IF the British Association had been in scientific search of a contrast, it could not have succeeded better than in fixing upon Manchester next after Oxford as its place of meeting. The two cities are striking types of two phases of society; how distinctively marked, and how widely dissimilar! Around Oxford are gathered the historic associations of many centuries. Kings have had their residence in its palaces; parliaments have met in its halls; superstition has brooded over its towers; martyrs have died in its streets, leaving a purified faith to revive and spread from their ashes; and from its colleges have issued forth the learned and the noble of our land-generals who have led armies to victory, statesmen who have swayed senates by their eloquence and wisdom, preachers who have stirred up the soul from its depths, and philosophers who have won their trophies from the deep mysteries of nature. Manchester, indeed, is not without its historic associations, but they are of a less romantic character: it is of ancient origin, but of modern celebrity. The conflict of armies has sometimes raged in its streets; but it is better known as having long been the seat of peaceful commerce. It is only, however, within the last century that it has risen to its great eminence, and achieved a name and a fame which have been carried by its ships and merchandize to the furthest and darkest corners of the world. In the very buildings of the two places there is a striking contrast. On looking at those sombre colleges our minds are carried back to the days of gloom and monasticism. Those shady cloisters and low windows and cell-like rooms tell of times and customs and phases of thought long past they impress you with a feeling of medievalism. The architecture of Manchester, on the

other hand, is remarkable, but it is in contrast with that of Oxford. The warehouses are palaces, costly and highly embellished, decorated within and without, stretching along whole streets, and forming large squares, which in architectural effect may vie with any in the capitals of Europe. How different, again, is the employment of the people you see in these two cities. In Oxford the mind is concerned most with the abstract and the ideal: the philosophy, the history, the poetry of ancient times, as handed down in the languages of Greece and Rome, are the subjects over which the head becomes confused and the eye grows dim. The Manchester mind deals not with abstractions; it is employed only on the practical business of life. It would turn from the dead languages as things to be most properly buried out of sight, and rest on the tangible productions of living industry and skill. The very faces of the men and the aspect of the streets in these two cities bear ocular testimony to these truths. Transfer the contemplative philosopher from his Magdalen Gardens or Christ Church Walk, where he takes his daily airing, solving a problem peradventure, or reducing an argument to a syllogism, or weighing in his mind the ponderosity of a Greek particle; transfer him to the streets and squares of Manchester, and the bustling, energetic men who are there in desperate pursuit of their calling would at the best sadly discompose his philosophy of thought and temper. How the old gentleman, dignified and corpulent, would be jostled in his walk, as though he were no more than some moveable antediluvian petrifaction, even if he were not annihilated by some impetuous spring van, or rolled over bodily by the shot of some lurryman as he was pitching his parcels from

his vehicle into the warehouse ! Oxford is the embodiment of a stationary idea. Men pass their lives there in easy study and quiet contemplation, eating well-cooked viands, and drinking choice wines, and pondering over ancient folios. They dread change, whether in university statutes or national laws; they are well content with the present condition of things, and are ready to bring down Scripture on the head of him that is given to change. Manchester, on the other hand, is the type of progress; its watchword is Onward. Change it must have, whether its tendency be to reform or to deform. Manchester must ever be devising fresh laws and demanding more freedom-freedom of conscience, of controversy, and of commerce. Manchester must be still inventing and advancing, striking out new kinds of trade, and discovering fresh outlets for its manufactures. The Manchester train sometimes hurries on too fast, it is true, and rolls down an embankment with a crash; but even this is assumed to be better than for the wheels and springs to rust from inaction, and the carriagetimbers to rot in the rain and mire.

Now we firmly believe, almost paradoxical as our assertion may seem on the first consideration of it, that Manchester is really a more appropriate centre for the gathering of our scientific men even than Oxford. What! you may exclaim in astonishment, the metropolis of cotton to become the metropolis of mind-where the atmosphere is an impregnation of sulphuric acid, tar, and coal-dust, and the rivers run ink and a decoction of logwoodwhere clouds are suspended overhead like a pall, and five days out of the seven drop, not fatness, but a solution of soot-where the eye is attracted by tall chimneys vomiting forth their volumes of coal-black smoke, and the ear is assailed by the rattle of machinery and the ringing of anvils-where the ledger is the book of science, and a knowledge of double entry is more coveted than a mastery

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over the subtlest investigation of Newton-where free-trade is the noblest of sciences, and moneygetting is the noblest of arts-where the cotton-plant is held to be the finest specimen of vegetative nature, and cotton-twist the finest production of human skillwhere the merchant prince and the cotton lord think much of their ventures as they consign them for transit across the great deep, but care very little per se about the theory of tides or the influence of the magnetic pole-where

Thank you, thank you, my good sir. Now that you have almost 'tired yourself with base comparisons,' listen to what we have to say. Oxford was pursuing her investigations into the mysteries of mind, the subtleties of philology, the dark records of ages long gone by, and the disputed tenets of theology, a century and a half ago, as she is at this day, and we honour her for her discoveries in the regions of the immaterial and the abstract; but the mind of Manchester, in its combination of science and art, has been directed to the advancement of national wealth and greatness, and to the increase of social and individual comforts. Consider the changes that have passed over our country during the last hundred and fifty years. Of those which have contributed to our daily convenience and personal well-being, how few have had their origin in our learned universities! On the other hand, how many in a greater or less degree have sprung either out of Manchester itself, or the trade that centres in and radiates from Manchester! If Lord Bacon could have seen these improvements, he would have hailed them as the triumph of his own philosophy.

