At a meeting of the Council of the Mason Science College at Birmingham, Mr. E. A. Sonnenschein was elected Professor of Classics in the room of Professor Bodington, who has accepted the Principalship and Professorship of Classics at the Yorkshire College at Leeds. The death is announced of Mr. George Rose, who had assumed the nom de plume of "Arthur Sketchley." He was formerly a clergyman of the Church of England, but he seceded to the Roman Catholic Church many years ago. He had but recently returned from a professional tour through the United States. Mr. Anthony Trollope is making slow, but sure progress towards recovery. In accordance with general expectation, Sir Percival Heywood has nominated Mr. Cowgill, the curate, to succeed Mr. Green at Miles Platting. The interest will now be transfer red to Birmingham, where Mr. Enraght has been haranguing his parishioners in a vestry meeting at Bordesley, declaring his intention to defy any inhibition from Lord Penzance, and to submit only to a document from his Bishop cancelling the licence he had given him. The meeting was addressed by a Nonconformist minister, who advised combination, which he would head as a Sir Garnet Wolseley, to resist any intruder in the parish. He had been gathering money, and sent it anonymously in aid of Mr. Green ! CHRONICLE. [PRICE ONE PENNY. The Liverpool Conference has declined to send representatives to the Central Council by a majority of 90 to 70. Bishop Ryle spoke strongly against the scheme, as delaying the reform of Convocation, as superseding Parliament and Convocation, and as declaring they had no confidence in the House of Commons, in which four-sixths were Churchmen. In short, he saw looming in the distance behind the Central Council, disestablishment, disendowment, disruption, and the ultimate ruin of the Church of England. In Edinburgh yesterday it was agreed to nominate the Rev. Dr. John Rankine, Minister of Sorn, in the presbytery of Ayr, as moderator of the next general assembly of the Established Church. The Rev. Dr. Horatius Bonar, Edinburgh, is to be nominated as moderator of the next general assembly of the Free Church. A body which calls itself the "Church Army" has for some weeks been at work at Brighton. It apparently adopts some of the methods of Mr. Booth's organisation, and with like results, for there have been attempts on the part ol the mob to seize the banner, and various scenes of disorder.—At Bris tol the "Army" is holding a Mission in the Vestry Hall of Holy Trinity. The Christian World remarks-the words of the chorus of the Salvation Army song, quoted by Canon Girdlestone, with an offensive but doubtless unintentional alteration, as an example of the irreverence of the style of language sanctioned by the Army, appears to have been : For Jesus is our Saviour, The association of the words with those of a well-known drinking song is obviously suggested by the metre and by the final line. It is to be regretted that Canon Girdlestone's memory of what he had seen in the War Cry should have betrayed him into an error. It is quite another thing, however, to infer that there is nothing in the lines as they actually appeared which can be legitimately regarded as irreverent. The case is one in which an unpleasant, incongruous, and degrading association of deas is to most minds inevitable; and while the effect produced is certainly painful to all ordinary people, we can hardly imagine an instance in which it could be helpful to really devotional feeling. We have received letters upon the subject from respected correspondents, but we cannot find room for them. SERMONS. The REV. CHARLES GARRETT, President of the Wesleyan Conference, at Victoria Chapel, Queen's Road, Sunday Evening, 12th November, 1882. all the stars are alike, but the astronomer knows that one star differeth from another star in Glory. If I look to that glorious home, where we shall all meet, I hope, I read of angels, of arch-angels, of cherubim and seraphim, of thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers, and thus, I find, that from the highest arch-angel, next God's throne, down to the tiniest animalcula, that only the microscope can discover, "And there are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which there is this law of diversity and variety. worketh all in all."-I. Corinthians XII., 6. TT is very important for us ever to bear in mind that Christianity is a life, not just a creed. A life; and every Christian is a new creature; not simply a man entertaining new opinions, or a man associated with a new class of people, but a new creature." Hence, only God can make Christians. Man can make Methodists, Baptists, Episcopalians; but Christians are the workmanship of God. The Christian is the partaker of the Divine Nature, and only God can impart that Divine Nature to man. Hence when you find a Christian you find a new man, living in a new world. "Old things have passed away, all things have become new." It will follow from this then, that when you and I come to the church (which is God's workmanship) we must expect to find here those characteristics, which distinguish God's works from the works of man elsewhere. Man works, and man does many very wonderful things, but his resources are limited. He works, comparatively, in a circle, and having reached the extent of his ability, all he can do is to repeat himself. Thus all the works of man bear the stamp of monotony and sameness. This displays itself in the clothes we wear, and the homes we inhabit, in the books we read, and in the machinery we use. You see it everywhere. The mechanic works at