The bibliomaniacal doctor, however, seems to have pleased me better out of the pulpit than in it, for I find that “he called in the afternoon and chatted amusingly for an hour.  He fell tooth and nail upon the Oxford Tracts men, and told us of a Mr. Wackerbarth, a curate in Essex, a Cambridge man, who, he says, elevates the host, crosses himself, and advocates burning of heretics.  It seems to me, however,” continues this censorious young diarist, “that those who object to the persecution, even to extermination of heretics, admit the uncertainty and dubiousness of all theological doctrine and belief.  For if it be certain that God will punish disbelief in doctrines essential to salvation, and certain that any Church possesses the knowledge what those doctrines are, does it not follow that a man who goes about persuading people to reject those doctrines should be treated as we treat a mad dog loose in the streets of a city?” Thus fools, when they are young enough, rush in where wise men fear to tread!

I had entirely forgotten, but find from my diary that it was our pleasant friend but indifferent preacher, Dr. Dibdin, who on the 11th of February, 1839, married my sister, Cecilia, to Mr., now Sir John, Tilley.

It appears that I was not incapable of appreciating a good sermon when I heard one, for I read of the impression produced upon me by an “admirable sermon preached by Mr. Smith” (it must have been Sydney, I take it) in the Temple Church.  The preacher quoted largely from Jeremy Taylor, “giving the passages with an excellence of enunciation and expression which impressed them on my mind in a manner which will not allow me to forget them.”  Alack!  I have forgotten every word of them!

I remember, however, perfectly well, without any reference to my diary, hearing—­it must have been much about the same time—­Sydney Smith preach a sermon at St. Paul’s, which much impressed me.  He took for his text, “Knowledge and wisdom shall be the stability of thy times” (I write from memory—­the memory of half a century ago—­but I think the words ran thus).  Of course the gist of his discourse may be readily imagined.  But the manner of the preacher remains more vividly present to my mind than his words.  He spoke with extreme rapidity, and had the special gift of combining extreme rapidity of utterance with very perfect clearness.  His manner, I remember thinking, was unlike any that I had ever witnessed in the pulpit, and appeared to me to resemble rather that of a very earnest speaker at the hustings than the usual pulpit style.  His sentences seemed to run downhill, with continually increasing speed till they came to a full stop at the bottom.  It was, I think, the only sermon I ever heard which I wished longer.  He carried me with him completely, for the century was in those days, like me, young.  But if I were to hear a similarly fervid discourse now on the same subject, I should surely desire some clearer setting forth of the difference between “knowledge” and “wisdom.”