On Gravitation.--Weight.--The Velocity of Falling Bodies.--At what Altitude a Body would lose its Gravity.--The Tower of Babel.--The known Velocity of Sound affords the means of calculating Distances.--An Excursion to Overton Well.--An Experiment to ascertain its Depth.--A Visit to the Vicarage.--The Magic Gallery.--Return to the Lodge.

It was about two o’clock, when Mr. Twaddleton, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, joined the children on the lawn.

“Tom,” said his father, “are you prepared to commence the proposed examination?”

“Quite ready, papa.”

“Then you must first inform me,” said Mr. Seymour, taking the ball out of Rosa’s hand, “why this ball falls to the ground, as soon as I withdraw from it the support of my hand?”

“Because every heavy body that is not supported, must of course fall.”

“And every light one also, my dear; but that is no answer to my question; you merely assert the fact, without explaining the reason.”

“Oh! now I understand you; it is owing to the force of gravity; the earth attracts the ball, and the consequence is, that they both come in contact;--is not that right?”

“Certainly; but if the earth attract the ball, it is equally true that the ball must attract the earth; for you have, doubtless, learnt that bodies mutually attract each other; tell me, therefore, why the earth should not rise to meet the ball?”

“Because the earth is so much larger and heavier than the ball.”

“It is, doubtless, much larger, and since the force of attraction is in proportion to the mass, or quantity of matter, you cannot be surprised at not perceiving the earth rise to meet the ball, the attraction of the latter being so infinitely small, in comparison with that of the former, as to render its effect wholly nugatory; but with regard to the earth being heavier than the ball, what will you say when I tell you that it has no weight at all?”

“No weight at all!”

Tom begged that his father would explain to him how it could possibly be that the earth should not possess any weight.

“Weight, my dear boy, you will readily understand, can be nothing more than an effect arising out of the resisted attraction of a body for the earth: you have just stated, that all bodies have a tendency to fall, in consequence of the attraction of gravitation; but if they be supported, and prevented from approaching the earth, either by the hand, or any other appropriate means, their tendency will be felt, and is called weight.”

Tom understood this explanation, and observed, that “since attraction was always in proportion to the quantity of matter, so, of course, a larger body must be more powerfully attracted, or be heavier, than a smaller one.”

“Magnitude, or size, my dear, has nothing whatever to do with quantity of matter: will not a small piece of lead weigh more than a large piece of sponge? In the one case, the particles of matter may be supposed to be packed in a smaller compass; in the other, there must exist a greater number of pores or interstices.”

“I understand all you have said,” observed Louisa, “and yet I am unable to comprehend why the earth cannot be said to have any weight.”

“Cannot you discover,” answered Mr. Seymour, “that, since the earth has nothing to attract it, it cannot have any attraction to resist, and, consequently, according to the ordinary acceptation of the term, it cannot be correctly said to possess weight? although I confess that, when viewed in relation to the solar system, a question will arise upon this subject, since it is attracted by the sun.”

The children declared themselves satisfied with this explanation, and Mr. Seymour proceeded to put another question: “Since,” continued he, “you now understand the nature of that force by which bodies fall to the earth, can you tell me the degree of velocity with which they fall?”

Tom asserted that the weight of the body, or its quantity of matter, and its distance from the surface of the earth, must, in every case, determine that circumstance; but Mr. Seymour excited his surprise by saying, that it would not be influenced by either of those conditions; he informed them, for instance, that a cannon-ball, and a marble, would fall through the same number of feet in a given time, and that, whether the experiment were tried from the top of a house, or from the summit of Saint Paul’s, the same result would be obtained.

“I am quite sure,” exclaimed Tom, “that, in the Conversations on Natural Philosophy, it is positively stated, that attraction is always in proportion to the quantity of matter.”

“Yes,” observed Louisa, “and it is moreover asserted, that the attraction diminishes as the distances increase.”

