of the place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by
time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb,
round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national
emblem--the thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to rest
myself at the monument, revolving in my mind the chequered and disastrous
story of poor Mary....

Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst upon the ear, falling
with doubled and redoubled intensity, and rolling, as it were, huge
billows of sound. How well do their volume and grandeur accord with this
mighty building! With what pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and
breathe their awful harmony through these caves of death, and make the
silent sepulcher vocal! And now they rise in triumph and acclamation,
heaving higher and higher their accordant notes, and piling sound on
sound. And now they pause, and the soft voices of the choir break out into
sweet gushes of melody; they soar aloft, and warble along the roof, and
seem to play about these lofty vaults like the pure airs of heaven. Again
the pealing organ heaves its thrilling thunders, compressing air into
music, and rolling it forth upon the soul. What long-drawn cadences! What
solemn, sweeping concords! It grows more and more dense and powerful--it
fills the vast pile, and seems to jar the very walls--the ear is
stunned--the senses are overwhelmed. And now it is winding up in full
jubilee--it is rising from the earth to heaven--the very soul seems rapt
away and floated upward on this swelling tide of harmony!...

I rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I descended the flight of steps
which lead into the body of the building, my eye was caught by the shrine
of Edward the Confessor, and I ascended the small staircase that conducts
to it, to take from thence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs.
The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform, and close around it are