for its expression.  All classes, they fancy, ought to mind their own affairs; and preachers they consider should always keep to the pulpits of their own faith.  Although touchy as to preachers they are somewhat liberal as to writers, and have a great fondness for several of the works of Church of England divines.  They esteem considerably, we are informed, the writings of “Gill, Romaine, Hawker, Parkes, Hewlett, and others belonging that church.”  There is a debt of 150 pounds upon Zoar Chapel; and if any gentleman will give that sum to square up matters we can guarantee that good special sermons, eulogistic of all his virtues since birth, will be preached, and that a monument will be erected to him in the chapel when he dies.

The first minister the Zoar Chapel people had, after their secession, was Mr. D. Kent, a Liverpool gentleman who came over to Preston weekly, for seven years, and preached every Sunday.  He got no salary, was content with having his railway fare paid and his Sunday meals provided, and he gave much satisfaction.  In the end he had to retire through ill health.  Mr. J. S. Wesson, who evaporated quietly from Preston some time ago, followed Mr. Kent, and preached for the Zoar folk six years.  His successor was Mr. Edward Bates, of Darwen, who visited the chapel every Sunday for 12 months, and then withdrew.  Since his departure there has been no regular minister at the Chapel; and whenever one does come he will have to be a “Mr.” and not a “Rev.”  Particular Baptists don’t believe in “reverend” gentlemen—­think none of them are really reverend, and that it is presumption in any man, however sublimated his virtue or learning may be, to sacredly oil up his name with any such prefix.

We have visited Zoar Chapel twice.  It was exactly twenty minutes to seven one Sunday evening when we first entered it.  The lights were burning, the blinds were drawn, and there were 23 people in the place.  In a pew on the left-hand side a little old man was holding forth as to the “prodigal son.”  It was the first time he had ever talked in the chapel, and he has never said a word since.  He had a peculiarly free and easy style.  Sometimes he leaned over the pew door, and beat time with one foot whilst talking; at other periods he would stand back a little, push his right arm up to the elbow in his breeches pocket, and scratch his leg quietly; then he would turn half round, and look up; then make to the pew door again; then leave it, and so on to the finish.  He was an earnest, plain-spun sort of individual, but he got through his parabolical exposition very satisfactorily.  We fancied he would afterwards ascend the pulpit, which was lighted up; but he kept out of it, and nobody ever went near it at all, except at the finish, when a man quietly walked up the steps and put the gas out.  We could not exactly see the force of lighting the pulpit when nobody ever went into it; but others in the place might, for there are shrewd men amongst them, and they may have found out some virtue in lighting gas burners when they are not wanted.  The music we heard was moderate; the praying which followed was mildly exhilarating.