But there are exceptions to every rule. There are varieties of apples—a very few—that "come true from seed." Such is La Belle Fameuse, the ruddy-cheeked, white-fleshed "Snow" of the Northeastern States—the domestic apple of the Canadian French. Up and down the valley of the St. Lawrence this apple tree grew in the gardens of the early settlers. The seeds were carried and distributed by neighbours, by migrant traders, but chiefly by the Jesuit missionaries whose hope was that the home sick habitant should grow to love the land of his adoption. And they were not disappointed. Generations passed, and the tree became an intimate part of the home life of New France. Drum mond, poet of the habitant, describes the old-fashioned garden, modelled on the typical one of precious memory in sunny France: "Dat house on de hill, you can see it still, She's sam' place he buil de firs' tam' he come; Behin' it dere's one leetle small jardin, Got plaintee de bes' tabac Canayen, Wit Fameuse apple, an' beeg blue plum." It was a hard life, and the touch of poetry and luxury brought into it by these fruit trees was not lost on the appreciative habitant. He had his domestic animals, and the home flowers about his door—" the leetle small jardin "—and he was comforted in the land of the long, cold winters. His apple trees were as much a part of his establishment as the dog and cow and team of horses. He cherished them next to his family and his religion. In fact, 28$ they were a part of both, if he could have analysed his feeling for them.
While the French in Canada were still planting seeds of their beloved Fameuse apple as their fathers had done before them, noting no change in the character of the fruit except when a tree bore handsomer and finer-flavoured apples than any tasted before, a strange and interesting story was unfolding itself in the valley of the Ohio River. A picturesque character calling himself Johnnie Apple Seed wandered up and down, with no apparent object in life but to plant apple seeds. Queer as he was, the motive that actuated him was nobly altruistic. He was doing what he could to turn the desert into a garden. He had the strange notion that grafting and pruning trees was a wicked practice. He lived to see his trees in bearing over a vast territory. But it is to be hoped that he never realised to what a degree his philanthropy failed. They were mostly "Apples of Sodom" that came as a harvest. Where he had planted seeds of Baldwins and Greenings and Bellflowers grew trees bearing apples with strange, crabbed looks, mongrels of varying degrees of insipidity. They were largely seedling trees of varieties that did not come true. They stubbornly exemplified the rule of which the Fameuse is an exception.
Do you know the romance of the Newtown pippin? If you have seen one of these matchless apples and sunk your teeth into its mellow substance I need not tell you of its sprightly flavour, its absolute fulfilment of your ideal of what an apple ought to be. What is its pedigree? Two centuries ago a chance seed fell near a swamp on the outskirts of the village of Newtown, Rhode Island. A seedling tree came up, and was ignored, as such trees are, until some vagrant passing by saw and tasted the first apples it bore. And the very golden apples of Hesperides they were for the village and the countryside! Cions of this tree became the parents of great orchards in the Hudson River Valley. Up and down the coast among the colonies they were scattered.
In the year 1758, Benjamin Franklin, our representative in England, received a box of Newtown pippins, and he gave some to his distinguished friend, Peter Collinson. Thus were American apples introduced with éclat to the attention of the English. The trees did poorly in English orchards, but the fruit in London markets grew in popularity. In 1845 the orchard of Robert Pell, in Ulster County, New York, which contained 20,000 pippin trees, yielded a crop which brought in the London market $21 per barrel. The tables of the nobility were supplied with these
apples at the astonishing price of a guinea a dozen—forty-two cents apiece! And yet, almost within the memory of men now living, the old tree still stood on the edge of the swamp, and men came from far and near—even from over seas—to cut dons from the original Newton pippin tree.
Here and there in the history of horticulture are other instances where Nature seems to rise superior to her own laws by creating valuable seedling varieties. The "Wealthy" apple was a chance discovery in a Minnesota nursery row. It is the parent of one of the noblest varieties of the Northwest States—a worthy mate for the Newtown pippin. Other sorts of apples have sprung from crosses between known varieties. These are hybrids— seedlings, one of whose parents contributed the pollen that fertilised the flower on another tree. From the seed thus set the new tree comes, different from each parent tree, but having some traits of each.
In these two ways—by seedlings and by hybrids—new varieties have arisen, and others will come on. But each is uncertain—a problem for the scientist, not the apple grower. To plant seeds for an orchard would be the utmost folly. The quick and sure way to get and keep a good variety is to graft other trees with cions of the desired kind. Fertilising the soil, and thorough tillage, greatly improve the health of a tree, and the quality and size of its fruit. But they do not change a Baldwin into a Greening. It may be possible, however, to produce a superior individual tree, whose characters, perpetuated, give rise to an improved "strain" of the variety. Soil, climate and treatment all emphasise individual differences in trees and in their fruits. There is no law in Nature so inexorable as the law of Constant Variation.
Our little hard-fleshed, slender-stemmed garden crab apples are an interesting race. The Siberian crab (Malus baccata), of northern Asia, is the parent species. The larger sorts are prob ably from crosses of this with Malus Malus in some of its varieties.
Japan has given us some wonderful flowering apples, small trees and shrubs. Mains floribunda is probably as glorious a sight in bloom as any tree that ever grew. After these splendid blossoms we can but marvel again at the crop of fruit that succeeds them. Some of these apples are handsome and good to eat, but of the various species I have seen no fruit grows larger than a cherry! The Pear (Pyrus communis, Linn.), also a native of Europe and Asia, is a close relative of the cultivated apple, and ranks high among orchard fruits. We have no native species, but numerous valuable varieties have originated in this country.
The Quince (Cydonia vulgaris, Pers.) is a dwarf tree from Europe, whose hard-fleshed, apple-like fruit has been used for centuries in marmalades and jellies. It is seen in old gardens in the East—one or two trees are the customary number. Occa sionally one sees a quince orchard. It is an old-fashioned fruit, indeed; the demand for it is small, but steady. The Japanese quince, C. Japonica, is a splendid flowering shrub, with inedible fruit. Hedges are often seen of it, ablaze with great rose-coloured flowers before the leaves are out in spring—a sight, indeed, worth going miles to see.
The Medlar (Mespilus Germanica, Linn.), a pretty tree native to central Europe, is occasionally planted in gardens for the curios ity aroused by its peculiar, apple-like fruits. The core is exposed at the blossom end, as if the flesh had not quite reached around it. After frost has bitten them, and they have lain all winter, these medlars soften, and are not unpleasant to eat. They also are made into preserves.