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 ancient 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 Phœnicians too had previously transported it to some of the abovementioned countries.
The boys speaking together.—And the apple, pear, chestnut, 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. Chestnuts were called by the ancients 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,1 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 Phœnicians 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 Cydoniæ. 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 aerial 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.