So Providence imposed great duties on the bishops of the fourth century, especially in large cities; and very able as well as good men were required for this position, equally one of honor and authority.

The See of Milan was then one of the most important in the Empire.  It was the seat of imperial government.  Valentinian, an able general, bore the sceptre of the West; for the Empire was then divided,—­Valentinian ruling the eastern, and his brother Gratian the western, portion of it,—­and, as the Goths were overrunning the civilized world and threatening Italy, Valentinian fixed his seat of government at Milan.  It was a turbulent city, disgraced by mobs and religious factions.  The Arian party, headed by the Empress Justina, mother of the young emperor, was exceedingly powerful.  It was a critical period, and even orthodoxy was in danger of being subverted.  I might dwell on the miseries of that period, immediately preceding the fall of the Empire; but all I will say is, that the See of Milan needed a very able, conscientious, and wise prelate.

Hence Ambrose was selected, not by the emperor but by the people, in whom was vested the right of election.  He was then governor of that part of Italy now embraced by the archbishoprics of Milan, Turin, Genoa, Ravenna, and Bologna,—­the greater part of Lombardy and Sardinia.  He belonged to an illustrious Roman family.  His father had been praetorian prefect of Gaul, which embraced not only Gaul, but Britain and Africa,—­about a third of the Roman Empire.  The seat of this great prefecture was Treves; and here Ambrose was born in the year 340.  His early days were of course passed in luxury and pomp.  On the death of his father he retired to Rome to complete his education, and soon outstripped his noble companions in learning and accomplishments.  Such was his character and position that he was selected, at the age of thirty-four, for the government of Northern Italy.  Nothing eventful marked his rule as governor, except that he was just, humane, and able.  Had he continued governor, his name would not have passed down in history; he would have been forgotten like other provincial governors.

But he was destined to a higher sphere and a more exalted position than that of governor of an important province.  On the death of Archbishop Auxentius, A.D. 374, the See of Milan became vacant.  A great man was required for the archbishopric in that age of factions, heresies, and tumults.  The whole city was thrown into the wildest excitement.  The emperor wisely declined to interfere with the election.  Rival parties could not agree on a candidate.  A tumult arose.  The governor—­Ambrose—­proceeded to the cathedral church, where the election was going on, to appease the tumult.  His appearance produced a momentary calm, when a little child cried out, “Let Ambrose our governor be our bishop!” That cry was regarded as a voice from heaven,—­as the voice of inspiration.  The people caught the words, re-echoed the cry, and tumultuously shouted, “Yes! let Ambrose our governor be our bishop!”