Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P⁠⸺, in Kentucky. There were no servants present,...

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P⁠⸺, in Kentucky. There were no servants present,...

Eliza had been brought up by her mistress, from girlhood, as a petted and indulged favorite. The traveller in the south must often have remarked that peculiar air of refinement, that softness of voice...

Mrs. Shelby had gone on her visit, and Eliza stood in the verandah, rather dejectedly looking after the retreating carriage, when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She turned, and a bright smile lighte...

The cabin of Uncle Tom was a small log building, close adjoining to “the house,” as the negro par excellence designates his master’s dwelling. In front it had a neat garden-patch, where, every summer,...

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby had retired to their apartment for the night. He was lounging in a large easy-chair, looking over some letters that had come in the afternoon mail, and she was standing before her ...

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, after their protracted discussion of the night before, did not readily sink to repose, and, in consequence, slept somewhat later than usual, the ensuing morning. “I wonder what ke...

It is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly desolate and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps from Uncle Tom’s cabin. Her husband’s suffering and dangers, and the danger ...

Eliza made her desperate retreat across the river just in the dusk of twilight. The gray mist of evening, rising slowly from the river, enveloped her as she disappeared up the bank, and the swollen cu...

The light of the cheerful fire shone on the rug and carpet of a cozy parlor, and glittered on the sides of the teacups and well-brightened teapot, as Senator Bird was drawing off his boots, preparator...

The February morning looked gray and drizzling through the window of Uncle Tom’s cabin. It looked on downcast faces, the images of mournful hearts. The little table stood out before the fire, covered ...

It was late in a drizzly afternoon that a traveler alighted at the door of a small country hotel, in the village of N⁠⸺, in Kentucky. In the barroom he found assembled quite a miscellaneous company, w...

Mr. Haley and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, each, for a time, absorbed in his own reflections. Now, the reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious thing⁠—seated on the same seat, ha...

A quiet scene now rises before us. A large, roomy, neatly-painted kitchen, its yellow floor glossy and smooth, and without a particle of dust; a neat, well-blacked cooking-stove; rows of shining tin, ...

The Mississippi! How, as by an enchanted wand, have its scenes been changed, since Chateaubriand wrote his prose-poetic description of it, as a river of mighty, unbroken solitudes, rolling amid undrea...

Since the thread of our humble hero’s life has now become interwoven with that of higher ones, it is necessary to give some brief introduction to them. Augustine St. Clare was the son of a wealthy pla...

“And now, Marie,” said St. Clare, “your golden days are dawning. Here is our practical, businesslike New England cousin, who will take the whole budget of cares off your shoulders, and give you time t...

There was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house, as the afternoon drew to a close. Rachel Halliday moved quietly to and fro, collecting from her household stores such needments as could be arranged in t...

Our friend Tom, in his own simple musings, often compared his more fortunate lot, in the bondage into which he was cast, with that of Joseph in Egypt; and, in fact, as time went on, and he developed m...

“Tom, you needn’t get me the horses. I don’t want to go,” she said. “Why not, Miss Eva?” “These things sink into my heart, Tom,” said Eva⁠—“they sink into my heart,” she repeated, earnestly. “I don’t ...

“Tom, you needn’t get me the horses. I don’t want to go,” she said. “Why not, Miss Eva?” “These things sink into my heart, Tom,” said Eva⁠—“they sink into my heart,” she repeated, earnestly. “I don’t ...

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 ...

Our readers may not be unwilling to glance back, for a brief interval, at Uncle Tom’s Cabin, on the Kentucky farm, and see what has been transpiring among those whom he had left behind. It was late in...

Life passes, with us all, a day at a time; so it passed with our friend Tom, till two years were gone. Though parted from all his soul held dear, and though often yearning for what lay beyond, still w...

About this time, St. Clare’s brother Alfred, with his eldest son, a boy of twelve, spent a day or two with the family at the lake. No sight could be more singular and beautiful than that of these twin...

