QUALITY AND QUANTITY. 



AN AMATEUR S EXPERrENCE Wll H FRUITS, AND A OUERV OF THE FUTURE. 



' H-;. . '^'^y ■ ^ RUITS have always been my 

 n__^^m^'^vj ^^^^ love. As a boy, I drew 

 mental pictures of the or- 

 □ v^^j^^^^: chards and small fruits and 

 n^awiS!^^ arbors I should have when old 



M (^^mv enough to shift for myself. 



- — " — %jmW' ' Everything should be neat 



and attractive, even artistic. 

 Every plant should be pruned, trained and tilled in 

 the most approved methods. 



Of course, the means of paying for all this was 

 no part of my thoughts in my youthful days, and 

 when I finally came to do for myself, I was pos- 

 sessed of a great ambition for a model little farm, 

 without any definite purpose as to how I should get 

 the money to make it. Still I thought that good 

 fruits, better than any which my neighbors grew, 

 would somehow find a remunerative market. I had 

 been encouraged in this idea by the lectures of 

 various teachers and the constant advice of the best 

 rural papers. 



My first fruits to come into bearing were straw- 

 berries. I had a beautiful patch of Triomphe and 

 a fair one of Jucunda. I had given them unusual 

 attention, as one must do if he secures a good crop 

 of these coquettish varieties. The crop was a good 

 one, and I naturally felt proud of my success. I 

 put up the berries in "honest quarts," and had 

 neat little slips printed for each box, saying that 

 the contents were warranted to be strictly first-class. 

 I recollect vividly the smile of incredulity which 

 passed over the grocer's face as I took in my first 

 picking, and told him that I expected a better price 

 than was paid for ordinary berries. 



" Here are berries just as his, as yours," he said, 

 " and how can I ask more for yours than for these ?'• 

 " But those berries are Wilsons," I replied, "and 

 mine are Triomphes, and much better." "No one 

 asks about the taste of strawberries," he retorted ; 

 "a strawberry is a strawberry, and no one cares 

 anything about the name of it. Those are just as 

 big and red as yours, and ought to bring just as 

 much." " But," I said, "those berries are in snide 

 quarts, and my boxes are fuU quarts. My boxes 

 are a full fifth larger than those and ought to bring 

 more." "I don't care anything about the size of the 

 box," he continued : "a box is a box and no one 



asks how much it holds." "But can't I leave my 

 berries and let them sell for what they will bring ?" 

 " Not unless you take them tags off. I can't make 

 any discriminations. Smith supplies me with ber- 

 ries which suit my customers, and I don't want to 

 bother with any high-toned notions." 



So my aspirations fell. I was sure that there 

 were some people in the village who would be will- 

 ling to pay me an extra price for my berries, but 

 how I should reach them I could not tell. I tried 

 the other grocerymen in the village, but with about 

 the same results. I left my first picking with the 

 last dealer whom I visited. When I next called 

 upon him I found that he had allowed my berries 

 to stand out in the broiling sun, and the label be- 

 came a farce. The result was, that I put my ber- 

 ries upon the market as my neighbors did, and my 

 fine Triomphes sold as Wilson and Captain Jack. 

 Of course, I was discouraged, and it was but natu- 

 ral that I should plow up my patches and plant less 

 exacting varieties. Fortunately, however, I re- 

 tained a small corner of my favorite Triomphe bed, 

 and this ex-entually solved my difficulties. 



Two years had passed, and I had fallen into com- 

 mon ways of growing the commonest things. In 

 fact, I began to think of giving up the business, for I 

 found little to interest me in such loose and thought- 

 less practices. At this critical point a little circum- 

 stance diverted the current of my thoughts. A 

 couple friends from a Massachusetts city were visit- 

 visiting us ; they were thoroughly in sympathy 

 with the freeness and openness of the country, and 

 used to make careful and critical examinations of my 

 trees and fruits. It chanced that the corner of the 

 old Triomphe bed still persisted, and this year the 

 berries, though not large, seemed to be unusually rich 

 and delicious. I have often noticed this tendency 

 in some old plants to bear delicious fruits, as if the 

 sweetness of a warm and mellow old age had come 

 upon them. My friends chanced upon this patch 

 in one of their morning rambles, and they could 

 scarcely find adjectives enough to express their ad- 

 miration of the berries. 



" If you could send such berries as those to Bos- 

 ton or Hartford," they exclaimed, " you could make 

 your fortune." I told them of my experience, and 

 declared that the \ enture would not pay. But they 



