pressed tribes of Israel, as it was sup- 

 posed that the Hebrews used apples to 

 entice children into their homes to fur- 

 nish their cannibal banquets. 



The different varieties of apples have 

 all descended from a species of crab found 

 wild in most parts of Europe. Although 

 there are two or three species of wild 

 crab belonging to this country, yet none 

 of our cultivated varieties have been raised 

 from them, but rather from seeds of the 

 species brought here by the colonists 

 from Europe — over two hundred varie- 

 ties of apples are known at the present 

 time. As a rule, the Apple is a hardy, 

 slow-growing tree, with an irregular 

 head, rigid branches, roughish bark, and 

 a close-grained wood. It thrives best in 

 limestone soils and deep loams. It will 

 not flourish in wet soils or on those of 

 a peaty or sandy character. As a rule, 

 the trees live to be fifty or eighty years of 



age, but there are specimens now bearing 

 fruit in this country that are known to be 

 over two hundred years old. The wood 

 is often stained black and used as ebony. 

 It is also made into shoe lasts, cog-wheels 

 and small articles of furniture, and is 

 greatly prized in Italy for wood carving 

 and statuary. 



New and choice varieties of apples are 

 derived from seeds planted to produce 

 stocks. One stock in ten thousand may 

 prove better than the original, and its 

 virtues are perpetuated by layers, cut- 

 tings, graftings and budding. The tree 

 is not subject to disease. Insects, nota- 

 bly the borer, the woolly aphis, the cater- 

 pillar, the apple moth and the bark louse, 

 have to be guarded against, and several 

 blights occasionally attack the foliage, 

 but as a rule small loss is experienced 

 from these sources. 



Charles S. Raddin. 



Shed no tear! — O shed no tear, 

 The flower will bloom another year. 

 Weep no more! — O weep no more, 

 Young buds sleep in the roots' white core. 

 Dry your eyes! — O dry your eyes 

 For I was taught in Paradise 

 To ease my breast of melodies — 



Shed no tear! 



Overhead! — look overhead 

 'Mong the blossoms white and red. 

 Look up! Look up! — I flutter now 

 On this flush pomegranate bough. 

 See me! 'Tis this silvery bill 

 Ever cures the good man's ill. 

 Shed no tear! — O shed no tear! 

 The flower will bloom another year. 

 Adieu! — adieu! — I fly, adieu — 

 I vanish in the heaven's blue. 



Adieu! — adieu! 

 — John Keats. 



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