Uncle Jack.

He seemed always to be laughing; and he entered into the sports
of the children with the same hearty good fellowship he displayed
toward those pastimes in which the men and women of his own age
indulged; or he would sit for an hour at a time entertaining my old
grandmother with stories of his strange, wild life in all parts of
the world. We all loved him, and our slaves fairly worshipped the
ground he trod.

He was a splendid specimen of manhood, standing a good two inches
over six feet, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the
carriage of the trained fighting man. His features were regular
and clear cut, his hair black and closely cropped, while his eyes
were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character,
filled with fire and initiative. His manners were perfect, and
his courtliness was that of a typical southern gentleman of the
highest type.

His horsemanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight
even in that country of magnificent horsemen. I have often heard
my father caution him against his wild recklessness, but he would
only laugh, and say that the tumble that killed him would be from
the back of a horse yet unfoaled.

When the war broke out he left us, nor did I see him again for some
fifteen or sixteen years. When he returned it was without warning,
and I was much surprised to note that he had not aged apparently a
moment, nor had he changed in any other outward way. He was, when
others were with him, the same genial, happy fellow we had known of