We have heard a good deal of Norwich. When the summer comes, some enterprising journalist manages to find his way there, and if he has a copy of Evelyn, waxes eloquent over its gardens, and market-place, and ancient castle, and its memories of Sir Thomas Browne. I write of the Norwich of to-day—of living Norwich—a city with a population of more than a hundred thousand—that has renewed its youth—that is marching on like John Brown’s soul; a Norwich that was, as I first remember it, a seat of Parliamentary and political corruption, of vice and ignorance, of apathy and sloth. It is a grand old city, none grander anywhere in England. It is a place to me of pleasant memories, and the stranger within its gates must admit the charm of its grey towers and churches, its cathedral, its well-wooded suburbs extending over a wide range of hills. In that respect some claim for Norwich that it resembles Jerusalem. From all I can make out I should be inclined to give Norwich the preference. It has fewer Jews and not so many fleas.

And first let me speak of living Norwich religiously. One of our wise kings said that the spire of Harrow was an outward and visible sign of the Church. Norwich rejoices in many such signs. Perhaps one of the most prominent at this time is the new Roman Catholic Cathedral at the end of St. Giles’s, which has been nine years in building, which is being erected regardless of expense, and which is far from completed yet. I heard Cardinal Manning, who was the most complete exemplification of the union of the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove I ever saw, in one of his sermons compare the Church of Rome to a lamb in the midst of wolves. At Norwich, as in most parts of England, the lamb is by no means a little one, and it may be in time it will develop into a ram, and a ram can do not a little mischief. What sign of life does the State Church give? Norwich is full of parsons; are any of them men of note? It had one it borrowed from dissent, Dr. Cunningham Geikie, but he could not stand the climate, and now lives at Bournemouth. What sign of life, again I ask, does the Norwich State Church exhibit? Alas, the reply is not satisfactory. With the exception of its new Dean, there is no clergyman of note among them. Dean Lefroy is able, earnest, active, a worker in many ways, social as well as religious, and on Sunday evening fills the nave of the Cathedral, where he conducts a service minus the Church prayers, and plus Moody and Sankey hymns. He is Evangelical, and is making that influence felt. He is an Irishman, and as a matter of coarse fervid and eloquent. When he came to Norwich, I am told, he expressed his hope that he should soon empty some of its many chapels. At present he has not succeeded in the attempt. I don’t think his church understands the way to go to work aright in that respect. When I was last in Norwich the Primitive Methodists were in full conference. All the religious bodies in Norwich gave them hearty greeting except the Church, and the intolerance of its attitude naturally occasioned considerable unfriendly comment. Wesleyan Methodism in Norwich and throughout Norfolk is making great headway. Still true to its old policy, which has been defined as a penny a week, a shilling a quarter, and justification by faith, it has gone in heartily for the Forward Movement, and the evidences are to be met with everywhere. Congregationalism is also preparing to commence a new cause in a hitherto neglected district, and it is time it did, as it is nearly forty years since the new Chapel-in-the-Field, now under the ministerial care of the Rev. J. P. Perkins, started on its successful career. It already has two prosperous mission stations as centres of religious activity and life. It is needless to say that Princes Street Chapel flourishes and prospers as it has ever done since Rev. George Barrett—one of the most winning of men in the Congregational ministry—has occupied its pulpit. The establishment of the Pleasant Sunday Afternoons during the past two years has been attended with great success and blessing. The large congregations which crowd the Church Sunday by Sunday prove that this class meets a need. It is a pleasing feature of this work that it has called into active service some members of the church who in the past had engaged in no recognised form of Christian work. I was interested to find that at the old aristocratic Unitarian Chapel, known as the Octagon, they have Pleasant Sunday Afternoon Services and that Rev. J. P. Perkins has conducted a service there. In Norwich, as elsewhere, all the churches of all religious bodies suffer more or less by the tendency of people successful in business to live as much out of the city as possible. Christian young men and women seem well looked after. The Church young men have a good institution in a street leading into Orford Hill, while the others meet in one of the old mansions in St. Giles’s Street. Education prospers in the old city. I found a junior institute in connection with the Church where the classes are well attended; and the Board School educates 12,000 children, while the denominational schools between them muster but 6,000. The School Board has established one of a higher grade, which is a great success, while the great Norwich publishers, Jarrold and Son, by their publications have done much to supply the people with healthy and popular literature.To commercial Norwich I can devote but little space. The city has flourished by reason of its being placed on two rivers—the Wensum and the Yare. The Great Eastern Railway gave it a tremendous lift, and, next to Mr. Colman, is perhaps the largest employer of labour in the district. The celebrated Carrow Works of Messrs. J. and J. Colman, manufacturers of mustard, starch, corm-flour, and laundry-blue, are known all the world over. Next in importance is the manufactory of Norwich ales, as the county of Norfolk has long been celebrated for its growth of the finest malting barley, and Norwich is, unfortunately, overdone with public-houses. I find that Messrs. Colman have established extensive Sunday and week-day schools for the children of their workpeople, and employ two Bible-women to visit them in their homes. I cannot find that the Norwich brewers have distinguished themselves much in this way, though it is to be feared that the need of such agencies among their workpeople must be greater than it is amongst those employed by Messrs. Colman. Norwich is a great place for clothing and the manufacture of boots and shoes. I suppose Harmer and Co. are at the head of the great clothing factories. Their new factory in St. Andrew’s is an ornament to the city, and is perhaps one of the finest in the world. It boasts a marvellous system of ventilation introduced by an American company, which has never before been tried in this country, and which every one interested in such matters ought to study. Mr. Harmer, who in 1888 was Mayor of Norwich, takes a deep interest in its welfare, and is certainly a man whose opinions deserve consideration. He thinks that the contemplated legislation, which has for its ultimate object the doing away with outdoor work, will press very hardly upon the working classes of the city, and will be more injurious to them than their employers. The practice of the firm has been to take into their employ young girls leaving school, who soon acquire much dexterity in their work, and who, when they marry, can be—and many of them are supplied with sewing machines to use at home. Be that as it may, he has done more than any one in the great work of showing how a factory can be rendered healthy, and is to be held in reverence as one of our greatest practical sanitary reformers. One word more. Norwich is the centre of a great agricultural district, and its cattle market may be described as the largest of the kind in all England. In one year alone as many as 95,000 beasts, 137,000 sheep, and 14,000 pigs were received for the market. Till we all become vegetarians, Norwich will, by reason of its cattle market alone, flourish as a living city famed for its flesh pots, and beloved of John Bull.

