Another curious old ’coon was “Old Taggart.” Old Taggart is dead. We planted him under the sod in 1874. Where the soul of Old Taggart has gone to, nobody knows. Old Taggart was a good sort of man, but had his “ways.” Old Taggart didn’t fear death. As he lay on his death-bed, he was conscious, calm, and serene to the last. Said he toward the close:
“During these many years I have thought it all over, and I am ready to take the chances.”
Being what is called a “pious” woman, Old Taggart’s wife was a good deal disturbed by the thought of seeing her husband die without having “experienced religion.” She worried the old man a good deal toward the last on this account.
Old Taggart said: “Wife, I’m as sorry for all the bad things I have done during my life, and as much ashamed of all the mean things, as any man could be.”
Still the old lady wanted to see him “experience a change of heart.” So she sent for Deacon Dudley to come and talk to the old man. The deacon came, and, seating himself by the bedside, turned to the sick man and told him about the wonders and the glories of heaven. He told him all about the New Jerusalem, where the streets are paved with gold, and where angels “touch the soft lyre and tune the vocal lay.” He then asked Old Taggart if he didn’t think he’d like to go up there.
“No;” said Old Taggart, “I don’t think I should feel at home in the kind of place you tell about.”
“But, my dear friend,” said the Deacon, “you are at the point of death—you should not talk in this way about heaven!”
“Well, Deacon, I’ll jist die and trust to the Almighty. I’ll jist settle down wherever he puts me. I don’t know nothin’ about the lay of the land in ’tother world myself, but I’ll chance Him.”
“I’m surprised, my good friend, to hear that you don’t want to be one of that heavenly band that sit before the throne, playing on golden harps, and singing praises forever and forever!”
“Me play on a harp, Deacon?” said Old Taggart, smiling faintly.