I '■ 



m- 



EPISODES 



491 



ENTUCKY 



nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their 

 flesh, induces me to endeavor to afford you some idea of 

 the pleasure which our western hunters feel in procuring 

 it. With your leave, then, reader, I will take you to a 

 "Coon Hunt." 



A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the 

 " far west. " The woodland choristers have disappeared, 

 the matron has cradled her babe, and betaken herself to 

 the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and "the 

 stranger," are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise 

 reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are 

 to come. Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her 

 head to the keen blast of approaching winter; the corn, 

 though still on its stalk, has lost its blades; the wood- 

 pile is as large as the woodsman's cabin ; the nights have 

 become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual 

 change in the dews, which now crust the withered herb- 

 age with a coat of glittering white. The sky is still 

 cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect their light 

 from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the 

 forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. 

 In the cheerful cabin all is happiness ; its inmates gener- 

 ously strive to contribute to the comfort of the stranger 

 who has chanced to visit them ; and, as Raccoons are abun- 

 dant in the neighborhood, they propose a hunt. The 

 offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves 

 her wheel, for she has listened to her husband's talk; 

 now she approaches the fire, takes up the board shovel, 

 stirs the embers, produces a basket filled with sweet pota- 

 toes, arranges- its contents side by side in front of the 

 hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. 

 All this she does because she "guesses" that hungry 

 stomachs will be calling for food when the sport is over. 

 Ah! reader, what "homely joys" there are in such 

 scenes, and how you would enjoy them ! The rich may 

 produce a better, or a more sumptuous meal, but his feel- 