Norwich has been a famous city ever since, at any rate, the time when Sir Thomas Browne wrote his famed Religio de Medici there. It was to the house of Mrs. Taylor, wife of a Norwich tradesman, that Sir James Mackintosh and the other leading Liberals of the day used to repair to hold high discourse on the origin of society and the rights of man. Windham, one of the greatest statesmen of his day, the friend of Johnson and Burke, represented Norwich. There lived William Taylor, the friend and correspondent of Southey, who was the first to open up to the public the vast treasury of German thought. Harriet Martineau was born there, as was likewise her more celebrated brother James, who still lives to illustrate the mental and religious speculation of our day. A grand old city is Norwich, with its castle, now a museum, looking over it all, with its St. Andrew’s Hall, now utilised for concerts and public meetings, with its great markets, with its Colman’s Mustard Mills, with its old houses and narrow streets. The workman, with his strikes, has driven away from Northampton a good deal of its boot and shoe manufacture. What Northampton has lost Ipswich, Colchester, and especially Norwich, have gained. There is beautiful country round Norwich; and Norwich ought to be eminently holy, for there are forty churches there, many of them very ancient. We hear a good deal of the piety of our forefathers. In Norwich we realise that fact as well as anywhere. Norwich, consequently, is the home of bell-ringers. Mr. Suffling tells us, “I suppose no other place in England can boast of so many bell-ringers, or such good ones, as Norwich.” On certain occasions you are deafened by the clamour of its bells.

Away from Ipswich, and Colchester, and Norwich there is a delicious sleepiness about the old East Anglian towns, as if they feel they have done their duty in their day and are out of the world. They are all in a declining way. They have all seen better days. They have not quite died out, because the Great Eastern Railway has connected them all together and insists on their sharing in the labours and triumphs of the present day. But they had rather not. They would rather live on their past glories—Bungay, with its renowned castle, Framlingham with its castle still more renowned, Bury with its memories of its martyr king, Woodbridge mildly illuminated by the fame of Bernard Barton, the Quaker poet, Beccles with its fine church, Halesworth where Archbishop Whateley was for many years the rector. They are all places to live in happily if you have had enough of excitement and would shun the wicked world and its ways.