At half-past one I got back to Amsterdam, and at two started in a curricle for Haarlem to hear and play on the wonderful organ. By bribing the driver, I went the three and a half Belgic leagues in a little more than an hour; and hastened to the house of the organist, Mr. Schumann, who luckily was at home, but who never plays under the regulated price of twelve florins. He first played me the Hallelujah Chorus, which had a tremendous effect; next, an imitation of the human voice, which was wonderful; and last, an extempore storm, in which I defy the strictest observer to distinguish the thunder from that of nature, and in which the rain, and the storm birds singing before the tempest, with the solemn echo of the church, had an effect on the feelings which surpassed any sermon that even Mr. Pitman, Mr. Penfold, or Dr. Andrews could have preached. I then ascended the loft, and inspected the gigantic instrument, which the sexton told me has 5,300 pipes; played on it, in my miserable way, for some time.