“Self-renunciation,” he came to the conclusion, “is the foundation of Christian Religion and Christian Morals. . . . The highest wisdom is that which can enforce and cultivate this self-renunciation. Hence (against Cousin) I hold that religion is higher far than philosophy.” There is one mention of chemists and capillarity, but science and philosophy were, even at this early stage, in danger of being crowded out. Soon the diary takes a different tone. “He seems,” says his biographer, “to have had no time for committing his thoughts to paper”; he records his engagements only, and he dines out almost every night. Sir Henry Taylor, whom he met at one of these parties, described him as “simple, solid, good, capable, and pleasing”. Perhaps it was his solidity combined with his “eminently scientific” turn of mind, his blandness as well as his bulk, that impressed some of these great people with the confidence that in him the Church had found a very necessary champion. His “brawny logic” and massive frame seemed to fit him to grapple with a task that taxed the strongest—how, that is, to reconcile the scientific discoveries of the age with religion, and even prove them “some of its strongest witnesses for the truth”. If any one could do this Thomson could; his practical ability, unhampered by any mystical or dreaming tendency, had already proved itself in the conduct of the business affairs of his College. From Bishop he became almost instantly Archbishop; and in becoming Archbishop he became Primate of England, Governor of the Charterhouse and King’s College, London, patron of one hundred and twenty livings, with the Archdeaconries of York, Cleveland, and the East Riding in his gift, and the Canonries and Prebends in York Minster. Bishopthorpe itself was an enormous palace; he was immediately faced by the “knotty question” of whether to buy all the furniture—“much of it only poor stuff”—or to furnish the house anew, which would cost a fortune. Moreover there were seven cows in the park; but these, perhaps, were counterbalanced by nine children in the nursery. Then the Prince and Princess of Wales came to stay, and the Archbishop took upon himself the task of furnishing the Princess’s apartments. He went up to London and bought eight Moderator lamps, two Spanish figures holding candles, and reminded himself of the necessity of buying “soap for Princess”. But meanwhile far more serious matters claimed every ounce of his strength. Already he had been exhorted to “wield the sure lance of your brawny logic against the sophistries” of the authors of _Essays and Reviews_, and had responded in a work called _Aids to Faith_. Near at hand the town of Sheffield, with its large population of imperfectly educated working men, was a breeding ground of scepticism and discontent. The Archbishop made it his special charge. He was fond of watching the rolling of armour plate, and constantly addressed meetings of working men. “Now what are these Nihilisms, and