“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 regain1 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 glorify2 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
[240]
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 spoke3 to the little ones with such heart-fervour of the duties of a pilgrim and the love of the Saviour4, 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 frivolous5 mind of Clementina. She was, quite unconsciously to herself, less inclined to utter words of folly6 or ill-nature when in the
[241]
presence of her cousin, and felt the quiet glance of his eye a greater restraint than a serious reproof7 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 enthusiast8, and Mrs. Hope complained that he was too much of a missionary9; but what she would have ridiculed10 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 envious11, insolent12 Jack13 Lawless, whom no benefits softened14, 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 instructor15 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 usurped16 the place of my friend.”
[242]
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
[243]
the faults of her sons. We must meet Mr. Sligo in a fair, candid17 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 follower19 of the world and its fashions—they beheld20 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 deferential21 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 pious22 sentiments with an approving smile, and delighted in helping23 forward every good work.
With such a companion, with such occupations and such encouragements, was not our pilgrim almost at the gate of heaven?
[244]
Had Ernest been an angel, free from human frailty24, perhaps it might have been so with him now. Never had he walked onwards with a firmer step, never had he been such a blessing25 to others, never had he kept his lips more pure, nor been more watchful26 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 heartiness27 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 persecution28; it was something delightful29 to be looked up to by so many, and viewed as a model of Christian30 benevolence31! 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 insidious32 and human nature infirm. We do not willingly dwell upon what gives us
[245]
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 crumbled33 into dust. The proud woman had raised herself by fashion, the vain beauty by the admiration34 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 exalts35 self, stands between us and the Saviour, and we are never safe but when our pride lies humbled37 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 celestial38 city when we are actually turning our faces from it. The most experienced pilgrims may be taken in this snare39; the most zealous40, the most devoted41 Christians42 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.
[246]
The tender leaves were now beginning to appear on the shrubs43, and the dark branches of the trees were spangled with the light green buds which told the approach of spring. The crocus lifted its golden cup from the sod, and the snow-drop trembled on its slender stem. On the day when Ernest would complete his thirteenth year, his school-house was to be opened for the first time. A number of friends were asked to be present on the occasion,—Mr. Searle, his daughter, and a son from college amongst the rest, Ernest’s often-expressed wish having at length overcome the reluctance44 of his aunt to invite them. There was to be a band and a collation45 in honour of the occasion; and the children were abroad early in the sunny morning to gather flowers to decorate the school-room.
The spirits of the young Lord Fontonore rose high, there was so much to gratify and elate him. Never had he more admired his beautiful home, or more rejoiced in the power to do good. Mr. Sligo had written an ode to celebrate the day, in which flattery was so delicately mingled46 with truth, that it could hardly fail to gratify and please.
One by one the company assembled, each with a kind wish or well-turned compliment. Ernest was of course the hero of the day; and as everything in the school-house was now prepared, the tide of silk and velvet47, feathers and lace, moved on towards the little edifice48.
[247]
The school children lined the path on either side, in clean frocks, with nosegays of wild-flowers in their hands, their ruddy little faces beaming with pleasure at the thought of their expected feast. Passing between the lines, with feelings of natural pleasure, perhaps not quite unmingled with pride, Lord Fontonore, accompanied by his guests, proceeded to the door, which he unlocked and threw open. In a few minutes the school-room was filled. It had been decorated with a good deal of taste by the school children under Mr. Sligo’s direction, and Charles had fastened two blue banners above the entrance. There were books for school use judiciously49 selected, maps on a large scale hung round the room; but every eye in the gay assembly was at once directed to a large black board hung over the fire-place. This was designed for the use of classes in arithmetic, as sums or figures could be chalked upon it of a size to be seen by the whole school. But it was neither sum nor diagram upon it now that drew the attention of every one present, but a coarse sketch50, evidently chalked by an untutored hand, though not wanting in spirit or fun, of a boy sitting astride on the top of a wall, with a gigantic peach in his grasp; and as the picture might not be understood by all, beneath it was written, in a round schoolboy hand, legible from the furthest end of the room, “The pious Lord Fontonore robbing Farmer Joyce.”
[248]
Ernest was taken by surprise, when quite off his guard; insulted and exposed in the very hour of his triumph, and he needed not the sight of Jack’s insolent face at the door to tell him by whom. A few months before, he would have struck the boy to the earth; now the feelings of the Christian, perhaps the dignity of the noble, prevented any such violent display of his anger; but he clinched51 his hand, and with an expression of fierceness in his flashing eye, which no one present but the offender52 himself had ever seen on his countenance53 before, Ernest exclaimed in a voice of fury, “Insolent liar18, this is your work!”
