PHILOSOPHY IN SPORT. CHAPTER I. THE summer recess of Mr Pearson's school was not more anxiously anticipated by the scholars than 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 flower-beds in the garden, were tastefully dispersed through the apartment; the festoons of blue ribands, 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 carriage drew up to the 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 dwelt, in high terms of commendation, not only upon the general conduct of his pupil, but upon the rapid progress 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 satis A faction to your master; and that your good-nature, generosity, and, above all, your strict adherence to truth, have insured the love and esteem of your schoolfellows." This gratifying report brought tears of joy into the eyes of Mrs Seymour; Tom's cheeks glowed with the feeling of merited approbation, and the sisters interchanged looks of mutual satisfaction. Can there be an incentive to industry and virtuous conduct more powerful than the exhilarating smiles of approval which the schoolboy 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 repast, 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 by 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 enclosures, beautified by an irregularly-undulating surface, and interspersed with rich masses of wood. The uniformity of the smoothlyshorn lawn was broken by occasional clumps of flowering shrubs, so artistically 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, which enabled the inhabitants of the Lodge, like the philosophers of old, to converse in the shade, or to enjoy the luxury of "lettered ease," 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 own 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 birch. At irregular intervals, the paths expanded into verdant glades, in each of which the bust of some favourite 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 all. 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 suddenly 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),* or Nature's timepiece. It had been constructed, under the direction of her mother, by Louisa Seymour. The hour of the day at which each plant opened or closed was represented by an appropriate figure of nicely-clipped box; and these, being arranged in a circle, not only fulfilled the duty, but exhibited the appearance of a dial. Adjoining the circle stood a sundial, upon the pedestal of which was inscribed a motto, equally applicable to either of these heralds of the sun- "Horas non numero, nisi serenas." Under which appeared the following paraphrase: "So let us note those hours alone On which the sun of joy has shone, 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 sunny 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. *These figures refer to the additional notes at the end of the work. 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 intermediate places. 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 welldefined specimen. The alcoved ceiling sparkled with Rock Crystal, interspersed with calcareous Stalactites, and beautiful Chalcedonies. 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, as in duty bound, he pertinaciously maintained the aqueous origin of our strata (2). 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 schoolboy, who has ever felt the satisfaction of returning home for the holidays, will more easily conceive than we can describe, Tom inquired of his father, whether his old friend, Mr Twaddleton, the vicar of Overton, was well, and at the Parsonage. "He is quite well,” said Mr Seymour ; "and so anxious has he been to see you, that he has paid several visits during the morning, to inquire whether you had yet 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-six 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 annual value scarcely exceeded a hundred and eighty pounds, so limited were his wants, and so frugal his habits, that he generally contrived to save a considerable sum out of his income for the 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, instructed the ignorant, nursed the sick, and spoke words of hope and comfort to the unfortunate. 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 hackney'd in the ways of men." His long His habits of thought were peculiar, and he assimilated all the affairs of life to his own ideal abstractions; so that it might be said, he lived and moved, as it were, in a chequered world of his own creation, resenting as unhallowed intrusions all such views and opinions as did not strictly harmonise with its fancifully-imposed obligations. These remarks may serve to reconcile those apparent anomalies and contradictions which the reader will have to encounter as he follows in the track of this singular character, in which were united the cold pedantry of the antiquary with the warm fancy of the poet, the narrow prejudices of the recluse with the expansive liberality of the |