ht for him if any one stepped
upon his toes, or said a foul word about him. Here endeth our
"epistle to the Romans."

No. III.

CANNON-STREET INDEPENDENT CHAPEL.

Forty-four years ago the Ebenezer of a few believers in the "Bird-
of-Freedom" school, with a spice of breezy religious courage in
their composition, was raised at the bottom of Cannon-street, in
Preston; and to this day it abideth there. Why it was elevated at
that particular period of the world's history we cannot say. Neither
does it signify. It may have been that the spirit of an
irrepressible Brown, older than the Harper's Ferry gentleman, was
"marching on" at an extra speed just then; for let it be known to
all and singular that it was one of the universal Brown family who
founded the general sect. Or it may have been that certain
Prestonians, with a lingering touch of the "Scot's wha ha'e"
material in their blood, gave a solemn twist to the line in Burns's
epistle, and decided to go in

--for the glorious privilege
Of being Independent.

Be that as it may, it is clear that in 1825 the Independents planted
a chapel in Cannon-street. Places of worship like everything else,
good or evil, grow in these latter days, and so has Cannon-street
chapel. In 1852 its supporters set at naught the laws of Banting,
and made the place bigger. It was approaching a state of solemn
tightness, and for the consolation of the saints, the ease of the
fidgety, and the general blissfulness of the neighbourhood it was
expanded. Cannon-street Chapel has neither a bell, nor a steeple,
nor an outside clock, and it has never yet said that it was any
worse off for their absence. But it may do, for chapels like
churches are getting proud things now-a-days, and they believe in
both lacker and gilt. There is something substantial and respectable
about the building. It is neither gaudy nor paltry; neither too good
nor too bad looking. Nobody will ever die in a state of
architectural ecstacy through gazing upon it; and not one out of a
battalion of cynics will say that it is too ornamental. It is one of
those well-finished, middle-class looking establishments, about
which you can't say much any way; and if you could, nobody would be
either madder or wiser for the exposition. Usually the only
noticeable feature about the front of it--and that is generally the
place where one looks for the virtues or vices of a thing--is a
series of caged-up boards, announcing homilies,