"Yes, I see him," answered I, "the man carrying the sucking pig, you mean?" "Pardon me; that is not a sucking pig," answered Mr. Wheatley; "that is _helotice_, a possum--_anglice_, an opossum; no bad dish let me tell you, and one of which the negroes are very fond. But this is not the season for them. After the persimons are ripe, they get exceedingly fat and tender." "And what are persimons?" I asked. "A sort of wild fruit," he answered, "in shape somewhat like a plum, and in taste like an apricot, of which the opossum is exceedingly fond. But suffer not yourself to be deceived by the wags up the country; for the Virginians are exceedingly fond of practical jokes. Now the persimon may look perfectly ripe and tempting to the eye; but till it is touched by the frost, soot and vinegar are honey and Falernian to it. Neither, if you have an abhorrence, as I have, of middle-aged pigs, suffer yourself to be tempted to eat an animal they call here a shoat--a name I am convinced they have invented to cover the abomination they are offering you. However, give me pen and ink, and I will write these letters for you. I would give you more good advice, but every one must buy his own experience in some degree, and the best council I can give you, as to all men in a strange country, is, 'keep your eyes open, and do as you see others do.'" I thought this very good advice; for what I might call the technicalities of any society are soon learned, and the pedantries of society are not worth learning. In Russia, every man, from the prince to the peasant, eats with his knife. In England, to do so is almost a social crime; and yet, where in reality is the misdemeanor? Nothing can be really and essentially vulgar that is not disgusting or offensive to others. The best-bred Turk eats with his fingers; but he takes care to wash his hands before he begins and after he has ended. Perhaps he is really more cleanly than the man who eats with a fork when he does not know whether it has been washed or not.