Respecting the ministers of the chapel in question, we way say that there are three.  None of them can stay less than one, nor more than three, years.  It is a question of “Hey, presto—­quick change,” every third year.  The names of the triumvirate at Lune-street are, the Rev. W. Mearns, M.A., who is the superintendent; the Rev. W. H. Tindall, second in command; and the Rev. F. B. Swift, the general clerical servant of all work.  Mr. Mearns is a calm, rather bilious-looking, elderly man.  There is nothing bewitching in his appearance; he looks like what he is—­a quietly-disposed, evenly-tempered, Methodist minister.  He is neither fussy, nor conceited, nor fond of brandishing the sword of superiority.  He goes about his work steadily, and is as patient in harness as out of it.  He has northern blood in his veins which checks impulsiveness and everything approaching that solemn ferocity sometimes displayed in Methodist pulpits.  There is nothing oratorical in his style of delivery; it is calm, slow, and has a rather soporific influence upon his hearers.  There is more practical than argumentative matter in his sermons; but, in the aggregate, they are hard and dry—­lack lustre and passion; and this, combined with his stoical manner of delivery, has a chilling, rather than an attractive, influence.  He always speaks in harmony with the rules of grammar.  His sentences, although uttered extemporaneously, are invariably well finished and scholarly.  His words are well chosen; they are fit in with cultivated exactitude and polished precision.  They will stand reading; nay, they will read excellently—­infinitely better than the burning rhapsody of more phrensied and eloquent men; but they fall with a long-drawn dulness upon the ear when first uttered, and don’t, as Sam Slick would say, “get up one’s steam anyhow.”  Mr. Mearns has a clear head and a good heart, but his spoken words want power and immediate brightness, and his style is deadened for the want of a little enthusiasm.

The Rev. Mr. Tindall comes up in a more polished, energetic, and fashionable garb.  He is eloquent, argumentative, polemical.  His literary capacity is good, and it has been well trained.  He has read much and studied keenly.  His sermons are well thought out; he has copious notes of them; and when he enters the pulpit they are made complete for action—­are fully equipped in their Sunday clothes and ready for duty.  His delivery is good; but physical weakness deprives it of potency; and his contempt of the clock before him renders people now and then uneasy.  His manner is refined; his matter is select; but there is something in both at times which you don’t altogether believe in digesting.  A rather haughty, dictatorial ring is sometimes noticed in them.  A large notion of the importance of the preacher occasionally peeps up.  He has a perfect right to venerate Mr. Tindall, and if he is a little fashionable, what of that?—­isn’t it fashionable to be fashionable?  Only this may