Tom Seymour’s arrival from school.--Description of Overton Lodge.--The Horologe of Flora.--A geological temple.--A sketch of the person and character of the Reverend Peter Twaddleton.--Mr. Seymour engages to furnish his son with any toy, the philosophy of which he is able to explain.--Mr. Twaddleton’s arrival and reception.--His remonstrances against the diffusion of science amongst the village mechanics.--A dialogue between Mr. Seymour and the vicar, which some will dislike, many approve of, and all laugh at.--The plan of teaching philosophy by the aid of toys developed and discussed.--Mr. Twaddleton’s objections answered.--He relents, and engages to furnish an antiquarian history of the various toys and sports.

The summer recess of Mr. Pearson’s school was not more anxiously anticipated by the scholars than it was by the numerous family of Seymour, who, at the commencement of the year, had parted from a beloved son and brother for the first time. As the season of relaxation approached, so did the inmates of Overton Lodge (for such was the name of Mr. Seymour’s seat) betray increasing impatience for its arrival. The three elder sisters, Louisa, Fanny, and Rosa, had been engaged for several days in arranging the little study which their brother Tom had usually occupied. His books were carefully replaced on their shelves, and bunches of roses and jasmines, which the affectionate girls had culled from the finest trees in the garden, were tastefully dispersed through the apartment; the festoons of blue ribbons, with which they were entwined, at once announced themselves as the work of graceful hands, impelled by light hearts; and every flower might be said to reflect from its glowing petals the smiles with which it had been collected and arranged. At length the happy day arrived; a post-chaise drew up to the front gate, and Tom was once again folded in the arms of his affectionate and delighted parents. The little group surrounded their beloved brother, and welcomed his return with all the warmth and artlessness of juvenile sincerity. “Well,” said Mr. Seymour, “if the improvement of your mind corresponds with that of your looks, I shall indeed have reason to congratulate myself upon the choice of your school. But have you brought me any letter from Mr. Pearson?” “I have,” replied Tom, who presented his father with a note from his master, in which he had commented, in high terms of commendation, not only upon Tom’s general conduct, but upon the rapid progress which he had made in his classical studies.

“My dearest boy,” exclaimed the delighted father, “I am more than repaid for the many anxious moments which I have passed on your account. I find that your conduct has given the highest satisfaction to your master; and that your good-nature, generosity, and, above all, your strict adherence to truth, have ensured the love and esteem of your school-fellows.” This gratifying report brought tears of joy into the eyes of Mrs. Seymour; Tom’s cheek glowed with the feeling of conscious merit; and the sisters interchanged looks of mutual satisfaction. Can there be an incentive to industry and virtuous conduct so powerful as the exhilarating smiles of approbation which the school-boy receives from an affectionate parent? Tom would not have exchanged his feelings for all the world, and he internally vowed that he would never deviate from a course that had been productive of so much happiness.

“But come,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “let us all retire into the library. I am sure that our dear fellow will be glad of some refreshment after his journey.”

We shall here leave the family circle to the undisturbed enjoyment of their domestic banquet, and invite the reader to accompany us in a stroll about the grounds of this beautiful and secluded retreat.

We are amongst those who believe that the habits and character of a family may be as easily discovered from the rural taste displayed in the grounds which surround their habitation, as by any examination of the prominences on their heads, or of the lineaments in their faces. How vividly is the decline of an ancient race depicted by the chilling desolation which reigns around the mansion, and by the rank weed which insolently triumphs over its fading splendour; and how equally expressive of the peaceful and contented industry of the thriving cottager, is the well cultivated patch which adjoins the humble dwelling, around whose rustic porch the luxuriant lilac clusters, or the aspiring woodbine twines its green tendrils and sweetly-scented blossoms! In like manner did the elegantly disposed grounds of Overton Lodge at once announce the classic taste and fostering presence of a refined and highly cultivated family.