Mr. Seymour said, that he perceived the error under which his children laboured, and that he would endeavour to remove it. “You cannot, my dears,” continued he, “divest your minds of that erroneous but natural feeling, that a body necessarily falls to the ground without the exertion of any force: whereas, the greater the quantity of matter, the greater must be the force exerted to bring it to the earth: for instance, a substance which weighs a hundred pounds will thus require just ten times more force than one which only weighs ten pounds; and hence it must follow, that both will come to the ground at the same moment; for, although, in the one case, there is ten times more matter, there is, at the same time, ten times more attraction to overcome its resistance; for you have already admitted that the force of attraction is always in proportion to the quantity of matter. Now let us only for an instant, for the sake merely of argument, suppose that attraction had been a force acting without any regard to quantity of matter, is it not evident that, in such a case, the body containing the largest quantity would be the slowest in falling to the earth?”

“I understand you, papa,” cried Tom: “if an empty waggon travelled four miles an hour, and were afterwards so loaded as to have its weight doubled, it could only travel at the rate of two miles in the same period, provided that in both cases the horses exerted the same strength.”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Seymour; “and to follow up your illustration, it is only necessary to state, that Nature, like a considerate master, always apportions the number of horses to the burthen that is to be moved, so that her loads, whatever may be their weight, always travel at the same rate; or, to express the fact in philosophical instead of figurative language, gravitation, or the force of the earth’s attraction, always increases as the quantity of matter, and, consequently, that heavy and light bodies, when dropped together from the same altitude, must come to the ground at the same instant of time.”

Louisa had listened with great attention to this explanation; and although she thoroughly understood the argument, yet it appeared to her at variance with so many facts with which she was acquainted, that she could not give implicit credence to it.

“I think,” papa, said the archly-smiling girl, “I could overturn this fine argument by a very simple experiment.”

“Indeed! Miss Sceptic: then pray proceed; and I think we shall find, that the more strenuously you oppose it, the more powerful it will become: but let us hear your objections.”

“I shall only,” replied she, “drop a shilling, and a piece of paper, from my bed-room window upon the lawn, and request that you will observe which of them reaches the ground first; if I am not much mistaken, you will find that the coin will strike the earth before the paper has performed half its journey.”

Tom appeared perplexed, and cast an enquiring look at his father.

“Come,” said Mr. Seymour, “I will perform this experiment myself, and endeavour to satisfy the doubts of our young sceptic; but I must first take the opportunity to observe, that I am never better pleased than when you attempt to raise difficulties in my way, and I hope you will always express them without reserve.”

“Here, then, is a penny piece; and here,” said Tom, “is a piece of paper.”

“Which,” continued Mr. Seymour, “we will cut into a corresponding shape and size.” This having been accomplished, he held the coin in one hand, and the paper disc in the other, and dropped them at the same instant.

“There! there!” cried Louisa, with an air of triumph; “the coin reached the ground long before the paper.”

“I allow,” said Mr. Seymour, “that there was a distinct interval in favour of the penny piece;” and he proceeded to explain the cause of it. He stated that the result was not contrary to the law of gravitation, since it arose from the interference of a foreign body, the air, to the resistance of which it was to be attributed; and he desired them to consider the particles of a falling body as being under the influence of two opposing forces,--gravity, and the air’s resistance. Louisa argued, that the air could only act on the surface of a body, and as this was equal in both cases (the size of the paper being exactly the same as that of the penny piece), she could not see why the resistance of the air should not also be equal in both cases.

“I admit,” said Mr. Seymour, “that the air can only act upon the surface of a falling body, and this is the very reason of the paper meeting with more resistance than the coin; for the latter, from its greater density, must contain many more particles than the paper, and upon which the air cannot possibly exert any action; whereas almost every particle of the paper may be said to be exposed to its resistance, the fall of the latter must therefore be more retarded than that of the former body.”

