The Gospellers were reduced to stratagem. Since the churches were closed to them, they opened their own houses. By arrangement with Mr Rose, service was held in the Lamb on the evening of the Coronation Day, safety being secured by a preconcerted signal-tap. About forty persons gathered, exclusive of the families of the host and the minister. A small congregation; but a congregation of live souls, who were ready to yield life sooner than faith. The majority of congregations are hardly made of that material now. "If all the real Christians were gathered out of this church," once said William Romaine to his flock, "there would not be enough to fill the vestry." How frightfully uncharitable! cries the nineteenth century--and I dare say the flock at Saint Anne's thought so too. But there is a _charity_ towards men's souls, and there is a charity towards men's feelings. If one of the two must be dispensed with, we shall wish in the great day of account that it had been the latter. The two "keeping-rooms" of the Lamb--which they called the great and little chambers, but which we, their degenerate descendants, might term the dining-room and drawing-room--were filled with this living congregation; and Mr Rose read prayers from the now prohibited Service-Book, and preached the prohibited doctrines. Before all had dispersed, Mr George Ferris made his appearance, and supped at the Lamb, as did Mr Rose and Mr Holland, with their respective families. After supper, Mr Ferris, leaning back in his chair, suddenly said,--"If you list to know the order of her Highness' crowning, I am he that can tell you; for all this day have I been in Westminster Abbey and Hall." He was universally encouraged to proceed.