The house, which was in the Ionic style of architecture, was situated on the declivity of a hill, so that the verdant lawn which was spread before its southern front, after retaining its level for a short distance, gently sloped to the vale beneath, and was terminated by a luxuriant shrubbery, over which the eye commanded a range of fair enclosure, beautified by an irregularly undulating surface, and interspersed with rich masses of wood. The uniformity of the lawn was broken by occasional clumps of flowering shrubs, so artfully selected and arranged, as to afford all the varied charms of contrast; while, here and there, a lofty elm flung its gigantic arms over the sward beneath, and cast a deep shade, which enabled the inhabitants of the Lodge to enjoy the air, even during the heat of a meridian sun. The shrubbery, which occupied a considerable portion of the valley, stretched for some distance up the western part of the hill; and, could Shenstone have wandered through its winding paths and deep recesses, his favourite Leasowes might have suffered from a comparison. Here were mingled shrubs of every varied dye; the elegant foliage of white and scarlet acacias was blended with the dark-green-leaved chestnut; and the stately branches of the oak were relieved by the gracefully pendulous boughs of the beech. At irregular intervals, the paths expanded into verdant glades, in each of which the bust of some departed poet or philosopher announced the genius to which they were severally consecrated. From a description of one or two of these sequestered spots, the reader will readily conceive the taste displayed in those upon which our limits will not allow us to dwell.

After winding, for some distance, through a path so closely interwoven with shrubs and trees, that scarcely a sunbeam could struggle through the foliage, a gleam of light burst through the gloom, and displayed a beautiful marble figure, which had been executed by a Roman artist, representing Flora in the act of being attired by Spring. It was placed in the centre of the expanse formed by the retiring trees, and at its base were flowering, at measured intervals, a variety of those plants to which LinnÆus has given the name of Equinoctial flowers, since they open and close at certain and exact hours of the day, and thus by proper arrangement constitute the Horologe of Flora,(1)^[2] or Nature’s time-piece. It had been constructed, under the direction of her mother, by Louisa Seymour. The hour of the day at which each plant opened, was represented by an appropriate figure of nicely trimmed box; and these, being arranged in a circle, not only fulfilled the duty, but exhibited the appearance of a dial.

From this retreat several winding paths threaded their mazy way through the deep recesses of the wood; and the wanderer, quitting for a while the blaze of day, was refreshed by the subdued light which everywhere pervaded the avenue, except where the hand of taste had, here and there, turned aside the boughs, and opened a vista to bring the village spire into view, or to gladden the sight by a rich prospect of the distant landscape. After having descended for some way, the path, losing its inclined direction, proceeded on a level, and thus announced to the stranger his arrival at the bottom of the valley. What a rich display of woodland scenery was suddenly presented to his view! A rocky glen, in which large masses of sandstone were grouped with picturesque boldness, terminated the path, and formed an area wherein he might gaze on the mighty sylvan amphitheatre, which gradually rose to a towering height above him, and seemed to interpose an insuperable barrier between the solitude of this sequestered spot and the busy haunts of men; not a sound assailed the ear, save the murmur of the summer breeze, as it swept the trembling foliage, or the brawling of a small mountain stream, which gushed from the rock, and, like an angry chit, fretted and fumed as it encountered the obstacles that had been raised by its own impetuosity. This was the favourite retreat of Mr. Seymour, and he had dedicated it to the genius of geology; here had he erected a temple to the memory of Werner, and every pillar and ornament bore testimony to the refined taste of its architect. It consisted of a dome, constructed of innumerable shells and corallines, and surmounted by a marble figure of Atlas, bearing the globe on his shoulders, upon which the name of Werner was inscribed. The dome was supported by twelve pillars of so singular and beautiful a construction as to merit a particular description: the Corinthian capital of each was of Pentelican marble; the column consisted of a spiral of about six inches in breadth, which wound round a central shaft of not more than two inches in diameter; upon this spiral were placed specimens of various rocks, of such masses as to fill up the outline, and to present to the eye the appearance of a substantial and well-proportioned pillar. These specimens were arranged in an order corresponding with their acknowledged geological relations; thus, the Diluvial productions occupied the higher compartments; the Primitive strata, the lower ones; and the Secondary and Transition series found an intermediate place. The tessellated floor presented the different varieties of marble, so artfully interspersed as to afford a most harmonious combination; the Unicoloured, variegated, Madreporic, the Lumachella, Cipolino, and Breccia marbles, were each represented by a characteristic and well-defined specimen. The alcoved ceiling was studded with Rock Crystal, calcareous Stalactites, and beautiful Calcedonies. A group of figures in basso relievo adorned the wall which enclosed about a third part of the interior of the temple, and its subject gave evidence of the Wernerian devotion of Mr. Seymour; for it represented a contest between Pluto and Neptune, in which the watery god was seen in the act of wresting the burning torch from the hand of his adversary, in order to quench it in the ocean. Mr. Seymour had studied in the school of Freyburg, under the auspices of its celebrated professor; and, like all the pupils of Werner, he pertinaciously maintained the aqueous origin of our strata. But let us return to the happy party at the Lodge, whom the reader will remember we left at their repast. This having been concluded, and all those various subjects discussed, and questions answered, which the school-boy, who has ever felt the satisfaction of returning home for the holidays, will more easily conceive than we can describe, Tom enquired of his father, whether his old friend, Mr. Twaddleton, the Vicar of Overton, was well, and at the Parsonage. “He is quite well,” replied Mr. Seymour, “and so anxious to see you, that he has paid several visits, during the morning, to enquire whether you had arrived. Depend upon it, that many hours will not elapse before you see him.”

