Our Churches and Chapels - Atticus
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OUR CHURCHES AND CHAPELS
THEIR PARSONS, PRIESTS, & CONGREGATIONS;
BEING A CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL ACCOUNT
OF EVERY PLACE OF WORSHIP IN PRESTON.
BY "ATTICUS" (A. HEWITSON).
'T is pleasant through the loopholes of retreat to peep at such a
world.--Cowper.
Reprinted from the Preston Chronicle.
PRINTED AT THE "CHRONICLE" OFFICE, FISHERGATE, PRESTON. 1869.
TO THE READER.
The general satisfaction given by the following sketches when
originally printed in the Preston Chronicle, combined with a desire,
largely expressed, to see them republished, in book form, is the
principal excuse offered for the appearance of this volume. Into the
various descriptions of churches, chapels, priests, parsons,
congregations, &c., which it contains, a lively spirit, which may be
objectionable to the phlegmatic, the sad-faced, and the puritanical,
has been thrown. But the author, who can see no reason why a "man
whose blood is warm within" should "sit like his grandsire cut in
alabaster," on any occasion, has a large respect for cheerfulness,
and has endeavoured to make palatable, by a little genial humour,
what would otherwise have been a heavy enumeration of dry facts.
Those who don't care for the gay will find in these sketches the
grave; those who prefer vivacity to seriousness will meet with what
they want; those who appreciate all will discover each. The solemn
are supplied with facts; the facetious with humour; the analytical
with criticism. The work embodies a general history of each place of
worship in Preston--fuller and more reliable than any yet published;
and for reference it will be found valuable, whilst for general
reading it will be instructive. The author has done his best to be
candid and impartial. If he has failed in the attempt, he can't help
it; if he has succeeded, he is thankful. No writer can suit
everybody; and if an angel had compiled these sketches some men
would have croaked. To the generality of the Church of England,
Catholic, and Dissenting clergymen, &c., in the town, the author
tenders his warmest thanks for the generous manner they have
assisted him, and the kindly way in which they have supplied him
with information essential to the completion of the work.
Preston, Dec. 24th, 1869.
INDEX.
Page
7 Parish Church
13 St. Wilfrid's Catholic Church
18 Cannon-street Independent Chapel
23 Lune-street Wesleyan Methodist Chapel
28 Fishergate Baptist Chapel
34 St. George's Church
39 St. Augustine's Catholic Church
45 Quakers' Meeting House
51 St. Peter's Church
55 New Jerusalem Church
60 Trinity Church
66 Lancaster-road Congregational Chapel
70 Saul-street Primitive Methodist Chapel
75 St. Ignatius's Catholic Church
82 Vauxhall-road Particular Baptist Chapel
88 Christ Church
94 Wesley and Moor Park Methodist Chapels
99 Presbyterian and Free Gospel Chapels
104 St. James's Church
110 The Mormons
116 St. Walburge's Catholic Church
122 Unitarian Chapel
127 All Saints Church
132 United-Methodist Free Church and Pole-street Baptist Chapel
137 Church of the English Martyrs
142 St. Saviour's Church
148 Christian Brethren and Brook-street Primitive Methodists
153 St. Thomas's Church
158 Croft-street Wesleyans & Parker-street United Methodists
164 Grimshaw-street Independent Chapel
169 St. Paul's Church
175 St. Mary's-street and Marsh End Wesleyan Chapels, and
the Tabernacle of the Revivalists
181 St. Mary's and St. Joseph's Catholic Chapels
187 St. Mark's Church
192 Zoar Particular Baptist Chapel
196 St. Luke's Church
201 Emmanuel Church and Bairstow Memorial Chapel
207 St. Mary's Church
OUR CHURCHES AND CHAPELS: THEIR PARSONS, PRIESTS, AND
CONGREGATIONS.
