In October, the leaves falling, the apples are more distinct on the
trees. I saw one year in a neighboring town some trees fuller of
fruit than I remember to have ever seen before, small yellow apples
hanging over the road. The branches were gracefully drooping with
their weight, like a barberry-bush, so that the whole tree acquired
a new character. Even the topmost branches, instead of standing
erect, spread and drooped in all directions; and there were so many
poles supporting the lower ones, that they looked like pictures of
banian-trees. As an old English manuscript says, "The mo appelen the
tree bereth the more sche boweth to the folk."

Surely the apple is the noblest of fruits. Let the most beautiful or
the swiftest have it. That should be the "going" price of apples.

Between the fifth and twentieth of October I see the barrels lie
under the trees. And perhaps I talk with one who is selecting some
choice barrels to fulfil an order. He turns a specked one over many
times before he leaves it out. If I were to tell what is passing in
my mind, I should say that every one was specked which he had
handled; for he rubs off all the bloom, and those fugacious ethereal
qualities leave it. Cool evenings prompt the farmers to make haste,
and at length I see only the ladders here and there left leaning
against the trees.

It would be well if we accepted these gifts with more joy and
gratitude, and did not think it enough simply to put a fresh load of
compost about the tree. Some old English customs are suggestive at
least. I find them described chiefly in Brand's "Popular
Antiquities." It appears that "on Christmas eve the farmers and