the small leather book from its place on the chair, and unconsciously open the pages and turn them over? He was listening to the story that the miller's wife was telling, listening and thinking, thinking and listening; yet, as he held the book open-and it was a book that was strange and almost unknown to him-his eyes fell upon some words which startled him, and remained for ever after distinct in his remembrance.

"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.

"But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

"Fear ye not, therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows."

Rain was pouring heavily down when the philosopher started for London on the afternoon of that same day. He was glad to depart. The whole country scene oppressed him with a sense of unutterable melancholy; the miller's house, with its shut casements and drawndown blinds, was scarce sadder than the dripping willows and alders swaying their grey boughs.

He conscientiously paid a week's rent to Mrs. Dolland, slipping also into her hand a couple of golden coins "towards the expenses of the funeral." When he reached his own lodgings he somewhat surprised his elderly housekeeper by so unexpected an appearance; but he took up his place by his own fireside as though he had never left it, lit his pipe, replaced on their shelves a few favourite books he had packed away, and spread all his papers about him in true student-like litter with deep thankfulness and joy.

Nor went he any further afield that year in search of a holiday. Sometimes, in late afternoons during the summer and autumn, when his day's work was done, he wandered into Hyde Park, and sat down on one of the benches near deserted Rotten Row, amongst the artizans and poor folk, the sad-faced women and little children, who come at that unfashionable time of year to get a sight of the green trees and well-kept slopes and scarlet geraniums.

Review an

A couple of months later there appeared in the article from the pen of a well-known learned man which caused a great sensation. It was entitled "Sympathy as a Fine Art," and was much talked about in literary, æsthetic, and metaphysical circles.

Besides bringing great kudos to its author, it was so successful that a second edition of the Review became immediately necessary; and shortly afterwards the article, with additions and annotations, was republished in the form of a pamphlet, and became once more a subject of universal commendation, speculation, and interesting discussion.

It was written in a spirit of cold and elaborate analysis-dictated by the head, not by the heart; so said many wise folks who were

bound to know. A few good kind souls shook their own heads sadly over the pamphlet, because of the utterances therein far beyond their understanding. Only a few, a very few, read-and loved their fellow-men the better because of the reading—for it is only given to a few to understand.

Yet one and all agreed that the treatise was a learned, nay, a great work, and the very finest piece of writing which had come from the pen of its learned author.

The philosopher, meanwhile, having been better treated by his publisher than writers are usually supposed to be, sent the amount he had earned to an old couple living in the south of England, for the use and benefit of their little grandson. Thus it came to pass that Rupert obtained better and more expensive schooling than he could otherwise have had, whilst certain pleasures and advantages which are to be procured by money alone fell to his childish lot, and brightened it considerably.

As he grew in age and wisdom he learned how many of the benefits of his youth were due to this far-off London benefactor, whom, however, he did not at any time see, and whose gifts he was cautioned never to mention. Nor did the child's name at any time pass the philosopher's lips; deep buried in the silence of his own memories lay an episode which he evidently occasionally remembered, but of which he never spoke.

A Few Manchester Worthies.

BY THE REV. GEORGE HUNTINGTON.

WHAT a different town must the "Old Church" of Manchester have looked down on in the beginning of the fifteenth century! There were none of the tall chimneys the smoke from which defiles the atmosphere for many a mile, for the "rugges and frezes" for which, as old Hollingworth tells us, Manchester was famous were made at home. The Irwell, the Irk, and the Medlock were then trout streams; trees grew in what is now St. Ann's Square; Market Street, boasted of as the best-lighted thoroughfare in Europe, was then a narrow lane; Bank Top, where is now the London and North-Western Railway Station, was a rocky ravine over which vehicles toiled with difficulty. A very few years back people fished in the ponds of Strangeways Hall, the site of the present Courts of Law; and hawthorn grew and birds sang in Broughton Lane and Bury New Road. The suburbs still show their originally rural character in such names as Withington, where willows or withies grew on the banks of the streams, and were plaited into the baskets in which the good folk took their butter and eggs to Shudehill Market; and Rusholme, where the townspeople went out to gather the rushes wherewith to straw their floors. Withy-grove and Withy-bush tell the same tale.

Prior to the introduction of steam power, merchants brought their wares on pack-horses from Rochdale, Wigan, Bolton, Oldham and Bury, and thought themselves lucky if they escaped the highwaymen who were on the look out for them on Bolton Moors or Blackstone Edge, especially if they had sealed an extra good bargain with an extra good glass of grog. Dean's Gate, literally the Dane's Gate, lately widened into a magnificent thoroughfare, was then a mean street, with its Knott or Knuts mill at one extremity.

