CROPS AND PROFITS. 375 



Three great traveller s dishes of strawberries are 

 in my mind. 



The first was at an inn in the quaint Dutch town 

 of Broek : I can see now the heaped dish of mam 

 moth crimson berries, the mug of luscious cream 

 standing sentry, the round red cheese upon its plat 

 ter, the tidy hostess, with arms akimbo, looking 

 proudly on it all : the leaves flutter idly at the lat 

 ticed window, through which I see wide stretches 

 of level meadow, broad-armed windmills flapping 

 their sails leisurely, cattle lying in lazy groups 

 under the shade of scattered trees ; and there is no 

 sound to break the June stillness, except the buzzing 

 of the bees that are feeding upon the blossoms of the 

 linden which overhangs the inn. 



I thought I had never eaten finer berries than the 

 Dutch berries. 



The second dish was at the Douglas-Hotel in the 

 city of Edinboro ; a most respectable British tavern, 

 with a heavy solid sideboard in its parlor ; heavy 

 solid silver upon its table ; heavy and solid chairs 

 with cushions of shining mohair ; a heavy and solid 

 figure of a landlord ; and heavy and solid figures in 

 the reckoning. 



The berries were magnificent ; served upon 

 quaint old India-china, with stems upon them, and to 

 be eaten as one might eat a fig, with successive bites, 



