(Graduate of Class of 1894, Fisk University, Nashville, Tenn.)
On a hillside near a turnpike,
Just a mile or so from town,
In a double room log-cabin,
Lives a hero of renown.
There beneath a shady maple,
Summer evenings warm and fair,
You may find my swarthy hero
Calmly smoking, in his chair.
You've heard of Uncle Tom, most likely,
And his old log-cabin, too;
But for fear you've nothing recent,
I proceed to enlighten you.
"Ah!" say you, "I've heard the story
As it's told by Mrs. Stowe,
That old man is dead and buried,
Must be years and years ago."
Prithee, check your swift conclusion,
What you say can scarce be so,
For I know that this one's living
That I saw two hours ago.
Old and gray, and slightly stooping,
Black as ebony in hue,
He's a type of times departed,
Tho' he still survives the new,
Talks as if he owned a quarry,
Where they hew out slabs of gold,
Tho' to-day he gathered berries,
Which he took to town and sold.
Never was a hinder hostess
Than his old wife, Mary Ann,
And her baking is delightful
(To a very hungry man).
Thither went I in the gloaming,
For a night with Uncle Tom;
In the yard we "took it easy"
Till the supper time was come.
In a home-made crib beside him
Cooed a yearling partly dressed;
'Round his chair a dirty dozen
Whooped and yelled like all possessed.
"Lord a' mercy! Here's de teacher!
Chil'en run and fetch a chair;
'Fo' you come back dress yourselves,
An' git the keards and com' yer hair."
Sweeping over, children scattered,
Dogs and cats sent to the rear,
Uncle Tom, his pipe resuming,
Once more settled in his chair.
"I laid off to come to see ye
During o' de week dat's passed;
Must be scorin' de chil'en heavy,
Kase dey're learnin' pow'ful fast.
I believe in edication
When you teach it wid a pole;
Den you make 'im wise but humble,
Ruin his back out save his soul.
"Some folks b'lieve in pettiu' chil'en;
But I've raised enough to know,
Sho's you spare de rod you spile 'em.
Don't the Good Book tell you so?"
"Yes; but Uncle Tom," I quoted,
"Love will win where force will fail;
Men are honest made by trusting
In their honor"—"Dat's a tale;
"Never ketch me trustin' people,
Do dey're deacons in de church;
Folks dat trust in human nature
Allus git left in the lurch.
Der's some migh'y funny things put up
In dese packages called men,
And good folks do mighty bad things
Sometimes, jest bekase dey kin."