number of specialty artists of recognized merit, the world-renowned "Tennesseeans" Jubilee Singers, and have had made, under my own direction, the most magnificent and costly scenery ever used in this or any other play, with mechanical and calcium effects to display the masterpieces of the scenic artists, representing the "Ohio River in Winter," the "Mountain Pass by Moonlight," and the "Race between the Steamers R. E. Lee and Natchez." The tableaux introduced during the play are magnificent beyond description, and a full pack of ferocious Cuban bloodhounds lends a thrilling realism to the production.

  I have determined to make mine the most splendid, finished and elegant representation of this soul-stirring piece ever put before the American public, and to this end have spared neither pains nor expense, and I sincerely trust I will have the support from you I will endeavor to merit.

THE RESCUE OF EVA FROM DROWNING.

  "'EVANGELINE ST. CLAIR,' said the little one, 'though papa and everybody else calls me Eva. Now, what's your name?'

  "'My name is Tom; the little chil'en used to call me Uncle Tom, way back thar in Kentuck.'

  "'Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you,' said Eva. 'So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?'

  "'I don't know, Miss Eva.'

  "'Don't know?' said Eva.

  "'No, I am going to be sold to somebody. I don't know who.'

  "'My papa can buy you,' said Eva, quickly; 'and if he buys you, you will have good times. I mean to ask him to day.'"

  "The boat here stopped at a small landing to take in wood, and Eva, hearing her father's voice, bounded nimbly away. * * * Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the boat start from the landing-place; the wheel had made two or three revolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little one suddenly lost her balance and fell sheer over the side of the boat into the water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging in after her, but was held back by some one behind him, who saw that more efficient aid had followed the child.

  "Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck, as she fell. He saw her strike the water and sink, and was after her in a moment. A broad-chested, strong armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keep afloat in the water till, in a moment or two, the child rose to the surface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to the boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds of hands, which, as they had all belonged to one man, were stretched out to save her."

  "While the steamboat was closely approaching New Orleans, St. Clair is negotiating for the purchase of Uncle Tom from Haley, who expatiating largely on the 'quality of the article,' and the 'moral and Christian virtues bound in black morocco,' concludes to part with Tom in consideration of thirteen hundred dollars. 'Papa, do buy him! It's no matter what you pay,' whispered Eva, softly, getting up on a package and putting her arm around his neck. 'You have money enough, I know. I want him.'

  After effecting the purchase, and handing over the money to Haley, St. Clair conducts his daughter across the boat to where Tom was sitting, and carelessly putting his finger under Tom's chin, said, good-naturedly, 'Look up, Tom, and see how you like your new master.'"

Henry Ward Beecher reads "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

  PERHAPS I may be pardoned in repeating here the story of Henry Ward Beecher's first reading of his sister's famous book. It was told me by Mrs. Beecher two or three years ago, and printed at that time. But we soon forget in these days, and the story is worth recalling in connection herewith.

  This is how Mrs. Beecher told the story to me:

  "When the story was first published in the National Era, in chapters, all of our family, excepting Mr. Beecher, looked impatiently for its appearance each week. But, try as we might, we could not persuade Mr. Beecher to read it, or let us tell him anything about it.

  "'It's folly for you to be kept in constant excitement week after week,' he would say. 'I shall wait till the work is completed, and take it all at one dose.'

  "When the work was finished, the book came to Mr. Beecher on the morning of a day when he had a meeting on hand for the afternoon, and a speech to make in the evening. The book was quietly laid to one side, for he always scrupulously avoided everything that could interfere with or retard work he was expected to do. But the next day was a free day. Mr. Beecher rose even earlier than usual, and as soon as dressed began to read 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' When breakfast was ready, he took his book with him to the table, and reading and eating went on together; but he spoke never a word. After morning prayers he threw himself on the sofa, forgot everything but his book, and read uninterruptedly till dinner time. Though evidently beginning to be intensely interested, for a long time he controlled any marked indications of it; but before noon I knew the storm was gathering that would conquer his self-control, as it had done with us all. He frequently 'gave way to his pocket handkerchief,' to use one of his old humorous remarks, in a most vigorous manner. I could not refrain, in return for his teasing me for reading the work weekly, from saying demurely, as I past him once: 'You seem to have a severe cold. How could you have taken it?' But what did I gain? Not even a shake of his head, or a semblance of a smile. I might was well have spoken to the Sphinx.

