This time
the problem was hardest of all, for it involved direct concession by
nations inveterately protestant, to a catholic hierarchy having at its
head an ultramontane cardinal of uncompromising opinions and inexorable
will.

Everybody knew that the state of university education in Ireland stood in
the front rank of unsettled questions. Ever since the establishment of
three provincial colleges by Peel's government in 1845, the flame of the
controversy had been alight. Even on the very night when Graham introduced
the bill creating them, no less staunch a tory and protestant than Sir
Robert Inglis had jumped up and denounced "a gigantic scheme of godless
education." The catholics loudly echoed this protestant phrase. The three
colleges were speedily condemned by the pope as fatal to faith and morals,
and were formally denounced by the synod of Thurles in 1850. The
fulminations of the church did not extinguish these modest centres of
light and knowledge, but they cast a creeping blight upon them. In 1865 a
demand was openly made in parliament for the incorporation by charter of a
specifically catholic university. Mr. Gladstone, along with Sir George
Grey, then admitted the reality of a grievance, namely, the absence in
Ireland of institutions of which the catholics of the country were able to
avail themselves. Declining, for good reasons or bad, to use opportunities
of college education by the side of protestants, and not warmed by the
atmosphere and symbols of their own church and faith, catholics contended
that they could not be said to enjoy equal advantages with their
fellow-citizens of other creeds. They repudiated a system of education
repugnant to their religious convictions, and in the persistent efforts to
force 'godless education' on their country, they professed to recognise
another phase of persecution for conscience' sake.

In 1866, Lord Russell's government tried its hand with a device known as
the supplemental charter. It opened a way to a degree without passing
through the godless colleges. This was set aside by an injunction from the
courts, and it would not have touched the real matter of complaint, even
if the courts had let it stand. Next year the tories burnt their fingers,
though Mr. Disraeli told parliament that he saw no scars. For a time, he
believed that an honourable and satisfactory settlement was possible, and
negotiations went on with the hierarchy. The prelates did not urge
endowment, Mr