In that wish did Tom and the whole juvenile party heartily concur; for the vicar, notwithstanding his oddities, was the most affectionate creature in existence, and never was he more truly happy than when contributing to the innocent amusement of his little “playmates,” as he used to call Tom and his sisters.

It may be here necessary to present the reader with a short sketch of the character of a person, who will be hereafter found to perform a prominent part in the little drama of Overton Lodge.

The Rev. Peter Twaddleton, Master of Arts, and Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, for we must introduce him in due form, was about fifty-two years of age, twenty of which he had spent at Cambridge, as a resident Fellow of Jesus College. He had not possessed the vicarage of Overton above eight or nine years; and, although its value never exceeded a hundred and eighty pounds a year, so limited were his wants, and so frugal his habits, that he generally contrived to save a considerable sum out of his income, in order that he might devote it to purposes of charity and benevolence: his charity, however, was not merely of the hand, but of the heart; distress was unknown in his village; he fed the hungry, nursed the sick, and cheered the unfortunate; his long collegiate residence had imparted to his mind several peculiar traits, and a certain stiffness of address and quaintness of manner which at once distinguish the recluse from the man of the world; in short, as Shakspeare expresses it, “he was not hackneyed in the ways of men.” His face was certainly the very reverse to everything that could be considered “good-looking,” and yet, when he smiled, there was an animation that redeemed the irregularity of his angular features; so benevolent was the expression of his countenance, that it was impossible not to feel that sentiment of respect and admiration which the presence of a superior person is wont to inspire; but his superiority was rather that of the heart than of the head; not that we would insinuate any deficiency in intellect, but that his moral excellencies were so transcendent as to throw into the shade all those mental qualities which he possessed in common with the world. He entertained a singular aversion to the mathematics, a prejudice which we are inclined to refer to his disappointment in the senate-house; for, although he was known at Cambridge as one of those “pale beings in spectacles and cotton stockings,” commonly called “reading men,” yet, after all his exertions, he only succeeded in obtaining the “wooden spoon,” an honour which devolves upon the last of the “junior optimes.” Whether his failure arose from an exuberant or a deficient genius, or, to speak phrenologically, from an excess in his number of bumps, or a defect in his bump of numbers, we are really unable to state, never having had an opportunity of verifying our suspicions by a manual examination of his cranium; he was, however, well read in the classics, and so devoted to the works of Virgil that he never lost an opportunity of quoting his favourite poet; and it must be admitted, that, although these quotations so generally pervaded his conversation as to become irksome, they were sometimes apposite, and now and then even witty. But notwithstanding the delight which he experienced in a lusus verborum in a learned language, of such contradictory materials was he compossed, that his antipathy to an English pun was extravagant and ridiculous. This peculiarity has been attributed, but we speak merely from common report, to a disgust which he contracted for that species of spurious wit, during his frequent intercourse with the Johnians, a race of students who have, from time immemorial, been identified with the most profligate class of punsters; be this, however, as it may, we are inclined to believe that a person who resides much amongst those who are addicted to this vice, unless he quickly takes the infection, acquires a sort of constitutional insusceptibility, like nurses, who pass their lives in infected apartments with perfect safety and impunity. His favourite, and we might add his only pursuit, beyond the circle of his profession, was the study of antiquities; he was, as we have already stated, a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries; had collected a very tolerable series of ancient coins, and possessed sufficient critical acumen to distinguish between Attic Ærugo, and the spurious verdure of the modern counterfeit. Often had he undertaken an expedition of a hundred miles to inspect the interior of an ancient barrow, or to examine the mouldering fragments of some newly-discovered monument; indeed, like the connoisseur in cheese, blue-mould and decay were the favourite objects of his taste, and the sure passports to his favour; for he despised all living testimony, but that of worms and maggots. A coin with the head of a living sovereign passed through his hands with as little resistance as water through a sieve, but he grasped the head of an Antonine or Otho with insatiable and relentless avarice. Mr. Twaddleton’s figure exceeded the middle stature, and was so extremely slender as to give him the air and appearance of a tall man. He was usually dressed in an old-fashioned suit of black cloth, consisting of a single-breasted coat, with a standing collar, and deep comprehensive cuffs, and a flapped waistcoat; but so awkwardly did these vestments conform with the contour of his person, that we might have supposed them the production of those Laputan tailors who wrought by mathematical principles, and held in sovereign contempt the illiterate fashioners who deemed it necessary to measure the forms of their customers; although it was whispered by certain censorious spinsters in the village that the aforesaid mathematical artists were better acquainted with the angles of the Seven Dials, than with the squares of the west end. They farther surmised that the vicar’s annual journey to London, which in truth was undertaken with no other objects than those of attending the anniversary of the Society of Antiquaries, on Saint George’s day, and of inspecting the cabinets of his old crony, the celebrated medallist of Tavistock-street, was for the laudable purpose of recruiting his wardrobe. If the aforesaid coat, with its straggling and disproportioned suburbs, possessed an amplitude of dimensions which ill accorded with the slender wants of his person, this misapplied liberality was more than compensated by the rigid economy exhibited in the nether part of his costume, which evidently had not been designed by a contemporary artisan; not so his shoes, which, for the accommodation of those unwelcome parasites, vulgarly called corns, were constructed in the form of a battledore, and displayed such an unbecoming quantity of leather, that, as Ned Hopkins, a subaltern wit of the village alehouse, observed, “however economical their parson might appear, he was undoubtedly supported in extravagance.” Nor did the natural association between tithes and “corn-bags” escape his observation, but was repeated with various other allusions of equal piquancy, to the no small annoyance of the reverend gentleman, and, as he declared, to the disparagement of his cloth.

