Those among the congregation who abjured these picturesque costumes and went in for modern fashion, wore—like the gentle folk—black; and I found to my astonishment that black was also de rigueur for Confirmation and the Holy Communion. The clergyman, a tall, kindly-looking old man, wore a long black gown and a wide box-pleated ruff. There was an ebony and silver crucifix upon the altar, which had lighted waxen tapers burning upon it. The musical part of the service was led by a full brass band; and, to complete my surprise, I found it was against rule to kneel at any time; one either sat or stood.
All this seemed so utterly at variance with recognised ideas in England upon the same subject, that I am afraid I did not much profit by my first church-going in the Fatherland. Still, it was an interesting experience, and when time had familiarised me more with both the language and the customs, I found a great deal that I could honestly admire, though I never ceased to prefer our own bright and beautiful Liturgy to the somewhat ponderous nature of worship in the Fatherland.
“NO.”
By MARY E. HULLAH.
“AN EMPTY CAB CAME RATTLING ROUND THE CORNER.”
CHAPTER III.
The wind blew fiercer than ever as Embrance turned out of the broad avenue into a side path, and found herself face to face with Horace Meade.
“Good afternoon, Miss Clemon.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Meade.”