Warner died, as she died, and as I would die--without premonition, without a moment's warning.
Uncle Remus still lives, and must be over a thousand years old.

Indeed, I know that this must be so, because I have seen a new photograph of him in the public prints within the last month or so, and in that picture his aspects are distinctly and strikingly geological, and one can see he is thinking about the mastodons and plesiosaurians that he used to play with when he was young.
It is just a quarter of a century since I have seen Uncle Remus.

He visited us in our home in Hartford and was reverently devoured by the big eyes of Susy and Clara, for I made a deep and awful impression upon the little creatures--who knew his book by heart through my nightly declamation of its tales to them--by revealing to them privately that he was the real Uncle Remus whitewashed so that he could come into people's houses the front way.
He was the bashfulest grown person I have ever met.

When there were people about he stayed silent, and seemed to suffer until they were gone.

But he was lovely, nevertheless; for the sweetness and benignity of the immortal Remus looked out from his eyes, and the graces and sincerities of his character shone in his face.
It may be that Jim Wolf was as bashful as Harris.