white in the limed article, the depressions and grooves holding the lime while the ridges and elevations are free from it. In Shakespeare's Henry V. the Duke of Orleans, in speaking of the dauphin's dapple-gray horse, says: "He's of the color of nutmeg." The taste of nutmeg is peculiarly aromatic, pungent, and somewhat bitter.
The principal use of nutmeg is that of a spice, although not so commonly employed or so well liked as some other spices. It contains a fat which forms the nutmeg butter; this is an unctuous solid substance of an orange-brown or yellowish-brown color, with the odor and taste of nutmeg. This fat is used as a stimulating application in rheumatism, sprains, and paralysis. Nutmegs also contain some volatile oil, which is said to be poisonous; at least some persons are very susceptible to the effects of the volatile oil of nutmeg. In this connection it might be stated that the frequent and long-continued use of spices is injurious, producing dyspepsia, functional heart trouble, and nervousness, and seems to have a special action upon the liver, causing an excessive development of connective tissue and a reduction in the functional activity of the liver cells: "Nutmeg liver" is a condition resulting from passive venous congestion of that organ, and refers to its mottled or nut-meggy appearance only.
Mace is comparatively rich in volatile oil. Nutmeg and mace are both extensively employed as condiments. They are frequently given in the form of a powder to stimulate and aid digestion. Nutmeg flavor consists of nutmeg, oil of nutmeg, and alcohol. Mace-ale is ale sweetened and spiced with mace.
It is stated that whole nutmegs have been adulterated with wooden imitations. Connecticut is known as the Wooden Nutmeg State because it is facetiously said that such nutmegs were manufactured there.
AN ABANDONED HOME
WELL," said Jenny Sparrow one fine day in April, as she fluttered from bough to bough in a maple tree near my study-window, "spring is advancing and already the housewives are bustling about busy from morning till night. Such fetching and carrying of grass and straw and feathers! Mamma concluded to build a new house this spring but papa said the old homestead would do, with new furnishings. Papa always has his way; he's such a tyrant. I'm a fortunate creature that I have no such cares, I'm sure. Mamma says I may as well sing and fly high while youth and beauty last, for my troubles will begin soon enough. Troubles! The idea of my having trouble! Old people must croak, I suppose, and would really be disappointed if their children failed to experience the trials they have.
"I often wonder if papa strutted and bowed and swelled himself out as my suitors do, when he courted mamma. Now he does nothing but scold, and I never make an unusually fine toilet but he shakes his head, and lectures mamma on the sin of idleness and vanity. I'm not vain, I'm sure. I only feel strong and happy, and when I'm challenged by a neighbor's sons and their ugly sisters for a long flight or graceful curve, I would be a silly creature indeed if I didn't display my accomplishments to good advantage.
"There, now, is the son of our nearest neighbor twittering on that roof opposite and trying to attract my attention. He prides himself on being a direct descendant of one of the sparrows first imported into this country from England, so we call him Mr. Britisher. He has the most affected way of turning his head on one side and glancing at me. I can't help admiring his engaging manners, though, and there is a certain boldness in his address which the rest of my admirers lack, much to their disadvantage. He's going to fly over here presently, I know by the way he is strutting about and fluttering his wings. Talk about the vanity of my sex! Gracious! He is priding himself now on the manner in which his toes turn out, and the beauty of his plumage, and how much broader is that black ring about his throat than those on some of his neighbors. Here he comes. I'll pretend to be looking another way.
"Ah, is that you, Mr. Britisher? How you startled me. Yes, 'tis a lovely day. After the storms of winter, the warm sunshine is a blessing to us little creatures who live under the eaves."
"True, Miss Jenny, true. But with companionship even the storms of winter can be borne cheerfully. Don't you agree with me that a loving home is a very desirable thing?"
"Oh, Mr. Britisher, how you talk! Have your parents been away from home, that you are so lonesome?"
"You know they have not, Miss Jenny. You know full well that I was not speaking of that kind of companionship. Permit me to sit beside you on that bough, for I have that to say which I desire shall not be overheard. The leaves even seem to have ears at this season of the year, and do a deal of whispering about the numerous courtships which they hear and see going on."
"True, very true, Mr. Britisher," returned Miss Jenny, making room for him beside her on the limb. "There is a great amount of gossip going on just now in bird-land, I understand. Why, only the other day I heard – but ah – there is Mrs. Cowbird skulking below us, and no meaner bird flies, I think, than she. Fancy her laying her eggs in another bird's nest, because she is too lazy to make one of her own! A tramp bird must do a great deal of gossiping, so be careful what you say."
"She is not nearly such a mischief-maker as Mr. Blue Jay," replied Mr. Britisher, "nor half so impertinent. I heard him chattering with Mr. Blackbird the other day and he said all sparrows were alike to him. Fancy it! A field sparrow, vesper sparrow, swamp sparrow, white-throated sparrow, yellow-winged sparrow, fox sparrow, and dear knows how many other common American sparrows, the same to him as a blue-blooded English one. Why, my ancestors lived under the roof of Windsor Castle, and flew over the head of Queen Victoria many, many a time."
"You don't say?" returned Miss Jenny, very much impressed. "Why, you are a member of the royal family, you may say. Our family, I have heard mother tell, always made their home in the city – London proper, you know, right under the eaves of the Bank of England. But come, that is not what you flew over here to say, surely," demurely casting her eyes upon the ground.
"How charmingly you coquette with me," said Mr. Britisher, moving closer to her on the limb. "Have you not seen for weeks past that I have had no thoughts for any girl-sparrow but you, Miss Jenny?"
"La, Mr. Britisher, I really have had so much attention from your sex this spring that I – "
"But none of them have been so devoted as I," interrupted her companion. "Think of the many delicious morsels I have laid at your feet, and all I ask in return is – "
"What?" coyly asked Miss Jenny, pretending she was about to fly away.
"This little hand," stooping and pecking her dainty claws with his bill. "Will you be my wife, Miss Jenny, the queen of my heart and home?"
"The queen of your heart and home," repeated Miss Jenny. "That sounds very nice, indeed. But when one gets married, my mamma says, then one's troubles begin."
"No, no, my dear one. Your husband will hold it his dearest privilege to guard you from every care. Life will be one long dream of bliss for us both. Say you will be mine."
"Well, I suppose I may as well say yes. Mamma says girls must be settled in life some time, and I am sure I fancy you infinitely more than any of the young sparrows hereabouts. So you can ask papa and – there, there! You will twist my bill off, and Mr. Woodpecker over there, I am sure is watching us. Really you put me in such a flutter with your fervor. There, you naughty boy; you mustn't any more. My! I am so nervous. I'll fly home now and quiet my nerves with a nap. I'm off. By-by."
The courtship was brief, as is the custom with our feathered friends, and so the wedding took place in a few days. The bride received the blessing of her parents for a dot and the groom a shrug of the shoulders and the comforting assurance from his father that he was a "ninny" and not aware when he was well off.
All went merry as a marriage bell for a season, Mr. Britisher twittering daily in soft low tones his prettiest love songs and his spouse listening in proud complacency as she oiled her feathers and curled them
