sincere, simple, enthusiastic species of religion.  It has largely to do with the heart and the feelings; is warm-natured, full of strong, straightforward, devotional vigour; combines homeliness of soul with intensity of imagination; links a great dash of honest turbulence with an infinitude of deep earnestness; tells a man that if he is happy he may shout, that if under a shower of grace he may fly off at a tangent and sing; makes a sinner wince awfully when under the pang of repentance, and orders him to jump right out of his skin for joy the moment he finds peace; gives him a fierce cathartic during conversion, and a rapturous cataplasm in his “reconciliation.”  Primitive Methodism occupies the same place in religion as the ballad does in poetry.  It has an untamed, blithesome, healthy ring with it; harmonises well with the common instincts and the broad, common intuitions of common life; can’t hurt a prince, and will improve a peasant; won’t teach a king wrong things; is sure to infuse happiness amongst men of humbler mould.  Its exuberance is necessary on account of the materials it has to deal with; its spiritual ebullitions and esctacies are required so that they may accord with, and set all a-blaze, the strong, vehement spirits who bend the knee under its aegis.  Primitive Methodism has reached deeper depths than many other creeds—­has touched harder, wilder, ruder souls than nearly “all the isms” put together.  It may not have made much numeric progress, may not have grown big in figures nor loud in facts, but it has done good—­has gone down in the diving bell of hope to the low levels of sin, and brought up to the clear rippling surface of life and light many a pearl which would have been lost without it.  Primitive Methodism is just the religion for a certain class of beings just the exact article for thousands who can’t see far ahead, and who wouldn’t be able to make much out if they could.  There are people adoring it who would be stupid, reticent, and recalcitrant under any other banner, who would “wonder what it all meant” if they were in a calmer, clearer atmosphere—­who would be muddy-mottled and careless in a more classical and ambrosial arena.  After this learned morsel of theorising, we shall return to the subject.

In 1836 the Primitive Methodists left their Lawson-street seminary and pitched their tent eastwards—­on a piece of land facing Saul-street and flanking Lamb-street.  Its situation is pretty good, and as it stands right opposite, only about eight yards from, the Baths and Washhouses, we would suggest to the Saul-street brethren the propriety of putting up some sign, or getting some inscription made in front of their chapel, to the effect that “cleanliness is next to godliness,” and that both can be obtained on easy terms.  The chapel is a very ordinary looking building, having a plain brick front, with sides of similar material, and a roof of Welsh slate, which would look monotonous if it were not relieved on the western side by 19