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.