The great frost commenced in the winter of that year; and with the many longing lingering thoughts which Daniel cast towards his home, a wish was mingled that he could see the frozen waterfall in Weathercote Cave. It was a remarkable era in Doncaster also, because the Organ was that year erected, at the cost of five hundred guineas, raised by voluntary subscription among the parishioners. Harris and Byfield were the builders, and it is still esteemed one of the best in the kingdom. When it was opened, the then curate, Mr. Fawkes, preached a sermon for the occasion, in which after having rhetorized in praise of sacred music, and touched upon the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer and all kinds of instruments, he turned to the organ and apostrophized it thus;—“But O what—O what—what shall I call _thee_ by? thou divine Box of sounds!” That right old worthy Francis Quarles of quaint memory,—and the more to be remembered for his quaintness,—knew how to _improve_ an organ somewhat better than Mr. Fawkes. His poem upon one is the first in his Divine Fancies, and whether he would have it ranked among Epigrams, Meditations, or Observations, perhaps he could not himself tell. The Reader may class it as he pleases. Observe this Organ: mark but how it goes! 'Tis not the hand alone of him that blows The unseen bellows, nor the hand that plays Upon the apparent note-dividing keys, That makes these well-composed airs appear Before the high tribunal of thine ear. They both concur; each acts his several part; The one gives it breath, the other lends it art. Man is this Organ; to whose every action Heaven gives a breath, (a breath without coaction,) Without which blast we cannot act at all; Without which Breath the Universe must fall To the first nothing it was made of—seeing In Him we live, we move, we have our being. Thus filled with His diviner breath, and back't With His first power, we touch the keys and act: He blows the bellows: as we thrive in skill, Our actions prove, like music, good or ill.