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great and, we may almost say heart-rending, calamity had 
1 just befallen the beautiful and neighbouring Abbey at Selby, 
a gem of Norman and Mediaeval craftsmanship, ruthlessly 
destroyed by fire caused during the erection of a New Organ. 
The story is too vivid in our minds, and any repetition is 
therefore unnecessary. 
We are here to-day to consider for awhile the various details in 
connection with the building of the Monastery and the growth of 
the town around it. 
Many of us no doubt were anxious to see the devastation wrought 
by the great conflagration, and those who were not familiar with the 
town would be struck by the flatness of the surrounding country. 
From either the north or south bank of the river Ouse, Selby Abbey, 
with its massive square Norman tower and long line of Nave and 
Choir, is a conspicuous object on the low lying landscape. But 
as the traveller draws nearer the town, he perceives that he is 
in sight of a place where the quaint, antique, and modern are 
mingled together—old and timeworn, here and there picturesque, 
and sometimes ugly. The somewhat low tower of the Abbey 
Church, a rather massive structure as we now see it, is hardly 
more conspicuous than one or two modern Church spires, a tall 
chimney emitting a volume of black smoke ; the tall signal masts 
at the bridges, and the high buildings of the 20th century flour 
mills. Like many another Yorkshire town, Selby is a blending of 
the old and new; a place where echoes of the past sound in unison 
with the present. 
About all our great churches there is a strange sense of 
dominant power—it is as if each stood in the midst of its own 
particular town or city, like some guardian angel. Selby Abbey, 
in particular, gives one this impression, for wherever one goes in 
Selby, whether along the narrow quaintily built alleys and streets 