But without further preface, let us open the thirty-first meeting of the British Association; and the President's address, though it were not so intended, may supply us with some reasons in proof of our theory, that Manchester is entitled to a high position as the promoter of science in its application to the arts.

Assuming that the Committee of the British Association, last year in Oxford, decided, not inappropriately, upon holding their next meeting in Manchester, then very gracefully did they select for their President, Mr. William Fairbairn, LL.D., F.R.S., a good specimen of a Manchester man. Dr. Fairbairn entered the battle of life with no other advantages than those of a clear head and a strong will; but these, as a rule, are more powerful auxiliaries than any which can be derived from the prestige of rank, wealth, or position. He is of Scotch extraction, and carries on his face every mark of the rugged, hard-headed native of the North. He has raised himself into celebrity mainly by his powers of mechanical calculation and his experiments on metallic substances. His distinction is associated chiefly with the profession of the engineer, and his efforts have been constantly directed to the development of practical truth in constructive science by the patient induction of experiment. He has published several works, which, being the result of his personal investigations, are of undisputed accuracy. The titles of his publications are a sufficient indication of their contents; as, for example, Remarks on Canal Navigation; Ap plication of Cast and Wrought Iron to Building Purposes; Account of the Construction of the Britannia and Conway Tubular Bridges; Useful Information for Engineers; A Treatise on Mills and Mill-Work; the article Iron' in the Encyclopædia Britannica. There are other treatises which he has read before various philosophical societies, and which have been published in their records. He is at this time carrying on his experiments on the construction of metal plates for the most effectual resistance to the heavy rifled ordnance of the present day. The Queen's medal was presented to Dr. Fairbairn this year by the Royal Society for his experimental researches in practical science, when the chairman, MajorGeneral Sabine, paid him some graceful compliments. Perhaps

it may be said with truth,' were his words, 'that there is no single individual living who has done so much for practical science, who has made so many careful experimental inquiries on subjects of primary importance to the commercial and manufacturing interests of the country, or who has so liberally contributed them to the world.' Mr. Fairbairn probably did not start in life with the presentiment that he would obtain the medal of the Royal Society, or be distinguished by the title of LL.D. honoris causâ; but it is quite certain that his honours have not spoiled the unassuming character of the man, or changed the native kindliness of his disposition. He is now more than seventy years of age, but hale, tall, wiry, and strong. We profess ourself to be a fair walker, but he sometimes passes us in the street at his ordinary stride as though our pace was decidedly slow. One of the workmen in the Fairbairns' establishment, not long ago, described to us in his own graphic and laconic vernacular the Doctor's activity and powers of endurance. owd maester,' he said, ''ll lick 'em o' yet.' That is, the old master would get through more work still than any of the younger members of the firm.

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On the evening of Wednesday, the 4th of September, the session of the British Association was opened in our Free Trade Hall-a building so called rather from traditional associations than its present uses. It is now turned to account for any purpose whatever, social or political, secular or religious, when a sufficient attraction is held out to draw, or to be likely to draw, a large body of persons together. The old plain building, the veritable Free Trade Hall, has been supplanted by an edifice of considerable architectural pretensions. The sweet voices' of Messrs. Cobden and Bright have given way to the sweeter voices of Mrs. Sherrington and Mr. Sims Reeves; the amusing political pantomimes of former years have yielded to the more amusing ventriloquisms of

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Mr. and Mrs. Howard Paul; and instead of some yeasty patriot frothing and perspiring for his country's good, and out of his electric flashes summoning 'thunders of applause,' we find, on the evening mentioned, our townsman, Dr. Fairbairn, opening in a quiet unobtrusive manner, a scientific meeting, in the presence of some three thousand ladies and gentlemen, and surrounded by men of deep still thought and patient investigation from many lands.

