The fruit of the Olea Europcea, or common olive. The lilac and the ash, among our well-known trees, come under the same order as the olive. They furnish us with olive oil and the fruit. The oil we are all familiar with, or, rather, we suppose we are, but much of what we get in the shops for pure olive oil is expressed from cottonseed and peanuts, both of which, by the way, when properly handled, make fair table oils. True olive oil, as we find it in Italy, would not suit our tastes in America at all. It is dark and heavy, with a strong taste and odor peculiarly its own. It is remarkable how one gets accustomed to it and comes to like it. It is like leaving France and her sweet saltless butter and going to England and eating her salted butter. At first the difference is marked, but we soon become accustomed to it. The oil is gotten from the fruit by expression, and as fine as I ever tasted was at the home of my friend the late Tiburcio Parrott, in the Napa Valley, California, who was a pioneer in raising olives and expressing the oil in California. He paid great attention to the getting of a good quality of oil, and California and her olive interests lost a good and progressive helper when he died.

For eating, the olive goes through a preparation peculiarly its own, to get rid of its bitterness and unpleasant flavor. The fruit is gathered green, but full grown, varying in size from a filbert to a pigeon's egg, and is then put into strong lye, and after a while in water, which is changed often for several days. They are then bottled and a liquor poured over them, one-half water and one-half saturated brine, with a number of aromatics added, this brine being first boiled. We find ripe olives, with the stones removed usually, treated in the same way. They are by far the best for eating I think, and add zest to the post-prandial wine and nuts. The olive farcie is a toothsome but rich morsel. They are the piece de resistance of olives, and are made by extracting the stone and stuffing with anchovy, etc.