“Only think of that!” ejaculated Tom Plank; “to make a communication from London to Edinburgh in about twenty-five minutes!” “True, my friend; but what would you say, were I to suggest a method of communicating information to any distance without the loss even of a single second of time.”(51) “There now,” cried the vicar, “you have supplied Tom Plank with some fresh barm to set his brains working.” “He is an indefatigable fellow, I must allow,” said Mr. Seymour. After this discourse the vicar rose from his seat, and on walking across the room, the creaking of his shoes excited the attention of Mr. Seymour, who, with his accustomed gaiety, observed, that “the vicar had music in his _sole_.” “Mr. Seymour!” exclaimed Mr. Twaddleton, with a look which we should in vain endeavour to describe, “the infirmity of my shoes, _crepitus crepidæ_, is at all events sanctioned by high antiquity; for we are told by Philostratus, in his Epistles, that Vulcan, being jealous of Venus, made her creaking shoes, in order that he might hear whenever she stirred.” So ludicrous an appeal to antiquity would have overcome Heraclitus himself, no wonder then that the whole party enjoyed a hearty laugh at the worthy vicar’s expense. “Well, Mr. Twaddleton, if, as you say, I have brought down philosophy to account for the most familiar occurrences, it is but just that I should return the compliment, by declaring that you are equally prepared to throw a classical interest around the humblest as well as the most dignified subject, _à capite usque ad calcem_,” observed Mr. Seymour. “Now, Tom, as you have so lately been instructed in the different sources of sound, do tell your good friend, the vicar, the cause of the creaking of his shoes,” said his father. “The dryness of the leather, I suppose,” answered the young philosopher. “A certain state of dryness is certainly a necessary condition, or else the cohesion between the inner and outer sole would exclude the air. Correctly speaking, the creaking depends upon the sudden compression of the air contained between the two surfaces of leather; just as a sound is produced by the clapping of the hands by the air thus set in vibration. Shoes with single soles, therefore, never creak, and by interposing a piece of oil-silk between the two soles, you will so far ensure the contact of their surfaces as to obviate the sound,” said Mr. Seymour. “That is at all events a piece of practical philosophy worth knowing; and I shall accordingly instruct my operator, Jerry Styles, upon this point,” observed the vicar. “So you see, my dear sir, I am no bad shoemaker, although I have never yet made a shoe,” said Mr. Seymour. “To be sure--to be sure,” exclaimed the vicar; “for as Horace has it-- ----“Sapiens crepidas sibi nunquam      Nec soleas fecit: Sutor tamen est sapiens.”[60] “You never made a happier quotation,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour.