One year before the accession of Victoria, a young Scot, reared in a Presbyterian home, educated at Edinburgh and Glasgow, now a Fellow of Balliol, was ordained deacon in the Church of England. Six years later he succeeded the great Dr. Arnold as Headmaster of Rugby. Another seven years, and Lord John Russell nominated him to be Dean of Carlisle. In 1856, Viscount Palmerston conveyed to him—recently stricken by the death of five of his children—the Queen's command tendering the see of London. Only once before in the course of two centuries had a man not already a bishop been named to the metropolitan diocese. In another twelve years—years of conflict and of progress, marked, too, by his refusal of York—Disraeli designated him to Canterbury on the death of Archbishop Longley—the first Scotchman in history to occupy the throne of Augustine.

The lady is Flavia Domitilla of the imperial Roman family and the emperor is Domitian, the traditional “second persecutor” of the Christians. We know little about their relationship, save that they were relatives, but the story goes that Domitian killed the lady's husband, Flavius Clemens the consul, and sent the lady into exile. This was by no means an unusual thing for Domitian to do, but with this event is inseparably connected the question of whether or not Domitian persecuted the Christians. To the “persecution” are again tied various matters of importance for church history and the study of New Testament. The problem of the lady and the emperor therefore assumes significance for critical study. Furthermqre, it offers us a good vehicle for a survey of the development of church-historical writing and research, partly because of its fascinating character which has attracted many prominent scholars, and partly because it has been rather free from theological prejudices. Its treatment does not exhaust the critical problems of the “Domitian persecution,” which would be impossible in a paper of this nature, but it does offer us a representative discussion of the issues involved. We shall therefore proceed to a description of the weaving of this ancient tapestry and shall then follow the unraveling of its threads which has taken place through four centuries of historical effort.

When the British Army entered Philadelphia on September 26, 1777, they entered the largest town in the colonies. But Philadelphians of today might be amused by the extent of the great metropolis, Philadelphia proper extended from Vine Street to South Street and westward to Fifth. “There were few houses west of Sixth street and most of these were on Chestnut and Market streets…”1 Fifth Street was really the western boundary of the town as we may see from the number of cemeteries along its entire length, For example, at Cherry Street there were two Lutheran graveyards; (diagonally opposite at the northwest corner of Arch was the Presbyterian yard. At the southeast corner of this same street was the Episcopal yard; farther down, just below Market Street, was the graveyard of the Baptists. On the east side of Fifth below Walnut was the Romanists' cemetery and on the west side was that of the Free Quakers. Phjladelphians at least had the grace to remove their graveyards to the extreme limits of the town. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why colonial Philadelphia missed some of the worst epidemics.