Strawberries Ripe, and Cherries in the Rise.
In the earlier days, the above was at once a musical and a poetical cry. It must have come over the ear, telling of sunny gardens not a sparrow’s flight from the City, such as that of the Bishop of Ely in Holborn, and of plenteous orchards which could spare their boughs as well as their fruit:—
| “D. of Glou.—My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there: I do beseech you send for some of them. B. of Ely.—Marry, and I will, my lord, with all my heart.” Richard III., act iii., sc. 4. |
Fine Oranges and Lemons.
The “orange-women” of Ben Jonson we have figured to the life. The familiar mention of the orange-sellers in the “Silent Woman,” and this very early representation of one of them, show how general the use of this fruit had become in England at the beginning of the seventeenth century. It is stated, though the story is somewhat apocryphal, that the first oranges were imported by Sir Walter Raleigh. It is probable that about his time they first became an article of general commerce. We now consume about three hundred and fifty millions of oranges every year.
The class of bold young women—“Orange Wenches,” that Nell Gwynne made famous is sufficiently alluded to in a passage in the Spectator, No. 141:
“But, indeed, by such representations, a poet sacrifices the best part of his audience to the worst; and, as one would think, neglects the boxes to write to the orange-wenches.”
Rowe and other writers go far to prove that the “Orange Wenches” who frequented theatres had