FRUITS have always been my first love. As a boy, I drew mental pictures of t h e orchards and small fruits and arbors I should have when old enough to shift for myself. 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 possessed 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 strawberries. 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. X 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 1 expected a better price than was paid for ordinary berries.

" Here are berries just as big 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 full 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 berries 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 1 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 became a farce. The result was, that I put my berries 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 natural that I should plow up my patches and plant less exacting varieties. Fortunately, however, I retained a small corner of my favorite Triomphe bed, and this eventually solved my difficulties.

Two years had passed, and I had fallen into common ways of growing the commonest things. Id fact, I began to think of giving up the business, for I found little to interest me in such loose and thoughtless practices. At this critical point a little circumstance 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 admiration of the berries.

" If you could send such berries as those to Boston or Hartford," they exclaimed, "you could make your fortune." I told them of my experience, and declared that the venture would not pay. But they persisted that they were right, and I soon found myself wondering why I had not thought of the metropolitan markets before. They declared that my troubles had been with the dealers, and not with my idea of growing superior fruits. If I could but find the right dealer, they said, I could sell my choice fruits at a good price; and they advised me to revise my first warranty ticket.

I resolved to try, and by their aid I obtained the addresses of several good firms in neighboring cities. My first trial in these new markets was with some fine raspberries, a small consignment of a dozen packages, which I put up with extra care. The day after I shipped them I received a telegram from the dealer, asking if I had more berries of the same kind! This was a surprise and a revelation, and it gave me new spirits.

Two years more have passed and have brought me to the point where the reader now finds me. I am now gradually returning to my first idea of the best varieties, the best culture and the greatest care. It appears as if there is a sufficient demand for quality to pay for securing it. Of course, I have made many mistakes during these last two years, but they have all been useful 1o me. I am finding myself more intimately interested in my business and more appreciative of nature than I had been under the thoughtless system of a few years ago. I begin to see more to admire and to study. The fields and plants seem to speak to me. I am beginning to feel what a delightful life must be that of the experimenter, for he converses with nature in the most intimate way.

I do not know that there is a fortune in fine fruits, as my friends declared, but I am coming to feel that there is more money in them under many conditions, than in the cheaper products which most of my neighbors grow. And there is certainly money made by care and tastefulness in packing. A single illustration will emphasize this point. The line between myself and my neighbor runs through an old orchard of Hubbardstons. My neighbor cares more for stock than for fruit, and he sold his Hubbardstons a year or two ago for about a dollar a barrel. I sold mine, which were in no way superior, for from $2 to $3.

Perhaps my faith in quality vs. quantity is too strong, but I am determined to work along this line, not only with small fruits, but with apples and pears. I shall feel my way, to be sure. But I cannot retrench, for I had rather go out of the business than to return to the old way. I cannot read The American Garden and other horticultural periodicals and then practice loose methods. But others have had better experience than I; what do they say as to my prospects ? Am I on the right track for the best success to be won ?

Connecticut. I. C. V.