An old apple, not sufficiently known, is the Rosemary Russet; it has the distinctive russet-bronze colouring, always indicative of flavour, with a rosy flush on the sunny side, and Dr. Hogg describes it further as, “flesh yellow, crisp, tender, very juicy, sugary and highly aromatic—­a first-rate dessert apple, in use from December to February.”  In my opinion it comes next, though longo intervallo, to Cox’s Orange Pippin, but it wants good land to make the best of it.  It may with confidence be produced as a rarity across the walnuts and the wine to the connossieur in apples.

In Covent Garden Market King Pippins are known as “Kings”; Cox’s Orange Pippins as “C.O.P.’s”; Cellinis as “Selinas”; Kerry pippins as “Careys”; Court pendu plat as “Corpendus”; and the pear, Josephine de Malines as “Joseph on the palings”!  The Wellington is sold as “Wellington,” but in the markets of the large northern towns it is known as “Normanton Wonder.”

In Worcestershire St. Swithin’s Day, July 15, is called “apple-christening day,” when a good rain often gives a great impetus to their growth, and a little later great quantities of small apples may be seen under the trees; this is Nature’s method of limiting the crop to reasonable proportions, the weak ones falling off and the fittest surviving.  The inexperienced grower may be somewhat alarmed by this apparent destruction of his prospects, but the older hand knows better, and my bailiff always said:  “When I sees plenty of apples under the trees about midsummer, I knows there’ll be plenty to pick towards Michaelmas.”

The Blenheim Orange was the leading apple at Aldington; some kind person had, sixty or seventy years before my time, planted a number of trees which had thrived wonderfully on that rich land.  The Blenheim is a nice dessert apple and a splendid “cooker”; the trees take many years to come into bearing, and then they make up for lost time.  Nature is never in a hurry to produce her best results.  As a market apple the Blenheim has a great reputation; if an Evesham fruit dealer was asked if he could do with any apples, his first question was always:  “Be ’em Blemmins?”

“September blow soft till the fruit’s in the loft,” is the prayer of all apple growers; it is pitiful to see, after a roaring gale, the ground strewn with beautiful fruit, bruised and broken, useless to keep, and only suitable for carting away to the all-devouring cider-mill, though, even for that purpose, the sweet Blenheim does not produce nearly so good a drink as sourer accredited cider varieties.

Many of the gardening papers will name apples if sent by readers for identification; I was told of an enquirer who sent twelve apples from the same tree, and received eleven different names and one “unknown”!  Apples off the same tree do differ wonderfully, but I can scarcely credit this story.