was not in that mood which best profits from a sermon. Yet even though
my expectations had been cruelly left quivering in mid air, I was not
sure how much I really wanted to "keep around." You will therefore
understand how Dr. MacBride was able to make a prayer and to read
Scripture without my being conscious of a word that he had uttered. It
was when I saw him opening the manuscript of his sermon that I suddenly
remembered I was sitting, so to speak, in church, and began once more to
think of the preacher and his congregation. Our chairs were in the front
line, of course; but, being next the wall, I could easily see the
cow-boys behind me. They were perfectly decorous. If Mrs. Ogden had
looked for pistols, dare-devil attitudes, and so forth, she must have
been greatly disappointed. Except for their weather-beaten cheeks and
eyes, they were simply American young men with mustaches and without,
and might have been sitting, say, in Danbury, Connecticut. Even Trampas
merged quietly with the general placidity. The Virginian did not, to be
sure, look like Danbury, and his frame and his features showed out of
the mass; but his eyes were upon Dr. MacBride with a creamlike
propriety.

Our missionary did not choose Miss Wood's text. He made his selection
from another of the Psalms; and when it came, I did not dare to look at
anybody; I was much nearer unseemly conduct than the cow-boys. Dr.
MacBride gave us his text sonorously, "'They are altogether become
filthy; There is none of them that doeth good, no, not one.'" His eye
showed us plainly that present company was not excepted from this. He
repeated the text once more, then, launching upon his discourse, gave
none of us a ray of hope.

I had heard it all often before; but preached to cow-boys it took on a
new glare of untimeliness, of grotesque obsoleteness--as if some one