Year: 1875

DID you ever see him? If so you saw
queer old man, with many wrinkles on
his face, many burdens on his shoulders
and mind which was never free from
trouble. Some folks seem marked as
victims of misfortune. Uncle Jack was
one of them. Had he been less brave
hearted he would have gone to his death
years ago. As 1t 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 street.
wanderer, sometimes saving little
wood, sometimes In the hospital, but
! never having one hours real rest or COM
fort. The boys called him Uncle Jack,
and finally, when he crept into the Cen
tral Station to lodge, the police recorded
him by that name. There was some
thine in his look which made one feel re-
spect for him, even if his gray hairs were
not enough. People sometimes gave him
money but Uncle Jack was not beggar
He knew that he was old, and poor and
weak, and that charity alone kept starva-
tion away, but when he accepted money
he took it as loan, strangely hoping
that want and woe and misery would
flee away from him some day and for





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 gifts bestowed
upon him. Last winter was hard win
ter 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 al
lowed to remain in the old track of life
Age crept upon him so fast last summer
that he became almost blind and bedrid-
den, and the other day fate administered
a last blow. Uncle Jack was brought to
the City Hall and given ticket to the
County House. He had fought it off for
q quarter of a century, but poverty had
triumphed at last, and the old man wept
like 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
him and said good-by. His heart was
so full that he could hardly speak. 1t
wasn't right, he said, to make a pauper
of an old man who had made such
a long and such a square fight
against fate, and he wished that he had
flung himself into the river. 1t is always
sad enough to see any old man going to
WGIG IldDH IulDRS
to make Uncle Jacks going yet sadder


The train went at last and the old man
was crying as he bent his head down on
the back Of a seat. Some of the passen-
gers sympathized with him and spoke
kind words but he would not raise his
head. One would not have looked for
such sentiment-sucha sense of honor
in such a 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 manw sighed the passengers,
and they wondered if their old age would
be like his.


The train finally halted at the County
House station, and the conductor opened
the door and said:


Come, old man, you get off herem


The gray head was still on the seat,
face 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" One OF
the hands fell down, the gray head
moved to one side, and the conductor
started back.


He is dead" he whispered as the pas.
sengers crowded up.


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