his machine, and when he has exhausted his idea, he takes out his patent, and the machine is accessible to all who desire to purchase it. You go to his shop, and know exactly what you are going to have. Your machine is just like your neighbour's in its excellencies and in its defects. So with an author and his books. He writes one book with the aid of his knowledge, or his imagination. He prints it, and all who buy it, buy the same book. Is it so with the works of God? Never. His resources are boundless. He seems to delight in the infinitude of his resources. Every work of God is an original. You see this everywhere. Look at the beautiful carpet that God weaves for us every year. What a wonderful variety is there. Not merely the variety that strikes the child. A child notices the variety of kinds. What we notice is the variety of things of the same kinds. Every blade of grass differs from every other blade of grass; every rose from every other rose; and every hly from every other lily. Take my favourite flower, the daisy, and go out into the field, and see if you can find a duplicate. Sweep over all creation. There never was a daisy, from the first to the present, like the one you hold in your hand. So it is with the human face divine. If I go to the photographers, I can have as many copies of one face as he has power to supply, and as my purse can pay for. Is it so when you and I go to the works of the Creator? Never. I once heard a young mother, in the pride of her heart, say: there never was such a child as mine, never in this world"; and young mother! there never ras. There never was just such another child as that which has been entrusted to your care, and, therefore, I ask you, ought not you to throw around it all the protection, and to give it all the guidance in your power, in order that that original child may be preserved for God and Heaven. If Adam and all Adam's sons were to walk past you in procession you would never see a face exactly like the one by your side. 66 If you look: upwards and observe the canopy which God has spread over us, you will see the same law. The child says Now I ask if the church is God's workmanship, is it not right to expect the same law in operation there? A great many people do not allow this. They come to the church, expecting to find all men alike. They do not ask for variety, they ask for monotony. They do not ask for diversity, they ask for uniformity; and because they do not find it, they are perplexed and annoyed. Here is the same law of diversity of operation, but the same God working all in all. It is because so many men have not believed this that there has been despair. There is a love feast. Somebody gets up and gives his experience. They tell how they were first awakened; how they cried in the disquietude of their souls; how they had no rest day and night; how, at last, they flung them. selves at the feet of Jesus; how the heavens opened, the light appeared, and they leaped for joy. A young man hears this, and he says "now if ever I am converted, I shall have to cry aloud. I must have no rest night or day, till at last the heavens open, and I can leap for joy," and because he does not feel moved in this way, he goes to his grave, never having been quite sure that he was a Christian, until he wakes up in heaven. And young ladies have the same experience in reading biographies. They forget that biographies are fancy sketches, not absolutely true to nature. Take a book which used to be very much read-I mean the biography of Mrs. Sherman, but which I would not put into any young lady's hand, at least without a caution. There you have a picture of a wife, drawn by a husband's hand when his heart was bleeding, and many a young lady who reads it says: "Ah! now, if ever I become a Christian, I shall have to be like that; I shall have to weep like that; be lifted up like that; be ennobled like that," and because she never is, because she has no right to expect that she ever can be any more than she can expect to be the same height, or to have the same voice, or the same eyes as Mrs. Sherman, she is discouraged, and she goes softly to her grave, without the assurance that it is all right, until she wakes up in heaven. There is pride in this notion. Many a foolish man has measured himself by himself. He has imagined that nobody can be a Christian unless he has experiences just like himself. He goes about like a recruiting sergeant, with a regulation height of six feet. He would cut off the heads of those who are seven feet, and those who are five he would reject. How many divisions have there been in the church through this foolish conduct? There are diversities of operations. You will see this from the commencement of our Christian life to its close, and, having said that, I have shewn you the whole ground which I wish to cover. I want to show that from the beginning of our life there is no uniformity but unity. You see this in our conversions, in the very time of our conversion. There is nothing monotonous here. I know there have been foolish teachers who would say: "there is a charmed age within which salvation is possible, and unless you are saved before you are twenty-five (say), you have no chance of getting to heaven." Is that the teaching of the Bible or the church? I say no. Certainly the majority of those who are brought to Christ, are brought to Christ in the morning of their day, but the majority of the human family are young. I know that the young have many advantages; they are free from bad habits and from prejudices; but while I know this, I know that there is nothing which