The building is made mainly of brick, and looks very like a Dissenting place of worship.  It is a tame, moderately tall, quadrangular edifice, flanked with stone buttresses, heavy enough to crush in its sides, fronted with a plain gable, pierced with a few prosaic windows, and surmounted with collateral turrets and a small bell fit for a school-house, and calculated to swivel whilst being worked quite as much as any other piece of sacred bell-metal in the Hundred of Amounderness.  There is a small graveyard in front of the church containing a few flat tombstones and six young trees which have rather a struggling time of it in windy weather.  The ground spaces at the sides of the church are decorated with ivy, thistles, chickweed, and a few venerable docks, The internal architecture of the building is as dull and modest as that of the exterior.  The seats are stiff, between 30 and 40 inches high, and homely.  Just at present they have a scraped care-worn look, as if they had been getting parish relief; but in time, when cash is more plentiful, their appearance will be improved.  A considerable sum of money was once spent upon the cleaning and renovation of the church; but the paint which was put on during the work never suited; it was either brushed on too thickly or varnished too coarsely; it persisted in sticking to people rather too keenly at times; would hardly give way if struggled with; and taking into account its tenacity and ill-looks—­it was finally decided to rub it off, make things easy with pumice stone, and agitate for fresh paint and varnish when the opportunity presented itself.

There is a large gallery in the church; but, like everything else, it is plain, The only striking ornament in the building is a sixteen-spoked circular window (at the chancel end), and until made to turn round it will never be popularly attractive.  In 1846 the chancel, which isn’t anything very prepossessing, was added to the church.  The pulpit is high and rather elegant in design; the reading desk is a gothicised fabric, and, with its open sides, reminds one more of a genteel open gangway on which everything can be seen, than of a snug high box, like those in which old-fashioned clerks used to sup gin and go to sleep during the intervals.  Until recently there were two wooden gas stands at the sides of the reading desk.  They looked like candlesticks, and short-sighted people, with thin theological cuticles, and a horror of Puseyism, disliked them.  Eventually the wood was gilded, and, seeing this, as well as knowing that candles were never gilded, and that, therefore, the stands couldn’t be candles, the dissatisfied ones were appeased.  There are about 400 free sittings in the church; but few people appear to care much for them.  These seats are situated on each side of the building, at the rear, and in the gallery; and they will be dying of inanition by and bye if somebody doesn’t come to the rescue.  People don’t seem to care about having a thing for nothing in the