fair-play and even-handed justice call give; and if these are not
fully granted now, the day is coming when they will be possessed.
Lancashire seems to be the great centre of Catholicism in England,
and Preston appears to be its centre in Lancashire. This benign town
of Preston, with its fervent galaxy of lecturing curates, and its
noble army of high falutin' incumbents, is the very fulcrum and
lever of northern Romanism. If Catholics are wrong and on the way to
perdition and blisters there are 33,000 of them here moving in that
very awkward direction at the present. A number so large, whether
right or wrong cannot he despised; a body so great, whether good or
evil, will, by its sheer inherent force, persist in living, moving,
and having, a fair share of being. You can't evaporate 33,000 of
anything in a hurry; and you could no more put a nightcap upon the
Catholics of Preston than you could blacken up the eye of the sun.
That stout old Vatican gentleman who storms this fast world of ours
periodically with his encyclicals, and who is known by the name of
Pius IX., must, if he knows anything of England, know something of
Preston; and if he knows anything of it he will have long since
learned that wherever the faith over which he presides may be going
down the hill, it is at least in Preston "as well as can be
expected," and likely, for a period longer than be will live, to
bloom and flourish.

Our text is--St. Wilfrid's Catholic Church, Preston. This place of
worship is situated in a somewhat sanctified place--Chapel-street;
but as about half of that locality is taken up with lawyers'
offices, and the centre of it by a police station, we fancy that
this world, rather than the next, will occupy the bulk of its
attention. It is to be hoped that St. Wilfrid's, which stands on the
opposite side, will act as a healthy counterpoise--will, at any