The Independent chapel, known as Salem, stood red and conspicuous in a broad street; more than one pew-holder kept a brass-bound gig; and Mr.Jerome, a retired corn-factor, and the most eminent member of the congregation, was one of the richest men in the parish.

But in spite of this apparent prosperity, together with the usual amount of extemporaneous preaching mitigated by furtive notes, Salem belied its name, and was not always the abode of peace.

For some reason or other, it was unfortunate in the choice of its ministers.

The Rev.Mr.
Horner, elected with brilliant hopes, was discovered to be given to tippling and quarrelling with his wife; the Rev.Mr.Rose's doctrine was a little too 'high', verging on antinomianism; the Rev.Mr.Stickney's gift as a preacher was found to be less striking on a more extended acquaintance; and the Rev.Mr.Smith, a distinguished minister much sought after in the iron districts, with a talent for poetry, became objectionable from an inclination to exchange verses with the young ladies of his congregation.

It was reasonably argued that such verses as Mr.Smith's must take a long time for their composition, and the habit alluded to might intrench seriously on his pastoral duties.