THREE MINUTE READINGS FOR COLLEGE GIRLS. THE MINUET. By MARY MAPES DODGE, Poet, Editor. B. 1838, New York City. Mrs. Dodge is the conductor of the St. Nicholas magazine. GRANDMA told me all about it, Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced-my Grandma danced!— How she held her pretty head, How her dainty skirt she spread, Turning out her little toes; How she slowly leaned and rose— Grandma's hair was bright and sunny; Long ago. Bless her! why, she wears a cap, Every single day; and yet Grandma danced the minuet Long ago. Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, Yet her figure is so neat, And her ways so staid and sweet, Grandma says our modern jumping, No-they moved with stately grace, Gliding slowly forward, then Slowly courtesying back again, Modern ways are quite alarming, Girls and boys, I mean, of course Long ago. Brave but modest, grandly shy, She would like to have us try In the graceful minuet Long ago. Were the minuet in fashion, Who could fly into a passion? All would wear the calm they wore In time to come, if I, perchance, Should tell my grandchild of our dance, "We did it, dear, in some such way, TOPSY. By HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE, Author. B. 1812, Connecticut; d. 1896. This extract is from Uncle Tom's Cabin," which was first published as a serial in the National Era and appeared first in book form in 1852. 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." 66 What is it?" said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with her sewing in her hand. "I've made a purchase for your departmentsee 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 par lor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly 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 goblinlike about her appearance,-something, as Miss Ophelia afterward 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. "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. 66 You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand," said St. Clare. "Oh, 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." |