At this explanation Louisa’s doubts began to clear off, and they were ultimately dispelled on Mr. Seymour performing a modification of the above experiment in the following manner. He placed the disc of paper in close contact with the upper part of the coin, and, in this position, dropped them from his hand. They both reached the ground at the same instant.

“Are you now satisfied, my dear Louisa?” asked her father. “You perceive that, by placing the paper in contact with the coin, I skreened it from the action of the air, and the result is surely conclusive.”

“Many thanks to you, dear papa; I am perfectly satisfied, and shall feel less confident for the future.” Tom was delighted; for, as he said, he could now understand why John’s paper parachute descended so deliberately to the ground; he could also explain why feathers, and other light bodies, floated in the air. “Well then,” said Mr. Seymour, “having settled this knotty point, let us proceed to the other question, viz. ‘that a body will fall with the same velocity, during a given number of feet, from the ball of St. Paul’s as from the top of a house.’ You maintain, I believe, that, since the attraction of the earth for a body diminishes as its distance from it increases,^[7] a substance at a great height ought to fall more slowly than one which is dropped from a less altitude.”

Neither Tom nor Louisa could think otherwise. Mr. Seymour told them that, in theory, they were perfectly correct, but that, since attraction acted from the centre, and not from the surface of the earth, the difference of its force could not be discovered at the small elevations to which they could have access: “for what,” said he, “can a few hundred feet be in comparison with four thousand miles, which is the distance from the centre to the surface of our globe?--You must therefore perceive that, in all ordinary calculations respecting the velocity of falling bodies, we may safely exclude such a consideration.”

“But suppose,” said Tom, “it were possible to make the experiment a thousand miles above the earth, would not the diminished effect of gravity be discovered in that case?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied his father, “indeed it would be sensible at a much less distance: for instance, if a lump of lead, weighing a thousand pounds, were carried up only four miles, it would be found to have lost two pounds of its weight.” (2)

“This discussion,” observed Mr. Twaddleton, “reminds me of a problem that was once proposed at Cambridge, to find the elevation to which the Tower of Babel could have been raised, before the stones would have entirely lost their gravity.”

“Its solution,” said Mr. Seymour, “would require a consideration which Tom could not possibly understand at present, viz. the influence of the centrifugal force.”

“I am fully aware of it,” replied the vicar, “and in order to appreciate that influence, it would, of course, be necessary to take into account the latitude of the place; but, if my memory serves me, I think that under the latitude of 30°, which I believe is nearly that of the plains of Mesopotamia, the height would be somewhere about twenty-four thousand miles.”

Mr. Seymour now desired Tom to inform him, since all bodies fall with the same velocity, what that velocity might be.

“Sixteen feet in a second, papa;--I have just remembered that I had a dispute with a school-fellow upon that subject, and in which, thanks to Mrs. Marcet, I came off victorious, and won twelve marbles.”

“Then let me tell you, my fine fellow, that unless your answer exclusively related to the first second of time, you did not win the marbles fairly; for, since the force of gravity is continually acting, so is the velocity of a falling body continually increasing, or it has what is termed an ‘accelerating velocity;’ it has accordingly been ascertained by accurate experiments, that a body descending from a considerable height falls sixteen feet, as you say, in the first second of time; but three times sixteen in the next; five times sixteen in the third; and seven times sixteen in the fourth; and so on, continually increasing according to the odd numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, &c. so that you perceive,” continued Mr. Seymour, “by observing the number of seconds which a stone requires to descend from any height, we can discover the altitude, or depth, of the place in question.”

Louisa and Fanny, who had been attentively listening to their father’s explanation, interchanged a smile of satisfaction, and, pulling Tom towards them, whispered something which was inaudible to the rest of the party.

“Come, now,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “I perceive by your looks that you have something to ask of me: is Louisa sceptical again?”

“Oh dear no,” replied Tom; “Louisa merely observed, that we might now be able to find out the depth of the village well, about which we have all been very curious; for the gardener has told us that it is the deepest in the kingdom, and was dug more than a hundred years ago.”