After the social repast had been concluded, Tom proposed a ramble through the shrubbery. He was anxious to revisit the scene of his former sports; and Louisa readily met his wishes, for she was also desirous of showing him the botanical clock, which had been planned and completed since his absence. Mr. Seymour accompanied his children, and, as they walked across the lawn, Tom asked his father whether he remembered the promise he had made him on quitting home for school, that of furnishing him with some new amusements during the holidays.

“I perfectly remember,” said his father, “the promise to which you allude, and I hope that you equally well recollect the conditions with which it was coupled. When your mamma gave you a copy of Mrs. Marcet’s instructive Dialogues on Natural Philosophy, I told you that, after you had studied the principles which that work so admirably explains, you would have but little difficulty in understanding the philosophy of toys, or the manner in which each produced its amusing effects; and that, when the midsummer holidays commenced, I would successively supply you with a new amusement, whenever you could satisfactorily explain the principles of those you already possessed. Was not that our contract?”

“It was,” exclaimed Tom, with great eagerness, “and I am sure I shall win the prize, whenever you will try me, and I hope my mamma and sisters will be present.”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Seymour, “and I trust that Louisa and Fanny, who are of an age to understand the subject, will not prove uninterested spectators. John, too, will profit by our scheme; for, as I shall necessarily require, for illustration, certain toys which can scarcely afford any amusement to a boy of your age and acquirements, it is but fair that they should be transferred into his hands; our little philosopher, Matthew, will also, I am sure, enter into the spirit of our pastimes with the greatest satisfaction.”

“Thank you! thank you! dear papa,” was simultaneously shouted by several voices, and the happy children looked forward to the morrow with that mixed sensation of impatience and delight which always attends juvenile anticipations.

On the following morning, the vicar was seen approaching, and Tom and his sisters immediately ran forward to greet him.

“My dear boy,” exclaimed the vicar, “I am truly rejoiced to see you;--when did you arrive from school?--How goes on Virgil?--Hey, my boy?--You must be delighted with the great Mantuan bard;--now confess, you little Trojan, can you eat a cheesecake without being reminded of the Harpy’s prophecy, and its fulfilment, as discovered by young Ascanius:--

“But, bless me, how amazingly you have grown! and how healthy you look!” Tom took advantage of this pause in the vicar’s address, which had hitherto flowed in so uninterrupted and rapid a stream as to preclude the possibility of any reply to his questions, to inform him that his father was on the lawn, and desirous of seeing him.

