deadly weapons of polemical theology,--was very near causing a
general outbreak. A peaceful and not very numerous congregation were
listening to one of their preachers in a field outside the town. Suddenly
an unknown individual in plain clothes and with a pragmatical demeanor,
interrupted the discourse by giving a flat contradiction to some of the
doctrines advanced. The minister replied by a rebuke, and a reiteration
of the disputed sentiment.--The stranger, evidently versed in
ecclesiastical matters, volubly and warmly responded. The preacher, a man
of humble condition and moderate abilities, made as good show of argument
as he could, but was evidently no match for his antagonist. He was soon
vanquished in the wordy warfare. Well he might be, for it appeared that
the stranger was no less a personage than Peter Rythovius, a doctor of
divinity, a distinguished pedant of Louvain, a relation of a bishop and
himself a Church dignitary. This learned professor, quite at home in his
subject, was easily triumphant, while the poor dissenter, more accustomed
to elevate the hearts of his hearers than to perplex their heads, sank
prostrate and breathless under the storm of texts, glosses, and hard
Hebrew roots with which he was soon overwhelmed. The professor's triumph
was, however, but short-lived, for the simple-minded congregation, who
loved their teacher, were enraged that he should be thus confounded.
Without more ado, therefore, they laid violent hands upon the Quixotic
knight-errant of the Church, and so cudgelled and belabored him bodily
that he might perhaps have lost his life in the encounter had he not been
protected by the more respectable portion of the assembly. These persons,
highly disapproving the whole proceeding, forcibly rescued him from the
assailants, and carried him off to town, where the news of the incident
at once created an uproar. Here he was thrown into prison as a disturber
of the peace, but in reality that he might be personally secure. The next
day the Prince of Orange, after administering to him a severe rebuke for
his ill-timed exhibition of pedantry, released him from confinement, and
had him conveyed out of the city. "This theologian;" wrote the Prince to
Duchess Margaret, "would have done better, methinks, to stay at home; for
I suppose he had no especial orders to perform this piece of work."

Thus, so long as this great statesman could remain in the metropolis, his
temperate firmness prevented