{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_61280/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_61280","id":"gutenberg_61280","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61280","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children's stories","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: MR. EWART AND MARK.\n\n_Page 22._]\n\n\n\n\n THE\n YOUNG PILGRIM.\n\n A Tale\n _ILLUSTRATIVE OF \u201cTHE PILGRIM\u2019S PROGRESS.\u201d_\n\n BY\n A. L. O. E.,\n AUTHOR OF \u201cTHE SHEPHERD OF BETHLEHEM,\u201d\n \u201cTHE SILVER CASKET,\u201d ETC.\n\n WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n London:\n T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.\n EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.\n 1887.\n\n\n\n\nPreface.\n\n\nIt may perhaps be necessary to give a brief explanation of the object\nof this little work. It has been written as a CHILD\u2019S COMPANION TO THE\nPILGRIM\u2019S PROGRESS. That invaluable work is frequently put into youthful\nhands long before the mind can unravel the deep allegory which it\ncontains; and thus its precious lessons are lost, and it is only perused\nas an amusing tale.\n\nI would offer my humble work as a kind of _translation_, the term\nwhich was applied to it by a little boy to whom I was reading it in\nmanuscript\u2014a translation of ideas beyond youthful comprehension into the\ncommon language of daily life. I would tell the child, through the medium\nof a simple tale, that Bunyan\u2019s dream is a solemn reality, that the feet\nof the young may tread the pilgrim\u2019s path, and press on to the pilgrim\u2019s\nreward.\n\nI earnestly wish that I had been able more completely to carry out the\nobject set before me; but difficulties have arisen from the very nature\nof my work. I have been obliged to make mine _a very free translation_,\nfull both of imperfections and omissions. This is more especially the\ncase where subjects are treated of in the Pilgrim\u2019s Progress which\nconcern the deeper experience of the soul. Of fearful inward struggles\nand temptations, such as befell the author of that work, the gloom\nand horrors of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the little ones who\nearly set out on pilgrimage usually know but little. They find the\nstepping-stones across the Slough of Despond, and are rarely seized by\nGiant Despair. It would be worse than useless to represent the Christian\npilgrimage as more gloomy and painful than children are likely to find it.\n\nThere are other valuable parts of the Pilgrim\u2019s Progress, such as the\nsojourn in the House Beautiful, which is believed by many to represent\nChristian communion, which could hardly be enlarged upon in a design like\nmine; while the present altered appearance of Vanity Fair has compelled\nme to wander still further from my original, if I would draw a picture\nthat could be recognized at the present day, and be useful to the rising\ngeneration.\n\nSuch as it is, I earnestly pray the Lord of pilgrims to vouchsafe his\nblessing on my little work. To point out to His dear children the holy\nguiding light which marks the strait gate and the narrow path of life,\nand bid them God speed on their way, is an office which I most earnestly\ndesire, yet of which I feel myself unworthy. I may at least hope to lead\nmy young readers to a nobler instructor, to induce them to peruse with\ngreater interest and deeper profit the pages of the Pilgrim\u2019s Progress,\nand to apply to their own characters and their own lives the precious\ntruths conveyed in that allegory.\n\n A. L. O. E.\n\n\n\n\nContents.\n\n\n I. THE PILGRIM\u2019S CALL, 13\n\n II. DIFFICULTIES ON SETTING OUT, 25\n\n III. MAN\u2019S WAY OF WORKS, 33\n\n IV. GOD\u2019S GIFT OF GRACE, 44\n\n V. A GLIMPSE OF THE CROSS, 52\n\n VI. THE PILGRIM IN HIS HOME, 62\n\n VII. THE ARBOUR ON THE HILL, 68\n\n VIII. DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND DOUBTS, 79\n\n IX. THE ARMOUR AND THE BATTLE, 90\n\n X. SHADOW AND SUNSHINE, 102\n\n XI. THE TOUCHSTONE OF TRIAL, 111\n\n XII. PILGRIMS CONVERSE BY THE WAY, 122\n\n XIII. DISTANT GLIMPSE OF VANITY FAIR, 132\n\n XIV. VEXATIONS OF VANITY FAIR, 143\n\n XV. CITIZENS OF VANITY FAIR, 151\n\n XVI. NEW AND OLD COMPANIONS, 159\n\n XVII. LIFE IN THE GREAT CITY, 167\n\n XVIII. FOGS AND MISTS, 181\n\n XIX. DISAPPOINTMENT, 189\n\n XX. THE PERILOUS MINE, 197\n\n XXI. GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS, 206\n\n XXII. A FEW STEPS ASIDE, 215\n\n XXIII. REGRETS, BUT NOT DESPAIR, 230\n\n XXIV. A NEW DANGER, 239\n\n XXV. THE LAKE AMONG THE ROCKS, 253\n\n XXVI. COMING TO THE RIVER, 264\n\n XXVII. THE CLOSE OF THE PILGRIMAGE, 271\n\n XXVIII. CONCLUSION, 280\n\n\n\n\nList of Illustrations.\n\n\n MR. EWART AND MARK, _Frontispiece_\n\n AT THE GATE, 14\n\n MARK AND HIS MOTHER, 29\n\n HERDING SHEEP, 39\n\n AT THE CHURCH, 57\n\n MARK\u2019S KINDNESS, 67\n\n MARK\u2019S INDIGNATION AT DECEIT, 76\n\n MARK RESTORING THE LOST BIBLE, 86\n\n MARK DISCOVERED BY LORD FONTONORE, 105\n\n CHARLES\u2019S STRUGGLE, 117\n\n CHARLES AND HIS MOTHER\u2019S PORTRAIT, 140\n\n CLEMENTINA AT THE PIANO, 149\n\n RETURNING FROM CHURCH, 162\n\n THE PARTING WITH MR. EWART, 169\n\n THE CONVERSATION IN THE PARK, 179\n\n DRESSED FOR THE BALL, 188\n\n CLEMENTINA AND ERNEST, 192\n\n CHARLES AND FITZWIGRAM, 204\n\n MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR, 218\n\n THE DISMISSAL, 228\n\n THE CONFESSION AND ENTREATY, 233\n\n THE NEW TUTOR, 242\n\n THE APOLOGY, 251\n\n THE RESCUE, 260\n\n JACK RECEIVING THE BIBLE, 276\n\n THE WELCOME BOX, 284\n\n THE NEW BOOK, 285\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG PILGRIM.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE PILGRIM\u2019S CALL.\n\n \u201cI dreamed, and, behold, I saw a man clothed with rags standing\n in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book\n in his hand, and a great burden upon his back.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\n\u201cIs this the way to the ruins of St. Frediswed\u2019s shrine?\u201d said a\nclergyman to a boy of about twelve years of age, who stood leaning\nagainst the gate of a field.\n\n\u201cThey are just here, sir,\u201d replied the peasant, proceeding to open the\ngate.\n\n\u201cJust wait a moment,\u201d cried a bright-haired boy who accompanied the\nclergyman; \u201cthat is your way, this is mine,\u201d and he vaulted lightly over\nthe gate.\n\n\u201cSo these are the famous ruins!\u201d he exclaimed as he alighted on the\nopposite side; \u201cI don\u2019t think much of them, Mr. Ewart. A few yards of\nstone wall, half covered with moss, and an abundance of nettles is all I\ncan see.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AT THE GATE.]\n\n\u201cAnd yet this once was a famous resort for pilgrims.\u201d\n\n\u201cPilgrims,\u2014what were they?\u201d inquired the boy.\n\n\u201cIn olden times, when the Romanist religion prevailed in England, it was\nthought an act of piety to visit certain places that were considered\nparticularly holy; and those who undertook journeys for this purpose\nreceived the name of pilgrims. Many travelled thousands of miles to kneel\nat the tomb of our Lord in Jerusalem, and those who could not go so far\nbelieved that by visiting certain famous shrines here, they could win\nthe pardon of their sins. Hundreds of misguided people, in this strange,\nsuperstitious hope, visited the abbey by whose ruins we now stand; and\nI have heard that a knight, who had committed some great crime, walked\nhither barefoot, with a cross in his hand, a distance of several leagues.\u201d\n\n\u201cA knight barefoot! how strange!\u201d cried young Lord Fontonore; \u201cbut then\nhe believed that it would save him from his sins.\u201d\n\n\u201cSave him from his sins!\u201d thought the peasant boy, who, with his full\nearnest eyes fixed upon Mr. Ewart, had been drinking in every word that\nhe uttered; \u201csave him from his sins! I should not have thought it strange\nhad he crawled the whole way on his knees!\u201d\n\n\u201cAre there any pilgrims now?\u201d inquired Fontonore.\n\n\u201cIn Romanist countries there are still many pilgrimages made by those who\nknow not, as we do, the one only way by which sinners can be accounted\nrighteous before a pure God. But in one sense, Charles, we all should be\npilgrims, travellers in the narrow path that leads to salvation, passing\non in our journey from earth to heaven, with the cross not in our hands\nbut in our hearts; pilgrims, not to the tomb of a crucified Saviour, but\nto the throne of that Saviour in glory!\u201d\n\nCharles listened with reverence, as he always did when his tutor spoke of\nreligion, but his attention was nothing compared to that of the peasant,\nwho for the first time listened to conversation on a subject which\nhad lately been filling all his thoughts. He longed to speak, to ask\nquestions of the clergyman, but a feeling of awe kept him back; he only\nhoped that the gentleman would continue to talk, and felt vexed when he\nwas interrupted by three children who ran up to the stranger to ask for\nalms.\n\n\u201cBegging is a bad trade, my friends,\u201d said Mr. Ewart gravely, \u201cI never\nlike to encourage it in the young.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re so hungry,\u201d said the youngest of the party.\n\n\u201cMother\u2019s dead, and father\u2019s broke his leg!\u201d cried another.\n\n\u201cWe want to get him a little food,\u201d whined the third.\n\n\u201cDo you live near?\u201d asked Mr. Ewart.\n\n\u201cYes sir, very near.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go and see your father,\u201d said the clergyman.\n\nThe little rogues, who were accustomed to idle about the ruin to gain\npence from visitors by a tale of pretended woe, looked at each other in\nsome perplexity at the offer, for though they liked money well enough,\nthey were by no means prepared for a visit. At last Jack, the eldest,\nsaid with impudent assurance, \u201cFather\u2019s not there, he\u2019s taken to the\nhospital, there\u2019s only mother at home.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother! you said just now that your mother was dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cI meant\u2014\u201d stammered the boy, quite taken by surprise; but the clergyman\nwould not suffer him to proceed.\n\n\u201cDo not add another untruth, poor child, to those which you have just\nuttered. Do you not know that there is One above the heavens who hears\nthe words of your lips, reads the thoughts of your hearts\u2014One who will\njudge, and can punish?\u201d\n\nAshamed and abashed, the three children made a hasty retreat. As soon as\nthey were beyond sight and hearing of the strangers, Jack turned round\nand made a mocking face in their direction, and Madge exclaimed in an\ninsolent tone, \u201cWe weren\u2019t going to stop for his sermon.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s Mark there that would take it in every word, and thank him for\nit at the end,\u201d said Jack.\n\n\u201cOh, Mark\u2019s so odd!\u201d cried Ben; \u201che\u2019s never like anybody else. No one\nwould guess him for our brother!\u201d\n\nThese words were more true than Ben\u2019s usually were, for the bright-haired\nyoung noble himself scarcely offered a greater contrast to the ragged,\ndirty children, than they with their round rustic faces, marked by little\nexpression but stupidity on that of Ben, sullen obstinacy on Madge\u2019s,\nand forward impudence on Jack\u2019s, did to the expansive brow and deep\nthoughtful eye of the boy whom they had spoken of as Mark.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Jack, \u201che could never even pluck a wild-flower, but he must\nbe pulling it to bits to look at all its parts. It was not enough to him\nthat the stars shine to give us light, he must prick out their places on\nan old bit of paper, as if it mattered to him which way they were stuck.\nBut of all his fancies he\u2019s got the worst one now; I think he\u2019s going\nquite crazed.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he taken into his head?\u201d said Madge.\n\n\u201cYou remember the bag which the lady dropped at the stile, when she was\ngoing to the church by the wood?\u201d\n\nMadge nodded assent, and her brother continued: \u201cWhat fun we had in\ncarrying off and opening that bag, and dividing the things that were in\nit! Father had the best of the fun of it though, for he took the purse\nwith the money.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d cried Ben, \u201cand mother had the handkerchief with lace round the\nedge, and E. S. marked in the corner. We\u2014more\u2019s the shame!\u2014had nothing\nbut some pence, and the keys; and Mark, as the biggest, had the book.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! the book!\u201d cried Jack; \u201cthat\u2019s what has put him out of his wits!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one grudged it him, I\u2019m sure,\u201d said Ben, \u201cprecious little any of us\nwould have made out of it. But Mark takes so to reading, it\u2019s so odd; and\nit sets him a thinking, a thinking: well, I can\u2019t tell what folk like us\nhave to do with reading and thinking!\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I!\u201d cried both Madge and Jack.\n\n\u201cI shouldn\u2019t wonder,\u201d said the latter, as stretched on the grass he\namused himself with shying stones at the sparrows, \u201cI shouldn\u2019t wonder if\nhis odd ways had something to do with that red mark on his shoulder!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, that strange mark, like a cross, which made us call him the\nRed-cross Knight, after the ballad which mother used to sing us?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; I never saw a mark like that afore, either from blow or burn.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother don\u2019t like to hear it talked of,\u201d said Madge.\n\n\u201cWell, whatever has put all this nonsense into his head, father will\nsoon knock it out of him when he comes back!\u201d cried Jack. \u201cHe\u2019s left off\nbegging,\u2014he won\u2019t ask for a penny, and he used to get more than we three\ntogether, \u2019cause ladies said he looked so interesting; and he\u2019ll not so\nmuch as take an egg from a nest,\u2014he\u2019s turned quite good for nothing!\u201d\n\nLeaving the three children to pursue their conversation, we will return\nto him who was the subject of it. That which had made them scoff had made\nhim reflect,\u2014he could not get rid of those solemn words, \u201cThere is One\nabove the heavens who hears the words of your lips, reads the thoughts\nof your hearts\u2014One who will judge, and can punish!\u201d They reminded him of\nwhat he had read in his book, _The soul that sinneth it shall die_; he\nknew himself to be a sinner, and he trembled.\n\nLittle dreaming what was passing in the mind of the peasant, Mr. Ewart\nexamined the ruin without noticing him further, and Mark still leant on\nthe gate, a silent, attentive listener.\n\n\u201cI think, Charles,\u201d said the tutor, \u201cthat I should like to make a sketch\nof this spot, I have brought my paint-box and drawing block with me, and\nif I could only procure a little water\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cPlease may I bring you some, sir?\u201d said Mark.\n\nThe offer was accepted, and the boy went off at once, still turning in\nhis mind the conversation that had passed.\n\n\u201c\u2018Pilgrims in the narrow path that leadeth to salvation,\u2019\u2014I wish that I\nknew what he meant. Is that a path only for holy men like him, or can\nit be that it is open to me? Salvation! that is safety, safety from\npunishment, safety from the anger of the terrible God. Oh, what can I do\nto be saved!\u201d\n\nIn a few minutes Mark returned with some fresh water which he brought in\nan old broken jar. He set it down by the spot where Mr. Ewart was seated.\n\n\u201cThanks, my good lad,\u201d said the clergyman, placing a silver piece in his\nhand.\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d repeated Mark to himself; \u201che little knows to whom he is\nspeaking.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be tedious to you, Charles, to remain beside me while I am\nsketching,\u201d said Mr. Ewart; \u201cyou will enjoy a little rambling about; only\nreturn to me in an hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will explore!\u201d replied the young lord gaily; \u201cthere is no saying what\ncuriosities I may find to remind me of the pilgrims of former days.\u201d\n\nAnd now the clergyman sat alone, engaged with his paper and brush, while\nMark watched him from a little distance, and communed with his own heart.\n\n\u201cHe said that he knew the one, only way by which sinners could be\naccounted righteous\u2014righteous! that must mean good\u2014before a holy God! He\nknows the way; oh, that he would tell it to me! I have half a mind to go\nup to him now; it would be a good time when he is all by himself.\u201d Mark\nmade one step forward, then paused. \u201cI dare not, he would think it so\nstrange. He could not understand what I feel. He has never stolen, nor\ntold lies, nor sworn; he would despise a poor sinner like me. And yet,\u201d\nadded the youth with a sigh, \u201che would hardly sit there, looking so quiet\nand happy, if he knew how anxious a poor boy is to hear of the way of\nsalvation, which he says that he knows. I will go nearer; perhaps he may\nspeak first.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart had begun a bold, clever sketch,\u2014stones and moss, trees and\ngrass were rapidly appearing on the paper, but he wanted some living\nobject to give interest to the picture. Naturally his eye fell upon Mark,\nin his tattered jacket and straw hat, but he forgot his sketch as he\nlooked closer at the boy, and met his sad, anxious gaze.\n\n\u201cYou are unhappy, I fear,\u201d he said, laying down his pencil.\n\nMark cast down his eyes, and said nothing.\n\n\u201cYou are in need, or you are ill, or you are in want of a friend,\u201d said\nthe clergyman with kind sympathy in his manner.\n\n\u201cOh, sir, it is not that\u2014\u201d began Mark, and stopped.\n\n\u201cCome nearer to me, and tell me frankly, my boy, what is weighing on your\nheart. It is the duty, it is the privilege of the minister of Christ to\nspeak comfort to those who require comfort.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you tell me,\u201d cried Mark, with a great effort, \u201cthe way for\nsinners\u2014to be saved?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Saviour is _the Way, the Truth, and the Life_, the Gate by which\nalone we enter into salvation. _Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou\nshalt be saved. The just shall live by faith._\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is faith?\u201d said Mark, gathering courage from the gentleness with\nwhich he was addressed.\n\n\u201cFaith is to believe all that the Bible tells us of the Lord, His glory,\nHis goodness, His death for our sins, to believe all the promises made in\nHis Word, to rest in them, hope in them, make them our stay, and love Him\nwho first loved us. Have you a Bible, my friend?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you read it?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery often,\u201d replied Mark.\n\n\u201c_Search the Scriptures_, for they are the surest guide; search them with\nfaith and prayer, and the Lord will not leave you in darkness, but guide\nyou by his counsel here, and afterward receive you to glory.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart did not touch his pencil again that day, his sketch lay\nforgotten upon the grass. He was giving his hour to a nobler employment,\nthe employment worthy of angels, the employment which the Son of God\nHimself undertook upon earth. He was seeking the sheep lost in the\nwilderness, he was guiding a sinner to the truth.\n\n\u201cI hope that I have not kept you waiting,\u201d exclaimed Charles, as he came\nbounding back to his tutor; \u201cthe carriage has come for us from the inn;\nit looks as if we should have rain, we must make haste home.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart, who felt strongly interested in Mark, now asked him for his\nname and address, and noted down both in his pocket-book. He promised\nthat, if possible, he would come soon and see him again.\n\n\u201cKeep to your good resolutions,\u201d said the clergyman, as he walked towards\nthe carriage, accompanied by Charles; \u201cand remember that though _the\njust shall live by faith_, it is such faith as must necessarily produce\n_repentance_, _love_, and _a holy life_.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart stepped into the carriage, the young lord sprang in after him,\nthe servant closed the door and they drove off. Mark stood watching the\nsplendid equipage as it rolled along the road, till it was at last lost\nto his sight.\n\n\u201cI am glad that I have seen him\u2014I am so glad that he spoke to me\u2014I will\nnever forget what he said! Yes, I will keep to my good resolutions; from\nthis hour I will be a pilgrim to heaven, I will enter at once by the\nstrait gate, and walk in the narrow way that leadeth unto life!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nDIFFICULTIES ON SETTING OUT.\n\n \u201cThey drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the midst\n of the plain; and they being heedless, did both fall suddenly\n into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\nEvening had closed in with rain and storm, and all the children had\nreturned to the cottage of their mother. A dirty, uncomfortable abode it\nlooked, most unlike those beautiful little homes of the peasant which we\nsee so often in dear old England, with the ivy-covered porch, and the\nclean-washed floor, the kettle singing merrily above the cheerful fire,\nthe neat rows of plates ranged on the shelf, the prints upon the wall,\nand the large Bible in the corner.\n\nNo; this was a cheerless-looking place, quite as much from idleness\nand neglect as from poverty. The holes in the window were stuffed with\nrags, the little garden in front held nothing but weeds, the brick floor\nappeared as though it had never been clean, and everything lay about in\nconfusion. An untidy-looking woman, with her shoes down at heel, and her\nhair hanging loose about her ears, had placed the evening meal on the\ntable; and round it now sat the four children, busy with their supper,\nbut not so busy as to prevent a constant buzz of talking from going on\nall the time that they ate.\n\n\u201cI say, Mark,\u201d cried Jack, \u201cwhat did the parson pay you for listening to\nhim for an hour?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much did you get out of him?\u201d said Madge.\n\n\u201cAny money?\u201d asked Ann Dowley, looking up eagerly.\n\nMark laid sixpence on the table.\n\n\u201cI daresay that you might have got more,\u201d said Ben.\n\n\u201cI did get more\u2014but not money.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, food, or clothes, or\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cNot food, nor clothes, but good words, which were better to me than\ngold.\u201d\n\nThis announcement was received with a roar of laughter, which did not,\nhowever, disconcert Mark.\n\n\u201cLook you,\u201d he said, as soon as they were sufficiently quiet to hear\nhim, \u201clook you if what I said be not true. You only care for things that\nbelong to this life, but it is no more to be compared to the life that\nis to come than a candle to the sun, or a leaf to the forest! Why, where\nshall we all be a hundred years hence?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn our graves, to be sure,\u201d said Ben.\n\n\u201cThat is only our bodies\u2014our poor, weak bodies; but our souls, that\nthink, and hope, and fear, where will they be then?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t want to look on so far,\u201d observed Jack.\n\n\u201cBut it may not be far,\u201d exclaimed Mark. \u201cThousands of children die\nyounger than we, there are many, many small graves in the churchyard;\ndeath may be near to us, it may be close at hand, and _where will our\nsouls be then_?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Madge; \u201cI don\u2019t want to think,\u201d subjoined her elder\nbrother; their mother only heaved a deep sigh.\n\n\u201cIs it not something,\u201d continued Mark, \u201cto hear of the way to a place\nwhere our souls may be happy when our bodies are dust? Is it not\nsomething to look forward to a glorious heaven, where millions and\nmillions of years may be spent amongst joys far greater than we can\nthink, and yet never bring us nearer to the end of our happiness and\nglory?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, these are all dreams,\u201d laughed Jack, \u201cthat come from reading in that\nbook.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are not dreams!\u201d exclaimed Mark, with earnestness, \u201cthey are more\nreal than anything on earth. Everything is changing here, nothing is\nsure; flowers bloom one day and are withered the next; now there is\nsunshine, and now there is gloom; you see a man strong and healthy, and\nthe next thing you hear of him perhaps is his death! All things are\nchanging and passing away, just like a dream when we awake; but heaven\nand its delights are sure, quite sure; the rocks may be moved\u2014but it\nnever can be changed; the sun may be darkened\u2014it is all bright for ever!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh that we might reach it!\u201d exclaimed Ann Dowley, the tears rising into\nher eyes. Her sons looked at her in wonder, for they had never known\ntheir mother utter such a sentence before. To them Mark\u2019s enthusiasm\nseemed folly and madness, and they could not hide their surprise at the\neffect which it produced upon one so much older than themselves.\n\nAnn Dowley had been brought up to better things, and had received an\neducation very superior to the station in which she had been placed\nby her marriage. For many years she had been a servant in respectable\nfamilies, and though all was now changed\u2014how miserably changed!\u2014she could\nnot forget much that she had once seen and heard. She was not ignorant,\nthough low and coarse-minded, and it was perhaps from this circumstance\nthat her family were decidedly more intelligent than country children of\ntheir age usually are. Ann could read well, but her only stock of books\nconsisted of some dirty novels, broken-backed and torn\u2014she would have\ndone well to have used them to light the fire. She was one who had never\ncared much for religion, who had not sought the Creator in the days of\nher youth; but she was unhappy now, united to a husband whom she dreaded,\nand could not respect\u2014whose absence for a season was an actual relief;\nshe was poor, and she doubly felt the sting of poverty from having once\nbeen accustomed to comfort\u2014and Mark\u2019s description of peace, happiness,\nand joy, touched a chord in her heart that had been silent for long.\n\n[Illustration: MARK AND HIS MOTHER.]\n\n\u201cYou too desire to reach heaven!\u201d cried Mark, with animation sparkling in\nhis eyes; \u201coh, mother, we will be pilgrims together, struggle on together\nin the narrow way, and be happy for ever and ever!\u201d\n\nThe three younger children, who had no taste for conversation such as\nthis, having finished their meal slunk into the back room, to gamble away\nfarthings as they had learned to do from their father. Ann sat down by\nthe fire opposite to Mark, a more gentle expression than usual upon her\nface, and pushing back the hair from her brow, listened, leaning on her\nhand.\n\n\u201cI will tell you, mother, what the clergyman told me\u2014I wish that I could\nremember every word. He said that God would guide us by his counsel here,\nand afterward receive us to glory. And he spoke of that glory, that\ndazzling, endless glory! Oh, mother, how wretched and dark seems this\nearth when we think of the blessedness to come!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that blessedness may not be for us,\u201d said Ann.\n\n\u201cHe said that it was for those who had faith, who believed in the Lord\nJesus Christ.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe,\u201d said the woman, \u201cI never doubted the Bible; I used to read\nit when I was a child.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will read mine together now, mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what more did the clergyman tell you?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe told me that the faith which brings us to heaven will be sure to\nproduce\u2014\u201d Mark paused to recall the exact words\u2014\u201crepentance, love, and a\nholy life.\u201d\n\n\u201cA holy life!\u201d repeated Ann, slowly. Painful thoughts crossed her mind of\nmany things constantly done that ought not to be done, habits hard to\nbe parted with as a right hand or a right eye; holiness seemed something\nas far beyond her reach as the moon which was now rising in the cloudy\nsky; she folded her hands with a gloomy smile, and said, \u201cIf _that_ be\nneedful, we may as well leave all these fine hopes to those who have some\nchance of winning what they wish!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe way is not shut to us.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you that it is,\u201d said the woman, impatiently; for the little\ngleam of hope that had dawned on her soul had given place to sullen\ndespair. \u201cTo be holy you must be truthful and honest\u2014we are placed in a\nsituation where we cannot be truthful, we cannot be honest, we cannot\nserve God! It is all very well for the rich and the happy; the narrow way\nto them may be all strewed with flowers, but to us it is closed\u2014and for\never!\u201d She clenched her hand with a gesture of despair.\n\n\u201cBut, mother\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk no more,\u201d she said, rising from her seat; \u201cdo you think that your\nfather would stand having a saint for his wife, or his son! We have\ngone so far that we cannot turn back, we cannot begin life again like\nchildren\u2014never speak to me again on these matters!\u201d and, so saying, Ann\nquitted the room, further than ever from the strait gate that leadeth\nunto life, more determined to pursue her own unhappy career.\n\nThe heart of Mark sank within him. Here was disappointment to the young\npilgrim at the very outset: fear, doubt, and difficulty enclosed him\nround, and hope was but as a dim, distant light before him. But help\nseemed given to the lonely boy, more lonely amid his unholy companions\nthan if he had indeed stood by himself in the world. He looked out on\nthe pure, pale moon in the heavens: the dark clouds were driving across\nher path, sometimes seeming to blot her from the sky; then a faint, hazy\nlight would appear from behind them; then a slender, brilliant rim would\nbe seen; and at last the full orb would shine out in glory, making even\nthe clouds look bright!\n\n\u201cSee how these clouds chase each other, and crowd round the moon, as if\nthey would block up her way!\u201d thought Mark. \u201cThey are like the trials\nbefore me now, but bravely she keeps on her path through all and I must\nnot\u2014I will not despair!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nMAN\u2019S WAY OF WORKS.\n\n \u201cNow as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he espied\n one afar off come crossing over the field to meet him; and\n their hap was to meet just as they were crossing the way of\n each other. The gentleman\u2019s name that met him was Mr. Worldly\n Wiseman.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nThe bright morning dawned upon Holyby, the storm had spent itself during\nthe night, and nothing remained to mark that it had been but the greater\nfreshness of the air, clearness of the sky, and the heavy moisture on the\ngrass that sparkled in the sun.\n\nAs the young pilgrim sat under an elm-tree, eating the crust which served\nhim for a breakfast, and meditating on the events and the resolutions of\nthe last day, Farmer Joyce came riding along the road, mounted on a heavy\nhorse which often did service in the plough, and drew up as he reached\nthe boy.\n\n\u201cI say, Mark Dowley,\u201d he called in a loud, hearty voice, \u201cyou are just\nthe lad I was looking for!\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you want me?\u201d said Mark, raising his eyes.\n\n\u201cDo you know Mr. Ewart?\u201d cried the farmer; and on Mark\u2019s shaking his\nhead, continued, \u201cwhy, he was talking to me about you yesterday\u2014a\nclergyman, a tall man with a stoop\u2014he who is tutor to Lord Fontonore.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes!\u201d cried Mark, springing up, \u201cbut I did not know his name. What\ncould he be saying of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe stopped at my farm on his drive home yesterday, and asked me if I\nknew a lad called Mark Dowley, and what sort of character he bore. Says\nI,\u201d continued the farmer, with a broad smile on his jovial face, \u201cI know\nnothing against that boy in particular, but he comes of a precious bad\nlot!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what did he reply?\u201d cried Mark, eagerly.\n\n\u201cOh, a great deal that I can\u2019t undertake to repeat, about taking you out\nof temptation, and putting you in an honest way; so the upshot of it is\nthat I agreed to give you a chance, and employ you myself to take care of\nmy sheep, to see if anything respectable can be made of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow good in him\u2014how kind!\u201d exclaimed Mark.\n\n\u201cIt seems that you got round him\u2014that you found his weak side, young\nrogue! You had been talking to him of piety and repentance, and wanting\nto get to heaven. But I\u2019ll give you a word of advice, my man, better\nthan twenty sermons. You see I\u2019m thriving and prosperous enough, and\nwell respected, though I should not say so, and I never wronged a man\nin my life. If you would be the same, just mind what I say, keep the\ncommandments, do your duty, work hard, owe nothing, and steer clear of\nthe gin-shop, and depend upon it you\u2019ll be happy now, and be sure of\nheaven at the last.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Ewart said that by faith\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith!\u201d exclaimed the farmer, not very reverently; \u201cdon\u2019t trouble\nyourself with things quite above you\u2014things which you cannot understand.\nIt is all very well for a parson like him\u2014a very worthy man in his way,\nI believe, but with many odd, fanciful notions. My religion is a very\nsimple one, suited to a plain man like me; I do what is right, and I\nexpect to be rewarded; I go on in a straightforward, honest, industrious\nway, and I feel safer than any talking and canting can make one. Now you\nmind what you have heard, Mark Dowley, and come up to my farm in an hour\nor two. I hope I\u2019ll have a good account to give of you to the parson; and\nthe young lord, he too seemed to take quite an interest in you.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he?\u201d said Mark, somewhat surprised.\n\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s odd enough, with such riches as he has, one would have thought\nthat he had something else to think of than a beggar boy. Why, he has as\nmany thousands a-year as there are sheaves in that field!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe had a splendid carriage and horses.\u201d\n\n\u201cCarriage! he might have ten for the matter of that. They say he has the\nfinest estate in the county of York; but I can\u2019t stay here idling all\nday,\u201d added the farmer; \u201cyou come up to my place as I said, and remember\nall you\u2019ve heard to-day. I have promised to give you a trial; but mark\nme, my lad, if I catch you at any of your old practices, that moment\nyou leave my service. So, _honesty is the best policy_, as the good old\nproverb says.\u201d With that he struck his horse with the cudgel which he\ncarried in his hand, and went off at a slow, heavy trot.\n\n\u201cThere is a great deal of sense in what he has said,\u201d thought Mark, as\nhe turned in the direction of Anne\u2019s cottage to tell her of his new\nengagement. \u201c\u2018Keep the commandments, work hard, and steer clear of the\ngin-shop, and you\u2019ll be sure of heaven at the last!\u2019 These are very plain\ndirections any way, and I\u2019m resolved to follow them from this hour. Some\nof my difficulties seem clearing away; by watching the sheep all the day\nlong I shall be kept from a good many of my temptations. I shall have\nless of the company of my brothers, I shall earn my bread in an honest\nway, and yet have plenty of time for thought. \u2018Keep the commandments,\u2019\nlet me think what they are;\u201d and he went over the ten in his mind, as\nhe learned them from his Bible. \u201cI think that I may manage to keep them\npretty strictly, but there are words in the Word of God which will come\nto my thoughts. _A new commandment I give you, that ye love one another_:\nand, _He that hateth his brother is a murderer_;\u2014how can I love those\nwho dislike me?\u2014\u2019tis impossible; I don\u2019t believe that any one could.\u201d\n\nThe first thing that met the eyes of Mark on his entering the cottage\nput all his good resolutions to flight. Jack and Ben were seated on the\nbrick floor, busy in patching up a small broken box, and as they wanted\nsomething to cut up for a lid, they had torn off the cover from his\nbeautiful Bible, and thrown the book itself under the table! Mark darted\nforward with an oath\u2014alas! his lips had been too long accustomed to such\nlanguage for the habit of using it to be easily broken, though he never\nswore except when taken by surprise, as in this instance. He snatched up\nfirst the cover, and then the book, and with fiery indignation flashing\nin his eyes, exclaimed, \u201cI\u2019ll teach you how to treat my Bible so!\u201d\n\n\u201c_Your_ Bible!\u201d exclaimed Ben, with a mocking laugh; \u201cMark thinks it no\nharm to steal a good book, but it\u2019s desperate wicked to pull off its\ncover!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s what the parson was teaching him!\u201d cried Jack. Provoked\nbeyond endurance, Mark struck him.\n\n\u201cSo it\u2019s that you\u2019re after!\u201d exclaimed Jack, springing up like a wild\ncat, and repaying the blow with interest. He was but little younger\nthan Mark, and of much stronger make, therefore at least his match in a\nstruggle. The boys were at once engaged in fierce fight, while Ben sat\nlooking on at the unholy strife, laughing, and shouting, and clapping his\nhands, and hallooing to Jack to \u201cgive it him!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you about there, you bad boys?\u201d exclaimed Ann, running from\nthe inner room at the noise of the scuffle. Jack had always been her\nfavourite son, and without waiting to know who had the right in the\ndispute, she grasped Mark by the hair, threw him violently back, and,\ngiving him a blow with her clenched hand, cried, \u201cGet away with you,\nsneaking coward that you are, to fight a boy younger than yourself!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou always take his part, but he\u2019ll live to be your torment yet!\u201d\nexclaimed Mark, forgetting all else in the blind fury of his passion.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll do better than you, with all your canting,\u201d cried Ann. The words\nin a moment recalled Mark to himself; what had he been doing? what had\nhe been saying? he, the pilgrim to heaven; he, the servant of God! With\na bitterness of spirit more painful than any wrong which could have\nbeen inflicted upon him by another, he took up the Bible which had been\ndropped in the struggle, and left the cottage without uttering a word.\n\n[Illustration: HERDING SHEEP.]\n\nMortifying were Mark\u2019s reflections through that day, as he sat tending\nhis sheep. \u201cKeep the commandments!\u201d he sadly murmured to himself; \u201chow\nmany have I broken in five minutes! I took God\u2019s name in vain\u2014a terrible\nsin. It is written, _Above all things swear not_. I did not honour my\nmother, I spoke insolently to her. I broke the sixth commandment by\nhating my brother; I struck him; I felt as though I could have knocked\nhim down and trampled upon him! How can I reach heaven by keeping the\ncommandments? I could as well get up to those clouds by climbing a tree.\nWell, but I\u2019ll try once again, and not give up yet. There is no one to\nprovoke me, no one to tempt me here; I can be righteous at least when I\nam by myself.\u201d\n\nSo Mark sat long, and read in his Bible, mended it as well as he could,\nand thought of Mr. Ewart and his words. Presently his mind turned to Lord\nFontonore, the fair, bright-haired boy who possessed so much wealth, who\nwas placed in a position so different from his own.\n\n\u201cHe must be a happy boy indeed!\u201d thought Mark, \u201cwith food in abundance,\nevery want supplied, not knowing what it is to wish for a pleasure and\nnot have it at once supplied. He must be out of the way of temptation\ntoo, always under the eye of that kind, holy man, who never would give\na rough word, I am sure, but would always be leading him right. It is\nvery hard that there are such differences in the world, that good things\nare so very unevenly divided. I wish that I had but one quarter of his\nwealth; he could spare it, no doubt, and never feel the loss.\u201d Without\nthinking what he was doing, Mark turned over a leaf of the Bible which\nlay open upon his knee. _Thou shalt not covet_, were the first words that\nmet his gaze; Mark sighed heavily, and closed the book.\n\n\u201cSo, even when I am alone, I am sinning still; coveting, repining,\nmurmuring against God\u2019s will, with no more power to stand upright for\none hour than this weed which I have plucked up by the roots. And yet\n_the soul that sinneth it shall die_. I cannot get rid of these terrible\nwords. I will not think on this subject any more, it only makes me more\nwretched than I was. Oh! I never knew, till I tried it to-day, how hard,\nhow impossible it is to be righteous before a holy God!\u201d\n\nSo, tempted to banish the thought of religion altogether from his mind,\nbecause he felt the law to be too holy to be kept unbroken, yet dreading\nthe punishment for breaking it, Mark tried to turn his attention to other\nthings. He watched the sheep as they grazed, plucked wild-flowers and\nexamined them, and amused himself as best he might.\n\nThe day was very hot, there was little shade in the field, and Mark grew\nheated and thirsty. He wished that there were a stream running through\nthe meadow, his mouth felt so parched and dry.\n\nOn one side of the field there was a brick wall, dividing it from the\ngarden belonging to Farmer Joyce. On the top of this grew a bunch of\nwild wall-flower, and Mark, who was particularly fond of flowers, amused\nhimself by devising means to reach it. There was a small tree growing\nnot very far from the spot, by climbing which, and swinging himself over\non the wall, he thought that he might succeed in obtaining the prize. It\nwould be difficult, but Mark rather liked difficulties of this sort, and\nanything at that time seemed pleasanter than thinking.\n\nAfter one or two unsuccessful attempts, the boy found himself perched\nupon the wall; but the flower within his reach was forgotten. He looked\ndown from his height on the garden below, with its long lines of\nfruit-bushes, now stripped and bare, beds of onions, rows of beans, broad\ntracts of potatoes, all the picture of neatness and order. But what most\nattracted the eye of the boy was a splendid peach-tree, growing on the\nwall just below him, its boughs loaded with rich tempting fruit. One\nlarge peach, the deep red of whose downy covering showed it to be so\nripe that one might wonder that it did not fall from the branch by its\nown weight, lay just within reach of his hand. The sight of that fruit,\nthat delicious fruit, made Mark feel more thirsty than ever. He should\nhave turned away, he should have sprung from the wall; but he lingered\nand looked, and looking desired, then stretched out his hand to grasp.\nAlas for his resolutions! alas for his pilgrim zeal! Could so small a\ntemptation have power to overcome them?\n\nYet let the disadvantages of Mark\u2019s education be remembered: he had\nbeen brought up with those to whom robbing an orchard seemed rather a\ndiversion than a sin. His first ardour for virtue had been chilled by\nfailure; and who that has tried what he vainly attempted does not know\nthe effect of that chill? With a hesitating hand Mark plucked the ripe\npeach; he did not recollect that it was a similar sin which once plunged\nthe whole earth into misery\u2014that it was tasting forbidden fruit which\nbrought sin and death into the world. He raised it to his lips, when a\nsudden shout from the field almost caused him to drop from the wall.\n\n\u201cHolloa there, you young thief! Are you at it already? Robbing me the\nvery first day! Come down, or I\u2019ll bring you to the ground with a\nvengeance!\u201d It was the angry voice of the farmer.\n\nMark dropped from his height much faster than he had mounted, and stood\nbefore his employer with his face flushed to crimson, and too much\nashamed to lift up his eyes.