“Mr. Twaddleton,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “you are just in time to witness the commencement of a series of amusements, which I have proposed for Tom’s instruction during the holidays.”

“Amusement and instruction,” replied the vicar, “are not synonymous in my vocabulary; unless, indeed, they be applied to the glorious works of Virgil; but let me hear your scheme.”

“I have long thought,” said Mr. Seymour, “that all the first principles of natural philosophy might be easily taught, and beautifully illustrated, by the common toys which have been invented for the amusement of youth.”

“A fig for your philosophy,” was the unceremonious and chilling reply of the vicar. “What have boys,” continued he, “to do with philosophy? Let them learn their grammar, scan their hexameters, and construe Virgil; it is time enough to inflict upon them the torments of science after their names have been entered on the University boards.”

“I differ from you entirely, my worthy friend; the principles of natural philosophy cannot be too early inculcated, nor can they be too widely diffused. It is surely a great object to engage the prepossessions on the side of truth, and to direct the natural curiosity of youth to useful objects.”

“Hoity toity!” exclaimed the reverend gentleman, “such principles accord not with my creed; heresy, downright heresy; that a man of your excellent sense and intelligence can be so far deceived! But the world has run mad; and much do I grieve to find, that the seclusion of Overton Lodge has not secured its inmates from the infection. I came here, Mr. Seymour, to receive your sympathy, and to profit by your counsel, but, alas! alas! I have fallen into the camp of the enemy. ‘Medios delapsus in hostes,’ as Virgil has it.”

“You astonish me--what can have happened?” asked Mr. Seymour.

“There is Tom Plank, the carpenter,” said the vicar, “soliciting subscriptions for the establishment of a philosophical society. I understand that this mania--for by what other, or more charitable term can I express such conduct?--has seized this deluded man since his return from London, where he has been informed that all the ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ are about to associate themselves into societies for the promotion of science. Preposterous idea! as if a block of wood could not be split without a knowledge of the doctrine of percussion, nor a pail of water drawn from the well without an acquaintance with hydrostatics; but, as I am a Christian priest, I solemnly declare, that I grieve only for my flock, and raise my feeble voice for no other purpose than that of scaring the wolf from the fold: to be angry, as Pope says, would be to revenge the faults of others upon ourselves; but I am not angry, Mr. Seymour, I am vexed, sorely vexed.”

“Take it not thus to heart, my dear vicar,” replied his consoling friend; “‘Solve metus,’ as your poet has it. Science, I admit, is both the Pallas and Pandora of mankind; its abuse may certainly prove mischievous, but its sober and well-timed application cannot fail to increase the happiness of every class of mankind, as well as to advance and improve every branch of the mechanical arts; so thoroughly am I satisfied upon this point, that I shall subscribe to the proposed society with infinite satisfaction.”

“Mr. Seymour! Mr. Seymour! you know not what you do. Would you scatter the seeds of insubordination? manure the weeds of infidelity? fabricate a battering-ram to demolish our holy church? Such, indeed, must be the effect of your Utopian scheme, for truly may I exclaim with the immortal Maro--

“Come, come, my good friend, all this is declamation without argument.”

“Without argument! Many are the sad instances which I could adduce in proof of the evil effects which have already accrued from this abominable system. I am not in the habit, Sir, of dealing in empty assertion; already has the aforesaid Tom Plank ventured to question the classical knowledge of his spiritual pastor, and, as I understand, has openly avowed himself, at the sixpenny club, as my rival in antiquarian pursuits.”

“And why should he not?” said the mischievous Mr. Seymour; “I warrant you he already possesses many an old saw; ay, and of a very great age, too, if we may judge from the loss of its teeth.”

During this remonstrance, Mr. Twaddleton had been occupied in whirling round his steel watch-chain with inconceivable rapidity, and, after a short pause, he burst out into the following exclamation:--

“Worthy Sir! if you persist in asserting, that a man whose occupation is to plane deal, is prepared to dive into the sacred mysteries of antiquity, I shall next expect to hear that”--

“A truce, a truce,” cried Mr. Seymour, interrupting the vicar, “to all such hackneyed objections; and let us deal plainly with your planer of deals: you assert that the carpenter cannot speak grammatically, and yet he gains his livelihood by mending stiles; you complain of his presumption in argument, would it not be a desertion of his post to decline railing? and then, again, with respect to his antiquarian pretensions, compare them with your own; you rescue saws from the dust, he obtains dust from his saws.”

