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UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLAND 
 
 a pki) 
 
 XN TWO ACTS 
 
 BY MARCO MINGLE. 
 
 
 RICHMOND, VA, 
 
 GEORGE M. WEST & BRO 
 
 1853. 
 
Tf>Llf 
 
 M^ 1 
 
 <r 
 
 Harry Berkley. 
 Mr. Wilburton. 
 Mr. Titterwell. 
 Morris Landen. 
 Peter. 
 
 Mrs. Wilburton. 
 Mrs. Titterwell. 
 Mary Landen. 
 Minnie. 
 
 Copy right secured. 
 
UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 
 
 IN ENGLAND. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 Scene I. — A Library adjoining Harry's apartment, table 1 
 chairs, fyc; a newspaper laying on the table. 
 
 Peter discovered. 
 
 Peter. Oh dear ! O dear ! I do wonder what master would 
 say if he knew I was in love ? ha, ha, ha ! But I should'nt 
 laugh if I am a lover, for it's a serious thing and one should 
 think on the consequences. But talking about love; how I got 
 into it is a puzzler to me : Minnie looks like every other o'mans 
 walks like every other o'mans, got eyes like every other, — wh-e-e, 
 no-she-aint-either ; every o'man eyes dont look so [tries to look 
 archly] and so, and make me feel just like giving her all the 
 world if it was mine. Oh ! Oh! I do wonder what master would 
 say if — [a call from without] Ah! there he is now, yes sir, com- 
 ing. [Goes to Harry and returns in a moment.] The Morning 
 Times; Ah! here it is, here it is. [Takes paper to Harry and 
 returns] That will do ah ! [going] Minnie, Minnie, my — my, 
 oh ? [Exit Peter. 
 
 Enter Harry with newspaper. 
 
 Harry. Hi ! ho ! here's another of those stupid dull days, 
 nothing to do — no news, no change; but the club, aye, the 
 club; and there its the same dull routine of chit-chat, parliament 
 and politics, cards, cards, cards. And there are morning calls, 'tis 
 true, and horrid bores they are. But I have it: I'll make a vir- 
 tue of necessity and pay my uncle Wilburton a visit I owe him. 
 
 Good kind people but there's their cursed benevolence. 
 
 Doubtless I will be entertained with a long lecture on the con- 
 dition of the human race throughout the globe; and there too, I 
 shall see that intolerable Titterwell, with his fanaticism*, grand 
 schemes and glorious contemplations. But I'll go, any thing 
 for a change. 
 
Enter Peter. 
 
 Peter. A letter sir. 
 
 Harry. A letter ? Give it to me. [Takes it and reads] — ■ 
 What ! from my old friend Morris Landen: And will be here 
 to-morrow ! Can it be possible ? I had supposed him dead, not 
 having: heard from him in five long years. 'Tis indeed an unex- 
 pected happiness. But I'll away to my Uncle's. Peter bring 
 me my hat and gloves. 
 
 Peter. Yes sir. [hands them to him.[ 
 
 Harry, [going] I will be in at four Peter, until then you 
 may go where you please. [Exit Harry. 
 
 Peter. Well, Master is gone. Master is so good, but he aint 
 like he used to be. Oh ! I do wonder what he would say if he 
 knew I was in love. But Master was in love once himself and 
 quarrelled with his lady love; and they do say that she treated 
 him dreadfully; but I don't know any thing about that, all I do 
 know, is, that he aint like he used to be. Now I'll go right off 
 and see Minnie. \ going] Oh Minnie, thou incomparable diviner % 
 thou — thou — Oh its no use, I aint sentimental. [Exit Peter. 
 
 Scene II. — A street in a wealthy part of London. Enter 
 Mary leading by the hand a little girl] they are both thinly 
 clad and shivering with cold. 
 
 Mary. Oh this is dreadful! No bread — No shelter from 
 this cold damp air. Yet God knows it is not for myself that I 
 would ask this poor boon. Here where all around seems to mock 
 at my misery. But only for this poor child — this pledge of a fond 
 mother's misplaced confidence and affection. Oh ! God! And am 
 I its protector? I who have not one, bite of bread to stop its weep- 
 ing; I, who taught it among the first words it could lisp, that hated 
 one beg, beg, beg. Where, Oh! where shall we go? Yet 
 stay ! there is some one coming. Hold out thy hand child, it 
 may be one who can feel for the unfortunate. But it is, Oh God, 
 it is, she of all others I would not see; she who first spurned me 
 from her door, and placed the seal of infamy upon my character. 
 Can I escape ? No — She may not know me. [Hides her face, 
 the child continues to hold out its hand.] 
 
 Enter Mr. and Mrs. Titterwell. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. Oh gracious, there arc more of those disgusting 
 objects: Respectable people must always be seeing them at every 
 corner they pass. Go about your business child, go to the alms 
 house, let your lazy mother go to work. Oh Titterwell, when 
 will we be rid of those horrid people? 
 
 Mr. Tit. One of those days, my dear; but first the African 
 freedom, the African freedom ! Oh glorious contemplation ! 
 
 [Exeunt Titterivells. 
 
Mary. Gone ! and I am spared the recognition — it is well, 
 1 can suffer much and be calm, but I could not bear her sneer. 
 Come child, come away from this place, come. [Moves, but 
 totters.] 
 