\n\n\u201cGet you gone,\u201d continued the farmer, \u201cfor a hypocrite and a rogue; you\nneed try none of your canting on me. Not one hour longer shall you remain\nin my employ; you\u2019re on the high road to the gallows.\u201d\n\nMark turned away in silence, with an almost bursting heart, and feelings\nthat bordered on despair. With what an account of himself was he to\nreturn to his home, to meet the scoffs and jests which he had too well\ndeserved? What discredit would his conduct bring on his religion! How\nhis profane companions would triumph in his fall! The kind and pitying\nclergyman would regard him as a hypocrite\u2014would feel disappointed in him.\nBitter was the thought. All his firm resolves had snapped like thread in\nthe flame, and his hopes of winning heaven had vanished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nGOD\u2019S GIFT OF GRACE.\n\n \u201cYe cannot be justified by the works of the law; for by\n the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his\n burden.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\n\u201cWhat ails you my young friend?\u2014has anything painful happened?\u201d said\na kindly voice, and a hand was gently laid upon the shoulder of Mark,\nwho was lying on the grass amidst the ruins of the old Abbey, his face\nleaning on his arms, and turned towards the earth, while short convulsive\nsobs shook his frame.\n\n\u201cOh, sir!\u201d exclaimed Mark, as a momentary glance enabled him to recognize\nMr. Ewart.\n\n\u201cLet me know the cause of your sorrow,\u201d said the clergyman, seating\nhimself on a large stone beside him. \u201cRise, and speak to me with freedom.\u201d\n\nMark rose, but turned his glowing face aside; he was ashamed to look at\nhis companion.\n\n\u201cSit down there,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, feeling for the boy\u2019s evident confusion\nand distress; \u201cperhaps you are not yet aware that I have endeavoured to\nserve you\u2014to procure you a situation with Farmer Joyce?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have had it, and lost it,\u201d replied Mark abruptly.\n\n\u201cIndeed, I am sorry to hear that. I trust that no fault has occasioned\nyour removal.\u201d\n\n\u201cI stole his fruit,\u201d said Mark, determined at least to hide nothing from\nhis benefactor; \u201che turned me off, and he called me a hypocrite. I am bad\nenough,\u201d continued the boy, in an agitated tone; \u201cno one but myself knows\nhow bad; but I am _not_ a hypocrite\u2014I am _not_!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod forbid!\u201d said Mr. Ewart; \u201cbut how did all this happen?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was thirsty, it tempted me, and I took it. I broke all my resolutions,\nand now he cast me off, and you will cast me off, and the pure holy God,\nHe will cast me off too! I shall never be worthy of heaven!\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you think that you could ever be worthy of heaven?\u201d said the\nclergyman, and paused for a reply. Then receiving none from Mark, he\ncontinued\u2014\u201cNot you, nor I, nor the holiest man that ever lived, One\nexcepted, who was not only man, but God, was ever _worthy_ of the kingdom\nof heaven.\u201d\n\nMark looked at him in silent surprise.\n\n\u201cWe are all sinners, Mark; all polluted with guilt. Not one day passes\nin which our actions, our words, or our thoughts, would not make us lose\nall title to eternal life. The Bible says, \u2018_There is not one that doeth\ngood, no, not one._\u2019 Every living soul is included under sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can this be?\u201d said Mark, who had looked upon the speaker as one\nabove all temptation or stain.\n\n\u201cSince Adam, our first parent, sinned and fell, all his children have\nbeen born into the world with a nature tainted and full of wickedness.\nEven as every object lifted up from the earth, if unsupported, will fall\nto the ground, so we, without God\u2019s grace, naturally fall into sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen can no one go to heaven?\u201d said Mark.\n\n\u201cBlessed be God, mercy has found a means by which even sinners can be\nsaved! Sin is the burden which weighs us to the dust, which prevents us\nfrom rising to glory. The Lord Jesus came from heaven that He might free\nus from sin, take our burden from us, and bear it Himself; and so we have\nhope of salvation through Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish that I understood this better,\u201d said Mark.\n\n\u201cI will tell you what happened to a friend of my own, which may help you\nto understand our position towards God, and the reason of the hope that\nis in us. I went some years ago with a wealthy nobleman to visit a prison\nat some distance. Many improvements have been made in prisons since then,\nat that time they were indeed most fearful abodes. In one damp dark cell,\nsmall and confined, where light scarcely struggled in through the narrow\ngrating to show the horrors of the place, where the moisture trickled\ndown the green stained walls, and the air felt heavy and unwholesome; in\nthis miserable den we found an unhappy prisoner, who had been confined\nthere for many weary years. He had been placed there for a debt which he\nwas unable to pay, and he had no prospect of ever getting free. Can you\nsee in this man\u2019s case no likeness to your own? Look on sin as a debt, a\nheavy debt, that you owe: do you not feel that you have no power to pay\nit?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone,\u201d replied Mark gloomily; \u201cnone.\u201d\n\n\u201cI had the will to help the poor man,\u201d continued Mr. Ewart, \u201cbut\nProvidence had not afforded me the means. I had no more ability to set\nhim free from prison than I have to rid you of the burden of your sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the wealthy nobleman,\u201d suggested Mark.\n\n\u201cHe had both power and will. He paid the debt at once, and the prisoner\nwas released. Never shall I forget the poor man\u2019s cry of delight, as the\nheavy iron-studded door was thrown open for his passage, and he bounded\ninto the bright sunshine again!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what became of him afterwards?\u201d asked the boy.\n\n\u201cHe entered the service of his generous benefactor, and became the most\nfaithful, the most attached of servants. He remained in that place till\nhe died; he seemed to think that he could never do enough for him who had\nrestored him to freedom.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is the friend to pay _my_ debt?\u201d sighed Mark.\n\n\u201cIt has been paid already,\u201d said the clergyman.\n\n\u201cPaid! Oh, when, and by whom?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was paid when the Saviour died upon the cross\u2014it was paid by the\neternal Son of God. He entered for us the prison of this world, He paid\nour debt with His own precious blood, He opened the gates of eternal\nlife; through His merits, for His sake, we are pardoned and saved, if we\nhave faith, true faith in that Saviour!\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is wonderful,\u201d said Mark, thoughtfully, as though he could yet\nscarcely grasp the idea. \u201cAnd this faith must produce a holy life; but\nhere is the place where I went wrong\u2014I thought men were saved _because_\nthey were holy.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are holy because they are saved! Here was indeed your mistake,\nmy friend. The poor debtor was not set free because he had served his\nbenefactor, but he served him _because he was set free_! A tree does not\nlive because it has fruit, however abundant that fruit may be; but it\nproduces fruit _because it has life_, and good actions are the fruit of\nour faith!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut are we safe whether we be holy or not?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Without holiness no man shall see the Lord. Every tree that beareth not\ngood fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire._\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I feel as if I could not be holy,\u201d cried Mark. \u201cI tried this day to\nwalk straight on in the narrow path of obedience to God\u2014I tried, but I\nmiserably failed. I gained nothing at all by trying.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou gained the knowledge of your own weakness, my boy; you will trust\nless to your resolutions in future, and so God will bring good out\nof evil. And now let me ask you one question, Mark Dowley. When you\ndetermined to set out on your Christian pilgrimage, did you pray for the\nhelp and guidance of God\u2019s Spirit?\u201d\n\nMark, in a low voice, answered, \u201cNo!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd can you wonder then that you failed? could you have expected to\nsucceed? As well might you look for ripe fruit where the sun never\nshines, or for green grass to spring where the dew never falls, or for\nsails to be filled and the vessel move on when there is not a breath\nof air. Sun, dew, and wind are given by God alone, and so is the Holy\nSpirit, without which it is impossible to please Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how can I have the Spirit?\u201d said Mark.\n\n\u201cAsk for it, never doubting but that it shall be sent, for this is the\npromise of the Lord: _Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find,\nknock and it shall be opened unto you. If ye, being evil, know how to\ngive good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which\nis in heaven give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?_\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will the Spirit do for me?\u201d\n\n\u201cStrengthen you, increase your courage and your faith, make your\nheart pure and holy. _The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace,\nlong-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance._\nHaving these you are rich indeed, and may press on your way rejoicing to\nthe kingdom of your Father in heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how shall I pray?\u201d exclaimed Mark. \u201cI am afraid to address the Most\nHigh God, poor miserable sinner that I am.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen the blessed Saviour dwelt upon earth, multitudes flocked around\nhim. The poor diseased leper fell at his feet, he was not despised\nbecause he was unclean; parents brought their children to the Lord, they\nwere not sent away because they were feeble; the thief asked for mercy on\nthe cross, he was not rejected because he was a sinner. The same gentle\nSaviour who listened to them is ready to listen to you; the same merciful\nLord who granted their prayers is ready to give an answer to yours. Pour\nout your whole heart, as you would to a friend; tell Him your wants, your\nweakness, your woe, and you never will seek Him in vain!\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a few minutes, during which Mark remained buried\nin deep, earnest thought. The clergyman silently lifted up his heart to\nheaven for a blessing upon the words that had been spoken; then, rising\nfrom his seat, he said, \u201cI do not give up all hope, Mark Dowley, of\nprocuring a situation for you yet; though, of course, after what has\noccurred, I shall find it more difficult to do so. And one word before\nwe part. You are now standing before the gate of mercy, a helpless,\nburdened, but not hopeless sinner. There is One ready, One willing to\nopen to you, if you knock by sincere humble prayer. Go, then, without\ndelay, _seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he\nis near_.\u201d\n\nMark watched the receding figure of the clergyman with a heart too full\nto express thanks. As soon as Mr. Ewart was out of sight, once more\nthe boy threw himself down on the grass, but no longer in a spirit of\ndespair. Trying to realize the truth, that he was indeed in the presence\nof the Saviour of whom he had heard\u2014that the same eye which regarded\nthe penitent thief with compassion was now regarding him from heaven\u2014he\nprayed, with the energy of one whose all is at stake, for pardon, for\ngrace, for the Spirit of God! He rose with a feeling of comfort and\nrelief, though the burden on his heart was not yet removed. He believed\nthat the Lord was _gracious and long-suffering, that Jesus came into the\nworld to save sinners_; he had knocked at the strait gate, which gives\nentrance into life, and mercy had opened it unto him!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nA GLIMPSE OF THE CROSS.\n\n \u201cUpon that place stood a Cross, and a little below, in the\n bottom, a Sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as\n Christian came up with the Cross, his burden loosed from\n off his shoulders, and fell from off his back.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\n\u201cWell, this has been a pretty end to your fine pilgrimage!\u201d cried Jack,\nas Mark, resolved to tell the truth, whatever it might cost him, finished\nthe account of his rupture with the farmer.\n\n\u201cThe end!\u201d said Mark; \u201cmy pilgrimage is scarcely begun.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a sort of backward travelling, I should say,\u201d laughed Jack. \u201cYou\nbegin with quarrelling and stealing; I wonder what you\u2019ll come to at\nlast?\u201d\n\nMark was naturally of a quick and ardent spirit, only too ready to avenge\ninsult, whether with his tongue or his hand. But at this moment his pride\nwas subdued, he felt less inclined for angry retort; the young pilgrim\nwas more on his guard; his first fall had taught him to walk carefully.\nWithout replying, therefore, to the taunt of Jack, or continuing the\nsubject at all, he turned to Ann Dowley, and asked her if she could lend\nhim a needle and thread.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want with them?\u201d asked Ann.\n\n\u201cWhy, I am afraid that I shall be but a poor hand at the work, but I\nthought that I might manage to patch up one or two of these great holes,\nand make my dress look a little more respectable.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why do you wish to look respectable?\u201d asked Madge, glancing at him\nthrough the uncombed, unwashed locks that hung loosely over her brow; \u201cwe\nget more when we look ragged.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow is Sunday,\u201d Mark briefly replied, \u201cand I am going to church.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo church!\u201d exclaimed every other voice in the cottage, in a tone of as\nmuch surprise as if he had said that he was going to prison. Except Ann,\nin better days, not one of the party had ever crossed the threshold of a\nchurch.\n\n\u201cWell, if ever!\u201d exclaimed Jack; \u201cwhy on earth do you go there?\u201d\n\n\u201cI go because I think it right to do so, and because I think that it will\nhelp me on my way.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will you do when you get there?\u201d laughed Ben.\n\n\u201cI shall listen, learn, and pray.\u201d\n\nAnn, who, by dint of searching in a most disorderly box, filled with a\nvariety of odds and ends, had drawn forth first thread and then needle,\nstretched out her hand towards Mark. \u201cGive me your jacket, I will mend\nit,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cOh, thank you, how kind!\u201d he cried, pulling it off, pleased with an\noffer as unexpected as it was unusual.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said Madge, \u201cthat the shirt wants mending worse than the\njacket; under that hole on the shoulder I can see the red mark quite\nplainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe silent, and don\u2019t talk nonsense!\u201d cried Ann, impatiently.\n\nThe children glanced at each other, and were silent.\n\n\u201cAre you going to the near church by the wood?\u201d said Ann.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Mark; \u201cI have two reasons for going to Marshdale, though it\nis six or seven miles off. I would rather not go where\u2014where I am known;\nand judging from the direction in which his carriage was driven, I think\nthat I should have a better chance at Marshdale of hearing Mr. Ewart.\u201d\n\n\u201cHearing whom?\u201d exclaimed Ann, almost dropping her work, whilst the blood\nrushed up to her face.\n\n\u201cMr. Ewart, the clergyman who has been so kind, the tutor to Lord\nFontonore.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord Fontonore! does he live here?\u201d cried Ann, almost trembling with\nexcitement as she spoke.\n\n\u201cI do not know exactly where he lives. I should think it some way off,\nas the carriage was put up at the inn. Did you ever see the clergyman,\nmother?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe used to visit at my last place,\u201d replied Ann, looking distressed.\n\n\u201cI think I\u2019ve heard father talk about Lord Fontonore,\u201d said Madge.\n\n\u201cNo, you never did,\u201d cried Ann, abruptly.\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m sure of it,\u201d muttered Madge in a sullen tone.\n\n\u201cIf you know the clergyman, that\u2019s good luck for us,\u201d said Ben. \u201cI\ndaresay that he\u2019ll give us money if we get up a good story about you;\nonly he\u2019s precious sharp at finding one out. He wanted to pay us a visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t bring him here; for any sake don\u2019t bring him here!\u201d exclaimed Ann,\nlooking quite alarmed. \u201cYou don\u2019t know the mischief, the ruin you would\nbring. I never wish to set eyes upon that man.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can imagine her feelings of pain,\u201d thought Mark, \u201cby my own to-day,\nwhen I first saw the clergyman. There is something in the very look of a\ngood man which seems like a reproach to us when we are so different.\u201d\n\nThe next morning, as Mark was dressing for church, he happily noticed,\nbefore he put on his jacket, the word _Pilgrim_ chalked in large letters\nupon the back.\n\n\u201cThis is a piece of Jack\u2019s mischief,\u201d he said to himself. \u201cI am glad that\nit is something that can easily be set right\u2014more glad still that I saw\nit in time. I will take no notice of this piece of ill-nature. I must\nlearn to bear and forbear.\u201d\n\nMark endured in silence the taunts and jests of the children on his\nsetting out on his long walk to church. He felt irritated and annoyed,\nbut he had prayed for patience; and the consciousness that he was at\nleast trying to do what was right seemed to give him a greater command\nover his temper. He was heartily glad, however, when he got out of\nhearing of mocking words and bursts of laughter, and soon had a sense\neven of pleasure as he walked over the sunny green fields.\n\nAt length Marshdale church came in view. An ancient building it was, with\na low, ivy-covered tower, and a small arched porch before the entrance.\nIt stood in a churchyard, which was embosomed in trees, and a large\nyew-tree, that had stood for many an age, threw its shadow over the lowly\ngraves beneath.\n\nA stream of people was slowly wending along the narrow gravel walk, while\nthe bell rang a summons to prayer. There was the aged widow, leaning on\nher crutch, bending her feeble steps, perhaps for the last time, to the\nplace where she had worshipped from a child; there the hardy peasant, in\nhis clean smock-frock, leading his rosy-cheeked boy; and there walked the\nlady, leaning on her husband\u2019s arm, with a flock of little ones before\nher.\n\nMark stood beneath the yew-tree, half afraid to venture further,\nwatching the people as they went in. There were some others standing\nthere also, perhaps waiting because a little early for the service,\nperhaps only idling near that door which they did not mean to enter. They\nwere making observations on some one approaching.\n\n\u201cWhat a fine boy he looks! You might know him for a lord! Does he stay\nlong in the neighbourhood?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly for a few weeks longer, I believe; he has a prodigious estate\nsomewhere, I hear, and generally lives there with his uncle.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AT THE CHURCH.]\n\nAs the speaker concluded, young Lord Fontonore passed before them, and\nhis bright eye caught sight of Mark Dowley. Leaving the path which led\nto the door, he was instantly at the side of the poor boy.\n\n\u201cYou are coming into church, I hope?\u201d said he earnestly; then continued,\nwithout stopping for a reply, \u201cMr. Ewart is to preach; you must not stay\noutside.\u201d Mark bowed his head, and followed into the church.\n\nHow heavenly to the weary-hearted boy sounded the music of the hymn,\nthe many voices blended together in praise to the Saviour. God made him\nthink of the harmony of heaven! Rude voices, unkind looks, quarrelling,\nfalsehood, fierce temptations\u2014all seemed to him shut out from that place,\nand a feeling of peace stole over his spirit, like a calm after a storm.\nHe sat in a retired corner of the church, unnoticed and unobserved: it\nwas as though the weary pilgrim had paused on the hot, dusty highway\nof life, to bathe his bruised feet in some cooling stream, and refresh\nhimself by the wayside.\n\nPresently Mr. Ewart ascended the pulpit with the Word of God in his\nhand. Mark fixed his earnest eyes upon the face of the preacher, and\nnever removed them during the whole of the sermon. His was deep, solemn\nattention, such as befits a child of earth when listening to a message\nfrom Heaven.\n\nThe subject of the Christian minister\u2019s address was the sin of God\u2019s\npeople in the wilderness, and the means by which mercy saved the guilty\nand dying. He described the scene so vividly that Mark could almost\nfancy that he saw Israel\u2019s hosts encamping in the desert around the\ntabernacle, over which hung a pillar of cloud, denoting the Lord\u2019s\npresence with his people. God had freed them from bondage, had saved\nthem from their foes, had guided them, fed them, blessed them above all\nnations, and yet they rebelled and murmured against Him. Again and again\nthey had broken His law, insulted His servant, and doubted His love; and\nat last the long-merited punishment came. Fiery serpents were sent into\nthe camp, serpents whose bite was death, and the miserable sinners lay\ngroaning and dying beneath the reptiles\u2019 venomous fangs.\n\n\u201cAnd are such serpents not amongst us still?\u201d said the preacher; \u201cis not\n_sin_ the viper that clings to the soul, and brings it to misery and\ndeath! What ruins the drunkard\u2019s character and name, brings poverty and\nshame to his door? The fiery serpent of sin! What brings destruction on\nthe murderer and the thief? The fiery serpent of sin! What fixes its\npoison even in the young child, what has wounded every soul that is born\ninto the world? The fiery serpent of sin!\u201d\n\nThen the minister proceeded to tell how, at God\u2019s command, Moses raised\non high a serpent made of brass, and whoever had faith to look on that\nserpent, recovered from his wound, and was healed. He described the\ntrembling mothers of Israel lifting their children on high to look on the\ntype of salvation; and the dying fixing upon it their dim, failing eyes,\nand finding life returning as they gazed!\n\n\u201cAnd has no such remedy been found for man, sinking under the punishment\nof sin? Thanks to redeeming love, that remedy has been found; for as\nMoses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so hath the Son of Man\nbeen lifted up, that whoso believeth in him should not perish, but have\neverlasting life! Behold the Saviour uplifted on the cross, His brow\ncrowned with thorns, blood flowing from His side, and the wounds in His\npierced hands and feet! Why did He endure the torment and the shame, rude\nblows from the hands that His own power had formed\u2014fierce taunts from the\nlips to which He had given breath. It was that He might redeem us from\nsin and from death\u2014it was that the blessed Jesus might have power to say,\n_Look unto Me and be ye saved, all ends of the earth_.\n\n\u201cWe were sentenced to misery, sentenced to death; the justice of God\nhad pronounced the fearful words\u2014_The soul that sinneth it shall die!_\nOne came forward who knew no sin, to bear the punishment due unto sin;\nour sentence is blotted out by His blood; the sword of justice has been\nsheathed in His breast; and now there is no condemnation to them that are\nin Christ Jesus; their ransom is paid, their transgressions are forgiven\nfor the sake of Him who loved and gave Himself for them. Oh, come to the\nSaviour, ye weary and heavy laden\u2014come to the Saviour, ye burdened with\nsin, dread no longer the wrath of an offended God; _look to Him and be ye\nsaved, all ye ends of the earth_!\u201d\n\nMark had entered that church thoughtful and anxious, he left it with a\nheart overflowing with joy. It was as though sudden light had flashed\nupon darkness; he felt as the cripple must have felt when given sudden\nstrength, he sprang from the dust, and went walking, and leaping, and\npraising God. \u201cNo condemnation!\u201d he kept repeating to himself, \u201cno\ncondemnation to the penitent sinner! All washed away\u2014all sin blotted out\nfor ever by the blood of the crucified Lord! Oh, now can I understand\nthat blessed verse in Isaiah, \u2018_Though your sins be as scarlet, they\nshall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as\nwool._\u2019 \u2018_Praise the Lord, O my soul! and all that is within me, praise\nHis holy name!_\u2019\u201d\n\nThat hour was rich in blessings to the young pilgrim, and as he walked\ntowards home, with a light step and lighter heart, it was his delight\nto count them over. He rejoiced in the free forgiveness of sins, which\nnow for the first time he fully realized. He rejoiced that he might now\nappear before God, not clothed in the rags of his own imperfect works,\nbut the spotless righteousness of his Redeemer. He rejoiced that the Lord\nhad sealed him for His own, and given him sweet assurance of His pardon\nand His love. Oh, who can rejoice as the Christian rejoices when he looks\nto the cross and is healed!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE PILGRIM IN HIS HOME.\n\n \u201cI saw then in my dream that he went on thus, even until\n he came to the bottom, where he saw, a little out of\n the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon their\n heels.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nThe poor despised boy returned hungry and tired to a home where he was\ncertain to meet with unkindness, where he knew that he would scarcely\nfind the necessaries of life, and yet he returned with feelings that a\nmonarch might have envied. The love of God was so shed abroad in his\nheart, that the sunshine seemed brighter, the earth looked more lovely;\nhe felt certain that his Lord would provide for him here, that every\nsorrow was leading to joy. He thought of the happiness of the man once\npossessed, when he sat _clothed and in his right mind_ at the feet of the\nSaviour: it was there that the pilgrim was resting now, it was there that\nhe had laid his burden down. The fruit of the Spirit is peace and joy,\nsuch joy as is the foretaste of heaven.\n\nAnd the love of God must lead to love towards man. Mark could feel kindly\ntowards all his fellow-creatures His fervent desire was to do them some\ngood, and let them share the happiness that he experienced. He thought of\nthe rude inmates of his home, but without an emotion of anger; in that\nfirst hour of joy for pardoned sin there seemed no room in his heart\nfor anything but love and compassion for those who were still in their\nblindness.\n\nAs Mark drew near to his cottage, he came to a piece of ground overgrown\nwith thistles, which belonged to Farmer Joyce. He was surprised to find\nthere Jack, Madge, and Ben pulling up the thistles most busily, with an\nenergy which they seldom showed in anything but begging.\n\n\u201cCome and work with us,\u201d said Ben; \u201cthis ground must be all cleared\nto-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why to-day?\u201d said Mark.\n\n\u201cBecause Farmer Joyce told us this morning that when it was cleared he\nwould give us half-a-crown.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can work to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, but to-morrow is the fair-day, and that is why we are so anxious for\nthe money.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will gladly rise early to help you to-morrow, but this day, Ben, we\nought not to work. The Lord has commanded us to keep the Sabbath holy,\nand we never shall be losers by obeying Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s the pilgrim come to preach,\u201d cried Madge in a mocking tone.\n\n\u201cI tell you what,\u201d said Jack, stopping a moment in his work, \u201cyou\u2019d\nbetter mind your own business and be off; I don\u2019t know what you have to\ndo with us.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I have to do with you!\u201d exclaimed Mark. \u201cAm I not your brother, the\nson of your mother? Am I not ready and willing to help you, and to rise\nearly if I am ever so much tired?\u201d\n\nThere was such a bright, kindly look on the pale, weary face, that even\nJack could not possibly be offended.\n\n\u201cNow, just listen for a moment,\u201d continued Mark; \u201csuppose that as I was\ncoming along I had spied under the bushes there a lion asleep that I knew\nwould soon wake, and prowl in search of his prey, should I do right in\ngoing home and taking care of myself, barring our door so that no lion\ncould come in, and never telling you of the danger at all?\u201d\n\nMadge glanced half-frightened towards the bushes, but Jack replied, \u201cI\nshould say that you were a cowardly fellow if you did.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! leave us to be torn in pieces, and never give us warning of the\nlion?\u201d cried Ben.\n\n\u201cI should be a cowardly fellow indeed, and a most unfeeling brother.\nAnd shall I not tell you of your danger, when the Evil One, who is as a\nroaring lion, is laying wait for your precious souls. As long as you are\nin sin you are in danger. Oh, that you would turn to God and be safe!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod will not punish poor children like us,\u201d said Madge, \u201cjust for\nworking a little when we are so poor.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Evil One whispers the very same thing to us as he did to Eve, \u2018_Thou\nshalt not surely die_;\u2019 but she found, as we shall find, that though God\nis merciful, He is also just, and keeps His word.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will be time enough to trouble ourselves about these things,\u201d said\nBen.\n\n\u201cTake care of yourself, and leave us in peace!\u201d exclaimed Jack; \u201cwe are\nnot going to be taught by you!\u201d and turning his back upon Mark, he began\nto work more vigorously than ever.\n\nMark walked up to the cottage with a slow, weary step, silently praying\nfor those who would not listen to him. \u201cGod can touch their hearts though\nI cannot,\u201d thought he. \u201cHe who had mercy on me may have mercy on them.\u201d\n\nNever had the cottage looked more untidy or uncomfortable, or Ann\u2019s face\nworn an expression more gloomy and ill-tempered.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d cried Mark cheerfully, \u201chave you something to give me, my long\nwalk has made me so hungry?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve had dinner long ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut have you nothing left for me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou should have been here in proper time. It\u2019s all gone.\u201d\n\nExhausted in body, and wounded by unkindness, Mark needed indeed the\ncordial of religion to prevent his spirit from sinking. But he thought\nof his Lord, and his sufferings upon earth. \u201cMy Saviour knew what it\nwas to be weary and a-hungered\u2014He knew what it was to be despised and\nrejected. If He drained the cup of sorrow, shall I refuse to taste it! If\nthis trial were not good for me, it would not be sent.\u201d So Mark sat down\npatiently in a corner of the room, and thought over the sermon to cheer\nhim.\n\nHis attention was soon attracted by Ann\u2019s giving two or three heavy\nsighs, as if she were in pain; and looking up, he saw a frown of\nsuffering on her face, as she bent down and touched her ankle with her\nhand.\n\n\u201cHave you hurt yourself, dear mother?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYes; I think that I sprained my ankle this morning. Dear me, how it has\nswelled!\u201d\n\n\u201cI am so sorry!\u201d cried Mark, instantly rising. \u201cYou should put up your\nfoot, and not tire it by moving about. There,\u201d said he, sitting down at\nher feet, \u201crest it on my knee, and I will rub it gently. Is it not more\neasy now?\u201d\n\nAnn only replied by a sigh, but she let him go on, and patiently he sat\nthere, chafing her ankle with his thin, weary fingers. He could scarcely\nprevent himself from falling asleep.\n\n\u201cThat is very comfortable,\u201d said the woman at last; \u201ccertainly it\u2019s more\nthan any of the others would do for their mother; they never so much\nas asked me how I did. You\u2019re worth all the three, Mark,\u201d she added\nbitterly, \u201cand little cause have you to show kindness to me. Just go to\nthat cupboard\u2014it hurts me to move\u2014you\u2019ll find there some bread and cheese\nleft.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: MARK\u2019S KINDNESS.]\n\nMark joyfully obeyed, and never was a feast more delicious than that\nhumble meal. Never was a grace pronounced more from the depths of a\ngrateful heart than that uttered by the poor peasant boy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE ARBOUR ON THE HILL.\n\n \u201cNow, about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant\n arbour made by the Lord of the hill for the refreshment of\n weary travellers.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nSeveral days passed with but few events to mark them. Mark did everything\nfor Ann to save her from exertion, and under his care her ankle became\nbetter. He also endeavoured to keep the cottage more tidy, and clear\nthe little garden from weeds, remembering that \u201ccleanliness is next to\ngodliness,\u201d and that _if any man will not work, neither should he eat_.\n\nOne morning Madge burst into the cottage where Mark and Ann were sitting\ntogether. \u201cHe is coming!\u201d she exclaimed in a breathless voice; \u201che is\ncoming\u2014he is just at the gate!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho?\u201d cried Ann and Mark at once.\n\n\u201cThe parson\u2014the\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cNot Mr. Ewart!\u201d exclaimed Ann, starting up in terror.\n\n\u201cYes it is\u2014the tall man dressed in black.\u201d\n\nIn a moment the woman rushed to the back room as fast as her ankle would\nlet her. \u201cI\u2019ll keep quiet here,\u201d she said. \u201cIf he asks for me, say that I\nhave just gone to the miller\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother\u2019s precious afraid of a parson,\u201d said Madge, as a low knock was\nheard at the door.\n\nWith pleasure Mark opened to his benefactor.\n\n\u201cGood morning,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, as he crossed the threshold. \u201cI have not\nforgotten my promise to you, my friend. I hope that I have obtained a\nplace for you as errand-boy to a grocer. Being myself only a temporary\nresident in these parts, I do not know much of your future master,\nexcept that he appears to keep a respectable shop, and is very regular\nin attendance at church; but I hear that he bears a high character. Mr.\nLowe, if you suit him, agrees to give you board and lodging; and if he\nfinds you upon trial useful and active, he will add a little salary at\nthe end of the year.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very thankful to you, sir,\u201d said Mark, his eyes expressing much\nmore than his lips could. \u201cI trust that you never will have cause to be\nsorry for your kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs your mother within?\u201d said Mr. Ewart.\n\nMark bit his lip, and knew not what to reply, divided between fear of\nmuch displeasing his parent, and that of telling a falsehood to his\nbenefactor.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s gone to the miller\u2019s,\u201d said Madge boldly.\n\nBut the clergyman turned away from the wicked little girl, whose word\nhe never thought of trusting, and repeated his question to Mark, whose\nhesitation he could not avoid seeing.\n\n\u201cShe is within, sir,\u201d said the boy, after a little pause; then continued\nwith a painful effort, as he could not but feel that Ann\u2019s conduct\nappeared rude and ungrateful to one whom above all men he was anxious to\nplease; \u201cbut she would rather not see you to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, I have seen you; you will tell her what I have arranged.\u201d\nMark ventured to glance at the speaker, and saw, with a feeling of\nrelief, that Mr. Ewart\u2019s face did not look at all angry.\n\nIt was more than could be said for Ann\u2019s, as, after the clergyman\u2019s\ndeparture, she came out of her hiding-place again. Her face was flushed,\nher manner excited; and, in a fit of ungovernable passion, she twice\nstruck the unresisting boy.\n\n\u201cLord Jesus, this I suffer for thee!\u201d thought Mark; and this reflection\ntook the bitterness from the trial. He was only thankful that he had been\nenabled to keep to the truth, and not swerve from the narrow path.\n\nOn the following day Mark went to his new master, who lived in a\nneighbouring town. He found out the shop of Mr. Lowe without difficulty;\nand there was something of comfort and respectability in the appearance\nof the establishment that was very encouraging to the boy. To his\nunaccustomed eye the ranges of shining brown canisters, each neatly\nlabelled with its contents; the white sugar-loaves, with prices ticketed\nin the window; the large cards, with advertisements of sauces and soap,\nand the Malaga raisins, spread temptingly to view, spake of endless\nplenty and abundance.\n\nMark carried a note which Mr. Ewart had given to him, and, entering the\nshop, placed it modestly on the counter before Mr. Lowe.\n\nThe grocer was rather an elderly man, with a bald head, and mild\nexpression of face. He opened the note slowly, then looked at Mark over\nhis spectacles, read the contents, then took another survey of the boy.\nMark\u2019s heart beat fast, he was so anxious not to be rejected.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d said Mr. Lowe, in a slow, soft voice, as if he measured every word\nthat he spoke, \u201cso you are the lad that is to come here upon trial,\nrecommended by the Reverend Mr. Ewart. He says that you\u2019ve not been\nwell brought up; that\u2019s bad, very bad\u2014but that he hopes that your own\nprinciples are good. Mr. Ewart is a pious man, a very zealous minister,\nand I am glad to aid him in works of charity like this. If you\u2019re pious,\nall\u2019s right, there\u2019s nothing like that; I will have none about me but\nthose who are decidedly pious!\u201d\n\nMr. Lowe looked as though he expected a reply, which puzzled Mark\nexceedingly, as he had no idea of turning piety to worldly advantage, or\nprofessing religion to help him to a place. He stood uneasily twisting\nhis cap in his hand, and was much relieved when, a customer coming in,\nLowe handed him over to his shopman.\n\nRadley, the assistant, was a neat-looking little man, very precise and\nformal in his manner, at least in the presence of his master. There was\ncertainly an occasional twinkle in his eye, which made Mark, who was very\nobservant, suspect that he was rather fonder of fun than might beseem the\nshopman of the solemn Mr. Lowe; but his manner, in general, was a sort of\ncopy of his master\u2019s, and he borrowed his language and phrases.\n\nAnd now, fairly received into the service of the grocer, Mark seemed to\nhave entered upon a life of comparative comfort. Mr. Lowe was neither\ntyrannical nor harsh, nor was Radley disposed to bully the errand-boy.\nMark\u2019s obliging manner, great intelligence, and readiness to work, made\nhim rather a favourite with both, and the common comforts of life which\nhe now enjoyed appeared as luxuries to him.\n\n\u201cI have been climbing a steep hill of difficulty,\u201d thought he, \u201cand now\nI have reached a place of rest. How good is the Lord, to provide for me\nthus, with those who are his servants!\u201d\n\nThat those with whom Mark lived were indeed God\u2019s servants, he at first\nnever thought of doubting. Was there not a missionary-box placed upon\nthe counter\u2014was not Mr. Lowe ever speaking of religion\u2014was he not\nforemost in every good work of charity\u2014did he not most constantly attend\nchurch?\n\nBut there were several things which soon made the boy waver a little in\nhis opinion. He could not help observing that his employer took care to\nlose no grain of praise for anything that he did. Instead of his left\nhand not knowing the good deeds of his right, it was no fault of his if\nall the world did not know them. Then, his manner a little varied with\nthe character of his customers. With clergymen, or with those whom he\nconsidered religious, his voice became still softer, his manner more\nmeek. Mark could not help suspecting that he was not quite sincere. The\nboy reproached himself, however, for daring to judge another, and that\none so much more advanced in the Christian life than himself. He thought\nthat it must be his own inexperience in religion that made him doubt its\nreality in Lowe.\n\nThus a few weeks passed in comfort with Mark; but the pilgrim was\nmaking no progress. It is not well for us to dwell amongst those whose\nprofession is greater than their practice. The fervour of Mark\u2019s first\nlove was a little cooled. Alas! in weak, infirm mortals, such as we are,\nhow inclined is that fervour to cool! There were no strong temptations to\nstir up the flame\u2014no anxious fears to drive him to the mercy-seat\u2014his\nprayers were perhaps more frequent, but they were less deep and earnest.\nMark was tempted to rest a little upon forms, and think that all must be\nright, because others approved.\n\nThe Christian must not dream that he is only in danger whilst dwelling\nwith the careless or profane. The society of professors may be quite as\ndangerous, by lulling his conscience to sleep. He is less on his guard\nagainst inward foes, less able to distinguish true religion in his heart,\nfrom the natural desire to please, and many of God\u2019s children on earth\nhave found the arbour more dangerous than the hill!\n\nNot that Mark did much with which he could reproach himself, unless it\nwere that he never sought an opportunity of going to see his mother. He\nconnected nothing but ideas of persecution and unkindness with his home.\nHe thought that by this time John Dowley might have returned, a man who\nhad ever treated him with unnatural cruelty; and to say the truth, Mark\nrather dreaded going again near the place. I fear that my pilgrim is\nfalling in the estimation of my reader; but I am drawing no sinless model\nof perfection; and, perhaps, if we closely examine our own hearts, even\nafter they have been enlightened by the Spirit, there may be something\nin our own experience which will remind us of this chapter of the life\nof the pilgrim. I said that Mark suspected a little the sincerity of\nthe religious professions of his master. This suspicion was painfully\nstrengthened by an incident which occurred when he had been a few weeks\nunder his roof.\n\nOne night, after the shop had been closed, and prayers said, and Mark had\nretired to his small attic, he fancied that he heard a little noise down\nbelow, and crept from his chamber to listen. All was very still, only the\nclock on the stairs seemed to tick twice as loudly as usual. Then again\nthere was a slight sound, apparently from the shop, and Mark wondered\nwhat, at that hour, it could be. Softly he crept down the creaking stair,\nunwilling to disturb his master, who had retired to rest rather earlier\nthan usual, happening to feel not very well. Mark reached the door which\nopened into the shop, and there was no doubt left that somebody was\nwithin engaged in some occupation.\n\nMark observed that the door, though nearly closed, was not shut, a narrow\nline of light showed it to be a little ajar; he pushed it very gently to\nwiden the opening, and within, to his surprise, saw Radley.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d exclaimed the shopman; \u201cwhy, Mark, is it you? That\u2019s\nlucky, you\u2019ll come and help me, I daresay. I am so sleepy to-night\u2014but\nthis must be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d said Mark, with a feeling of curiosity.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m mixing this with that, as you see,\u201d replied Radley, pointing to two\nheaps of what looked like coffee on the counter.\n\n[Illustration: MARK\u2019S INDIGNATION AT DECEIT.]\n\n\u201cWhy should you mix them?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, ask no questions, and I\u2019ll tell you no stories!