Enter SAM and ANDY below, horseback. MRS. SHELBY from the window. Mrs. Shelby. Is that you, Sam? Where are they?

Sam. Mas'r Haley's a-restin' at the tavern; he's drefful fatigued, missis.

Mrs. S. And Eliza, Sam?

Sam. Wal, she's clar 'cross Jordan. As a body may say, in the land o' Canaan.

Mrs. S. Why Sam, what di you mean?

Sam. Wal, missis, de Lord he persarves his own. Lizy's done gone over the river into 'Hio, as 'markably as if the Lord took her over in a charrit of fire and two hosses.

Enter MR. SHELBY. Mr. S. Come up here, Sam, and tell your mistress what she wants. Come, come, Emily, you are cold are all in a shiver; you allow yourself to feel too much.

Mrs. S. Feel too much! Am I not a woman--a mother? Are we not both responsible to G.o.d for this poor girl? My G.o.d, lay not this sin to our charge!

Mr. S. What sin, Emily? You see yourself that we have only done what we were obliged to.

Mrs. S. There's an awful feeling of guilt about it, though. I can't reason it away.

Enter SAM from below. Mr. S. Now, Sam, tell us distinctly how the matter was. Where is Eliza, if you know?

Sam. Wal, mas'r, I saw her, with my own eyes, a crossin' on the floatin' ice. She crossed most 'markably; it wasn't no less nor a miracle; and I saw a man help her up the 'Hio side, and then she was lost in the dusk.

Mr. S. Sam, I think this rather apocryphal--this miracle. Crossing on floating ice is n't so easily done.

Sam. Easy! couldn't n.o.body a done it, without de Lord. Why, now, 't was jist dis yer way. Mas'r Haley, and me, and Andy, we comes up to de little tavern by the river, and I rides a leetle ahead--(I's so zealous to be a cotchin' Lizy, that I could n't hold in, no way)--and when I comes by the tavern winder, sure enough there she was, right in plain sight, and dey diggin' on behind. Wal, I loses off my hat, and sings out nuff to raise the dead. Course Lizy she hars, and she dodges back, when Mas'r Haley he goes past the door; and then, I tell ye, she clared out de side door; she went down de river bank; Mas'r Haley he seed her, and yelled out, and him, and me, and Andy, we took arter. Down she came to the river, and tha r was the current running ten feet wide by the sh.o.r.e, and over t' other side ice a sawin' and a jiggling up and down, kinder as 't were a great island. We come right behind her, and I thought my soul he'd got her sure enough--when she gin sich a screech as I never hearn, and thar she was, clar over t' other side of the current, on the ice, a nd then on she went, a screechin' and a jumpin'--the ice went crack! c'wallop! chunk! and she a boundin' like a buck! Lord, the spring that ar gal's got in her an't common, I'm o' 'pinion.

Mrs. S. G.o.d be praised, she is n't dead! But where is the poor child now?

Sam. De Lord will pervide. As I've been a sayin', dis yer 's a providence and no mistake, as missis has allers been a instructin' on us. Thar's allers instruments ris up to do de Lord's will. Now, if 't hadn't been for me to-day, she'd a been took a dozen times. Warn't it I started off de hosses, dis yer morning', and kept 'em chasin' till nigh dinner time? And didn't I car Mas'r Haley night five miles out of de road, dis evening? or else he'd a come up with Lizy as easy as a dog arter a c.o.o.n. These yer's all providences.

Mr. S. They are the kind of providences that you 'll have to be pretty sparing of, Master Sam. I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my place.

Sam. Mas'r quite right--quite; it was ugly on me, there's no disputin' that ar; and of course mas'r and missis wouldn't encourage no such works. I'm sensible of dat ar; but a poor n.i.g.g.e.r like me 's 'mazin' tempted t o act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as dat ar Mas'r Haley; he an't no gen'l'man no way; anybody's been raised as I've been can't help a seein' dat ar.

Mrs. S. Well, Sam, as you appear to have a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be hungry.

Sam. Missis is a heap too good for us.

SCENE IX. SAM and ANDY at Table. AUNT CHLOE and all the negroes surrounding in admiration.