A scene of brief confusion ensued. Mr. Sligo sprang to the obnoxious54 board, and in a few moments every trace of the sketch was removed; but the impression which it had left on the spectators was not so readily taken away.
“This comes of bringing up such a wolf’s cub55!” exclaimed Mrs. Hope.
“What an extraordinary piece of impertinence,” said the baronet, on whose arm she leaned. “Surely,” he added, in a lower tone, “such a story had never any foundation in truth.”
Some recommended a severe thrashing to the offender, some that he should at once be turned adrift on the world. Ernest felt the whole subject intolerably painful; annoyed as he was at Jack, he was more annoyed at himself for having been overcome by sudden passion.
[249]
Charles, with the quick eye of affection, read his wish in his look; and springing on the table to raise himself above the throng56, he began an extempore questioning of the children, conducting his examination with so much spirit and fun as quite to change the current of general conversation.
But though the disagreeable subject was dropped and apparently57 forgotten, the school-room duly admired, and the children’s progress applauded, every word of praise and compliment now fell flat upon the ear of Fontonore. The discipline had been bitter, but it was just what he had required. A veil had been suddenly drawn58 from his eyes; he had been thrown from his pedestal of pride. He had been reminded of what he had been, what he had done, and shown what he still continued to be—a weak, infirm child of dust, subject to passion and sin, having nothing whereof he could boast.
“I was not only angry,” thought Ernest to himself, “but uncandid. I gave an impression to all who heard me that I denied that of which I was accused. He who but declared unpleasant truth, in my passion I called a liar. Oh! how greatly have I of late been deceiving myself when believing my conduct to be more consistent than that of others. One thing, however, remains59 to be done. I can yet make some amends60; and I will do so, whatever it may cost my feelings, however it may wound my pride.”
[250]
As he showed his guests over the castle and grounds, Fontonore was remarkably61 silent and absent. Charles wondered to himself that the insolence62 of a boy should have such an effect upon his brother; but he did not guess what deeper feelings were stirring in the breast of the pilgrim. At last Ernest, as if in reply to some question from Clementina, whose sound had fallen upon his ear, but whose sense he had not taken in, proposed that they should all go and see the children at their feast on the lawn.
“I should have thought that we had had enough of those children,” said Clementina, with affectation. “I cannot conceive the pleasure of watching them eating, and our presence can be nothing but a restraint.”
Towards the lawn, however, the whole party moved, where a long table had been laid out by Ernest’s desire, well furnished with a comfortable meal. Sounds little befitting a scene of mirth were heard as the visitors approached. The schoolmaster, who presided at the top of the table, was in an angry indignant voice denying to Jack the right of sitting at it, after openly insulting the provider of the feast. The general feeling of the children ran in the same current; some were loudly calling out, “Shame, shame, turn him out!” But Lawless, with his own insolent self-assurance, appeared inclined to defy them all.
At the appearance of Fontonore and the ladies there
[251]
was a sudden silence, and all the party at the feast turned towards him to decide the disputed question. Ernest walked firmly up to the head of the table, very pale, for what he had resolved to do went sorely against human nature; and few efforts are so painful as to trample63 down pride, and humble36 ourselves in the sight of the world.
THE APOLOGY.
“Let him sit down,” said Ernest to the schoolmaster. The children silently made room for their companion. “Jack Lawless,” continued the peer, turning towards the boy, and speaking rapidly, whilst he could not raise his own eyes from the ground, “I regret that I unjustly
[252]
called you a liar; I recall the word now before all who heard it.”
Nothing can describe the astonishment64 of the whole assembly as they listened to this apology from the young lord. “Brave boy, well done! He’s a soldier that will not flinch65!” muttered old Mr. Searle, with cordial approbation66.
“He must be wild,” exclaimed Mrs. Hope, “to expose himself so before a company like this! To acknowledge such a fact! Why, I would rather have died than have disgraced myself so before the world!” The lady, however experienced in the concerns of this life, in spiritual things was more ignorant than a child, or she would have known that disgrace is in the commission of a fault, but never in the frank avowal67 of it.
We are commanded to let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify2 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
[240]
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 spoke3 to the little ones with such heart-fervour of the duties of a pilgrim and the love of the Saviour4, 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 frivolous5 mind of Clementina. She was, quite unconsciously to herself, less inclined to utter words of folly6 or ill-nature when in the
[241]
presence of her cousin, and felt the quiet glance of his eye a greater restraint than a serious reproof7 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 enthusiast8, and Mrs. Hope complained that he was too much of a missionary9; but what she would have ridiculed10 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 envious11, insolent12 Jack13 Lawless, whom no benefits softened14, 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 instructor15 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 usurped16 the place of my friend.”
