about it was that it
was not modern music. There was a simplicity and a severity about it
which stamped it unmistakably as belonging to an age anterior even to
Bach or Handel: modern writers employ more ornamentation and are not so
restricted in their harmonies; modern art sanctions a greater liberty, a
less simplicity of method, and a less rigid conformity to rule.

The movement which most impressed me was the Credo.

There was a certainty of conviction in its opening phrases pointing to
a real earnestness of purpose. It was as if the composer's faith had
successfully withstood all the doubts, anxieties, and conflicts of life.
It was the song of the victorious Christian who saw before him the prize
for which he had long and steadfastly contended. _He believed_; he did
more than that; he actually _realised_. It was the joy, not of
anticipation, but of actual possession, the consciousness of the Divine
life dwelling in the heart, cramped and hindered by its surroundings,
but destined to develop in the light of clearer and fuller knowledge.

As the story of the Incarnation and Passion was told, there crept over
the listener feelings of mingled sadness and thanksgiving: sadness at
the life of suffering and pain endured "For us men and for our
salvation," and thanksgiving for the Gift so freely bestowed. And then
Heaven and Earth combined to tell the story of the Resurrection morning,
and the strains of thankfulness and praise increased until it seemed as
if the writer had at length passed from Earth to Heaven, and was face to
face with the joys of the "Life Everlasting" which all the resources of
his art were powerless fully to express.

The music ceased, and I awoke as from a dream.

"You need not tell me your opinion," said the Doctor; "your face shows
it most unmistakably; you can form only a very faint idea of its
beauties without the voice parts. When you hear our choir sing it you
will say it is the most powerful sermon you have ever heard within these
walls."

"Who is the composer?" I asked excitedly, my curiosity thoroughly
aroused.

"My dear fellow," replied Dr. F., "before telling its history, you must
see the proofs I have in my possession, for I shall have to relate one
of the most remarkable stories you have ever heard. So strange indeed
are the circumstances connected with that old Service that I have kept
them to myself, lest people should think me an eccentric musician. Our
late Dean knew part of t