tenantless.

In a little while, the preacher arose and gave out a hymn; but there
was no one to raise the tune. One looked at another uneasily; sundry
persons coughed and cleared their throats, but all remained silent.
Odell was not much of a singer, but had practised on "Old Hundred"
so much, that he could lead that air very well; and the hymn
happening, by good luck, to be set to a long-metre tune, he was able
to start it. This done, the congregation joined in, and the singing
went off pretty well. After praying and reading a chapter in the
Bible, Odell sat down to collect his thoughts for the sermon, which
was, of course, to be extempore, as Methodist sermons usually are.
It is customary for the choir, if there is one, to sing an anthem
during this pause; or, where no singers are set apart, for some
members to strike up an appropriate hymn, in which the congregation
joins. On this occasion, all was silent. After the lapse of a few
minutes, Mr. Odell arose, and turning, in the Bible, to the chapter
where the text, from which he was to preach, was recorded, read the
verse that was to form the groundwork of his remarks. Before opening
the subject, he stated, briefly, that he was the preacher who was to
labour among them during the ensuing year, and hoped, in the Divine
Providence, that good, both to them and to him, would result from
the new spiritual relations that were about to be commenced. Then
proceeding with his discourse, he preached to and exhorted them with
great earnestness, but without seeming to make any impression. Not
an "amen" was heard from any part of the house; not an eye grew
moist; not an audible groan or sigh disturbed the air. Nothing
responded to his appeals but the echo of his own voice.

Never had the preacher delivered a discourse in which he felt so