Preston Congregationalism is a very good, a very respectable, and a
very quarrelsome creature. It is liberal but gingerly; has a large
regard for freedom, but will quarrel if crossed; can achieve
commendable triumphs in the regions of peace, but likes a
conscientious disturbance at intervals; believes in the power of
union, but acts as if a split were occasionally essential; will
nurse its own children well when they are quiet, but recognises the
virtues of a shake if uneasiness supervenes; respects its ministers
much, but will order them to move on if they fret its epidermis too
acutely; can pray well, work well, fight well; and from its
antagonisms can distil benefits. About nine years since, a sacred
stirring of heads, a sharp moving of tongues, and a lively up-
heaving of bristles took place at Cannon-street Congregational
Chapel, in this town. The result of the dispute involved, amongst
other things, a separation--a clear marching from the place of
several parties who, whether rightly or wrongly, matters not now,
felt themselves aggrieved. They did not leave the chapel in
processional order, neither did they throw stones and then run, when
they took their departure. The process of evaporation was quiet and
orderly. For 12 months the seceders worshipped on their own account,
in accordance with the principles of Congregationalism, at the
Institution, Avenham, and whilst there they gathered strength. In
the meantime they negotiated for land upon which to build a new
chapel and schools; and finally they purchased a site on the higher
side of the Orchard, contiguous to the old Vicarage--a rare piece of
antique, rubbishy ruin in these days--and very near, if not actually
upon, ground which once formed the garden of the famous Isaac
Ambrose, who was Vicar of Preston in 1650, and afterwards ejected;
with many more in the land, on account of his religious opinions.
Thinking it good to harmonise with that ancient wisdom which
recommends people to carry the calf before beginning with the cow,
the new band of Congregationalists under notice, commenced
operations on the site named by erecting a large school room in
which for about a year they worshipped. In due time they got the
chapel built, and for about seven years it has been open.
Its position is prominent; but its associations, like those of the
generality of sacred edifices, has a special bearing upon the world
we live in. Above it there is a portion of the old vicarage
buildings, graced in front with various articles, the most prominent
being a string of delapidated red jackets; right facing it we have
the sable Smithsonian Institute, flanked with that gay and festive
lion which is for ever running and never stirring; below there are
classic establishments for rifle-shooting, likeness taking, and hot
pea revelling; and ahead there is the police station. The chapel
stands well, occupies high and commanding ground, and looks rather
stately. Its exterior design is good; and if the stone of its facade
had been of a better quality--had contained fewer flaws and been
more closely jointed--it would have merited one of our best
architectural bows. The chapel and school, and the land upon which
they are erected, cost 7,000 pounds, and about 1,000 pounds of that
sum remains to be paid. This is not bad. Considering the brevity of
their existence and the severe times they have had to pass through,
the Lancaster-road Congregationalists must have worked hard and put
a very vigorous Christian screw into operation to reduce their debt
so rapidly.
