"That gal's got seven devils in her, I believe!" said Haley. "How like a wildcat she jumped!"

"Wal, now," said Sam, scratching his head, "I hope Mas'r '11 'scuse us tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I feel spry enough for dat ar, no way!" and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle. "You laugh!" said the trader, with a growl.

"Lord bless you, Mas'r, I couldn't help it, now," said Sam, giving way to the long pent-up delight of his soul. "She looked so curi's, a leapin' and springin'-ice a crackin'-and only to hear her,—plump! ker-chunk! ker-splash! Spring! Lord! how she goes it!" and Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks.

"I'll make ye laugh t'other side yer mouths!" said the trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip.

Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he was up.

"Good-evening, Mas'r!" said Sam, with much gravity. "I berry much spect Missis be anxious 'bout Jerry. Mas'r Haley won't want us no longer. Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' the critters over Lizy's bridge to-night;" and, with a facetious poke into Andy's ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full speed, their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind.

EVA AND TOPSY.

(From "Uncle Tom's Cabin.")

MISS OPHELIA had just the capability of indignation that belongs to the thorough-paced housekeeper, and this had been pretty actively roused by the artifice and wastefulness of the child; in fact, many of my lady readers must own that they should have felt just so in her circumstances; but Marie's words went beyond her, and she felt less heat.

"I wouldn't have the child treated so, for the world," she said; "but, I am sure, Augustine, I don't know what to do. I've taught and taught; I've talked till I'm tired; I've whipped her; I've punished her in every way I can think of, and still she's just what she was at first."

Come here, Tops', you monkey!" said St. Clare, calling the child up to him.

Topsy came up; her round, hard eyes glittering and blinking with a mixture of apprehensiveness and their usual odd drollery.

"What makes you behave so?" said St. Clare, who could not help being amused with the child's expression.

'Spects it's my wicked heart," said Topsy, demurely; "Miss Feely says so."

"Don't you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you? She says she has done everything she can think of." "Lor, yes, Mas'r! old Missis used to say so, too. She whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my har, and knock my head agin the door; but it didn't do me no good! I spects, if they's to pull every spear o' har out o' my head, it wouldn't do no good, neither,-I's so wicked! Laws! I's nothin' but a nigger, noways!"

"Well, I shall have to give her up," said Miss Ophelia. "I can't have that trouble any longer."

"Well, I'd just like to ask one question," said St. Clare. "What is it ?"

"Why, if your Gospel is not strong enough to save one heathen child, that you can have at home here, all to yourself, what's the use of sending one or two poor missionaries off with it among thousands of just such? I suppose this child is about a fair sample of what thousands of your heathen are."

Miss Ophelia did not make an immediate answer; and Eva, who had stood a silent spectator of the scene thus far, made a silent sign to Topsy to follow her. There was a little glass room at the corner of the veranda, which St. Clare used as a sort of reading-room; and Eva and Topsy disappeared into this place.

"What's Eva going about, now?" said St. Clare; "I mean to see."

And, advancing on tiptoe, he lifted up a curtain that covered the glass door, and looked in. In a moment, laying his fingers on his lips, he made a silent gesture to Miss Ophelia to come and look. There sat the two children on the floor, with their side faces toward them. Topsy, with her usual air of careless drollery and unconcern; but, op

posite to her, Eva, her whole face fervent with feeling, and tears in her large eyes.

"What does make you so bad, Topsy? Why won't you try and be good? Don't you love anybody, Topsy?"

"Dunno nothing 'bout love; I loves candy and sich, that's all," said Topsy.

"But you love your father and mother."

"Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva." "Oh, I know," said Eva, sadly; "but, had n't you any brother, or sister, or aunt, or "

"No, none on 'em,—never had nothing nor nobody."

"But, Topsy, if you'd only try to be good, you might ❞— "Could n't never be nothin' but a nigger, if I was ever so good," said Topsy. "If I could be skinned, and come white, I'd try then."

"But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia would love you, if you were good."

Topsy gave the short, blunt laugh that was her common mode of expressing incredulity.

"Don't you think so?" said Eva.

"No; she can't bar me, 'cause I'm a nigger!-she'd's soon have a toad touch her! There can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't do nothin'! I don't care," said Topsy, beginning to whistle.

"Oh, Topsy, poor child. I love you!" said Eva, with a sudden burst of feeling, and laying her little thin, white hand on Topsy's shoulder; "I love you, because you have not had any father, or mother, or friends;-because you 've been a poor, abused child! I love you, and I want you to be good. I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I shan't live a great while; and it really grieves me to have you be so naughty. I wish you would try to be good for my sake;it's only a little while I shall be with you."

The round, keen eyes of the black child were overcast with tears;-large, bright drops rolled heavily down, one by one, and fell on the little white hand. Yes, in that moment, a ray of real belief, a ray of heavenly love, had penetrated the darkness of her heathen soul! She laid her head down between her knees, and wept and sobbed,-while the beauti

ful child, bending over her, looked like the picture of some bright angel stooping to reclaim a sinner.

"Poor Topsy!" said Eva, "don't you know that Jesus loves all alike? He is just as willing to love you as me. He loves you just as I do,-only more, because he is better. He will help you to be good; and you can go to heaven at last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if you were white. Only think of it, Topsy!-you can be one of those spirits bright, Uncle Tom sings about."

"Oh, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva!" said the child, "I will try, I will try; I never did care nothin' about it before." St. Clare, at this instant, dropped the curtain. "It puts me in mind of mother," he said to Miss Ophelia. "It is true what she told me; if we want to give sight to the blind, we must be willing to do as Christ did,-call them to us, and put our hands on them."

"I've always had a prejudice against negroes," said Miss Ophelia," and it's a fact, I never could bear to have that child touch me; but I did n't think she knew it."

"Trust any child to find that out," said St. Clare; "there's no keeping it from them. But I believe that all the trying in the world to benefit a child, and all the substantial favors you can do them, will never excite one emotion of gratitude, while that feeling of repugnance remains in the heart;-it's a queer kind of a fact, but so it is."

ENGLISH LITERATURE.

PERIOD VII. 1810-1850.

ITH the dawn of the nineteenth century English Literature, which had seemed destined to fall into humdrum monotony, entered upon a new era of vigorous growth, similar in intensity and variety to the Elizabethan age. Many causes conpired to produce this result. Foremost among these was the intellectual ferment consequent upon the French Revolution, the crusade for the rights of man, and the Continental wars. Much was due to the rise of an antiquarian spirit, fostered by the publication of Percy's "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry," and to the revival of interest in the drama. Still another element in the literary revival was the establishment of the quarterly reviews, which, though intended for political purposes, were mainly devoted to literature, and afforded good opportunity for able writers to test their powers. It is impossible to give due credit to all who took part in the literary revolution, and we must be content with naming the principal leaders.

The foremost one--Sir Walter Scott-has already been sketched, and his success in reviving interest in the world of chivalry has been acknowledged. It was not until 1814 that he withdrew from poetry, after notable achievement, to that new domain where he reigns supreme.

The more brilliant poetic genius of the youthful Byron challenged the world's regard, and his strenuous self-assertion

*See Volume VIII, pp. 355-360.