whom Uncle Remus was telling the stories in his own inimitable way.
In the second instance we were an audience in the North, listening to a well-told—a thoroughly well-told—account of Uncle Remus' telling to a little boy the adventures of Brer Wolf, Brer Fox, and Brer Rabbit. We laughed with the little boy; we enjoyed it with the little boy, but we ourselves were not that little boy sitting at the feet of Uncle Remus.
Do you see the contrast? The first story-teller created the true "Uncle Remus atmosphere"; his story-telling was an art.
What was the difference in the telling? It was very simple. The one became Uncle Remus in spirit. In all conscious simplicity he was the old colored story-teller whom Joel Chandler Harris created, and he was telling his story to the little boy—not to an "audience." The other told us—most delightfully—about the old colored story-teller, and reproduced for us his stories. His technique was above reproach, and he satisfied the intellect. The first also satisfied the intellect, but he reached far beyond it and touched the heart.
