266 
THE GARDENING WORLD 
December 24, 1887. 
A ROMANCE OF AN APPLE 
TREE. 
A Christmas Story for Children. 
It is Christmas Eve. My dear son Tom, and his 
wife, my aifectionate daughter Bessie, are down-stairs 
waiting somewhat anxiously for some dear relatives, 
who are hourly expected, to join us for Christmastide. 
There have been many consultations with “granny” 
(that is my humble self) as to the proper disposal of 
these visitors, but now the preparations are complete, 
and I have come up into the nursery, where the 
children are merry and joyous, too full of present 
thoughts of pleasure, and of anticipations of the 
morrow, with its jolly festivities, to trouble about the 
anxieties incidental to the domestic concerns of the 
household. “Here’s granny ! ” shout all the four in 
unison, and at once I am seized upon, and led to the 
big chair in which nurse sometimes ensconces herself so 
snugly when one of her charges is ailing, and night 
watching is indispensable. 
My grand-children are equally boys and girls, the 
two oldest the latter, and the boys the youngest, little 
Arthur being about three years old, but very lively and 
active for his age, as, happily indeed, are all of them. 
“ Tell us a story, granny,” exclaimed the little ones, for 
they know my weakness, which is, perhaps, a fondness 
for garrulity, but specially .when loving prattling 
children are about me, and plead for entertainment. 
‘ ‘ A story, my dears, what can I tell you that you have 
not heard scores of times before?” “Never mind, 
granny,” said Mary, “ tell us any of the old ones again.” 
Just at that moment nurse came in with a plateful of 
nice rosy Apples, and said that “missushad sent them 
up for the children.” They were Nonpareils, rich in 
colour and delicious to eat—at least, to children ; but 
for me, alas ! in my years, forbidden fruit. Still, I 
loved those Apples, as, indeed, who would not have 
done so ? But none others could tell as I could why I 
loved them so much, for I knew the tree from whence 
they came, and to me that tree had a history—nay,, 
almost a romance—which will never fade in interest for 
me till death. Whilst I had been absorbed in a brown 
study caused by the appearance of the fruits, the 
children were busy regaling themselves with them, and 
evidently enjoying them with special zest; for was it 
not Christmas Eve, the great festive season of the year, 
and Apples were rarities indeed, not to be partaken of 
every day. 
“Now, my dears,” I said, “as soon as you have 
done eating, and can sit down quietly, I will tell you a 
story ; and not only a new one, but it shall be, of all 
things, about an Apple tree.” “An Apple tree, 
granny !” they exclaimed ; “Oh, how funny ! Is it a 
ghost story ?” “No,” I said, “ it is not; but it is an 
odd one, none the less, and you have to thank the 
beautiful Apples nurse has brought you for the remem¬ 
brance of the story.” The little ones were at once all 
attention, and as we sat in the strong firelight, I 
thought we made, if not a weird, a very pretty little 
picture, that was none the less pleasing by reason of 
the deep expectation which lit up the children’s faces, 
and seemed, as it were, to reflect back, even with 
unusual lustre, the ruddy glow of the firelight. 
“Now, my dears, I must first tell you that my child¬ 
hood’s days were spent in Devonshire, a beautiful 
county, and famous for its Apples ; and when your 
grandfather came there and fell in love with me, many 
happy hours did we pass in the Apple orchards. I 
seemed never to tire of Apple-tree company, when at 
length my dear Sam asked me to be his wife, and come 
up here to live with him. I had only one cause for 
regret, and that was to leave behind the dear 
associations of my childhood. I asked him if his 
garden had an orchard also, and he replied, ‘No, Mary ; 
but we will plant one, and perhaps you will be all the 
happier in it that you helped to plant it.’ 
“ Well, I thought that was very loving and generous 
on his part, and I was content. We were married early 
in the month of September, just as the Apples were 
ripening, and it seemed all the harder to quit the 
orchard just then ; but Sam’s promise buoyed me up, 
and 1 could but think how nice it would be to have an 
orchard of my own. Well, it was towards the end of 
October when we came to settle down here, and al¬ 
though the leaves had nearly fallen from the trees and 
the weather was wild and chilly, still, I could but own 
that I had got a beautiful home, and that in summer 
the garden must be delightful. Therefore, I was very 
well satisfied with my prospects, and seemed to have 
no other want than the promised orchard. 
