The congregation is neither a very large nor a particularly small one.  It is fairly medium—­might be worse, and would in no way be hurt if it were enlarged.  The “members” number about 120, and they are just about as good as the rest of mortals, who have “made their calling and election sure.”  The congregation consists almost entirely of middle and working class people.  There is not so much of that high, gassy pride, that fine mezzotinto, isolated hauteur and self-righteousness in the place which may be seen in some chapels.  Of course, particles of vanity, morsels of straight-lacedness, lively little bits of cantankerousness, and odd manifestations of first person pronoun worship periodically crop up; but altogether the congregation has a quiet, unassuming, friendly disposition.  Nobody in it appears to be very much better or worse than yourself; there is an evenness of tone and a sociality of feeling in the spot; and a stranger can enter it without being violently stared at, and can sit down without feeling that his room is nearly if not quite as good as his company.  The music is fairly congregational; individuals in various parts of the chapel have sufficient courage to sing; and the choir is moderately harmonious; but the melody one hears in the place is rather flat and meagre; it lacks instrumental relief; and it will never be really up to the mark until an organ is obtained.

The first regular minister of this chapel was the Rev. G. W. Clapham; he was connected with it for some years; then had a “difficulty” with certain parties—­deacons amongst the rest, of course; and afterwards left the place, uttering, in a quiet Shaksperian tone, as he departed, “Now mark how I will undo myself:”  He threw to the winds his Congregationalism, and a few months ago joined, in due clerical order, the Church of England.  The present pastor of Lancaster-road Congregational Chapel is the Rev. E. Bolton.  The “church” tried the merits of about 30 ministers before making a selection.  The height, depth, weight, tone of voice, matter, manner, theology, brains, and spirit of that band of 30 were duly weighed, and finally, Mr. Bolton was picked out.  A salary of 300 pounds was offered him.  He might have got other places, and if he had followed the clerical wisdom of his generation he would have tried to secure one of them; for they all, more or less, implied a better salary than that which the Preston people offered him.  But he fixed upon Preston just because he fancied more good might be done therein than elsewhere.  A trick like this—­a generosity so distinct as this—­is a real oasis in the ecclesiastical desert.  Few parsons would imitate it.  How to get the biggest salary, and lug in the “will of the Lord” as an excuse for changing to some locality where it could be snugly got, is the question which many pious men seem desirous of solving.  Mr. Bolton has different ideas, and finds some compensation in goodness achieved as well as in money pocketed.