Hymns Sung By Little Cordelia Howard and Her Parents,
in the Popular, Touching, and Truthful Uncle Tom's Cabin [at Barnum's Museum]
New York: Printed by T. W. Strong, 1853



Eva to her Papa.

When your daughter's ta'en away
And your heart is fill'd with care;
When with Angels I shall pray
For your peace and comfort here.

Shall poor Uncle Tom be free?
Papa promise this to me.

When your little Eva's there,
Rob'd like those in spotless white;
And the conquering palm I bear,
Bless'd with love and Heaven's light,

Shall poor Uncle Tom be free?
Papa promise this to me.

Wife and children send him near,
When forever I am gone;
Papa check the falling tear,
Think upon my dying song.

Uncle Tom, Oh make him free.
Papa, Papa, do for me.

St. Clair to Little Eva in Heaven.

Childless, desolate this heart
Naught on earth is left to cherish
All is lost since we must part,
Every hope and joy will perish.


Eva! Eva! gentle daughter,
Are those bright eyes veiled in death;
That so fondly beam'd with goodness
Upon all at parting breath.
Art thou gone from me forever,
Shall I never more behold thee,
Bud of life, my heart's fond treasure,
What is now the world to me.

Lonely here and worn with sadness,
No loved child's sweet voice I hear;
Life hath ceased to yield its gladness
Since without my little dear.
Eva! Eva! lovely daughter,
Are those young lips closed and cold
That so softly spoke of heaven!—
Emblem of an angel's mould,
Picture of divine perfection,
Loved by all, enslaved and free,
Oh my heart and soul's affection,
What is now the world to me.

Home is silent, dread, and drear,
Uncle Tom is seen to weep;
Topsy lingers near the bier,
Strewing roses at thy feet.
Eva! Eva! charming daughter,
Smile upon me from above;
Open those bright gates of pearl,
Bless me with thy spotless love;
Little angel thou art gone 'there,'
Filled at last thy prophecy;
Farewell only child forever,
What is now the world to me.

Uncle Tom's Religion.

Far away from wife and children,
Still I plod my way along,
Massa Clare has gone to Eva
Leaving friendless poor old Tom.


Yet with trust and strength in heaven
I remain a faithful slave,
When de whip to me am giben,
I'll think of him who died to save.

Shall I turn against my brother
Raise the hand of cruelty,
No we must love one another,
Den we'll get where all am free.

Patience here I'll go to glory,
There is comfort for the slave,
When de lash makes dis flesh gory
I'll pray to him who died to save.

Good bye, Chloe; farewell children,
Poor old Tom you'll see no more
Mind be good and hab religion
'Twill bare to you to faithful shore.

Do not weep nor shed tears bout me
Suffering's over in de grave,
But at de glorious resurrection,
We'll meet with him, who died to save.

"Oh, I'se so Wicked!"

Oh! white-folks, I was never born,
Aunt Sue found me in de corn,
She sends me errands night and morn,

She used to knock me on de floor,
Den bang my head agin de door,
Tear my hair out by de core,
'Cause I'se so very wicked.

Black folk can't do naught dey say,
I guess I'll teach some how to play,
Dance about dis time each day,
Ching-a-ring-a-ring goes de breakdown.


Oh! Massa Clare, he bring me here,
Put me in Miss Freely's care,
Don't I make dat woman stare,

She has me taken cloth'd and fed,
Den sends me up to make her bed,
When I puts de foot into de head,
'Cause I'se so awful wicked.

I'se dark Topsy as you see,
None o' your half and half for me,
Black or white it's best to be,
Ching-a-ring-a-ring goes de breakdown.

Oh! dere is one will come and say,
"Be good, Topsy, learn to pray,"
And raise her beautiful hands dat way,

'Tis LITTLE EVA kind and fair,
Says if I'm good I will go dere,
Den I tell her I don't care,
Ain't I very wicked?

Bake de cake and hoe de corn,
I'se de gal dat never was born,
Dey found me in de field o' corn,
Ching-a-ring-a-ring goes de breakdown.



  This thrilling work is not only the chef-d'oeuvre of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, but may safely be pronounced one of the most extraordinary pictures of social life ever presented to the contemplation of the human mind. Its unparalleled popularity in every portion of the world, and especially its translation into so many foreign tongues that can have no sympathetic association with our peculiarly local habitudes, proves its rare fidelity to nature, its deep communion with those more sacred instincts and emotions of humanity that find expression in every beating heart, and address themselves in the universal language of thought to every bosom susceptible of the love of liberty and the spirit of resistance to oppression.

