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[Enter: Plain Chamber. Enter Ophelia, followed by Topsy.]

OPHELIA:
A person inquiring for me, did you say, Topsy?
TOPSY:
Yes, missis.
OPHELIA:
What kind of a looking man is he?
TOPSY:
By golly! he’s very queer looking man, anyway; and den he talks so
dre’ful funny. What does you think? — yah! yah! he wanted to ‘zibite me as de
woolly gal! yah! yah!
OPHELIA:
Oh! I understand. Some cute Yankee, who wants to purchase
you, to make a show of — the heartless wretch!
TOPSY:
Dat’s just him, missis; dat’s just his name. He tole me dat it was
Cute — Mr. Cute Speculashum — dat’s him.
OPHELIA:
What did you say to him, Topsy?
TOPSY:
Well, I didn’t say much, it was brief and to the point — I tole him I
wouldn’t leave you, Miss Feely, no how.
OPHELIA:
That’s right, Topsy; you know you are very comfortable here –
you wouldn’t fare quite so well if you went away among strangers.
TOPSY:
By golly! I know dat; you takes care on me, and makes me good. I
don’t steal any now, and I don’t swar, and I don’t dance breakdowns. Oh! I isn’t
so wicked as I used to was.
OPHELIA:
That’s right, Topsy; now show the gentleman, or whatever he
is, up.
TOPSY:
By golly! I guess he won’t make much out of Miss Feely. [(Crosses
and exits.)]
OPHELIA:
I wonder who this person can be? Perhaps it is some old acquain-
tance, who has heard of my arrival, and who comes on a social visit.

[Enter: (Enter Cute.)]
CUTE:
Aunt, how do ye do? Well, I swan, the sight of you is good for weak
eyes. [(Offers his hand.)]
OPHELIA:
[(Coldly drawing back.)]
Really, sir, I can’t say that I ever had the
pleasure of seeing you before.
CUTE:
Well, it’s a fact that you never did. You see I never happened to be
in your neighborhood afore now. Of course you’ve heard of me? I’m one of the
Cutes — Gumption Cute, the first and only son of Josiah and Maria Cute, of
Oniontown, on the Onion river in the north part of this ere State of Varmount.

OPHELIA:
Can’t say I ever heard the name before.
CUTE:
Well then, I calculate your memory must be a little ricketty. I’m a
relation of yours.
OPHELIA:
A relation of mine! Why, I never heard of any Cutes in our fami-
ly.
CUTE:
Well, I shouldn’t wonder if you never did. Don’t you remember
your niece, Mary?
OPHELIA:
Of course I do. What a shiftless question!
CUTES:
Well, you see my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her. So
you see that makes me a relation of yours.
OPHELIA:
Rather a distant one, I should say.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’m near enough, just at present.
OPHELIA:
Well, you certainly are a sort of connection of mine.
CUTE:
Yes, kind of sort of.
OPHELIA:
And of course you are welcome to my house, as long as you wish
to make it your home.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’m booked for the next six months — this isn’t a bad
speculation.
OPHELIA:
I hope you left all your folks well at home?
CUTE:
Well, yes, they’re pretty comfortably disposed of. Father and
mother’s dead, and Uncle Josh has gone to California. I am the only represen-
tative of the Cutes left.
OPHELIA:
There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of you left. I declare, you
are positively in rags.
CUTE:
Well, you see, the fact is, I’ve been speculating — trying to get bank-
notes — specie-rags, as they say — but I calculate I’ve turned out rags of another
sort.
OPHELIA:
I’m sorry for your ill luck, but I am afraid you have been shiftless.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’ve done all that a fellow could do. You see, somehow,
everything I take hold of kind of bursts up.
OPHELIA:
Well, well, perhaps you’ll do better for the future; make yourself
at home. I have got to see to some house-hold matters, so excuse me for a short
time. [(Aside.)]
Impudent and shiftless. [(Exit.)]
CUTE:
By chowder! I rather guess that this speculation will hitch. She’s a
good-natured old critter; I reckon I’ll be a son to her while she lives, and take
care of her valuables arter she’s a defunct departed. I wonder if they keep the
vittles in this ere room? Guess not. I’ve got extensive accommodations for all
sorts of eatables. I’m a regular vacuum, throughout — pockets and all. I’m chuck
full of emptiness. [(Looks out.)]
Holloa! who’s this elderly individual coming up
stairs? He looks like a compound essence of starch and dignity. I wonder if he
isn’t another relation of mine. I should like a rich old fellow now for an uncle.

[Enter: (Enter Deacon Perry.)]
DEACON:
Ha! a stranger here!
CUTE:
How d’ye do?
DEACON:
You are a friend to Miss Ophelia, I presume?
CUTE:
Well, I rather calculate that I am a leetle more than a friend.
DEACON:
[(Aside.)]
Bless me! what can he mean by those mysterious words?
Can he be her — no I don’t think he can. She said she wasn’t — well, at all events,

