[1880. 



AND HORTICULTURIST. 



271 



hardy race grows and thrives, and feeds others 



out of the rich alluvial, but lays its bones away 

 on higher ground, for 



" water is a sore decayer of your whorson dead body." 



And SO they lay them down at last, on green 

 and gravelly slopes, afiir from the music of the 

 singing birds of their household groves ; and so 

 their sons and sons' sons have come and warmed 

 the old homes and kept the old names and man- 

 sions awhile in the meadows, and then followed 

 on to the narrow house in the higher ground. 

 But this is wandering from the old Pear tree. 

 That, I had some trouble to find, of which more 

 anon. 



The " facts" above stated, expressed more in 

 the local vernacular, I had from an old Necker, 

 who did not dream himself, but set his listener 

 dreaming. 



Who munched the pear, and thoughtlessly 

 dropped the core over the side of what vessel, as 

 she passed the "Back Channel? And when? 

 It must have been between 1682 and 1720 ; for 

 that core floated to fast land, seeded and inaugu- 

 rated its celebrated distinct vai-iety far inside the 

 old dike that more than one hundred and fifty 

 years ago first barred back the waters from their 

 accustomed flats. May it not as likely have 

 been in the first named year as at any time 

 in the interval between that and the latter? For 

 what is thirty-eight years, more or less, in the 

 life of a pear tree, whose " more than one hun- 

 dred and fifty years" have to-day been resolved 

 out of its indefinite past? And who shall say it 

 was not Penu himself, as likely as any of his 

 fellow-voyagers, — or as those in the few following 

 years, — who cast overboard the unconscious seed 

 of the land-mark of the two centuries then to 

 come? 



Up to the day noted in the first paragraph, I 

 had never seen the object of my lately awakened 

 enthusiasm. Nothing would do until I could set 

 eyes on it, if yet standing ; and if not, alas what 

 had I thoughtlessly neglected, for a lifetime! 

 My friend had described it as " still standing 

 fifteen years ago, but with one-half decayed ofi" 

 the trunk, the balance a mere shell, supported 

 by props, and piously guarded with posts and 

 rails," ready to fall and pass away forever. He 

 gave me a verbal notion of the direction and dis- 

 tance, relying more upon a reference for par- 

 ticulars to his description of his own visit 

 published long ago in the Gardener's Monthly. 

 Neglecting this at the lime, I was not aware of 

 its more particular reference to exact locality. 



His interesting article is well worth reading, and 



will be found in vol. 7, page 44, Feb. 1865. 



I had, therefore, a loose notion of the general 

 locality, comprising, perhaps, a couple of square 

 miles, anywhere within which it might be, and 

 over which I might have to roam vaguely and 

 guessingly. In that area there were, possibly, 

 many descendants of the old patriarch pear, 

 themselves aged; and one might risk being 

 sentimental over some decayed sample of several 

 generations later than the real, simon-pure- 

 great-great-grandfather of them all. My friend's 

 verbal directions were months old, and, refracted 

 by my own unsafe keeping, were, as a guide, 

 about as reliable as young Launcelot's directions 

 to Old Gobbo. 



" Old Gobbo— faster young gentleman, I pray yoa 

 which is the way to Master Jew's? 



Launcelot — Turn up on your right hand, at the next 

 turning, but at the next turning of all, on your left; 

 — marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but 

 turn down indirectly to the Jew's house." 



Thus prepared (?) for the search, I started for 

 it overland, on the hottest day of this hottest of 

 Julys ; but was driven back by the heat, fotigue 

 and uncertainty of location, reinforced by grow- 

 ing lateness of the hour. So on the last day of 

 July I tried my second parallel, and attempted 

 to flank the position by water, taking the little 

 steamer at foot of Chestnut street, Schuylkill. 

 Making a demoralized landing at a rotten, half 

 burnt, plankless oil wharf, I reached land by 

 perilous gymnastics over the tops of bare wharf 

 piles, and formed again in good order. But a 

 Necker's " half mile" is a full mile and a half I 

 walked to and fro four miles, prospecting around, 

 and brought up* at a country hotel on the " Old 

 Eope Ferry Road," corner of a lane. Reader, 

 don't try my route, but take the one I found out 

 since. It is very simple. A stage from Peter 

 "Wright & Sons, 307 Walnut street, goes all the 

 way twice a day, passing this point ; fare 75 cts. 

 round trip. And so cut your eye teeth on my 

 experience. It is easier. 



A busy ostler was sponging a critter at a 

 trough. We had a talk. 



Ja/et — How long have you lived in these parts ? 



Ostler — Boy an' man, all my life, — some forty 

 year. 



Ja/et — Then perhaps you know of a very old 

 pear tree somewhere in this region. 



Ostlei- — The old Seckel d'ye mean ! Know it? 

 Ish'd think I orter; many's the pear I've had 

 ofl'n it too. D'ye see that lane right wher' yer 

 standin'? That big yaller house down ther's John 



