"Here's a nice state of things," said he, ruefully regarding his
surroundings. "If we don't have something done soon the whole organ will
fall to pieces; and I am so afraid, lest in re-modelling it, the tone of
these matchless diapasons will be affected. There is nothing like them
anywhere in England. We must have it done soon, however; I only hope we
may gain more than we lose."
It was indeed time something was done. The key-boards of the old organ
were yellow and uneven with age. They reminded one of steps hollowed by
the knees of pilgrims, they were so scooped out by the fingers of past
generations of organists. Its stops were of all shapes and sizes, and
their character was indicated by paper labels gummed underneath. It had
been built about the year 1670 by Renatus Harris and, although added to
on several occasions, the original work still remained. Being placed on
a screen between the nave and the choir, it occupied an unrivalled
position for sound.
After awhile Dr. F. succeeded in putting matters a little to rights and,
seated at the key-boards, proceeded to play upon the diapasons, the tone
of which he had so extolled. It would really be impossible to exaggerate
the solemnity, the richness, and the indescribable sadness of the sounds
which proceeded from them; one never hears anything like it in modern
organs.
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