\u201d said Radley, quite\ndropping his usual formal manner, with a laughing look in his eye which\nstartled the boy.\n\n\u201cDo you mean\u2014is it possible\u2014\u201d exclaimed Mark, his face flushing with\nindignation as he spoke, \u201cthat you are mixing chicory with coffee in\norder to deceive our master\u2019s customers?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very green, or you would know that it is constantly done.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt cannot be right,\u201d said Mark, \u201cto sell an article under a false name,\nand get a false price for it too! Surely Mr. Lowe does not know what you\nare doing!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you most simple of simpletons!\u201d laughed Radley; \u201cdo you suppose that\nI am doing it for my own diversion, to serve my pious master against his\nwill?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do it by his orders then?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could never have believed that he could have been guilty of such a\nthing!\u201d exclaimed Mark, more shocked and disgusted by the hypocrisy of\nLowe, than by any of the open wickedness that he had ever witnessed. \u201cAnd\nyou, Radley, how can your conscience let you do what is so wrong?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy conscience is my master\u2019s, I only obey what he commands.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour conscience your master\u2019s! Oh no!\u201d exclaimed Mark; \u201cyou will have to\nanswer for yourself before God.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I refused to do this I should have to leave the grocer\u2019s service.\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter leave his service than the service of God.\u201d\n\n\u201cI say, young man,\u201d replied Radley, still good-humouredly, though with\nsome appearance of scorn, \u201cmind your own business, and leave me to mind\nmine. When you carry the goods to the customers, no one asks you whether\nthe parcel holds tea or gooseberry leaves.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut can you endure to kneel down, and repeat prayers to the Almighty,\nwhen you know\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you,\u201d said Radley, as though he thought it a joke, \u201cmy master\u2019s\nreligion and mine is like the articles in this shop, it is mixed. But\nwhat matter? it makes as good a show as any, it serves our purpose, and\nI really think that the world likes to be taken in. We get on, look\nrespectable, and thrive; what can be better than that?\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter to starve\u2014better to struggle up hill all one\u2019s life, beset with\ndifficulties and trials.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll leave the starving to you, if you like it; and as for struggling\nup hill, only fools do that, if they can find an easier way round! Now\ngo to your bed, and rest quiet my lad, and leave me and my conscience to\nsettle our affairs together.\u201d\n\nStartled as from a dream, Mark returned to his attic, disappointed,\ndisgusted, and grieved. \u201cCan a blessing ever rest on this house?\u201d thought\nhe; \u201ccan Lowe ever, even in this world, be really a gainer by such awful\nhypocrisy and deceit? Oh, I have been too little on my guard in this\nplace, I have been a drowsy pilgrim on the way\u2014blessed be God that I am\nawakened before too late!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nDANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND DOUBTS.\n\n \u201cFear not the lions, for they are chained, and are placed there\n for trial of faith where it is; and for the discovery of those\n that have none: keep in the midst of the path, and no hurt\n shall come unto thee.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nIt was long before Mark could get to sleep, and he awoke almost before\nit was light. He felt a heavy oppression which was new to him, and rose\nto open the window. The sky was now of that deep exquisite blue which it\nwears the hour before dawn; the few stars that studded the heavens were\ngrowing pale at the approach of morning. The street was perfectly quiet,\nnot a vehicle was moving about, and the sleepy sound of a cock crowing at\nsome distance was the only noise that broke the stillness.\n\n\u201cI feel as though I could not rest,\u201d said Mark, \u201cthe sun will rise before\nlong; I will dress myself and go out, and have a quiet time before I\nam required to work. I have been keeping too little watch over myself\nlately, I have been too easily contented with the little knowledge to\nwhich I have attained. Oh, what if I should have been deceiving myself\nall the time\u2014if I have never entered the strait gate at all!\u201d Mark had\nlost for a time that sweet assurance which had afforded him such joy\namidst trials.\n\nPutting his Bible in his bosom that he might read it as he walked, Mark\nopened the door of his attic. The instant that he did so he became\nsensible of a most powerful smell of fire, and the next moment a volume\nof smoke came rolling up from below!\n\nMark sprang down the staircase with anxious haste, every step making him\nmore certain of the fearful fact that the house of his master was on\nfire! He rushed first to the sleeping apartment of Radley, then roused up\nthe servant of the house, and bidding her throw up the window and call\nloudly for assistance, hurried to the bedroom of Mr. Lowe.\n\nStartled from deep sleep, hardly able to comprehend what had happened,\nonly with a terrible consciousness that it was something dreadful, the\nwretched man rose from his pillow, and was half dragged by Mark from\nhis apartment, which being immediately over the place of the fire, was\nbecoming very hot, and full of smoke. Such an awakening is terrible\nhere\u2014but oh, what will it be to the hypocrite hereafter, when the trumpet\nof the angel shall rouse him from his grave to behold a universe in\nflames!\n\nAssistance was speedily given; the cry of \u201cfire!\u201d brought crowds of\nneighbours around; pails of water were passed from hand to hand, and the\nfire-engine soon came rattling up the street. The cries and shouts, the\ncrackling and roaring of the devouring element, the suffocating dense\nclouds, through which little could be seen but tongues of fierce flame,\nnow darting curling round the wood-work, now streaming upwards and\nreddening the black canopy of smoke\u2014the stifling heat, the occasional\nglimpse of burning rafters, which looked as if glowing red hot in the\nfire, all formed a scene which time could never efface from the memory of\nthose who beheld it!\n\nHalf wild with terror, anxiety, and grief, Lowe pushed his way here and\nthere through the crowd, sometimes urging on the firemen, sometimes\ntrying to assist them, sometimes standing still, to witness in helpless\nmisery the destruction of his property. Well might he look on in misery,\nfor that property was his _all_! The hypocrite had not laid up his\ntreasure in heaven, and he now beheld, consuming before his eyes, that\nfor which he had been daily bartering his soul!\n\nBefore the sun had reached his mid-day height, the fire had been entirely\nsubdued. The efforts of the firemen had prevented it from spreading, but\na charred and blackened shell of a house, floors, rafters, windows, all\nentirely destroyed, alone remained of the habitation of Lowe!\n\nThe unhappy man was offered shelter in the house of a sympathizing\nneighbour, and thither Mark went to see him. He found him in a pitiable\nstate, his mind almost crushed by his misfortune, yet still, true to his\ncharacter, he professed submission to the decree of Providence, even\nwhile his excessive grief showed how little he felt it, and intermixed\nhis lamentations with various texts, thereby edifying his neighbours,\nperhaps, but shocking one who knew him better than they did.\n\nHe received his errand-boy with great kindness. \u201cOne of the most bitter\nparts of my trial,\u201d said the really kind-hearted though unprincipled man,\n\u201cis that my ruin will throw you and poor Radley upon the world. I suppose\nthat you will return home directly.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought that I would go first to Mr. Ewart, and ask his advice.\u201d\n\n\u201cI grieve to say that will no longer be in your power. That excellent\nminister was to leave Marshdale for Yorkshire yesterday.\u201d\n\nThis piece of information fell like a heavy blow upon Mark, and his face\nshowed how much he felt it. \u201cThen I must return to the cottage at once,\u201d\nsaid he, in a low tone.\n\n\u201cI can understand your reluctance, my boy, to become a burden upon your\npoor parents.\u201d\n\nThere was not a particle of hypocrisy in Mark; he wanted no praise for\nmotives which were not his. \u201cI was not thinking about that,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cAh! I understand,\u201d said Lowe, in his own peculiar tone; \u201cyou feel being\ndeprived of the spiritual advantages which you enjoyed while under my\nroof.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot exactly that,\u201d replied Mark, hesitating and looking embarrassed,\nfor there was a mixture of this regret in his reluctance to return home,\nthough it was not his principal feeling.\n\nThe truth was, that Mark dreaded not so much the poverty and discomfort\nof Ann\u2019s cottage\u2014though he did not like that\u2014as the positive cruelty\nwhich he would probably have to endure if he returned. Having for some\ntime slipped his neck from the yoke, he shrank exceedingly from having to\nbear it again. A soldier who fights bravely on the battle-field, if he\nleave it for a while till his blood cools and his wounds begin to stiffen\nand smart, finds it a much greater trial of courage to return to his post\nthan to stay there without ever quitting it.\n\nBut Mark seemed to have no other resource, and bidding a friendly\nfarewell to his late master, who, whatever he was in the sight of Heaven,\nhad ever been kind to him, he walked slowly up the street. The gloomy,\nthreatening clouds above him, seemed like types of his darkened fate,\nand the forerunners of a storm. As he proceeded, pondering over the\ndifficulties of his position, he was startled by the sight of a lady, who\nwas standing at a door at which she had just knocked. Mark had seen her\nbut once before, but her face was imprinted on a memory naturally good,\nespecially as the most important event of his life, his repentance and\nturning to God, was in some way connected with her. She was the lady who\nhad dropped the bag by the stile which contained Mark\u2019s precious Bible.\n\nNow, it had often weighed upon the conscience of the boy, that his\ndearest possession was not his by right; and that if ever he met with its\nlawful owner, common honesty bound him to restore it. And yet, to give\nthat away which had been his life\u2014to walk on in darkness, without that\nlight which had been his comfort and solace till now\u2014Mark felt almost as\nthough he could not do it, and stood hesitating and arguing in his own\nmind till the lady entered the house, and the door closed behind her.\n\n\u201cShe is rich, she can buy many others,\u201d whispered the Tempter in his\nbosom. \u201cShe is certain to have supplied its loss long ago; but you, where\nwill you find another? You will lose all your religion with your Bible,\nand fall under the temptations which you will be certain to meet.\u201d Was\nnot this _mistrust_ of God\u2019s sustaining power? \u201cAnd what disgrace,\u201d added\nthe Tempter, \u201cwill it be to own taking and using that which was not\nyours! Notwithstanding your care, the book has been injured; it is not\nworth returning to a lady. She may question you about the other things in\nthe bag\u2014the purse, the money, the handkerchief with lace; of course you\ncannot betray your family; you will be looked upon, perhaps punished, as\na thief!\u201d These were the suggestions of a _timorous_ spirit, magnifying\nevery danger by the way.\n\nBut against all this was the plain word of God, _Thou shalt not steal_.\nTo keep anything from its owner that might be restored, was clearly to\nbreak the commandment. So, after a short inward prayer for the help which\nhe so much needed, with a heart so low, and a frame so much exhausted\nby the excitement and fatigue of the morning, that it would have been a\nrelief to him to have sat down and cried, Mark gently rang the bell.\n\nHe felt embarrassed when the servant-maid opened the door, and inquired\nwhat it was that he wanted. But, recovering himself, he asked if he might\nspeak with the lady who had just entered the house. He said that he had\nsomething which he believed that she had lost; and the servant, without\nmaking any difficulty, ushered him into the parlour.\n\nA silver-haired old gentleman and the lady were there; she had just\nopened a piano, and was sitting down to play. Her face looked so gentle\nand bright that Mark was somewhat reassured, though most reluctant to\npart with his treasure.\n\n\u201cWhat did you want with me, my good boy,\u201d said the lady, turning round\nwithout quitting her seat, her fingers resting on the silent notes of the\ninstrument.\n\n[Illustration: MARK RESTORING THE LOST BIBLE.]\n\nMark drew from his bosom the Bible. \u201cI believe, ma\u2019am, that this is\nyours,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cMy long-lost Bible!\u201d exclaimed the lady, rising with an expression of\njoy. \u201cOh! I never thought to see it again. Where could you have found it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNear a stile, where you had dropped it as you went to church.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was in my bag with other things; have you anything else?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have nothing else,\u201d replied Mark, feeling very uneasy.\n\n\u201cWhat is your name?\u201d said the old gentleman, looking up from his paper.\n\n\u201cMark Dowley, sir,\u201d answered the boy.\n\n\u201cMark Dowley! Ellen, have we not heard that name before?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes; \u2019tis the name of the boy in whom dear Mr. Ewart was interested.\nDo you not remember his speaking about him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember it perfectly well, my dear; it is easy to imagine what became\nof the other contents of the bag.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where are you staying now?\u201d said Ellen, with a look of interest; \u201cI\nhope that you have a good situation.\u201d\n\n\u201cI had a good situation last night, but the fire that happened to-day\nburned down the house of my master, and now I am abroad in the world.\u201d\n\nEllen glided to her father, and whispered something in his ear. Mark\u2019s\nheart beat very quickly, he scarcely knew why; but it was with a\nsensation of hope. After a few minutes of conversation which he could not\nhear, Mr. Searle\u2014for that was the gentleman\u2019s name\u2014said aloud, \u201cAs you\nplease, my dear; we certainly were looking out for such a boy. We could\ntake him with us to Yorkshire; there could be no difficulty about that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you like,\u201d said Ellen, bending her kind eyes upon Mark, \u201cto become\none of our household, to accompany us to Silvermere? Your work would be\nlight, and your situation comfortable. We live scarcely two miles from\nCastle Fontonore.\u201d\n\nWith a rebound of joy all the greater from the depth of his late\ndepression, Mark eagerly accepted the offer. Profiting, however, by the\nremembrance of past regrets, and desirous to be more faithful to his duty\nin future, he added that he must first obtain the consent of his mother.\n\n\u201cYou are quite right, my boy,\u201d said Mr. Searle, kindly; \u201clet nothing ever\ncome between you and your duty to a parent. Her will, next to God\u2019s,\nshould be your law; you never can do too much for her.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it is not desirable to go till to-morrow,\u201d said Ellen; \u201cthose heavy\nclouds have burst; only see how it rains! The poor boy looks quite\nknocked up already; he could occupy the little room here to-night.\u201d\n\nThis arrangement was finally concluded upon, and the weary but thankful\nboy again found a haven of rest. A comfortable meal was set before him,\nto which he was inclined to do full justice. He enjoyed deep untroubled\nsleep that night, and awoke in the morning refreshed and rejoicing. How\nthe difficulties that he feared had melted away before him! How one\npainful effort made had brought its own rich reward!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE ARMOUR AND THE BATTLE.\n\n \u201cThen did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his\n mind whether to go back or to stand his ground.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\nOur Pilgrim rose early, with a heart full of hope. He determined not to\nquit the house till he had seen Mr. Searle or his daughter again, and\nwaited in the hall till they should come down. Mark\u2019s attention was at\nonce riveted by what he had never seen before\u2014a complete suit of armour\nhung against the wall; and while he was looking at it, and admiring its\nvarious parts, the master of the house approached him unobserved.\n\n\u201cThat is a fine suit of armour,\u201d said Mr. Searle, \u201csuch as was worn in\nthe time of the Crusades, when warlike pilgrims went to the Holy Land.\nPerhaps you have never heard of such?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d replied Mark, modestly.\n\n\u201cThere is the helmet, you see, to protect the head; the mail to cover the\nbody and breast; the weighty sword, and the pointed shield. You observe\nthe red cross upon it?\u201d\n\nThe looks of Mark showed the interest that he took.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re not done with fighting yet,\u201d said the old gentleman, in a quaint\nmanner which was peculiar to him. \u201cWhile our three old enemies\u2014the world,\nthe flesh, and the devil\u2014are lying in ambush to attack us, and the Holy\nLand which we hope to gain is before us, we must be armed pilgrims, ay,\nand fighting pilgrims too!\u201d\n\n\u201cPray go on, sir,\u201d said Mark, as the old gentleman stopped; \u201cI so like to\nhear of these things.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see that our Leader has not sent us into battle unprovided. We have\nthe Helmet of Proof, the Hope of Salvation, to prevent sinful doubts from\nwounding the head. Then the Breastplate of Righteousness to guard us; for\nwe may be full of knowledge, and quite correct in our belief, but if we\ngive way to wilful sin, of what avail is the soundness of the head when\nthe heart is pierced by the fiery dart? Nor must we neglect the Girdle of\nTruth, nor the preparation of the Gospel of Peace for our feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a part of the armour which I do not understand,\u201d said Mark.\n\n\u201cNo? Long before you are as old as I, I hope that you will experimentally\nunderstand it. Yet I should think that you had known already what it is\nto tread some of the rough ways of life.\u201d\n\nMark heartily assented to this.\n\n\u201cAnd every one knows the difference between walking with shoes and\nwithout them. Were I barefoot, I should start if I trod on a thorn,\nI should bleed if I struck against a sharp-edged stone; and so it is\nwith the people of this world who are not shod with the Preparation of\nPeace. I have known the smallest thing worry and fret them; they were\nas wretched from one small brier in their path, as if it had been one\nlabyrinth of thorns.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd are all Christians safe from these little vexations?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t say that,\u201d replied the old gentleman, \u201cI can\u2019t say that. There\nare many who cannot tread down small difficulties, but go on their whole\nway to heaven shrinking and starting at the least of them. But it strikes\nme that is because, while they have put on all the rest of the armour of\nGod, they have neglected the sandals for the feet.\n\n\u201cWell, to proceed with our description of the armoury of heaven\u2014We come\nnext to the most wonderful, the most powerful of weapons\u2014the Sword of\nthe Spirit, which is the Word of God. Now this flashed so bright, and\nits edge was so sharp, in the days of early Christianity, that many were\nits conquests in various parts of the world, and old idolatry fell fast\nbefore it. But when the great Enemy found that it could not be withstood,\nhe devised a deep-laid scheme to destroy its effect, and made a curious\nsheath, all covered with jewels and gold; and the name of this sheath was\nSuperstition. In this, for many ages, was the Word of God buried; and\nthough flashes of its brightness shone out here and there, it was almost\nquite hidden from the eyes of the people, till Wickliffe, and Luther, and\nmany Reformers beside\u2014some yielding up their blood and their lives for\nthe truth\u2014drew it from its fatal scabbard, clear and glittering again;\nand it sent forth a flash at its unsheathing that was seen over almost\nall Europe, and enlightened the distant shores of the New World.\n\n\u201cAnd now the last thing that we come to is the strong shield Faith.\nWithout this neither helmet nor breastplate could have power to resist\nthe shafts of the Enemy. St. Peter threw it aside in a moment of fear,\nand instantly his righteousness was pierced through and through. And it\nis not only in battle that our faith is precious; we pillow our head upon\nit when we rest, and when we take water from the wells of salvation,\nit is in the hollow of this shield alone that we can raise it to our\nthirsting lips.\u201d\n\nEllen now came down-stairs, with her Bible in her hand; that Bible which\nMark had prized so dearly, and parted with so very unwillingly.\n\n\u201cI could not have the heart to deprive you of this,\u201d said she; \u201ctake\nit, and keep it, and may you ever find it to be your best comforter and\nguide.\u201d\n\nWith what grateful joy Mark replaced the Bible in his bosom, and with\nwhat a courageous heart, about an hour after, he set forth to ask his\nmother\u2019s consent to remaining with Mr. Searle! He had very little doubt\nof obtaining it, or he would hardly have advanced with such a light,\njoyous step. When he had quitted the town, and found himself on the open\nplain, he gave vent to his happy emotions in songs of praise. We are\ncommanded in everything to give thanks; let us never forget to do so when\nall seems smiling around us; no\u2014and even when mists fall, and tempests\ngather over our heads, let us still remember in _everything_ to give\nthanks.\n\nHow many thoughts were awakened in the Pilgrim\u2019s mind, as again he\napproached his home! There was the stile where the Bible had been found;\nthere the stone upon which he had sat to read it, and felt such terror\nflash upon his mind at the words, \u201c_The soul that sinneth, it shall\ndie_;\u201d there was the piece of ground which the children had been weeding,\nwhen he warned them, but vainly, to flee from the wrath to come. There\nwas not a thistle now left on the spot; and as he looked at the earth,\nall cleared and prepared for seed, Mark silently prayed that the grace of\nGod might likewise so prepare and make ready the hearts of his own little\nsister and brothers. He could see over the fields, at a little distance,\nthe old ruin where he had first met Mr. Ewart; not a day had passed,\nsince that meeting, in which Mark had not prayed with grateful affection\nfor him whose words had been such a blessing to his soul.\n\nAnd now Mark stood at the door of the cottage; a loud, coarse voice\nwhich he heard from within announced to him, before he reached it, that\nJohn Dowley had returned. There were other things to show that a change\nhad taken place, of which Mark became aware as he entered the cottage.\nA large pewter pot stood at the door, a black bottle and dirty pack of\ncards appeared on the table, a joint of meat was roasting before the\nfire, and Ann, who started with surprise on seeing him, wore a silk shawl\nand golden ear-rings. John must have returned with his pockets full of\nmoney.\n\nHe was sitting at the table, a short, stout-built man, with a louring\nexpression in his bleared eye, and a face flushed by intemperance; no\none who beheld them together would have imagined him to be the father of\nthe pale, thoughtful, intellectual boy, to whose greeting he returned no\nanswer but something resembling a growl. Mark fancied that Ann looked\nsorry to see him; but that, perhaps, was no sign of unkindness. Jack,\nMadge, and Ben, sprang eagerly forward, full of news, and of things to\nshow him.\n\n\u201cSee, Mark, what father has brought me!\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re getting so rich now!\u201d\n\n\u201cLook at my brooch and my bracelets!\u201d\n\nSuch were the sort of exclamations which, uttered all together, took the\nplace of any words of welcome.\n\nMark, in his secret heart, thanked Heaven that it was not his lot to\nremain in this place.\n\n\u201cSit down, Mark,\u201d said Ann, looking joyless, notwithstanding her finery;\n\u201cand be silent, you children, will you? One can\u2019t hear one\u2019s own voice,\nin the midst of so much noise.\u201d\n\nThe children might not have obeyed their mother very readily, had not a\nsavage look from John seconded her words.\n\n\u201cI thought that you had a good situation, Mark,\u201d continued the woman;\n\u201cyou\u2019ve not been so foolish as to leave it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have not heard, then, of the fire which took place yesterday:\npoor Mr. Lowe has been burned out of house and home. But a far better\nsituation has been offered to me. If you consent, and if father approve,\nI shall go to Yorkshire next week, with\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYorkshire!\u201d muttered John; \u201cand what\u2019s the gentleman\u2019s name?\u201d\n\n\u201cSearle; he lives at a place called Silvermere.\u201d\n\n\u201cSilvermere!\u201d exclaimed both Dowley and his wife at once. Anne added, in\na voice that was scarcely audible, \u201cThat\u2019s close to Castle Fontonore!\u201d\n\n\u201cEverything is arranged for me,\u201d continued Mark; \u201cbut I thought that it\nwould not be right to go so far without coming and asking your consent.\u201d\n\n\u201cConsent!\u201d thundered Dowley, in a tone so loud that the cottage rang\nagain, and the astonished children shrank closer to each other in fear.\n\u201cDo you think that I ever would consent to _your_ going _there_?\u201d\n\nHere was a blow so sudden, so unexpected, that it almost took away Mark\u2019s\nbreath. Recovering himself soon, however, he began, \u201cI should be able to\nmaintain myself, perhaps even to assist\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t say one word more, or\u2014\u201d John uttered a horrible oath, but left his\nhearers to imagine, from his clenched hand and savage look, what was the\nthreat which he intended should follow.\n\n\u201cAt least,\u201d said Mark, in an agitated voice, \u201callow me to return and\ntell Mr. Searle that you forbid me to go with him. He would think me so\nungrateful\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do I care what he thinks!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, is it not enough,\u201d cried Mark, in bitterness of spirit, \u201cthat my way\nis barred, that my hopes are ruined\u2014\u201d he could not speak on, his heart\nwas too full.\n\n\u201cIf he isn\u2019t going to cry!\u201d whispered Jack.\n\n\u201cA pretty pilgrim, to be so soft!\u201d murmured Ben.\n\nThese mocking words roused the spirit of the persecuted boy, but it was\nrather an earthly spirit of indignation than a spirit of endurance for\nthe Lord\u2019s sake.\n\n\u201cLet him go,\u201d said Anne, \u201cand tell the gentleman that he can\u2019t serve him;\nhe can just say that you\u2019ve found something better for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe won\u2019t return if I once let him go.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he\u2019ll return; won\u2019t you, Mark?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I will,\u201d replied the boy, with difficulty restraining his tears at\neven so slight a mark of kindness. John gave ungracious permission rather\nby silence than words, and Mark left the cottage almost choking with his\nfeelings.\n\nIt was a little time before he could regain sufficient composure even to\nlook his difficulties in the face. Oh, it is hard to go down into the\ndeep Valley of Humiliation, and few are those called upon suddenly to\ndescend from their high hopes but meet with some slips by the way!\n\nMark was tempted, and this was a grievous temptation, to doubt even God\u2019s\ngoodness and mercy towards him. Why was he placed in a situation so\npainful, why suddenly plunged back into that furnace of trial from which\nhe had so lately been snatched? It seemed to Mark as if the Almighty had\nforsaken him, as if God had forgotten to be gracious, and had left a poor\nmortal to be tempted beyond what he could bear!\n\nThe pilgrims to heaven must expect on their way thither to meet sometimes\nwith trials like this. The Evil One whom they served in the days of\ntheir ignorance will not suffer a victim to escape him, without making\nefforts\u2014strong and subtle efforts too\u2014to draw back the ransomed soul to\nhis service. He put rebellious thoughts into the mind of Mark, like so\nmany fiery darts, to make him chafe with an impatient and despairing\nspirit, under the difficulty of obeying the fifth commandment; and which\nof us dare say that in such an inward struggle we should have stood our\nground better than he?\n\nBut Mark had not been so lately warned and armed, to make no fight\nagainst his Enemy. He had still power to lift up his heart in prayer;\nto try to recall some precious promise on which to stay his sinking\nspirit. \u201c_Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end_,\u201d was the word from\nScripture with which he now met the Enemy. The Saviour whom he loved\nwas beside him here, the Saviour was witnessing his struggle with sin,\nwould help him, would bless him, if his faith failed not. Oh, better that\nwretched abode with the presence of his Lord, than the stateliest palace\nwithout it! Could he who had been forgiven so much, could he who had been\npromised so much, faint in the moment of trial! Where should the soldier\nbe but in the battle\u2014what should a pilgrim do but bear his cross!\n\nWith thoughts like these poor Mark was struggling for submission, and\nresisting the suggestions of evil; but the tempter had yet another shaft\nin his quiver, and tried by arousing another passion to crush down the\nresistance of piety and conscience. Mark heard a quick step behind him,\nfelt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and turning round beheld John Dowley.\n\n\u201cYou walk fast,\u201d said the man; \u201cI could hardly overtake you. You were\ngoing to the town, were you not? well, I\u2019ve a little job for you to do\nfor me there.\u201d\n\nMark signified how readily he would do it.\n\n\u201cYou see these two bright sovereigns,\u201d said the man, taking two yellow\npieces from a heavily filled purse, and putting them into the hand of\nthe boy. \u201cI want these changed\u2014you understand me; buy some trifle at two\ndifferent shops\u2014mark me, two shops not too near each other; and bring\nback the change in silver.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat trifles do you want?\u201d said Mark, poising the coins upon his finger.\n\n\u201cAnything\u2014gingerbread, or sugar-plums, if you like; only see that the\nchange is right.\u201d\n\nMark struck the two pieces against one another; he did so again, as if\nnot satisfied with the sound. \u201cAre you sure that these are good?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWhat does that matter to you? put them in your pocket, and do as I bid\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cForgive me,\u201d replied the boy; \u201cbut I dare not.\u201d\n\n\u201cDare not! I did not know that you were such a coward. What are you\nafraid of\u2014the police?\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear doing wrong; I fear offending my God. Oh, father, I _cannot_ pass\nthat money.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay that word again,\u201d muttered Dowley between his teeth, raising a\ncudgel that he grasped in his hand.\n\n\u201cAsk anything else\u2014anything that is not wrong! I consented for you to\ngive up my place. I obeyed you, though in sorrow and disappointment; but\nthis thing I may not, cannot do, even if refusing cost me my life!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen take the consequences!\u201d exclaimed the man in a fury of passion,\nseizing the unhappy boy with one hand, while with the other he showered\non him a torrent of blows. Mark winced beneath them, struggled, called\nout for assistance; but neither fear nor torture made him lift a hand\nagainst his earthly oppressor, or yield to the assault of the tempter\nwithin, who urged him to procure mercy at the price of his conscience!\n\nWearied at length with his barbarous labour, Dowley flung his bruised,\nbleeding, gasping victim into a dry ditch, and muttering to himself that\nhe had served him out at last, walked with long, hurried strides from the\nspot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nSHADOW AND SUNSHINE.\n\n \u201cNow at the end of this valley was another, called the Valley\n of the Shadow of Death.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\n\u201cOh! this is fearful! this is more terrible than all!\u201d muttered Mark,\nas he regained slowly the consciousness that he had half lost. He\nattempted to raise himself, but motion was torture. He called out, but\nno one answered to his cry; he had been crossing the fields by a shorter\npath than the highroad, and therefore was not in the direct line of any\nthoroughfare, and might lie there for hours unnoticed. Mark felt as\nthough the Shadow of Death were upon him; his mind was too confused and\ndizzy for prayer; it seemed to grasp nothing but the consciousness that\nsomething horrible had occurred. For long he lay there, half delirious\nwith pain. The Pilgrim was passing through, perhaps, the darkest passage\nof his life.\n\nHow different was the fate of young Lord Fontonore, as, with his tutor\nseated beside him in his splendid carriage, he rolled along the highroad\ntowards the north!\n\n\u201cI am so glad that yesterday\u2019s storm is over!\u201d cried he. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing\nlike travelling in an open carriage, except when it pours as it did last\nnight. It raises one\u2019s spirits, passing fast through the air, when the\nhorses dash on without touch from the whip; and the air is so fresh, and\nthe sky so blue, and every turn of the wheel brings us nearer to home!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you are not sorry to return to the castle?\u201d\n\n\u201cSorry! oh no! I am too fond of it, too proud of it, for that! I shall be\nglad, too, to see the old faces again; Aunt Matilda, pretty Clemmy, my\nuncle, and all. I hope that I shall find my pony all right. I shall enjoy\na good gallop again! Oh, I shall be delighted to see my own home with\nthe drawbridge, and the moat, and the old yew hedge; and the flag will\nwave on the tower, I know, on my return, to welcome the little master\nback! Then we must go to see my tenants, especially old Widow Grove; I am\nimpatient to take her the shell ornament which I have bought for her: and\nmy poor dear old friend who lives at the mill\u2014what a welcome I shall have\nfrom him! Oh, my tenants will not be sorry to have me amongst them again!\nAnd yet,\u201d rattled on the lively boy, \u201cI have enjoyed myself exceedingly\nhere. How I delighted in our visit to that old ruin; don\u2019t I see it\nthere, just beyond the fields? Now, Mr. Ewart, I have something to remind\nme of everything but that; just let me stop the coachman,\u201d he continued,\ndrawing the check-string, \u201cand run off for one stone.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think, Charles, that we have a long journey before us; it is hardly\ndesirable to delay.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but I\u2019ll not be two minutes, you\u2019ll see. I\u2019ll be back again, like\nthe lightning!\u201d and, without waiting for the steps to be let down, he\nsprang lightly out of the carriage.\n\n\u201cHeaven bless the dear boy!\u201d inwardly prayed Mr. Ewart, as he saw the\ngraceful form bounding away. \u201cHeaven bless him, and make him a blessing\nto many! A noble career seems to be before him, and he has a kind, a\nnoble, a generous heart, which has already, I trust, been given to God.\nBut I fear for him, the dangers of his position; he will have so much to\nnourish pride; and pride, alas! is his besetting sin. His guardian, and\nhis aunt, rather foster than check it; and London, to which he is to be\ntaken in the winter, will be full of snares to the young peer. But why\nshould I thus take anxious thought? I earnestly strive to impress on his\nheart the truths of our holy religion. He is willing to listen, and ready\nto learn; can I doubt that a blessing will rest on my prayerful efforts,\nor that he who is ever a Father to the orphan, will guard my dear pupil\nin the hour of temptation?\u201d\n\nThe clergyman was suddenly arrested in his meditations by a loud call\nfrom Lord Fontonore, who had reached the other end of the field; and\nlooking in that direction, he saw the boy waving his hat, and making\nimpatient and excited gestures as if to entreat him to come to him.\nConvinced that no trifle thus moved his pupil, Mr. Ewart instantly\ndescended from the carriage, and ordering the man-servant to follow,\nproceeded rapidly towards the spot.\n\n[Illustration: MARK DISCOVERED BY LORD FONTONORE.]\n\n\u201cOh, sir! oh, Mr. Ewart, only look here!\u201d exclaimed Charles, as soon as\nhis tutor came within hearing. \u201cPoor Mark Dowley, only see how they have\ntreated him. He is not dying\u2014oh, I trust that he is not dying!\u201d\n\n\u201cHelp me to raise him,\u201d said the minister quietly, though his blood ran\ncold at the spectacle before him. \u201cDo you not think, Charles, that you\ncould find a little water?\u201d The boy was off almost before the sentence\nwas concluded. \u201cJones, we must draw off his jacket very gently,\u2014softly,\nyou pain him; we must examine his hurts.\u201d\n\nWith a hand gentle as a woman\u2019s, Mr. Ewart removed the garment from the\nhalf senseless sufferer, to stanch the blood, and ascertain the amount of\nhis injuries. But he had scarcely laid bare the poor bruised shoulders of\nthe boy, when he started with an expression of such extreme surprise that\nJones looked in wonder to see what could be its cause.\n\n\u201cIs it possible!\u201d exclaimed the clergyman, \u201ccan it be really so! Yes, for\nthe countenance confirms it, so like the mother; it struck me the first\nmoment that I saw him! And the woman\u2014ah!\u201d he cried, pressing his hand\non his forehead, \u201cI remember she would not see me; she dared not, the\nbase\u2014the treacherous! It must be so; I see all now\u2014but the motive, what\ncould be the motive!\u201d\n\n\u201cPlease, sir,\u201d said Jones, touching his hat, \u201cshall I go to yonder\ncottage for assistance?\u201d\n\n\u201cCarry the boy to the carriage;\u2014no, I will bear him myself; it is not\nthe first time that he has been in my arms. And listen, Jones, say not a\nword of what we have found, but seek out two or three stout labourers at\nonce; the police would be better, but we must not lose time, everything\ndepends upon secrecy and despatch.\u201d\n\nWhile the wondering servant went in search of the required aid, Mr.\nEwart, with feelings almost resembling those of a father, after binding\nwith his own handkerchief and neckcloth Mark\u2019s most severe wounds, gently\ncarried him to where the carriage stood waiting. Once the poor boy\nunclosed his eyes, and uttered an exclamation of pleasure on recognizing\nthe clergyman, but he seemed almost too feeble to speak. Mr. Ewart had\nscarcely reached the high road when he was joined by Lord Fontonore, who,\nflushed and panting in the eagerness of his haste, brought some cold\nwater in his cap.\n\n\u201cGo back with him, Charles, to the house which we have just left, and\ncall upon the surgeon in your way. Oh, be tender with him, as if he were\nyour brother!\u201d the clergyman\u2019s voice trembled as he spoke.\n\n\u201cAnd you\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI have a sterner duty to perform, but it is one of the utmost\nimportance. There, support the poor fellow\u2019s head on your breast, you\nsee that the water has made him revive; all will be right yet, by the\nblessing of Heaven!\u201d\n\nAs the carriage was turned round, and driven rapidly towards Marshdale,\nJones came up with two powerful-looking ploughmen, and almost at the\nsame time Mr. Searle, who was walking along the road, reached the spot\nwhere they were now standing together.\n\n\u201cMost opportunely met!\u201d cried the minister, grasping his hand; \u201cyou are a\nmagistrate, you will go with us, and lend sanction to our proceedings.\u201d\nHe drew the old gentleman aside, and whispered rapidly a few sentences\nin his ear, at which the watchful Jones observed that Mr. Searle looked\nsurprised and shocked. Then, turning towards the three, \u201cFollow me, my\nmen,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, abruptly; \u201ca great crime has been committed, we go\nto seize the criminals.\u201d And without giving any further explanation, he\nled them rapidly towards the cottage of Dowley.\n\nIf Dowley felt any remorse for the barbarous manner in which he had\ntreated Mark, he was now occupied in drowning all memory and feeling in\nthat fiery drink which ruins so many souls. He had even filled the cups\nof his children with spirits, and the cottage was a scene of wild, unholy\nmirth, such as might make the pure angels weep. The sudden entrance of\nMr. Ewart without knock or previous warning, a grave, stern expression\non that usually mild face, startled the party as though he had been an\napparition. He fixed his piercing eye upon Ann, who shrank back and\ncovered her face with her hands, then turned it full upon Dowley whose\nflushed face showed mingled emotions of anger and fear.\n\n\u201cI think that I have seen you before,\u201d said the clergyman; \u201cis not your\nname John Lawless? were you not once gamekeeper to Lord Fontonore?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not my name, nor never was,\u201d replied the man surlily; \u201cand I\nnever heard of Lord Fontonore in my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! not from your wife there, who was nurse in the family, and\nintrusted with the charge of the eldest son?\u201d\n\n\u201cI say, what,\u201d exclaimed the man, starting up furiously, \u201cI don\u2019t know\nwhat brings you here, forcing yourself into a man\u2019s home without his\nleave; you shall go out a little quicker than you came\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, but I shall not go alone,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, striking the table\nwith his hand. At the signal, in rushed Jones and the two countrymen,\nfollowed by the magistrate; and after a short but furious struggle, they\nsucceeded in securing their prisoner.\n\nAnn attempted to make her escape by the back-door; Mr. Ewart laid his\nhand upon her arm.\n\n\u201cYou are our prisoner also,\u201d he said, \u201cunhappy woman! nothing remains to\nyou now but to make all the reparation in your power, by a frank and full\nconfession.\u201d\n\nAnn wrung her hands in despair.\n\n\u201cWhat is to be done with the children?\u201d said Mr. Ewart to the magistrate,\nlooking round on the frightened, miserable family.\n\n\u201cTheir proper home is the workhouse\u2014I will see to them; and these\nprisoners must be sent to the jail.\u201d\n\nThe clergyman gazed on the children with strong compassion. \u201cWe must\nconsider if nothing better can be done for them,\u201d thought he. \u201cPoor\ninheritors of misery in this world, Heaven grant that they may have been\ntaken from evil influence in time to preserve them, through God\u2019s grace,\nfrom misery in that which is to come!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE TOUCHSTONE OF TRIAL.\n\n \u201cLooking forward, he saw Faithful before him upon his\n journey.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nA few hours afterwards, as Charles was sitting in his own room, amusing\nhimself with his pencil, he was joined by his tutor, who looked weary and\npale, as if suffering from exertion and excitement.\n\n\u201cI hope that you have found out who beat the poor boy so cruelly, and\nhave given him up to justice,\u201d exclaimed Charles.\n\n\u201cThe man whom I suspect is in custody,\u201d replied the clergyman, sinking\nwearily down on a chair. \u201cI find that Mark is asleep; \u2019tis the best thing\nfor him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, poor fellow, he has been sleeping for the last hour. The surgeon is\nto call again in the evening. But you look exceedingly tired, dear sir;\nlet me bring you a glass of wine.