The Tulip-fancier and his Neighbour
Whilst the burghers of the Hague were tearing in pieces the

bodies of John and Cornelius de Witt, and whilst William of
Orange, after having made sure that his two antagonists were

really dead, was galloping over the Leyden road, followed by
Captain van Deken, whom he found a little too compassionate

to honour him any longer with his confidence, Craeke, the
faithful servant, mounted on a good horse, and little

suspecting what terrible events had taken place since his
departure, proceeded along the high road lined with trees,

until he was clear of the town and the neighbouring
villages.

Being once safe, he left his horse at a liverystable in
order not to arousesuspicion, and tranquilly continued his

journey on the canal-boats, which conveyed him by easy
stages to Dort, pursuing their way under skilful guidance by

the shortest possible routes through the windings of the
river, which held in its wateryembrace so many enchanting

little islands, edged with willows and rushes, and abounding
in luxuriousvegetation, whereon flocks of fat sheep browsed

in peaceful sleepiness. Craeke from afar off recognised
Dort, the smiling city, at the foot of a hill dotted with

windmills. He saw the fine red brick houses, mortared in
white lines, standing on the edge of the water, and their

balconies, open towards the river, decked out with silk
tapestry embroidered with gold flowers, the wonderful

manufacture of India and China; and near these brilliant
stuffs, large lines set to catch the voracious eels, which

are attracted towards the houses by the garbage thrown every
day from the kitchens into the river.

Craeke, standing on the deck of the boat, saw, across the
moving sails of the windmills, on the slope of the hill, the

red and pink house which was the goal of his errand. The
outlines of its roof were merging in the yellow foliage of a

curtain of poplar trees, the whole habitation having for
background a dark grove of gigantic elms. The mansion was

situated in such a way that the sun, falling on it as into a
funnel, dried up, warmed, and fertilised the mist which the

verdant screen could not prevent the river wind from
carrying there every morning and evening.

Having disembarked unobserved amid the usual bustle of the
city, Craeke at once directed his steps towards the house

which we have just described, and which -- white, trim, and
tidy, even more cleanly scoured and more carefully waxed in

the hidden corners than in the places which were exposed to
view -- enclosed a truly happy mortal.

This happy mortal, rara avis, was Dr. van Baerle, the godson
of Cornelius de Witt. He had inhabited the same house ever

since his childhood, for it was the house in which his
father and grandfather, old established princely merchants

of the princely city of Dort, were born.
Mynheer van Baerle the father had amassed in the Indian

trade three or four hundred thousand guilders, which Mynheer
van Baerle the son, at the death of his dear and worthy

parents, found still quite new, although one set of them
bore the date of coinage of 1640, and the other that of

1610, a fact which proved that they were guilders of Van
Baerle the father and of Van Baerle the grandfather; but we

will inform the reader at once that these three or four
hundred thousand guilders were only the pocket money, or

sort of purse, for Cornelius van Baerle, the hero of this
story, as his landed property in the province yielded him an

income of about ten thousand guilders a year.
When the worthy citizen, the father of Cornelius, passed

from time into eternity, three months after having buried
his wife, who seemed to have departed first to smooth for

him the path of death as she had smoothed for him the path
of life, he said to his son, as he embraced him for the last

time, --
"Eat, drink, and spend your money, if you wish to know what

life really is, for as to toiling from morn to evening on a
wooden stool, or a leathern chair, in a counting-house or a

laboratory, that certainly is not living. Your time to die
will also come; and if you are not then so fortunate as to

have a son, you will let my name grow extinct, and my
guilders, which no one has ever fingered but my father,

myself, and the coiner, will have the surprise of passing to
an unknown master. And least of all, imitate the example of

your godfather, Cornelius de Witt, who has plunged into
politics, the most ungrateful of all careers, and who will

certainly come to an untimely end."
Having given utterance to this paternal advice, the worthy

Mynheer van Baerle died, to the intense grief of his son
Cornelius, who cared very little for the guilders, and very

much for his father.
Cornelius then remained alone in his large house. In vain

his godfather offered to him a place in the public service,
-- in vain did he try to give him a taste for glory, --

although Cornelius, to gratify his godfather, did embark
with De Ruyter upon "The Seven Provinces," the flagship of a

fleet of one hundred and thirty-nine sail, with which the
famous admiral set out to contend singlehanded against the

combined forces of France and England. When, guided by the
pilot Leger, he had come within musket-shot of the "Prince,"

with the Duke of York (the English king's brother) aboard,
upon which De Ruyter, his mentor, made so sharp and well

directed an attack that the Duke, perceiving that his vessel
would soon have to strike, made the best of his way aboard

the "Saint Michael"; when he had seen the "Saint Michael,"
riddled and shattered by the Dutch broadside, drift out of

the line; when he had witnessed the sinking of the "Earl of
Sandwich," and the death by fire or drowning of four hundred

sailors; when he realized that the result of all this
destruction -- after twenty ships had been blown to pieces,

three thousand men killed and five thousand injured -- was
that nothing was decided, that both sides claimed the

victory, that the fighting would soon begin again, and that
just one more name, that of Southwold Bay, had been added to

the list of battles; when he had estimated how much time is
lost simply in shutting his eyes and ears by a man who likes

to use his reflective powers even while his fellow creatures
are cannonading one another; -- Cornelius bade farewell to

De Ruyter, to the Ruart de Pulten, and to glory, kissed the
knees of the Grand Pensionary, for whom he entertained the

deepest veneration, and retired to his house at Dort, rich
in his well-earned repose, his twenty-eight years, an iron

constitution and keen perceptions, and his capital of more
than four hundred thousands of florins and income of ten

thousand, convinced that a man is always endowed by Heaven
with too much for his own happiness, and just enough to make

him miserable.
Consequently, and to indulge his own idea of happiness,

Cornelius began to be interested in the study of plants and
insects, collected and classified the Flora of all the Dutch

islands, arranged the whole entomology of the province, on
which he wrote a treatise, with plates drawn by his own

hands; and at last, being at a loss what to do with his
time, and especially with his money, which went on

accumulating at a most alarming rate, he took it into his
head to select for himself, from all the follies of his