Immediately in front of her sat Mr. and Mrs. Graham and Antoinette Dupres.  Beulah was pondering the absence of Cornelia and Eugene, when a full, manly voice fell on her ear, and, looking up, she saw Mr. Mortimor standing in the pulpit.  He looked older than Pauline’s description had prepared her to expect, and the first impression was one of disappointment.  But the longer she watched the grave, quiet face the more attractive it became.  Certainly he was a handsome man, and, judging from the contour of head and features, an intellectual one.  There was an absolute repose in the countenance which might have passed with casual observers for inertia, indifference; but to the practiced physiognomist it expressed the perfect peace of a mind and heart completely harmonious.  The voice was remarkably clear and well modulated.  His text was selected from the first and last chapters of Ecclesiastes, and consisted of these verses: 

“For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.”

“And further, by these, my son, be admonished; of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.  Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter.  Fear God, and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.”

To the discourse which followed Beulah listened with the deepest interest.  She followed the speaker over the desert of ancient Oriental systems, which he rapidly analyzed, and held up as empty shells; lifting the veil of soufism, he glanced at the mystical creed of Algazzali; and, in an epitomized account of the Grecian schools of philosophy, depicted the wild vagaries into which many had wandered, and the unsatisfactory results to which all had attained.  Not content with these instances of the insufficiency and mocking nature of human wisdom and learning, he adverted to the destructive tendency of the Helvetian and D’Holbach systems, and, after a brief discussion of their ruinous tenets, dilated, with some erudition upon the conflicting and dangerous theories propounded by Germany.  Then came the contemplation of Christianity, from it’s rise among the fishermen of Galilee to its present summit of power.  For eighteen hundred years it had been assaulted by infidelity, yet each century saw it advancing—­a conquering colossus.  Throughout the sermon the idea was maintained that human reason was utterly inadequate to discover to man his destiny, that human learning was a great cheat, and that only from the pages of Holy Writ could genuine wisdom be acquired.  Men were to be as little children in order to be taught the truths of immortality.  Certainly the reasoning was clear and forcible, the philosophic allusions seemed very apropos, and the language was elegant and impassioned.  The closing hymn was sung; the organ hushed its worshiping tones; the benediction was pronounced; the congregation dispersed.