The Pawpaw.

Commercial Possibilities.

From Our Own Correspondent.

Thursday Is., March 2.

IN the Pacific, apparently, the only use that is made of the fruit of the Papaya (pawpaw) tree is to eat it, and there are plenty of people living in the Islands who are too blase to like it.

In the West Indies, however, this sometimes despised fruit is used com mercially and has, in fact, enabled the Montserrat Company to carry on in business now that the manufacture of lime juice is almost at a standstill.

It is not suggested that the culture of the Papaya offers any solution to the troubles of distressed coconut planters in the Islands, but it is interesting to note that the dried milk extracted from the fruit, which contains an active principle Papain very similar to Pepsin, fetches a ready market in Great Britain of 25 to 30 shillings a pound.

An article on the preparation of Papain appeared in a recent number of Chambers Journal (Pawpaw Curing, by Charles Roland), from which the fol lowing information has been gained.

The West Indian method of starting a Papaya plantation sounds ideal.

Mountainous land is chosen, scrub is cut down and burnt. The planter then leaves the rest to nature. A short time after this rough clearing has been finished thousands of young Papayas spring up, “Unbidden,” as the saying is.

The whole operation of sowing has been effected by man’s feathered friends, who have obligingly dropped the seed.

Milking of the fruit begins when they are four or five weeks old, before that delightful, luscious yellow tint, which denotes ripeness, has appeared.

The process is very much like rubber tapping. Cuts are made a quarter of an inch deep, and little cups half-filled with water (in Montserrat the halved fruits of the calabash are used) are

placed underneath to catch the exuda tion. The water in the cup prevents the milk sticking to the tin and causes a, necessary coagulation.

Four to eight papayas give about an ounce of the milk. After stirring the liquid thickens, and it is then spread out on wooden trays and is taken to the fac tory. Drying is carried out on wooden frames over a dying fire, so that over cooking cannot result and spoil the pro duct. After 16 hours on top of the fur nace, the Papain is ready for export.

So much for Papaya curing, but there are one or two points about the fruit that are worth recording.

The Papaya is a most ornamental tree and its blossoms have a faint and very pleasant fragrance like lilac. In the Pacific, the fruit is always called a pawpaw, but anyone who has lived amongst Malays invariably uses its botanical name. Were one light heartedly to ask a Malay to bring a pawpaw, he might express surprise at the request. Such a demand would even shock him were it not for the fact that none of those amiable natives of the East Indies are easily shocked.

There are common words in use in Am erica that one cannot mention in Eng lish, and vice versa. The same rule applies here, but one must go to Mal ayan lands to discover why the word pawpaw is best avoided.

Another use for the Papaya is to clear the complexion—a well-known boudoir secret. When applied to the face, the Papain acts on the outer layers of the skin, making it fresher and more transparent. But such diges tive processes may be carried too far and leave a badly ravaged face. Per haps someone in the Islands, where the fruit abounds, will take advantage of this information and invent a new com plexion restorer. It ought to be a best seller.

Finally, there is an old joke about the Papaya, so old that one hardly dares repeat it, but that there may be someone left in the Pacific who has not heard it.

A new chum from the South sat at meat in a North Queensland pub, faced by an array of tropical fruits he had never seen in his life before. How they were eaten he did not know. Surrepti tiously, he watched the others. Pre sently, someone cut open a grenadilla, and the newcofner took careful note that he only ate the seeds. When his turn came, he selected the largest paw paw on the dish, aware that every eye was on him. He, too, cut open his fruit, secure in the knowledge that he knew all about it. He only ate the seeds, leaving the luscious flesh untouched on his plate.

And then he wondered why they laughed.