“Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name of that town is Vanity.”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
“Ah! what a strange remembrance I shall always have of that old ruin!” exclaimed Charles, as again he drove past the well-known spot, in a carriage with post-horses, on his way to Castle Fontonore. But this time he had another companion beside him; Ernest, well wrapped up in cloak and furs—for the autumn was now advanced—was resting on the soft cushions of the luxurious vehicle.
“What will your remembrances be, compared to mine?” said Ernest, raising himself to look out, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the gray pile until it was lost to his sight.
“I went to pick up a stone as a keepsake, and I found a brother!” cried Charles.
“How much I owe you!” said Ernest, fervently. “I make you an ill return by taking away what you thought
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 your birth-right! And you, sir,” he added, turning towards the clergyman, “my debt to you I can never never repay; but my heart’s gratitude and love shall be yours as long as I breathe. All the honours and riches that I possess I value as nothing, compared with the blessing of having such a friend and such a brother.”
This was the first time that Ernest had been able to express so much; for, shy and retiring as he was by nature, and rendered more so by the manner in which all the warm feelings of his heart had hitherto been chilled and repressed, he had wrapped himself up in a cloak of reserve, and had few words to show how deep were these feelings. Mr. Ewart saw that in the boy’s present weak state he was easily agitated and excited, and, to change the subject of a conversation which made Ernest’s voice tremble with emotion, asked him how he liked the book which he had given him.
“I find it very interesting. I should have thought it so, if I had only read it as an amusing story; but what you said about its showing us things that happen in our own lives, has made it a thousand times more so. I could enter into so many of the feelings of Christian—his misery with his burden, his delight when it rolled away. I am almost sure that Mr. Worldly Wiseman once turned me aside, and I fancy that I have even known a little of the Slough of Despond!”
“The earlier children go on pilgrimage, the less they
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 usually know of the misery of that slough. As Bunyan, in his allegory, beautifully represents, there are stepping-stones across it all the way, and the feet of Christ’s little ones usually find these, so that many have reached the wicket-gate in safety, without one stain of the slough on their garments.”
“What a mercy it was to Christian to meet with Evangelist! Sir, you have been Evangelist to me.”
“And I must be your Faithful,” said Charles, smiling.
“Oh no! for then I should lose you in Vanity Fair,” replied Ernest, looking fondly on his brother, who was daily becoming dearer to his heart.
“Vanity Fair is not at all like what it was when Bunyan wrote,” said Charles. “There is no danger of my being put in prison, or stoned, or burned, because I may not like the ways of the place; so you are not in the least likely to lose me in that manner, and I may be your Faithful and your Hopeful both in one.”
“Is Vanity Fair quite done away with now?” said Ernest to Mr. Ewart.
“No, my boy, and never will be, as long as the three grand tempters of the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, spread their attractive stalls to lure unwary pilgrims.”
“I am afraid that you will think me a very dull pupil,” said Ernest; “but I do not exactly understand who these tempters are of whom you speak.”
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“The lust of the flesh is pleasure; the lust of the eye, covetousness; the pride of life is that fatal pride, whether of birth, riches, talent, or beauty, which is often viewed with indulgence by the world, but which is particularly hateful to God.”
“But must all pleasure be sinful?” asked Charles.
“By no means. Some pleasure springs directly from religion. Of heavenly wisdom it is written in God’s Word, Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. And other pleasure may be hallowed by religion; but it must be pleasure that has no connection with sin. We may gather life’s flowers, but we must be careful that they are those which have not the trail of the serpent upon them.”
“Is it wrong to enjoy the riches which God gives us?” asked Ernest. “Shall I sin if I look with joy on the noble estate and all the beautiful things which you tell me are mine?”
“God forbid,” replied the clergyman; “hath He not given us all things richly to enjoy? But we must use the world as not abusing it. There is a test by which we can easily find out if riches are not clogging and delaying us in our heavenward path. We must examine, first, if we receive them with gratitude, as coming from God; secondly, if we are watchful to spend them to the glory of God; thirdly, if we are ready to resign them, in obedience to God.”
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“I think,” observed Charles, “that Ernest will be less in danger from the pride of life than I was.”
“Yes,” said Ernest, looking admiringly at his brother; “because I shall have so very much less to be proud of.”
“I never meant that,” cried Charles, colouring; “but I fancy that you have been so tried and subdued, by suffering so much, that you will never be so foolish and flighty as I; you will not be so easily puffed up.”
“I am sure that I could not answer for myself,” replied Ernest, simply.
“No; and certainly you are very ignorant of the ways of Vanity Fair; that’s the part of your pilgrimage that you are coming to now.”
“Surely not till I go to London. I shall see nothing of it while we stay quietly studying at the castle.”
“Little you know!” exclaimed Charles, laughing. “My good Aunt Matilda, my pretty little cousin, and perhaps my business-like uncle himself, may introduce you—” Charles stopped, for he caught his tutor’s eye, and its grave expression silenced him at once.
“Judge not, that ye be not judged,” said the clergyman, impressively. “There is nothing so little becoming a young pilgrim as passing unkind judgment on his elders.”
“I’m afraid that it’s my besetting sin,” said Charles, “and one that it is very difficult to get rid of.”
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“Like many others, I believe that it springs from pride,” observe............