Baerle's beds tulips which dazzled him by their beauty, and
almost choked him by their perfection!

And then, after the first blush of the admiration which he
could not help feeling, he began to be tortured by the pangs

of envy, by that slow fever which creeps over the heart and
changes it into a nest of vipers, each devouring the other

and ever born anew. How often did Boxtel, in the midst of
tortures which no pen is able fully to describe, -- how

often did he feel an inclination to jump down into the
garden during the night, to destroy the plants, to tear the

bulbs with his teeth, and to sacrifice to his wrath the
owner himself, if he should venture to stand up for the

defence of his tulips!
But to kill a tulip was a horrible crime in the eyes of a

genuine tulip-fancier; as to killing a man, it would not
have mattered so very much.

Yet Van Baerle made such progress in the noble science of
growing tulips, which he seemed to master with the true

instinct of genius, that Boxtel at last was maddened to such
a degree as to think of throwing stones and sticks into the

flower-stands of his neighbour. But, remembering that he
would be sure to be found out, and that he would not only be

punished by law, but also dishonoured for ever in the face
of all the tulip-growers of Europe, he had recourse to

stratagem, and, to gratify his hatred, tried to devise a
plan by means of which he might gain his ends without being

compromised himself.
He considered a long time, and at last his meditations were

crowned with success.
One evening he tied two cats together by their hind legs

with a string about six feet in length, and threw them from
the wall into the midst of that noble, that princely, that

royal bed, which contained not only the "Cornelius de Witt,"
but also the "Beauty of Brabant," milk-white, edged with

purple and pink, the "Marble of Rotterdam," colour of flax,
blossoms feathered red and flesh colour, the "Wonder of

Haarlem," the "Colombin obscur," and the "Columbin clair
terni."

The frightened cats, having alighted on the ground, first
tried to fly each in a different direction, until the string

by which they were tied together was tightly stretched
across the bed; then, however, feeling that they were not

able to get off, they began to pull to and fro, and to wheel
about with hideous caterwaulings, mowing down with their

string the flowers among which they were struggling, until,
after a furiousstrife of about a quarter of an hour, the

string broke and the combatants vanished.
Boxtel, hidden behind his sycamore, could not see anything,

as it was pitch-dark; but the piercing cries of the cats
told the whole tale, and his heart overflowing with gall now

throbbed with triumphant joy.
Boxtel was so eager to ascertain the extent of the injury,

that he remained at his post until morning to feast his eyes
on the sad state in which the two cats had left the

flower-beds of his neighbour. The mists of the morning
chilled his frame, but he did not feel the cold, the hope of

revenge keeping his blood at fever heat. The chagrin of his
rival was to pay for all the inconvenience which he incurred

himself.
At the earliest dawn the door of the white house opened, and

Van Baerle made his appearance, approaching the flower-beds
with the smile of a man who has passed the night comfortably

in his bed, and has had happy dreams.
All at once he perceived furrows and little mounds of earth

on the beds which only the evening before had been as smooth
as a mirror, all at once he perceived the symmetrical rows

of his tulips to be completely disordered, like the pikes of
a battalion in the midst of which a shell has fallen.

He ran up to them with blanched cheek.
Boxtel trembled with joy. Fifteen or twenty tulips, torn and

crushed, were lying about, some of them bent, others
completely broken and already withering, the sap oozing from

their bleeding bulbs: how gladly would Van Baerle have
redeemed that precious sap with his own blood!

But what were his surprise and his delight! what was the
disappointment of his rival! Not one of the four tulips

which the latter had meant to destroy was injured at all.
They raised proudly their noble heads above the corpses of

their slain companions. This was enough to console Van
Baerle, and enough to fan the rage of the horticultural

murderer, who tore his hair at the sight of the effects of
the crime which he had committed in vain.

Van Baerle could not imagine the cause of the mishap, which,
fortunately, was of far less consequence than it might have

been. On making inquiries, he learned that the whole night
had been disturbed by terrible caterwaulings. He besides

found traces of the cats, their footmarks and hairs left
behind on the battle-field; to guard, therefore, in future

against a similar outrage, he gave orders that henceforth
one of the under gardeners should sleep in the garden in a

sentry-box near the flower-beds.
Boxtel heard him give the order, and saw the sentry-box put

up that very day; but he deemed himself lucky in not having
been suspected, and, being more than ever incensed against

the successful horticulturist, he resolved to bide his time.
Just then the Tulip Society of Haarlem offered a prize for

the discovery (we dare not say the manufacture) of a large
black tulip without a spot of colour, a thing which had not

yet been accomplished, and was considered impossible, as at
that time there did not exist a flower of that species

approaching even to a dark nut brown. It was, therefore,
generally said that the founders of the prize might just as

well have offered two millions as a hundred thousand
guilders, since no one would be able to gain it.

The tulip-growing world, however, was thrown by it into a
state of most active commotion. Some fanciers caught at the

idea without believing it practicable, but such is the power
of imagination among florists, that although considering the

undertaking as certain to fail, all their thoughts were
engrossed by that great black tulip, which was looked upon

to be as chimerical as the black swan of Horace or the white
raven of French tradition.

Van Baerle was one of the tulip-growers who were struck with
the idea; Boxtel thought of it in the light of a

speculation. Van Baerle, as soon as the idea had once taken
root in his clear and ingenious mind, began slowly the

necessary planting and cross-breeding to reduce the tulips
which he had grown already from red to brown, and from brown

to dark brown.
By the next year he had obtained flowers of a perfect

nut-brown, and Boxtel espied them in the border, whereas he
had himself as yet only succeeded in producing the light

brown.
It might perhaps be interesting to explain to the gentle

reader the beautiful chain of theories which go to prove
that the tulip borrows its colors from the elements; perhaps