“now at the further side of that plain was a little hill, called lucre, and in that hill a silver mine.”—pilgrim’s progress.

next morning charles came down to breakfast late, after his party. clementina did not make her appearance at all. in answer to ernest’s question, as to whether he had enjoyed himself, charles answered quickly, “very much indeed;” and added, that he was going to meet the fitzwigrams again that day, at the house of a mutual friend.

“i am sorry that you are to be absent another evening from me,” said ernest; and as soon as breakfast was concluded he drew charles aside. “i wonder at your caring to be so much with the fitzwigrams,” said he; “of all our worldly acquaintance they seem to me the most worldly.”

“there’s charity for you!” laughed charles.

“i do not wish to be uncharitable, or to judge any one,” said ernest; “but i love you too well to be indifferent

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as to the friendships that you form. your whole happiness through life may depend upon your choice.”

“well, i grant you that they are citizens of vanity fair; but they are very pleasant people for all that.”

“let us remember, charles, the test which mr. ewart recommended to us, when we are selecting our friends. ‘before you are intimate with any one,’ he said, ‘consider whether theirs is the society which you would wish to enjoy throughout eternity.’”

“that is a very serious test, indeed; few friendships in the world would stand it. but don’t make yourself uneasy about me, ernest. as we are to be off for yorkshire on new year’s day, i shall not have time to draw too close with these fitzwigrams before we leave.”

“you are not going out?” said ernest, as charles walked towards the stand in the hall on which were placed the gentlemen’s hats.

“yes; i’m going to buy that book for mr. ewart. i only hope that i may not find it sold.”

“but i thought that you said yesterday that you had not the money for it?”

“yesterday i had not, but to-day i have. i had then silver in my purse, now i have gold!”

“have you received anything, then, from our uncle?”

“from him! oh, no! do you think that he has a thought to spare from the dissolution of the parliament,

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the prospects of the ministry, the progress of the canvass, and all that sort of thing?” said charles, imitating the pompous manner of mr. hope.

“i wish,” said ernest, “i wish that you would tell me where and how you obtained that money. i need hardly say to you, dear charles, that it is no mean curiosity that makes me ask.”

“well, if you will have the truth of it, i won it last night at the card-table, at lady fitzwigram’s. there, don’t look so grave; i’ve committed no crime; the money is honestly mine.”

“i cannot but look grave,” replied fontonore. “oh, charles, if you had but seen what i have seen of gambling! it gave me a feeling of pain, when at holyby, ann’s poor boys used to play at pitch and toss, and gamble for halfpence; for i beheld in their father how such amusements might end. the love of play, which is the love of gold in one of its most fatal forms, is what first brought lawless to guilt and ruin. it grew upon him, stronger and stronger, a habit that could not be broken, till i have known him desperately stake his last shilling, with his hungry children around him wanting bread, to gratify this miserable passion; nay, gamble away the very blanket in which his sick little one was wrapped!”

“but i do not lose; i gain.”

“whoever gains, some one must lose; you either receive or inflict a loss.”

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“i care little about the money,” cried charles; “it is the feeling of excitement that i enjoy.”

“and it is in this very feeling that the danger lies. there need be no sin in simply playing a game. i have heard that good mr. searle likes his quiet whist, and no doubt he enjoys it with an easy conscience; but when it is not in the game, but in the gambling, that the pleasure is found—when the interest is excited, not by exercise of skill, but by the chance of a lucky deal—oh, charles, is it not a kind of intoxication which the young pilgrim especially is bound to shun?”

“there is a sort of intoxication in all sorts of worldly excitement, i think,” observed charles. “the expectation of a ball intoxicates my cousin; the chances of an election, her father; great heroes are intoxicated by a desire for conquest. what was napoleon but a mighty gambler?”

“yes,” subjoined ernest; “one who played for kingdoms, and gambled away crown, liberty, and all.”

“well, to me there is something great and animating in the idea of putting it ‘to the touch, to gain or lose it all.’”