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Charles, thank you; it is not wine that I require. I am full of\nanxious thought, my dear boy.\u201d And he passed his hand across his pale\nforehead.\n\n\u201cAnxious thought for Mark?\u201d inquired Charles.\n\n\u201cNo; rather anxious thought concerning you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s odd,\u201d said the boy, looking at him with a surprised smile;\n\u201cyou seemed pretty easy about me in the morning, and I assure you that\nI have been most harmlessly employed since you were away, first looking\nafter Mark, and then drawing a plan of a church.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me see it,\u201d said the clergyman, holding out his hand.\n\n\u201cOh, it is not finished, so you must make allowance,\u201d replied Charles,\nlooking at his own performance, however, with no dissatisfied air. \u201cI\nshall very probably make plenty of alterations and improvements, as it\nwill be more than nine years before I can carry out my plans; but I\u2019ve\nsuch a glorious design in my head\u2014something that I will do when I come of\nage and have my own money!\u201d\n\nCharles was too much engrossed with his project to notice the grave,\nalmost sad, expression on the features of his tutor; so he ran on in his\nanimated manner,\u2014\n\n\u201cYou know what a long way my village is from the church, and how seldom\nthe clergyman can visit my poor people. Well, I am determined to build a\nchurch of my own, a large, handsome church, with the sittings all free;\nand you shall be the clergyman, my own dear Mr. Ewart, and live in the\nCastle with me all my life! Do you not approve of my plan?\u201d added the\nboy, looking into his face with a bright smile.\n\n\u201cMan proposes, God disposes,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, laying his hand\naffectionately upon the shoulder of his pupil.\n\nCharles felt disappointed. \u201cI thought that you would have been so much\npleased,\u201d cried he; \u201cI am sure that you wish me to try to serve the Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost assuredly,\u201d replied the clergyman; \u201cbut the Lord himself will\nchoose out the way in which we are to serve him. Do you remember the\nyoung man who came to our Saviour, and asked him what he should do to\ninherit eternal life?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! the one who went away sorrowing, because he had great possessions.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have little doubt,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, \u201cthat had he been commanded to\nbuild a place of worship, or to give liberal alms, he would at once have\nwillingly complied.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he was told to give up _all_! Do you know, sir, that it has often\nstruck me that that was a command very hard to obey. I am glad that in\nthese days there is no need for such commands.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is the same need now, Charles, that there was then for a spirit\nof willing obedience. We may not now be called upon to give up all, but\nevery Christian must be _ready_ to do so. If there is anything on earth\non which we fix our hearts, so as to say, _I can yield to God anything\nbut this_, that thing from that moment is an idol and a snare, and we are\nbreaking the second commandment.\u201d\n\nCharles was silent for a few moments, thinking over his tutor\u2019s words,\ntill Mr. Ewart began conversation on a different subject.\n\n\u201cYou must sometimes have heard speak of an infant brother of your own.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, little Ernest, who was drowned three days before I was born,\nwhose marble monument I so constantly see in church\u2014a lovely baby,\nsleeping amongst water-lilies.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis monument is there, but not his body.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, poor little one, it never was found. I have heard all about his\ndeath many a time: how his careless nurse set him down to crawl on the\ngrass, and was either called away or fell asleep, I forget which, and\nthe poor baby rolled into the river and was lost, nothing of him being\nrecovered but his little hat and plume, which was found floating on the\ntop of the water.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was the story which was told at the time by one who shrank not from\nadding falsehood to cruelty.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the nurse was half wild with grief, and dared not wait till the\nreturn of her master, who had gone to London with my poor mother on\naccount of her health; but she soon ran away, no one knew whither, and\nnever could be traced any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe fled the place,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, \u201cwith a man who became her\nhusband\u2014one who, for his bad conduct, had been dismissed by your father\nfrom the office of gamekeeper, with a threat to send him into jail. This\nwicked man never forgot or forgave the threat, and tempted the wretched\nwoman whom he made his wife to a crime, in order to gratify his revenge.\nThe babe was not drowned, but stolen. After much ill-treatment and\ncruelty from the unprincipled pair, who brought him up as their own son,\nhis true birth was at length providentially discovered by the clergyman\nwho had baptized him more than twelve years before, from a most singular\nmark on his shoulder.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot mean Mark!\u201d exclaimed Charles, in extreme surprise.\n\n\u201cI do mean Mark; the confession of Ann has confirmed my suspicions. I\nhave not the shadow of a doubt that the boy is your brother.\u201d\n\nIt was strange to watch the various emotions fast succeeding one another\non the handsome countenance of Charles\u2014astonishment, interest, doubt,\npity, succeeded by a grave, inquiring look, as he said, \u201cThen, if Mark be\nmy brother, who is Lord Fontonore?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is, as the eldest son of your late father.\u201d\n\nThe face of Charles fell. \u201cThen what am I?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cCharles Hope; the same as your uncle.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the estate, and the castle, with its fine old hall, and all the\npictures, everything that I have so prized and looked on as my own\u2014are\nthey all his?\u201d\n\n\u201cEverything is entailed on the eldest son.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have I nothing?\u201d exclaimed Charles, his manner becoming excited;\n\u201cwhat is to become of me, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will enter some profession, my dear boy, as your uncle did, and earn\nyour livelihood honourably, I trust.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I am only a boy; how am I to be supported till then?\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless either something will be allowed from the property of your\nbrother, or your uncle will\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I can\u2019t stand this!\u201d exclaimed Charles, passionately, springing from\nhis seat, and walking up and down the room in a state of excitement. \u201cTo\nbe dependent\u2014that is more than I can bear! It is bad enough to be poor,\nbut to be dependent!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my almost son!\u201d exclaimed the clergyman, with emotion, \u201cdoes not\nthis very excess of grief at its loss prove that what is taken away would\nhave been a snare to you? May you not reckon in another world amongst\nyour chief mercies that which is now so painful to bear?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd all my schemes of usefulness, too!\u201d cried Charles, flinging himself\ndown again upon his chair.\n\n\u201cNone can say what a career of usefulness may be before you yet. You may\nmore glorify God, and more benefit man, than had your efforts never been\nstimulated by the necessity for exertion.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf Mark had been the younger brother, it would have been far better; he\nwould have been more than contented, and I\u2014\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES\u2019S STRUGGLE.]\n\n\u201cLet us never, Charles,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, laying his hand upon his\nshoulder, \u201csay that anything which man had no power to alter could be\nbetter than as the Almighty ordained it. Could we see all that He sees,\npast and future together; could we know all that He knows, both our\npowers and our interests, we should not even wish such things other than\nas they are; we should feel that whatever is, is right.\u201d\n\nBut pride, arrogance, and love of worldly glory were speaking too loudly\nin the heart of Charles to suffer him yet to listen quietly to the voice\nof truth. \u201cI little thought when I found Mark what I was bringing upon\nmyself,\u201d said he; \u201cand you, sir,\u201d he added, bitterly, \u201cyou have thought\nmuch more of your new friend than of your old.\u201d\n\nUnjust as was the reproach, it wounded Mr. Ewart. \u201cWhat would you have\nhad me do, Charles?\u201d he said sadly, but without anger. \u201cGross wrong had\nbeen done, I could set it right; a much-injured boy had been long kept\nfrom his birth-right, would you have had me join with his oppressors in\ndepriving him of it?\u201d\n\nCharles was silent, but felt ashamed of his own injustice.\n\n\u201cAt present you and I are alone in possession of the secret. Ann\u2019s\nconfession was made only to me; would you wish me, were the matter in\nyour own choice, to hush up the affair, let all things go on as before,\nand leave you to enjoy\u2014not enjoy, but possess\u2014the title and estate, which\nis the right of a brother?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no; I am not quite so wicked as that!\u201d cried Charles, throwing\nhimself into the arms of his friend, and burying his face in his bosom.\n\u201cForgive me! oh, forgive me my impatience and injustice! You were right;\nthe things which it pains me so to part with, I was not fit to keep. They\nmust have been my idols, though I did not know it. But this trial seems\nto have made me full of evil.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has not made the evil, it has only shown it to you, my dear boy.\nWater often looks clear until it is stirred; but the stirring does not\ncause the sand which arises, it was there while the water looked purest.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis, then, is one of the uses of trial, I suppose, to make us know how\nwicked we are. An hour ago I felt so good and so happy, I thought the way\nto heaven so easy and delightful; and in the very first difficulty that I\nmet, all my goodness melted away in a moment.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut now that you are recalled to yourself\u2014now that you remember that\nas strangers and pilgrims upon earth, we must not cling too closely\nto anything in a world through which we are but passing\u2014I trust that,\nby God\u2019s help, you will show how cheerfully a Christian can submit to\nthe will of his Master. You will not go away, like the rich young man,\nsorrowing, but, following the Saviour through all life\u2019s changing scenes,\nrejoice in the treasure laid up for you in heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne thing I should like,\u201d said Charles, his face brightening again, \u201cmay\nI be the first to tell the news to Mark? If he is half as much delighted\nas I was vexed\u2014I should so like to see how he takes it!\u201d\n\n\u201cMost readily do I accede to your wish,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, \u201cbut we must say\nnothing to excite him just now, while he is so feverish; and it is better\nthat he should know nothing of the change until all is more decided and\nsettled. I am just going to write to your uncle.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy uncle!\u201d said Charles, looking again rather grave; \u201cah, how astonished\nhe will be, and Aunt Matilda, and Clementina! I wonder if it will make\nthem feel differently towards me\u2014if I shall lose many friends with my\ntitle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is one at least whom you will gain.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, a brother! I daresay that Mark and I will love each other, only I\ncan never fancy him a lord.\u201d Charles almost laughed at the idea.\n\n\u201cYou must be to him what Jonathan was to David. One might have feared\nthat the son of King Saul, who must naturally have once hoped to succeed\nto the throne of his father, would have beheld with jealousy the shepherd\nboy who was chosen to rule in his stead. Yet between the two there was\nonly confidence and love, love which, however much we may admire it in\nDavid, appears tenfold more beautiful in his friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must be like Christian and Faithful in the Pilgrim\u2019s Progress,\u201d said\nCharles, now quite regaining his usual cheerfulness of manner. \u201cHe has\nbeen passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and struggling\nunder all manner of trials, and now the way is growing smooth beneath\nhis feet, and he will have a brother to walk beside him. He will teach\nme something of the Valley of Humility, and I will tell him what I know\nof Vanity Fair. I feel really ashamed of myself now\u2014what a worldly,\nself-seeking pilgrim I have been!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod be praised!\u201d murmured the clergyman, as he quitted the room; \u201cGod be\npraised, who has supported and strengthened my dear pupil in the hour of\nhis sore temptation.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nPILGRIM\u2019S CONVERSE BY THE WAY.\n\n \u201cI have sowed, and you have reaped; and the day is coming\n when \u2018both he that soweth and they that reap shall rejoice\n together:\u2019 that is, if you hold out; \u2018for in due season ye\n shall reap, if ye faint not.\u2019\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nA few days after, as Mr. Ewart entered the room in which Mark, or rather\nErnest, as we must now call him, was sitting in an armchair, propped up\nby cushions, and looking exceedingly pale, Charles, who was looking over\nthe back of the chair, addressed his tutor playfully with the words,\n\u201cI am so much disappointed, Mr. Ewart; here\u2019s a young nobleman to whom\nI have been telling all sorts of good news, and he looks as grave as a\njudge upon them all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI feel so bewildered,\u201d said Ernest, pressing his pale brow; \u201cI think\nthat it must all be a dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is no dream,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, seating himself by his side; \u201call is\ntrue that your brother has told you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBrother!\u201d exclaimed Ernest, fixing his moistened eyes upon Charles, \u201cOh,\nmy lord!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is so wilful,\u201d laughed Charles; \u201cwe shall never get him to sign\nhimself Fontonore.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not wish to be a lord,\u201d said Ernest, gravely; \u201cI am not fit to be\na lord. I know next to nothing. I have hardly read a book but the Bible.\nOh, do you be the nobleman, and let me be your brother! You shall have\nthe fortune, and the estates, and all that\u2014I never could bear to deprive\nyou of them!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have no choice, Ernest,\u201d said Mr. Ewart; \u201cyou can no more help being\na noble than you can help being your father\u2019s son: you cannot avoid\nreceiving the ten talents; your care now must be to make a right use of\nthem. Both Ann and Lawless have publicly confessed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope that they are not to suffer on account of me,\u201d said Ernest;\n\u201cespecially my mo\u2014\u2014 she whom I once thought my mother. It would imbitter\nthe whole of my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cLawless is committed to trial for forgery (a purse of base coin was\nfound on his person); Ann, for her conduct towards you. I will try to do\nall in my power, as it is your wish, to make the sentence of the law fall\nlightly on the woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd my brothers?\u201d said Ernest.\n\n\u201cWhat of me?\u201d interrupted Charles. \u201cOh, I see that you intend to\ndisown me already,\u201d he added, playfully; \u201cyou will neither believe nor\nacknowledge me, so I shall leave you to the management of Mr. Ewart,\u201d\nand so saying he left the apartment.\n\n\u201cI am going to ask what I fear you will think a strange question,\u201d said\nErnest to the clergyman, as soon as they were alone; \u201cI know that I am to\nhave a very large fortune, but\u2014but\u2014shall I have any of it to spend as I\nlike now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will doubtless have the same allowance that has been given to\nCharles,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, naming the sum.\n\n\u201cSo much!\u201d exclaimed Ernest in surprise; \u201cand Lord Fontonore\u2014I mean my\nbrother?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat he may receive will depend upon his uncle. Poor Charles! he has\nnothing of his own.\u201d\n\n\u201cHalf of mine at least shall be his. Let him have it without knowing from\nwhom it comes.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart smiled, and pressed the boy\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cAnd those unhappy children with whom I have been brought up, now\nseparated from their parents, and helpless and friendless\u2014tell me, sir,\nwhat can I do for them?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are some excellent charities in London, where such are received,\nbrought up to an honest trade, and instructed in the principles of\nreligion. But there is considerable expense in keeping children at such\nasylums, unless they have been admitted by votes, which in the present\ncase would be very difficult to procure.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould the remaining half of my allowance be enough?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would leave yourself nothing, my dear boy. I honour your motives and\nfeelings, but generosity must be tempered by prudence. The little girl\nyou might place at an asylum.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the boys?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me think what could be done with them. It seems to me,\u201d said the\nclergyman, after a minute\u2019s consideration, \u201cthat Mr. Hope might allow\nthem, if such were really your desire, to be brought up under the\ngardener at the castle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is an excellent plan!\u201d cried Ernest, clapping his hands; \u201cthere\nthey would always be under your eye; you would teach them also the narrow\nway to heaven!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere might be some objections to the plan,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, reflecting;\n\u201cit might place you uncomfortably to have those near the castle who had\nknown you in such a different position.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be good for me,\u201d said Ernest, with animation. \u201cIf I ever am\ntempted to be lifted up with pride, I shall have but to look at them and\nremember what I was; and if anything can humble me, that will. Will you\nkindly write to Mr. Hope directly?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no need to do that,\u201d replied the clergyman; \u201cI have heard from\nhim to-day, and came now to tell you that it is his wish that as soon as\nyou are equal to moving, you and your brother should start at once for\nthe castle.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I am ready for anything!\u201d cried Ernest; \u201cI mean that I am ready to\ntravel,\u201d he added, correcting himself, \u201cfor my new situation I fear that\nI am not ready.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe two best introductions to any new sphere of life are\u2014trust in God,\nand mistrust of ourselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think that I shall have many dangers now, I mean as a pilgrim?\u201d\nasked Ernest.\n\n\u201cYou will have dangers still, though of a different kind. Your\nbattle-field is changed, but not your enemy. The good seed in your heart\nwas in peril before from the hot sun of trial beating upon it; now God\ngrant that the cares, riches, and pleasures of this world may not spring\nup as thorns to choke it! Your great refuge must be self-examination and\nprayer; with these, by God\u2019s grace, you will safely walk still on the\nslippery high path before you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI trust that nothing will make me forget that I am a pilgrim,\u201d said\nErnest.\n\n\u201cI will give you this book, which I look upon as a valuable chart of the\nway you must tread,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, placing in the hand of Ernest\na copy of Bunyan\u2019s Pilgrim\u2019s Progress. \u201cIn this book you will see the\nChristian\u2019s path, over part of which you yourself have travelled. You\nwill recognize some spots that are familiar to you, some people with whom\nyou have had to deal; and you will see, as if a curtain were drawn up\nbefore you, much that you are likely to meet with in the future.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, thanks! this must indeed be a most wonderful book! But I cannot\nunderstand how it can tell me about things that have happened or will\nhappen to myself, the paths of people through life are so many.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe paths of men are many\u2014the Christian has but one. Our circumstances,\nindeed, are very various; to some the hill Difficulty comes through\nbitter poverty, to some from unkind relations, to some from broken\nhealth. Some pass through the gloomy valley in sunshine, and see but\nlittle of its horrors; some are helped, some hindered on their way to\nheaven by those amongst whom they live. But there are certain points\nin the pilgrimage which _every_ Christian must know. We _all_ set\nout from the City of Destruction\u2014we are all by nature born in sin.\nEven children must flee from the wrath to come, turning from\u2014that is,\nrepenting of their unrighteousness. Even children must come to the one\nstrait gate\u2014faith in our Lord Jesus Christ; must knock by prayer, and\nhaving once entered in, must press on in the way leading unto life! Even\nchildren bear a burden of sin, though the sooner they come to the cross\nof the Saviour the lighter that burden must be; but were it only the\nburden of one unholy _word_, one sinful _thought_, nothing but the blood\nof the Lord Jesus Christ could take even that away! Even children are\nbeset by spiritual foes\u2014must, if pilgrims, know something of the battle\nwithin; even children must wear the whole armour of God; and to the\nyoungest, the weakest, is offered the crown which the Lord has prepared\nfor them that love Him!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a wonderfully wise and learned man he must have been who wrote such\na book as you say that this is!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was written by a man who had very little learning except what he\ngained from the Word of God itself. The wisdom which he possessed came\nfrom above, and the men of the world deemed it foolishness. The author\nof that book was a tinker, named Bunyan, a man who supported himself by\nthe labour of his hands, and who for twelve years, only on account of his\nreligion, was confined in Bedford jail.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere men put in prison for being religious?\u201d exclaimed Ernest, in\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cAt all times the world has been an enemy to holiness, and religion has\nbeen liable to persecution; but this persecution has at different times\ntaken very different shapes. The early Christians were tortured, beaten,\nthrown to wild beasts, till so many people had adopted their holy faith\nthat the civilized world began to call itself Christian. Then the Evil\nOne, seeing that he could not put out the light, heaped up a thousand\nsuperstitions around it, so that sinners might be prevented from seeing\nit. Yet, doubtless, even through the dark ages, as they are called, God\nhad always some faithful believers upon earth, whom the world would hate\nbecause they were not of it; and persecute, though not always openly. At\nlength the time of the Reformation arrived; brave men and holy forced a\nway through the mass of superstitions which had hidden the precious light\nof truth; and then, indeed, there was a fearful struggle, and persecution\nbathed its sword in the blood of martyrs. Many were the stakes raised\nin England, Germany, and France, where saints yielded up their souls in\nthe midst of flames. But no persecution could tread out the light which\nGod himself had kindled. As blows upon gold but make it spread wider,\nso the very efforts of the wicked to suppress the truth, made it more\nextensively known.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd was it then that Bunyan was imprisoned?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot then, but more than a century after, in the reign of an unworthy\nmonarch, Charles II., when the light which had shone so brightly was\nbecoming obscured again by superstition and worldly policy. Bunyan\nwas confined for preaching the Word; was separated from the family of\nwhom he was the support. That which most deeply wounded his heart was\nthe helpless position of his poor blind child, who so much needed the\nprotecting care of a father.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd they imprisoned him for twelve years? How cruel! What a tedious,\nweary trial it must have been to him!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod honoured the prisoner far above the prince; He made the jail a\nnobler dwelling than a palace! It was there that the despised and\npersecuted tinker composed his wonderful book. Bright, holy thoughts\nwere his pleasant companions. While his worldly judges were passing\nthrough life, surrounded by cares, business, and amusements, seeing,\nperhaps, nothing beyond this fleeting scene, the prisoner was tracing the\nPilgrim\u2019s Progress, copying from his own heart the Pilgrim\u2019s feelings,\nnoting from his own life the Pilgrim\u2019s trials, and describing from his\nown hopes the Pilgrim\u2019s reward. And when his book was finished\u2014when,\nwith humble faith, he laid it as an offering before Him who had given\nhim the power to write it\u2014how little could the despised Bunyan have\nanticipated the honour which God would put upon that book! It has been\nread by thousands and hundreds of thousands\u2014generation after generation\nhave delighted in it\u2014the high and the low, the rich and the poor, all\nhave welcomed the chart of the Pilgrim. It has been translated into many\nforeign tongues; from east to west, from north to south, in all the four\nquarters of the globe, it has directed sinners to the one strait gate,\nand guided them along the one narrow path. I believe,\u201d added Mr. Ewart,\nlaying his hand upon the volume, \u201cthat next to the Bible, _from which it\nis taken_, that this book has been the most widely circulated of any ever\nwritten; and never shall we know, till the last great day, how many a\nsaved and rejoicing spirit may trace its first step in the heavenward way\nto reading Bunyan\u2019s Pilgrim\u2019s Progress.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDISTANT GLIMPSE OF VANITY FAIR.\n\n \u201cThen I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the\n wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name\n of that town is Vanity.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\n\u201cAh! what a strange remembrance I shall always have of that old ruin!\u201d\nexclaimed Charles, as again he drove past the well-known spot, in a\ncarriage with post-horses, on his way to Castle Fontonore. But this time\nhe had another companion beside him; Ernest, well wrapped up in cloak and\nfurs\u2014for the autumn was now advanced\u2014was resting on the soft cushions of\nthe luxurious vehicle.\n\n\u201cWhat will your remembrances be, compared to mine?\u201d said Ernest, raising\nhimself to look out, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the gray pile until\nit was lost to his sight.\n\n\u201cI went to pick up a stone as a keepsake, and I found a brother!\u201d cried\nCharles.\n\n\u201cHow much I owe you!\u201d said Ernest, fervently. \u201cI make you an ill return\nby taking away what you thought your birth-right! And you, sir,\u201d he\nadded, turning towards the clergyman, \u201cmy debt to you I can never never\nrepay; but my heart\u2019s gratitude and love shall be yours as long as I\nbreathe. All the honours and riches that I possess I value as nothing,\ncompared with the blessing of having such a friend and such a brother.\u201d\n\nThis was the first time that Ernest had been able to express so much;\nfor, shy and retiring as he was by nature, and rendered more so by the\nmanner in which all the warm feelings of his heart had hitherto been\nchilled and repressed, he had wrapped himself up in a cloak of reserve,\nand had few words to show how deep were these feelings. Mr. Ewart saw\nthat in the boy\u2019s present weak state he was easily agitated and excited,\nand, to change the subject of a conversation which made Ernest\u2019s voice\ntremble with emotion, asked him how he liked the book which he had given\nhim.\n\n\u201cI find it very interesting. I should have thought it so, if I had only\nread it as an amusing story; but what you said about its showing us\nthings that happen in our own lives, has made it a thousand times more\nso. I could enter into so many of the feelings of Christian\u2014his misery\nwith his burden, his delight when it rolled away. I am almost sure that\nMr. Worldly Wiseman once turned me aside, and I fancy that I have even\nknown a little of the Slough of Despond!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe earlier children go on pilgrimage, the less they usually know\nof the misery of that slough. As Bunyan, in his allegory, beautifully\nrepresents, there are stepping-stones across it all the way, and the feet\nof Christ\u2019s little ones usually find these, so that many have reached the\nwicket-gate in safety, without one stain of the slough on their garments.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a mercy it was to Christian to meet with Evangelist! Sir, you have\nbeen Evangelist to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I must be your Faithful,\u201d said Charles, smiling.\n\n\u201cOh no! for then I should lose you in Vanity Fair,\u201d replied Ernest,\nlooking fondly on his brother, who was daily becoming dearer to his heart.\n\n\u201cVanity Fair is not at all like what it was when Bunyan wrote,\u201d said\nCharles. \u201cThere is no danger of my being put in prison, or stoned, or\nburned, because I may not like the ways of the place; so you are not in\nthe least likely to lose me in that manner, and I may be your Faithful\nand your Hopeful both in one.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs Vanity Fair quite done away with now?\u201d said Ernest to Mr. Ewart.\n\n\u201cNo, my boy, and never will be, as long as the three grand tempters of\nthe world, _the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of\nlife_, spread their attractive stalls to lure unwary pilgrims.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid that you will think me a very dull pupil,\u201d said Ernest; \u201cbut\nI do not exactly understand who these tempters are of whom you speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe lust of the flesh is pleasure; the lust of the eye, covetousness;\nthe pride of life is that fatal pride, whether of birth, riches, talent,\nor beauty, which is often viewed with indulgence by the world, but which\nis particularly hateful to God.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut must all pleasure be sinful?\u201d asked Charles.\n\n\u201cBy no means. Some pleasure springs directly from religion. Of heavenly\nwisdom it is written in God\u2019s Word, _Her ways are ways of pleasantness,\nand all her paths are peace_. And other pleasure may be hallowed by\nreligion; but it must be pleasure that has no connection with _sin_. We\nmay gather life\u2019s flowers, but we must be careful that they are those\nwhich have not the trail of the serpent upon them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it wrong to enjoy the riches which God gives us?\u201d asked Ernest.\n\u201cShall I sin if I look with joy on the noble estate and all the beautiful\nthings which you tell me are mine?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod forbid,\u201d replied the clergyman; \u201chath He not _given us all things\nrichly to enjoy_? But we must _use the world as not abusing it_. There\nis a test by which we can easily find out if riches are not clogging\nand delaying us in our heavenward path. We must examine, _first_, if we\nreceive them with gratitude, as coming from God; _secondly_, if we are\nwatchful to spend them to the glory of God; _thirdly_, if we are ready to\nresign them, in obedience to God.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d observed Charles, \u201cthat Ernest will be less in danger from the\npride of life than I was.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Ernest, looking admiringly at his brother; \u201cbecause I shall\nhave so very much less to be proud of.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never meant that,\u201d cried Charles, colouring; \u201cbut I fancy that you\nhave been so tried and subdued, by suffering so much, that you will never\nbe so foolish and flighty as I; you will not be so easily puffed up.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure that I could not answer for myself,\u201d replied Ernest, simply.\n\n\u201cNo; and certainly you are very ignorant of the ways of Vanity Fair;\nthat\u2019s the part of your pilgrimage that you are coming to now.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely not till I go to London. I shall see nothing of it while we stay\nquietly studying at the castle.\u201d\n\n\u201cLittle you know!\u201d exclaimed Charles, laughing. \u201cMy good Aunt Matilda,\nmy pretty little cousin, and perhaps my business-like uncle himself, may\nintroduce you\u2014\u201d Charles stopped, for he caught his tutor\u2019s eye, and its\ngrave expression silenced him at once.\n\n\u201c_Judge not, that ye be not judged_,\u201d said the clergyman, impressively.\n\u201cThere is nothing so little becoming a young pilgrim as passing unkind\njudgment on his elders.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid that it\u2019s my besetting sin,\u201d said Charles, \u201cand one that it\nis very difficult to get rid of.\u201d\n\n\u201cLike many others, I believe that it springs from pride,\u201d observed his\ntutor. \u201cWhen we are deeply sensible of our own imperfections, we have\nmore mercy to show, or less attention to give to those of our neighbours\nand companions.\u201d\n\nThe journey to Yorkshire took two days, travelling by post being so\nmuch slower than by railway. To Ernest they were days of almost unmixed\ndelight: change of scene, unaccustomed comforts, the society of those\nwhom he loved, all the hopes which naturally gild the prospect of\nyouth\u2014all the brighter for being so new\u2014filled his cup of enjoyment very\nfull. Though his manner was not so lively as that of his brother, it was\neasy to see that his happiness was not less.\n\nWe may be surprised that the bitter emotions which Charles had\nentertained when he first knew of the loss of his title seemed so\nsoon to have entirely disappeared. But his was an open and generous\nheart\u2014Ernest\u2019s sufferings had roused his pity\u2014his brother\u2019s grateful\naffection had flattered his feelings\u2014he was pleased with himself for his\nconquest over pride; and perhaps nothing tends to make us more cheerful\nthan this. Then there had been nothing to make him painfully aware of a\nchange\u2014his tutor\u2019s manner had been more kind than ever\u2014Jones could never\naddress him but as \u201cmy lord\u201d\u2014Ernest seemed unwilling to consider himself\neven as his equal\u2014all his comforts appeared the same as ever.\n\nIt was therefore with unaffected pleasure that, as they approached near\nthe Castle Fontonore, Charles pointed out the landmarks to his brother.\n\n\u201cThere now, there\u2019s the lodge; isn\u2019t it a beauty? That\u2019s Widow Grove who\nis standing at the gate. Why, there\u2019s quite a little crowd; I knew that\nthere would be one. Take off your cap, Ernest, they are cheering for us.\nDid you ever see such magnificent timber in your life? so glorious with\nthe autumn tints still upon them! That tree to the right is five hundred\nyears old. Just look at the deer as they bound through that glade; and\nnow\u2014yes\u2014now you have a glimpse of the castle, and there\u2019s the flag waving\nfrom the top of the tower. Is it not an inheritance worth having, Ernest?\nDoes it not surpass your expectations?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt does, it does; I never saw, never dreamed of anything so beautiful!\u201d\n\nAnd now, exciting no small stir amongst the tenants, grooms, stable-boys,\nand others who on various pretexts were crowding the entrance, the\nhorses, urged on to speed by the postilion, dashed over the drawbridge,\nthrough the arched gateway into the paved court-yard, and stood chafed\nand foaming before the door, where the Hopes stood ready to receive the\nyoung master. Ernest had no time to gaze round on the romantic pile of\nbuilding which surrounded him\u2014the tower, the mullioned windows, the walls\nof massive stone, almost covered with various kinds of creepers; he was\nso anxious to have a sight of his new relations, who appeared at the\nentrance to welcome them. There was a rather stout gentleman, whom, from\na family likeness to Charles, Ernest at once set down for his uncle; a\ntall, good-looking lady, in a superb silk dress that looked rich enough\nto stand upright by itself, and whose very rustle seemed to speak of\nformidable dignity; and a fairy-like young creature, a little older than\nhimself, whom, at the first glance, Ernest thought exceedingly pretty.\n\nCharles, accustomed from infancy to be a person of importance, sprang\neagerly out of the carriage first, almost before the horses had stopped.\nHe ran to his aunt. \u201cWhere is Lord Fontonore?\u201d said she, passing him,\nand advancing to the door of the carriage. \u201cDear Clemmy!\u201d exclaimed\nCharles, taking his cousin\u2019s hand, \u201chow long it is since we have met!\u201d\nShe returned his press indeed, but her eyes were not looking towards him;\nshe had not even a glance to give her old companion, so eagerly was her\ngaze turned in another direction.\n\n\u201cIs this the reception that I meet with?\u201d thought Charles, anger and\ndisappointment boiling in his heart. \u201cIt was then the peer whom they\nflattered and caressed; I am now only Charles Hope, and I must be\ndeserted for the first stranger who has a title;\u201d and without attending\nto the greeting of his uncle, or to that of the servants, with whom he\nhad always been a favourite, Charles hurried off impatiently to his own\nroom.\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES AND HIS MOTHER\u2019S PORTRAIT.]\n\nA beautiful room it was, all hung round with pictures. There was one\nwhich Charles especially valued, the portrait of his mother when she was\na girl, with deep, thoughtful eyes, so much like Ernest\u2019s that Charles\nwondered that he had not recognized the resemblance the first moment that\nhe had seen his brother. This picture had often exercised a soothing\neffect over the boy; the thought of his gentle mother now in heaven drew\nhis own affections thither; the hope of meeting her there was so sweet,\nthe desire of being worthy of her so strong\u2014for his mind had invested her\nwith all the qualities of an angel\u2014and the parent who had died before he\ncould know his loss, was the object of the deepest tenderness of the boy.\n\n\u201cShe, at least, is not changed\u2014she looks always the same!\u201d exclaimed\nCharles, clasping his hands, and gazing upon the portrait till his eyes\nbecame dimmed with tears. He was disturbed by a low knock at the door.\n\n\u201cCome in!\u201d exclaimed Charles in an impatient tone, hastily dashing the\nmoisture from his eyes. It was the housekeeper who appeared at the door.\n\n\u201cPlease, my lord, Master Charles, I am sorry to disturb you, but this\nroom Mrs. Hope desired to be prepared for Lord Fontonore; the blue room\nhas been made ready for you.\u201d\n\nCharles rushed out of the apartment without saying a word, in a passion\nof anger and resentment. The trial which he had seen but from a distance\nwas now most keenly and bitterly felt. He locked his door, and paced\nbackwards and forwards across the room, wishing that he could shut out\nall sound of voices and tread of feet, as he traced by it the progress of\nthe party through the castle, which his relations were now showing to its\nnew possessor. And thus he remained in his solitary misery, while Ernest\npainfully missed from his side one who was more to his affectionate\nheart than all the wealth of the world, and with an uncomfortable\nconsciousness of his every motion being watched by those who regarded him\nrather with curiosity than interest, passed through long corridors, and\nstately apartments, which were expected to strike him with wonder.\n\n\u201cHe is not so vulgar or funny as I expected that he would be,\u201d whispered\nClementina to some one beside her; \u201cbut it makes me laugh to see him look\nso shy and uneasy, as if he were half afraid to look at his own castle.\nHe certainly has a very interesting air, but he is not half so handsome\nas Charles.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nVEXATIONS OF VANITY FAIR.\n\n\n\u201cI wish to see no one!\u201d exclaimed Charles, as again a knock was heard at\nhis door.\n\n\u201cWill you not admit me?\u201d said the voice of Mr. Ewart. In an instant the\ndoor was thrown open.\n\n\u201cI did not know that it was you, sir; but I might have guessed who was\nthe only being likely to come near me.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart saw in a moment by the face of his pupil, as well as by the\ntone in which he spoke, that he was struggling\u2014no, not struggling with,\nbut rather overcome by his passions; and more grieved than displeased by\nthe conduct of the boy, he led him quietly to a sofa, on which they both\nsat down together.\n\n\u201cI am sorry,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, \u201cthat you left us so soon; your brother may\nbe hurt by your absence.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, he\u2019ll never miss me; he has plenty to take up his attention. Aunt\nMatilda will never let him out of her sight. Miss Clemmy will deck\nherself out even finer than usual to do honour to the lord of the\ncastle. And of course he\u2019ll be taken by all the flattery and fuss; he\u2019ll\nbelieve all the nonsense of that worldly set; he\u2019ll be everything now,\nand I shall be nothing, because he happened to be born a year before me.\nIt\u2019s very hard,\u201d he added bitterly; \u201cit\u2019s very hard.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018_It\u2019s very hard_\u2019 is one of the Evil One\u2019s favourite suggestions,\u201d\nsaid Mr. Ewart; \u201cits meaning was contained in the very first words which\nhe ever uttered to a human ear. He would have persuaded Eve that it was\n_very hard_ that she might not eat of every fruit in the garden; and now,\nsurrounded as we are with manifold blessings, it is his delight to point\nto the one thing denied, and still whisper, \u2018_It\u2019s very hard_ to be kept\nfrom that which you so much desire.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot help feeling,\u201d murmured Charles; \u201cthings are so different now\nfrom what they were.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ever expect them to remain the same? Did you suppose that your\npath would be always amongst flowers? Are you not forgetting that you\nare a stranger and a pilgrim\u2014the follower of a Master who was a man of\nsorrows?\u201d\n\nCharles sighed heavily, and looked down.\n\n\u201cHow often have you repeated the lines\u2014\n\n \u2018The greatest evil we can fear,\n Is to possess our portion here!\u2019\n\nHad you the power of choice, would you enjoy that portion in this life,\nwere it even to bestow on you the crown of an emperor?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Charles, with emphasis.\n\n\u201cLet me refer you to your favourite Pilgrim\u2019s Progress. Remember what\nChristian beheld in the house of the Interpreter\u2014that which we constantly\nbehold in daily life: Passion demanding his treasure at once; Patience\nwaiting meekly for a treasure to come. Which was the richest in the end?