At length, a long, black, grim-looking man entered; his dress, the cut of his hair, and his whole appearance, strongly recalled the idea of one of Cromwell's fanatics.

He stepped solemnly into the middle of the room, and took a chair that stood there, but not to sit upon it; he turned the back towards him, on which he placed his hands, and stoutly uttering a sound between a hem and a cough, he deposited freely on either side of him a considerable portion of masticated tobacco.

He then began to preach.

His text was "Live in hope," and he continued to expound it for two hours in a drawling, nasal tone, with no other respite than what he allowed himself for expectoration.

If I say that he repeated the words of this text a hundred times, I think I shall not exceed the truth, for that allows more than a minute for each repetition, and in fact the whole discourse was made up of it.
The various tones in which he uttered it might have served as a lesson on emphasis; as a question--in accents of triumph--in accents of despair--of pity--of threatening--of authority--of doubt--of hope--of faith.