“if that be your feeling, charles,” exclaimed fontonore, “you are one who should never touch a card. there is the fuel ready in your heart. oh, beware of letting a spark fall upon it! how can you pray not to be led into temptation, without mocking the great being

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whom you address, if you, with your eyes open, seek the company and the amusements which you know in themselves to be temptation? you would be as one who, because the day was fair and the water inviting, would venture in a boat close to a dangerous whirlpool, and, while he felt the strong current drawing him in, would content himself with praying for some wind from heaven to save him from the peril into which he had thrown himself.”

“the difference here,” observed charles, “is, that i can stop when i like.”

“every gambler begins by thinking that he can stop when he likes, till he finds that habit and passion are too strong to be mastered. oh, charley! my charley!” continued ernest, with emotion, “much as i love you, my own only brother, i had rather lose you—rather see you laid in your grave, than living the life of a gambler!”

“you shall never see me a gambler,—i mean, god helping me,” replied charles, touched and gratified by his brother’s anxiety; “i will give up play after this evening.”

“do not go this evening; it is playing on the brink of temptation.”

“would you have me break an engagement?”

“you can write, and make your excuse. to-morrow is christmas day, when we should especially remember the mercy that opened to us the gate of salvation, and

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our duties as pilgrims and soldiers of the cross. you would not spend this evening amongst those whom you yourself call citizens of vanity fair?”

“i will not write, then; i will call—it is more courteous.”

“more dangerous.”

“i see that you have little trust in me,” said charles, but without any emotion of anger. “perhaps, ernest, you know me better than i do myself: but i think that in this case i only do right to go; therefore it is not wilfully throwing myself into temptation.”

charles found aleck fitzwigram at the house of leo chamberlain, his friend, and after shaking hands with them both, told them that he had come to say that circumstances would prevent his joining them that evening.

“then you’ll come to-morrow—no, we dine out then, and the day after there’s the theatre; but on saturday, at any rate, we shall expect you here; you know that you must give us our revenge.”

charles took the piece of gold out of his waistcoat pocket, and laid it upon the table. “you will need no revenge,” said he, smiling.

“hope, what do mean by that? this is some jest of yours! you don’t want us to think that you are not going to play with us again?”

“i wish you to think the truth.”

“who on earth has put this absurdity into your head?”

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charles would have liked far better if he could have said that no one had put a fear of gambling into his head, but that it was the result of his own reflections on the subject; for one of the causes of our so seldom benefiting by the experience of others, is the pride of the human heart, which hates the idea of being led. but, in the present case, no other truthful answer could be given, and charles replied, “my brother has made me think differently upon this subject from what i did before.”

“your brother—fontonore! well, this is the best joke that ever i heard in my life! you, who have lived from your birth with those who know what life is, to allow yourself to be led by a boy who passed all his early years with tinkers, or ploughmen, or thieves; who is ignorant of all that a gentleman should know, and prudently avoids opening his lips for fear of speaking bad grammar!”

charles felt more inclined to be angry than to laugh. the arrow fell lightly as regarded his brother’s conversation; for whether it was from natural delicacy of mind, or ernest’s more than common acquaintance with the pure language of scripture, his speech was never coarse, and occasionally, when he overcame his reserve, flowed on in unstudied eloquence, unusual in one so young. charles was indignant at the unfeeling allusion to the trials of ernest’s early life. “you forget that you speak of my brother,” said he.

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“he has given you good cause to remember that he is your brother, and your elder brother too,” said fitzwigram, with a sneer. “but i should have thought it enough for him to have had my name, my fortune, and my estate, without letting him put my judgment also in his pocket, and not leave me even a will of my own!”

charles and fitzwigram.

the blood of young hope mounted to his forehead. he was beset again by the same enemy, shame, who

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clung to faithful in the valley of humiliation. to the pilgrim that valley was not yet passed, that enemy was not yet conquered. but charles remembered the words of faithful, which had made a strong impression on his mind: “shame, depart! thou art an enemy to my salvation. shall i entertain thee against my sovereign lord? how shall i then look him in the face at his coming?” with a brave resolve to grapple with his own enemy within, as well as to stand the ridicule of tempters without, charles replied, that if he adopted the principles of his brother, he should gain from him far more than he had lost; and bidding a cool farewell to his late companions, he quitted the house more truly a victor than many a hero who has written his title to glory in the blood of his fellow-creatures.