[242]
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
[243]
the faults of her sons. We must meet Mr. Sligo in a fair, candid17 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 follower19 of the world and its fashions—they beheld20 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 deferential21 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 pious22 sentiments with an approving smile, and delighted in helping23 forward every good work.
With such a companion, with such occupations and such encouragements, was not our pilgrim almost at the gate of heaven?
[244]
Had Ernest been an angel, free from human frailty24, perhaps it might have been so with him now. Never had he walked onwards with a firmer step, never had he been such a blessing25 to others, never had he kept his lips more pure, nor been more watchful26 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 heartiness27 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 persecution28; it was something delightful29 to be looked up to by so many, and viewed as a model of Christian30 benevolence31! 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 insidious32 and human nature infirm. We do not willingly dwell upon what gives us
[245]
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 crumbled33 into dust. The proud woman had raised herself by fashion, the vain beauty by the admiration34 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 exalts35 self, stands between us and the Saviour, and we are never safe but when our pride lies humbled37 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 celestial38 city when we are actually turning our faces from it. The most experienced pilgrims may be taken in this snare39; the most zealous40, the most devoted41 Christians42 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.
[246]
The tender leaves were now beginning to appear on the shrubs43, and the dark branches of the trees were spangled with the light green buds which told the approach of spring. The crocus lifted its golden cup from the sod, and the snow-drop trembled on its slender stem. On the day when Ernest would complete his thirteenth year, his school-house was to be opened for the first time. A number of friends were asked to be present on the occasion,—Mr. Searle, his daughter, and a son from college amongst the rest, Ernest’s often-expressed wish having at length overcome the reluctance44 of his aunt to invite them. There was to be a band and a collation45 in honour of the occasion; and the children were abroad early in the sunny morning to gather flowers to decorate the school-room.
The spirits of the young Lord Fontonore rose high, there was so much to gratify and elate him. Never had he more admired his beautiful home, or more rejoiced in the power to do good. Mr. Sligo had written an ode to celebrate the day, in which flattery was so delicately mingled46 with truth, that it could hardly fail to gratify and please.
One by one the company assembled, each with a kind wish or well-turned compliment. Ernest was of course the hero of the day; and as everything in the school-house was now prepared, the tide of silk and velvet47, feathers and lace, moved on towards the little edifice48.
[247]
The school children lined the path on either side, in clean frocks, with nosegays of wild-flowers in their hands, their ruddy little faces beaming with pleasure at the thought of their expected feast. Passing between the lines, with feelings of natural pleasure, perhaps not quite unmingled with pride, Lord Fontonore, accompanied by his guests, proceeded to the door, which he unlocked and threw open. In a few minutes the school-room was filled. It had been decorated with a good deal of taste by the school children under Mr. Sligo’s direction, and Charles had fastened two blue banners above the entrance. There were books for school use judiciously49 selected, maps on a large scale hung round the room; but every eye in the gay assembly was at once directed to a large black board hung over the fire-place. This was designed for the use of classes in arithmetic, as sums or figures could be chalked upon it of a size to be seen by the whole school. But it was neither sum nor diagram upon it now that drew the attention of every one present, but a coarse sketch50, evidently chalked by an untutored hand, though not wanting in spirit or fun, of a boy sitting astride on the top of a wall, with a gigantic peach in his grasp; and as the picture might not be understood by all, beneath it was written, in a round schoolboy hand, legible from the furthest end of the room, “The pious Lord Fontonore robbing Farmer Joyce.”
[248]
Ernest was taken by surprise, when quite off his guard; insulted and exposed in the very hour of his triumph, and he needed not the sight of Jack’s insolent face at the door to tell him by whom. A few months before, he would have struck the boy to the earth; now the feelings of the Christian, perhaps the dignity of the noble, prevented any such violent display of his anger; but he clinched51 his hand, and with an expression of fierceness in his flashing eye, which no one present but the offender52 himself had ever seen on his countenance53 before, Ernest exclaimed in a voice of fury, “Insolent liar18, this is your work!”
A scene of brief confusion ensued. Mr. Sligo sprang to the obnoxious54 board, and in a few moments every trace of the sketch was removed; but the impression which it had left on the spectators was not so readily taken away.
“This comes of bringing up such a wolf’s cub55!” exclaimed Mrs. Hope.
“What an extraordinary piece of impertinence,” said the baronet, on whose arm she leaned. “Surely,” he added, in a lower tone, “such a story had never any foundation in truth.”