should prevent the old from coming to Christ. To say that there is, is to limit the power of the Almighty. I remember that down in Northamptonshire, when I was preaching there once, an old woman, tottering with age, came to me and said: "perhaps, sir, you don't know that you are shaking hands with a babe 70 years old." I pretended not to know what she meant. She went on: "in my seventieth year God has turned my feet into the keeping of his testimonies"; and blessed be God it may be so. I say to thee, grey-headed brother, wherever thou art, thou mayest hope. The mother who never bent her knee, but she prayed for thee, may have passed away, thy father may have gone away, but Jesus has not given thee up. Thou hast not gone so far but His hand can reach thee, nor sunk so low that His arm cannot lift thee up. Reject with abhorrence the Goddishonouring thought that the Saviour who has pleaded for thee all these years, will give up pleading for thee now. This diversity is also seen in the means employed for the conversion. There is no patent way of making Christians. I know there are those who would fain persuade us that there is; there are those who tell us that in the Sacrament of Baptism men are made children of God, and inheritors of the kingdom of heaven. I say this is too monotonous to be true. God has a thousand ways in which to save a man's soul. Take the history of the Church as given in this book. Is there anything monotonous here? I know that God has always honoured the preaching of the Gospel from the day of Pentecost until now, but do you tell me this is the only way? I reject the thought. I pomt to the principal figure in the day of Pentecost-St. Peter. He was brought to Christ by individual effort. Andrew, his brother, said to him: "We have found the Messias, come and see." Look at Saul. There he is breathing out slaughter and threatenings against the saints. A light shines from heaven upon him; he hears a voice, and surrenders at once. He flings all the keys of man's soul at the feet of his conqueror. The same diversity is shewn in the Church in modern life. Martin Luther was awakened by a thunderstorm; John Bunyan by hearing two women talk of what a terrible blasphemer he was; Abraham Judson, by sleeping in an inn one night when a man died in the next room, and the thought occurred to him, "Where should I have been if I had died instead of that man? In my own case, as soon as I could be carried from my birthplace, I was carried into a Methodist Chapel. I used to hear gladly the sermons, but they never stirred my soul. I used to pray for the ministers, for it was one of the habits which my mother taught me. I was sixteen or seventeen years of age when one day I saw an old woman standing at her door in our village. I crossed to speak to her, and almost the first words she said to me were: Charles, is it not nearly time you gave your heart to God?" Now, to that simple appeal from that old woman do I owe my conversion. I said, "Oh, yes, I dare say it is; good night." The arrow had hit its mark, and had struck deep. From those simple words I was very uneasy, and never rested until I had found peace. Now, here is my brother finding peace in the vaulted arches of a cathedral, under the preaching of the Archbishop. Shall I disbelieve in the reality of his conversion, and say he is a Pharisee; or must he hold up his hands and say, "I am an impostor." If we are fools, we shall; but if we are wise we shall say, There are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all." An archbishop, nay, an archangel, could never save a soul without the power of God. Oh! brothers, go to your work, but remember "without Me you can do nothing." It is not the sword but the hand that grasps the sword, that secures the victory. This diversity is shown in our experience in conversion. Some of God's people are shaken, as it were, over the pit, others are broken-hearted. They do not tremble, but they 66 weep. Others know very little of either the one or the other, but wake up at once to faith in the Christ. John Bunyan's terror was so great that he dared hardly walk along the street for fear of the earth opening. William Wilberforce knew nothing of terror. His language was: My heart is broken; I weep my life away for having grieved my God." 66 Dr. Morrison, the great Chinese missionary, knew nothing of either broken-heartedness or terror. It was so with me, if you will forgive me again, and in it I think I see the wisdom of God. Brought up a Methodist, I got the idea that the only way men could be converted was by going to the penitent form, and that they should always roar out in the disquietude of their souls for mercy. God forbid I should be understood as speaking against the penitent form; but it is not the only manifestation. In my case, I thought I shall have to go to the penitent form, and because I did not feel such sorrow as I thought I ought, I wept. I wept because I could not weep, and mourned because I could not mourn. I went to every revival meeting accessible to me, hoping God would break my heart, but I could not feel as I thought it was necessary I should. I was the first of twenty young men to be moved about my soul, but the last one who found peace. I was so long that some of my companions said I must have committed the unpardonable sin. It was in the open air, on a busy Saturday, a market day, that I saw, as I had never seen before, how Christ was our mediator; how He had taken my place; how He had entered through the veil, and how He had made intercession for me; and as I saw it, I rested, and the peace of God took possession of