Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Religion
Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.
Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Unitarians -- United States -- Biography; Ware, Mary L. (Mary Lovell), 1798-1849
"You have been sorely afflicted indeed, doubtless for some good
purpose. I am rejoiced to find by your letter that you are
disposed to view it so, and improve by the chastisement. I hope
it will lead the way to a more free communication with our good
minister. It is a great privilege, and one which ought to be
improved. I have learned since I have been here to estimate our
advantages in this and all other religious affairs, as I could
never have done at home. In London, it seems to me that there
is no more connection between minister and people, in the
Established Church, than if they had no influence whatever to
exercise; and among the Dissenters I have met with, the case is
not much better. They are so scattered, and wander about so
much, that it is difficult to have much intercourse, or keep up
much interest among them....
"I have heard but one sermon since I have been in this country
which made the least impression upon my mind, and that was from
one from whom I expected nothing that would satisfy me. This
was Mr. Irving, whom Mr. Channing mentioned as the popular
favorite in London. He is a most singular-looking Scotchman, a
pupil of Dr. Chalmers, and now so much the fashion, that
tickets of admission are sold, to enable those who wish to hear
him to go in before the hour when the doors are thrown open.
Even in this way it is like the theatre of a Kean night, and
for two hours before the service commences the crowd is
immense. His manner is very like Kean's, most impassioned, and
when he commenced I turned from him in disgust. But there was
that in the subject and substance of the sermon which made me
forget the manner in which it was delivered. It was, I
understood, one of the least flowery of his productions. I
shall never forget it, I think; but I would not be obliged to
go to such a place for the best sermons that ever were written.
It was just like the theatre or some great exhibition.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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