it’s very suspicious.
CUTE:
The old fellow seems kind of stuck up.
DEACON:
You are a particular friend to Miss Ophelia, you say?
CUTE:
Well, I calculate I am.
DEACON:
Bound to her by any tender tie?
CUTE:
It’s something more than a tie — it’s a regular double-twisted knot.
DEACON:
Ah! just as I suspected. [(Aside.)]
Might I inquire the nature of that
tie?
CUTE:
Well, it’s the natural tie of relationship.
DEACON:
A relation — what relation?
CUTE:
Why, you see, my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her niece,
Mary.
DEACON:
Oh! is that all?
CUTE:
By chowder, ain’t that enough?
DEACON:
Then you are not her husband?
CUTE:
To be sure I ain’t. What put that ere idee into your cranium?
DEACON:
[(Shaking him vigorously by the hand.)]
My dear sir, I’m delighted to
see you.
CUTE:
Holloa! you ain’t going slightly insane, are you?
DEACON:
No, no fear of that; I’m only happy, that’s all.
CUTE:
I wonder if he’s been taking a nipper?
DEACON:
As you are a relation of Miss Ophelia’s, I think it proper that I
should make you my confidant; in fact, let you into a little scheme that I have
lately conceived.
CUTE:
Is it a speculation?
DEACON:
Well, it is, just at present; but I trust before many hours to make
it a surety.
CUTE:
By chowder! I hope it won’t serve you the way my speculations have
served me. But fire away, old boy, and give us the prospectus.
DEACON:
Well, then, my young friend, I have been thinking, ever since
Miss Ophelia returned to Vermont, that she was just the person to fill the place
of my lamented Molly.
CUTE:
Say, you, you couldn’t tell us who your lamented Molly was, could
you?
DEACON:
Why, the late Mrs. Perry, to be sure.
CUTE:
Oh! then the lamented Molly was your wife?
DEACON:
She was.
CUTE:
And now you wish to marry Miss Ophelia?
DEACON:
Exactly.
CUTE:
[(Aside.)]
Consarn this old porpoise! if I let him do that he’ll Jew me
out of my living. By chowder! I’ll put a spoke in his wheel.
DEACON:
Well, what do you say? will you intercede for me with your aunt?
CUTE:
No! bust me up if I do!
DEACON:
No?
CUTE:
No, I tell you. I forbid the bans. Now, ain’t you a purty individual,
to talk about getting married, you old superannuated Methuselah specimen of
humanity! Why, you’ve got one foot in etarnity already, and t’other ain’t fit to
stand on. Go home and go to bed! have your head shaved, and send for a lawyer
to make your will, leave your property to your heirs — if you hain’t got any, why
leave it to me — I’ll take care of it, and charge nothing for the trouble.

DEACON:
Really, sir, this language to one of my standing, is highly in-
decorous — it’s more, sir, than I feel willing to endure, sir. I shall expect an ex-
planation, sir.
CUTE:
Now, you see, old gouty toes, you’re losing your temper.
DEACON:
Sir, I’m a deacon; I never lost my temper in all my life, sir.
CUTE:
Now, you see, you’re getting excited; you had better go; we can’t
have a disturbance here!
DEACON:
No, sir! I shall not go, sir! I shall not go until I have seen Miss
Ophelia. I wish to know if she will countenance this insult.
CUTE:
Now keep cool, old stick-in-the-mud! Draw it mild, old timber-toes!
DEACON:
Damn it all, sir, what –
CUTE:
Oh! only think, now, what would people say to hear a deacon
swearing like a trooper?
DEACON:
Sir — I — you — this is too much, sir.
CUTE:
Well, now, I calculate that’s just about my opinion, so we’ll have no
more of it. Get out of this! start your boots, or by chowder! I’ll pitch you from
one end of the stairs to the other.

[Enter: (Enter Ophelia)]
OPHELIA:
Hoity toity! What’s the meaning of all these loud words?
CUTE:
[(Together.)]
Well, you see, Aunt –
DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, I beg –
CUTE:
Now, look here, you just hush your yap! How can I fix up matters if
you keep jabbering?
OPHELIA:
Silence! for shame, Mr. Cute. Is that the way you speak to the
deacon?
CUTE:
Darn the deacon!
OPHELIA:
Deacon Perry, what is all this?
DEACON:
Madam, a few words will explain everything. Hearing from this
person that he was your nephew, I ventured to tell him that I cherished hopes of
making you my wife, where upon he flew into a violent passion, and ordered me
out of the house.
OPHELIA:
Does this house belong to you or me, Mr. Cute?
CUTE:
Well, to you, I reckon.
OPHELIA:
Then how dare you give orders in it?
CUTE:
Well, I calculated that you wouldn’t care about marrying old half
a century there.
OPHELIA:
That’s enough; I will marry him; and as for you, [(Points.)]
get
out.
CUTE:
Get out?
OPHELIA:
Yes; the sooner the better.
CUTE:
Darned if I don’t serve him out first though.

[(Music. Cute makes a dash at Deacon, who gets behind Ophelia. Topsy enters,
with a broom and beats Cute around stage. Ophelia faints in Deacon’s arms. Cute
falls, and Topsy butts him kneeling over him. Quick drop.)]

[A Rude Chamber. Tom is discovered, in old clothes, seated on a stool. He holds in
his hand a paper containing a curl of Eva’s hair. The scene opens to the symphony
of “Old Folds at Home.”]

TOM:
I have come to de dark places; I’s going through de vale of shadows. My
heart sinks at times and feels just like a big lump of lead. Den it gits up in my
throat and chokes me till de tears roll out of my eyes; den I take out dis curl of
little Miss Eva’s hair, and the sight of it brings calm to my mind and I feels
strong again. [(Kisses the curl and puts it in his breast — takes out a silver dollar,
which is suspended around his neck by a string.)]
Dere’s de bright silver dollar
dat Mas’r George Shelby gave me the day I was sold away from old Kentuck,
and I’ve kept it ever since. Mas’r George must have grown to be a man by this
time. I wonder if I shall ever see him again.

