I went in, for the doors had just been opened, and a white-haired Sacristan was preparing the seats for matin service.

There were acolytes decorating the altar with fresh flowers, and early devotees on their knees before the shrine of the Madonna.

The gilded ornaments, the tapers winking in the morning light, the statues, the paintings, the faint clinging odors of incense, the hushed atmosphere, the devotional silence, the marble angels kneeling round the altar, all united to increase my dream of delight.

I gazed and gazed again; wandered round and round; and at last, worn out with excitement and fatigue, sank into a chair in a distant corner of the Church, and fell into a heavy sleep.

How long it lasted I know not; but the voices of the choristers and the deep tones of the organ mingled with my dreams.