my heart. Without stopping to think, I repeated that verse which we sang this morning: "My God is reconciled." I had never dared before to sing the word "is," but now I laid special stress upon it. I rolled it like a sweet morsel under my tongue. Now, my brother was shaken over the mouth of the pit; my sister wept, and was broken hearted; but are we each to disbelieve in the reality of the other's conversion? No, no. There are diversities of operation, but it is the same God that worketh all in all." This diversity is seen in our characters after conversion. I know of no such thing as a model Christian. The Church in this book is chiefly compared to a family. It is never compared to a regiment. There is all the difference in the world between a family and a regiment. Man makes regiments, but God makes a family. In regiments there is monotony; in families variety. See yonder drill-sergeant; what is he doing? Why, he has got a hundred men, making them all alike that God has made different. You can hardly tell one man from another. Their step, their carriage, their colours are all alike. What a lot of drill sergeants we have had in the Church. Sometimes in the pulpit; then woe be to the pew! Sometimes in the pew; then woe be to the pulpit! When it is the latter case, it is so much the worse, because there are fifty drill sergeants, all inclining different ways, and only one unfortunate person to be drilled. Men have got their ideas as to what a preacher should be. All preachers should be alike according to them. "Give me Paul," says one; "I want theology." Another says, "Give me Apollos; I want oratory." Another says, "Oratory indeed; sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals; I want somebody that can shake a dishonest tradesman out of his very shoes; give me St. James." Now what is to be done? Whoever complains of his ministers, a Methodist should not. If your special case be not treated to-day, brother, it will be next time. It will be your turn next Sunday. God does not mean all our ministers to be alike. The Church's beauty arises from the variety of the characteristics of its members, as in a family. where there is nothing monotono as. Here is one child who is like a little lamb, tender and gentle, casily discouraged. Here is another with a "heart of oak." There is one about So this diversity is seen in our history and our experience. I must not dwell here, but to take experience. Some of God's people have one hard fight at the beginning of their lives, and they never seem to have another. They go on their way rejoicing. Others of God's people are battling from the first to the last. They can hardly shout hurrah for one victory, before they are in the thick of another fight. Here is Dr. Payson, who got thousands into the Church on Sundays, was the means of converting hundreds, and yet himself wept all the rest of the week; and, on the other hand, here is Thomas Jackson, our beloved tutor, who, on his 70th birth-day, came into the room to the students, and said: "Well, young men, I am seventy years old to-day, and for thirty years I have never had a single doubt of my acceptance with God." Some of God's people seem to be mountaineers, born on the top of the hill, where the sunshine comes the first, and where it leaves the latest. Others are lowlanders; they dwell in the valley, surrounded by mists and vapours, where the sunshine comes last, and leaves the first. Some people are always reciting with Charles Wesley- From Pisgah's top I now delight to see. My hope is full, oh! glorious hope of immortality. with milk and with honey." And Bunyan interjects a remark which is of great comfort to poor trembling brethren. He says: "For Christian could not see before him." Ah, brothers! some of us could not see before us years ago; we thought we were going to be shipwrecked. Hopeful says: "I see the gate, and men standing by to receive us." Look at my favourite, poor Ready-to-Halt. I suppose a fellowfeeling makes me wondrous kind. His pilgrimage is one series of ups and downs; he would not have got on at all without his crutch. There are few of us who can get along without a crutch of some kind or other. There are some people who come to me and say: "Now, Mr. Garrett, seeing that you are a Christian, where is the use of the teetotal pledge?" I would just say to that, as poor Ready-to-Halt wouid have said to anyone who had proposed that he should throw away his crutch: "Why, if I throw away that, I shall break my neck." I have no skill at painting; if I had I should delight to draw the picture of poor Ready-to-Halt where he comes to the water, and needs his crutch no longer. He apostrophizes his crutch. He says: "Farewell, crutch! I shall never want thee again; there is a chariot and horses waiting for me yonder." Look at that other character of John Bunyan's-Miss Much-afraid, fitting name for the daughter of Mr. Despondency We talk of inherited tendencies. "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." I remember once in Yorkshire, a young artist lady who had this character. She was a Miss Much-afraid. In her last illness she sent for me, though not belonging our body, and said she should be so happy if she could only be assured that it was all right, then all seemed darkness before her. I sat down by her bedside, and, amongst other things, I told her that "she should have her song in the night." Some time afterwards she died, and her brother, an eminent physician, came to tell me that in the night, a litle time before her death, her face had become radiant, and she begged he would Others dwell with Dr. Watts in