At the theater the house was very full, and the audience particularly amiable.  In the interval between the fourth and fifth acts Charles Mason made a speech to them, informing them of Mr. Brunton’s distress, and our intention of acting for him on Monday.  They applauded very much, and I hope they will do more, and come.  My part of the charity is certainly not small; to be pulled and pushed and dragged hither and thither, and generally “knocked about,” as the miserable Belvidera, for three mortal hours, is a sacrifice of self which my conscience bears me witness is laudable.  I would much rather pay with my purse than my person in this case.  Unfortunately, je n’ai pas de quoi.

Sunday, July 17th.—­To Redcliffe Church with my father and Dall.  What a beautiful old building it is!...  What a sermon!  Has the truth, as our Church holds it, no fitter expounders than such a preacher?  Are these its stays, props, and pillars—­teachers to guide, enlighten, and instruct people as cultivated and intelligent as the people of this country on the most momentous of all subjects?  Are these the sort of adversaries to oppose to men like Channing?  As for not going to church because of bad or foolish sermons, that is quite another matter, though I not unfrequently hear that reason assigned for staying away.  One goes to church to say one’s prayers, and not to hear more or less fine discourses; one goes because it is one’s duty, and a delight and comfort, and a quite distinct duty and delight from that of private prayer.  A good sermon, Heaven knows, is a rare blessing to be thankful for, but if one went to church only in the expectation of that blessing, one might stay away most Sundays in the year.

[My youthful scorn of “poor preaching” reminds me of what I once heard Edward Everett say, who, before becoming his country’s “Minister,” in the diplomatic sense of the word, had been a powerful and eloquent Unitarian preacher:  “I hear a good deal of criticism upon sermons which are supposed to be religious or moral exhortations, not intellectual exercises.  I dare say many sermons are not first rate, but moderate good preaching is not a bad thing, and pretty poor preaching is better than most men’s practice.”]

Monday, July 18th.—­The theater was crowded to-night, which delighted me.  It is pleasant to see malicious and evil actions produce such a result.  I was very nervous and excited, and nearly went into hysterics over one small incident of the evening.  At the close of the first separation scene—­the play was “Venice Preserved”—­when Jaffier is carried out by the nape of the neck by Pierre, and Belvidera extracted on the other side in the arms (and iron ones they were) of Bedamar, the audience of course were affected, harrowed, overcome by the poignant pathos of the situation.  Charles looked woebegone.  I called upon him in tones of the most piercing anguish (an agony