Persimmons. 283 



have a pyramid now of this regally golden fruit, 

 and what can be said of it ? It is not so brilliant 

 as the crimson winter-berries on the bush above 

 me, nor does it glow like the ruddy fruit of the 

 holly. Even the clustered bitter-sweet, ragged, 

 yet rich in gold and scarlet, is as showy; but 

 then these are not food for man. The persimmon 

 appeals to other senses than that of sight. I fancy 

 every phase of the past summer is in its juices; 

 there are both the torrid noondays and the chilling 

 storms. The extremes from April to October are 

 gathered about its seeds, and not until its wrinkled 

 skin has been thrice grimed with frost will the 

 better elements prevail and the fruit be perfected. 

 Even then there is a lurking imp in every berry, 

 and skill is needed to outwit him. Help be his 

 who rashly bites a green persimmon or crushes 

 the seeds of a ripe one. I have been told that 

 Gray or some one somewhere does or did in a text- 

 book mention this fruit as eaten by pigs and small 

 boys. May I remain so far a small boy to the end 

 that I can eat, with my present relish, wrinkled, 

 frost-nipped persimmons. Eating them means so 

 much. This is no market fruit that has been in 