[Enter: (Song. “Old Folks at Home.” Enter Legree, Emmeline, Sambo and Quimbo.)]
LEGREE:
Shut up, you black cuss! Did you think I wanted any of your
infernal howling? [(Turns to Emmeline.)]
We’re home. [(Emmeline shrinks from
him. He takes hold of her ear.)]
You didn’t ever wear earrings?
EMMELINE:
[(Trembling.)]
No, master.
LEGREE:
Well, I’ll give you a pair, if you’re a good girl. You needn’t be so
frightened; I don’t mean to make you work very hard. You’ll have fine times
with me and live like a lady; only be a good girl.
EMMELINE:
My soul sickens as his eyes gaze upon me. His touch makes my
very flesh creep.
LEGREE:
[(Turns to Tom, and points to Sambo and Quimbo.)]
Ye see what ye’d get
if ye’d try to run off. These yer boys have been raised to track niggers and they’d
just as soon chaw one on ye up as eat their suppers; so mind yourself. [(To Em-
meline.)]
Come, mistress, you go in here with me. [(Taking Emmeline’s hand,
and leading her off.)]
EMMELINE:
[(Withdrawing her hand, and shrinking back.)]
No, no! let me work
in the fields; I don’t want to be a lady.
LEGREE:
Oh! you’re going to be contrary, are you? I’ll soon take all that
out of you.
EMMELINE:
Kill me, if you will.
LEGREE:
Oh! you want to be killed, do you? Now come here, you Tom,
you see I told you I didn’t buy you jest for the common work; I mean to promote
you and make a driver of you, and to-night ye may jest as well begin to get yer
hand in. Now ye jest take this yer gal, and flog her; ye’ve seen enough on’t to
know how.
TOM:
I beg mas’r’s pardon — hopes mas’r won’t set me at that. It’s what I
a’nt used to — never did, and can’t do — no way possible.
LEGREE:
Ye’ll larn a pretty smart chance of things ye never did know before
I’ve done with ye. [(Strikes Tom with whip, three blows. Music chord each
blow.)]
There! now will ye tell me ye can’t do it?
TOM:
Yes, mas’r! I’m willing to work night and day, and work while
there’s life and breath in me; but his yer thing I can’t feel it right to do, and,
mas’r, I never shall do it, never!
LEGREE:
What! ye black beast! tell me ye don’t think it right to do what I tell ye!
What have any of you cussed cattle to do with thinking what’s right? I’ll put a
stop to it. Why, what do ye think ye are? May be ye think yer a gentleman,
master Tom, to be telling your master what’s right and what a’nt! So you pre-
tend it’s wrong to flog the gal?
TOM:
I think so, mas’r; ‘twould be downright cruel, and it’s what I never
will do, mas’r. If you mean to kill me, kill me; but as to raising my hand agin
any one here, I never shall — I’ll die first!
LEGREE:
Well, here’s a pious dog at last, let down among us sinners — powerful
holy critter he must be. Here, you rascal! you make believe to be so pious, didn’t
you never read out of your Bible, “Servants, obey your masters”? An’t I your
master? Didn’t I pay twelve hundred dollars, cash, for all there is inside your
cussed old black shell? An’t you mine, body and soul?
TOM:
No, no! My soul a’nt yours, mas’r; you haven’t bought it — ye can’t
buy it; it’s been bought and paid for by one that is able to keep it, and you can’t
harm it!

LEGREE:
I can’t? we’ll see, we’ll see! Here, Sambo! Quimbo! give this dog
such a breaking in as he won’t get over this month!
EMMELINE:
Oh, no! you will not be so cruel — have some mercy! [(Clings to
Tom.)]
LEGREE:
Mercy? you won’t find any in this shop! Away with the black cuss!
Flog him within an inch of his life!

[(Music. Sambo and Quimbo seize Tom and drag him up stage. Legree seizes Em-
meline, and throws her round. She falls on her knees, with her hands lifted in sup-
plication. Legree raises his whip, as if to strike Tom. Picture closed in.)]

[The Garden of Miss Ophelia’s House in Vermont. Enter Ophelia and Deacon
Perry.]

DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, allow me to offer you my congratulations upon your safe
arrival in your native place. I hope it is your intention to pass the remainder of
your days with us?
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, I have come here with that express purpose.
DEACON:
I presume you were not over-pleased with the South?
OPHELIA:
Well, to tell you the truth, Deacon, I wasn’t; I liked the country very
well, but the people there are so dreadful shiftless.
DEACON:
The result, I presume, of living in a warm climate.
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, what is the news among you all here?
DEACON:
Well, we live on in the same even jog-trot pace. Nothing of any conse-
quence has happened — Oh! I forgot. [(Takes out handkerchief.)]
I’ve lost my
wife; my Molly has left me. [(Wipes his eyes.)]
OPHELIA:
Poor soul! I pity you, Deacon.
DEACON:
Thank you. You perceive I bear my loss with resignation.
OPHELIA:
How you must miss her tongue!
DEACON:
Molly certainly was fond of talking. She always would have the
last word — heigho!
OPHELIA:
What was her complaint, Deacon?
DEACON:
A mild and soothing one, Miss Ophelia: she had a severe attack
of the lockjaw.
OPHELIA:
Dreadful!
DEACON:
Wasn’t it? When she found she couldn’t use her tongue, she took
it so much to heart that it struck to her stomach and killed her. Poor dear! Ex-
cuse my handkerchief; she’s been dead only eighteen months.
OPHELIA:
Why, Deacon, by this time you ought to be setting your cap for
another wife.
DEACON:
Do you think so, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
I don’t see why you shouldn’t — you are still a good-looking man,
Deacon.
DEACON:
Ah! well, I think I do wear well — in fact, I may say remarkably

well. It has been observed to me before.
OPHELIA:
And you are not much over fifty?
DEACON:
Just turned of forty, I assure you.
OPHELIA:
Hale and hearty?
DEACON:
Health excellent — look at my eye! Strong as a lion — look at my
arm!! A No. 1 constitution — look at my leg!!!
OPHELIA:
Have you no thoughts of choosing another partner?
DEACON:
Well, to tell you the truth, I have.
OPHELIA:
Who is she?
DEACON:
She is not far distant. [(Looks at Ophelia in an anguishing manner.)]
I
have her in my eye at this present moment.
OPHELIA:
[(Aside.)]
Really, I believe he’s going to pop. Why, surely,
Deacon, you don’t mean to –
DEACON:
Yes, Miss Ophelia, I do mean; and believe me, when I say –
[(Looking off.)]
The Lord be good to us, but I believe there is the devil coming!