Two days after this, Alfred St. Clare and Augustine parted; and Eva, who had been stimulated, by the society of her young cousin, to exertions beyond her strength, began to fail rapidly. St. Clare was...

It was Sunday afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a bamboo lounge in the verandah, solacing himself with a cigar. Marie lay reclined on a sofa, opposite the window opening on the verandah, closely s...

Eva’s bedroom was a spacious apartment, which, like all the other rooms in the house, opened on to the broad verandah. The room communicated, on one side, with her father and mother’s apartment; on th...

The statuettes and pictures in Eva’s room were shrouded in white napkins, and only hushed breathings and muffled footfalls were heard there, and the light stole in solemnly through windows partially d...

Week after week glided away in the St. Clare mansion, and the waves of life settled back to their usual flow, where that little bark had gone down. For how imperiously, how coolly, in disregard of all...

We hear often of the distress of the negro servants, on the loss of a kind master; and with good reason, for no creature on God’s earth is left more utterly unprotected and desolate than the slave in ...

A slave warehouse! Perhaps some of my readers conjure up horrible visions of such a place. They fancy some foul, obscure den, some horrible Tartarus “informis, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.” But no, inn...

On the lower part of a small, mean boat, on the Red River, Tom sat⁠—chains on his wrists, chains on his feet, and a weight heavier than chains lay on his heart. All had faded from his sky⁠—moon and st...

Trailing wearily behind a rude wagon, and over a ruder road, Tom and his associates faced onward. In the wagon was seated Simon Legree and the two women, still fettered together, were stowed away with...

It took but a short time to familiarize Tom with all that was to be hoped or feared in his new way of life. He was an expert and efficient workman in whatever he undertook; and was, both from habit an...

It was late at night, and Tom lay groaning and bleeding alone, in an old forsaken room of the gin-house, among pieces of broken machinery, piles of damaged cotton, and other rubbish which had there ac...

The sitting-room of Legree’s establishment was a large, long room, with a wide, ample fireplace. It had once been hung with a showy and expensive paper, which now hung mouldering, torn and discolored,...

Cassy entered the room, and found Emmeline sitting, pale with fear, in the furthest corner of it. As she came in, the girl started up nervously; but, on seeing who it was, rushed forward, and catching...

A while we must leave Tom in the hands of his persecutors, while we turn to pursue the fortunes of George and his wife, whom we left in friendly hands, in a farmhouse on the roadside. Tom Loker we lef...

Have not many of us, in the weary way of life, felt, in some hours, how far easier it were to die than to live? The martyr, when faced even by a death of bodily anguish and horror, finds in the very t...

The garret of the house that Legree occupied, like most other garrets, was a great, desolate space, dusty, hung with cobwebs, and littered with cast-off lumber. The opulent family that had inhabited t...

The longest way must have its close⁠—the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning. An eternal, inexorable lapse of moments is ever hurrying the day of the evil to an eternal night, and the night of t...

Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up through the avenue of China trees, and, throwing the reins hastily on the horse’s neck, sprang out and inquired for the owner of the place. It was Ge...

For some remarkable reason, ghostly legends were uncommonly rife, about this time, among the servants on Legree’s place. It was whisperingly asserted that footsteps, in the dead of night, had been hea...

The rest of our story is soon told. George Shelby, interested, as any other young man might be, by the romance of the incident, no less than by feelings of humanity, was at the pains to send to Cassy ...

George Shelby had written to his mother merely a line, stating the day that she might expect him home. Of the death scene of his old friend he had not the heart to write. He had tried several times, a...

The writer has often been inquired of, by correspondents from different parts of the country, whether this narrative is a true one; and to these inquiries she will give one general answer. The separat...

A machine of this description was really the invention of a young colored man in Kentucky. ↩ Dr. Joel Parker of Philadelphia. ↩ These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated: “Think, O Jes...