uded from the choir, and
forbidden even to play the organ in their own parish church.

The chanting ceased; the Reader sat down. Then the Choir began. They
sang a hymn--a Hebrew hymn--the rhythm and metre were not English; the
music was like nothing that can be heard in a Christian Church. "It is
the music," said Nelly, "to which the Israelites crossed the Red Sea:" a
bold statement, but--why not? If the music is not of Western origin and
character, who can disprove such an assertion? After the hymn the
prayers and reading went on again.

There came at last--it is a long service, such as we poor weak-kneed
Anglicans could not endure--the end. There was a great bustle and
ceremony on the platform; they rolled up the Roll of the Law; they
wrapped it in a purple velvet cloth; they hung over it a silver
breastplate set with twelve jewels for the Twelve Tribes--in memory of
the Urim and Thummim. Francesca saw that the upper ends of the staves
were adorned with silver pomegranates and with silver bells, and they
placed it in the arms of one of those who had been reading the law; then
a procession was formed, and they walked, while the Choir sang one of
the Psalms of David--but not in the least like the same Psalm sung in
an English Cathedral--bearing the Roll of the Law to the Ark, that is to
say, to the cupboard, behind the railing and inclosure at the east end.

The Reader came back. Then with another chanted Prayer--it sounded like
a prolonged shout of continued Triumph--he ended his part of
the service.

And then the choir sang the last hymn--a lovely hymn, not in the least
like a Christian, or at least an English hymn--a psalm that breathed a
tranquil hope and a perfect faith. One needed no words to understand the
full meaning and beauty and depth of that hymn.

The service was finished. The men took off their white scarfs and folded
them up. They stood and talked in groups for a few minutes, gradually
melting away. As for the men under the gallery, who had been whispering
and laughing, they trooped out of the synagogue all together. Evidently,
to them the service was only a form. What is it, in any religion, but a
form, to the baser sort?

The Beadle put out the lights. Nelly led the way down the stairs.
Thinking of what the service had suggested to herself--- all those
wonderful things above enumerated--Francesca wondered what it meant to a
girl who heard it every Sabbath morning. But she refrained from asking.