Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 February 1886 — ALL ABOUT ’POSSUMS. [ARTICLE]

ALL ABOUT ’POSSUMS.

Is Their Meat a Real Dellcaey?—The TimeHonored ’Possuth Chestnut. / I was talking with a Southern man about the opossum which a Tennessee man oaught on the battlefield of Murfreesboro, and sent to the President. The Southernnfan, a Georgian, by the way, said: “The’possum is not what he’s cracked, jp to be. I used to hunt him years ago when I was young, but I hunted him for the sport and not for himself. There is something very picturesque and piquant about a ’possum or a coon hunt A ’possum hunt differs from all other hunting in that a good ’possum hunter does not use his gun at all. A ’possum or coon dog, a thin, mangy, cur-like dog, and a big torch are all that he needs. The hunting is always done at night. The dog finds the ’possum and trees him—usually in jt persimmon tree. Then the hunter climbs up, torch in hand, and grabs the *possum. The light of the torch dazzles the eyes of the ’possum,, and his instinctive simulation of death makes it easy to catch him. The hunter must take care that the ’possum does not fall to the ground. If it does there will be a fight—not between the dog and the ’possum, but between the dog and his master for possession of the ’possum. My interest in the coon, however, ends when he is caught. I would as lieve as not that the dog ate him then. He looks too much like a rat for my stomach, and tastes too coafse and greasy—squirrel is much better.” “The 'possums seem as numerous as ever,” said a Virginian, “and they seem to be hunted just as zealously. I don’t think they are particularly good eating. The darkies like ’possum, just as they like coarse, rich food of any sort. But if ’possum were not a traditional delicacy very few white men would eat it. Of course, you have heard the classic ’possum story which is always told when ’possum is mentioned? No? Well, an old darky once caught a ’possum one cold Thanksgiving day, and taking it home to his cabin, built up the fire and put it in the pot. Then he lay down, tired out, with his feet to the fire, darky fashion, and went to sleep. As ■l he lay there snoring while the ’possum simmered in the pot, his son, a limber, bright-eyed youth, glided into the cabin.- He took in the situation in a moment. The ’possum was ready to be eaten, and its strong aroma filled the room. Stepping softly to the fire the graceless youth took the ’possum out of the pot and rapidly devoured its gamey flesh, chuckling softly to himself as,he did so. When he had eaten all there was to eat, he gathered the bones in a little pile beside the fireplace, and then smearing a little of the ’possum grease on the mouth and nose of the sleeping man he stole softly out. Bpr and by old Pompey awoke. The air was redolent of boiled ’possum—the old man’s mouth watered. Rising slowly to his feet he took the lid off the pot and looked in. ‘Jerusha mighty!’ he exclaimed, ‘it’s done gone.’ Then, glancing down at the fireplace, he saw the whitened bones, and passing his hand over his mouth he felt and smelled the ’possum grease. A broad smile spread over his puzzled face: ‘Good Lawdl’ he exclaimed, T done forgot I ate him!’"