“Beware of the flatterer. As is the saying of the wise man, so we have found it this day, ‘A man that flattereth his neighbour, spreadeth a net for his feet’ (Prov. xxix. 5).”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
It was some time before Ernest could regain his usual cheerfulness; constant occupation was what, perhaps, had the most effect in restoring it. Not only did he turn with ardour to his studies, bending all the powers of a most intelligent mind to master the difficulties of learning, but he was never idle in his hours of leisure; and so well employed his time, that Charles once observed, with a smile, that the sands in his hour-glass were all of gold!
We are commanded to let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify our Father which is in heaven. The light of the young Lord of Fontonore shone brightly, enlightening some and cheering many. Until his little school could be finished, he assembled the poor children in an outhouse of the
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 castle, and not only contributed, almost beyond his power, to pay the salary of a schoolmaster, but himself assisted in the task of tuition, and spoke to the little ones with such heart-fervour of the duties of a pilgrim and the love of the Saviour, that the cottagers said that the children never learned so much as when the young lord himself was their teacher. Ernest was often to be seen beneath the widow’s lowly roof: he would carry to the sick poor little comforts from his own table, and none knew how often he went without pleasures to himself, that he might afford to help those who needed his assistance. Large as was his allowance, his charity so drained it that self appeared almost forgotten; and the Lord of Fontonore was scarcely ever known to purchase anything for his own gratification. It was his habit, his privilege, his delight, to lay his treasures at the feet of his Lord; and thus, though the possessor of great wealth, the pilgrim pressed on, unclogged and unburdened by it.
Nor, in attending to the wants of the poor, did Ernest neglect his home duties. The affection between him and his brother was a source of happiness to both, and appeared to grow stronger every day; and Ernest sometimes ventured to hope that he might in time exert a slight influence even on the frivolous mind of Clementina. She was, quite unconsciously to herself, less inclined to utter words of folly or ill-nature when in the
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 presence of her cousin, and felt the quiet glance of his eye a greater restraint than a serious reproof from another. At a time when she suffered from weakness in her eyes, Ernest, busy as he was, seemed always to find time to read to her and amuse her: the book was sometimes her choice, but more often his; and he gradually led the weak, worldly girl, to take some interest in his favourite Pilgrim.
It may well be imagined that Ernest became exceedingly beloved in the castle. His uncle, indeed, called him an enthusiast, and Mrs. Hope complained that he was too much of a missionary; but what she would have ridiculed in any one else, she had great indulgence for in a peer. There was but one being, of all those who lived at Fontonore, who seemed rooted in dislike towards the young lord; and that was the envious, insolent Jack Lawless, whom no benefits softened, no kindnesses won.
I must not omit to mention the arrival of Mr. Sligo, the new tutor, who came to Fontonore about ten days after the departure of Mr. Ewart. Seldom has a new instructor been introduced to his pupils under greater disadvantages as regards their feelings.
“I am certain that I shall dislike him,” said Charles to his brother the evening before Mr. Sligo made his appearance. “It will seem to me as though he usurped the place of my friend.”
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THE NEW TUTOR.
“I confess that I feel a prejudice against any tutor recommended by Lady Fitzwigram. But then such a prejudice may be neither kind nor just: he never taught in her family, therefore has nothing to do with any of
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 the faults of her sons. We must meet Mr. Sligo in a fair, candid spirit. Mr. Ewart would have been the first to tell us to treat our new tutor as we would wish to be treated in his position ourselves.”
Mr. Sligo proved quite a different kind of person from what his pupils had expected. Instead of a proud, opinionative scholar, bearing the stamp of one familiar with the haut-ton—a walking peerage, a follower of the world and its fashions—they beheld a mild-looking, delicate little man, with a manner quick but gentle, who spoke in low, soft tones, with an almost timid air, as if afraid of giving offence. To such a person it was impossible for a generous spirit to be unkind. The brothers did all in their power to put him at his ease; and they were flattered by the grateful deferential manner, in which he received the smallest attention. Mr. Sligo was soon found to be not only an intelligent tutor, but a very agreeable companion. He was ready for anything, either business or play; could do anything, from setting a drawing for Charles to assisting in the construction of the school: he entered with pleasure into every project, especially such as had charity for their object, listened to pious sentiments with an approving smile, and delighted in helping forward every good work.
With such a companion, with such occupations and such encouragements, was not our pilgrim almost at the gate of heaven?
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Had Ernest been an angel, free from human frailty, perhaps it might have been so with him now. Never had he walked onwards with a firmer step, never had he been such a blessing to others, never had he kept his lips more pure, nor been more watchful over every action; and yet he was, perhaps, in more danger of falling than when passing through Vanity Fair! To a mind like his, the society of a worldly companion might have been less dangerous than that of Mr. Sligo. And why so? His tutor never taught him evil, never set him an evil example. But there was silent flattery in his admiring look, the attention with which he listened, the heartiness with which he approved. With all his quickness of perception, there was one thing which he seemed to lack—the power of discovering a fault in his pupil.
Ernest had endured, without injury, the flattery of the world—he attributed it all to his title. The praises of Charles had nothing dangerous in them—he set them down to a brother’s partiality; but it was something new to him to be admired for the very qualities for which, a few months before, he had suffered persecution; it was something delightful to be looked up to by so many, and viewed as a model of Christian benevolence! We may wonder that, after his last sad fall, Ernest could have entertained a thought of spiritual pride; but our enemy is ever watchful and insidious and human nature infirm. We do not willingly dwell upon what gives us
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 pain; and often, too often, deceive our own hearts from the pleasure which it gives us to be thus deceived.
Ernest had often remarked, that the worldly are constantly engaged in raising pedestals on which to elevate self; he had seen the ambitious build his of popular applause;—such was Mr. Hope’s, and it had crumbled into dust. The proud woman had raised herself by fashion, the vain beauty by the admiration of society. But while Ernest could thus observe the failings of others, he would have been startled and alarmed indeed had he known that he was now raising such a pedestal himself! His very prayers, his alms, his good works, were turned into a stumbling-block in his path; whatever exalts self, stands between us and the Saviour, and we are never safe but when our pride lies humbled in the dust before Him.
I would especially direct the attention of my reader to this last most subtle device of Satan to keep back the pilgrim from heaven. As God draws good out of evil, Satan draws evil out of good, and sometimes makes us deem ourselves most near the celestial city when we are actually turning our faces from it. The most experienced pilgrims may be taken in this snare; the most zealous, the most devoted Christians are perhaps in the greatest danger from it. We are so ready to forget when the mirror shines brightly, that it is in itself but dust and ashes, borrowing all its radiance from heaven.
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The tender leaves were now beginning to appear on the shrubs, and th............