  LITTLE EVA as pictured by Mrs. Stowe, is an overwhelmingly natural delineation of child-life, so pure in its outline, so full of heart-reaching pathos in its filling up, that it is impossible not to feel it almost sublime in its popular effect. The great moral conveyed in the appropriate working out of a character so sinless in the midst of profligate example, so elevating amid all that is gross and unrefined, can be appreciated by the dullest mind; and the tears that find their way to the eyes as we watch little Eva's progress to the grave, in spite of the sternest resolution of the heart, constitute the most fitting commentary we could introduce upon the subject of such a wholesome life-lesson.

  "TOPSEY" is still another portrait of sharply drawn, wonderfully characteristic humanity. It is that of the negro presented originally, in its most offensive features, and gradually developed through the influence of the social affections, to an exhibition of moral improvement full of hopeful promise and intense interest. The eccentricities of Topsey are so thoroughly those of her class, and are so curiously amusing, that they make us alternately


laugh and weep, while the honest ignorance of her speeches touch, every now and then, a vein of surpassing logic, that stirs up a dormant conscience with more force than would the most cogent essay on human rights and human afflictions.

  "UNCLE TOM" is another of those glorious creations of the pencil that is vouchsafed only to the inspirations of genius guided by the ready eye of familiar observation. It is glowing with truth, startling with self-appointed emphasis, affecting by its bold contrast to all the other representative phases of common life, and exemplary by its brilliant display of those lights and shadows in relief that show Christianity in its most amiable form, and the consolations of true religion in their most attractive and striking characteristics.

  "ST. CLAIR" is a felicitious likeness of a Southern gentleman, disposed to enjoy the world as it goes, without much inclination to disturb its amicable relations with itself, or engage in the labor of doing more than talk on the reformation of its infirmities. He is a significant instance of the inutility of good resolutions without a corresponding activity of purpose in putting them in operation.

  It seems unnecessary to be more minute in the discussion of a book so well known to all as UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. It may be added, however, that notwithstanding the attempts of so many persons to present us with an effective embodiment of the character of Mrs. Stowe's "EVA," only the marvellous child known as "LITTLE CORDELIA HOWARD," can be said to have fulfilled all the conditions of the difficult part, and satisfied all the highly wrought expectations of the public taste and the general judgment. Wherever she has gone she has been hailed as the "Eva" of reality, and has elicited from the press and people one unqualified expression of enthusiastic admiration.

  Singularly enough, her mother, Mrs. G. C. Howard, is acknowledged to be the only "TOPSEY" yet truthfully endorsed as a faithful copy of the original—with all the


vivacity, all the naivete, all the ability to delineate the more delicate mental peculiarities, as well as the more obvious idiosyncracies of the character.

  The best representative of "ST. CLAIR" is Little Cordelia's father, Mr. G. C. Howard, who invests the character with all the interest of which its "masterly inactivity" is susceptible.

  The "Uncle Tom" of Mr. J. Lingard, is certainly superior to that of any yet witnessed. It is full of point and pathos, and is individualized throughout with great effect and great artistic excellence.

  Little Cordelia Howard is now representing Eva, in UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, at Barnum's Museum, where she has attracted such unprecedented crowds of families to witness her efforts the last two weeks, that a RE-ENGAGEMENT FOR A SHORT TIME has been found absolutely necessary to gratify those who have not yet been able to see her; on this account,


  may now be seen there

Every Evening, at 7 1/2 o'clock,

  and also on


AT 2 1/2 O'CLOCK.

  in the most beautiful, finished and masterly style, with


The original EVA!


The original TOPSEY!


the original ST. CLAIR!


The original TOM!




  The latter vividly representing: 1st—The Escape of Eliza on the Ice. 2nd—The Rescue of Eva by Uncle Tom. 3rd—The Lawyer Entrapped. 4th—The Freeman's Defence against the Slave Catchers and Bloodhounds. 5th—The Death of Little Eva. 6th—The Last of St. Clair. 7th—Death of Uncle Tom. 8th—Thrilling Allegorical Tableau of Eva in Heaven. With original Music and Choruses, and a

Splendid Moving Panoramic Diorama!

  Of the passage, on board a first-class steamboat, down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. Besides the original Songs, written by Mr. G. C. Howard: "To Little Eva in Heaven,"—"Eva to her Pa,"—"I'se So Wicked," by Topsey, and "Uncle Tom's Religion," by Uncle Tom, &c. . . .