It is important that something should be known about our churches
and chapels; it is more important that we should be acquainted with
their parsons and priests; it is most important that we should have
a correct idea of their congregations, for they show the
consequences of each, and reflect the character and influence of
all. We have a wide field before us. The domain we enter upon is
unexplored. Our streets, with their mid-day bustle and midnight sin;
our public buildings, with their outside elaboration and inside
mysteries; our places of amusement, with their gilded fascinations
and shallow delusions; our clubs, bar parlours, prisons, cellars,
and workhouses, with their amenities, frivolities, and severities,
have all been commented upon; but the most important of our
institutions, the best, the queerest, the solemnest, the oddest--the
churches and chapels of the town--have been left out in the cold
entirely. All our public functionaries have been viewed round,
examined closely, caressed mildly, and sometimes genteely
maltreated; our parochial divinities, who preside over the fate of
the poor; our municipal Gogs and Magogs who exhibit the extreme
points of reticence and garrulity in the council chamber; our brandy
drinkers, chronic carousers, lackered swells, pushing shopkeepers,
otiose policemen, and dim-looking cab-drivers have all been
photographed, framed, and hung up to dry long ago; our workshops and
manufactories, our operatives and artisans, have likewise been duly
pictured and exhibited; the Ribble has had its praises sung in
polite literary strains; the parks have had their beauties depicted
in rhyme and blank verse; nay--but this is hardly necessary--the old
railway station, that walhallah of the gods and paragon of the five
orders of architecture, has had its delightful peculiarities set
forth; all our public places and public bodies have been thrown upon
the canvas, except those of the more serious type--except places of
worship and those belonging them. These have been neglected; nobody
has thought it worth while to give them either a special blessing or
a particular anathema.
There are about 45 churches and chapels and probably 60 parsons and
priests in Preston; but unto this hour they have been treated, so
far as they are individually concerned, with complete silence. We
purpose remedying the defect, supplying the necessary criticism, and
filling up the hiatus. The whole lot must have either something or
nothing in them, must be either useful or useless; parsons must be
either sharp or stupid, sensible or foolish; priests must be either
learned or illiterate, either good, bad, or indifferent; in all,
from the rector in his silken gown to the back street psalm-singer
in his fustian, there must be something worth praising or
condemning. And the churches and chapels, with their congregations,
must likewise present some points of beauty or ugliness, some traits
of grace or godlessness, some features of excellence, dignity,
piety, or sham. There must be either a good deal of gilded
gingerbread or a great let of the genuine article, at our places of
worship. But whether there is or there is not, we have decided to
say something about the church and the chapel, the parson and the
priest, of each district in the town. This is a mere prologue, and
we shall but hint at the general theme "on this occasion."
Churches and chapels are great institutions in the land. Nobody
knows the exact time when the first was thought of; and it has not
yet transpired when the last will be run up. But this is certain, we
are not improving much in the make of them. The Sunday sanctums and
Sabbath conventicles of today may be mere ornate, may be more
flashy, and show more symptoms of polished bedizenment in their
construction; but three-fourths of them sink into dwarflings and
mediocrities when compared with the rare old buildings of the past.
In strength and beauty, in vastness of design and skill of
workmanship, in nobility of outline and richness of detail, the
religious fabrics of these times fall into insignificance beside
their grand old predecessors; and the manner in which they are cut
up into patrician and plebeian quarters, into fashionable coteries
for the perfumed portion of humanity, and into half-starved benches
with the brand of poverty upon them for the poor, is nothing to the
credit of anybody.
