I was present, the other day, at an examination of the students at one
of the Roman Catholic Colleges of Montreal. It is altogether under the
direction of the priesthood, and it is curious to observe the course
they steer. The young men declaimed for some hours on a theme proposed
by the superior, being a contrast between ancient and modern
civilisation. The greater part of it was a sonorous exposition of
ultra-liberal principles, '_Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité,' 'Vox
populi, vox Dei_,' a very liberal tribute to the vanity and to the
prejudices of the classes who might be expected to send their children
to the institution or to puff it; with an elaborate _pivot à la
Lacordaire_--that the Church had achieved all that had been
effected in this genre hitherto. _Au reste_, there was the
wonderful mechanism which gives that church such advantages--the
fourteen professors receiving no salaries, working for their food and
that of the homeliest; as a consequence, an education, board and
lodging inclusive, costing only 15 _l._ a year; the youths
subjected to a constant discipline under the eye of ecclesiastics day
and night. I confess, when I see both the elasticity and the machinery
of this church, my wonder is, not with Lacordaire that it should do so
much, but that it should not do more.

[Sidenote: The Irish question.]

More formidable at all times than any discontent on the part of the quiet
and orderly French _habitans_ was the chronic disaffection of the
restless, roving Irish; and especially when connected with a threatened
invasion of American 'sympathisers.' When such threats come to nothing, it
is generally difficult to say whether they were all mere vapouring, or
whether they might have led to serious results, if not promptly met; but
at one time, at least, there appears to have been solid ground for