  "When reminded that the dinner-bell had rung, he rose and went to the table, still with his book in his hand. He asked the blessing with a tremor in his voice, which showed the intense excitement under which he was laboring. We were alone at the table, and there was nothing to distract his thoughts. He drank his coffee, ate but little, and returned to his reading, with no thought of indulging in his usual afternoon nap. Evidences of almost uncontrollable excitement in the form of mild sobs were frequent.

  "Mr. Beecher was never a rapid reader. I was getting uneasy over the marks of great feeling and excitement, and longed to have him finish the book. I could see that he entered into the whole story, every scene, as if it were being acted right before him, and he himself was the sufferer. He had always been a pronounced Abolitionist, and the story he was reading, roused all he had felt on that subject intensely.

  "The night came on. It was growing late, and I felt impelled to urge him to retire. Without raising his eyes from the book he replied:

  "'Soon, soon; you go; I'll come soon.'

  "Closing the house, I went to our room, but not to sleep. The clock struck twelve, one, two, three, and then, to my great relief, I heard Mr. Beecher coming up stairs. As he entered, he threw 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' on the table, exclaiming: 'There, I've done it! But if Hattie Stowe ever writes anything more like that, I'll—well, she has killed me nearly anyhow!'

  "And he never picked up the book from that day."

— MR. BOK

TOPSY AND AUNT OPHELIA.

  "TOPSY was one of the blackest of her race; and her round shining eyes, glittering as 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 Mas'r's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly hair, braided in sundry little tails, 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 veil, an expression of the most doleful gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single, filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with her hands demurely folded before her. Altogether there was something odd and goblin-like about her appearance—something as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, 'so heathenish,' as to inspire that good lady with utter dismay; and turning to St. Clair, she said:

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

  "'For you to educate. You're 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.' * * Aunt Ophelia, sitting down before her, began to question her.

  "'How old are you, Topsy?'

  "'Dunno, Missis,' said the image, with a grin that showed all her teeth.

  "'Don't know how old you are? Didn't anybody ever tell you? Who was your mother?'

  "'Never had none!' said the child, with another grin.

  "'Never had any mother? What do you mean? Where were you born?'

  "'Never was born!' persisted Topsy, with another grin that looked so goblin-like, that, if Miss Ophelia had been at all nervous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of some sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie; but Miss Ophelia was not nervous, but plain and business-like, and she said, with some sternness:

  "'You mustn't answer me in that way, child; I'm not playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who your father and mother were.'

  "'Never was born,' reiterated the creature, more emphatically; 'never had no father nor mother, nor nothin'. I was raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old aunt Sue used to take care on us.'"

SELECTED SONGS.

UNCLE TOM'S RELIGION.

EVA'S SONG.

TOPSY'S SONG.

DEATH BED OF EVA.

FAREWELL, BELOVED CHILD! THE BRIGHT ETERNAL DOORS HAVE CLOSED AFTER THEE. WE SHALL SEE THY SWEET FACE NO MORE.

  "EVA had been unusually bright and cheerful that afternoon, and had sat raised in her bed, and looked over all her little trinkets and precious things, and designated the friends to whom she would have them given; and her manner was more animated, and her voice more natural, than they had known it for weeks. Her father had been in in the evening, and had said that Eva appeared more like her former self than ever she had done since her sickness; and when he kissed her for the night, he said to Miss Ophelia: 'Cousin, we may keep her with us, after all; she is certainly better'; and he had retired with a lighter heart in his bosom than he had had there for weeks.

  "But at midnight—strange, mystic hour!—when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin,—then came the messenger!

  "There was a sound in that chamber, first of one who stepped quickly. It was Miss Ophelia, who had resolved to sit up all night with her little charge, and who, at the turn of the night, had discovered what experienced nurses significantly call 'a change.' The outer door was quickly opened, and Tom, who was watching outside, was on the alert in a moment. 'Go for the doctor, Tom! lose not a moment,' said Miss Ophelia; and, stepping across the room, she rapped at St. Clair's door. 'Cousin,' she said, 'I wish you would come.' Those words fell on his heart like clods upon a coffin. Why did they? He was up and in the room in an instant, and bending over Eva, who still slept.

  "On the face of the child, however, there was no ghastly imprint,—only a high and almost sublime expression,—the overshadowing presence of spiritual natures, the dawning of immortal life in that childish soul.

  "They stood there so still, gazing upon her, that even the ticking of the watch seemed too loud. In a few moments Tom returned with the doctor. He entered, gave one look, and stood silent as the rest.

  "The child lay panting on her pillows, as one enchanted—the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed. Ah! what said those eyes, that spoke so much of heaven? Earth was past, and earthly pain; but so solemn, so mysterious, was the triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked even the sobs of sorrow.

