London Sundays to persons who are not attached to any religious
community, and have no money to spend, are rather dreary. We tried
several ways of getting through the morning. If we heard that there
was a preacher with a reputation, we went to hear him. As a rule,
however, we got no good in that way. Once we came to a chapel where
there was a minister supposed to be one of the greatest orators of
the day. We had much difficulty in finding standing room. Just as
we entered we heard him say, "My friends, I appeal to those of you
who are parents. You know that if you say to a child 'go,' he goeth,
and if you say 'come,' he cometh. So the Lord"--But at this point
M'Kay, who had children, nudged me to come out; and out we went. Why
does this little scene remain with me? I can hardly say, but here it
stands. It is remembered, not so much by reason of the preacher as
by reason of the apparent acquiescence and admiration of the
audience, who seemed to be perfectly willing to take over an
experience from their pastor--if indeed it was really an experience--
which was not their own. Our usual haunts on Sunday were naturally
the parks and Kensington Gardens; but artificial limited enclosures
are apt to become wearisome after a time, and we longed for a little
more freedom if a little less trim.
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