magisterial robes; the whole bundle being marked the "holy right of each
city." In the other lay a big square, solid, ironclasped volume, marked
"Institutes of Calvin." Each scale was respectively watched by Gomarus
and by Arminius. The judges, gowned, furred, and ruffed, were looking
decorously on, when suddenly the Stadholder, in full military attire, was
seen rushing into the apartment and flinging his sword into the scale
with the Institutes.

The civic and legal trumpery was of course made to kick the beam.

Maurice had organized his campaign this year against the Advocate and his
party as deliberately as he had ever arranged the details of a series of
battles and sieges against the Spaniard. And he was proving himself as
consummate master in political strife as in the great science of war.

He no longer made any secret of his conviction that Barneveld was a
traitor to his country, bought with Spanish gold. There was not the
slightest proof for these suspicions, but he asserted them roundly.
"The Advocate is travelling straight to Spain," he said to Count
Cuylenborg. "But we will see who has got the longest purse."

And as if it had been a part of the campaign, a prearranged diversion to
the more direct and general assault on the entrenchments of the States'
right party, a horrible personal onslaught was now made from many
quarters upon the Advocate. It was an age of pamphleteering, of
venomous, virulent, unscrupulous libels. And never even in that age had
there been anything to equal the savage attacks upon this great
statesman. It moves the gall of an honest man, even after the lapse of
two centuries and a half, to turn over those long forgotten pages and
mark the depths to which political and theological party spirit could