 Enter Harry. {Gazes at Mary.) 
 
 Harry. Stay my good woman, you are ill, say, can I serve you? 
 
 Mary. [Aside.] Oh! he speaks so kindly ! 
 
 Harry. Who are you, speak, and tell me, are you ill, or 
 can I aid you? 
 
 Mary. Oh, sir, you have feeling, I am sure, and will not wish 
 to know more than that we are poor outcasts, and go I know not 
 where. 
 
 Harry. [Aside.] She does not ask for aid, yet it is evident 
 she wants it. [Loud] Be frank, my poor woman, and tell me 
 can I in any way serve you? 
 
 Mary. Oh, sir, your kindness touches me, [sobbing.] I am 
 not used to it, I need not tell you why these tears are flowing. — - 
 Look at this poor child, it has not tasted food since yesterday 
 morning. 
 
 Harry. Can it be possible ? And yourself, have you fasted 
 so long ? 
 
 Mary. Longer, sir, much longer. 
 
 Harry. Poor woman, then I do not wonder that you weep. 
 Hero is enough for a few meals. [The child takes it and thanks 
 him] Now tell me your name. 
 
 Mary. [Hesitating.] My — my name is Mary, sir. 
 
 Harry. But you have another name. 
 
 Mary. Oh, sir, do-not ask me to tell you more, I cannot, I 
 cannnt sir. 
 
 Harry. Then I will not press thee further, but is this your 
 child? 
 
 Mary. No sir, it is the child of a dear friend now in her 
 cold grave. 
 
 Harry. Indeed, and how comes it in your possession ? 
 
 Mary. Circumstances, sir, made me its protector. Its his- 
 tory is part of my own. 
 
 Harry. Relate it to me, my good woman, for I already feel 
 a warm interest in you and this little sufferer. 
 
 Mary. Sir, it is a sad story. 'Tis but a few moments since 
 a woman passed this place, she knew me in my happy days; I 
 left my mother's quiet home to bcome governess to her children: 
 that mother is now dead; this woman I served faithfully, but I 
 would not submit to her tyranny, and without forgetting my po- 
 sition, resented her insults. This was a crime she could not for- 
 give. I was turned from her door — She refused me a recom- 
 mendation, and that was a blow to my character. I sought in 
 vain for similar employment, for the tongue of slander had done 
 its work. The needle was my only resort; but many hours of 
 
6 
 
 toil and few of rest brought their result. One day as I lay on a 
 sick bed this child was brought to me with its mother's dying re- 
 quest that I would keep it, and love it. My poor friend, how I 
 loved her. Ruined and abandoned, she is now free from them 
 all. I promised her, and God knows how faithfully I have en- 
 deavored to keep that promise. Yet all my efforts availed no- 
 thing. Sickness and poverty soon brought us to the verge of 
 starvation, from which, we were taken to the work-house. How 
 long we remained there I know not, but it was many months. 
 Two days ago we were discharged, with several others, to wan- 
 der, God knows where. Some of those poor creatures who were 
 turned from this, their only home, feeble and starving, have since 
 returned and begged to be again admitted, but were denied, for 
 they had been once discharged. (*) I could not ask for such 
 charity, to be refused* and thus, sir. you find us creeping from 
 place to place. 
 
 Harry. Truly, it is a sad story, and too much like what I 
 have seen for me to doubt its truth. [Aside.] Oh ! ye high born 
 dames who from your gorgeously trimmed halls of silk and ta- 
 pestry dare preach humanity to distant nations! far fitter wire it 
 that ye take the first lesson at your own doors. But this poor 
 woman, she must not suffer. [Thinks] I have it, I'll send her 
 to my uncle's; in the mean time I will be there. [Takes out a 
 card, write* and hands it to Mary.] Here my good woman 
 take this, you know the street? 
 
 Mary. Yes sir. 
 
 Harry. And the number? — Take it there and you will find 
 a friend. Do you promise me ? 
 
 Mary. 1 do, I do. Oh, kind sir ! 
 
 Harry. No more my poor woman, but haste thee out of this 
 cold wind, it makes thee shiver. [Going.] Haste thee, remem- 
 ber you have promised me. [Exit Harry. 
 
 Mary. He is gone, and I have not thanked him, but God 
 will thank him, God will bless him. Come my poor child there 
 is a promise of happiness in his kindly tones, come. [Going.] 
 Oh! we can now buy bread ! [Exeunt Mary and child. 
 
 Scene III. — Mr. Wiiburton' s — Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur ton seat- 
 ed at a table, Minnie is standing near. They are all weep- 
 ing, having been reading Uncle Tom s Cabin. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh ! this is monstrous ! and all told by an Ame- 
 rican lady; it is, I fear, too true. I have never despised any one, 
 but I could hate that whole sinful nation. Poor creatures, can 
 wo not do something for them ? 
 
 Mr. Wil. My dear, we are doing much. The whole Bri- 
 tish nation is arousing to the mighty work. It will be done. 
 
 * See Appendix, 3No. I. 
 
Mrs. Wil. Oh, I do hope so, for at this very moment the 
 lash of the slave driver may be tearing the flesh, of thousands 
 of its innocent victims. [A knock is heard, Minnie goes to the 
 door, returns and announces the Titter 10 ells \ [Exit Minnie. 
 
 Enter the Titterwells. 
 
 Mr. Wil. Ah ! friend Titterwell, and madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Welcome, welcome. 
 
 Mr. Tit. Ah ! friends. [Mrs. Titterwell throws herself into 
 the arms of Mrs. Wilburton — Mr. Wilburton and Mr. Titter- 
 well seem to converse together.] 
 
 Mrs. Tit. Oh ! my dear Mrs. Wilburton : You have read 
 Uncle Torn — I know you have — your eyes are red with weep- 
 ing. [They wipe their eyes ] 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Yes, yes, we have just finished reading it. It is 
 horrible; do you think, my dear Mrs. Titterwell, that it can be 
 true ? 
 
 Mrs. Tit. True! It is every word true; you may depend on 
 it, my dear Mrs. Wilburton; and every body knows that it is 
 worse than this book represents it; for do you think those wicked 
 people would tell all their cruelties ? Oh no ! And only to think 
 that we christianized and civilized English as we are, should per- 
 mit such doings. It is horrible. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh, how I pity them. 
 
 Mrs. Ti". And I, my dear Mrs. Wilburton, my sensitive soul 
 always sympathises with the unfortunate. [Seems to weep.] 
 
 Mr. Tit. [Advancing with book in hand.] My friends, I 
 congratulate you upon the great and important service rendered 
 our cause by the authoress of this book. It is, indeed, cheering. 
 Oh, glorious contemplation. 
 
 Enter Minnie, and announces Harry. 
 
 Enter Harry. 
 
 Harry. [Aside to Minnie.] Minnie, my good girl, you will 
 do me a service. A poor woman and a child will be here in a 
 few moments; show them to a comfortable room, until I see your 
 mistress. I will reward thee well. 
 
 Minnie. Yes, sir, I'll do it. [Exit Minnie. 
 
 Mr. Wil. Ah, Harry. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Harry. 
 
 Harry. My dear aunt' and uncle. [Aside.] Just as I ex- 
 pected, there's that infernal Titterwell. [Loud.] Mr. Titterwell 
 and madam, good morning to you all. Dear aunt how — But 
 you are weeping — and madam — my uncle, ail in tears ! What 
 does this mean? 
 
 Mrs. Tit. [Still sobbing.] Oh, sir, have you not read Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin ? 
 
 Harry. What ! the American novel ? 
 
8 
 
 Mrs! Wil. \ Thesame 5 the same - 
 
 Harry. [Aside.] Can it be possible they are weeping over 
 this book ? [Loud.] Read it ! I have, and threw it aside, cursing 
 myself for the time I had spent at it. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. ) 
 
 Mrs. Wil.} Oh! Oh! Oh! 
 
 Mr. Tit. ) 
 
 Harry. Truly, this is a laughable scene. [Laughs.] Ha !' 
 ha! ha! 
 
 Mrs. Tit. Oh ! horrible, horrible. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh! Harry, you have none of the feelings of your 
 poor dear mother, or you would weep over the sufferings of poor 
 uncle Tom. 
 
 Harry. [Laughs.] Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Tit. You have no heart, Mr. Berkley, you are a stoic, 
 sir. 
 
 Harry. Stoic. Ha! ha! that's just what I should take you 
 all to be, stoics ! [Stowe-ics,] ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mr. Wil. [Austerely.] Harry, this is no jesting matter, sir. 
 
 Harry. [Seriously ] No jesting matter ! Then, sir, 1 am 
 pleased to hear it, for truly, if this woman has taught the English 
 people to weep over the imaginary wrongs of an old black man, 
 then there is indeed some hope for the suffering thousands at our 
 own doors. 
 
 Mr. Tit. Mr. Berkley you have not an English heart, sir, or 
 you could weep over the cruelties this book exposes. 
 
 Harry. Weep! Sir I have no weeping imagination, and 
 were I disposed to weep, God knows I could find enough of re* 
 ality to weep over. No, sir! the tears of manhood never cours* 
 ed my cheeks but once; then I read the "Song of the Shirt," — 
 that was purely English, and I knew it to be true. I should 
 weep over this book, think you ? Sir, it will be when I forget the 
 countless numbers of paupers we have on our own island, and 
 the thousands who struggle in darkness and misery to shun the 
 name. They weep, but not as you weep. Were the tears they 
 shed in a few short years collected together — tears of misery and 
 distress — enough might be had to float the Queen's barge. 
 
 Mr. Wil. ) 
 
 Mrs. Tit. \ Horrible, oh ! oh! 
 
 Mr. Tit. ) 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh, Harry, Harry, you should'nt talk so. 
 
 Harry. Then teach me to forget what I have seen, and what 
 I know. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. That's the way, forever talking about those drunken, 
 ungrateful people. 
 
 Harry. Very charitable indeed. 
 
 Mr. Tit. Mr. Berkley we have done much for the paupers of 
 England, but we get no thanks for it; they are a drunken set f 
 without gratitude. 
 
