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:--

Heus! etiam mensas consumimus, inquit Iulus.

Æn. vii. 116.