Upon a high piece of enclosed land, adjoining Fylde-road, stands St.
Peter's Church. Portions of its precincts are covered with
gravestones; the remainder has been "considerably damaged" of late,
according to the belief of one of the churchwardens, by the vicious
scratching of a number of irreverent hens, whose owners will be
prosecuted if they do not look better after them. The other Sunday,
we saw a notice posted at the front of the church relative to the
great hen-scratching question. It is said that some of these tame
and reclaimed birds have penetrated a foot or two into the ground
for the purpose of lying, not laying, therein; and on this account
it is important that their proprietors should look more
(h)energetically after them. The foundation stone of St. Peter's
Church was laid by Mr. Justice Park, one of the old recorders of
Preston, in 1822; Rickman, an able Birmingham architect, designed
the place; and the edifice (sans steeple, which was built in 1852,
out of money left by the late Thomas German, Esq.), was erected at a
cost of 6,900 pounds, provided by the Commissioners for the building
of new churches. St. Peter's has a lofty, commanding appearance.
Learned people say it is built in the florid Gothic style of
architecture, and we are not inclined to dispute their definition.
It has a very churchly look, and if the steeple were at the other
end, it would be equally orthodox. The world, as a rule, fixes its
steeples westward; but St. Peter's, following a few others we could
name, rises in the opposite direction, and, like a good Mussulman,
turns to the East. There is nothing in its graveyard calling for
special comment. Neither monuments nor lofty tombs relieve it. All
round it has a flat dull aspect, and good arrangements have been
made for walking over the tombstones and obliterating their
inscriptions. There are two ways into the church at the western end;
both are near each other; but one has advantages which the other
does not possess. Passing through the larger you immediately face
the pulpit and the congregation; entering by the other you can hang
your harp on several preliminary willows--sit just sideways and hear
what's going on, stay behind the screen until a point arrives when a
move forward can be made without many people catching your "mould of
form," or inquire who's present and who isn't, and glide out if
nothing suitable is observed.
St. Peter's Church, internally, looks dirty. If cleanliness be next
to godliness, a good cleaning would do it good and improve its
affinities. Whitewash, paint, floorcloths, dusters, wash leathers,
and sundry other articles in the curriculum of scrubbers,
renovators, and purifiers are needed. The walls want mundifying, so
does the ceiling, so do the floors; the Ten Commandments need
improving; the Apostles' Creed isn't plain enough; the spirit of a
time worn grimness requires ostracising from the place. All is
substantial; but there is an ancient unwashed dulness about the
general establishment, which needs transforming into cleanness and
brightness. The pews are high, and on the average they will hold six
persons each. Seven might get into them on a pinch; but if the
number were much extended beyond that point, either abraison or blue
places through violent pressure would be the consequence. Two or
three pews at the top end will hold twelve each; but that apostolic
number is not very often observed in them. The price of a single
sitting in the middle aisle is 10s. per annum; the cost of a side
seat is equal to three civil half-crowns. The long side seats are
free; so are the galleries, excepting that portion of them in front
of the organ. Often the church is not much more than half filled on
a Sunday; but it is said that many sittings, calculated to
accommodate nearly a full congregation, are let. Viewed from the
copperhead standpoint this is right; but taking a higher ground it
would be more satisfactory if even fewer pews were let and more folk
attended. The church is not well arranged for people occupying side
seats. In looking ahead the pillars of the nave constantly intercept
their vision if they care about seeing who is reading or preaching.
