he was
steering safely for the Lord of the Isles. A strain on any man,
especially when one of the readers' pince-nez began to contract some of
the deep feeling of its master, and to slide off at every comma, to be
thrust back with his ever-deepening emotion.

The Prince answered in one language, and that French, and the surprise
and delight of his hearers was profound. They felt that he had paid
them the most graceful of compliments, and his fluency as well as his
happiness of expression filled them with enthusiasm. He showed, too,
that he recognized what French Canada had done in the war by his
reference to the Vingtdeuxieme Battalion, whose "conduite intrepide" he
had witnessed in France. It was a touch of knowledge that was
certainly well chosen, for the province of Quebec, which sent forty
thousand men by direct enlistment to the war, has, thanks to the
obscurantism of politics, received rather less than its due.

From the atmosphere of governance the Prince passed to the atmosphere
of the seminary, driving down the broad Grand Allee to the University
of Laval, called after the first Bishop of Quebec and Canada. It has
been since its foundation not merely the fountain head of Christianity
on the American continent, but the armoury of science, in which all the
arts of forestry, agriculture, medicine and the like were put at the
service of the settler in his fight against the primitive wilds.

In the bleached and severe corridors of this great building the Prince
examined many historic pictures of Canada's past, including a set of
photographs of his own father's visit to the city and university. He
also went from Laval to the Archbishop's Palace, where the Cardinal, a
humorous, wise, virile old prelate in scarlet, showed him pictures of
Queen Victoria and others of his ancestors, and stood by his side in
the Grand Saloon while he held a reception of many clerics, professors
and visitors.

The afternoon was given to the battlefield, where he unfurled a Union
Jack to inaugurate the beautiful park that extends over the whole area.

The beauty of this park is a very real thing. It hangs over the St.
Lawrence with a sumptuous air of spaciousness. Leaning over the
granite balustrade, one can look down on the tiny Wolfe's cove, where
three thousand British crept up in the blackness of the night to
disconcert the French commander.

It is not a very imposing slope, and a modern army might take it in its
stride.