When, a smooth and velvety tiger,
Ribbed with yellow and black,
Supple and cushion-footed

I wandered, where never the track
Of a human creature had rustled
The silence of mighty woods,
And, fierce in a tyrannous freedom,
I knew but the law of my moods.
The elephant, trumpeting, started,
When he heard my footsteps near,
And the spotted giraffes fled wildly
In a yellow cloud of fear.

I sucked in the noontide splendor,
Quivering along the glade,

Or yawning, panting, and dreaming,
Basked in the tamarisk shade,
Till I heard my wild mate roaring,

As the shadows of night came on,
To brood in the trees' thick branches
And the shadow of sleep was gone;
Then I roused, and roared in answer,
And unsheathed from my cushioned feet,
My curving claws, and stretched me,
And wandered my mate to greet.
We toyed in the amber moonlight,
Upon the warm flat sand,

And struck at each other our massive arms

How powerful he was and grand!

His yellow eyes flashed fiercely

As he couched and gazed at me, And his quivering tail, like a serpent, Twitched curving nervously.

Then like a storm he seized me,

With a wild triumphant cry, And we met, as two clouds in heaven When the thunders before them fly. We grappled and struggled together, For his love like his rage was rude; And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck

At times, in our play, drew blood. Often another suitor

For I was flexile and fair Fought for me in the moonlight, While I lay couching there,

Till his blood was drained by the desert; And, ruffled with triumph and power, He licked me and lay beside me

To breathe him a vast half-hour. Then down to the fountain we loitered, Where the antelopes came to drink; Like a bolt we sprang upon them, Ere they had time to shrink,

We drank their blood and crushed them,
And tore them limb from limb,

And the hungriest lion doubted
Ere he disputed with him.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, a famous American authoress. Born at Litchfield, Connecticut, June 14, 1811; died in Hartford, July 1, 1896. Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Life among the Lowly," "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," "Uncle Tom's Emancipation," "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands," "The Colored Patriots of the American Revolution," "Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp," "The Minister's Wooing," "The Pearl of Orr's Island," "Agnes of Sorrento," "Religious Poems," "Queer Little People," "Oldtown Folks."

Mrs. Stowe's fame rests chiefly on her "Uncle Tom's Cabin," which achieved an unparalleled success in Europe and America, and was translated into all civilized languages, besides being repeatedly dramatized.

(The following selection from "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, the publishers.)

TOPSY

ONE morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her domestic cares, St. Clare's voice was heard, calling her at the foot of the stairs.

"Come down here, Cousin; I've something to show you." "What is it?" said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with her sewing in her hand.

"I've made a purchase for your department, see here," said St. Clare; and, with the word, he pulled along a little negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.

She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round, shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas'r's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her wooly hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most doleful gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with her hands demurely folded before her. Altogether, there was something odd and goblin

like about her appearance, - something as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, "so heathenish," as to inspire that good lady with utter dismay, and, turning to St. Clare, she said,

'Augustine, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?"

"For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy," he added, giving a whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a dog, "give us a song, now, and show us some of your dancing."

The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked drollery, and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an odd negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in her throat all those odd guttural sounds which distinguish the native music of her race; and finally, turning a somerset or two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam whistle, she came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with her hands folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of meekness and solemnity over her face, only broken by the cunning glances which she shot askance from the corners of her eyes.

Miss Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with amazement. St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to enjoy her astonishment; and, addressing the child again, said, "Topsy, this is your new mistress. I'm going to give you up to her; see now that you behave yourself."

"Yes, Mas'r," said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.

"You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand," said St. Clare.

"O yes, Mas'r," said Topsy, with another twinkle, her hands still devoutly folded.

"Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for?" said Miss Ophelia. "Your house is so full of these little plagues, now, that a body can't set down their foot without treading on 'em. I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door, and see one black head poking out from under the table, one

lying on the door-mat, and they are mopping and mowing and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring this one for?"

"For you to educate - didn't I tell you? You're always preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go."

"I don't want her, I am sure; I have more to do with 'em now than I want to."

"That's you Christians, all over!-you'll get up a society, and get some poor missionary to spend all his days among just such heathen. But let me see one of you that would take one into your house with you, and take the labor of their conversion on yourselves! No; when it comes to that, they are dirty and disagreeable, and it's too much care, and so on."

"Augustine, you know I didn't think of it in that light," said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. "Well, it might be a real missionary work," said she, looking rather more favorably on the child.

St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia's conscientiousness was ever on the alert. "But," she added, "I really didn't see the need of buying this one; there are enough now, in your house, to take all my time and skill."

"Well, then, Cousin," said St. Clare, drawing her aside, "I ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing speeches. You are so good, after all, that there's no sense in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple of drunken creatures that keep a low restaurant that I have to pass by every day, and I was tired of hearing her screaming, and them beating and swearing at her. She looked bright and funny, too, as if something might be made of her; so I bought her, and I'll give her to you. Try, now, and give her a good orthodox New England bringing up, and see what it'll make of her. You know I haven't any gift that way; but I'd like you to try."

"Well, I'll do what I can," said Miss Ophelia; and she approached her new subject very much as a person might be supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to have benevolent designs toward it.