THE APPLE, d1 
As winter set in, another coating of earth was put 
upon it, with perhaps an overcoat of coarse dry stable 
manure, and the precious pile was left in silence and 
darkness till spring. No marmot hibernating under 
ground in his nest of leaves and dry grass, more cosy 
and warm. No frost, no wet, but fragrant privacy 
and quiet. Then how the earth tempers and flavors | 
the apples! It draws out all the acrid unripe quali- 
ties, and infuses into them a subtle refreshing taste 
of the soil. Some varieties perish; but the ranker, 
hardier kinds, like the northern spy, the greening, or 
the black apple, or the russet, or the pinnock, how 
they ripen and grow in grace, how the green becomes 
gold, and the bitter becomes sweet ! 
As the supply in the bins and barrels gets low and 
spring approaches, the buried treasures in the garden 
are remembered. With spade and axe we go out and 
penetrate through the snow and frozen earth till the 
inner dressing of straw is laid bare. It is not quite 
as clear and bright as when we placed it there last 
fall, but the fruit beneath, which the hand soon ex- 
poses, is just as bright and far more luscious. Then, 
as day after day you resort to the hole, and, removing 
the straw and earth from the opening, thrust your 
arm into the fragrant pit, you have a better chance 
than ever before to become acquainted with your 
favorites by the sense of touch. How you feel for 
them, reaching to the right and left! Now you have 
got a Tolman sweet; you imagine you can feel that 
single meridian line that divides it into two hemi- 
spheres. Now a greening fills your hand, you feel its 
fine quality beneath its rough coat. Now you have 
hooked a swaar, you recognize its full face; now a 
Vandevere or a King rolls down from the apex above, 
