THE APPLE 127 



check her, and keep an eye on her to save his 

 fruit. 



But the cow is the friend of the apple. How 

 many trees she has planted about the farm, in the 

 edge of the woods, and in remote fields and pas- 

 tures ! The wild apples, celebrated by Thoreau, are 

 mostly of her planting. She browses them down, 

 to be sure, but they are hers, and why should she 

 not? 



What an individuality the apple-tree has, each 

 variety being nearly as marked by its form as by its 

 fruit. What a vigorous grower, for instance, is the 

 Eibston pippin, an English apple, — wide-branching 

 like the oak; its large ridgy fruit, in late fall or 

 early winter, is one of my favorites. Or the thick 

 and more pendent top of the bellflower, with its 

 equally rich, sprightly, unoloying fruit. 



Sweet apples are perhaps the most nutritious, 

 and when baked are a feast of themselves. With a 

 tree of the Jersey sweet or of the Talman sweet in 

 bearing, no man's table need be devoid of luxuries 

 and one of the most wholesome of all desserts. Or 

 the red astraohan, an August apple, — what a gap may 

 be filled in the culinary department of a household 

 at this season by a single tree of this fruit! And 

 what a feast is its shining crimson coat to the eye 

 before its snow-white flesh has reached the tongue ! 

 But the apple of apples for the household is the 

 spitzenburg. In this casket Pomona has put her 

 highest flavors. It can stand the ordeal of cooking, 

 and still remain a spitz. I recently saw a barrel of 