  "'O, Eva, tell us what you see! What is it?' said her father.

  "A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she said, brokenly, 'O! love, joy,—peace!' gave one sigh and passed from death unto life!"

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

  THE success which has attended the revival of the famous old play, UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, at the Grand, this week, has been phenomenal. At every performance the house has been nearly or completely filled. Seats for next week have already begun to sell, and the indications are that the coming week will be a greater success even than the first.

  Of the scenery too much can not be said. It is magnificent. In the river scenes one sees the floating cakes of ice slowly moving down the stream. The perilous crossing of Eliza and little Harry over the rocking ice-blocks is a piece of realism seldom witnessed. One can see the splendid perspective of this scene several miles up the frozen river, and the undulating snow-clad hills on either side lie like drowsy sentinels in the soggy winter day. Professor Sosman needs no introduction. He is a painter of repute; but, as a spectator said last evening, "I never knew a painter who could paint ice so cold and water so wet as he." The plantation scene is another gem especially prepared by the same artist. It depicts a typical southern home, with its cotton-field, its mansions, and its log cabins. It is the balmy, sunny South. The play of the sunlight among the great piles of banked up clouds near the horizon reminds one of the effect of light and shade so notable in famous pictures. It is a warm, mellow, beautiful scene. The concluding scene in this picturesque drama has, perhaps, taxed the skill of the painter and the mechanic more than any other spectace of which the stage can boast. The theme is so lofty, so frought with the highest order of ideality, that nothing short of genius, supported by an unstinted patronage can do it justice. It is not flattery to say that the "beautiful gates ajar," as now depicted at the Grand, is one of the most entrancing spectacles ever witnessed in this city. The scene opens with a mass of clouds, through a rift of which is seen a passing group of angels bearing Uncle Tom to heaven. In front a large gloria of iridescent splendor is brightly twinkling. The clouds disperse revealing Uncle Tom with angel escort before the Golden Gates, on either side of which, poised upon magnificent pillars inlaid with gold and pearl, stand angel sentinels with expanded wings. Many changes follow. Numerous angels appear from out the fleecy clouds which now surround the scene like a halo of glory. In the deep center a sudden movement is seen, and, like a morning star, like the central jewel in a crown of diadems, surrounded by whispering angels, Little Eva, with beckoning hands, smiles down upon Uncle Tom, while the beautiful gates slowly open to the Great City that lies beyond. It is a beautiful sight to see. During the interval of this exquisite spectacle, the mellow minors of an invisible chorus fall faintly upon the ear, and the curtain descends upon a picture of the imagination that one is loath to call unreal. The Magnolia Quartet of vocal jubilee singers do excellent vocal work, and contribute much to the success of the production.—Saturday Evening Spectator, Jan. 27, 1906.

SALE OF UNCLE TOM TO LEGREE.

  THE sudden death of St. Clair proved a bar to the enfranchisement of Uncle Tom, which had been promised him by his master a few days previous to his death. Aunt Ophelia, being cognizant of St. Clair's intentions in this particular, broached the subject to Mrs. St. Clair, urging that she should carry out the good deed that would have been accomplished had her husband's life been spared; but she was inexorable, so poor Tom was doomed to sad disappointment.

  It was shortly after this that Tom and other slaves of the St. Clair estate were turned over to Mr. Skeggs, the keeper of a slave depot in New Orleans, to be sold. A little before the sale commenced, a short, muscular man elbowed his way through the crowd, and coming up to the group, began to examine them systematically. His round, bullet head, large, light-grey eyes, with their shaggy, sandy eyebrows, and stiff, wiry, sun-burned hair, were rather unprepossessing items; his large, coarse mouth was distended with tobacco, the juice of which, from time to time, he ejected with great decision and force; his hands were large and dirty, and garnished with long nails, in a very foul condition. This man proceeded to a very free, personal examination of the lot. He seized Tom by the jaw, and pulled open his mouth to inspect his teeth; made him strip up his sleeve to show his muscle; turned him 'round; made him jump and spring, to show his paces.

  "'Where was you raised?' he added briefly to these investigations.

  "'In Kintuck, Mas'r,' said Tom, looking about for deliverance.

  At this juncture the sale began.

  "'Now, up with you, boy! d'ye hear?' said the auctioneer to Tom.

  Tom stepped upon the block, gave a few anxious looks round; all seemed mingled in a common, indistinct noise—the clatter of the salesman crying off his qualifications in French and English, the quick fire of French and English bids; and almost in a moment came the final thump of the hammer, and the clear ring on the last syllable of the word 'dollars,' as the auctioneer announced his price, and Tom was made over. He had a master. He was pushed from the block; the short, bullet-headed man, seizing him roughly by the shoulder, pushed him to one side, saying, 'Stand there, you!'"

