The congregation of St. Peter’s Church, as we have said, is small.  We cannot tell whether the collections terrify folk; probably they do; for it is estimated that there are between 30 and 40 of them annually, and sometimes they come in an unbroken line for several Sundays together.  A plan like this is enough to make people shy in their attendance,—­is certain to make ordinarily generous beings cover what they give with their finger ends, or slip their gifts sharply into the boxes and get them instantly mixed up with the rest, so that nobody can tell whether they have contributed a simple copper, a roguish little threepenny piece, or a respectable looking shilling.  There are voluntary contribution boxes at the doors, but they never get very heavy.  Those attending the church are mainly working people.  With the exception of about five, all have to fight briskly for a living.  A greater work has been done outside than within the church.  There are many schools and classes belonging, the place.  In Cold Bath-street there is a large school for girls and infants, and it is very well attended.  In Fylde-road there is a club for working men, open every day; and on Sundays several of the “wives and mothers of Britain” attend a class in the same building.  In Brook-street there is a regular day school.  On Sunday afternoons the members of an adult male class meet in it.  The average attendance of these members is about 160, and their ages range from 20 to 70.  The district has been well worked up; and there are many of both sexes in it prepared to either pray or fight for St. Peter’s.

The music at the church is good.  It costs about 30 pounds a year, and a rather strong effort is sometimes required to raise that sum.  The organist immediately preceding the present one used to play for nothing; get one or two collections annually for the choir; and make up out of his own pocket any financial deficiency there might be.  The gentleman who now operates upon the organ, likewise gives his services gratuitously; he also has collections for the choir; but if those said collections come short of the sum required, he is seriously impressed with the idea that the deficiency ought to come out of other people’s purses, and not his.  And so it does.  The organist has considerable musical ability; he plays the instrument in his care with precision; but he throws too much force into its effusions—­believes too much in high pressure—­and the general boiler of its melody may burst some day, kill the blower instantly, and dash the choir into space.  The internal service arrangements at St. Peter’s are worked by an incumbent, a curate, and a clerk.  The last named gentleman has been a long time at his post; he is a dry, orthodox, careful man; never mistook a three-penny for a fourpenny piece in his life; doesn’t like slippery sixpences; and he gets for his general services at the church 15 pounds a year.  Nobody hardly ever hears him; the responses of the choir materially swamp the music of his voice; but his lips move, and that is at least a sign of life.