Indeed, the quarrel in the female division of the church of the great
progressive ideas was waged with great fierceness, and had such a number
of nice little scandals mixed up in it as to make it quite interesting
to people of a contemplative turn of mind.

Every meddlesome old woman in the church must put her finger in the
reverend gentleman's love pie, and would speak her mind plainly enough,
especially if she had daughters of her own. To use the poor man's own
language, he found himself spiked on all sides; and all for love, a
thing which has brought no end of mischief on the world. In short, from
being an idol he found himself between fires that threatened to consume
him, so fiercely did they burn.

The gentleman's position was indeed becoming perilous, when an
unforeseen circumstance afforded him the means of relief. There arrived
in Nyack late one Saturday night, a man of tall, slender figure, dressed
in a suit of plain black, and having the appearance of a young clergyman
just from the country. He put up at Titus Bright's inn, gave out that he
was from Dogtown, Massachusetts, and after partaking of supper, enquired
of the landlord where he could find the Reverend, so to speak, Warren
Holbrook. There was something serious in the man's manner, like one who
had been grievously wronged. Being told where he could find the object
of his search, he paced the room thoughtfully for a few minutes, then
muttered to himself, "I must see him to-night. The sooner settled the
better. It will not do to wait until morning."

Half an hour later, and the two reverend gentlemen (the stranger and
Holbrook) might have been seen seated at a table in a room of Chapman's
house. Their conversation had evidently not been of a very pleasant
nature, for the stranger, rising to take his departure, said: "You have