auditorium was filled with Presbyterians who were accustomed to worship
God in the plain, solemn manner of the apostles. The suspense preceding
the service was painful. Each heart was beating fast, repressed emotion
was at white heat, the atmosphere was full of electricity, no one could
tell where the fiery point would first appear. At length the dean stood
in the pulpit before the gaze of his insulted audience. He opened the
new book and began. That was enough, the spark struck the powder, the
explosion was sudden. Jean Geddes, a woman whose name is enshrined in
history, and whose stool is a souvenir in the museum,--Jean, impelled by
a burst of indignation, bounced from her seat and flung her stool at the
dean's head, crying with a loud voice, "Villain, dost thou say mass at
my lug?" The unpremeditated deed acted as a signal; the whole
congregation was immediately in an uproar; the dean fled and the service
came to an undignified conclusion.

The indignation manifested itself in many other places that Sabbath. In
the Greyfriars' Church, there were deep sobs, bitter crying, and wails
of lamentation. Over the entire kingdom the excitement was intense. The
Scotch blood was stirred; the king had outraged the most sacred feelings
of the people. They held meetings, prayed to God, and petitioned the
king. The king replied to their petition, like Rehoboam, with blustering
insolence. The Covenanters were not intimidated, their determined
resistance was contagious and stirred vast communities, national
sympathy was aroused; the Holy Spirit wrought mightily upon multitudes.
Three days after the king's haughty reply had been received, a
procession, including twenty-four noblemen, one hundred ministers, and
bands of commissioners from sixty-six churches, marched boldly into
Edinburgh and enforced their petition by a demonstration of strength,
with which not even the king could afford to trifle.