The semi-weekly messenger. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1897-1908, 1906-04-27

vi ApoIuCi WOES SfsinS Hauu ulTEcLIOUS
about gardening, or the horses, or
other domestic matters, b. stood with
his shaggy head thurst forward, and
his eyes fixed on the ~ground-not that
he was a "down-looking' negro, as
was the term of reprOach, but because
he vas taking ii inland when the
orders were concluded, he would give
a quick nod of comprehension, and
turn off without a word. He was not
without a Of humor, as a twinkle
Of the eye or a %twitching of the lips
often showed when his wife was ION
the rampage" but he is ton record as
having once given way to a hearty fit
OF laughter, and l was the cause OF
this explosion of mirth.
When about ten years Of age | be-
came the proud possesSor of a pony,
a! bunch of mischief and obstinacy;
and, in order TO practice me in riding,
Uncle Tom used to put me on the
| pony, moun a big bay, and we would
| go to R~ObinsOn's Creek to water, re-
turning home i'll a sweeping gallop.
One evening the pony SHE'D about ten
feet from the road at sight OF a
piece Of newspaper, and threw me
| about the same distance heels oyr
head. AS | bounced up unhurt, Uncle
Tom stared at ME a moment, ana
then swayed back and forth on his
horse, cOnvulsed in a hOarse, below
ing guffaw. And there was a good rea-
son. I had been thrown so hard that
my trousers were split back from the
Waistband down to the heels; in fact,
| was completely peeled. When l re-
lated the occurrence at supper my
father said: If Tom laughed I shall
| ever regret that | missed the pleas
ure Of beholding the figure you must
have cut"
AS Uncle Tom advanced in years
his idiOsyncracies became accentuoted,
and he was Il never-failing source of
amusement to the whole family. A
discriminating critic of the "Pickwick
Papers" of Dickens has remarked
that Mr.. Allen was far funnier han
his boon companion, Bob Sawyer, be-
u he never intended to be funny,
but vas lugubrious through everything
Uncle Tom was more amusing han
Aunt Dicey, with all her picturesque
ness of character, because he took life
$ o seriously. He was fond of dress,
but even in the qualification of his
wv " III L. vas NAiuIoIICly
cal. On Sunday he arrayed himself
in a black broad cloth, s]urmounted
by Il tall silk hat, a gift from my
mother, which he brushed tenderly
every day Of his life: but, as he never
could be induced to wear a collar Or
cravat, he presented the amazing
spectacle of a clerically CARRIED African
in a low-neck shirt, through which his
I,., -r1- 1o:~- 1I1~+ --,n .--+:, -
the plentitude Of its strength.
Uncle Tom was a weather prophet.
| do lot believe that in the last half
century that anyone has lived about
Fayetteville so devoted to that inter-
eSting subject, unless it be General
Thomas Gill: still a venerable and es-
teemed citizen of this place. My
father was an enthusiastic follower Of
the sport of fishing, and Uncle Tom
was his attendant on his expeditions,
enjoying it in his silent way to the
full as much as his master. "Tom,"
my father would say Il think the
yellow perch will bite at Stony Point
tomorrow. How is the weather?' But
the prophet vas as diplomatic as the
Oracle at Delphi, or as Edie Ochii-
tree over the game of bowls in SCOTS
"Antiquary." He would squint care
fully at the clouds, rub a hole in the
sand with his foot for the moisture,
spit on his finger, and hold it up for
the direction of the wind, and say,
We'll, it may ain and it mayn't." l
never knew him to utter'a prediction
less non-committal. Then my father
would respond, with i~mperturbable
gravity: .''That's good; We'll 60"
But time was flying on. Childhood
expanded into youth. and bounded on
into manhood. 1t was now "Old Aunt
Dicey" and "Old Uncle Tom" "Old
Massa'' and sold Missus." Then
came a storm worse hal any tempest
of domestic wrath, whose thunder
was the lannon's roar-a storm which
%convulsed a continent, and laid q new |
made, glittering principally in ruins.
| will be pardoned the personality Of
saying that [ doubt if in all the south
there was a family more utterly ruin
ed by the war than ours, and no mem
Der of it took it so sOrely TO heart as
old Nanny. Like the faithful butler, |
Caleb Balderston, in THE Bride OF
Lammermoor," pride in and devotion
10 family was her dominant passion.
The big house" stood, but poverty
had a grip on its larder: the gather
ings and the merry-makings were |
things of the past, and the master of
the once open hall was a bowed and
broken man. Her married daughter
took Aunt Dicey off to live with her
in the outskirts Of the town, and she |
passed away very soon after. AS [
stood in the low-ceiled room where
her body lay ready for the grave, it
was hard to rea;'ze that the gaunt,
shrunken form was that of the gigan-
tic priestess Of the kitchen, and it was.
I know, with no lack of reverence or
affection that | recalled the apostro-
phe:
Shrine of 1le mighty, can it be
That this is all remains Of thee?'
After his wife was laid AVA I'm