“What madness has seized my unfortunate friend?

as Virgil has it:--But let it pass, let it pass, Mr. Seymour; my profession has taught me to bear with humility and patience the contempt and revilings of my brethren; I forgive Tom Plank for his presumption, as in that case I alone am the sufferer; but I say to you, that envy, trouble, discontent, strife, and poverty, will be the fruits of the seeds you would scatter. I verily believe, that unless this ‘march of intellect,’ as it has been termed, is speedily checked, Overton, in less than twelve months, will become a deserted village; for there is scarcely a tradesman who is not already distracted by some visionary scheme of scientific improvement, that leads to the neglect of their occupations, and the dissipation of the honest earnings which their more prudent fathers had accumulated; ‘Meliora pii docuere parentes,’ as the poet has it. What think you of Sam Corkington, who proposes to erect an apparatus in the crater of Mount Vesuvius, in order to supply every city on the continent with heat and light; or of Billy Spooner, who is about to establish a dairy at Spitzbergen, that he may furnish all Europe with ice-cream from the milk of whales! ‘O, viveret Democritus!’”

The vicar was about to proceed with his lamentations, but the thread of his discourse was suddenly snapped asunder, and his ideas thrown into the wildest confusion, by the explosion of a most audacious pun, which in mercy to Mr. Seymour, as well as to our readers, we will not repeat.

“Mr. Seymour,” exclaimed the incensed vicar, “we will, if you please, terminate our discourse; I perceive that you are determined to meet my remonstrances with ridicule; when I had hoped to bring an argument incapable of refutation, Tum variÆ illudunt pestes, as Virgil has it.”

“Pray, allow me to ask,” said Mr. Seymour, “whether my puns, or your quotations, best merit the title of pestes?”

“That you should compare the vile practice of punning with the elegant and refined habit of conveying our ideas by classic symbols, does indeed surprise and disturb me. Pope has said that words are the counters by which men represent their thoughts; the plebeian,” continued the vicar, “selects base metal for their construction, while the scholar forms them of gold and gems, dug from the richest mines of antiquity. But to what vile purpose does the punster prostitute such counters? Not for the interchange of ideas, but, like the juggler, to deceive and astonish by acts of legerdemain.”

“How fortunate is it that you had not lived in the reign of King James,” remarked Mr. Seymour; “for that singular monarch, as you may, perhaps, remember, made very few bishops who had not thus signalised themselves.”

“To poison our ears by quibbles and quirks did well become him who sought to deceive our senses and blind our reason--the patron of puns and the believer in witchcraft were suitably united,” replied the vicar.

“Well,” said Mr. Seymour, “as this is a subject upon which it is not likely that we should agree, I will pass to another, where I hope to be more successful; I trust I shall induce you to view with more complacency my project of teaching philosophy by the aid of toys and sports.”

“Mr. Seymour, the proposal of instructing children in the principles of natural philosophy, is really too visionary to require calm discussion; and can be equalled only in absurdity by the method you propose for carrying it into effect.”

“Come, come, my dear vicar, pray chain up your prejudices, and let your kind spirit loose for half an hour: let me beg that you will so far indulge me,” said Mr. Seymour, “as to listen patiently to the plan by which it is my intention to turn sport into science, or, in other words, toys into instruments of philosophical instruction.”

“And is it then possible,” said the vicar, in a tone of supplication, “that you can seriously entertain so wild, and, I might even add, so cruel a scheme? Would you pursue the luckless little urchin from the schoolroom into the very playground, with your unrelenting tyranny? a sanctuary which the most rigid pedagogue has hitherto held inviolable. Is the buoyant spirit so forcibly, though perhaps necessarily, repressed, during the hours of discipline, to have no interval for its free and uncontrolled expansion? Your science, methinks, Mr. Seymour, might have taught you a wiser lesson; for you must well know that the most elastic body will lose that property by being constantly kept in a state of tension.”

