character.  Singing, feet-beating, praying, hand-clapping, and reciprocal shouting constituted the programme.  One elderly man went fairly wild during the business.  He shook his head, doubled his fists, threw his arms about, ejaculated with terrible rapidity and force, and appeared to be entirely set on fire by his feelings.  A thorough craze—­a wild, beating, electrifying passion—­got completely hold of him for a few minutes, and he enjoyed the stormy pulsations of it exceedingly.  At the end somebody said, “Now, will some of the women pray?” Instantly a little old man said, “God bless the women;” “Aye,” said another, while several gave vent to sympathetic sighs.  But the women were not to be drawn out in this style; none of them were in the humour for praying; they didn’t even return the benediction of the little old man by saying “God bless the men;” they kept quiet, then got up, and then all walked out; the last words we remember being from a woman, who, addressing us, said, “Now, draw it mild!”

ST. THOMAS’S CHURCH.

We have made no inquiry as to the original predecessors of those attending this church.  They may have been links in the chain of those men who, ages ago, planted themselves on the coast of Malabar, rejoicing in the name of “Christians of St. Thomas,” and struggling curiously with Nestorians, Franciscans, Dominicans, and Jesuits; they may have constituted a remnant of the good people whom Cosmas Indicopleustes saw in the East twelve hundred years since; they may have only had a Preston connection, knowing nothing of the Apostle of India—­St. Thomas—­beyond what anybody knows, and caring more for his creed than his title.  Whatever may have been their history and fate, it is certain their successors believe in that most apostolical of unbelievers just mentioned—­so far, at least, as the name is concerned.  The church they respect is situated at the northern end of Preston, near the junction of Moor-lane and Lancaster-road.  It is a small, strong, hard-looking building; seems as if it would stand any amount of rain and never get wet through, any quantity of heat and never have a sunstroke; it is stoical, cold, firm, and very stony; has a bodkin-pointed spire, ornamented with round holes and circular places into which penetration has not yet been effected; and its “tout ensemble” is in no way edifying.  It is neither ornate nor colossal.  Strength, plainness, and smallness, with a strong dash of general rigidity, are its outward characteristics.

St. Thomas’s is one of the local churches erected through the exertions of the late Rev. R. Carus Wilson; and, like all those churches, it is built in the Norman style of architecture—­a massive, severe style, which will never be popularly pleasing, but will always secure endurance for the edifices constructed on its principles.  The first stone of this church was laid in August, 1837.  The building stands upon a hill, is surrounded by a powerful stone wall,