upon the ground, nosing out the lumps as they 

 fall. A possum never does anything for him- 

 self that he can let the gods do for him. 



Your tree is perhaps near the road and an old 

 rail-pile. Then you may expect to find your per- 

 simmons rolled up in possum fat among the rails ; 

 for here the thieves are sure to camp through- 

 out the persimmon season, as the berry-pickers 

 camp in the pines during huckleberry-time. 



Possums and persimmons come together, and 

 Uncle Jethro pronounces them "bofe good fruit." 

 He is quite right. The old darky is not alone in 

 his love of possums. To my thinking, he shows 

 a nice taste in preferring November possum to 

 chicken. 



It is a common thing, in passing through 

 Mount Zion or Springtown in the winter, to see 

 what, at first glance, looks like a six-weeks 7 pig 

 hanging from an up -stairs window, but which, 



[7] 



" Swinging from the 

 limbs by their long 

 prehensile tails." 



