highly grateful. A small portion of it added to stewed or baked apples is useful for giving pungency and 
flavour. The expressed juice taken in small quantities is cooling, antiseptic, and astringent, useful in nau- 
sea and vomiting, as well as in some kinds of diarrhoea ; by boiling, it loses its astringency. Formerly the 
juice was directed in the London Pharmacopoeia to be made into a syrup ; but the only preparation of the 
quince which it now directs, is the decoction of the seeds. An elegant sweetmeat or marmalade (Miva cy- 
doniarum) is prepared by boiling the pulp over a gentle fire with an equal weight of sugar. 
Off. Prep. — Decoctum Cydoniee, L. 
“ Chill is thy breath, pale autumn,” sings the poet, though, had not poets called this season pale, we 
might have termed it the rosy, or the golden autumn. The berries which hang about the autumn trees may 
vie with the blackness of the jet, or the redness of the coral or ruby. There are the berries of the briony 
and the honeysuckle, of a deep and soft red; and the more brilliant scarlet clusters of the common night- 
shade; and the glossy red bunches of the dogwood; and the mountain-ash; and the wayfaring-tree ; and all 
the numerous hips and haws, upon which revel the merry songsters, and the meek woodmouse, and the 
many little creatures for whom a feast has been spread with a liberal hand. A deep yellow tint is also the 
predominating colour among autumn flowers, almost all our native blossoms at this season having either 
some tinge of redness, or wearing that deep yellow in which, as the Chinese say, the sun loves to array him- 
self ; while the deep and varied colour of the wild wood and the shrubbery, delight the artist and the lover 
of nature, who pause in their walks to mark, in the foliage, the rich green tint, the bright yellow, the brown, 
or the crimson. 
Our native plants often display a considerable degree of this latter hue upon their stems and leaves at 
the decline of the year. Some few, like the red-cornel, have their foliage altogether red ; others have here 
and there, 
“ The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
That dances as often as dance it can ; 
Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
From the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.” 
In the early ages of Christianity the custom prevailed of carrying evergreens with the corpse to the 
burial-ground, and depositing them in the grave ; implying that the soul was ever-living, and that the body, 
though now cut down, should spring up again, in eternal youth and beauty, at the day of the resurrection. 
When the ancient Jews returned from the ceremony of placing their friends in the house for all living, as 
they expressively called their place of interment, they were accustomed to pluck off the grass two or three 
times, and, throwing it behind them, to exclaim in the words of the Psalmist, “ They shall flourish out of 
the city like grass upon earth.” This practice appears to refer to the resurrection of the bodies of the 
departed. 
The Hindoos place flowery offerings on the shrines of their deities; and Forbes, in his Oriental Me- 
moirs, thus speaks of an interesting custom, “In the Mahommedan cemeteries of Guzerat are displayed the 
amiable propensities of the female character. To those consecrated spots the Mahommedan matrons repair, 
at stated anniversaries, ‘with fairest flowers to sweeten the sad grave.’ The grand tombs are often splendidly 
illuminated, but the meanest heap of turf has its visitors, to chant a requiem, light a little lamp, suspend a 
garland, or strew a rose, as an affectionate tribute to departed love or separated friendship.” 
The Turks in their burying-places, which they call “ Cities of Silence,” perforate the slabs which cover 
their graves, and through these openings spring beautiful flowers, which shed, their sweets around. These 
flowers are carefully tended and kept from weeds by the Turkish females. The cypresses, too, with their 
dark gloomy foliage, mingle with other trees, and by their odour counteract the unpleasant effects which 
cemeteries in hot climates are so apt to produce, when the coffinless dead are buried at but little depth from 
the surface of the ground. 
The Chinese plant flowers and shrubs about the places destined for the last reception of their families; 
and in many instances approach them through avenues of beautiful and lofty trees. The Germans place 
upon every grave little clusters of primroses, violets, lilies, and forget-me-nots. The celebrated cemetery of 
Pere la Chaise at Paris presents much of picturesque beauty in its arrangement; and yet the bereaved 
mourner would generally feel more willing that the remains of his friend should lie in the peaceful church- 
yard of the village, than in a spot so much visited by the gay and thoughtless. 
