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.  So we would stroll towards Hampstead or Highgate, the only drawback to these regions being the squalid, ragged, half town, half suburb, through which it was necessary to pass.  The skirts of London when the air is filled with north-easterly soot, grit, and filth, are cheerless, and the least cheerful part of the scene is the inability of the vast wandering masses of people to find any way of amusing themselves.  At the corner of one of the fields in Kentish Town, just about to be devoured, stood a public-house, and opposite the door was generally encamped a man who sold nothing but Brazil nuts.  Swarms of people lazily wandered past him, most of them waiting for the public-house to open.  Brazil nuts on a cold black Sunday morning are not exhilarating, but the costermonger found many customers who bought his nuts, and ate them, merely because they had nothing better to do.  We went two or three times to a freethinking hall, where we were entertained with demonstrations of the immorality of the patriarchs and Jewish heroes, and arguments to prove that the personal existence of the devil was a myth, the audience breaking out into uproarious laughter at comical delineations of Noah and Jonah.  One morning we found the place completely packed.  A “celebrated Christian,” as he was described to us, having heard of the hall, had volunteered to engage in debate on the claims of the Old Testament to Divine authority.  He turned out to be a preacher whom we knew quite well.  He was introduced by his freethinking antagonist, who claimed for him a respectful hearing.  The preacher said that before beginning he should like to “engage in prayer.”  Accordingly