| OCR Text |
Show 134 UNCLE TOM'S CAlliN: OR, D t ' om me yo cursed, into everlasting fire : for I was epar1r' _. d an hwJgercd, and ye gave me no meat: I was tlursty, an _yo e no drink . I was a stranger, and ye took me not m: gave m - · . . . d naked, and yo clothed me not: I was sJCk, and m pr~son, an · 't ·' ot ~'hen shall they answer unto H1m, Lord ~-~=n· . . when S3.W we thee an hungered, or atbn·st, or a stranger, 0t naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee 1 Then shall be say unto them, Inasmuch as yc did it not to one of the least of these my brethren, yc did it not to me." St. Claro seemed struck with this lust passage, for he read it twice,- the second time slowly, and us if he were revolving the words in his mind. "Tom " he said, " these folks that get such hard measure seem to 1havc been doing just what I h::we,-living good, easy, respectable lives; and not troubling themselves_ to inquire how m~ny o,~ their brethren were hungry or atb1rst, or sick, or m pnson. Tom did not answer. St. Clare roso up and walked thoughtfully up and down the verandah, seeming to forget everything in his own thoughts; so absorbed was he, that Tom had to remind him twice that the te•-bell had rung, before he could get his attention. St. Clare was absent and thoughtful, all tea-time. After tea, he and Marie and Miss Ophelia took possession of the parlor, almost in silence. Marie disposed herself on a lounge, under a silken mosquito curtain, and was soon sound asleep. Miss Ophelia silently busied herself with her knitting. St. Clare sat down to the piano, and Legan playing a soft and melancholy movement with the lEolian accompaniment. lie seemed in a deep reverie, and to be soliloquizing to himself by music. After a I.IFE AMOXG THE J.. OWI.Y. 135 little, he opened one of the drawers, took out an old musicbook whose leaves were yellow with age, and began turning it over. "~rhere," he said to :Miss Ophelia, "this was one of my mother's books,-and here is her handwriting,- come and look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart's Hequiem." Miss Ophelia came accordingly. ' 1 It was something she used to sing often," said St. Clare. :! I think I cnn hear her now." lie struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that grand old Latin piece, tho "Dies Irro." 'l'om, who was ljstcning in the outer verandah, was dr:twn by the sound to the very door, where he stood earnestly. He did not understand the 'vords, of course; but the music and manner of singing appeared to affect him strongly, espooially when St. Clare sang tho more pathetic parts. Tom would have sympathized more heartily, if he bad known the meaning of the beautiful wonls : Record arc J csu pio Quod sum caus!L turo vi::o Ne me pcrdas, ilia die Querens me scdisti ln.ssus Rcdemisti crucem pa.ssus Tantus labor non sit cnssus. • St. Clare threw a deep and pathetic expression into the • These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated : Think, 0 Jesus, for 'vhat reason 'l'hou endured'st earth's spite and treason, Nor me lose, in th!Lt dread season; Seeking me, thy worn fcct hnsted, On the cross thy soul death tasted, Let not all these toils be wMtcd. |
