“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 amusemen............