[(Topsy runs on, with bouquet. She is now dressed very neatly.)]
TOPSY:
Miss Feely, here is some flowers dat I hab been gathering for you.
[(Gives bouquet.)]
OPHELIA:
That’s a good child.
DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, who is this young person?
OPHELIA:
She is my daughter.
DEACON:
[(Aside.)]
Her daughter! Then she must have married a colored
man off South. I was not aware that you had been married, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
Married! Sakes alive! what made you think I had been mar-
ried?
DEACON:
Good gracious, I’m getting confused. Didn’t I understand you to
say that this — somewhat tanned — young lady was your daughter?
OPHELIA:
Only by adoption. She is my adopted daughter.
DEACON:
O — oh! [(Aside.)]
I breathe again.
TOPSY:
By Golly! dat old man’s eyes stick out of ‘um head dre’ful. Guess
he never seed anything like me afore.
OPHELIA:
Deacon, won’t you step into the house and refresh yourself after
your walk?
DEACON:
I accept your polite invitation. [(Offers his arm.)]
Allow me.
OPHELIA:
As gallant as ever, Deacon. I declare, you grow younger every
day.
DEACON:
You can never grow old, madam.
OPHELIA:
Ah, you flatterer! [(Exeunt.)]
TOPSY:
Dar dey go, like an old goose and gander. Guess dat ole
gemblemun feels kind of confectionary — rather sweet on my old missis. By Gol-
ly! she’s been dre’ful kind to me ever since I come away from de South; and I
loves her, I does, ’cause she takes such car’ on me and gives me dese fine clothes.
I tries to be good too, and I’s gettin ‘long ‘mazin’ fast. I’s not so wicked as I used
to was. [(Looks out.)]
Holloa! dar’s some one comin’ here. I wonder what he
wants now. [(Retires, observing.)]

[Enter: (Enter Gumption Cute, very shabby, a small bundle, on a stick, over his shoulder.)]

CUTE:
By chowder, here I am again. Phew, it’s a pretty considerable tall
piece of walking between here and New Orleans, not to mention the wear of
shoe-leather. I guess I’m about done up. If this streak of bad luck lasts much
longer, I’ll borrow sixpence to buy a rope, and hang myself right straight up!
When I went to call on Miss Ophelia, I swow if I didn’t find out that she had left
for Vermont; so I kind of concluded to make tracks in that direction myself and
as I didn’t have any money left, why I had to foot it, and here I am in old Var-
mount once more. They told me Miss Ophelia lived up here. I wonder if she will
remember the relationship. [(Sees Topsy.)]
By chowder, there’s a darkey. Look
here, Charcoal!
TOPSY:
[(Comes forward.)]
My name isn’t Charcoal — it’s Topsy.
CUTE:
Oh! your name is Topsy, is it, you juvenile specimen of Day
& Martin?
TOPSY:
Tell you I don’t know nothin’ ’bout Day & Martin. I’s Topsy and I
belong to Miss Feely St..Clare.
CUTE:
I’m much obleeged to you, you small extract of Japan, for your
information. So Miss Ophelia lives up there in the white house, does she?
TOPSY:
Well, she don’t do nothin’ else.
CUTE:
Well, then, just locomote your pins.
TOPSY:
What — what’s dat?
CUTE:
Walk your chalks!
TOPSY:
By Golly! dere ain’t no chalk ’bout me.
CUTE:
Move your trotters.
TOPSY:
How you does spoke! What you mean by trotters?
CUTE:
Why, your feet, Stove Polish.
TOPSY:
What does you want me to move my feet for?
CUTE:
To tell your mistress, you ebony angel, that a gentleman wishes to
see her.
TOPSY:
Does you call yourself a gentleman! By Golly! you look more like a
scar’crow.
CUTE:
Now look here, you Charcoal, don’t you be sassy. I’m a gentleman
in distress; a done-up speculator; one that has seen better days — long time
ago — and better clothes too, by chowder! My creditors are like my
boots — they’ve no soles. I’m a victim to circumstances. I’ve been through much
and survived it. I’ve taken walking exercise for the benefit of my health; but as I
was trying to live on air at the same time, it was a losing speculation, ’cause it
gave me such a dreadful appetite.
TOPSY:
Golly! you look as if you could eat an ox, horns and all.
CUTE:
Well, I calculate I could, if he was roasted — it’s a speculation I should
like to engage in. I have returned like the fellow that run away in Scripture; and
if anybody’s got a fatted calf they want to kill, all they got to do is to fetch him
along. Do you know, Charcoal, that your mistress is a relation of mine?
TOPSY:
Is she your uncle?
CUTE:
No, no, not quite so near as that. My second cousin married her
niece.
TOPSY:
And does you want to see Miss Feely?
CUTE:
I do. I have come to seek a home beneath her roof, and take care of
all the spare change she don’t want to use.
TOPSY:
Den just you follow me, mas’r.
CUTE:
Stop! By chowder, I’ve got a great idee. Say, you Day & Martin,

how should you like to enter into a speculation?
TOPSY:
Golly! I doesn’t know what a spec — spec — cu — what-do-you-call-
‘um am.
CUTE:
Well, now, I calculate I’ve hit upon about the right thing. Why
should I degrade the manly dignity of the Cutes by becoming a beggar — expose
myself to the chance of receiving the cold shoulder as a poor relation? By
chowder, my blood biles as I think of it! Topsy, you can make my fortune, and
your own, too. I’ve an idee in my head that is worth a million of dollars.
TOPSY:
Golly! is your head worth dat? Guess you wouldn’t bring dat out
South for de whole of you.
CUTE:
Don’t you be too severe, now, Charcoal; I’m a man of genius. Did
you ever hear of Barnum?
TOPSY:
Barnum! Barnum! Does he live out South?
CUTE:
No, he lives in New York. Do you know how he made his fortin?
TOPSY:
What is him fortin, hey? Is it something he wears?
CUTE:
Chowder, how green you are!
TOPSY:
[(Indignantly.)]
Sar, I hab you to know I’s not green; I’s brack.
CUTE:
To be sure you are, Day & Martin. I calculate, when a person says
another has a fortune, he means he’s got plenty of money, Charcoal.
TOPSY:
And did he make the money?
CUTE:
Sartin sure, and no mistake.
TOPSY:
Golly! now I thought money always growed.
CUTE:
Oh, git out! You are too cute — you are cuterer than I am — and I’m
Cute by name and cute by nature. Well, as I was saying, Barnum made his
money by exhibiting a woolly horse; now wouldn’t it be an all-fired speculation
to show you as the woolly gal?
TOPSY:
You want to make a sight of me?
CUTE:
I’ll give you half the receipts, by chowder!
TOPSY:
Should I have to leave Miss Feely?
CUTE:
To be sure you would.
TOPSY:
Den you hab to get a woolly gal somewhere else, Mas’r Cute. [(Runs
off.)]
CUTE:
There’s another speculation gone to smash, by chowder! [(Exit.)]

