right man in the right place."

There was considerable difference of opinion as to that said "right
man;" one portion of "the church" wanting a smart, well-starched,
polished individual, and the other desiring a plain, straightforward
"gospel preacher"--a man of the Gadsby kidney, capable of hitting
people hard, and telling the truth without any fear. This was in
1848, and about this time a plain, homely, broad-hearted "Lancashire
chap," named Thomas Haworth, a block printer by trade, and living in
the neighbourhood of Accrington, who had taken to preaching in his
spare time, was "invited" to supply the Vauxhall-road pulpit.
"Tommy"--that's his recognized name, and he'll not be offended at us
for using it--came, saw, and conquered. He made his appearance in a
plain coat, a plain waist-coat, and a pair of plain blue-coloured
corduroy trousers; and as he went up the steps of the pulpit, people
not only wondered where he came from, but who his tailor was. And if
they had seen his hat, they would have been solicitous as to its
manufacturer. The more elaborate portion of the "church" pulled
uncongenial features at the young block-printer's appearance,
thought him too rough, too unreclaimed, too outspoken, and too
vehement; the plain people, the humble, hard-working, unfashionable
folk liked him, and said he was "just the man" for them. Time kept
moving, Tommy was asked to officiate in the pulpit for 52 Sundays;
he consented; kept up his fire well and in a good Gadsbyfied style;
and when settling day came a majority of the members decided that he
should remain with them. The "non-contents" moved off, said that it
would not do; was too much of a good thing; escaped to Zoar; and, in
the course of this retreat, somebody took--what!--not the pulpit,
nor its Bible, nor the hymn books, nor the collecting boxes, nor the
unpaid bills belonging the chapel, but--the title deeds of the old
place! and to this day they have not been returned. This was indeed
a sharp thing. How Shylock--how the old Jew with his inexorable
pound of flesh-worship, creeps up in every section of human society!
Vauxhall-road Chapel, which has passed through more denominational
agony than any twenty modern places of worship put together, is
situated in a poor locality--in a district where pure air, and less
drink, and more of "the Christ that is to be," as Tennyson would
say, are needed than the majority of places in the town.

Architecturally the chapel is n