H& ry. Gratitude ! And do you expect a reward in the shape 
 of gra. tude for what you have done ? What if those wretched 
 creatures prayed for you, which is more probable than that they 
 should cringingly acknowledge your benevolence, and which 
 seems to be your conception of gratitude. But no, you do not work 
 by the rule of duty, but that of motive. — " And you have done 
 much for them." — Sir, have we not a pleasing illustration of 
 your benevolence, in your manifested sympathy for the African, 
 while you have at your own doors those who have greater claims 
 on your sympathy ? 'Tis thus, sir, you are holding up your coun- 
 try to the gaze of nations as a teacher of benevolence and huma- 
 nity, while her precepts seem to struggle for utterance from the 
 very depths of misery and degradation ; such misery and degrada- 
 tion as our own metropolis alone can boast of. Think, sir, of the 
 disgusting spectacle she will present in the eyes of those nations, 
 knowing as they do that "example is better than precept. 
 
 Mr. Tit. That is all very well, my young friend, but your 
 philanthropy is too limited, sir, too limited; we have greater 
 aims, and now that the poor down trodden African is crying to 
 us for help, shall it be refused? No sir, he must be liberated. I 
 have the plan that will do it . It is here. [Shows a paper.] 
 Harry. And how will you do it? 
 Mr. Tit. Flax, sir, flax. (*) 
 Harry. , Flax ? 
 
 Mr. Tit. Yes sir, flax. Substitute flax for cotton, and their 
 slaves will become worthless to them. 
 
 Harry. [Aside] He is mad, perfectly mad. [Loud.] Well, 
 sir, go on with your grand schemes, and while you cannot make 
 the world forget that Englishmen were the first to establish sla- 
 very on the American soil, you will show them that Ave are the 
 last to aid the distressed on our own shores. Aye, and you will 
 do more, you will sever the friendly ties that bind us to a power- 
 ful nation whose aid we may one day ask only to be refused. 
 Mr. Tit. Your language would do credit to a slave driver. 
 Harry. [Sharply.] Sir, I am no canting hypocrite. 
 Mr. Tit. Well, I have no more to say — may the Lord 
 bring thee to love the cause of African freedom. But we must 
 now go. Come friend Wilburton, the society meets this morn- 
 ing, come, we have not a moment to lose. No rest until this 
 mighty work is done. Oh! glorious contemplation! [Mr. Wil- 
 burton, Mr. and Mrs. Titter well prepare to go, Mrs. Wilburton 
 accompanies them to the door.] 
 
 Mr. Wilburton. [Passing near Harry.] Harry, I am shock- 
 ed at you sir, shocked. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. [Passing near Harry.] Mr. Berkley you are lost 
 to humanity sir, lost. 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 2. 
 2 
 
10 
 
 Harry. Ha? ha! There you go, would to God your enthu- 
 siam were enlisted in a better. cause. 
 
 [Exit Mr. Wlburton, Mr. and Mrs. TUterweU. 
 
 Enter Minnie. 
 
 Minnie. The woman has come sir, she is now in the next 
 room. 
 
 Harry. Thanks Minnie, you are a good girl — here, take this, 
 [hands her a piece of money ,] that will do. 
 
 [Minnie curtseys and exit* 
 
 Mrs. Wilburton returns. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh ! Harry, I am grieved that you should talk as 
 you have done. 
 
 Harry. My dear aunt, I would not do aught to give thee pain, 
 but you would not wish me to play the part of deception, and as- 
 sume a character totally at variance with my feelings. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. No, Harry, I would not, but it is your duty to feel, 
 and even to weep over the wrongs of those poor creatures. 
 
 Harry. Feel and weep ! And why should I? Is it because 
 your amiable authoress takes Uncle Tom from his happy home 
 in Kentucky, forces hi:n through the most terrible trials, and final- 
 ly, creates a demon in human form, whom she calls Legree — 
 into whose hands she makes Uncle Tom fall, and by whom he 
 is whipped to death. And must I acknowledge the brilliancy of 
 her imagination by weeping over such a production? No, no. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. But, Harry, this is no imagination, it is all true. 
 
 Harry. True ! It does not wear the semblance of truth though 
 it comes from an American. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. She is an American, it is true, and if you will not 
 believe in the truth of what she represents, you must at least give 
 her credit for candor ; for while she exposes the sins of her coun- 
 try, she holds up to them our own Canada to show them what 
 their boast of liberty is worth. 
 
 Harry. Aye! But is it not questionable patriotism ? And are 
 not her motives clearly obvious? She caters to our English pre- 
 judices; flatters our pride; her book finds a ready and rapid sale 
 in our communities; the money for which proves a soothing balm 
 to her own conscience for the wound she has given her country. 
 Ali this, my dear aunt, you will be better able to appreciate when 
 you call to mind that it is but a few years since your own son — 
 my dear cousin Henry, fell, while with his regiment, opposing 
 the rebels, men who struck for liberty, in this same eulogized 
 Canada. (*) 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Yes, poor Henry. But Harry you know that that 
 was a rebellion, and the poor misguided people were better off 
 under our government, though they did not know it. 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 3. 
 
II 
 
 Harry. I believe it to be true, dear aunt, but while you assert 
 this, you must grant to the Southern planter of America the same 
 right to assert that his slaves are better off in their present condi- 
 tion, and that we shall not interfere with them. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Poor Henry, [sobbing.] poor Henry. 
 
 Harry. My dear aunt I see that in speaking of Henry I have 
 touched the chords of grief But no more ot this, 1 have a sub- 
 ject to mention in which I know you will feel as deeply as 1 do 
 myself. This morning I met a destitute creature — a woman with 
 a child in her possession — they were in a starving condition, and 
 are now in this house, whither I sent them. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Harry you surprise me. 
 
