He exercised considerable influence amongst his parishioners, many of them being very difficult to deal with—a floating population of sailors; but his genial manner and tact carried him through many difficulties. I cannot give a better illustration of that same tact than by narrating a fact that occurred full thirty years ago. At the time of the great _Corrigan Murder_ (as it was called)—the outcome of a fight between Orangemen and R. C. Irishmen—the feud ran so high, the Bishop of Quebec, seeing how impossible it would be for an Irish priest to abstain from being drawn into the vortex of party strife, decided on sending a French-Canadian priest, who would have no national feeling in the matter. The matter was discussed, but it was supposed to be such a post of danger, even for a priest, the Bishop decided he would ask for a volunteer instead of issuing a command to one of his clergy. All eyes turned to the Rev. Mr. Drolet as _the one_ suited; he had been junior priest in St. Patrick’s Church in Quebec, was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the Irish people, and much beloved by them. He offered his services, which were at once accepted; but some of his confrères felt badly over the matter and remonstrated: "You must remember, my dear sir, that you have a mother and sisters dependent on you for a home, and you hold your life in your hand, if you go to —— in the present state of feeling, as the Irish say they will not have a French-Canadian priest." "I am not afraid," was the Rev. Mr. D.’s rejoinder; he went, to find the Presbytery closed, the Parish Church nailed up, and a very threatening crowd assembled. He could do nothing that day, so went to a neighboring parish to say his morning mass. The next day the same scene. Undaunted he began to talk, said he always thought an Irishman liked fair play, and thought he might ask for a few minutes hearing—he, one man against hundreds. "Oh! yes," they said, ashamed. "We’ll let you talk, but remember we don’t want to insult your reverence, but we won’t have a French-Canadian over us." "Well, answer me one question, I like to know to whom I am talking: what is your name, and in what part of Ireland were you born?" "Oh, sir, I was not born in Ireland, but my grandfather and grandmother came from the Old country." "And you? and you?" The same answer, not one perhaps in forty were born in Ireland, all really by birth Canadians, and Mr. D. said, "You say you won’t have me because I am a French-Canadian, my name is so, but, as my grandmother was Irish, I consider myself as Irish as any of you." His wit carried the day. He resided there for many years, and was so well liked that between thirty and forty of his parishioners accompanied him to do him honor, when he was given the pastorate of St. Michel, and I shall never forget the sight of a crowded steamboat, half of the people in tears as they went to see him off, and land him at Sillery, to which he had been