Two services are held in the chapel on Sundays, and on a Wednesday evening there is a prayer meeting.  A Sunday school, opened in 1855, is held in the building, and is attended by about 50 children.  At present, the general business of the chapel is rather dull; and there will be no perceptible improvement in it nor in the number attending it until a regular minister is appointed.  Listening to stray sermons is like feeding upon wind—­you may get filled with it, but will never get fat upon it.  We hope the Zoarists will by and by be successful; that, having escaped to their present quarters, they will keep them,—­an effort has been once or twice made to purchase the building for a public-house; and that they will never, like the party who first fled to Zoar, become troglodytes.

ST. LUKE’S CHURCH.

With the district in which this Church is situated we are not much acquainted.  With even the Church itself we have never been very familiar.  It is in a queer, far-of unshaven region.  Aged sparrows and men who like ale better than their mothers, dwell in its surroundings; phalanxes of young Britons, born without head coverings, and determined to keep them off; columns of wives, beautiful for ever in their unwashedness, and better interpreters of the 28th verse of the 1st chapter of Genesis then all the Biblical commentators put together, occupy its district.  Prior to visiting St. Luke’s Church we had some idea of its situation; but the idea was rather inclined to be hazy when we desired to utilise it; we couldn’t bring it to a decisive point; and as we objected to the common business of stopping every other person in order to get a perplexing explanation of the situation, the question just resolved itself into one of “Find it out yourself.”  Exactly so, we mentally muttered on entering Ribbleton-lane; and we passed the thirty feet House of Correction wall to the right thereof, with an air of triumph, redolent of intrepidity and independence.  To the left of the lane entered we knew St. Luke’s was located; but doubt overshadowed its precise whereabouts.  The first street in that direction down which we looked contained, at the bottom, six coal waggons and a gate.  Those unhappy-looking waggons and that serious gate couldn’t, we said, be St. Luke’s.  Another street to the left; but at the end of it we saw only a tavern, some tall rails, and an old engine shed.  Convinced that St. Luke’s was not here, we proceeded to the head of the third street, and down it were more rails, sundry children, a woman sweeping the parapet, and the gable of a mill.  At the extreme end of the next a coal office and a gate met us.  Number five street showed up the fading placards of a news shop, and the cold stillness of a Sunday morning factory.  Down the sixth avenue we peered eagerly, but “more factory” met us.  The termination of its successor consisted of pieces of timber, three arches, and some mill ends.  We had hope as to the bottom