172 A MOUNTAIN-SIDE RAMBLE. 



was delivering his homily with all ear- 

 nestness. He must preach, it seemed, 

 whether men would hear or forbear. He 

 had already announced his text, but I could 

 not certainly make out what it was. " Here 

 we have no continuing city," perhaps; or 

 it might have been, " Vanity of vanities, 

 saith the Preacher, all is vanity." It should 

 have been one of these, or so I thought ; 

 but, as all church-goers must have observed, 

 the connection between text and sermon is 

 sometimes more or less recondite, and once 

 in a while, like the doctrine of the sermon 

 itself, requires to be taken on faith. In the 

 present instance, indeed, as no doubt in 

 many others, the pew was quite as likely to 

 be at fault as the pulpit. The red-eye's 

 eloquence was never very persuasive to my 

 ear. Its short sentences, its tiresome up- 

 ward inflections, its everlasting repetitious- 

 ness, and its sharp, querulous tone long 

 since became to me an old story ; and I have 

 always thought that whoever dubbed this 

 vireo the "preacher" could have had no 

 very exalted opinion of the clergy. 



I stayed not to listen, therefore, but kept 

 on through the wood, while a purple finch 



