ONE of the things that makes one thoughtful in going about from city to city and dropping into the churches is the way the people do not sing in them and will not pray in them. In every new strange city where one stops on a Sunday morning, one looks hopefully, while one hears the chimes of bells, at the row of steeples down the street. One looks for the people going in who seem to go with chimes of bells. And when one goes in, one finds them again and again inside—the bolt-upright, faintly sing-song congregations.