All the churches and chapels of the land may profess Christianity;
but the game of the bulk has a powerful reference to money. Those
who have got the most of the current coin of the realm receive the
blandest smile from the parson, the politest nod from the beadle,
the promptest attention from that strange mixture of piety and pay
called "the chapel-keeper;" those who have not got it must take what
they can get, and accept it with Christian resignation, as St. Paul
tells them. This may be all right; we have not said yet that it is
wrong; but it looks suspicious, doesn't it?--shows that in the arena
of conventional Christianity, as in the seething maelstrom of
ordinary life, money is the winner. Our parsons and priests, like
our ecclesiastical architecture and general church management, do
not seem to have improved upon their ancestors. Priests are not as
jolly as they once were. In olden days "holy fathers" could wear
horse-hair shirts and scarify their epidermis with a finer cruelty
than their modern successors, and they could, after all that, make
the blithest songs, sing the merriest melodies, and quaff the oldest
port with an air of jocund conscientiousness, making one slyly like
them, however much inclined to dispute the correctness of their
theology. And the parsons of the past were also a blithesome set of
individuals. They were perhaps rougher than those mild and refined
gentlemen who preach now-a-days; but they were straightforward,
thorough, absolutely English, well educated, and stronger in the
brain than many of them. In each Episcopalian, Catholic, and
Dissenting community there are new some most erudite, most useful
men; but if we take the great multitude of them, and compare their
circumstances--their facilities for education, the varied channels
of usefulness they have--with those of their predecessors, it will
be found that the latter were the cleverer, often the wiser, and
always the merrier men. Plainness, erudition, blithesomeness, were
their characteristics. Aye, look at our modern men given up largely
to threnody-chiming and to polishing off tea and muffin with elderly
females, and compare them, say, for instance, with--
The poet Praed's immortal Vicar,
Who wisely wore the cleric gown,
Sound in theology and liquor;
Quite human, though a true divine,
His fellow-men he would not libel;
He gave his friends good honest wine,
And drew his doctrine from the Bible.
Institute a comparison, and then you will say that whilst modern men
may be very aesthetic and neatly dressed, the ancient apostolic
successors, though less refined, had much more metal in them, were
more kindly, genial; and told their followers to live well, to eat
well, and to mind none of the hair-splitting neological folly which
is now cracking up Christendom. In old times the Lord did not "call"
so many parsons from one church to another as it is said He does
now; in the days which have passed the bulk of subordinate parsons
did not feel a sort of conscientious hankering every three years for
an "enlarged sphere of usefulness," where the salary was
proportionately increased. We have known multitudes of parsons, in
our time, who have been "called" to places where their salaries were
increased; we know of but few who have gravitated to a church where
the salary was less than the one left. "Business" enters largely
into the conceptions of clergymen. As a rule, no teachers of
religion, except Catholic priests and Methodist ministers, leave one
place for another where less of this world's goods and chattels
predominate; and THEY are COMPELLED to do so, else the result might
be different. When a priest gets his mittimus he has to budge; it is
not a question of "he said or she said," but of--go; and when a
Wesleyan is triennially told to either look after the interests of a
fresh circuit or retire into space, he has to do so. It would be
wrong to say that lucre is at the bottom of every parsonic change;
but it is at the foundation of the great majority--eh? If it isn't,
just make an inquiry, as we have done. This may sound like a
deviation from our text--perhaps it is; but the question it refers
to is so closely associated with the subject of parsons and priests,
that we should have scarcely been doing justice to the matter if we
had not had a quiet "fling" at the money part of it. In the letters
which will follow this, we shall deal disinterestedly with all--
shall give Churchmen, Catholics, Quakers, Independents, Baptists,
Wesleyans, Ranters, and Calathumpians, fair play. Our object will be
to present a picture of things as they are, and to avoid all
meddling with creeds. People may believe what they like, so far as
we are concerned, if they behave themselves, and pay their debts. It
is utterly impossible to get all to be of the same opinion; creeds,
like faces, must differ, have differed, always will differ; and the
best plan is to let people have their own way so long as it is
consistent with the general welfare of social and civil life. It
being understood that "the milk of human kindness is within the PALE
of the Church," we shall begin there. The Parish Church of Preston
will constitute our first theme.
No. I.
PRESTON PARISH CHURCH.