Wherever the pulpit were put it would blush unseen, so far as many
are concerned. At present it is fixed on the south-eastern side, and
only about one-fourth of those seated under the galleries can see
either it or the preacher. Some of them at times complain
considerably of sequestration; others feel it a little occasionally;
a few think it a rather snug thing to be out of sight. A large five-
light stained glass window occupies the chancel end; but there is
nothing very entrancing in its appearance. The greater portion of it
has a bright, amber-coloured, monotonous flashiness about it, which
flares the eyes if gazed at long, and makes other things, if looked
at directly afterwards, yellow-hued; and it is surmounted with a
number of minor designs, reminding one of the big oddities in a
mammoth keleidoscope. But the congregation have got used to the
window, and will neither break it nor permit others to do so. Six
spaces for tablet inscriptions occupy the base of the window. Two of
them are blank; two have a great mass of letters packed into them;
and two are but moderately filled in with words. At a distance
nobody can see what is said upon them. It is reported that they
contain the Decalogue and the Apostles' Creed; and if this be so,
the incumbent, the curate, and the clerk must have been the parties
for whose delight they were put up, for they are the nearest to, and
can consequently best read, them. There are the full compliment of
sacred enclosures and resting places at the higher end of the
church--a chair for the ease of the incumbent or curate; a desk for
the prayer reader; a box for the clerk; a lectern for the lesson
reader; and a stout pulpit for the preacher.
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.
The incumbent is the Rev. D. F. Chapman. He has been at the place a
few years, and receives about 400 pounds a-year for his trouble. Mr.
Chapman is a powerfully-constructed gentleman; is somewhat inclined
to oleaginousness; has contracted a marine swing in his walk; is
heavily clerical in countenance and cloth; believes in keeping his
hair broad at the sides; has a strong will and an enormous opinion
of the incumbent of St. Peter's; will fume if crossed; will crush if
touched; can't be convinced; has his mind made up and rivetted down
on everything; must have his way; thinks every antagonist mistaken;
is washy, windy, ponderous; has a clear notion that each of his
postulates is worth a couple of demonstrations, that all his
theories are tantamount to axioms; and, finally, has quarelled more
with his churchwardens than any other live parson in Preston. He
once fought for weeks, day and night, with a warden as to the
position of a small gas-pipe, because he couldn't get his way about
it. He is well educated, but his erudition is not fairly utilised;
he can read with moderate precision; but there is a lack of
elocutionary finish in his tone; he can talk a long while, and now
and then can say a good thing; he preaches with considerable force,
makes good use of his arms, sometimes rants a little, at intervals
has to pull back his sentences half an inch to get hold of the right
word, talks straight out occasionally, telling the congregation what
they are doing and what they ought to do; but there is much in his
sermons which neither gods nor men will care about digesting, and
there is a theological dogmatism in them which ordinary sinners like
ourselves will never swallow. We are rather inclined to admire the
gentleman who, until lately, officiated as his curate--the Rev. E.
Lee,--and who, after preaching his last sermon, was next day made
the recipient of that most fashionable and threadbare of all things,
a presentation. Originally he indulged in odd pranks, said strange
things, was laughably eccentric, and did for a period appear to be,
in an ecclesiastical sense, what the kangaroo of Artemus Ward was in
a zoological one--"the most amoozin little cuss ever introduced to a
discriminatin public." He has still some of the "amoozin" traits
about him; but during his curacy in St. Peters district he showed
that he could work hard, visit often, look after the poor, be
generous, get up good classes, and never tire of his duty. His
salary was about 120 pounds a year, and he was benevolent with it.
He has a stronger pair of lungs than any parson in Preston, and he
can use them longer than most men without feeling tired. His sermons
are of a practical type; he believes largely in telling people what
he thinks; and never hesitates to hit rich and poor alike in his
discourses. He has been transplanted to the Parish Church, and he
will stir up a few of the respectable otiose souls there if he has
an opportunity. There is a good deal of swagger about him; he
believes in carry a stick and turning it; in admiring himself and
letting other people know that he is of a cypher; there is much
conceit and ever so much bombast about him; he likes giving
historical lectures; thinks he is an authority on everything
appertaining to Elizabeth, Mary, the Prince of Orange, &c.; is fond
of attacking Bishop Goss, and getting into a groove of garrulous
declamation concerning Papists; still he is a determined worker, has
been a laborious curate, has troubled himself more than many people
in looking after those whom parsons are so fond of calling sinners
and so indifferent about visiting. He was well liked in St. Peter's
district, and we hope that in the new one he has gone to he will
gather friends, increase his usefulness, get married, and give fewer
polemical lectures.