“A fine specimen of sophistry, upon my word,” cried Mr. Seymour, “which would, doubtless, raise every nursery-governess and doating grandmother in open rebellion against me: but let me add, that it ill becomes a man of liberal and enlarged ideas, to suffer his opinions to be the sport of mere words; for, that our present difference is an affair of words, and of words only, I will undertake to prove, to the satisfaction of any unprejudiced person. Play and work--amusement and instruction--toys and tasks--are invariably but most unjustifiably employed as words of contrast and opposition; an error which has arisen from the indistinct and very indefinite ideas which we attach to such words. If the degree of mental exertion be said to constitute the difference between play and work, I am quite sure that the definition would be violated in the first illustration; for let me ask, when do boys exert so much thought as in carrying into effect their holiday schemes? The distinction may, perhaps, be made to turn upon the irksome feelings which might be supposed to attend the drudgery of study, but this can never happen except from a vicious system of education that excludes the operations of thought; a school that locks in the body, but locks out the mind: depend upon it, Mr. Twaddleton, that the human mind, whether in youth or manhood, is ever gratified by the acquisition of information; every occupation soon cloys, unless it be seasoned by this stimulant. Is not the child idle and miserable in a nursery full of playthings, and to what expedient does he instinctively fly to relieve his ennui? Why, he breaks his toys to pieces, as Miss Edgeworth justly observes, not from the love of mischief, but from the hatred of idleness, or rather from an innate thirst after knowledge; and he becomes, as it were, an enterprising adventurer, and opens for himself a new source of pleasure and amusement, in exploring the mechanism of their several parts. Think you, then, Mr. Twaddleton, that any assistance which might be offered the boy, under such circumstances, would be received by him as a task? Certainly not. The acquisition of knowledge then, instead of detracting from, must heighten the amusement of toys; and if I have succeeded in convincing you of this truth, my object is accomplished.”

Thus did Mr. Seymour, like an able general, assail his adversary on his own ground; he drove him, as it were, into a corner, and by seizing the only pass through which he could make his escape, forced him to surrender at discretion.

“Why, truly,” replied the vicar, after a short pause, “I am ready to admit that there is much good sense in your observations; and, if the scientific instruction upon these occasions be not carried so far as to puzzle the boy, I am inclined to coincide with you.”

“Therein lies the whole secret,” said Mr. Seymour: “when an occupation agreeably interests the understanding, imagination, or passions of children, it is what is commonly understood by the term play or sport; whereas that which is not accompanied with such associations, and yet may be necessary for their future welfare, is, properly enough, designated as a task.”

“I like the distinction,” observed the vicar.

“Then may I hope that you will indulge me so far as to listen to the scheme by which it is my intention to turn ‘Sport into Science,’ or, in other words, Toys into instruments of Philosophical Instruction?”

The vicar nodded assent.

Mr. Seymour proceeded--“In the first place, I would give the boy some general notions with regard to the properties of matter, such as its gravitation, vis inertiÆ, elasticity, &c. What apparatus can be required for such a purpose, beyond some of the more simple toys? Indeed, I will undertake to demonstrate the three grand laws of motion by a game at ball; while the composition and resolution of forces may be beautifully exemplified during a game of marbles, especially that of ‘ring-taw;’ but in order that you may more clearly comprehend the capability of my plan, allow me to enumerate the various philosophical principles which are involved in the operation of the several more popular toys and sports. We will commence with the ball; which will illustrate the nature and phenomena of elasticity, as it leaps from the ground;--of rotatory motion, while it runs along its surface;--of reflected motion, and of the angles of incidence and reflection, as it rebounds from the wall;--and of projectiles, as it is whirled through the air; at the same time the cricket-bat may serve to explain the centre of percussion. A game at marbles may be made subservient to the same purposes, and will farther assist us in conveying clear ideas upon the subject of the collision of elastic and non-elastic bodies, and of their velocities and direction after impact. The composition and resolution of forces may be explained at the same time. The nature of elastic springs will require no other apparatus for its elucidation than Jack in the box, and the numerous leaping-frogs and cats with which the nursery abounds. The leathern sucker will exemplify the nature of cohesion, and the effect of water in filling up those inequalities by which contiguous surfaces are deprived of their attractive power; it will, at the same time, demonstrate the nature of a vacuum, and the influence of atmospheric pressure. The squirt will afford a farther illustration of the same views, and will furnish a practical proof of the weight of the atmosphere in raising a column of water. The theory of the pump will necessarily follow. The great elasticity of air, and the opposite property of water, I shall be able to show by the amusing exhibition of the ‘Bottle Imps.’”

“Bottle Imps!--‘Acheronta movebis,’” muttered the vicar.

