and its congener the lemon, are Celestial fruits,
owing their origin to the central flowery land; but, thanks to the
Portuguese, they are now domesticated in Europe, and placed within the
reach of such northern countries as ours, where the cold prohibits their
growth. Some of us no doubt force them in an artificial climate, at the
expense of perhaps half a guinea apiece; but the bulk of the nation are
content to receive them from other regions at little more than the cost of
apples. Now the quantity we (the English) thus import every year from the
Azores, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Malta, and other places, is about 300,000
chests, and each of these chests contains about 650 oranges, all wrapped
separately in paper. But beside these we are in the habit of purchasing a
large quantity, entered at the custom-house by number, and several
thousand pounds' worth, entered at value; so that the whole number of
oranges and lemons we consume in this country may be reckoned modestly at
220,000,000! Surely, then, it is not surprising that while engaged in the
meditative employment alluded to, we should demand with a feeling of
strong interest--What becomes of the rind?

Every body knows that Scotch marmalade uses up the rinds of a great many
Seville oranges, as well as an unknown quantity of turnip skins and stalks
of the bore-cole, the latter known to the Caledonian manipulators of the
preserve as "kail-custocks." Every body understands also, that not a few
of the rinds of edible oranges take up a position on the pavement, where
their mission is to bring about the downfall of sundry passers-by thus
accomplishing the fracture of a not inconsiderable number--taking one month
with another throughout the season--of arms, legs, and occiputs. It is
likewise sufficiently public that a variety of drinks are assisted by the
hot, pungent rinds of oranges and lemons as well as by the juice; but
notwithstanding all these deductions, together with that of the great
quantity thrown away as absolute refuse, we shall find a number of rinds
unaccounted for large enough to puzzle by its magnitude the Statistical
Society. This mystery, however, we have succeeded in penetrating, and
although hardly hoping to carry the faith of the reader along with us, we
proceed to unfold it: it is contained in the single monosyllable, _peel_.

Orange-peel, lemon-peel, citron-peel--these are the explanation: the
last-mentioned fruit--imported from Sicily, Madeira, and th