[Enter: An Auction Mart. Uncle Tom and Emmeline at back. Adolf, Skeggs, Marks,
Mann, and various spectators discovered. Marks and Mann come forward.]

MARKS:
Hulloa, Alf! what brings you here?
MANN:
Well, I was wanting a valet, and I heard that St. Clare’s valet was
going; I thought I’d just look at them.
MARKS:
Catch me ever buying any of St. Clare’s people. Spoiled niggers
every one — impudent as the devil.
MANN:
Never fear that; if I get ‘em, I’ll soon have their airs out of them –
they’ll soon find that they’ve another kind of master to deal with than St. Clare
‘Pon my word, I’ll buy that fellow — I like the shape of him. [(Pointing to Adolf.)]
MARKS:
You’ll find it’ll take all you’ve got to keep him — he’s deucedly
extravagant.
MANN:
Yes, but my lord will find that he can’t be extravagant with me. Just
let him be sent to the calaboose a few times, and thoroughly dressed down, I’ll
tell you if it don’t bring him to a sense of his ways. Oh! I’ll reform him, up hill
and down, you’ll see. I’ll buy him; that’s flat.

[(Enter Legree, he goes up and looks at Adolf, whose boots are nicely blacked.)]
LEGREE:
A nigger with his boots blacked — bah! [(Spits on them.)]
Holloa, you!
[(To Tom.)]
Let’s see your teeth. [(Seizes Tom by the jaw and opens his mouth.)]
Strip up your sleeve and show your muscle. [(Tom does so.)]
Where was you rais-
ed?
TOM:
In Kintuck, mas’r.
LEGREE:
What have you done?
TOM:
Had care of mas’r’s farm.
LEGREE:
That’s a likely story. [(Turns to Emmeline.)]
You’re a nice-looking
girl enough. How old are you? [(Grasps her arm.)]
EMMELINE:
[(Shrieking.)]
Ah! you hurt me.
SKEGGS:
Stop that, you minx! No whimpering here. The sale is going to
begin. [(Mounts the rostrum.)]
Gentlemen, the next article I shall offer you to-day
is Adolf, late valet to Mr. St. Clare. How much am I offered? [(Various bids are]

[made. Adolf is knocked down to Mann for eight hundred dollars.)]
Gentlemen, I
now offer a prime article — the quadroon girl, Emmeline, only fifteen years of
age, warranted in every respect. [(Business as before. Emmeline is sold to Legree
for one thousand dollars.)]
Now, I shall close to-day’s sale by offering you the
valuable article known as Uncle Tom, the most useful nigger ever raised.
Gentlemen in want of an overseer, now is the time to bid.

[(Business as before. Tom is sold to Legree for twelve hundred dollars.)]
LEGREE:
Now look here, you two belong to me. [(Tom and Emmeline sink on
their knees.)]
TOM:
Heaven help us, then!

[(Music. Legree stands over them exulting. Picture — closed in.)]

[Handsome Chamber. St. Clare discovered seated on sofa. Ophelia, Tom and Topsy
are clustered around him. Doctor back of sofa feeling his pulse. Scene opens to slow
music.]

ST. CLARE:
[(Raising himself feebly.)]
Tom — poor fellow!
TOM:
Well, mas’r?
ST. CLARE:
I have received my death wound.
TOM:
Oh, no, no, mas’r!
ST. CLARE:
I feel that I am dying — Tom, pray!
TOM:
[(Sinking on his knees.)]
I do, pray, mas’r! I do pray!
ST. CLARE:
[(After a pause.)]
Tom, one thing preys upon my mind — I have
forgotten to sign your freedom papers. What will become of you when I am
gone?
TOM:
Don’t think of that, mas’r.
ST. CLARE:
I was wrong, Tom, very wrong, to neglect it. I may be the cause
of much suffering to you hereafter. Marie, my wife — she — oh! –
OPHELIA:
His mind is wandering.
ST. CLARE:
[(Energetically.)]
No! it is coming home at last! (Sinks back.) At last
at last! Eva, I come! [(Dies. Music — slow curtain.)]

END OF ACT IV

[Front Chamber. Enter Topsy.]

TOPSY:
Dar’s somethin’ de matter wid me — I isn’t a bit like myself. I
haven’t done anything wrong since poor Miss Eva went up in de skies and left
us. When I’s gwine to do anything wicked, I tinks of her, and somehow I can’t
do it. I’s getting to be good, dat’s a fact. I ’spects when I’s dead I shall be turned
into a little brack angel.

[(Enter Ophelia.)]

