pon the salient points of the Gothic arches;
upon one molded pillar; upon the marble image of the virgin Thecla; and
on the scarcely less marble countenance of Sybil who stood behind the
altar, silent, statue-like, immovable. The effect of light and shade on
other parts of the scene, upon the wild drapery, and harsh lineaments of
many of the group, was also eminently striking.

Just as the priest was about to commence the marriage service, a yelling
chorus, which the gipsies were accustomed to sing at the celebration of
the nuptials of one of their own tribe, burst forth. Nothing could be
more horribly discordant than their song.

WEDDING CHORUS OF GIPSIES

Scrape the catgut! pass the liquor!
Let your quick feet move the quicker.
Ta-ra-la!

Dance and sing in jolly chorus,
Bride and bridegroom are before us,
And the patrico stands o'er us.
Ta-ra-la!

To unite their hands he's ready;
For a moment, pals, be steady;
Cease your quaffing,
Dancing, laughing;
Leave off riot,
And be quiet,
While 'tis doing.
'Tis begun,
All is over!
Two are ONE!
The patrico has link'd 'em;
Daddy Hymen's torch has blink'd 'em.
Amen!
To 't again!
Now for quaffing,
Now for laughing,
Stocking-throwing,
Liquor flowing;
For our bridals are no bridles, and our altars never alter;
From the flagon never flinch we, in the jig we never falter.
No! that's not _our_ way, for _we_
Are staunch lads of Romany.
For our wedding, then, hurrah!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

This uncouth chorus ended, the marriage proceeded. Sybil had
disappeared. Had she fled? No! she was by the bride. Eleanor
mechanically took her place. A faint voice syllabled the responses. You
could scarcely have seen Miss Mowbray's lips move. But the answers were
given, and the priest was satisfied.

He took the ring, and sprinkled it once again with the holy water, in
the form of the cross. He pronounced the prayer: "_Benedic, Domine