Mr. Seymour continued--“The various balancing toys will elucidate the nature of the centre of gravity, point of suspension, and line of direction: the seesaw, rocking-horse, and the operation of walking on stilts, will here come in aid of our explanations. The combined effects of momentum and a change in the centre of gravity of a body may be beautifully exemplified by the action of the Chinese Tumblers. The sling will demonstrate the existence and effect of centrifugal force; the top and tetotum will prove the power of vertiginous motion to support the axis of a body in an upright position. The trundling of the hoop will accomplish the same and other objects. The game of bilboquet, or cup and ball, will show the influence of rotatory motion in steadying the rectilinear path of a spherical body, whence the theory of the rifle-gun may be deduced. For conveying some elementary ideas of the doctrine of oscillation, there is the swing. The flight of the arrow will not only elucidate the principles of projectiles, but will explain the force of the air in producing rotatory motion by its impact on oblique surfaces: the revolution of the shuttlecock may be shown to depend upon the same resolution of forces. Then comes the kite, one of the most instructive and amusing of all the pastimes of youth,--the favourite toy of Newton in his boyish days:^[4]--its ascent at once developes the theory of the composition and resolution of forces, and explains various subordinate principles, which I shall endeavour to describe when we arrive at the subject. The see-saw will unfold the general principle upon which the Mechanical Powers are founded; and the boy may thus be easily led to the theory of the lever, by being shown how readily he can balance the heavier weight of a man by riding on the longer arm of the plank. The theory of colours may be pointed out to him as he blows his soap-bubbles;^[5] an amusement which will, at the same time, convince him that the air must exert a pressure equally in all directions. For explaining the theory of sound, there are the whistle, the humming-top, the whiz-gig, the pop-gun, the bull-roarer, and sundry other amusements well known in the play-ground; but it is not my intention, at present, to enumerate all the toys which may be rendered capable of affording philosophical instruction; I merely wish to convince you that my plan is not quite so chimerical as you were at first inclined to believe.”

“Upon my word,” said the vicar, “no squirrel ever hopped from branch to branch with more agility,--you are the very counterpart of Cornelius Scriblerus; but I must confess that your scheme is plausible, very plausible, and I shall no longer refuse to attend you in the progress of its execution.

as Virgil has it.”

Mr. Seymour, however, saw very plainly that, although the vicar thus withdrew his opposition, he was nevertheless very far from embarking in the cause with enthusiasm, and that, upon the principle already discussed, he would perform his part rather as a task than a pastime. Nor was the line which Mr. Twaddleton had quoted from the Æneid calculated to efface such an impression. It was true, that, like Anchises, he no longer refused to accompany him in his expedition; but, if the comparison were to run parallel, it was evident that he would have to carry him as a dead weight on his shoulders. This difficulty, however, was speedily surmounted by an expedient, with which the reader will become acquainted by the recital of what followed.

“I rejoice greatly,” said Mr. Seymour, “that we have at length succeeded in enlisting you into our service; without your able assistance, I fear that my instruction would be extremely imperfect; for you must know, my dear sir, that I am ambitious of making Tom an antiquary as well as a philosopher, and I look to you for a history of the several toys which I shall have occasion to introduce.”

This propitiatory sentence had its desired effect.

“Most cheerfully shall I comply with your wishes,” exclaimed the delighted vicar; “and I can assure you, sir, that, with regard to several of the more popular toys and pastimes, there is much very curious and interesting lore.”

Mr. Seymour had upon this occasion succeeded in opening the heart of the vicar, just as a skilful mechanic would pick a patent lock; who, instead of forcing it by direct violence, seeks to discover the secret spring to which all its various movements are subservient.

“To-morrow, then,” cried the vicar, in a voice of great exultation, “we will commence our career, from which I anticipate the highest satisfaction and advantage; in the mean time,” continued he, “I will refresh my memory upon certain points touching the antiquities of these said pastimes, or, as we used to say at college, get up the subject. I will also press into our service my friend and neighbour Jeremy Prybabel, whose etymological knowledge will greatly assist us in tracing the origin of many of the words used in our sports, which is frequently not very obvious.”

Mr. Seymour cast an intelligible glance at his wife, who was no less surprised at the sudden change in the vicar’s sentiments than she was pleased with the skill and address by which it had been accomplished.

3. “An engine’s raised to batter down our walls.”—Æn. ii. 46.