it is,
And joyful for to see,
Brethren to dwell together in
Friendship and unity.

But Mr. Barton is all for th' hymns, and a sort o' music as I can't join
in at all.'

'And so,' said Mr. Pilgrim, recalling Mr. Hackit from lyrical
reminiscences to narrative, 'he called out Silence! did he? when he got
into the pulpit; and gave a hymn out himself to some meeting-house tune?'

'Yes,' said Mrs. Hackit, stooping towards the candle to pick up a stitch,
'and turned as red as a turkey-cock. I often say, when he preaches about
meekness, he gives himself a slap in the face. He's like me--he's got a
temper of his own.'

'Rather a low-bred fellow, I think, Barton,' said Mr. Pilgrim, who hated
the Reverend Amos for two reasons--because he had called in a new doctor,
recently settled in Shepperton; and because, being himself a dabbler in
drugs, he had the credit of having cured a patient of Mr. Pilgrim's.
'They say his father was a Dissenting shoemaker; and he's half a
Dissenter himself. Why, doesn't he preach extempore in that cottage up
here, of a Sunday evening?'

'Tchuh!'--this was Mr. Hackit's favourite interjection--'that preaching
without book's no good, only when a man has a gift, and has the Bible at
his fingers' ends. It was all very well for Parry--he'd a gift; and in my
youth I've heard the Ranters out o' doors in Yorkshire go on for an hour
or two on end, without ever sticking fast a minute. There was one clever
chap, I remember, as used to say, "You're like the woodpigeon; it says
do, do, do all day, and never sets about any work itself." That's
bringing it home to people. But our parson's no gift at all that way; he
can preach as good a sermon as need be heard when he writes it down. But
when he tries to preach wi'out book, he rambles about, and doesn't stick
to his text; and every now and then he flounders about like a sheep as
has cast itself, and can't get on'ts legs again. You wouldn't like that,
Mrs. Patten, if you was to go to church now?'

'Eh, dear,' said Mrs. Patten, falling back in her chair, and lifting up
her little withered hands, 'what 'ud Mr. Gilfil say, if he was worthy to
know the changes as have come about i' the Church these last ten years? I
don't understand these new sort o' doctrines. When Mr. Barton comes to
see me, he talks about nothing but my sins and my need o' marcy. Now, Mr.
Hackit, I've never been a sinner. From the fust beginning, when I went
into service, I al'ys