PRESS COMMENTS.

  "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" never grows old. There runs through it a vein of pathos peculiarly touching and sweet. It speaks the universal language of the heart. It reflects, like a prism, the innermost phases of human emotion. It is more than a play; it is a moral classic. It argues for two of the greatest themes that can engage the mind—human liberty, and immortality of the soul. It is so pure that its touch alone is chastening. Like the kiss of a child, it conquers by the very innocence of its breath. In the character of Eva, it is unique. Who does not cherish in memory some sweet, angelic child who seemed to touch this earth only as a transient visitor who passed away with the dew of childhood's morning—too good, too pure for us? "Was there ever a child like Eva? Yes, but her name is written on gravestones." This good old play is unique because it is the only one that portrays that character. The scenery is excellent. In the river scene, one sees the floating cakes of ice slowly moving down stream. One can see, in the splendid perspective of this scene, several miles up the frozen river, and the undulating snow clad hills on either side lie like drowsy sentinels in the soggy winter day. The plantation scene represents a typical southern home, with its mansion, its log cabins, and its cotton-field. It is the sunny, sunny South. It is a warm, mellow, beautiful scene. The last scene in this most picturesque drama has, perhaps, taxed the skill of the painter and the mechanic more than any other spectace of which the stage can boast. Indeed, it is not flattery to say that the "Beautiful Gates Ajar," as now depicted at the Grand, is one of the most entrancing spectacles ever witnessed in this city. The scene opens with a mass of clouds, through a rift of which is seen a passing group of angels bearing Uncle Tom to heaven. A large "gloria" of iridescent splendor is brightly twinkling in front. The clouds disperse, revealing Uncle Tom with angel escort before the golden gates, on either side of which, poised upon magnificent pillars inlaid with gold and pearl, stand angel sentinels with expanded wings. Change follows change. Numerous angels appear from out the fleecy clouds which now surround the scene like a halo of glory. In the deep center a sudden movement of the clouds is seen, and like a morning star, like the central jewel in a crown of diadems, surrounded by whispering angels, little Eva, with beckoning hands, smiles down upon Uncle Tom, while the beautiful gates slowly open to the great city that lies beyond. It is a beautiful sight to see. During the interval of this exquisite spectacle, the mellow minors of an invisible chorus fall faintly upon the ear, and the curtain descends upon a picture of the imagination that one is loath to call unreal.—Tribune, November 14, 1905.

  I wonder when the time will come that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" will lose its charm to the rising generation? Judging from its present freshness, its alluring powers will be perennial. There is something in the skillful combination of the pathetic and the humorous that never fails to fascinate, and the story of the suffering of the poor slaves appeals directly to the finest sensibilities of the human soul. Such plays are better than sermons. They point a moral, and adorn a tale. They teach us lessons in thoughtfulness and charity. They impress our minds with the precepts of the golden rule. Mrs. Stowe's book is one of the great books of literature because it deals with questions of immeasurable human import, and the play itself is one of those simple masterpieces that can never die. If it does no more than to keep alive the memory of the rise and fall of one of the greatest iniquities that history deals with, it is not written in vain.—LEANDER RICHARDSON, in New York Dramatic News, Nov. 18, 1905.

WHIPPING UNCLE TOM.

  "'NOW, Quimbo,' said Legree, as he stretched himself down in the sitting-room, 'you just go and walk that Tom up here right away! The old cuss is at the bottom of this yer whole matter, and I'll have it out of his old black hide, or I'll know the reason why!'

  "Tom heard the message with a forewarning heart; and, looking up, said, 'Into thy hands I commend my spirit!' and then quietly yielded himself to the rough, brutal grasp with which Quimbo seized him.

  "'Ay, ay!' said the giant, as he dragged him along; 'ye'll cotch it, now! I'll boun' Mas'r's back 's up high! No sneaking out now! Tell ye, ye'll get it, and no mistake! See how ye'll look now, helpin' Mas'r's niggers to run away! See what ye'll get!'

  "'Well, Tom!' said Legree, walking up, and seizing him grimly by the collar of his coat, and speaking through his teeth, in a paroxysm of determined rage, 'do you know I've made up my mind to kill you?'

  "'It's very likely, Mas'r,' said Tom, calmly.

  "'I have,' said Legree, with grim, terrible calmness, 'done—just—that—thing, Tom, unless you'll tell me what you know about these yer gals!'

