All over, there are many who consider themselves Christian brethren; but the number taking up the name specifically, with a determination to stick to it denominationally, is small.  In all large towns a few of this complexion may be found; and in Preston odd ones exist whose shibboleth is “Christian Brethren.”  We had a spell with them, rather unexpectedly, on a recent “first day”—­“Christian Brethren” always call Sunday the first day.  And it came about in this way:  we were on the point of entering a Dissenting place of worship, when a kindly-natured somewhat originally-constituted “pillar of the Church” intercepted our movements, and said, “You mustn’t come here today.”  “Why?” we asked, and his reply was, that a fiftieth-rate stray parson, whom “the Church doesn’t care for” would be in the pulpit that day, and that if we wished for “a fair sample” we must “come next Sunday.”  We didn’t want to be hard, and therefore said that if “another place” could be found for us, we would take it instead.  Violent cogitation for five minutes ensued, and at last our friend, more zealous than erudite, conjured up what he termed, “them here new lot, called Christians.”

We had heard of this section before, and at our request he accompanied us to a small, curiously-constructed building in Meadow-street.  At the side of the doorway we observed a strangely-written, badly-spelled sign, referring to the different periods when the “Christian Brethren” met for worship, &c.; and above it another sign appeared, small and dim, and making some allusion to certain academical business.  Hurrying up fourteen steps we reached a dark, time-worn door, and after pausing for a moment—­listening to some singing within—­our guide, philosopher, &c., opened it, and we entered the place with him.  The room was not “crowded to suffocation;” its windows were not gathering carbon drops through the density of human breathing; there were just fourteen persons in the place—­four men, three women, two youths, a girl, and four children.  A Bible and a hymn book—­the latter, according to its preface, being intended for none but the righteous—­were handed to us, and our friend want through the singing in a delightfully-dreadful style.  He appeared to have a way of his own in the business of psalmody—­sang whatever came into his head first, got into all manner of keys, and considering that he was doing quite enough for both of us, we remained silent, listening to the general melody, and drinking in its raptures as placidly as possible.

Prior to describing either the service we witnessed, or the principles of those participating in it, we must say a word in reference to the building.  It stands on the northern side of Meadow-street, between sundry cottage houses, retiring a little from the general frontage, and by its architecture seems to be a cross between a small school and a minute country meeting-house.  It was originally built in 1844 by Mr. John Todd of this town.  He started