s of formal cut; the retired
tradesman, with his domestic looking wife, and smartly-dressed
daughters, ten times finer than ever their mother was; the
manufacturer absorbed in cotton and wondering when he will be able
to do a good stroke of business on 'change again; the lawyer, who
has carried on a decent business amongst fees during the week, and
has perhaps turned up to join in the general confession; the doctor,
ready to give emphasis to that part of it which says:- "And there is
no health in us;" the pushing tradesman, who has to live by going to
church, as well as by counter work; the speculating shopkeeper, who
has a connection to make; the young finely-feathered lady, got up in
silk and velvet and carrying a chignon sufficient to pull her
cerebellum out of joint; the dandy buttoned up to show his figure,
and heavily dosed with scent; the less developed young swell, who is
always "talking about his pa and his ma," and has only just begun to
have his hair parted down the middle; the broken down middle-aged
man who was once in a good position, but who years since went all in
a piece to pot; the snuff-loving old woman who curtsies before fine
folk, who has always a long tale to tell about her sorrows, and who
is periodically consoled by a "trifle;" the working man who is
rather a scarce article, except upon special occasions; and the
representative of the poorest class, living somewhere in that venal
slum of slime and misery behind the church. A considerable number of
those floating beings called "strags" attend the Parish Church. They
go to no place regularly; they gravitate at intervals to the church,
mainly on the ground that their fathers and mothers used to go
there, and because they were christened there; but they belong a
cunning race; they can scent the battle from afar, and they
generally keep about three-quarters of a mile from the Parish Church
when a collection has to be made. To the ordinary attendants,
collections do not operate as deterrents; but to the "strags" they
are frighteners. "What's the reason there are so few people here?"
we said one day to the beadle, and that most potent, grave, and
reverend seignior replied, with a Rogersonian sparkle in his rolling
eye, "There's a collection and the 'strags' won't take the bait." It
is the same more or less at every place of worship; and to tell the
truth, there's a sort of instinctive dislike of collections in
everybody's composition.

The congregati