Year: 1875

Did you ever see him ? If so, you saw
a 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 seem marked vic
tins of misfortune. 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 he fought poverty and
misfortune like giant driven to the
wall. He had no home for the last dozen
years. After his wife had been laid
away to rest he became a street wander
er, sometimes saving a little wood, some
times in the hospital, but never having
one hours real rest or comfort. The boys
called him Uncle Jack, and finally when
he crept into the station to lodge, the
police recorded him by that name. There
was something in his look which made
one feel respect for him, even if his gray
hairs were not enough. People some
times gave him money, but Uncle Jack
was no beggar. He 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 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 or four years Uncle

Jack had boarded here and there, among
people almost as poor as himself, turn
ing over to them any gift bestowed upon
him. Last winter was a hard winter for
him, and once or twice he came near
going tothe county-house but he begged
so hard and seemed to feel SO crushed at
the prospect that he was allowed to re-
main in the old track of life. Age crept
upon him so fast last summer that he
became almost blind and bed-ridden, and
the other day administered last blow.
Uncle Jack was brought to the city hall
and given ticket to the county house.
He had fought it off for quarter of a
century, but poverty had triumphed at
last, and the old man wept like a child.


AS he waited at the depot for the train
few of his old friends, whose shillings
had kept him clothed for the last dozen
years, gathered around and said good
| bye. His heart was so full that he could
hardly speak. 1t wasn't right, he said,
to make pauper of an old man who



had made such long and such o square
fight against fate, and he wished he had
flung himself into the river. 1t is al
ways sad enough to see any old man
going to the poor-house-there were
many things to make Uncle Jacks going
sadder.


The train went at last, and the old man
was crying as he bent his head down on
the back of seat. Some of the passen-
gers sympathized with him and spoke
kinds words, but he would not raise his
head. One would not have looked for
such sentiment-such q sense of honor
in such man as Uncle Jack, but it
was born in the heart, and forty years
Of poverty and misfortune had not
beaten it out.


"Poor old man !" sighed the passen-
gers, and they wondered II their old age
would be like his.


The train finally halted at the county
house station, and the conductor opened
the door, and said, kindly:


"Come, old man, you get out here p'


The gray head was still on the seat,
hidden by the wrinkled hands, and the
conductor laid his hand on the old
mans shoulder, shook him gently, and
said:


"Come, wake up, old man p


One of the hands fell down, and the
gray head to one side, and the conduc-
tor started back


"He is deadp' he whispered, as the
passengers crowded up.


Uncle Jack had gone to the poor-house
at last, but only for burial.