“My respecks to St. George and the Dragoon,” wrote the gay and festive showman, at the conclusion of an epistle—­penned under the very shadow of “moral wax statters”—­to the Prince of Wales.  And there was no evil in such a benevolent expression of feeling.  George, the particular party referred to, occupies a prominent position in our national escutcheonry, ant the “Dragoon” is a unique creature always in his company, which it would be wrong to entirely forget.  The name of the saint sounds essentially English, and it has been woven into the country’s history.  The nation is fond of its Georges.  We had four kings—­not all of a saintly disposition—­who rejoiced in that name; we sometimes swear by the name of George; and it plays as good a part as any other cognomen in our universal system of christening.  Nobody can really tell who St. George was, and nobody will ever be able to do so.  Gibbon fancies he was at one time an unscrupulous bacon dealer, and that he finally did considerable business in religious gammon.  Butler, the Romish historian, thinks he was martyred by Diocletian for telling that amiable being a little of his mind; ancient fabulists make it out that be killed a dragon, saved a fair virgin’s life, and then did something better than either—­married her; medieval men, with a knightly turn of mind, transmuted him into the patron of chivalry; Edward III made him the patron of the Order of the Garter; the Eastern and Western churches venerate him yet; Britains have turned him into their country’s tutelary saint; and many places of worship have been dedicated to this curiously mythologic individual.  We have a church in Preston in this category; and it is of such church—­St. George’s—­we shall speak now.

In 1723 it was erected.  Up to that time the Parish Church was the only place of worship we had in connection with what is termed “the Establishment;” St. George’s was brought into existence as a “chapel of ease” for it; and it is still one of the easiest, quietest, best behaved places in the town.  It was a plain brick edifice at the beginning, but in 1843-4 the face of the church was hardened—­it was turned into stone, and it continues to have a substantial petrified appearance.  In 1848 a new chancel was built; and afterwards a dash of Christian patriotism resulted in a new pulpit and reading desk.  The general building, which is of cruciform shape, has a subdued, solemn, half-genteel, half-quaint look.  There is neither architectural maze nor ornamental flash in its construction.  It is plain all round, and is characterised by a simplicity of style which could not be well reduced unless a severe plainness were adopted.  Its position is not in a very imposing locality, and the roads to it are bad and irregular.  Baines, the historian, says that St. George’s Church is situated between Fishergate and Friargate—­rather a wide definition applicable to about 500 other places ranging from billiard rooms to foundries, from brewing yards