“I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant river, which David the king called ‘the river of God,’ but John ‘the river of the water of life.’”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
In various manners was the succeeding day passed by the different members of Mr. Hope’s household. He himself was absent till dinner-time, busy in holding consultations with parliamentary friends. Why should he remember that on that day a Saviour was born into the world? He never considered that he needed one! Lady Fitzwigram called in her carriage for Mrs. Hope, to drive her to a distant church to hear some very famous preacher. Arrayed in all the pomp of Vanity Fair, her mind full of the world, its follies, its ambition, the lady departed to kneel in the house of God, and call herself a miserable sinner! Clementina would have accompanied her mother, but for the disfigurement of her face. Till the bruise had disappeared, and the cut become healed, she could not endure to let herself be seen. So she shut herself up in
[207]
 the drawing-room, with her feet on the fender, listening sadly to the cheerful chime of “the church-going bell,” which brought no thought of joy to her heart.
Ernest came into the room, Christmas sunshine on his face. He had not seen his cousin that morning until now.
“A happy Christmas to you, Clemmy, and a joyful New-year.”
No look of pleasure on her part responded to the greeting; but she gave the usual answer—“I wish the same to you.”
“Thank you. A happy Christmas! I have it. The new year!—ah! how strange it is to think all that a new year may bring!”
“The new year can bring to you nothing so good as the old one has done,” said Clementina.
“This year has brought much to me indeed,” replied Ernest, thoughtfully. “The Bible—my first knowledge of Mr. Ewart—my brother.”
“Oh, your estate, your title!” exclaimed Clementina. “The new year can raise you no higher.”
“Only in one way, perhaps.”
“And what is that way?”
Ernest did not hear the question of the young lady; his thoughts had wandered to the white marble monument in the church near Fontonore. When we stand on the verge of a new year, and look on the curtain which hides from us the mysterious future, what reflecting
[208]
 mind but considers the possibility that the opening year may to him be the last? To the Christian Pilgrim alone that thought brings no feeling of gloom.
“Are you going to church with us, cousin?” said Ernest, rousing himself from his meditations.
“You had only to look at me to answer your own question,” replied the young lady, pettishly. “What could take me to church, with my forehead plastered up and such a yellow mark under my eye?”
Ernest could not help thinking that if she went to church to worship God, and not to be seen of man, there was nothing to keep her away now. But to have expressed his thoughts aloud would have been only to irritate; and the Christian who would lead another to the Lord must be cautious to avoid giving unnecessary offence. There is a time when it is our duty to speak, and a time when it is our wisdom to be silent.
Ernest left the room, and in a few minutes returned with his own copy of the Pilgrim’s Progress in his hand. He made no observation, but he laid it near his cousin, and then quitted the house with a secret prayer that the poor girl, to whom religion was as yet but a name, might be led to read, and be guided to understand it.
As the brothers returned from church arm in arm, Ernest felt more than usual joy and peace shed over his spirit: while all was winter without, all was summer within. It was one of those hours which Christians sometimes
[209]
 meet with in their pilgrimage, perhaps as a foretaste of the bliss that awaits them, when their path appears so bright, and heaven so near, that they feel as though earth’s mists were already left behind, and can scarcely believe that they can ever wander again from the way which they find so delightful. They could then lay down their lives with pleasure for their Lord. Life is happiness to them, for in it they may serve Him; and death no object of terror or doubt, for they know that it can but bring them to Him. Bless the Lord, O my soul; while I live will I praise Him, is in the thoughts, and not unfrequently on the lips also: for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, and the heavenly joy which fills all the spirit will sometimes overflow in words.
“O Charley, how joyous the angels’ song sounded to-day! ‘Glory to God in the highest; on earth peace, good-will toward men.’ What wonder and delight must have filled the hearts of the shepherds when first they listened to that song!”
“And the angels, it must have made even angels happier to have carried such a message to the world.”
“I have sometimes thought,” said Ernest, “that if an angel from heaven were to live upon this earth, and to be permitted to choose what station he would fill, he would ask,—not to be a conqueror, not to be a king, not even to be one of the geniuses whose discoveries astonish
[210]
 the world, but to be one who might constantly be proclaiming to all the good tidings of a Saviour’s coming, repeating continually that song of heaven, ‘Glory to God, good-will toward men!’”
“He would be a clergyman, or a missionary, then.”
“That is what I should most of all wish to be,” said Ernest, “if I only could be worthy of such an honour.”
“Why, you are a lord.”
“Were I a prince, what nobler office could I have than to follow in the steps of the apostles and the martyrs—nay, the steps of the Saviour himself? To sow seeds that would blossom in eternity! to be a shepherd over the Lord’s dear flock! Oh, Charles, can we ever realize the full e............