 Harry. Nay, dear aunt, it is all true. She has evidently seen 
 better days, and I know you will pity her misery. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Who is she Harry, and what brought her to this 
 condition? 
 
 Harry. Her story is a bitter one, and its simplicity has satis- 
 fied me of its truthfulness. But you will know more from her. 
 And now, dear aunt, it is my earnest desire that she shall want for 
 nothing. My means shall contribute to her comfort, and I only 
 ask, that you will second my efforts: but 1 know you will, for 
 you are g-ood and kind. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh ! Harry, I will, I will ; shall we go to her? 
 
 Harry. No, no. I would not increase her misery by forcing 
 her through an ordeal of scrutiny, from which her sensitive 
 nature seems to shrink: I will call on the morrow, until then, 
 farewell, dear aunt. [Going] But remember, be kind, be kind 
 to her. [Exit Harry. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. [Going.] Oh, Harry, you have a good heart, let 
 them say what they will. [Exit Mrs. Wil. 
 
 Scene IV. — A room in Mr. Wilburton's house. 
 Enter Minnie, wiping her eyes. 
 
 Minnie. I feel so disinconsolable whenever I thinks about 
 them dreadful 'mericans that master reads about. They used 
 poor Uncle Tom so dreadful; it's a shame, so it is — but here 
 comes Peter. Why Peter ! 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 
 Peter. Minnie, my charmer! My — 
 
 Minnie. Oh, Peter, don't talk so, I don't feel like it— I'm in 
 a paradoxeyism of grief, so I am. 
 
 Peter. [Looking surprised.] Why Minnie you've been cry- 
 in?! what's the matter — who hurt your feelings? 
 
 ^Minnie. [Sobbing.] Oh ! poor Uncle Torn. 
 
 Peter. [Aside.] She crying about her uncle — it shows she 
 got a good heart, so it does. [Loud.] Don't cry Minnie, don't 
 cry. 
 
12 
 
 Minnie. Oh, they used him so dreadful; they put great 
 chains on him, dragged him to death. 
 
 Peter. Who done it Minnie, who done it? Tell me and I'll- 
 revenge your uncle. 
 
 Minnie. Oh, it was them dreadful Americans; they cut him 
 all to pieces with great long whips, all just because he was a 
 black man, 
 
 Peter. What! your uncle a black man ! 
 
 Minnie. La! Peter, I did'nt say he was my uncle. 
 
 Peter. O-h! — Then what are you crying about? 
 
 Minnie. Why Peter, mistress and master, and everybody cries 
 when they reads about them wicked Americans and the poor in- 
 nocent slavers; poor things, they aint got any edjercation, and 
 never had none, and never herd tell on the Bible. Poor things; 
 there are a heap of them too : there is Uncle Tom and Topsy and 
 George Harris — Yes. and George Harris has got royal blood in 
 him, so he has, for the book says he " stood up like a rock, and 
 put out his hand with the air of a prince." (*) And you know, 
 Peter, if he had'nt royal blood in him he could'nt do that. 
 
 Peter. [Uneasily] Yes, Minnie, but don't talk any more about 
 them ; let us talk of 
 
 Minnie. But Peter you'll be a commissionary and go there 
 and save them, won't you Peter ? 
 
 Peter. Oh, yes, I'll go and set them alt free — but Minnie let 
 us talk of — [A bell rings] 
 
 Minnie. Oh, there's mistress, I must run to her. [Going.]: 
 Good-bye Peter. 
 
 Peter. Minnie ! 
 
 Minnie. Good-bye Peter. [Exit Minnie. 
 
 Peter. Well, confound them infernal niggers ; there she goes, 
 and not one loving word. [Going.] Oh, cruel fate. 
 
 [Exit Peter. 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 4. 
 
3 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene V. — The following day — A room in Mr. Wil burton* s 
 house. Mrs. Wilburton and Ma v y employed at a table. Mary 
 is neatly dressed. 
 
 Mary. Oh, if I but knew that he lived, though he were far, 
 far away. [Begins to iveep, and leaves the room.] 
 
 Mrs. Wil. [Rising.] Poor woman ! she is so grateful, and 
 speaks so kindly of Harry, and blesses him. She must have suf- 
 fered much; and her brother, when she thinks of him, she weeps 
 and is so unhappy. But here comes Harry. 
 
 Enter Harry. 
 
 Harry. Dear aunt ! 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Ah! Harry; you have come to hear of Mary. 
 
 Harry. I confess it, dear aunt ; but speak ; is she well — is 
 she comfortable? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. She is well, Harry; and has every thing she de- 
 sires ; yet she is so unhappy. 
 
 Harry. I do not wonder. But has she told you her name, 
 or given ycu any of her early history? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. She has. Her father died when she was young ; 
 and her mother, it is nearly five years since her death. 
 
 Harry. But her name ? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Is Mary Landen. 
 
 Harry. Mary Landen ! Heavens, can it be ! Has she a 
 brother ? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. She has, or had one; but does not know where he 
 is, or even that he lives. 
 
 Harry. His name? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Is Morris Landen. 
 
 Harry. The same ! My friend ! [Aside.] Merciful God ! 
 and have I been instrumental in saving from further misery and 
 degradation the sister of my dear friend ? 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Harry, speak; do you know him ? 
 