Mr. Seymour did not believe that it was the deepest in the kingdom, although he knew that its depth was considerable; and he said that, if Mr. Twaddleton had no objection, they should walk to it, and make the proposed experiment.

“Objection! my dear Mr. Seymour, when do I ever object to afford pleasure to my little playmates, provided its indulgence be harmless? Let us proceed at once, and on our return I hope you will favour me with a visit at the vicarage; I have some antiquities which I am anxious to exhibit to yourself and Mrs. Seymour.” Tom and Rosa each took the vicar’s hand, and Mr. and Mrs. Seymour followed with Louisa and Fanny. The village well was about half a mile distant; the road to it led through a delightful shady lane, at the top of which stood the vicarage-house. Mr. and Mrs. Seymour and her daughters had lingered in their way to collect botanical specimens; and when they had come up to Tom and the vicar, they found them seated on the trunk of a newly-felled oak, in deep discourse.

“What interests you, Tom?” said Mr. Seymour, who perceived, by the enquiring and animated countenance of the boy, that his attention had been excited by some occurrence.

“I have been watching the woodman,” said Tom, “and have been surprised that the sound of his hatchet was not heard until some time after he had struck the tree.”

“And has not Mr. Twaddleton explained to you the reason of it?” asked Mr. Seymour.

“He has,” replied Tom, “and he tells me that it is owing to sound travelling so much more slowly than light.”

“You are quite right; and as we are upon an expedition for the purpose of measuring depths, it may not be amiss to inform you, that this fact furnishes another method of calculating distances.”

The party seated themselves upon the oak, and Mr. Seymour proceeded--“The stroke of the axe is seen at the moment the woodman makes it, on account of the immense velocity with which light travels;(3) but the noise of the blow will not reach the ear until some time has elapsed, the period varying, of course, in proportion to the distance, because sound moves only at the rate of 1142 feet in a second, or about 13 miles in a minute; so that you perceive, by observing the time that elapses between the fall of the hatchet and the sound produced by it, we can ascertain the distance of the object.”

Mr. Seymour fixed his eye attentively on the woodman, and, after a short pause, declared that he was about half a quarter of a mile distant.

“Why, how could you discover that?” cried Louisa; “you had not any watch in your hand.”

“But,” said Mr. Seymour, “you might have perceived that I placed my finger on my wrist, and as my pulse beats about 75 strokes in a minute, I was able to form a tolerable estimate of the interval, although I confess that it is a very rough experiment, but sufficiently accurate for the purpose of illustration. In the same manner we can readily ascertain the distance of a thundercloud, or that of a vessel at sea firing a cannon. If we do not hear the thunder till half a minute after we see the lightning, we are to conclude the cloud to be at the distance of six miles and a half. But let us proceed to the well.”

After a walk of a few minutes, the party reached the place of destination. On their arrival Mr. Seymour enquired who would count the time.

“Be that office mine,” said Mr. Twaddleton, as he extracted a large silver time-piece from the dark abyss of his watch-pocket; “and let Tom,” continued he, “find a pebble.”

“Here is one,” cried Louisa.

“Very well: now, then, how will you proceed?” asked Mr. Seymour.

“I shall drop the stone,” replied Tom, “into the well, and observe how many seconds it will be before it touches the water, and I shall then set down the number of feet it will fall in each second, and add up the numbers.”

“That,” said Mr. Seymour, “would certainly accomplish your object; but I can give you a neater, as well as a shorter rule for performing the sum: you shall, however, first work it in your own way;--but you have not yet informed me how you propose to ascertain the moment at which the stone reaches the water.”

“By the sound, to be sure, papa; and you will find that a very loud one will be produced.”

“If the depth of the well be considerable, such a plan will not answer the purpose, since, in that case, there must necessarily be a perceptible interval between the fall of the stone and the sound produced by it, as you have just seen exemplified by the woodman, which, unless taken into account,(4) will vitiate the result.”