“My bedroom windows looked south over a lovely 
range of country, as you little ones know ; but just 
beyond the lawn was a meadow of several acre3 in 
extent, and at the first glimpse of the place from this 
elevation, I thought that would be the place for the 
orchard. I told Sara as much, and he said we should 
go out and look at the soil first, and if it seemed 
favourable for trees, a portion of the meadow should be 
fenced off and planted. The gardener was sent for, 
and he came armed with a stout spade. Away we 
went into the meadow, and at one side the soil was 
tried and pronounced to be capital. At once the line 
for the fence, one of stout iron hurdles, was set out, 
and the places for the trees agreed upon. 
“Now, there were to be six trees in a row ; and I said, 
‘We won’t plant all the top row now, Sam, but only two.’ 
‘What on earth does the little woman mean ? ’ said he ; 
and I told him as well as I could my scheme or fancy— 
that was, to plant two only now, in memory of our 
marriage, and should we be blessed with children we 
would plant one for each. ‘But you have only left 
room for four children’s trees, ’ said Sam, with a twinkle. 
However, I stopped him by saying that it was enough 
for the present, and he agreed. Well, when the trees 
were about to be obtained, I asked that Sam’s should 
be a Blenheim Pippin, because it was a strong 
grower and well represented the robust nature of man¬ 
hood ; whilst mine should be the weaker, though not 
less useful, Hawthornden. In due time, when these 
arrived, we planted them in solemn state, the gardener 
and the servants looking on with evident amused 
interest. 
“I think the date of the planting was November 10th, 
for I well remember your aunt Jane was born on the 
6th of October in the following year ; and although the 
10th of November was Sunday, yet I determined that 
the Apple tree to be hers should be planted on the old 
date, and planted it was by grandfather and me, whilst 
baby was taken out to the orchard to see the proceed¬ 
ings. Your uncle William was born at midsummer 
two years later, and aunt Tolly on the 4th of August 
the following year, and the trees were planted for both 
still on the old day ; and finally your father and my 
Tom was born two years after Polly, and on October 
30th. I had been able to get out to see the other trees 
planted, but this time had to be content to see grand¬ 
father and the gardener plant Tom’s tree from the 
bedroom window. Whether from cold or from the 
excitement of the event, I certainly caught a chill, 
which kept me in bed for a month, and the baby 
seemed also to sicken and was weakly. I had asked 
what sort of Apple was the one planted for baby, and 
was told that it was a Golden Pippin. I was a bit put 
out over that, because it seemed to me to be more of a 
girl’s Apple, the tree being a weak grower, and the 
fruit small ; and it got into my mind that my precious 
babe would never become robust, because his tree was 
not so. It was, no doubt, a very foolish idea of mine, 
but I can tell you, my dears, that when some thought of 
ill coming to her little ones gets hold of a mother’s 
mind, it is not at all easy to shake it off. Afcer I got 
well I thought less about the matter, and although 
Tommy was fairly well, still he was a weakly little 
child, aud so he remained for two years. Perhaps his 
weakness caused us all to love him more dearly. 
I knew that I seemed to have a love for him 
which words could not describe, and my anxiety 
when he seemed to be ailing was intense. The 
following summer, Tommy being now in his third 
year, I noticed that the Golden Pippin tree was 
not thriving—indeed, some of its shoots seemed to 
be dying ; and when I inquired of the gardener if he 
could tell me the cause, he said he feared it was canker. 
Somehow the word sent a pain to my heart, for it has a 
sad and fearful meaning. Tommy then began to fret 
and pine very much, and the doctor, who saw him 
constantly, seemed puzzled, for he could not at all 
understand what ailed the child, and at last could only 
advise that he should be taken to the sea-side. Early 
in September we went to Eastboui ne, and stopped for a 
month. Tommy seemed better at first, but he soon 
became as poorly as ever, and then, having no further 
faith in the change, we returned home. Somewhat 
anxiously I went out next day to have a look at the 
Golden Pippin, and found it looked even worse than 
before. Well, the winter was a severe one, and the frost 
did much harm to the trees and shrubs ; still, we gave 
little thought to the orchard trees until March, when 
the gardener came and asked me to go and look at 
Tommy’s tree. There, to my horror—for I had got to 
regard his life and that of the tree as identical—I saw 
that the frost had caused a big wound or crack in the 
upper part of the stem, and that the head must die. 
