CHAPTER XXVIII.

_Origin of some European fruit-trees.—Bees._

We commenced early the next day a business which we had long
determined to engage in: it was to plant bamboos close to all
the young trees, to support them effectually in their growth.
We quitted our tree with great alertness, having our cart loaded
with canes and a large pointed iron to dig holes in the ground.
We left my wife this time with only her dear little Francis,
requesting them to prepare us a plentiful dinner, and to include
the palm-tree cabbage and the sago-macaroni mixed with some Dutch
cheese; in addition to these performances, they volunteered the
melting some of the wax berries for our store of candles.

We did not take the buffalo with us, as I wished to give it a
day’s rest for its nose to heal up; the cow was sufficient for
drawing the load of light bamboo canes. Before setting out, we
gave the buffalo a few handfuls of salt, to ingratiate ourselves
with our horned companion; and this treat pleased him so highly,
that he showed by many signs his inclination of accompanying
us; and to prevent this, we were compelled to fasten him securely
till we were out of sight.

We began our work at the entrance of the avenue which we had
formed, and nearest to Falcon’s Stream. The walnut, chesnut,
and cherry-trees we had planted in a regular line and at equal
distances, we found disposed to bend considerably to one side,
seemingly as they had been directed by the wind. Being the strongest,
I took the task of making holes with the implement, upon myself,
which, as the soil was light, I easily performed, taking care
to go deep enough to fix the stake firmly. In the mean time the
boys selected the bamboos, cut them of equal lengths, and pointed
the ends to go into the ground. When they were well fixed, we
threw up the earth compactly about them, and fastened the saplings
by the branches to them with some long, straight tendrils of a
plant which we found near the spot. In the midst of our exertions we
entered with much detail into a conversation respecting the culture
of trees. Till then my boys had only thought of eating fruits,
without giving themselves much trouble about their production;
but now their curiosity was excited, and they questioned me so
closely on the subject, that I was somewhat at a loss in answering
them. I communicated however, with pleasure, all within my knowledge:
I perceived that the occasion was particularly favourable for
rendering my lessons instructive and truly profitable, as the
occupation we were engaged in gave me an opportunity to illustrate
the lesson by means of the objects before our eyes. I shall briefly
relate the summary of our discourse, which may be of use to young
persons designed for an agricultural life.

_Fritz._—Are the young trees that we have recently planted, and
just propped up, wild or cultivated?

_Jack._—A pretty question indeed! Do you imagine that trees are
tamed like buffalos and eagles? You would perhaps teach them
to stoop politely when we come to gather their fruit, to avoid
giving us the trouble of reaching to their branches.

_Fritz._—You suppose, friend Jack, that your speech is very witty,
while in reality it is only nonsense. Do you think then that
all created beings are brought up alike? If so, papa should punish
the first occurrence of ill behaviour in you, by passing a cord
through your nose, like the buffalo, to render you more considerate
and compliant.

_Ernest._—We should soon, if this plan were adopted, see brother
Jack with a bridle round his neck.

_Father._—All of you, children, would be exposed to such discipline
as this, if there were no other means: but the observation of
Fritz is perfectly just; men are not brought up like brutes,
nor are brutes trained like plants, though the education of all
ever tends to the same end—that of subjecting the will to the
yoke of necessity and duty, and to make them walk upright: for
did not these trees bend to every wind till we raised and supported
them. Every creature is capable of improvement, if not susceptible
of perfection, that is to say, with care and cultivation, every
being may become better, and acquire virtues and qualities which,
left to himself and nature, he would be destitute of; thus I
render our buffalo, and you your jackal, tame and manageable,
by making them feel the power of man over brutes; thus I strive,
my dear children, to lead you on towards perfection, by cultivating
your understanding, giving you, as far as I am able, good lessons
and good examples; so these trees, which at first were mere wild
stocks, produced from kernels or seeds, and bearing only small
imperfect fruits, have been made to produce those of an excellent
quality by grafting on them a superior species. Come here, examine
this branch; it is easy to see it has been inserted into this other
branch; all the rest were lopped away, and this alone preserved;
the whole of the sap or nutritious juice flowed then to this
point, and thence diffused itself; and thus the wild sapling
is become a fine fruitful tree, producing as good fruit as that
from which the graft was taken.—Such is the process of ingrafting.

_Fritz._—There are many things in it I do not yet understand;
I have often heard of the inoculation of trees—is that the same
as ingrafting them?