Tom observed that he had not thought of that difficulty, and did not know how he could get over it. His father told him, that he must look at the surface of the water, and mark the moment it was disturbed by the stone.

“Now, Mr. Twaddleton,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “are you ready to count the seconds?”

“Quite ready.”

“Then drop the stone.”

“One,--two,--three,--four--”

“There,” said Tom, “it touched the water.”

“And there, there,” cried several voices, “what a noise it made!”

“Facilis descensus Averni,” exclaimed the vicar; “the stone descended in four seconds.”

“Now, my boy, make your calculation.”

Mr. Seymour furnished pencil and paper, and Tom proceeded;--“Sixteen feet for the first second,--I put that down.”--

“Well,” said his father, “and three times sixteen for the second?”

“Forty-eight,” cried Tom.--

“Put it down.”

“Five times sixteen, for the third?”

“Eighty.”--

“Down with it.”

“And seven times sixteen, for the fourth?”

“One hundred and twelve.”

“Now, cast up these numbers,” said Mr. Seymour.

“Two hundred and fifty-six feet,” cried Tom, “is the depth of the well.”

A shout of delight, from the whole juvenile party, announced the satisfaction which they felt at the success of their first experiment in Natural Philosophy.

Louisa observed, that she could not distinguish any interval between the actual contact of the stone with the water and the sound which it produced.

“At so small a distance as two hundred and fifty-six feet,” said her father, “the interval could not have exceeded in duration the fourth part of a second, and was, consequently, imperceptible: we might therefore, in the present instance, have accepted the sound as a signal of the stone’s arrival at the water, without prejudice to the result of the experiment.”

Mr. Seymour told his son, that the method which he had pursued was unobjectionable when the experiment did not extend beyond a few seconds: but that, if a case occurred in which a greater space of time were consumed, he would find his plan tedious: “Now,” continued he, “I will give you a general rule that will enable you to obtain the answer in a shorter time without the details of addition. ‘The spaces described by a falling body increase as the squares of the times increase.’ I conclude that you already know that the square of a number is the sum obtained by multiplying the number into itself.”

“Certainly,” answered Tom; “the square of 4 is 16; that of 3, 9, and so on.”

“This, then, being the case, you have only to square the number of seconds, and then multiply that product by 16, being the space described by the falling body in the first second, and you will have the required answer: apply this rule to the present case; the stone fell to the bottom in four seconds; square this number, 4×4=16; multiply this by 16, and we obtain 256.”

“That,” said Tom, “is certainly much more simple than my method.”

“And it has the advantage,” continued Mr. Seymour, “of being more portable for the memory.”

“Should any of the villagers observe us,” said Mrs. Seymour, “they will take us for a party of fortune-tellers.”

“Of fortune-tellers!” repeated Louisa, with surprise.

“Yes, my dear,” replied Mrs. Seymour, “there is a foolish superstition attached to this, and I believe to many other wells in the neighbourhood of remote villages, that by dropping pebbles into it, and observing whether they produce a loud, or only a slight sound, and noticing the number of times they rebound from the sides before they reach the bottom, and other absurd distinctions, a person can predict whether good or evil awaits them.” (5)

Mrs. Seymour now proposed the party’s return to the Lodge; but Mr. Twaddleton expressed a hope that they would first favour him with a visit at the vicarage; to which proposition they readily assented.

His antiquated residence, mantled in ivy, and shaded by cypress, stood on the confines of the church-yard, from which his grounds were merely separated by a dwarf hedge of sweet-brier and roses; so that the vicar might be said to reside amidst the graves of his departed parishioners, and the turf-clad heap evinced the influence of his fostering care by a grateful return of primroses and violets.

Around the house the reverend antiquary had arranged several precious relics, which were too cumbrous for admission within its walls; amongst these was an ancient cross, raised upon a platform on four steps, which from the worn appearance of the stones had evidently been impressed with the foot of many a wandering pilgrim. These mouldering monuments of ancient days cast a shade of solemnity around the dwelling, and announced its inmate as a person of no ordinary stamp.

