While in this state of mind, Ernest went to church one Sabbath. The minister, who was a stranger, read the fourteenth chapter of John as his lesson, and at the proper time announced as his text the first and second verses--“Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in me,” etc. Ernest assumed a comfortable physical posture in the expectation of hearing a soul-thrilling sermon--an expectation justified by the abundant consolation which can be legitimately drawn from the entire chapter. There was a large congregation and all seemed to be eager to catch every word that should be uttered. The preacher began in a rather low nasal “whine,” as the people called it--a not very classical term to be sure, but very expressive and generally understood, if nothing else could be said in its favor. His manner was cold and not at all _en rapport_ with his environments, but Ernest thought and hoped that he would “warm up” with his subject as he proceeded. He was doomed to disappointment: for the preacher kept on with the same whine, with no more variation than there is in the ringing of a bell. The vocal part was utterly incongruous with the theme. The preacher stood stone still, nothing moving but his lips, and looking like a talking statue. His hands were gently folded on his breast and his eyes were fixed with immovable rigidity upon something on the floor immediately in front of the pulpit. His whole manner was the best imaginable remedy for insomnia, which was soon proved by the state of delightful unconsciousness into which many of the audience had fallen at the expiration of the first half-hour. Ernest made brave and persistent efforts to confine his attention to the minister’s monotonous sentences and to resist the feeling of somnolence which was quietly and gradually creeping over him. When the service finally ended, Ernest left the church with a feeling of spiritual lassitude--a consciousness that the hour had been unprofitable, not to say that he was a little vexed, too.