The congregation is a very poor one, but it is singularly sincere and orderly—­is not refined but devout, is comparatively unlettered but honest.  There is neither silk, nor satin, nor diamond rings, nor lavender kids, in the place; a hard working-day plainness, mingled with poverty, pervades it; but there is no sham seen:  if the people are poor, commonly dressed, noisy—­if they effervesce sometimes, and shout “Hallelujah” with a fiery joyfulness, and pray right out, as if they were being ship-wrecked or frightened to death, why let them have their way, for they are happy amongst it.  Their convictions are strong, and when they are at it they go in for a good thing—­for something roughly exquisite, hilariously pious, and consumingly good.  They don’t mince matters; are neither dainty nor given to cant, but shout out what they feel at the moment whatever may become of it afterwards.  Sunday services, prayer meetings, and class meetings are held in the chapel regularly.  The pulpit is occupied by various persons.

The minister stationed at the place is the Rev. J. Hall—­colleague of the pastor at Saul-street Chapel—­but he only takes his turn in it.  A strong-built man, plainly attired, earnest, and not so given to flights of violent fancy as some preachers, had charge of the pulpit during our visit.  His style was homely, and in his easier periods he had a knack of putting his left hand into his breeches pocket, and talking in a semi-conversational Lancashire dialect style.  He dilated for thirty minutes upon the horn-blowing at Jericho, the siege, the wall-falling, and the sin of Achan; and then wound up by telling his hearers—­drawing the moral from Achan’s fate—­that if they did wrong they would be sure to be found out.  The sermon was quite equal to the bulk of homilies given in Primitive Methodist Chapels, and it seemed to go right home to the congregation.  The plundering of Achan was well told, and when it was announced that he was stoned with stones, and then burned, the congregation sent up a mild, half-sighing groan, shaking their heads a little, and apparently determining to do right as long as ever they lived.

The music at the chapel was strong, and, remembering the nature of the place, satisfactory.  Three men, three young women, and a boy managed it.  The women sometimes drowned the men; the boy often got into a shrill mood; but the men finally reached the surface, the women quietly subsided, the boy toned down his forces somewhat; and on the whole the singing was well done.  After the sermon there came a prayer meeting.  We determined to see it out, preserving that quietude and respect which one ought always to evince towards those believing in the great cardinal points of Christanity, however peculiar may be, the modes of their expression.  Only about twenty-five, who assembled on the southern side of the chapel, joined the prayer meeting.  The proceedings were of a most enthusiastic, virtuous, hot, and bewildering