Annette, the vicar’s trusty servant, had watched the approach of the squire and his family, and, anticipating the honour of a passing visit, was busily engaged in removing the chequed covers from the cumbrous oaken chairs, and the various other bibs and tuckers with which his curiosities were invested, when the party entered the study. Lucky was it for the vicar’s repose, that the notice had been so short, or the tidy housewife would, without doubt, have scoured some of the antique commodities, and destroyed a crop of sacred verdure, which ages could not have replenished. As matters stood, nothing was left for poor Annette, but to defend her character at the expense of her master, who she declared treated her as though she was an old witch, whenever she was seen with a broom.

“Why, papa,” exclaimed Tom, as he cast his eyes around the study, “all these curiosities have been put up since I went to school.”

“The boy is right,” said the vicar; “I have only just completed their arrangement, and I believe,” continued he, addressing himself to Mr. Seymour, “that there are several rich morsels of antiquity which you have not yet seen: but I must, in the first place, introduce my young friends to the wonders of my magic gallery; wherein they may converse with the spirits of departed emperors, heroes, patriots, sages, and beauties;--contemplate, at their leisure, the countenances of the Alexanders, CÆsars, Pompeys, and Trajans;--behold a legion of allegorical and airy beings, who have here, for the first time, assumed appropriate and substantial forms:--examine the models of ancient temples and triumphal arches, which, although coeval with the edifices they represent, are as perfect as at the first moment of their construction, while the originals have long since crumbled into dust. They shall also see volumes of history, condensed into a space of a few inches, and read the substance of a hundred pages at a single glance.”

“How extraordinary!” said Tom: “why we never read anything more wonderful in our Fairy Tales.”

“And what renders it more wonderful,” replied the vicar, “is its being all true.”

So saying, the antiquary took a key of pigmy dimensions from the pocket of his waistcoat, and proceeded to a cumbrous ebony cabinet which stood in a deep recess, and displayed an antique structure, and curiously carved allegorical devices, in strict unison with that air of mystery with which the vicar had thought proper to invest its contents. It was supported by gigantic eagles’ claws; its key-hole was surrounded by hissing snakes; while the head of Cerberus, which constituted the handle, appeared as if placed to guard the entrance. The children were upon the tiptoe of expectation and impatience--the vicar applied the key with the wonder-stirring exclamation of “OPEN SESAMA!”--the lock yielded, and the doors flew open. Disappointment and chagrin were visibly depicted on the countenances of the brother and sisters.

“And so,” exclaimed Tom, “this fine magic gallery turns out to be nothing more than a box full of rusty halfpence!”

“I am sure,” said Louisa, “it was quite unnecessary to have engaged Cerberus as a sentinel over such rubbish.”

“Hush!” cried the vicar; “you talk like one not initiated in the mysteries of enchantment: have you not read, that under its spells the meanest objects have assumed forms of splendour and magnificence?” ^[8]

“Like the fabled touch of the Phrygian monarch,” said Mrs. Seymour, “which we are told transmuted the meanest materials into gold.”

“In like manner, then, may treasures of the greatest value appear to ordinary eyes as mean and worthless.”

“This cabinet,” continued Mr. Twaddleton, “is under the influence of a potent magician; by the touch of her wand, it would become irradiated as with celestial light, and these rusty coins would be transformed into all those various objects of interest and delight which I had promised to show you.”

Tom and Louisa looked at the coins, then at the vicar, and afterwards at Mr. Seymour, to whom they cast an enquiring glance.

“Then pray,” exclaimed Tom, “wave this mighty wand of your enchantress, and fulfil your promise.”

“The enchantress,” replied the vicar, “is not disposed to grant her favours to those by whom she has not been propitiated.”

“And what ceremony does she require?” enquired Louisa.

“The perusal of sundry mystic volumes; and the consumption of a midnight lamp at her altar,” replied the vicar.

