was true of the wild Wood strawberry, how much more so of many of our
aromatic rubies of to-day.


John Parkinson, the apothecary-gardener of London, whose quaint work
was published in 1629, is not so enthusiastic. He says of the wild
strawberry: "It may be eaten or chewed in the mouth without any manner
of offense; it is no great bearer, but those it doth beare are set at
the toppes of the stalks, close together, pleasant to behold, and fit
for a gentlewoman to wear on her arme, &c., as a raritie instead of a
flower."

In England, the strawberry leaf is part of the insignia of high rank,
since it appears in the coronets of a duke, marquis, and earl. "He
aspires to the strawberry leaves" is a well-known phrase abroad, and
the idea occurs several times in the novels of Disraeli, the present
British Premier. Thackeray, in his "Book of Snobs," writes: "The
strawberry leaves on her chariot panels are engraved on her ladyship's
heart."

After all, perhaps it is not strange that the Alpine species should be
allied to some dark memories, for it was the only kind known when the
age was darkened by passion and crime.

The one other allusion to the strawberry in Shakespeare is peculiarly
appropriate to the species under consideration. In the play of Henry
V., an earlier Bishop of Ely says:--

"The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best