province, and of its sister Walloon provinces, to the patriot cause.  Saint Aldegonde made his speech before the assembly, taking the ground boldly, that the war was made for liberty of conscience and of fatherland, and that all were bound, whether Catholic or Protestant, to contribute to the sacred fund.  The vote passed, but it was provided that a moiety of the assessment should be paid by the ecclesiastical branch, and the stipulation excited a tremendous uproar.  The clerical bench regarded the tax as both a robbery and an affront.  “We came nearly to knife-playing,” said the most distinguished priest in the assembly, “and if we had done so, the ecclesiastics would not have been the first to cry enough.”  They all withdrew in a rage, and held a private consultation upon “these exorbitant and more than Turkish demands.”  John Sarrasin, Prior of Saint Yaast, the keenest, boldest, and most indefatigable of the royal partisans of that epoch, made them an artful harangue.  This man —­a better politician than the other prior—­was playing for a mitre too, and could use his cards better.  He was soon to become the most invaluable agent in the great treason preparing.  No one could, be more delicate, noiseless, or unscrupulous, and he was soon recognized both by Governor-General and King as the individual above all others to whom the re-establishment of the royal authority over the Walloon provinces was owing.  With the shoes of swiftness on his feet, the coat of darkness on his back, and the wishing purse in his hand, he sped silently and invisibly from one great Malcontent chieftain to another, buying up centurions, and captains, and common soldiers; circumventing Orangists, Ghent democrats, Anjou partisans; weaving a thousand intrigues, ventilating a hundred hostile mines, and passing unharmed through the most serious dangers and the most formidable obstacles.  Eloquent, too, at a pinch, he always understood his audience, and upon this occasion unsheathed the most incisive, if not the most brilliant weapon which could be used in the debate.  It was most expensive to be patriotic, he said, while silver was to be saved, and gold to be earned by being loyal.  They ought to keep their money to defend themselves, not give it to the Prince of Orange, who would only put it into his private pocket on pretence of public necessities.  The Ruward would soon be slinking back to his lair, he observed, and leave them all in the fangs of their enemies.  Meantime, it was better to rush into the embrace of a bountiful king, who was still holding forth his arms to them.  They were approaching a precipice, said the Prior; they were entering a labyrinth; and not only was the “sempiternal loss of body and soul impending over them, but their property was to be taken also, and the cat to be thrown against their legs.”  By this sudden descent into a very common proverbial expression, Sarrasin meant to intimate that they were getting themselves into a difficult position, in which they were sure to reap both danger and responsibility.