u8 



THE APPLE. 



mellow thump to the earth, toward which it has been 

 nodding so long. It bounds away to seek its bed, to 

 hide under a leaf, or in a tuft of grass. It will now 

 take time to meditate and ripen ! What delicious 

 thoughts it has there nestled with its fellows under the 

 fence, turning acid into sugar, and sugar into wine ! 



How pleasing to the touch. I love to stroke its 

 polished rondure with my hand, to carry it in my pocket 

 on my tramp over the winter hills, or through the early 

 spring woods. You are company, you red-cheeked 

 spitz, or you salmon-fleshed greening ! I toy with you ; 

 press your face to mine, toss you in the air, roll you 

 on the ground, see you shine out where you lie amid 

 the moss and dry leaves and sticks. You are so alive ! 

 You glow like a ruddy flower. You look so animated 

 I almost expect to see you move ! I postpone the eat- 

 ing of you, you are so beautiful ! How compact ; how 

 exquisitely tinted ! Stained by the sun and varnished 

 against the rains. An independent vegetable exist- 

 ence, alive and vascular as my own flesh ; capable of 

 being wounded, bleeding, wasting away, or almost 

 repairing damages ! 



Noble common fruit, best friend of man and most 

 loved by him, following him like his dog or his cow, 

 wherever he goes. His homestead is not planted till 

 you are planted, your roots intertwine with his ; thriv- 

 ing best where he thrives best, loving the limestone and 

 the frost, the plow and the pruning-knife, you are 

 indeed suggestive of hardy, cheerful industry, and a 