_Father._—Nearly so; to _inoculate_ is, I believe, the appropriate
term for the operation, and _graft_ that for the branch, or part
inserted. According to the different species of trees, different
methods and seasons are chosen; different terms are also adopted;
and when the first insertion fails, a second, and even a third
attempt is made.

_Jack._—Can good fruits be grafted on every kind of tree, such
as firs, or oaks?

_Father._—No, my son; trees of an homogeneous kind must be selected.

_Jack._—Ah! now that’s a fruit I am a stranger to; _homogeneous_—is
it very good? are they to be found here? I long to taste them.

_Father._—It is not a fruit, my dear child: it is, I confess, rather
too learned a word, which I was wrong to use without explanation.
It is derived or comes from the Greek, and signifies _of the
same nature, or bearing great similitude;_ thus an apple, a pear,
a quince-tree, may be ingrafted on each other, because their
wood and their seeds are homogeneous or resemble each other.
It is the same with a variety of fruits having stones and kernels;
the cherry, plum, peach, and almond-tree: to attempt to graft
any of these on a pine or oak, would be useless; so with the
best education every man is not constituted to be learned, to
form an artist or a general.

_Fritz._—You said, father, that the wild stocks or trees, produced
only from seed, bear but indifferent fruits; how is it, then,
with all those in our island—our good cocoas and guavas were
not grafted, as no gardeners or other persons were here to perform
the operation?

_Father._—Your remark is just; but I spoke only of our fruit-trees
in Europe, where, almost without exception, the fruits require
to be meliorated by a better soil, ingrafting, and culture. No
doubt kind Providence has meant to indemnify these burning climes
for many inconveniences, in bestowing on them palm-trees and
other agreeable fruits that grow spontaneously and without trouble
or labour on the soil.

_Ernest._—I comprehend all this: yet one thing puzzles me; how
were the scions and grafts of the best kinds first procured in
Europe?

_Jack._—What a question! From those who had them, certainly.

_Ernest._—And what a reply! I answer. And where did those from
whom they were obtained get them? I wish to know where the first
branches of the best species were had, before any persons had
undertaken the husbandry of trees, or thought of ingrafting them.
All trees, I presume, were wild originally . . . . .

_Jack._—Indeed! . . . . . . What think you then of the terrestrial
paradise? Do you not believe that excellent fruits of all kinds
were there? And might not the scions and grafts you are so puzzled
about, have been taken there to any number?

_Father._—My dear young pupil, if you had read the Bible with
attention, you would have seen that our father Adam was driven
out of the terrestrial paradise for having eaten of one of those
goodly fruits, contrary to the positive prohibition of God; and
as he and his wife Eve were then alone on the earth, none could
go and take grafts in that beautiful garden, which moreover was
not in Europe; therefore the inquiry of Ernest is just and sensible.
Good fruit-trees are doubtless natives of some part of the earth,
where they bear spontaneously, in their natural climate, as good
fruits as those we raise in ours with care and art. Such trees
were torn from their native soil when young, and transplanted
into Europe, where, by the assiduous attentions of the gardener,
they prospered, and furnished grafts for their multiplication; for
the European climate is so little fitted to the natural production
of good fruits, that the best tree, propagated from mere seed,
soon resumes the wild state, and requires to be grafted. Gardeners
usually collect a number of tender shoots or saplings in an
inclosure, which they first raise by seed and afterwards ingraft;
these inclosures are called nurseries, where such plants are
purchased, and where all these shipped for our use were procured.

_Fritz._—Do you know, father, the native country of all these
trees?

_Father._—Of most of them, I think. The vine I have ventured
to plant near our tree at Falcon’s Stream, grows only in the
temperate zone; it neither thrives in very cold countries nor
under the torrid zone, though it generally prefers the south
to the north. The vine is of antient date; for we find in the
Bible that Noah was acquainted with the use of it. It seems then
that the vine is a native of Asia Minor and Armenia; and it appears
to have been brought at a very remote period into Egypt, Greece,
and most parts of Europe. The fabulous accounts in mythology
of Bacchus, relate, no doubt, to the propagation of the vine.
Italy probably received it from the emigrant Greeks and from
the Romans, who became masters of the known world; thence it
was carried into Gaul, Spain, Germany, and those parts of Switzerland
in which it promised to thrive: perhaps the Phoenicians too had
previously transported it to some of the above mentioned countries.

