Going to St. Paul’s to morning service, on Sunday, the fourth of May, I entered the south transept, and for the first time beheld its interior. The effect of the immense vault of the dome, as it first struck my sight, was overpowering—the more so, because at that moment, a single burst of the organ, and the swell of an _Amen_ from the choir, where service was already begun, filled the dome with reverberations, that seemed to come upon me like thunder. I was so unprepared for anything impressive in St. Paul’s, that I felt a sort of recoil, and the blood flushed to my temples. I said to an American friend, who happened to be with me—“after all, ’tis indeed sublime!” I now went forward with highly excited expectations, and the voice of the clergyman intoning the prayers, within the choir, increased my anxiety to be, at once, upon my knees. I glanced at the monument of Howard, and entered beneath the screen. The congregation seemed immense. A verger led us quite up to the altar, and as he still found no place, conducted us out into the aisle, where I passed the kneeling statue of Bishop Heber, with a trembling emotion of love and admiration, and so was led about and put into a stall, (inscribed, “Weldland,” with the legend, _Exaudi Domine justitiam_,) where, kneeling down, I gave myself up to the solemn worship of God. And solemn worship it was! I never, before or since, heard any cathedral chaunting, whether in England or on the Continent, that could be compared to it for effect. The clergyman who intoned the Litany, knelt in the midst of the choir looking towards the altar. Even now I seem to be hearing his full, rich voice, sonorously and articulately, chaunting the suffrage—_by thy glorious Resurrection and Ascension_—to which organ and singers gave response—_Good Lord deliver us_—as with the voice of many waters. Then, as the next suffrage was continued, the throbbings and echoes of this organ-blast supplied a sort of under-current to its simple tone, at first pouring down from the dome like the floods of Niagara, and then dying off along the distant nave and aisles like mighty waves of the ocean. Tears gushed from my eyes, and my heart swelled to my throat, as this overwhelming worship was continued. It was all so entirely unexpected! Cold, cheerless, modern, all but Hanoverian St. Paul’s—who dreamed of such a worship here! Yet so it was; and I am sure, from subsequent experience, that it is capable of being made a most attractive cathedral, and a very useful one. Knock away that detestable screen, and put the organ in a better place; confine the choir to the clergy, and compel all the canons, singers and officials of every grade to be there; fit up the Altar end, and make it new with a pictured window, in keeping with the architecture and vastness of the place; subdue the light; set the pulpit at the head of the nave, and let the entire Church be filled with worshippers and