In view of Mr. Harris's achievement it is
pleasant to recall that there was paid to him during his life one of the
finest tributes that an author can receive. As with "Mr. Dooley" of our
day, he came, himself, to be affectionately referred to by the name of
the chief character in his works. "Uncle Remus" he was, and "Uncle
Remus" he will always be. Mr. Harris's eldest son, Julian, widely known
as a journalist, is said to have been the little boy to whom "Uncle
Remus" told his tales.
Though there is, as yet, no public monument in Atlanta to Joel Chandler
Harris, the "Wren's Nest," his former home, at 214 Gordon Street, is
fittingly preserved as a memorial. Visitors may see the old letter box
fastened to a tree by the gate--that box in which a wren built her nest,
giving the house its name. It is a simple old house with the air of a
home about it, and the intimate possessions of the author lie about as
he left them. His bed is made up, his umbrella hangs upon the
mantelshelf, his old felt hat rests upon the rack, the photograph of his
friend James Whitcomb Riley looks down from the bedroom wall, and on the
table, by the window, stands his typewriter--the confidant first to know
his new productions.
The presence of these personal belongings keeps alive the illusion that
"Uncle Remus" has merely stepped out for a little while--is hiding in
the garden, waiting for us to go away.
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