the lowlands, and sing with tell Mr. Garrett that she had had her song in the night. tears in their eyes- Could I but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor Death's cold flood What are we to say of these things? We can only say that blessed be God. He never makes a mistake. God never inflicts a stripe too much. When we reach heaven, "above the rest this note shall swell, my Jesus hath done all things well." Lastly, this experience is diverse, when we come to the last scene of all. Sometimes the dark river seems to overflow its banks; at other times it is shallow. John Bunyan's characters just illustrate my text. I shall not have preached in vain if I can induce you to read the " "Pilgrim's Progress again. Young men who may not have read this book, I beg you will read it. Look at the end of his characters, no two died alike. Poor Christian! You will remember that when he and Hopeful got to the water it was very deep, and poor Pilgrim began to sink in deep water, where there was no standing, and he said, "I sunk in deep waters; the billows go over my head; I shall not see the land that floweth A desponding lady, a friend of George Whitfield, once said to him: "What a glorious death-bed you will have, sir." He said "why so?" "Because you have brought so many souls to Christ." "Ah!" he said, "it is not so certain that I shall have a glorious exit, as that you will have one. It is you desponding ones that God causes to bear testimony at the last. God makes all pay tithes before they go over, at some portion of their course, and you pay yours at the end." Don't you remember the account given by St. Paul of his shipwreck, written for your comfort. "And some swam, and the rest cast themselves on boards, and on broken pieces of the ship, and so it came to pass that they all escaped safe to land." you. Are Now I have only one or two questions to ask you a Christian? I do not want to look at your class ticket. Do you say you wish to be one to-night? Then let me help not shirk the question, and say you hate certain sins. Do you. Do you hate sin with an ever-growing hatred? Do you say I would rather live a sinless life in heaven than a sinful life on earth? Then, thank God, so would I a thousand times. Do you love Christ? Can you say— To me, to me, that bleeding love "Well, but I don't believe with you on many points." No matter, We love the same Saviour, we lean on the same promises, and we are travelling to the same heaven. "And there are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all." By the Very Rev. Monsignor Canon WRENNALL, of St. Bede's College, Alexandra Park, at St. Alban's, Fawcett Street, Ancoats, Manchester, Sunday Morning, November 12th, 1882. THE HE Church attached great importance to the education of of her children, because it was necessary for their future welfare they should receive a good secular education, but it must be accompanied by religious instruction. In the City of Manchester they had nothing to learn in that respect. They suffered from a particular hardship in being called upon to support the Board Schools, and having to support their own schools at the same time. He was told that the Board Schools, besides receiving the grant from the Government, and the school-pence, cost the ratepayers nine shillings per head for each child. It would be an easy matter for our school managers and organisers to carry on their schools, if they received the same pecuniary assistance. He appealed to his hearers to support their own schools, and then the children would be brought up in the principles of the Catholic faith, and would receive a religious education. It was absolutely necessary that they should receive religious teaching and it was only in the Catholic schools where such teaching was given. LECTURE. The Rev. SILAS FARRINGTON, at the Upper Brook Street Free Church Sunday Evening, November 12. IN THE OLD PARISH CHURCH.-Nɔ. 1. this, and the two lectures which will follow it, I wish to tell the story of religion in Manchester from the time when it began to be a permanent centre of human life until the present day. The period is a long one-eighteen centuries, at least. Some whole chapters of history are, however, lost beyond recovery; but what remain I shall try to tell as clearly and briefly as I may. In order to get the canvas quite clear, and to start at the beginning, I must ask you to do a somewhat difficult thing to think the Manchester that now is, is quite off the ground; to let these busy, noisy streets; these interminable shops and tenements; these chapels and churches; these mills, with their air-polluting chimneys; these railway stations, with their lively whistles, competing daily for the shrillest shriek; these bewildering bazaars of the world's merchandize, with all the marine warehouses, the libraries, the banks, the hospitals, the schools, the College, the Exchange, the Town Hall, the Market at Shudehill, the dismal Angels of the Meadow, and the sumptuous suburbs where the children of Dives dwell; to let all this-which is Manchester to youutterly vanish from the scene. This done, we have here a bit of virgin territory somewhat damp and oozy-plenty of trees growing upon it, in thickets, here and there, where the soil is not too wet, and plenty of coarse rush-like grass where the trees cannot manage to grow. A pure little stream, now the dirty Irwell, goes winding through, and two smaller ones the Irk and the Medlock—are carrying a little more clear bright water down into that. The land is neither ditched nor drained, and, for a part of every year, under the copious rainfall, good portions