out of other people's purses, and not his. And so it does. The
organist has considerable musical ability; he plays the instrument
in his care with precision; but he throws too much force into its
effusions--believes too much in high pressure--and the general
boiler of its melody may burst some day, kill the blower instantly,
and dash the choir into space. The internal service arrangements at
St. Peter's are worked by an incumbent, a curate, and a clerk. The
last named gentleman has been a long time at his post; he is a dry,
orthodox, careful man; never mistook a three-penny for a fourpenny
piece in his life; doesn't like slippery sixpences; and he gets for
his general services at the church 15 pounds a year. Nobody hardly
ever hears him; the responses of the choir materially swamp the
music of his voice; but his lips move, and that is at least a sign
of life.

The incumbent is the Rev. D. F. Chapman. He has been at the place a
few years, and receives about 400 pounds a-year for his trouble. Mr.
Chapman is a powerfully-constructed gentleman; is somewhat inclined
to oleaginousness; has contracted a marine swing in his walk; is
heavily clerical in countenance and cloth; believes in keeping his
hair broad at the sides; has a strong will and an enormous opinion
of the incumbent of St. Peter's; will fume if crossed; will crush if
touched; can't be convinced; has his mind made up and rivetted down
on everything; must have his way; thinks every antagonist mistaken;
is washy, windy, ponderous; has a clear notion that each of his
postulates is worth a couple of demonstrations, that all his
theories are tantamount to axioms; and, finally, has quarelled more
with his churchwardens than any other live parson in Preston. He
once fought for weeks, day and night, with a warden as to the
position of a small gas-pipe, because he couldn't get his way about