Not ordinary pear trees, these, or the others of the neighborhood, 

 or their descendants, in any sense of the word; whether in point of 

 size, quality of fruit produced, or reputed origin. Supposed to have been 

 brought there by the early settlers, from Montreal, whether they had 

 been imported from Normandy or Provence, they have been described 

 as "the crowning glory" of the French- American orchard which was 

 justly famed for more than one kind of superior fruit. Nearly every 

 home possessed a pear tree. "Such was its size and productiveness 

 that one specimen usually amply supplied the wants of a family." 

 Strangely enough, the pears refused to grow, it is said, anywhere but 

 in the region of Detroit and one other locality. In 1786, Colonel 

 Francis Navarre, of Monroe, planted half a dozen or more on his farm 

 on the Raisin River, where they flourished. One was noted for attain- 

 ing a circumference of nine feet, two inches, and at four feet above 

 the ground its trunk forked, one branch growing to a circumference 

 of seven feet, four inches, and the other, five feet. 



The old French pear trees were still conspicuous on the bank of 

 the Detroit River, in 1887, when Bela Hubbard described some of 

 them as eight or nine feet in girth, and eighty feet tall, prophesying, 

 however, that their time was short, and that they would perish along 

 with their old homesteads "which are so fast disappearing. Another 

 half century will see the last of those magnificent trees the pride of 

 the French orchard ; the mammoth of fruits, of which the world does 

 not afford its equal." 



The veteran tree in Water Works Park still yields thirty to fifty 

 bushels of fine pears annually. It is one hundred and thirty feet high, 

 and measures four feet around the trunk. Seedlings from it refuse 

 i;o grow, and this "gnarled remnant" of a proud race bids fair to 

 leave no successor to its former glory. 



There is a quaint legend concerning the origin of the trees, which 

 tells how their career began in the garden of an early Jesuit Mission, 

 near the site of Detroit. The old priest sat looking out over the blue 

 waters of the river, wondering why assistance was not sent to him in 

 his arduous labors, in response to his earnest request. Lifting his 

 eyes, he saw a young stranger approaching, a Frenchman, bringing 

 with him a letter from the Superior of the Order. It contained a 

 brief history of the young foreigner, who had fallen hopelessly in love 

 with one of his countrywomen. She was unhappily married, and in 

 retaliation for her lover's attentions, was murdered by her husband. 

 Heart-broken, the former was seeking some means of forgetting his 

 grief. "Put him to work," urged the letter, "and work him as hard 

 as you will, or his life will be wasted." 



The Father complied, and found the newcomer a valuable assis- 

 tant, eager to fulfill all his duties. Often, however, at sunset, he would 

 stand alone, looking wistfully over the river, and fondling a withered 

 pear-blossom which he had brought from his home-land. 



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