Extremists might hate her, but Uncle Tom’s Cabin would surely appeal to moderates in both sections of the country; when they banded together, slavery could be destroyed in the manner least harmful to everyone concerned.

was one of the most dramatic mass migrations in history. But Mrs. Stowe lived in splendid insulation, concerning herself with her husband, children, and home and with her writing of short stories and articles dealing with domestic matters. Anything that her father, brothers, and sisters did was of vital interest to her, but beyond her limited

immediately resumed her responsibilities, which included spending several hours each day at her writing desk.

By 1842 she had published a large body of work, broad enough in scope for her to open negotiations with the Harper brothers of New York, who agreed to publish a collection of her New England short stories under the collective title The Mayflower. She received an advance royalty payment of $100, and in the next decade the book earned an additional

Instead, she began to write for the most prestigious and popular of all women’s magazines of the period, Godey’s Lady’s Book, and thousands of subscribers read her work. Nothing could be farther from the truth than the story that she was an unknown amateur writer when Uncle Tom’s Cabin startled the world.

“her ill health was largely due to unregulated and unrestrained feeling. She lived overmuch in her emotions.”

Above all, she saw a man so busy fighting his concept of the devil in various guises that he was scarcely aware of her existence. She not only saw but understood and forgave him for his absentmindedness, and a long-felt secret hurt was dissipated. Harriet freed herself in the process, and this new maturity enabled her to face the greatest challenge

As long as she did what she knew was right, she declared, she shouldn’t care what others thought of her actions.

“I don’t know as I am fit for anything, and I have thought that I could wish to die young, and let the remembrance of me and my faults perish in the grave, rather than live, as I fear I do, a trouble to everyone. You don’t know how perfectly wretched I often feel: so useless, so weak, so destitute of all energy. Mama often tells me that I am a