of it, were there boats or ships, would be fairly navigable. Here and there, however, are very slight eminences, just lifted out of the flood-seldom or never covered by the water-on which the groves, the thickets, or the coarse grasses are green during the most of the year. When Saxons and Danes enter upon the scene these will be called Holmes, or Hulmes. When we say Rusholme, Levenshulme, Kirkmanshulme, Davyhulme, we are only indicating the spots that to these Saxons and Danes always stood out like low islands of green above the rest of the frequently flooded land. On this wet and wooded bit of territory is nothing that we should recognise as a human abode. The first inhabitants of this tract of land-now Manchester-were the boar, the wolf, the bull. Eager, on the track of these, ran, waded, or swam the aboriginal huntsmen, making their way as best they could through the wild unfrequented waste, with intent to kill and eat. These huntsmen were bold, courageous fellows, not inclined to work less exciting than the chase, but sometimes capable of doing it; not given to tilling the soil-living on what they could trap and spear, with such wild fruits as grew, and dwelling either in caves, or holes, or tents made by planting poles in the earth, and covering them sometimes with the clayey soil, and sometimes with the skins of the beasts they had slain. For the most part they themselves went about naked, were not afraid of the cold, or in anywise too effeminate for the climate. On occasion, it is said, they could stand up to their chins in water for several days at a time. They knew the use of metal, for in their warlike mood was usually warlike. Very sanguinary men. Never were they more moods they wore daggers, carried shields, and brandished spears. Their ready for anything than for the excitement of slaughter. Yet they were religious too; quite as religious, in their own wild way, as our more modern men of war. For shrines, they had the caves and the cliffs; for who, delighted in the blood of animals and of men. Yes, religion was gods, imaginary beings not unlike, only stronger than, themselves- -gods here long before any intimation of the old parish church. These men who hunted wolves on the very ground, perhaps, upon which we now dwell were religious. They felt themselves subordinate to powers they knew not-higher than themselves, and mightier. They even believed in the continuance of their own life, though they were slain-in the immortality of their souls. They had this faith, though as yet no Christianity had here appeared to bring the doctrine to light. For the time of which I speak—the time when the site of Manchester is best pictured as a wild and wet hunting ground of semi-savage Britons-is, at least, half a century prior to any of the events recorded in our New Testament. A hundred years and more go by. No change seems to occur. The swamps are vigorous with grass and rushes, the trees flourish upon the Hulmes, the beasts are hunted, the ground is unoccupied by the habitations of men. Perchance, on the other side of the Irwell at Ordstall; perchance, on the higher places now known as Prestwich and Cheetham, stand the huts, or exist the holes of the rude Britons. In the year 79 of our era a new force presents itself-an army of admirably disciplined men from the distant banks of the Tiber. These Romans have been in Britain before in the days of Julius Cæsar, and led by him. Never before, however, have they penetrated so far north as Lancashire. They came making straight and lasting paths for their feet. They came doing all things in very solid style. They came with intent to fix here one of their permanent abodes. Hard by the spot still known as Castlefield, just where the Medlock enters the Irwell, they begin to build their strong castle-like camp. Soon they are building a smaller one near the mouth of the Irk, on the site now occupied by the Cheetham Hospital for the Bluecoat Boys. These Roman castra, or camps, are the beginnings of Manchester. Its very name springs from them. Man-castra-Man-castle-having finally settled down into Man-chester. Among these Romans who enter here under Agricola are some simpleminded men who have heard and believed the precepts of Jesus; for between the days of Julius Caesar and those of Julius Agricola the founder of the Christian religion had accomplished the work given him to do. These Romans are in every way more highly developed men than the Britons among whom they have come. Their advent is a great advance in whatever pertains to civilization. Life henceforth has new aspects here. Around their castra great and rapid changes go forward. All details are lost to us. Two centuries and more are almost a blank. We only know that the rude Briton saw in the race which had conquered him more than better road-makers, builders of stronger camps, and manufacturers of superior weapons. He saw an entirely new order of being-a few men, at least. having confidence in qualities that to him either were not or were despicable. He saw men who were patientmen who were brave to save life, tender, pitiful, eager to bless-men who seemed to him, at length, better than his gods. He learned from the lives of devoted and holy men a new religion. And we know that in the two centuries succeeding the founding of the place, not only the Britons near Man-castra, but throughout Britain, had been won over to Christianity by the natural influences of its superior life. Of course it was a simple, plain kind of Christianity, and, for that very reason, the most effective and the best. The Britons couldn't quite shake off their |