The scene was a gay one; but the ladies will pardon us if on such an occasion we naturally turn our opera-glass towards the men of European reputation that surround the President. There we see veterans in scientific research, still hearty and vigorous in their pursuits-such as Airy, Murchison, Brewster, Sedgwick, Sabine, Phillips, Owen, Hopkins, Daubeny, Willis, Miller, Crawfurd, Lankester, Belcher, Robinson, Hamilton, Wheatstone, Rawlinson, Sykes, Harris, Babington, Richardson, and a host of others. There is something very overpowering as you feel yourself in the presence of such an assembly. You have before you the embodiment of the collective science of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. Novel thoughts chase each other through your mind as you gaze thereon. These men, who must be sublimated into the abstract and ideal, how do they live, we wonder? Have they wives at home? Have they children? Do they ever rock the cradle? Do they condescend to mix themselves in the affairs of everyday life? Suppose these walls were to collapse and extinguish altogether the lamp of science that is burning so brightly before us: how long would it take to repair the shattered argand, and re-fan the flame of knowledge to its present brilliancy? At how much would you think it necessary, in a commercial point of view, to insure the lives of these wise men, if they were collectively in danger? Such a question, perhaps, has never entered into the deliberations of the Sun Fire and Life' Directors. It is true, men's

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lives are valued in our courts of law, and the price is deducted from railway dividends. A peer of this realm, a bishop, a dean, a member of parliament, a cotton lord, a railway director-each of these may be the subject of a jury's assessment, be his value much or little yea, that poor horse, Klarikoff, will fetch his price even in his ashes. But how value a man of science? The broken leg of a cattle-jobber, or the dislocated knee-pan of a pig butcher, or the fractured rib of a butterbadger, may be worth forty pounds on an average; but the head that carries in it the unwritten history of the pre-Adamite world,—at how much, Mr. Foreman, would you assess the damage if that head were smashed? Awe-inspiring, doubtless, is the presence of this learned assembly; and yet, by degrees, as you watch the motions of these men, and see that they are but corporeal beings in coat, waistcoat, and trousers, your feeling of timid wonderment wears off. One of them you had pictured to yourself as constantly wielding the thigh-bone of a megatherium, as Hercules brandished his club; another you could only fancy as existing in the midst of variously coloured flames, chemically produced, like some awful stage impersonation; another you had figured to yourself as peering perpetually through a mighty telescope; another as stirring up metallic substances in a fluid state; another as reducing eternity to seconds by means of cabalistic letters and mathematical symbols. But after a while they come down to your own level as ordinary bread-consuming mortals. Indeed, we have found out that philosophers are not necessarily stoical ascetics, but oftentimes men of good appetites and sound digestions, of clear heads and stout viscera-men who love turtle in its real entity better than in its mock substitution-men who can not only discuss the organization of the finny tribe generally in the deep waters, but in particular the appetizing qualities of turbot and lobster sauce on the mahogany-men who

can analyse the ingredients of fluids and propound to you the laws of hydrostatics in the lecture-room, but do not object to enter upon the more practical test of imbibing moderately in the dining-room the juices of the grape in their several varieties, vintages, and flavours.

We propound a question for the ladies-What is your opinion of the personal appearance of our scientific visitors as a whole? When great names have been long familiar to us, we have a natural curiosity about the looks of those who own them. Are they handsome or plain, bulky or thin, awkward or graceful? Philosophy somehow, from the days of Socrates downwards, seems to have been associated with unprepossessing features, though Aristotle is said to have been a dandy. He is very clever,' we once heard a man say of another. 'Yes,' was the reply, 'he is quite ugly enough to be clever.' We think, however, that the theory is falsified by the most prominent members of the British Association. Occasionally you saw a quaint set of features in union with a comical figure; but generally the philosophic faces were very pleasing.

The President's address was a lucid, carefully written, but, at the same time, unpretentious review of the progress of science, especially of that department of science with which he is most familiar. He considered it more particularly in its application to works of practical utility, such as canals, steam navigation, machinery, railways-which in combination have multiplied almost beyond calculation the industrial resources of our country. Now, in so far as regards what is termed Applied Mechanics, Man

chester need not yield to any other place in the successes it has achieved.

'One hundred years ago,' says Dr. Fairbairn, 'the only means for the conveyance of inland merchandize, were the pack-horses and wagons on the then imperfect highways. First of all, probably, the pack-horse track was beaten out; then succeeded the primitive carriage road, following this path, which generally took the high ground, to avoid the undrained swamps and marshes.† Along this ill-formed way heavy carriages lumbered slowly, with their wheels deeply sunk in rut and mire. By degrees the highways were improved, straightened, macadamized, and scientifically constructed, till thirty or forty years ago they had arrived at perfection for all the purposes of travelling; and along their smooth surface the gallant stage-coach, drawn by four highmettled thoroughbreds, dashed at the rate of twelve miles an hour to the lively march of the guard's bugle. Then came the railway, with its train shaking the very earth by its motion, outstripping the swiftest race-horse, and never tiring in its speed. We have often stood on a hill-side-a small property of our own-along the great northern road, and marked the old pack-horse path, the original carriage road by its side, the scientifically constructed highway, and the railway, all within a stone's throw

symbols of the several stages of progress and civilization through which our country has passed.

Facility of transit is at once the precursor and the corollary of enlarging trade. Thus canals began to be cut some hundred years ago, and increased gradually till they