CROPS AND PROFITS 



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 mammoth crimson berries, — the mug of 

 luscious cream standing sentry, — the round red 

 cheese upon its platter, — the tidy hostess, with 

 arms akimbo, looking proudly on it all: the 

 leaves flutter idly at the latticed 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, 



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