As to the outward appearance of this chapel, not so much can be said.  It is built of brick, with stone facings; at the front there is a gable pierced with a doorway, flanked with two long narrow windows, and surmounted by a small one; above, there is a stone tablet giving to the name of the chapel and the date of its opening; on the left, calmly nestling on the roof, there is a sheet iron pipe; and on the ground, at the same side, there are some good stables.  These stables do not belong to the chapel, and never did.  There is no bell at the chapel; but the name of Mr. Bell, who rents the stables, is fixed at one side of it; and in this circumstance some satisfaction may be found.  The chapel has a microscopical, select, sincere appearance; has no architectural strength nor highly-finished beauty about it; is bashful, clean, unadorned; and looks like what it is—­the cornered-up, decorous, tiny Bethel of a particular people.  Its internal arrangements are equally sedate, condensed, and snug.  A calm homeliness, a Quakerly simplicity runs all through it.  Nothing glaring, shining, or artistically complex is visible; neither fresco panellings, nor chiaroscuro contrasts, nor statuary groups adorn its walls:  if any of these things were seen the members would scream.  All is simple, clean, modest.  The walls, slightly relieved on each side by two imitation columns, are calmly coloured; the ceiling, containing a floriated centre piece, is plainly whitewashed; the gas stands have no pride in them; the pulpit is small, durable, unpretentious.  There are 22 deep long narrow pews in the chapel, and they will accommodate 200 persons.  A small and rather forlorn-looking clock perches over the doorway, and keeps time, when going, moderately well.  In the south-western corner of the building there is a mural tablet, in memory of the late Mrs. Caroline Walsh, who gave 50 pounds towards the erection of the chapel.  If she had given 100 pounds probably two monuments would have been raised to her memory.

Nearly all who visit the chapel are middle-class people.  The average attendance ranges from 70 to 80.  There are 34 members at the place.  Half of those who originally joined it are dead.  They did not die through attending the chapel, but through ordinary physical ailment.  The congregation, numerically speaking, is stationary, at present.  Those attending the chapel profess the very same principles as the Vauxhall-road Baptists, sing out of hymn books just like theirs, and drink in with equal rapture the Philpottian utterances of the Gospel Standard—­the organ of the body.  They have four collections a year, and the hat never goes round amongst them in vain.  Their pulpit is specially reserved for men after their own heart.  They will admit to it neither General Baptists, nor Methodists, nor Independents; and however good a thing any of the preachers of these bodies might have to say, they would have to burst before the Zoar Chapel brethren would find them rostrum accomodation