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 interested in his investigations. Suddenly the owner appeared and, pouncing furiously upon him, asked if he knew what he was doing. “Peeling a most extraordinary onion,” replied the philosopher. “Hundert tousant tuyvel!” shouted the Dutchman, “it’s an Admiral Van der Eyk!” “Thank you,” replied the traveler, immediately writing the name in his notebook. “Pray, are these very common in your country?” “Death and the tuyvel!” screamed the Dutchman, “come before the Syndic and you shall see!” In spite of his struggles the poor investigator, followed by an indignant mob, was taken through the streets to a magistrate. Soon he learned to his dismay that he had destroyed a bulb worth 4,000 florins ($1,600). He was lodged in prison until securities could be procured for the payment of the sum.} “Ha! ha! that’s true, unless you are over two hundred years old. Well, I tell you, sir, there never was anything like it before nor since. Why, persons were so crazy after tulip bulbs in those days that they paid their weight in gold for them.” “What, the weight of a man!” cried Ben, showing such astonishment in his eyes that Ludwig fairly capered. “No, no, the weight of a BULB. The first tulip was sent here from Constantinople about the year 1560. It was so much admired that the rich people of Amsterdam sent to Turkey for more. From that time they grew to be the rage, and it lasted for years. Single roots brought from one to four thousand florins; and one bulb, the Semper Augustus, brought fifty-five hundred.” “That’s more than four hundred guineas of our money,” interposed Ben.