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Yes, he was thoroughly comfortable,--as comfortable as
a truly pious fat man deserves to be, and all the work he had to do was
to preach twice on Sundays, to a quiet, primitive, decently ordered
congregation, who listened to his words respectfully though without
displaying any emotional rapture. Their stolidity, however, did not
affect him,--he preached to please himself,--loving above all things to
hear the sound of his own voice, and never so happy as when thundering
fierce denunciations against the Church of Rome. His thoughts seemed
tending in that direction now, as he poured himself out his third cup of
tea and smilingly shook his head over it, while he stirred the cream and
sugar in,--for he took from his waistcoat pocket a small glittering
object and laid it before him on the table, still shaking his head and
smiling with a patient, yet reproachful air of superior wisdom. It was a
crucifix of mother-o'-pearl and silver, the symbol of the Christian
faith. But it seemed to carry no sacred suggestions to the soul of Mr.


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