ery teeth of the grand council, and of an astonished magistracy.

In Tournay, a city distinguished for its ecclesiastical splendor, the
reform had been making great progress during the summer. At the same time
the hatred between the two religions had been growing more and more
intense. Trifles and serious matters alike fed the mutual animosity.

A tremendous outbreak had been nearly occasioned by an insignificant
incident. A Jesuit of some notoriety had been preaching a glowing
discourse in the pulpit of Notre Dane. He earnestly avowed his wish that
he were good enough to die for all his hearers. He proved to
demonstration that no man should shrink from torture or martyrdom in
order to sustain the ancient faith. As he was thus expatiating, his
fervid discourse was suddenly interrupted by three sharp, sudden blows,
of a very peculiar character, struck upon the great portal of the Church.
The priest, forgetting his love for martyrdom, turned pale and dropped
under the pulpit. Hurrying down the steps, he took refuge in the vestry,
locking and barring the door. The congregation shared in his panic: "The
beggars are coming," was the general cry. There was a horrible tumult,
which extended through the city as the congregation poured precipitately
out of the Cathedral, to escape a band of destroying and furious
Calvinists. Yet when the shock had a little subsided, it was discovered
that a small urchin was the cause of the whole tumult. Having been
bathing in the Scheldt, he had returned by way of the church with a
couple of bladders under his arm. He had struck these against the door of
the Cathedral, partly to dry them, partly from a love of mischief. Thus a
great uproar, in the course of which it had been feared that Toumay was
to be sacked and drenched in blood, had been caused by a little wanton
boy who had been swimming on bladders.

This comedy preceded by a few days only the actual disaster. On the 22d
of August the news reached Tournay that the churches in Antwerp, Ghent,
and many other places, had been sacked. There was an instantaneous
movement towards imitating the example on the same evening. Pasquier de
la Barre, procureur-general of the city, succeeded by much entreaty in
tranquillizing the people for the night. The "guard of terror" was set,
and hopes were entertained that the storm might blow over. The
expectation, was vain. At daybreak next day, the mob swept upon the
churches and stripped them to the very wa