Around the town were the mansions, manor-houses, and moated granges of aristocratic owners, whose memories are handed down in the familiar names of Ancoats, Ardwick, Strangeways, Derby Street, Stanley Street, Mosley Street, and Smedley Lane.*

Lancashire has always presented a strange admixture of an ancient aristocracy with feudal privileges, and a modern plutocracy gradually * Manchester also commemorates its benefactors in such names as Byrom Street, John Dalton Street, &c., &c.

asserting its independence. Where the present College stands, the interesting group of buildings close to the Cathedral, the Lords of Manchester fixed their Hall. The last of the Lords de la Warre, known as the "Priest Lord," collegiated the Parish Church, and rebuilt the old buildings as a residence for the Warden and Fellows. He devised the manor to his half-sister Joan, wife of Thomas Lord West, who sold it to John Lacye, Citizen of London, who resold it in 1596 to Nicholas Mosley, Alderman of London, in whose family it remained till Sir Oswald Mosley sold it to the Corporation of Manchester in 1845. The Lordship of Ashton has only within the last few years passed from the Greys. At Wigan the tolls used till lately to be paid to the Rector as Lord of the Manor; his residence was and is still called the Hall. He proclaimed the annual fair, accompanied by the Mayor and Corporation with their maces; preceded by halbert men and a band of music, he read or caused to be read a proclamation against disorderly conduct, after which he and the mayor politely bowed to each other, "God Save the Queen" was played, and then they sat down to a cold collation at the Rector's expense, to which every one might go, with or without invitation. For many a long year great Lords and Church dignitaries sat in their own Courts, admistered justice, and sometimes issued their own coins. A Right Reverend Prelate invested the school he founded in Manchester * with the privilege of grinding corn at the only available mill. And yet slowly, but perceptibly to discerning eyes, the people were working upwards.

Lancashire is full of examples of the marvellous way in which its intelligent and enterprising children realized fortunes. The great firm of E. (for local reasons I suppress the name) was a case in point. Originally in humble circumstances, though not without some claim to blue blood, the family has supplied the county with sheriffs and members of Parliament and church founders.

About the beginning of the present century three brothers were engaged in the manufacture of ginghams, then a staple trade of the district. Trade was bad, prices were low; above all, capital was wanted. One of the three brothers, considering the pursuit of business a forlorn hope, enlisted as a soldier, went out to India, and was not heard of for years. Meanwhile matters did not mend at home, and the two brothers fell out, would have no dealings together, and tried to undersell each other. Side by side they rode to Manchester, but never exchanged a word; they put up at the same inn, but in separate rooms. Well, one day they came as usual, glum and defiant, nursing their grief and cursing their ill-luck, when a

*The Free Grammar School. It used to be free; it is not so now.

stranger of military appearance was seen approaching the inn. He asked if the brothers E. put up there.

On being told that they did, he asked to be shown into their room, but was informed that they were at enmity, and sat in different apartments.

"Tell them," said the Unknown, "that a gentleman wants to see them on particular business, which he can only transact with both of them together."

After some parley the stranger was shown into a room, where sat the brothers, gloomy and forbidding.

"What I've got to say," began the Unknown, " is for your benefit; but before I speak another word you must shake hands with each other and with me. I see you don't know me; and you may ask what right I have to dictate to you. That's soon told. I am your brother T. I'm grieved to my heart to find you at variance. I've made money, and I have the will to help you; but what I do must be done for both or for neither."

The two were silent for a time; but at length they shook hands, and promised that bygones should be bygones. They kept their word; so did the other. He had attained the rank of a Colonel, and become rich beyond his most sanguine expectations; he invested thirty thousand pounds in the business, introduced the newest inventions, procured the best machinery, and thus laid the foundations of the great concern which bears his name.

The old College buildings are well worth a visit, both for their quaint beauty and for their associations. They remained in the hands of the Warden and Fellows till the dissolution of the College, A.D. 1547, when they were granted to the Earls of Derby, who occasionally used them as their town house. The College was refounded by Queen Elizabeth in 1578, and subsequently endowed by Charles the First, A.D. 1635; but the Warden and Fellows never got back their old dwelling, though the Earl of Derby of King James the First's day allowed Dr. Dee, the Warden, noted as an astrologer, and, as some say, a conjurer, the use of it. In the room now known as the Audit Room he is said to have entertained Sir Walter Raleigh. During the Commonwealth the ancient buildings were used as a powder magazine. The Chetham feoffees purchased them from the celebrated Charlotte Tremouille. It is curious to note that on a valuation made at the time, the buildings were valued at £5210 10s. 8d., the site at £100. What a difference now! when, save from an antiquarian point of view, the buildings would fetch but little, and the site untold thousands.*

They still look much as they looked in bygone days, save that

* I am indebted for these particulars to my friend Mr. Tinkler, the Librarian of the College.