It doesn't particularly matter when the building we call our Parish
Church was first erected; and, if it did, the world would have to
die of literary inanition before it got the exact date. None of the
larger sort of antiquaries agree absolutely upon the subject, and
the smaller fry go in for all sorts of figures, varying as to time
from about two years to one hundred and fifty. This may be taken as
a homoeopathic dose in respect to its history:- built about 900
years since by Catholics, and dedicated to St. Wilfrid; handed over
to Protestants by somebody, who was perhaps acting on the very
generous principle of giving other folk's property, in the 16th
century; rebuilt in 1581, and dedicated to St. John; rebuilt in
1770; enlarged, elaborated, and rejuvenised in 1853; plagued with
dry rot for a considerable time afterwards; in a pretty good state
of architectural health now; and likely to last out both this
generation and the next. It looks rather genteel and stately
outside; it has a good steeple, kept duly alive by a congregation of
traditional jackdaws; it has a capital set of bells which have put
in a good deal of overtime during the past five months, through a
pressure of election business; and in its entirety, as Baines once
remarked, the building looks like "a good ordinary Parish Church."
There is nothing either snobbish or sublime about it; and, speaking
after Josh Billings, "it's a fair even-going critter," capable of
being either pulled down or made bigger. That is about the length
and breadth of the matter, and if we had to appeal to the
commonwealth as to the correctness of our position it would be found
that the "ayes have it." We don't believe in the Parish Church; but
a good deal of people do, and why shouldn't they have their way in a
small fight as well as the rest of folk? All, except Mormons and
Fenians, who honestly believe in anything, are entitled to respect.
Our Parish Church has a good contour, and many of its exterior
architectural details are well conceived and arranged; but, like
other buildings of the same order, it has got a multiplicity of
strange hobgoblin figure-heads about it which serve no purpose
either earthly or heavenly, and which are understood by hardly one
out of five million. We could never yet make it out why those
grotesque pieces of masonry--gargoyles, we believe, they are called-
-were fixed to any place of worship. Around our Parish Church and
half-way up the steeple, there are, at almost every angle and
prominence, rudely carved monstrosities, conspicuous for nothing but
their ineffable and heathenish ugliness. Huge eyes, great mouths,
immense tooth, savage faces and distorted bodies are their prime
characteristics. The man who invented this species of ecclesiastical
decoration must have been either mad or in "the horrors." An evenly
balanced mind could never have thought of them, and why they should
he specially tacked to churches is a mystery in accordance with
neither King Solomon nor Cocker. The graveyard of our Parish Church
is, we dare say, something which very few people think of. We have
seen many such places in our time; but that in connection with our
Parish Church is about the grimmest specimen in the lot. It has a
barren, cold, dingy, unconsecrated look with it; and why it should
have we can't tell. Either ruffianism or neglect must at some time
have done a good stroke of business in it; for many of the
gravestones are cracked in two; some are nearly broken to pieces;
and a considerable number of those in the principal parts of the
yard are being gradually worn out. We see no fun, for instance, in
"paving" the entrances to the church with gravestones. Somebody
must, at some time, have paid a considerable amount of money in
getting the gravestones of their relatives smoothed and lettered;
and it could never have been intended that they should be flattened
down, close as tile work, for a promiscuous multitude of people to
walk over and efface. The back of the churchyard is in a very weary,
delapidated and melancholy state. Why can't a few shrubs and flowers
be planted in it? Why is not the ground trimmed up and made decent?
From the time when the Egyptians worshipped cats and onions down to
the present hour, religious folk have paid some special attention to
their grave spaces, and we want to see the custom kept up. Our
Parish Church yard has a sad, forsaken appearance; if it had run to
seed and ended in nothing, or had been neglected and closed up by an
army of hypochondriacs, it could not have been more gloomy, barren,
or disheartening. The ground should be looked after, and the stones
preserved as much as possible. It is a question of shoes v.
gravestones at present, and, if there is not some change of
position, the shoes will in the end win.