“Do you not comprehend the allegory?” said Mr. Seymour. “The enchanted gallery is no other than a collection of antique medals;--the potent enchantress, Erudition, or that classical learning, without which they appear of less value than so many rusty halfpence.”

“You are right,” cried Mr. Twaddleton: “the poetical import of a device can be alone felt and appreciated by those who are acquainted with the classical subjects to which it alludes; for, as Addison forcibly observes, there is often as much thought on the reverse of a medal as in a canto of Spenser; besides, how frequently do you meet with hints and suggestions in an ancient poet, that give a complete illustration to the actions, ornaments, and antiquities which are found on coins!--In short, the person who examines a collection of medals, without a competent knowledge of the classics, is like him who would explore a subterranean cavern without the aid of a torch.”

“I have already learned one fact,” said Louisa, “with which I was certainly unacquainted; that the ancients possessed a much greater variety of money than modern nations.” (6)

“Of that, my dear,” replied the vicar, “there is some doubt;--the learned are divided upon the question: some authors maintain that every medal, and even medallion, had its fixed and regular price in payments, while others, on the contrary, assert that we are not in the possession of any real money of the ancients, and that the medals never had any currency as coins. The truth probably is between these two extremes.”

“If these medals were not used as money,” observed Louisa, “for what purposes could they have been coined?”

“To perpetuate the memory of great actions; and, faithful to its charge of fame, the medal has transmitted events, the history of which must, otherwise, have long since perished. Nay, more,” exclaimed the vicar, his voice rising as he became warmed by his subject, “the lamp of history has been often extinguished, and the medalist has collected sparks from the ashes of antiquity which have rekindled its flame. You perceive, therefore,” continued the reverend antiquary, “that such collections are of the highest importance, and if your papa will allow you to pass a morning in their examination, I shall easily bring you to admit, that I have not exaggerated the wonders of my magic gallery. I will convince you, that it contains a series of original miniature portraits of the greatest heroes of antiquity; a compendious chart of history, chronology, and heathen mythology; a system of classic architecture; and an accurate commentary upon the more celebrated poems of Greece and Rome. Ay, and I will show you a faithful resemblance of the very ship that carried Æneas to Italy, and of the lofty poop from which the luckless Palinurus fell into the ocean.”

Mr. Twaddleton then favoured Mr. and Mrs. Seymour with a sight of some of those rarer medals, which he considered as constituting the gems of his collection.

“You do not mean to say,” exclaimed Tom, as he seized a small coin, “that this brass piece is of more value than the large coin of gold that lies next to it?”

“Mercy upon us!” cried the vicar, in a tone of agony, “how the boy handles it!--restore it to its place--gently--gently--that ‘little brass piece,’ as you call it, is gold, and although it might not have been worth one guinea fifteen hundred years ago, is now valued at a hundred. It is a coin of Ptolemy the 8th of Egypt. On the obverse is the portrait of the king beautifully raised; on the reverse a cornucopia. I do not believe that the coin was known to Pinkerton when he wrote his Essay.”

“There is, certainly,” said Mr. Seymour, “something very inexplicable in the tastes and enthusiastic feelings of you patrons of antiquity.”

“The antiquary,” observed the vicar, “does not regard a cabinet of medals as a treasure of money, but of knowledge; nor does he fancy any charms in gold, but in the figures that adorn it; it is not the metal, but the erudition, that stamps it with value.”

Mr. Twaddleton now passed on to a different compartment of his cabinet, observing, that he must exhibit a few of his Roman treasures. “Behold,” said he, “two gems of unappreciable value; never do I look upon them but with feelings of the purest delight. Let my young friends come nearer, and inspect them minutely. This is a large brass coin of Tiberius, and was current when Christ was upon the earth; next to it lies a silver Denarius of the same Emperor; its value was about equal to seven-pence of our money, and was the coin that tempted Judas to betray his master.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Seymour, “I have heard you speak of some English coins of rarity and interest.”

