othing could be straighter than the canal upon which our party were
skating, and nothing straighter than the long rows of willow trees that
stood, bare and wispy, along the bank. On the opposite side, lifted high
above the surrounding country, lay the carriage road on top of the great
dike built to keep the Haarlem Lake within bounds; stretching out far in
the distance, until it became lost in a point, was the glassy canal with
its many skaters, its brown-winged iceboats, its push-chairs, and its
queer little sleds, light as cork, flying over the ice by means of
iron-pronged sticks in the hands of the riders. Ben was in ecstasy with
the scene.

Ludwig van Holp had been thinking how strange it was that the English
boy should know so much of Holland. According to Lambert's account, he
knew more about it than the Dutch did. This did not quite please our
young Hollander. Suddenly he thought of something that he believed
would make the "Shon Pull" open his eyes; he drew near Lambert with a
triumphant "Tell him about the tulips!"

Ben caught the word tulpen.

"Oh, yes!" said he eagerly, in English, "the Tulip Mania--are you
speaking of that? I have often heard it mentioned but know very little
about it. It reached its height in Amsterdam, didn't it?"

Ludwig moaned; the words were hard to understand, but there was no
mistaking the enlightened expression on Ben's face. Lambert, happily,
was quite unconscious of his young countryman's distress as he replied,
"Yes, here and in Haarlem, principally; but the excitement ran high all
over Holland, and in England too for that matter."

"Hardly in England, I think," said Ben, "but I am not sure, as I was
not thereat the time."

*{Although the Tulip Mania did not prevail in England as in
Holland, the flower soon became an object of speculation and
brought very large prices. In 1636, tulips were publicly
sold on the Exchange of London. Even as late as 1800 a
common price was fifteen guineas for one bulb. Ben did not
know that in his own day a single tulip plant, called the
"Fanny Kemble", had been sold in London for more than
seventy guineas.

Mr Mackay, in his "Memoirs of Popular Delusions," tells a
funny story of an English botanist who happened to see a
tulip bulb lying in the conservatory of a wealthy Dutchman.
Ignorant if its value, he took out his penknife and, cutting
the bulb in two, became very much inter