OPHELIA:
Topsy, I’ve been looking for you; I’ve got something very par-
ticular to say to you.
TOPSY:
Does you want me to say the catechism?
OPHELIA:
No, not now.
TOPSY:
[(Aside.)]
Golly! dat’s one comfort.
OPHELIA:
Now, Topsy, I want you to try and understand what I am going
to say to you.
TOPSY:
Yes, missis, I’ll open my ears drefful wide.
OPHELIA:
Mr. St. Clare has given you to me, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Den I b’longs to you, don’t I? Golly! I thought I always belong
to you.
OPHELIA:
Not till to-day have I received any authority to call you my
property.
TOPSY:
I’s your property, am I? Well, if you say so, I ’spects I am.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I can give you your liberty.
TOPSY:
My liberty?
OPHELIA:
Yes, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Has you got ‘um with you?
OPHELIA:
I have, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Is it clothes or wittles?
OPHELIA:
How shiftless! Don’t you know what your liberty is, Topsy?
TOPSY:
How should I know when I never seed ‘um?
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I am going to leave this place; I am going many miles
away — to my own home in Vermont.
TOPSY:
Den what’s to become of dis chile?
OPHELIA:
If you wish to go, I will take you with me.
TOPSY:
Miss Feely, I doesn’t want to leave you no how, I loves you I does.
OPHELIA:
Then you shall share my home for the rest of your days. Come,
Topsy.
TOPSY:
Stop, Miss Feely; does dey hab any oberseers in Varmount?
OPHELIA:
No, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Nor cotton plantations, nor sugar factories, nor darkies, nor
whipping nor nothing?
OPHELIA:
No, Topsy.
TOPSY:
By Golly! de quicker you is gwine de better den.

[(Enter Tom, hastily.)]
TOM:
Oh, Miss Feely! Miss Feely!
OPHELIA:
Gracious me, Tom! what’s the matter?
TOM:
Oh, Mas’r St. Clare! Mas’r St. Clare!
OPHELIA:
Well, Tom, well?
TOM:
They’ve just brought him home and I do believe he’s killed?
OPHELIA:
Killed?
TOPSY:
Oh dear! what’s to become of de poor darkies now?
TOM:
He’s dreadful weak. It’s just as much as he can do to speak. He
wanted me to call you.
OPHELIA:
My poor cousin! Who would have thought of it? Don’t say a
word to his wife, Tom; the danger may not be so great as you think; it would

only distress her. Come with me; you may be able to afford some assistance.
[(Exeunt.)]

[Gothic Chamber. Slow music. St. Clare discovered, seated on sofa. Tom at left.]

ST. CLARE:
Oh! Tom, my boy, the whole world is as empty as an egg shell.
TOM:
I know it, mas’r, I know it. But oh! if mas’r could look up — up where our
dear Miss Eva is –
ST. CLARE:
Ah, Tom! I do look up; but the trouble is, I don’t see anything when I
do. I wish I could. It seems to be given to children and poor, honest fellows like
you, to see what we cannot. How comes it?
TOM:
Thou hast hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes; even so,
Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.
ST. CLARE:
Tom, I don’t believe — I’ve got the habit of doubting — I want to
believe and I cannot.
TOM:
Dear mas’r, pray to the good Lord: “Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.”
ST. CLARE:
Who knows anything about anything? Was all that beautiful love and
faith only one of the ever-shifting phases of human feeling, having nothing real
to rest on, passing away with the little breath? And is there no more Eva –
nothing?
TOM:
Oh! dear mas’r, there is. I know it; I’m sure of it. Do, do, dear mas’r, believe
it!
ST. CLARE:
How do you know there is, Tom? You never saw the Lord.
TOM:
Felt Him in my soul, mas’r — feel Him now! Oh, mas’r! when I was sold
away from my old woman and the children, I was jest a’most broken up — I felt
as if there warn’t nothing left — and then the Lord stood by me, and He says,
“Fear not, Tom,” and He brings light and joy into a poor fellow’s soul — makes
all peace; and I’s so happy, and loves everybody, and feels willin’ to be jest
where the Lord wants to put me. I know it couldn’t come from me, ’cause I’s a
poor, complaining creature — it comes from above, and I know He’s willin’ to do
for mas’r.
ST. CLARE:
[(Grasping Tom’s hand.)]
Tom, you love me!
TOM:
I’s willin’ to lay down my life this blessed day for you.
ST. CLARE:
[(Sadly.)]
Poor, foolish fellow! I’m not worth the love of one good,
honest heart like yours.
TOM:
Oh, mas’r! there’s more than me loves you — the blessed Saviour
loves you.

ST. CLARE:
How do you know that, Tom?
TOM:
The love of the Saviour passeth knowledge.
ST. CLARE:
[(Turns away.)]
Singular! that the story of a man who lived and
died eighteen hundred years ago can affect people so yet. But He was no man.
[(Rises.)]
No man ever has such long and living power. Oh! that I could believe
what my mother taught me, and pray as I did when I was a boy! But, Tom, all
this time I have forgotten why I sent for you. I’m going to make a freeman of
you so have your trunk packed, and get ready to set out for Kentucky.
TOM:
[(Joyfully.)]
Bless the Lord!
ST. CLARE:
[Dryly.)]
You haven’t had such very bad times here, that you
need be in such a rapture, Tom.
TOM:
No, no, mas’r, ’tain’t that; it’s being a freeman — that’s what I’m
joyin’ for.
ST. CLARE:
Why, Tom, don’t you think, for your own part, you’ve been
better off than to be free?
TOM:
No, indeed, Mas’r St. Clare — no, indeed!
ST. CLARE:
Why, Tom, you couldn’t possibly have earned, by your work,
such clothes and such living as I have given you.
TOM:
I know all that, Mas’r St. Clare — mas’r’s been too good; but I’d
rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have ‘em mine, than
have the best, if they belong to somebody else. I had so, mas’r; I think it’s natur’,
mas’r.
ST. CLARE:
I suppose so, Tom; and you’ll be going off and leaving me in a
month or so — though why you shouldn’t no mortal knows.
TOM:
Not while mas’r is in trouble. I’ll stay with mas’r as long as he wants
me, so as I can be any use.
ST. CLARE:
[(Sadly.)]
Not while I’m in trouble, Tom? And when will my
trouble be over?
TOM:
When you are a believer.
ST. CLARE:
And you really mean to stay by me till that day comes? [(Smiling
and laying his hand on Tom’s shoulder.)]
Ah, Tom! I won’t keep you till that
day. Go home to your wife and children, and give my love to all.
TOM:
I’s faith to think that day will come — the Lord has a work for mas’r.
ST. CLARE:
A work, hey? Well, now, Tom, give me your views on what sort
of a work it is — let’s hear.
TOM:
Why, even a poor fellow like me has a work; and Mas’r St. Clare,
that has larnin’, and riches, and friends, how much he might do for the Lord.
ST. CLARE:
Tom, you seem to think the Lord needs a great deal done for
him.
TOM:
We does for him when we does for his creatures.
ST. CLARE:
Good theology, Tom. Thank you, my boy; I like to hear you
talk. But go now, Tom, and leave me alone. [(Exit Tom.)]
That faithful fellow’s
words have excited a train of thoughts that almost bear me, on the strong tide of
faith and feeling, to the gates of that heaven I so vividly conceive. They seem to
bring me nearer to Eva.
OPHELIA:
[(Outside.)]
What are you doing there, you limb of Satan? You’ve
been stealing something, I’ll be bound.

