Nature the fulfilment of so important a work, but mostly adopt the process imparted, as so wondrous a secret, by Crabbe’s “Peter Pratt:”
“View that light frame where Cucumil lies spread,
And trace the husbands in their golden bed,
Three powdered anthers; then no more delay,
But to the stigma’s tip their dust convey;
Then by thyself from prying glance secure,
Twirl the full tip, and make your purpose sure;
A long-abiding race the deed shall pay,
Nor one unblest abortion pine away.”
A sunny day is usually chosen, if possible, for this operation, and between ten and twelve o’clock in the morning is the time prescribed as fittest for its performance.
When it becomes apparent, by the rapid swelling of the ovaries, that as many fruits are secured upon a plant as is consistent with its bearing powers,[1] the future blossoms which it may put forth are destroyed as soon as they appear, in order that all its energies may be concentrated on the perfecting of the embryos, while tepid water is liberally supplied both to roots and leaves, in order to supply the drain upon the plant caused by the maturation of so large and juicy a fruit. If grown upon the ground, a piece of slate or tile is put under the tender nursling, to keep it from contact with the damp earth; and as it increases in size, the stalk is supported so as to elevate it into the air and sunshine, which otherwise might be shut out by the surrounding leaves, though when trained up a trellis it needs no aid in securing a sufficiently exposed position. In the course of five or six weeks after the setting of the blossom, the ponderous produce may be expected to have finished its rapid course, and reached maturity, evidenced by its having attained its full size; in some sorts, by the gaining also of a yellowish tinge, but most certainly by the exhalation of a powerful but pleasant odour; though many kinds give likewise the unmistakeable sign of the stalk cracking in a little circle close to the fruit. Winter melons, however, do not display this crack, and their ripening can therefore only be known by their size and scent; indeed, it is acknowledged that in general it is rather difficult to discriminate the last stage of maturity, and that only experience can enable any one to determine with certainty the exact moment when a melon has reached, yet not passed, its perfection.
Such experience is sometimes much valued, an anecdote in proof of which is related of a certain monastery into whose fraternity no one was admitted who could not, by some special qualification, minister to the enjoyment of the rest of the community. A visitor staying there for a few days was so struck with the stolid demeanour and seeming utter stupidity of one of the monks, that he could not refrain from hinting to the prior his surprise at finding that such a one was allowed a place to which, according to the rumoured bye-laws of the society, he seemed so little entitled, when his doubts were at once dissipated by the satisfactory reply—“Oh, he is not without his talent; he is a capital judge of melons!”
When perfectly fine, a melon should have no vacuity, a fact ascertainable by the sound given forth on gently knocking the exterior, and when cut the juice should not run forth in a stream, but only gently exude to gem the flesh with dew-like drops of moisture. Small melons, too, are generally better than large ones, as the treatment which fosters increase of size tends also to impair flavour; and the bulky giants of the race, produced by excessive manuring, are therefore rejected by good judges, who desire rather to gratify the palate than to please the eye. The fruit should always be cut from the plant in the morning, and the majority of the finer sorts should be eaten the day they are gathered, though if cut a day or two before they are ripe they may be kept for a week in a cool dark room, and some sorts will even keep for weeks under these conditions; for light has a great influence in facilitating the chemical changes on which maturation depends, and its deprivation, therefore, tends much to retard decay. They should also not be laid down, but suspended in nets, so as to avoid pressure on the surface. The careful and expensive method of culture required in England for the production of melons is not necessary in the warmer parts of Europe; for though near Paris they are raised equally artificially in hotbeds of dung, tan, or other fermentable material, and under glass or frames of oiled paper, yet in the South of France the ground where they are grown is merely ploughed, the seed thrown in, and “Heaven does the rest.” Thus much of care seems to be necessary even in their native East, for Niebuhr mentions that though several sorts of pumpkins and melons grow naturally in the woods, serving to feed camels, “the proper melons” are planted in the fields, where a great variety of them is to be found, and in such abundance that the Arabians of all ranks use them for some part of the year as their principal article of food.
SUNLIGHT AT EVENING.
Weary and worn, and old and grey,
The light of my young life passed away,
But a trace of its radiance lingereth yet,
Like the western sky when the sun has set,
With the shadows of evening closing round,
And its dim mists veiling the dewy ground.
Yes! e’en on the verge of the lonely tomb,
One vision calls back youth’s rosy bloom;
One memory still makes life divine,
The dream of the love that once was mine!
Star of my life! yet lead me on,
Till the twilight of sorrow is past and gone,
And the morning of joy and hope shall break
On the night of waiting, for thy dear sake.
The undying love in my heart that dwells,
Was sealed for thine own by our last farewells;
And still shall thy name at morn and even
Go up on the wings of prayer to Heaven.
Then, e’en if we meet on this earth no more,
I shall wait for thee on the deathless shore.
- ↑ Four at one time are usually considered a sufficient progeny.
