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Uncle Tom's Cabin

Death
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's early morning, hath hid from our eyes.[1]
[1] "Weep Not for Those," a poem by Thomas Moore (1779-1852).
Eva's bed-room was a spacious apartment, which, like all the other robins in the house,
opened on to the broad verandah. The room communicated, on one side, with her father
and mother's apartment; on the other, with that appropriated to Miss Ophelia. St. Clare
had gratified his own eye and taste, in furnishing this room in a style that had a peculiar
keeping with the character of her for whom it was intended. The windows were hung
with curtains of rose-colored and white muslin, the floor was spread with a matting which
had been ordered in Paris, to a pattern of his own device, having round it a border of rose-
buds and leaves, and a centre-piece with full-flown roses. The bedstead, chairs, and
lounges, were of bamboo, wrought in peculiarly graceful and fanciful patterns. Over the
head of the bed was an alabaster bracket, on which a beautiful sculptured angel stood,
with drooping wings, holding out a crown of myrtle-leaves. From this depended, over the
bed, light curtains of rose-colored gauze, striped with silver, supplying that protection
from mosquitos which is an indispensable addition to all sleeping accommodation in that
climate. The graceful bamboo lounges were amply supplied with cushions of rose-
colored damask, while over them, depending from the hands of sculptured figures, were
gauze curtains similar to those of the bed. A light, fanciful bamboo table stood in the
middle of the room, where a Parian vase, wrought in the shape of a white lily, with its
buds, stood, ever filled with flowers. On this table lay Eva's books and little trinkets, with
an elegantly wrought alabaster writing-stand, which her father had supplied to her when
he saw her trying to improve herself in writing. There was a fireplace in the room, and on
the marble mantle above stood a beautifully wrought statuette of Jesus receiving little
children, and on either side marble vases, for which it was Tom's pride and delight to
offer bouquets every morning. Two or three exquisite paintings of children, in various
attitudes, embellished the wall. In short, the eye could turn nowhere without meeting
images of childhood, of beauty, and of peace. Those little eyes never opened, in the
morning light, without falling on something which suggested to the heart soothing and
beautiful thoughts.
The deceitful strength which had buoyed Eva up for a little while was fast passing away;
seldom and more seldom her light footstep was heard in the verandah, and oftener and
oftener she was found reclined on a little lounge by the open window, her large, deep
eyes fixed on the rising and falling waters of the lake.
It was towards the middle of the afternoon, as she was so reclining,--her Bible half open,
her little transparent fingers lying listlessly between the leaves,--suddenly she heard her
mother's voice, in sharp tones, in the verandah.
 
 
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