138 



§v. ^tv^tUH, 



Dr. Herschel, the celebrated astronomer, was originally brought up 

 to his father's profession, that of a musician, and accompanied a German 

 regiment to England as one of the band, performing on the Hautboy. 

 While acting in this humble capacity, in the north of England, a new 

 organ was built for the parish church of Halifax, by Snetzler, which Avas 

 opened with an oratorio by the well-known Jonah Bates, Jilr. Herschel 

 and six other persons became candidates for the organist's situation. A 

 day was fixed, on which they were to perform in rotation, when Mr. 

 Wainwright, of Manchester, played, his fingering was so rapid that old 

 Snetzler, the organ builder, ran about the church exclaiming, " He run 

 over the keys like one cat ; he will not give my pipes time to speak." 

 During Mr. Wainwright's performance, Dr. Miller, the friend of Herschel 

 inquired of him what chance he had of following him ? "I don't know " 

 said Herschel ; " but I am sure that fingering will not do." "When it 

 came to his turn Herschel ascended the organ loft and produced so im- 

 common a richness, such a volume of slow harmony, as astonished all 

 present, and after this extemporaneous effusion he finished with the Old 

 Hundreth Psalm, which he played better than his opponent. " Aye, aye, 

 cries old Snetzler, " tish is very good, very good indeed; I will luf 'tis 

 man, he gives my pipes time to speak." — Herschel being asked by what 

 means he produced so astonishing an effect replied, '• I told you fingers 

 would not do, and producing two pieces of lead from his waistcoat-pocket 

 said, " one of these I laid on the lowest key of the organ and the other I 

 put on the octave above and thus by accommodating the harmony I pro- 

 duced the effect of four hands instead ot two. This superiority of skill 

 obtained for Herschel the .situation, but he had higher objects in view, 

 which did not suffer him long to retain it. 



^t«rsi. 



Ye glorious orbs, that shine on high, 

 And stud the trackless realms of 



space ; — 

 O ! tell me hath your undim'd eye, 

 Gazed on the great Creator's face ? 



And do ye pave the golden floor, 

 Where saints in perfect glory meet 

 Or blaze upon the pearly door, 

 AVhere love is -written underneath ? 