 Harry. Know him ? He was my truest and warmest friend. 
 We were college mates together. 'Tis now more than five years 
 since he left his native country. But yesterday I received a let- 
 ter from him, the first since we parted ; and this very day he will 
 be in London. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Oh, Harry ! Can this be true ? 
 
 Harry. It is, dear aunt, all true. [Going.] I go to meet him. 
 You will break the joyful tidings to Mary. But gently, dear 
 aunt, gently. The hour he arrives will find them mingling 
 their happy greetings. And now farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Exit Harry, 
 
14 
 
 Mrs. Wil. This is, indeed, wonderful. But an hour ago no 
 ray of hope brightened the soul of her who wept for her brother; 
 now, all is joy, joy ! [Going.] Oh, Harry ! you have taught 
 me a lesson. You have taught me that I may find deserving 
 objects of charity without seeking far for them. A lesson I shall 
 not soon forget. [Exit Mrs. Wil. 
 
 Scene VI. — A Library. 
 Enter Harry. 
 
 Harry. Tis past the hour. The express from Liverpool 
 has arrived, and still he does not come, lint he will come; I 
 feel that he will ; and bring to poor Mary the happiness she once 
 knew. [A knock is heard.] 'Tis he ! He comes ! 
 
 Enter Peter, and announces Morris. 
 
 Enter Morris. 
 
 Morris! 
 
 Morris. Harry! [They embrace.] 
 
 Harry. Welcome, Morris ; welcome to your country, wel- 
 come to your friends. 
 
 Morris. Thanks, Harry; thanks for your kind welcome. 
 But, pardon me Harry, and first tell me, do you know aught of 
 my sister? 
 
 Harry. I do, Morris. Your sister is now at the house of 
 my uncle. 
 
 Morris. Thank heaven ! But is she well ; is she happy 1 
 
 Harry. She is well. Morris; and if she is not now happy, I 
 can promise you that she soon will be. 
 
 Morris. Thanks, again, Harry. I know, I feel that you 
 have been her friend. But little claim have I to such an appel- 
 lation, since I could seemingly forget you, my dear Harry, du- 
 ring my long absence. 
 
 Harry. ^Tis true, Morris, you have not written to me, nor 
 have I heard from you since we parted, until yesterday ; yet my 
 friendship for you has ever been the same. 
 
 Morns. I believe it, Harry, and for that reason must ever 
 feel the sting of ingratitude. But when you know all, I feel that 
 I will be forgiven, and your generous nature will share its sym- 
 pathies with me. 'Tis little more than five years since I left my 
 native country, with bright hopes and alight heart. You knew 
 my destination — the isles of Sunda. I reached them in safety; 
 and to my anxious eyes the path to fortune seemed broad and 
 clear. But, alas! my dazzling prospects were soon robbed of 
 their splendor. A few weeks after my arrival I lay prostrate 
 with fever. 'Twas at this time I heard of my mother's death. 
 It added fresh misery to my despairing soul, and for many weeks 
 left but little hope of my recovery. Yet. slowly, I regained my 
 health, though feeble in strength and broken inspirit. 'Twas 
 then I came to the determination never to reveal to my friends a 
 
15 
 
 knowledge of my situation, but to drag out the miserable exis- 
 tence that seemed inevitable to me, unwept and unknown. But 
 my sister I made many efforts to hear from, yet in vain. I sup- 
 posed her dead. And thus I wandered from place to place, at 
 length finding myself on the soil of Australia at the first disco- 
 very of its glittering treasures. The rest is soon told — I labored 
 in the mines; success smiled upon my efforts; my fortune was 
 speedily made, when I hastened to my native country, to share it 
 with my sister and my friends. 
 
 Harry. Dear Morris, you have indeed run a career of vici- 
 situdes, and I warmly congratulate you upon its happy termi- 
 nation. 
 
 Morris. Again t thank you Harry. But tell me, are you 
 not married ? 
 
 Harry. Married, Morris ! No, no. 
 
 Morris. Not married? This is strange, Harry. You who 
 could find so much delight in woman's smiles, and seemed more 
 than miserable when out of the sound of her voice. 
 
 Harry. True, Morris; and you may readily suppose it was 
 no slight cause that wrought a change. But hear me, and you 
 shall learn all. Between friends there are no secrets. You 
 know that I had ever asserted that in requited love alone existed 
 the perfection of earthly bliss; and I deemed myself but too 
 happy in finding, as I had supposed, a full realization of this in 
 the plighted love of Emily Weston. Oh, Morris! how 1 loved 
 this woman. I loved her from the first moment we met. She 
 came upon my eyes like a vision of the beautiful ; a vision more 
 of heaven than of earth. The measure of my happiness was 
 full to overflowing. Our vows were interchanged. The happy 
 day named. But alas! it was a promised joy that never came. 
 One day during the great exhibition, while strolling through the 
 Crystal Palace, scarce noting the ceaseless din around me, for my 
 thoughts were on her I loved better than life ; 'twas there I saw — 
 Oh, God! would it had been a delusion — but I saw my Emily, 
 my own betrothed, approaching me through the moving mass ! 
 a huge negro for an escort, she leaned languidly upon his arm ; 
 his black visage wore a smile of exultation as he coarsely es- 
 sayed to play the cavalier, and his horrid grins were met by 
 the same smile that had so oft thrilled my soul with delight. 
 Unobserved I crept to a pillar for support, and gazing about 
 me, I saw the sneer of contempt, the smile of scorn, and the deep, 
 calm look of disgust pictured on the countenances of those 
 around; yet on she passed, regardless of it all, for the curse 
 
 of fanaticism had done its work (*) and I, sickened with 
 
 horror and disgust, hastened from the place. I never saw her 
 more, Morris; I never saw her more! For the woman who 
 could be so lost to truth and decency, as to violate the sacred 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 6. 
 