_The boys speaking together._—And the apple, pear, chesnut, walnut,
almond, peach, and mulberry-trees?

_Father._—Patience, patience, prattlers! Can I tell you every thing
in a breath? And pray speak one after the other, gentlemen.—Fruits
with shells or pods, such as the nut, almond, and chesnut, generally
called _glands_ or _kernels_ by the Romans, come from the East;
but that is too general a term,—for the East being the quarter
in which the sun rises, includes too many regions. Chesnuts were
called by the antients _glandes Sardes_, from Syria, a province
of Asia Minor, and they received their present name from a Grecian
town, near which they were cultivated in abundance. As to walnuts,
they were formerly named _glandes Jovis_, (_Jupiter’s acorns_
or _kernels_) by the Romans; they are originally from Persia,
and were spread through Europe by the Roman conquests. The great
filberd-tree, bearing the Portugal nut or filberd, is originally
from Pontus, a country of Asia Minor, and has been transplanted
in the same way as the preceding. The origin of the almond-tree
is uncertain; it is found wild in Asia and Africa: its fruit
bore the name of _thalos_ in Greece, because it had been first
transplanted from an island of that name in the Archipelago.

_Jack._—And cherries, papa,—cherries I like so much? Such quantities
of them are in Switzerland, on the high roads and every where,
that I think them natives of my country.

_Father._—Not so, my friend; but of all exotic fruits it is certainly
the one that thrives the most with us. They derived their name
from _Cerasus_, another town of the Pontus already mentioned
to you, and if I recollect right, the place is called _Chirisarda_.
The celebrated Roman general Lucullus, after his victory over
Mithridates king of Pontus, was the first who transported them
into Europe, seventy years before the birth of Christ.

_Ernest._—I have not read any thing about cherries in Eutropius,
where I should have been glad to find some account of them.

_Father._—I am of your opinion, Ernest, that historians would
have done as well to give the names of those who procured an
agreeable fruit, as in recording the destroyers of mankind.

In this kind of instructive conversation we had got to the end of
our alley of trees, which looked all the better for the uprightness
we had restored them to. This accomplished, we crossed Family
Bridge on our way to the southern plantation of trees, in order
to raise and prop them also. We were delighted with the view
of beautiful orange, citron, and pomegranate trees, that had
all taken root and were thriving to our satisfaction, as well
as the pistachio and mulberry trees. Some of these were in blossom,
and inspired us with the most pleasing hope. We quickly set to
work, and my sons with increased curiosity renewed their inquiries
concerning the origin of these delicious fruits.

Ah! how charming the country must be where such fruits as these
grow spontaneously! exclaimed Fritz.

Considered as confined to this question only, said I, this country,
no doubt, may be termed propitious; but in some other respects
it has likewise its unfavourable side. All the fruits abounding
with acid and refreshing juices, are natives of the torrid or
burning zone, or of parts of the temperate zone most adjacent
to it; they seem to have been designed to cool the mass of blood,
and keep off the inflammatory diseases so frequent in these climates.
Orange and lemon trees are certainly, as I think, from Medea
and Assyria; the Romans called them _mala Medica_, or Medean
apples; they were brought by the Persians to Albina, and thence
into Sicily and the island of Malta, where the best species of
orange trees is still found; they were afterwards transplanted to
Italy, and in succession to many other parts of Europe. Pomegranates
were named _mala Punicea_, (_Punic apples_,) and doubtless were
brought by the Phoenicians and Carthaginians into the southern
provinces of Europe. I have no positive knowledge of the original
growth of pistachios. You are now, children, tolerably well informed
on the subject of fruit trees.

_All._—No no, dear father, since you have gone so far, and are
so kind as not to be tired of instructing us, pray tell us the
primitive country of all the trees we have to straighten and
prop; the description amuses us exceedingly.

I am glad of it, and all I know is entirely at your service;
but hearing in this sudden and rapid succession, the species,
qualities, and countries of such a variety of fruits, you will,
I fear, overload your memory and forget the whole.

_Fritz._—Pardon me, father, every one will recollect perfectly
what relates to his favourite fruit, and we shall often talk
on the subject in our walks under the shade of the very trees
so principally concerned.

_Father._—Well, be it so! Thus it is in fact with all the sciences;
we do not easily forget what we wish to know, what is connected
with our desires and hopes;—propose your questions then, and
I will answer you as fully as I am able.

_Fritz._—Well then, father, from what part do olives come originally?