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must not imagine that it was the sight of the dear old castle, and\nall that I have lost, that has made me feel in this way,\u201d exclaimed\nCharles. \u201cYou saw how cheerful I was not an hour ago, and I knew then\nthat I was no longer Lord Fontonore.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; you had seen your cross, but you had not taken it up; you had not\nfelt its weight. It is now that you must rouse up your courage.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I feel,\u201d exclaimed Charles impetuously, \u201cis contempt for the mean,\nheartless beings, who were all kindness to me when I bore a title, and\nnow have turned round like weathercocks! I do not believe that even you\ncan defend them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think that you may judge them hardly. You have too easily taken\noffence; you have made no allowance for their natural curiosity to see\nthe hero of so romantic a tale as Ernest\u2019s. Would not you yourself have\nfelt eager to meet him?\u201d\n\nCharles admitted that perhaps he might have done so.\n\n\u201cYou have taken Passion and Pride for your counsellors, dear Charles: the\none has blinded your eyes that you should not see the straight path; the\nother would bind your feet that you should not pursue it. And miserable\ncounsellors have you found them both; they have inflicted on your heart\nmore pain than the loss of both title and estate.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would you have me do?\u201d said Charles, more quietly; for he felt the\ntruth of the last observation.\n\n\u201c_First_, I would have you endeavour to bring yourself to _be content to\nbe of little importance_. Until your mind is in this state of submission,\nyou will be like one with a wound which is being perpetually rubbed.\n\n\u201c_Secondly_, I would have you seek your earthly enjoyment rather in\nbeholding that of others, than in any pleasure that comes direct to\nyourself. Thus, in one way, Fontonore will be yours still.\n\n\u201c_Thirdly_, I would have you prayerfully on the watch against the\nslightest feeling of jealousy towards Ernest. Never let your only brother\nthink for one moment that you feel that he stands in your way.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Mr. Ewart!\u201d cried Charles, starting to his feet, \u201chow could you\nimagine such a thing?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt rests with you alone to prevent _his_ thinking it, and you have made\na bad beginning to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go to Ernest at once,\u201d said the boy, \u201cand help to show him over\nthe place. He shall never say\u2014he shall never think that I am envious of\nhis prosperity.\u201d\n\nIn truth, on that first evening of his arrival in the castle, Ernest was\nnot much to be envied. He was uneasy about his brother\u2014uncomfortable\nwith his new companions; one hearty grasp from the hand of Charles, or\napproving word from his tutor, was worth all the smiles, and courtesies,\nand bows, which he knew had nothing to do with the heart. Ernest felt\nhimself out of his natural place, and was constantly afraid of saying or\ndoing something that would shock the polished grandees around him. As far\nas speaking was concerned, he was indeed tolerably safe, for he scarcely\nopened his lips, which made his companions set him down as dull and\nstupid; but he had been accustomed for so short a time to the refinements\nof polished society, and was so likely, in his very anxiety to please,\nto forget even the hints that he had received from Mr. Ewart, that there\nwas certainly some little danger of his doing something \u201cshocking.\u201d The\npresence of half-a-dozen footmen in gay liveries in the room, was a\ndisagreeable piece of state to the young lord; so many eyes were turned\nupon him whenever he moved; there were so many listeners if he uttered a\nword!\n\nErnest made the serious mistake of eating fish with a knife. The shocked\nlook of his aunt made him sensible of his blunder, and covered his face\nwith blushes. At another time, Clementina pressed her lace handkerchief\nover her lips, to stifle her too evident inclination to titter, at the\npeasant-bred peer helping her to something from the dish before him with\nhis own spoon. Ernest was very glad when the dinner was over, which had\nlasted, indeed, nearly twice as long as any of which he had ever partaken\nbefore.\n\n[Illustration: CLEMENTINA AT THE PIANO.]\n\nAfter dinner, Clementina was desired by her mother to go to the piano\nand play. She made so many excuses, said that she was tired, nervous,\nout of practice, that Ernest, little practised in the ways of Vanity\nFair, was inclined to beg that the young lady might be let off. Great\nwould have been her mortification had he done so, however\u2014the girl was\nonly refusing in order to be pressed; the virtue of sincerity, if she\nhad ever possessed it, had all been frittered away by folly. She sat\ndown to the instrument, determined to be admired; for admiration to her\nwas as the very breath of life. She played what might be called a very\nbrilliant piece\u2014full of shakes, dashes, and runs, but with no melody at\nall. Ernest, though fond of music, thought it certainly not pretty, and,\nhad he been more at his ease, could hardly have helped laughing at the\naffected air of the young performer, and the manner in which she threw\nup her hands, and sometimes her eyes also, in the slower movements of\nthe piece. Every motion appeared to be studied: self was never for a\nmoment forgotten. When the performance, rather to Ernest\u2019s relief, was\nconcluded, with a satisfied look the stately mother turned to the young\npeer, and asked him if that was not a beautiful piece. \u201cRather,\u201d replied\nErnest, after a little hesitation, as much vexed with himself for\nsaying so much as Clementina was at his saying so little. Charles, who\nwas standing near, could not avoid laughing; and Ernest read in the eyes\nof Mrs. Hope her unexpressed thought\u2014\u201cI have no patience for this low,\nill-bred boor!\u201d\n\nWith a secret feeling of constraint, mortification, and disappointment,\npoor Ernest retired at night to his own room. Two maids were preparing\nit as he entered, and he could not help overhearing the words of one of\nthem,\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis a pity that Master Charles was not the eldest son.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure that I think so!\u201d Ernest exclaimed, aloud, to the no small\nsurprise of the girl who had uttered the observation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nCITIZENS OF VANITY FAIR.\n\n\nThere was another matter that weighed upon the mind of Ernest, and was\nhis first thought when he awoke in the morning. It was the request\nwhich he was to make to his uncle concerning bringing Jack and Ben to\nthe castle. Mr. Ewart had declined making the request for him, and in\nthis Ernest thought his tutor for the first time unkind. But Ernest was\nmistaken, as those usually are who judge others without entering into\ntheir feelings or position. The truth was that Mr. Ewart very well knew\nthat no request made by him would be likely to be granted. He was almost\ndisliked by Mr. Hope, whose character presented a remarkable contrast to\nhis own, and who treated his nephews\u2019 tutor with bare civility, though as\nwell born and better educated than himself.\n\nMr. Hope was what is called a man of the world\u2014one who made business\nhis sole ambition; his worldliness, his pride, were in the sight of the\nEternal but\u2014vanity!\n\nErnest was beginning to more than waver in his wish to have the sons of\nLawless living so near him. He felt since his arrival at Fontonore, more\nthan he had ever done before, how disagreeable their presence might be.\nHad Ernest not been a sincere Christian, he would have tried as much\nas possible to banish from his mind all recollection of early days of\nhumiliation and suffering, and would have endeavoured to keep far away\nfrom himself all that could remind him of his peasant life. But Ernest\nfelt that this would be throwing away the lessons which God had taught\nhim at the cost of so much pain; and that, in failing to bring those whom\nhe had once considered his brothers to a place where they might benefit\nfrom the same instructions that had been so much blessed to himself, he\nmight be neglecting the means of bringing them to God.\n\nErnest therefore resolved to speak to his uncle, much as he disliked\ndoing so; and he found an opportunity the very first morning, as Mr. Hope\nsat alone in the library engaged in reading the _Times_.\n\n\u201cDid you want a book, Ernest?\u201d said his uncle, as the young nobleman\nstood hesitating and embarrassed before him. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to make up for\nlost time, I suspect. Let\u2019s see, how old are you now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was twelve last March,\u201d replied Ernest.\n\n\u201cAh, I remember\u2014in your thirteenth year; you should have made some\nprogress by that age. I suppose that your studies have been much\nneglected. May I ask what books you have read?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Bible and Pilgrim\u2019s Progress,\u201d answered the boy.\n\nMr. Hope turned down the corners of his mouth with a contemptuous\nexpression, little dreaming that all the treasures of learning and wit\nwhich the most talented mind ever grasped are useless\u2014worthless, compared\nwith the wisdom to be gathered from one sacred volume.\n\n\u201cA puritanical library, more select than comprehensive,\u201d said the\ngentleman; \u201cyou must apply yourself to something else in future. You\nhave a pretty long course of education before you ere you can be fit for\nthe station which you hold\u2014Latin, Greek, French, German, mathematics,\nalgebra, natural philosophy, and a thousand other things, indispensable\nfor a nobleman\u2014all to be mastered in the next few years.\u201d\n\nErnest felt himself at the foot of a new mountain of difficulty, with a\nhumiliating sense of ignorance.\n\n\u201cBut you wished to say something to me,\u201d resumed Mr. Hope, leaning\nback in his chair, and laying down the paper with a formidable air of\nattention.\n\n\u201cNow for it!\u201d thought Ernest, struggling against his shyness and his\nextreme disinclination to speak to his uncle. \u201cSir,\u201d said he aloud, \u201cI am\nvery anxious to do something for my bro\u2014\u2014 the sons of Lawless, I mean,\nwith whom I passed the days of my childhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I might advise, you would never allude to those days.\u201d\n\nErnest coloured, yet encouraged himself by remembering that there is\nnothing but guilt which need cause us shame, and that we should blush\nfor no situation in which Heaven has placed us. \u201cI would wish, if you\nconsent, to bring the boys here,\u201d resumed he, \u201cand place them under care\nof the gardener.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn extraordinary wish,\u201d replied Mr. Hope, taking snuff. \u201cIs it possible\nthat this is really your desire?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am most anxious for your leave to do it,\u201d said Ernest.\n\n\u201cOh, of course, if you have no objection, I can have none; this is your\nown property, and it is only reasonable that you should have a voice in\nchoosing your dependants. But all that I can say is, that I believe that\nyou\u2019ll repent it, and the young rogues would be better in the poor-house.\u201d\n\nErnest left his uncle\u2019s presence rather in spirits, from having\naccomplished his object more easily than he had expected. He cheerfully\npursued his studies with Charles, under the tuition of Mr. Ewart; and\nthe consideration which they showed\u2014never laughing at his mistakes,\never ready to help him to understand what was new to him\u2014still further\nendeared them both to the boy.\n\nAfter luncheon, feeling a little more at his ease, as Mrs. Hope sat busy\nat her writing-desk, and her husband was not in the room, Ernest amused\nhimself with his pretty little cousin, Clementina, in looking over a\nlarge volume of prints.\n\n\u201cWhat a pity that she is so affected!\u201d thought he; \u201cshe would be so\ncharming if she did not think herself so.\u201d\n\nOn a sudden Ernest jumped up with an exclamation of pleasure, as he saw\nfrom the window a little open carriage approaching through the park.\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m so glad!\u2014there are good, kind Mr. and Miss Searle; it will be\nsuch a pleasure to see them!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe old horrors!\u201d exclaimed Clementina, leaning back on her cushions,\nand lifting her hands in affected alarm.\n\n\u201cThe Searles!\u201d cried Mrs. Hope, looking up hastily. \u201cWe\u2019re not at home to\nthem. I\u2019m surprised at their coming. People like them never know their\nproper place. I must request, Ernest,\u201d she continued, seeing him about\nto leave the room, \u201cthat you\u2019ll not bring such company about the castle.\nWhen you are of age, of course, you\u2019ll do what you please; but while I\nand my daughter remain under this roof, I must be careful not to expose\nher to vulgar society. Mr. Searle\u2019s father kept a shop in Cheapside!\u201d\n\n\u201cVulgar!\u201d thought Ernest, \u201csome of the excellent of the earth! The Lord\u2019s\njewels, at whose feet we may one day be thankful to be found! Is this\ncastle too grand, its inhabitants too good, for those whose home will be\nheaven, whose companions the angels?\u201d\n\nMrs. Hope, as the reader may have observed, was a very proud woman,\none ready to worship rank, whoever might possess it. She was of rather\nlow origin herself, which was perhaps one reason why she always avowed\nherself most particular in regard to the company that she kept. No\nvirtue, with her, could weigh against a coronet; she valued her\nacquaintance\u2014for such characters have few _friends_\u2014according to their\nposition in society. To be a companion of the nobility was her delight;\nto become one of them was the object of her highest ambition. For this\nshe encouraged her husband\u2019s efforts for advancement, and had been\ndelighted to see him a Member for Parliament. Her own poor relations\nwere, of course, kept at a distance; no one bearing her maiden name of\nBriggs had ever been known to cross the threshold of Castle Fontonore\nexcept her brother, an attorney, who once ventured in, but was never even\nasked to break bread in the house, and who left his sister\u2019s presence\nwith a clouded brow, and a determination never to trouble her again. The\nproud worldly woman never reflected that in another state, where the high\nand the low, the great and the humble, shall meet together, her love of\ndistinction, her pride of display, should appear as lighter than vanity.\n\nWhat could be expected from the daughter of such a parent? Even a strong\nmind might have been ruined by the education which she received; and\nClementina, who was naturally of but slender intellect, was quite spoiled\nby the society in which she was brought up. At a fashionable school she\nhad learned a few accomplishments, and a great deal of folly: admiration,\namusement, excitement, these were the three things upon which her whole\nheart was set; all that she lived for was comprised in these three words.\nThe quiet serenity of a soul that rests on one unchanging object, was\nof course never known to her. The slightest incident was sufficient to\nraise her spirits to a wild height, or sink them to the point of misery;\nshe was transported at an invitation to a ball, wretched if a dressmaker\nfailed her. She was like a fluttering butterfly, shining in its gay\ncolours, driven about by every breeze on its unsteady, uncertain course.\nBut I wrong the insect in making the comparison. The butterfly fills its\nallotted place in creation\u2014it does all that its Maker intended it to do;\nwhile the frivolous, silly, selfish girl remains a blank, or rather a\nblot, in God\u2019s world, when she who is called to the work and the destiny\nof angels makes that of a butterfly her deliberate choice.\n\nIt is just possible that some thoughtless girl, whose education and\ncharacter may resemble Clementina\u2019s, may in some vacant hour of leisure\nturn over the leaves of my little book. Oh, that I had an angel\u2019s voice,\nto rouse her to a sense of what she is and what she might be! to make her\nfeel that she is not her own, but _bought with a price_, such a price as\nthe world could not have paid;\u2014that a soul which must exist for ever and\never\u2014that a soul for which a God bled, agonized, and died\u2014is a thing too\nnoble, a thing too precious to be thrown away at Vanity Fair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nNEW AND OLD COMPANIONS.\n\n\nThe Sabbath came, God\u2019s holy day, and the family attended a church which\nwas at some little distance. Mr. and Mrs. Hope and their daughter, the\nladies arrayed in all the splendour of fashion, went in state in the\ncarriage, with two footmen in attendance, while the boys preferred\nwalking over the fields with their tutor.\n\nErnest, as he entered the church, drew the eyes of the whole congregation\nupon himself, which made him more uncomfortable than ever. \u201cAm I not to\nescape even here from Vanity Fair?\u201d thought he; \u201ccannot even these walls\nshut out the world!\u201d\n\nStraight in front of the seat which he occupied was a marble monument of\nsingular beauty, which naturally attracted his attention. It represented\nthe figure of a very lovely babe, sleeping amongst water-lilies, the\nattitude and countenance depicting the peaceful slumber of innocence.\nBelow was an inscription, which the boy read with strange emotion:\u2014\n\n IN MEMORY OF ERNEST, ELDEST SON OF THE FIRST LORD FONTONORE,\n WHO WAS ACCIDENTALLY DROWNED BEFORE HE HAD COMPLETED THE FIRST\n YEAR OF HIS AGE.\n\n \u201c\u2019Tis thus the snow-flake from the skies,\n Touching the sod, dissolves and dies;\n Ere mists of earth can its whiteness stain,\n Raised by the sunbeams to heaven again.\n\n \u201cThough parted now on life\u2019s thorny way,\n \u2019Twere weak, \u2019twere cruel, to wish his stay;\n We must toil on through trials, griefs, alarms\u2014\n He was borne to the goal in his Saviour\u2019s arms.\u201d\n\nAfter service was over, Clementina took a fancy\u2014for she was always\ngoverned by fancies\u2014to walk home with her cousins instead of driving\nwith her parents. She therefore pursued the path across the fields with\nErnest, whilst Charles and his tutor walked a little way behind.\n\n\u201cI was so much diverted at church,\u201d said the young lady, in the flippant\nmanner which she mistook for wit, \u201cI was so much diverted to see you\nlooking so seriously at the inscription upon your own monument. It was so\nfunny, I could hardly help bursting out laughing, only that would have\nbeen very improper, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe inscription made me feel anything but inclined to laugh,\u201d observed\nErnest.\n\n\u201cWell, I would give the world,\u201d\u2014had the world belonged to Clementina, she\nwould have given it away ten times a-day,\u2014\u201cI would give the world to know\nwhat you were thinking when you read those fine verses upon yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was thinking whether it would indeed have been happier for me to have\ndied when I was a little one, before I had known anything of the world\nand sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, dear me! those are the dreadful, gloomy notions which you get from\nyour horrid, methodistical tutor.\u201d\n\n\u201cClementina, I will not hear him spoken of in that manner,\u201d said Ernest,\nwith a decision of tone which the young lady had never heard him make use\nof before. She was either offended, or thought it pretty to look so, for\nstopping as they reached a very low stile, she called to Charles to help\nher over it. She wished to vex Ernest, and raise a feeling of jealousy\ntoward his brother; but she was successful in neither of her designs, as\nErnest very contentedly turned back to Mr. Ewart, and left the fair lady\nto pursue her walk with the companion whom she had chosen.\n\n\u201cI am so sorry for you, dear Charles!\u201d said Clementina, in a voice rather\nmore affected than usual; \u201cit is so dreadful to be turned out of your\nright by a low, vulgar creature like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you see I don\u2019t think him either low or vulgar,\u201d replied Charles,\ngood humouredly. \u201cHe has high feelings, and high principles; and as for\nbeing vulgar, a boy who thinks so much, and upon such subjects as he\ndoes, can never, as Mr. Ewart said to me once, have a vulgar mind.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: RETURNING FROM CHURCH.]\n\n\u201cI find him intolerably dull,\u201d said Clementina.\n\n\u201cI am sorry for it,\u201d was her cousin\u2019s dry reply.\n\nClementina was now offended with Charles in his turn, and had there been\na third party less unmanageable than Mr. Ewart, she would doubtless have\nchosen him to accompany her, in the delightful hope of annoying both\nher cousins. The silly girl was almost unconsciously forming a plan to\nseparate the brothers, and make them jealous of each other, by sometimes\nfavouring the elder, sometimes the younger, so as to draw their whole\nattention towards herself. You may think that it was some unkind and\nbitter feeling that made her wish thus to destroy their happiness and\nunion, and act the part of a tempter towards her companions; but it was\nnothing but selfish vanity and folly\u2014so that she was amused, she cared\nnot who suffered; the power to give pain she considered as a triumph\u2014it\nis reckoned so in Vanity Fair.\n\nShe turned round to see if Ernest were watching her movements, but was\nextremely provoked to find him so deeply engaged in serious conversation\nwith the clergyman, that her presence seemed altogether forgotten.\nClementina had therefore no resource but to walk on with Charles, doing\nher best to put all the sermon out of his head, by rattling on about her\ndelight at the prospect of soon going to London, her distress at its not\nbeing the gay season, her conviction that young ladies ought to come out\nat fourteen, how she was charmed at the prospect held out of a child\u2019s\nball in Grosvenor Square, but in despair at the dear countess not being\nin town! Such is the conversation of Vanity Fair.\n\nIn the afternoon Mrs. Hope informed Ernest of the intended move, which\ncircumstances had led her to make earlier than she had intended. \u201cI\npropose remaining in London till after Christmas,\u201d she said; \u201cof course\nyou and your brother will accompany us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Mr. Ewart?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no room in our town house for him,\u201d replied the lady, who,\nlike her husband, had little love for one, the unworldliness of whose\ncharacter seemed a silent reproach upon her own.\n\n\u201cIt would surely be a great pity that I should leave my studies,\u201d said\nErnest; \u201cpray remember how much time I have lost already.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ve quite decided on your coming. To acquire a fashionable air, and\nthe good breeding of the _haut-ton_, is quite as indispensable as any\nbook-learning.\u201d\n\nThe truth was that the lady had no idea of losing an opportunity of\ndisplaying to her acquaintance her nephew, the young peer.\n\nOn the following evening Charles came to his brother, who was engaged in\nthe dry study of a Latin grammar, to announce to him the arrival of Jack\nand Ben, who had just been landed at the gardener\u2019s cottage.\n\n\u201cI must go and see them at once,\u201d said Ernest, rising.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis late and cold; I think that you might wait till to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no; they are strangers here, poor boys, they have none but me to bid\nthem welcome.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll go with you to see the meeting,\u201d said Charles, taking down his\ncap from its peg.\n\nThere was something of awkwardness, a little mixed with fear, in the\nmanner of Ben, as the young nobleman kindly held out his hand to him; but\nJack had lost none of his own reckless, impudent air, and strangely did\nhis voice remind Ernest of former days as he called out, as if still in\nhis cottage on the common, \u201cI say, Mark, here\u2019s a fine change for you!\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe that the boy knows how to blush,\u201d whispered Charles.\n\n\u201cBut I hope that you don\u2019t mean to keep us long here,\u201d continued Jack,\nlooking round rather contemptuously on the clean little dwelling.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d replied Ernest; \u201csurely you prefer it to the\npoor-house!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you don\u2019t think that I\u2019ll stand living in a cottage, while my\nbrother is in a castle! That would be rather a good joke I should say.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s no brother of yours,\u201d cried Charles, angrily.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m as good as he any day,\u201d muttered the boy, glancing at Ernest with\nmingled envy and dislike. The young peer mastered his temper, though it\ncost him an effort. \u201cI have placed you,\u201d said he, \u201cwhere one much wiser\nthan either of us thinks that you will be best; I hope that you will be\ncomfortable, and learn your work, and never have real cause to regret\ncoming here.\u201d With these words Ernest and Charles quitted the cottage,\noverhearing as they passed out Ben\u2019s disappointed exclamation, \u201cI thought\nhe\u2019d have made us gentlefolk too!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow hard it is to do good!\u201d said Ernest, with a sigh of mortification,\nwhen they had walked a few steps from the place. \u201cI see the wisdom of\nMr. Ewart\u2019s doubts, when he said that he believed that there might be\nobjections to this plan.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you\u2019ve acted kindly, and you\u2019ll have your reward,\u201d observed\nCharles.\n\n\u201cNot in the gratitude of these boys.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you do it to purchase their gratitude?\u201d asked his brother. \u201cMr.\nEwart says that some do good actions to buy praise, and some to buy\ngratitude, but both look for an earthly reward, and, therefore, for one\nwhich can never be sure. It is the cup of cold water given for the Lord\u2019s\nsake which is remembered and rewarded above.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue,\u201d replied Ernest, \u201cand if we do good only in order to be loved,\nthe many, many disappointments which we meet with, will soon make us\nweary in well-doing. That benevolence only will be steady and sure which\ncomes from a wish to please that Master in heaven who never can change or\nforget.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nLIFE IN THE GREAT CITY.\n\n\nDays and weeks passed, but the instructions which he received seemed to\nmake little impression on the obdurate spirit of Jack, who had one idea\nrooted in his mind, which neither example nor exhortation was able to\nshake\u2014that it was a sort of injustice to him for one who had once been\nhis equal to be so rich while he remained so poor. In vain both the folly\nand ingratitude of his conduct were shown to him; a proud, levelling\nspirit had taken possession of his heart, which would neither bend in\nsubmission to Heaven, nor thankfulness to those who did him kindness.\nWould that this feeling were more uncommon in the dwellings of the\nhumbler classes, and that they to whom little of this world\u2019s goods have\nbeen given would remember that, while the rich have duties towards the\npoor, the poor have also duties towards the rich.\n\nThe annoyance which it caused Ernest\u2019s sensitive spirit to be the object\nof envy and ingratitude, and the necessity of being ever on his guard to\navoid expressing anger, or, which is much harder, feeling it, made him\nrather rejoice when the day arrived for the family\u2019s removal to London.\nHe was impatient to see that wonderful place of which he had heard so\nmuch. The winter, also, had come, and the coldness of the weather made\nthe prospect of a journey southwards very agreeable. The boy\u2019s only\nregret was leaving Mr. Ewart, whom they regarded more as a parent than a\ntutor.\n\n\u201cGood-bye, and Heaven watch over you!\u201d said the clergyman, earnestly, as\nhe stood at the door to witness their departure.\n\nCharles pressed his tutor\u2019s hand warmly between both his own; Ernest\nthrew himself into his arms.\n\n\u201cYou must not keep us, boys; we shall be late for the train,\u201d called out\nMr. Hope from the carriage.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t conceive what makes them so fond of that man,\u201d observed Mrs.\nHope in no amiable tone.\n\n\u201cYou will see more of Vanity Fair,\u201d said the clergyman, in a low voice;\n\u201cI have but one word for you,\u2014_Watch and pray, lest ye enter into\ntemptation!_\u201d\n\nThe next moment the carriage dashed across the court-yard; Mr. Ewart\nfollowed it through the arched gateway, and stood on the drawbridge which\ncrossed the moat, watching till he could no longer see his dear pupils\nstanding up in the carriage and waving to him.\n\n[Illustration: THE PARTING WITH MR. EWART.]\n\nA railway journey was a new thing to Ernest, and raised many thoughts\nin his mind as the train rushed rattling along the line, sometimes\nraised on a causeway, sometimes sunk in a cutting, sometimes lost in the\ndarkness of a tunnel; yet, whether above the surrounding country or below\nit, whether in brightness or whether in gloom, rushing on\u2014on\u2014on, with\nwondrous speed, towards the goal to which each hour brought it nearer.\n\n\u201cI, too, have had my dark portions of the journey, and now Heaven has\nbeen pleased to raise me,\u201d thought Ernest, \u201cand the sunshine is bright\naround me. But when I arrive at the end of my journey, how little I shall\ncare whether it was long or short, through gloom or light, uncomfortable\nor pleasant, it will be enough if it has taken me to my _home_!\u201d\n\nAnd now let us see our young pilgrims settled in London\u2014in that wonderful\nassemblage of all that is noblest and all that is basest in the world;\nthe abode of the greatest wealth and the most abject poverty; the seat\nof learning, arts, science, crime, misery, and ignorance; the city which\ncontains at once perhaps more good and more evil than any other spot on\nthe face of the globe. Ernest found his expectations more than realized\nas regards its size; there seemed no end to the wilderness of brick\nhouses\u2014street crossing street to form a mighty labyrinth which both\nastonishes and confuses the mind. The unceasing roll of carriages and\nstream of passers-by; the variety of vehicles of all kinds and shapes;\nthe innumerable shops; the stately public buildings, churches, hospitals,\nschools, and places of amusement\u2014all had the charm of novelty to the\nyoung noble, and fresh impressions were made upon his mind every hour.\n\nThen came a round of all the diversions which London could offer at that\nperiod of the year. Days and nights, also, were crowded with amusements;\nand Ernest, at first in a whirl of pleasure, soon began to experience the\nweariness of a life devoted to gaiety. His mind felt clogged with the\nmultitude of new ideas; his head ached from confinement in crowded rooms;\nhis rest was broken in upon; he became almost knocked up by excitement,\nmore tired than he had ever before been made by labour, without the\nsatisfaction of gaining anything by his fatigue. He began to long for the\nquiet of Fontonore again, and to exchange the bustle of gaiety into which\nhe was plunged, for calm study and the society of Mr. Ewart.\n\nAnd how fared the spiritual health of the pilgrim?\u2014was he making progress\ntowards heaven, or falling back? Ernest had entered London forewarned\nand forearmed; circumstances, not choice, were leading him through the\nvery midst of Vanity Fair, but he was walking as a pilgrim still. He had\nmade a prayerful resolution from the very beginning, to devote the first\nhour of each morning to God. Sloth, increased by weariness, often tempted\nhim to break this resolution on the cold wintry mornings, and suggested\nmany an excuse for self-indulgence. But Ernest knew that he stood upon\ndangerous ground, and kept resolute to his purpose; and that quiet hour\nfor communion with his own heart, for self-examination, reading of the\nScripture, and prayer, was his great safeguard amidst the numerous\ntemptations which encompassed him in his new path of life. Things which,\nonly seen in the torch-glare of worldly excitement, must always have\nappeared in false colours, reviewed in the pure light of morning lost\nmuch of their dangerous attractions. I cannot too earnestly recommend\nto all, whether young or old, in high or low estate, thus to give their\nfirst hours to God.\n\nThe family assembled so late for breakfast, that Ernest found that, by a\nlittle self-denial, he might not only have time for devotion, but also\nfor study in the morning. He was exceedingly anxious to cultivate his\nmind; he felt his deficiencies very painful, and he was sometimes even\ntempted to encroach on his \u201choly hour,\u201d as he called it, to have more\ntime for improving his intellect. This is a temptation which probably\nsome of my readers have known, and which is all the more dangerous\nbecause it does not shock the conscience so much as other ways of passing\nthe time. But still Ernest kept as free as he could from any earthly\noccupation the precious little space where, apart from the world, he\ncould collect his strength and renew his good resolutions.\n\nThe only member of the family who gave him the least assistance in\ntreading the heavenward way was his brother; and often did Ernest think\nof the wisdom and mercy of the Saviour in sending His disciples by two\nand two into the world. The characters of the boys were in some points\nvery unlike, but there was one hope, one guiding principle, in both,\nand perhaps the very difference in their dispositions made them more\nable to support one another. Ernest was more shy and diffident than his\nbrother, but had a deeper knowledge of his own heart. Charles had learned\nmore, but Ernest had reflected more; Charles was in more danger from love\nof the world, Ernest from shrinking too much from its ridicule. Where\nHope was impatient, Fontonore had learned to wait: their early life had\nbeen passed in different schools\u2014one the child of luxury, the other of\nwant; one tried by pleasure, the other by suffering; but both had passed\nthrough the strait wicket-gate; both were united in sincere love to the\nSaviour; both were anxious to struggle against their besetting sins, and\nto press onward to the prize set before them.\n\nWould that we were ever as ready to help one another in the narrow path\nas these two young Christian pilgrims! If, instead of acting, as we\ntoo often do, the part either of tempters or tormentors, we employed\nall the influence which friendship and relationship give us to draw\nour companions nearer to heaven, what a blessing would rest on our\nintercourse below! How much would it resemble that which we hope to enjoy\nabove!\n\nOne thing which the inexperienced Ernest soon discovered was, that money\ndisappeared very rapidly in London. That which at first had seemed to\nhim an inexhaustible fortune, appeared almost as though it melted away\nin his hand. One of his first cares on entering the capital was to\nprocure a most beautiful Bible, and send it, with a grateful letter, to\nMiss Searle. This was at once a pleasure and a relief to his heart, for\nit had been burdened\u2014not with a sense of owing kindness, for that is\npainful only to the proud spirit, but the feeling that he might appear\nungrateful, and that those who had been his friends in adversity might\nthink that in his prosperity he had forgotten them.\n\nThen there were so many necessary things to be purchased\u2014so many tempting\nbooks to be desired, for Ernest delighted in reading\u2014so many charities\nwhich he wished to aid\u2014so many objects of pity that he yearned to\nrelieve, that the youthful nobleman\u2019s once heavy purse soon became very\nempty.\n\nErnest had been some time in London before he went to visit Madge, in the\nasylum in which he was supporting her. He reproached himself with the\ndelay; but, in truth, the conduct of her brothers had so disheartened\nhim, that it was as a duty, and no pleasure, that he went there at all.\nCharles, as usual, was his companion, and his only one; for visiting\ncharities was little in the way either of his uncle or his proud wife,\nthough Mrs. Hope had once held a stall at a grand Fancy fair, which was\npatronized by duchesses and countesses. As for Clementina, she would\nnever have dreamed of going; she had a vague connection in her mind\nbetween poverty and dirt, and thought it dreadful if a child of the\nlower classes ventured to approach within two yards of her. Many a tear\nhad the young lady shed over a novel: for heroes and heroines she had\nready sympathy; she considered that sentiment and feeling give an added\ncharm to beauty; but common every-day sufferings had in them nothing\n\u201cinteresting.\u201d She could be touched by the sorrow of a princess, but the\nreal wants of a ragged child were quite beneath her regard.\n\nErnest was agreeably surprised in the asylum. Everything so neat, so\nperfectly clean; such an appearance of respectability in the matron,\nof health and good discipline amongst the children. Poor little Madge,\nalso, was so much delighted to see a face that she knew, after being\nonly surrounded by strangers, that Ernest felt vexed with himself for\nnot visiting her sooner, and emptied his purse of its last half-crown\nto place in the hand of the child. This still further opened the heart\nof Madge, and she talked to him almost as freely as if she had still\nregarded him as her brother, though without the insolent familiarity\nwhich was so repulsive in Jack.\n\nShe showed Ernest a letter which she had received from her unhappy\nmother, who had been sentenced to transportation, though for a shorter\nperiod than her husband, on account of being specially recommended to\nmercy. Ernest had, through Mr. Ewart, provided Ann with some little\ncomforts; and to this, in her letter, she gratefully alluded, though\nhis kindness, she wrote, only made her feel more wretched, when she\nremembered how cruelly she had wronged him. She implored her daughter to\nshun the temptations which had led her astray, especially the love of\ndress, the beginning of all her errors and her misery\u2014the vanity which\nhad laid her open to flattery, and had made her take the first step in\nthat downward course which had led her to prison and a convict-ship.\nThere was deep remorse expressed in the letter, which gave Ernest hopes\nthat the poor prodigal might yet repent and find mercy; but its tone\nof cheerless gloom showed but too well that the mire of the Slough of\nDespond was clinging to the unhappy one still.\n\nPerfectly satisfied with Mr. Ewart\u2019s choice of a home for the more than\norphan girl, Ernest quitted the asylum with his brother, thankful that\nan opportunity had been granted him of repaying evil with good. He was\nenabled to provide for three children, whose parents had inflicted on\nhim deep injuries, and from whom he had received, during the years of\nchildhood, unkindness which had imbittered his life. It is easier to\nforgive one great wrong than a long course of petty provocations; and\nwhen both are united to rouse the spirit of revenge, nothing but grace\ngiven to us from Heaven can make us forgive as we have been forgiven.\n\nAs the brothers passed a bookseller\u2019s shop, on their way home, Charles\npaused to look at a volume in the window.\n\n\u201cOh, Ernest,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201clook what a beautiful copy is there of that\nwork which Mr. Ewart so much wished to see! Do let us buy it for him, as\na New-Year\u2019s gift, to take back with us to Fontonore. My funds are rather\nlow; but if we join purses, we shall easily make out the sum together.\u201d\n\n\u201cI really cannot,\u201d replied Ernest, looking wistfully at the beautiful\nbook.\n\n\u201cOh, but you must! You know,\u201d said Charles, lowering his voice to a\nwhisper, \u201cthat Mr. Ewart never procures these indulgences for himself.\nI believe, from what I heard my uncle say, that he entirely supports an\naged mother. I never knew him spend an unnecessary shilling on himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps the book is in our library,\u201d suggested Ernest.\n\n\u201cIt is not; it was his hunting all over it for the work that made me know\nhow much he wished to have it. I wonder, Ernest,\u201d added Charles, with a\nlittle temper, \u201cthat one rolling in wealth like you should make such a\nfuss about a few shillings.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not rolling in wealth at present,\u201d answered Ernest, rather vexed at\nhis brother\u2019s tone; \u201cI have not a shilling left in my purse.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you must have been wondrously extravagant. Why, even I, on my\nhalf-allowance, have managed to keep a little silver, and I was never\nfamous for economy.\u201d\n\nErnest made no reply.\n\n\u201cWe had better go on,\u201d said Charles.\n\nThey walked on for some time in silence.\n\n\u201cI am afraid that I spoke rudely to you just now; will you forgive me?\u201d\nsaid Hope, at last.\n\n\u201cOh, do not talk about forgiveness,\u201d replied Ernest, cheerfully. \u201cI think\nthat I could forgive you anything; and one should never take offence at a\nword.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ought to have remembered,\u201d observed Charles, \u201cthat the child whom\nwe have just seen is a great expense to you; and yet you seem to spend\nso little, that I hardly fancied that you could have got through the\nallowance of a whole quarter. Do you not receive the same sum that I used\nto have when I imagined myself to be Lord Fontonore?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied his brother, and immediately changed the conversation.\n\nThey walked on for some distance, talking on other matters, when, as\nthey were passing through one of the parks, Charles stopped, as if some\nthought had suddenly crossed his mind.\n\n\u201cErnest,\u201d said he, laying his hand on his brother\u2019s arm, \u201cjust answer me\none question: How is it that you do not receive the same allowance that\nI did?\u201d Receiving no answer, he continued, \u201cIs it possible that you are\ndividing yours with me?\u201d\n\nErnest smiled. \u201cI am not bound to answer questions,\u201d said he.\n\n[Illustration: THE CONVERSATION IN THE PARK.]\n\n\u201cOh, I see it all! generous, noble-hearted brother! And you suffered\nme to accuse you in my own mind of meanness\u2014almost to reproach you to\nyour face for it\u2014while all the time it was your money that I have been\nspending, and you never even let me know my obligation!\u201d\n\n\u201cObligation is not a word for brothers,\u201d replied Ernest; \u201cwhat I have is\nyours; what you spend I enjoy; let us always have a common purse between\nus.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, that must never be!\u201d exclaimed Charles; \u201cyou have burdens enough\nupon your hands already. My uncle must supply me.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not deprive your brother of his privilege,\u201d said Ernest, who had\nseen enough of Mr. Hope by this time to know that it would be galling to\nCharles to be in any way dependent upon him. \u201cYou will hurt me if you\ndeny me this favour; I shall think that you do not care for me, Charley.\u201d\n\nIt was the first time that Ernest had ever used this familiar and\nendearing name to his brother. There was something in his tone, as he\npronounced it, and in his manner, as he threw his arm round Charles, that\nraised a glow of affection in the heart of the boy, warmer than he had\never known before. Both felt the strength of that holy beautiful tie by\nwhich the members of every family should be united. Children of the same\nparents on earth, children of the same Father in heaven; with one common\nhome both below and above\u2014one path to tread and one goal to reach\u2014how is\nit that pride and envy can ever disunite the hearts which God himself\nwould join together?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nFOGS AND MISTS.\n\n\nOne evening, after the family had been more than a month in London,\nErnest sat alone in the drawing-room with his book. Mr. and Mrs. Hope\nwere absent at a dinner party, which the lady was to leave early, in\norder to call for the young people, to take them to the long-expected\nball in Grosvenor Square.