with those of Beethoven, Handel, and Mozart.  We have heard excellent music sung and played at St. George’s; but matters would be improved if the efforts of the choir were seconded.  At present the singers have some time been what we must term, for want of a better phrase, musical performers.  They are tremendously ahead of the congregation.  Much of what they sing cannot be joined in by the people.  Many a time the congregation have to look on and listen—­ecstacised with what is being sung, wondering what is coming next, and delightfully bewildered as to the whole affair.

The minister at St. George’s is the Rev. C. H. Wood—­a quiet, homely, well-built man, who is neither too finely dressed nor too well paid.  His salary is considerably under 200 pounds a year.  Mr. Wood is frank and unostentatious in manner; candid and calm in language; and of a temperament so even that he gets into hot water with nobody.  You will never catch him with his virtuous blood up, theologically or politically.  He has a cool head and a quiet tongue--two excellent articles for general wear which three-fourths of the parsons in this country have not yet heard of.  He is well liked by the male portion of his congregation, and is on excellent terms with the fair sex.  He is a batchelor, but that is his own fault.  He could be married any day, but prefers being his own master.  He may have an ideal like Dante, or a love phantom like Tasso, or an Imogene like the brave Alonzo; but he has published neither poetry nor prose on the subject yet, and has made no allusion to the matter in any of his sermons.  No minister in Preston, with similar means, is more charitably disposed than Mr. Wood.  He behaves well to poor people, and the virtue of that is worth more than the lugubriousness or eloquence of many homilies.  Charity in purse as well as in speech is one of his characteristics; and if that doth not cover a multitude of ordinary defects nothing will.  In the reading desk Mr Wood gets through his work quickly and with a good voice.  There is no effort at elocution in his expression:  he goes right on with the business, and if people miss the force of it they will have to be responsible for the consequences.  In the pulpit he drives forward in the same earnest, matter-of-fact style.  There is no hand flinging, hair-wringing, or dramatic raging in his style.  The matter of his sermons is orthodox and homely—­systematically arranged, innocently illustrated at intervals, and offensive to nobody.  His manner is calculated to genially persuade rather than fiercely arouse; and it will sooner rock you to sleep than lash you to tears.  There is a slight touch of sanctity at the end of his sentences—­a mild elevation of voice indicative of pious oiliness; but, altogether, we like his quiet, straightforward, simple, English style.  People fond of Church of England ideas could not have a more genial place of worship than St. George’s:  the seats are easy and well lined, the sermons short and placid, and the company good.