For some twenty or thirty years the orchards were sadly neglected. The old trees were not replaced, there was no pruning, no cleaning of the trunks, the cattle were turned into the orchard to gnaw and injure the bark and break down the branches, no dressing was given to the roots, and the pounding of apples was generally abandoned. But thanks to the increased demand for cider--largely, no doubt, to be drunk as cider, also, it is more than suspected, to be drunk under another name--the farmers in Somersetshire, Devonshire, Hereford, and Worcestershire have begun to cultivate apple trees, and care for them, as a means of revenue. In former days there were many more orchards than at present; every gentleman's house, every farmhouse had its well-stocked, carefully pruned orchard. Beer ran cider hard, and nearly beat it out of the field, and overthrew the apple trees, but the trees are having their good times again. There is a curious song of "The Apple Trees" that was formerly sung in every West of England farmhouse. It was a sort of Georgic, giving complete instructions how apples are to be grown and cider to be made. It is now remembered only by very old men, and as it has, to the best of my knowledge, never appeared in print, I will quote it in full:-- "An orchard fair, to please, And pleasure for your mind, sir, You'd have--then plant of trees The goodliest you can find, sir; In bark they must be clean, And finely grown in root, sir, Well trimmed in head, I ween, And sturdy in the shoot, sir. O the jovial days when the apple trees do bear, We'll drink and be merry all the gladsome year. "The pretty trees you plant, Attention now will need, sir, That nothing they may want, Which to mention I proceed, sir. You must not grudge a fence 'Gainst cattle, tho't be trouble; They will repay the expense In measure over double. O the jovial days, &c. "To give a man great joy, And see his orchard thrive, sir, A skilful hand employ To use the pruning knife, sir. To lop each wayward limb, That seemeth to offend, sir; Nor fail at Fall, to trim Until the tree's life end, sir. O the jovial days, &c. "All in the month of May, The trees are clothed in bloom, sir, As posies bright and gay, Both morning, night and noon, sir. 'Tis pleasant to the sight, 'Tis sweet unto the smell, sir, And if there be no blight, The fruit will set and swell, sir. O the jovial days, &c. "The summer oversped, October drawing on, sir; The apples gold and red Are glowing in the sun, sir.