\n\nClementina had been up-stairs for more than an hour, engaged in what\nwas to her one of the most interesting occupations of life\u2014decking out\nher little person in all the extravagance of fashion. Ernest sat by the\nwindow, not that the light by which he read was in any way derived from\nanything outside it; but it amused him to glance up occasionally from his\npage and look out upon what was to him a novel sight\u2014a regular yellow\nLondon fog.\n\nOf the long line of lamps which stretched down the street, only the two\nor three nearest were visible at all, and they looked like dim stars\nsurrounded by a haze. Loud shouts, sometimes mixed with laughter, were\noccasionally heard from foot-passengers wishing to give notice of their\npresence. Now two lights, like a pair of eyes, would slowly approach,\nmarking where a carriage moved on its dangerous way; then torches carried\npast would throw a strange red glare on the fog, scarcely sufficient to\nshow who bore them.\n\n\u201cWe see something like this in life,\u201d said Ernest to himself. \u201cI think\nthat fog is the common weather of Vanity Fair. Let me see in how many\npoints I can find a resemblance between nature\u2019s mists and those raised\nby \u2018the world.\u2019 Both come not from heaven, but belong to things below;\nboth shut out the pure light of day\u2014make us in danger of falling\u2014in\ndanger of striking against others\u2014hardly able to tell friend from foe.\nYet people seem particularly merry in both, as if the very risk were\na pleasure. They light those glaring torches, and walk cheerfully on,\nthough they can see neither sun, moon, nor stars. Who would wish to pass\nall his life in a fog? Yet some choose to live and die amidst the mists\nof Vanity Fair.\u201d\n\n\u201cReading, moralizing, reflecting,\u201d said Charles, in his own lively\nmanner, as he entered the room. \u201cWho would take you for a young nobleman\ngoing to a ball? It will be your last for a long time, I suspect;\nfor Parliament, I hear, is dissolved, and if so, there will be a new\nelection, and back we must fly to Fontonore.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not sorry for it,\u201d replied Ernest.\n\n\u201cNor I,\u201d said Charles, more gravely. \u201cI am afraid that this is a\ndangerous sort of life for me. You never seem to be in the same peril as\nmyself; I suppose because you are a better pilgrim.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no!\u201d exclaimed Ernest; \u201cyou cannot look into my heart; but every one\nknows his own temptations best. The truth is, that I cannot enjoy society\nso much, because I always feel that I am not sufficiently educated, and\nam in constant fear of exposing myself, and being laughed at. There is no\npossible merit in this.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; if that is all your protection from worldliness, I should call it a\nvery poor one.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; for if it protects me on the one side, it exposes me to danger on\nthe other. Do you know, Charles, that nothing astonishes me so much in\nmyself, as the cowardice that I find that I possess.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou manage well, for no one finds it out but yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must care for the world, or I should not fear its ridicule. I was\nalways thought rather courageous before I became a peer; I know that\nI used to speak out truth pretty boldly in our cottage; but there is\nnothing that I dread so much as the quiet sarcastic smile on well-bred\nlips. I sometimes fancy,\u201d he added, laughing, \u201cthat I should mind it less\nif there were any chance of its being followed by a blow.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, this much I can say for you, Ernest\u2014I have never yet seen this\nfear draw you one step from the narrow path.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could not say as much for myself, dear brother. The world is a\ndangerous place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich would you call the principal temptations of Vanity Fair?\u201d said\nCharles.\n\n\u201cTemptations to be insincere, ill-natured, and forgetful of God.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you have not numbered half. Think of all the extravagance, vanity,\nlove of show, love of fashion, love of dress, love of trifles of all\nsorts.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich do not make us happy,\u201d added Ernest.\n\n\u201cHappy! no. They remind me of the beautiful enchanted money in the\nEastern tale, which a man put so carefully by, and which he found, a\nshort time after, all turned into leaves. Have you seen Clemmy on this\nevening of the ball, which she has been looking forward to for so long\nwith such pleasure?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; is she in very high spirits?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is quite miserable, poor girl. I daresay that she would cry\nheartily, did she not know that red eyes are not becoming.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is vexing her so much?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has three terrible troubles, which she knows not how to bear.\nFirstly, she fears that Aunt Matilda may not find her way in the fog, so\nmay never call to take us to the ball; secondly, she fears that even if\nwe should reach Grosvenor Square, we should find the rooms empty on such\na night as this, and there would be few to admire her and her new dress;\nand, thirdly, she is afraid that her pearl ornaments will not come in\ntime; and this is her worst misery of all.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave they not arrived yet?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; Clemmy has been in a fidget about them all day, starting at the\nsound of every bell with a cry of, \u2018Oh, I hope that\u2019s the jeweller at\nlast?\u2019 And since she went up to dress, Mrs. Clayton has been sent down\nthree times at least to see if the ornaments have come; and as she has\nhad always to return with the same unsatisfactory answer, Clemmy is\ndoubtless by this time in a state of grief which might make her an object\nof pity to any beggar in the street.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Clemmy!\u201d murmured Ernest, with real compassion in his tone.\n\n\u201cYou do not pity her, surely, for being unhappy at such trifles?\u201d\n\n\u201cI pity her because such trifles can make her unhappy. Charles, do you\nknow that my conscience is not quite easy about our cousin?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour conscience! You have nothing to do with her folly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have a good deal to do with one another. I see more of her than of\nany one but yourself; she is one of my nearest relations; and yet I have\nnever tried in any way to help her on in the right path.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe that she is in it,\u201d replied Charles. \u201cShe is constantly\ntrying to play us off against each other; nothing would delight her so\nmuch as to make us quarrel, all to gratify her selfish vanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf she is not in the right path, in which must she be? Where will she\nfind herself if she remains as she is?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe cannot help her wanderings; they are no fault of ours.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Charles, we must not act in the spirit of those words, \u2018Am I my\nbrother\u2019s keeper?\u2019 We who meet her so often _must_ have some influence\nfor evil or good; and think of the rapture of meeting in heaven with one\nwhom we had been the means of helping to reach it!\u201d\n\n\u201cI can hardly fancy any delight greater,\u201d said Charles; \u201cbut I do not\nknow anything that we could do for Clemmy. It is foolish in me, but when\nI look at her, and watch her affected manner, and hear her trifling talk,\nI never can realize to myself that she has a soul at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet she has one just as precious as our own.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that, but I cannot feel it; she seems just like a pretty\nplaything, made to be dressed up, admired\u2014or laughed at.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould that she could be raised to something nobler, something better!\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe that we can raise her. She only thinks me provoking,\nand you tiresome. She never would listen to Mr. Ewart, and I do believe\nonly goes to church to show off the fashions. I do not see what we could\ndo for her.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe can pray, dear Charles, we can pray earnestly; if we have not done so\nbefore, we have neglected a duty.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy neglect has been greater than yours,\u201d said his brother, \u201csince we\nhave been together for so many years. I have thought it enough if I were\nnot led to folly by her society; I never dreamed that I had any other\nresponsibility about her.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut now\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cNow I feel that I have been wrong. I remember, Ernest, that Faithful\nroused some to become pilgrims even in Vanity Fair; Hopeful himself was\none of them. Perhaps poor Clemmy\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHere she comes; I hear the rustle of her silk down the stairs.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave not the pearls been sent yet? Oh, dear, how vexatious!\u201d exclaimed\nthe young lady on entering the room, most elegantly dressed. She seated\nherself in an affected attitude on the sofa, with a very melancholy\nexpression on her face, as she played with her feather-tipped fan.\n\n\u201cI do believe they are,\u201d cried Charles, as a loud ring was heard at the\nouter bell.\n\n[Illustration: DRESSED FOR THE BALL.]\n\nClementina sprang up eagerly, and hurried to the door\u2014so eagerly, so\nimpatiently, that her little feet tripped, and she fell with some\nviolence to the ground!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nDISAPPOINTMENT.\n\n\n\u201cYou are not hurt, I hope,\u201d exclaimed both cousins, hastening to\nClementina\u2019s assistance, and raising her; for, in her ball-dress, she was\nmore helpless than ever.\n\n\u201cShe is hurt, I fear,\u201d cried Ernest, as he saw red drops trickling from\nher brow, and falling on her lace dress. \u201cOh, Charles, do call Mrs.\nClayton directly.\u201d\n\nThe lady\u2019s maid was instantly summoned, and the hurts of the trembling,\nsobbing, almost hysterical Clementina examined. She had received rather a\ndeep cut on the forehead, and a little contusion under the eye. There was\nnothing to alarm, but much to disfigure. Charles proposed sending at once\nfor the doctor, but this the young lady would not hear of: she had some\nvague, terrible idea, of wounds being sewn up, and much preferred the\nmild surgery of Mrs. Clayton.\n\nIn the midst of the confusion occasioned by the accident, two lamps\nwere seen to stop before the door, and the thundering double rap which\nsucceeded announced the return of Mrs. Hope.\n\nThe servant who came to say that his mistress was waiting, laid at the\nsame time a box on the table: it contained the much-wished-for pearls.\n\n\u201cI had better go down and tell what has happened,\u201d said Charles, quitting\nthe drawing-room. In two or three minutes he returned with Mrs. Hope.\n\n\u201cMy darling child! my sweet Clemmy! what a sad business this is! How\ncould it have happened? Why, you look as though you had been to the wars!\nyou will never be able to go to the ball.\u201d\n\nClementina leaned her head on the sofa, and sobbed piteously.\n\n\u201cDear me! I hope, Clayton, that you have put on the plaster carefully. I\nonly dread her being marked for life,\u201d said the mother.\n\nThe poor girl\u2019s grief became more violent.\n\n\u201cYou must compose yourself, my dear; you will make yourself ill. A fall\nis a great shock to the nerves.\u201d\n\nErnest had left the room as the lady entered, and now silently offered to\nhis cousin\u2019s trembling hand a glass of sal volatile and water.\n\n\u201cYou had better go to bed at once,\u201d said Mrs. Hope. \u201c\u2019Tis such a pity;\nall ready dressed for the ball! I must go, for I could not disappoint\nLady Fitzwigram, and I believe that the Duchess is to be there. Clayton\nwill take excellent care of you, I am sure. Come, Ernest and Charles, I\nsee that you are ready.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I am to be left all alone, and on this night, just when I expected\nto be so happy!\u201d sobbed Clementina.\n\n\u201cI should like to stay with her, I should indeed,\u201d said Ernest to his\naunt; \u201cI hope that you will not object to my doing so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what will Lady Fitzwigram say?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe will not care; she has never seen me but once. You will be so kind\nas to make my excuses.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it is very considerate of you, certainly. I don\u2019t know what\nto say,\u201d replied Mrs. Hope, very well pleased to be able to tell a\nfashionable circle that Lord Fontonore had stayed behind because her\ndaughter could not come. So the matter was soon decided; the carriage\nmoved off slowly with Mrs. Hope and Charles, and Ernest and his weeping\ncousin were left behind, to spend the rest of the evening quietly\ntogether.\n\nNever before had Clementina found her cousin half so agreeable as now.\nHe was so gentle, so considerate, so ready to sympathize with her, that\nshe began suddenly quite to change her opinion of him, and think the\nyoung peer a very delightful companion. She had hitherto been rather\nprovoked at his indifference towards her; now, as she had little idea\nof the nature of Christian courtesy, she attributed all his kindness to\nadmiration. She thought that the white bandage across her brow might have\nan \u201cinteresting\u201d effect; and Ernest\u2019s gentle consideration would have\nlost half its power to please, had Clementina been aware that it would\nhave been equally shown to one in a humbler class of life of the age of\nforty instead of fourteen.\n\nAs she reclined on the sofa, and Ernest sat beside her, it was a great\ncomfort to her to be able to pour out her complaints to him. \u201cThere never\nwas anything so unfortunate,\u201d said she; \u201cyou can\u2019t imagine what it is to\nhave such a disappointment.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CLEMENTINA AND ERNEST.]\n\n\u201cI think that I can, Clementina, for I was once most bitterly\ndisappointed myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but you are such a sober creature, such a philosopher. I daresay\nthat you scarcely gave it a thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the contrary, I felt myself almost overwhelmed. I could hardly speak,\nI could hardly keep from tears.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou!\u201d exclaimed Clementina in surprise.\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d continued Ernest, \u201cthat there was no one on earth so unhappy\nas I\u2014that all happiness in this world was gone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat could have made you so wretched?\u201d cried the girl, her curiosity so\nmuch roused that her own troubles were for the moment forgotten.\n\n\u201cI had lost what I greatly desired.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what could that have been, Ernest?\u201d\n\n\u201cA situation so much below my real rank, that I smile now to think that\nI could ever have wished for it. Had no difficulties been in my way,\nhad I had what I desired, I probably never should have possessed my\nbirth-right. How glad I am now of what so much distressed me then!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what was it you were so miserable at losing?\u201d\n\n\u201cA place in the service of Mr. Searle.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t say so!\u201d exclaimed Clementina, opening her eyes to their\nwidest extent. \u201cThat was below you indeed; what an escape you made!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps nothing that ever happened to me caused me more pain.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! that was because you did not know what you really were, or you would\nhave looked a good deal higher.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Clemmy, it seems to me that this is the very reason why you are so\nunhappy this evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! that I do not know what I really am? what can you mean!\u201d exclaimed\nthe girl, yet more astonished than before.\n\n\u201cIf you discovered that you were a king\u2019s daughter, would you fret for a\nball, or care for a blow?\u201d\n\n\u201cReally, Ernest,\u201d cried Clementina, half curious, half inclined to think\nhim jesting, though he did not look so, \u201cI wish you would speak so that I\ncould understand you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish you to look higher, dear cousin; you set your thoughts and\nyour hopes too low, on things far more beneath your real station and\nprivileges than the office of a servant was beneath mine. Are you not the\nchild of the King of kings; is not a mansion in heaven offered to you;\nmay not the white robes and golden crown be preparing for you now; and\nyet you seem as though you knew not of the bliss set before you\u2014you are\ncontent to be a servant?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo whom?\u201d interrupted Clementina.\n\n\u201cTo the world; and oh, my cousin, the world is a bad master! you have\ntasted this night what wages it can give; God grant that you know not\nmuch more of their bitterness hereafter.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Fontonore, what is the matter? why do you speak so?\u201d cried\nClementina, looking half frightened at her cousin\u2019s earnest face; for it\ncost him no small effort to address her thus, and he warmed with his own\nwords as they flowed on.\n\n\u201cI speak thus because I long to see you happy, really happy. Now you are\nonly, as it were, blowing bubbles of pleasure: you touch them and they\nbreak, and are gone for ever. Oh, let us seek that which is lasting and\nsure\u2014that which will be ours when these frail bodies are dust.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is very unkind in you to talk of such things to me when I am weak and\nnervous, it makes one so horribly gloomy.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes it make one gloomy to hear of sins being pardoned; does it make one\ngloomy to hear of a Father in heaven; to know that treasures are laid up\nfor us where neither moth nor rust can corrupt, where happiness is as\nlasting as it is perfect. Did it make me gloomy to hear that I had a rich\ninheritance?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that was quite a different thing!\u201d cried Clementina, \u201cfrom becoming\none of your pious saints. You talk to me now only about happiness in\nreligion, but I know very well all the lectures upon holiness, and\nunworldliness, and repentance that will follow.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill my comparison holds,\u201d pursued the young peer, \u201cfor I have not yet\nentered into full possession of my estate; I have yet many a difficult\nlesson to learn, nor can I spend but a portion of what is my own.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have a good deal of enjoyment in the meantime.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have, Clementina, and in this, most of all, may my position be\ncompared to a Christian\u2019s. He has great enjoyment, pure, present\nenjoyment, a beginning of his pleasures even here. Does not the Bible\ncommand us to rejoice without ceasing?\u2014who can rejoice if the Christian\ndoes not? Yes,\u201d continued Ernest, his eyes sparkling with animation,\n\u201chow very, very happy those must be who have gone a long way on their\npilgrimage, when I, who am only struggling at the entrance, can say that\nI have found no pleasure to equal it! Oh, Clementina! my joy when I heard\nthat I was raised from being a poor peasant, forced to toil for my bread,\nto become one of the nobles of the land\u2014the joy which I felt then was as\nnothing compared to my delight when I first felt assured that my sins\nwere forgiven me.\u201d\n\nClementina made no reply, and soon after expressed her wish to retire\nto rest. Those who have never known the happiness of religion find it\ndifficult to believe that it really bestows any. A blind man cannot\nunderstand the beauty of light, nor the man deaf from his birth the\ndelight of music. Yet music and light are around us still, and such to\nthe soul is \u201cthe joy of the Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps some day she may reflect over what has passed,\u201d thought Ernest,\nas he bade his cousin a courteous good-night; \u201cand at least one thing is\nleft that I can do for her still\u2014I will never cease to pray.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTHE PERILOUS MINE.\n\n \u201cNow at the further side of that plain was a little hill,\n called Lucre, and in that hill a silver mine.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\nNext morning Charles came down to breakfast late, after his party.\nClementina did not make her appearance at all. In answer to Ernest\u2019s\nquestion, as to whether he had enjoyed himself, Charles answered quickly,\n\u201cVery much indeed;\u201d and added, that he was going to meet the Fitzwigrams\nagain that day, at the house of a mutual friend.\n\n\u201cI am sorry that you are to be absent another evening from me,\u201d said\nErnest; and as soon as breakfast was concluded he drew Charles aside. \u201cI\nwonder at your caring to be so much with the Fitzwigrams,\u201d said he; \u201cof\nall our worldly acquaintance they seem to me the most worldly.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s charity for you!\u201d laughed Charles.\n\n\u201cI do not wish to be uncharitable, or to judge any one,\u201d said Ernest;\n\u201cbut I love you too well to be indifferent as to the friendships that\nyou form. Your whole happiness through life may depend upon your choice.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I grant you that they are citizens of Vanity Fair; but they are\nvery pleasant people for all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us remember, Charles, the test which Mr. Ewart recommended to us,\nwhen we are selecting our friends. \u2018Before you are intimate with any\none,\u2019 he said, \u2018consider whether theirs is the society which you would\nwish to enjoy throughout eternity.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a very serious test, indeed; few friendships in the world would\nstand it. But don\u2019t make yourself uneasy about me, Ernest. As we are to\nbe off for Yorkshire on New Year\u2019s day, I shall not have time to draw too\nclose with these Fitzwigrams before we leave.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not going out?\u201d said Ernest, as Charles walked towards the stand\nin the hall on which were placed the gentlemen\u2019s hats.\n\n\u201cYes; I\u2019m going to buy that book for Mr. Ewart. I only hope that I may\nnot find it sold.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I thought that you said yesterday that you had not the money for it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYesterday I had not, but to-day I have. I had then silver in my purse,\nnow I have gold!\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you received anything, then, from our uncle?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom him! Oh, no! Do you think that he has a thought to spare from\nthe dissolution of the Parliament, the prospects of the ministry, the\nprogress of the canvass, and all that sort of thing?\u201d said Charles,\nimitating the pompous manner of Mr. Hope.\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d said Ernest, \u201cI wish that you would tell me where and how you\nobtained that money. I need hardly say to you, dear Charles, that it is\nno mean curiosity that makes me ask.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if you will have the truth of it, I won it last night at the\ncard-table, at Lady Fitzwigram\u2019s. There, don\u2019t look so grave; I\u2019ve\ncommitted no crime; the money is honestly mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot but look grave,\u201d replied Fontonore. \u201cOh, Charles, if you had\nbut seen what I have seen of gambling! It gave me a feeling of pain, when\nat Holyby, Ann\u2019s poor boys used to play at pitch and toss, and gamble\nfor halfpence; for I beheld in their father how such amusements might\nend. The love of play, which is the love of gold in one of its most fatal\nforms, is what first brought Lawless to guilt and ruin. It grew upon him,\nstronger and stronger, a habit that could not be broken, till I have\nknown him desperately stake his last shilling, with his hungry children\naround him wanting bread, to gratify this miserable passion; nay, gamble\naway the very blanket in which his sick little one was wrapped!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I do not lose; I gain.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhoever gains, some one must lose; you either receive or inflict a\nloss.\u201d\n\n\u201cI care little about the money,\u201d cried Charles; \u201cit is the feeling of\nexcitement that I enjoy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it is in this very feeling that the danger lies. There need be no\nsin in simply playing a game. I have heard that good Mr. Searle likes\nhis quiet whist, and no doubt he enjoys it with an easy conscience; but\nwhen it is not in the game, but in the gambling, that the pleasure is\nfound\u2014when the interest is excited, not by exercise of skill, but by the\nchance of a lucky deal\u2014oh, Charles, is it not a kind of intoxication\nwhich the young Pilgrim especially is bound to shun?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is a sort of intoxication in all sorts of worldly excitement,\nI think,\u201d observed Charles. \u201cThe expectation of a ball intoxicates\nmy cousin; the chances of an election, her father; great heroes are\nintoxicated by a desire for conquest. What was Napoleon but a mighty\ngambler?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d subjoined Ernest; \u201cone who played for kingdoms, and gambled away\ncrown, liberty, and all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, to me there is something great and animating in the idea of\nputting it \u2018to the touch, to gain or lose it all.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIf that be your feeling, Charles,\u201d exclaimed Fontonore, \u201cyou are one who\nshould never touch a card. There is the fuel ready in your heart. Oh,\nbeware of letting a spark fall upon it! How can you pray not to be led\ninto temptation, without mocking the great Being whom you address, if\nyou, with your eyes open, seek the company and the amusements which you\nknow in themselves to be temptation? You would be as one who, because the\nday was fair and the water inviting, would venture in a boat close to a\ndangerous whirlpool, and, while he felt the strong current drawing him\nin, would content himself with praying for some wind from heaven to save\nhim from the peril into which he had thrown himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe difference here,\u201d observed Charles, \u201cis, that I can stop when I\nlike.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery gambler begins by thinking that he can stop when he likes, till he\nfinds that habit and passion are too strong to be mastered. Oh, Charley!\nmy Charley!\u201d continued Ernest, with emotion, \u201cmuch as I love you, my own\nonly brother, I had rather lose you\u2014rather see you laid in your grave,\nthan living the life of a gambler!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall never see me a gambler,\u2014I mean, God helping me,\u201d replied\nCharles, touched and gratified by his brother\u2019s anxiety; \u201cI will give up\nplay after this evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not go this evening; it is playing on the brink of temptation.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you have me break an engagement?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can write, and make your excuse. To-morrow is Christmas day, when\nwe should especially remember the mercy that opened to us the gate\nof salvation, and our duties as pilgrims and soldiers of the Cross.\nYou would not spend this evening amongst those whom you yourself call\ncitizens of Vanity Fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not write, then; I will call\u2014it is more courteous.\u201d\n\n\u201cMore dangerous.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see that you have little trust in me,\u201d said Charles, but without any\nemotion of anger. \u201cPerhaps, Ernest, you know me better than I do myself:\nbut I think that in this case I only do right to go; therefore it is not\nwilfully throwing myself into temptation.\u201d\n\nCharles found Aleck Fitzwigram at the house of Leo Chamberlain, his\nfriend, and after shaking hands with them both, told them that he had\ncome to say that circumstances would prevent his joining them that\nevening.\n\n\u201cThen you\u2019ll come to-morrow\u2014no, we dine out then, and the day after\nthere\u2019s the theatre; but on Saturday, at any rate, we shall expect you\nhere; you know that you must give us our revenge.\u201d\n\nCharles took the piece of gold out of his waistcoat pocket, and laid it\nupon the table. \u201cYou will need no revenge,\u201d said he, smiling.\n\n\u201cHope, what do mean by that? This is some jest of yours! You don\u2019t want\nus to think that you are not going to play with us again?\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish you to think the truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho on earth has put this absurdity into your head?\u201d\n\nCharles would have liked far better if he could have said that no one had\nput a fear of gambling into his head, but that it was the result of his\nown reflections on the subject; for one of the causes of our so seldom\nbenefiting by the experience of others, is the pride of the human heart,\nwhich hates the idea of being led. But, in the present case, no other\ntruthful answer could be given, and Charles replied, \u201cMy brother has made\nme think differently upon this subject from what I did before.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour brother\u2014Fontonore! Well, this is the best joke that ever I heard\nin my life! You, who have lived from your birth with those who know what\nlife is, to allow yourself to be led by a boy who passed all his early\nyears with tinkers, or ploughmen, or thieves; who is ignorant of all that\na gentleman should know, and prudently avoids opening his lips for fear\nof speaking bad grammar!\u201d\n\nCharles felt more inclined to be angry than to laugh. The arrow fell\nlightly as regarded his brother\u2019s conversation; for whether it was from\nnatural delicacy of mind, or Ernest\u2019s more than common acquaintance\nwith the pure language of Scripture, his speech was never coarse, and\noccasionally, when he overcame his reserve, flowed on in unstudied\neloquence, unusual in one so young. Charles was indignant at the\nunfeeling allusion to the trials of Ernest\u2019s early life. \u201cYou forget that\nyou speak of my brother,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cHe has given you good cause to remember that he is your brother, and\nyour _elder_ brother too,\u201d said Fitzwigram, with a sneer. \u201cBut I should\nhave thought it enough for him to have had my name, my fortune, and my\nestate, without letting him put my judgment also in his pocket, and not\nleave me even a will of my own!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES AND FITZWIGRAM.]\n\nThe blood of young Hope mounted to his forehead. He was beset again\nby the same enemy, Shame, who clung to Faithful in the Valley of\nHumiliation. To the Pilgrim that valley was not yet passed, that enemy\nwas not yet conquered. But Charles remembered the words of Faithful,\nwhich had made a strong impression on his mind: \u201cShame, depart! thou art\nan enemy to my salvation. Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign\nLord? How shall I then look Him in the face at His coming?\u201d With a brave\nresolve to grapple with his own enemy within, as well as to stand the\nridicule of tempters without, Charles replied, that if he adopted the\nprinciples of his brother, he should gain from him far more than he had\nlost; and bidding a cool farewell to his late companions, he quitted the\nhouse more truly a victor than many a hero who has written his title to\nglory in the blood of his fellow-creatures.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nGREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS.\n\n \u201cI saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant river,\n which David the king called \u2018the river of God,\u2019 but John \u2018the\n river of the water of life.\u2019\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nIn various manners was the succeeding day passed by the different members\nof Mr. Hope\u2019s household. He himself was absent till dinner-time, busy\nin holding consultations with parliamentary friends. Why should he\nremember that on that day a Saviour was born into the world? He never\nconsidered that he needed one! Lady Fitzwigram called in her carriage\nfor Mrs. Hope, to drive her to a distant church to hear some very famous\npreacher. Arrayed in all the pomp of Vanity Fair, her mind full of the\nworld, its follies, its ambition, the lady departed to kneel in the\nhouse of God, and call herself a miserable sinner! Clementina would have\naccompanied her mother, but for the disfigurement of her face. Till the\nbruise had disappeared, and the cut become healed, she could not endure\nto let herself be seen. So she shut herself up in the drawing-room, with\nher feet on the fender, listening sadly to the cheerful chime of \u201cthe\nchurch-going bell,\u201d which brought no thought of joy to her heart.\n\nErnest came into the room, Christmas sunshine on his face. He had not\nseen his cousin that morning until now.\n\n\u201cA happy Christmas to you, Clemmy, and a joyful New-year.\u201d\n\nNo look of pleasure on her part responded to the greeting; but she gave\nthe usual answer\u2014\u201cI wish the same to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you. A happy Christmas! I have it. The new year!\u2014ah! how strange\nit is to think all that a new year may bring!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe new year can bring to you nothing so good as the old one has done,\u201d\nsaid Clementina.\n\n\u201cThis year has brought much to me indeed,\u201d replied Ernest, thoughtfully.\n\u201cThe Bible\u2014my first knowledge of Mr. Ewart\u2014my brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, your estate, your title!\u201d exclaimed Clementina. \u201cThe new year can\nraise you no higher.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly in one way, perhaps.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is that way?\u201d\n\nErnest did not hear the question of the young lady; his thoughts had\nwandered to the white marble monument in the church near Fontonore.\nWhen we stand on the verge of a new year, and look on the curtain which\nhides from us the mysterious future, what reflecting mind but considers\nthe possibility that the opening year may to him be the last? To the\nChristian Pilgrim alone that thought brings no feeling of gloom.\n\n\u201cAre you going to church with us, cousin?\u201d said Ernest, rousing himself\nfrom his meditations.\n\n\u201cYou had only to look at me to answer your own question,\u201d replied the\nyoung lady, pettishly. \u201cWhat could take me to church, with my forehead\nplastered up and such a yellow mark under my eye?\u201d\n\nErnest could not help thinking that if she went to church to worship God,\nand not to be seen of man, there was nothing to keep her away now. But\nto have expressed his thoughts aloud would have been only to irritate;\nand the Christian who would lead another to the Lord must be cautious to\navoid giving unnecessary offence. There is a time when it is our duty to\nspeak, and a time when it is our wisdom to be silent.\n\nErnest left the room, and in a few minutes returned with his own copy of\nthe Pilgrim\u2019s Progress in his hand. He made no observation, but he laid\nit near his cousin, and then quitted the house with a secret prayer that\nthe poor girl, to whom religion was as yet but a name, might be led to\nread, and be guided to understand it.\n\nAs the brothers returned from church arm in arm, Ernest felt more than\nusual joy and peace shed over his spirit: while all was winter without,\nall was summer within. It was one of those hours which Christians\nsometimes meet with in their pilgrimage, perhaps as a foretaste of the\nbliss that awaits them, when their path appears so bright, and heaven so\nnear, that they feel as though earth\u2019s mists were already left behind,\nand can scarcely believe that they can ever wander again from the way\nwhich they find so delightful. They could then lay down their lives with\npleasure for their Lord. Life is happiness to them, for in it they may\nserve Him; and death no object of terror or doubt, for they know that\nit can but bring them to Him. _Bless the Lord, O my soul; while I live\nwill I praise Him_, is in the thoughts, and not unfrequently on the lips\nalso: for _out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh_, and the\nheavenly joy which fills all the spirit will sometimes overflow in words.\n\n\u201cO Charley, how joyous the angels\u2019 song sounded to-day! \u2018_Glory to God\nin the highest; on earth peace, good-will toward men._\u2019 What wonder and\ndelight must have filled the hearts of the shepherds when first they\nlistened to that song!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the angels, it must have made even angels happier to have carried\nsuch a message to the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have sometimes thought,\u201d said Ernest, \u201cthat if an angel from heaven\nwere to live upon this earth, and to be permitted to choose what station\nhe would fill, he would ask,\u2014not to be a conqueror, not to be a king, not\neven to be one of the geniuses whose discoveries astonish the world, but\nto be one who might constantly be proclaiming to all the good tidings of\na Saviour\u2019s coming, repeating continually that song of heaven, \u2018_Glory to\nGod, good-will toward men!_\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHe would be a clergyman, or a missionary, then.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what I should most of all wish to be,\u201d said Ernest, \u201cif I only\ncould be worthy of such an honour.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you are a lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere I a prince, what nobler office could I have than to follow in the\nsteps of the apostles and the martyrs\u2014nay, the steps of the Saviour\nhimself? To sow seeds that would blossom in eternity! to be a shepherd\nover the Lord\u2019s dear flock! Oh, Charles, can we ever realize the full\nextent of that promise, _They that turn many to righteousness_, shall\nshine _as the stars for ever and ever!_\u201d\n\n\u201cI feel afraid to be a clergyman,\u201d said Charles, gravely. \u201cMy uncle\nspoke to me about it yesterday: he said that the church might be the\nbest opening for me in life, and that it was time for me to think of\na profession. But, Ernest, there was something that went against my\nfeelings in thinking of it in that light.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure that you were right, my brother. How could one dare to become\nthe minister of God from any other motive than the desire to serve Him,\nand proclaim His message to dying sinners around us?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was afraid that you would blame me. I thought that you would urge me\nto devote myself to the service of the ministry.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot unless your service were that of the heart; then indeed I should\nrejoice at your choice. But what are your own wishes for yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have always had rather a fancy for being a soldier. The danger and\nexcitement of the life attracts me. I should like to be just such a\nwarrior as Great-heart, who fought and conquered Giant Despair.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d observed Ernest, smiling, \u201cthat Great-heart was intended to\nrepresent a minister, and not a soldier.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you really think so?\u201d said Charles.\n\n\u201cOnly consider his office, and the nature of his exploits. Was he not\nsent to guide feeble pilgrims, and lead them to the heavenly city? Did\nnot his words cheer and help them on the way? Did he not show them the\nspring at which they drank and were refreshed, and fight the giant Maul,\nwho led young pilgrims into error? Remember his own account of himself,\nwhen he said, \u2018I am a servant of the God of heaven: my business is to\npersuade sinners to repentance.\u2019 Surely this is a description of a\nminister of the gospel.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt never struck me so before.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you love difficulties,\u201d continued Ernest, \u201cwho has greater to\novercome than a conscientious clergyman? He has the world to oppose him,\nSatan to oppose him, his own sinful nature, like a traitor within the\ngates. He is appointed a commander in the army of the Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd a missionary is the leader of a forlorn hope,\u201d interrupted Charles.\n\n\u201cNot _forlorn_,\u201d exclaimed Ernest; \u201chis hope is sure: if faithful, he is\ncertain of both victory and life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe, after all,\u201d said Charles, \u201cthat a clergyman\u2019s is the noblest,\nas well as the most anxious of professions. But even did I wish it to be\nmine, the question remains\u2014Could I ever be worthy of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, that is my difficulty too,\u201d cried Ernest; \u201cand yet,\u201d he added\nhopefully, \u201cI cannot but think that He who first gave us a love for the\nwork, would also give us strength to perform it.\u201d\n\nBy this time the brothers had reached home. Ernest found the drawing-room\nempty. A novel lay on the table near which Clementina had been sitting,\nbut the Pilgrim\u2019s Progress had evidently been moved from the place where\nher cousin had left it. He remained, like many others who try to do good,\nin uncertainty as to whether his endeavours had been fruitless; but with\nthe sweet assurance that whether successful or not, the smallest attempt\nto serve others, for the sake of the Lord, would never be forgotten by\nHim.\n\nIn another week the family returned to Fontonore, whither Mr. Hope had\npreceded them by a few days in order to carry on his canvass. If the\ncastle was beautiful at the end of autumn, when Ernest first saw his\nbirth-place, not less striking was its appearance now. The red globe of\nthe winter\u2019s sun seemed to rest upon the battlements, gleaming faintly on\nthe arched windows crusted with hoar frost. Every twig on the creepers\nthat mantled the walls, every leaf on the evergreens that adorned the\nentrance, was covered with white glistening crystals, like the work of a\nfairy enchantress.\n\nOn the bridge on which Mr. Ewart had stood to see the boys depart, he\nagain appeared to welcome them back; and nothing gave so much pleasure to\ntheir hearts as his warm, affectionate greeting.\n\nErnest found everything much as he had left it. Ben appeared, indeed,\nto have somewhat improved under the careful instruction which he\nhad received; but Jack was the same forward, reckless boy, dead to\nevery feeling of gratitude or shame. He was noted in the castle for\nmischief-making; his word was never to be depended upon; he seemed to\nhave inherited his father\u2019s love for gambling; but perhaps the most\npainful feature in his character was his undisguised dislike of his young\nbenefactor.\n\n\u201cI should almost recommend,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, when speaking on the subject\nto his pupil, \u201cthat some other situation should be found for this unhappy\nboy, where he might be under severer control, and less in a position to\ngive annoyance.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would certainly be a great relief to me,\u201d replied Ernest.\n\n\u201cHe might be apprenticed to some trade.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would cause some expense,\u201d observed Ernest.