The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1875-02-25
Uncle Jacks last Ride.


Did you ever see him? If so, you
saw queer old man, with many
wrinkles on his face, many burdens
on his shoulders, and a mind which
was never free from trouble. Some
folks seemed marked victims of mis-
fortune. Uncle Jack was one Of
them. Had he been less brave-heart-
ed he would have gone to his death
years ago. As it was be fought pow
erty and misfortune like a giant
driven to the wall. lie had no
home for the last dozen years. After
his wife>had been laid away to rest
lie became a street wanderer, some
times saving a little wood, some
times in the hospital, but never hay
ing one hours real rest or comfort
The boys called him Uncle Jack, and
finally when hecrept intothc station
to lodge, the police recorded him by
that name. There was somcthingin
his look which made one feel respect
for him, even if his gray hairs was
not enough. People sometimes gave
him money, but Uncle Jack was 10
beggar. lie knew that he was old
and poor and weak, and that charity
alone kept starvation away, but
when he accepted money he took it
as a loan, strangely hoping that woe,
and want and misery would flee
away from him some day and fortune
again smile on him.
For the last three Cur four years
Uncle Jack had boarded here and
there, among people almost as poor
as himself, turning over to them any
gift bestowed upon him. Last win
ter was hard winter for him, and
once or twice he came near going
to the County House; but he begged
so hard and seemed to feel SO crushed
at the prospect that he was allowed
to remain in the CID track of life
Age crcpt upon him so fast last sum.
mer that he became almost blindand
bcd-riddcn, and the other day admin
i$tercd 4 last blow. Uncle Jack was
brought 10 the City Hall and given a
ticket to the County House. He had
fought itolf for q quarter of 4 century.
but poverty had triumphed at last,
and The old man wcpt like a child.
As he waited at the depot for the
tain a few Of his old friends, whose
shillings had kept him clothed for
the last dozen years, gathe:cdaround
and said good-by. His heart was 50
full that he could hardly speak. 1t
wasn't tight, he said, to make pau
per Of an old man, who had made
such q long and such q square fight
aeainss fasc, and=he. wished he ha4
flung himsclfinto The river. 1t is
always sad enough to see an old man
going to the poor-house-there were
many things 10 make Uncle Jacks
going saddcr.
The train went at last, and the
man was crying as he bent lis head
down on the back Of a seat. Someof
the passengers svmpathizcd with him
and spoke kind words, but he would
not raise his head. One would not
have looked for such sentiment in
such a man as Uncle Jack, but it was
born in the heart, and forty yca:s of
poverty and misfortune had not
beaten ii out.
Poor old mani! sighed the passcn-
gers, and they wondered if thcir old
age would be like his.
The train finally halted at the
County House station, and the con-
ductor opened the door, and said
kindly
"Comc, old man, YOU get out here"
The Gray head was still on the
seat, hidden by the wrinklcd hands,
and the conductor laid his hand on
the old mans shoulder, shook him
gently and said
@Comc, wake up, old mani"
One of the hands fell down, and
the gray head to one side, and the
conductor started back.
sic is dcady' he whispered, as the
passengers crowded up.
Uncle Jack had gone to the poor
house at last, but only for burial.