About the interior of our Parish Church there is nothing
particularly wonderful; it has a respectable, substantial,
reverential appearance, and that is quite as much as any church
should have. There is no emblematic ritualistic moonshine in any
part of it; we hope there never may be; we are sure there never will
be so long as the men now at the helm are in office. But let us
start at the beginning. The principal entrance is through a massive
and somewhat dimly-lighted porch, which, in its time, has
necessarily, like all church porches, been the scene of much pious
gossip, superstition, and sanctimonious scandal. It is rather a snug
place to halt in. If you stand on one side of the large octagonal
font, which is placed in the centre of the inner perch, and
patronised by about 20 of the rising race every Sunday afternoon,
you will be able to see everybody, whilst nobody can distinctly see
you. As a rule, many people are too fired, or too ill, or too idle,
to go to a place of worship on a Sunday morning, and at our Parish
Church one may plainly notice this. A certain number always put in a
regular appearance. If they did not attend the Parish Church twice a
day they would become apprehensive as to both their temporal
respectability awl spiritual welfare. They are descendants of the
old long-horned stock, and have a mighty notion of the importance of
church-going. Probably they don't care very profoundly for the
sermons; but they have got into a safe-sided, orthodox groove, and
some of them have an idea that they will be saved as much by church-
going as by faith. The members of this class have a large notion of
the respectability of their individual pews and seats. If they
belonged to a family of five hundred each, and if every one of them
had to go to Church every Sunday, they would want their respective
seats, Prayer Books, footstools, and all that sort of thing. They
don't like to see strangers rambling about, in search of a resting
place; they are particularly solemn-looking, and give symptoms of
being on the border of some catastrophe, if an unknown being shows
any disposition to enter their pews. And some of them would see a
person a good deal beyond the ether side of Jordan before they would
think of handing him a Prayer Book. We don't suppose any of them are
so precise as the old gentleman who once, when a stranger entered
his pew, doubled up the cushion, sat upon it in a two-fold state,
and intimated that ordinary beards were good enough for interlopers;
but after all there is much of the "number one" principle in the
devotion of these goodly followers of the saints, and they have been
so long at the game that a cure is impossible.
Taking the congregation of our Parish Church in the agregate it is a
fair sample of every class of human life. You have the old maid in
her unspotted, demurely-coloured moire antique, carrying a Prayer
Book belonging to a past generation; you have the ancient bachelor
with plenty of money and possessing a thorough knowledge as to the
safest way of keeping it, his great idea being that the best way of
getting to heaven is to stick to his coins, attend church every
Sunday, and take the sacrament regularly; you have the magistrate,
whose manner, if not his beard, is 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 congregation of our Parish Church is tolerably numerous, and
embraces many fine human specimens. Money and fashion are well
represented at it; and as Zadkiel and the author of Pogmoor Almanac
say those powers have to rule for a long time, we may take it for
granted that the Parish Church will yet outlive many of the minor
raving academies in which they are absent. There is touch more
generalisation than there used to be as to the sittings in our
Parish Church; but "birds of a feather flock together" still. The
rich know their quarters; exquisite gentlemen and smart young ladies
with morrocco-bound gilt-edged Prayer Books still cluster in special
sections; and although it is said that the poor have the best part
of the church allotted to them, the conspicuousness of its position
gives a brand to it neither healthy nor pleasant. They are seated
down the centre aisle; but the place is too demonstrative of their
poverty. If half the seats were empty, situated excellently though
they may be, you wouldn't catch any respectable weasle asleep on
them. If some doctor, or magistrate, or private bib-and-tucker lady
had to anchor here, supposing there were any spare place in any
other part of the house, there would be a good deal of quizzing and
wonderment afloat. If you don't believe it put on a highly refined
dress and try the experiment; and if you are not very specially
spotted we wild give a fifty dollar greenback on behalf of the
society for converting missionary eaters in Chillingowullabadorie.
We shall say nothing with regard to the ordinary service of the
Parish Church, except this, that it would look better of three
fourths of the congregation if they would not leave the responses to
a paid choir. "Lor, bless yer," as Betsy Jane Ward would say, a
choir will sing, anything put before them if it is set to music; and
they think no more of getting through all that sad business about
personal sinfulness, agonising repentance, and a general craving for
forgiveness, than the odd woman did when she used to kiss her cow
and say it was delicious. There was once a period when all Parish
Church goers made open confession joined audibly in the prayers, and
said "Amen" as if they meant it; although we are doubtful about even
that. Now, the choir does all the work, and the congregation are
left behind the distance post to think about the matter. But if it
suits the people it's quite right.