For Collateral Reading

Higginson, T. W.: Old Cambridge.

Lowell, J. R.: A Fable for Critics. (Passage on Holmes.)

II. Of Lesser Note

Though the eminent men just noticed set the literary standards for America at this time, during the entire period of their supremacy, lesser men were making for themselves somewhat of name and fame in the world of literature. As the frontier was pushed farther and farther westward, writers sprang up here and there and everywhere, and in many cases their contribution was so distinctive, so unique, so "American" as to compel attention not only from the reading public but from the literary coterie as well. The leading ones are noted below.

PROSE-FICTION

I. Harriet Beecher Stowe (1812-1896), sister of Henry Ward Beecher, is remembered to-day for her novel Uncle Tom's Cabin, which has been translated into more than forty languages. In reply to modern criticism concerning this work, Professor Trent says: "A book that stirs the world, and is instrumental in bringing on a civil war and freeing an enslaved race may well elicit the admiration of a more sophisticated generation." " It was," says Mr. Hamilton Wright Mabie," primarily the dramatization of a great issue in terms of human conditions, and incidentally a moving novel."

TOPSY

(From Uncle Tom's Cabin, Chapter XX)

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, coming down, with her sewing in her hand.

"I've made a purchase for your department-see here," said St. Clare; and, with the word, he pulled along a little negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.

Her

She 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. 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 was braided in 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 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. Clare, she said,

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

"For you to educate, to be sure, and 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 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 odd negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in her throat all those odd guttural sounds which distinguish the native music of her race; and finally, turning a sommerset or two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam-whistle, she 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 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 astonishment; and, addressing the child again, said,

"Topsy, this is your new mistress. I'm 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.

"Oh, yes, Mas'r," said Topsy, with another twinkle, her hands still devoutly folded.

"Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for ?" said Miss Ophelia.

"Well, . . . cousin," said St. Clare, drawing her aside, . . . "the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple of drunken creatures 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 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 her. You know I haven't any gift that way; but I'd like you to try."

“Well, I'll do what I can," said Miss Ophelia; and she approached her new subject very much as a person might be supposed to approach a black spider, supposing him to have benevolent designs toward it.

"She's dreadfully dirty, and half naked,” she said.

"Well, take her down stairs, and make some of them clean and clothe her up."

When arrayed at last in a suit of decent and whole clothing, her hair cropped short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfaction said she looked more Christianlike than she did, and in her own mind began to mature some plans for her instruction.

Sitting down before her, she 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 businesslike, 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 car on us."

"How long have you lived with your master and mistress?"

"Dunno, Missis."

“Is it a year, or more, or less?” "Dunno, Missis.”

"Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy?" The child looked bewildered, but grinned as usual. "Do you know who made you?"

"Nobody, as I knows on," said the child, with a short laugh.

The idea appeared to amuse her considerably; for her eyes twinkled, and she added,

"I spect I grow'd. Don't think nobody never made me." "Do you know how to sew?" said Miss Ophelia, who

thought she would turn her inquiries to something more tangible.

"No, Missis."

"What can you do?-what did you do for your master and mistress ?"

"Fetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and wait on folks."

"Were they good to you?"

"Spect they was," said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia cunningly.

Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy; St. Clare was leaning over the back of her chair.

"You find virgin soil there, cousin; put in your own ideas, you won't find many to pull up.'

2.

Helen Fiske Jackson, “Helen Hunt" (1831-1885), was born in Amherst, Massachusetts. It was through her poems that she first gained a place in the world of literature. Her great novel Ramona grew out of her experiences as special examiner to the mission Indians of California and, in a measure, did for the Indian what Uncle Tom's Cabin did for the negro. It is hoped that the following excerpt will stimulate a desire to read the whole story.

DAWN AT THE MORENO RANCH

(From Ramona, a Story, Chapter V)

The room in which Father Salvierderra always slept when at the Señora Moreno's house was the southeast corner room. It had a window to the south and one to the east. When the first glow of dawn came in the sky, this eastern window was lit up as by a fire. The Father was always on watch for it, having usually been at prayer for hours. As the first ray reached the window, he would throw the casement wide open, and standing there with bared head, strike up the melody of the sunrise hymn sung in all devout Mexican families. It was a beautiful custom, not yet wholly abandoned. At the first dawn of light, the oldest member of the family arose, and began singing some