Sam. [Flourishing a greasy bone.] Yer see, fellow-countrymen, yer see, now, what dis yer chile's up ter, for fendin' yer al,--yes, all on yer. For him as tries to get one o' our people is as good as tryi n' to get all; yer see the principle's de same--dat ar's clar. And any one o' these yer drivers that comes smelling round arter any our people, why, he's got me in his way; I'm the feller he's got to set in with--I'm the feller for yer all to come to, bredren--I'll stand up for yer rights--I'll fend 'em to the last breath!

Andy. Why, but Sam, yer telled me, only this mornin' that you'd help this yer mas'r fur to cotch Lizy; seems to me yer talk don't hang together, mun.

Sam. I tell you now, Andy, don't yer be a talkin' 'bout what yer don't know nothin' on; boys like you, Andy, means well, but they can't be 'spected to collusitate the great principles of action. Dat ar was conscience , Andy; when I thought of gwine arter Lizy, I railly spected mas'r was sot dat way. When I found Missis was sot the contrar, dat ar was conscience more yet--cause fellers allers gets more by stickin' to missis' side--so yer see I 's persistent either way, and sticks up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, principles, what's principles good for, if we isn't persistent, I wanter know? Thar, Andy, you may have dat ar bone--tan't picked quite clean. Dis yer matter 'bout persistence, feller-n.i.g.g.e.rs, dis yer 'sistency 's a thing what an't seed into very clar, by most anybody. Now, yer see, when a feller stands up for a thing one day, and right de contrar de next, folks ses (and nat'rally enough dey ses), why he an't persistent--hand me dat ar bit o' corn-cake, Andy. But let's look inter it. I hope the gen'lmen and der fair s.e.x will scuse my usin' an or'nary sort o' 'parison. Here! I'm a trying to get top o' der hay. Wal, I puts up my larder dis yer side; 'tan't no go; den, 'cause I don't try dere no more, but puts my larder right de contrar side, an't I persistent? I'm persistent in wanting to get up which ary side my larder is; don't you see, all on yer?

Aunt C. It's the only thing ye ever was persistent in, Lord knows. [Aside.]

Sam. Yes, indeed! Yes, my feller-citizens and ladies of de other s.e.x in general, I has principles, I has--I 'm proud fur to 'oon 'em--they 's perquisite to dese yer times, and ter all times. I has principles, and I sticks to 'em like forty--jest anything that I thinks is principle, I goes in to 't; I would n't mind if dey burnt me 'live, I'd walk right up to de stake, I would, and say, Here I comes to shed my last blood fur my principles, fur my country, fur de gen'l interests of society.

Aunt C. Well, one o' yer principles will have to be to get to bed some time to-night, and not to be a keepin' everybody up till mornin'; now everyone of you young uns that don't want to be cracked had better be sca.r.s.e, might sudden.

Sam. n.i.g.g.e.rs! all on yer, I give yer my blessin': go to bed now, and be good boys.

SCENE X.-- UNCLE TOM'S Cabin..

UNCLE TOM with Testament open. CHILDREN asleep in trundle-bed. Uncle Tom. It 's the last time!

Aunt C. [Weeping.] S'pose we must be resigned; but, O Lord! how ken I? If I know'd anything whar you 's goin', or how they 'd sarve you! Missis says she 'll try and 'deem ye in a year or two; but, Lor! n.o.body never comes up that goes down that! They kills 'em! I 've hearn 'em tell how dey works 'em up on dem ar plantations.

Uncle T. There 'll be the same G.o.d there, Chloe, that there is here.

Aunt C. Well, s'pose dere will; but de Lord lets drefful things happen, sometimes. I don't seem to get no comfort day way.

Uncle T. I'm in the Lord's hands; nothin' can go no furder than he lets it; and thar's one thing I can thank him for. It's me that's sold and going down, and not you nur the chil'en. Here you're safe; what comes will come only on me; and the Lord, he'll help me--I know he will. [A sob.] Let 's think on our marcies!

Aunt C. Marcies! don't see no marcy in 't! 'tan't right! tan't right it should be so! Mas'r never ought ter left it so that ye could be took for his debts. Ye've arnt him all he gets for ye, twice over. He owed ye yer freedom, and ought ter gin 't to yer years ago. Mebbe he can't help himself now, but I feel it's wrong. Nothing can't beat that ar out o' me. Sich a faithful crittur as ye 've been, and allers sot his business 'fore yer own every way, and reckoned on him more than yer own wife and chil'en! Them as sells heart's love and heart's blood, to get out thar sc.r.a.pes, de Lord 'll be up to 'em!

