262 TJie Pawpaw. 



Ivy is generally not hardy in New England. Where it will stand the 

 winter, it is a beautiful climber. 



In a future number, wp propose to treat of the improvement of the back- 

 yard. 



Edward Sprague Rand, Jim. 



Glen Ridge, 1866. 



THE PAWPAW. 



We propose a brief discussion of a subject which has never had full 

 justice, — characteristic American fruits. Think not to pass in review a 

 horticultural catalogue. The apple, alas ! grew in the Garden of Eden. 

 The peach betrays its origin in its specific designation, " Persica." The 

 Romans named for us the cherry and the plum. Our most luscious straw- 

 berry is the " Triumph of Ghent." A well-grown Antwerp raspberry fears no 

 comparisons. No grapery of ordinary pretension is without the Black Ham- 

 burg and the Muscat ; while of pears, alas ! foreign varieties are the finest. 



But these, and the thousand others which they represent, however kindly 

 they grow on American soil, are in no proper sense American fruits. Their 

 names unmistakably declare their lineage. They have been gathered from 

 the East and the West, from the North and the South. Certain fruits there 

 are, however, which deserve the name "American," our right to which there 

 is none to dispute ; and, as is eminently fit, they are known only by native 

 American names. Pawpaws and persimmons make no suggestions of 

 Europe or Asia. Their quaint and homely designations are thoroughly 

 in keeping with their history. Indeed, the pawpaw hints in its redupli- 

 cated form at the paucity of words in a barbarous dialect. 



Of this fruit, the pawpaw, we wish to speak. We do not remember to 

 have seen, in book, pamphlet, or newspaper, the mention of its name, ex- 

 cept in technical botanical treatises, where, as for instance in Gray's, it 

 receives but a very cursory and ungracious notice ; and yet we deliberately 

 set it down as the most delicious fruit that ever touched our palate. We 

 know very well, both in Latin and the vernacular, the motto about tastes ; 

 and we are willing to confess that we speak with the zeal of a neophjte, 



