AN OCTOBER DIARY. 275 



not suggest a wound or a weakness from loss of blood, 

 and I was again at sea in the matter, but only for a mo- 

 ment. Scattered about the vine were single grapes 

 and bunches of two and three. A beggarly show for 

 grapes ; but then their size made up for lack of numbers. 

 Each grape was black as anthracite, a perfect sphere an 

 inch in diameter. Such grapes! No wonder the rac- 

 coon had jaws dripping with gore ; no wonder the leaves 

 below were spattered with purple blotches. Every grape 

 was nigh to bursting with the richest of ruddy wild- 

 fruit juices, crimson and blood-thick. My little 'coon 

 was an epicure, I thought, and deserved his liberty. I 

 left him unmolested, with many wishes for his welfare, 

 hoping no dog or hunter might find him. Perhaps, 

 two months later, if he raids upon the hen-roost, I may 

 change my mind, and then be willing to hunt him my- 

 self beneath a full moon, when this same bare tree and 

 leafless vine are mantled deep with snow. 



While letting the raccoon depart in peace, I could 

 not so readily betake myself from the luscious grapes. 

 Their odor, of itself, called for critical inspection, and 1 

 own to a governing passion for what odors, as well as 

 sights and sounds, my rambling grounds offer. Nor 

 was the flavor less enticing. Nature's best effort, with 

 her present surroundings, it would be ungrateful to be- 

 little. I ate heartily ; stained my hands with the ruddy 

 juices, and carried away with me a full realization of 

 how good a thing may be within our reach, unseen and 

 unsuspected, enjoyed by the lower animals — so called. 

 Lower, indeed ! but happier in their better knowledge 

 of the man-neglected nooks and crannies of the wild- 



