There is great beauty, as well as other kinds of pleasure, in a well-arranged fruiterer’s shop-window. Here are the round piled-up oranges, deepening in colour till some are almost red, and heavy with juice; the apple, with its brown-red cheek, as if it had slept in the sun ; the pear, swelling downwards, and tempting us to take a huge bite from the side; clustering grapes, like so many tight little bags of wine; the peach, whose handsome coat strips off so finely; red little strawberries in round, woven baskets; large purple plums, with soft bloom; the swelling pomp of melons; the rough hard coconut, milky inside; the quaint, curving cashew nut; almonds, figs, tamarind pods, and many more with foreign names.