I suppose I am somewhat
childish and fanciful; but it would pain me to see this room occupied by
another."
Over the mantel-piece--for almost every room in my uncle's house
contained a fire-place--there hung a picture of my cousin Caroline,
taken six months previous to her death. I drew nigh to look at the
picture. One glance told me that she had indeed been a beautiful child.
The picture was enclosed in a beautiful frame of leather-work, which had
been the work of her own hands. I gazed long upon the fair picture,
fondly hoping that the loss her friends had sustained, by her death, was
her eternal gain, by being thus early removed from a world of sin and
sorrow to her home in Heaven. Opening a drawer in a small bureau, my
aunt told me to look at her school-books.
By examining the books I was convinced that she must have been a child
of no ordinary capacity, for her age. I also examined some of her
apparel, with many other articles, which had been presents to her from
friends.
Seeing the tears, which I found impossible to repress, my aunt became so
much affected that I made some pretext for hastening our departure from
the room; and, when we went down stairs, I endeavored to turn our
conversation to some cheerful subject, to divert her mind from her
sorrow, which had been vividly recalled by our visit to that lonely
room.
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