t　the　most　beautiful　were　the　most　valuable；　and　that　those　which　had　the　gayest　colours　were　the　most　beautiful。　The　gentleman　smiled　at　my　ignorance。　He　seemed　a　very　plain　honest　man；　and　a　person　of　good　sense；　had　not　his　head　been　touched　with　that　distemper　which　Hippocrates　calls　the　Tulippomania；　in　so　much　that　he　would　talk　very　rationally　on　any　subject　in　the　world　but　a　tulip。

He　told　me；　that　he　valued　the　bed　of　flowers　which　lay　before　us；　and　was　not　above　twenty　yards　in　length　and　two　in　breadth；　more　than　he　would　the　best　hundred　acres　of　land　in　England；　and　added；　that　it　would　have　been　worth　twice　the　money　it　is；　if　a　foolish　cook；　maid　of　his　had　not　almost　ruined　him　in　the　last　winter；　by　mistaking　a　handful　of　tulip　roots　for　a　heap　of　onions；　and　“by　that　means；”　says　he；　“made　me　a　dish　of　pottage　that　cost　me　above　thousand　pounds　sterling。”　He　then　showed　me　what　he　thought　the　finest　of　his　tulips；　which　I　found　received　all　their　value　from　their　rarity；　and　oddness；　and　put　me　in　mind　of　our　great　fortunes；　which　are　not　always　the　greatest　beauties。

I　have　often　looked　upon　it　as　a　piece　of　happiness；　that　I　have　never　fallen　into　any　of　these　fantastical　tastes；　nor　esteemed　anything　the　more　for　its　being　the　unmon　and　hard　to　be　met　with。　For　this　reason　I　look　upon　the　whole　country　in　springtime　as　a　spacious　garden；　and　make　as　many　visits　to　a　spot　of　daisies　or　a　bank　of　violets；　as　a　florist　does　to　his　borders　or