Some recommended a severe thrashing to the offender, some that he should at once be turned adrift on the world. Ernest felt the whole subject intolerably painful; annoyed as he was at Jack, he was more annoyed at himself for having been overcome by sudden passion.
[249]
Charles, with the quick eye of affection, read his wish in his look; and springing on the table to raise himself above the throng56, he began an extempore questioning of the children, conducting his examination with so much spirit and fun as quite to change the current of general conversation.
But though the disagreeable subject was dropped and apparently57 forgotten, the school-room duly admired, and the children’s progress applauded, every word of praise and compliment now fell flat upon the ear of Fontonore. The discipline had been bitter, but it was just what he had required. A veil had been suddenly drawn58 from his eyes; he had been thrown from his pedestal of pride. He had been reminded of what he had been, what he had done, and shown what he still continued to be—a weak, infirm child of dust, subject to passion and sin, having nothing whereof he could boast.
“I was not only angry,” thought Ernest to himself, “but uncandid. I gave an impression to all who heard me that I denied that of which I was accused. He who but declared unpleasant truth, in my passion I called a liar. Oh! how greatly have I of late been deceiving myself when believing my conduct to be more consistent than that of others. One thing, however, remains59 to be done. I can yet make some amends60; and I will do so, whatever it may cost my feelings, however it may wound my pride.”
[250]
As he showed his guests over the castle and grounds, Fontonore was remarkably61 silent and absent. Charles wondered to himself that the insolence62 of a boy should have such an effect upon his brother; but he did not guess what deeper feelings were stirring in the breast of the pilgrim. At last Ernest, as if in reply to some question from Clementina, whose sound had fallen upon his ear, but whose sense he had not taken in, proposed that they should all go and see the children at their feast on the lawn.
“I should have thought that we had had enough of those children,” said Clementina, with affectation. “I cannot conceive the pleasure of watching them eating, and our presence can be nothing but a restraint.”
Towards the lawn, however, the whole party moved, where a long table had been laid out by Ernest’s desire, well furnished with a comfortable meal. Sounds little befitting a scene of mirth were heard as the visitors approached. The schoolmaster, who presided at the top of the table, was in an angry indignant voice denying to Jack the right of sitting at it, after openly insulting the provider of the feast. The general feeling of the children ran in the same current; some were loudly calling out, “Shame, shame, turn him out!” But Lawless, with his own insolent self-assurance, appeared inclined to defy them all.
At the appearance of Fontonore and the ladies there
[251]
was a sudden silence, and all the party at the feast turned towards him to decide the disputed question. Ernest walked firmly up to the head of the table, very pale, for what he had resolved to do went sorely against human nature; and few efforts are so painful as to trample63 down pride, and humble36 ourselves in the sight of the world.
THE APOLOGY.
“Let him sit down,” said Ernest to the schoolmaster. The children silently made room for their companion. “Jack Lawless,” continued the peer, turning towards the boy, and speaking rapidly, whilst he could not raise his own eyes from the ground, “I regret that I unjustly
[252]
called you a liar; I recall the word now before all who heard it.”
Nothing can describe the astonishment64 of the whole assembly as they listened to this apology from the young lord. “Brave boy, well done! He’s a soldier that will not flinch65!” muttered old Mr. Searle, with cordial approbation66.
“He must be wild,” exclaimed Mrs. Hope, “to expose himself so before a company like this! To acknowledge such a fact! Why, I would rather have died than have disgraced myself so before the world!” The lady, however experienced in the concerns of this life, in spiritual things was more ignorant than a child, or she would have known that disgrace is in the commission of a fault, but never in the frank avowal67 of it.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
glorify
|
|
| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
saviour
|
|
| n.拯救者，救星 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
enthusiast
|
|
| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
missionary
|
|
| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
ridiculed
|
|
| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
insolent
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
instructor
|
|
| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
usurped
|
|
| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
liar
|
|
| n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
follower
|
|
| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
deferential
|
|
| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
heartiness
|
|
| 诚实，热心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
persecution
|
|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
insidious
|
|
| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
crumbled
|
|
| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
exalts
|
|
| 赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 )； 歌颂； 提升； 提拔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
snare
|
|
| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
zealous
|
|
| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
Christians
|
|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
collation
|
|
| n.便餐；整理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
judiciously
|
|
| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
clinched
|
|
| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
offender
|
|
| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cub
|
|
| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
amends
|
|
| n. 赔偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
trample
|
|
| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
flinch
|
|
| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
approbation
|
|
| n.称赞；认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
avowal
|
|
| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |