aunt made him sensible of his blunder, and covered his face with blushes. At another time, Clementina pressed her lace handkerchief over her lips, to stifle her too evident inclination to titter, at the peasant-bred peer helping her to something from the dish before him with his own spoon. Ernest was very glad

when the dinner was over, which had lasted, indeed, nearly twice as long as any of which he had ever partaken before.

After dinner, Clementina was desired by her mother to go to the piano and play. She made so many excuses, said that she was tired, nervous, out of practice, that Ernest, little practised in the ways of Vanity Fair, was inclined to beg that the young lady might be let off, Great would have been her mortification had he done so, however; the girl was only refusing in order to be pressed; the virtue of sincerity, if she had ever possessed it, had all been frittered away by folly. She sat down to the instrument determined to be admired, for admiration to her was as the very breath of life. She played what might be called a very brilliant piece, full of shakes, dashes, and runs, but with no melody at all.

Ernest, though fond of music, thought it certainly not pretty, and, had he been more at his ease, could hardly have helped laughing at the affected air of the young performer, and the manner in which she threw up her hands, and sometimes her eyes also, in the slower movements of the piece. Every motion appeared to be studied; self was never for a moment forgotten. When the performance, rather to Ernest's relief, was concluded, with a satisfied look the stately mother turned to the young peer, and asked him if that was not a beautiful piece. "Rather," replied Ernest, after a little hesitation, as much vexed with himself for saying so much as Clementina was at his saying so little. Charles, who was standing near, could not avoid laughing; and Ernest read in the eyes of Mrs. Hope her unexpressed thought-"I have no patience for this low, ill-bred boor!"

With a secret feeling of constraint, mortification, and disappointment, poor Ernest retired at night to his own room. Two maids were preparing it as he entered, and he could not help overhearing the words of one of them,

""Tis a pity that Mr. Charles was not the eldest son."

"I'm sure that I think so!"Ernest exclaimed aloud, to the no small surprise of the girl who had uttered the observation.

CHAPTER XV.

CITIZENS OF VANITY FAIR.

THERE was another matter that weighed upon the mind of Ernest, and was his first thought when he awoke in the morning. It was the request which he was to make to his uncle concerning bringing Jack and Ben to the castle. Mr. Ewart had declined making the request for him, and in this Ernest thought his tutor for the first time unkind. But Ernest was mistaken, as those usually are who judge others without entering into their feelings or position. The truth was that Mr. Ewart very well knew that no request made by him would be likely to be granted. was almost disliked by Mr. Hope, whose character presented a remarkable contrast to his own, and who treated his nephews' tutor with

He

bare civility, though as well born and better educated than himself.

Mr. Hope was what is called a man of the world; one who made business his sole ambition; his worldliness, his pride, were in the sight of the Eternal but-vanity!

Ernest was beginning to more than waver in his wish to have the sons of Lawless living so near him. He felt since his arrival at Fontonore, more than he had ever done before, how disagreeable their presence might be. Had Ernest not been a sincere Christian, he would have tried as much as possible to banish from his mind all recollection of early days of humiliation and suffering, and would have endeavoured to keep far away from himself all that could remind him of his peasant life. But Ernest felt that this would be throwing away the lessons which God had taught him at the cost of so much pain; and that, in failing to bring those whom he had once considered his brothers to a place where they might benefit from the same instructions that had been so much blessed to himself, he might be neglecting the means of bringing them to God.

Ernest therefore resolved to speak to his

uncle, much as he disliked doing so; and he found an opportunity the very first morning, as Mr. Hope sat alone in the library engaged in reading the Times.

"Did you want a book, Ernest?" said his uncle, as the young nobleman stood hesitating and embarrassed before him. "You'll have to make up for lost time, I suspect. see, how old are you now?"

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Let's

"I was twelve last March,” replied Ernest. "Ah, I remember-in your thirteenth year; should have made some progress by that age. I suppose that your studies have been much neglected. May I ask what books you have read?"

"The Bible and Pilgrim's Progress," answered the boy.

Mr. Hope turned down the corners of his mouth with a contemptuous expression, little dreaming that all the treasures of learning and wit which the most talented mind ever grasped are useless-worthless, compared with the wisdom to be gathered from one sacred volume.

"A puritanical library, more select than comprehensive," said the gentleman; "you