“He was indeed,” said I. “He was not only the greatest man that ever sprang up amongst the Baptists, but the greatest, and by far the greatest, that Holland ever produced, though Holland has produced a great many illustrious men.” “O, I dare say he was a great man if he was a Baptist,” said Morgan. “Well, it’s strange I never read of him. I thought I had read the lives of all the eminent people who lived and died in our communion.” “He did not die in the Baptist communion,” said I. “Oh, he didn’t die in it,” said Morgan. “What, did he go over to the Church of England? a pretty fellow!” “He did not go over to the Church of England,” said I, “for the Church of England does not exist in Holland; he went over to the Church of Rome.” “Well, that’s not quite so bad,” said Morgan; “however, it’s bad enough. I dare say he was a pretty blackguard.” “No,” said I; “he was a pure, virtuous character, and perhaps the only pure and virtuous character that ever went over to Rome. The only wonder is that so good a man could ever have gone over to so detestable a church; but he appears to have been deluded.” “Deluded indeed!” said Morgan. “However, I suppose he went over for advancement’s sake.” “No,” said I; “he lost every prospect of advancement by going over to Rome: nine-tenths of his countrymen were of the reformed religion, and he endured much poverty and contempt by the step he took.” “How did he support himself?” said Morgan. “He obtained a livelihood,” said I, “by writing poems and plays, some of which are wonderfully fine.” “What,” said Morgan, “a writer of Interludes? One of Twm o’r Nant’s gang! I thought he would turn out a pretty fellow.” I told him that the person in question certainly did write Interludes, for example Noah, and Joseph at Goshen, but that he was a highly respectable, nay venerable character.