The inside of the chapel is plain, very neat, and quite genteel. We
have seen no Congregational place of worship in this part equal to
it in ease and elegance of design. It is amphi-theatrical, is
galleried three quarters round, and derives the bulk of its beauty--
not from ornament, not from rich artistic hues, nor rare mouldings,
nor exquisite carvings, but from its quiet harmony of arrangement,
its simple gracefulness of form, its close adherence in outline and
detail to the laws of symmetry and proportion. The circular style
prevails most in it, and how to make everything round or half-round
seems to have been the supreme job of the designer. The gallery
above, the seats below, the platform, the pulpit on which it stands,
the chairs behind, the orchestra and its canopy, the window-heads,
the surmountings of the entrance screen, the gas pendants, and
scores of other things, have all a strong fondness for circularity;
and the same predilection is manifested outside; the large lamps
there being quite round and fixed upon circular columns. The pews in
the chapel are very strong, have receding backs, and make sitting in
them rather a pleasing, easy, contented affair. The highest price
for a single seat is 3s. 6d. per quarter; the lowest 1s. There are a
few free sittings in the place, and although they may seem a long
way back--being at the rear of the gallery--their position is not to
be despised. They are not so far distant as to render hearing
difficult; and they obviate that unseemly publicity which is given
to poor people in some places of worship. How to give the poorest
and hungriest folk a very good seat in a very prominent place--how
to herd them together and piously pen them up in some particular
place where everybody can see them--appears to be an object in many
religious edifices. But that is a piece of benevolent shabbiness
which must come to grief some day. In the meantime, and until the
period arrives when honest poverty will be considered no crime, and
when a seat next to a poor man will be thought nothing vulgar, or
contaminating, whilst worshipping before Him who cares for souls not
lucre, hearts not wealth, let the poor be put in some place where
they can hear fairly without being unduly exhibited. The chapel we
are noticing has a spacious appearance within, and has none of that
depressing dulness which makes some people very sad long before they
have been ministerially operated upon. From side windows there comes
a good light; and from the roof, which has a central transparency,
additional clearness is obtained. The light from the ceiling would
be improved if the glass it were kept a little cleaner.
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. He
has been at Lancaster-road Chapel three months, and, unlike many new
parsons, he had more sense than preach his best sermons first--than
make a grand pyrotechnic dash at the onset and settle down into a
round of prating mediocrity afterwards. When tried he gave the
people a fair average specimen of what he could do--did not say his
best nor his commonest things; began with a fire which he could keep
up; and the result is not disappointment, but an increasing relish.
Mr. Bolton is a plain, dark-complexioned, clear-headed man--rather
clerical in look; well-built; married; about 38 years of age; fond
of a billycock; teetotal, but averse to drowning other people with
water; doesn't think it sinful to smoke just one pipe of tobacco
after he has done a day's work; had rather visit poor than rich
people; dislikes namby-pambying and making a greater fuss over high
than low class members of his church; thinks that those in poverty
need most looking after, and that those with good homes and decent
purses should try to look a little after themselves; believes in
working hard; cares precious little for deacons--we rather like
that, for deacons are queer birds to encounter; is original in
thought, fairly up in theology, and straightforward in language. It
is rather a treat to see him preach. He does not, like the bulk of
parsons, solemnly work out all his divinity in the pulpit:
preaching is not a sad, up and down, air-sawing, monotonous thing
with him; he steps out of the sacred box when his feelings begin to
warm up, moves to one side of it, then round the back of it, and
then to the other side of it; talks to you and not at you; is quite
conversational in style, and ignores everything conventional and
stereotyped in manner. He exercises his lungs with considerable
force at times; but he never tears nor disturbs the circumambient
air with religious agony. It is as pleasant to hear as to see him.
Good sound sense, neatly adjusted argument, newness of thought, and
clear illustration characterise his expressions. He is liberal and
independent in tone; speaks easily, and if he now and then wanders a
little he always returns to the question with vigour, and freshness.
He has no written sermons; a few notes are sufficient for him; he
does not believe in long discourses; he has an idea that it is
better to say a little and let it be well understood than float into
immensity, let off fireworks there, and dumfounder everybody. But he
has his faults. He has quite as much confidence in himself as is
requisite for the present. He is rather too impervious and too
oracular; but then who would not be if they had the chance? We like
him well on the whole, and as he is new amongst us, it is but right
that we should deliver him with charity. Adjoining the chapel there
are many class-rooms, and a fine school. Boys, girls, and infants
are accommodated in them. The average Sunday attendance is about
200. We believe Mr. Bolton will add numeric strength to both the
chapel and schools. And if he does, let no one make the least
conceivable noise, for there is room enough for all in Preston. The
town isn't a quarter as virtuous as it should be; the bulk of us are
scarcely half as good as we ought to be; and if anybody can do any
good in any way let it be done without a single whimper.