One of them had a cow’s horn, from which he extracted horribly discordant notes. Then they marched to one of the apple trees and encircled it, chanting a prayer for the next year’s crop.
Stand fast, root—bear well, top—
Pray the Lord send us a good heavy crop.
Every twig apples big—
Every bough apples enow:
Hats full, caps full,
Full quarters, sacks full.
They shouted in chorus with the cow-horn accompaniment, rapped the trees with sticks, which each bore in his hand, and concluded the ceremony by knocking down three monster red-cheeked pippins, which were soon floating in the tub, ready to be mouthed for by the youngsters, who endeavoured to earn them under the same conditions as the lamb race.
Indeed, the sports and pastimes on this occasion were singularly varied and amusing.
Old Mr. Jamblin had, throughout his life, taken great delight in keeping up the old English customs of his forefathers, and John Ashbrook proved a worthy successor, in this respect, to his father-in-law.