Had Solomon been there to put in a word, His wisdom had brought the debate to an end, Deciding at once, by the edge of his sword, This contest of kindness between friend and friend: Yet he with the apple was quite too short-sighted To see how I might in a half have delighted. I hope that next autumn he 'll go where it grew, And, if not forbidden the fruit, that he 'll reach And pluck a fair apple, then cut it in two, And tell me at once that _a half is for each_. Of friendship's best gift how the worth may be lightened By having it whole, when, if shared, how 't were heightened! THE HALF APPLE. A year after the foregoing poem was written, a nice little casket was sent me, at the distance of thirty-five miles, which, on opening, I found to contain the half of an apple like the one I had seen the previous autumn. The half of an apple, well-flavored and fair, Which shows by division such soundness of heart, I gratefully hold; and acknowledge the care And kindness of him, who retains t 'other part. The fruit, that would perish, I taste with delight, The seed taking out to lay cautiously by, Because it encloses, concealed from my sight, An emblem of that, which in us cannot die. Its elements, when 't is laid low in the earth, If good, will arise in fresh verdure and bloom; As man's deathless soul seeks the world of its birth, When what it once dwelt in lies dark in the tomb. The little memento I 'll hide in the ground, For Nature, its mother, to tenderly rear; And bright be its blossoms--its fruit fair and sound, When I and the giver no more shall be here! For, when I depart, and some good, living deed Would fain leave behind, in remembrance of me, At least, be it said that I planted a seed, That others might gather the fruit from the tree! THE HORTICULTURIST'S TABLE-HYMN. From him, who was lord of the fruits and the flowers, That in Paradise grew, ere he lost its possession-- Who breathed in the balm, and reposed in the bowers Of our garden ancestral, we claim our profession. And fruits rich and bright Bless our taste and our sight As e'er gave our father in Eden delight: Our fount clear as that, which he drank from, here flows; Where green grows the myrtle, and blushing the rose.