fundamentally one and the same faith.’ On the following day, Capito coming to the support of his colleague, preached a sermon in which he endeavored to show that Zwingli and Œcolampadius were in agreement with Luther. They were so on the essential point of seeking and finding in the supper a true communion with the Saviour. [Sidenote: BUCER’S VIEWS.] Megander had been charged with the duty of speaking on behalf of the synod. Brevity and moderation had been recommended, lest any imprudent word should give rise to a dispute. For him this task was not an easy one. In fact, the next day he attacked Bucer and Capito with some vehemence, upbraiding them for being with Luther rather than with the Swiss, and with having, in other places, signed _certain acts_ which the Swiss could not sign. ‘I have,’ said he, in drawing to a close, ‘some letters in which Bucer is spoken of. However, I think better of him than those letters, and I should be pleased if we could agree with him.’ Unhappily, they were far enough from such agreement. The discussion grew warm. ‘You teach children in your catechism,’ said Bucer, ‘to receive a sign in the supper, without reminding them of the thing signified.’ ‘How then,’ exclaimed some of the Bernese ministers, ‘can you pretend that we hold the same faith?’ ‘Let Bucer speak,’ said Megander; ‘we will reply to him in the afternoon.’ But, in that afternoon sitting, Bucer began anew to discourse to the Swiss about the sacrament. ‘Enough of these homilies,’ said Megander, impatiently. ‘You shut our mouths,’ said Bucer. ‘Let all those,’ said Megander, ‘who have anything to say speak freely.’ But not one of the Bernese pastors rose. A good understanding seemed impossible. The leaders on both sides were angry and provoked each other. The vessel of concord, built by the careful toil of the pastors of Strasburg, was violently tossed and was going to founder in the Helvetic waters. Disagreeing in doctrine, said one of those who were present on this occasion, there was nothing between them but debate, a deadly plague in a Church. Where were they to find the last plank, the desperate resource for escape from shipwreck? They must founder, or be saved as if by miracle. A young man, of only eight-and-twenty, but known for his love of the Holy Scriptures and his slight respect for tradition, was sorrowfully contemplating these discussions. It was John Calvin, he who called the discussions ‘a deadly plague’ for the Church. His convictions were free and spontaneous. They did not proceed, as with others, from a desire for compromise, but from a perception of what is the essence of the faith. He would not at any price have sought some expedient for the union of minds by a sacrifice of truth. But he knew by experience the power of the Holy Spirit; and he was the man called to stand between the two armies, to get the sword returned to its sheath, and to found unity and peace. [Sidenote: INTERVENTION OF CALVIN.]