The tree is entirely different to that of the cultivated species.

The latter is small, seldom exceeding the size of an apple-tree, and bearing a light green myrtle-shaped leaf, which is not larger than that of a peach.

The wild species, on the contrary, is a large forest tree, with leaves equal in size to those of the horse chestnut; nevertheless, it produces a perfect nutmeg.

There is the outer rind of fleshy texture, like an unripe peach; enclosed within is the nutlike shell, enveloped in the crimson network of mace, and within the shell is the nutmeg itself.
All this is perfect enough, but, alas, the grand desideratum is wanting--it has no flavor or aroma whatever.
It is a gross imposition on the part of Nature; a most stingy trick upon the public, and a regular do.

The mace has no taste whatever, and the nutmeg has simply a highly acrid and pungent taste, without any spicy flavor, but merely abounding in a rank and disagreeable oil.