That was grief indeed, for now it seemed as if hope for 
the dear little child was quite taken away. Tommy 
then gradually grew worse, and eventually became so 
ill that his life seemed to hang upon a thread, and thus 
he lingered all through the winter, his state rendering 
our Christmas that year a sad one, and the winter a 
time of misery, especially to me. I had never told your 
grandfather of the superstitious connection in my mind 
of Tommy with the Apple tree, for I dreaded his banter, 
and to have been made fun of then would have killed 
me. I could but endure my agony in silence, although 
he was hopeful that the boy would recover in the end. 
‘ You know mo ther, ’ he would say, ‘ we are hearty, and the 
other children are hearty, and why should not Tommy 
be ? Depend upon it, he will grow out of this in time, 
if he has good nursing.’ Well, he had good nursing, 
and all that love and means could provide, still he only 
seemed to grow weaker. How well I remember the 
turn in his illness, which filled me then with anguish! 
It was a nice spring day in April, the 8th of the 
month, when a scream of terrible pain came from the 
.dear child’s bed, and I ran to him to find that he had, 
as I thought, died in a moment. I screamed too, and 
help soon came. The doctor was sent for ; he felt 
Tommy’s pulse, and tested his breath, and after some 
time comforted me a little by saying that he was not 
dead yet, at least. The child lay in a sort of stupor or 
fit for hours, and when he came round seemed just as 
though on the verge of death. Yery slowly and wearily 
he dragged life along, and it was full a month before a 
change came for the better. Then he improved rapidly, 
and by midsummer had become not only quite well, 
but stronger and healthier than ever. What your dear 
father is now you little ones know ; but never before, 
perhaps, have you heard the story granny has told you 
this Christmas Eve, of how near death he once was.” 
‘ ‘ But what became of the Pippin tree ?” exclaimed the 
children. 
“Ah! there, my dears,” I replied, “hangs a tale 
indeed. After Tommy got stronger that summer, he 
went out into the orchard for a walk, and there saw 
that the Golden Pippin had got a new head growing, 
for it had been grafted, and the grafts had made 
strong growth, having been put in to the clean 
stem just below the bad cracks made by the 
winter frost. I looked at the label fastened to the 
tree, and found upon it the name ‘ Scarlet Non¬ 
pareil.’ That the grafting should have been done 
without my knowledge surprised me, and hastening to 
the gardener, I inquired who instructed him to do it. 
He replied, ‘ Master did, ma’am. I told him the head 
of the Pippin was dead, and that we must either plant 
another tree or graft it, and he said I should graft it. 
Then I got some Nonpareil grafts and put on, and they 
are doing well. I am sure,’ he added, ‘the tree will 
be a strong one in the future.’ I could hardly summon 
up courage to ask him when he cut the old head off, 
but eventually did so, and he replied, ‘ Oh, last 
April—the day Master Tommy was taken so bad.’ 
Here, then, was the mystery of that terrible attack 
cleared up, and my faith in the absolute connection of 
Tommy’s welfare with that of the Apple tree confirmed ; 
and now, children, I conclude my story by adding that 
the Apples you have just eaten are from ‘Tommy’s’ 
tree.”— A. D. 
-- 
THE HISTORY OF THE APPLE. 
(Concluded from p. 245.) 
Tiie earliest varieties of the Apple of which we find 
any mention appears to be the Pearmain and the 
Costard ; the former was cultivated in Norfolk as early 
as the year 1200, for we find in Bloomfield’s History of 
Norfolk that 200 Pearmains and four hogsheads of 
cider of Pearmains, were paid into the exchequer yearly 
at the feast of St. Michael for a tenure of land. Of 
the latter, the Costard Apple, we find in the fruiterers’ 
bills of Edward I., in 1292, mention is made of “Poma 
Costard ” (the Costard Apple of the present day), which 
sold at that time for “ a shilling a hundred.” At that 
period it must have had extensive cultivation, for it 
gave rise to the appellation “ Costard-mongers,” now 
transformed into costermonger, but with a much wider 
application. According to Stow, carp and “pepins ’ 
were brought to England by Maschal, who wrote on 
fruit trees in 1572. Tusser, in 1573, mentions in his 
list of fruits, “ Apples of All Sorts.” Iu Parkinson, 
1629, we find a list of fifty-nine sorts, with “twenty 
sorts of Sweeting’s, and none good.” 
A modem writer has remarked that “some of our 
oldest Apples are the best ; such as the Nonpareil, the 
Golden Reinette, Ribston and Golden Pippins, which 
have been in our gardens for centuries.” Pippin Apples 
were first introduced into England and planted at 
Plumstead, in Sussex, by Leonard Maschal, in the reign 