_Father._—From Armenia and Palestine: Authors of antiquity say
that Hercules brought the first into Europe, and planted them
on Mount Olympus; they were gradually cultivated throughout Greece,
and especially in the territory of Athens, whence they came into
Italy, and from thence were spread over the south of France,
and in Spain, where they are cultivated with the greatest care,
on account of the excellent oil which is extracted from them.
Figs belong to the same native soil; they were brought from Lydia
and the isle of Chios into the Archipelago, in the time of Cato
the Elder: they were transplanted into Gaul a long while after
by the emperor Julian, who was previously prefect or governor
of that Roman province. Peaches are from Persia, and were first
named _mala Persica_ (_Persian apples_). In Pliny’s time, who
lived under the emperor Vespasian, they were still a novelty
in Italy: the family of apricots from Armenia came amongst the
Romans about the same time.

But now let us go on to plums, your favourite fruit:—Whence do
they originate? Some of the inferior kinds are probably European;
but those of the finest qualities are from other parts: they
have reached us from Damascus, a town of Syria, from which their
name is borrowed. In course of time the crusaders brought several
species of them into Europe, and prunes most likely were among
them.

Your favourite apples and pears now claim, I think, a few
observations. We find them first noticed in Greek authors, under the
denomination of _Peloponnesian fruits_; they were obtained from that
country by the Romans; they found also several kinds of them in Syria
and Alexandria. These two fruits, of all others offer the greatest
varieties, and no doubt several of them are the result of culture,
or of the influence of soil and climate. It is in general a law
of nature, that care and attentive management produce in the
same species a more considerable number of shades and varieties,
than is met with in the wild uncultivated state, in which much
sameness prevails throughout. Man in the rude state of nature
is nearly alike every where, and is destitute of those diversities
of character that naturally unfold themselves in his civilized
condition. Every class of animals and plants, which man renders
subservient to his use by cultivation and due care, exhibits
beyond comparison greater differences in the same species, more
varieties, more families, than those which remain in their native
state, remote from and unaided by his fostering care:—it would
appear as if Providence had thus meant to encourage and reward
activity and labour.

_Jack._—But, father, you left off with the apples too soon; do
pray resume their history: I wish you may tell us they are of
Swiss or German origin; they are so useful as a fruit, keep so
well through the winter, and may be eaten raw as well as dressed.

_Father._—This refreshing fruit, my apple-eating boy, is not
a native of Switzerland or Germany, as you desire it should be,
but comes to us from more favoured climates; at least this is
the case with the best sorts of them. We have a number of wild pear
and apple trees, the fruit of which is crabbed, harsh, and scarcely
eatable; whether they were so originally, or have degenerated,
remains to be determined. As I have said, none of these valuable
fruits are indigenous or native in the colder parts of Europe:
yet this ungrateful and rough climate it is that operates on
the European so as to distinguish him from the inhabitants of
the other parts of the world, by his intelligence, his fitness
for toil, and his skill in agriculture. There exist abundant
means and facilities for rendering man effeminate and indolent, but
necessity and want stimulate him to industry and useful inventions;
and by these blessings the inconveniences of climate are amply
compensated.

_Jack._—I dare say you are quite right, father;—but tell me where
then do apples come from?

_Father._—From the eastern countries, my son; and it is to the
victories of the Romans we are indebted for some of the best
kinds, which have been diversified by experiments, ingrafting,
or in other words the influence of soil and labour and intelligence.

_Fritz._—Quince and mulberry-trees are the last we have to inquire
about; and then, father, we will cease our importunities for
the present.

_Father._—It is almost time, I must confess. Mulberry-trees are
in general from Asia; they have, I presume, been cultivated more
for the sake of their leaves, on which silkworms feed, than for
their fruit: however, it cannot be denied that the juicy berry
of the dark-coloured mulberry-tree merits to be held in some
estimation, and the white-coloured, whose fruit is small and
indifferent, contributes to the production of the finest silk.
The quince-tribe must have taken its name from the town of Cydonia
in the isle of Crete; the Romans called them _pyrus Cydonæ_.
On the quince-tree may be most successfully grafted pear-trees
designed to be afterwards planted as espaliers.

_Fritz._—But why is it thought right to stunt the growth of a
fine tree, and force it to remain diminutive?

