Had Shakespeare, born to still further glory, tarried till Canadian times, he might have added a syllable or so when he wrote “The devil knew what he did when he made men politic.” But then, a contemporary diary of his time tells us: “I have heard it stated that Mr. Shakespeare was a natural wit, but had not any art at all;” and he would have needed both to do justice to the Canadian question. That which was called “the almost romantically loyal Canadian population” had diverse ways of showing loyal enthusiasm, when (to quote Mackenzie in after years), a “person known as Victoria, the sovereign of England and the Canadas,” came “to keep up the dignity of that article called a crown.” _Te Deums_ were sung in the French cathedrals, it is true, but many in the congregations rose and walked out. But at the coronation illuminations in Toronto, although one transparency quoted the words of the late king, “The Canadas must not be lost or given away,” another came as rider to it, “The Constitution, the whole Constitution, and nothing but the Constitution.” For many in Upper Canada were as dissatisfied with the portions of that system imported by Governor Simcoe as their French brethren were. Here as there the broad basis of it, the Will of the People, was a dead letter. Happily for Toronto on that occasion it had that British characteristic which, however Tory might abuse Whig, or Reformer predict the ruin of everything Tory, made all men unite--for the day at least--in fealty to the young Queen, and, more wonderful still, in good-will towards one another. Elsewhere there were forecasts of petticoat government, when “the speech from the throne would dwell chiefly on embroideries, nurseries and soap.” How were they to know that the slim and beautiful young fingers which held the sceptre were strong, tenacious, and of an even touch, or that the girlish form held a mother heart large enough and to spare for her own and every bairn within her realm. So did the shuttles angrily fly to and fro in the warp and woof of coming catastrophe in the year when Her Majesty came into her inheritance of discontent. The Canadas at Westminster. “_I put not my faith in Princes, for that would be forgetting the rules of Holy Writ; but, begging your pardon, I still put my faith in Peers._” “‘_I am glad I am not the eldest son,’ said the younger Pitt when he heard of his father’s elevation to an earldom; ‘I want to speak in the House of Commons like papa._’” “_A politic caution, a guarded circumspection, were among the ruling principles of our forefathers._”