16 
 
 pledge of love, and degrade the dignity of her sex by pursuing 
 a course so unnatural, deserves not the love of an honest heart. 
 
 Morris. Truly, Harry, I can well imagine what a blow 
 this was to affections as warm and as pure as thine. But think 
 no more of it. You will yet find happiness in woman's love. 
 
 Hairy. Never, Morris, never! 
 
 Morris. Well, time alone will prove it. But no more of 
 this. I see it is a painful subject. Come, we will now go to 
 Mary, my dear, dear sister. 
 
 Harry. [Going.] Yes, we will go this instant. [Aside ] 
 Oh, Mary ! I come to bring thee thy lost happiness, and with it 
 a lost brother. [Exit ttarry and Morris. 
 
 Scene VII. — A room in Mr. Wilburton's house. Enter Mr. 
 and Mrs. Wilburton. 
 
 Mr. Wil. My dear, lam astounded ; this is, indeed, a strange 
 affair. Mary's father, William Landen, I knew well : a man 
 respected and beloved, for his honesty and correctness. Yet still 
 more am I astounded by Mary's disclosures in reference to her 
 treatment by the Titterwells. But now that this knowledge has 
 sharpened my perception, their characters are plain enough. And 
 to render their hypocrisy conclusive to my mind, I. have only to 
 add to Mary's statements an incident that occurred yesterday: — 
 While on our way to the meeting we were accosted by a misera- 
 ble looking creature who begged a pittance: Titterwell deeming 
 himself unobserved, with a smile of savage delight dashed aside 
 the extended hand. I saw it all, and felt that from that time we 
 could be friends no longer. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Yes, yes, Harry seems to have held this man in 
 proper estimation ; and the woman, oh, I already have a horror 
 of her. But here comes Mary. 
 
 (Enter M&ry.) 
 
 Mr. Wil. Ah, Mary! 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Dear Mary, we have just been speaking of the 
 Titterwells. 
 
 Mary. Titterwells! Oh, my dear friends, speak no more of 
 them, their very names fill me with dread. 
 
 Mr. Wil. Fear not, Mary, you will have no further cause to 
 dread them. 
 
 [Enter Minnie and announces Harry.} 
 
 Enter Harry and Morris. 
 
 Harry. Dear aunt and uncle — my friend Morris Landen. 
 
 Mary. My brother ! 
 
 Morris. My sister ! (Clasping her in his arms. A pause.) 
 Dear Mary, my own lost one, have I found thee? Lookup, 
 and let me gaze into those liquid orbs so like my mother's. Yes, 
 yes, the same dear, dear sister. 
 
17 
 
 Mary. Oh, Morris ! I have waited long for thee ; watched 
 for thee ; wept for thee ; prayed for thee ; and now you will not 
 leave me more ? 
 
 Moms. Leave thee! never, never again dear Mary. But 
 calm thyself; am I not near thee ? 
 
 Mary. Look, Morris. (Points to Harry.) 'Tis he and 
 those good people to whom I am indebted for this happiness. 
 
 Morns. Ah, Harry ! I knew, I felt that you had been her 
 friend. How shall I ever repay you? 
 
 Harry. Morris, I have done naught to give me a claim upon 
 your gratitude. 
 
 Morris. Noble heart ! but your uncle and aunt — their kind- 
 ness 
 
 Mr. Wil. No thanks, sir, no thanks. That smile of happi- 
 ness on Mary's cheek is more than compensation for all we have 
 done. 
 
 Mrs. Wil. Sir, it is to Harry you owe 
 
 Harry. Nay, dear aunt 
 
 Enter Minnie, and announces the Titterwells. 
 
 [Exit Minnie. 
 Mary. ~j 
 
 Mr r ^/. \ The Titterwells! 
 Mrs. Wil. J 
 
 Enter Mr. and Mrs. Titter well. 
 
 Mr. Tit. (Aside.) We are sure of a hundred pounds from 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. My dear Mrs. Wilhurton ! (She is received coldly.) 
 
 Mr. Tit. Ah, friend Wilburton ! meditating some scheme of 
 benevolence as usual 1 Generous man ! The absence of your 
 most desirable presence from the meeting last evening was keen- 
 ly felt by the society. 
 
 Mr. Wil. (Coldly.) Ah, indeed ! 
 
 Mr. Tit. Most assuredly, friend Wilburton. And the nume- 
 rous brotherly inquiries made for you gives undoubted evidence 
 of your growing popularity and influence with the society. 
 
 Mr. Wil. (Aside.) Disgusting flattery. But he has some 
 aim. 
 