[(Ophelia drags in Topsy.)]

TOPSY:
You go ‘long, Miss Feely, ’tain’t none o’ your business.
ST. CLARE:
Heyday! what is all this commotion?
OPHELIA:
She’s been stealing.
TOPSY:
[(Sobbing.)]
I hain’t neither.
OPHELIA:
What have you got in your bosom?
TOPSY:
I’ve got my hand dar.
OPHELIA:
But what have you got in your hand?
TOPSY:
Nuffin’.
OPHELIA:
That’s a fib, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Well, I ’spects it is.
OPHELIA:
Give it to me, whatever it is.
TOPSY:
It’s mine — I hope I may die this bressed minute, if it don’t belong
to me.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I order you to give me that article; don’t let me have to
ask you again. [(Topsy reluctantly takes the foot of an old stocking from her
bosom and hands it to Ophelia.)]
Sakes alive! what is all this? [(Takes from it a
lock of hair, and a small book, with a bit of crape twisted around it.)]
TOPSY:
Dat’s a lock of ha’r dat Miss Eva give me — she cut if from her own
beau’ful head herself.
ST. CLARE:
[(Takes book.)]
Why did you wrap this [(Pointing to crape.)]
around
the book?
TOPSY:
‘Cause — ’cause — ’cause ’twas Miss Eva’s. Oh! don’t take ‘em
away, please! [(Sits down on stage, and, putting her apron over her head, begins
to sob vehemently.)]
OPHELIA:
Come, come, don’t cry; you shall have them.
TOPSY:
[(Jumps up joyfully and takes them.)]
I wants to keep ‘em, ’cause dey
makes me good; I ain’t half so wicked as I used to was. [(Runs off.)]
ST. CLARE:
I really think you can make something of that girl. Any mind
that is capable of a real sorrow is capable of good. You must try and do
something with her.
OPHELIA:
The child has improved very much; I have great hopes of her.
ST. CLARE:
I believe I’ll go down the street, a few moments, and hear the
news.
OPHELIA:
Shall I call Tom to attend you?
ST. CLARE:
No, I shall be back in an hour. [(Exit.)]
OPHELIA:
He’s got an excellent heart, but then he’s so dreadful shiftless!
[(Exit.)]

[A street in New Orleans. Enter Gumption Cute, meeting Marks.]

CUTE:
How do ye dew?
MARKS:
How are you?
CUTE:
Well, now, squire, it’s a fact that I am dead broke and busted up.
MARKS:
You have been speculating, I suppose!
CUTE:
That’s just it and nothing shorter.
MARKS:
You have had poor success, you say?
CUTE:
Tarnation bad, now I tell you. You see I came to this part of the
country to make my fortune.
MARKS:
And you did not do it?
CUTE:
Scarcely. The first thing I tried my hand at was keeping school. I
opened an academy for the instruction of youth in the various branches of or-
thography, geography, and other graphies.
MARKS:
Did you succeed in getting any pupils?
CUTE:
Oh, lots on ‘em! and a pretty set of dunces they were too. After the
first quarter, I called on the repectable parents of the juveniles, and requested
them to fork over. To which they politely answered — don’t you wish you may
get it?
MARKS:
What did you do then?
CUTE:
Well, I kind of pulled up stakes and left those diggins. Well then I
went into Spiritual Rappings for a living. That paid pretty well for a short time,
till I met with an accident.
MARKS:
An accident?
CUTE:
Yes; a tall Yahoo called on me one day, and wanted me to summon
the spirit of his mother — which, of course, I did. He asked me about a dozen
questions which I answered to his satisfaction. At last he wanted to know what
she died of — I said, Cholera. You never did see a critter so riled as he was. `Look
yere, stranger,’ said he, `it’s my opinion that you’re a pesky humbug! for my
mother was blown up in a Steamboat!‘ with that he left the premises. The next
day the people furnished me with a conveyance, and I rode out of town.
MARKS:
Rode out of town?
CUTE:
Yes; on a rail!
MARKS:
I suppose you gave up the spirits, after that?