\n\n\u201cTrue, but your uncle\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I never would trouble my uncle upon the subject. My own quarter\u2019s\nallowance is now due, but I have spent it already in my mind. You know\nmy little project for a school here: both Jack and Ben would attend that\nevery day. Oh, we must give him a little longer trial; I cannot afford\nany changes at present without sacrificing things more important.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the irritation to yourself,\u201d exclaimed Charles, who was present;\n\u201cthe constant annoyance and worry caused by such a creature as that!\u201d\n\n\u201cThese are the little vexations that are sent to try our patience and\nforbearance,\u201d replied Ernest. \u201cIf we seek to bear them with a pilgrim\u2019s\nspirit, perhaps we may discover in another world that we have owed more\nto our enemies than to our friends.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nA FEW STEPS ASIDE.\n\n \u201cNow, a little before them, there was on the left hand of the\n road a meadow, and a stile to go over into it, and that meadow\n is called By-path meadow.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nOh, the interest and the excitement of an election! How little we\nconsider, when we glance over a dry list of the members of the House of\nCommons, all the efforts and sacrifices that have been made, the anxiety,\nheartburnings, sleepless nights, exhausting days, that have been endured\nto place a single name on that list!\n\nNot only the castle, but all the neighbourhood, was in a ferment, for\nthis was to be a hotly contested election. For some years Mr. Hope had\nquietly sat as member for the adjacent town of Allborough; but it was now\nknown that he must have a desperate struggle for his place\u2014a wealthy,\npopular man, had come forward to oppose him: Mr. Stacey was the supporter\nof a very popular measure, and though the truth was scarcely acknowledged\nat Fontonore, the chances in favour of the pink were considered equal to\nthose in favour of the blue.\n\nNothing was talked of at the castle, scarcely anything thought of, but\nthe election. Mr. Hope exerted himself as if his life depended upon\nsuccess; his lady was, if possible, more anxious than himself, she was\nso proud of being the wife of an M.P., she thought that it added so much\nto her dignity in society. Even Clementina employed her delicate fingers\nwith a little more energy than she usually thought \u201crefined,\u201d to make up\ncockades of blue satin ribbon. She wished the colours had been reversed,\n\u201cas pink is so much more becoming;\u201d but as her complexion had never been\nconsulted in the choice, she made up her mind to appear in blue.\n\nThe boys naturally caught the infection of the time. Charles was wild\nfor the Blues, and accompanied his uncle very often on his canvassing\nrounds. He felt ready to knock down any one who dared express a doubt\nof Mr. Hope\u2019s success. And though Ernest had suffered too much, and had\nreflected too much, to be quite so violent in his emotions, besides\nwanting even the smattering of politics which his brother had naturally\npicked up, he also took his part with interest in the proceedings, and\nwatched with almost as much pleasure the erection of the polling-booth,\ncovered with gaudy placards of red and blue, on which \u201cHOPE FOR EVER!\u201d\nand \u201cVOTE FOR STACEY!\u201d appeared in large, staring letters, as he did the\nconversion of a barn into a little school which he was preparing for the\ncottagers around.\n\nSometimes, indeed, the thought would cross the mind of the boy, as he\nlooked on excited faces, and listened to animated conversation on the\nall-engrossing theme,\u2014\u201cHow strange it is that so much more interest is\ntaken in the things of this life than in what regards another! It is as\nthough pilgrims to the celestial city should exert all their efforts,\nstrain every nerve, to gain possession of some hillock by the way!\u201d\n\nThe day before the election was one of those mild bright days which\nsometimes occur in the midst of winter, like a little green oasis in a\ndesert, to remind us of the spring which is to come. The air felt almost\nbalmy and warm, and Mr. Ewart and his two pupils walked out to enjoy the\nsweet sunshine in the park. There was a rustic chair beneath one of the\nfine old trees, on which the clergyman sat down, while the boys, on the\nother and more sheltered side of the huge tree, amused themselves with\ngathering and examining some peculiar moss.\n\nMr. Ewart had scarcely taken his seat when a step was heard on the dry\nwithered leaves with which the turf was thickly strewn. A rough-looking\nman approached and touched his hat; Mr. Ewart recognized the butcher\nwho supplied the castle, and in his usual courteous manner, wished Mr.\nStaines good morning.\n\nThe tradesman replied to the salutation, but stood lingering as if\nhe had something to say, and yet felt difficulty in beginning the\nconversation.\n\n[Illustration: MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR.]\n\n\u201cDid you wish to speak to me?\u201d said Mr. Ewart, observing his hesitation.\n\n\u201cWhy, sir, I have been wishing very much to say a word to you about\nto-morrow\u2019s election.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must be aware,\u201d replied the clergyman, \u201cthat I make it my rule to\ntake no part in politics.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wished to consult you, sir,\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI must decline giving advice on these subjects.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, sir, it is a matter of conscience!\u201d\n\n\u201cIf so, then I am ready to hear you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you of course know, sir,\u201d said the butcher, rubbing his head, \u201cMr.\nHope expects me to give him my vote. I have the custom of the castle\nhere, and that\u2019s a great matter for a man like me. But you see, sir,\u201d\u2014he\nstopped and scraped the ground with his foot, then, as the clergyman\nwaited patiently for the rest of his speech, continued with a good deal\nof embarrassment,\u2014\u201cyou see I think all the other way from Mr. Hope, and I\ndid promise to vote for Mr. Stacey.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what brings you now to me? You cannot be ignorant that in my\nposition as tutor to Lord Fontonore, this is a most delicate affair for\nme to interfere in.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it, I know it, sir,\u201d said the tradesman, lowering his voice; \u201cbut\nI have never received from any person in the world the advice that I have\nreceived from you. A man needs good counsel, you see, at a pass like\nthis, when one is afraid of going against a customer on the one hand,\nand\u2014and\u2014conscience upon the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cConscience before interest always,\u201d said Mr. Ewart.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t mean that I should vote against Mr. Hope?\u201d cried the butcher,\nwho perhaps secretly wished that the tutor of the candidate\u2019s nephews\nmight find some means of relieving his scruples, or take on himself the\nresponsibility of silencing them at once.\n\n\u201cDo ever what is right, and leave the event to a higher hand,\u201d replied\nthe clergyman, rising to conclude so annoying an interview, and motioning\nto the tradesman to leave him.\n\n\u201cMy uncle would not thank you for your counsel,\u201d said Charles, coming\nforward as soon as the voter had departed.\n\n\u201cI hope that he may never know of it,\u201d subjoined Ernest; \u201che would be\nwounded in his tenderest point.\u201d\n\n\u201cI much regret that I was consulted,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, gravely; \u201cbut,\nbeing so, I do not see what other answer I could have given.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you did right, as you always do!\u201d exclaimed Charles; \u201cbut I hope\nthat that vote may not lose us the election\u2014it would be almost enough to\ndrive one wild.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a sudden change in the weather before the next morning dawned:\nthe snow was falling fast, mantling the earth with white; the sky was of\none dull gray; the wind shrieked through the leafless branches. It was\na day when it might have been imagined that no one would have willingly\nquitted a warm hearth to face the inclemency of the weather; yet no\none in Castle Fontonore seemed to regard either frost, wind, or snow.\nThere were banners flying, bands playing, crowds gathering, the tramp of\nhorses, and the noise of shouting. The snow that fell so soft and white\nbecame hardened and brown beneath the hurried tread of many feet. To the\npoll, from the poll\u2014on horseback, on foot\u2014eager messengers crossed each\nother, to rouse wavering partisans to exertion, or carry tidings to eager\nlisteners.\n\nThe candidates had been proposed, their speeches had been made; all\nthat now remained was for the voters to hasten to the poll. Great was\nthe excitement in the castle when, at the end of the first hour, the\nstatement of numbers was brought in. Mrs. Hope stood flushed and panting\nwith anxiety, and looked half surprised, half mortified, to hear that her\nhusband was but thirteen ahead of his opponent.\n\nThe next hour his success appeared yet more doubtful\u2014the thirteen had\ndiminished to seven. Then again Mr. Hope\u2019s majority rose; and his lady,\nas if assured of triumph, glanced proudly around and repeated for the\nhundredth time her assertion that she had never for a moment doubted of\nvictory.\n\nErnest and Charles rode on their ponies amidst the gathered crowds. Every\ncheer that rose as the Lord of Fontonore and his bright-haired young\nbrother appeared, with large blue cockades on their breasts, seemed a\npledge of the success of their uncle.\n\nAt length the eventful moment for the close of the poll drew near. Mrs.\nHope could hardly endure to await the result in the castle; but such was\nthe desire of her husband. Restlessly she paced up and down the hall,\nstarting at every sound, watching with breathless anxiety for news from\nthe polling-place. Not that she would admit that she had the slightest\nfear of defeat. It was impossible that Mr. Hope could fail of election,\nwith his connections, his talents, his standing: she only wondered at the\naudacity of his opponent, and stopped repeatedly, in her impatient walk\nto and fro, to desire Ernest to write down the name of some titled friend\nto whom she must write by the very first post, to communicate the news of\nher triumph.\n\n\u201cHark! that\u2019s the sound of a horse\u2019s quick tramp,\u201d exclaimed Ernest,\nstarting to his feet. \u201cThat\u2019s Charles, I am sure. He brings tidings.\u201d The\nnext moment the hoofs clattered through the archway, and the rider flung\nhimself off the saddle, even before the panting animal stopped at the\ndoor.\n\nMrs. Hope and Ernest hurried to meet him; but the eager question died on\nthe lips of the lady, as she saw the expression on her nephew\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cLost! all lost!\u201d exclaimed Charles, almost stamping with impatience;\n\u201clost by a minority of _one_!\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible! It cannot be!\u201d cried Mrs. Hope. \u201cThere must be some mistake,\nor some treachery.\u201d\n\nBut no; there was neither treachery nor mistake. Every new-comer\nconfirmed the tidings, and Ernest had an opportunity of again witnessing\nhow heavily disappointment falls on the citizens of Vanity Fair. Would\nthat the citizens of a more glorious place lived so far above the world\nthat its trials should never have power to drag them down to the level of\nits slaves! Are the trifles which so often ruffle our tempers and depress\nour spirits worth such anxious thought from those who profess that their\nhearts and their treasures are above?\n\nMr. Hope\u2019s disappointment, anger, and irritation knew no bounds. He was\nill able to afford the expense of a contested election. He had spared\nno trouble, no exertion, no cost; and to lose it after all, and by a\nminority of _one_, was more than the worldly man could endure.\n\nMr. Hope talked over the events of the day with his wife in the evening;\nErnest and Charles sitting at a little distance, with the chess-table\nbefore them, but too much interested in the conversation to attend to\ntheir game. Their uncle spoke in a rapid and excited manner, accusing\nthis person of bribery and that of perjury, and declaring that he would\ndemand a scrutiny.\n\n\u201cI say, Ernest,\u201d whispered Charles, in a very low voice, bending towards\nhis brother, so that no one else should hear him, \u201cI would not for ten\nthousand pounds that our uncle should know of Mr. Ewart\u2019s conversation\nwith the butcher.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I,\u201d replied Ernest, in the same tone. \u201cWhat do you think would\nhappen if he did?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Ewart would be dismissed at once from the castle. I know that Uncle\nHope would be glad of an opportunity to do this. I am certain that he\ndislikes our friend, and so does Aunt Matilda.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I hope and trust that he never may know it!\u201d exclaimed Ernest,\nstartled at the idea of such a misfortune\u2014one of the greatest, he felt,\nwhich could befall him, for his affection towards his tutor was deep and\nsincere.\n\n\u201cI am afraid,\u201d said Charles, still whispering, \u201cthat my uncle will hear\nsomething about the affair. He is aware that Staines was the last man to\nvote, and that he turned the scale against him: and Jones told us that\nthe butcher had been seen yesterday in our park; and my uncle, who was\nvery angry indeed, declared that he would sift the matter to the bottom.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou make me very uneasy,\u201d said Ernest. \u201cWhat should we say if we were\nquestioned? You know that we overheard all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish that we had been anywhere else,\u201d cried Charles; \u201cbut I had no\nidea that the man had come about anything secret. What should we say if\nwe were questioned?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe could not betray our friend. Oh, Charles, if he were to leave us, how\ncould we ever stand firm against all the temptations which we should be\ncertain to meet?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho would help you to carry out your plans of usefulness?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho would be our guide in our pilgrimage?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it might be ruin to Mr. Ewart to be sent away. You know that he\nsupports his aged mother. His voice is not strong enough for severe\nclerical duty; he might never be able to get a church.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would do anything to prevent such a misfortune happening,\u201d cried\nErnest.\n\n\u201c_Anything?_ Would you tell an untruth?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn such a case as this, I hardly think that it would be wrong?\u201d\n\nCharles looked very doubtfully at his brother.\n\n\u201cWhy, consider, Charles, all the evil that might follow if my uncle knew\nthe truth\u2014evil to us, to all around us, to our dear friend himself.\nNothing should make us swerve from strict candour where only our own\ninterests are concerned; but when a good man may be ruined\u2014\u201d\n\nHere the conversation was suddenly broken off by Mr. Hope\u2019s turning\ntowards them, and exclaiming, in a loud tone,\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd there\u2019s something which you may help me to clear up, young\ngentlemen. I have heard a rumour\u2014a very strange rumour, one that it is\nscarcely possible to credit\u2014that that fellow Staines was hanging about\nthe park yesterday, and had a consultation with Mr. Ewart, who advised\nhim to vote against me. Were you with your tutor at the time?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe were with Mr. Ewart all the afternoon,\u201d replied Ernest, his heart\nthrobbing very fast.\n\n\u201cWe never left him,\u201d added Charles, as his uncle glanced towards him.\n\n\u201cAnd do you know nothing of this pretended interview, which may have\nbeen\u2014which probably is\u2014nothing but a malicious calumny, a fable? Was\nthere any such conversation held in your presence?\u2014a thing almost\nimpossible to conceive.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir; there was none,\u201d replied Ernest, in a low tone.\n\n\u201cNone,\u201d repeated Charles, looking down and blushing.\n\nMr. Hope surveyed them both with a piercing eye. How uneasy they felt\nunder his glance! He questioned them no more, however, but turned round\nagain towards the fire, and was soon engaged once more in animated\nconversation with his wife.\n\n\u201cHave we done right?\u201d whispered Charles to his brother.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t exactly know. I hope so, for we acted from a good motive. We\ncould not have spoken out, and ruined our friend. I am sure that God will\nnot severely judge an act of kindness and gratitude.\u201d\n\nAh! vain confidence, how many have you led astray! who judge of the\nAlmighty by their own false ideas, instead of His pure unerring Word!\nWhere do we find in the Bible that any sin, committed from any motive\nwhatsoever, finds indulgence from the God of holiness and truth?\n\n\u201cI do not feel quite easy,\u201d murmured Charles.\n\n\u201cNor I. Yet I hope that we have not really wandered from the way. I\nhardly see what else we could have done.\u201d\n\nThe servants now brought in tea and coffee. Clementina, looking tired and\nout of spirits, came into the drawing-room, and was almost immediately\nfollowed by Mr. Ewart.\n\n\u201cMr. Ewart,\u201d exclaimed Mr. Hope, stopping suddenly in what he was saying\non perceiving the entrance of the clergyman, and addressing him in a\nsharp, stern, decided manner, \u201callow me to ask you one question.\u201d\n\nThe tutor silently bowed.\n\n\u201cDid you, or did you not, converse yesterday in the park with the butcher\nStaines?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did do so,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, without hesitation.\n\nErnest bit his lip, till he almost brought blood.\n\n\u201cDid you, or did you not, advise him to vote against me?\u201d continued Mr.\nHope, in a tone of suppressed fury.\n\n\u201cI advised him to vote according to his conscience.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you advised these two boys to speak according to their conscience!\u201d\nexclaimed Mr. Hope, in a voice that made the room ring. \u201cYou, the\ninstructor of youth\u2014you, the pattern of strict morality\u2014you have taught\nyour pupils to be hypocrites and liars; you have corrupted their\nunsuspicious minds\u2014\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE DISMISSAL.]\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, with dignity; but Mr. Hope was too furious to\nlisten.\n\n\u201cI say that you have corrupted them\u2014ruined their principles. Your conduct\nto me I could pass over; but I cannot leave my nephews one day longer in\nthe hands of one who would teach them to be hypocrites. You leave the\ncastle to-morrow, sir,\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, uncle!\u2014Mr. Hope!\u201d cried Ernest and Charles, springing forward, \u201cMr.\nEwart knew nothing of it; it was we\u2014it was I.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no use speaking,\u201d cried the indignant candidate. \u201cFrom your\nconduct, I must judge of the instructions which you have received. Two\nof my family to be guilty of deliberate falsehood!\u2014Sir,\u201d he continued,\nturning towards Mr. Ewart, \u201cyou have heard my unalterable decision. You\nquit the castle to-morrow.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart bowed gravely, and retired to his own apartment, followed by\nthe almost heart-broken boys.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nREGRETS, BUT NOT DESPAIR.\n\n \u201cI have a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am\n persuaded open any lock in Doubting Castle.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s\n Progress._\n\n\n\u201cWhat has occurred? what could your uncle mean by speaking of deliberate\nfalsehood?\u201d said Mr. Ewart, as soon as the three were alone in his room,\nand the door closed behind them.\n\nErnest was too much agitated to speak. Charles told in a few words all\nthat had happened, omitting nothing but his brother\u2019s greater share in\nthe fault. Mr. Ewart listened with a look of distress on his countenance,\nwhich cut both the boys to the soul.\n\n\u201cWe meant well,\u201d said Charles in conclusion, \u201cbut everything has turned\nout ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou should rather say,\u201d observed the clergyman, in a mild but sad tone,\n\u201cthat you meant well, but that you acted ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you must suffer for our fault,\u201d exclaimed Ernest, in bitter grief.\n\n\u201cWhat I suffer from most is the thought of your fault.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that it should be laid at _your_ door, you who have never taught us\nanything but what is right\u2014oh! it is such cruelty, such injustice\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHush,\u201d said the tutor, laying his hand upon Ernest\u2019s, \u201cnot a word must\nyou utter against your guardian; and remember that he had grounds for his\nindignation.\u201d\n\nErnest leant both his arms upon the table, and bending down his forehead\nupon them, wept in silence.\n\n\u201cIf you leave us on account of this,\u201d cried Charles, with emotion, \u201cwe\nshall never be happy again.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, soothingly; \u201cthough the Christian is commanded\nto repent, he is forbidden to despair. Experience is precious, though it\nmay cost us dear: it will be worth even the sorrow which you are feeling\nnow, if this lesson is deeply imprinted on your soul, _Never do evil that\ngood may come_.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn no case?\u201d inquired Charles.\n\n\u201cIn no case,\u201d replied the clergyman.\u2014\u201cWe show want of faith in the power\nof the Almighty, if we imagine that He needs one sin to work His own good\npurposes. We can never expect a blessing on disobedience.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I cannot endure,\u201d exclaimed Ernest, raising his head, \u201cis to think\nwhat the world will say. I know the colouring that my uncle will put\nupon the affair\u2014how my aunt will talk to her fashionable friends. She\nwill speak of the danger of evil influence, of her anxiety for her dear\nnephews, and the shock which it had been to her to find what principles\nhad been instilled into their minds. Oh, Mr. Ewart, best, dearest friend,\nwe have injured you indeed\u2014we have brought disgrace upon your spotless\ncharacter!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod knows my innocence in regard to you,\u201d replied the clergyman; \u201cto Him\nI commit my cause. To be the object of unjust accusation has often been\nthe appointed trial of His servants. He can make even this affliction\nwork for their good. And now, my dear boys, leave me. I have letters\nto write, little preparations to make, and I need a brief space for\nreflection.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you forgive us?\u201d said Charles, pressing his tutor\u2019s hand with a\nmixture of affection and respect.\n\n\u201cForgive you! you have erred but through kindness towards me. I have\nnothing to forgive, dear Charles.\u201d\n\nErnest rushed from the room without uttering a word. Charles followed\nhim through the long corridor, down the broad oaken staircase, to the\ndrawing-room, in which the family was still assembled.\n\nErnest came to confess, to plead, to entreat; and he pleaded, he\nentreated, with the fervent eloquence of one who thinks his whole\nhappiness at stake. Mr. Hope listened with a rigid, unmoved look; his\nlady, who sat at her desk, observed, with an unpleasant smile, that the\nreverend gentleman had been evidently working upon the feelings of his\npupils. She interrupted Ernest\u2019s most passionate appeal, by telling that\nshe was at that moment engaged in writing to her friend, Lady Fitzwigram,\nabout a very superior tutor, of whom she had spoken to her when in\nLondon. \u201cIf Mr. Sligo should be still disengaged,\u201d observed the lady,\n\u201cthis affair may prove really a fortunate occurrence.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE CONFESSION AND ENTREATY.]\n\nFontonore and Charles left the room in despair. Bitterly reproaching\nthemselves for having wandered from the right path, they retired to the\nchamber of the former, where they both remained for the remainder of the\nnight, for companionship in sorrow was their only consolation in this\ntime of bitter distress.\n\n\u201cIt was I who led you into this trouble,\u201d cried Ernest. \u201cI have been\nyour tempter, your false guide; all that has happened has been owing\nto me! How could I ever dare to call myself a pilgrim, after all that\nhas happened, after all the lessons which I have received, to fall away\nthus, and disgrace my profession! Will not Clementina look upon me as a\nhypocrite. I could speak to her of the joy of the Lord, of the pleasures\nof devotion, of the glories of heaven! Ah, how different will she think\nmy actions to my words! She may even place my errors to the account of my\nreligion; my sin will be a stumbling-block in her way.\u201d\n\n\u201cErnest, brother, you must not give way thus. To fall once may not be to\nfall for ever. God is merciful and ready to forgive; it is foolish, it is\nwrong to despair.\u201d\n\nPoor Charles endeavoured to give comfort, which he much needed himself;\nyet his grief was not so deep as his brother\u2019s. Ernest felt more\nstrongly, what every Christian should feel, that he who has confessed\nreligion openly before men should, above all others, be watchful over\nhis own conduct. The world is ready, is eager to find faults in such;\nto excuse its own errors by those of God\u2019s children; to accuse of\ninconsistency, and even of hypocrisy, those who profess to live by a\nhigher standard. Alas, the sins and failings of sincere Christians have\ndone more injury to the cause of the religion which they love than all\nthe open attacks of its enemies!\n\nErnest was also, perhaps, the most warmly attached to his tutor. Mr.\nEwart had been his friend at a time when he had no other: it was through\nhim that he had discovered his right to an earthly title; it was through\nhim that he had learned to hope for a heavenly one; and to have been the\nmeans of inflicting deep injury on his benefactor wrung the spirit of the\nboy with anguish, even greater than the pang of parting with his friend.\n\nLong after Charles, weary and sad, had dropped asleep, Ernest lay\nawake, revolving bitter thoughts in his mind, almost too miserable even\nto pray. Never in the course of his whole life of trial had he passed\nso wretched a night. The envied Lord of Fontonore, in his magnificent\ncastle, surrounded by all that could minister to his ease, was more\nwretched than Mark Dowley had been in his cottage, hungry, despised, and\npersecuted. Such are the pangs of a wounded conscience\u2014such the misery of\na backsliding professor!\n\nErnest fell asleep at last, worn out by the conflict in his own mind,\nand awoke in the morning with a weight on his heart which painfully\noppressed, even before he was sufficiently roused to remember what it\nwas that had caused it.\n\nMr. Ewart did not appear at breakfast, and neither of the boys could\ntaste the meal. The sound in the court-yard of the wheels of the carriage\nwhich was to take their tutor away, and the sight of the neat black\ntrunk, labelled and corded, placed ready by the door in the hall, made\ntheir hearts feel almost ready to burst.\n\nThe family of Mr. Hope avoided being present, but a number of the\nservants assembled to witness the departure of one who was respected by\nall. Even Jack and Ben were seen loitering on the drawbridge; and Lord\nFontonore could not help remarking that the former surveyed him with a\nlook of even greater insolence than was his wont; but poor Ernest was too\nmuch humbled, too much depressed, to be roused to any feeling of anger.\n\nMr. Ewart came forth, looking pale and thoughtful, but he smiled as\nsoon as he saw his late pupils, and held out a hand to each. He bade\na kind farewell to the numerous attendants, with a word of advice or\nencouragement to some. There were aprons lifted to tearful eyes, saddened\nlooks, and murmured blessings, as the clergyman passed through the\nassembled throng to where the carriage was waiting. The boys grasped his\nhands, and kept them within their own, reluctant to unloose that last,\nfirm clasp. He gave them his earnest, solemn blessing, and bade them put\ntheir trust in Him who would never leave or forsake them.\n\n\u201cShall we ever meet again?\u201d faltered Ernest.\n\n\u201cI hope so\u2014I believe so,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, cheerfully. \u201cThis very\nmorning I received a kind invitation from Mr. Searle. If I see no other\nopening before me, I may possibly visit Silvermere early in the spring;\nand if so\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, if you were at the other end of the world, we should find some means\nof meeting,\u201d exclaimed Charles.\n\n\u201cThere is one comfort which we may always make our own, when parting from\nthose whom we love,\u201d said the clergyman, struggling to keep down his\nemotions; \u201call pilgrims travelling the same road come to the same rest at\nlast; though circumstances and distance may divide them here, they may\nlook forward in sure hope to a meeting in heaven.\u201d\n\nAnd he was really gone!\u2014the friend whom Ernest had loved, the guide\nwhom he had followed, the stay upon which he had leaned\u2014all was like a\npainful, bewildering dream. Again the young peer hastened to his chamber,\nthrew himself on his bed, and vainly sought for the relief of tears. He\nwas roused by feeling an arm thrown round his neck, and looking up, saw\nCharles, whose flushed face and reddened eyes bore evident traces of\nweeping.\n\n\u201cLeave me, Charley,\u201d he cried; \u201cthe sight of your sorrow only makes mine\nharder to bear. We can never, never bring back the past. We can never\nrecall the friend whom we have lost. I feel almost in despair.\u201d\n\nCharles uttered no reply. Perhaps he could hardly have trusted his voice\nto make one; but he laid his open Bible on the pillow before Ernest,\nand silently pointed to the words in Jeremiah: \u201c_Return, ye backsliding\nchildren, and I will heal your backslidings. Behold, we come unto Thee,\nfor Thou art the Lord our God._\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Charley!\u201d said Ernest, with emotion, \u201cthis is the second time that\nyou have opened the door of hope to your brother!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen did I ever do so before?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen a poor desolate boy stood beneath a yew-tree, and watched crowds\ngoing into the church which he was almost afraid to enter. You came to\nhim then, and said a few simple words, which roused and encouraged at\nthat time; and often since, when I have felt low and fearful, I have\nrepeated those words to myself, \u2018You must not stay outside.\u2019 I have\nthought of these words as applying to the gate of mercy open to all.\nOh, Charley! what a good, what a generous brother you have been to me!\nMany in your place would have hated and despised me, taunted me with my\nignorance and with my early life; but you, even at a time when I have\ndone you great wrong, when I have deprived you of your friend, even led\nyou into sin, you come to comfort and to cheer me;\u2014ever faithful, ever\nhopeful, ever dear!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nA NEW DANGER.\n\n \u201cBeware of the flatterer. As is the saying of the wise\n man, so we have found it this day, \u2018A man that flattereth\n his neighbour, spreadeth a net for his feet\u2019 (Prov. xxix.\n 5).\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nIt was some time before Ernest could regain his usual cheerfulness;\nconstant occupation was what, perhaps, had the most effect in restoring\nit. Not only did he turn with ardour to his studies, bending all the\npowers of a most intelligent mind to master the difficulties of learning,\nbut he was never idle in his hours of leisure; and so well employed his\ntime, that Charles once observed, with a smile, that the sands in his\nhour-glass were all of gold!\n\nWe are commanded to _let_ our _light so shine before men, that they may\nsee_ our _good works, and glorify_ our _Father which is in heaven_.\nThe light of the young Lord of Fontonore shone brightly, enlightening\nsome and cheering many. Until his little school could be finished, he\nassembled the poor children in an outhouse of the castle, and not\nonly contributed, almost beyond his power, to pay the salary of a\nschoolmaster, but himself assisted in the task of tuition, and spoke to\nthe little ones with such heart-fervour of the duties of a pilgrim and\nthe love of the Saviour, that the cottagers said that the children never\nlearned so much as when the young lord himself was their teacher. Ernest\nwas often to be seen beneath the widow\u2019s lowly roof: he would carry to\nthe sick poor little comforts from his own table, and none knew how often\nhe went without pleasures to himself, that he might afford to help those\nwho needed his assistance. Large as was his allowance, his charity so\ndrained it that self appeared almost forgotten; and the Lord of Fontonore\nwas scarcely ever known to purchase anything for his own gratification.\nIt was his habit, his privilege, his delight, to lay his treasures at the\nfeet of his Lord; and thus, though the possessor of great wealth, the\npilgrim pressed on, unclogged and unburdened by it.\n\nNor, in attending to the wants of the poor, did Ernest neglect his\nhome duties. The affection between him and his brother was a source of\nhappiness to both, and appeared to grow stronger every day; and Ernest\nsometimes ventured to hope that he might in time exert a slight influence\neven on the frivolous mind of Clementina. She was, quite unconsciously\nto herself, less inclined to utter words of folly or ill-nature when\nin the presence of her cousin, and felt the quiet glance of his eye a\ngreater restraint than a serious reproof from another. At a time when she\nsuffered from weakness in her eyes, Ernest, busy as he was, seemed always\nto find time to read to her and amuse her: the book was sometimes her\nchoice, but more often his; and he gradually led the weak, worldly girl,\nto take some interest in his favourite Pilgrim.\n\nIt may well be imagined that Ernest became exceedingly beloved in the\ncastle. His uncle, indeed, called him an enthusiast, and Mrs. Hope\ncomplained that he was too much of a missionary; but what she would have\nridiculed in any one else, she had great indulgence for in a peer. There\nwas but one being, of all those who lived at Fontonore, who seemed rooted\nin dislike towards the young lord; and that was the envious, insolent\nJack Lawless, whom no benefits softened, no kindnesses won.\n\nI must not omit to mention the arrival of Mr. Sligo, the new tutor,\nwho came to Fontonore about ten days after the departure of Mr. Ewart.\nSeldom has a new instructor been introduced to his pupils under greater\ndisadvantages as regards their feelings.\n\n\u201cI am certain that I shall dislike him,\u201d said Charles to his brother the\nevening before Mr. Sligo made his appearance. \u201cIt will seem to me as\nthough he usurped the place of my friend.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE NEW TUTOR.]\n\n\u201cI confess that I feel a prejudice against any tutor recommended by Lady\nFitzwigram. But then such a prejudice may be neither kind nor just: he\nnever taught in her family, therefore has nothing to do with any of the\nfaults of her sons. We must meet Mr. Sligo in a fair, candid spirit. Mr.\nEwart would have been the first to tell us to treat our new tutor as we\nwould wish to be treated in his position ourselves.\u201d\n\nMr. Sligo proved quite a different kind of person from what his pupils\nhad expected. Instead of a proud, opinionative scholar, bearing the stamp\nof one familiar with the _haut-ton_\u2014a walking peerage, a follower of the\nworld and its fashions\u2014they beheld a mild-looking, delicate little man,\nwith a manner quick but gentle, who spoke in low, soft tones, with an\nalmost timid air, as if afraid of giving offence. To such a person it\nwas impossible for a generous spirit to be unkind. The brothers did all\nin their power to put him at his ease; and they were flattered by the\ngrateful deferential manner, in which he received the smallest attention.\nMr. Sligo was soon found to be not only an intelligent tutor, but a very\nagreeable companion. He was ready for anything, either business or play;\ncould do anything, from setting a drawing for Charles to assisting in the\nconstruction of the school: he entered with pleasure into every project,\nespecially such as had charity for their object, listened to pious\nsentiments with an approving smile, and delighted in helping forward\nevery good work.\n\nWith such a companion, with such occupations and such encouragements, was\nnot our pilgrim almost at the gate of heaven?\n\nHad Ernest been an angel, free from human frailty, perhaps it might have\nbeen so with him now. Never had he walked onwards with a firmer step,\nnever had he been such a blessing to others, never had he kept his lips\nmore pure, nor been more watchful over every action; and yet he was,\nperhaps, in more danger of falling than when passing through Vanity Fair!\nTo a mind like his, the society of a worldly companion might have been\nless dangerous than that of Mr. Sligo. And why so? His tutor never taught\nhim evil, never set him an evil example. But there was silent flattery in\nhis admiring look, the attention with which he listened, the heartiness\nwith which he approved. With all his quickness of perception, there was\none thing which he seemed to lack\u2014the power of discovering a fault in his\npupil.\n\nErnest had endured, without injury, the flattery of the world\u2014he\nattributed it all to his title. The praises of Charles had nothing\ndangerous in them\u2014he set them down to a brother\u2019s partiality; but it was\nsomething new to him to be admired for the very qualities for which,\na few months before, he had suffered persecution; it was something\ndelightful to be looked up to by so many, and viewed as a model of\nChristian benevolence! We may wonder that, after his last sad fall,\nErnest could have entertained a thought of spiritual pride; but our\nenemy is ever watchful and insidious and human nature infirm. We do not\nwillingly dwell upon what gives us pain; and often, too often, deceive\nour own hearts from the pleasure which it gives us to be thus deceived.\n\nErnest had often remarked, that the worldly are constantly engaged in\nraising pedestals on which to elevate self; he had seen the ambitious\nbuild his of popular applause;\u2014such was Mr. Hope\u2019s, and it had crumbled\ninto dust. The proud woman had raised herself by fashion, the vain beauty\nby the admiration of society. But while Ernest could thus observe the\nfailings of others, he would have been startled and alarmed indeed had he\nknown that he was now raising such a pedestal himself! His very prayers,\nhis alms, his good works, were turned into a stumbling-block in his path;\nwhatever exalts _self_, stands between us and the Saviour, and we are\nnever safe but when our pride lies humbled in the dust before Him.\n\nI would especially direct the attention of my reader to this last most\nsubtle device of Satan to keep back the pilgrim from heaven. As God draws\ngood out of evil, Satan draws evil out of good, and sometimes makes us\ndeem ourselves most near the celestial city when we are actually turning\nour faces from it. The most experienced pilgrims may be taken in this\nsnare; the most zealous, the most devoted Christians are perhaps in the\ngreatest danger from it. We are so ready to forget when the mirror shines\nbrightly, that it is in itself but dust and ashes, borrowing all its\nradiance from heaven.\n\nThe tender leaves were now beginning to appear on the shrubs, and the\ndark branches of the trees were spangled with the light green buds which\ntold the approach of spring. The crocus lifted its golden cup from the\nsod, and the snow-drop trembled on its slender stem. On the day when\nErnest would complete his thirteenth year, his school-house was to be\nopened for the first time. A number of friends were asked to be present\non the occasion,\u2014Mr. Searle, his daughter, and a son from college amongst\nthe rest, Ernest\u2019s often-expressed wish having at length overcome the\nreluctance of his aunt to invite them. There was to be a band and a\ncollation in honour of the occasion; and the children were abroad early\nin the sunny morning to gather flowers to decorate the school-room.\n\nThe spirits of the young Lord Fontonore rose high, there was so much to\ngratify and elate him. Never had he more admired his beautiful home,\nor more rejoiced in the power to do good. Mr. Sligo had written an ode\nto celebrate the day, in which flattery was so delicately mingled with\ntruth, that it could hardly fail to gratify and please.\n\nOne by one the company assembled, each with a kind wish or well-turned\ncompliment. Ernest was of course the hero of the day; and as everything\nin the school-house was now prepared, the tide of silk and velvet,\nfeathers and lace, moved on towards the little edifice.\n\nThe school children lined the path on either side, in clean frocks, with\nnosegays of wild-flowers in their hands, their ruddy little faces beaming\nwith pleasure at the thought of their expected feast. Passing between the\nlines, with feelings of natural pleasure, perhaps not quite unmingled\nwith pride, Lord Fontonore, accompanied by his guests, proceeded to the\ndoor, which he unlocked and threw open. In a few minutes the school-room\nwas filled. It had been decorated with a good deal of taste by the school\nchildren under Mr. Sligo\u2019s direction, and Charles had fastened two blue\nbanners above the entrance. There were books for school use judiciously\nselected, maps on a large scale hung round the room; but every eye in\nthe gay assembly was at once directed to a large black board hung over\nthe fire-place. This was designed for the use of classes in arithmetic,\nas sums or figures could be chalked upon it of a size to be seen by\nthe whole school. But it was neither sum nor diagram upon it now that\ndrew the attention of every one present, but a coarse sketch, evidently\nchalked by an untutored hand, though not wanting in spirit or fun, of a\nboy sitting astride on the top of a wall, with a gigantic peach in his\ngrasp; and as the picture might not be understood by all, beneath it was\nwritten, in a round schoolboy hand, legible from the furthest end of the\nroom, \u201c_The pious Lord Fontonore robbing Farmer Joyce_.\u201d\n\nErnest was taken by surprise, when quite off his guard; insulted and\nexposed in the very hour of his triumph, and he needed not the sight\nof Jack\u2019s insolent face at the door to tell him by whom. A few months\nbefore, he would have struck the boy to the earth; now the feelings of\nthe Christian, perhaps the dignity of the noble, prevented any such\nviolent display of his anger; but he clinched his hand, and with an\nexpression of fierceness in his flashing eye, which no one present but\nthe offender himself had ever seen on his countenance before, Ernest\nexclaimed in a voice of fury, \u201cInsolent liar, this is your work!\u201d\n\nA scene of brief confusion ensued. Mr. Sligo sprang to the obnoxious\nboard, and in a few moments every trace of the sketch was removed; but\nthe impression which it had left on the spectators was not so readily\ntaken away.\n\n\u201cThis comes of bringing up such a wolf\u2019s cub!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Hope.\n\n\u201cWhat an extraordinary piece of impertinence,\u201d said the baronet, on whose\narm she leaned. \u201cSurely,\u201d he added, in a lower tone, \u201csuch a story had\nnever any foundation in truth.\u201d\n\nSome recommended a severe thrashing to the offender, some that he should\nat once be turned adrift on the world. Ernest felt the whole subject\nintolerably painful; annoyed as he was at Jack, he was more annoyed\nat himself for having been overcome by sudden passion. Charles, with\nthe quick eye of affection, read his wish in his look; and springing\non the table to raise himself above the throng, he began an extempore\nquestioning of the children, conducting his examination with so much\nspirit and fun as quite to change the current of general conversation.