Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1882-02-23
coon CATCHING.

1t was one OF those pleasant nights In
August when the moon and the sun hold
/ n contest as to which shall afford the
mornings light by which the predatory
huntsman may find watermelons and
his 'coons. For it was III Kentucky
that We were spending that month, at a
quaint, oldtime Southern house, near
Louisville-a square-built, plain brick
house that had been enlarged as the
exigencies of an increasing family de-
manded. Down ia the dell below rip
pied a brook. The scene was sug-
gestive, particularly because small dog
that formed an important member of the
party was constantly hurrying hither
and thither end barking up tree -
the wrong tree of course.
"Iet's show these Yankees a coon
hunt" said Observation-Disclosures Ken
tuckian who had been following the
movements of the dog with no little
interest. The proposition was no soon
er made than accepted. 1t was late,
but who ever heard of a coon hunt
when it was not late. So, without more
ado, we set out. 4 darky was aroused
from the cabin and, far from being un-
willing, showed more eagerness than
the misguided dog. Into wagon we
tumbled after the ebony attendant had
provided himself with long rope, an
axe and lantern, to say nothing OF a
particularly disagreeable dog that was
patronizcd by every one, but submitted
only to the suggestions of Peter. Peter
drove us over pike" road and finally
brought up at the gate of very dilari-
dated house. ''Hallop' called the brood
shouldered Kentuckian who had acted
as guide.
"What is it?" was the reply OF fee
BILE woman who appeared at the door OF
the dilapidated house with weak yell
low light from candle weakly shining
into not very strong face.
where's Walker?' was the reply.
Hes down to the river ut his house
down there"
where's his dog?"
"HI dogs with Walker, of course"
was the disdainful reply, and the weak
looking woman with the faint light shut
the door with dilapidated bang.
"Who's Walker?" asked one of the
Yankees.
"He's Walker Taylor, nephew of
old Zach Taylor, and the representa-
tive of the family in this part of the
country. This 1s where Kentucky's
only President lived, and there's where
Kentucky let's him live," added the
speaker, meditatively, as he pointed to
a clump of shrubbery.
"Where?" was eagerly asked by the
Yankees.
"Get down and see," said our guide,
as he leaped from the wagon.
There in a mass of uncut weeds and
bushes was veritable vault, and there
lay the bones of "Old Rough and
Ready" the only son of Kentucky who
ever sat is the highest seat of this land.
And we were looking for his nephew
and representative, the owner of the old
homestead where the President and his
father before him had lived: we were
looking for Walker Taylor and his dog
to help us hunt the coon! The spot
was not without its romance and ITS
tenderness as The moonlight streamed
down into the unkept garden. Since
then the dust of the old warrior has been
removed to more hallowed ground. 1t
has been taken to the cemetery at
Louisville to await the erection of
monument at the Frankfort cemetery,
where other great Kentuckians are bur
led in sort of State cemetery.
But there in the sombre light the
scene was sad and impressive. The
tomb was only brick structure, eaten
away in places by the consuming
hand" and all overgrown with the Vir-
ginia creepers, or the tive-leaf ivy, as it
is called thereabouts, and made obscure
in the mass of br1ers and weeds that
filed up what gave evidence of having
once been cultivated garden. There
was no line to say that there rested all
that was mortal of the old hero whose
battles had won him the soubriquet OF
"Old Rough aud Ready" Rough
enough it was, and there had been time
enough for preparation, lying there, as
the ashes did, in an undisturbed quiet,
for the old house of the living was not
more carefully tended than that OF the
dead. 1t had never been the scene of
much adornment, for old Taylor had
been as ready in his home as in his bat
ties, and the scenes of his successes had
lain in other parts; he learned to plan
there, and perhaps to love there,
and he had come back to rest
the long rest. There were no
historic memories of fetes and gala
times; but for all that there was an air
of regret about all the scene, with the