while it is uttered by others for it.
Singing is followed by prayer. 'Prayer,' says Montgomery (James, not
Robert)--

'is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpress'd,
The motion of a hidden fire,
That trembles in the breast.'

Mr. Ierson's prayer is nothing of the kind: no fire trembles in the
breast while it is offered up. It is a calm, rational acknowledgment of
Divine power and goodness and beauty. Then comes an oration of half an
hour, the result of no very hard reading, and the week's worship is at an
end, and the congregation, principally a male one, departs, not much
edified, or enlightened, or elevated, but, perhaps, a little puffed up,
as it hears how the various sects of religionists all, like sheep, go
astray. Such must be the inevitable result. You cannot lecture long on
the errors of Christians, without feeling convinced of your own
superiority. The youngest green-horn in the chapel has a self-satisfied
air. Beardless though he be, he is emancipated. The religion which a
Milton could make the subject of his immortal strains--which a Newton
could find it consistent with philosophy to accept--which has found
martyrs in every race, and won trophies in every clime--he can pass by as
an idle tale or an old wife's dream.

Mr. Ierson himself is better than the imaginary disciple I have just
alluded to. He has got to his present position, I believe, by honest
conviction and careful study. Originally, I think, he was a student at
the Baptist College, Stepney; then he became minister over a Baptist
congregation at Northampton, and there finding his position at variance
with his views, he honestly relinquished his charge. I fear such honesty
is not so common as it might be. I believe, in the pulpit and the pew,
did it exist, our religious organisations would assume a very different
aspect. The great need of our age, it seems to me, is sincerity in
religion--that men and women, that pastor and people, should plainly
utter what they think. I believe there is a greater freedom in religious
thought than really appears to be the case. 'How is it,' said I to a
Unitarian, the other day, 'that you do not make more progress?' 'Why,'
was the answer, 'we make progress by other sects taking our principles,
while retaining their own names:' and there was truth in the reply.

Still, it is better that a man who ceases to be a Churchman, or a
Baptist, or an Independent, should say and