“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.