Uncle T. Chloe! now, if ye love me, ye won't talk so, when mebbe jest the last time we'll ever have together! And I'll tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin me to hear one word agin mas'r. Wan't he put in my arms a baby? It 's natur I should think a heap of him. And he could n't be 'spected to think so much of poor Tom. Mas'rs is used to havin' all these yer things done for 'em, and nat'lly they don't think so much on 't. They can't be 'spected to, no way. Set him 'longside of other mas'rs--who 's had the treatment and the livin' I have had? And he never would have let this yer come on me, if he could have seed it aforehand. I know he would n't.

Aunt C. Wal, any way, thar's wrong about it somewhar," said Aunt Chloe, in whom a stubborn sense of justice was a predominant trait; "I can't jest make out whar 't is, but thar's wrong somewhar, I'm clar o' that.

Uncle T. Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above--he's above all--thar don't a sparrow fall without him.

Aunt C. It don't seem to comfort me, but I 'spect it ort fur ter. But dar's no use talkin'; I 'll jes get up de corn-cake, and get ye one good breakfast, 'cause n.o.body knows when you 'll get another.

[AUNT CHLOE gets the breakfast, and the children dress themselves.] Mose. Lor, Pete, ha'n't we got a buster of a breakfast!

Aunt C. [Boxing his ears.] Thar now! crowing over the last breakfast yer poor daddy 's gwine to have to home.

Uncle T. O, Chloe!

Aunt C. Wal, I can't help it! I 's so tossed about it, it makes me act ugly." Thar! now I 's done, I hope--now do eat something. This yer 's my nicest chicken. Thar, boys, ye shall have some, poor critturs! Yer mammy's been cross to yer. [The boys eat.] Now, I must put up yer clothes. Jest like as not, he 'll take 'em all away. I know thar ways--mean as dirt, they is! Wal, now, yer flannels for rhumatis is in this corner; so be careful, 'cause t here won't n.o.body make ye no more. Then here 's yer old shirts, and these yer is new ones. I toed off these yer stockings last night, and put de ball in 'em to mend with. But Lor! who 'll ever mend for ye? [Sobbing.] To think on 't! no c rittur to do for ye, sick or well! I don't railly think I ought ter be good now! [Baby crows.] Ay, crow away, poor crittur! ye'll have to come to it, too! ye'll live to see yer husband sold, or mebbe be sold yerself; and these yer boys, the y 's to be sold, I s'pose, too, jest like as not, when dey gets good for somethin'; an't no use in n.i.g.g.e.rs havin' nothin'!

Pete. That's missis a-comin' in!

Aunt C. She can't do no good; what 's she coming for?

Enter MRS. SHELBY. Mrs. S. Tom, I come to ---- [Bursts into tears, and sits down in a chair, sobbing.] Aunt C. Lor, now, missis, don't--don't. [All weep.]

Mrs. S. to Uncle T. My good fellow, I can't give you anything to do you any good. If I give you money, it will only be taken from you. But i tell you solemnly, and before G.o.d, that I will keep trace of you, and bring you back as soon as I can command the money; and, till then, trust in G.o.d!

Mose and Pete. Mas'r Haley 's coming!

Enter HALEY, kicking the door open. Haley. Come, ye n.i.g.g.e.r, yer ready? Servant, ma'm. [To MRS. SHELBY.]

UNCLE T. and AUNT C. go out, followed by the rest. A crowd of negroes around First Slave [weeping], to Aunt C. Why, Chloe, you bar it better 'n we do!

Aunt C. I 'se done my tears! I does n't feel to cry 'fore day ar old limb, nohow!

Haley. Get in!

[TOM gets in, and HALEY fastens on shackles. Groans.] Mrs. S. Mr. Haley, I a.s.sure you that precaution is entirely unnecessary.

Haley. Don't know, ma'am; I 've lost one five hundred dollars from this ere place, and I can't afford to run no more risks.

Aunt C. What else could she 'spect on him?

Uncle T. I 'm sorry that Mas'r George happened to be away.

Enter GEORGE, springing into wagon and clasping UNCLE T. round the neck. George. I declare it 's real mean! I don't care what they say, any of 'em! It 's a nasty, mean shame! If I was a man they should n't do it--they should not, so!

Uncle T. O, Mas'r George! this does me good! I could n't bar to go off without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!

