uished
individuals.

I said that he had not mentioned the greatest man who had been born
amongst the Baptists.

"What was his name?" said he.

"His name was Joost Van Vondel," I replied.

"I never heard of him before," said Morgan.

"Very probably," said I: "he was born, bred, and died in Holland."

"Has he been dead long?" said Morgan.

"About two hundred years," said I.

"That's a long time," said Morgan, "and maybe is the reason that I never
heard of him. So he was a great man?"

"He was indeed," said I. "He was not only the greatest man that ever
sprang up amongst the Baptists, but the greatest, and by far the
greatest, that Holland ever produced, though Holland has produced a great
many illustrious men."

"Oh I daresay he was a great man if he was a Baptist," said Morgan.
"Well, it's strange I never read of him. I thought I had read the lives
of all the eminent people who lived and died in our communion."

"He did not die in the Baptist communion," said I.

"Oh, he didn't die in it," said Morgan; "What, did he go over to the
Church of England? a pretty fellow!"

"He did not go over to the Church of England," said I, "for the Church of
England does not exist in Holland; he went over to the Church of Rome."

"Well, that's not quite so bad," said Morgan; "however, it's bad enough.
I daresay he was a pretty blackguard."

"No," said I: "he was a pure virtuous character, and perhaps the only
pure and virtuous character that ever went over to Rome. The only wonder
is that so good a man could ever have gone over to so detestable a
church; but he appears to have been deluded."

"Deluded indeed!" said Morgan. "However, I suppose he went over for
advancement's sake."

"No," said I; "he lost every prospect of advancement by going over to
Rome: nine-tenths of his countrymen were of the reformed religion, and he
endured much poverty and contempt by the step he took."

"How did he support himself?" said Morgan.

"He obtained a livelihood," said I, "by writing poems and plays, some of
which are wonderfully fine."

"What," said Morgan, "a writer of Interludes? One of Twm o'r Nant's
gang! I thought he would turn out a pretty fellow." I told him that the
person in question certainly did write Interludes, for example Noah, and
Joseph at Goshen, but that he was a highly respectable, nay venerable
character.

"If he was a writer of Interludes," said Morgan, "he was a blackguard;
there never yet was a