"Scenes, incidents, conversation, rushed upon her," says one
of her biographers, "with a vividness that would not be
denied. The book insisted upon getting itself into print." Yet
there is no trace of bitterness against those who inherited
slaves throughout the story. The most attractive personages
are Southerners, the most repulsive Northerners. No more
delightful a picture of conditions under slavery has ever been
drawn as that with which the book opens--on the Shelby estate
in Kentucky. Mrs. Stowe was born at Litchfield, Connecticut,
on June 14, 1812. Her father was the Rev. Lyman Beecher, her
brother Henry Ward Beecher. She died on July 1, 1896. "Uncle
Tom," published in book form in 1852, is one of the most
successful novels of modern times. In less than a week of its
appearance, 10,000 copies were sold, and before the end of the
year 300,000 copies had been supplied to the public. It was
almost at once translated into all European languages. Mrs.
Stowe wrote about forty other stories, but posterity will know
her as the authoress of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" only.

_I.--Humane Dealing_

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February two gentlemen were
sitting over their wine, in a well-furnished parlour in the town of
P---- in Kentucky in the midst of an earnest conversation.

"That is the way I should arrange the matter," said Mr. Shelby, the
owner of the place. "The fact is, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is
certainly worth that sum anywhere; steady, honest, capable, manages my
farm like a clock. You ought to let him cover the whole of the debt; and
you would, Haley, if you'd got any conscience."

"Well, I've got just as much conscience as any man in business can
afford to keep," said Haley, "and I'm willing to do anything to 'blige
friends; but this yer, ye see, is too hard on a feller, it really is.
Haven't you a boy or gal you could thrown in with Tom?"

"Hum!--none that I could well spare; to tell the truth, it's only hard
necessity makes me sell at all." Here the door opened, and a small
quadroon boy, remarkably beautiful and engaging, entered with a comic
air of assurance which showed he was used to being petted and noticed by
his master. "Hulloa, Jim Crow," said Mr. Shelby, snapping a bunch of
raisins towards him, "pick that up, now!" The child scampered, with all
his little strength after the prize, while his ma