, 1901-12-05
Uncle Jerry at Home.

on the DOrueT Oh WHdt has long DteH
known as the bluegrass Region OF Ken
lucky" and nestled away among the hills
80 as to seem almost secluded from
the rest OF the world, is the little town OF
H%illsboro, my birthplace. In the early
autumn OF 1893, after many years of alb
sence, l visited again this little village;
and there, far from the noise and hustle
OF the world, l spent several days in
brooding over the past, in recalling the
many memories suggested by the old
home, the meadow brook, the swim
ming hole
"In looking or the happy autumn
fields
And thinking OF the days that are no
more"
Among it's once familiar objects, and
somewhat apart from the rest Of the vii
lage, stands a cabin. the home Of an ag-
ed negro by the name of Jerry. OF all
my childish haunts, this was the most
frequented, and of all my early heroes,
none was more worshiped than Uncle
Jerry. His little cabin was my play
house; and on its puncheon floor l made
my tops and kites, and listened to
many a good old darkey song" and
heard many a thrilling story"
Twenty years have passed when, on a
quiet evening, l turn aside from the
little lane, and once more take the path
in Uncle Jerry's. Not now with gleeful
steps, but slowly, as l go, reading in
each well known scene some change
that "time hath wrought" Here on the
right, and stretching away to the hollow
is Grains pasture, where, during the
long Summer evenings, we village boys
were wont TO make night hideous" at
our game OF FOX and hounds" There,
separating the pasture from Uncle Jer-
ry's, and running close to his little cab
in, is the old ail-fence-our ''trysting-
place" j see our little crowd now as
we gathered about it-some sitting up
on it, some wallowing among the dog
fennel in its corners, some huddled to-
gether telling stories. and some, as il
impatient for the game, chasing one
another here and there in the twilight.
AS ! thus contemplate these once famil-
lar objects, aided by memory and the I'M.
certain light, they seem once more to as
sumo the old shapes. Here, unchanged,
stands the little cabin, and by it, near
the door, the bench and the wash.stand;
and there at the corner is the persim-
mon tree and the wood pile; and back of
the house the garden-everything the
same.
am standing at the door. 1t is part.
ly open, and there is a fire on the
hearth. To the left, its legs now decid.
eddy intirm and rheumatic, is the old
table, where it might once have seemed
that one generation of 'possums passeth
away, and another generation cometh,
but Uncle Jerry abideth forever.
Above the table on the wall, and rest
ing upon nails driven into the logs,
hangs the rife that in its day was
known and feared 10y 'possums far aud
wide; and if they have a language, it
must be still famous in their history.
For, surely, not more was the Cyclops OF
old TO be feared by the ancients than
was Uncle Jerry by the 'possums.
Above the rife, and in its way just as
effective and Just as famous, hangs I'm.
Gle Jerry's fiddle, once 80 indispensable
at all the country dances. 1t may have
been accidental, but certainly it was ap.
propriate, that these two, each associat-
ed with SO many memories of feasts and
f~rolics, should thus have been placed to
gether above his table.
The cabin is quiet. press open the
door, and walk in; and there before the
fire, his head bent forward, hands rest.
ing upon the arms of the chair, his feet
crossed, shoes unlaced. and hat and cane
by his side upon the floor, sits Uncle
Jerry, asleep. And sitting there, the
freight shlning upon his face, he still
looks natural-still looks kind. Shall
| wake hlmY No, let him rest. He has
travelled a long journey and is now
weary,
"He hunts no more for the 'possum
and the coon,