\n\nBut though the disagreeable subject was dropped and apparently forgotten,\nthe school-room duly admired, and the children\u2019s progress applauded,\nevery word of praise and compliment now fell flat upon the ear of\nFontonore. The discipline had been bitter, but it was just what he had\nrequired. A veil had been suddenly drawn from his eyes; he had been\nthrown from his pedestal of pride. He had been reminded of what he had\nbeen, what he had done, and shown what he still continued to be\u2014a weak,\ninfirm child of dust, subject to passion and sin, having nothing whereof\nhe could boast.\n\n\u201cI was not only angry,\u201d thought Ernest to himself, \u201cbut uncandid. I gave\nan impression to all who heard me that I denied that of which I was\naccused. He who but declared unpleasant truth, in my passion I called a\nliar. Oh! how greatly have I of late been deceiving myself when believing\nmy conduct to be more consistent than that of others. One thing, however,\nremains to be done. I can yet make some amends; and I will do so,\nwhatever it may cost my feelings, however it may wound my pride.\u201d\n\nAs he showed his guests over the castle and grounds, Fontonore was\nremarkably silent and absent. Charles wondered to himself that the\ninsolence of a boy should have such an effect upon his brother; but he\ndid not guess what deeper feelings were stirring in the breast of the\npilgrim. At last Ernest, as if in reply to some question from Clementina,\nwhose sound had fallen upon his ear, but whose sense he had not taken in,\nproposed that they should all go and see the children at their feast on\nthe lawn.\n\n\u201cI should have thought that we had had enough of those children,\u201d said\nClementina, with affectation. \u201cI cannot conceive the pleasure of watching\nthem eating, and our presence can be nothing but a restraint.\u201d\n\nTowards the lawn, however, the whole party moved, where a long table\nhad been laid out by Ernest\u2019s desire, well furnished with a comfortable\nmeal. Sounds little befitting a scene of mirth were heard as the visitors\napproached. The schoolmaster, who presided at the top of the table,\nwas in an angry indignant voice denying to Jack the right of sitting\nat it, after openly insulting the provider of the feast. The general\nfeeling of the children ran in the same current; some were loudly calling\nout, \u201cShame, shame, turn him out!\u201d But Lawless, with his own insolent\nself-assurance, appeared inclined to defy them all.\n\nAt the appearance of Fontonore and the ladies there was a sudden\nsilence, and all the party at the feast turned towards him to decide the\ndisputed question. Ernest walked firmly up to the head of the table, very\npale, for what he had resolved to do went sorely against human nature;\nand few efforts are so painful as to trample down pride, and humble\nourselves in the sight of the world.\n\n[Illustration: THE APOLOGY.]\n\n\u201cLet him sit down,\u201d said Ernest to the schoolmaster. The children\nsilently made room for their companion. \u201cJack Lawless,\u201d continued the\npeer, turning towards the boy, and speaking rapidly, whilst he could not\nraise his own eyes from the ground, \u201cI regret that I unjustly called you\na liar; I recall the word now before all who heard it.\u201d\n\nNothing can describe the astonishment of the whole assembly as they\nlistened to this apology from the young lord. \u201cBrave boy, well done! He\u2019s\na soldier that will not flinch!\u201d muttered old Mr. Searle, with cordial\napprobation.\n\n\u201cHe must be wild,\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Hope, \u201cto expose himself so before a\ncompany like this! To acknowledge such a fact! Why, I would rather have\ndied than have disgraced myself so before the world!\u201d The lady, however\nexperienced in the concerns of this life, in spiritual things was more\nignorant than a child, or she would have known that disgrace is in the\ncommission of a fault, but never in the frank avowal of it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTHE LAKE AMONG THE ROCKS.\n\n \u201cNow I saw in my dream, that by this time the pilgrims were\n entering into the country of Beulah.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nThe painful incident recorded in the last chapter had been to Ernest\none of the most instructive events of his life, and the young lord felt\nthat it was so. He recognized the parental care of his heavenly Father,\nin openly rebuking his pride; and was now so well aware of the peculiar\ndangers that attended his position, and how much they were increased\nby the weak indulgence of his preceptor, that he heard almost without\nregret, on the following day, that having come into some property by the\nwill of a relative, Mr. Sligo was about to resign his present charge.\n\nOh, how gladly would Fontonore have recalled his first friend, him\nwhose love was too sincere for flattery! This, however, was a thing\nquite beyond his hopes, and the boys tried to content themselves with\nthe thought that they might soon have the pleasure of seeing their late\ntutor. Mr. Searle had told Ernest, when he met him at the castle, that\nhe expected Mr. Ewart on a visit; and though the young peer knew that\nthe clergyman would not come to Fontonore, as such a step might be\ndispleasing to his uncle, he determined to go over himself to Silvermere,\nas soon as he should hear that his friend had arrived there.\n\nOne bright, lovely spring morning, with this idea on his mind, Ernest\nsauntered forth in the direction of Mr. Searle\u2019s house. Very beautiful\nwas the scenery which lay between\u2014so beautiful that the spot was often\nvisited by strangers, who came from many miles round to see it.\n\nA small lake, so small that we might better term it a pool, lay embosomed\nin high rocks, that hung over it as though to look at their rough crags\nreflected in its mirror. From this beautiful little piece of water,\nsleeping in their dark shadow, was fed a rapid stream, that, rushing\nonward, as if weary of its tranquil repose, made its way for some short\ndistance through an opening in the rocks, and then flinging aloft showers\nof spray, fell with a bold leap over some lower crags into a wider lake\nin the valley below. There was a wooden bridge over this stream, some\nway above the cascade, and on this bridge Ernest had often delighted to\ntake his station, where, on the right hand, he could see the quiet upper\nlake, so carefully sheltered and guarded from the wind by the tall rocks\nthat towered around it; on the left, the wider sheet which lay outspread\nfar below to receive the rivulet which flowed beneath his feet. It was\na lovely spot, and a favourite haunt of one who loved to look up through\nnature unto nature\u2019s God. Ernest thought of the current of human life\nas he watched the waters bursting forth from the secluded, shady pool,\nrolling for some brief minutes through a narrow, darkened chasm; then, as\nthey emerged into the sunny light, plunging with a deep and sudden fall\nto mix and lose themselves in the brighter waters that lay glittering in\nthe vale.\n\nIt was some time now since Ernest had visited this scene, and this\nmorning he felt inclined to bend his steps thither. He feared that\nhis constant round of occupations\u2014his studies, even his charitable\npursuits\u2014had made him of late too much neglect that quiet communing with\nGod and his own heart, which should be a pilgrim\u2019s privilege and delight.\nErnest, therefore, did not ask even Charles to accompany him; peaceful\nmeditation on the highest subjects that can engage the mind is best\nenjoyed, is perhaps only enjoyed, in solitude and seclusion.\n\nErnest was tranquilly, but deeply happy. His discovery of his infirmity\nhad served rather to humble than to depress him. If he had less\nconfidence now in himself, he had more than ever in his Saviour; and what\nsweet security came with the thought that it was on no arm of flesh that\nhe rested! He who had loved him would love to the end. _This God is our\nGod for ever and ever, He will be our guide unto death._\n\nWith holy and happy thoughts for his companions, Fontonore wandered to\nthe little bridge. It struck him, before he set his foot upon it, that it\nlooked decayed and injured by the weather. He stooped down to examine the\nrough timber, between the chinks of which he could see the stream flowing\ndarkly and rapidly by. A very brief survey strengthened his suspicion\nthat the bridge was in a dangerous state.\n\n\u201cI will not attempt to cross it,\u201d said Ernest to himself, \u201cthough it is\nthe nearest way to Silvermere. I must speak to Mr. Searle, and have it\nrepaired. I think that the property belongs to him. The long winter has\nmade the wood decay; and yet, from a little distance, it looks safe and\nbeautiful as ever. To rest our hopes of heaven upon our works, however\nfair in man\u2019s eyes they might appear, would be like trusting our safety\nto that frail timber, and first learning our danger by our fall.\u201d\n\nBefore he quitted the spot, Ernest wished to climb to the top of the\nhighest crag that rose above the cataract, as he from thence would\ncommand a view over Silvermere: perhaps he might even see Mr. Ewart\nin the distance. The path which led to the height was very narrow and\nwinding, encumbered with thicket and difficult of access, but the\nprospect from the summit more than repaid all the trouble of the ascent.\nAn expanse of beautiful country spread around: here cattle were grazing\nin hedge-bordered fields of emerald velvet spangled with buttercups\nand daisies; there stretched woods, clad in the light garb of spring,\nwhence the note of the cuckoo rose musical and soft; hills, blue in the\ndistance, were seen to the north; and pretty hamlets, or farm-houses,\nembosomed in trees, with a little church spire pointing towards heaven,\ngave the interest of life to the scene.\n\nErnest looked down from his lofty crag, clothed with shrubs and wild\nrock-creepers almost to its summit, upon the fair prospect below. The\nCastle of Fontonore looked so small in the distance that it was almost\nhidden from view by a hovel that stood on a hill between. The banner\non the flag-staff seemed a mere blue speck which the eye could hardly\ndistinguish.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis thus,\u201d thought its possessor, \u201cthat, from the heights of heaven, we\nmay look down upon what we most prize below. How small will our honours\nappear to us then! how little all that here we most valued!\u201d He gazed\ndown on the churchyard, which was not far from the rocks, and thought\nhow glorious a scene would that quiet green spot present, when the seeds\nthere sown in corruption should spring forth into life, and the Lord come\nto gather in the harvest of His redeemed.\n\nPresently Ernest saw beneath him some one approaching the bridge. His\nelevation, though considerable, was not so great but that he recognized\nthe face and figure of Jack Lawless. It would take some time to reach\nhim by descending the path. Ernest adopted a shorter way of warning him\nof danger, and, leaning over the crag, shouted loudly and repeatedly,\n\u201cDo not try the bridge; it is not safe!\u201d Jack could not help hearing the\nvoice, and looked up;\u2014his only reply was his own audacious smile. Ernest\nhad warned him before of dangers of another kind: he had disregarded\nthe warning then, he disregarded it now. As if he wished to show that\nhe despised any caution given to him by one whom he hated, or, perhaps,\nled only by the foolish daring of a boy, he set his foot upon the rotten\nplank, and the next moment was precipitated into the water!\n\nErnest heard the sharp cry, saw the sudden fall; he knew that the\nwretched boy could not swim, and that in a few moments he must be hurried\nover the cataract, and dashed to pieces on the rocks below! Ernest never\npaused to consider how slight was the chance of saving him\u2014how great\nthat of losing his own life in the attempt; still less did he stop to\nrecollect that the miserable Lawless was one who had treated him with\ninsult and hate; he only saw that a fellow-creature was perishing before\nhim, on the brink of destruction, and _unprepared_! If he descended by\nthe path, his aid must come too late: Ernest took a shorter and more\nperilous way. Springing from the edge of the crag, swinging himself down\nby the shrubs that grew on the rock, clinging, leaping, clambering,\nfalling, he descended from the height as never human being had descended\nbefore. Twice he dashed himself against the crags in his desperate\ndescent; a thrill of sharp agony shot across his frame, but now it was\nimpossible to stop. Down he plunged into the water, almost at the head of\nthe fall, at the moment that the current was carrying Lawless over the\nedge. The left hand of Ernest still grasped the bough of a willow which\nhe had caught as he first struck the stream; the right, hastily extended,\ngrasped the hair of the drowning boy, and held him back from the fatal\nbrink. But the fearful effort could not last, though it was an effort\nfor life. Ernest felt both his strength and his senses failing him\u2014the\nexhausted fingers must relax their clasp\u2014both must perish! No! no! there\nis a loud shout heard\u2014help is near, an eager hand is stretched out to\nsave\u2014a firm hold is laid on the arm of Fontonore\u2014he is dragged to the\nshore in a senseless state, his livid hand still unconsciously wreathed\nin the locks of the boy whom he has saved!\n\n\u201cThank God! oh, thank God!\u201d exclaimed Mr. Ewart, as he laid the two boys\nside by side on the turf, dripping, ghastly, insensible, but living\nstill. He hastened for the aid which was speedily afforded. Ernest and\nLawless were removed to the nearest cottage, where every means was used\nto restore them. A messenger was hastily despatched for a doctor, but\nbefore he arrived both of the sufferers had sufficiently recovered to\nbe taken back to the castle. Lawless felt no further effect from his\naccident than a slight chill and a sense of exhaustion; but it was far\notherwise with his youthful preserver, who had sustained very severe\ninjury in his dangerous descent, and who awoke to consciousness in a\nstate of such suffering as excited alarm in the minds of his friends.\n\n[Illustration: THE RESCUE.]\n\nThe doctor arrived after some delay, and examined the injured boy, who\nshrank from his touch in uncontrollable pain. Dr. Mansell looked grave,\nand drew Mr. Hope aside.\n\n\u201cI should wish, for my own satisfaction,\u201d he said, \u201cthat other advice\nshould be called in. The case is, I fear, of a serious nature\u2014could not\na messenger be despatched upon horseback at once to bring Dr. Ashby?\u201d a\nsurgeon of great eminence, who resided in a town at some distance.\n\n\u201cOne shall be sent directly,\u201d replied Mr. Hope. \u201cYou do not apprehend any\ndanger?\u201d he added, speaking in a low, earnest tone.\n\n\u201cWe will say nothing till Dr. Ashby\u2019s opinion is given. I hope that there\nis no cause for alarm;\u201d but the manner of the medical man contradicted\nhis words.\n\nIntense was the anxiety with which Charles and Mr. Ewart awaited the\ncoming of the surgeon. How many, alas, have known that terrible period\nof waiting for the arrival of the doctor, when minutes seem lengthening\ninto hours\u2014for the life of a loved one is at stake! Charles was in such\na state of feverish excitement, that Mr. Hope positively forbade his\nentering the apartment where the poor sufferer lay. Long before any one\nelse could hear them, he caught the sound of carriage-wheels, and was\nready at the bridge to receive the surgeon, whose lips would decide the\nfate of his brother.\n\nDr. Ashby was a stout, bald-headed man, with a quick, penetrating eye,\nand a manner which inspired confidence; decided, without being harsh.\nCharles could hardly have been prevented from following him into Ernest\u2019s\nroom, in which Mr. Ewart and Dr. Mansell now were, but Mrs. Hope kept him\nback with the words, \u201cStay here in the corridor, Charles; the sight of\nyour agitated face would be enough to kill him at once.\u201d She entered in,\nand closed the door gently behind her.\n\nHow long, oh, how long appeared the interval! With what different\nfeelings Charles now stood at the door of that room which he had once\nentered in such grief and resentment on the day of his return from\nMarshdale! He then hated the sounds which showed him where his brother\nwas moving through the castle; now his ear was painfully strained to\ncatch any accent of that brother\u2019s voice: he was then almost inclined to\nmurmur at the loss of the broad lands which he had once possessed; now,\nhad they been his, he would have given them all to have had Ernest by his\nside once more.\n\nAt length the door opened, and the two doctors came out, followed by Mrs.\nHope. Charles looked the question which his voice could not utter\u2014his\naunt laid her finger upon her lips.\n\n\u201cThey will consult together in another room,\u201d she whispered; \u201cwait here,\nand I will bring you the result.\u201d\n\nWith a sickening heart Charles leaned back on the wall opposite the door\nof Ernest\u2019s apartment: he tried to pray, but his mind could scarcely form\na prayer\u2014the suspense seemed to paralyze all its energies. After the\nlapse of some minutes, he heard the rustle of his aunt\u2019s dress again:\nshe came close to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and in a low voice\nuttered but one sentence: \u201cCharles, you will be Lord of Fontonore!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nCOMING TO THE RIVER.\n\n \u201cNow I further saw, that between them and the gate was a\n river.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress_\n\n\n\u201cWell, as you please, but I would not do so,\u201d said Mr. Hope, in\nconversation with Mr. Ewart in the saloon.\n\n\u201cThe doctors gave no hope, and I think that in such cases it is only\nright\u2014it is only kind to let the patient know his danger.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour ideas are different to mine: the shock of being told that you are\ndying is enough to put out the last spark of life.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot to one who has the faith of Ernest.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would then only hide the truth from a bad man?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would hide it from none; I would act towards others as I should wish\nthem to act towards me. It is cruel to conceal their state from the\ndying; to send them into the presence of their Maker unwarned, perhaps\nunprepared.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you must break the truth to Ernest yourself, I will not undertake\nto do it. You know his feelings better than I do, I never could\nunderstand them at all.\u201d\n\nBowed down with affliction, yet with sufficient self-command to be calm\nand composed in his manner, Mr. Ewart approached the bed-side of Ernest.\n\n\u201cWhat do the doctors say of me?\u201d asked Fontonore.\n\n\u201cThey say that the injuries which you have received are very severe.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought so\u2014I suffer so much pain. I daresay that it will be long\nbefore I quite recover. But you see,\u201d he added, with a faint smile,\n\u201cgood comes out of evil in this case. I took advantage of the privilege\nof illness, and the claim which your having saved me has given you, and\nasked my uncle a favour which he could not refuse me; nor will you, I am\nsure, dear Mr. Ewart: you will be tutor at Fontonore again!\u201d\n\nThe clergyman pressed in silence the feverish hand held out to him; he\ncould not at that moment reply.\n\n\u201cWe shall be so happy, if I only get well! You do not know how we have\nmissed you! You will\u2014will you not?\u2014be the pilgrim\u2019s guide again!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have come to a part of your journey, my beloved pupil, in which\nGod can alone be your guide.\u201d He felt that the deep eyes of Ernest were\nriveted upon him; he could not endure to meet their inquiring gaze.\nShading his own with his hand, he continued: \u201cWhen Christian had passed\nthrough the land of Beulah, and drew near to the celestial city, he saw a\nriver flowing before him\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThe river of death!\u201d murmured Ernest, and for some moments there was\nprofound silence in the room. It was first broken by the voice of the\nsufferer.\n\n\u201cIs there no chance of my recovery?\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear none,\u201d faltered the clergyman.\n\n\u201cAnd how long do the doctors think that this will last?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot many days,\u201d replied Mr. Ewart, in a tone scarcely audible.\n\nAgain there was a long solemn silence.\n\n\u201cI thank you for telling me this,\u201d said Ernest at last. \u201cI little thought\nthat I was so near the end of my pilgrimage\u2014that I was so very near my\nrest. I have often wondered,\u201d he added faintly, \u201chow I should meet this\nhour\u2014whether in joy, or in trouble and fear. I feel little of either\njust now\u2014perhaps because I am weak and in pain\u2014but a quiet trust in my\nSaviour, because, however sinful I have been, I know, I feel that I love\nHim!\u201d\n\nThere are many lying on a sick-bed, who could hardly give a reason for\nthe hope that is in them\u2014whose feeble minds have scarcely power to grasp\nthe simplest text\u2014to whom it would be impossible to review their past\nlives; but who can yet rest calmly and securely on the thought, \u201c_Lord,\nThou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee!_\u201d\n\nAfter a while, the sufferer spoke again.\n\n\u201cWhere is Charley? Why is he not with me?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was feared that his grief might agitate you.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor dear Charley!\u201d said Ernest with tenderness; \u201cit will be a pleasure\nto him now to think that we always have loved one another. But I should\ngreatly like to see him; I have so much to say to him before we part.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will call him,\u201d said Mr. Ewart, rising.\n\nHe found poor Charles weeping at the door.\n\n\u201cYou must command yourself, dear boy, for his sake. Ernest has asked to\nsee you.\u201d\n\nCharles dashed the drops from his eyes, and made a strong effort to be\ncalm, though the convulsive quivering of his lip showed the intensity of\nhis feelings. With noiseless step he glided to the bed-side: his brother\nreceived him with a faint smile.\n\n\u201cHeaven orders all things well, Charley,\u201d he whispered; \u201cI always felt\nthat you were better fitted than I to be the Lord of Fontonore. The time\nwhich we have spent together will seem to you soon like a strange dream\nthat is past; but you will not forget me, Charley, mine own brother\u2014you\nwill not forget me?\u201d\n\nCharles hid his face in his hands.\n\n\u201cAnd you will be kind to some for my sake. Poor Madge! you will not\ndesert her, nor turn away Ben and Jack?\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall never endure the sight of that boy!\u201d exclaimed Charles, in an\nagitated voice. \u201cHe has given you nothing but torment, and now has cost a\nlife ten million times more precious than his own.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe may have been saved for better things, and then my life will have\nbeen well bestowed.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart left the two brothers alone together, and with a slow, sad\nstep, proceeded along the corridor, proposing to visit the gardener\u2019s\ncottage, to which Jack had now returned.\n\nHe met Clementina on the staircase.\n\n\u201cOh, Mr. Ewart, is it possible\u2014is he really dying?\u201d exclaimed the young\nlady in unaffected sorrow: \u201cso young, and with everything to make life\nsweet; it is really too dreadful to think of! Does he know the doctor\u2019s\nopinion?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe knows all, and is perfectly tranquil.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat wonderful strength of mind!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe LORD is his strength,\u201d replied the clergyman, and passed on.\n\nMany an anxious inquiry after the young lord had Mr. Ewart to answer from\ndifferent members of the household, before he reached the gardener\u2019s\ncottage. He was desirous to know what effect his own deliverance and\nErnest\u2019s danger would have upon the mind of young Lawless.\n\nHe did not see Jack as he entered the cottage, and asked the gardener\u2019s\nwife where he was.\n\n\u201cOh, he\u2019s there on the bed, sir, with his face to the wall. He\u2019s never\nmoved, nor spoken, nor tasted a morsel, since he heard that the young\nlord lay a-dying. I can\u2019t get him to answer a question; he lies there\nas still as a stone. I can\u2019t say if he feels it or not, he has such a\nstrange sullen way.\u201d\n\nMr. Ewart seated himself close to the boy, who appeared to take no notice\nof his presence.\n\n\u201cYou are not suffering, I hope, from your fall? Yours has been a\nwonderful preservation; but for the generous courage of Lord Fontonore,\nyou would have been now before the judgment-seat of God.\u201d\n\nLawless gave no sign that he heard him.\n\n\u201cI have just quitted his sick-room,\u201d continued the clergyman. \u201cHe is\nquite calm in the prospect of death, for his life has for long been one\npreparation for it. The last words that I heard him utter were of you;\u2014he\nwas recommending you to the kindness of his brother.\u201d\n\nLawless convulsively clutched his pillow.\n\n\u201cHe said,\u201d added Mr. Ewart, \u201cthat if you were but saved for better\nthings, his life would have been well bestowed.\u201d\n\nJack suddenly half raised himself upon his bed, then dashed himself down\nagain with frantic violence. \u201cI can\u2019t bear this,\u201d he cried, in a choking\nvoice. \u201cI wish he would hate me, abuse me, trample upon me; anything\nwould be better than this!\u201d\n\nYes, under all the deep crust of selfishness, malice, and pride, lay a\nspring of feeling, in the depths of that unconverted heart. That spring\nhad been reached, the deep buried waters gushed forth, and the clergyman\nleft the cottage with a faint but precious hope that his loved pupil had\nnot suffered in vain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nTHE CLOSE OF THE PILGRIMAGE.\n\n \u201cThe foundation upon which the city was framed was higher than\n the clouds; they therefore went up through the regions of the\n air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted because they\n safely got over the river, and had such glorious companions to\n attend them.\u201d\u2014_Pilgrim\u2019s Progress._\n\n\nIt would be unnecessary, as well as painful, to mark every step of the\nprogress of the young Pilgrim through the last stage of his earthly\njourney. He had no mental doubts or gloom; his mind was calm and\nunclouded, sometimes so vividly realizing the joy set before him that\nbodily pain seemed almost forgotten. Often he appeared buried in thought,\nas though his spirit were already holding converse with things unseen,\nbefore quitting the frail suffering body.\n\n\u201cCharles,\u201d said he one night to his brother, who sat bathing his temples\nwith vinegar and water, \u201chow gently and lovingly the picture of my mother\nseems to look on me now. Perhaps she is waiting to welcome me on the\nblissful shore, where there is no more parting and pain. You will lay me\nin the vault beside her.\u201d\n\nCharles breathed a heavy sigh.\n\n\u201cI have been thinking of that monument,\u201d continued Ernest, \u201cso strangely\nprepared for the living. But the lines upon it could never suit me\nnow\u2014\u2018the mists of earth\u2019 have long since stained \u2018the snow-flake.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is more spotless than ever,\u201d whispered Charles: \u201cis it not written,\n_Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though\nthey be red like crimson, they shall be as wool_?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d murmured the sufferer; \u201cJesus can present sinners faultless\nbefore the presence of his Father. He has _loved us, and washed us in\nHis own precious blood_. This is all my hope.\u201d After a short silence, he\ncontinued\u2014\u201cMy eyes are heavy with long waking, dear Charley. I wish that\nI could hear you sing to me once more; I feel as though it would soothe\nthis dull pain.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think that I could sing now.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot one little hymn\u2014my favourite hymn? But if the effort pains you, do\nnot try.\u201d\n\nBut Charles did try, though with unsteady voice, whose tones sounded\nstrange to himself. In the quiet night, with no listener near but one\nsufferer on earth, and the happy angels above, he sang this simple\nevening hymn:\u2014\n\n HYMN.\n\n After labour, how sweet is rest!\n Gently the weary eyelids close;\n As the infant sleeps on its mother\u2019s breast,\n The child of God may in peace repose.\n Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,\n We are His who gave His life for our sake.\n\n He to whom darkness is as light,\n Tenderly guards His slumbering sheep;\n The Shepherd watches His flock by night,\n The feeble lambs He will safely keep.\n Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,\n We are His who gave His life for our sake.\n\n Death\u2019s night comes; it may now be near:\n Lord, if our hopes are fixed on Thee,\n Oh, how calm will that sleep appear!\n Oh, how sweet will the waking be!\n Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,\n We are His who gave His life for our sake.\n\nThe eyes of Ernest gradually closed ere the hymn was ended; he lay still\nin deep slumbers; Charles almost trembled lest that slumber should be\ndeath.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\u201cI have bidden farewell to Ben; I must see his brother also. Dying words\nhave sometimes weight\u2014he may listen to me now. Please raise me higher on\nmy pillow, and call in Jack to see me.\u201d\n\nSuch were the words of Ernest, on awaking one morning more free from pain\nthan he had been since his fall.\n\n\u201cThe interview will not be too much for you, Ernest?\u201d said Mr. Ewart,\nanxiously.\n\n\u201cOh, no; nothing can hurt me now. I feel as though nothing could agitate\nme again. Have you seen my cousin lately?\u201d he added.\n\n\u201cYes; only this morning. She feels this trial much.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes she?\u201d exclaimed Ernest, a look of animation and pleasure lighting\nup his deep sunken eye. \u201cOh, tell Clementina that she must come to me\ntoo. My heart is so full of thoughts\u2014if I only could utter them! Would\nthat I had the tongue of an angel, but for this one day\u2014before I am\nsilenced by death!\u201d\n\n\u201cLawless is at the door, as you wished,\u201d said Charles.\n\n\u201cPray, then, leave us alone together for a few minutes, and then return\nwith Clementina, dear brother, if she is not afraid to come near a\ndeath-bed; it will be a new and a strange scene to her.\u201d\n\nJack stood at the door, as if fearful to come in, like the sinner who\ndreads that he is beyond reach of hope. He could hardly believe himself\nto be an object of deep interest to one whom he had so cruelly wronged\nand insulted, for there was nothing in his own corrupted heart to lead\nhim to understand free mercy and goodness.\n\nThere was something painfully oppressive to the boy in the aspect of\nthat darkened room, coming out, as he did, from the bright sunshine. The\nnoiseless manner in which Mr. Ewart and Charles quitted the apartment;\nthe solemn stillness that pervaded the place; the look of the little\ntable beside the bed, covered with things that reminded of illness and\npain; the appearance of the sufferer himself, almost as colourless as\nthe pillow upon which he lay; the lines of death written on his calm,\npale features, so that even a child could not mistake them\u2014all struck a\nchill to the heart of Lawless. He almost felt as though he were Ernest\u2019s\nmurderer.\n\n\u201cCome nearer,\u201d said Fontonore, faintly; \u201cmy time is short; I wish to\nspeak to you a few words before I die.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must not\u2014shall not, die for me!\u201d exclaimed the boy, in stifled tones\nof anguish, as he knelt beside the bed.\n\n\u201cThink not of me now;\u2014I would tell you\u2014if God grant me strength\u2014I would\ntell you of One who has died indeed for sinners\u2014for you\u2014for me. For those\nwho have insulted Him, and despised His warnings\u2014for those who have\nhardened their hearts against His mercy; even for such the Son of God\nstooped to die. Oh, can you resist a love such as this?\u201d The once proud,\ninsolent boy was sobbing aloud.\n\n\u201cSee, here is my Bible, my precious Bible; I am going where even that\nwill be needed no more. I give it to you\u2014keep it as a remembrance of me.\nWill you promise me to read it, for my sake?\u201d\n\n\u201cFor your sake,\u201d groaned Lawless, \u201cI would do anything! I can never,\nnever forget what you have done and suffered for me.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JACK RECEIVING THE BIBLE.]\n\n\u201cOh, rather remember what the High and Holy One has done and suffered\nfor us both. Your heart is touched with feeling for me; you are grateful\ntowards a poor worm of earth, and can you remain hardened and rebellious\ntowards the merciful Saviour, who is now stretching out His arms to call\nyou to Himself. Who is so ready to receive you, so ready to forgive, as\nHe who has sacrificed His life, that you may live!\u201d\n\nThe boy could make no reply; but the dying words then heard were branded\non his soul, never to be forgotten while memory should endure.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\u201cCome in, dear Clemmy; it is very kind in you to visit the sick-room,\u201d\nmurmured Ernest. Followed by Charles and Mr. Ewart, Clementina entered,\nmingled pity, fear, and awe on her face. Fontonore held out to his cousin\nhis white, emaciated hand.\n\n\u201cYou will be better soon, I trust,\u201d faltered the young lady.\n\n\u201cYes; I shall _be with Christ, which is far better_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it is terrible to leave all\u2014so early\u2014it seems so cruel! Ernest, you\nare too young for\u2014for death!\u201d\n\n\u201cToo young for happiness, my cousin? Do you remember our conversation\nin London; how I told you that none could be happy as the Christian,\nthat there is no pleasure equal to what religion can give? I thought it\nthen,\u201d he cried, his voice strengthening, his eye kindling as he spoke;\n\u201cI thought it then, Clementina, but I _know_ it now! What is it to me\nthat I bear the title of a peer, that this castle is mine, that men call\nme great\u2014I must leave all, perhaps before the sun sets; I must leave\nall, and yet my whole soul is full of joy\u2014joy beyond all that earth can\never bestow. I am passing through the river, but it does not overflow\nme; beneath are the everlasting arms\u2014before me are the glories of the\neternal city, where I shall see Him whom not seeing I have loved!\u201d\n\nThere was a radiance upon the dying countenance that seemed not of earth\nbut heaven. Clementina looked upon Ernest, wondering; and for the first\ntime felt the littleness of the world, and the vanity of all that it can\ngive.\n\n\u201cWhere is my Pilgrim\u2019s Progress?\u201d continued Fontonore, more faintly.\n\u201cCousin, I have reserved it for you. When this frail body is laid in the\ngrave, then read it, and think of one weak Pilgrim who trod the path to\nthe Celestial City with feeble steps, too often, alas! turning aside\nfrom the way; yet on whom the Lord of Pilgrims had great mercy, whom the\nSaviour guided by His counsel here\u2014and afterward\u2014received\u2014into glory!\u201d\n\nErnest sank back on his pillow exhausted. A change came over his\nfeatures; there was breathless silence in the room.\n\n\u201cHe is going!\u201d murmured Mr. Ewart, clasping his hands.\n\nErnest unclosed his eyes, fixed a long last look of inexpressible love on\nhis brother; then, turning it towards the clergyman, faintly uttered the\nsingle word \u201cPray!\u201d\n\nAt once all sank on their knees, every distinction forgotten in that\nsolemn hour. The heir of a peerage\u2014the vain child of fashion, bent side\nby side with the convict\u2019s son! Mr. Ewart\u2019s voice was raised in prayer:\nhe commended the parting spirit to his Saviour, while Fontonore\u2019s upward\ngaze, and the motion of his silent lips, showed that he heard and joined\nin the prayer. Presently that motion ceased\u2014the light faded from that\neye, the silver cord was gently unloosed; but the smile which still\nlingered on the features of the dead seemed an earnest of the bliss of\nthe freed, rejoicing spirit, safely landed on the shores of Eternity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nIt may not, perhaps, be uninteresting to the reader to trace a little of\nthe future career of those whom Ernest left behind him in the world.\n\nCharles, of course, inherited the title and estate of his brother, and,\nincreasing in piety and virtue as he increased in years, became an\nornament to the high station in which he was placed, and a blessing to\nthe people amongst whom he dwelt. He carried out all Ernest\u2019s projects\nof charity with zeal; and when, on attaining the age of twenty-one, the\nmanagement of his own estate came into his hands, he erected the church\nupon his grounds which he had designed so long before, and often listened\nwithin its walls to the words of truth from the lips of his early\npreceptor.\n\nFor Madge and Ben Charles procured respectable situations, and would have\ndone the same for their brother; but the wish of the boy was to be a\nsoldier, and accordingly, when old enough, he enlisted. Blunt and rough\nas he remained, the conduct of the youth showed the power of Christianity\neven in a hard, rugged nature. The life of Ernest had not been thrown\naway, nor had his prayers been unheard.\n\nAfter many years of service in his own country, Lawless embarked with\nhis regiment for the Crimea, and was present at the engagement of the\nAlma. As he rushed on, one of the foremost in the action, he received a\nmusket-ball on his chest, and fell, as his comrades believed, never to\nrise more. How was it that he sprang again from the ground, uninjured\nand undismayed? The Russian ball had struck him, indeed, but had found a\nbloodless resting-place\u2014it had lodged in the Bible which he carried in\nhis breast, the dying gift of Ernest of Fontonore!\n\nMr. Hope sank under an attack of apoplexy, a few years after the death\nof his nephew. The man of the world was called away in the midst of his\nbusiness, his schemes of ambition, at the time that he had attained the\nobject of his hopes, by being elected member for Allborough. The expenses\nof his canvass, and residence in town, and the extravagance in which his\nwife had indulged, had ruined a fortune which had never been a large one;\nand Mrs. Hope had the misery, intolerable to her proud spirit, of passing\nthe rest of her days a dependant on the generosity of her nephew. Truly\nmight she say, in reviewing her past life, \u201c_Vanity of vanities, all is\nvanity!_\u201d\n\nAnd what was the fate of the pretty, affected Clementina, the butterfly\nhovering over the blossoms of pleasure?\n\nLet us pass over the space of nearly twenty years, and behold the vain\nyoung beauty as she appears now that the first silver lines begin to\nstreak her auburn hair, and all the gay visions of her youth have faded\nfor ever.\n\nLet us enter unseen that low parsonage house, from which comes the merry\nsound of youthful voices. The snow on the ground, the chill in the air,\nthe red firelight flickering so cheerfully through the diamond-paned\nwindow overhung with ivy, all tell that the season is winter. The room\nin which we find ourselves seems all too small for the party of happy,\nnoisy children assembled within it. This is the first day of the new\nyear, and a merry day it is to the family in Oakdale parsonage. Unfailing\nis the arrival of the welcome box, which at this season finds its way\nfrom Fontonore, and every one is present to witness its opening, from the\nruddy schoolboy, home for the holidays, to the little infant in arms.\nEven the pale-faced pastor himself has laid aside his book and closed his\ndesk, to join in the innocent mirth of his children: you might know him,\nby the likeness which he bears to her, to be the brother of Ellen Searle.\n\nBut who is the thin, careworn-looking mother, who appears in the\ncentre of the merry group? Is it possible to recognize in that quiet\nparson\u2019s wife, in her simple cap, and her plain woollen dress, the once\ngay Clementina? What a wondrous change has been wrought by change of\ncircumstances\u2014or rather, by religious principles and domestic affection!\nClementina\u2019s home is now her world, and the wants of her large family,\nand the claims of the poor, leave little margin for show. Yet there\nis a cheerfulness in her tone, and a sweetness in her smile, which in\nearlier days neither had possessed; the merry voices of her children,\nher husband\u2019s kind words, and the blessings of the humble members of his\nflock, far more than make up to her for the now half-forgotten flatteries\nand follies of Vanity Fair.\n\nTo the eldest boy the post of honour is committed. He draws out parcel\nafter parcel from the depths of the box, and calling out aloud the name\nlabelled upon each, gives it to its eager proprietor.\n\n\u201cMamma, this is for you,\u201d and a square, flat parcel, was placed in the\nhands of Clementina Searle. It contained two small framed paintings by\nCharles, to adorn the bare walls of her humble little home. Perhaps there\nwas something in the subject of those drawings which recalled thoughts of\nformer days, for the lady\u2019s eyes grew moist as she looked upon them.\n\nThe one represented a mossy ruin, gray with age, and near it a rustic\ngate, on which leaned a youthful pilgrim. A staff was in his hand, a\nburden on his back, and he was looking upwards, with an anxious eye, on\nthe cloudy, lowering sky above him.\n\n[Illustration: THE WELCOME BOX.]\n\nThe other represented a clear broad river, glittering in the rays of\nthe setting sun. Beyond it were banks clothed with verdure and beauty,\nwith a rich, red glow over all, and the openings between the wreaths of\ngolden clouds seemed to give glimpses of brighter glories beyond. The\nsame pilgrim appeared, one foot still in the stream, the other on the\nbeautiful shore; his face could not be seen, but the sunny beams shone\nlike a halo round his head; the burden was gone, and instead of the staff\nhis hand grasped the conqueror\u2019s palm.\n\n\u201cHow fondly he is remembered yet,\u201d thought Clementina; \u201cthe brother\u2019s\nlove seems but to strengthen with time.\u201d She was interrupted by the voice\nof her son Ernest.\n\n\u201cMamma, see what a beautiful book Mr. Ewart has sent me! It looks like an\nold friend in a new dress, for I am sure that it is just the same as the\none that you read to us on Sundays, only that mine is so prettily bound\nand illustrated, so I like it much better than yours.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE NEW BOOK.]\n\n\u201cNo binding could add to the value of mine,\u201d replied the mother, with\na gentle sigh; \u201cit was given to me by a dear friend now in heaven, who\nwas the first to teach me from its pages the way to the Celestial City.\nIn the life and death of that young servant of God, early called to\nhis endless rest, but not until his work was done, I find pictures of\nthe scenes described in that book\u2014they are to me ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE\nPILGRIM\u2019S PROGRESS!\u201d\n\nAnd now, dear Reader, you who have traced with me the steps of the Young\nPilgrim, through the various stages of his mortal life, suffer one word\nfrom your friend ere we part. Do you know anything of the pilgrimage of\nwhich you have here read? I ask not, Have you walked soberly through\nVanity Fair, keeping yourself _unspotted from the world_?\u2014if you have\nstruggled with Apollyon, and been conqueror in the fight, or passed\nwith a firm and unflinching step through the Valley of the Shadow of\nDeath? But have you stood beneath the cross of the Saviour, and found\nits power to remove the burden of sin? Have you ever even felt that sin\nis a burden, and knocked earnestly at the gate of Mercy? Or are you yet\ndwelling in the City of Destruction, thinking, caring nothing for the\nthings belonging to your peace, laughing at the idea of a pilgrimage to\nHeaven, or putting it off for a more convenient season? Oh, for the sake\nof your own immortal soul, awake to your danger ere it be too late! The\nwicket-gate of Mercy is still opened to prayer; the blood which flowed\nfrom the cross still can wash away sin; the Holy Spirit is still willing\nto guide your steps on the narrow way, up the Hill of Difficulty, down\nthe Valley of Humiliation, through sunshine and darkness, through life\nand through death\u2014to the eternal mansions prepared for you in Heaven!","title":"The Young Pilgrim: A Tale Illustrative of \"The Pilgrim's Progress\"","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":58650}