The spacious and beautiful church recently completed on New York avenue and Dean street contained a large audience last evening, and the circles of light overhead brought out admirably the sweeping lines of construction, the four huge arches resting on heavy columns, the warm tinted walls, the square dome pierced with windows, the pulpit stage bushy with palms, the exquisite triple window at the back and a stack of golden pipes filling the large alcove at the left of the platform. These pipes were only the front ranks in a forest of tubes, 3,917 of them altogether, that compose the new organ of the church, and the audience had assembled to hear it speak. A programme of thirteen numbers, three of them vocal, was presented, and it met with manifest approval, although the public was laid under an injunction not to applaud anything. The opening piece, Rheinberger's pastoral sonata, was played by Carl G. Schmidt, organist of the church. Though a work of little artistic value, he made it a sufficing medium for exhibiting the power of the instrument, and Samuel P. Warren who presided at the keyboard for the rest of the evening, seemed also to delight in strength of tone. The best organs roar and screech a good deal when all the stops are out and they are heard to best advantage only in soft and mezzo forte passages that allow the disclosure of orchestral coloring. The new instrument has a diapason of great volume; the grand organ is heavy and large in tone; the swell and choir varied and expressive; the mechanism prompt and pliant.
     Externally the organ is not so much to look at as many of less power, for most of it is concealed in the alcove. It is regarded by musicians, however, as an exceptionally perfect instrument, the power and range of its stops so largely making up for their comparative lack in number that it is said to be nearly equal to the one in Sydney, N.S.W., a bellowing monster of 126 stops—more than twice as many as this one has. The choir organ as well as the swell is inclosed [sic] in a box, and the pedal range, including a crescendo effect that can be employed automatically, is unusually ample, a 32 foot pipe giving its gravest note. The stops act with unusual celerity, as their motion is assisted by compressed air, and combinations are quickly made with the push of a piston knob. Four bellows, pumped by a gas engine, furnish wind and plenty of it, for the loudest fortissimo did not produce any wavering or failing in the tone.