requested the speaker to be comforted, “because,” said he, “it will always be easy to find a new Egmont.”  Upon this, Brederode, beside himself with rage, cried out vehemently, “Are we to tolerate such language from this priest?” Gulemburg, too, turning upon the offender, observed, “Your observation would be much more applicable to your own case.  If you were to die, ’t would be easy to find five hundred of your merit, to replace you in the see of Cambray.”  The conversation was, to say the least, becoming personal.  The Bishop, desirous of terminating this keen encounter of wits, lifted a goblet full of wine and challenged Brederode to drink.  That gentleman declined the invitation.  After the cloth had been removed, the cup circulated more freely than ever.  The revelry became fast and furious.  One of the younger gentlemen who was seated near the Bishop snatched the bonnet of that dignitary from his head and placed it upon his own.  He then drained a bumper to his health, and passed the goblet and the cap to his next neighbor.  Both circulated till they reached the Viscount of Ghent, who arose from his seat and respectfully restored the cap to its owner.  Brederode then took a large “cup of silver and gold,” filled it to the brim, and drained it to the confusion of Cardinal Granvelle; stigmatizing that departed minister, as he finished, by an epithet of more vigor than decency.  He then called upon all the company to pledge him to the same toast, and denounced as cardinalists all those who should refuse.  The Archbishop, not having digested the affronts which had been put upon him already, imprudently ventured himself once more into the confusion, and tried to appeal to the reason of the company.  He might as well have addressed the crew of Comus.  He gained nothing but additional insult.  Brederode advanced upon him with threatening gestures.  Egmont implored the prelate to retire, or at least not to take notice of a nobleman so obviously beyond the control of his reason.  The Bishop, however, insisted—­mingling reproof, menace; and somewhat imperious demands—­that the indecent Saturnalia should cease.  It would have been wiser for him to retire.  Count Hoogstraaten, a young man and small of stature, seized the gilt laver, in which the company had dipped their fingers before seating themselves at table:  “Be quiet, be quiet, little man,” said Egmont, soothingly, doing his best to restrain the tumult.  “Little man, indeed,” responded the Count, wrathfully; “I would have you to know that never did little man spring from my race.”  With those words he hurled the basin, water, and all, at the head of the Archbishop.  Hoogstraaten had no doubt manifested his bravery before that day; he was to display, on future occasions, a very remarkable degree of heroism; but it must be confessed that the chivalry of the noble house of Lalaing was not illustrated by this attack upon a priest.  The Bishop was sprinkled by the water, but not struck by the vessel.  Young