Look at me! Yet they call me clever. Clara gives me the new
fashions and I copy them, and the girls in our street copy me--poor
things!--and the dressmaker comes to talk things over and to learn from
me. I make everything for myself. And they call me clever! But I can't
get near it; and if I can't nobody can."...

A large detached structure of red brick stood east and west, with a flat
facade and round windows that bore out the truth of the
date--1700--carved upon the front. A word or two in that square
character--that tongue which presents so few attractions to most of us
compared with other tongues--probably corroborated the internal evidence
of the facade and the windows.

"This is the synagogue," said Nelly. She entered, and turning to the
right, led the way up-stairs to a gallery running along the whole side
of the building. On the other side was another gallery. In front of both
was a tolerably wide grill, through which the congregation below could
be seen perfectly.

"This is the women's gallery," whispered Nell--there were not many women
present. "We'll sit in the front. Presently they will sing. They sing
beautifully. Now they're reading prayers and the Law. They've got to
read the whole Law through once a week, you know." Francesca looked
curiously through the grill. When one is in a perfectly strange place,
the first observations made are of small and unimportant things. She
observed that there was a circular inclosure at the east end, as if for
an altar; but there was no altar: two doors indicated a cupboard in the
wall. There were six tall wax-lights burning round the inclosure,
although the morning was fine and bright. At the west end a high screen
kept the congregation from the disturbance of those who entered or went
out. Within the screen was a company of men and boys, all with their
hats and caps on their heads; they looked like the choir. In front of
the choir was a platform railed round. Three chairs were placed at the
back of the platform. There was a table covered with red velvet, on
which lay the book of the Law, a ponderous roll of parchment provided
with silver staves or handles. Before this desk or table stood the
Reader. He was a tall and handsome man, with black hair and full black
beard, about forty years of age. He wore a gown and large Geneva bands,
like a Presbyterian minister; on his head he had a kind of biretta. Four
tall wax candles were placed round the front of the platform. The