merely to be made into preserve, or used in minute quantities to add a flavour to apple-pies; for Phillips has left on record that when he wrote, quinces grew so abundantly in some parts of the Weald of Sussex as to be made into wine by private families living in that neighbourhood, some even manufacturing as much as two hundred gallons in a season. This wine, for the preparation of which he furnishes a recipe, was, he adds, of agreeable flavour, improving greatly by keeping, and of so much efficacy for asthmatic affections that a gentlemen residing at Horsham in Sussex, assured him that he had been completely cured of a long-standing asthma solely by the use of it. Lord Bacon, too, has left it as his testimony that “it is certain the use of quinces is good to strengthen the stomach,” recommending, however, for this purpose, “quiddeny” of quince, probably a preserve; and in France at least it still maintained the reputation of being an admirable tonic and stomachic when taken medicinally, while, in the form of a compote, it is highly recommended as a diet to increase the digestive powers of convalescents.
At Paris the fruit never reaches perfection, for though it ripens after gathering, so far as to acquire a rich golden hue, and exhale its powerful scent, it remains so hard as to be quite unfit to be sent to table; though a forlorn hope of a different future is not yet abandoned by the sanguine French; for, says the Bon Jardinier of 1860, “we flatter ourselves, yet no doubt in vain, that time and culture will yet render them eatable.” In the south of France, on the borders of Garonne, quinces are largely grown to be made into a much esteemed marmalade, called cotignac; indeed it would seem that that kind of confection must have been originally prepared from this particular fruit, since the word marmalade has its etymological root in the quince, the Portuguese name for which is marmelo. The seeds are used in medicine, though, says Noisette, not so much as they might be, for the viscous mucilage in which they abound unites with the softening properties of gum arabic, something of an unctuous quality which render them peculiarly capable of soothing irritation or inflammation of the most delicate organs, and they are therefore employed to heal sore lips, inflamed eyes, &c. The same gummy juice, extracted by simply boiling the seeds in a little water, furnishes the toilette with that “fixature” which puts a gentle restraint on the straggling hairs of fair ones with flowing locks.
The delicately-tinged blossoms of the quince are similar in structure to those of the apple and pear, but are neither so pink as the former nor so colourless as the latter; while they grow singly and are much larger, being about the size of a wild-rose. The fruit varies in form and size, but is always downy when young, and yellow when ripe; and offering, externally, nothing remarkably different from the two above-mentioned fruits, was confounded by Linnaeus with these its orchard brethren, but on cutting it open it is found to contain, in each of its five cells, from twelve to forty pips, instead of only one or two, as is the case with both apple and pear; a peculiarity which has sufficed to assign it in later systems of botany to a separate genus. Owing probably in part to the little attention paid to it in modern days, but few varieties have arisen, and only five sorts are generally grown in either England, France, or America.
The apple-shaped quince was called by the ancients the “male,” a name which seems singularly inappropriate, since it is a tree of specially weak growth, both the leaf and fruit of which are small; but as the latter is of fine colour, and becomes very tender when stewed, it is the most popular of the tribe in America, where the pear-shaped quince is condemned as tough and of bad colour, though pronounced by the French, on the contrary, to be in every way preferable to the other. It is much grown by them as a stock or mère in nurseries, and it may have been from using it similarly for grafting purposes that the ancients gave it the name of “female.” English nurserymen prefer to graft on the Portugal quince, a stronger, handsomer tree, bearing larger and finer fruit, which, when cooked, turns a fine crimson or purple colour, the only and great drawback to its otherwise incontestable supremacy over the other kinds being that it bears very scantily. These three varieties, though cultivators observe great differences between them, are all reckoned by botanists to be of one species, to which also belongs a new seedling sort, both large and good, recently raised at New York, where it is so highly appreciated that it has been sold there at the rate of nine dollars for about a bushel.
The Chinese quince, only introduced into Europe during the present century, bears a highly perfumed, red, barrel-shaped fruit, about four inches long, and which will keep until the spring, whereas the other sorts usually perish before the end of autumn; but, unfortunately, whether eaten raw or cooked, it is found tasteless and insipid, and is therefore only grown for the sake of its red, violet-scented, spring blossoms. The last on the list, the Japan quince or Cydonia (popularly miscalled “Pyrus”) Japonica, is also only grown for ornament, its dark-green hard fruit being less eatable than even the preceding; but its blossoms, white, pink-tinged, or, more usually, brilliant flaming scarlet, are far more beautiful and appear earlier, forming one of the commonest but most favourite spring adornments of English grounds and gardens.
THE STRATAGEMS OF THE LADY ISOLDA.
Look forth, look forth, my fairest,
There’s none to see to us now;
The night is of the rarest
To hear a lover’s vow:
Your porter—he so fat is
He can’t do else but sleep,
Then from your opened lattice
My own Isolda peep.
