the entire confraternity of his hearers sometimes.  He said one Sunday “None of you are ower much to be trusted—­none of us are ower good, are we?  A, bless ya, I sometimes think if I were to lay my head on a deacon’s breast—­one of our own lot—­may be there would be a nettle in’t or summut at sooart.”  He is partial to long “Oh’s,” and “Ah’s” and solemn breathings; and sometimes tells you more by a look or a subdued, calmly-moulded groan than by dozens of sentences.  He spices his sermons considerably with the Lancashire dialect; isn’t at all nice about aspirates, inflection, or pronunciation; thinks that if you have got hold of a good thing the best plan is to out with it, and to out with it any way, rough or smooth, so that it is understood.  He never stood at philological trifles in his life, and never will do.  Those who listen to him regularly think nothing of his singularities of gesture and expression; but strangers are bothered with him.  Occasionally the ordinary worshippers look in different directions and smile rather slyly when he is budding and blossoming in his own peculiar style; but they never make much ado about the business, and swallow all that comes very quietly and good-naturedly.  Strangers prick their ears directly, and would laugh right out sometimes if they durst.  There are not many collections at the chapel, but those which are made are out of the ordinary run.  Two were made on the Sunday we were there, and they realised what?—­not 5 pounds, nor 10 pounds, nor 12 pounds, as is the custom at some of our fashionable places of worship,—­no, they just brought in 63 pounds 3s. 9d.  At the request of the minister, who announced the sum, the congregation set to and sung over it for a short time.  Simplicity and liberality, mingled with much earnestness and a fair amount of self-righteousness, are the leading traits of the “elect” at Vauxhall-road chapel; whilst their minister is a curious compilation of eccentricity, sagacity, waddlement, winking, straightforwardness, and thorough honesty.

CHRIST CHURCH.

About 33 years since there was a conquest somewhat Norman in Preston and the neighbourhood; and the “William” of it was an industrious ex-joiner.  In 1836, and during the next two years, four churches—­ three in Preston and one in Ashton—­were erected through the exertions of the Rev. Carus Wilson, who was vicar here at that time; each of them was built in the Norman style; and the general of them was a plodding man who had burst through the bonds of joinerdom and winged his way into the purer and more lucrative atmosphere of architectural constructiveness.  One of the sacred edifices whose form passed through his alembic was Christ Church and to this complexion of a building we have now come.  There is so much and so little to be said about Christ Church that we neither know where to begin nor how to end.  Nobody has yet said that Christ Church, architecturally,