 Mr. Tit. And I have come, friend Wilburton, on purpose to 
 inform you of what we have done. Among other business trans- 
 acted, we determined to raise the sum of five thousand pounds to 
 aid the authoress of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," who is at this time 
 in a most melancholy state of distress and want, brought to it by 
 the persecutions of her countrymen. (*) We have also deter- 
 mined to raise nn additional sum for the translation of '' Uncle 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 6. 
 3 
 
18 
 
 Tom's Cabin" into the various languages of Europe, this being the 
 most effectual way of accomplishing our purpose; that purpose, I 
 need not conceal from you, is to destroy the nationality of that 
 country. This book will contribute largt ly to that end. It will 
 secure European hatred. Being American giv»sita plausibility 
 of truth. You understand me. And now, fri< nd Wi I burton, I 
 hold in my hand (shows a paper) a list for subscriptions to those 
 funis. You will. I feel confident, subscribe liberally. 
 
 Mr. Wil. Then, I unders and, sir, that your avowed object 
 is to destroy the nationality of a nation to whose g< nero?ity we 
 owe the lives of thousands of human b^inas who were starving 
 in another portion of our kingdom. And this, sir, yen wouid 
 do under the garb of benevolence? And L am asked to aid in 
 it! No, sir; not one penny. And now, Mr. Titterwell, it be- 
 comes my duty to inform you that I am no longer a number of 
 the society to which you belong, and, furthermore, that from ihis 
 instant our friendship ceases. Look you, sir, {points to Mary.] 
 do you know that woman? 
 
 Mr. Tit. Mary Linden! 
 
 Mary. [Advancing.] Aye, Mary Landen. Do you know 
 me? 
 
 Mrs. Tit. (Aside.) Mary Landrn ! She here! This very 
 morninir I heard her brother had arrived in London, a wealthy 
 man. I must play my part. (Loud, draioing near to Mary.) 
 Dear Mary ! 
 
 Mary. Away! away from me! 
 
 Mrs.' Til. (Aside.) Spurned! (Loud.) But, Mary, you 
 will not forget me? 
 
 Mary. Foiget thee! Never, while this poor heart wears the 
 blight of desolation you brought upon it. But, go; and your 
 guilty conscience will be its own accuser until you find atone- 
 ment for your cruelties, in alleviating the sufferings of those you 
 have injured. Go, go. 
 
 Mrs. Til. I do not understand you, dear Mary. You know 
 I have alwavs felt as a mother towards you. 
 
 Mary. No, more; no, more. Go. (Turns from her.) 
 
 Morris. (Aside to Harry) Harry, who is this man? 
 
 Harry. His mme is Titterwell. A vile hypocrite, with a 
 heart as black as the cause he advocates. 
 
 Mr. Tit (Aside) I see it all. This woman ha? ruined us. 
 (Loud.) Mr. VVilburton. an explanation of this affair 1 deem 
 unnecessary; you are sold to the slave interest 
 
 Mr. \XU. Sir; another insinuation of that kind and you an- 
 swer it in another way. But, sir, leave my house; leave my 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Tit. (Aside.) Oh! I shall choke with rage! 
 
 Mr. Tit. Well, sir, I go; but may the Lord bring thee to 
 again love the cause of African freedom. 
 
19 
 
 Harry. (Sneeringly) What! Titterwell leaving us so soon? 
 Oh, glorious contemplation! 
 
 Mr. Tit. (Going.) Curse, ye! curse, ye! 
 
 [Exit Mr. and Mrs. Titterwell. 
 
 Mary. Gone, Oh happy riddance! 
 
 Mr. Wil. Yes. th<>y are gone, and I breathe freer; the very 
 atmosphere seems reliev»dof a pestilence. And now, Harry, 
 thar you hive tiughtus that our first duty is to relieve those 
 around us, and how mueh true happiness may be f und in the 
 simple performance of that duty, I only crave that you and our 
 kind friends will permit the future to answer our appreciation of 
 that lesson. 
 
 THE END. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Note 1st, page 6. 
 
 In an article taken from a late English paper, and recently 
 published in those of this country, it appears that a young woman 
 in a delicate situation was found in the streets of London without 
 shelter and without food. Upon enquiry it was ascertained that 
 she had been discharged but a few days before from one of the 
 work-houses, and finding none to pity her misery, applied several 
 times to be again admitted, but was denied by the inhuman ma- 
 nagers because she had been once discharged. 
 
 Note 2d, page 9. 
 
 It is firmly believed by many individuals in England, that with 
 proper cultivation, flax will yet supersede the use of cotton. The 
 writer of this, while in London not long since, met with one of 
 those visionary philanthropists who asserted with the air of a 
 prophet that " the day was not far distant when the world would 
 behold its accomplishment;" at the same time inviting him to vi- 
 sit the rooms of the society to see the great progress making to- 
 wards that end. 
 
 Note 3d, page 10. 
 The rebellion in Canada in 1839. 
 
 Note 4th, page 12. 
 
 Mrs. Stowe uses this identical language in her splendid de- 
 scription of a runaway negro. 
 
 Note 5th, page 15. 
 
 Americans who visited London during the holding of the 
 World's Fair, too well remember those disgusting exhibitions. 
 
 Note 6th, page 17. 
 
 Late English papers state that persons have been traveling 
 through England making collections to aid the authoress of 
 " Uncle Tom's Cabin," who is represented to be in a state of ex- 
 treme destitution, struggling against the persecutions of her coun- 
 trymen. 
 
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