development of the flower, from the moment when, in the
first year, its pale seed-leaf begins to peep from the
ground, to that glorious one, when, after five years, its
petals at last reveal the hidden treasures of its chalice.
How often had the miserable, jealous man to observe in Van
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