“Mr. Francis Oliver (a gentleman of the neighbourhood, and, if I mistake not, the gentleman who had the mortgage just now mentioned) was one of the first persons about Exeter that affected rough cyder, and, for that reason, purchased the fruit of this tree every bearing year. However, I cannot learn that he ever made cyder of it alone, but mix’d with other apples, which added to the flavour of his cyder, in the opinion of those who had a true relish for that liquor. “Whether this, or any other consideration, brought on the more happy experiment upon this apple, the Rev. Robert Wollocombe, Rector of Whitestone, who used to amuse himself with a nursery, put on some heads of this wilding; and in a few years after being in his nursery, about March, a person came to him on some business, and feeling something roll under his feet, took it up, and it proved one of those precious apples, which Mr. Wollocombe receiving from him, finding it perfectly sound after it had lain in the long stragle of the nursery during all the rain, frost, and snow of the foregoing winter, thought it must be a fruit of more than common value; and having tasted it, found the juices, not only in a most perfect soundness and quickness, but such likewise as seemed to promise a body, as well as the roughness and flavour that the wise cyder drinkers in Devon now begin to desire. He observed the graft from which it had fallen, and searching about found some more of the apples, and all of the same soundness; upon which, without hesitation, he resolved to graft a greater quantity of them, which he accordingly did; but waited with impatience for the experiment, which you know must be the work of some years. They came at length, and his just reward was a barrel of the juice, which, though it was small, was of great value for its excellency, and far exceeded all his expectations. [Illustration] The _TYBURN_ INTERVIEW: A New SONG. By a /Cyder Merchant/, of South-Ham, Devonshire. Dedicated to _JACK KETCH_. To the Tune _A Cobler there was_, &c. As Sawney from _Tweed_ was a trudging to Town, To rest his tir’d Limbs on the Grass he sat down; When growsing his Oatmeal, he turn’d up his Eyes, And kenn’d a strange Pile on three Pillars arise. _Derry down_, &c. Amaz’d he starts up, “Thou Thing of odd Form, That stand’st here defying each turbulent Storm; What art thou? Thy Office declare at my Word, Or thou shalt not escape this strong Arm and broad Sword.” _Derry down_, &c. Quoth the Structure, “Altho’ I’m not known unto thee, Thy Countrymens Lives have been shorten’d by me; To strike thee at once, know that _Tyburn’s_ my Name, In _Scotland_, no doubt, you have heard of my Fame. _Derry down_, &c.