“True, Madam, very true, but they are in another cabinet: before I close the present one, I will, with your permission, give you a glimpse at my Sulphurs Paduans, and Beckers.”

“Paduans and Beckers!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “and pray what may they be? I never before heard the terms.”

“‘My poverty but not my will consents,’ The antiquary who is poor in purse,” observed the vicar, “must needs be contented with being rich in counterfeits, or, I ought rather to have said, in possessing copies instead of originals. Becker was an artist of Frankfort, who excelled in imitating ancient coins, but he never used his skill for the purpose of deception, but honestly sold his productions as avowed copies, which are admitted into the cabinets of the curious under the name of Beckers. The Paduans,” the vicar added, “derived their name from two brothers at Padua, celebrated for the accuracy with which they imitated large Roman coins. Here are the English coins you alluded to,” said the antiquary to Mrs. Seymour. “This is a shilling of Henry VII. curious as being the first shilling ever struck; it was presented to me by a college friend some years ago, and I have been lately informed that it is so rare as to fetch twenty-five pounds; but let me beg you to examine attentively this curious little treasure,” said the vicar, his eyes twinkling with pleasure as he placed the dainty morsel in the hand of Mrs. Seymour; “it is,” continued he, “a silver groat of Perkin Warbeck; on one side are the Royal arms, but without a name; they are surmounted, you perceive, with an arched crown, and placed between a fleur de lis and a rose.”

“What is the inscription?” asked Mrs. Seymour.

“Say legend, Madam, if you please; the words are, ‘Domine, salvum fac regem,’ the date 1494. The coin is supposed to have been struck by the order of the Duchess of Burgundy for Perkin Warbeck, when he set out to invade England.”

“Pray,” said Tom, “have you got a Queen Anne’s farthing?”

“It is really curious,” observed the vicar, “that well-informed persons should still continue to be deceived with regard to the value of this coin. The absurd notion of its being worth 100l. arose from an advertisement of an old lady, who had lost one, stating it to be one of the only three known in the world, and worth at least 100l. The truth is, I understand from my much valued friend of Tavistock-Street, that these farthings generally fetch from five to twenty shillings each; there are several different types of them, but the only one intended for currency is that bearing the date of 1714; all the others were struck as patterns. This is certainly scarce, in consequence of the death of the Queen taking place before the coinage was finished. The farthing and sixpence of Oliver Cromwell are much more scarce and valuable, the one generally brings 10l. the other as much as 25l. It appears that, after Oliver had stamped his head upon them, he was afraid to issue them as current coins, which accounts for the few which have been handed down to us.”

“You remind me,” said Mr. Seymour, “of a story I lately heard of a crown-piece of Oliver selling at a public auction for as much as two hundred guineas--can it be possible?”

“You labour under a mistake,” answered the vicar; “the coin you allude to is known amongst collectors by the name of the Petition crown of Charles the Second, and it is undoubtedly a most inimitable piece of workmanship. The story is this: Simon, the artist, had been employed by Oliver Cromwell, and at the Restoration, in order to obtain the patronage of Charles, executed the crown-piece in question. It resembles in its general appearance the common milled five-shilling piece, but on the edging there are two lines of letters beautifully executed. The words are ‘Thomas Simon most humbly prays your Majesty to compare this his tryal piece with the Dutch, and if more truly drawn and embossed, more gracefully ordered, and more accurately engraven, to relieve him.’”

“And what said Charles to it?” enquired Mrs. Seymour.

“Charles,” said the vicar, “took no notice of him, on account of his having worked for Cromwell, and the poor artist shortly afterwards died of a broken heart.”

“Well,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “his manes must be surely appeased, if his crowns now sell for two hundred guineas each.”

The party, soon after this exhibition, quitted the vicarage, highly gratified, and returned to the Lodge, where, after the usual ceremonies at the toilet, they sat down to dinner; in the enjoyment of which we will now leave them, and put an end to the present chapter.