CUTE:
Well, I reckon I did; it had such an effect on my spirits.
MARKS:
It’s a wonder they didn’t tar and feather you.
CUTE:
There was some mention made of that, but when they said feathers, I
felt as if I had wings and flew away.
MARKS:
You cut and run?
CUTE:
Yes; I didn’t like their company and I cut it. Well, after that I let
myself out as an overseer on a cotton plantation. I made a pretty good thing of
that, though it was dreadful trying to my feelings to flog the darkies; but I got
used to it after a while, and then I used to lather ‘em like Jehu. Well, the pro-
prietor got the fever and ague and shook himself out of town. The place and all
the fixings were sold at auction and I found myself adrift once more.
MARKS:
What are you doing at present?
CUTE:
I’m in search of a rich relation of mine.
MARKS:
A rich relation?
CUTE:
Yes, a Miss Ophelia St. Clare. You see, a niece of hers married one
of my second cousins — that’s how I came to be a relation of hers. She came on
here from Vermont to be housekeeper to a cousin of hers, of the same name.
MARKS:
I know him well.
CUTE:
The deuce you do! — well, that’s lucky.
MARKS:
Yes, he lives in this city.
CUTE:
Say, you just point out the locality, and I’ll give him a call.
MARKS:
Stop a bit. Suppose you shouldn’t be able to raise the wind in that
quarter, what have you thought of doing?
CUTE:
Well, nothing particular.
MARKS:
How should you like to enter into a nice, profitable business — one
that pays well?
CUTE:
That’s just about my measure — it would suit me to a hair. What is
it?
MARKS:
Nigger catching.
CUTE:
Catching niggers! What on airth do you mean?
MARKS:
Why, when there’s a large reward offered for a runaway darkey,
we goes after him, catches him, and gets the reward.
CUTE:
Yes, that’s all right so far — but s’pose there ain’t no reward offered?
MARKS:
Why, then we catches the darkey on our own account, sells him,
and pockets the proceeds.
CUTE:
By chowder, that ain’t a bad speculation!
MARKS:
What do you say? I want a partner. You see, I lost my partner
last year, up in Ohio — he was a powerful fellow.
CUTE:
Lost him! How did you lose him?
MARKS:
Well, you see, Tom and I — his name was Tom Loker — Tom and I
were after a mulatto chap, called George Harris, that run away from Kentucky.
We traced him though the greater part of Ohio, and came up with him near the
Pennsylvania line. He took refuge among some rocks, and showed fight.
CUTE:
Oh! then runaway darkies show fight, do they?
MARKS:
Sometimes. Well, Tom — like a headstrong fool as he was — rushed
up the rocks, and a Quaker chap, who was helping this George Harris, threw
him over the cliff.
CUTE:
Was he killed?
MARKS:
Well, I didn’t stop to find out. Seeing that the darkies were
stronger than I thought, I made tracks for a safe place.

CUTE:
And what became of this George Harris?
MARKS:
Oh! he and his wife and child got away safe into Canada. You see,
they will get away sometimes though it isn’t very often. Now what do you say?
You are just the figure for a fighting partner. Is it a bargain?
CUTE:
Well, I rather calculate our teams won’t hitch, no how. By chowder,
I hain’t no idea of setting myself up as a target for darkies to fire at — that’s a
speculation that don’t suit my constitution.
MARKS:
You’re afraid, then?
CUTE:
No, I ain’t, it’s against my principles.
MARKS:
Your principles — how so?
CUTE:
Because my principles are to keep a sharp lookout for No. 1. I
shouldn’t feel wholesome if a darkie was to throw me over that cliff to look after
Tom Loker. [(Extent arm-in-arm.)]

[Eva’s Chamber. Eva discovered on a couch. A table stands near the couch with a
lamp on it. The light shines upon Eva’s face, which is very pale. Scene half dark.
Uncle Tom is kneeling near the foot of the couch, Ophelia stands at the head, St.
Clare at back. Scene opens to plaintive music. After a strain enter Marie, hastily.]

MARIE:
St. Clare! Cousin! Oh! what is the matter now?
ST. CLARE:
[(Hoarsely.)]
Hush! she is dying!
MARIE:
[(Sinking on her knees, beside Tom.)]
Dying!
ST. CLARE:
Oh! if she would only wake and speak once more. [(Bending over
Eva.)]
Eva, darling! [(Eva uncloses her eyes, smiles, raises her head and tries to
speak.)]
Do you know me, Eva?
EVA:
[(Throwing her arms feebly about his neck.)]
Dear papa. [(Her arms drop and
she sinks back.)]
ST. CLARE:
Oh heaven! this is dreadful! Oh! Tom, my boy, it is killing me!
TOM:
Look at her, mas’r. [(Points to Eva.)]
ST. CLARE:
[(A pause.)]
She does not hear. Oh Eva! tell us what you see. What
is it?
EVA:
[(Feebly smiling.)]
Oh! love! joy! peace! [(Dies)]
TOM:
Oh! bless the Lord! it’s over, dear mas’r, it’s over.
ST. CLARE:
[(Sinking on his knees.)]
Farewell, beloved child! the bright eternal
doors have closed after thee. We shall see thy sweet face no more. Oh! woe for
them who watched thy entrance into heaven when they shall wake and find on-
ly the cold, gray sky of daily life and thou gone forever. [(Solemn music, slow
curtain.)]

END OF ACT III

[Enter: A corridor. Proscenium doors on. Music. Enter Tom, he listens at door and then lies
down. Enter Ophelia, with candle.]

OPHELIA:
Uncle Tom, what alive have you taken to sleeping anywhere and
everywhere, like a dog, for? I thought you were one of the orderly sort, that lik-
ed to lie in bed in a Christian way.
TOM:
[(Rises. Mysteriously.)]
I do, Miss Feely, I do, but now –
OPHELIA:
Well, what now?
TOM:
We mustn’t speak loud; Mas’r St. Clare won’t hear on’t; but Miss
Feely, you know there must be somebody watchin’ for the bridegroom.
OPHELIA:
What do you mean, Tom?
TOM:
You know it says in Scripture, “At midnight there was a great cry
made, behold, the bridegroom cometh!” That’s what I’m spectin’ now, every
night, Miss Feely, and I couldn’t sleep out of hearing, noways.
OPHELIA:
Why, Uncle Tom, what makes you think so?
TOM:
Miss Eva, she talks to me. The Lord, he sends his messenger in the
soul. I must be thar, Miss Feely; for when that ar blessed child goes into the
kingdom, they’ll open the door so wide, we’ll all get a look in at the glory!
OPHELIA:
Uncle Tom, did Miss Eva say she felt more unwell than usual to-
night?
TOM:
No; but she telled me she was coming nearer — thar’s them that tells
it to the child, Miss Feely. It’s the angels — it’s the trumpet sound afore the break
o’ day!
OPHELIA:
Heaven grant your fears be vain! Come in, Tom [(Exeunt.)]