Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1918-08-15
BEEF, IRON AND VINE
The Smell of Apples

ME STOPPED in at the Belevue.strat-
w ford Hotel yesterday afternoon to look
at the apples. The dining room of a big
hotel Is not usually a place one would
| associate with a country orchard, but the
| international Apple Shippers are holding
their convention there, and arrayed in
shining piles on the long tables are all
the apples you ever heard of. The room
was fragrant with that marvellous, fresh.
| nipping, unforgotten odor-the smell Of
ripening apples.
THERE were big, glossy, green apples
l. and bright red apples and yellow apples,
and that particularly delicious kind 1--WE
| don't remember the name) that Is the
paest possible cream coor-almost white.
There were apples Of strange shapes, al
most like pear (sheepnoses, we believe
they call them) and the Maiden Blush
apples, with their delicate shading Of yell
low and pink And what a poetry there
is in the names-we copied a few from
the little tags on the piles of fruit: Wine
sap, Pippin, Northern Spy, Baldwin, Ben
Davis. York Imperial, Wolf River, Jona-
than, Smokehouse, Summer Rambo. Rome
WYE RAN into Mr.. r. A. Troth, Of
w Orleans. Ind, whose apples had
just arrived. He was laying them out on
exhibition, and we watched them with
amazement Such greens and reds and
yellows! There used to be an old legend
about apple packers putting the biggest
fruit at the top of the barrel, but we don't
believe man could associate long with
such magnificent fruit and still be dis
honest. We are all nodded by the things
we work with We defy man to live
next to a printing press, that marvellous
piece of accurate and beautiful machinery,
and not try to put into his writing some
thing Of the fire and wonder of the great
machine. A man cannot live with a lovely
and gracious woman without becoming in
some degree a worshiper of beauty in all
it's forms. And We don't see how man
could live and deal with apples very long
without wanting to act honestly by the
| world
| A ND we suppose there is hardly a man
who has not an apple orchard tucked
|
must be some deep reason for the old sus-
picion that the Garden of Eden was an
apple orchard. Why is it that man can
sleep and smoke better under an apple
tree than in any other kind of shade? Sir
| Isaac Newton was a wise man, and he
chose an apple tree to sit beneath. CWe
have often wondered, by the way, how it
is that no one has ever named an apple
the Woolsthorpe, after Newton's home in
| Lincolnshire, where the famous apple Incl
dent occurred)
A n APPLE orchard, If it is to fill the
Aheart of man to the full with affec.
tonate satisfaction, should straggle down
a hillside toward a lake and white road
where the sun shines hotly. Some Of its
branches should trail over an old, lichened
and weather.stained stone wall, dropping
their fruit into the highway for thirsty
pedestrians. There should be little patti
running athwart it, down toward the lake
and the old f1at-bottomed boat, whose bilge
is scattered with the black and shriveled
remains Of angleworms used for bait. Ir
warm August afternoons the sweet savol
Of ripening drifts warmly on the air, ant
there rises the drowsy hum of wasps
exploring the windfals that are already
rotting on the grass. There you may liz
watching the sky through the chinks OF
the leaves, and imagining the cool, colder
tang of this autumn's cider vats Tha
is the sort of vision that the desk -bount
citizen consoles himself with about this
time of year. If you want to smell tha
whiff of boyhood once more, just drop into
the BeevueStratford dining room today
and see the long rows of wincsaps ant
pippins spread out before your gloatint
| eyes
German Republic