ilent and dumb? The
priest of Rome is an automaton, tied to the feet of the Pope by an iron
chain. He can move, go right or left, up or down; he can think and act, but
only at the bidding of the infallible god of Rome. The priest knows the
will of his modern divinity only through his approved emissaries,
embassadors and theologians. With shame on my brow, and bitter tears of
regret flowing just now, on my cheeks, I confess that I have had myself to
learn by heart those damning questions, and put them to the young and the
old; who like me, were fed with the diabolical doctrines of the church of
Rome, in reference to auricular confession.

Some time after, some people waylaid and whipped that very same priest,
when during a very dark night he was coming back from visiting his fair
young penitents the Misses Rs.... And the next day, the conspirators having
met at the house of Dr. Stephen Tache, to give a report of what they had
done to the half _secret_ society to which they belonged, I was invited by
my young friend Louis Casault[6] to conceal myself with him, in an
adjoining room, where we could hear every thing without being seen. I find
in the old manuscripts of "my young year's recollections" the following
address of Mr. Dubord.

Mr. President--"I was not among those who gave to the priest the expression
of the public feelings with the eloquent voice of the whip: but I wish I
had been, I would heartily have co-operated to give that so well deserved
lesson to the father confessors of Canada, and let me give you my reasons
for that.

"My child who is hardly twelve years old, went to confess, as did the other
girls of the village, some time ago. It was against my will. I know, by my
own experience, that of all actions, confession is the most degrading of a
person's life. I can imagine nothing so well calculated to destroy forever
one's self-respect, as the modern invention of the confessional. Now, what
is a person without self-respect? Especially a woman? Is not all forever
lost without this?

"In the confessional every thing is corruption of the lowest grade. There,
the girl's thoughts, lips, hearts and souls are forever polluted. Do I need
to prove you this? No! for though you have given up, long since auricular
confession, as below the dignity of man, you have not forgotten the lessons
of corruption which you have received from it. Those lessons have remained
on your souls as the scars left by the red hot iron upo