Notes and Gleanings. 1 1 3 



ever suddenly they may ripen at last, are often a long time reaching the perfec- 

 tion of maturity, even after they have been gathered. But there is an essence 

 which belongs to most fruit, and which begins to vanish the moment it is 

 plucked. Even the short transfer from the garden-wall to the dish at dessert 

 cannot be made without the loss of some of that subtle flavor which is conveyed 

 by the living stalk from the sun-fed tree. 



Fruit should be eaten alive, like oysters. There is an edge to the taste of a 

 fresh-opened oyster, which comes, I suppose, from the surprise he feels at being 

 suddenly scooped out of his shell. In a few minutes, this gives place to a feel- 

 ing of alarm ; and then, in an hour or two, to one of despair. When he is laid 

 out with his brethren in a dish, the whole brood is hopeless and sad. They may 

 still taste of life, but it is of life disappointed. But the fresh-opened oyster has 

 no time to grow feverish or melancholy. 



While a plum, for example, hangs upon its stalk, it is in some kind of mag- 

 netic correspondence with all the powers of Nature. Cut it off, and in time it 

 dies, corrupt, unwholesome ; and every moment in its progress from life to death 

 is marked by a decadence of that essence which makes fruit delicious. There- 

 fore, supposing that you pluck it ripe, the sooner a plum is eaten, the better for 

 you. This, of course, applies most to tender, thin-skinned fruit. 



A firm apple dies slowly. A nut holds out long against the debasing influ- 

 ence of separation from its source of life. But plums, figs, peaches, apricots, 

 and strawberries begin to suffer directly they are gathered. This is the case 

 even with pines, which are acceptable of bruises ; but they contain such an ap- 

 parent surplusage of flavor, that the first stages of their decay are not perceived 

 except by a cunning palate. 



I think the morning is the best time for fruit: I am not quite sure, though. 

 The afternoon is good. But I don't recommend fruit with the dew on it. Let 

 the fruit get its own breakfast before you eat it yourself. It breakfasts on early 

 sunshine and dew. It takes these good things in, and smiles upon itself and 

 the world, just as you do half an hour after a pleasant breakfast. Eat it while it 

 is in this humor, — by no means in ths raw and early morning: thus you have 

 the young freshness and virgin flavor of the fruit. It has another character 

 later in the day, when it is filled with sunshine : then I think it is sweeter. — 

 Cliainbjrs 'jt Journal. 



Catalpa. — My way is to lay the seed-pods away in some dry place. Open 

 the pods, and drill the seed early in .May in a well-pulverized bed. Cultivate as 

 any other seedling-trees ; keep clear of weeds. At any time in one, two, or three 

 years, they are ready for spring transplanting. 



Eleven years ago, I put in a few seeds in a garden-bed : two and three years 

 afterwards, I set them out about my premises ; and for the past three years they 

 have been blooming. This year, whilst in bloom, they attracted much attention, 

 and were greatly admired. The long pods are now hanging over the trees, some 

 as long as eighteen inches ; trees eight or ten inches in diameter, and about 

 fifteen feet high. — J. D. L., in Prairie Farmer. 



Ludlow, III. 



VOL. V. 15 



