tructure of equal grace and efficiency, made with any
material of the arts. How awkward and clumsy steel would be, or other
metal!

Along these swinging curved branches, as we see them in the April winds,
there appear hints of the leaf richness that is to come--but something
else as well. These darkest purple-red petals, almost black, as they
change from the green of their opening hue, make up the peculiar flowers
of the papaw. There is gold in the heart of the flower, not hid from the
bees, and there is much of interest for the seeker for spring knowledge
as well; though I advise him not to smell the flowers. Almost the exact
antithesis of the dogwood is the bloom of this tree; for, both starting
green when first unfolded from the buds, the papaw's flowers advance
through browns and yellows, dully mingled, to the deep vinous red of
maturity. The dogwood's final banner of white is unfolded through its
progress of greens, about the same time or a little later.

A pleasant and peculiar small tree is this papaw, not nearly so well
known or so highly esteemed as it ought to be.

Another tree with edible fruits--but here there will be a dispute,
perhaps!--is the persimmon. I mean the American persimmon, indissolubly
associated in our own Southland with the darky and the 'possum, but also
well distributed over Eastern North America as far north as Connecticut.
The botanical name of the genus is Diospyros, liberally translated as
"fruit of the gods," or "Jove's fruit." If his highness of Olympus was,
by any chance, well acquainted with our 'simmon just before frost, he
must have had a copper-lined mouth, to choose it as his peculiar fruit!

Making a moderate-sized tree of peculiar and pleasing form, its branches
twisting regardless of symmetry, the persimmon in Pennsylvania likes
the country roadsides, especially along loamy banks. Here it has
unequaled opportunity for hanging out its attractively colored fruits.
As one drives along in early fall, just before hard frost, these
fine-looking little tomato-like globes of orange and red are advertised
in the wind by the absence of the early dropping foliage. They look
luscious and tempting; indeed, they _are_ tempting! Past experience--you
need but one--had prepared me for this "bunko" fruit; but my friend
would not believe me, one day in early October--he must taste for
himself. Taste he did, and generously, for the first bite is pleasing,
and does not alarm, wherefore he had