potent speaker, and a racy homilist.  He has a sweeping powerful voice; you could almost hear him if you were asleep, and this fact may account for the peculiarly contented movements of several parties we observed recently at the church whilst Father Papall was preaching.  At least 20 near us went to sleep in about five minutes after he began talking, slept very well during the whole sermon, and at its conclusion woke up very refreshed, made brisk crosses, listened awhile to the succeeding music, &c., and then walked out quite cool and cheerful.

Most excellent schools are situated near and on the northern side of the church.  The average daily attendance of boys is 200; that of the girls 260; that of the infants, 350.  The boys seem well trained; the girls, who are in charge of nuns—­called “Companions of the Holy Child Jesus”—­are likewise industriously cared for; and the infants are a show in themselves.  We saw these 350 babies, for many of them are nothing more, the other day, and the manner in which they conducted themselves was simply surprising.  The utmost order prevailed amongst them, and how this was brought about we could not tell.  One little pleasant-looking nun had charge of the whole confraternity, and she could say them at a word—­make them as mute as mice with the mere lifting of her finger, and turn them into all sorts of merry moods by a similar motion, in a second.  If this little nun could by some means convey her secret of managing children to about nineteen-twentieths of the mothers of the kingdom, who find it a dreadful business to regulate one or two, saying nothing of 350, babes and sucklings, she would confer a lasting benefit upon the householders of Britain.  Night and Sunday schools—­ the latter being attended by about 700 boys and girls—­are held in the same buildings.  There are five nuns at St. Walburge’s; they live in a convent hard by; and like the rest of their class they work hard every day, and sacrifice much of their own pleasure for the sake of that of other people—­a thing which the generality of us have yet to take first lessons in.

UNITARIAN CHAPEL.

There is something so severely mental, and so theologically daring in Unitarianism that many can’t, whilst others won’t, hold communion with it.  Unbiased thinkers, willing to give all men freedom of conscience, admit the force of its logic in some things, the sincerity of its intentions in all, but deem it too dry and much too intellectual for popular digestion.  The orthodox brand it as intolerably heretical and terribly unscriptural; the multitude of human beings;—­like “Oyster Nan” who couldn’t live without “running her vulgar rig”—­consider it downright infidelity, the companion of rationalism, and the “stepping Stone to atheism.”  Still there are many good people who are Unitarians; many magnificent scholars who recognise its principles; and if “respectability” is any proof of