religion of humanity which cannot perish in the overthrow
of altars or the fall of temples, which survives them all, and which,
were every derived form of religion obliterated from the face of the
world, would recreate religion, as the spring recreates the fruits and
flowers of the soil, bidding it bloom again in beauty, bear again its
rich fruits of utility, and fashion for itself such forms and modes of
expression as may best agree with the progressive condition of mankind.'

And this religion of humanity is to be met with in Finsbury Square. I am
not aware there is anything new about it. Every school-boy is familiar
with it in Pope's Universal Prayer; but latterly, in Germany, in England,
and across the Atlantic, it has been preached with an eloquence of
peculiar fascination and power. Theodore Parker and Ralph Waldo Emerson
have been the high priests in the new temple, which fills all space, and
whose worship is all time. In England, as an organisation, whatever it
may have done as a theory, it has not succeeded. Here William Johnson
Fox, originally a student at the Independent Academy, Homerton, then a
Unitarian minister, and now the member for Oldham, and the 'Publicola' of
the 'Dispatch,' has been its most eloquent advocate. If any man could
have won over the people to it, he, with his unrivalled
rhetoric--rhetoric which, during the agitation of the Anti-Corn-Law
League, will be remembered as surpassing all that has been heard in our
day--would have done it; and yet Fox never had his chapel more than
comfortably full--not even when the admission was gratis, and any one who
wished might walk in. But now the place has a sadly deserted appearance.
You feel cold and chilly directly you enter. The mantle of Fox has not
fallen on his successor; and what Mr. Fox could not accomplish, most
certainly the Rev. Mr. Ierson will not perform.

At half-past eleven service every Sunday morning commences at the chapel
in South Place. You need not hurry: there will be plenty of room for
bigger and better men than yourself. The worship is of the simplest
character. Mr. Ierson commences with reading extracts from various
philosophical writers, ancient and modern; then there is singing, not
congregational, but simply that of a few professionals. The metrical
collection used, I believe, is one made by Mr. Fox, and is full of
beautiful poetry and sublime sentiments; but the congregation does not
utter it--it merely listens