In 1836 there were in the garden of the London Horticultural Society more than fourteen hundred distinct sorts. But here are species which they have not in their catalogue, not to mention the varieties which our Crab might yield to cultivation.

Let us enumerate a few of these. I find myself compelled, after all, to give the Latin names of some for the benefit of those who live where English is not spoken,--for they are likely to have a world-wide reputation.

There is, first of all, the Wood-Apple (_Malus sylvatica_); the Blue-Jay Apple; the Apple which grows in Dells in the Woods, (_sylvestrivallis_,) also in Hollows in Pastures (_campestrivallis_); the Apple that grows in an old Cellar-Hole (_Malus cellaris_); the Meadow-Apple; the Partridge-Apple; the Truant's Apple, (_Cessatoris_,) which no boy will ever go by without knocking off some, however _late_ it may be; the Saunterer's Apple,--you must lose yourself before you can find the way to that; the Beauty of the Air (_Decus Aeris_); December-Eating; the Frozen-Thawed _(gelato-soluta),_ good only in that state; the Concord Apple, possibly the same with the _Musketaquidensis_; the Assabet Apple; the Brindled Apple; Wine of New England; the Chickaree Apple; the Green Apple _(Malus viridis);_--this has many synonymes; in an imperfect state, it is the _Cholera morbifera aut dysenterifera, puerulis dilectissima_;--the Apple which Atalanta stopped to pick up; the Hedge-Apple _(Malus Sepium_); the Slug-Apple _(limacea)_; the Railroad-Apple, which perhaps came from a core thrown out of the cars; the Apple whose Fruit we tasted in our Youth; our Particular Apple, not to be found in any catalogue,--_Pedestrium Solatium_; also the Apple where hangs the Forgotten Scythe; Iduna's Apples, and the Apples which Loki found in the Wood; and a great many more I have on my list, too numerous to mention,--all of them good. As Bodaeus exclaims, referring to the cultivated kinds, and adapting Virgil to his case, so I, adapting Bodaeus,--

"Not if I had a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths,
An iron voice, could I describe all the forms
And reckon up all the names of these _wild apples_."

THE LAST GLEANING.

By the middle of November the wild apples have lost some of their brilliancy, and have chiefly fallen. A great part are decayed on the ground, and the sound ones are more palatable than before. The note of the chickadee sounds now more distinct, as you wander amid the old trees, and the autumnal dandelion is half-closed and tearful. But still, if you are a skilful gleaner, you may get many a pocket-full even of grafted fruit, long after apples are supposed to be gone out-of-doors. I know a Blue-Pearmain tree, growing within the edge of a swamp, almost as good as wild. You would not suppose that there was any fruit left there, on the first survey, but you must look according to system. Those which lie exposed are quite brown and rotten now, or perchance a few still show one blooming cheek here and there amid the wet leaves. Nevertheless, with experienced eyes, I explore amid the bare alders and the huckleberry-bushes and the withered sedge, and in the crevices of the rocks, which are full of leaves, and pry under the fallen and decaying ferns, which, with apple and alder leaves, thickly strew the ground. For I know that they lie concealed, fallen into hollows long since and covered up by the leaves of the tree itself,--a proper kind of packing.