_Father._—This, in several respects, is useful; wall-trees, being
sheltered on one side, bear earlier and more choice fruits; it
is easier to defend them from insects; their fruits are more
conveniently gathered. The tree, giving less shade, is not so
injurious to the culinary plants that are near it.—Are not these
substantial reasons?

_Jack._—Then I must ask, why are not all trees set in this way?

That would not be a judicious plan by any means; an espalier
takes up too much ground; besides, trees with high stems produce
more fruit, they form orchards; a crop of hay too may be raised under
them, whereas espaliers serve in general as fences or boundaries
in gardens.

This is a compendium of our morning’s conversation, in the course
of which we finished our work in the completest manner. Towards
noon, a keen appetite hastened our return to Falcon’s Stream,
where we found an excellent and plentiful dinner prepared by
our good and patient steward, of which the palm-tree cabbage
was the chief dish. We all agreed that to eat of a better or
more delicate food was impossible; and Ernest, who had procured
it, received the thanks of all the board.

When the sharpness of hunger was appeased, a new subject was
introduced which I and my wife had been seriously revolving for
some time; she found it difficult and even dangerous to ascend
and descend our tree with a rope ladder: we never went there
but on going to-bed, and each time felt an apprehension that
one of the children, who scrambled up like cats, might make a
false step and perhaps be lamed for ever. Bad weather might come
on and compel us for a long time together to seek an asylum in
our aërial apartment, and consequently to ascend and descend
oftener.

My wife addressed me constantly on the subject, incessantly asking
whether my inventive genius could not suggest some easier and
less perilous mode of getting to our dwelling. I smiled at her
implicit confidence that I could accomplish wonders: I assured
her that if I were an enchanter or magician no desire of hers
should remain ungratified, and that with a single touch of my
wand I would instantly produce for her a commodious firm stair-case
of perfect workmanship; but that not being the case, I acknowledged
myself at a loss for the means to effect such an accommodation
for her: still her reiterated appeals and my own anxiety had
often made me reflect if the thing were really possible? A stair-case
on the outside was not to be thought of, the considerable height
of the tree rendered that impracticable, as I had nothing to
rest it on, and should be at a loss to find beams to sustain
it; but I had for some time formed the idea of constructing winding
stairs within the immense trunk of the tree, if it should happen
to be hollow, or I could contrive to make it so: Francis had
excited this idea in speaking of the bees.

Did you not tell me, dear wife, said I, that there is a hole
in the trunk of this enormous tree of ours, in which a swarm
of bees is lodged?

Without doubt, answered she; it was there little Francis was
so severely stung in attempting to thrust in a stick; look at
it yourself, you will see the bees go in and come out in throngs.

Then, replied I, we have only to examine how far this excavation
goes, whether it extends to the roots, and what the circumference
of it is; this done, we shall have gained the first difficult
step in favour of our stair-case.

All my children seized the idea with ardour; they sprang up, and
prepared themselves to climb the tops of the roots like squirrels,
to succeed in striking at the trunk with axes, and to judge from
the sound how far it was hollow; but they soon paid dearly for
their attempt: the whole swarm of bees, alarmed at the noise
made against their dwelling, issued forth, buzzing with fury,
attacked the little disturbers, began to sting them, stuck to
their hair and clothes, and soon put them to flight, bearing
along with them their enemies, and uttering lamentable cries.
My wife and I had some trouble to stop the course of this uproar,
and cover their little wounds with fresh earth to allay the smart.
Jack, whose temper was on all occasions rash, had struck exactly
upon the bees’ nest, and was more severely attacked by them than
the rest; it was necessary, so serious was the injury, to cover
the whole of his face with linen. The less active Ernest got up
the last, and was the first to run off when he saw the consequences,
and thus avoided any further injury than a sting or two; but
some hours elapsed before the other boys could open their eyes
or be in the least relieved from the acute pain that had been
inflicted. When they grew a little better, the desire of being
avenged of the insects that had so roughly used them had the
ascendant in their minds: they teased me to hasten the measures
for getting every thing in readiness for obtaining possession
of their honey. The bees in the mean time were still buzzing
furiously round the tree. I prepared tobacco, a pipe, some clay,
chisels, hammers, &c. I took the large gourd long intended for
a hive, and I fitted a place for it by nailing a piece of board
on a branch of the tree; I made a straw roof for the top to screen
it from the sun and rain; and as all this took up more time than
I was aware of, we deferred the attack of the fortress to the
following day, and got ready for a sound sleep, which completed
the cure of my little wounded patients.