The day seemed to be growing darker and darker, although it was only somewhere between three and four o’clock.  We descended quickly to see the church, where I found Charles (the valet) and several other spectators.  We passed through a small sacristy or vestry, in the way to it.  This room was fitted up with several small confessionals, of the prettiest forms and workmanship imaginable:  having, in front, two twisted and slender columns, of an ebony tint:  the whole—­exceedingly inviting to confession.  Here the Dean met us; a grave, sober, sensible man, with whom I conversed in Latin.  We entered the church, on the tip-toe of expectation:  nor were we disappointed.  It is at once spacious and magnificent; but a little too profuse in architectural ornament.  It consists of a nave and transepts, surmounted by a dome, with a choir of very limited dimensions.  The choir is adorned, on each side, just above the several stalls, by an exceedingly rich architrave, running the whole length, in a mixed roman and gothic style.  The altar, as usual, is a falling off.  The transepts are too short, and the dome is too small.  The nave is a sort of elongated parallelogram.  It is adorned on each side by pillars of the Corinthian order, and terminated by an Organ ... of the most gorgeous and imposing appearance.  The pipes have completely the appearance of polished silver, and the wood work is painted white, richly relieved by gold.  For size and splendor united, I had never seen any thing like it.  The whole was perfectly magical.

On entering, the Dean, M. Klein, and three or four more Benedictins, made slight prostrations on one knee, before the altar; and, just as they rose, to our astonishment and admiration, the organ burst forth with a power of intonation (every stop being opened) such as I had never heard exceeded.  As there were only a few present, the sounds were necessarily increased, by being reverberated from every part of the building:  and for a moment it seemed as if the very dome would have been unroofed, and the sides burst asunder.  We looked up; then at each other:  lost in surprise, delight, and admiration.  We could not hear a word that was spoken; when, in some few succeeding seconds, the diapason stop only was opened ... and how sweet and touching was the melody which it imparted!  “Oh Dieu! (exclaimed our valet) que cela est ravissant, et meme penetrant.”  This was true enough.  A solemn stave or two of a hymn (during which a few other pipes were opened) was then performed by the organist ... and the effect was, as if these notes had been chanted by an invisible choir of angels.  The darkness of the heavens added much to the solemnity of the whole.  Silence ensuing, we were asked how we liked the church, the organ, and the organist?  Of course there could be but one answer to make.  The pulpit—­situated at an angle where the choir and transept meet, and opposite to the place where we entered—­was constructed of the black marble of Austria, ornamented with gold:  the whole in sober good taste, and admirably appropriate.