  "Tom stood silent.

  "'D'ye hear?' said Legree, stamping, with a roar like that of a lion. 'Speak!'

  "'I han't got nothing to tell, Mas'r,' said Tom, with a slow, firm, deliberate utterance.

  "'Do you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don't know?' said Legree.

  "Tom was silent.

  "'Speak!' thundered Legree, striking him furiously. Do you know anything?'

  "'I know, Mas'r; but I can't tell anything. I can die!'

  "'Hark 'e, Tom!—ye think, 'cause I've let you off before, I don't mean what I say; but, this time I've made up my mind, and counted the cost. You've always stood it out again' me; now I'll conquer ye, or kill ye!—one or t' other. I'll count every drop of blood there is in you, and take 'em, one by one, till ye give up!'

  "'He's most gone, Mas'r,' said Sambo, touched by the patience of his victim.

  "'Pay away, till he gives up! Give it to him!' shouted Legree. 'I'll take every drop of blood he has, unless he confesses!'

  "Tom opened his eyes, and looked upon his master. 'Ye poor miserable critter!' he said, 'there an't no more ye can do! I forgive ye with all my soul!' and he fainted entirely away.

  "'I b'lieve, my soul, he's done for finally,' said Legree, stepping forward to look at him. 'Yes, he is! Well, his mouth's shut up, at last—that's one comfort!'"

UNCLE TOM AND GEORGE SHELBY.

DEATH OF UNCLE TOM.

  MRS. SHELBY, in consequence of the sudden death of her husband, was appointed administratrix of the estates, and having promised Uncle Tom, at the time of his sale to Haley, the slave trader, that she would surely re-purchase him, endeavored to find Tom's whereabouts. Receiving a letter from Aunt Ophelia in relation to Tom, conveying the name and address of the lawyer who had the St. Clair estate in charge, she sent him a letter, asking for information; and in response, he stated that he knew nothing of the matter further than that the man had been sold at a public auction.

  "After some months of unsuccessful search, by the merest accident George fell in with a man, in New Orleans, who happened to be in possession of the desired information; and, with his money in his pocket, our hero took a steamboat for Red River, resolving to find out and repurchase his old friend.

  "Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up through an avenue of China-trees, and throwing the reins hastily over the horse's neck, sprung out, and inquired for the owner of the place. He was introduced into the house, where he found Legree in the sitting-room. Legree received the stranger with a kind of surly hospitality.

  "'I understand,' said the young man, 'that you bought in New Orleans a boy named Tom. He used to be on my father's place, and I came to see if I couldn't buy him back.'

  "Legree's brow grew dark, and he broke out passionately: 'Yes, I did buy such a fellow, and a hell of a bargain I had of it, too! I gave him the cussedest flogging I ever gave nigger yet. I b'lieve he's trying to die, but I don't know as he'll make it out.'

  "'Where is he?' said George, impetuously. 'Let me see him.' The cheeks of the young man were crimson, and his eyes flashed fire; but he prudently said nothing as yet.

  "'He's in dat ar shed,' said a little fellow, who stood holding George's horse.

  "Legree kicked the boy, and swore at him; but George, without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot.

  "When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.

  "'Is it possible, is it possible?' said he, kneeling down by him. 'Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend! O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake, do speak once more! Look up! Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?'

  "Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul, and the vacant eyes became fixed and brightened; the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.

  "'Bless the Lord! it is, it is—it's all I wanted! They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord; O my soul!'

  "'You shan't die! You mustn't die, nor think of it! I've come to buy you, and take you home,' said George, with impetuous vehemence.

  "'O, Mas'r George, ye're too late. The Lord's bought me, and is going to take me home, and I long to go. Heaven is better than Kintuck.'

  "Tom grasped his hand, and continued—'Ye mustn't, now, tell Chloe, poor soul! how ye found me; 'twould be so drefful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory; and that I couldn't stay for no one. And tell her the Lord's stood by me everywhere and al'ays, and made everything light and easy. And O, the poor chil'en, and the baby!—my old heart's been most broke for 'em, time and agin! Tell 'em all to follow me! Give my love to Mas'r, and dear good Missis, and everybody in the place.' He began to draw his breath with long, deep inspirations, and his broad chest rose and fell, heavily. 'Who—who—who shall separate us from the love of Christ?' he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and, with a smile, he fell asleep.

  NOTE.—The preceding extracts, relating to some of the principal characters in Harriet Beecher Stowe's work of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," were taken from the latest edition published by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Riverside Press, Boston, Mass.