and we believe of a generous turn of mind.  The chapel is cleanly kept by an amiable old Catholic, who may, if there is anything in a name, be related to the Grey Friars who formerly perambulated the street he lives in; and there is an air of freedom and homeliness about it which we have not noticed at several places of worship.  Around its walls are pictures of saints.  They make up a fine family group, and seem to have gathered from every Catholic place of worship in the town to do honour to the edifice.

There are sundry masses every Sunday in the chapel, that which is the shortest—­held at half-past nine in the morning—­being, as usual, best patronised.  The scholars connected with St. Wilfrid’s attend the chapel every Sunday.  Each Wednesday evening a service is also held in the chapel, and it is most excellently attended, although some who visit it put in a rather late appearance.  When we were in the chapel, one Wednesday evening, ten persons came five minutes before the service was over, and one slipped round the door side and made a descent upon the holy water forty-five seconds before the business terminated.  Of course it is better late than never, only not much bliss follows late attendance, and hardly a toothful of ecstacy can be obtained in three-quarters of a minute.  The singing is of an average kind, the choir being constituted of the school children; whilst the organ, which used to be in some place at Accrington, is only rather shaky and debilitated.  During the past ten years the Rev. Thomas Brindle, of St. Wilfrid’s, has been the officiating priest at St. Mary’s.  Father Brindle is a Fylde man, is about 45 years of age, and is a thoroughly healthy subject.  He is at least 72 inches high, is well built, powerful, straight as a die, good looking, keeps his teeth clean, and attends most regularly to his clerical duties.  He is unassuming in manner, blithe in company, earnest in the pulpit.  His gesticulation is decisive, his lungs are good, and his vestments fit him well.  Not a more stately, yet homely looking, honest-faced priest have we seen for many a day.  There is nothing sinister nor subtle in his visage; the sad ferocity glancing out of some men’s eyes is not seen in his.  We have not yet confessed our sins to him, but we fancy he will be a kindly soul when behind the curtain,—­would sooner order boiled than hard peas to be put into one’s shoes by way of penance, would far rather recommend a fast on salmon than a feast on bacon, and would generally prefer a soft woollen to a hard horse hair shirt in the moments of general mortification.  Father Brindle!—­Give us your hand, and may you long retain a kindly regard for boiled peas, soft shirts, and salmon.  They are amongst the very best things out if rightly used, and we shouldn’t care about agonising the flesh with them three times a week.