[GEORGE spies the fetters.] George. What a shame! I 'll knock that old fellow down--I will!

Uncle T. No, you won't, Mas'r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won't help me any to anger him.

George. Well, I won't then, for your sake; but only to think of it--is n't it a shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and if it hadn't been for Tom Lincoln, I should n't have heard it. I tell you, I blew 'em up well, all of 'em, at home!

Uncle T. That ar was n't right, I 'm feared, Mas'r George.

George. Can't help it! I say it 's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom, I've brought you my dollar!

Uncle T. O! I could n't think o' takin' on 'it, Mas'r George, no ways in the world!

George. But you shall take it! Look here; I told Aunt Chloe I'd do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight; else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow him up! it would do me good!

Uncle T. No, don't, Mas'r George, for it won't do me any good.

George. Well, I won't, for your sake; but there, now, b.u.t.ton your coat tight over it, and keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down after you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I told her not to fear, I 'll see to it, and I 'll tease father's life out, if he don't do it.

Uncle T. O, Mas'r George, ye must n't talk so 'bout yer father!

George. Lor, Uncle Tom, I don't mean anything bad.

Uncle T. And now, Mas'r George, ye must be a good boy; 'member how many hearts is sot on ye. Al'ays keep close to yer mother. Don't be gettin' into any of them foolish ways boys has, of getting too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord gives good many things twice over, but he don't give ye a mother but once. Ye 'll never see sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy--you will now, won't ye?

George. Yes, I will, Uncle Tom!

Uncle T. And be careful of yer speaking, Mas'r George. Young boys, when they comes to your age, is wfilful, sometimes--it 's natur' they should be. But real gentlemen, such as I hopes you 'll be, never lets fall no words that is n't 'spectful to thar parents. Ye an't 'fended, Mas'r George!

George. No, indeed, Uncle Tom; you always did give me good advice.

Uncle T. I 's older, ye knows, and I sees all that 's bound up in you. O, Mas'r George, you has everything--l'arnin', privileges, readin', writin',--and you 'll grow up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place, and your mother and father 'll be so proud on ye! Be a good mas'r, like yer father; and be a Christian, like yer mother. 'Member yer Creator in the days o' yer youth, Mas'r George.

George. I'll be real good, Uncle Tom, I tell you. I'm going to be a first-rater; and don't you be discouraged. I 'll have you back to the place, yet. As I told Aunt Chloe this morning, I 'll build your house all over, and you shall have a room for a parlor, with a carpet on it, when I 'm a man. O, you 'll have good times yet!

[UNCLE T. is handcuffed and driven off.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.--New Orleans.

A Parlor in ST. CLARE'Shouse. MARIE reclining on a lounge. Enter EVA, flying to embrace her mother. Eva. Mamma!

Marie. That 'll do! [Languidly kissing her.] Take care, child--don't you make my headache!

Enter ST. CLARE; he embraces MARIE and presents MISS OPHELIA. St. Clare. Marie! this is our cousin Ophelia.

Mar. I am happy to see you, cousin.

Enter SERVANTS, crowding--foremost the old nurse. EVA flies to her and hugs and kisses her. Eva. O, Mammy! dear Mammy!

Miss Oph. Well, you Southern children can do something that I could n't.

St. C. What, now, pray?

Oph. Well, I want to be kind to everybody, and I would n't have anything hurt; but as to kissing -- St. C. n.i.g.g.e.rs, that you 're not up to; eh?

Oph. Yes, that 's it. How can she?

St. C. [Laughing.] O, that 's the way with you, is it? [Goes among the servants.] Here, you all, Mammy, Sukey, Jinny, Polly--glad to see mas'r? Look out for the babies! [Stumb ling over one.] If I step on anybody let 'em mention it. [Sees TOM, and beckons.] Here, Tom. See here, Marie, I 've brought you a coachman, at last, to order. I tell you he 's a regular hea.r.s.e for blackness and sobriety, and will drive you like a funeral, if you want. Open your eyes, now, and look at him. Now, don't say I never think about you when I 'm gone.

Mar. I know he 'll get drunk.

St. C. No, he 's warranted a pious and sober article.

Mar. Well, I hope he may turn out well; it 's more than I expect, though.

St. C. 'Dolph, show Tom down stairs; and mind yourself; remember what I told you.

[Exit TOM and DOLPH.] Mar. He 's a perfect behemoth!